Page 101 of Famous Last Words

Libby shrugs, then says, ‘Not everyone gets their happy ending, right?’

‘Right,’ Cam says softly. But something is bugging her, like a floater at the edge of her vision … something nagging … her mind imploring her to make some connection or other.

‘Anyway.’ Libby motions her inside, and Cam steps into her living room, unable to refuse. On a drinks caddy in the corner of Libby and Si’s living room is a vase of fake, bright pink flowers and a golden pineapple ornament. This cabinet changes seasonally. It will be a knitted pumpkin soon.

‘I’m sorry about the hormones,’ Cam says, and she is about to say she’s experienced the same, recently – a feeling of mounting anxiety, sometimes; feeling hot at night; periods late and early – but she doesn’t. Sometimes, you have to put aside your own feelings when someone else’s are worse, that’s all.

‘Yeah. Me too.’

Cam can hear Polly’s footsteps above them.

‘Weird to think this saga has been rumbling on since you had Polly, and she’s upstairs playing by herself,’ Libby says. ‘You can achieve a lot in seven years, or nothing at all.’

‘You have achieved a lot,’ Cam says. And she doesn’t know whether or not it’s the right thing, but she says it anyway, ‘You tried really, really hard to have your baby.’

‘I know,’ Libby says.

‘They would have been lucky to have you,’ she says, and Libby reaches over to grasp her hand, just briefly.

Libby sits down on the sofa, gesturing for Cam to do the same. ‘I think I’ve been a bit of a bitch to you,’ Libby says, looking directly at Cam.

‘What?’ Cam says, surprised.

‘About everything. I don’t know. Giving up on IVF has – I don’t know. It’s made me feel like I can reflect.’

‘I see.’

‘I’m sorry. I know it wasn’t easy for you to just give up on Luke. I know I made it seem – like it should be simple, maybe.’

‘You helped a lot, actually,’ Cam says, which is a lie. The frantic decluttering was born out of wanting to move on, but she hasn’t actually done so. ‘You knew I needed to move on. You were right.’ A second lie.

‘I was harsh with you,’ Libby says. She sinks back into the sofa, her arm slung along its back. ‘I was … well. Do you know something?’ she says, and she laughs a little, but it isn’t a genuine laugh. It’s sardonic: darkness contained within it.

‘What?’ Cam says, wary, knowing she is not telling the whole truth to her sister and not wanting to receive the opposite in return, not ready to.

‘I was expecting you to move on from what is a grief. But the truth is …’

‘What?’

‘I am so fucking jealous of you,’ Libby says. ‘Infertility makes you just – so jealous. Some days, my whole body hurts with it. You know?’

‘I know,’ Cam says, watching her sister mess with a pale, fluffy throw.

‘I guess …’ Libby continues. ‘It was – like, before Luke, you had everything.’

‘Did I?’ Cam says.

‘Yeah.’

And Cam could argue that things are not always how they seem, that everyone has problems behind the scenes – thatlookhow she and Luke ended up – but it would be the wrongthing to do. Doesn’t she know more than anyone that she reallydidhave it all, if only for the briefest of moments? Nine sweet months, then gone.

‘I wanted to hurt you,’ Libby says. ‘I don’t know. I’m sorry. You had the great job and the baby.’ On this last word, her voice cracks, and Cam fully feels it.

‘I don’t think either of us has had a good hand,’ she says truthfully, thinking she knows who she’d rather be: she’d choose this life every time, with Polly. And something about this realization helps her. Whatever happens, she’s still got her daughter, singing something tuneless upstairs to herself.

‘Well, I’m sorry, regardless,’ Libby says. ‘You can talk to me about Luke. You can.’

‘It’s fine,’ Cam says, thinking, It’s not that simple.

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