by Anna Mansell
‘So, what does it say?’
‘What?’
‘The letter.’
I pick at my fingers, uncertain where to start.
‘Actually. Don’t. I don’t know if I want to hear it.’
‘I was trying to do what you suggested. Write it all out. Offload, you know?’
‘Right. So probably better I don’t know then, eh?’
I’d love to disagree and the fact I don’t is clearly all he needs to know he’s right. He breathes out, folding his arms. ‘Why are you here then, Jem? I said I didn’t want to see you so why did you come? What were you doing at my door?’
‘I was trying to get the letter back. Before it was delivered.’
‘Wow. The contents are that bad?’
‘Well… I mean… you said you didn’t want to see me. Or hear from me.’
‘Yet here you are.’ He lets out a sigh and I wish I could reach out and rest a hand on his. ‘I’ve lived here almost a year now.’
I remember the day he left. I didn’t see him. But I knew he was driving down with all his belongings in the back of his Saab 93. I went to Leanne’s. She cooked cheese on toast and we did jigsaws with Harley. I cried because I already knew what I’d lost. ‘Do you like it here?’
‘What do you think?’
The child and her mum are back with the dad. I can see where she inherited the curls. And the smile. And even though I don’t want children there’s something about the three of them there, a tiny family team, that makes me wonder, what if things had been different?
‘I was about to go.’
‘Lucky I caught you then.’
‘Is it?’ It’s the first time I can look at him. We hold each other’s gaze and it takes everything in my body not to tell him I still love him. ‘You said you never wanted to see me again, I don’t imagine me being here is quite what you wanted.’
‘No. It’s not. Because seeing you reminds me what I had to walk away from. It reminds me what I’ve lost.’
I want to ask him to tell me what it was he walked away from. I want to hear him tell me what he lost. I want that glimmer of feeling I used to get knowing he loved me before it got too much and I couldn’t cope.
‘It reminds me why it’s taken so long to find the strength to get up every day and not spend my whole time thinking about you.’
‘But you’ve moved on. I saw her. I saw you both.’ I pause, wanting to ask who she is and what she means to him, but it’s not my right to know. ‘I saw the baby,’ I add, quietly.
Ben lets out a long sigh. ’I don’t know what it is about you, Jem Whitfield. Everything in me knows you’re bad news. And that’s why I didn’t want to see you again, that’s why I moved so far away. I had to break us. I had to cut the connection. Yet here you are, a year on, sitting beside me, and it’s taking so much willpower not to reach out to you, you look so broken. I should be angry with you. I am on some level. I should be annoyed that you’d go against my wishes, and again, I think I am, but…’ He shakes his head, rubbing his hands through his hair.
‘I haven’t come to cause trouble. Or to upset you. I was trying to do the right thing and, to be honest, I probably made a bad call. But I’ve changed in that respect, you know? I can own it. I’m working really hard. I’m being accountable.’
‘Hence the letter?’
‘Well… I don’t know about that.’
He laughs to himself. ‘I don’t know if the gesture was worth it, you know. I mean, Christ, at this time of year, it must have taken you forever, cost you a fortune. Where did you stay?’
‘In my car.’
‘Comfy.’
‘Not really. Thankfully I’d had a drink or two in the Sloop, so think I probably didn’t really notice.’ He turns to face me, studying me. I can’t even… ‘My head’s banging now!’
He nods, slowly. Eventually, eyes fixed on the horizon, he says, ‘I think it’s time you went home.’ He stands.
‘Is it?’
He holds his hands out to me, pulling me up. We hold on to one another for a second before he lets go and steps back, collecting his tools. ‘Maybe in another life, things would have been different.’ He plants a gentle kiss on my forehead before turning to leave.
My heart is in my throat. I’m confused. I’m overwhelmed. ‘Ben!’
But he carries on walking, head down, tools in hand. I watch him until he disappears into a crowd of people, then away, down the slipway onto the beach. He shakes hands with a fisherman before peering at a boat engine, life carrying on as if we’d never met.
