She opened the door as soon as I knocked, making me wonder if she had seen me coming. She looked happy, healthy and I could barely contain the surge of relief that coursed through me. Once inside, I handed her the canvas and watched as she unwrapped it. It was fairly small, about sixty centimetres square and she stared at the picture with an open mouth before her eyes found mine.
“It looks like a dream,” she said and I knew exactly what she meant. The artist had used fantasy colours to paint the abstract image, deep violet, emerald green and cobalt blue that blended together in places and stood separately elsewhere.
“Remember when Jane came down and we were talking about the teenage boy with ADHD, Tyler?” I asked and she nodded. “Well, that’s one of his, I thought you might like it. She took your advice and apparently he is doing really well at the moment.”
She beamed at me, “It’s beautiful, really beautiful. And he’s doing alright?”
“Yeah he is, apparently he’s getting himself a bit of a following. He’s going to be exhibiting in a solo show soon which is a huge step forwards for an artist.”
“I’m so pleased for him, and that news makes the picture even more perfect.” She smiled and asked if I would help her hang it.
She went to the wall above her TV and moved a painting she had there, a simple print of a vase of flowers that had faded with age, it looked as though it had been there forever and the lighter square of paint underneath it indicated that it had. I hung the painting in the vacated space and Lacey stepped back to look at it, hands clasped to her ample chest.
“There, that looks perfect. Now I can see it whenever I’m sitting in front of the TV.” She reached up and squeezed me so tightly I could barely breathe, “Thank you, Rachel, that means such a lot.”
“You’re very welcome,” I said, delighted that she was happy with the picture. “I was also wondering if you would like to join me for Christmas. You know I’m not brilliant in the kitchen so it would be a pretty simple affair, but it would be nice to have some company.” I didn’t realise that I was worried about her reply until she nodded her agreement.
“That would be really nice, I think. And I can help with the food, I can cook.” She looked back at the canvas and then at me. “I was wondering about something too, it might seem a bit of an odd question.”
I smiled at her, “Go on.”
She cleared her throat, “When I die will you look after Peachy for me, and the chickens, of course?”
I looked over to where the big cat curled up on the back of the sofa, half hidden by the cushion and thought to myself that of all the questions she was about to ask, that was one I couldn’t have predicted.
“You’ll probably outlive me, Lacey Carmichael, you can look after them yourself!” I said with a smile, which she returned.
“Well, okay, on the off chance that I don’t outlive you and I pop my clogs first, would you do that for me?”
I saw that behind the light words, she was serious, that this really mattered to her.
“Yes, of course I would.” And that was that.
Chapter 62 ~ Rachel
The Christmas season snuck up on me and before I knew it, it was December. I had toyed with the idea of inviting Diane and Richard to join us for Christmas but something stopped me. I decided it would be too much to cope with; too close to memories of that first Christmas with them when I felt that everything was perfect. I thought about it, worried that it would go badly, that conversation would be stilted. I worried that they would look at the person I had become and no longer like what they saw. I talked myself out of it and in the end it would just be Lacey and me. I didn’t mind.
We went together into Exeter to buy Christmas decorations, I had none of my own and Lacey said she never bothered, she barely noticed the day anyway. We went in and out of brightly lit shops on a Thursday evening when the stores opened late. Street vendors sold hotdogs, toffee apples, roast chestnuts and brightly coloured flashing plastic wands that we giggled as we paid for.
People seemed to smile more easily, excitable children skipped along, dangling from the hands of their parents and I found that I was excited about Christmas for the first time in years. We ended up with far too many decorations and I insisted that we both had trees despite Lacey’s protest that she didn’t need one. We bought tinsel, baubles and too many sets of lights because I couldn’t decide between blue, clear and multi-coloured.
We drank mugs of hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows and snuck off to buy silly little gifts that meant nothing but made me smile. When we were finished we drove back home on roads that looked like glass and promised to meet up again the next day and decorate both of our houses. I put the presents under my tree because that was where we would be on Christmas morning but the next day when she wasn’t looking I snuck a stocking full of nonsense gifts, soap, sweets, earrings, under the tree in Lacey’s front room so that it wasn’t empty underneath.
I wrapped my present to Richard and Diane. Brightly coloured paper wrapped in dull brown packaging. A gift I never believed would be sent. It was heavier than it should have been because of its protective box and I had my fingers crossed that it would arrive with them safely. Part of me still hoped that the painting would draw them here, back to Devon. I placed it on the table and looked at the small package I had wrapped for Lacey; beside the canvas it looked tiny. This one wasn’t art, this was something else altogether and I hoped that she would like it. It was something that had seemed so important to her at the time.
On one last trip into Exeter to post the painting, I racked my brains trying to think of what else I needed to get done and realised it was almost certainly too late anyway. If I had forgotten anything up to that point then it probably wasn’t important enough to remember. I thought of everything that had been done so far and thought, hoped, it would be enough. Looking back I’m not sure why I was so desperate that things be perfect. Perhaps it was simply that I wanted to make Lacey smile, that I wanted to make up for the years when there had been no-one.
