The Food of Love

by Amanda Prowse

  Freya felt a wave of panic rise in her chest. She began to cry, loudly. She couldn’t control it. ‘No, no! I don’t want you to talk like that!’ She slid to the floor and knelt by the side of her bed. ‘This is just how you are feeling right now! But it will pass. It will.’

  ‘No, Mum.’ Lexi shook her head from side to side. ‘It’s how I have always felt. Always.’

  ‘Listen to me, Lexi.’ Freya sat up straight, her face inches from her little girl’s. ‘Look at me! I am on my knees and I am begging you to help me get through this! You cannot give up!’ She cried, huge sobs that shook her frame. ‘Just one night, Lex, that’s all! Because you are running out of time!’ The words slid from her mouth like broken glass, painful and damaging. ‘That’s the truth! You are running out of time!’

  ‘I can’t.’ Her voice was weak, her breathing shallow.

  ‘You have to, Lexi,’ she managed through her tears. ‘Please don’t leave me!’

  Lexi reached out the stiff, whitened bones where nimble fingers used to live and rested her hand on her mum’s arm. Freya leant in, her face inches from her daughter’s skeletal face, where the skin hung in lined pouches around her jawline and beneath her eyes. She looked a hundred years old.

  ‘Please, Mummy, . . .’ Lexi said, her lips grey and cracked. ‘I want to go . . . to the other side of space.’ Her wide eyes that had sunk back in their sockets pleaded.

  Freya felt a jolt of fear in her gut.

  ‘No, no no, no, Lexi, no! You need to stay and fight this! You need to stay here with me!’ Her voice was little more than a reedy whisper, her voice box stripped bare with grief. ‘We had a good chat with Dr Morris.’ She remembered her promise of keeping impassive, and shook her head, exhaling, as she reached for her daughter’s hand.

  ‘It’s okay, Mum.’

  ‘What’s okay?’ She blinked at her daughter.

  ‘I already know,’ she whispered.

  ‘Already know what?’ Freya whispered back.

  ‘How ill I am.’

  Freya let her head fall forward towards her chest, struggling to find the words, understanding at that moment that, without the mask of pretence and the illusion of strength, she felt quite lost.

  ‘Please don’t be sad, Mum.’ She lifted her hand and let her fingers trail Freya’s cheekbone. ‘I can’t stop and I can’t change things, not now.’ Lexi swallowed. ‘And it’s okay. I’m happy here. I just want to stay here with you and Dad and Charlotte until . . .’

  Freya felt a surge of anger.

  ‘No, Lexi, it is not okay!’ Distress made her words harder to discern. ‘I want you to fight! Fight hard!’ She balled her fingers into a fist.

  ‘I’m so tired of fighting,’ Lexi whispered.

  ‘I love you, Lexi.’

  ‘I love you too. I love you so much because you’re my mum and I know that you are the best mum in the world and I’m going to miss you.’

  ‘Do not talk like that!’ she snapped. ‘You are not going to miss me because you are not going anywhere. I won’t let you. I won’t!’

  Lexi sat forward a little, struggling for breath, her body folded, as if the pain in her gut had kicked in again.

  ‘What is it, darling?’ Freya sniffed up her tears and ran her hand over Lexi’s face.

  ‘I don’t . . . I don’t feel too good.’ She grimaced, her eyes screwed tightly shut.

  ‘Is it getting worse?’ She felt her own heart rate increase; the flames of fear licked all her thoughts.

  Lexi nodded, her eyes half-closed.

  Freya jumped up and ran into the hallway.

  ‘Lockie!’ she called out to him, closing the door behind her.

  ‘What is it? Is she okay?’ He stood with the overnight bag in his hand, breathing quickly; his nerves were palpable.

  ‘Where is that bloody ambulance? She’s . . . she’s giving up, Lockie! Oh God, she’s giving up, and I don’t know what to do! I can’t lose her!’

  He took a step closer, until he could talk softly and still be heard. ‘You do know what to do. You do.’

