Chapter 29 Kate 
ALNWICK, ENGLAND | DECEMBER 2010
When Audrey told Kate about the bombing of Hitler’s car, Kate’s body had run cold, her systems paused, as though everything inside her needed a moment of respite. She feels similarly as she finishes her own story, finally surrendering it into Audrey’s keeping.
“The other driver was fine. He was in a lorry. The only witness was the driver of a car far behind us. She said we both tried to change lanes at the same time. But I didn’t. I drifted because I wasn’t paying attention.” More tears fall, coursing down the length of the scar on her cheek, a river of regret. “We’d just started to tell people I was pregnant. And every time we looked at each other in the weeks and months afterward, we just saw the child we were supposed to have. Blamed each other for everything.” She blows her swollen nose. “We stuck it out for a while, into the summer, but when the, er, when the due date came round, that was really the end of it, I think. All that loss, just…” Her mind casts out for the right words, comes back to what Audrey had said: an incomparable guilt. “We couldn’t bridge the gap it made. We weren’t enough for each other anymore. And I think there just wasn’t enough will left in either of us to try.”
Audrey watches her as she wrestles against the pain. “Countless relationships have broken down under far less strain than that, dear,” she says. “Do not be too harsh with yourself. You’ve said your marriage was never perfect. A cracked foundation doesn’t stand a chance against an earthquake like that.”
“It just…” Kate shifts in her chair. “I’m such a careful person. I plan ahead, I calculate. I don’t take risks. I pride myself on not making a lot of mistakes. I spent a lifetime like that, careful and meticulous, and I slip just once, once, Audrey, and…” She splays her hands out, palms up, beseeching. “I killed all of them. It’s all on me—”
She dissolves entirely now, sinking into the darkness. This time it’s Audrey who reaches for Kate’s hand and holds it until Kate is ready to come back to the surface.
Eventually her sobs slow, and Audrey passes her a tissue.
“You made a mistake,” Audrey says. “And it won’t be your last, no matter how hard you try. But so much was out of your control: your parents’ inebriation. The lorry being in the next lane at that very moment. The rain.” Kate looks into her eyes, bright green into faded grey. Audrey shakes her head. “There isn’t any plan, Kate,” she says gently. “For you or me or anyone else. There never was. Life is a game of inches. Nothing more or less than that. I survived the war. Others didn’t. You survived the crash. They didn’t. There is no rhyme or reason to chance. It just is.”
Kate lets the thought settle. “It’s so hard to think of it that way,” she says. “It’s so—”
“Frightening.”
“Yeah. It just… Sometimes it’s all I can think about—that I’m here, and they’re not. And why. Why?”
She hears Ian’s voice in her head. There’s no cheating it, no making sense of it.
“I know, dear,” Audrey says. “That’s the price of survival.”
Kate swallows hard. “Ian said something similar. About him and Doug.”
“And he’s quite right.”
Ozzie and Sophie have gone back to sleep, curled together on the dog bed. Kate glances at the clock by the doorway to the foyer.
“Shit,” she says. “I’m meant to be having lunch with him. He’s picking me up in fifteen. I’ll just ring him and tell him—”
“You will do no such thing,” Audrey says, blinking Kate back into focus.
“But this isn’t the time,” Kate says, brow furrowed. “We can easily go tomorrow. After everything we just—”
“There’s never a right time, dear. For anything. Besides, we’re here to record my past, but not at the expense of your enjoyable present,” Audrey says with half a smile. “And your future, for that matter. He’s falling in love with you, you know.”
Kate’s stomach flips.
Audrey eyes her pointedly. “You haven’t told him all this, have you?”
“Not all of it.”
“You’re going to have to.”
“I know. I don’t know if I can today. But I will soon. I promise.”
They sit together in the tall chairs by the fire for another few minutes. The exhaustion that follows emotional release has begun to set in on both of them. Audrey is staring off out the window, her eyelids heavy. But Kate feels closer to her than ever, as though some clouded veil that hung between them has lifted.
“Go be with that boy, Kate,” Audrey says with a sigh. “You still have so much ahead of you. Make the most of it, I beg you.”
“Okay, if you’re sure.” She scrutinizes Audrey’s face. “But you’re a bit pale.”
“I’m fine,” Audrey says. “Just tired. And don’t Old Lady me. I’ve made it through more than one snowy afternoon alone. I assure you, I’ll manage.”
