If You Were Here

by Alice Peterson

  She told Dad I was too young to worry about all this.

  What were they talking about? I wonder if it’s to do with money or something?

  I daren’t go on reading. Tim and I had argued that night. I was determined not to say a word to Beth until the time was right.

  If only I’d listened to Tim and done it his way. If only I could have learned that there never is a right time.

  Try to find the right time and you’ll put it off for life. You just have to dig deep to find the courage to say it, and even more importantly, the courage to face the consequences.

  21

  Flo

  I have two days left at work before I leave. I stare at the mess on my desk. I have a mountain of paperwork to sort out and yet the only thing on my mind is Dr Sinclair. The results must be in today.

  I jump when my mobile rings, though my heart sinks when I see Granny’s name on my screen. I can’t talk to her. Not yet. I’m not ready and I certainly can’t tell her I’ve taken the test.

  She leaves a message, and just hearing her voice makes me feel emotional. I hate what she did, but I obviously still love her.

  ‘Flo, my darling, I need to see you. I know it’s difficult between us, and I understand you can’t forgive me, but I have something for you; it’s something very important. Please call me as soon as you can. It’s urgent.’

  ‘It’s really quiet downstairs,’ Natalie says, breaking my thoughts about what could be so urgent. ‘Do you need a hand with anything?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I reply.

  There’s a part of me that longs to tell Natalie what’s been going on these past few days, but I can’t trust myself not to break down. I have to hold on until Dr Sinclair calls. It can’t be long now.

  I feel as if I’m standing dangerously close to the edge of a cliff, and the one thing I can’t do is look down at the sheer drop.

  ‘Another coffee?’ she asks.

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘And cake?’ Natalie is always bringing in her mother’s special homemade cakes.

  ‘Just coffee, thanks.’

  ‘Since when haven’t you room for cake? You must be ill.’

  ‘Oh, go on then,’ I say, thinking I can always take it home for James. ‘I’m going to miss you, Natalie, and your mum’s baking.’

  ‘Me too. I can’t believe you’re leaving me here with Ginger.’ Ginger is our affectionate name for Simon. We smile, overhearing him say to a client downstairs, ‘Shall I put you in the front of the plane and your husband at the back?’

  ‘Just a small slice though.’

  ‘Got to keep your slim figure, right. Have you gone shopping for wedding dresses yet?’

  My mobile rescues me just in time. ‘Sorry, got to take this.’ I rush downstairs and head outside, into the pouring rain.

  ‘Florence,’ Dr Sinclair says.

  I don’t like the way he said my name.

  ‘Do I have it? Tell me.’

  ‘Not over the phone, we need to talk.’

  22

  Peggy

  I stare at the telephone, waiting for Flo to call me back. It’s been at least an hour since I left my message.

  I couldn’t read much of Beth’s first diary last night. I had to stop, too upset to continue. I didn’t want to see all my failings and flaws through Beth’s eyes. Besides, deep down I still believe Flo should be the first person to read them, not me.

  It’s no use. I can’t sit here twiddling my thumbs any longer.

  I pick up the phone. ‘James, it’s Peggy,’ I say. ‘How is she?’

  ‘Has Flo called you?’ he asks, on guard immediately.

  ‘I wish she would.’

  There’s a pause.

  ‘I need to see her tonight, it’s important,’ I insist. ‘Can you help me get through to her?’

  ‘Granny Peg, I can’t—’

  ‘Please. I have to see her before she goes.’

  ‘She’s taken the test.’

  ‘She’s what?’

  ‘She’s on her way right now to see the doctor. Sorry, Granny Peg, I can’t talk—’

  ‘Wait!’

  ‘I’ll call you the moment I get news.’

  I feel lightheaded and giddy, my heart racing as the line goes dead and the phone slips from my fingers.

  23

  Flo

  ‘It’s bad news,’ I say, when James joins me in the kitchen after getting home from work. ‘They sent the blood back.’

