The End is Where We Begin Maria Goodin (best classic romance novels .TXT) 📖

This is Libby. She’s an old… er… an old friend of mine.”

Libby smiles and gives a little wave.

“Oh, right,” smiles Rachel, looking relieved. “Well, listen. I’m going to be here a while, so maybe we can catch up later, okay?”

As she passes by, she places the flat of her palm against my stomach, letting it linger there a moment. I swallow hard and try not to let my eyes follow after her.

“Sorry ’bout that,” I mumble over my shoulder to Libby.

“No problem,” she says, and I catch a little smirk on her face before we descend the steps.

We wander slowly along the towpath in silence. I rack my brain for something to say, but where do I start? Should I bring up the past, the only shared territory we have in common? Stick to the present? Enquire about her fiancé, wedding plans, living situation…? But is any of that really my business? We’ve spent hours on this towpath. Two little kids cycling their bikes, exploring the woodlands, finding bugs, sharing their sweets… And years later, holding hands, talking, laughing, kissing, sometimes arguing. And now here we are again, third time round. Silent.

I open my mouth to say something, anything, but just then my phone buzzes. I dig it out of my back pocket with a sense of relief. But it’s not Michael. It’s a message from Josh.

Wot time r u back?

I reply quickly, mumbling an apology to Libby.

Hour tops. Why?

He responds straight away.

Wot dissolves superglue?

“What the hell?” I sigh.

“Everything okay?” asks Libby.

“Yeah, sorry, just Josh,” I tell her vaguely, typing back.

What’s it on?

“God, it’s just one thing after another,” I say, shaking my head.

“Teenagers, eh?” Libby quips.

“You don’t know the half of it,” I sigh.

Skin, Josh replies. I’m glued to Sam.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” I mutter. “I’m really sorry, do you mind if I make a quick call?”

“Of course not.”

We stop walking and she diplomatically turns to study the narrowboats moored at the edge of the water, while I wait for Josh to pick up. I’m half expecting him to answer in a state of panic, but instead I’m immediately met by the sound of the two boys laughing as if this is the funniest thing ever.

“We’ve glued our arms together!” Josh shouts breathlessly.

“How the hell…?”

“I don’t know. We were just seeing what would happen.”

“You were just seeing what would happen if you put superglue on your arms and stuck them together?”

“It was an experiment. We didn’t think it would dry that fast. Or stick so hard.”

“What are you doing with superglue?”

“Making a model airplane. Sam’s mum bought it for him. We think she was probably drunk and forgot he’s not, like, seven anymore.”

I hear Sam burst into laughter, which seems inappropriate, but having never had an alcoholic mother, who am I to judge how he handles it?

“And this model airplane kit for seven-year-olds came with superglue?” I ask, sceptically.

“Well, no, but the glue it came with was taking too long to dry and it wasn’t very strong, so…”

“So you thought you’d try superglue. Because it’s very strong and dries very fast. It sounds like you already had the answer to your experiment right there, Josh.”

“I’m not saying there was a whole lot of logic in this, Dad,” he says, making Sam laugh even louder.

“Well, how much of you is stuck together?”

“Like, a quarter of our forearms.”

“What?!”

“No, not a quarter, I dunno, like, a bit.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Josh.”

“What do we do? It said use nail varnish remover on YouTube, but we don’t have any.”

“Funnily enough, no. Have you soaked it?”

“In what?”

“Water. And soap.”

“No, ’cause it just said use nail varnish—”

“Look, put your arms in some hot, soapy water for ten minutes or so and if it still doesn’t come off, then walk down to Tesco and get some nail varnish remover.”

“We can’t go to Tesco, we’re stuck together!”

“Well tough! You shouldn’t have been such morons!”

“Oh my God,” he groans dramatically, as if this was somehow my fault.

“Look,” I sigh, “I’ll be back in an hour, then I’ll go out to Tesco if I need to, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Thank you!” I hear Sam shout just as I end the call.

“Everything okay?” asks Libby, turning to me.

“My idiot son and his idiot best friend have somehow superglued their arms together,” I explain, returning my phone to my pocket.

Libby clamps her hand over her mouth, looking both horrified and amused.

I shake my head despairingly, but smile. I’m slightly worried my evening will end with a lengthy wait in A&E, but I can also see the funny side.

“Kids,” I sigh, as we resume walking side by side.

“The teenage years must be extremely challenging,” she says.

“Every year’s extremely challenging.”

She laughs as if I’m joking.

“I think it’s a lot easier now, actually, than it used to be.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, the early years were…” I search for the word, but nothing really sums it up adequately, “hard.”

“I can’t even imagine.”

We fall silent for a while, the last sixteen years like a gaping chasm between us. Where to even begin?

Libby fiddles with her necklace.

“So, is Hellie…?”

“Haven’t heard from her in years. She moved to the States when Josh was three.”

“And she’s never kept in contact with him?”

“Nope. Nothing.”

“Wow.”

“Wow indeed.” I make no attempt to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

“I mean, I heard on the grapevine that she left, but I had no idea it was quite so… er…”

“Final?”

“Right.”

“She wasn’t really on board from the start, to be honest. Not long after Josh was born, this guy she knew offered her a bit of modelling work in the US, and then it seemed to turn into promotion work or acting or something and… I don’t know. She came and went. And then she just… went.”

“And so, what, you brought him up on your own?”

“God, no, I couldn’t have done it on my own. My dad was there to help for a few years, but, well, then he couldn’t anymore. But my sister did a lot, and so did Michael. I don’t know what I would have