I get up, overcome with emotion. I take a piece of kitchen roll and dab it at my eyes.
‘I’d always had this fantasy that I’d be the next David Beckham and that one day my dad would turn up to a match and watch me score. He’d feel proud of his son and after the game I’d run into his arms. How daft is that?’
‘It’s not daft. Not at all, Ricky.’ My hand shakes as I pour him another cup of tea. ‘My mother bolted too.’
Ricky looks surprised. ‘Why? When?’
‘It was just before the war. I don’t remember the day she left. I was only a baby. She met an American, and America was a safer place to be back then, so off she went to start her new life.’
‘Why the hell didn’t she take you with her?’
‘My father told her she couldn’t because those journeys were treacherous, and I doubt she argued. My father then went off to war, so my aunt Celia raised me until he came home, which miraculously he did. Celia was the opposite of my mother: quiet, studious, kind, caring, never going to win a beauty contest.’ I smile. ‘She raised me single-handedly, loved me like her own. I was lucky. It all worked out for the best.’
‘Did you ever see your mum again?’
‘Occasionally.’
I can hear her now, regaling me with stories of parties she’d been to and all the places and people she’d met on her travels. They were always unsatisfactory visits that didn’t help to heal the wound. They only made it deeper. As I grew older, I began to wonder if she were even capable of love. Celia told me much later on in life that even as a child she had never made real friends; she couldn’t keep them. She was always selfish, the kind of person who could never share.
‘Well, there we are,’ I say. ‘These things happen.’
‘But these things shouldn’t happen,’ Ricky raises his voice. ‘You should not walk out on your kids. Don’t have them if you don’t want them.’
I close my eyes, trying to block out the image of sitting by my mother’s side at the hospice, the day before she died. She was in her late sixties by then; her illness and death was sudden, a cancer that claimed her in weeks.
‘I forgive you, Mum,’ I’d said.
Her face had darkened. ‘Forgive me for what, Peggy? I haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘It is what it is,’ I continue, fighting hard not to crumple into tears in front of Ricky.
‘What it is, Peggy, is pretty damn crap. You deserved more.’
I look at my neighbour dressed in his crochet hat and football shirt, shocked that I’m telling him things I’ve kept buried so deep all my life. I never even told Beth how much my mother’s rejection had hurt me. Only Tim knew, but he could read me like a book. Yet no one knows about the last conversation I had with her.
‘Thank you,’ I say to Ricky. ‘You deserved better too.’
I head to the sink and stare out of the window. Beth’s death is like an ocean of sadness that floods me every day. She must have been so frightened, watching her father deteriorate day by day, and yet I still put myself first. I’m more like my mother than I realize.
I hear Ricky’s chair scrape back. ‘Well, I’d better be off. Thank you for . . .’
He stops and turns me round to face him. ‘Peggy, what’s wrong?’
Next his arms are around me, and I don’t pull away.
I can’t fight this anymore. I have never cried in front of someone. Yet soon I can’t stop, Ricky holding me in his arms.
*
‘Say something, Ricky,’ I urge, cradling my mug of tea. ‘Tell me I’m a useless old woman, that I deserve this—’
‘That’s hard,’ is all he mutters.
‘But it’s all my fault,’ I insist.
Ricky takes off his jumper and places it around my shoulders. ‘It’s not your fault. None of this is anyone’s fault.’
‘If I hadn’t made Beth swear—’
‘Listen, Peggy, hindsight is a wonderful thing, but the way I see it, the past is gone and the only thing that’s up for grabs is the future.’
I inhale deeply, waiting for what’s coming next.
‘You need to tell her,’ Ricky says, ‘because keeping this from Flo is tearing you apart.’
‘Fourteen years I looked after him. The last seven were . . . unimaginable.’
‘Oh, Peggy.’ He takes my hand. ‘I’m sorry.’
I can’t speak for fear of crying again.
