Page 153 of Carry Me Home

‘I’m listening.’

I take a breath. ‘I loved him. I loved him and he was going to ask me to marry him and I didn’t know, and when he died, I thought I’d never feel anything again.’ My voice wavers but I push through. ‘For almost a year now, I’ve been walking around with a hole in my chest. And I thought that hole would be there forever. I thought that was just who I am now.’

Tom’s thumb traces circles on my knuckles. He doesn’t speak.

‘But then you left. And the hole got bigger. And I realised that some of it was you. That I’d been so focused on losing Peter that I didn’t notice I was losing you too. And when Jude told me and everything rearranged itself, I understood I’d been mourning two things without knowing it.’

‘Nina—’

‘Let me finish.’ I squeeze his hand. ‘I’m always going to love Peter. He was my first real love. I can’t pretend that away. I won’t.’

‘I would never ask you to.’

‘I know. That’s why I’m telling you.’ I meet his eyes. ‘I love you. Differently. Not less, not more. Different. And I need you to be okay with that. I need you to know there’s room for both. Back when I stayed with Mum in Truro she asked me who I was. Who I was before Peter.’

Tom just watches me.

‘“Who is Nina Ellis?” she asked me.’ My voice is wobbling and I reach for his hand. ‘And I’ve been so very lost, Tom, so lost in the dark that I couldn’t see.’

‘What couldn’t you see?’ It’s a whisper.

‘You.’

Tom’s quiet for a long moment. His face is serious.

‘Can I say something now?’

‘Yes.’

‘You know I was there when he bought the ring.’

My heart clenches, the way it did when he first told me.

He holds up a hand before I can speak. ‘I stood in that jewellery shop in Truro and I watched him pick out a ring for you. And I helped him. Told him to choose the aquamarine – because you loved the sea, because everything about you was the sea.’ His gaze drops briefly, colour rising in his cheeks. ‘And I went home and I was glad for him. And it nearly killed me.’

The tears come before I can stop them.

‘I don’t need to replace him,’ Tom says. ‘I don’t want to fill a space he left. I want—’ He pauses. Finds the word. ‘I want to stand beside you. Not in his place. Beside it.’

‘You already do.’

‘Do I?’

‘Tom.’ I stand up. Walk around the counter. Take his face in my hands. ‘You’re not second choice. You’re not a consolation. You’re the person who stood in a jewellery shop and helped another man buy a ring for the woman you loved because you wanted her to be happy. That’s not patience. That’s not martyrdom. That’s—’ My voice breaks. ‘That’s extraordinary.’

He closes his eyes. I feel the tension drain out of him – the last of it, the deep-held fear he’s been carrying that he’d always be the one who came after.

‘I’ve waited a long time to hear that,’ he says.

‘I know. I’m sorry it took so long.’

‘Don’t be.’ He opens his eyes. Bright, wet at the edges. ‘You had to get there on your own.’

I kiss him. Gently. Tasting salt – his tears or mine, impossible to tell.

‘For the record,’ he says against my mouth, ‘there’s room. Whatever you need to feel, however you need to grieve – I’ll be there. I’m not threatened by a ghost. I’m just grateful to be here.’

Tom’s parents’ house smells of roast chicken and furniture polish.