By the Time You Read This (24 page)

The only good thing about losing someone at five years old is the strange luxury of not recalling the actual moment it happened. The moment the first man I have ever loved was ripped away from me like an errant chin hair by an angry pair of tweezers. The realization that the man who’d read me stories at night, kissed me goodnight, every night, was no longer breathing in the same air as me. Whatever I was doing the precise moment he took his last breath; thought his final thought; blinked for the very last time, can’t be recalled. And all I can remember are flashes. Flashes that are quick to blur in my mind. Dad showing me how to kick a ball correctly into goal down the rec. Or had it been Carla’s back garden? With Carla’s dad, even? Chastising me for a minor indiscretion involving a pair of treasured clippers—or had that been Mom?

Yes, finishing
The Manual
was like losing Dad all over again. My deep feelings of dissatisfaction were fresh, raw and all too consuming. I would never again be reading a fresh piece of advice from Dad. Never again be able to laugh at his crummy jokes for the first time. No more brand-new entries to look forward to.

I could just get angry.

But I cried. A lot. And instead of sinking into a place I had been before, this time I was determined to move on.

Hope.

That’s what pulled me up then and that’s what’s doing so now. To quote my dad: “where there is life there is hope.” I would be forever sad about the end of
The Manual
but I’d only let this sorrow be a small part of me. It would not—
I
would not allow it to—stop me from living and loving. I was here with a fully functioning heart and for the first time in my entire life felt more than ready to share it with someone in sweet abundance.

Now I just had to hope he felt the same way.

I
realized it would have been wise to ask the cab driver to stick around in case he wasn’t home. In case the whole family except Corey
was
home. Then again, if this was meant to be, he’d be there, I told myself, with a temporary belief in kismet, serendipity et al.

Corey answered my knock.

“I’ve been trying to call you,” he said.

“Here I am.” I took a step closer. “And I need you.”

His arms opened up to me and I molded myself into his chest and wept freely with abandon; for the last strenuous few days and for the last twenty-five years too.

T
he sky was a dull shade of gray, cloudless with a promise of rain as my insides became gripped with the warmth of a fresh sunset. I moved from my window and back to the screen of the laptop just as it flipped into screensaver mode, effectively blanketing the latest cheesy family shot I’d been given until Thursday to edit. Clicking onto a fresh document, I waited, just staring at the blank screen and smiling gracefully as I placed a palm onto my tummy.

My phone sang an incoming text message from Corey. He was going to be late home and did I fancy another pizza, this time
without
the raspberry jam, gorgonzola and green chili topping? I smiled. So much had changed over the past twelve months. Life was something I actively took part in now, experiencing every second, minute, hour and day. And this included my family: Derek, Mom, Abbi, Calvin, Carla, her mom and Corey.

Although we weren’t about to become the Waltons, I secretly looked forward to our new Sunday ritual involving a roast dinner at Mom’s and drinks next door with the others. I was trying. Mom was trying. Everything was so new. Not least being with Corey in a real life, grown-up relationship. I was enjoying the intimacy, the closeness that existed between us, and I never, ever wanted it to end. That much I knew.

I typed the first word.

I hit delete.

I located
The Manual
in the lounge cabinet—beside the Kodak Tele Ektra camera—in its new home and no longer part of a secret hiding place. I used the hem of my tunic to swipe at the film of dust that had gathered on top. Although I hardly ever referred to it any more, it remained an important, affectionate piece of my history and something I felt any child would very much love to have, if received in the proper way. Turning to the first page, I felt the words almost leap from the paper and into my consciousness. And then I returned to the laptop.

Cover design by Raina Tinker

Cover photograph by Gary John Norman/Getty Images