The Legacy, Caroline Bond [popular books to read txt] 📗

to characterise their exchanges had been replaced by a profound, stultifying wariness of each other. This is what happened when even the commitment to argue ran out. Lily had tried to fill the gap, but it was obvious she was aware of the tension. Their daughter’s increasingly desperate attempts to get her parents to speak to each other had been shaming. Perhaps that was why they had ended up beached on hollow topics, such as the leaky guttering at the back of the house and what Lily was going to wear for World Book Day. Noah knew Josie was waiting for him to get home for the real showdown. And given that he was arriving home mid-morning on a weekday, and Lily would be at school, there was every chance that the final act of their relationship was about to be played out.

He was so tired he almost welcomed it.

They had to have one last fight. Josie had to accuse him outright of the infidelity she suspected him of, and that he had not dissuaded her from believing in. He had to fudge his answers yet again, infuriate her, escalate it so quickly and horribly that she threw him out. It had to be her who made the decision. That way, there could be no going back.

The knowledge that he would not be unpacking his bag, crawling into their bed, sleeping – oh my God, sleep – then waking up when Lily got home and rocketed into their bedroom, battering him with cuddles and questions, hurt. But Noah was too far in; he had undermined Josie’s trust in him so much, set her so far down the path of wanting him gone. He had to tough it out and get over the line.

He climbed out of the car and it drove away. He walked through their gate up to their front door. Waited. Josie did not come and open up. The days of her waiting by the window, holding Lily in her arms, were long gone. Noah dug his keys out of his bag and opened the door, to be greeted by the familiar sight of their too-narrow, chipped-paint hallway.

Home.

He didn’t shout her name. Couldn’t – he didn’t trust himself. He headed into the kitchen at the back. It was the nicest room in the house: big, warm, as much living room as kitchen. Josie was standing with her back to the garden, resting against the sink, looking straight at him, her arms crossed.

‘Hi.’ To his surprise, his voice did work.

‘Hello.’ She didn’t move.

He walked into the room and dropped his bag. They stood facing each other. Josie’s expression softened and she put her hand out. ‘You look tired. Come and sit down, Noah.’ He knew he shouldn’t, but he let her take his hand and guide him to the sofa. She gently pushed him into it and fetched him a glass of water. He took a couple of gulps.

She pulled up a chair and sat opposite him. His courage failed. He couldn’t do it. But he had to. He didn’t get the chance.

Josie’s eyes didn’t leave his face. ‘This has got to stop, Noah. All the pretending. I know what’s going on.’

‘I don’t—’

She cut him off. ‘Yes, you do. I know why you’ve been behaving so oddly. Why you keep running away from us.’ She took a shallow breath. ‘I know you’re ill and you’re frightened.’ She sounded brave, but her eyes said otherwise.

It was like a ship tilting; everything seemed to slide and crash to one side. ‘How?’

‘Megan wrote to me.’

‘Megan?’ The deck tilted again.

‘Yes. She found out, from Eloise, that things weren’t good between us.’

It didn’t make sense. Megan was out of their lives now. Why would she get involved? And how come his mother and Megan were talking? He thought none of them had had any contact with her since she moved out. ‘But I don’t understand.’ The jet lag, the shock and the already-screwed bits of his brain were all conspiring against him.

‘She and your mum must have kept in touch.’ Josie rested her hand on his leg. Her touch undid him. ‘It doesn’t matter how Megan knew. That’s not important.’

He looked at her slim fingers and ached to touch her, but he didn’t.

Josie’s voice firmed up. ‘Noah! Listen to me. Eloise must have talked to her about how you’ve been behaving. Something must have clicked. Megan remembered a conversation she apparently had with you that weekend, at the house, when you went over to sort out your dad’s will.’

It came back to Noah in sudden startling clarity: sitting in the lounge in The View, in the winter sun, talking about his father’s death. He hadn’t sworn Megan to secrecy. He hadn’t thought he needed to because, at the time, he didn’t realise he was revealing his crappy hand.

With a telepathy developed over nearly ten years of living together, Josie answered his unspoken question. ‘She wrote to me about what you talked about that day. She said that, out of nowhere, you started asking about your dad’s illness and death. Not general questions – things any grieving son might feel the need to know – but really personal stuff about what his first symptoms were, how quickly things deteriorated, how they coped as a couple. Very intense questions. Megan said it felt like what she told you really mattered, but in a way that, at the time, she didn’t grasp. What surprised her the most’ – at this point Josie increased the gentle pressure on his leg – ‘was how keen you were, suddenly, to know what it had been like for her having to look after your dad. She said it was the first time anyone in the family had ever bothered to ask how hard it had been for her to watch Jonathan get ill and die. She put two and two together.’

It was his last chance. He tried, but it was a feeble attempt to keep his plan on track. ‘And came