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NOW

It had been a few weeks later when she’d first noticed how much fitter she’d become, Sophie remembered as she wandered through to the living room and curled up on the sofa, enjoying the silence; the chance to process.

She’d noticed as she got changed after the shower that she actually had a bicep muscle. She’d flexed it in the bathroom mirror, feeling weirdly pleased with herself. She’d never craved a muscular frame, but it was nice to see that rowing was making a difference to her body.

Twice a week now, she made her way to the club where she’d join Will for a morning row. They worked together in unison, often silently, pushing away the water and the thoughts and everything except that moment in time. Once or twice she’d even been out by herself.

Now, parking in her usual spot, she exited the car and realised that although she had a physical activity ahead, she felt primed and ready for it. This must be what being fit feels like, she thought to herself with a small smile.

Sam and Libby had both written her off as mad. Had suggested that an hour or so extra in bed would do much more for her than rowing, but she’d caught the bug somehow. Rowing was slowly becoming part of her. A thing she did whatever the weather and the circumstances.

This morning, a light rain threatened and the weather had begun to turn autumnal, as if nature were practising for the change in season that was just around the corner. The sun had not yet bothered trying to clamber into the sky, and it remained a dark, charcoal grey in the half-light. A new term at school had brought new challenges, as well as a reminder that time was moving on whether she liked it or not. She loved the sense of renewal a change in season brought, but hated the fact that yet another landmark had passed without Tom there to witness it.

She zipped up her waterproof coat and walked towards the clubhouse where she knew Will would be waiting. Always there, and always with a smile of welcome.

‘Lovely morning for it!’ he said as she approached.

‘Isn’t it just!’

‘Nice coat; new?’

‘Yeah, thought I’d better invest in some proper kit if I’m going to be doing this through the winter.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? Serious stuff then.’

She shrugged. ‘Someone once told me it was good for body and mind,’ she said with a small grin. ‘So thought I’d try to stick it out through the colder months.’

‘Well, good,’ he said, turning and walking towards the riverbank. ‘Because you know, you keep me going.’

‘I do? I thought you’d been doing this for years.’

He shrugged. ‘Yeah. And I’m not saying I’d quit if you did.’ He paused. ‘It’s just… it’s a lot more fun with you there,’ he admitted.

‘Not many people have accused me of being fun before.’

‘Well, my threshold is very low.’

She snorted and he turned at her and grinned.

‘What was that?’ he asked.

‘What? A laugh?’

‘Sounded more like a sneeze.’

She smiled. ‘I’ve always laughed like that. Tom used to… Tom used to call me Miss Piggy.’

‘Oh. I’ve just never noticed it before, I guess,’ he said.

People had commented on Sophie’s laugh ever since school – sometimes mocking, sometimes roaring with laughter alongside her. She’d been embarrassed about it for years, holding it back sometimes, self-consciously. But when she’d laughed in front of Tom, he’d told her it was adorable, made her feel able to be herself.

She hadn’t snorted since Tom’s diagnosis. Gentle laughter, sometimes forced, had been all she’d been able to manage.

Maybe this was the first time she’d completely abandoned herself to something funny, since Tom. She fell silent as they walked.

‘OK?’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you, you know.’

‘I know. You haven’t.’

He held the boat steady as she clambered into it, more confidently than she’d used to, surer of what she was doing. And then sat and watched him get into his habitual place. They set off, in companionable silence, both together and separate as they fell into their thoughts.

People talked about acceptance. About moving on, moving past grief. Tom was always with her, in the back or forefront of her mind. But was this what letting go felt like? She felt a pang of grief. She didn’t want to let go of him, not yet. It was too soon, too raw. She didn’t want to feel the awful pain of grief, but if it went away, it would be letting go of Tom, giving up on him somehow.

She thought of his ashes, still squirreled away in her apartment, sitting and waiting for the time when she would feel ready to scatter them. It wasn’t yet. She wasn’t ready yet. Even if holding on to him meant holding onto grief.

The rain intensified, sprinkling her anorak with moisture; the sky was white with a smudge of grey cloud here and there. All was dull. She looked at Will’s back, his muscular shoulders, the ease of movement as he plunged the oar into the water. Then she forced herself to concentrate on the movement, the rhythm, the sights and smells and sensations of gliding on the water, propelling herself on and on and on.

The rowing had fallen away again recently, what with the wedding plans and her sudden need to scatter Tom’s ashes. But they’d start again, Sophie thought now. They’d get back on the river tomorrow.