by Anna Mansell
‘Mum—’
‘And I am not about to lay a guilt trip on you, as I lie here, with however long I’ve got left to live. I will not tell you that I want to see you happy in my lifetime. That I want to see you settled whilst I am still just about up to seeing it and appreciating it. That wouldn’t be fair.’
‘Mum don’t, please don’t. I can’t think about it.’
She squeezes my hand, gently, her face resolute. ‘You have too, love. We have to.’ She takes a breath, tapping our hands on her legs. ‘This is happening, Jem, we both know it. I wouldn’t have got this far without you, without everything you’ve done. And now it’s my turn, whilst I’ve still got time left, to help you see what you are.’
‘I want to see it.’
‘I know you do. And I know other people can’t be the ones to give that to you, you have to take it for yourself. But now’s the time. See you from my eyes, from Leanne’s, from Mitch’s. See the Jem we see and stop giving yourself a hard time for the person you think you are, or were. That Jem has gone… and in any case, she was never as bad as you believed her to be.’ Mum’s breath runs out. Energy depleted.
‘Here, Mum, come on, lie down. Enough of the life lessons, I hear you,’ I say, tucking her in. She shuffles into place on her pillow, her tiny frame swamped by the bed. I lie behind her, holding her arms and listening to her breath, tears streaming. She doesn’t do life lessons, my mum. It’s not really her way. Funny how things can change when you think there’s only so much time left to say the things you want to say.
‘I love you, Jem Whitfield. You are the best daughter a mum could have,’ she says, before drifting off to sleep.
And I am broken.
62
‘Morning.’ I place a tea on the bedside table and straddle Mitch on my tiny bed. He’s right, this is ridiculous. We can’t both sleep here.
He moves to lie on his back, taking hold of my thighs. ‘Well, I suppose there’s some benefit to a bed this size, you know, if you have to sit on me to wake me up…’
I lean down, kissing him, running my fingers through his hair. ‘I’m sorry. Again. I am a total dickhead sometimes and you are definitely better off without me,’ I say between kisses.
‘And yet, here I am.’ He kisses me back.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later and I roll off him, energised and exhausted in equal measure.
‘I knew I was stopping here for a reason,’ he says, not opening his eyes.
‘You mean you’re just using me for my body.’
‘Well, if you will hand it to me on a platter.’
I slap him playfully and he grabs hold of my wrists, pulling me towards him. ‘I’m sorry. Again. I know I’m being so difficult at the moment. I just… I’ve never been in a situation like this before. I’m not doing a very good job of navigating it.’
‘It’s not easy to navigate.’
‘No. It’s not. But you’re doing so much to help me, to support Mum, and I’m not appreciating it, you.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. That just then was pretty appreciative.’
‘That just then was an apology.’
‘One of the best kinds.’
I manoeuvre myself off the bed, opening the cupboard to find something to wear. ‘I’m taking Mum out. She wants to get some clothes, some winter stuff. That wheelchair they delivered the other day, she’s decided she’s prepared to give it a go, so if I can get it into the back of Petula, I can take her to Cole’s, shopping. She loves a department store. We can have lunch, mooch about the clothes. I’ll be home this afternoon.’
‘You’ll never get it in yours. Take mine. I don’t need to go out and if I do, I can just use Petula.’
‘She’s very picky about who drives her,’ I tease, pushing my legs into jeans I’ve found at the back of the cupboard that I’m not sure I can entirely do up.
‘I will be very gentle with her.’ He reaches down for his trouser pocket, pulling out his keys. ‘Here, catch.’
‘Thank you. You’re the best.’
‘I know I am. Now, leave me alone. I didn’t sleep so well last night, then I was rudely awoken by some woman demanding sex. I’m exhausted.’
I roll my eyes, blow him a kiss and duck out to leave him be.
* * *
The Cole Brothers’ car park in Sheffield City Centre is pretty clear and given that Mum’s in the chair, I opt to park at the top, out of the way, with free space to try and unload the wheelchair and load Mum into it, hopefully without anyone watching to see if I foul it up.
