Before You Say Goodbye

Chapter 12

The day before Larry Ross’s summer ball, Emma insisted on taking Maddie, Bluebell and Autumn dress shopping. They protested, but she was adamant that they needed some frivolity. It would do them good to get out of the house and away from the men, she argued. Her decision had been driven by one too many arguments over Monopoly, which they’d taken to playing on the kitchen table in their pyjamas. Bowie and Marley were incorrigible cheats, and Pip was a terrible loser. More often than not, the game descended into chaos.

Emma had told them her plan two days before, but Autumn had hoped she might forget about it. She had always hated going shopping with other women, preferring to look for clothes by herself when she had to, and not at all if she could help it. She had some dresses she’d had since she was a teenager.

“I’m really not into this,” she told them snippily once they were inside the shopping centre. She knew she should have said so earlier, but Emma would have told her she didn’t have to come even though they really wanted her to, and Autumn would’ve spent the whole day feeling guilty. Still, they might as well know that she was not in the mood. “I have something I can wear.”

“You brought a ballgown back to England with you?” asked Emma, fluttering her eyelashes in a way that made it clear she already knew the answer. Autumn blinked vacantly. She definitely hadn’t. She didn’t even own a ballgown. She’d had no cause for one in her entire life.

“I have to wear a ballgown?”

“To a summer ball?” Emma raised her eyebrows and smiled, placing a loving hand on her shoulder. “Yes, my love. Yes, you do.”

Autumn agreed to try on some dresses so long as Emma promised not to try to stage any kind of fashion show.

“But that’s the best part about having daughters,” she said, a whiny note in her voice. “And we haven’t done it for so long. We haven’t ever done it with you, Autumn. I know you’re a modern ‘screw-the-patriarchy’, ‘feminism-for-all’ type woman, but does that mean we can’t have a bit of fun when we shop?”

“It’s not about that, Mum,” Bluebell said, leading them into an expensive-looking boutique. “It’s just that we’d rather pick out what we want as quickly as possible and then go for a beer.”

Emma rolled her eyes, drilling ferociously through the hangers on the first clothes rail she came to.

“I’m not happy about how much alcohol you’re drinking at the moment, but I’ll take you for lunch and buy you bloody beer if you’ll just parade yourselves around a little bit for my entertainment. Humour me, would you?”

“That’s bribery,” Autumn said pointedly, but she agreed to Emma’s terms nevertheless. Maybe Emma was right and wearing a beautiful dress would be good for her. She had barely been out of her pyjamas for longer than a couple of hours at a time in weeks. Perhaps getting dressed up to go to a ball could even be a little bit exciting.

“How’s the song coming along?” Emma asked nonchalantly. They only ever talked about the medley when they were out of the house. There would be a Marley-induced mutiny if Bowie found out about it in advance.

“It’s going all right,” she told Emma. They’d been rehearsing for a few hours almost every day for a week. They’d stomped back and forth through the field so many times that they’d forged their own little pathway through the grass. The three remaining chickens still accompanied them every day. They were careful now to make sure they brought them all back to the garden.

Autumn had turned a corner with her performance and was actually quite looking forward to showing everyone what she and Marley had been able to put together. The more they rehearsed, the better they sounded. She was not as hesitant as she had once been. She had faith in her ability to deliver now and she had Marley to thank for that. He was an excellent teacher and a fabulous cheerleader.

“I don’t know why I’m not more afraid of it,” she added.

“Neither do I,” Maddie said musingly. “You do know there’ll be over two hundred people there, don’t you?”

“Thanks for that,” Autumn said.

“They’ll all be professional performers too,” Bluebell added. “Like, the kind of people who actually get paid to do what you’re going to do for free.”

Autumn shuddered. “Now I’m terrified,” she said. “Thanks, guys.”

They laughed.

“I just keep reminding myself that it’s not about any of that,” Autumn said. “It’s about Bowie and what it will mean to him. Marley’s brazen talent doesn’t help, though. Your boy has nerves of steel.”

“Well, he lives for the stage,” Emma said. “And he’s looking forward to performing in public again.”

As she looked up from the clothes rail, Autumn caught a wordless exchange between Emma and each of her daughters. She hated it when this happened. It was the only time she remembered she was not genuinely a part of their family. There were things she didn’t know. A past she hadn’t been privy to.

“Has he told you his plan for the evening?” Emma deftly changed the subject. Autumn worked hard to free her face of confusion, and nodded. Marley was going to tell Bowie he had to fly to New York on Saturday evening to play with his band on Sunday because they had nobody else to do it. In fact, Marley would actually be waiting backstage for Autumn at the ball. She would need to listen for a prompt and then tell Bowie she needed the toilet. Someone would meet her in the ladies’ loo and bring her through to Marley backstage. “He’ll realise something’s going on,” she’d said, anxiously chewing on her cheek — “when I’m gone so long . . .” Autumn really wanted this to work. She was looking forward to giving Bowie such a sentimental gift.

“Maybe, but by the time he does we’ll only be a few seconds from starting to sing,” he’d reassured her. “It will still be a surprise.”

Now that they were looking for something suitable to wear, Autumn could barely wait. She was eager to get to the beers and the dancing, singing and performing. It was the adventure she needed. Plus, she’d get to see Bowie in a suit. She’d always liked snazzy men.

“Autumn, I think I found your dress.” Bluebell called from across the shop. She was holding up a black, strapless gown with a raised hem at the front, a train at the back, and peacock feathers embroidered intricately on both the skirt and the bodice. From a distance, the feathers looked like tiny, indistinguishable splashes of extraordinary blues and greens. It was made all the more special when it became apparent what they actually were. Bluebell knew her too well ― it was beautiful and Autumn loved it.

“And I found mine.” Bluebell held up a floor-length dress with full sheer sleeves. It had a fitted bodice covered in tiny silver sequins and the skirt was floaty and paisley-patterned, with an almost waist-high slit up one side. With its beaded, multicoloured belt sewn into the waistline, it was the most boho formal gown Autumn had ever seen. Maddie eyed it enviously.

