by Shari Low
‘I’m sure she’ll be fine,’ Denise said again, hoping that she’d managed to hide the little edge of doubt in her voice.
‘Don’t you worry, hen. Between Ray and his dad, I’ve looked after a few bouts of imaginary sickness in my time. Ray used to claim he had food poisoning every Monday morning because he didn’t want to go to school. Sometimes, I just gave in and let him stay home with me. I think I enjoyed it every bit as much as he did,’ she said, smiling at the memory.
‘Hey, Ma,’ Ray said, coming down the stairs.
Jenny’s face immediately lit up, as it always did when her son entered a room. ‘Don’t you be worrying about us,’ she reassured him. ‘We’ll be fine, won’t we, you two?’ she chirped to Claire and Doug, who’d just returned clutching coats and bags.
They both nodded sullenly.
Jenny rounded them up and bustled them towards the door.
Denise stepped forward and hugged them. ‘You two be good for Gran and Grandad, OK? And we’ll phone you every night.’
‘That’ll cost a fortune!’ Jenny objected. ‘Once every couple of days will be fine.’
‘OK,’ she conceded. Jenny was right. It was probably extortionate to call home.
Denise wished the kids would stop staring at their feet. They were just trying to make her feel bad, she knew it.
‘Thanks, Jenny, we really appreciate you having them,’ she said truthfully.
Jenny had been her absolute rock since the day Agnes had dragged her round there to announce that Ray had got her pregnant. They’d developed a relationship that was definitely more supportive than the one she had with her own mother.
She steered the kids out of the door, each of them picking up their holdalls on the way. ‘Go on now. Grandad is waiting in the car.’
Claire and Doug did as they were told. If anyone noticed that neither of them said goodbye to their dad – or vice versa - they didn’t mention it.
‘Right, well, you two have a great time and I’ll see you in a week,’ Jenny said, opening her arms to give Ray a hug. Denise got a quick squeeze too, then she was off down the path.
Denise waved as the car turned out of the street, then closed the door, not quite sure how she was feeling. Excited. Sad. Relieved. Anxious. Happy.
Happy won the day when Ray pulled her towards him.
‘Thank God that bit’s done. Let’s get going to the airport then, love, shall we? We can check in and then head to a restaurant for a bite to eat and a drink.’
Denise nodded. She’d never flown abroad before but she’d been to Glasgow Airport a few times to see Jenny and Pete off to Benidorm, so she knew there were several bars and restaurants there.
‘Do you hear that?’ Ray asked her suddenly.
She shook her head, brow furrowed. ‘I can’t hear anything.’
He laughed, his arms around her waist now. ‘Exactly! It’s only you and me now, baby. Just the way I like it.’
He wasn’t laughing two nights later, when the ring of the hotel room phone woke them at 4 a.m.
Fighting against the fog of too many sangrias, Denise picked it up. ‘Hello?’
‘Denise, love, it’s Jenny. Listen, I don’t want you to worry, but we’ve had to bring Claire to the hospital.’
She was suddenly bolt upright and wide awake. ‘Why? What’s happened?’
Ray was up on one elbow now, facing her, and she tilted the phone at her ear so he could hear the conversation too.
‘It’s her appendix. She hasn’t been feeling well since you left, but tonight she got really bad. Rolling on the carpet, the poor soul. My Pete just carried her into the car and brought her here. They reckon the appendix is burst and they’re taking her in just now to whip it out.’
Denise’s heart was racing. ‘Oh God, Jenny, of all the times…’
Beside her, Ray flopped back on to the bed, face like stone.
‘I know, love. But don’t you worry – they’re taking good care of her and I’m here. Pete took Doug back to the house to get him to bed because he’s got school in the morning. We’ve got it all covered.’
‘OK, well, look – I’ll speak to the rep in the morning and we’ll get home as soon as we can. But can you call me back and let me know how she is? It doesn’t matter what time.’
‘Aye, of course, love. Don’t worry. I’ll keep you posted.’
