Fresh sadness hits me, as does guilt at my initial irritation.

“I’ll be around ASAP.”

I’m reminded of how much I enjoy being needed, although not taken for granted. There is a difference. Stuart and I have a clean slate. I must tread carefully, though, because by making myself so available to Nina and her family, it fueled my discontent in the first place.

Two

There are moments when I genuinely forget until silence hits. Even then, it’s not hard to imagine that Nina’s nipped out for a sprig of rosemary, gone to chat with the holiday-cottage guests, or—later on—is upstairs resting. The locksmith was efficient and quick, he didn’t even accept the coffee I offered him. He said that whoever had tried to break in couldn’t have been that determined. The damage was minimal.

I never enter any rooms in her house (it’s still her home to me) unless I have to, but today, it feels like there’s something I need to get over with.

I go for it. I rush upstairs. My heart quickens, cringing at the thought of being caught out, despite having a plausible story at the ready. I push open the door to her room. Their bedroom. Now just Stuart’s. Evidence is everywhere that he still sleeps here. I had wondered. Their place is so large, too large really, he could easily have moved. Yet, he hasn’t.

There’s something heart-wrenching about the way he’s spread his belongings out, as if by doing so he’ll disguise Nina’s absence. The last time I was in here, Nina made me make promises. It gave me goose bumps: the intensity in her expression as she refused to break eye contact, the urgency of the way she grabbed my wrist as I stood up to leave.

“Please, Marie. No matter what, make sure everyone remembers the kind of person I truly was.”

It was the first time she’d used the past tense. I think that’s when it actually hit me, that’s when I knew she was going to die, because if she believed it, then I must, too. There was no one else she could turn to, not really, because I was the only person who understood the intricacies of her life. Our friendship was forged when we were at primary school. Still, I wish I’d listened better even though it took all of my self-control to remain strong while I agreed to all she asked without pushing for a proper explanation.

I sit down on a white wicker chair in the corner, folding one of Stuart’s ties over the armrest. It slithers to the floor. I used to pull this seat up, close to Nina’s side of the bed. I read to her on the days she was too tired to talk properly. I thought Nina would prefer uplifting stories; however, she said it gave her strange comfort to experience fear in an alternative way to her reality, so we stuck to crime and horror.

I’m grateful for those peaceful memories. I tried not to overwhelm her because there were so many genuine offers of help, despite the feeling of shared helplessness. Nina absorbed all the love and care, meanwhile I tried not to betray my utter devastation and frustration at the unfairness of the situation.