Before

For a month Rebekah felt numb. In the evenings, after the girls had gone to bed and she was alone in the house, she would try to watch TV, or pick up a book, or distract herself with the laptop. She’d do anything to stop her mind slowly decamping to the one place she never wanted to go back to.

A stranger’s bedroom.

She took the girls to Prospect Park, letting them kick around in the leaves as they started to fall, and met friends she worked with at the hospital who also had kids. She and Gareth even took the girls, as a four, to a movie – although it proved a disaster, because Chloe cried through most of it, and Rebekah and Gareth both ended up losing their temper, shouting at the girls, then turning on each other. Keeping busy worked, though: she didn’t think about her mistake as often and, once she and Gareth had re-established the equanimity they’d entered since the split, her life drifted back to normal.

In the last week of October, as fall started to grip and the nights closed in, Rebekah invited Noella for dinner, and – as they were sitting at the table in the kitchen, drinking wine while chops sizzled under the grill – Rebekah almost confessed. She knew Noe wouldn’t judge her, that she would almost certainly say it was good for Rebekah, important to go out and have fun, to spend time doing the things that a single adult should be doing. She’d say, ‘Your daughters are the most important, most joyful thing you’ve done in your life, Bek, but when it comes to changing diapers and mopping up puke, everyone has their limits.’ But something about that night, the anonymity of drunken sex, just made Rebekah flush with shame.

‘Are you all right, hon?’

She looked up. ‘Yeah, I’m fine.’

‘You sure?’

Noe was eyeing her closely.

‘Yeah, absolutely,’ Rebekah said, and got up to check on the chops. When she’d finished, she glanced at Noe again. She was still looking at her as if she’d sensed something was up. Rebekah shrugged. ‘I guess I’ve been thinking a lot about Dad lately. I mean, it’ll be two years soon.’ She paused, barely able to meet Noe’s gaze, because it had been a lie, and a heartless one: she missed her dad so much, but she hadn’t been thinking about the anniversary of his death. ‘I can’t believe it’s gone so quickly.’

‘I know, hon,’ Noella said. ‘Anniversaries can be hard. People think the worst bit is when someone dies – but it’s not. I remember, after my mom passed, I cried my eyes out every time her birthday came round. I cried on Thanksgiving most years too, just cos I missed her mashed potatoes.’

Rebekah smiled, and then her gaze went to the doorway: Kyra had wandered in, her pink giraffe in her hands.

‘Ky, you’re supposed to be asleep.’

‘I’m not tired, Mommy.’

‘Come on, it’s bedtime.’

But Kyra went to Noe and slid her arms around her, hanging on for dear life, because even at two and a half, she knew how to play the delay game. ‘Hello, Aunty Noe,’ she said innocently, and Rebekah and Noella stifled grins.

‘Hey, honey.’

She squeezed Noe and Noe squeezed back.

‘Your mommy’s right, Ky. You don’t want to be tired in the morning, do you?’ Kyra buried her head even further into Noe’s belly.

‘Come on, missy, it’s bed,’ Rebekah said, and held out a hand.

Reluctantly, Kyra took it.

She left Noe to watch the chops and carried Kyra upstairs. A night light was scattering shadow animals across the ceiling. In the crib on the other side of the room, Chloe was sound asleep. Rebekah tucked Kyra in and, when she asked Rebekah to stay, she lay next to her daughter and began stroking her hair. It didn’t take long for Kyra to go quiet, her breathing changing, but Rebekah stayed there for a while, enjoying being so close to her girls. She heard Noe in the kitchen, finishing off a dinner she was supposed to have been a guest at, but Rebekah knew she wouldn’t mind.

Eventually, Rebekah slid off the mattress, kissed Kyra, pulled the door to and padded downstairs. As she did, she stopped at a photograph, mounted on the wall halfway down. It was of her, Johnny, Mike and their father, taken at the diner on Macdonald Avenue where they all used to meet, two weeks before Mike died. Looking at their faces, she felt another stab of guilt about the lie she’d told Noella earlier. When was the last time she actually had spent a moment remembering her dad? Maybe a week ago. Maybe two. But when was the last time she’d thought about Mike? A month ago? Two? Longer than that?

I need to forget about strangers, she thought, her gaze moving from her dad to Mike, and finally coming to rest on Johnny. It’s time to concentrate on the ones I love.