by Anna Bloom
I’m exhausted and not just physically. Although yes, my energy if it were flickering on a battery light would be coming in at about two, but mentally too. All night my sleep was disturbed by his words. That he wanted to come to London just for me but didn’t.
I can hardly complain, can I? For five months I’ve been keeping the mother of all secrets from him. But then I never expected it to come to this. It was only meant to be one night.
Maybe I can say that over and over again to myself until I end, but I know the truth deep in my heart. Even that first night this was something else.
He felt it too.
This last few months of mine feel like a tragic waste of time. More of a waste than the barren years of my life all put together.
Regret. It’s a bitter tasting pill.
Could I stay here?
Is that a possibility? If I tell him the truth, could I stay here and see out these final stages with him? Would he even want that?
Fuck. I should have told him the truth right at the start. We could have been anything together by now. Instead, we still teetered on the cusp of something that could only be nothing.
One thing I do know is that I don’t want to go home. Turning, I look at his stretched-out form, golden skin, messy waves of dark hair. The stubble on his face a dark shadow I could lick like a lolly.
No, I don’t want to go home.
But do I want him to see me the way I know I’m soon going to be? I don’t think I want that either. It’s bad enough he’s already witnessing this spectral ghost I’m becoming.
I don’t want anything that’s going to hurt, yet still I know it will anyway.
Picking up my phone, I slip on some underwear and shorts and one of Henri’s t-shirts with the stealth of a ninja and sneak out of the room. I try to remember the way to the family kitchen and after a few wrong turns I find the heavy wooden door. Pushing it open, I tuck my head in. I could do without his maman right now. I’m not sure I could keep myself civil.
Thankfully it’s open and I walk straight for the patio doors and push them open, letting fresh and fragrant air wash over my face. Gah, it’s heaven.
And I’m going to ruin it.
I eye roll myself, which I think is a new low.
Flicking on the kettle and searching out some mugs, I prep some coffee before heading out onto the patio. For a moment I hold my phone in my hand, staring at the screen.
Then pulling up my big girl pants I dial Liv.
She doesn’t speak… must be waiting to see if it’s me or Henri calling.
“It’s me.”
There’s a loud exhalation. “Please tell me you aren’t dead.”
“Yes, I’m calling from the other side.”
“Fucking hell, Jules. I haven’t slept a wink. You freaked me the hell out last night. I shit myself it was going to be Henri speaking from your phone.”
Tears sting my eyes, bloody things, it’s like blinking glass. “Sorry.”
“What’s wrong? Why are you calling so early? You’re struggling aren’t you? Sooner you get home the better. I’m going to have serious words with Dr Francis about this.”
“Liv. Stop.”
“What?”
“What if I didn’t come home?”
“What the hell do you mean?”
My throat is so tight I can barely squeeze words out. “I love him, Liv. I don’t think I can leave.”
“You haven’t even told him yet, have you?” She’s exasperated with me. It’s in her voice, and I’m not surprised. It’s crazy and yet it’s what I want.
“I’m going to today.”
“And then what he’s going to say, ‘sure, hang around and I’ll watch you slowly die’.”
“Liv!”
“Sorry.” There’s a wrenching sob. “Jules, I can’t stand this. You can’t be for real?”
“How about if I stay for another week, assuming he doesn’t throw me to the curb for being faulty?”
Liv sighs. “He’s not going to do that, he loves you. I could hear it, see it even, and that was months ago.”
“I just, I just…”
“Want to enjoy it now that you’ve found it.”
“Is that so wrong?”
“It’s not wrong. I just can’t stand you being so far away. And…” She heaves a deep breath. “Maybe I’m a bit jealous.”
“Because I’ve finally got a boyfriend?” I snort a laugh.
“Because you don’t need me anymore.” There’s a sniffle from the other end of the line.
“I’ll always need you. You’re my sister. I’ve just got to live for a little while longer.”
A silence stretches between us. We both know that Dr Francis will have nothing to say that can help.
“Is it really bad?”
“What?”
“How you feel?”
“I’m just tired. Really, really tired. Like I’m stretching myself too far and can’t spring back into shape. Like baggy knicker elastic.”
“Enjoy it, Jules. If anyone deserves a happy ending it’s you.”
“I’ll see you soon. I promise I’m going to see you.”
“So, what happens now?”
I look up at the sun until it dries the trails of my tears. “Now I’m going to make him a coffee and tell him the truth.”
“Good luck,” she whispers. “And answer your goddamn phone.”
We hang up and I take a moment, breathing in the air, trying to stretch my lungs a little with the flower scents swirling around me. There’s a freshness preceding what looks like another storming hot day.
I’m making coffee when there is a clatter behind me. I pray it’s Henri and hope to fuck it’s not his mother, breathing out a relieved sigh when I see it’s Odile.
“Morning.” I smile. “Would you like a coffee?”
“Perfect. It was a late one, the guests didn’t want to go to bed.”
“Sorry if I’m distracting Henri from helping, although I get the impression he’s happier with his cows.”
She laughs and I wish it didn’t tinkle like fairies chiming together. “Henri is always happy with his cows.”