‘I wouldn’t want to know if I were at risk or not. I wouldn’t take the test,’ he continues, his tone gentle, ‘but I’d at least want to make that decision for myself. Everyone has that right. And you know what, Peggy?’
‘What?’ I ask, my voice no louder than a whisper.
‘It’s not just about Flo anymore. Theo’s involved now; this is going to affect his future. And when they get married, they’re probably going to want kids too, so . . .’ He stops, as if I can work out the rest. ‘They can still go ahead and have a family, but Flo might want to take the test first, or she might want to get advice from a professional. So much has changed since your husband was alive, Peggy. There’s a lot more research going on, more options, but Flo and Theo need to know about them.’
Everything he’s saying makes sense, but still the thought of telling Flo terrifies me. I press my head into my hands. ‘Have you ever done anything bad, Ricky?’
‘Hasn’t everyone done something bad once in their life? It’s a rite of passage.’
‘I mean really bad.’
‘Robbery. How’s that for you?’
‘That is bad.’
‘I was sixteen, I could have plastered my bedroom walls with rejection letters from footie teams, so one day my best mate coaxed me into playing truth or dare. We’d been out drinking; I was high as a kite. We broke into a house and trashed the place, grabbed cash and jewellery, even the kid’s toys. We never got caught, but I still have sleepless nights thinking about what we did. If anyone stole from me now, or from my children, I’d kill them. But Peggy, what you’ve done, it’s not bad in the same way—’
‘I’ve made such terrible choices.’
‘To protect the people you love.’
‘And to protect myself.’
He pulls his chair closer to mine. ‘You say you wish you’d supported Beth, that you’d put her first? Well, now you’ve got the chance to put it right, to make amends.’
I nod.
‘So make the right choice now and be there for Flo.’
Tears come to my eyes. ‘If only we knew what Beth had wanted.’
‘I may be speaking out of turn, but I don’t think she’d have wanted this. I imagine she was protecting Flo, too, but the thing is, you can’t protect a child for ever. That little girl has grown up and she’s about to make some big decisions about her future, and in my book, keeping her in the dark is the very opposite of protecting her. She may hate you to begin with, but you’re going to need to be strong because Flo is going to need you more than ever.’
I realize that Ricky is right, not just about what I have to do, but about Beth. I can only imagine she didn’t say a word because she was hoping and praying that Flo had escaped the odds.
After all Tim had it, Beth did . . . surely Flo can’t.
She just can’t.
10
Flo
Maddie and I hardly slept a wink. She was snoring and nicking most of the duvet, and I was tossing and turning, waiting to hear the sound of a key in the lock and James coming home. Last night after supper he said he needed some fresh air, some space. Normally when he’s stressed after a long day at work, or if something is bothering him, the first thing he does is to go for a run. But last night he never came back. I hope he didn’t do anything stupid like take Vera out for an over-the-limit ride.
As I walk to the kitchen, I can see James’s bedroom door is wide open, his bed not slept in. He usually lets me know if he’s not coming home. It’s always been one of our house rules.
‘I hope he’s all right,’ I mutter to Ma
ddie, pouring myself a glass of water.
‘Emma’s news hit him hard,’ she reflects. ‘I don’t know why he left her. She was perfect for him.’
‘I might send him a text,’ I say, knowing I’m feeding my fears, but ever since Mum died, I panic, thinking a freak accident has happened to another person I love.
Relax. He’s not lying in a hospital bed attached to wires and tubes, fighting for his life.
Maddie touches my arm, resigned to my paranoia. ‘Don’t. He probably stayed over at Kate’s.’
Kate’s the personal trainer he met jogging in the park who he’s been dating now for seven weeks, and Maddie’s probably right. So why do I have this awful feeling in the pit of my stomach, as if something terrible were about to happen?
My mobile rings. Please let that be James.
It’s Granny. It’s early for her to ring.
‘Flo, I need to see you,’ she says the moment I pick up. ‘Can I come over?’
‘Right now?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is everything all right?’
‘I’d like to talk to you, face to face.’