  ‘Yes.’ Freya swallowed, fighting for composure, closing her eyes and trying to erase the sound of Mikey the nurse, whose voice loomed loud in her ears: That place makes Larchcombe seem like two weeks on the Riviera. ‘I’m going to go and call Dr Morris and tell her that we need to get her into Morningside and we need to do it now! That’s right, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, my love.’ He closed his eyes briefly. ‘I’ll go and sit with her while you make the call.’ He squeezed her hand, then slipped into Lexi’s room.

  Freya had set the wheels in motion.

  And now she had to go and tell Lexi.

  Time was quite distorted; it had been less than half an hour since Dr Morris had left, but felt like a lot longer. ‘Hurry up, please!’ she spoke her thoughts aloud, as she trod the stairs with anger, grief and fear washing over her in waves. She’s running out of time. My girl is running out of time . . .

  As if in response to her demand, the sound of a siren grew louder and louder. Lockie and Charlotte appeared on the landing and ran down the stairs, calling out that they would shepherd them into the correct house and up the stairs.

  Lexi seemed to hover in and out of sleep. Freya sat by her side and stroked her arm.

  ‘I’m scared, Mummy.’

  ‘It’s okay, baby girl. I’ve got you,’ she whispered, knowing that this was the time to be brave.

  She spoke quietly, calmly drawing strength and composure from a hitherto untapped source. She would have found it hard to explain how she was imbued with a rush of energy and what could only be described as clarity.

  ‘Never forget that I’m your mum and I’ll always be here for you. Always. Never forget how much you are loved.’ Freya took a deep breath. Her stomach muscles tightened in angst.

  The sound of boots hammered up the stairs.

  Lexi sat up and looked at her mum. There was a second of understanding exchanged between the two.

  And then two burly male paramedics rushed into the room.

  ‘No! Mum! No!’ Lexi shot her a look as she shrank back against the wall.

  With a surge of strength, Lexi’s arms flailed. She pulled off her hat to reveal her thin hair and threw off the quilts that had cushioned her. Her sticklike arms beat the pillows, her foot lunging out, narrowly missing her mum, who jumped up and stood with her mouth open, not entirely sure what to do next.

  Lexi’s voice was not one Freya recognised: it sounded low, gravelly and desperate, and her words were venomous.

  ‘Why are you doing this to me! You promised! You promised me!’ Lexi’s eyes were wild and her mouth contorted, with flecks of foam at the side of her lips.

  Freya felt her stomach shrink with fear. She was certain that if her daughter had had the strength, she would have tried to hit her.

  A paramedic tried to lower her gently against her pillows.

  ‘You need to stay calm, Lex,’ Freya tried to remind her. ‘Your heart!’ Her words, however, fell on deaf ears as Lexi called upon every reserve of energy she had to make a stand. Throwing her body forward, she screamed out, ‘Why are you letting them do this to me?’

  Lockie reached for his wife, pulling her to stand beside him at the window, with Charlotte on his other side. Freya watched as her daughter was pinned flat on the mattress. It was the most distressing thing to watch and it took all her strength not to intervene and demand they get their hands off her little girl.

  Lexi continued to thrash.

  ‘Don’t touch me! Stay away!’ she screamed. ‘Don’t you fucking touch me!’ Saliva fell from her mouth in long gobs and tears streaked her face. She was hysterical.

  Lockie took Charlotte into his arms and they both sobbed. Freya wrapped her arms around them both, calling out to Lexi, trying to tend her whole family.

  ‘You need to calm down, Lex, you need to try to stay calm!’ she managed, uncertain where her daughter was finding the strength to fuel her rage, but knowing she didn�
��t have it to spare.

  Her child responded with loud, guttural yells that sounded to her like an animal in distress.

  Lexi was struggling for breath; her words coasted from a mouth twisted with anger. ‘I will . . . I will never forgive you! Never!’

  Freya closed her eyes briefly, catching every word as if they were tiny knives that lodged in her heart and mind.

  ‘Lexi! I’m sorry!’ she cried. ‘I love you, but you are running out of time!’

  The paramedics worked quickly, unzipping bags and removing syringes as they tended to her child. Still Lexi strained against them, trying to sit, trying to bite, snarling and growling.