When Jenny hung up, Denise slumped back against the pillow. ‘Oh God, Ray. Now I feel totally guilty for leaving them. Do you think we’ll be able to get back tomorrow? I mean, surely it’s an emergency and they’ll—’
‘Hang on,’ he stopped her. He looked serious, his eyebrows low, jaw set. ‘Let’s think about this. By tomorrow the operation will be done and she’ll be on the mend. Getting an appendix out is nothing these days. Do you really want to make her feel terrible, knowing that we had to cut our holiday short for her? And making my mum feel that we don’t think she can deal with this?’
‘Of course not! But…’
He leaned over, his mouth on hers. ‘Then let’s not go tearing back there just yet. Mum has her. She’ll be fine. What we need to think about now is how much we need this holiday, this time, just you and me. You deserve this. It’s the first proper holiday you’ve ever had and I’m not going to let anything take this away from you. I love you, babe. It’s my job to look after you and that’s what I’m going to do.’
When he put it like that… there was no point panicking. She’d speak to Jenny in the morning, and they could decide what to do then.
Between the warmth of his arms wrapped around her body, and the glow left by his words, she fell back asleep feeling more loved than ever before.
Twenty-Eight
Claire 2019
‘Right, head up,’ Suze ordered and Claire lifted her hair out of the sink.
She was scared to look in the silver gilt mirror in front of her, so she just wrapped her towel around her head and followed her personal hairdresser back into the showroom.
‘Your grey was seriously out of control. When was the last time you dyed your hair?’ Suze asked her as she sat back down on the chair in front of the gallery of Val, Josie and Jeanna.
‘Twenty-five years ago,’ Claire replied with a grin. ‘I was fourteen, Jeanna did it, and my hair turned so yellow everyone called me Big Bird for months.’
‘And you’ve had nothing done since then?’
Claire shook her head. ‘I think I’ve had my hair cut in a salon maybe twice ever. Jordy or Max usually just cut it at the back with the kitchen scissors and I trim the fringe. One of the benefits of having a run-of-the-mill straight bob and fine hair. Maintenance is minimal.’
‘But it’s not just about the haircut!’ Suze said, outraged. ‘It’s about taking time for you, pampering yourself a little bit. It’s good for the soul.’
Claire couldn’t argue, but she at least decided to give an explanation in her defence. ‘I’ve been a single mum of two boys with the busiest sports schedules on the planet for the last decade – there was no time or money for pampering!’
‘Well there is now,’ Suze countered. ‘I’m going to make you look like a fucking goddess, and we’re going to keep you that way.’
‘Think I might need to lose thirty pounds before I reach goddess level,’ Claire joked, feeling the waistband of her jeans cutting into her skin after one too many of those spring rolls.
‘Nope, love, you’re perfect just the way you are,’ Val assured her.
Claire wasn’t so sure, but she appreciated the sentiment. Jordy was eighteen and she still hadn’t lost the last two stone of her baby weight. It didn’t help that she always seemed to be too busy, too tired, too focused on other things to worry about it, much less do anything about it.
‘You know the problem here, pet?’ Josie started, and Claire couldn’t wait to hear the rest. You never knew what was going to come out of her mouth. ‘You’ve got so used to putting yourself last that you don’t even know how to change it,’ she said.
&nb
sp; Claire exhaled, relieved. For Josie, that wasn’t too bad. Fairly sensible, even insightful advice. She didn’t realise her chum hadn’t finished.
‘And you’re not getting sex, so you’ve forgotten how fricking brilliant it is to feel sexy and loved and good about yourself. Jeanna is right – you need a shag.’
Yep, there it was. The real Josie, the seventy-something-year-old, live for today, bend the rules, have a bloody glorious time, was back in the building.
And she was still speaking. ‘When was the last time you had sex?’
Claire didn’t even have to think about it. She knew exactly when it was – she just didn’t particularly want to admit it to the others because she knew what their reaction would be. In fact, if she were an outsider looking in, her reaction would be exactly the same. Bugger. They were all staring at her, waiting for a reply. The pressure made her crack and spill all.
‘That Christmas. The one where I forgot Sam’s present. We had sex the next day because I felt so bad and wanted to make it up to him. Clearly it didn’t work.’