“I could never pull off anything like that,” she said, looking downhearted. Bluebell and Autumn exchanged knowing glances.

“You have your own thing going on,” Autumn said. She’d told Maddie with sincerity many times that she was envious of the ease with which she managed to wear clashing patterns, funky headscarves with fat, hooped earrings, and costume rings on her fingers to dress up jeans and baggy T-shirts with style, but Maddie usually brushed off her compliments. She couldn’t see anything good about her appearance and dressed the way she did to distract attention from her figure, which she believed inadequate.

Maddie was shorter than her brothers and sisters, and not so perfectly in proportion, but her curves were exactly where most women wanted them, and she had the most amazing hair and smile — she just wasn’t able to see it herself. She’d been bullied at school by girls who’d called her ‘fat’. She still couldn’t see past the fact that she wasn’t a size ten. She openly lusted after features and traits her siblings had: Pip’s perfect little nose, Bluebell’s wavy blonde hair, Marley’s unabashed sexiness and Bowie’s charismatic awkwardness. Autumn had tried to tell her that the way she thought about herself was wrong, but Maddie had insisted that she was the normal one; her brothers and sister were the weird ones. She was quite sure it wasn’t normal to fancy yourself as much as they all did.

“They’ve always loved themselves,” she’d said. “Not in an ugly way . . . They just know how much they have to offer and they’ve always been happy to admit it. I’ve never felt that way about myself.”

Autumn would never understand how Ben and Emma had managed to produce four unabashedly confident children alongside a middle child who couldn’t stand to look at herself in the mirror. She set about searching for a dress that might make her friend feel as fabulous as Autumn thought she looked.

“What about this?” she asked, picking up a floor-length, pleated, canary-yellow gown. It would skim and accentuate Maddie’s frame in all the right places.

“Oh, that’s gorgeous,” Emma said, hoisting the pile of dresses she was carrying onto her hip to finger the fabric.

“I’m not sure.” Maddie reached out to feel it too. “It has a halter neck. I hate my shoulders. I’m not sure about the yellow either. And the pleats might make my hips look too wide.”

“You’re wrong.” Bluebell snatched up the dress and nudged her sister into the dressing room. Maddie sighed and gave in. Autumn and Emma followed. Emma was struggling under the weight of an armful of garments.

“Why do you have so many?” Autumn asked her, afraid she may have been selecting dresses for all of them to try. She had at least seven.

“I like to try on a few different ones,” she said.

“Mum! What a fucking waste of time.” Bluebell watched her mother arranging her dresses in order. The emerald-green one they already knew she would buy was settled strategically at the back, to be tried on last. Green was definitely Emma’s colour and the dress, which was velvet and gothic in style, would suit her perfectly.

“You girls don’t know how to do this properly anymore,” she said. “In the olden days, before we had Facebook, this was all we did with our Saturdays. You have to try on a load of different things. Otherwise, how will you know when you’ve found the right one?”

“That’s exactly how I feel about lovers.” Bluebell grinned.

“I just hope you’re careful.” Emma winced, pulling her changing room curtain across dramatically.

“I’ve never once heard you say those words to Marley,” Bluebell said accusingly to her mother through the fabric.

“I tell him to wrap it up, all the bloody time,” Emma called. This was true. Autumn had heard her.

Smiling at their tomfoolery, Autumn stepped into a cubicle and took her time getting changed. They’d be waiting for Emma for a while yet, she reasoned. As she pulled up the zip on the very first ballgown she’d ever had a reason to put on, she was thrilled to feel the fabric hugging her form exactly as it should. It fitted perfectly. She allowed her eyes to roam over her reflection. She looked older. Exhausted. She’d never looked this worn out even when she and Bowie had been up all night every night having sex. She wished she’d bothered to wear make-up for this; it might have made her feel better, though she supposed she would still know what was lurking underneath.

A dramatic swoosh from the cubicle next to hers followed by Bluebell’s dejected whine interrupted her thoughts.

“Nobody was here for my grand reveal.”

Autumn plastered a smile across her face and pulled back her own curtain. “Is it the one?”

“Of course it is,” Bluebell said, turning from the mirror she’d been admiring herself in to twirl. Her friend looked sensational. Autumn nodded her approval.

“You look amazing,” she said.

“So do you,” Bluebell replied.

“Let me see.” Emma poked her head out from behind the cubicle curtain. “Oh, girls, you look fab.”

“Show us yours, Mum,” Bluebell said. “And I want to see some vogue from you.”

Emma drew the curtain back to reveal an unflattering black lace number. She did not pose. Autumn shook her head.

“Again, please. This time with feeling.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Emma whipped the curtain closed, then opened it again, raising her arms theatrically like the good sport that she was. Autumn and Bluebell laughed. Emma’s eyes crinkled up too.

“I thought I was the one forcing you into a fashion show?” She smiled.

“Be careful what you wish for,” Bluebell said. “Now, take it off and put the green one on so that we can all go for a beer.”

Autumn giggled.

“Don’t you like this one?” Emma asked, stepping out to survey herself in the full-length mirror.

“Do you?” Bluebell asked.

“No,” Emma replied.

“Good, because it’s utterly hideous. Put the green one on.”

“I want to try the purple one first.” Emma closed her curtain again. Bluebell sighed, plonking herself down onto a beanbag with no attempt at grace.

“I’m having a really good time,” Autumn said, a little surprised.

“Me too.” Bluebell smiled. They stared happily at one another for a few seconds, before Bluebell looked guiltily away. She always did that these days, whenever she enjoyed herself for more than a moment. Autumn watched anxiety creep slowly across her friend’s face. She knew the same thing was happening to her. Every tiny twinge of pleasure she felt was always accompanied by an unhealthy hangover of guilt. They were only together and enjoying this moment for one reason: Bowie was dying. They never discussed it, not ever, but they were haunted by the same shadows.

