Page 65 of The Good Boy

“‘It took me fifty years,’ she said, ‘to be brave enough.’

“‘To leave him?’ I asked her.

“‘To admit to myself that I love you too, Dee.’”

“Then what happened?” Miles asks her, wide-eyed, hanging on every word.

“A lot of talking. A lot of kissing. And then fifteen good years,” Violet tells him, tears creeping into her eyes. “Fifteen wonderful years, with my Carrie. If I have one regret it’s that there weren’t more of them. You mark my words, son: if you love someone, don’t you wait or let them go. Maybe you’ll get your heart broke, and life will get messy and difficult, but it’s a darn sight better than wondering what might have been. You might think that your chancehas passed. But you never know, son. You never know until you know.”

Miles nods thoughtfully. I snaffle another custard cream.

“Have you got anyone?” Violet asks him. “A handsome young feller like you, you must be fighting them off.”

“Nothing serious,” Miles says. “There’s this girl called Claudia, from work...”

“Or just Claudia to her friends,” I mutter.

“I hope that... well, that’s it,” Miles says. “I hope.”

“Well, hope never got the bread buttered,” Violet says rather mysteriously. “You got to find out, son. Do or die. Life’s short, young man. You make that hope a reality. There is no try, there is only do.”

Did Violet just quote Yoda?

Miles looks at me, and I want to reach out and take his hand and tell him that it’s not Claudia-from-work that he’s looking for. That it’s me, and even though I have been an idiot and let him down, Iamhis person. I will be here for him forever.

Instead, I reach for another custard cream and pour another cup of tea for Mrs. Cundall, who has just woken up from a nap. She likes a lot of milk and no sugar, and no, I have no idea how I know that. But I’m right and it’s nice to give her this small gift of having a cup of tea that is exactly right. It gives me a tiny spark of joy. Maybe that’s what it’s like for Nanna all the time.

“That was amazing,” Miles says as Matilda throws her full body weight against the side of her canvas carrier in a bid to break out and kill us all. “I really enjoyed listening to all their memories; it got me thinking that we should have a memory wall at the museum.”

“I love that idea. What about the cat, did she enjoy it?” I ask, nodding at Matilda.

“Oh, she loved it!” Miles assures me, as one long claw pokes through a gap in the grille, straining for the nearest jugular. “She’s just in a mood because I put her back in the carrier. Usually if we are out and about she likes to ride on my shoulder, but I thought it was safest this way.”

The thought of Matilda riding around on Miles’s shoulder like a psychotic parrot substitute makes me smile.

“It is interesting,” Rory says, “to hear what people who are getting to the end of their lives think is important, isn’t it, Genie? Don’t you think? Puts everything in perspective, doesn’t it? The things you should probably do and say before it’s all too late.”

“Yeah,” I say absently. “S’pose.”

“Like how you should always try for what your heart wants, even if you fail. How it is better to have loved and lost than never loved at all, and all that?”

“Have you been reading Dickens?” I ask him.

“There was a film on,” he confesses. “But that’s the gist of it.”

“Did anyone in the care home actually say that, though?” I say, looking at him in the rearview mirror. “Or is this about you not wanting to give up chasing squirrels again?”

“No, it’s aboutyou.” Rory is emphatic. “Not always saying how you feel about things andpeople.” He stares hard at the back of Miles’s head. “Although I would also like to chase squirrels. They need keeping on their weird, ratty little toes.”

“What’s this all about?” Miles looks at me, and I avoid looking at him.

“Search me,” I say, turning up the radio. “This is all Rory. Five minutes with two legs and he thinks he knows it all.”

“I do not think I know it all,” Rory shouts over the radio. “I absolutely do not see the point in broccoli.”

“Genie, tell me?” Miles asks, turning the radio down again. “I’d really like to know.”

I glance at him, trying to get a sense of whether he is looking at me like cheddar, but it’s hard when I’m driving.

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