by Helen Fisher
‘She wants you to keep the ring she sent you,’ he said, as I was sliding it up my finger. ‘She’s very sorry, Faye, don’t be too hard on her.’
‘How did you guess she’d lied?’ I said.
‘It was the fact that the eternity ring she sent you fitted your fourth finger perfectly. Either it was a coincidence, or she took the measurement of the ring she already had in order to get the right size for you. It’s my understanding that finger size is not an easy thing to guess, so I decided it probably wasn’t a coincidence.’
‘Sherlock, I’m impressed,’ I said. ‘And pleased to have my ring back.’
‘Elizabeth didn’t want you to go back, that’s why she lied. She thought your ring being lost might give you pause enough to stop rushing back in time, make you think you could change things, and perhaps for the worse. Even though that logic doesn’t work, as we know. We don’t know the rules for sure, Faye, and yet I am sure: there’s no point in going back to change what happened to your mother, because you can’t. And I am terrified you’ll hurt yourself, and never come home.’
‘I still think I can stop her wandering off, stop her disappearing,’ I said.
‘For goodness’ sake, Faye. You can’t. I don’t want to sound like a broken record, but it’s already happened. At best…’ He stopped.
‘At best, what?’ I said.
‘At best I think whatever you do, she’ll die anyway. You can’t have her. Because you never did.’
The funny thing is, I didn’t feel the slightest bit deterred by his words. Maybe I just needed the slightest of excuses. Maybe Elizabeth had been absolutely right to stop me rushing back to the past. But now I’d had time to think about things and the hesitation I’d had seemed to evaporate in the certainty that I couldn’t hurt Esther, Evie or Eddie by visiting Jeanie one last time; my mind was made up.
‘Nothing is going to stop me seeing her again,’ I said, pushing my chair away from the table and heading for the door. ‘And I know I can’t change anything. But maybe I can do something to atone.’
* * *
The fact that recently the idea of being the wife of a vicar had seemed too difficult to bear because I don’t believe in God had started to seem trivial. It was no longer the terrible dilemma it had seemed compared to everything else. Louis’ words regarding a return trip – There’s no point – replayed in my head, and I felt indignant, as if changing what had happened to my mother or warning her not to go off in search of a guardian angel, were the only things worth going back for. He had missed the point, which was that I could go back at all. I was going to see my mother again, I was quite decided.
Was I angry with Elizabeth? Not really. I understood Elizabeth, and understanding can take the anger out of a thing. She had clearly begun to worry – as we talked that day above her shop – that my going back could do a lot of damage, if not to her, then very likely to me. I think her intent was damage control. According to Louis, Elizabeth had never been sure that she would keep hold of the ring, but felt I needed something to stop me scampering into the past and back again as though it required as little thought, and had as few consequences, as a trip to the seaside. She had a point. I could admit that now.
My dilemma had changed. I no longer questioned the wisdom of going back. I knew there were risks and I was willing to take them. My dilemma now was, well, not technically a dilemma, but a concern. Although I was mad with Louis, I had to concede that he was right in that I could do nothing to prevent my mother from going missing, I couldn’t change that fact, but maybe I could change the reason she went missing. I was going to return, there was no doubt in my mind. I would tell Jeanie who I was and then, whether she believed me or not, at least I wouldn’t be the reason for her disappearance. She wouldn’t go in search of me – her guardian angel – it wouldn’t be my fault anymore.
Just as I was about to go through my own front door, my phone pinged: a text from Louis: ‘If it was me, I would go back too,’ it said. I smiled, eased my engagement ring off before I got in the house, and then hid it in the bedroom to be ‘found’ a bit later. Otherwise what would Eddie say if I’d miraculously found my ring again after a visit to Louis’ place?