Bluebell called out to Emma, and Autumn knew that she was shattering the moment intentionally. “I’m not even going to comment on any of the others.”

“Oh, why not?” Emma shouted back.

“It’s a waste of my breath.”

“Many of the things you say are a waste of your breath, my darling girl.”

Bluebell ignored her, calling out to check on her sister, instead.

“Maddie, how are you doing in there?”

Maddie had been so quiet Autumn had almost forgotten she was there, but, then, suddenly, there she was, standing awkwardly before them, dazzling them in the bright yellow dress she had seemed so sure would not suit her. Her shoulders were hunched and her hands were positioned awkwardly in front of her chest but, nonetheless, she was breathtakingly well-suited to the gown she was wearing. Bluebell stood up. She and Autumn stared at her together.

Maddie frowned. “Don’t be weird. We’re not those girls. Let’s not pretend we are.”

“Oh my God,” Bluebell said.

“Have you seen yourself?” Autumn blinked wildly at her, reaching to pull her out of the cubicle and positioning her in front of the full-length mirror. Bluebell stood at the other side of her. “You look amazing.”

“I can already see our Instagram selfies taking shape.” Bluebell pouted ridiculously, posing for an invisible camera. Autumn followed suit and the two of them burst out laughing. Maddie tried to hide her amusement.

“I’m so glad there are two of you now.” She rolled her eyes.

“Maddie, just look at yourself,” Bluebell said. Maddie was still avoiding her reflection.

“I’ve seen myself already,” Maddie said. “I think I look OK.”

They groaned. If Maddie couldn’t see how incredible she looked in this dress there was no hope for her. Autumn didn’t say that, though. Truthfully, she was still a little wary of Bowie’s youngest sister. Despite her insecurities about her appearance, Maddie was a strong character and was unafraid to call anyone out for the entitled and unreasonable behaviour they were all guilty of at times. She’d even snapped at Bowie on a couple of occasions. She could silence Autumn’s whining with a severe warning glance from across a room. Still, Autumn loved her. She would have willingly shared some of her own self-confidence with her if she could.

“You’re everything I hate,” Bluebell said.

Maddie shook her head. “I’m not fishing. I genuinely think I just look OK.”

Autumn sighed sadly, wrapping her arms around her friend’s shoulders. “Well, that’s a shame, sis, because you look like a snack.”

Bluebell guffawed, clutching her hand to her mouth. When she removed it, her expression had become oddly serious. Suddenly, she lunged — quite desperately — to hug her sister from behind. Maddie gasped, grabbing Bluebell’s forearms to steady herself. Before she knew what she was doing, Autumn had thrown her arms around them both. Although she protested at first, Maddie leaned into them eventually, and, when she did, Autumn felt Bluebell trembling. She tightened her arms around them further, and felt like she might cry. She didn’t want to, but the only way to stop herself from sobbing would be to let go of the women she was holding, and she couldn’t bear to do that either. She felt like they were holding each other together. Like they were clinging on to normality the way Bowie was holding desperately on to life, and they could no longer manage unless they literally pushed each other’s broken bits back together. She couldn’t say for sure how the other two women were feeling, but that was how she felt. She was sure there were variations of the same sentiment running through the minds of her friends. Maddie was half right — they may not have been gushy, overly sentimental women, but it still felt good to embrace one another, all three of them, in a way they’d never done before. They stood there — a circle of supportive sisterhood.

Autumn didn’t hear Emma step out of her cubicle, but she was suddenly there. She was gentle but purposeful as she approached them without a word, eager to foster the moment they were having. Perhaps that had been her intention all along. She was wearing the green dress.

They pulled her into their group hug and stood in comfortable silence together for what felt like an age.

Autumn let herself cry when she realised that the women surrounding her already were.

* * *

“Bowie and Marley are doing my fucking head in,” Bluebell said later that afternoon. They’d bought their dresses — Emma had purchased the green one they’d all known she would choose — and she’d taken them for lunch as promised. They’d decided to drink wine instead of beer and had been sinking glass after glass for over an hour, perched around a tall, circular table in a restaurant they knew served great vegan burgers. Nobody had ordered food, nor had they talked about their hug, which had ended when a teenaged girl had appeared in the fitting room. They’d broken apart with sad smiles, collecting their things and leaving without a word to one another. They’d been in Cassie’s American Diner — Bluebell’s recommendation — ever since. So far, Ben and Bowie had both called Emma more than once to ask when they were coming home. She’d told them both rather curtly that the women were having fun without them and would probably be back much later. She’d asked that they respectfully leave them to their ‘girl time’ unless there was an absolute emergency. They could entertain themselves for an afternoon, she’d insisted.

Autumn was surprised it had taken so long for the twins to come up in the conversation. So far, they’d spent most of their time talking about how frustrating it was trying to get Bowie to eat anything and how wonderful Autumn thought it was that Ben was so affectionate with his children. Two evenings before, he’d offered to spend the night with Bowie, who’d been struggling with exceptionally uncomfortable neck pain for the third night in a row. He’d sent Autumn upstairs to Bluebell’s room to get some sleep. In the morning, she’d found Ben laying on his back on the sofa, cradling Bowie who’d slept peacefully on his chest. He’d told her, in a whisper, that it was the only position his son had been able to find comfort in. Autumn had almost burst into tears. She’d never seen a father hold a son of Bowie’s age so tenderly.

There had been so many beautiful moments, but that didn’t mean living together didn’t come with its issues. Bowie and Marley were also doing Autumn’s head in, but she didn’t feel like it was her place to express her frustration to their mother. She was glad Bluebell had done it, instead.

“I know they’re annoying, my darling.” Emma reached across the table now to stroke Bluebell’s cheek. “You just have to try to ignore them.”

