This is Me

by Shari Low

  Maybe she should have cut her losses right there, when she was still young enough to start again. Now she was fifty-five. Who would want her? More importantly, despite what he’d put her through and the challenges they’d faced, who could possibly match up to Ray?

  No, another love wasn’t an option.

  There weren’t going to be any second chances.

  A memory of Fred floated in now. Standing in his kitchen, he was telling her that he’d messed up as a dad but he’d made amends by being a good grandfather. He’d made a conscious change and it had brought him a family and love until the day he died.

  That wasn’t going to be an option for her either. Her grandchildren were what? She tried to calculate their ages, but the alcohol wouldn’t let her. She went for a guess. They must be about eighteen or nineteen now. Two boys. She hadn’t seen them since they were kids and now they were practically men. She’d never been a part of their lives because Ray wouldn’t hear of it. ‘You’ve given so much of yourself to our kids,’ he’d told her. ‘Now it’s their turn to look after their own children. This time is for you and me and we’re going to enjoy every minute of it.’

  No, there would be no second chances there, no opportunity to suddenly turn into a doting grandmother for Claire’s kids.

  Or Doug’s for that matter. If he had any. Last she knew he was married to a lawyer, so perhaps they did have children by now.

  She picked up the phone again. Squinted. Still nothing. That bitch was ignoring her. How fucking dare she?

  Something tugged her mind back to the previous train of thought.

  A lawyer.

  Hadn’t Hugh Dawson told her today that she had to hire her own representation? And how was she supposed to do that with no money?

  Doug’s wife. She was family. If her husband’s mother needed help, surely she wouldn’t refuse her?

  Claire’s voice again, an adult this time, back in Fred’s kitchen on the last day she’d seen her son and daughter. ‘You two are scum. And Doug and I don’t associate with scum. We’re done. Not that you ever cared, but don’t call us, don’t text us, don’t contact us ever again. And good luck with the profits from this sale – I hope they choke you.’

  She didn’t want to give either of them the satisfaction of seeing her reduced to this, to a woman without a husband, only a life of lies and betrayal and an empty bank account.

  But what choice did she have?

  Her children had become the only options she had left.

  Before she could dwell on that pathetic truth, the phone in her hand suddenly buzzed into life, making her scream. Her heart started racing, her head started spinning. There was a long moment before she could focus her eyes well enough to read the words that had flashed up.

  You have one new text… From Y.

  With trembling hands, she pressed the box to open it.

  I am blocking this number. Do not contact me again.

  The sound of smashing glass as she launched the handset at the wall was drowned out by her screams, curdling howls of pain that went on until she buckled over in torrential sobs.

  The conclusion from a few moments before returned and ricocheted through her mind.

  Her children were her only options.

  Leaning over to her bedside cabinet, she grappled for her own phone, knocking over the half full bottle of red that she’d left there. She didn’t care.

  Her fingers finally located the handset and she brought it up to a few inches from her face.

  She started typing with her thumbs.

  Message complete, she deliberated who to send it to. In the end, she went for the one who could deliver practical help, thanks to a wife with a law degree.

  Your dad died last week. Funeral on Friday.

  Contacts.

  Doug.

  Send.

  Thirty-Eight

  Claire – 2019

  Claire felt the sun heating up her face, and she instinctively shrivelled back from it, clenching her eyes tight shut. Bugger. She must have forgotten to close the blinds last night. As she moved, she realised she was completely naked. Bugger, she must have forgotten to put her pyjamas on last night. And ouch, there appeared to be a train going at full speed, banging against the inside of her head. Damn, she must have drunk too much last…

  ‘Morning, gorgeous,’ the voice murmured, as a body, also naked, pressed against her back, spooning into her.

  Bugger. She must have forgotten she slept with her ex-husband last night.

  She’d had sex! Real sex! With Sam! In her house. The same one they’d shared when they were married. It was like some kind of sexed-up time warp.

