difficult today.’
‘I shouldn’t have said that thing about your moral compass.’ He wiped his hands on a tea towel draped over one shoulder and then reached for the pepper mill. ‘I’m always saying stupid things. You should just ignore me.’
‘Don’t be daft. Are you okay?’
‘Just need to get these steaks on.’
‘No, I meant—’
‘I’m fine.’ He threw a couple of pinches of salt onto the steaks.
‘Do you mind going back and keeping Luke company? I’m nearly done.’
She glanced back towards the living room and hesitated.
‘I won’t be long.’
‘Everything all right?’ Luke asked as she rejoined him.
‘Yes, all under control.’
‘I was looking at your wedding photo. You both look so young. Did you meet at university?’
‘We were at different places but met while we were both students. He was studying photography and media studies at East Anglia and I did natural sciences at Cambridge.’
She thought back to the day she met Will. He was so very different to the boys she’d been out with before; he drank wine, not beer, had longish scruffy blond hair, wore faded blue jeans and a crumpled pink shirt, and his well-bred accent was softened with a laid-back confidence. She’d have written him off as a vacuous posh boy if it hadn’t been for his smile – wide and open and honest, it sucked her in from that very first moment.
‘We bumped into each other. Literally. He was listening to music, not looking where he was going, of course, and I was late for a lecture and we collided.’ Harmony smiled. ‘My stuff went everywhere and he helped to pick it up then insisted I go to the pub with him. He was easy to talk to and I felt very relaxed with him.’ Luke nodded in agreement, as if this was also his experience of Will.
‘I kept wishing my mother was alive to meet him.’ She smiled.
‘She died when you were young?’
‘I was twelve.’
‘Losing someone close is incredibly hard.’
‘Have you lost someone close?’
He nodded, visibly wincing with remembered grief. ‘My wife. Eighteen months ago.’
‘I’m so sorry. What happened?’
‘She was killed in a car crash. She swerved into oncoming traffic and hit a lorry. He said she came from nowhere.’
‘Oh my God,’ breathed Harmony. ‘How awful.’
He smiled briefly and then looked back down at his glass. His face seemed to set, his lips became tight and she could see him turning thoughts over in his head, submerged in memories. Death did that, crept up, brought unwanted recollections at the slightest trigger: a turn of phrase, a song, a smell even. Sitting there watching him quietly process his grief, she found herself thinking of her mother’s death. She remembered climbing the stairs that lunchtime, carefully carrying a bowl of tomato soup, which was all her mother could eat by then, trying not to let the bright orange liquid spill. She set the bowl on the bedside table and rested a hand on her mother’s bony shoulder.
‘Mum?’ she said softly. ‘I’ve got your lunch.’
There’d been no movement, and as Harmony looked at her mother, lips parted as if about to speak, she realised something was different. A calm had settled over her like a fine silk cloth. Her face was relaxed, lacking its usual pained tautness. Harmony had taken hold of her hand and turned it over, traced her finger along the crease that crossed her palm, her lifeline, strong and pronounced, no breaks at all, no warning her life would end at thirty-six, a dishonest line. Then she laid her cheek on her mother’s upturned hand.
‘Is she dead?’
Harmony lifted her head to see her sister in the open doorway with her arms crossed. ‘Yes,’ Harmony said. ‘I think so.’
Her sister nodded and walked over to the bed. She bent and kissed their mother’s forehead, pausing for a moment, her eyes tightly closed, then she reached for the bowl of soup and without saying a word she took it back downstairs.
Harmony looked up at Luke.
‘I shouldn’t have said that thing about your moral compass.’ He wiped his hands on a tea towel draped over one shoulder and then reached for the pepper mill. ‘I’m always saying stupid things. You should just ignore me.’
‘Don’t be daft. Are you okay?’
‘Just need to get these steaks on.’
‘No, I meant—’
‘I’m fine.’ He threw a couple of pinches of salt onto the steaks.
‘Do you mind going back and keeping Luke company? I’m nearly done.’
She glanced back towards the living room and hesitated.
‘I won’t be long.’
‘Everything all right?’ Luke asked as she rejoined him.
‘Yes, all under control.’
‘I was looking at your wedding photo. You both look so young. Did you meet at university?’
‘We were at different places but met while we were both students. He was studying photography and media studies at East Anglia and I did natural sciences at Cambridge.’
She thought back to the day she met Will. He was so very different to the boys she’d been out with before; he drank wine, not beer, had longish scruffy blond hair, wore faded blue jeans and a crumpled pink shirt, and his well-bred accent was softened with a laid-back confidence. She’d have written him off as a vacuous posh boy if it hadn’t been for his smile – wide and open and honest, it sucked her in from that very first moment.
‘We bumped into each other. Literally. He was listening to music, not looking where he was going, of course, and I was late for a lecture and we collided.’ Harmony smiled. ‘My stuff went everywhere and he helped to pick it up then insisted I go to the pub with him. He was easy to talk to and I felt very relaxed with him.’ Luke nodded in agreement, as if this was also his experience of Will.
‘I kept wishing my mother was alive to meet him.’ She smiled.
‘She died when you were young?’
‘I was twelve.’
‘Losing someone close is incredibly hard.’
‘Have you lost someone close?’
He nodded, visibly wincing with remembered grief. ‘My wife. Eighteen months ago.’
‘I’m so sorry. What happened?’
‘She was killed in a car crash. She swerved into oncoming traffic and hit a lorry. He said she came from nowhere.’
‘Oh my God,’ breathed Harmony. ‘How awful.’
He smiled briefly and then looked back down at his glass. His face seemed to set, his lips became tight and she could see him turning thoughts over in his head, submerged in memories. Death did that, crept up, brought unwanted recollections at the slightest trigger: a turn of phrase, a song, a smell even. Sitting there watching him quietly process his grief, she found herself thinking of her mother’s death. She remembered climbing the stairs that lunchtime, carefully carrying a bowl of tomato soup, which was all her mother could eat by then, trying not to let the bright orange liquid spill. She set the bowl on the bedside table and rested a hand on her mother’s bony shoulder.
‘Mum?’ she said softly. ‘I’ve got your lunch.’
There’d been no movement, and as Harmony looked at her mother, lips parted as if about to speak, she realised something was different. A calm had settled over her like a fine silk cloth. Her face was relaxed, lacking its usual pained tautness. Harmony had taken hold of her hand and turned it over, traced her finger along the crease that crossed her palm, her lifeline, strong and pronounced, no breaks at all, no warning her life would end at thirty-six, a dishonest line. Then she laid her cheek on her mother’s upturned hand.
‘Is she dead?’
Harmony lifted her head to see her sister in the open doorway with her arms crossed. ‘Yes,’ Harmony said. ‘I think so.’
Her sister nodded and walked over to the bed. She bent and kissed their mother’s forehead, pausing for a moment, her eyes tightly closed, then she reached for the bowl of soup and without saying a word she took it back downstairs.
Harmony looked up at Luke.
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