“How can I ignore them? They’re there, doing my fucking head in, all the time.”

The Whittles loved each other deeply, but they were not used to spending quite so much time together. When they’d first returned to the UK, everyone had come and gone as usual, but the sicker Bowie became, the less they socialised with anyone except each other. It was so intense that Autumn and Bowie now had to ask for time alone when they wanted it. She hadn’t told anybody that they couldn’t have sex anymore, not even Bluebell, and neither had he, so their request for time to themselves usually came with a certain amount of teasing. Far from being embarrassed enough to correct them, Autumn was happy to let the family continue to believe that they were still sexually active because it stopped them bursting into the bedroom unannounced whenever they felt like it, meaning that Autumn and Bowie could spend time talking and hugging and sleeping without interruption. Sometimes she read him poems or short stories aloud, or they watched a movie together. For a while he’d helped her to satisfy her own desires but, in the end, they’d come to the conclusion that it was too frustrating for them both. Although Bowie could not perform, he still had a sexual appetite, and her writhing around in front of him felt unfair. She made love to herself most mornings in the shower now instead.

Marley wasn’t having sex either. He had stopped inviting women back to the house and never really went out anymore. There was still a stream of women’s names clogging up his social media pages and bombarding his mobile phone with messages, but he’d quite suddenly lost all interest in any of their attention, spending all of his time with his family instead. Although Autumn continued to enjoy having him around, she hadn’t realised quite how overwhelming he and Bowie could be to live with until she’d seen what they could be like when they were together all the time. When tensions ran high in the house, which they often did now with so many strong characters around, they tended to make it worse. Marley could be incredibly argumentative and Bowie would defend him beyond all reason, even when he was in the wrong. When Bowie’s family challenged him about how much he’d eaten or if he’d taken his painkillers or whether he was well enough to be out of bed, Autumn would watch him actively seek Marley’s support. The raised voice of one twin was like a distress signal to the other and winning an argument with them became impossible. They were extremely intelligent, quick-witted and relentlessly combative, and would take on anyone or anything together.

Bluebell struggled with them the most because she and Marley disagreed a lot, and he knew that Bluebell found arguing with Bowie distressing. He would call on his brother to add weight to his argument when he wanted to have the last word. He was shameless about doing it, too. Bluebell had privately begged him to stop, but he wouldn’t. The twins continued to present a united front, calling Bluebell out every time she and Marley were at odds. Their poor sister was so terrified that any disagreement she had with Bowie might be their last conversation that she would give in and agree with his point of view. Autumn felt sorry for her. It must be so frustrating. She pouted in empathy with her friend and gave her shoulder an affectionate squeeze.

“And Pip,” Maddie said, resting her elbows on the table, her chin in her hands. Her cheeks were flushed red from the wine they had been drinking and there was a ruby tinge to her lips. “When did he turn into a world-class binge-drinking sass-machine?”

Pip had always been spoiled by everyone. Now, it seemed he absolutely had to have his own way at all times. Pip was the only one who could get Bowie and Marley to do whatever he wanted, and with the weight of the twins behind him he was invincible. Autumn would go as far as to say that he was running the entire household with his tantrums. When he wasn’t spending time with Bowie, he spent most of his days arguing for LGBTQ rights on social media sites and ranting relentlessly to his family. He was a whole lot of passion, but Autumn appreciated hearing Pip’s perspective nonetheless. She’d had no idea of the issues gay people continued to face. She was ashamed to admit she’d thought that things were getting much better for the LGBTQ community. Pip was always quick to enlighten her.

“You think I can just hold hands with someone in the street? Or kiss them?” he’d asked her one afternoon. “I can pretty much guarantee that you know at least one person who would feel uncomfortable with me doing that, just because I’m gay.”

They whiled away their days with lots of important conversations, some silly ones, board games, arguments and lots of food. Everybody knew what was really going on, but nobody wanted to talk about it. Bowie did not have long left to live. Though he was in good spirits and his pain had lessened a little, he had never fully recovered from his heart attack — and they knew, deep down, that he never would. Nobody dared to go out any more in case Bowie wasn’t there when they came back.

Despite her deep concern over the Whittles’ denial in the beginning, Autumn found herself no better at accepting the reality than any of the others. While Bowie could be spoiled and grumpy and stubborn, he was also funny and mischievous, clever, caring and compelling. He was smart, creative and talented. He cared unapologetically about the things that really mattered and was curious to learn like no one Autumn had ever known before. He treated every conversation as if it was an adventure and he was, in so many ways, so full of life. To acknowledge that Bowie was dying was to begin to comprehend the hole he would leave behind in Autumn’s heart and she couldn’t bring herself to even try to imagine it. She was completely in love with him and with his sincere attempts to make her happy. He took pride and pleasure in making her laugh and complimented her constantly, sometimes until she blushed beetroot-pink. He still hadn’t told her he loved her again, but he made sure she knew it. It was there, in everything he said and did, every day.

They were a happy little group most of the time, but, every now and then, somebody would become suddenly swept up in the realisation of what they were facing. It was usually Emma. She’d stop and stare at Bowie, her face frozen in an expression of abject terror, or stand up without warning and leave the room to cry. Sometimes it was Autumn. She once collapsed in tears in the kitchen, because Ben had suggested they take a family trip in the springtime — his favourite season — and she’d seen Bowie crumple inside, his head bowed and his face subdued, as he humbly let them plan for a time when he would no longer exist.

She knew Marley struggled with it, too. In the depths of the night, Autumn would hear him crying in his bedroom above theirs. Sometimes she would text him to come downstairs and they would sit on the porch together, smoking and drinking rum until they fell asleep. They always woke up at first light and went back to bed. They never talked about the time they’d spent together, with each other or to anyone else. In fact, it had been left unsaid for so long now it felt wrong they were even doing it in the first place.

