Heathrow? Already?”
“No. Listen, Ed,” she said, placing a hand to her forehead. “I had a chance to think. I’ve decided to carry on with the trip.”
“Where are you?”
“Maui.”
“Maui! What the hell is going on?”
“It felt wrong giving up.”
“You can’t just fly off to God knows where without telling anyone! It’s not safe. You’re acting like Mia.”
She knew the comparison was meant to chastise her, but privately she felt pleased by it. She pulled off her ankle boots and socks with one hand, and placed her bare feet on the wooden floor of the dorm. It felt wonderfully cool.
“We should be making these kinds of decisions together,” he continued. “You need to talk to me.”
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I hate being apart, I really do. It’s just I’ve realized exactly how much I need to do this.”
“A few hours ago you called to say you’re coming home. And now you’re in Maui and it’s all back on. I’m honestly not sure if you’re in the right state of mind to be doing this.”
“What does that mean?”
“The Katie I know is decisive and levelheaded.”
“Yes, she is. But she’s also just lost her sister and deserves a little leeway.”
“I’m not arguing with you, Katie.”
“So show me that you support me.”
“I support everything you do. I’m just finding it difficult to believe that traveling alone is the best thing for you right now. I’m worried you’re chasing ghosts.”
“And I’m worried,” she said levelly, “that if I come home now, I will have let Mia down.”
There was a strained silence. She turned her engagement ring with her fingers, the diamond glittering in the light.
“Our invites went out today,” Ed said.
She had ordered them through a design company that was laser cutting the edges with flowers. She hadn’t realized they’d be sent so soon.
He added, “The wedding is in four months.”
“Yes.”
“You’ll be home in time?”
“Of course.”
“Because,” he said, his voice softening, “I’ve no idea what I’d do with a hundred tea-light holders if you’re not.”
She smiled. “I’ll be home.”
She put the phone away and lay down on the crisp green sheet with Mia’s journal. Despite Ed’s concern, for the first time since she’d left England, she felt as if she was finally able to think more clearly.
She opened the journal at the page with Mick’s address and trailed a fingertip over the unfamiliar words. It was strange to think of her father living nearby; she imagined a large modern house, a man with silver hair, a wardrobe of smart suits.
When they were girls, Katie and Mia would sometimes talk about their father in low voices after dark. Mia would lean over the edge of the bunk, poking her head under the princess canopy to ask, “What is Daddy like?” Katie thought she was being clever by making up abstract comparisons that kept Mia confused for days. “He is like Moby-Dick,” or, “He reminds me of the songs in Mum’s David Bowie album.” When Mia asked what she meant, Katie would just shrug and tell her to read the book or listen to the record.
The real reason she avoided giving a proper answer was because she didn’t know what their father was like. Her memories werepieces of two different puzzles that wouldn’t slot together. She held a few crisp, wonderful recollections—like the one that played out in their old kitchen in North London where the red-tiled floor was freezing underfoot, even in summer. Katie was meant to be asleep, but had come downstairs to ask for a glass of milk. Not finding either of her parents in the living room, she had wandered towards the kitchen where she heard music playing. Her mother was being swirled in her father’s arms, laughing wildly. She watched for a moment; she saw the glint of her father’s gold watch where his shirtsleeve ended, caught the smell of his aftershave mixed with a sweet tang of whisky, saw her mother’s hair coming loose from
“No. Listen, Ed,” she said, placing a hand to her forehead. “I had a chance to think. I’ve decided to carry on with the trip.”
“Where are you?”
“Maui.”
“Maui! What the hell is going on?”
“It felt wrong giving up.”
“You can’t just fly off to God knows where without telling anyone! It’s not safe. You’re acting like Mia.”
She knew the comparison was meant to chastise her, but privately she felt pleased by it. She pulled off her ankle boots and socks with one hand, and placed her bare feet on the wooden floor of the dorm. It felt wonderfully cool.
“We should be making these kinds of decisions together,” he continued. “You need to talk to me.”
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I hate being apart, I really do. It’s just I’ve realized exactly how much I need to do this.”
“A few hours ago you called to say you’re coming home. And now you’re in Maui and it’s all back on. I’m honestly not sure if you’re in the right state of mind to be doing this.”
“What does that mean?”
“The Katie I know is decisive and levelheaded.”
“Yes, she is. But she’s also just lost her sister and deserves a little leeway.”
“I’m not arguing with you, Katie.”
“So show me that you support me.”
“I support everything you do. I’m just finding it difficult to believe that traveling alone is the best thing for you right now. I’m worried you’re chasing ghosts.”
“And I’m worried,” she said levelly, “that if I come home now, I will have let Mia down.”
There was a strained silence. She turned her engagement ring with her fingers, the diamond glittering in the light.
“Our invites went out today,” Ed said.
She had ordered them through a design company that was laser cutting the edges with flowers. She hadn’t realized they’d be sent so soon.
He added, “The wedding is in four months.”
“Yes.”
“You’ll be home in time?”
“Of course.”
“Because,” he said, his voice softening, “I’ve no idea what I’d do with a hundred tea-light holders if you’re not.”
She smiled. “I’ll be home.”
She put the phone away and lay down on the crisp green sheet with Mia’s journal. Despite Ed’s concern, for the first time since she’d left England, she felt as if she was finally able to think more clearly.
She opened the journal at the page with Mick’s address and trailed a fingertip over the unfamiliar words. It was strange to think of her father living nearby; she imagined a large modern house, a man with silver hair, a wardrobe of smart suits.
When they were girls, Katie and Mia would sometimes talk about their father in low voices after dark. Mia would lean over the edge of the bunk, poking her head under the princess canopy to ask, “What is Daddy like?” Katie thought she was being clever by making up abstract comparisons that kept Mia confused for days. “He is like Moby-Dick,” or, “He reminds me of the songs in Mum’s David Bowie album.” When Mia asked what she meant, Katie would just shrug and tell her to read the book or listen to the record.
The real reason she avoided giving a proper answer was because she didn’t know what their father was like. Her memories werepieces of two different puzzles that wouldn’t slot together. She held a few crisp, wonderful recollections—like the one that played out in their old kitchen in North London where the red-tiled floor was freezing underfoot, even in summer. Katie was meant to be asleep, but had come downstairs to ask for a glass of milk. Not finding either of her parents in the living room, she had wandered towards the kitchen where she heard music playing. Her mother was being swirled in her father’s arms, laughing wildly. She watched for a moment; she saw the glint of her father’s gold watch where his shirtsleeve ended, caught the smell of his aftershave mixed with a sweet tang of whisky, saw her mother’s hair coming loose from
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