Page 44 of I Know How This Ends

“But I’m angry at her,” Eve sobs wetly. “For me, as well as for you. I don’t understand how she did that. A whole year of lying, of cheating, of deceiving us all. Apart from Jules.”

“Apart from Jules.” I nod, my chest aching. “She’s always been the cleverest of us.”

“I just... I can’t switch off like that, not after so long, not after we grew up together, and I can’t believe that—”

I stare at an enormous cake.

It’s a ridiculous cake—covered in little toy cars, jammed into clearly handmade icing, candles aflame—and somehow, I’m not

sure how, I know that I made it. Some part of me, the future me, knows, remembers, understands. Unbelievably, in an enormous

departure from my current personality, I have become... a cake-maker.

Blinking, I look around. Where is Henry?

A wave of relief: he’s standing next to me, arm around my shoulder. He’s singing loudly but with an astonishing lack of skill,

totally tone-deaf. In fact—I look more carefully—the room is packed with people and everyone is singing. With a curious expression, Henry glances at me— you OK?— and I suddenly realize I’m supposed to be singing too.

But I can’t, because I don’t know who we’re singing to.

Then I look down.

On a small wooden chair sits the gorgeous little curly-haired boy from my wedding. Except he’s not the same: he’s younger,

smaller, even cuter, if that’s possible. I breathe in sharply—the intense love I feel for him is overwhelming—then crouch

down next to him. He’s staring at the cake, trying desperately hard not to stick a chubby finger in it. As I instinctively

reach my hand out to hold his, I abruptly realize I don’t have a wedding or engagement ring on—just my grandfather’s emerald—which

puts me roughly between now and three years’ time, if I’ve calculated correctly.

The blue candle sticking in the cake is a big, slightly melted TWO.

Two. Our little boy is two years old.

“Happy Birthday, dear Gu-uss,” everyone finally finishes, Henry attempting some kind of harmony and failing. “Happy Birthday

to youuuu.”

They all break into applause and I look up at Henry.

His face is full of exactly the same emotions I can feel pouring out of me, and I know that this little boy, this tiny human,

is going to make us so unbelievably happy.

“OK, baby boy,” Eve says, stepping forward and crouching down. “It’s time. You can blow out the candles now. Just one big

blow. You can do it.”

Nodding bravely, Gus breathes out and spits all over the cake.

Everyone laughs and Eve beams at me: her face radiant, her pride shimmering. And I realize, all at once, as if I already knew:

this is not my child. Gus is not my son, and he is not my future. He belongs to someone else. And it hurts like an axe in

my chest, but I also feel Eve’s happiness as if it’s mine too: the two of us, permanently woven together.

My eyes fill: I look at Henry and realize his eyes are full too.

We don’t have children yet, but we desperately want them.

I know because I see in his eyes the same pain, the same joy, the same heartbreak, the same sadness, the same acceptance.

I know, because there are no other children at our wedding. Yet somehow, when I smile at him and stand up, he puts his arm

around me and kisses the top of my head and it all feels bearable.

Everything—whatever it will be—feels bearable.

“Gus!” Winter is back—more gangly, not yet a menace—and both Henry and I laugh as she pushes herself to the front of the crowd.

“Open my present first! It’s the biggest one and I made it myself, so you need to—”

And I’m back.

Disorientated, I stare at Eve’s face as I recalibrate. It’s still tear-stained, but I’ve seen her future happiness, I know

where she’ll end up, and this is the gift I can give her.

“Are you OK?” She puts a hand on my forehead, just like the sweet-souled mother of our group she’s always been. “Are you hot? It’s not that flu again, is it? Shall I call us a cab and get you home?”

I smile and put my hand gently on top of hers.

“I’m fine,” I say, trying to keep the emotion out of my voice. “I just... Eve. Look. I know you’re tired. I know you don’t

think you can do this again, and I know you don’t think you’re strong enough. But you can, and you are, and you will.”

Because I’m doing the math—luckily not that hard as I’m pretty exhausted now—and this time the IVF will work. If Gus is two

years old in less than three years’ time, that means Eve is going to get pregnant very, very soon.

“I’ll pay for it,” I say quickly as she opens her mouth to object. “I’ve got a new job, nearly, and I’ll have the money, so

don’t even think about that. And I will be there for all of it. We will all be there. Every injection, every appointment, every late night. You’re not going to be alone. It might not be the way you

planned it, but I promise you, you will have the family you want.”

It may not be the standard, traditional family, but it will be a family.

I have seen it, and I have felt it.

“OK.” Eve nods bravely, straightening her spine. She always trusts what I say: it’s one of the most bewildering things about

her. “If you really think so. One more time. I think I can do just one more—”

She blinks and looks down.

“Maggie,” she says quietly, abruptly holding my arm. “I don’t want to alarm you, but there appears to be a ridiculously cute

cat in your pocket.”

I’m nearly as surprised as she is: I’d forgotten Cheddar was in there.

“Oh!” I pull him out and hold him so he can wriggle and sniff the tears on Eve’s face in a way that should be creepy but is

frankly delightful. “Yeah. I got a cat. He’s alright, I guess.”

When what I mean is: I am fully in love with him already.

“Wow.” Eve blinks. “A cat. Big day. How beautiful are you?”

With the soft expression of somebody already smitten, she kisses the end of Cheddar’s fluffy nose and tickles the top of his

head. My cat, I realize, is going to be another part of the family we build together.

Then she hesitates slightly.

“Maggie, do you...” A cough as she attempts to be the peacemaker while simultaneously not setting me off again. The joy

of being friends with Make a Mess Margot, I guess. “Do you think that you and Jules will be fighting for a very long time?”

I stare briefly into space. Jules.

“I don’t know,” I admit softly, because she’s not in the vision, she’s not singing, she’s not eating cake, and I feel a different

kind of pain, sharper and edged with fear. Where is she? Why isn’t she with us?

More importantly: is it all my fault, again ?