Before You Say Goodbye

Chapter 11

“I can’t believe we’re still doing this.” Three days after Autumn’s mammoth meltdown and subsequent lay-in, Marley was marching her through a cool and persistent drizzle across a neighbouring field towards a sheltered corner of evergreens. It was the second day in a row he’d dragged her out here to rehearse the stupid tribute medley they’d promised Larry Ross they would perform at his annual summer ball. Despite the promise of a storm in the air — and much to Autumn’s amusement — the chickens flapped inquisitively after them, as they had the day before. It was the only part of this fiasco she was managing to take any pleasure in.

“Bowie wants to go to the ball and we promised Larry we would do this,” Marley said. “When did you become so whiny?”

Autumn was self-aware enough to know she was being whiny — she’d been this way for a while — but she couldn’t stop.

“I don’t know. Probably at some point after the love of my life had a heart attack .” Marley rolled his eyes, searching on his phone for the backing track he’d recorded.

“Oh, did Bowie, my twin brother, have a heart attack? You should have mentioned it.” It was somewhere between a joke and a goad, and it took her by surprise — he’d been entirely patient with her up until now. She was annoyed. She’d never been through anything like this before and she didn’t think she deserved Marley’s ratty remark. She told him so.

“I’m joking, Autumn, for fuck’s sake,” he said, propping his phone up on a clump of dry grass. They stopped bickering to listen to the track. It sounded higher than it had the day before. Faster? Autumn felt panic swell in her abdomen. She had no idea how she was going to do this. Marley had completely overestimated her vocal ability when he’d pulled together a selection of Bowie’s songs and woven them into a medley. She didn’t think she could manage to sing it to a standard acceptable even to her own ears, let alone the ears of two hundred strangers. Standing beside Marley and his melodic tone, Autumn knew that she sounded like a schoolgirl singing with Johnny Cash. She was beginning to hate him for making her do it. She was already embarrassed and nobody had heard her yet besides Marley.

“It’s easy, see?” he said, as they came to the end of the song.

“For you, maybe,” she retorted. “When all this is over, I’m going to ask you to write an eighty-thousand-word novel and send it to a publisher, then we’ll see what’s easy.”

* * *

“From the top!” he called out, resetting the track to the opening bars. Autumn closed her eyes and sang as best she could. There was no denying that the arrangement was beautiful. It began with some joyously upbeat lyrics about two people finding one another against all odds, moved into a piece about everything turning out fine if families stuck together through whatever they had to face, and the finale was a soulful ballad about how it felt when you had to say goodbye. It was this last song that scared Autumn the most, not just because it was difficult to sing, but also because she was worried how Bowie might react to hearing it. He was always going to be grateful, surprised and overwhelmed by their efforts, but she had grave concerns he might well become upset. These songs were written from his heart. The lyrical goodbyes in the last number were deeply distressing. The Whittle men had been raised in a way that was at odds with social norms. They were shamelessly emotional. Bowie would cry. Autumn didn’t think reducing him to tears in such a public situation for the sake of nostalgia was fair to him.

“You’re not really trying,” Marley said when they were done.

“Fuck off,” she replied curtly.

“You’re not, Autumn!”

“I’m not a singer, remember? I am doing the best that I can.”

“No, you aren’t,” he said. “You sang better than that just sitting in the dressing room that night we were all together.”

“The night you signed me up for this without my permission?” she said . Marley sighed.

Petulantly, Autumn plonked herself down on the pine needles on the ground. A deliberate act of defiance. He’d already asked her to stay standing when they’d rehearsed the day before, insisting she needed her full lung capacity to be able to sing properly. Well, Autumn didn’t want to sing. She was on strike. The ground was wet and uncomfortable, but she was too stubborn to let him see her get back up. That would be admitting defeat. Marley watched her for a moment, then leaned against a tree trunk.

“Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone weren’t professional singers when they were cast in La La Land ,” he said. “And they won Oscars.”

“Good for them.” Autumn picked up a stick and snapped it, launching one half of it at the ground. The chickens thought it was something they could eat and ran towards it, pecking at it eagerly and clucking irritably when they realised it wasn’t appetising. “Bowie isn’t going to be able to go to this stupid ball anyway.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s the spirit,” Marley said sarcastically, folding his legs beneath him and joining her on the ground. They sat in silence. The sky was elephant grey and Autumn could hear thunder rumbling away somewhere in the distance and could see heavy rain falling on the horizon. It wouldn’t be long before it reached them.