17
It’s past six o clock. I left St Ives mid-morning. Is that a World Record for quickest trip ever? And for what? I mean sure, I picked up a flaky pasty from St Ives Bakery. Traditional. But it’s a long way to go for lunch, however good the pasty was. (It was good. The best… Ben’s favourite.) Point is, it was a wasted trip. I didn’t get the letter. I saw Ben and was reminded, as if I needed to be, that I made the biggest mistake of my life letting him go. And for a brief moment, seeing him, I thought there might be hope. I thought he was softening to me. It really felt like we might be able to talk. Until it changed. Until he walked away. Which of course he would, he’s in a relationship. They have a baby. He’s not that kind of man. And now I don’t know if he’ll read the letter, and worse, there’s nothing I can do about it if he does.
I’m knackered. I feel stupid. That was the last impulse decision I’ll ever make. From here onwards, it’s time to consider the facts. It’s time to be careful. To take my time and do things that feel right. I’ve got to listen to my gut. I’ve got to trust instinct.
Mum sits in her chair by the window as I wrench on the handbrake, apologising to Petula for being so clumsy.
She’s at the front door, arms open wide by the time I’m out of the car. ‘Hey, love.’ She pulls me in for a long hug and I’m weirdly relieved to be back.
‘There’s a lamb casserole in the slow cooker with your name on it.’
My belly strains with all the food I’ve comfort eaten on my journey home, topped off with a McDonald’s from the drive-through up Whit Moor.
‘It’s been cooking all day,’ she adds.
‘It’s a slow cooker. That’s what they do.’
She rolls her eyes at me. ‘Daft sod.’
I decide to leave the incriminating evidence of breakfast, lunch and tea in Petula for now. ‘I love your casserole, thank you. I really appreciate it.’
‘How was it?’ she asks, taking my handbag and hanging it over the bannister.
‘I don’t know. Long. Fruitless.’
‘Oh, love.’ She sniffs, taking a tissue out from her sleeve to dab her eyes.
‘Mum. Don’t. It’s fine. I’m fine.’
‘I know, love, I know you are. I just feel bad. Responsible.’ She sniffs again, wiping her nose then thrusting the tissue in her tabard. ‘I just… I’m glad you’re home.’
‘Hey, I am okay.’ She sniffs again. ‘Mum? I’m okay.’
She nods. ‘Okay is all well and good, but I want you to be happy. It’s all I’ve ever wanted for you, Jem, and you deserve it. We all deserve it.’ She sniffs again, she studies the carpet before her, flicking a bit of fluff with her black cat slippers. Then she sighs.
‘What? What is it?’ I say, as she shakes her head. ‘Come on, out with it, what’s up?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Tell your face,’ I joke, as she would have to me, if I looked like her right now.
‘I just feel sad for you, for what’s happened, that’s all. It’s my fault.’
‘No, Mum. It’s not. It’s not your fault.’
‘And all that petrol.’
‘It’s not your fault.’
My phone dings a text as I give her another hug to try and convince her. Despite everything that’s happened in the last twelve hours, my belly warms to see it’s Mitch, checking if I’m home safe. Like Ben used to. I reply with a thumbs-up emoji, I’ll message him properly later. Mum
pads back to her chair, dropping into it, pulling her apron off and a pink velour cushion across her belly.
‘I won’t do it again. Take something from your room, I mean.’
‘Unless it’s dirty pots. You can take dirty pots down.’ Mum laughs a little. ‘Actually, don’t worry about it, I’ll bring my own pots down and pop a lock on my bedroom door instead.’
‘Jem!’
‘I’m kidding. Honestly. It’s fine. Eeeh, I don’t know, maybe I shouldn’t have written it. I was being selfish. Ha. Newsflash.’
‘We’re all capable of being selfish, love. That alone doesn’t make you a bad person because you’re also really great.’
I flop into the chair opposite her. Me and Mum. Together. In the lounge. In our respective places. My favourite spot. My safe space. ‘Eurgh, come on then.’ I stretch my arms above my head and my back clicks, which gives some kind of odd relief. Who needs a chiropractor?
