fluorescent colours that Lorelei had bought in bulk from Poundstretcher. The receipt in the bag was from 1989. ‘Oh!’ she’d exclaimed with pleasure, taking the straws from her husband. ‘I was wondering what had happened to those. The little ones will
love
them.’
All four birth certificates were together, in a pale-blue folder marked ‘Kiddies’. There were other things in the folder: medical papers about the first few days of Rhys’s life, GP certificates, notes on vaccinations and four little plastic wrist bracelets with the words ‘Baby Bird’ on them, which struck Rory as rather charming.
His father suggested they meet in the pub. Said he could do with a change of scenery. Rory had never been to a pub with his dad before. He’d never even considered the possibility.
‘Well,’ said Colin, handing him the certificate, ‘I’m really, really happy you’re doing this. It’s been a long time coming. I feel like we’ve all been set in aspic these past years, pickling ourselves in grief. And Mum would never let us go away when you were all young, so, good on you.’
‘Remember Greece?’ said Rory, picking up his pint.
His dad laughed drily and rolled his eyes. ‘How could I forget? It took me years to get up the nerve to suggest it in the first place. Then those bloody burglars …’
‘Mum hates her,’ he replied.
‘Who? Kayleigh?’
Rory nodded.
‘Oh, I doubt it,’ Colin said dismissively. ‘I doubt it verymuch. She just resents you spreading your wings, finding charms outside her tightly controlled little world. And she finds it easier to blame that on an outsider.’
Rory nodded again. He was probably right. ‘Do
you
like her?’ he said.
‘I barely know her.’
‘No. I know. But from what you’ve seen?’
His father narrowed his eyes at him, and took off his glasses. ‘I think,’ he began, rubbing the lenses of his glasses against the hem of his shirt, ‘that she is just what you need. Right now. But …’
‘What?’
‘But maybe not what you need for the rest of your life?’
‘Why not?’
‘Because she’s a drama queen. And drama queens are difficult to live with. They don’t want a quiet life. You’ll be left gasping in her wake …’
Rory absorbed this pronouncement. There was something thrilling about the concept of gasping in someone’s wake – it sounded better than being ‘set in aspic’ or ‘pickled in grief’ at least.
‘What was Mum like, when you met her?’
Colin replaced his glasses, picked up his glass of wine and smiled. ‘Incredible,’ he said. ‘Joyful. Glamorous. She looked like a model, hair down to her waist. Always smiling. Hundreds of friends. Always dancing, turning somersaults, doing cartwheels, hair everywhere, laughing, vibrant. It was like going out with … with
summer
.’
Rory had stopped breathing. His father’s face wascandescent. He’d never seen him look like that before.
‘And then,’ Colin continued, ‘well, you know, babies, more babies – it takes the edge off a bit.’
‘She thinks she’s still happy, you know?’
‘I know.’
‘Even though Rhys is dead.’
His father sighed. ‘I know.’
‘What are we going to do about it?’
Colin looked at him curiously. ‘I have no idea. How the hell do you help someone who insists on believing that she’s happy?’ He blew out his cheeks and sighed again. ‘To be honest, to be totally and
entirely
honest –’ he paused, then looked Rory directly in the eye – ‘I’ve kind of given up.’
He glanced away then, quickly, but not too fast for Rory to see the look of guilt and regret that passed across his face.
Colin drove them both to the airport two months later. Lorelei had said she was far too busy to come. Rory hadn’t even wanted to know why. She’d hugged him hard the last time he’d seen her and told him to have an incredible time, that she loved him, that she’d miss him, that she couldn’t wait to hear all about his adventures. It had
love
them.’
All four birth certificates were together, in a pale-blue folder marked ‘Kiddies’. There were other things in the folder: medical papers about the first few days of Rhys’s life, GP certificates, notes on vaccinations and four little plastic wrist bracelets with the words ‘Baby Bird’ on them, which struck Rory as rather charming.
His father suggested they meet in the pub. Said he could do with a change of scenery. Rory had never been to a pub with his dad before. He’d never even considered the possibility.
‘Well,’ said Colin, handing him the certificate, ‘I’m really, really happy you’re doing this. It’s been a long time coming. I feel like we’ve all been set in aspic these past years, pickling ourselves in grief. And Mum would never let us go away when you were all young, so, good on you.’
‘Remember Greece?’ said Rory, picking up his pint.
His dad laughed drily and rolled his eyes. ‘How could I forget? It took me years to get up the nerve to suggest it in the first place. Then those bloody burglars …’
‘Mum hates her,’ he replied.
‘Who? Kayleigh?’
Rory nodded.
‘Oh, I doubt it,’ Colin said dismissively. ‘I doubt it verymuch. She just resents you spreading your wings, finding charms outside her tightly controlled little world. And she finds it easier to blame that on an outsider.’
Rory nodded again. He was probably right. ‘Do
you
like her?’ he said.
‘I barely know her.’
‘No. I know. But from what you’ve seen?’
His father narrowed his eyes at him, and took off his glasses. ‘I think,’ he began, rubbing the lenses of his glasses against the hem of his shirt, ‘that she is just what you need. Right now. But …’
‘What?’
‘But maybe not what you need for the rest of your life?’
‘Why not?’
‘Because she’s a drama queen. And drama queens are difficult to live with. They don’t want a quiet life. You’ll be left gasping in her wake …’
Rory absorbed this pronouncement. There was something thrilling about the concept of gasping in someone’s wake – it sounded better than being ‘set in aspic’ or ‘pickled in grief’ at least.
‘What was Mum like, when you met her?’
Colin replaced his glasses, picked up his glass of wine and smiled. ‘Incredible,’ he said. ‘Joyful. Glamorous. She looked like a model, hair down to her waist. Always smiling. Hundreds of friends. Always dancing, turning somersaults, doing cartwheels, hair everywhere, laughing, vibrant. It was like going out with … with
summer
.’
Rory had stopped breathing. His father’s face wascandescent. He’d never seen him look like that before.
‘And then,’ Colin continued, ‘well, you know, babies, more babies – it takes the edge off a bit.’
‘She thinks she’s still happy, you know?’
‘I know.’
‘Even though Rhys is dead.’
His father sighed. ‘I know.’
‘What are we going to do about it?’
Colin looked at him curiously. ‘I have no idea. How the hell do you help someone who insists on believing that she’s happy?’ He blew out his cheeks and sighed again. ‘To be honest, to be totally and
entirely
honest –’ he paused, then looked Rory directly in the eye – ‘I’ve kind of given up.’
He glanced away then, quickly, but not too fast for Rory to see the look of guilt and regret that passed across his face.
Colin drove them both to the airport two months later. Lorelei had said she was far too busy to come. Rory hadn’t even wanted to know why. She’d hugged him hard the last time he’d seen her and told him to have an incredible time, that she loved him, that she’d miss him, that she couldn’t wait to hear all about his adventures. It had
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