Page 111 of The Art of Loving You

‘My mum died last year.’ His voice gentle.

‘And what if you had the chance to see her again?’

‘I don’t believe in the afterlife.’

‘I’m not talking about the afterlife. I’m talking about here. Now.’

‘I don’t quite—’

‘I can see Jack. Hear him. Not fleeting glimpses, although it started that way, but proper conversations.’

‘Libby. Perhaps it wasn’t made clear enough. It’s very rare but the side effects of the mass could include psychosis—’

‘But don’t you see, I don’t care. Maybe I can only see Jack because I’m sick but if that’s the reason, and you make me better then … then …’ My voice broke.

‘Then you won’t see him again.’

I wiped my eyes with the edge of the hospital gown I was still wearing.

‘But, Libby, you might have limited time to have this operation and if you don’t—’

‘I could die, but …’ I trailed off. Not wanting to tell him that was what I was trying to do when he called.

‘Not necessarily. There can be many complications. Too many to predict and don’t forget until we’ve performed the histology we don’t know exactly what we’re dealing with. But you could have more seizures, a stroke, paralysis, loss of speech. Loss of memory.’

It was this last one that floored me. ‘So I might be alive but not remember Jack? At all?’ My voice was tiny. Lost in a wave of utter sorrow.

‘Potentially. Yes.’

‘But you don’t know for certain?’

‘We don’t know for certain.’

Without saying anything else I replaced the handset in its cradle. From the corner of my eye, a movement. I swung my head around, the sudden shift causing pain to radiate through my skull.

It wasn’t Jack, it was Socks running out of the room.

I was alone.

Alone and terrified.

And that was when there was a hammering on the front door.

Part Two

Chapter Thirty-Eight

It crosses my mind not to let Mum and Alice in as they pound frantically on the door but I know they won’t just give up on me and leave. I wouldn’t if I was in their position because that’s what families do, they stay.

They endure.

I withdraw the bolt and they almost fall into the hallway, Mum clasping me in a hug that squeezes the breath from me. For once, she doesn’t speak. I wriggle out of her arms and head back into the snug, not caring that my hospital gown is flapping open at the back, that my knickers are on display. It is the least of my worries.

‘I know you’re both here to persuade me to go back to the hospital but—’

‘Oh my God.’ Mum covers her mouth with her hands in horror. I follow her eye line to the sleeping pills scattered over the table.

‘It’s not what you think,’ I say weakly although it isexactlywhat they are thinking. ‘I can’t deal with this right now. I need some time to process everything. Some space.’

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