“Don’t worry, Autumn,” Marley said, defeated. “I can just sing it for him by myself.”

Autumn was wrong-footed. That wasn’t what she wanted. She’d thought it was, but now she felt suddenly sad. Marley was cutting her out of Bowie’s lovely surprise, just like that. It wasn’t fair. She wanted to take it all back. She didn’t know how to tell him what she was feeling without sounding as though she was losing her mind. She’d been a nightmare to live with for three days now. On the morning after they’d all resolved their differences, she’d woken up in a terrible mood and hadn’t been able to shake it off. She’d tried everything to lift her spirits but they were still all over the place. No one was being spared her irritation but, for some reason, her inner monster had settled mainly on taking it all out on Marley. She’d been incredibly rude to him, snapping at him whenever he spoke, ignoring him when he asked her for her help with anything, and sneering when he was talking to the others. She’d been so vicious to him over dinner the evening before, Bowie had torn into her about it when they had gone to bed. She’d promised him she would try her best to stop, but had admitted that, at the moment, for some unknown reason, Marley’s presence alone was enough to piss her off.

Autumn looked up and sighed at the sky above them. She was fizzing with rage. Although she knew, deep down, that Marley was only trying to give her what she wanted, she felt as though he was trying to take her part in Bowie’s surprise away from her. She wondered if she was subconsciously resentful of the night Marley had spent with Bowie, which meant one less she got to spend with him. Or perhaps, subconsciously, she was upset with Bowie, but taking it out on his physically fit twin instead.

Whatever it was, she was way too tired to try to figure out what was wrong with her. She lay back and closed her eyes. Marley let her sleep.

When the rain reached them, they got to their feet in moody silence and made their way back to the house.

* * *

“There are only three chickens out there today,” Emma said the following morning. She was clutching a mug of coffee and looking at the coop out of the kitchen window. Autumn, Bowie and Marley joined her. She was right. They were scratching around at the ground in the same way they did every morning, but there were only three of them.

“There were four yesterday,” Marley said. The chickens had followed them obediently home. Autumn remembered because she’d almost fallen over one as they’d clambered over the perimeter fence and into the Whittles’ garden.

“Definitely?” Emma asked Marley cautiously, so as not to alert Bowie to the time they had spent together. He’d been sleeping when they’d left and with Pip when they’d returned. Autumn thought about it. She knew for certain that at least two chickens had followed them home, but she couldn’t be sure there had been four. They’d run almost the entire way back. She’d headed straight for the house, Marley had followed her to the porch, realised he needed to lock up the chicken coop, then run back out into the rain to do it. She’d presumed he’d checked all chickens were present, but she could tell from the worried expression on his face he hadn’t. Marley eyed his mother.

“Yes, I’m pretty sure there were four.”

“Oh God, what if Miranda’s been out all night?” Emma said, putting down her coffee cup and picking up her scarf, her brow lined with worry. Autumn winced. Emma had rescued the chickens and was so incredibly fond of them. The storm had rumbled overhead for hours in the night and the rain hadn’t eased. If the chicken was lost, it was likely that she’d gotten into some sort of trouble. Marley handed his mother’s coffee cup back to her, unwinding the scarf from around her neck and wrapping it around his own.

“I’ll go, Mum,” he said lovingly.

“Are you sure, baby?” she asked. Marley nodded. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed the tip of his nose.

“I’ll come too,” Autumn said, feeling guilty. If Miranda had got lost, it was their fault.

“No, don’t worry,” Marley said, pulling on his duffle coat. “This is all my fault. I locked up the coop, I should have checked. And there’s no point in us both getting wet.”

“I don’t mind.” Autumn took a yellow raincoat down from the peg. “We can cover more ground between us. Can I wear this, please?”

“Of course,” Emma replied.

“Be careful,” Bowie called as they left.