  ‘Oh, bloody hell, Flo,’ he bursts out. ‘I thought you were going to tell me you’d tested positive.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I say, realizing it was clumsy of me. ‘The lab wouldn’t process the results.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘They wouldn’t accept the consent form. Apparently, there are strict guidelines I have to go through, which can take months. You can say it, James. Say “I told you so”.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Flo.’

  I look at him gratefully. ‘Dr Sinclair was sorry, too. I don’t know what to do next.’

  ‘Well, what are the options?’ He pulls up a chair and sits down next to me.

  ‘Delaying New York to see a counsellor, or getting on that plane and working it out later.’

  ‘I think you need to talk it through with Theo.’

  That’s an option I don’t want to take yet. This could destroy us.

  ‘The longer you wait to tell him, the harder it’ll become,’ James warns me, just as Maddie had earlier this evening.

  ‘I know,’ I admit.

  Look how long it took Granny to tell me.

  ‘He loves you, Flo. Don’t shut him out.’

  ‘I will talk to him, of course I will, but not over the phone. I think I want to tell him face to face.’

  James nods.

  ‘Want to hear the good news?’ I say.

  ‘Yes, please,’ he replies, as if we could both really do with a pick-me-up.

  ‘Dr Sinclair didn’t charge me so I bought us a bottle of fizz,’ I say, just as the buzzer rings. ‘You’re not expecting anyone are you?’

  ‘Shit,’ he mutters. ‘Flo, don’t hate me.’

  ‘Why? What have you done?’

  ‘I spoke to Granny Peg this afternoon.’

  I freeze.

  ‘I told her you took the test.’

  ‘You didn’t! Why?’ Slowly, I recall the message she left me, too.

  ‘I’m sorry, Flo. What could I do? She sounded desperate.’

  ‘She shouldn’t be calling you behind my back—’

  ‘If you won’t talk to her, somebody has to.’

  ‘She had so many chances to talk to me before,’ I say, realizing my anger isn’t subsiding. If anything it’s getting worse. ‘The test was my business.’

  The buzzer rings yet again. ‘You’re family; you’re all she has left.’

  Exasperated, I say, ‘Exactly, James. And if I can’t count on my family, who can I count on?’

  ‘Christ, Flo! She’s punishing herself enough already. She’s nearly eighty. She has a heart condition. She’s not going to be around for ever.’

  ‘I can’t deal with her right now,’ I say, fighting back the tears.

  ‘I understand, but don’t go to America without at least saying goodbye. Imagine if something happened to Granny Peg while you were away. It would break your heart and you’d never forgive yourself.’

  I pace the room. Deep down I know he’s right. ‘Fine,’ I say, giving permission for James to let her in.

  My phone rings. It’s Theo. I reject his call, bracing myself for whatever it is Granny has to say first.

  James and Granny walk into the kitchen, James carrying Mum’s old suitcase. ‘I told her the test couldn’t be processed,’ he says.

  And to my relief, Granny doesn’t condemn me for trying in the first place. Instead, all she says is, ‘It’s good to see you, Flo.’

  ‘What’s Mum’s suitcase doing here?’ I ask her, confused.

  ‘I went to see her genetic
counsellor yesterday,’ she tells me.

  ‘You did?’ I ask, trying to remain calm, though I want to hear more.

  ‘Dr Harding told me your mother had written you a letter explaining everything.’

  ‘She had?’ Tears come to my eyes.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  Granny explains that she and Ricky went to the storage unit last night. They looked everywhere for it. ‘I’m so sorry, Flo. It must have got lost or burnt.’

  I sit down and bury my head in my hands. The very last piece of her has gone. But at least I know she was going to tell me.

  ‘We found something else, Flo. All your mother’s diaries.’

  ‘Her diaries?’ I didn’t know she’d written any. ‘Is that what’s in that case?’

  ‘Yes.’

  James opens the case for us. Inside is an assortment of coloured hardback books. I pick one up. ‘Have you read any of them?’

  ‘I’ve glanced at one or two,’ she replies, visibly shaken now. It takes all my willpower not to put my arms around her. ‘I wanted you to read them first. It might be hard, Flo, but I hope you’ll find some answers. Well, I’ll leave you to it,’ she says, turning away.