All the way home I went through my to-do list, mentally ticking things off and moving them to the done pile. The journey had become second nature now; I was no longer so hesitant and cautious on the narrow country lanes. By the time I turned into the lane in the late afternoon when the light was fading in a blaze of orange tinted clouds, I hadn’t even noticed that the miles had passed.
I drove forwards, bumping over the ruts and steering carefully over the oozing mud. As I pulled to a stop I looked up and saw Lacey. She stood in almost the same spot she had when I returned from the cinema that night but the differences in the two occasions were vast. This was an image that would stay in my mind forever, a moment caught in time that would never fail to make me smile. When I think of her, it is that moment I see first. She was all dressed in red, jumper, trousers and boots, a Father Christmas hat on her head, tinsel around her neck and in her arms she held a huge wreath, bursting with berries and fake snow. She struggled to peer over it and the smile on her face was huge as she slipped and slithered her way across the mud.
“I got this for your door,” she said, her voice light and breathless. I took it from her, hugged her and then together we emptied the shopping from the boot of the car and took it into the house.
Chapter 63 ~ Rachel
By the time Christmas morning dawned I had taken my eraser and rubbed out the harsh lines and shadows of the previous ones spent alone. The two days leading up to Christmas were filled with stories of each other’s lives, the dreams and ambitions we had harboured, our hopes for the future. We spoke of books we had read, films we loved; little of which mattered when I looked back on it. I thought of black writing curled on unopened envelopes, of the beach in the sunlight, of the beach in the rain. I thought of Lacey when she smiled and when her eyes were empty. I thought of the first time I had seen Diane and Richard and I thought of the last. I thought of hope and of deep red blood on white sheets, of a little white paper boat dancing
on the water and I thought of a rainbow of colours in a paintbox.
I was up before dawn, too excited to sleep. I felt silly, but the light in the kitchen hadn’t been on long before there was a tiny knock at the door. I opened it to Lacey’s smiling face and ushered her in realising she felt the same. I wished her a Merry Christmas and hugged her, careful not to squash the stocking I had placed under her tree that she now held in her hand.
We sat at the kitchen table drinking tea and smiling. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and decided to put off getting dressed until we had opened our presents. We went into the front room and disappeared amidst a pile of multi-coloured paper, expressing joy at the more traditional sock and handkerchief gifts. I smiled at the chocolate selection box from Lacey and laughed when I realised she had brought herself one and wrapped that up too. Lacey’s main gift to me, made me laugh even more, a copy of Cooking for Dummies and a place on a ten-week cookery course in Exeter. She seemed as pleased by my reaction as I was with the gift, we both knew it was sorely needed and I was genuinely grateful for it.
I couldn’t remember a time I had felt so comfortable and at ease. We took it in turns to open presents, squeezing and shaking them a little before admitting defeat and tearing at the paper. When I handed Lacey her present it looked tiny. With a smile on her face she mimicked me, squeezing the little package that was flat as a letter, and shaking it near her ear. She opened it and looked at the small envelope with confusion, and then she raised her eyes to mine, shaking her head a little.
“It’s a hot air balloon flight, or rather it’s a voucher for one. It’s for a private flight, just you, me and the pilot. Don’t worry if you don’t like it, I could exchange it for something else.” She shook her head again, more emphatically this time and I saw her chin tremble as she blinked rapidly.
“I don’t know what to say.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“You don’t have to say anything, Lacey, I hope you like it.”
“Oh I do, I love it! I couldn’t have wanted for more, it’s the best thing, the best thing. I can’t wait.” She reached forward to hug me but as she did she lost her balance and we tumbled into an undignified, laughing heap amongst the piles of discarded paper. After brushing ourselves down we scooped all the wrapping paper and rubbish into a bin bag and trooped into the kitchen to begin the dinner preparations.
Under Lacey’s direction I peeled and chopped vegetables. She rattled off a list of what needed to be done and sang off-key Christmas carols as I laid the table and washed the utensils she used. I put the wine in the fridge to chill, sorted out the crockery, the serving bowls and the place mats. A kind of gentle camaraderie settled between us and brought with it a sense of harmony and contentment.
Later, as we sat at the imperfectly laid table to eat the perfectly prepared food, to drink too much and laugh too much I realised that we were like a little family. A strange hybrid of one but a family nonetheless, in all the ways that were important. As I looked across the table and felt the ease with which we talked together, the warmth in her eyes, I realised that I cared more for her than I had believed possible. In such a short period of time she had slotted neatly into my life and become more important to me than anyone had for years.
We pulled crackers, laughed at bad jokes and ate too much food. Every time I glanced at Lacey her face was curved into a little half smile that spoke volumes. She looked genuinely happy and I told her so.
“I’ve never been happier.”
“I love you, Lacey Carmichael. You’re brilliant.”
“I love you too, Rachel Moore, but I think you’re a little bit tipsy!”
I laughed then, a hiccupping giggle that built as I sat there misty eyed. “As always, Lacey, you are so very right.”