The rain was still practically apocalyptic. They hesitated on the porch, hoping Miranda might appear. She didn’t. They eyed one another apprehensively, heading for the coop. It was warm, but the morning was dark. Raindrops pelted the ground, bouncing several inches up into the air before they settled into puddles that were flooding the garden. Thick, black clouds swirled threateningly above their heads. If the chicken was alive, she must be hiding somewhere. Autumn prayed the whole way that they would find Miranda, but the coop was empty. They’d have to look further afield.

“Ready?” Marley asked her. She nodded through her discomfort. The rain pounded against her head so hard it took her breath away. Marley headed straight towards where they’d been rehearsing. It suddenly seemed a long way away. Autumn wanted to go back inside, but couldn’t bear to leave Emma’s precious hen to fend for herself, so she followed Marley, pushing the tall, wet grass aside with her hands as they walked, wishing she was wearing something on her feet other than pumps. They checked everywhere they thought a chicken might hide as they went, but she was nowhere to be found.

“Maybe she’s at the back of the garden,” Marley shouted. Autumn could barely hear him. In the ten minutes or so they’d been searching, the rain had grown even heavier. It was belting down through the leaves of the trees and smashing against the muddy ground.

They scoured the entire garden in their search for Miranda, but there was no sign of her anywhere. Autumn was starting to panic. If they’d left her out in the field all night, she could be anywhere by now. She might slowly starve to death. She could have wandered for miles, feeling lost, scared and alone. She might have been eaten by a fox. Autumn felt sick.

The Whittles’ chickens were the first chickens Autumn had ever known personally, and she had grown to care for them. They’d come into her life at exactly the right time. She’d been writing her new book all wrong, depicting her chicken characters in a way that was flat and monotonous. Now, she could see that chickens were bursting with personality. They were funny and sweet. She especially liked it when Emma scrambled their eggs and crushed up their eggshells to feed back to them, something Autumn had learned gave them nourishment. They’d smell the eggs cooking and peck eagerly at the front door, clucking noisily and jostling one another out of the best spot. She’d once helped Ben chase them around the garden after they’d stolen a bunch of grapes from the fruit bowl on the kitchen windowsill. Whenever anyone sat on the swing in the garden, the chickens jumped up next to them, fluffing up their feathers expectantly and cawing gently if they were stroked. Emma was pleased to hear Autumn’s second book was focused on the plight of caged hens, as it was a cause very close to her heart. She would never keep pets, she insisted, it wasn’t vegan to do so, but she would rescue animals who had nowhere else to go. She told Autumn these four had very sadly had a tough start in life.

“Pip and I sometimes visit the slaughterhouses nearby and join protests against them. One day, we managed to sneak a few of the chickens out of the lorry on their way in. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, because I could only grab hold of a few and I had to leave so many others behind. We managed to bring six home between us, but two passed away pretty quickly. They had no feathers and were terrified of us. When we put them on the grass for the first time, they obviously hadn’t seen anything like it before.”

As far as Autumn was concerned, Emma was a goddess. A hero. She’d once spent almost an hour out in the rain removing slugs from the driveway so that she didn’t drive over them on her way out. She’d parked out on the road on her return, mortified by the idea she might kill one. To her, there was no difference between running over an insect or hitting a dog. The chickens had become like family to her. If Miranda was dead, she would be devastated. Autumn knew Emma would blame herself for not double checking when Marley had insisted he’d locked up the chickens the night before and they were safe. She wanted so desperately to find Miranda and put Emma’s mind at rest.

“One more look around the field, do you think?” Marley asked. They’d been out for almost an hour now and Autumn was beginning to feel a bit off-colour, but she caught sight of Emma, watching them from the kitchen window, and nodded.

She knew less than a minute later she’d made a mistake. There was something wrong with her chest. The borrowed raincoat was sticking to it and she could barely breathe. She tried to pull it away from herself as she walked, but she couldn’t close her hands around it. Her strength had gone. She was dying.

Marley reached their rehearsal spot a few seconds before she did, and she was planning on telling him as soon as she reached him that she felt lightheaded, unsteady on her feet and might be dying, but when she saw him search an area of undergrowth and then pick up a lifeless lump of feathers, she felt like she might lose her mind first, instead. She started to screech.

“No, no, no, no, no!”

“I’m sorry, Autumn,” he said gently.

“This is all your fault!” She screamed the words at him. “You and your fucking tribute. You said you’d locked them up and they were safe. This is all your fault, Marley.”