  Restrained now, Lexi lifted her head and banged it against the wall. She held her mother’s gaze as the oxygen mask was lifted towards her face; her last words, before the sedative took its toll, were loud and clear:

  ‘I hate you! You are killing me! I hate you! I will never forgive you.’

  Freya turned her head towards the garden; her limbs shook, but her resolve was strong.

  You need help, help from experts, outside of my care. This is your one chance, my Lexi . . .

  The hour is now . . .

  The clock on the stove ticked loudly.

  Freya and Lockie sat at the table, holding hands in quiet reflection. The still of the hour could not erase the echo of their child’s distress on the day before. It clung to the walls and would forever be part of the fabric of the building.

  Freya’s thoughts continually returned to the sight of Lexi’s face, fighting until the end.

  ‘I think peace is above all what we all seek, a life free from struggle, don’t you?’ Lockie spoke slowly.

  Freya nodded. ‘I do.’

  ‘You need to go and change out of your pyjamas,’ he prompted.

  She looked down, as if this hadn’t occurred to her.

  ‘Yes, yes of course.’

  She left the table and trod the stairs.

  Charlotte took a deep breath and walked from the sofa in the den to the table where Lockie sat writing.

  ‘How you doing, Dad?’ she asked sweetly.

  He nodded and put three Xs on the page before laying the pen on the table. ‘The last pen I held was to sign the forms at the hospital.’ He rubbed his face, trying to erase the memory; the weight of his action was one he would carry on his shoulders for a lifetime.

  Charlotte bent to kiss him on the cheek.

  Freya walked in, changed now into her jeans and Lockie’s checked shirt. Having Lexi sectioned was the hardest thing they had ever had to do. It was also the bravest.

  She would never forget those initial moments in the hospital, Lexi’s expression one of fury and fear. Held back by two nurses, she continued, despite her frailty, to flail and scream, snarling at them both, ‘I don’t want to see you ever again! Just go! Go away!’ shrieking until her voice was hoarse and the exertion left her spent.

  Freya’s own heart had hammered so hard in her chest she thought it might stop. Lockie had held her hand. ‘It’s not her, remember? It’s her illness talking,’ he offered as he glanced her cheek with a kiss.

  Now dressed and a little more composed, Freya gathered the pages into her hands.

  ‘What are we going to do with these notes? The stories?’ Charlotte asked.

  ‘Well . . .’ Freya took a breath. ‘We have to get them to Lexi. I made her a promise a long time ago, when she was little.’

  She heard the words, burbled from Lexi’s seven-year-old mouth: If you went away, Mum, I would write you a note or one of my stories, like I do for Daddy to take with him on his trips, and you could read it and you wouldn’t feel so sad. And if I went away, you could write me a note or a story to take with me, and I would read it and I wouldn’t feel so sad.

  ‘These stories are important. They are how she finds her way back to us, a big part of her journey, reminders of how much we love her, her memories. They will help her find her way out of the fog. These are the truth, and they will help bring her home. I’m sure of it.’ She smiled; a genuine smile.

  Charlotte tried to stifle her tears as Lockie clung to her.

  ‘There are no guarantees, Freya, you heard what Dr Morris said.’ He spoke kindly to his wife, as if trying to soften the blow of what might occur.

  ‘I know.’ Freya swallowed and steadied herself on the table. ‘But I have to keep going. I have to keep thinking it’s possible. I have to. I’m her mum.’

  The three stood in silence for a second, each considering her words.

  Charlotte’s sob cracked the atmosphere. ‘I can’t bear the idea of my little sister being in there with no visitors for weeks, locked up like she’s done something wrong!’

  Freya closed her eyes; the parting image of her child was forever behind her eyelids.

  ‘The thing is, we love her too much to help her ourselves, Charlotte; this is how we save her, by sending her to Morningside. To let people help her who do this every day, all day, people who can make good decisions for her, hard decisions.’

  Lockie nodded at his wife and she knew she spoke the truth.

  ‘They will make her better, won’t they, Mum?’

  ‘They will certainly try.’ She nodded at her lovely girl. It was the best she could offer.

  ‘I’m scared about seeing it,’ Charlotte admitted. ‘About going inside.’

