Page 126 of The Art of Loving You

‘I’m going to be okay. I have to be. I’m going to finish the centre. For the kids. For Liam. For Jack. But … mainly for me.’

‘How is Liam? I’ve texted him but he doesn’t answer.’

‘He was angry but he’ll be okay. I’ve offered him a full-time job. Asked him to move in.’

‘That’s brilliant. Can I come back? Help out?’

‘No. You were never much of a decorator.’ I smile. ‘Go back to work, Noah. Don’t let guilt ruin your life.’

He nods. ‘I could help in other ways. Writing features, publicity, I know my way around the system when you need to apply for funding. Grants.’

‘That would be wonderful.’

It’s another small step.

Another square.

Today, we are waiting for Faith. I had called her to ask whether I could talk through Jack’s plans with her.

‘The notes you emailed were great and we’ve made a really good start with both the house and the garden but the practicalities of running the courses and workshops are something I can’t quite figure out. Can I pick your brains?’

At first we had spoken about the business side but then she had asked, ‘And you, Libby? How are things with you? You haven’t messaged me for ages.’

‘I’ve had a brain tumour.’

I heard her gasp. ‘Oh my God.’

‘It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m one of the lucky ones but … I thought I didn’t want to be saved. I thought I wanted to be with Jack. You know when you have a love that precious and you can’t let it go? You have that with Michael, moving around the country, giving up so much for him. You—’

‘Don’t,’ she said. ‘Don’t compare Jack to Michael. Jack was a good man. The best. Michael is … Well it doesn’t matter. Are you really going to be okay, Libby?’

‘Promise. I had a great surgeon. What’s …’ I hesitated. We hadn’t been that close. ‘Is there a problem with Michael?’

‘I’m leaving him.’ She explained that Michael had always had a problem remaining faithful. She had tried to keep him happy, had treated him with love and kindness and affection that perhaps he didn’t deserve. She was fed up of moving from town to town after he’d broken yet another heart, not just that of his wife. I was amazed, they’d always seemed happy but then I guess you never really know, do you?

She asked if she could visit. I didn’t tell her about Alice and Michael. Chloe. It wasn’t my place to, but when my sister heard Faith was coming she made sure that she was here too.

‘I’ve something to tell you, and I am so, so sorry.’ Alice’s voice shook as she relayed the details. It was just one night. Valentine’s. She had been drunk. Upset. She hadn’t meant to destroy a marriage.

‘You didn’t,’ Faith said. ‘It was broken long before you. Please don’t give it another thought. It doesn’t matter.’

‘But it does. There’s something else.’ Alice told Faith about Chloe. How she had tried to tell Michael she was pregnant but he didn’t want to hear it. He hadn’t been in touch since they’d moved away.

Faith had cried. Alice had cried. Eventually they had hugged, not quite friends but both recognising the hurt in the other, the way the same man had betrayed them, lied to them.

Mum and I had been waiting in the kitchen with Chloe and when Alice called us through we carried the sleeping baby gently to Faith.

‘Oh!’ Faith covered her mouth with her hands. Tears pooling in her eyes again. ‘She looks … she looks like Michael.’ Her voice wavered. ‘She looks like the child I imagined we’d have one day if I managed to fall pregnant. Can … can I hold her?’ Faith cradled Chloe in her arms, scanning her face. ‘Actually, she has your mouth, Alice. She’s beautiful. Don’t ever apologise for her.’

Chloe opened her sleepy eyes and studied this new person holding her.

‘What will you do with your life?’ Faith murmured before raising her face to mine and asking beseechingly, ‘What will I do with mine?’

‘Move in.’ I didn’t hesitate. ‘I’ve plenty of room and we can fulfil the plans that you and Jack made. Open the centre in his name, in his honour.’

She nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks. No matter what is taken from us there is always hope, and that was the exact moment I decided to go ahead and enter The Hawley Foundation Prize.

Days later there is a knock on the door. I open it to a delivery man. ‘Sign here,’ he says before leaving me with a long cardboard box.

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