“I know, Autumn. Calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down.” She put her head in her hands and walked in a circle. Where had all the oxygen gone? There was no oxygen anywhere. Through her fingers, she saw Marley lay the chicken on the ground and come towards her, and felt her body flood with sudden and overwhelming panic. Irrational fear washed over her and she shoved him away.

“Autumn! Stop!” he cried.

“Don’t put her on the floor!” She pushed him again.

“Autumn, it’s going to be all right. Come here.”

“Leave me alone, Marley!” She hit out at his outstretched hands, stepping back away from him. She felt as though her chest might burst. She tore off Emma’s raincoat and threw it onto the ground, doubling over in an attempt to stop her lungs exploding. Her face felt red raw, her neck as though it might tear open. No matter how hard Autumn tried, she couldn’t drag enough air into her lungs to make herself feel better. She was terrified.

“Autumn, you’re going to be OK,” Marley said. She saw him take a step towards her.

“Fuck off!” She held out her arms to protect herself from him. She wanted to be left alone until whatever was happening to her had passed her by or killed her. She didn’t have it in her to care which.

“Autumn, listen to me.” Marley was suddenly kneeling on the floor in her eyeline, his hands held out towards her, palms up. “You’re having a panic attack,” he said.

“Pick the chicken up!” As she shrieked at Marley, still doubled over, she could see Miranda’s frail, soggy body, her feathers waterlogged with rain. How dare he leave her like that when she was dead and he was to blame?

“Autumn—”

“Fucking pick her up!” Marley got to his feet and, taking Miranda’s tiny body in one arm, went to stand beneath the trees. He held out his free hand to Autumn.

“Come out of the rain.”

Feeling a little better now he had the chicken in his arms, she wanted to be near him. She was too scared to stand, convinced she would have a heart attack if she did, but she moved towards him in the only way she felt able, still bent double, and with her hands on her knees. She knew she must look utterly ridiculous, but was too freaked out to care. When she was close enough that he could reach her, Marley asked for her permission to touch her. She nodded and he grabbed her by the top of her arm, dragging her towards him, and pulling her in close. She fell against him and burst into tears.

“It’s OK, Autumn,” he said. “You’re going to be OK, I promise.”

“I think I might be dying.” She gasped, gripping his duffle coat with both of her hands. She buried her head in the soggy fabric, desperately seeking the heat of his body. She could feel no warmth at all through his coat, so her fingertips searched out his neck. She lay her hands against his bare skin.

“You’re not going to die.” He held her tighter. “It’s going to pass in a minute, I promise. Take deep breaths.”

He stood holding her — and the chicken — beneath the trees, murmuring reassuring words. Autumn felt her heartrate return to normal. The pain in her chest eased. She could breathe again. Eventually, she felt safe enough to stand, but not strong enough to hold her own weight. She peeled herself away from him and sat down on the grass. Marley lay the chicken gently on a tree stump, took off his coat, wrapped it around Autumn’s shoulders, and then sat down beside her. She stared at the discarded bird.

“Would you rather I held her?” Marley asked. Autumn nodded. He picked up the hen’s body and sat beside Autumn, cradling Miranda in his arms. He watched her, concern written all over his face.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. The anger she’d felt towards him had evaporated.

“Don’t apologise,” he said. “It isn’t your fault. It’s mine. This is all my fault.”

“I’ve never had a panic attack before,” she said.

“Well, you looked like a pro,” he said jokingly.

She laughed and he winked at her, nudging her affectionately with his elbow.

“I have them all the time,” he said. “Eventually you learn to see them coming.”

“How?” she asked. She didn’t really care — she never planned on having one again — but his voice was a distraction from the humiliation she knew she’d soon come to feel. Had she put her hands on his neck? She cringed.

“I turn into a complete bitch.” He sighed. “Ring any bells?”

“I’m so sorry,” she said again. She’d been truly terrible to him these past few days. She was lucky he was still speaking to her at all.

“It’s OK,” he said. “When it happens to me, I take all my frustration out on Bowie. How bad is that? As if he doesn’t have enough to deal with.”

Autumn winced, feeling guilty.

“ You have enough to deal with, too,” she said. “Without your brother’s girlfriend treating you like crap.”

