Page 62 of A December to Remember
“What?”
“Make a joke to avoid talking about this.”
She began to play with a tassel on one of the cushion trims. Boy did he have her number. “Sorry.”
“As for your other worries. I’m not fussed about procreating. I mean, kids are great, and I’d be happy to be someone’s dad, but I’ve never felt that push to have children of my own, it’s just not a big deal for me. But I know I could be a good father to Verity and, with time, a good friend to Patrick.”
Maggie sighed. “I can’t commit to someone who might change their mind in a year or two years or five years, I just can’t. And that’s why I can’t tell the kids. Not yet. You have to understand, I loved someone and he died, and everyone else I’ve loved has left in some way or other. I don’t think I could stand that kind of rejection again, I just can’t risk it.”
Joe had been staring at his feet but now he looked her dead in the eyes.
“So your only objection to being with me is your belief that I am somehow in denial of my need to father my own children, and your worry that I will break your heart because of it, or that I’ll die?”
“Well, I mean, obviously that’s the oversimplified version, but essentially yes.”
“Firstly, I can’t promise you I won’t die; I’m afraid that’s out of my control, but I will do my level best not to, at least not until I’m in my nineties.”
She let out an amused huff of a laugh.
“Now let me put something to you. Say I was fifty, never had kids, and told you I never wanted to?”
“Well, that would be different, wouldn’t it? You’d be older...”
“So, what, at thirty-three years of age I’m too young to know my own mind? Immature for my age?”
“Joe!”
“Answer the question.”
“No, obviously not. But...”
“I am in love with you, Maggie North. I am in it for the long haul. You are the only woman I see in my future. I promise you that is not going to change. I just. Want. You. Now, I’ll ask you again: Do you love me?”
“Joe.”
“Do you?”
“Yes! Okay? Yes, I love you! I love you! I love you! But...”
She didn’t get to finish her very sensible next sentence, because he leaned in and kissed away her protests. He didn’t stop kissing her as he pressed her down onto the sleeping bag. Nor did he stop as he undid the clips on her dungarees and expertly divested them both of their underwear. It was a cold afternoon. But inside the tent of intent, Joe and Maggie found a way to keep themselves warm. Twice.
27
Belinda was seatedin the front row of chairs in the village hall on Monday evening, her purple glitter Dr. Martens just visible below the hem of her black cassock. She gave the sisters an enthusiastic thumbs-up and whisper-shouted “Loud and proud!” as they took their seats on the stage.
Star picked nervously at her nails as the last few stragglers found chairs and got settled. Despite only having put the word out yesterday, they had a full house. Betty was sitting in the middle row surrounded by a few of the WI—Women’s Institute—members; others she recognized were sitting with their husbands and significant others. The Cussing Crocheters huddled together in a row near the back, and when Star gave them a tentative wave they stood, each holding aloft a piece of crocheted granny-square bunting that readGIVE ’EM HELL AND GIVE NO FUCKSin red and green wool. She’d say this for Rowan Thorp: there was no shortage of strong women in residence. She liked to think that maybe her ancestor Patience North had started the trend. Since returning to Rowan Thorp, Star was finding it easy to fill her daily magic quota.
The crowd began to quiet down.
“Right, remember what we’re going to say,” whispered Maggie.
Star instantly needed the toilet. “I can’t do it,” she said.
“Neither can I,” Simone agreed.
“You have to!” hissed Maggie. “I’m not doing it by myself.”
“We’ll stand next to you.”