  Her first instinct was to panic. He lived with someone. He was an attached man. And never, ever, not even if it was George bloody Clooney, would she sleep with someone else’s partner.

  A flashing memory from the night before of Sam telling her he wasn’t with Nicola any more brought her heart rate back down from borderline hysteria to ‘generally freaking out’.

  Ignoring the pain in her head, she managed to push herself up on her elbows, not even caring that this gave him full view of her boobs, which slid to each side of her chest. She was fairly sure that last time she’d slept with him, they’d have remained upright and facing forward. She was naked. She’d done many intimate things last night. It was a tad late for modesty.

  ‘Sorry, but I need to check… I didn’t just have sex with someone else’s partner last night?’

  Opening one eye, Sam gazed up at her, grinning.

  ‘Could we go with “absolutely amazing, mind-blowing sex”? It would be so much better for my ego.’

  Despite swimming in a massive vat of fear, she chuckled. ‘OK, did I have absolutely amazing, mind-blowing sex with someone else’s partner last night?’

  Now he pushed himself up so that he was on one elbow, facing her.

  ‘No,’ he said gently, using his index finger to trail a line from her neck down to her belly button. The thrill made its way through the panic. Oh, dear God, that felt good. And sexy. And so, so horny. And she wanted to…

  She stopped herself. She’d gone without sex for the best part of ten years, she could go without it for the next ten minutes, until she got some details straight.

  ‘We split up. I told you that last night,’ Sam reminded her gently.

  ‘I thought so, but I just wanted to check.’

  She rolled over onto her side, replicating his position, so that they were facing each other now, heads on pillows, their faces just a few inches apart. The freak-out was replaced by a warm, glorious feeling of happiness. Sam was here. She’d never been able to admit to herself how much she missed him until he was right here, lying next to her, where he should have been all along.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked softly. She wasn’t sure why it was important for her to know, but she had to. If this was some temporary blip in Sam’s relationship with Nicola, she wasn’t going to keep him amused until he toddled off back to her. Her heart couldn’t take it.

  ‘We decided to call it a day. There were no hard feelings. If we’d been honest with ourselves, we’d have seen it had been coming for a while. We’ve been together for five years and things change over time and we just want different things now.’

  ‘Like?’

  ‘She wants children. She’s thirty-five now and she’s decided that it’s time to have a family.’ He reached over and touched her cheek. ‘I already have one.’

  Wow, the tenderness of his touch and his words sent a lump right to her throat. It took her a moment to recover.

  ‘And you? What do you want?’ she asked.

  ‘I want to be here,’ he said simply, before reaching out, sliding his hand around her face and gently pulling her to him.

  This time they made love in a whole different way from the night before. In the darkness, it had been heated, frantic, urgent, but now, their gaze locked the whole time, it was gentle and… it was love. Pure love.

  Afterwards
, they sank back in the pillows, facing each other again.

  A sudden urge to giggle consumed her. ‘How many lectures have I given our boys about getting drunk and having sex with someone you just hooked up with that night?’

  ‘Yep, we’re completely irresponsible. We should be deeply ashamed,’ he countered, in a tone that made it clear he wasn’t ashamed at all. Neither was she.

  ‘Hang on, don’t move…’ She jumped up, pulled on his shirt from last night, then nipped downstairs to make a couple of coffees, picking up a trail of discarded clothes as she went. On the way back up, she stopped in the bathroom to brush her teeth and… Shit. She caught her reflection in the mirror. She’d been under the misapprehension that she still looked like the woman whom Suze had spun round in the chair after the makeover yesterday. Apparently not. Hair like stuffing exploding from a burst couch, mascara tracks down her cheeks, her skin a subtle shade of grey. He’d gazed into her smudged eyes for the last half an hour as they’d made love. The poor guy must be traumatised.

  She did a hasty repair job, washing her face and giving her hair a quick brush, but she wasn’t sure there was much of an improvement.