“My brother’s girlfriend?” He feigned indignation. “We’ve spent a beautiful summer together and that’s all you think you are to me now.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Is that all I am to you?” he asked. “Your boyfriend’s brother?”

“No.” She shook her head. “You’re my friend, too.”

“Good,” he said. “Case closed, then.”

She supposed he was right. Friends forgave one another.

“Be honest—” he interrupted what she thought might be a moment of comfortable silence — “do you think it’s because of the tribute?”

She nodded. It was definitely that.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to put pressure on you like that.”

Autumn shrugged. He hadn’t meant to do her any harm, she knew that. She wished she had the energy to tell him properly that it was all right, but she felt battered. She watched the raindrops fall, instead. Rain had always been her favourite weather. There was something incredibly magical about it. A wall of raindrops could make you feel as though you were all that existed in the entire world. She had always been able to see why rainstorms were the backdrop to so many kisses in books and movies. There was something inexplicably lovely about the idea of two people caught out in the rain.

All of a sudden, things felt inappropriate. She wasn’t sure what had changed, but something had. Being close to Marley had never made her feel this way before. She was disappointed, but the feeling was undeniable, so she pulled her coat tighter around herself and shuffled a little way away from him. He watched her.

“There are cigarettes in my coat pocket,” he said. Grateful for the distraction, she took out the packet and a lighter, passing them to him. He lit them a cigarette each, inhaling sharply from his own. The silence between them had become uncomfortable. She willed him to speak.

“You know, for someone with so much confidence, you don’t actually have much at all,” he said eventually.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“Nothing bad, Autumn, I promise. Just, back when Bowie first met you, he told me you were the most confident woman he’d ever met, but I don’t see that in you. You’re happy doing things you know you’re good at, you know, like writing brilliant stuff, but if you have to do anything you’re not used to excelling in, you’re terrible at hiding how much you hate it.”

He stopped to tap his cigarette. Autumn did the same, holding her breath.

“Like with Bowie,” he continued. “You love him so much that it makes you feel uncomfortable.”

Autumn didn’t respond. He was right thus far. She did find being in love with Bowie difficult at times. She found the monotony of their lives challenging to cope with and some days she was driven half mad with boredom. She missed her freedom and longed for the simplicity of not caring, that synonymous ease that came with her capacity to shut her heart down and shunt her attention onto something else — or someone else — when anything caused her pain. Her silence was tacit confirmation of Marley’s words, she knew.

“I know how much you love him,” he told her again. “But you’ve found each other at such a bizarre time. If I’m honest, I think it’s only working because you know it isn’t going to be for ever.”

“That isn’t true,” she said. He was pushing this too far. She couldn’t let him say something like that without objecting. She had never felt for anyone what she felt for Bowie. She was sure that they would be together whether he was ill or not. Her restlessness was driven only by boredom. If things were different, they would be back in New York, surrounded by the bright lights and excitement of the city she’d made her home, instead of spending their days and nights on a sleepy country estate. Her struggles had nothing at all to do with how she felt about Bowie. She was about to say that, but Marley was shaking his head.

“If he hadn’t been ill, you’d have tired of him by now.”

“I would not!”

“You’d have eaten him for breakfast and moved on to lunch, Autumn.”

“You’re wrong!” She raised her voice. He held his hands up in mock surrender, but didn’t apologise or take back his words. To stop herself from punching him in his self-righteous face, Autumn looked away again, taking her rage out on the butt of her cigarette by stubbing it viciously into the ground.

“I don’t mean to offend you,” he said. “I’m just telling you what I see.”

“Yes, well, you’re being awfully judgemental for someone who has never held on to a relationship of their own,” she said.

“Maybe that’s how I know—” he shrugged — “because we’re the same.”

