Coming Home by Annabel Kantaria

But would she have done that anyway? If your dad was still alive? He was away a lot, wasn’t he? She must have friends?’
    ‘Oh I guess. I don’t know. But shouldn’t there be like a mourning period, or something?’
    Luca took a sip of wine. I could see he didn’t know what to say. But he didn’t have to say anything; I could see that it wasn’t just me who thought it was a bit odd.
    ‘She’s also put in an offer on a house.’
    Luca’s eyes widened. ‘Wow. That’s big. And sudden? She’s lived there all your life, right?’
    ‘Yeah. Thirty years. But she says the house is too big, andthat she and Dad were planning the move. Apparently, she put in the offer the day before he died. But surely she can retract it now? It’s not binding, is it? Until it’s been accepted and everything? The last thing she needs now is to move house. Isn’t moving house right up there, along with death of a spouse, as one of life’s most stressful events?’ I paused. ‘Or am I being unreasonable?’
    ‘I don’t know what to say,’ said Luca. ‘If they were planning to move before your dad … you know … then maybe it’s not as sudden as it seems? Maybe it’ll give her something to focus on. Like, a sense of purpose?’
    ‘Yeah … maybe.’
    We sipped our drinks.
    ‘So how long are you here for?’ he asked eventually.
    ‘I’m here for the funeral, which is on Friday. And Mum’s asked me to help her clear out the attic ready for a potential move. After that, I haven’t really thought. My boss said to take as long as I needed, but I can’t be here forever, really. I don’t think he meant “stick around for three months”.’ I wished I had a sibling to help me keep an eye on Mum and simultaneously squashed the thought. ‘Anyway, how are you?’
    Luca exhaled slowly; took a sip of wine. ‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘All good.’ He stared out of the window, shaking his head. ‘Your poor mum. How is she?’
    ‘She’s OK. She’s coping well.’ My eyes slid away from Luca’s and I twisted the wine bottle around to face me, making a show of reading the label.
    ‘Anyway.’ I topped up Luca’s glass. ‘Tell me. What haveyou been doing for the past ten years? Did you ever set up that art gallery you used to dream about?’
    ‘Well, I’m a freelance photographer, by way of a law degree, but my dream is still to set up a gallery with a coffee shop, and maybe a bookshop, too. Woodside needs some beauty. It needs a photography gallery, no?’ His eyes were brimful of passion.
    ‘And I’ve every faith you’re the man to bring beauty to Woodside.’ I smiled back at him. ‘But, seriously, good on you.’
    ‘Anyway,’ said Luca, changing the subject, ‘what have you been doing since you jilted me at the altar?’
    I snorted, wine tickling my nose. ‘That’s not fair! It was hardly the altar!’
    ‘Altar. Engagement. Same thing. Pff.’ Luca was laughing at me.
    ‘Look, about that,’ I said. Luca raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m really sorry.’
    ‘Sorry for what? For turning me down?’
    ‘Well, that … and the way I did it.’
    ‘I should bloody hope so.’ Again, he was laughing and I squirmed in my seat, not entirely sure if he was teasing or serious. Luca reached for my hand, put his over it.
    ‘Look, Evie, just so you know …’ He paused. ‘I’m really glad you turned me down.’
    ‘Really?’
    ‘Really. Can you imagine being married at nineteen?’ He shuddered. ‘You did me a favour.’
    ‘I still feel so guilty.’
    ‘Well, stop that right now.’ He squeezed my hand. I squeezed back, grateful. ‘Don’t worry. I took the ring back. Got a refund. Argos is great about returns.’ He said it deadpan and a laugh exploded out of me. I pulled my hand away, the tension of the moment dissipated.
    ‘But, seriously, do you ever wonder how it would have turned out? Do you think we’d still be together now?’
    ‘Who knows. I’d like to hope so. But we were very young and we had university