  Picking up the cups, she marched back into the room. ‘Seriously? This was all straight from some romance movie until I just caught a look at myself. It’s a fricking horror show. You might have warned me I looked like an extra from The Walking Dead.’

  ‘Yeah, I was wondering what look you were going for with that,’ he teased, sitting up and reaching for the coffee.

  As the sheet slid down beside him, she could see his wide shoulders, the chest muscles, the defined abs… ‘I can’t have sex with you ever again looking like that. I’d spend the whole time breathing in and trying to clench my arse so it looks better. Why couldn’t you have let yourself go to ruin like I did?’

  He put the two coffees on the bedside table and tugged her down on top of him. ‘You’re still the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.’

  She shrieked, laughing as she fell on him. ‘I’m like a before advert for Slimming World! I’m not getting my kit off again until I’ve lost three stones.’

  ‘Enough,’ he chided her. ‘You’re fricking gorgeous and you’re perfect the way you are. Now come here and I’ll prove it.’

  ‘Sooooo corny, Mr Bradley,’ she teased.

  ‘Shit – that was my best line,’ he shot back.

  The coffee was cool by the time they got to it. They were back under the duvet, on their sides facing each other again, both of them grinning like teenagers.

  Shouldn’t you be heading off to work?’ she asked.

  He shook his head. ‘I’m still on holiday. I took some extra time in case I wanted to stay in the USA after we dropped Jordy off but didn’t get round to arranging anything. Shouldn’t you be heading to work?’ he repeated her question.

  ‘I don’t have any clients today, so I think I can officially skive. God, this being irresponsible definitely has some plus points.’ She stretched, then faced him again for the next question. ‘I want to know. When did you decide you wanted this?’

  ‘When I touched your hand in the car after we dropped Jordy off at college, I knew I didn’t want to let it go again,’ he said sincerely. He then slightly spoiled the moment with a cheeky, ‘I also realised that I wanted to scoop you up, take you to a hotel and do all the things we just did.’

  Her laughter was hoarse thanks to the hangover. ‘You had me floating in sentimentality there until you added that last bit. You should have stopped at the hand holding.’

  ‘I am so out of practice at this stuff,’ he said, his smile adorably self-deprecating. His turn for a question. ‘So what now?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Do you think we can try again? See how it works out this time?’

  ‘I think…’ She paused, not really knowing what she thought, other than this was the happiest moment she’d had in a long time. But there were considerations, mainly involving the boys. Would it be fair for them to see their parents back together and then have to go through another split if it didn’t work out? Was that a chance they’d want to take? Their family had a great dynamic, they were all happy, there were no conflicts or lingering tensions. Did she really want to change that? ‘I think…’ she repeated.

  ‘Claire!’ bellowed a voice from downstairs, startling her.

  ‘Jeanna?’ she replied.

  Oh bloody hell. Jeanna downstairs. Sam upstairs. It was only 8 a.m. and already this morning had all the signs of turning into a dramafest. Jeanna was sure to make a big deal of this, and she’d been hoping to keep the fact that she’d just slept with her ex-husband of many years to herself for just a little bit longer. Maybe until lunchtime.

  Jeanna’s answer was the sound of footsteps thundering upstairs. Damn. No time to flee, hide or cover up Sam. Her pal burst into the room with her customary impact.

  ‘Holy shit!’ was the first thing out of her mouth, followed by an uproarious cackle. ‘About bloody time.’

  She really needed to take Jeanna’s key off her.

  It was only then that Claire noticed another head behind her friend’s messy mane of hair. Great. Her brother had just seen her in bed with her ex too.

  All dignity was officially out of the window.

  ‘All right, Sam,’ Doug said as if he’d just bumped into him in the pub.

  Sam nodded with admirable nonchalance. ‘All good, bud.’

  ‘What are you two doing here?’ Claire asked.