“Pip has always been this way.” Emma’s voice distracted Autumn from her thoughts. They each nodded, lifting their glasses and sipping their wine. Autumn browsed the menu for vegan snacks, her stomach rumbling unhappily. “But he’s still so young,” Emma continued. “He’s had us all to himself until now. You all moved out and weren’t there to experience how challenging he can be at times.”

“He’s been ruined.” Bluebell pointed an accusing finger at Emma.

Emma laughed. “You’ve all been ruined. But Pip had less competition for our attention, so he can be even more bratty than the rest of you. He’s just got some growing up to do, that’s all.”

“I don’t know about that,” Maddie said. “It’s not as if Marley has grown out of it. He’s still so entitled.”

Autumn was about to nod. Maddie was right. Marley could be a real brat. His parents had been subsidising his lifestyle for years so that he could pursue a career in music. Emma and Ben were OK with it, but Autumn knew it made Maddie feel uncomfortable. Until recently, Marley had spent every penny on wild nights out, alcohol and new guitars. By contrast, Maddie was saving the allowance her parents insisted on giving her to buy a house some day.

“Marley is not entitled.” Emma’s voice bounced around the restaurant. Several diners stopped eating to look at them. Autumn had been about to laugh, but managed to stop herself just in time. Emma’s tone had taken her by surprise. She had never heard her defend Marley like that before. She took a gulp of her wine. Nobody spoke for a while and Autumn’s thoughts returned to the plight of her lover’s brother.

They were all growing increasingly concerned about Marley and his mental state. The sicker Bowie became, the more openly Marley would discuss his own suicide. Earlier that week, he and Bluebell had had a blazing row, because she’d heard him ask Maddie how he could kill himself without causing himself any pain or making a mess for his family to find. A few days before that, Autumn had caught him looking up information on his phone about how many painkillers a man of his weight would need to take to end his life. The songs Marley wrote almost always contained references to suicide now. There was no longer any room for doubt or hope — Marley wanted to cease to exist once Bowie had gone.

Autumn didn’t feel able to talk to Maddie about it because she found her attitude to suicide frustrating. Maddie’s belief was that if Marley was of sound mind when he made his decision, he should be allowed to choose for himself. Although Autumn might have agreed with her in principle, she could not force her head to overrule her heart — she wanted Marley to live. She couldn’t talk to Bowie about it. He would just reiterate that he’d be doing the same if their roles were reversed. Emma and Ben would not discuss it with her either, so Autumn found herself chewing over her concerns with Bluebell and Pip whenever they were alone. Individually, they had all spoken to Marley and they all felt the same way as a result — that nothing could be done to convince him that he would have a life worth living without Bowie by his side. He wasn’t interested in a career anymore, and couldn’t see the point of marriage or children, nor was Marley able to take any pleasure from ideas of travel, art, poetry or even music, if Bowie wasn’t there to share them with him.

Bluebell’s voice brought Autumn’s attention back to the conversation. She was glad to notice that the nosy diners had gone back to focusing on their food.

“We could all have done with a bit of a kick up the backside, to be honest, Mum,” Bluebell said ruefully. Autumn was impressed by her friend’s honesty. Emma laughed lightly and the atmosphere lifted a little.

“I can’t bloody win, can I?” she asked incredulously. “I gave you everything you could ever want and now it’s my fault you’re all spoiled?”

Emma’s five children often talked among themselves about how ridiculously extravagant their lives had been. As Emma had just said, they’d always had everything they could ever want. Their home was perfectly picturesque, with space to run and play, and their bedrooms had been full to the brim with toys, books and clothes. They’d been educated privately and their university tuition fees were paid for by their parents. In essence, they’d never wanted for anything. As adults, they were able to recognise how lucky they’d been growing up. Autumn knew Bowie was sometimes ashamed of their absurdly good fortune.

“I’ll never be sure how many of my achievements have been due to my own tenacity and how much of it is down to the luck I’ve had being born into such a wonderful family. I’m straight, I’m white, I’m a man. I’m not ashamed to admit that life has been easier for me than it has been for every other demographic.”

Autumn winced at his words. She could cut in here and tell them exactly what it was like to be born on an estate that chewed up its children and spat them out, but that would mean revealing a part of herself to them she knew they would be fascinated by. She was quite sure she was a long way from being ready to address the questions she knew would follow her admission.

“You, of all people, don’t get to say life has been easy,” Emma said. “Not given your situation.”

“Easier,” Bowie corrected her. “Yes, I do. Because if I wasn’t born this way, I’d have been dead long ago.”

He argued, persuasively, that white men were taken more seriously than any other group when seeking a diagnosis for symptoms like those he had experienced, a view that Maddie corroborated.

Bluebell nodded, mischief in her eyes. “Whilst we’re putting the world to rights, this house is far too big. Our homes are all over the world now. You two could make do with a townhouse with one bedroom and give this space to people who need it more.”

Ben and Emma laughed, shaking their heads and accusing their children of having no idea just how hard they’d worked to be able to buy them all the things they had, or what it was really like to have no space.

“Where would you all sleep on Christmas Eve? On the living room floor?” Emma asked them.

“You’re hoarding space so that we have somewhere to sleep on Christmas Eve?” Marley laughed.

“No. We’re hoarding space because we paid for it,” Emma said, moving her shoe token three spaces around the board and then to the ‘jail’ square as instructed. Bowie handed her the money she needed for freedom from his own pile of cash, which Autumn knew was against the rules. There was no point in mentioning it ― they made up their own rules most of the time. Still, she glared at him.

“She’s my mother.” He shrugged.

Playing with them was so frustrating.

“I’m fine with sleeping on a floor,” Maddie said.

“Me too,” said Pip.

That evening, they made a point of dragging their duvets and pillows into a corner of the lounge to prove they meant it. At around three in the morning, disturbed by their children’s raucous laughter, Emma and Ben joined them. Nobody slept. They stayed up talking until dawn broke and then went to bed and slept until noon.

