Page 125 of The Art of Loving You

‘I know you’ve done your best.’ When that sentence formed I didn’t believe she had but once the words are out, hanging between us, I see something else on her face. Guilt? Sorrow? And I think that perhaps she has done her best and really, that’s all any of us can do, isn’t it? But before she can respond her new man appears behind her, reeking of alcohol. ‘What the fuck do you want?’

His spittle hits my face, the scar on my head throbs but I do not walk away.

‘Liam?’ I call and I wait while he tentatively walks towards me.

‘You shouldn’t have come.’ He scowls, probably worried about what might happen when I leave, but I am not leaving.

Not without him.

I take my question and hold it out to him. ‘I’d like you to move into the house.’

‘What are you, some fucking paedo?’ The man steps forward but I stand my ground, my eyes on Liam’s.

‘You’re seventeen, you can leave home if you want to. Look, I can’t drive yet,’ I say. ‘I’ll pay for you to take an intensive course to get your licence, you can use my car, it’ll be handy to get out and choose things.’

‘What things?’ he asks.

‘To finish the new art centre. To furnish the rooms. For Jack.’ I give that a moment to settle, my pulse skipping lightly in my veins. ‘You hate your college course and I can set up an apprenticeship for you until you’re eighteen.’ He doesn’t speak. The wait is agonising. ‘What do you think?’

Ten minutes later we are both in the cab, his meagre possessions in a bin bag.

‘Thanks,’ he says.

‘Please don’t thank me. You’ve worked so hard over these past few months and I shouldn’t even have considered—’

‘There’s one more thing you can do to make it up to me,’ Liam says. ‘I’ll make us dinner when we get home but promise me I can choose the music while I cook. Honestly. Nineties pop. You old people.’

‘Old? I’m only twenty-seven!’

I laugh and it feels good.

There is somewhere else I have to go. Someone else I have to see. And when he isn’t at home I know where to find him.

Noah is on the bench when I arrive and for a few moments I watch him, waiting for the hate I had felt for him to fill my veins, heat my body, but it doesn’t. More than anyone, I know that life’s too short to hold a grudge, and not just Jack’s life. My life. My fingers find my scar before I drop my hand back to my side.

‘Hello.’ I offer him a bottle of Lucozade. Hesitantly, he takes it.

‘It’s okay. I haven’t poisoned it or anything,’ I say.

‘I wouldn’t blame you.’

‘Blame’ – I gaze into the distance, into the sky, where an aeroplane cuts across a white puffy cloud – ‘is toxic and I don’t blame you. Jack would say forgiveness is a gift you give to yourself.’

‘I don’t …’ Noah rubs his hand over his chin; he hasn’t shaved. ‘I don’t want you to say you forgive me just because Jack would.’

‘I’m saying it because’ – I take his hand – ‘it wasn’t your fault.’

His fingers curl around mine and for a long time we don’t speak.

It is me who breaks the silence.

‘Are you back at work?’ I ask.

‘No. I’ve been having counselling though. Trying to reduce my anti-depressants.I’ve … I’ve been coming here every day. Hoping you’d be here but—’

‘I’ve been sick.’ I touch my head.

Noah’s eyes flicker towards my hat before landing on my eyes. ‘Libby.’ My name barely audible.

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