She does not know how long she stands there, staring into that empty space, but it is only as her eyes begin to tire that she wipes her fingers across her face and discovers the tears streaking her cheeks.

Chapter 19

Audrey

Audrey pulled the duvet tight around her shoulders, wishing she could erase the memory of Jess’s hatred. For thirteen years, every time she had been tempted to plan another family reunion, she had remembered the wrath with which Jess had issued her warning: If you ever pull another stunt like this, I will never let you see Mia again. I mean it.

Her memory wound back to the day she had run across Barnsbury Square, past police cars and curious neighbors, into the sitting room to find shock and grief printed indelibly on Jess’s face, to discover that her husband was dead and that it had been her eleven-year-old-daughter who had found him. She remembered how, throughout that bewildering afternoon—Lily’s arrival home, the questions from the police, the explanations of a procedure over which Audrey had no control—a single thought had gone around and around in her mind: Nothing bad shall ever happen to my children again.

Audrey’s head felt heavy with the knowledge of her own failure. She had not been able to protect them, then or now.

She pulled the duvet up to her chin as she remembered the day nearly seven months ago when she’d been given her original diagnosis. Ever since, only one thing had been guaranteed to send panic pulsing through her veins: the thought of leaving Lily and Jess behind. It was not life Audrey was terrified of losing but her family.

Nothing bad shall ever happen to my children again.

Audrey opened her eyes, sat up in bed, turned on the bedside light, and blinked into its glow.

She wouldn’t tell them. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t tell any of them about the new prognosis or how little time she had left. She would spare them the sound of the clock ticking loudly in their ears for the next few months.

Reaching for the pillows on the empty side of the bed, she put them behind her head and leaned back. She thought again about the day her granddaughters had played together in her garden, how brief their enjoyment had been yet how deep, how satisfying. And then she pictured again—as she had so many times before—the scene of her funeral: Lily and Jess standing on opposite sides of the grave, avoiding one another, the atmosphere thick with animosity. Her granddaughters eyeing each other warily, wanting to speak but knowing it was forbidden.

As the first dawn light began to creep around the edge of the curtains, Audrey pulled her dressing gown around her narrow shoulders and, pushing aside the memory of the last time she had attempted to reconcile her family, began to think of all the ways in which she might bring them back together before it was too late.