Hattie never crashed her car again because she was always with us.
It would begin with me agreeing to meet her for lunch. I would do my “jobs” that morning, my checklist that made people happy, that made me happy.
Then I’d take Hattie to a different restaurant in London. The South Bank, Mayfair, Fulham; a discreet table, good food. She would tell me about the baby and I would listen and tell her I loved her. Ask her to talk to me about Ed, reveal the ugly truth of him. I always persuaded her to come home with me.
Sometimes Dan would join us. I would look at the two of them and thank every star they had both come into my life. My true family. Then I’d cycle or walk or sit in the window seat at home, warming my hands over frothy coffee as Dan moved around the kitchen, as Hattie stroked Gus, or reading on days I couldn’t quite keep the act up in front of them both. A talk with Miles, a pep talk with Poppy. Everyone feeling more at ease. Ready to face things the next day.
My phone on silent, bleeping away to nobody from people I didn’t need in this new life.
I was sitting in the kitchen today, Gus nestled at my feet, hands wrapped around my mug, only the gentle tick of the gold sunflower filling the quiet. Dust motes danced in the shafts of winter sun as I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I’d warmed up from walking the kids to school, a nip in the air that had made me sink lower into my scarf. I relished the feel of Miles’s hand in mine as we ambled along. The warmth that infused me when I waved Poppy goodbye. Smiling as I listened to the shouts and giggles of the children in the playground as they bustled inside. I looked forward to my list of jobs, changing my routes some days to explore new London streets, appreciating the vivid red of an unseen wreath or a cheering Christmas tree hung with scrawled homemade decorations.
I returned from lunch with Hattie relaxed and happy. The kids would be home soon and today I didn’t feel like another game of Pictionary. It had been painful enough the second or third time but now I knew all the answers and had to remind myself to stop shouting out IRONING and FISHING BOAT after they’d drawn the first line. None of the other games appealed either. I’d emptied the attic, dusting off games we hadn’t played for years, or ever, rejected Christmas presents, trips to the charity shop.
Today I knew where we’d go.
“Let’s go ice-skating,” I said, beaming around the room, Hattie playing gin rummy with Miles. “I’ll order a cab; you tell Dad to be ready in five. His scarf and gloves are in the tote bag in the hall with yours. Hattie, I’ve got stuff you can borrow.”
“I should get back to Ed.”
“Call him,” I said, my voice tight, not wanting her to go through the pain of that day. Not if I could help her avoid it.
Miles leaned in to give her a hug, “Do come, Aunt Tattie,” he said, his pet name for her. She relented within seconds.
The Natural History Museum looked beautiful silhouetted in the twilight; dramatic colored lights softened the grand walls as we approached in a babbling group, Hattie linking arms with Poppy and Miles, her face content, the kids smiling. The outdoor rink was stunning; fairy lights hung in the trees that surrounded it, a kiosk selling mulled cider scented the whole place in sweetness. Bundled up in layers we got our skates on and wobbled onto the ice. Dan’s hand was firm in mine as we made our way around, growing in confidence with every circuit.
Miles was frightened at first, clinging to the sides or Hattie’s hand, but once he realized he could get round slowly he let go and, eyes wide, was seen passing us, legs rigid as he called out a hello, or spinning round grabbing Hattie’s waist until they ended up in a laughing heap on the ice. Poppy seemed completely comfortable; she really did have a talent for balance, dance, was able to control her limbs in a way I never could. As I watched her I vowed to encourage that side of her. The sounds of London faded to a blur as I listened to the scrape and sound of the rink, feeling Dan’s hand in mine.
A gift.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“Just that, this is pretty great, isn’t it? All this,” I said, throwing out one arm and wobbling as I did so.
“And . . .” he said, knowing me, knowing my brain often flew in a hundred different directions.
And I laughed. “It’s true. I really am just thinking that.”
“Well, me too,” he said, both of us moving in time together over the smooth surface, watching our children. He reached to kiss me, pulling my head closer with a scarf, making my insides tingle.
The creperie in South Kensington was almost closed as we powered through the doors, filling the small space with noise. The smells—bacon, and cheese and apple and chocolate—clashed in the air as I squeezed into the booth next to Hattie. These days I seemed to notice subtle smells, details in places I’d walked past a hundred times. I felt like Miles and Poppy when they were small, stopping on a pavement to point to a bug on the stone, a yellow-speckled leaf, a disused red postbox buried in an ivy-covered wall. When had I lost that appreciation of the smaller things? I noticed them now.