‘Bohemian Rhapsody?’ I ask because I don’t want to talk about the trip any more. ‘What’s it on? Amazon Prime or something?’
Mum starts nodding as I reach for the remote control but her nod soon changes to a shake of the head followed by tears. ‘Mum, for God’s sake, please! It wasn’t your fault!’ I chip, feeling immediately guilty.
Mum shakes her head, wiping her eyes. ‘It’s not that.’
‘Then what’s up?’
She sniffs, wiping her face. She moves to sit up tall. ‘I need to tell you something.’
18
‘What? What is it?’
Mum shakes herself steady, clasping her hands until her knuckles turn white. Something she only ever does when she’s trying to be brave.
‘Mum?’ My breath slows. ‘You’re scaring me.’
‘I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just going to come out with it.’
I clench my own hands.
‘It’s back.’
‘What is?’ I ask, even though I think I probably know.
Mum studies her fingers. That feeling of dread in the pit of my belly creeps in. Not the usual one I get when I’ve been an arse, but the real one. The one that matters. The one I had for most of last year until she had her op. A group of girls scream and laugh as they go past the house like I would have done with Amy and Catrin and Kate, once upon a time. We’d walk and laugh and chat. We’d spend nights at the park at the end of our road, swinging and eating ice lollies. Clandestine meetings with boys I wasn’t supposed to be seeing. Gossiping. Free. A world away from this. Now. Being a grown-up is shit.
‘I saw the doctor. Something’s not been quite right.’
‘You didn’t say! Why didn’t you say?’
‘I didn’t want to worry you. I thought it was just that I’d been eating the wrong thing. Not looking after myself as well as I might.’
She always blames herself. I hate that she does that. ‘And?’
‘They ran some tests. Basic stuff. They had to give it time because it’s supposed to grow so slowly.’
‘Right…’
‘Well… it might not be entirely doing what they expect. I get the impression that the operation wasn’t as successful as they’d hoped.’
I think back to the conversation I had with her surgeon after it. It was all so blurry, the emotions, the stress of it all, I can remember some of what he said but did I miss the bit where he told me that? Did they even know? ‘I thought they got nearly all of it. I’m sure that’s what they said.’
‘Yes. They did. But what’s left…’ She reaches for a clean tissue from the little pack inside her handbag at the end of the sofa. ‘It’s growing again. Faster this time. They say it’s… unusual…’
‘But it can’t be. That’s not how it behaves.’ I jump up, as if my standing will make this all different. ‘That’s why we were going to be okay. Because it was rare and slow, and they got it and you were going to be fine. It isn’t aggressive. They said that, Mum. They said that!’
‘I know, love. I know.’ She tucks her feet up beneath her, all folded in on herself. Small. Protected by the cushion and her crossed arms.
‘So, what’s changed?’
‘I don’t know. They don’t know.’ She wipes her nose then stuffs the tissue up her sleeve. ‘That’s where I was earlier today. And yesterday. When I said I was with Clare. In fact, when I posted that bloody letter I was on my way to the doctors. I’ve been struggling with food, things not digesting properly. My cough has got worse.’ That much is true. And I had wondered about it but she kept putting me off. She said it was cheese. Mucus. Something that made my knees go a bit wobbly, so I didn’t push her on it. I should have pushed her on it. ‘Dr Fairleigh referred me. I went to the hospital and they did a scan. They’ve checked in with the specialist and… it’s definitely back.’
‘What are they going to do? What happens now? They can operate again, right?’
Mum shakes her head. ‘They’re not sure. Not without another visit to Basingstoke.’ Basingstoke Hospital, so far away, but the only place that can treat the rare kind of cancer she has. ‘They want to keep me in overnight in the first instance, do their own scans, work out what’s happening and see if there’s anything they can do.’