* * *
I didn’t want to leave it much longer before getting in the box. But I needed to be prepared this time. You’re probably wondering why I was so sure that my mother would be there when I returned. I wasn’t; I couldn’t be certain how much time would have passed by the time I got back, as there seemed to be no particular reason why six months had passed last time I went. It had been a couple of months since my last visit, and it crossed my mind that maybe I was too late. Maybe my mother was already gone. There was only one way to find out. I realise you must think this was a stupid thing to do, but once a friend is decided, you might as well be on their side, right? You can’t abandon me now, just because you think I’m an idiot.
This was the plan: a weekend would be best, and I thought it would be a good idea to take the box to Louis’ house and ‘transport’ from there. That way we could put the box on a mattress and surround it with pillows like I did last time. Obviously I couldn’t do that in my own house with Eddie there. I would wear the ski suit again, and the gloves and boots too. I would take a small first aid kit, painkillers and tuck a newspaper inside my clothes; it seemed like a good prop for convincing someone I was from the future.
Then Louis came up trumps. He came to the research department at work on Tuesday and hugged me in the corridor. We don’t do a lot of hugging, but this was a good one. I abandoned my desk without bothering to tell the boss, and Louis and I sat in the staff canteen (another thing we rarely do); it was empty as it was so early, and I made us tea. He liked my ideas and said he would absolutely help. I hadn’t doubted it for a second, even if there had been tension between us before.
The weekend coming up was the one closest to November 5th, and Eddie and I were having friends over for burgers and drinks and a few fireworks in the back garden. I asked Louis if he’d come, it would be nice to have him there anyway, but then when he got a taxi home he’d take the box with him (I’d fold it up so it was easier to manoeuvre), and he’d take it to his place. He promised me he’d guard it with his life. Literally, if necessary, he said. I had total faith in him, but didn’t want the box to be out of my sight until the last minute. Louis said he’d stay sober too, just because that seemed like a good idea.
I decided not to drink much either. ‘We’ll get pissed another day,’ I said.
Friday night, fireworks party, then I’d go to him on Saturday, make my excuses, didn’t matter what. He’d then stay home, with the box in its padded surroundings, and wait for me to come back. Three hours. If I came back hurt, he would be there to help me. We were trying to be sensible and organised, but there was such a buzz of excitement between us, like children planning a midnight feast.
‘I ordered something for you last night, online,’ he said. ‘To take to your mother. It’s going to take a few days to arrive, but should be here in time.’
‘What is it?’ I asked, intrigued.
‘Old money,’ he said, with a smug grin.
‘Old money?’ I let the implications sink in. ‘Oh my God, that’s such a good idea. How much?’
‘I’ve got about £500 worth, it’s all I could get. I thought it might make quite a big difference to your mother, and to you as a child,’ he said.
‘How much would £500 feel like?’ I said.
‘About £4000,’ he said.
‘That would make such a difference to us, Louis.’
‘Well, as I’ve said, honestly, I don’t think it will actually make any difference, because you don’t seem to have ever got that money. But, in the spirit of not knowing actually what the fuck will make a difference, I thought money would be a good thing to take.’
‘Brilliant thinking,’ I said, shaking my head in admiration. It was good being friends with a nerd, they have such great ideas. But I saw him grimace.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘I do have a reservation about this money,’ he said. ‘A request.’
‘Go on.’
‘Just in case you can change things, Faye, just in case this does make a difference to the outcome of things, please don’t be tempted to visit Elizabeth when you go back this time. Please don’t go and see her, please don’t pay for the roller skates.’ He paused. ‘I know that you’ve thought about the risks, the consequences, and I know that you’ve weighed it all up and decided to go anyway, for better or for worse. But I think you’d find it hard to live with the guilt if your actions have a detrimental effect on Elizabeth’s life.’ He sighed. ‘I think I’d find that hard to live with too.’
‘I promise – I give you my absolute guarantee – I will stay away from Elizabeth. As we know, she never needed the money in order to be okay. It would be pointless to interfere with her,’ I said.