“There,” Ian says, replacing the shovel. Kate steps forward to kiss him. The butterflies in her stomach are swirling in a cyclone of emotion and hormones, and a minute later she pulls away from him, though it’s clear he could have gone on like that for at least another hour.
“Was that about the shovelling?” he asks. “Because if it was, I’ll happily go back and do the whole car park twice.” He turns to leave.
Kate smiles, pulls his arm. “Come on. I need to make dinner for Audrey. She looked a bit peaky when I left her earlier.”
She’d gone out as Audrey insisted, and was, in the end, glad she did. It was a welcome reprieve from the gravity of their conversation. She needed to air out her thoughts in the crisp December afternoon as she and Ian ate their lunch in the cozy warmth of the Barter’s cafe, then wandered down the high street for a long while nursing takeaway coffees. She hadn’t told him how weighty her morning had been. There was time for that later. What she needed was to hold his hand and talk about inconsequential things, topics that weren’t life or death or loss, and remember that she could, in fact, have a future. And maybe a future with him.
They step over the threshold into the comfort of the Oakwood entryway, and Kate startles at Ozzie’s bark from the floor above. He’s not usually a barker.
“Oz?” Kate calls. “What’s up?” Another three barks.
“What’s he doing?” Ian asks.
“I’m not sure,” she mutters, making for the stairs. A sense of unease hits her as she sprints up the staircase. Ozzie is whining outside Audrey’s room.
“Ozzie, what’s wrong?” She darts down the hall, aware of Ian’s presence close on her heels. Audrey’s door is open and she looks in. “Oh my God! Oh my God! Audrey?”
Audrey is flat on her back on the woven tan rug beside the bed. Her chest is rising and falling in ragged breaths as tears slip from the corners of her eyes back into her white temples.
“Call an ambulance,” Kate says, but Ian is already dialing.
A moment later he’s giving the address to a dispatcher. Audrey clutches at Kate’s hands.
“You’re okay,” Kate says. “You’re going to be fine. We’re here, Audrey. We’re right here with you. We’ve got you.”
But she’s lying, of course. In moments like this, there is nothing but fear. Cold and searing and all-consuming. When we don’t know what’s coming next, or if there will even be a next. There is only this moment, this rotten grip of terror, as the people we love lie to our faces because they are just as afraid of the truth as we are.
“You’re going to be fine,” Kate says again.
Glass exploding like a bomb full of diamonds.
Blood on the leather car seats. Her mother’s face, white and red and grey.
“You’re going to be fine.”
Kate and Ian sit side by side in the waiting room at the hospital emergency department, fingers entwined on Ian’s knee. They’ve been here for an hour and a half. Audrey was taken into triage within minutes of her arrival, but they haven’t heard from a nurse or doctor since.
“She’s going to be okay,” Ian says, squeezing her hand in reassurance.
Kate manages a small smile of gratitude, but her stomach churns. She spent most of the ride with her eyes shut against the lights of the ambulance in front of them, wondering whether Audrey would even make it to the hospital alive. She hasn’t been inside a hospital since the accident, and it’s taking everything she’s got to stay calm.
“Did you get a hold of Sue?” she asks.
“Couldn’t reach her, but I left a message.”
Another half hour passes before a doctor emerges from behind the swinging doors of the ER.
“Kate Mercer?” he asks. He’s balding extensively, and the harsh lighting reflects off his forehead.
Ms. Mercer? We’re going to need to ask you a few questions…
“Yes,” Kate says, swatting away the memories that keep pecking at her brain. She releases Ian’s hand and stands up. “How is she?”
The doctor’s expression is serious behind his round glasses. “She’s stable. It’s a bit of an odd thing,” he says. “She presented as a heart attack, but the ECG showed no indication of a cardiac event.”
Kate feels the clench in her own chest loosen slightly at his words. “Oh. Well that’s good, right?”
“Generally, yes,” he says. A doctor is paged over the intercom. “We examined her medical history, and based on that, and what she’s told us, we ran some tests to determine whether the chest pain and the fall might have been related to the cancer. But we can’t see any indication of a connection.”
A wave of cold ripples down Kate’s body from her head to her legs. Beside her, Ian nods at the doctor, slides one arm around her waist.
“I’m sorry, the what?”
“The cancer. She’s named you both as her next of kin, Ms. Mercer. You are aware that she has a terminal case?”
Kate’s mouth has gone dry. “I, er…”
“She declined any chemotherapy or radiation months ago. She’s on medication now to keep her comfortable. But we still don’t think this is related. Ruling out other possibilities, I’m wondering whether this might have been psychosomatic. A panic attack, of sorts. Do you know if she’s prone to them, or has been under any particular sort of stress lately?”