  Jeanna plonked herself down on the edge of the bed. Claire had no time to think too deeply about the fact that her brother and best friend were together at 8 a.m. on a morning after a night out, and for the first time in history Jeanna McCallan was out of the house without a full face of flawless make-up. Although she did, of course, still look spectacular in her black skinny jeans and a Nashville sweatshirt Claire had brought her from the trip last week.

  ‘We have news, sis,’ Doug said tentatively. His expression was dark and his tone almost fatalistic, so Claire immediately sensed something had happened that wasn’t good. Of course, her mind went to the obvious place.

  ‘Is it my boys? Has something happened? Are they hurt? Are they OK?’

  Doug put his hands up. ‘No, no, no, they’re fine. It’s nothing to do with them.’

  The relief made her sag back onto the pillow and she tried to get her breathing under control. The boys were fine. That was all that mattered.

  Doug got straight to the point. ‘Our mother sent me a text during the night, but I only saw it when I woke up this morning.’

  Irritation was instant. Anything to do with her parents put her back right up. Didn’t it say everything that they never called Denise ‘mum’. That was too informal, endearing. The fact that she gave birth to them was just a biological detail that made her their mother. The rest of the maternal role didn’t apply, not when they were growing up, not when they were still in contact and definitely not now.

  More than the reality that they’d been crap parents and pretty twisted human beings with a completely dysfunctional relationship, she would never, ever get past what they’d done to Fred.

  ‘Saying what?’ Claire asked, with an overtone of disgust in her voice. In truth, she didn’t really care. There was nothing that Denise or Ray Harrow could say to her that would make her change how she felt about them. Nothing at all.

  ‘Saying that our father died. She wants us to go to the funeral.’

  Thirty-Nine

  Denise – 2019

  The fog was dense and chilling, but it was on the inside of Denise’s skull. The sun shone through the window, reflecting against the mirror in front of her, but the heat couldn’t permeate her body or her mind. Her movements were slow, fumbling, frustrating. The buttons on the black jacket that she couldn’t make fasten. The hairbrush that she could barely raise to her head. The eyelids that she could hardly lift because she didn’t want to view a world without him.

  Ray was gone.


  A visceral reaction to that thought forced the air out of her chest, causing her to buckle forward.

  He was gone.

  Her whole life wiped out in the seconds it took for his brain to stop functioning, then his heart to fail and stop. No warning. No second chances. No hope. Fifty-six years old and he was just gone, leaving a soulless vacuum, an empty bank account and a million questions behind.

  She’d given up everything for him, willingly and without question. Now waves of grief were dragging the shifting sands of her life back into the water, sucking her down with them.

  But she had to do this last thing for him today.

  The crematorium was only a few miles away, on the south side of Glasgow. He was there already. Waiting for her. She was wearing the gorgeous Gina Bacconi black dress and jacket he’d bought her from House of Fraser last year, she’d done her make-up just how he liked it, and she was going to walk into that crematorium with her head held high.

  Today she would say a last goodbye to the man who had been her world and she knew, without hesitation that, despite everything, she would love him until the end of time.

  *

  At the crematorium, she walked to the front of the aisle, touched his coffin. ‘Always yours, my love,’ she whispered. For it was true. No matter what he’d done, no matter what would come to light in the future, they’d had a wonderful life together and she wouldn’t change a single minute of it – obviously with the exception of his dalliance, but she wasn’t going to think about that. Over the last couple of days, since the morning she woke up surrounded by chaos and vomit, she’d pulled herself together, got some perspective. The money situation had to be a glitch, she’d convinced herself. Of course it was. She’d recruited a lawyer – not Doug’s wife, as it turned out they’d divorced years ago – and he was going to look into the situation. She was confident it would all be resolved.

  As for the affair? Sure, it had hurt, but at the end of the day, so what? Countless men had done it. What was important was that he’d never left her. The affair was just sex. What they’d had together was love. Real love that had lasted their lifetime.