‘One other thing,’ he said, with a sadness on his face that spoke of pain yet to be experienced. ‘I think you should write a letter to Eddie. I’ll look after it, and if I need to’ – I saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard – ‘I’ll deliver it to him.’
26
It wasn’t a suicide note, because I wasn’t planning to kill myself, but then I suppose I’m mincing words. The letter affected me in three main ways. The first was plain relief in writing everything down for Eddie, however mad it sounded; it brought home with sharp clarity how keen I was for him to know the truth of my extraordinary life. Secondly, it was a chance to say everything I would want him to know if I never saw him again. In fact, I came to realise that this was a letter I should have written anyway: a letter for a loved one to find in the event of death, or some other kind of loss, such as mental illness; to bring comfort, closure and an answer to all the questions we didn’t know we needed to ask. And the third thing was that, in writing this potential goodbye note, I was acutely aware of what I was leaving behind if my fate was to never return. While I pondered what to write, I touched my engagement ring to my lips, and could see in my mind’s eye the relief and surprise on Eddie’s face as I remembered the moment I told him I’d found it. And once or twice, as I wrote, a tear plopped onto the page and I would look at those briny domes, to see if they magnified the words beneath them.
If a week seemed too long to wait to see my mother again, I needed it to write that letter. I wrote about when Eddie and I first met and how my hopes had grown fast and strong like garden mint after the first time he kissed me. I reminded him of conversations we’d had and some of the words he’d said in passing – things he would have likely forgotten – but that meant so much to me I thought of them almost every day. I told him my wishes for the future and how much I wanted to work with him to follow his calling, the impact I felt he would have on people’s lives and how I wanted to play my part in that.
And then, the task I’d been evading: I wrote a letter for my daughters.
Dear Esther and Evie,
I didn’t think I could love anyone in this world as much as I love your dad, until you two came along. Imagine that! I didn’t even know I was capable of that much love. You have brought me joy every single moment. You are the best things in my life, and not by a little, but by a lot. I love you both from the bottom of my heart or, as Daddy once said, ‘I love you from the bottom of my bottom, because that’s bigger than my heart.’
Although I’m not there for you, I want to be part of your lives, and because I can’t share my advice or wisdom with you in person when you need it, there are a few things I want to tell you, which I think are important and might be of some help.
Always be yourselves, because you are perfect, even when you’re not.
As you grow older you will do wonderful things and people will say, ‘Your mother would have been proud of you.’ And I want you to understand how true that is. I am proud of you, and not just when you do wonderful things, but when you do good things, and everyday things, and even when you do nothing at all. But sometimes, you’ll make mistakes, and do things that you’re not proud of. When you do, make it better, and I will be proud when you do what you can to make things right.
Esther and Evie, be kind. Now I know that you are both naturally very kind, but remember to be conscious of your kindness. By which I mean sometimes you should go out of your way to be kind, even if it’s in a small way. When I was a grown-up I met a man I knew as a boy at school. Everyone used to tease him, and call him names. And when I was older I told him I felt sorry for that, and he told me I shouldn’t worry because I was one of the good ones; he said I had only ignored him. And that upsets me so much. I wish I had done more, wish I had at least smiled. I learned from him, and now I smile more at people, because you never know, it might just be the kindest thing that happened to them all day. Be wise though. Be polite to strangers, but remember to keep yourselves safe.
There are a lot of trees out there, make sure you climb a few of them. Climb all the trees you want. You might break a bone or two, but sometimes it’s better to break a bone than to leave the tree unclimbed.
Experiment with your hair. If you don’t like it, it will grow back.
Read lots and love it. Reading is so good for you, for so many reasons. Always carry a book with you, because then you will never be bored. And although you should marry whoever you want as long as they love you and you love them, I would really prefer it if you fall in love with readers.
I think that’s enough from me, although reading this back I wonder if you’ll worry that I love you more than your daddy. But you mustn’t worry. Since you came along, I love him even more, partly because he made you possible, but also because he loves you and keeps you safe, which makes him more precious than he ever was before.
