Page 85 of Postscript

‘Which version of you do you prefer?’

‘What?’ she asks, frowning.

‘I’ve been thinking this year that Gerry doesn’t know me now, he never met the person I’ve become. I prefer this version of me, yet I became this way because I lost him. If I ever had the power to undo everything, I wouldn’t want to unravel who I’ve become.’

She ponders that. ‘Yeah, I know what you mean. I like me better now.’

And what Ginika has been through to get to this version of herself.

‘I’m sorry if I did the wrong thing. I promise I won’t contact your dad again.’

‘You did the wrong thing,’ she agrees, sucking her lollipop. ‘But it was a nice thing, if not a bit fucking pointless.’

Before the wall goes up, I continue. ‘I was thinking of Jewel, of her future, of where she’ll live and who will provide a life for her. I know you have a foster family, but perhaps there are guardians you know who could care for her. You’re fully in control of that, you know, you’d just need to add it to your …’

‘What?’

‘Your will.’

Her eyes narrow. ‘Have you anyone in mind?’

‘I mean, I …’ I stall. It’s a vulnerable time in her life, I don’t want to be accused of undue influence, not over something as important as this. I sidetrack. ‘Well, her dad for one. Does he know about what’s going on? About Jewel? That you’re sick?’

She glares at me.

‘Sorry.’ I back off. ‘I thought we were having a moment.’

‘You’re having a flippin’ breakdown moment, is what you’re having. Let’s get back to work.’

We open the books and pick up where we left off.

‘Do you ever wish your husband wrote you different letters?’ she asks suddenly in the middle of writing the word love over and over. I’m choosing words that I know she’ll need for her letter to Jewel.

I tense up. ‘What do you mean?’

‘What I said,’ she says bluntly.

‘No.’

‘Liar.’

Irritated, I let her comment pass.

‘Do you know what you’re going to write in your letter yet?’ I ask.

‘I’m working on it,’ she says, head down and concentrating again on her cursive writing. Now it’s: dear, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear. ‘I know I don’t want it to be anything like Paul’s though,’ she adds when the line is complete.

‘Why not?’ I ask, surprised.

‘Are you serious?’ She eyeballs me again. ‘Paul has every second of his kids’ lives all sewn up, by the sounds of it. Their birthdays, their driving lessons, their weddings, their first days of school, the first day they wipe their own arses. It’s like he thinks he can see exactly who they’re going to be. But what if they’re not that person? I know Jewel better than anyone in the whole wide world. But even I don’t know what she’ll do five minutes from now, never mind tomorrow. It’ll be weird for them, you know?’ She shudders at the thought of their futures. ‘So that’s why I asked you about your husband’s letters. Maybe he got something wrong, that didn’t suit you after he died.’

She’s looking at me again. Her words have hit me with impact and my mind is racing.

‘Because if there’s a letter you didn’t like or something, you should probably tell Paul – not that he’d listen, Mr I Can Do This All By Myself. What is it with the men? Him and Bert. If they wanted their letters delivered, they should’ve hired a courier service. Me? I really need your help.’

‘I don’t know, Ginika,’ I sigh, everything unravelling again. ‘I sometimes wonder who’s teaching who here.’

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