in this room and steels himself before stepping across the threshold.
I often wonder why he didn’t raise an objection when I drafted the new plans. We had agreed we didn’t want the garage left as a mausoleum, and moving out of the last home we shared with Meg was never an option, but he could have offered an alternative suggestion. He didn’t because my husband is generally happy to go along with whatever I want – or at least he was.
‘Did you let everyone have an early finish?’ I ask.
‘Everyone except Jen. She insisted on hanging around till whoever’s on the helpline arrives.’
‘It’ll be Alison tonight,’ I tell him.
The helpline is open from five until eight on Monday, Wednesday and Friday evenings. It used to be open five days but we had to cut back when the calls dwindled and it became increasingly difficult to expect what had been a merry band of volunteers to give up their evenings when there were so few calls, or occasionally none at all. There are only five of us now, including me and Jen.
‘I was thinking,’ Geoff says as he sidesteps the breakfast bar to join me. ‘It’s not too late to take Sean up on his offer. We could be in Stratford in a couple of hours.’
I suppress a sigh. ‘But we’ve already told them no and they’ll have made alternative plans.’
‘We could book into a hotel,’ he replies as he takes a whiskey bottle from the cupboard. ‘It’s all very well seeing the twins on FaceTime but that’s no way to get to know their Nanna and Gramps properly.’
My shoulders sag. We’ve had this conversation before. ‘It’s not that I don’t want to see our little babies, but I have to be here for Meg’s birthday.’
Geoff’s head hangs down for a moment. ‘It was just an idea.’
I watch as he pours two fingers of whiskey into a glass. We grieve in our own ways. ‘We’ll do it another weekend,’ I promise.
There’s a thump above our heads as Geoff reaches for his glass. He pauses as a brief look of pain crosses his face.
‘I think we should let Helena go,’ I say, drawing his attention back to me. ‘I don’t like having someone else in the house.’
Geoff needs no further explanation but still he hesitates. ‘You might feel differently in a few days,’ he says. ‘You know how this time of year affects you.’
He makes it sound as if it’s only me who’s aware of the melancholy haze that descends during the last week of August but I know he feels it too. That’s why he reacted as he did to the videos being shown. That’s why his heart skipped a beat when he heard someone moving about upstairs. Just once, I wish he’d remember we’re not in this alone.
‘Putting it off won’t make any difference. I’ll speak to her today,’ I say.
‘If you’re sure,’ he replies before savouring the first mouthful of amber liquid.
‘Have I missed anything at work?’ I ask as I race to make our coffees before he can finish his drink and refill his glass.
‘Nothing much. The city planners are being difficult over the Whitespace project but I’ve asked the team to mull over possible solutions for next week.’
The Whitespace project is a major inner city redevelopment and one of the biggest schemes we’ve ever worked on. ‘I saw the emails this morning,’ I tell him. ‘Oh God, that reminds me, there was one from Selina asking if we’d sponsor a whole table for her fundraiser.’
‘Yeah, I had that one too.’
Selina Raymond is a force to be reckoned with despite her advancing years. Our paths had crossed a few years ago after her lodger had moved out of her large Victorian house and she decided to convert her home into a refuge. She had heard about the helpline, which was going strong back then, and when she discovered it had been set up by two architects, it didn’t take long for her to convince Geoff and me to design the refuge at cost, and now she’s looking to expand.
‘She’s going to struggle for the extra funding this year,’ I continue.
‘As are we all,’ Geoff replies, swirling the dregs in his glass as he speaks.
The black hole in the foundation’s budget is another argument Geoff has used for closing the helpline. In the early years, when Meg’s loss was raw, it had been relatively easy to pull on our clients’ heartstrings, but donations have dried up of late. I’m hoping our recent publicity will make all the difference.
‘Things will get better,’ I promise.
‘They already have for Selina,’ he replies brightly. ‘I made some phone calls and our clients didn’t need much persuading. They’re aware of how much these projects mean to us and our Whitespace partners have been particularly generous. I’ve already confirmed our table.’
‘You’ve done what?’
‘I thought you’d be pleased, my love. Surely we owe her after all the times she’s offered refuge to our callers.’
‘I’m not disputing it’s a good cause, but if we’re asking for donations, it should be for the foundation.’
‘And that can still happen, but for now, I’d rather see the money being put to better use.’
‘Better use?’ I ask as Geoff drains his glass. ‘What we do should take priority. Or –’ my eyes narrow, ‘– have you already made up your mind that the relaunch is going to fail? Is that what you want?’
‘I want what you want, my love,’ he says, looking hurt by the suggestion. ‘Haven’t I always supported you? The helpline is Megan’s legacy, I know that, but one TV interview isn’t going to be enough to turn around our fortunes, no matter how controversial you tried to make it.’
My jaw twitches. ‘Lewis deserves to be named, and I hope someone has told him what I said. I hope he looks it up online.’
Geoff puts his tumbler down with a loud crack. ‘So he can see the videos of Megan?’ he asks, his face twisting. ‘That’s precisely why I didn’t want you sharing her with the world, Ruth. She’s my daughter and I don’t want him looking at her.’
His eyes are glistening but Geoff won’t cry. He never has, and as much as I appreciate the times he’s needed to be strong for both of us, right now it would be nice to know that the pain that never leaves me has stayed with him too.
‘Sorry,’ I try but Geoff shakes his head.
‘What’s done is done,’ he says. ‘But I do think you need to look at our situation objectively. It’s going to take more than the cost of a table at Selina’s fundraiser to keep the foundation afloat and, as a trustee, I believe a managed closure should remain on the table.’ Geoff gives me an imploring look he hopes will sway me. ‘Come on, my love. How old do the twins have to be before we’ve missed out on them growing up? I’m sixty, and you’re not that far behind. We should sell the business, move closer to Sean. This is the point in our lives when we should be winding down.’
And there it is, the plan he’s been alluding to ever since he first raised the possibility of closing the helpline. I knew it was coming and that’s why I didn’t only fight harder with the relaunch, I fought dirty. Meg’s foundation has never been as important to Geoff as it is to me. It was just another of my plans that he simply went along with while I worked tirelessly to rebuild our lives in a way that kept our daughter at the centre of us all. Now is not the time for objectivity. I can’t let go of her, not even for my two-year-old granddaughters.
My expression alone tells Geoff what I think of his idea, and when he turns away, his hand reaches instinctively for the bottle of whiskey.
‘Geoff, you’d hate giving up work …’ I start but my words trail off as I hear Helena making her way downstairs. I feel an ache in my heart, quickly followed