We ordered savory pancakes, enormous ice cream sundaes, chocolate sauce dribbling down the sides. Miles’s face lighter, a total contrast to the glum boy at breakfast. Hattie was making him laugh, two straws under her top lip, a walrus. Miles pretended to be too old, too mature to laugh at such things, and then couldn’t help dissolving when she clapped like a seal.
The taxi took us back home, and we dropped Hattie on the way, Ed twitching at the living room curtain.
I took her hands in mine just as she left the cab. “Go and get a bag. Stay with us.”
I didn’t say anything else, I didn’t have to. She paused, but only for a second, Dan tipping his head to one side in a question.
“All right,” she agreed. And she was in and out in minutes. I felt the relief, the same relief I felt every day that she was safe and home with us. An image of a crumpled car a little more faded. Her terrible scream now just a whimper in my memory.
“Onesies on. I’ll make popcorn,” I called as we all squeezed past the bike in the hallway.
“Emma, when is that woman coming to get this bloody thing?”
“Actually,” I said, “if it’s OK, I think I’m going to keep it.”
There was some vague debate over a film but I didn’t care. I could have watched anything. Too busy enjoying the heat from Dan’s body next to mine, our legs pressed together, Hattie curled in the armchair looking relaxed, Miles and Poppy cuddled into our sides. Blankets, cushions, the candles lit as the weather worsened outside. It was a haven of comfort.
Hattie yawned at the end, making her excuses to go to bed. The kids had stayed up way too late and she offered to take them up with her. Dan kissed them both good night, Poppy leaning in for a cuddle. Hattie almost had to carry Miles upstairs, his head dipping onto his chest with tiredness.
The room was quiet, a gurgle from a radiator, the gentle fizz of the candle.
“What a perfect day,” Dan said, resting his head back on the sofa.
I couldn’t speak for a second. A glow within me—it had been perfect, giving way to that bittersweet ache when I thought of what was about to happen. A few more droplets of sleet spattered the windows.
“What is it?” He smiled, opening one eye to assess me.
The temptation to tell him overcame me. I hadn’t told him, not since those early days when he had dismissed it all as a dream. But I wanted to share this with him, this enormous thing; I could feel my body leaden with my secret.
I reached across and held his hand. “Do you trust me?”
He nodded and I squeezed his fingers.
I took a breath. “You die. Tonight. And there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Believe me,” I said, a tiny laugh I didn’t feel, “I’ve tried to stop it.”
His eyebrows shot toward the sky. “I . . . die,” he said slowly.
I nod miserably.
“How?”
He listened in perfect silence as I told him what had been happening. That he died every night, that he died in our bed at the exact same time.
“What time?” he asked quietly.
I bit my lip. “10:17.”
His eyes widened, his mouth half-opening and then snapping shut. He couldn’t stop the glance at the clock over the mantelpiece, the math making him pause. Neither could I.
“You always die,” I continued. “No matter what I try and do, no matter if there is a doctor here, or you’re in the street, or you’re in the living room. It always ends the same way.”
I didn’t tell him about Hattie, I didn’t need or want to. He wouldn’t be run over tonight; she was safely upstairs now. But he would die. And she hadn’t started this. It would happen wherever he was, during whatever he was doing. I knew that now.
“I used to think I could stop it; it literally made me lose my head. But eventually it made me realize how much time I’ve wasted on the wrong things, the wrong people, when all I wanted was more time with you.”
He squeezed my hand as I forced myself to continue, despite his quiet, shocked face. I needed him to understand.
“We’ve had wonderful days,” I said, trying to swallow down the catch in my throat. “We’ve played for hours with our children, you’ve taught me how to tackle them in their own way, you’ve shown me how to be patient and loving.”
“Like today,” he said, his own eyes now filming with tears as he gripped me. “Today was perfect,” he said simply.
I nodded wordlessly, biting back the words I couldn’t help thinking: tomorrow someone will press the Reset button and I will need to find the energy to do it all over again. To live in the present, to live in a world where he is still alive.
I don’t know whether he truly believed me but he was quiet for a long time. And then, without saying anything else, he took my hand and we walked upstairs together. As we lay down on our bed and he held me close to him, I felt myself relax, limbs loosening, thankful to have shared it all with him. I could feel his warm breath on my hair, his hands on my skin, and that was the last thing I remember before I fell asleep.