“Maddie isn’t spoiled,” Autumn said now, putting her menu down and gesturing to the sweeter of the two Whittle sisters. Maddie acknowledged her remark with a grateful nod in her direction. Autumn, in turn, was glad to see that she was able to accept compliments now and then. She meant what she’d said. Maddie was one of the humblest, most honourable people Autumn had ever met. Having to accept her parents’ financial support was driving Maddie mad. She’d had nothing set aside when she’d handed in her notice to spend more time with Bowie because her salary would not allow her to save money as well as cover her costs of living. Autumn knew it was causing Maddie great discomfort to rely on Emma and Ben, and the allowance that they gave her. Most of it she kept set aside in a jar, swearing she would use it for something meaningful and life-changing instead of frittering it away like Marley and Bluebell did.

“I know how lucky I am,” she’d told Autumn one evening over a glass of wine. “Both in terms of the money we have but also how much our parents love us. Just because they could make it possible for us not to work and spend time with Bowie, it doesn’t mean they had to . Do you know how many people die on their own in hospital because the people who love them can’t get time off work?”

Now, Maddie called the waitress over to them and ordered two portions of fries and another bottle of wine in an attempt to deflect attention away from herself.

“It’s true. Maddie is perfect.” Bluebell nodded, without the slightest hint of sarcasm. Bluebell and Maddie were about as different as sisters could be, but they loved each other very much.

“Nobody’s perfect.” Maddie blushed.

“You are,” Autumn said. “Perfect daughter. Perfect sister. Perfect friend.” Bowie, Autumn knew, had a special place for Maddie in his heart and was eternally thankful to have her. He was aware there weren’t many people who would do for him what she had tried to do the night he’d almost died. He often said she was the bravest and most selfless person in the Whittle family, and perhaps the most valiant person he’d ever met.

“Well, I think you’re all pretty impressive, to be honest.” Emma rescued her embarrassed daughter. “Autumn, the way you’ve loved my son these last few months has been really quite extraordinary.”

“I can’t help it.” Autumn poured herself more wine and avoided looking at any of them, blushing nonetheless. Aside from that night on the swing with Bluebell, Autumn and Bowie had never revealed verbally to any of them their love for one another, but it was pretty clear that the whole family knew how they felt and it made Autumn feel happy and uncomfortable all at once.

“He’s incredible.” She smiled shyly.

“Don’t do that.” Bluebell shook her head. “Don’t deflect from yourself. Mum is absolutely right. I can’t imagine how we would’ve got through this if you hadn’t been here for Bowie. And for us. You’ve made these last few months worth living for him.”

“It was a consequence of falling in love with him,” Autumn said, revealing her feelings only because she felt it was the only way to stop them insisting she’d done something special. “I’m not being a martyr.”

“That’s what makes it so incredible though,” Maddie said. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who would have allowed themselves to fall in love with someone facing what Bowie’s facing.”

Autumn shrugged off their words. She felt uncomfortable being the focus of their admiration but knew that the best way to get them to stop was to silently accept it. Protesting would only make them more insistent.

“And, Bluebell—” Emma reached out to touch her eldest daughter, but Bluebell snatched her hand away and shook her head.

“Don’t, Mum.”

Her words were defensive and thick with warning. There was suddenly an atmosphere again.

“No, I need to. We need to, darling, I’m sorry,” Emma said. Out of the corner of her eye, Autumn saw Maddie wince.

“I knew this was why you were doing all of this.” Bluebell put her head in her hands.

Emma sighed. “We can’t let Autumn go to that ball on Saturday night without telling her.”

“Do you really think Bowie is going to let anyone near her?” Bluebell spoke through her fingers. “He’d kill them first.”

“Bowie’s ill,” Emma replied.

“Marley isn’t, though,” Bluebell said hopefully. “He’s just as protective of her.”

Autumn switched her gaze back and forth between the two of them as they argued, willing Maddie to join forces with Bluebell and tell Emma it really wasn’t necessary for them to reveal to her whatever it was they were hiding, but Maddie stayed quiet and that told Autumn everything she needed to know. Whatever it was, it was clearly important Autumn heard it, so she reached for her friend’s hand and squeezed. Bluebell stared down at the table, but her face softened a little at Autumn’s touch. She nodded slowly, then looked back up at her mum.

“Do you want me to do the talking?” Emma asked.

“Yes,” Bluebell said. Her voice sounded meek and afraid, and Autumn could feel Bluebell’s hands shaking in hers.

“OK, then,” Emma said gravely. She readied herself by smoothing her jumper with both hands and wore an expression that told Autumn she was about to share something it required her whole strength to say. Autumn had learned to feel afraid at the sight of this expression. It only ever came out when Bowie’s condition worsened, when her children argued and, most recently, when they’d told her that Miranda the chicken had died. Autumn braced herself for what was to come.

“Autumn, my love, our Bluebell is a survivor of sexual assault and grooming.”

It took everything Autumn had not to react instantly. She sat still, her eyes wide, and waited for Emma to continue to explain. She was unbearably enraged, but she knew Bluebell was crying beside her and that her anger wouldn’t be helpful.

“It was a man we all trusted,” Emma said. “A man who’ll be at the ball on Saturday night.”

Autumn looked at her. “I’m not going then.”

“Yes, you damn well are,” Bluebell said defiantly.

“I’m not.” Autumn shook her head. She couldn’t believe any of them were even thinking of going.

“Listen first,” Maddie said gently. “And then tell us you won’t go.”

Autumn nodded. Emma paused for a moment, watching her daughter closely. Bluebell gestured for her to continue.

“He was a family friend, a member of the theatre group we sent the children to. They all went, almost from the second they were old enough to walk, so he’d known Bluebell since she was a baby. His kids played with our kids, and he and his family would come to our house for dinner. We even went on holiday with them—”

“OK, I get it.” Autumn’s words sounded harsher than she’d intended. “Sorry, Emma. I just can’t bear the focus of this conversation being on him.”