‘Granny, what is it?’ I ask, the pitch of my voice causing Maddie to look over with concern. ‘Can’t you tell me now?’
‘I’ll be with you in half an hour,’ she says, hanging up abruptly.
‘What do you think it could be?’ Maddie asks, adding she’d better make herself scarce.
She’s unwell. I knew it; it isn’t just my imagination. She’s been keeping something from me.
11
Peggy
Flo buzzes me in and I march up to the first floor.
I must not lose my nerve. I can do this.
Remember what Ricky said. I am doing the right thing.
When Flo opens the door, immediately she asks what’s wrong, clearly agitated.
‘Let’s sit down,’ I say, trying to keep my voice calm as I follow Flo into the kitchen.
‘Do you want a cup of coffee?’ she asks.
‘Nothing, thank you.’ I take a seat.
‘Sorry about the mess, I cooked James and Maddie supper last night—’
‘Flo, what I’m about to say isn’t easy.’
She pulls up a chair and takes my hands into hers. ‘You’re not well, are you? Is this to do with your heart and you didn’t want to say something sooner, because you didn’t want me to put my plans on hold?’
I wish it were that simple.
I shake my head. ‘It’s about your mother.’
‘Mum?’ She lets go of my hands. ‘What about her?’
I look into her eyes, hating myself for what I’m about to say, even if I know I no longer have a choice. As Ricky said, Theo is involved now.
‘Tell me,’ Flo pleads. ‘You’re scaring me, Granny.’
I’m scaring myself, too.
Flo watches me open my handbag and pull out a white envelope. I lay it on the table with a trembling hand.
‘What is it?’
‘Please read it, Flo.’
She picks it up, opens it.
‘Huntington’s Disease,’ she says, staring at the letter with the NHS confidential stamp printed across it, Beth’s name written inside a box, with her date of birth and hospital number. ‘What’s that?’
‘It’s neurological. It damages the brain cells and begins to affect your movement, walking, your memory . . .’ I stop. I don’t want to tell Flo too much too soon.
‘Mum didn’t have that.’
‘She may have developed early symptoms. Often they go unnoticed.’ I recall Tim coming home, frustrated because he couldn’t play golf, telling me he couldn’t stand still for long enough to hit the ball. Beth and I had teased him. We’d called him ‘Mr Wobble Legs’.
To think we’d laughed.
‘But Mum wasn’t ill.’ Flo shakes her head in disbelief. ‘She would have told me; we told each other everything.’
‘Perhaps not everything.’
She looks at me as if I’m the enemy, which I suppose right now I am.
‘Yes, everything,’ she insists. She reads out from the letter, ‘Dear Miss Andrews, following our appointment to discuss the test results . . . I don’t understand. She took this test when I was eight.’
‘You were young, Flo, far too young for her to burden you with this.’
‘Did you know?’
I look away.
‘Granny?’
‘I didn’t know she’d taken the test, no.’
She stands up and paces the room. ‘How long have you had this letter?’
‘That doesn’t matter—’
‘It does. When did you find this?’
I don’t say anything.
Her eyes widen in shock. ‘You found this letter when we were clearing out Mum’s house, didn’t you?’ she grills me. ‘Only days after Mum died! Why didn’t you tell me then?’
‘I couldn’t; you were so vulnerable. I’ve wanted to tell you for so long, Flo, but there has never been a good time.’
Flo laughs derisively. ‘Not once in five years have you found a good time to talk to me about this?’
‘I’ve had sleepless nights wondering what to do.’
‘I had every right to know. This is about my mother.’
‘I know.’
‘So why are you telling me now?’
I twist my wedding ring round my finger, both hands shaking.
‘Why tell me when I’ve quit my job and I’m happy?’ she demands. ‘When I’m about to go to America? Mum tested positive for this Huntington’s thing and she didn’t tell me, but what good is it you dragging it up now, raking up the past?’ I jump when Flo slams her fist against the table. ‘Tell me!’
