After a minute or so she opens her eyes. In a moment of pure lucidity, her face almost glowing, she tells me, ‘In the end, what matters most of all is how much you loved. You made a difference to my life, Paige. Not because you’re family, but because of who you are. Understand?’
‘Yes,’ I whisper. ‘I understand exactly what you mean.’
‘You rest up,’ I say. ‘Bette’s flight is at six o’clock tonight, and she’ll pop in with Nick later. She says she can’t wait to see you. I’ll be back in the morning with Frank.’
Elsie keeps her eyes closed, giving the tiniest nod to show she understands.
Forty-Eight
Nick
Usually, whenever Paige and I are invited to a barbecue or a dinner with friends, we stop by Mrs Betty Baker’s, and Paige skilfully manoeuvres whatever cake or tart she’s bought into her trusty old Tupperware container. Of course all our friends and family members know she does this but are too polite to say so. It’s not like Paige doesn’t know they know – she does, but it’s something we all go along with. Tonight is different. Tonight, Paige is in the kitchen, attempting the same old croquembouche we attempted weeks ago. She’s been in the kitchen for hours.
‘It’s looking good.’ In all fairness, it’s coming together nicely, even if it is a little out of proportion.
I check my watch. ‘We said we’d be there at seven.’ Ben and Pamela have invited us around for a barbecue, which puts the croquembouche into misfit territory.
‘Being late is a small price to pay here, Nick,’ she says, working on the spun sugar. She concentrates, her tongue poking out the side of her mouth.
‘You couldn’t have chosen a different day?’ I say as we finally carry it to the car.
‘I don’t want to die without mastering a croquembouche without your help.’ Her lips form a smile, one that reaches her eyes. ‘It’s fine, Nick. You can laugh. It’s a joke.’
I want to tell her it’s not a joke, or at least not a funny one, when I realise this is exactly the kind of joke she and I would make before. Before everything changed us.
‘Please do not tell me you’ve got a bucket list.’
She chuckles. ‘You’ll be pleased to know I do not have a bucket list,’ she confirms.
We get back from Pamela and Ben’s before eleven, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to fall asleep, so I go outside and light the outdoor fire. Evelyn keeps a gardening notebook on one of the shelves near the potted flowers. I take it down, and as I sit there under the moonlight on the lawn in one of the old white wicker chairs, watching the crackle of the fire, I start to do something I haven’t done in years.
I start to pray.
Please God, if you can hear me, let this all be okay.
Please God, don’t take her away.
Please God, let them both make it.
I don’t know how long I’ve spent out here by the time Paige joins me, carrying a couple of blankets with her. She pulls out a chair and sits next to me.
She tilts her head up to the sky. ‘I couldn’t sleep either. I kept thinking of Pamela’s face when the croquembouche collapsed.’
I laugh. ‘She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.’
‘I did it though. I made it. It was in tip-top condition when it left this house, Nick. So, whatcha doing out here?’
‘I keep thinking about us. Whether we’re actually going to be okay.’
Paige pulls the blanket around herself. ‘Yes, I think we will be fine. People do and say things they don’t mean when they’re faced with life-altering decisions. We both know that.’
‘I lost your trust.’
‘And I lost yours.’
‘No, you didn’t.’
‘I made a decision and put our baby ahead of you. I put what I wanted ahead of what you wanted.’
‘We’re here now. Dealing with it.’
‘Losing sleep over it,’ she says, smiling. ‘What are you writing, anyway? Don’t tell me you’ve turned to poetry.’
Paige and I barely talk about God, or religion, even if we were baptised and married in church. So when I tell her I’m praying, she looks at me as if I’ve totally lost it.
‘Praying,’ she repeats, her eyes moving from my notepad to the basket I’m filling with notes. She nods slowly, understanding.
‘It’s silly, isn’t it? Given I never go to church. I probably should have lit a candle or be on my knees or something. I’m doing it all wrong, huh?’
Paige smiles. ‘I don’t think it matters. What are you praying for?’
I lean back in my chair and look up at the sky, filled with tiny white stars, and let out a deep sigh. ‘I’m praying that our baby will be okay, that you’ll be okay, that… everything will be okay.’
Paige’s hand reaches out and clasps mine. ‘Can I pray with you?’
I hand over the notebook and she tears a few pages off and hands it back to me.
She scribbles on a few and tosses them into the basket. Within minutes we are immersed in this activity, silently sharing our prayers and wishes on paper, hoping they’ll be answered.
When we finally run out of paper, Paige shows me her last note.
Thank you, God, for everything in my life, especially my husband. You brought us together, so I’m hoping, somehow, you’ll find a way to keep us together. Over to you now, big guy.
She stands up and manoeuvres herself onto my lap. She kisses me, so deeply and passionately, and all I can think of is that I wish it will never, ever, ever come to an end.
In the morning, when I go to the garden to collect the notes, they’re gone, the wicker basket empty. They’ve been swept away by the wind and are no longer in our hands.
‘I know how hard this is for you,’ Paige says to me.
‘I need you to know that I might run out of toothpaste, and toilet paper, and if it’s a girl, I have no idea how to style hair, and if he or she ever needs a tonsillectomy, I’ll probably rock up at the drop-off zone, go play a round of golf and come back later.’
‘I’d pace the hall for tonsillectomy,’ she says. She frames my face with her hands and smiles.
‘Of course you would. And it would be perfect.’
Forty-Nine
Paige
On Tuesday evening, Hope turns up at my doorstep in her gym gear demanding I join her at her evening Pilates class. A heart condition is not going to be an excuse for me to let my pelvic floor or my abdominals suffer.
Eloise, the spritely instructor with a shock of pastel-coloured hair that is lavender at the roots morphing into shades of mint green and aqua by the ends, thrusts a sign-up form my way. I’ve ticked my way through boxes that six months ago would have made me turn around and flee.
Are you pregnant? Yes.
Are you suffering from any of the following conditions? Yes. Heart condition – PPCM. It’s rare and a huge pain in the butt!