‘Okay. That’s great. So, we go back. They’ll sort it. It’s going to be fine.’ Mum wipes her eyes. ‘Mum, it’s going to be fine. You’re going to be fine. You have to be.’ I move to sit beside her, pulling her into my chest. ‘I mean, who’s gonna cook me casseroles if not?’
* * *
Mum falls asleep on the sofa. An unfair review of a really great film in my view. I watch her, studying her face, whilst also wondering how I could possibly fancy Brian May. IMDb gives me all the answers and I spend a good ten minutes googling Gwilym Lee by way of distraction from what I’m really feeling. But no amount of objectification can take away the sick feeling. This is bad. This is really bad. And I should have been there. She should have felt able to ask me to go with her to the doctors. I shouldn’t have gone to Cornwall. Christ, I’ve been so obsessed with the contents of that bloody letter. Maybe I’d have noticed something was up if I hadn’t been. I pour the last of the wine from the bottle she’d bought. She wasn’t fussed about drinking in the end. I polished her glass off whilst sobbing over Freddie Mercury.
Cancer. Fucking cancer! She can joke, as she so often has, about this rare form. About how special she is. One in a million because that’s as few people who are diagnosed with it. I’m like Audrey Hepburn because it’s the same cancer she had. But the humour, the lightness, it changes nothing. It’s back. That can’t be good.
And as it’s back, that means I need to step up. And I can’t do it like I did last year. I can’t play at it. I have to focus. Ben made me have a realisation this morning, he’s moved on. I have to, too. I have to be strong. Stronger than I’ve been before. For me, for her.
I can’t bear the idea that she’s going to die and, even worse, that she might go before she sees that I’m okay. She worries about me. She can’t do that any more. She’s enough on her plate. It’s time I pulled my finger out my arse and got on with my life.
I text Leanne to let her know I’m back. Then I remember Mitch’s message, checking in. And I don’t know what he is to me, or what he could be, but maybe sometimes life throws things your way to see if you can cope and, at the same time, maybe life has a way of bringing people into your life when you just might need them the most. I mean, I don’t want to put too much on whatever this could be with Mitch, that’s not fair on either of us, but maybe it’s time to stop being so frightened all the time. Mum’s not frightened… at least, not so as she’d let me see. If she can face this without fear, I can sure as hell face my life the same way.
19
‘Get right on it, I say!’ Leanne shrieks. I’ve agreed to go out for drinks with Mitch and whilst I was expecting her to be pleased about it, I had not anticipated the backslapping and overall head nodding approval. We’re walking through a complicated route of interconnecting alleyways t
o take us from her place over to the nursery school for Harley. I’m pushing a sleeping Elsie and Leanne is enjoying what she describes as ‘total freedom’, because she’s not got a child attached to her boob, hip or hand. ‘I still think you’re crazy for going all the way to Cornwall to establish the facts necessary for you to move on, but you did, and you have, so now you can.’
‘What?’
‘Move on. There’re no ties. Nothing keeping you connected to Ben.’ I go to interject something about feelings but she cuts me off. ‘You’re entitled to move on as well. It reached the end. It’s sad. Maybe you made some mistakes. We can’t dwell on the past, you’ve gotta start looking forward. This is why I set you up on Tinder, to get you out there, to meet people. That you already know Mitch, well that’s a bonus, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t know, is it? I sort of hate that everyone knows everyone round here. Maybe I should widen my search field, meet someone in Sheffield.’
‘Oh yes. That’s very wide.’
‘Don’t be sarcastic.’
‘Jem, it’s time. You’re not marrying him. You’re not getting a cat together. There is nothing to be frightened of. He has just invited you out for a drink. For God’s sake, go. And enjoy it. Be open to whatever happens.’
‘Whatever?’
‘Well, maybe not whatever. It’s worth holding… a few things back, you know, if you think you might actually like him.’
‘I don’t know what I think really.’
‘So, don’t cut the poor bloke off before he’s had a chance to show you what he can offer. You may end up just as mates anyway.’
‘I don’t need more mates.’
‘Of course you do. You pissed most of them off. What if I was run over by a bus tomorrow, what would happen to you then?’
