35. Holly, Melbourne

Istir sugar into a mug of tea and pass it to Nat.

‘I was going to do that,' she says, taking it from me.

‘I can make a cup of tea.' My tone is sharp, my voice unrecognisable, and I immediately let out a remorseful sigh. ‘I'm sorry. I know you're just trying to help.'

Nat gives me a sad smile. ‘It's fine.' She gazes out at Adam and Meg's backyard, where a small gathering of people dressed in black dot the lawn. ‘It was a nice service.'

‘It was,' I say. The funeral was a small affair in a chapel near Adam and Meg's place with relatives and some close family friends. Mum's truly gone and there's nothing left of my heart. It's shattered, an empty shell, a hole in my chest. I'm a thirty-one-year-old orphan, with only Adam and his family here and no relationship of my own. There is something so terribly sad about that, it almost floors me.

That fated day at the hospital, after Dr Wren explained that Mum had had a heart attack and the hospital staff had given us the obligatory support resources, we drove back to Adam's in separate cars. He took himself to bed, and I curled up in the spare room, with Meg tending to us both late into the night. The days that followed were dark and painful, Adam and I flitting between dealing with our own grief and holding the other up. I raged with the unfairness of it, while he stayed grateful Mum didn't have to cope with deteriorating further. At least arranging the funeral gave us something to focus on and a chance to spend time together to celebrate the memory of our parents.

Casey messaged me the day after Mum passed, unaware of what had happened. I sent a short reply to tell her – I couldn't cope with continuous messages asking how Mum was. My FaceTime lit up immediately, but I declined it; seeing Casey's face would've ended me. I sent another message a few days later to explain I couldn't talk and that we'd set a date for the funeral.

Nat rubs my back, reminding me I'm not alone. ‘I'm just going to check on Archie.' She leans closer. ‘Tom's on his way over.'

She disappears inside as Tom approaches me. Other than a few messages to tell him about Mum and a quick nod across the chapel, we haven't spoken.

Tom gives me a tentative smile and slips his hands into his suit pockets. ‘Good to see you, Hols. I'm really sorry about your mum.'

I nod. ‘Thank you. How are you?'

He shrugs. ‘Okay.'

The late afternoon breeze has turned cool, and I rub my bare arms. ‘How's Jack?'

‘Oh, he's pretty good. Getting used to spending time with me.' His eyes scan my face. ‘You look really well.'

I've hardly slept for two weeks, so I know that's not true, but he's never been comfortable in these situations and he'll be struggling to make conversation. I glance down at my shoes, sensible black flats that I once joked would only be good for a funeral.

‘Did you have a nice holiday?' he asks.

I almost scoff at that. ‘Nice' doesn't even come close. Incredible. Mind-blowing. Life-changing. Heart-breaking. But it feels so long ago now. ‘I did.'

‘I saw some of your photos on Instagram. Berlin looks like a beautiful city.'

My head snaps up. Since when is Tom on Instagram? My mind goes to the photos of Casey and me that I posted after she returned to London. Our Sappho and Erinna photo, she'd called it, and I feel my cheeks colour. ‘It is a beautiful city. It was good to go back.'

‘Looked like you met some friends while you were there?' he says, his tone curious.

I nod. ‘An old friend from when I was there for uni.'

His eyes narrow slightly before he says, ‘Didn't realise you had friends there.'

I give a half shrug.

His smile is tight. ‘I'm glad you didn't spend the whole time alone. I was worried about you.'

‘I'm a big girl, Tom.'

He gives a curt nod. ‘So, you're home to stay now?'

‘I guess so.'

‘Maybe we could catch up? Have dinner or something?'

‘I … erm…'

‘Just as friends.'

‘Oh. Friends. Maybe. Bit hard to think about anything past today at the moment.'

His cheeks redden. ‘Oh, yes, sorry. Of course. I meant…' He shakes his head. ‘Sorry.'