‘I remember parking here with you, when you were a baby. It was my first trip out on my own and I couldn’t work out how to put the pram up. Wrestled with it for about fifteen minutes before some bloke noticed I was struggling and snapped it up in seconds. I was mortified. Felt like going home straight away and I would have if I could have worked out how to take the pram back down again.’
She grabs hold of my neck so I can move her from car to chair. It’s surprisingly easy given we’ve never done this before. ‘Food and coffee or shopping first?’
‘Coffee, then shopping, then food.’
‘Crikey, look at you with all the energy.’
‘I know, right. Let’s make the most of it whilst it’s here.’
We down our coffees in record time and I wheel her through homewares to the lift for women’s wear. I push her around the store, stopping for her to rummage through clothes rails, asking me to pick stuff out and hold it up for her to see. ‘Too short,’ she says. ‘Too long.’ ‘That’ll need a T-shirt underneath it.’ ‘Do you think it’ll get caught in my wheels?’
Despite how picky she is, it’s not long before we’ve got a pile of clothes to take to the till, and she doesn’t seem to blink at the bill of £387.
‘Christ, I think that’s the fastest I’ve spent that many notes in one shopping trip.’
‘You’ve obviously not been working hard enough at it then,’ she says, handing me her purse to put back in her bag. ‘Is there anything you want? Whilst we’re here?’
‘No, thank you.’ I’m hooking the bags of clothes she’s just bought over her chair handles.
‘Ahh, come on. Let me get you something. My treat.’
‘I don’t need a treat.’ I smile at the lady on the till, pulling Mum away before she can do any more damage.
‘Why not? It’s not like I can take it with me when I’m gone, is it?’
‘Mum!’
‘What? Come on, let me just get you a little something. A dress? A handbag? A new pair of shoes.’
‘I don’t need anything. Save your money.’
‘How about perfume? You don’t have any, do you? I’ve seen you sneaking into my room to steal mine before now.’ It’s true. I have done that. ‘Come on, let’s go downstairs and see if we can’t buy you some perfume. That’s a right proper treat that, isn’t it.’
‘Well, I guess it would be, yes.’
‘Go on then, forwards. To the lifts. I’m not taking no for an answer.’
I laugh because it’s clear she’s having a great time and who am I to interrupt that just because I feel guilty at her spending money on me.
* * *
Two hours later, she’s bought me perfume, some shoes, and a handbag I really fell in love with and totally did not want her to buy but she just wasn’t having it. We’ve shovelled garlic bread and pasta at Zizzi’s because she was desperate for some Italian, and lord knows how she managed to put as much away as she did but bloody hell it’s nice to see her eat. And so we’re here, back in the car park. I’ve managed to get her back in the car and am now just battling with the wheelchair, grinning to myself over her story about the pushchair.
‘Hey, excuse me? Who are you?’ A woman, wearing a green animal-print dress like one I have at home, storms across the car park in attack mode. I look behind me to see who she’s talking to. ‘You! I’m talking to you! What are you doing with my car?’
‘Pardon?’ I just about manag
e to drop the chair down flat and get it in the boot, catching my arm as I go. Shit that hurt.
‘That’s my fucking car. Who the hell are you? Has he sold it to you? It wasn’t his to sell.’
‘Who? I don’t know what you’re talking about. This is my boyfriend’s car.’
She pulls up short. ‘Oh, God, no. He hasn’t. Has he? Already? Wow. That’s pretty quick even by his standards.’
‘Who are you and what the hell are you talking about?’
‘Hi. I’m Lisa. Mitchell’s ex-girlfriend.’
I shake my head. ‘I think you may be confused. Sorry.’
She laughs, her face sour. ‘Confused? I doubt it.’
‘Are you okay, love?’ asks Mum from the front seat.