And then, at long last, the truth comes out, as little more than a whisper. ‘Because it’s hereditary,’ I pause. ‘My Tim had it too.’
The colour drains from her face. ‘Granddad had this? You said he had a form of Parkinson’s.’
‘Your mother inherited Huntington’s Disease from her father.’
She sits down and places a hand over her mouth. ‘Are you saying I might have this?’
I want to hold her in my arms, tell her it will all be all right and that she won’t have it. But I can’t. ‘Yes, Flo, you might. You have a fifty-fifty chance.’
Flo leaves the room.
I don’t know what to do. I’m about to follow her when she returns with her laptop and sits down at the kitchen table.
‘If this is something I might have,’ she says, tapping her keyboard, ‘I want to know exactly what it is.’
‘I can explain. I can tell you.’
‘Movement problems, chorea,’ she reads off her screen. ‘An individual with HD has no control . . . Emotional and behavioural issues . . . the individual may experience depression, mood swings, anxiety, apathy—’
‘Flo, stop!’
‘Caused by an inherited alteration or mutation in a gene called huntingtin. First symptoms generally start in a person in their late 30s, but can appear earlier or later . . .’ She freezes. ‘There’s no cure.’
‘Not yet, but there’s far more research—’
‘Look at this.’ She turns the screen towards me at lightning pace, showing me a video of a man in a padded cell, tormented in his own body, kicking and hitting the walls.
‘No.’ I try to take the laptop away. ‘Tim wasn’t like that. You can’t trust everything you see on the internet.’
‘No, I can’t trust you,’ she says.
You can. You can trust me. Oh, what have I done?
‘All this time you’ve known—’
‘No! No, Flo. I knew your mum was at risk, but I had no idea she’d taken the test until I found the letter. You’ve got to believe me.’
Yet my words mean nothing. They have come five years too late.
‘Hold on . . . If I marry Theo and we start a family, are you saying what I think you’re—’
‘If you have HD, your children will be at risk too,’ I finish
for her.
‘No,’ she says. ‘No. This isn’t . . .’
Flo is struggling to breathe; she clasps her stomach as if I have punched her repeatedly, and it breaks my heart.
This is why I didn’t tell her. Who would want to inflict this kind of pain on someone they love?
‘This can’t be happening,’ she murmurs, ‘this can’t be true.’
‘I wish it weren’t true,’ I say, rushing to her side, but she pushes me away.
‘Flo, it doesn’t mean you can’t still get married and have a family, or do all the things you want to do, and—’
‘Go, Granny,’ she says, quietly, staring at the floor.
‘I’m sure we can get advice. Things have changed so much since Tim was alive,’ I stress, remembering what Ricky had encouraged me to say. ‘We can get through this, together.’
‘I need you to leave, before I say something I regret.’
‘Flo, blame me, hate me, be angry, but please don’t shut me out.’
‘Go.’ She still can’t look at me. ‘The fact I might have this is bad enough, but what’s even worse is that you chose not to tell me.’
‘Flo, please, let’s talk—’
‘Granny, GET OUT!’ she shouts, looking me straight in the eye now. ‘I will never forgive you for this. Never.’
I don’t even notice James and Maddie standing at the kitchen door until Flo rushes past me and out of the room. I shudder when I hear a door slamming shut.
Flo won’t ever forgive me for keeping her in the dark. Why should she? And the truth is, I will never forgive myself.
12
Flo
It’s close to ten o’clock in the evening, and Maddie, James and I have been sitting round the kitchen table for hours, trying to make sense of today. Right now, I feel trapped in a maze with no way out.
‘My jaw.’ I touch it. ‘It’s never closed properly. It could be a sign—’
‘Look, why don’t we book an appointment to see your GP first thing tomorrow?’ Maddie suggests.
I chew on my thumbnail. ‘And I’m always losing my house keys.’ Just like Mum used to.
‘That doesn’t mean anything except you’re scatty, like me,’ Maddie sets me straight.
But I used to call Mum scatty.
If You Were Here Page 5
