Vanessa Carnevale - The Memories of Us - The best feel-good romance to take with you on your summer holidays in 2018

‘You put it on the market after your mum passed away. You said it was too painful to hold onto those memories.’ Scarlett becomes silent as the tram doors open and a woman slides into the seat beside her.

I stare into my lap, my stomach twisting at the bitterness of it all. ‘And now they’re completely gone,’ I whisper.

Scarlett orders a pot of oolong to share between us. I think she’s overlooked the fact that I’d prefer a strong coffee, but I don’t say anything. I watch her pour the steaming liquid into two lemon-coloured teacups rimmed with gold trim, painted with apple blossoms. I gulp mine down quickly, figuring it might not be so bad if I drain my cup in one go.

‘I probably should have ordered the peppermint. I don’t know why they call it morning sickness when it has the capacity to debilitate you at any given moment of the day,’ says Scarlett. She blows a wisp of hair out of her eye and fans her face with her hands.

My back straightens as I register her words. My eyes travel to her belly, which I completely failed to notice before now. A bump. A baby .

‘How far along are you?’ I ask, thinking that she’s doing an incredible job of hiding a baby. Maybe it’s the oversized winter clothing, or the fact that I have nothing to compare her figure to from before.

She smiles. ‘Twenty-four weeks. I’ve had to go up two bra sizes, you know. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted—to be a mum,’ she says dreamily.

I return Scarlett’s smile. She’s positively radiant.

‘I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you. I mean, you knew before. You were the first to know after Noah. There’s a role for godmother up for grabs. Yours if you want it.’ She takes a sip of tea, a hint of a smile playing over the rim of her cup.

‘Of course,’ I reply softly.

Twenty-four weeks? How could I not have noticed?

‘That’s what you said last time.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. The only difference was that you almost tackled me to the ground and squeezed me so hard I couldn’t breathe.’ She giggles.

‘I’m happy for you. You’ve got so much to look forward to.’

‘And then you said you couldn’t wait until it was going to be your turn.’

I pour myself more tea and bring the cup to my mouth, closing my eyes as the tannin-filled liquid travels down my throat, leaving a bitter aftertaste. Was I ready to have a baby? Had Blake and I planned things? Spoken about it?

Scarlett squashes a sandwich into her mouth and pats away the crumbs on her chin with a napkin. She groans. ‘I’m starving all the time,’ she says, her mouth still full. She selects a few triangles and heaps them on my plate. ‘These are your favourites.’ She pulls her hand back and cringes. ‘Sorry!’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ I mutter, pushing away the plate. I’ve lost my appetite, anyway.

‘Tell me about what you mentioned before. The thing you think could help improve things,’ she says.

My body tenses. Taking charge of my own life—it all feels impossible. Scarlett’s having a baby and I’m still trying to piece my life together. My fiancé is at home, the place that once was our home, taking care of loose ends; picking up more clothes and things; his things, our things, things from our life together.

‘I don’t think I can marry him,’ I blurt out.

She swallows a mouthful of food and sits there frozen, staring into her teacup as she processes what I’ve said. Finally, she draws a deep breath and speaks on the exhale. ‘I think you’re making a mistake. Think about what you’re doing. You can’t just end it. You need to give him a chance. The wedding isn’t for another nine weeks. Surely by then—’

‘I don’t think you understand.’

Scarlett’s cheeks flush and her jaw tightens. Her voice rises, and the group of women sitting at the table adjacent to us turn their heads in our direction. ‘Believe me, Gracie, I’m trying to understand. I’m the one in the middle here. Do you think it’s easy for Blake to stay away from you like this? For me to have to reassure him every single day that he needs to give you the time and space you’re asking for in order to get your head around all this? It’s not exactly the way most people would go about things.’ Her words tumble out furiously, like they’ve been hiding inside her, wrestling to leap out. She purses her lips and takes a deep breath, regaining her composure. She rubs her temples. ‘But then again, that’s what we’d expect from you …’

I ignore her last comment and try to explain. I’m tired of having to explain. ‘He’s a stranger to me. For you, he’s my fiancé, but for me … he’s …’ I don’t want to say it. It feels heartless to say it. Nobody.

Scarlett gives me a look of total disappointment. The last thing I want to do is hurt anyone, only I can’t seem to find a way to make any of this better.

‘If you’d reconsider, agree to see him once … get to know him, talk some things over—even if you don’t remember him, at the very least, you might find that you like him,’ she says.

‘But what if I don’t?’

‘That’s what you’re afraid of, isn’t it?’

I chew the inside of my lip and nod.

‘This situation is so unfair, not to mention completely absurd. I’ll tell you, I think he expects that you’ll agree to see him any day now. Don’t be surprised if he turns up one day to see you. It’s been nearly two weeks since you were discharged and—’

‘I’m leaving Melbourne.’

‘What?! When?! Oh my God, Gracie, what are you thinking?’

‘This is how I’m going to improve things. I’ll go to Summerhill and—’

‘Your mother’s place? But that’s two hours away. Everything’s boxed up. It’s not even ready for you to … Besides, it’s listed for sale.’

‘Well, it’s off the market now.’

‘Of course it is,’ says Scarlett, the exasperation in her voice apparent. ‘You’re going to have to see him sometime, you know. You can’t simply pretend he doesn’t exist. He should be with you, not in my spare room.’

Especially now she’s having a baby .

‘Don’t you think I know that?’ I whisper, fiddling with the sandwich on my plate. I can feel the women beside us staring.

Scarlett fires a look at one of them, who squirms uncomfortably before looking away.

‘When do you plan on seeing him? Or at least talking to him? Can’t you at least start with a phone call?’

I straighten up, take in a deep breath and release it slowly. ‘I’ll write to him.’

‘Write to him? As in a letter ? That’s it?’ Scarlett stares at me wide-eyed and I know she’s trying hard to retain her patience. ‘I can’t even remember the last time I bought a postage stamp.’

‘Neither can I,’ I reply. Scarlett misses my joke completely. ‘But, yes. I’ll write to him. And then … if by the end of spring I don’t remember him, I’ll agree to see him.’

‘But you can’t go, you still have hospital appointments, and what if you need help? There are still things you can’t do on your own. What if you get lost or—’

‘Dr Cleave is only a phone call away. And I’ll call you if I need your help.’

Scarlett shakes her head. ‘This is absurd. There’s no way Blake will agree to this.’

‘He has to. If he wants to give this a chance, this is how it’s got to be. All I’m asking for is time. Time to find myself. And if I don’t remember you, or Blake, or anyone else or any other part of my life, then I’ll come back and see him and work out where to go from there.’

‘I have a feeling nothing I say is going to make you change your mind.’