She stubbornly shook her head, but she knew he was right. The more they’d got to know each other, the more apparent it had become how similar the two of them really were. Before Bowie, Autumn’s whole life had been about having what Emma called ‘frowned-upon fun’. It filled a hole she seemed to have that other people didn’t. It woke something up in her. When she wasn’t ‘up to no good’, she felt dead. For a while she’d suspected Bluebell slept around for the same reason, but they’d talked about it and it wasn’t the case ― she just liked it. But with Marley, it was. They had never talked about it, but there was something missing within him, too. Bowie, who was never judgemental, had admitted that he couldn’t understand them. She had so much in common with her lover intellectually and they were crazy about each other, but he would never know how it felt to be frenzied for the power that came with holding someone’s heart in the palm of your hand and knowing you would crush it later. He didn’t desire it the way Marley did. The way Autumn had, before Bowie. She wasn’t even sure that Bowie knew the extent of how empty she had been before she’d met him. How empty she was starting to feel once again. But Marley could see it and she was desperately worried that he would think it was because she didn’t love his brother, which wasn’t true, it was just that the hole was still there and there was no way to fill it when you were living in Hertfordshire with a terminally ill boyfriend. What was wrong with her?

Marley gave her time to calm down before speaking again.

“You know what’s funny about this? Bluebell sent you backstage at my gig that night to meet me. She knew she was going to end up with Adam and she thought I might take you to the after-party. That we might have sex, I suppose, though she’ll never admit it. She would never have chosen to set you up with Bowie because I don’t think she thought you could give him what he wanted. I don’t think you thought it, either. But it worked itself out. You and I would’ve fucked the way we do — the way I do and you did — and then frightened each other away, and Bowie would still be miserable. You’re the only reason he’s still here. I know that. He’d have given up weeks ago if it wasn’t for you. Despite everything he’s going through, he’s having the time of his life. He loves you so much. I know now that you can’t save him, but it was still the best thing that ever happened to any of us, Bowie finding you. You’ve given us all more time. And if you weren’t who you are, Autumn, someone who has never been worried about owning a lover for ever, then you wouldn’t be able to cope with any of this. You’d have run away as soon as you found out Bowie came without a lifetime guarantee. You’ve temporarily become someone else because you do love him and because he needs you, I know that, but you don’t have to be ashamed to admit that you’re someone who struggles with this type of monotony. Not to me. I won’t think you love Bowie any less. You’re an excellent girlfriend, for the record, though I know it doesn’t come naturally to you. You’re better at some things than you know. And it’s fine to feel a little lost, especially when you’re being forced to live a life you wouldn’t choose. I feel it, too.”

Marley finished his cigarette and immediately took two more from the pack. He lit one and held it out for her. She eyeballed him as she took it.

“I wouldn’t have fucked you,” she said. “You’re not my type.”

He guffawed and she smiled, then they returned to watching the rain.

“What are we going to do about the chicken?” she asked.

“When they die we leave them in the forest for the foxes,” he said. Autumn recoiled. “Hear me out. It means the foxes get a meal without having to hunt for another living creature. Some poor soul gets to live another day. She’s dead. She doesn’t need her body anymore.”

Autumn relaxed a little bit. That actually made sense to her.

“I’m glad we found her,” she said.

He nodded. “Me too. Mum would’ve hated it if we hadn’t. At least now she knows the poor thing wasn’t killed by a fox or anything.”

“What do you think happened?”

“Dunno.” He shrugged. “Hard to tell. It’s almost certainly my fault, though, for leaving her out all night.”

“This is why I’ll never have pets,” she said. “I could only cope if I could lock them up and keep them safe, and that doesn’t seem very vegan. If they were my chickens, I wouldn’t want to let them out of the coop.”

“We used to think like that,” he said. “Mum wouldn’t let us have pets for years. We only have the chickens and the sheep because they’re rescues. Mum knows letting them wander means they might get into trouble. We’ve been lucky up to now, we haven’t lost a single one.”

“Poor Miranda,” Autumn sighed.

Marley gently stroked the chicken’s wing. “Poor Miranda,” he repeated. “This is all my fault. I just took for granted she’d be in the coop. Mum checks and double checks. I reassured her. I talked her out of going out in the rain. I’m an idiot.”

Autumn didn’t want to disagree with him. To do so would feel like an insult to Miranda, who’d had her own likes and dislikes, her own personality, her own sense of self. They sat in silence for a moment and then he groaned. “Mum’s going to be devastated,” he said.

“She is,” Autumn agreed, picking anxiously at her fingernails. She wanted to talk to Marley about something important — something she was aware he would not want to discuss with her — and she knew this might be the only opportunity she’d get. The weight of that conversation and the responsibility that came with it was making her fidget. Marley noticed.

“What’s happening?” he gestured to her restless legs. “Why are you nervous all of a sudden?”