Kate stares at him. “Other than a terminal diagnosis, you mean?”
The doctor nods. “Something more acute that might have triggered this episode. Something out of the ordinary.”
This is all Kate’s fault. “We’ve had some difficult conversations lately.”
“Can a panic attack do something like this though?” Ian asks. “Seems a bit extreme.”
The doctor nods again. “Often panic attacks are mistaken for, and mimic, heart attacks. Chest pain, sweating, rapid heart rate, et cetera. It can be frightening for the patient, and the stress and fear can exacerbate the symptoms in a cyclical way,” he says. “But when we rule out clinical explanations for the symptoms, that’s pretty much what we’re left with.”
“Can we see her?” Kate asks. “Is she awake?”
“Yes. Come on through. We’re going to keep her here overnight to monitor her, as a precaution, given her age and health situation. But I suspect we’ll discharge her in the morning.”
They follow the doctor through the swinging doors into another brightly lit corridor. Kate hurries along behind him with Ian at her side, her mind blank. They turn several corners before the doctor stops outside a patient room and gestures for them to go in. He hurries off, but they remain in the hallway.
“She’s terminal?” Kate whispers to Ian.
A nurse passes by, pumps a squirt of hand sanitizer into his palm from the dispenser on the wall, and nods somberly at them. Kate’s nostrils fill with the chemical scent of illness.
Ian looks at her, face drawn in the shadow of the overhead lights, and something about the pity in his eyes makes her pause.
“Did you know?” she asks him.
He sighs. “Yeah. I did.”
Kate takes a step back, stung. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He shoves his hands into his trouser pockets. “I’m sorry. She told me in confidence, and I thought—”
“You know how close I’ve gotten to her,” Kate hisses. “You know what she means to me, Ian.” She’s fighting back tears now. “Why would you keep this from me? How long have you known?”
Ian shrugs. “A month or two, I guess. Sometime back in the fall. She pulled me into the office and told me.”
Kate bites down on her bottom lip as she recalls that day Ian came out of Audrey’s office looking upset.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I am.”
“Did she tell you not to tell me?”
Ian shakes his head. “No. But you’d only just arrived.”
“And what about after?” Kate fires back, blinking hard. Her mobile buzzes in her purse. She ignores it.
“Kate,” Ian says, stepping toward her again. She’s inclined to push him away, but doesn’t. “I think this is a conversation you need to have with her, not me.”
She takes a deep breath. “Fine. Yeah.”
“Let’s just go talk to her.”
Kate leads the way into the room. There’s no one in the bed nearest the door, but Audrey is lying awake, propped up in the bed on the far side of the room. Her hair is a little disheveled, frizzing around her head, and the blue hospital gown sags on her shoulders. Kate wonders whether it’s the effect of the hospital bed that makes her appear so diminished and small, or whether she’d just been blind to it before.
“Hello,” Audrey says with a sigh.
“Audrey.” Kate reaches for her hand. Ian takes a seat on the other side of the bed.
Audrey takes one of Ian’s hands, too, and squeezes them both gently. “I’m sorry I gave you both such a turn,” she says, frowning. “This is utterly embarrassing. They say I didn’t even have a proper heart attack. Distress, or some such stupid thing.”
“I’m so sorry, Audrey,” Kate says. “The things we’ve been talking about, I never should have pushed you to do it.”
Audrey fixes Kate with a look that is somehow both tender and condescending. “Kate. I would expect that you would understand me well enough now to know that I never would have relayed my story to you if I didn’t truly want to.”
Kate swallows hard, grips Audrey’s hand tighter.
“So,” Audrey continues, “before you go getting any silly ideas, I will tell you straightaway that this is not your fault.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Kate sees Ian glance over at her. “Okay. If you say so.”
“I do.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about the cancer?” Kate asks.
Audrey looks at Ian, then back at Kate. “I’m sorry, dear.”
“How long have you known?”
“About a year. They told me it was a done deal a few months ago.”
Ian is staring at a spot on Audrey’s hospital blanket, eyes unfocused.
“How much time do you have, then?” Kate asks.
Audrey shrugs. “They’re not sure. But I think long enough to finish our chats, anyway. And I would like to, now we’ve come so far.” She pinches her lips.
The tears slip from the corners of Kate’s eyes now. “Okay.”
“Ian,” Audrey says, looking up at him. “Would you be a dear and go fetch me some ice chips? It’s drier than rye toast in here.”
