Page 90 of The Truth About You and Me
‘You’re like my green light.’ I look up at him. I hadn’t realised he was looking at me rather than the light out at sea.
‘Here you are!’ Charlotte bounds into the room with a dramatic hand on her heart as though we’ve been missing for days rather than ten minutes. ‘Lunch’s almost ready! Mags, can I call you Mags?’ She doesn’t wait for a reply. ‘You can use my room to freshen up and Jack, the’ – she finger-quotes – ‘parental unit want a word. They’re in the library.’ She gives him an eye roll.
‘Sorry…’ He steps away. ‘I’d better go speak to them.’
‘Of course.’ I clear my throat.
‘Jackson,’ Charl says. ‘You’ve got something on your—’ She waits for him to lean closer and flicks him hard on the ear.
‘’Sake.’ He rubs it.
‘I’ll pay for that later.’ She grins over at me.
Greta bounds in, knocking her mum into me. Charl lands a hand on my arm in apology.
Trust Jack to fall for someone he can’t quite get close to.
It’s a simple and natural gesture; she doesn’t even realise she’s done it.
Vicky really did a number on him.
They had their whole future mapped out, marriage, kids, the shop…
Charl scoops up her daughter, planting kisses over her face, and heads into the hall.
She doesn’t see how her words have landed like a stone in my stomach: cold and hard. I look back out at sea.
But the blink of the lighthouse is no longer there.
39
JACK
I take a deep breath and go into the room. We call it the library but it’s just a small room with a desk and wall-to-wall books and their many literary awards displayed. Basically, it’s the only room in the house that has decent Wi-Fi, so they use it for Zoom calls.
Mum is standing by the window, mug of tea in her hands. Dad is behind the desk holding a book.
He puts the book down and Mum turns with a smile. I slump down opposite Dad, like I’m a student about to get detention. I pick up a paperback. Before I met Maggie, or Dr Levin, I wouldn’t have got that far, let alone tried to sound out the letters on the front. Th-e b-i-g but the next word slips away, tangled in shapes and spaces I can’t decipher. I put the book back down.
‘We like Maggie,’ Mum begins with a smile that I recognise has a subtext in the brackets around her mouth.
‘Good. I like her too.’
‘Oh, I’d say it’s more than just liking her,’ Dad says over his glasses. ‘You’re good together. We can see that.’
‘Thank you. She’s been helping me…’ I tread carefully, trying to think of ways to explain how having her with me, as I try to remember that night, has opened up so much. ‘To remember. What happened.’
‘Oh?’ Dad says, my parents casting a glance at each other.
‘I think… there was a reason I was going in the wrong direction. There was a woman, with red hair, and it’s hard to explain, but I think she was in some kind of danger?’
‘Interesting…’ Dad leans back. ‘Have you been to the police?’
‘Not yet.’ I shrug, as if it’s nothing. ‘I haven’t got anything concrete yet. But I will.’
‘And Maggie has helped you remember?’
‘Yeah. She’s… patient. Listens to me.’
