BooksBarbecue
Back Again, Rachel
Chapters (98)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. 64
  68. 65
  69. 66
  70. 67
  71. 68
  72. 69
  73. 70
  74. 71
  75. 72
  76. 73
  77. 74
  78. 75
  79. 76
  80. 77
  81. 78
  82. 79
  83. 80
  84. 81
  85. 82
  86. 83
  87. 84
  88. 85
  89. 86
  90. 87
  91. 88
  92. 89
  93. 90
  94. 91
  95. 92
  96. 93
  97. 94
  98. Acknowledgements

But downstairs, because his TV was embedded in some sophisticated audio-visual set-up, I couldn’t switch it on. Honest to Christ, what good was it that I could—in theory—get nine hundred channels in surround sound if I couldn’t access one simple episode of Brooklyn 99 to distract my grieving heart?

I decided to go home. At least there, technology didn’t laugh at me.

Meanwhile, a text had arrived from Claire during the night: FYI, the birthday girl’s got the bit between her teeth about inviting Luke to her party.

Ah, no! My fragile acceptance was a long way from happily watching Luke Costello eating mushroom vol-au-vents in the thick of the Walshes, being quizzed by Auntie Imelda on my many failings.

As soon as I got home, I tripped over Devin’s boots in the hall—which tumbled me into thinking about Luke again. For a moment I wanted to ring him because he was the only other person on earth who knew exactly how I felt.

Instead, I gathered Crunchie to me. We snuggled under a blanket, listening to Nigel Slater read his Kitchen Diaries. I was hoping his calm voice would soothe me enough to doze off again, but not today. Then I remembered there was an NA meeting at seven thirty on Sunday mornings in Bray, I might as well have a shower and go.

The turnout in Bray’s parish centre was very small—only eight of us.

‘Because the clocks went forward,’ someone said. ‘The usual crowd will turn up in an hour.’

Oh, right. Summer time had officially arrived. How had I missed it? Because my head was full of the past, obviously.

When it was my turn to share, I did a quick recap on what had happened yesterday. ‘I wish I could time travel,’ I said. ‘To when I was pregnant. And just magically avert whatever made my baby’s heart stop beating. I want to go back and rescue the three of us.’ Suddenly I was crying so hard, I could barely speak. Tissues came my way from all quarters of the room.

When I could talk again, I said, ‘I’ve been lucky, I’ve—mostly—accepted it. But seeing Luke again, it’s churned up a lot of painful feelings and I’d like to sleep for a month. Or disappear into something like Big Little Lies, except I’ve already seen it twice.’

As soon as the meeting ended, I got a lot of advice—some of it very specific. ‘Have you seen Ozark? Oh, right, how about Mad Men? The Fall? Breaking Bad? Obvious one, this, but The Sopranos?’

I’d already watched everything the man suggested and my eyes were becoming glassy.

‘Tin Star?’ he said.