“Sure,” he says, blinking. “Back in a few.”
Audrey watches him leave, but Kate keeps her eyes on her friend.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Audrey says.
“Ian didn’t either.”
“He and I have such a history. He’s as good as a grandson to me, as you know. And when I told him, you and I didn’t have, well… what we have now.”
“Yeah. That’s what he said.”
“And he’s right. But I suppose, over the past while…” She reaches for Kate’s other hand. “You’ve had so much loss, Kate. I suppose I felt badly adding to your burden.”
A single tear slides down Audrey’s cheek, faltering a little on the deep crevices in her mottled skin.
“Now then,” she says. “The pair of you should go. Get a good night’s sleep. You look exhausted.”
“I don’t want to leave you.” Kate’s voice cracks on a swollen throat. “And I don’t want you to leave me.”
Audrey smiles tightly. “I’d said you could stay on until Christmas. I think I can extend your contract now, if you’d like. It seems to have worked out.”
A watery, reluctant laugh escapes Kate. She nods.
Audrey cups her wet cheek. “I’m not dying tonight. I’ll still be here tomorrow. We’ll talk then.”
“And then what?” Kate asks.
“Well, you shall have me until you don’t, and we’ll just have to make the most of the time we have left, won’t we?”
The next morning, Kate wakes to a scratchy sensation on her hand. She blinks several times in the dim light, her brain sluggish to rouse itself. A brown blob comes into view before Kate reaches for her glasses on the bedside table.
“Oh, Oz,” she mutters. “I know. We’re late for breakfast, aren’t we?”
Beside her, Ian turns over onto his side, stretches his bare arms up over his head. “Morning.”
Kate smiles at him. “Morning.”
After he’d driven her back to the Oakwood from the hospital, Kate had led him inside and up the stairs, and for the first time in a long while, she felt like she was on the right path. It wasn’t fully illuminated yet, she couldn’t see very far ahead, but she knew she should hold true and see where it led. Live her life.
It was strange, though, to see anyone other than her husband in bed next to her, like a remake of a film with new actors. But sleeping with Ian was the first excitement she’d felt in months. Under his soft and meticulous touch, she felt as though she was thawing, that it was finally spring after a year of winters. It gave her hope, and made her wonder what kind of heat the summer could bring.
“Should I make us some breakfast?” she asks Ian now.
He runs a hand through her hair and shifts his hips a little closer. She knows he wants her again, and the knowledge sends warmth through her whole body.
“Trying to get rid of me so fast?” he teases.
“No. But Audrey’s going to be discharged this morning and I’ll need to be ready to go get her.”
“Not alone, I’ll come, too,” Ian says.
The realization that he doesn’t want to leave her, that he cares for both her and Audrey, hits her so hard that her heart starts to race.
Ian holds her gaze for a moment. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m all right, I guess. Processing.”
“Do you think…” Ian starts. “Do you think you’ll have enough time to finish? For her to tell you the rest of the story?”
Kate’s nose starts to tickle. “I hope so. I still don’t know how it all ends.” She’s desperate to know what happened to Ilse, and to Audrey’s hands. How she ended up here in the first place.
“The good news is you get to be there for that bit.”
“What bit?”
“The end.”
Ian reaches a hand up, runs his thumb gently along the scar on her cheek, then kisses her temple. She wraps her arms around him and holds on to his body like a life raft.
A while later, they dress and head downstairs to feed themselves and the dogs. It’s chilly on the main floor, and just as Kate goes to ask Ian to build a fire, there’s a loud knock at the front door.
“Who could that be?” Ian asks.
“No idea.”
She opens the door to see a man standing on the snow-covered porch. He huffs his breath out into the cold air, like a puff of smoke from a fire that’s about to rage, and her stomach drops.
“Hey, Kate,” Adam says.
Ian is at her elbow now, face quizzical. “Can we help you?” he asks.
“Adam,” Kate begins, “what—?”
“Can I come in?” Adam says, stomping his feet in the leather boots Kate gave him last Christmas. “It’s freezing.”
She lets him pass in a state of disbelief, her mind skipping ahead to how she’s going to explain this to Ian, who has stepped back into the hall.
“I’m sorry,” he says, “but who are you?”
Ozzie bounds around the corner from the sitting room, drawn by Adam’s voice. He runs over to him in a blur of brown, the tags on his collar jingling. Adam looks from Ian to Kate and back again.
“I’m her husband. Who are you?”