As expected, the other three stared at her in shocked silence. No wonder.
She’d thought about it over the years, of course. Jeanna was always nagging her to get out there, and a few times she’d set her up on blind dates that had inevitably ended with excuses and an early night. It just wasn’t a priority. Besides, she honestly felt that she didn’t need a bloke to make her happy. There was nothing about the last ten years with Max and Jordy that she would change, not a single thing. All that mattered was that she gave them a childhood that was nothing like the one she and Doug had known.
Her life? Parents who didn’t even come home from their holiday when she was whipped into hospital for surgery to remove her appendix.
Max and Jordy’s life? A mum who was there for every important moment, who was involved in their lives, shared their wins and cuddled them through their losses. When they were with her, her time was fully booked with lifts, organising and spending time with them. When the boys were with Sam, she used that time to sleep and to catch up with the work she needed to bring in to support them.
She’d absolutely dedicated the last decade to bringing them up – and she’d do it all over again in a heartbeat. Even if it did leave her with a hole in her heart when they left and stunned pals who were staring at her now in disbelief.
‘You haven’t had sex for nearly ten years?’ Suze clarified, clearly so horrified by this revelation that she had to stop cutting her hair until the shock passed.
‘Nine years,’ Claire corrected her, then realised that it didn’t change the point and shrugged. “It didn’t seem important. And after Sam left…’ To her surprise, tears shot to her bottom lids and she blinked them back. ‘Oh my God, look what day drinking does! It turns me into an emotional wreck,’ she spluttered, laughing through the tears. She hadn’t cried about Sam since she cleared out what was left in his sock drawer six months after he left. It was much easier just to put her head down and get on with living life, with making sure the boys were okay and adjusting to the split – how she felt didn’t really matter and there was no time to feel sorry for herself.
‘Why did you split up then?’ Suze asked, as she lifted up long sections of her hair and cut into them with concentrated precision.
‘Och, so many reasons,’ Claire replied, with no particular desire to hash them all out again.
‘I always felt a bit responsible for that,’ Jeanna chimed in, uncharacteristically regretful.
‘No! Don’t be crazy. It was absolutely nothing to do with you. It really wasn’t.’
It was true. There had been many factors that had ultimately contributed to the split, but what had happened to someone she loved had taught Claire about priorities – and she had realised, back there, back then, that saving her marriage wasn’t one of them.
Twenty-Nine
Claire – 2011
The family mourners flocked in to the front row of the crematorium. Her mum, wailing, despite the fact that Claire knew she’d barely acknowledged Fred in the last ten years and had visited him less than a handful of times. Of course, her dad was rubbing her mother’s back, playing to the martyrdom. ‘You’re OK, Denise. Fred knew you loved him. You were such a good daughter and you have to remember that.’
Not for the first time in her life, Claire wanted to punch him in the face. It was all bullshit. Complete nonsense. But her mother lapped it all up, gazing up at her husband adoringly. His smug face told Claire that the manipulative prick knew he would get so much mileage out of this. Another padlock on the chain of his wife’s devotion to him.
Next in the row were Fred’s other children, twins Rachel and Ronnie and their families, and then Donna, who was almost the same age as Claire. It was weird having an aunt that was younger than you. Claire smiled at them all, but she barely knew them. Her mother had no relationship with them, said they had nothing whatsoever in common. Claire knew the truth was that Denise looked down her nose at them. In her mother’s mind, she’d improved her life and they hadn’t, so she wanted nothing to do with them. Not even Fred.
In fact, none of them were close. Ronnie, Rachel and Donna were dotted over different areas of the city and rarely travelled back to the housing scheme they grew up in. Fred had once told her that her gran, Agnes, was hard on the kids and he didn’t blame them for taking off as soon as they could. Maybe that was the case, but Claire didn’t understand how they could pay so little attention to their dad when they knew he was frail.