“Thank you so much for shopping for me yesterday.” I reach up into the cupboard and grab her out a cup. “It was very kind of you to go out of your way.”
“No problem, I knew the colour would suit your colouring.”
I watch as she takes her banana clip out of her hair and steps towards me. “Here, turn around.”
I do as she asks, pulling a ‘what the fuck’ face.
“You should wear your hair up like this.” She twists it and fixes it in place with the clip, leaving her own blonde mass falling around her shoulders. “Henri loves necks on show. He finds it irresistible.”
“Oh right, thanks for the tip.”
Okay, this is weird. Kind, I guess, but weird as hell.
My stomach drops as a little spark of truth flickers to life in my head. “How do you know?” I try to laugh it off, my exposed neck strangely uncomfortable.
“Of course, I know, I’m his wife.”
I turn slowly to face her.
“Well ex-wife I suppose.” She shrugs like she’s not quite sure but then sees my face, her own mouth popping open.
“Oh god. He hasn’t told you, has he?”
I’m almost entirely sure the earth has disintegrated beneath my feet.
“You’re his wife?”
“Ex.” She holds her hands up, but it’s too late, my happily-not-for-much-longer-ever-after has just splintered in two.
Henri is married to Odile. Something he’s failed to mention. And I’m pretty damn sure that’s worse than my secret.
Married trumps dying and that’s a fact.
27
This is really going to hurt
“You’re married?” I screech back into his bedroom. My blood is pumping fast. I need to catch my breath but can’t. Fingers in tiny fists, there’s a buzzing in my digits like they are expanding into cartoon
hands.
Calm it down.
Mr Married is still sprawled in all his now flawed perfection.
“You’re married and you let her buy me a bikini!”
I have the perfect view of his eyes flying wide open, midnight storms and stars falling.
“Julia?” He scrambles up. For some ridiculous reason I’m staring at his dick, probably because I know it’s the last time I’m going to see it. “It’s not like that.”
“How long have you been married?”
His face falls. It doesn’t stop me from wanting to karate kick it—if I knew karate.
“Tell me.” I step closer, chest too tight. “And don’t you dare fucking shrug.”
He freezes. “How will knowing how long make it any better?” Oh my god. That’s practically a verbal shrug.
“How long?”
“Ten years.”
My legs fold. Breath coming in small gasps. Ten years? Ten. Years.
No. Just no. Stumbling forward, I pitch for the patio doors, pushing them open and falling through. Outside the sun has been eclipsed by the moon, or maybe I just can’t see it.
“Julia, please.” Henri struggles to chase after me, pulling jeans up, no underwear.
“Ten years,” I repeat to myself.
“Julia, I’m not married anymore, it’s over.”
I wheel around. “That’s funny, because Odile is confused about whether you are exes or not.” This isn’t strictly true. “Oh my god. You still live with your wife. You let me wear her shoes.”
I’m not sure if it’s the bikini or walking in his wife’s shoes that hurts the most.
“Julianna, will you please just stop? It’s not like that. Odile is a very old family friend. We’ve been separated for months. There is no love between us.”
“How long?” I know the answer before he says it and I drop my head. “Let me guess. Just before your dad died.”
Stalking forward, I poke his chest. “You know when I met you and realised you were so much older than me, I thought you were a grown up. You aren’t a grown man, you’re a fucking mummy’s boy.”
I whirl away, shaking my head. “I can’t believe I just told Liv I was going to stay. I’m such a fool. I can’t believe I’ve wasted this precious time, here, with you, a lying bastard.”
“I’ve never lied.”
“You never told me you had a wife. I specifically asked if you had a girlfriend. What? Did I not use the right label so then you didn’t have to tell the truth? I’ve been here under the same roof as her for days now.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just the more time that passed, the harder it became.” Catching my hand, he reels me back in. “I love you, Julianna. I’ve never felt anything close to the way I feel about you. I told you, you’re magic in my life.”
“Married, Henri?” The fight starts to seep out of me, that numb exhaustion rushing back in making my limbs heavy, legs hard to move. A pain stabs in my chest, an ache that makes me rub my left ribs. “Living with her all this time that I’ve been falling in love with you.” I can’t breathe. There’s a sob that wants to let go, but it’s vacuumed in my chest like a hard lump of coal.
“Julia, you are everything to me. You make me want to fight this situation I’m in.”
“But you haven’t. Your maman thinks you’re getting back together, doesn’t she? That’s why she treated me so dismissively. She thinks I’m a fling.”
It all makes sense now. That flick of dismissive fingers, her open hostility even on our first meeting… her real daughter-in-law of choice was already sat at the goddam family table.
It’s too much.
I pull away.
“I’m going home.”
Absently I rub at my arm. It’s heavy, odd, weighed down so I’m uneven.
“Julia, ma petite, you said you wanted to stay. We can fix this.”
“No, Henri. It’s too late for me to fix anything. I should never have come. Should have stayed with Liv which was always our plan.” I march back for his room; pretty sure his mother is leaning out of a window somewhere in her castle punching the air with glee at my sudden end. Right, I can book a taxi to the airport. I can be home by the time Paige is out of pre-school.