‘Yeah, I’m fine thanks. Just give me a minute.’ I slam the boot closed and take a step towards the woman, which I immediately regret because she’s taller than me and really bloody angry. ‘Look, my mum’s not terribly well. I have to get her home. I don’t know what your issue is but please don’t take it out on me. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’
‘Oh, I’ll excuse you. For now. That’s my car but I guess it’s not your fault you’ve been suckered in. I’d watch yourself though. He’s bloody good at getting under your skin and then you’re blind to it, to him. I fell for it for three years. Until he wiped me out of all my cash and took my car. Thank God I kept my house. Hey, just keep an eye on your phone, don’t let it out of your sight.’ My body turns ice cold and the woman stood before me detects a chink in my armour. ‘That’s how it started with me. Fixing my phone so I thought it was playing up. Then he buys you a new one.’ I swallow and she shifts weight from one foot to the other. ‘Oh. You already got the phone, didn’t you?’ She folds her arms, shaking her head. ‘Just watch for him texting people on your behalf. Or making out you haven’t done something? Or have been told something you’ve no memory of. You’ll question yourself, he’ll tell you you’re crazy, he’ll make out it’s all you and you’ll spend all your time apologising. Listen, I don’t know what you think you’re getting into with him, but he is not who you think he is and I’d be doing a disservice to womankind if I didn’t give you the heads-up. Kicking him out was the best thing I ever did.’
I stare, stunned. A dog, locked in a car somewhere else in the car park, barks; the noise echoes.
‘Whatever your name is, whoever you are, don’t trust him. D’you hear me? He’s a narcissist. He’s not interested in you, only what you can do for him. And when he’s done with you, you’ll think you’ve gone mad because he will make sure you feel that way.’
‘I think you’re wrong. Or you’re mistaken.’
‘Yeah… I thought I was wrong for a long time. Turns out I wasn’t. Only I didn’t realise until he’d cut me off from my friends and made me pretty much wholly dependent on him. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you! I’ve got my dog, house and dignity back, tell him I’m coming for the car next.’
63
‘Oh, look, love, he’s mowed the lawn,’ says Mum as we pull up on the drive. ‘Bless him, oh and look, there’s some new plants in the porch window. Dahlias look, your grandma liked a dahlia.’
I gently pull on the handbrake because whether it’s Mitch’s car or the woman from the car park, it’s very definitely not mine. ‘Nice, that’s really lovely.’
‘Are you sure you’re okay? You were white as the proverbial when you got back in the car after talking to that woman. What was she saying?’
‘Nothing, Mum, it’s fine. I think I’m just tired. It’s you, keeping me up talking all night.’
‘Bloody cheek.’
I climb out of the car but Mitch has bounded over to Mum’s side before I get a chance. Would he really be this keen to help and support us if he was the man that woman described him as?
‘Hey, you, how was your trip?’ he says to me, beaming across the car. I try and read his face, see something I’ve not seen before.
‘Oh, yeah, it was—’
‘We had a bloody lovely time, didn’t we, love? I bought some new bits for me, she’ll have to hang ’em up when we get in. And I bought my little girl a few bits too, which was a real treat.’
She clings onto his neck as he scoops her up out of the car, carrying her into the house, me following behind them. ‘Sounds perfect. Just what you both needed.’
‘Oooh, what’s that smell? Have you been cooking?’
‘Yeah, slow roast belly pork. That’s your favourite, isn’t it, Jem?’
‘Her favourite, my favourite. Bloody lovely.’
‘You’re not hungry again are you, Mum?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t see it go to waste, put it that way. Can you help me to the daybed, love? I’m a bit jiggered after today.’
He carries her through, gently laying her down. The smell of food is amazing and by the looks of things, he’s been cleaning all day. The place is immaculate. He weaves his arms around my waist from behind, kissing my neck. ‘You’ve been busy,’ I say, my shoulders tight.
‘Thought it was about time I earned my keep.’
I’m still rigid, uncertain, confused. He’s a good man. He’s kind. I don’t know what a narcissist is like really, but he’s not one… is he? ‘Is everywhere as immaculate as this?’ I ask.