  James stares at me, urging me to say something, anything, before he escorts Granny out of the room.

  I rush out into the corridor. ‘Granny?’ I call out.

  Immediately she turns round, leaning heavily on James’s arm, and I notice how pale and exhausted she looks.

  I kiss her on the cheek. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I hope one day you can forgive me,’ she says. ‘I’ll always be here for you, Flo. Always.’

  24

  Flo

  I skipped supper, James saying he’d leave some in the oven for me. Alone in my bedroom, I turn another page, holding my breath as I read.

  Beth’s Diary, 1981

  I’m so embarrassed. Last night Tibby and I went to see For Your Eyes Only – soooo good. I love Roger Moore! Anyway, I told Dad we would get the bus home – he didn’t need to pick us up from the cinema – but he said he didn’t want us coming back alone in the dark.

  So we’re driving, Tibby and me on the backseat, and Dad goes this funny route. ‘Why are we going this way?’ I say to him, ‘remember we’re taking Tibby home first.’

  Dad gets all flustered, misses the next turning, and then shouts at us, switching off the radio, saying he can’t concentrate with all the noise. So I tell him again that he needs to turn round, before Tibby says, ‘It’s red, Mr Andrews!’ and the next thing I know, a police car is following us, flashing lights, siren blaring, telling Dad to pull over.

  I notice Dad’s hands are shaking when he turns off the engine. The cop asks Dad to step out of the car, like they do in movies, then asks him to walk in a straight line. And Dad’s straight line does not look straight to me.

  ‘Has your dad been drinking?’ Tibby asks, mouth wide open, and I’m just shrinking, right. All I want to do is disappear.

  Finally, we get home and I go straight to my room. Then the phone rings.

  ‘He wasn’t over the limit,’ I overhear Mum say firmly.

  She comes upstairs and asks me if I enjoyed the film. I close my diary and hide it under the duvet. She says it’s late, and then tucks me up in bed (she still thinks I’m 3, not 12!).

  As she’s about to shut the door I ask if everything is all right with Dad.

  ‘He’s tired. A stressful day at work, that’s all,’ she says.

  ‘I told him he didn’t have to pick us up.’

  ‘I know. But he wanted to. Don’t be cross with him, Beth.’

  I couldn’t sleep last night. I kept on thinking about that time I overheard them in the kitchen, Mum saying ‘Don’t tell Beth.’

  Don’t tell me what? What if something is wrong, and I mean really wrong? Dad doesn’t play golf anymore, and he used to love that game. Mum and I used to tease him, saying he loved that little white ball more than us. But when I ask him why he doesn’t play, he dodges the question. Also, he hardly ever paints at the weekends or makes anything in his studio. These days he prefers to smoke in front of the TV.

  I know he has a busy job and travels and everything, so it’s good for him to relax, but there’s something else going on. I’m not stupid.

  I keep on reading, one entry after another. I have to know when Mum found out about Granddad. When did they tell her?

  Beth’s Diary, 1982

  I don’t know where to begin. I can hardly write this. For a while now I’ve noticed how Dad can’t sit still watching the TV. His legs and hands twitch all the time – and he’s beginning to get stressed out about everything.

  He was in tears the other day because he couldn’t find his passport! It was the first time I’d ever seen Dad cry and it freaked me out.

  When I helped him look for it, he sat on the bed and said, ‘I don’t want to go, Beth’.

  He looked like a little boy scared to go to big school, not the dad I knew, a director of an advertising firm. So anyway, when Dad finally found his passport and left for the airport, I asked Mum to tell me what was going on.

  ‘I’m a teenager now,’ I said, ‘I’m a grown-up. I can take it.’

  I knew Dad wasn’t just tired. She told me that he had ‘senile chorea’. I’d never heard of it before, but it sounded serious. When I asked Mum to tell me more, she said all it meant was he had jerky movements in his feet and hands, which is why he gets restless legs and occasionally knocks into things, or spills his tea.

