‘What a lovely painting.’ Dad stands right up close to the portrait of me. ‘Not as handsome as me, obviously, but the blue is an interesting touch.’
I blush nervously, knowing full well what that afternoon signified. Gosh I miss him. In all the time I had to think last night, I came to the unsurprising conclusion that he is everything I’ve ever wanted. Someone I can talk to, work and celebrate with. What happened between us was entirely my fault, I get that now. In the rush to bury my past, I hadn’t told him enough to be prepared, if there was such a thing as being prepared for John.
‘He really is amazing, isn’t he?’ Fiona looks on in wonder as if she’s seeing it again for the first time over. ‘I wish I had half his talent.’
‘You’ve got his talent and more,’ I interrupt her thoughts. ‘Fi, I want to offer you this room.’
She looks around, confused. ‘But it’s full of Kit?’
Oh, how I wish that were true. ‘Yes, but what I mean is after that. Once this first exhibition is done, if you’d like to hold a permanent display here, this space is yours.’
She makes a noise not unlike a startled mouse and looks to Dad like she’s not quite sure she’s heard right. Dad’s heard, and he’s dabbing at his eyes with the end of his tie.
‘What do you think?’ Adam creeps up from behind and hugs her. ‘I told her she’d lost the plot, that you should have the big room because you’re amazing.’
‘Oh, my heart,’ she says with a jittery laugh. ‘I would be thrilled.’
‘Really?’ I clap my hands to my face. ‘I didn’t want you to think I was being—’
She leaps forward and hugs me like she never has before. ‘I’ve tried for years to get into a gallery. I think I’m a little too left of centre for some people, so this is just … it’s everything I’ve ever hoped for. Of course I’ll accept.’
I pull back and hold her by the shoulders. ‘You are absolutely perfect; you’ve been the most amazing help these last few weeks and I love you more and more every time I see you. Don’t you ever change.’
‘Oh, you.’
‘You’re like Mum two-point-oh,’ Adam adds. ‘Mum squared? No, that’s not right.’
Fiona wipes at her eyes and laughs. ‘I don’t know, if I keep eating those canapés you’ve got on offer tonight, I might end up mum cubed.’
‘Mum to the power of pie?’ I try.
It may be that I’m feeling a little peaky from the champagne but, damn I love group hugs. The four of us hold tight in the back room while Fiona has a sobby moment, Dad has a sobby moment, and Adam tells us he’s moving home to open his own law firm. Apparently, I made upending my life look easy.
I really didn’t.
When we gather ourselves, they leave me alone to collect my thoughts before I head back out into the fold. They’re wild and scattered, but as I stand in front of this painting of me, I know that I’ll be heading out to Loxley tomorrow morning. I’m going to tell him how I feel and let the chips fall where they may.
‘Would it help if I begged you not to marry him?’
There it is, that feeling, that bump that says: here he is. I turn to find Christopher standing there, hands in pockets, shoes sparkling and suit freshly pressed. As I hope for a moment of peace, we’re greeted by the steady stream of shoulder pats and backslaps as people walk past the small room. One forceful thump pushes him forwards into the room.
For the first time all week, we share a knowing look.
‘What would help is if you checked your messages.’ I reach forward and take his hand.
‘Oh, I heard them,’ he says. ‘And saw them. I just want to be sure that, if you marry anyone, it’s going to be me.’
I thread my fingers with him and pull him closer. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Scarily enough, yes.’ He smooths a hand over my head. I love it when he does that. ‘Katharine, I was done for you the second we met.’
‘That, sir, is a lie,’ I say with a snigger. While twelve-year-old me, who flipped through bridal magazines and traipsed downstairs Homer Simpson-style with a bouquet of garden variety rosemary, is screaming that is a for real proposal, my adult brain is trying to temper this with reason. ‘I got the distinct impression you found me insufferable.’
‘Not quite insufferable.’ He narrows his eyes and I copy. ‘Challenging, absolutely, but that’s what I love about you.’
‘You love about me?’
‘Well,’ he starts with a shrug, ‘one of the things, anyway.’
I go to speak again, but he stops me with a look.
‘Katharine, I have been completely unfair to you,’ he says. ‘I should have stayed. I should have listened to you.’
‘Yes, but I could have, I don’ t know, warned you about him,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry, too.’
‘Did you know that he was coming?’ he asks.
‘What? No,’ I say with a disbelieving laugh. ‘Absolutely not.’
He rolls his eyes and sighs. ‘I am absolutely filling my pants right now because I don’t want this to come out the wrong way.’
‘There is no wrong way.’ I reach up and hold his cheek. ‘Just spit it out.’
‘You drive me bloody insane. You are brilliant and smart and funny, and you are so unbelievably beautiful, and you are the only, only person who can hold a decent conversation with me about art, who can take me to task in the most wonderful way. And I was so determined to keep you at arm’s length.’
‘No,’ I mock. ‘You?’
‘Worked well, didn’t it?’
‘Slipped through.’ I pinch my thumb and forefinger in his face. ‘Completely accidental, I assure you.’
‘Maybe you were an accident, but I’m so glad you were. I don’t connect with many people.’
I chuckle and clutch at the lapels of his jack, eventually slipping my arms around him and, boy, is it good to hold him again. He’s warm and solid and totally real. There’s nothing loud or flashy about him, it’s all genuine. I’ve either just wet myself, or that’s the warm flood of affection that’s filled me from head to toe.
Love, huh. How good is it?
‘Fancy that, you being difficult.’
‘Another fun fact.’ He leans down and pops a kiss on the tip of my nose. ‘The school was actually struggling before you came thundering along. I just couldn’t find my groove, class numbers were low, and then you arrived and saw through every stupid excuse I had. Now with this exhibition, because of you, I can’t keep up. You are a challenge and you challenge me and, God, I love you. I do. Maybe that’s too much, I don’t know, but I know how I feel.’
‘So do I.’ I reach up and kiss him. ‘And I love you, too.’
It doesn’t take long to get used to him all over again, his touch, the feel of him against me and the soft curl of his hair between my fingers. I don’t think I could ever, ever be sick of this.
‘Hey.’ He pulls back. ‘Do you like your painting?’
‘Like it?’ I look at it over my shoulder. ‘I love it.’