These were the things that I would remember, always. Those beautiful moments when life seemed that little bit more real, that little bit more vibrant. In the coming days when it was all over, when the wine bottles were empty and I started to think about the decorations coming down, we would talk together about what that one day had meant. For me it was the moment that I finally felt I had a family again. There was something significant in that because I felt that this time nothing could stand in the way. I was grown and could make my own decisions now and no-one could prise me away. For Lacey, it was surprisingly similar. She had been part of a family before but not one that she could share a Christmas day with, not one that had been bound in warmth and laughter. For Lacey, that Christmas had given her the one true experience of being part of a loving family. We were both immeasurably grateful.
Chapter 64
Lacey died in the early hours of a bitterly cold February morning. I wasn’t with her. I wondered for a long time afterwards – I still wonder – if it would have made a difference had I been there, holding her hand, willing her to live. I wonder if I could have given her reason to fight, a reason to hold on.
Christmas had passed and we waved it goodbye with no small measure of regret. We arranged to spend New Year’s Eve together. I couldn’t remember the last time I had stayed up late enough to hear the chimes from Big Ben echo out of the TV. I looked forward to it, grateful that the celebrations weren’t quite over yet.
The day itself dawned cold and clear. Icy wind curled around the outside of the house, forcing tiny fingers through miniscule cracks. I stoked up the fire and kept the curtains drawn in the upstairs rooms. I put a bottle of wine in the fridge and sorted little bowls and serving dishes for dips and nibbles. Lacey arrived in the early evening with a bottle of champagne she had had chilling all day. I thought we should save the champagne for midnight and she agreed, so I poured us some wine and we settled in the front room to watch a film; I can’t remember now what it was that we watched.
During an advert break, Lacey got to her feet and walked over to where I sat before reaching out to press the mute button on the remote control.
She looked down at me intently, her face firm and unyielding. “I just wanted to say that there is a letter for you in the drawer of my telephone table, but you’re only to read it if something happens to me. Okay?”
I nodded solemnly, already feeling the encroaching itch of curiosity. Before I could say anything she reached over me again and pressed the button, returning the volume to normal before the film restarted. Conversation over. She went and sat back down and I looked at her. She seemed to be avoiding my eyes and eventually I turned back to the film.
Later, we drank the champagne and listened to the bells ringing out across the sound of cheering in Trafalgar Square. We crossed arms and sang Auld Lang Syne, and we laughed, as we often seemed to. The last thing I ever heard from her mouth was her laugh. As she straightened up and looked towards me my heart froze. The smile was still on her face but it was turning in on itself, one side collapsing, folding. A little frown appeared between her eyes and I stood frozen in that moment as her arm flapped down at her side and her glass fell from her fingers. As it bounced on the carpet, I stepped forwards and helped her into her seat.
“Lacey, can you hear me?”
She nodded but looked vague and I felt so afraid. I raced to grab the phone from the sideboard and dialled the emergency services. They were there within twelve minutes and as they walked up the path and I opened the door I felt my legs weaken with relief that it was no longer me that had to deal with this, it was no longer me who was responsible, who could do the wrong thing. Now all I had to do was be there, hold her hand, pray for her.
I gave the paramedic all the information I could and he asked me if I were her next of kin.
“Yes, I am,” I replied, because who else was there, who else could make the decisions if she no longer could?
“Will you be able to make your own way to the hospital?” he asked me and I heard so many things behind his words. They needed to work on her in the back of the ambulance, stabilise her, do what needed to be done. I looked over at Lacey and saw her eyes were closed. I no longer recognised her face, I could no long
er see my friend.
They put her on the stretcher and took her out of the house. The lights flashed blue across the walls, but the siren remained still as the ambulance pulled away, slowly down the lane. On stiff stilted legs I moved around, gathering bits and pieces. Trying to think through the fog of shock and reaction as to what Lacey might need.
I thought that I should go to her house and get her nightdress, her wash things; I thought that I should feed the cat and lock her house up. But I couldn’t do any of those things right now, there would be time enough later, for now all I wanted to do was follow her and be where she was.
I got into the car and realised that I was almost certainly over the limit, I tried to think how much I had drunk that evening but I couldn’t, all I could see was Lacey’s face collapsing as devastation spread through her brain. I turned the key in the ignition knowing that I was going to drive to the hospital anyway. I had never felt more sober than I did in that moment.
I drove far slower than I thought I would have. By the time I got to the hospital, the doctors and Lacey were all hidden behind a door and I had no idea what was happening. A nurse with a kind face and exhausted eyes led me to a relative’s room, which was surprisingly comfortable and thankfully empty. I tried not to notice the little Father Christmas stud earrings she wore. I curled up on the deep green sofa and rested my head on my arms. The nurse returned with a cup of tea for me and I took it gratefully, holding the cup gave me a focus.
I wondered what was happening. I wondered when they would tell me what was going on. I felt helpless and so desperately alone, but when I thought I might give in and cry, there were no tears, only a growing sense of disbelief that this could have happened. I set the cup to one side and waited.
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