  ‘But it’s nothing for you to worry about,’ she said, before sending me back upstairs to do my homework, stressing that school was the only thing that mattered right now. ‘And don’t say a word to your father when he comes home; he doesn’t want you to worry.’

  So I didn’t say anything, but then it happened a week later.

  After school, I came home and found Mum and Dad in the kitchen. Dad is never home in the afternoon! Anyway, they did that thing again – stopped talking the moment I entered the room.

  ‘We need to tell her, Peg,’ he said. So Mum told me Dad had lost his job; that he’d been made redundant. She turned away. I thought she was going to cry.

  ‘We have to tell her,’ Dad said again. ‘Everything.’

  So I sat down and said, ‘Is this about your senile chorea?’

  ‘My what?’ Dad asked.

  ‘Mum said you have senile chorea.’

  Dad stared at Mum as if I were speaking Chinese. ‘We’ve been in denial for too long, Peg. This is happening, whether we like it or not, and it’s only going to get worse.’

  Mum’s face crumpled as she left the room.

  ‘Beth, I don’t want you to be scared,’ Dad said, reaching for my hand.

  Just him saying that made me, though.

  ‘There’s no easy way to say this . . . I have Huntington’s Disease.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  He put on his brave Dad face. ‘It affects the brain, my movements. It’s the reason I’m a bit clumsier these days, getting a few bruises.’ I was too nervous to smile back at him. ‘But we’re going to be okay, Beth. Now that I’m not working we can travel more, I can spend time with you and your mother. Your mum is going to keep her job, and they’ve paid me a decent redundancy package so we’ll be fine, absolutely fine, all right? Nothing needs to change. I’m still your goofy old dad.’

  It was hard to understand. What did it mean? Why had Dad said it was only going to get worse?

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’ I asked.

  ‘We wanted to protect you for as long as we could. One of these days, when you have your own kids, you’ll understand that.’ I watched Dad get up and walk across the room. He picked up the notepad by the kettle. ‘I’m going to write a list, Beth. A list of all the things you and I are going to do together before . . .’ He stopped. Dropped the pad, picked it up again.

  ‘Before what?’

  He sat down, acted as if he hadn’t heard my
question. ‘We’re going to Florence to see the Botticellis. We’ll take our sketchpads, paint and eat chocolate gelato! We could take a trip to Venice, ride in a gondola, what do you think? And we could go to Egypt – I’ve always wanted to see the Pyramids, haven’t you?’

  ‘Before what, Dad?’

  He looked up at me, tears in his eyes. ‘Before I die, Beth.’

  ‘You can’t die, Dad, not yet. Not ever.’

  The next day I found a book in the school library on Huntington’s Disease.

  They say it’s hereditary, which means I have a fifty-fifty chance of getting it too. It’s like the toss of a coin, heads or tails.

  I wish I didn’t know.

  I wish Dad hadn’t told me.

  I preferred my life before.

  I don’t even notice how late it is until my mobile rings. It’s Theo, again.

  I can’t talk to him. My head is too full with Mum’s diaries. I can’t pretend everything is fine, but equally I can’t explain what’s been happening over the last few days. I let his call go to voicemail again.

  I glance at Mum’s diary.

  How can it be that less than a week ago I was planning my future with Theo?

  ‘I preferred my old life too,’ I whisper, missing not only Mum, but also the old Florence Andrews.

  25

  Peggy

  Flo is a little girl, wearing her poppy dress with matching red tights, and she’s out on her scooter, alone, heading towards a busy main road. As she gets closer and closer to the traffic, she isn’t slowing down. In fact, she is going so fast that she has no chance of stopping in time. There are cars and lorries racing past, and Flo on her baby scooter. I am trying to catch up with her, but my feet won’t move. I’m stuck. Paralysed.

  ‘STOP’ I cry out. ‘Flo, stop!’ She looks over her shoulder and then her face changes and she merges into Beth.

  I wake myself up screaming, my body shaking.

  I think of Flo reading the diaries, praying it’s not going to scare her even more.

  ‘I’m frightened, Tim,’ I whisper in the darkness, hugging my arms around my chest, wishing with every part of my being that he was lying next to me.