“Fuck off,” I yell. “You and your bloody brother can fuck off. I wish your whole damned family would fuck off and die.” I swing my arm up to slap him and only remember the clippers in my hand as they connect, slicing at the side of his face.

He staggers back, his hand over the cut, and I clap my own hand over my mouth as if I could swallow the words back down.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I never meant…” I drop the clippers and they land in a pile of leaves and broken twigs.

“What the hell is going on?”

I turn to see Greg marching toward us.

“I could hear shouting and screaming from back up at the house. And I come out here and see my own son chasing down a girl?” He stops. “What happened to your face?” he asks Sean.

Sean half turns away from me, his shoulders hunched. His foot kicks the clippers farther into the undergrowth. “It’s fine. I cut my face on a branch. It was a game.”

“A game?” Greg says, looking from Sean to me. “Tess doesn’t look like she’s enjoying your game very much.” He reaches out a hand to me. “Come on, Tess, come on back to the house. I’ll get you a drink and give you a lift home. Leave Sean to his games.”

I hesitate, looking back at Sean, but whatever was going on, the moment has passed. I want to apologize again, explain I forgot I had the clippers in my hand. I did, I really did. But he’s scowling at me again, all sneering hostility. I tighten my lips and take Greg’s hand.

NOW

Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Max and Lena are back. Lena doesn’t seem to care how much work she’s missing, but I’m surprised by Max—Max, who’s so ambitious that he combined his first visit to see Julia with a work thing. But perhaps they sense, like me, that time’s running out. They’ve already been up to see Julia and now we’re sitting in the garden in the early spring sunshine. We’ve made it to March. We’ve made it through the dark of winter. Soon the clocks will change. I went through the house yesterday, putting all the clocks right. I noticed this morning, though, that some of them have already lost time. And things aren’t right, there’s none of the anticipation spring should bring. It’s not warm enough to go out without coats, but I think they feel it too, the heaviness of impending death. I tried to persuade Dad to sit out with us—he seems to be shrinking under the weight of it and it frightens me that he might fade when Julia dies, sucked dry by the presence of death.