‘Everywhere. I hope you don’t mind, Mrs W, but I did a bit of tidying in your room. Changed the bed sheets and stuff.’
‘Oh, love, you needn’t have done that. Our Jem could have done that.’
‘I wanted to. She’s been so busy with work and looking after you, she’s not had time for things like that.’ I prickle because I probably could have made time if I’d thought about it. I just didn’t think. And isn’t it a bit weird of him to do it anyway? That’s Mum’s bed. Her sheets. Her room.
‘To be honest, love, I keep thinking about that big bed up there and you two all squished into her single bed. You two should probably—’
‘Mum, no.’
‘Well, I don’t need it, do I. It makes sense if he’s sticking around, which if he’s cooking and cleaning I very much hope he will.’
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ he says, holding me tight. I should feel good about it.
I wriggle out of his hold. ‘Mum, that’s your room.’
‘Yes, but we all know I can’t get up there. Go on, please. Just move a few things in there, make it feel like yours. Anything of mine you don’t want, just pop it in the cupboard. Buy yourself some new bedding though, don’t take that bloody ancient duvet through.’
‘That’s my favourite, Mum!’ I think about the red wine stain. He knows how much I love that duvet. He didn’t seem to care about the stain. I suppose it is just an old duvet.
‘Yes. But it’s also a single duvet for a single teenager. Go get yourself some decent stuff and take my card. The pin number’s 1938.’
‘Mum! You don’t tell people your pin number.’
‘Oh shush, nobody’s here. Come on, Mitch, pass me my purse, will you, love?’ He does as instructed and she fumbles to get her card, holding it out for me. ‘Take it. And use it for food shopping too, there’s bloody loads in there since I’ve been too ill to spend it all. Get some nice bedding and any knick-knacks you want for the room. Now, if you’ll both excuse me, I need a bit of a nap. What time will tea be ready, love?’ she asks Mitch.
‘It’s slow cooking, so can be on for one hour or five. So whenever you wake up,’ he answers, grinning.
‘Well, aren’t you the bloody best? Go on, kids, out you go, shoo, I’ll see you in a bit.’
And she turns over, slowly, taking the covers with her, letting her body rest into the daybed.
Mitch grabs my hand, pulls me out of the house and down to the car. His car? ‘Come on, hop in. Let’s nip up to the new retail place now, the one at Meadowhead, see what we can find?’
‘Mitch, no, I can’t. I’ve been out all day, I’ve got stuff to do and…’
He pauses, car door open. ‘What?’
‘I don’t
know, it doesn’t feel right.’ I want to tell him to slow down. I feel steamrollered, backed into a corner, by Mum as much as Mitch. And I want to ask him about the woman in the car park.
‘Your mum said it, Jem. Didn’t she? It was her idea. And I know, it is strange, I get that. But it does seem silly for us to be staying in your room when hers is so big and empty. Look’ – he rests on the car roof, chin on hands, boyish look in his eyes –‘you can bring your duvet through too, if it makes you feel better.’ I must still look uncertain because he shuts the door and comes round to my side, pressing me up against the car. ‘Your mum wants us to be happy, we have a duty to be that for her. She needs to see you’re okay, she wants to see me help you be that. I want to help you be that. Let’s not have a repeat performance of last night.’ I look down at my feet, he catches my chin. ‘Hey, I love you. She loves you. There is nothing to be frightened of, okay? I’m not going to hurt you.’
I stare into his eyes, wondering who the hell Lisa was and why on earth she’d say those things if there wasn’t some semblance of truth in it. I wonder about him, about why he’s so keen to stay, to move into Mum’s room, about his apparent lack of need for his own space, about his dog. Was it even his dog? What did Lisa say? That she got her dog, home and dignity back? Is that why he doesn’t need to get back and feed it, because it’s not even his or his mum’s, or whatever it was he said. And then my phone rings, and it’s Leanne, and Mitch tells me to answer it before kissing me on the cheek and helping me into the car.
64
‘How’s today?’ asks Leanne as soon as I pick up.