“You’re right.” Emma paused. When she spoke again, her words came out in a rush, as if she had to get them out of her as fast as she possibly could. Autumn wasn’t sure if it was for Bluebell’s sake or her own. “Vincent began abusing our daughter when she was thirteen but, with hindsight, he’d been grooming her for years before that. By the time we found out, four years later, he was woven intrinsically into our lives, an investor in Ben’s business who’d convinced Bowie to drop out of university and helped him get a scholarship at the music school where he was a patron. Bluebell and Marley had both been given lead roles in his latest production. And when our son walked into a dressing room and found that monster having sex with his seventeen-year-old sister, I think the arrogant bastard really didn’t expect Marley to try to kill him.”

Autumn closed her eyes, sure she knew instinctively where this was going and that it was going to break her heart.

“Marley made a real mess of him. He was lucky to survive, to be honest. Marley was arrested and charged with assault. He’d been blowing away audiences night after night with his performances all season and he really was the next big thing, but he lost his part in the play and no one would even consider hiring him after that. Even those who knew him, who knew that Marley would never have hurt anyone without cause, wouldn’t defend him, because they were too afraid that getting involved would jeopardise their own careers. Marley was twenty and his reputation was already utterly destroyed. His dreams had been ripped to pieces.”

“What happened to that man?” Autumn asked, fearing she already knew the answer.

“Nothing. He was arrested and released without charge. He told the police that their ‘relationship’ hadn’t begun until Bluebell was old enough to legally consent and she loved him so much at that time that she told the police he was telling the truth.”

Bluebell sobbed, dropping Autumn’s hand to cover her face, and Autumn started to cry, too. She had always been aware of an unspoken tension between Bluebell and Marley, and it made so much more sense to her now. Bluebell’s lies had ended his career and he had never felt fully able to forgive her. It seemed she had yet to forgive herself.

“I thought he loved me,” Bluebell said. “And I thought I loved him. I was devastated when Marley attacked him and I swore to Marley, like a fool, that I’d never forgive him for it. It’s such a fucking cliché. I was just a child and I was utterly manipulated.”

“That’s why Marley moved to New York.” Emma passed her daughter a napkin to dab her eyes with. “He wanted to start again. Bowie went with him, of course, and Bluebell followed them almost straight away. Bowie found work right away and he hoped that, after a while, he might be able to use his influence on the casting directors he was working with to get auditions for Marley, but the theatre world is tight-knit and Marley’s reputation had followed him. He gave up trying completely three or four years ago.”

“I can’t believe it,” Autumn said.

“Larry Ross loves Bowie enough that he’s prepared to risk his reputation. He’s the first person to allow Marley onto a professional stage in thirteen years,” Emma said. Autumn closed her eyes and sighed. There was no way she could refuse to go to the ball now.

“Marley has always lived for two things,” Maddie added. “Bowie, and the stage.”

She knew what they were trying to tell her. This might be Marley’s only shot. It could be the only thing keeping him from following through on the drunken promises he’d made to end his own life. If he had even a glimmer of hope in his heart that he might be allowed back into the world of theatre, this might just give him something to live for.

“I need you there, Autumn,” Bluebell added. “And so will Marley.”

“OK, OK.” Autumn held up her hands. “I’ll be there.”

Emma smiled gratefully across the table. Autumn could not bring herself to smile back at her. She felt like she might never smile again.

“There’s something else,” Emma said, looking sheepish. “I fear you’re going to be furious about it but there was no other way, I’m afraid.”

“What is it?” Autumn asked. She wasn’t sure she could bear much more.

“You don’t have to tell her,” Bluebell said, cautioning her mother.

Maddie spoke up. “Yes, we do. Everyone else knows except Autumn and Marley, and there’s no reason not to tell Autumn now. It isn’t fair to her, Bluebell.”

“What do you all know?” Autumn asked again, impatiently.

“Bowie knows, Autumn,” Emma said. “About the medley.”

“What? How?” Disappointment flooded through her. They had done everything they possibly could to keep it from him. She had been so looking forward to surprising him.

“It was his idea, babe,” Bluebell said. “When Larry asked him to rescue his finale, Bowie told him he would only do it if Larry let Marley perform at the ball. But Bowie knew that Marley wouldn’t just agree to do it because he’s never forgiven Larry or any of the other big theatre bosses for turning their back on him and driving him out of the industry. There had to be an incentive. That incentive was to surprise Bowie with a tribute.”

“Larry agreed to it, but warned Bowie that Vincent had already been invited to the ball and he was absolutely not prepared to uninvite him, no matter what,” Emma added.

“Does Marley know Vincent is going to be there?” Autumn asked. The Whittle women all shook their heads.

“Shit,” Autumn said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“No offence, Autumn,” Emma said. “But we have such a lot riding on this. Maybe even Marley’s life. We just couldn’t risk anything going wrong. Still, it wouldn’t be fair or responsible of us to let any woman go without knowing that a sexual predator will be there, too. We could never see you walk into a situation like that. Saturday night will be profoundly difficult for Bluebell. Bowie told her not to come, but she’s adamant she wants to and it will help her if you are there. We’re also extremely worried about what might happen when Marley realises that he’s in the same room as that man again. For a while, you’re going to be the only one backstage with him. I’d be very surprised if Vincent doesn’t try to approach at least one of us at some point. His arrogance really does know no bounds. If it’s Marley, we’ll need you to stop the inevitable from happening.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Autumn asked. She was terrified. They didn’t need to tell her that another fight between the two of them would, one way or another, mean the end for Marley. She wasn’t sure she could cope with the pressure that came with them expecting her to prevent it.

“Marley loves you,” Maddie said. Autumn found the way she said it a little uncomfortable. “You can talk him round, Autumn. You can calm him down.”

Autumn nodded, defeated.