  Freya pictured the harsh sterility of Larchcombe, the locked doors, the lack of privacy, the forced feeding, the wails of distress and the atmosphere of desperation, and she knew that Morningside would be worse. Much worse.

  ‘Me too.’ She smiled at her child as Lockie gripped her hand. ‘It’s time.’ Freya stood tall and placed her hand on the back of the chair for support.

  The three stepped out into the street, and climbed into their car. Lockie drove.

  She spoke to Lexi in her mind, thinking about her happy days of childhood.

  Remember, Lexi, that mothers and daughters are made from the same batch of stardust, and when you are sad, I’m sad, and when you are happy, my heart sings!

  Freya climbed out into the bright, sunny day, vaguely aware of the fact that they had arrived. She chose to look at the full trees that edged the lawn rather than the imposing secure facility hewed from grey stone.

  She smiled briefly at her husband as she took his arm, holding Charlotte’s hand on the other side. The trio walked up the steps where they would enter and sign some more forms and learn of the routine, meet with the surgical team and be given a telephone number to call twice a week. They would not, however, be able to see Lexi, not for a while. These were the rules. This was the process and she had to trust it.

  ‘We can get through this,’ Lockie urged from his own trembling mouth. ‘We can get through anything if we do it together.’

  ‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘One day at a time . . .’

  EPILOGUE

  Lockie threaded his arm through his wife’s and let it snake along her back. She turned and kissed the side of his face.

  ‘I love you, you know.’

  ‘I had noticed.’ She smiled, leaning into him.

  Having walked across the sand for half an hour, they were happy to find the perfect deserted spot, on an incline set a little way back from the water’s edge in front of a dense row of scarlet flowering hibiscus.

  Melissa, Freya’s sister-in-law, placed the beach chairs in a semicircle, facing out to sea, while Hugh wiggled the firepit into the sand until it was stable and loaded it up with charcoal, firelighters and a couple of large logs.

  ‘You have the honour, sir.’ Hugh passed the box of matches to Lockie, who knelt down and pushed his long hair from his eyes, before striking away from the box and angling the match to see the orange flame lick up the wood. He then bent low, picked a gap and placed it against a firelighter. It sizzled and after twenty minutes the thriving fire warranted a round of polite applause.

  ‘More champagne, Diana?’ Melissa poured another generous glass.

  ‘I’m alread
y a little tipsy,’ Diana confessed. ‘But go on, then.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Gran, I can always carry you home,’ Charlotte offered, as she twisted the precious friendship bracelets that never left her wrist.

  Freya smiled at her sweet girl, who in two weeks would be off to start her second year at Durham University, where she was studying history of art.

  Lexi shared a knowing look with her sister, both aware that their gran was not averse to getting a little tipsy. Their friendship had bloomed, with love and compassion as the glue.

  ‘How you doing?’ Charlotte asked, as Lexi took a chair by the fireside.

  ‘Good.’ She beamed.

  As the huge red sun started to sink into the ocean, they gathered around the roaring firepit. Freya slipped into a cardigan, taking the chill off her sun-kissed shoulders, and Charlotte pulled up the hood on her sister’s favourite Jack Wills sweatshirt that she liked to wear.

  Pelicans in shadow stretched their magnificent wings and landed on poles sticking up from the seabed, looming like prehistoric time travellers as they too faced the sinking sun.

  It was hard not to think about their first trip, all those years ago, when life had been pretty perfect and no one had any idea of how things might unravel.

  ‘Anorexia’ had been a word without meaning, and not one in their vocabulary, yet now it was a word that filtered their every memory and their every thought.

  Freya felt confident that she had done the right thing earlier: with her family’s support, she sent a message to her dear friend Marcia:

  Press the button. Publish the article. It’s too important. People need to know . . .

  Lockie tapped the side of his beer bottle with his wedding ring; a hush came over the group.

  ‘This is a very special day for a very special girl: Alexia Valentine Braithwaite. I shall now hand over to her mum, my beautiful Freya!’ He smiled.

  Making his way back to his seat, he stopped where Lexi sat and kissed her on the cheek.

  Freya slid from the chair and took a seat on the sand, her face illuminated by the glow from the fire.