Page 36 of AMS.TER.strum

‘Shit, I’m sorry to hear that.’

We walk towards the front of the house instead and Luuk opens the door and then turns towards me to wrap me in a hug. ‘Thank you for tonight.’

It’s not something new; we’ve been exchanging hugs for years, every time we see each other. But his words in my ear do something to the Corrie longing for her friend to not be just that. And she’s totally deaf to the blaring sirens and the warning lights and the barrier about to smack her on the head. So I linger in that hug, sink more into him, willingly swallowed by the quicksand of his embrace. Luuk’s arms tighten around me, and I swear that our hearts are beating in unison, as his head leans against the top of mine to give me a kiss.

‘Slaap lekker,’ he whispers in my ear, before pulling back and walking out the door.

And I’m just left there, watching his tall figure move away, knowing my sleep is going to be everything but lekker.

Chapter Fifteen

2019

Luuk

Our eyes meet above the crowd at the Irish pub where we—the band and I, plus a couple of Dutch technicians we’ve worked with in the past—have gathered to drink in Johan’s memory. It’s been months since the last time I saw Corrie, so I’m like a thirsty sod with a tunnel vision towards the spring of fresh water. I can’t get enough of her calm face—I swear it casts a glow in the pub—making the crowd part as she makes her way towards our group.

Her eyes never leave mine, and the noises just fade, the faces around us like 3-D wallpaper.

There’s a round of hugs and condolences before she finally reaches us. Her expression changes from smiling to gloomy and smiling again, the air in the pub containing less and less oxygen as she gets closer. And then she stands in front of me, her eyes two dark ponds in the dim lighting of the pub. When she rises to her tiptoes for a hug, I wrap my arms around her as if this is my last breath and Corrie the source of oxygen.

‘Good to see you again.’ I inhale her floral perfume like a truffle dog, my whole body melting around hers like chocolate covering a mould.

‘Likewise,’ she says close to my ear, her voice travelling down the length of my spine, and I don’t let the effect of that sound go lower. I’m not a horny teenager, right?

‘How have you been?’ I ask, even though we texted to agree on the venue.

‘Good, good,’ she replies. ‘Especially now that the morning sickness is over.’

The words register at first in slow motion, sending my gaze to her stomach, on the bump starting to show. She was under no obligation to make the announcement via text to someone she hardly knows, yet the fact that she didn’t stings.

‘Congratulations!’ I grab the opportunity for another, more careful hug.

‘Thank you. I won’t break, you know.’ She sends me an amused smile—the most beautiful one—like my own private island in an ocean of voices.

‘Fine, here comes.’ I go for another, slightly tighter hug.

‘That’s better.’

I hope that my voice is devoid of accusation when I ask, ‘How come you said nothing?’

‘The first months were pretty shitty, and there were some complications, so I kept the number of people who knew to a literal handful.’

How I wish I was amongst those few…

‘I get it.’

‘And then, because you were busy touring, and with the news about your dad…’

She isn’t off the mark here. Building a career was taking pretty much all of my time until the news of Dad’s diagnosis turned our lives upside down. There were signs we both ignored, until a closer look was taken and it became official.

The three-letter diagnosis that changed everything: RPD, a.k.a. Rapidly Progressing Dementia.

Corrie

We stand there, unsure of what expression will deliver our thoughts better, but come short and recur to two mirroring smiles, content in their shyness. I relish our silence, not because it’s easier than struggling to be heard in a room of loud voices, but because it’s like cotton wool that lets our thoughts rest on its softness, our gazes a stable anchor on each other. It’s like building another level of familiarity, after the texts and calls we have been exchanging in the past months, letters and voices building a comforting, safe closeness. Which makes the fact that I didn’t tell him about my pregnancy weird, the reasons only semi-legit.

‘Is everything going well now?’