‘It's okay.' I point across the backyard. ‘I should probably see how Adam's doing.'

‘Sure. And again, I'm so sorry about your mum.' He reaches for my hand. ‘If you need someone to talk to…'

‘Bye, Tom,' I say, retracting my hand and stepping off the deck into the garden. ‘Hey,' I say to Adam when I reach him. ‘Are you doing okay?'

He nods gravely. ‘You?'

I swallow. ‘Numb.'

‘Yep. Me too.'

I give his arm a rub. ‘I'll go and say hello to a few more people and then we can wrap it up, hey?'

‘Yes, please.'

Adam, Meg and I spend another hour or so chatting to guests until everyone eventually leaves. As the sun sets, we move inside to the lounge, eyes red and scratchy, and share stories of Mum and Dad. Meg controls our wine intake, and my nephews sit on our laps, dabbing at our tears, while we show them photos and videos of their grandparents. Soon, exhaustion sets in and I take myself off to my room.

Tucked in bed, I pull my phone from my bag to find a message from Casey, and my heart stutters.

I couldn't let today pass without contacting you. I'm thinking of you and your family today and hope the day goes as well as it can. If you ever want or need to talk, I'm here for you. Always xx

I clutch the phone to my chest. ‘What have I done, Mum? Have I made a mistake?' I wait for some kind of sign – a flickering light, a photo frame flying off the chest of drawers – but the only sounds are Adam and Meg shuffling around the house, getting ready for bed. I read Casey's message again and my resolve weakens. I reply.

Funeral went okay. Thinking of you too.

Immediately, Casey's image flashes on my screen. My heart leaps and my finger automatically joins the FaceTime call. And there she is, radiant and beautiful. ‘Hello,' I say.

Casey gasps. ‘You answered. I totally didn't expect that.'

I give a tired smile.

‘You all right?' She shakes her head. ‘Sorry, that was stupid. Are you doing okay?'

A tear falls and I nod.

Her eyes widen. ‘You're not. Of course you're not.'

I wipe my cheek. ‘It was a difficult day. Mum was unwell for so long, and it's not just grief, but everything. The stress and shock of it all.'

Casey nods, her eyes filled with compassion.

‘At least the last words I said to her were "I love you" – and she said it back to me. And I got to see her in person, rather than being over there when it happened. I will always have that.' I choke back a sob.

Casey's eyes well and she clears her throat. ‘That's really special. I'm glad you got to see her too.'

We're silent as I brush away a few more tears, then she says, ‘You want me to hop on a plane after work? I totally will.'

Yes, my heart screams, but I give a weary shake of my head. ‘I'll be okay.' A heavy pause follows, filled with everything we need and want to say to one another, but that's too much right now, so I ask, ‘Are you at work?'

She glances around. ‘Yep. This is my little office.' She switches the view and does a quick scan. I glimpse white walls and a bright painting of a beach before she flips it back to her. ‘I've been working a lot, curating the winter exhibition. Opens mid-December.'

What I'd give to be there right now, sharing her excitement about a new exhibition and looking forward to going to another opening with her.

She chews her bottom lip, then says, ‘I miss you, Holly.'

I hesitate, uncertain whether I should open up, but I'm raw and vulnerable, my guard down. ‘I miss you too.'

She brightens. ‘You do?'

I nod.

‘But I'm here and you're there,' she says sadly.

I slip further down into the bed and lay my head on the pillow, my eyelids drooping. I want to fall asleep with her beside me.

‘You look tired,' she says.

‘It's been a long few weeks.'

‘I'll let you go,' she says. ‘Do you think we could talk again? Try and…' She shrugs. ‘Just talk again?'

‘Mmm. Maybe. Night, Casey.' I hold my finger to the screen to end the call.

‘Wait.' She stares at me, those dark eyes digging into my soul. ‘I…' She shakes her head. ‘Nothing. Night.'