The emphysema, combined with pneumonia, had got him in the end. He’d got sick just after Christmas and he’d passed away on a cold, wet February, in Claire’s spare room. She’d moved him into the house on the day before Hogmanay, when she could see he was struggling to take care of himself. She’d asked him to live with them countless times over the years, but he’d always been too proud to accept, even when she told him truthfully how much it would mean to the boys. They adored their grandad. He was their constant, their wisdom and their naughty sense of humour. Much as that argument had almost swayed him, Fred had held on to his independence for a while longer. It was telling that this time he hadn’t refused.
She’d always be glad that he’d spent his last weeks with her, Sam and the boys, with Doug popping in every day and Jeanna always on hand to make the old man laugh. It didn’t matter that they weren’t related – they’d always had a special bond.
Next to her, she felt Jeanna take her hand, just as she appreciated Sam and Doug being on the other side of her, all of them acting as barriers against the pain of her loss and her disgust with her parents and their crocodile grief.
Somehow, she got through the service, then kept her composure through the small wake, finally succumbing to her grief when she got home later that night. She’d locked the bathroom door, run a bath, climbed in and then sobbed until the water was cold and there were no more tears left to cry. Fred had been her person. Her one blood relation – other than Doug – who still cared for her, loved her, was always there with his down-to-earth goodness and his unashamed affection for her. Now he was gone.
The next morning, she woke up, put a smile on her face, made the boys their breakfast and kept on going, determined that her gut wrenching sadness wasn’t going to affect their lives. When Sam asked her how she was doing, she said she was fine, and off he went to the office, satisfied that she was OK.
She wasn’t. But she wasn’t going to be her mother, playing the martyr, making it all about her. Fred would have expected her to be strong and carry on, and she wouldn’t let him down.
It was almost a week later when she realised that Jeanna hadn’t been in touch for a few days. They normally spoke at least once a day, so it was unusual.
Christ, she suddenly felt like a crap pal. Why had it taken her this long to notice Jeanna’s absence?
She gently placed the wedding dress she was working on down on the protective sheet that lined the floor of her sewing room. Over a thousand diamant
es had already been applied to the train and there were a thousand more still to be done. Not that she was complaining. Her wedding dress design and creation service was now so busy she had a six month waiting list. She picked up her phone and called Jeanna. Straight to voicemail. She checked the time. Sod it. Jordy had football practice straight after school, Max had swimming, but that still gave her a couple of hours to nip over and see Jeanna, then get back to pick them up.
Grabbing her bag, she jumped in the car and pulled up outside Jeanna’s flat ten minutes later. The curtains were closed, which was odd. Jeanna was always fastidious about being up and attacking the day early in the morning.
It took a full five minutes of pressing on the doorbell before Jeanna finally answered and it took every ounce of Claire’s tact and discipline not to gasp when she did.
Jeanna was dishevelled, gaunt, had bags under her eyes and was wearing pyjamas that didn’t look like they’d seen a washing machine in days.
Without speaking, her friend opened the door and let Claire pass her into the hallway, then followed her into the kitchen. It was a mess. Unwashed dishes, an overflowing bin and – most disturbing of all – a pizza box. Jeanna McCallan hadn’t knowingly eaten a carb in ten years. Something – everything – was wrong.
Claire flicked on the kettle, washed out two mugs, put in two teabags, milk, then sat at the table, opposite her friend, while she waited for the kettle to boil.
‘Tell me,’ Claire said simply, hiding the fact that inside her stomach was churning and she was seriously scared. It had to be something pretty serious to make Jeanna fall apart like this.
There was a long pause before she got a reply. ‘Remember that well-woman appointment we went for?’
Claire nodded. It had been Jeanna’s idea, trying out a new service to see if she wanted to recommend it to her clients. They’d spent the whole day in a private hospital in the west end of the city and were checked for their general health and all types of female related cancers. The smear test had made her toes curl, the mammogram was admittedly uncomfortable and the results on the day told Claire everything she already knew. She was overweight, her triglyceride levels were too high (thanks to too much crap food in her diet), her blood sugar was thankfully still in the normal range and her blood pressure was a little high. The morning of Fred’s funeral, the results of the smear test and mammogram had dropped through her door. All clear. After a moment of relief, she’d filed them away, then gone to bury her grandfather. It had completely slipped her mind since then.