This was it. It was now or never. She took a deep breath, then forced herself to say what was on her mind.

“How can you be this worried about how devastated your mum will be when she finds out Miranda is dead when you know you’re planning to kill yourself?” She was babbling. “Surely you must know what that will do to her, Marley? The pain you’ll cause her, it’ll be a thousand times worse than this! You’re worried your neglect last night will hurt her when she finds out Miranda is gone, but you’re planning on . . .”

“Stop it,” he cut her off. He was surprised, she could tell. They’d never spoken about the plans he had to end his own life. Perhaps he’d come to believe she would never confront him about it.

“I don’t want you to do it,” she said. It seemed like a stupid declaration, but it felt like the right thing to say. Marley winced, but didn’t reply. He was still holding the chicken’s body in his hands, gently stroking the feathers on her neck with his thumb. For someone who was so intent on ending it all, he had an exceptionally attractive attitude towards all living beings. She’d once laughed long and hard when she’d caught him talking to a spider in the kitchen using the exact same tone he used to talk to other humans. Autumn had never seen anything like it, but Marley had not been at all embarrassed. The memory made her sad now. He was special. His death would be a great loss to all creatures great and small.

“I’ve always known I would never want to live life without Bowie,” he said. “My decision was made long before he got ill.”

“There is no denying that it’s going to be shit,” she said. “But there are other things for you to live for.”

“I don’t care about anything except him,” he said. “Not really.”

“That’s not true,” she said. “You have your family. Your career. Friends and the people who love you.”

He shook his head, pursing his lips. She knew it was no use. Marley and Bowie could not comprehend a life in which the other did not exist. She’d always thought it was tragic, but in that moment she realised that she would also miss him so very much. He was her friend. Losing him as well as Bowie seemed incomprehensible. She wished that she could tell him, but she didn’t have enough energy to force him to talk and she didn’t want to fall out with him again. Reluctantly, she reminded herself that Marley was not hers to save. She would have to try to prepare herself for losing them both. She had no fucking idea how she was supposed to manage that. Maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe she’d just forget all about it until it smacked her in the face.

“She’s at peace now, at least,” he said eventually, looking down at the chicken in his arms. Autumn shivered. She realised they had somehow huddled close to one another, so she stood up to put some space between them, retying her soggy laces and changing the subject as naturally as she could.

“What do you want to do about the song?” she asked.

“What do you want to do about it?” He was good at answering her questions with a question.

“I’d like to try it again,” she said. “Now I’ve calmed down a bit.”

“I don’t have the music with me,” he said.

“We could just sing it through without?”

He nodded, stubbing out his cigarette. “OK. I’ll start. You can join in when you feel ready.”

His smooth, low voice rolled out across the field, backed by the rain and the rustling of the trees overhead. Autumn found herself so captivated by him that she almost forgot to come in when she was meant to. She closed her eyes and followed his lead, harmonising with him the way he had taught her. She remembered what he’d said earlier, about being better at things than she thought she was, and mentally heaved her self-doubt out of her mind. She faltered a little as they transitioned into the second song, but he encouraged her to continue with an enthusiastic grin and an affectionate nudge in the ribs. She was so excited by how good it sounded that she dared to open her eyes for the third song. She caught Marley peeping out from beneath his eyelids. He opened his eyes properly and gave her a delighted thumbs-up. They watched each other as they sang to the end of the song. Autumn marvelled. When had this man become her biggest supporter? She acknowledged with a jolt that the sicker Bowie had become and the less energy he had to talk or to play with her the way he used to, the more reliant she had become on Marley. He was struggling with the absence of his brother’s playful nature too, and was always there, willing to entertain her and help her if she needed anything. She appreciated him. Loved him, even. Not the way she loved Bowie, but the way she loved Bluebell. She didn’t tell him. He would be embarrassed, she knew.

“Didn’t I say you could fucking do it?” he said, handing her another cigarette in celebration. Autumn beamed. She could fucking do it. She had fucking done it. She was no professional, not by any stretch, but she knew that their voices had sounded lovely together.

“Emma Stone and Ryan Geeseling, eat your mother-fucking hearts out!” She punched at the sky, lighting her cigarette.

“It’s Gosling.” Marley laughed. “But OK.”