Free The Memory Book by Rowan Coleman Page B

towards each other in a concerted effort to remain connected, no matter how gravity and kinetic energy might try to pull us apart. I must have been just pregnant with Caitlin by then, not that I’d known it. Strange how quickly that determination to touch dissolved so absolutely, so quickly, into nothing. I tucked the letter and photo into the back of the book and I waited for Caitlin to come down to dinner. That would be the right time, I decided. With everyone here who cares about her: Esther to make her smile, and Greg to offer her support. That would be the best time to set things right.
    ‘Well, she can’t just turn up on his doorstep and find out that way, if that’s what you are thinking. Imagine it!’ Mum raises a brow as she sets out a trio of objects around my memory book. I slide it off the table and hold it to my chest, feeling the chill of the fifty-cent coin against my skin.
    ‘Of course I don’t think that,’ I say softly, suddenly exhausted.
    Mum stirs something, a sauce she’s made to go with the meat that’s in the oven. ‘I mean, think about her,’ Mum says.‘Think about what she is facing now. A dad might come in handy.’
    This time, I don’t answer. Instead, I find myself resting my head against the book, laying my cheek on its uneven surface. I’ve run out of effort.
    The front door opens, and I am grateful to see Esther running in, clutching a bright-pink teddy bear, which must be a present from her other granny. Greg has been to his mother’s. She rarely comes here. She did not approve of her son’s aged wife even before I officially became a burden, and now she is distraught at his predicament. The sight of me does actually move her to tears. Greg did offer to take me along as well, and for a while it was a close thing: an afternoon with my mother, or his … But in the end I chose my own. Better the devil you know.
    ‘Look!’ Esther shows me her bear, proudly. ‘I’m going to call him Pink Bear From Granny Pat.’
    ‘How lovely,’ I say, smiling over her head at Greg, and for a second we share a familiar joke. Esther’s literal soft toy animal names are legendary. Lined up on her bed right now are, among others, Ginger Coloured Dog with One Eye, and Blue Rabbit That Smells a Bit Funny.
    ‘I don’t know why it has to be a pink bear,’ Mum says, regarding the creature scathingly as if it were Granny Pat herself. ‘Why is it that just because she is a little girl, she must have pink foisted upon her?’
    ‘Pink is my favourite colour!’ Esther tells my mum, eyeingthe food that she is putting into serving dishes. ‘It’s much nicer than blue or green, or yellow or purple, or something. Actually, I do like purple, and that really bright green, like grass. I like Granny Pat, but I don’t like broccoli or meat.’
    ‘You are just like your mother.’ Mum doesn’t mean it as a compliment, but Esther takes it as one, and beams.
    ‘How was school?’ Greg asks me, sitting down. He reaches out to touch me, and then, seeing how uncomfortable I am, withdraws his hand. I just can’t hide it, even though I try to because I know that he’s my husband, Esther’s dad, and that I have loved him very much. I’ve seen the wedding photos, the video. I remember the way I felt about him – I feel the memories still, like an echo, but they are in the past now. In the present, I am numb. I see him, and I know him, but he feels like a stranger. It hurts him – the awkward small talk, the polite chit-chat we make. Like two people stuck in a waiting room forced to discuss the weather.
    ‘Sad,’ I say, like I am apologising. ‘I still don’t know why I can’t teach. I mean, I can’t drive, fine, but why can’t I teach? It’s so …’ I lose the words. They fall away from me, cruelly answering my own question. ‘And then I tried to talk to Caitlin about her father, but I don’t think it went very well, so I thought I’d try again when we were all together.’
    ‘Daddy is