Page 92 of Take Two

‘Thought people do desperate things when they’re scared,’ Callie shot back.

‘You thought he’d weaponise it,’ Mae said. ‘To keep me here. Like he’d sit down and brainstorm ways to stop me getting on a train.’

The contempt in her voice made Callie’s heart ache.

‘My dad would never have done that,’ Mae went on. ‘He wanted me to have the choice. He didn’t want me here because he’d tricked me. He wanted me here because I wanted to be.’

‘I know that,’ Callie said. ‘But I was… I was looking at him and seeing my own mum. She’d just told me she was pregnant that night. She was trying to force me to stay and raise another one for her. And I put that on your dad, and it wasn’t fair. It was cruel. I know. And I’m so fucking sorry, Mae.’

The words came out in a rush. She hadn’t said them out loud before. Not to anyone.

Mae studied her, jaw clenched. ‘You could have told me that later, after things calmed down. But you didn’t call or write, and you certainly didn’t visit.’

‘I wrote emails to you,’ Callie said, before she could stop herself. ‘But I couldn’t bring myself to send them.’

Mae’s laugh this time was uglier.

‘You’re right,’ Callie said, voice low. ‘It’s pathetic.’

‘You do realise,’ she said, ‘that from my side of it, you said some horrible things about my dad and then disappeared forever.’

‘I know,’ Callie said.

‘I thought after you’d calmed down, that you’d call, that you’d say sorry and we might be able to… And then,’ Mae went on, ‘he got worse. And he died. And I waited. For you. Because stupid me thought she might not want to talk to me, but she lovedhim. She’ll come back to say goodbye.’

‘It was already over,’ she said quietly. ‘By the time I knew.’

Mae’s expression didn’t change. ‘Convenient.’

‘It’s true. I found out the day after the funeral,’ she said. ‘In a voicemail from my mum. She thought I knew. She assumed someone had told me. I guess she thought you would. She didn’t know…’ Callie blew out a breath. ‘I tried to get here the second I found out,’ she said. ‘I got on a night coach.’

Mae gaped. ‘I think I’d rememberthat.’

Callie laughed, once, humourless.

‘I got as far as the square,’ she said. ‘Three in the morning. Coach dropped me off by the war memorial. I walked past here.’ She nodded at the back door. ‘Stood outside. And I thought, if I knock, she’ll have to deal with me as well as everything else. She’ll have to deal with all of the mess I left as well as her grief.’

Mae’s eyes flickered. She looked thrown, for the first time. ‘So then what did you do?’ she said, but there was less venom in it.

‘I went back to the station. Left on the first bus back out, before anyone saw me.’ God, Callie hated thinking about that night. Crying on the coach home while an old man watched her and ate crisps.

‘You could have called,’ Mae said after a moment. ‘Later. You could have texted. E-mailed. Sent a pigeon. Anything.’

‘I know,’ Callie said.

‘Twelve years,’ Mae said.

‘Yeah,’ Callie said. ‘But I didn’t. So yes,’ she went on, because if she stopped now, she might never start again. ‘I left. I said unforgivable things about someone who was only ever kind to me. And I missed his funeral. And I missed you.’

Her voice shook on the last word. She let it.

Mae looked at her for a long time. Something in her face eased. Not much. Just a tiny shift you might not even see if you didn’t know Mae’s face like the back of your hand, even now.

‘You weren’t the only one who said unforgivable things,’ she said eventually.

Callie opened her mouth. Mae held up a hand.

‘I’m not saying that so you’ll feel better,’ she added. ‘I’m saying it because…’ She dragged in a breath. ‘Because if we’re going to tear it all open, we might as well be accurate. I called you self-absorbed and a selfish baby.’