I know this letter will be hard for you to read, and bring you as much sadness as happiness, because I know what it’s like to lose a mother. I lost mine too. So my last piece of advice is this: don’t dwell too much on the past. Life is ahead of you, and if you keep looking back you won’t be able to see where you’re going.
Know that you are loved by me always, and I am in your hearts for ever.
Mummy XxxX
It was not an easy letter to write, and gave me pause, I admit; especially the last part. To know that I was ignoring the advice I gave my daughters – and presumably the advice my mother would give me – made me think, even if it didn’t make me change my mind. Never ignore for yourself the advice you give to others. Especially if you know you’re right.
* * *
And now there’s you and me; we are nearly up to date, and just in case you don’t hear from me again, there are a few words I need to say to you, my friend:
In your life you’re a god, and I’ll try to explain it like Eddie did once. When you’re asleep and you’re dreaming, you are a god, because you are everything and everyone. If you dream that you’re one of the passengers on a plane that crashes, remember that you are also the pilot, and you’re not one, but all of the passengers. You are even the plane, because this dream is in your head, and you made everything happen. In dreams you’re like a god. It’s not quite the same in real life, but there can be touches of God in everything that you do – how you care, what you say and do – that influences others. God is in a baby’s smile, but it’s still just a baby’s smile, and you can call it whatever you like. Call God what you will, and belief will follow.
I know that I’m here, and you’re there, not much distance between us, just the distance between my words on this page and your eyes; I estimate about twelve inches. But that distance can be recalculated, depending on your point of view. We could be on different planets, and we may exist in different times, it doesn’t matter, it’s still just you and me. And I want you to understand that I believe in you with all my heart. Never doubt it. And when you’re ready, when the time is right, you will believe in me.
* * *
So there we are, letters written, and in your case, read. Plans made, ski suit
and other clothes ready at Louis’ with the newspaper and first aid kit; old money on its way. Oh, and of course, I have given some thought to what I’d like to say to my mother when I get to her. Between you and me, this is a funny sort of goodbye, because you are able to see if anything comes after this page… but at the time of writing, I have no idea whether or not the pages ahead are blank. If they are, you can assume I never made it back.
27
Well, it turns out I’m still here, and I suppose you’re not surprised. But I may surprise you yet. I’d go so far as to guarantee it.
The last time I updated you was the week I wrote my goodbye letter to Eddie. Inevitably I was never completely happy that I’d said enough, but hoped with all my heart he would not need to read it, or at least, not for a long time. And it was better than nothing. Much better.
We planned for friends to come over on the Friday evening for Bonfire Night and it was fun on Thursday evening, because the four of us went to the supermarket and bought all the food and drink. We bought burgers and hotdogs and potatoes for baking, and I got beans, pineapple chunks and barbeque sauce, to make my famous sweet barbecue beans. If you think it sounds disgusting, think again. I bought courgettes and aubergines to make a vegetarian chilli, and big tubs of sour cream and jalapeños; avocados, mayonnaise and lemons, to make guacamole. Eddie got the beers and wine, gin and tonic, and the girls asked if they could be in charge of a sweetie table like one they’d seen at a wedding reception last year. To their surprise Eddie and I said yes and they went wild in the sweet aisle.
I remembered the time we’d been to a theme park for the day, and couldn’t recall that we were any happier, or had any more fun than we did in the supermarket that night, as we prepared for our fireworks party. Or maybe I’m seeing that night through rose-tinted glasses, in light of what occurred soon after. Eddie and I both had to go to work the next day, and the girls had school, so we stayed up late doing most of the preparations on the Thursday and Eddie and I drank wine and laughed and we made love that night too. I can remember the lust I felt, and the feeling of total devastation as I imagined it being the last time. I went to sleep with my mind riding a rollercoaster of hope and fear.
