‘About what?’
‘About the termination, of course.’
Somehow, Banks had known that was coming, but it still felt like yet another blow he hadn’t had a chance to protect himself from. He didn’t reel quite as much as he had from the first piece of news, but he felt a tightness in his chest and a burning sensation behind his eyes. He gulped some more wine, was vaguely aware of Julie opening another bottle, red this time. He had almost finished his main course and didn’t feel like eating any more so he pushed his plate aside.
‘She knew you’d do your best to talk her out of it,’ Julie went on. ‘It was an awful period for her. Not physically, there were no medical problems, but... the depression afterwards, the self-loathing. I was there with her through all that. Later.’
‘She didn’t have to go through with it.’
‘Well, she was right, wasn’t she? You would have tried to talk her out of it.’
Banks considered the comment. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I probably would have tried to dissuade her from having an abortion. But if she was so determined... I mean, I wasn’t anti-abortion, pro-life or anything. It would have been her choice.’
‘Emily wasn’t anywhere near as strong as you thought she was. Believe me, it took almost all she had to do what she did. But she knew where it would lead if she had a baby, knew the life it would pull her towards, and that wasn’t the life she wanted.’
‘But she had children later.’
‘Yes, when she was ready. Face it, Alan, neither of you were ready back then, in 1973.’
‘We could have made it work.’
‘Perhaps. And perhaps Emily would have believed you. But think about it. Think about it now, after the passage of all that time, the children you do have, the life you’ve lived, the things you’ve achieved. Would you have wished it to be any different?’
‘Well,’ said Banks after a brief pause. ‘There are some days I could definitely have done without.’
Julie smiled. ‘I don’t mean that sort of thing. There’s events we all wish had never happened to us, things we regret. A drop of red? It’s Rioja, too.’
‘Please.’ Banks held out his glass.
‘Do you want a clean—’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
Julie poured. Banks sat with his chin in his hands trying to get a grasp on his feelings. He couldn’t. For some reason he heard a few snatches of ‘Gliders and Parks’ in his head. It seemed to offer some oblique comment on his last meeting with Emily in Hyde Park. He tried to imagine having a baby with her, a life together wholly different from the life he had lived. He couldn’t. And the other alternative would be having a child out there he hadn’t known about all these years. He wondered how that would feel?
‘Is this why you invited me for the condemned man’s last meal?’ he said finally. ‘To give me this news?’
‘Oh, don’t be so melodramatic. Or sarcastic. You’re not being condemned to anything except the truth. And you always did have a sarky tongue on you, Alan Banks. I told you, Marcel loves to cook for people, and I thought you might enjoy it, having driven all this way. Is it just your job, or have you never been able to see any charitable motives in anyone?’
‘Such as Emily?’
‘It’s true that she did what she did to spare herself a lot of grief, but even though you might not realise it yet, she was sparing you, too.’
Banks said nothing, returned to his wine.
‘What are you thinking?’ Julie asked.
‘Nothing much. I’m a bit too stunned to think, if truth be told.’
‘It was all for the best, Alan.’
‘Maybe it was. We were very young. I... I just wish... Oh, never mind.’
‘I know you wish it could have been different. But it couldn’t be. It was what it was. Don’t hold it against Emily. Don’t let it taint your memory of her. Don’t hate her.’
‘I could never hate her. I just wish I’d known, that’s all. I wish she’d told me. Even if she had wanted to go through with the abortion, I could have been with her. At her side. I could have comforted her. She wouldn’t have been alone.’
‘She needed to be alone. And I’ve told you why she couldn’t tell you.’
‘I know. And you’re probably right. But that doesn’t help.’
‘Let me bring the cheese plate.’
Julie got up and left the room. The candles flickered and the sea continued to rumble and smash against the wall, like Banks’s thoughts, sucking back the water like an indrawn breath. He drank some Rioja. And some more. Julie re-appeared with the cheeses. Runny Camembert, old Cheddar, blue-veined Stilton. Banks didn’t have much of an appetite left, but he cut himself a chunk or two, took some water crackers and grapes. He was feeling a bit dizzy and realised that he had had far too much to drink. Driving home was out of the question. Too late to worry about that now. He’d find a hotel in town.
As if reading his thoughts, Julie said, ‘You can’t drive all the way back to Eastvale like this. The front guest room’s made up, just in case we had any last-minute customers. It’s yours for the night if you want it.’
‘Thank you,’ said Banks. ‘I’ll take you up on that.’
‘The squall,’ Julie said, pointing. ‘Look. It’s receding.’
Banks followed her gaze and, sure enough, the sea had stopped battering the wall, and there were even one or two gaps in the clouds towards the horizon, like tears in fabric, where the stars and a hint of moonlight shone through. Banks thought he could see the lights of a fishing boat far out at sea, but he realised it must be a buoy of some sort; it would be madness for anyone to go out fishing in this weather.
‘Someone mentioned at the funeral that Emily worked for Médecins Sans Frontières,’ he said. ‘How did that come about?’
‘It was just something she wanted to do. She travelled through most of her twenties and early thirties, did temp office work to make money, then she married Luke and raised two children. She and Luke were happy for many years, but they split up when the kids went to university. That’s when she took the job.’
‘But she didn’t train as a doctor, did she?’
Julie laughed. ‘Good lord, no. She wasn’t a doctor. She worked in administration. The doctors’ doctor, she called herself. They need someone to keep the wheels rolling — food, supplies, medicines, personnel, soap, towels, accommodation and so on. Training local people to do the job. That was Emily’s job. She worked in every hellhole in the world, from South Sudan to Afghanistan. I can’t imagine how awful a lot of it must have been. But her letters and emails were funny and insightful. Never self-pitying. I wish I’d kept them. She loved what she was doing, though it took its toll on her. Depression was never very far from the horizon. Witnessing so much of man’s inhumanity to man can do that to you. But it didn’t break her spirit.’
Banks took in what Julie had said, tried to imagine Emily under fire in a tent in a desert somewhere. ‘Why tell me about the pregnancy now?’ he asked. ‘After all these years. You said you knew all along.’
‘Yes, but it was my secret to keep, not to spread around. In the end, it was something Emily wanted, a favour she asked of me. Her last wish, if you like. Not to hurt you. She’d just felt guilty about it her whole life. She wanted you to know. That’s all. I think because she knew she was dying she got caught up in the past, her youth, and you were a big part of that, an unresolved issue, if you like. Unfinished business. She wanted to put things right. She knew she couldn’t turn back the clock, but she wanted to do what she could to reveal what happened. Believe me, she didn’t ask me to do this to hurt you. That was the last thing on her mind. I think she wanted your forgiveness. She talked most of all about the good times and good feelings. She said people often forget about that as love grows older and colder over time. That first days feeling. The sheer joy and ecstasy of falling in love, when everything seems new and possible. Do you forgive her, Alan?’