“Tell me what he looks like,” she said. “I’ll do everything in my power to stop it if I can, I promise.”

* * *

Autumn confronted Bowie the second she got home.

“I can’t believe you let me think you didn’t know about the tribute.”

He peeped warily at her from beneath the duvet. She was standing in their bedroom doorway, her hands planted on her hips.

“I’m sorry,” he said, reaching his hand out for her to take. She raised her eyebrows playfully. He smiled sweetly, wiggling his fingers in a little wave. She didn’t make a move.

“Do you have any idea how hard we’ve worked, Bowie?”

“Yes, I do.” He nodded. “I can’t tell you how lovely I think you are. Or how grateful I am. Come here.”

She sighed and walked towards him, stamping a little petulantly. When she was near enough for him to reach her, he snaked his hand around her waist and pulled her onto the bed. She let him wrap himself around her. He smelled like sleep. He nuzzled into her neck and she lost herself in him.

“I’m still really excited about seeing you up there,” he said.

“Well, we were excited about surprising you,” she said sulkily.

He squeezed her tighter to him. “I’m sorry.”

Autumn did not answer, but she tickled the back of his hand with her fingertips to show him she wasn’t upset. She was restless. Staying still was an effort. Earlier, before she’d come to confront Bowie, Bluebell had pulled her to one side.

“Are you OK?” she’d asked. Autumn had nodded.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I saw your face when Mum told you about that monster and what he did to me. I’ve always felt something like that might have happened to you too. Do you mind me asking?”

Autumn had never told anybody anything about the scary way her stepfather treated her, but it didn’t surprise her that Bluebell had deciphered the secrets of her past from her reaction to various things. Talking about sexual abuse stoked a rage in Autumn that she found hard to hide. There was nothing to be gained from lying this time. She nodded.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bluebell asked.

“It was a long time ago. My stepfather. It only happened once and it wasn’t rape. He kissed me. Grabbed at me when we were alone. I screamed and ran away. I tried to move in with my father, but, well, he didn’t have room for me, so I spent my teens trying to avoid what I knew was inevitable if he ever got the chance. It’s not really the same situation. I can’t pretend it is.”

“Yes, it is.” Bluebell said. “Sexual assault is sexual assault. Does Bowie know?”

“God, no!” Autumn said. “He has enough to deal with. Please don’t tell him. Or anyone else, Bluebell, please. I’d rather nobody ever knew.”

Autumn couldn’t sleep that night, fretting that Bluebell might not keep her promise. She knew that her revelation would be deeply distressing for Bowie and she really didn’t want to put him through anything else. She’d hidden what had happened to her for her own benefit up until now, but — with people around her who really cared about her — she found herself becoming ever more secretive in her attempts to protect them , and that felt confusing for Autumn. Her stepfather’s assault had not, outwardly at least, impacted her beyond her development into a staunch women’s rights advocate and her conviction that she should not be affected by or treated any differently because of the misfortune of falling prey to a predator. She recoiled at the prospect of the pity she might receive. She would rather push her experience away, along with the rest of her past, into a part of her mind she rarely unlocked. She reasoned it did her no good to dwell on it.

She was still awake when Bowie jolted upright just after midnight, holding his chest and gasping for breath. He stumbled out of the bed. Autumn rushed after him.

“Bowie?” She reached for him.

“Fuck,” he whispered, staggering towards the door. “It hurts.”

“Stop! Bowie, please. Stop.”

He crumpled to the floor in the doorway, clutching his heart. Autumn threw herself down beside him and held his face in her hands. Her palms shook violently against his cheeks.

“What’s happening?” she asked. “Bowie? Are you having another heart attack?”

He leaned back against the door and stared up at her. He looked afraid. Lost. She reached for his hand and held on tightly. She didn’t know what to do. She started to cry.

“Don’t.” He shook his head. “Please don’t.”

She brushed her tears away, nodding. Bowie had never been able to cope with seeing her upset and it was the last thing he needed from her right now.

“What can I do?” she asked. “Shall I go and get Maddie?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Please don’t get any of them.”

“Bowie, I have to.” This could be it.

“They don’t need to see this,” he said. “Please don’t leave me on my own, Autumn.”

He groaned and fell against her chest. She held his head to her heart and stroked his hair, telling him, hysterically, over and over again that everything would be OK. His breathing was raspy and laboured. He wound his fist in her pyjama top every now and then, biting down on the fabric through a wave of pain. Autumn expected him to die every time, but his breath would catch again and he would cling inexplicably to life. They sat holding each other, willing the morning to come quickly. Things always felt less scary in daylight. Autumn watched the sun begin to rise through a gap in the curtains, following its rays as they crept across the bedroom floor towards their bare feet. She thought Bowie had fallen asleep until he spoke.

“It’s so beautiful,” he whispered. They were the first words he had spoken since he’d begged her not to leave him hours earlier.

“It is.” She turned to kiss his forehead. His skin felt unhealthily clammy against her lips. At some point his breathing had steadied. She was sure now that the worst wasn’t happening just yet, but reasonably confident he’d had another heart attack. Autumn thanked the universe silently for letting her keep him a little while longer, feeling selfish as she did so. Bowie was in pain. He wanted it to be over. She knew he’d probably hoped he would die in her arms.

“I love you, Autumn,” he said into the silence.

“Now?” she asked him, shaking her head. “This is the moment you’d have chosen if we hadn’t had our fight?”

He laughed softly, coughing and clutching at his chest.

“No,” he said when he’d caught his breath. “I just realise how stupid I’ve been. Imagine if I’d died and never had the chance to say it to you ever again? I should have been telling you every minute of every day from the moment I first felt it.”

She smiled and squeezed his hand. He squeezed back.

“I love you too, Bowie,” she said. “You’re too fucking romantic for your own good.”

He sighed.

“Rule Number Five,” he said. She giggled. They hadn’t played this game in a while.

“Always tell people you love them when you feel it,” she said.