She could hear a tap running in the background and imagined him standing in a towel, smoothing shaving foam over his face.
‘It’s me.’ She hadn’t spoken to anyone in two days and the weakness in her voice startled her. She cleared her throat. ‘I’m at the airport.’
‘Where?’
‘San Francisco.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m flying home.’
She heard him turn off the tap. ‘What’s happened? Are you okay?’
When she had set out on this journey, she knew Ed had questioned the wisdom of her decision. It was one thing for Mia to travel to far-flung corners of the world, but Katie was cut from a different cloth and he’d doubted she’d be able to cope so soon after losing her sister. ‘I can’t do this,’ she admitted.
‘Katie—’
‘I really wanted to. I can’t bear to think that …’ She broke off as tears slipped onto her cheeks.
‘It’s okay, darling.’
She swiped at the tears with the back of her hand. It wasn’t okay. She had only been in America for twelve days. Leaving England she’d felt certain that retracing Mia’s route would bring her closer to understanding what happened, yet the further she travelled, the more distance she felt from Mia. She hadn’t danced till dawn in San Francisco’s downtown, or swum in her underwear in the Pacific; she hadn’t the energy to hike into Yosemite to look down from the tops of waterfalls, or gaze up at age-old redwoods; neither did she have the courage to stay in the colourful hostels Mia and Finn had visited, or put up a tent beneath a sky of stars. She could no more travel like her sister than she could understand her.
Instead, she had found herself drifting from hotel to hotel, ordering fast food or room service to avoid eating out, and watching films long into the night simply to put off sleeping. She spent her days driving along empty coast roads, then parking up and sitting on the bonnet of the car with a rug around her shoulders, listening to foam-crested waves smashing against rock.
Memories of Mia lined Katie’s days. Some she invited in to provide comfort, as if she wouldn’t feel the cold space of Mia’s absence if she could wrap herself in enough of them. Other memories arrived unannounced, carried on the smell of the breeze, or freed by a song playing on the radio, or emanating from a stranger’s gesture.
Ed, gently and without reproach, said, ‘It was too soon.’
He was right – had been right all along.
‘Have you bought your ticket yet?’ he asked.
‘No.’
‘I want you to put yourself on the next flight home. Don’t worry about the cost. I’ll take care of it. I just want you back here, safely.’
‘Thank you.’
‘God, I’ve missed you. Why don’t I arrange to take some time off? We can lock down in my apartment for a few days. I’ll cook for you. We’ll watch old DVDs. We can go for long walks – it’s feeling more like spring now.’
‘Is it?’ she said distractedly.
‘Your friends will be pleased. Everyone’s been worrying about you. My inbox has never been so full! Once you’re home, you will start to feel better. I promise.’
Returning to England, to his apartment, to his arms, was what she needed. She should be in a place where her friends were only a Tube stop away, where she could find a supermarket without the need of a map, where she knew the cinema and gym schedules so that every free hour could be filled. This new world that she had stepped into was too big, too remote from what she knew.
‘Ring me as soon as you’ve booked. I’ll pick you up.’ He paused. ‘Katie, I can’t wait to see you.’
‘Me too,’ she said, but even as she ended the call, an uneasy disappointment settled in her chest.
She hoisted on Mia’s backpack, familiar now with the technique of throwing it over her shoulders, and found the queue for the ticket desk. It snaked around a maze of barriers and she joined behind a family whose toddler lay asleep on top of a stack of black cases on their trolley.
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