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

‘No.’ At her quizzical look I said, ‘I feel almost…sorry for him.’

‘For Quin?’

‘Claire. I know he seems confident and, I guess, privileged? In some ways he is. But in others, he’s insecure, he’s easily wounded. I don’t hate him at all.’

‘Even though he slept with your one with the red face?’

‘That was…hard. But hurt people hurt people.’

She shook her head. ‘Christ, Rachel…I’d want to fucking kill him.’

Speaking of which…‘How are things with you and Adam?’

Claire paused, one hefty hiking boot planted on a rock for stability, and smiled. ‘Me and Adam…yeaaaah. He’s…’ Another dreamy smile. ‘Great.’

‘So you don’t hate him any more?’

Sharply, she said, ‘I love him.’

God’s sake! It was impossible to keep up.

‘It wasn’t for us, the swinging,’ she said. ‘Things were quite dicey there for a while. But we’re back on track—sex three times a year—and at least we tried.’

84

The next morning, it wasn’t even 7 a.m. when I woke. A Sunday, I’d a busy day planned: first a sunrise yoga class, then an NA meeting, then Margaret’s birthday brunch, even though we shouldn’t call it ‘brunch’, Claire said, because what were we, a Shower of Basics?

While I pulled on my yoga leggings (which were the same as all my other leggings), I went to the bedroom window and once again looked down at Yara’s tree. ‘Bloom,’ I begged her. ‘Please. What is taking you so long?’

Suddenly it hit me that I’d made peace with not having had other children.

It was the gardening, I realized. Over the past few years, those long hours where I’d been fixed in one place, with no distractions from my own thoughts, paying witness to life, death and a form of resurrection, had forced me to grieve, then eventually—slowly, gradually—to heal.

My gratitude was immense, so much so that it made me dizzy. I lay back down for several minutes, in order to absorb it.

Eventually I got moving again and was rummaging in my drawer, hunting for anti-slip socks, when my phone beeped with a text—someone was awake early.

Just checking…that you haven’t forgotten to send me photos of Yara’s tree. L x

As if. I’d been standing at the tree, almost muttering incantations, to bring on the flowers.

Haven’t forgotten, but it’s taking forever. Maybe next week? Fingers crossed x

Breathlessly, I watched the phone, waiting for a reply.

Send a pic today anyway? x

K. Or I could FaceTime you rn? Give you not-very-exciting action shots? x

Do it! X

As I raced down the stairs and out into the garden, desperately pressing icons, Luke’s face appeared on screen.

‘Hey.’ I was thrilled by the sight of him.

‘Hey, yourself.’ He looked shy. ‘Is this okay?’