I want to run, but know I can’t, so I power march for the bedroom. I’m at the door when I stop.
“Julianna!”
His face flickers, mouth opening, but the heaviness in my arm explodes into fire. My chest contracts, but not the way I’ve got used to. No, this is an elephant reverse parking onto my heart.
“My tablets,” I hiss, bending, holding my arm. It’s so sudden, so quick, I almost laugh in surprise.
“What bloody tablets?”
“In. My.”
Nothing else comes out. The burn from my arm spreads like a fire through an old, gutted tenement block. It burns everything in its wake, extinguishing my breath. I can’t stand under the force of it.
The last thing I see is Henri reaching forward to catch me, his face a mask of shock, as my heart explodes in my chest.
Finally, I reach my end.
Dr Francis lied. It’s the last thought I have. This hasn’t been twelve months at all. Nowhere even close. What a lying bastard.
28
Different shades of white
Death is such a funny thing. From the moment you are born you are conditioned to never think about it. Loved ones go, grandparents, family, and we know to wear black and sit on a pew, shed tears that don’t help, tears that feel helpless in the great scheme of life. What do tears achieve?
It is salt water I’m first aware of.
One droplet. Two. Three. Splashing on my hand like rain in a puddle.
Death is such a funny thing. Tears feel real even when the end has been reached.
“Jules?”
There isn’t a single will inside of me to open my eyes. I like the dark. It’s nice here, numb. The sound of a whooshing noise fills my ears. Rhythmic and soothing, a bit like breathing.
“Jules, sweetie, I’m here.”
Who is that? Don’t they know I’m listening to the ocean on the sand. Not the Perpignan sea. No, not the sea with him, breaker of hearts, sandy orgasm giver.
No, this sea is the Atlantic, angry against rocks, punishing the earth for something it will probably never understand.
“When will she wake up?” The voice buzzes in again. There’s a flurry of words I don’t understand and then the blissful note of a voice I think I’d know anywhere, calling my name, Waterloo Station, Oxford Street, hell.
Oh fuck. I’m in hell, aren’t I?
“They said, they don’t know.”
“Don’t know what? If she will wake up at all, or just when?”
There’s a breeze near what I think was once my face. A low murmur that pulls me to the surface of the ocean. “Ma petite, I want to have a word with you. You’d better be ready.”
I try to blink. Nothing happens, just a never-ending void and the whoosh of the sea.
“She’s waking.”
It’s Liv, sat by the bed, her face a white and pink splodgy mess as though someone has tripped over while carrying an Eton mess.
“I thought I’d lost you.” Her hand squeezes mine. Putting her head down next to my waist she sobs, shoulders shaking. “I thought I’d lost you.”
Trying to lift my hand to comfort her I fail, because it’s weighed down with tubes and wires. Do not look at the tubes, Julia, do not. Too late. Ugh. I think I’m going to hurl.
Liv, almost on instinct, reaches for the sick bowl, although I’m distracted by the movement of a hulking shadow lurking in the corner of the room. It moves, slipping through the door before I can react.
I was so angry with him.
So angry.
Now, now… it seems so silly. As far-fetched as it all seemed, it also now seems entirely plausible. I already knew his mum was a half-cooked control freak… I should have listened. Should have not nearly bloody died.
Liv helps me up as
I retch into the bowl, but nothing comes up. “What happened?”
She starts to cry, which never bodes well. “You had a massive heart attack, Jules. I don’t know how they restarted your heart.”
The tears run faster down her face, but strangely I’m detached like the words we are speaking aren’t about me at all. I can only think of one thing, one person; like my entire existence has zeroed down to the size of a pinhead.
“He’s cross with me, isn’t he?”
“Jules, he kept your heart pumping while the ambulance came. You’d be dead if it wasn’t for him.”
“No. But I mean he’s cross, annoyed that I overreacted.”
She shrugs… far too long in a French hospital. “He hasn’t spoken. Hardly at all, apart from to say he’ll go to get your stuff.”
Oh God.
I really am going home.
“How long have I been out?”
“A day.”
“What?!”
“Jules, I need to try to find a way to get you home.”
“No, Liv, wait. I need to speak to Henri.”
“Julia! What about Paige, Lenny? Don’t you want to see them?”
“Yes, yes of course I do, but… I was really mean, stupid really.”
Death it seems paints life in different shades of white. You realise that nothing is pure, nothing is untainted. I realise now my stupidity to believe otherwise.
I was wrong. Dying trumps marriage.
“Can you try to get Henri back for me?” Streaks of tears slip down my face.
Liv bites her lower lip and then clutches my hand. “Jules.” She gives my fingers a tight squeeze. “This is it; you do know that? I’ve spoken to Dr Francis. He’s making arrangements for you to go straight onto his ward when we get back, but he says we should have looked at hospices.”
Turning my face, I stare at the wall. “Please get Henri.”
She waits a beat, but I don’t turn back, and eventually she pats my hand again and leaves. I cry, staring at cream walls.