by Nina Kaye
This statement takes me to boiling point. ‘Accept it? Oh, I’ve bloody accepted it, Dom. I’ve got no sodding choice. What I can’t accept is being treated like I might fall over if there’s a slight breeze outside. I can look after myself.’
‘But that’s the thing, Lex,’ Dom roars back at me, his face contorted with rage. ‘You can’t. Not when you’re like you’ve been the last few months. If I’m going to look after you at these times – yes, I know that’s hard to hear, but it’s the reality – I suggest you learn to accept the help more gracefully, because otherwise—’
‘Otherwise what?’ I stare him out defiantly as his gaze drops to the floor and he wrestles with his thoughts, clearly trying to stop his temper from exploding again.
After a few moments, he looks me straight in the eye.
‘You know what, Alex?’ His tone is ominously calm and even. ‘I didn’t sign up for this.’
This blow is so hard because it’s not been thrown at me in a blind hot rage. He’s had this thought more than once.
Without another word he gets up and stalks out of the room. I hear him angrily grab his car keys, then the main door of the apartment opens and slams so hard it shakes the apartment – and me – to the core; and he’s gone.
Chapter 9
Two months later, I’m sat in a hipster-style cafe in the West End opposite Sasha, while torrential rain lashes the pavement unforgivingly outside. Tears track her cheeks as she watches the passers-by hurrying past, trying to dodge the streams of water rushing around their feet.
‘Sash, you understand why I have to do this, don’t you?’ My eyes seek out hers, but her gaze remains where it is. ‘Sash, please?’
She finally looks at me, eyes red-rimmed and slightly bloodshot. I feel a stab to my heart as I see what I’m doing to her, but there’s no room for guilt here. This is about having a future I can bear; perhaps even look forward to.
‘Of course, I understand, Lex. I know you better than anyone, but it doesn’t mean I like it or that I won’t worry about you.’ Her glassy eyes probe mine. ‘It’s like you’re rejecting everyone who loves you when you need them the most: your mum, John, your sister, me… Dom.’
‘Please don’t bring him up. Dom made it perfectly clear how he felt; it wasn’t what he signed up for.’ There’s a slight wobble to my voice and I realise I need to change the subject quickly. ‘All I’m doing, Sash, is making sure I can live my life on my terms. I can’t do that here. My colleagues treat me like I’ll crumble to dust at the slightest thing, and my mother and Carol are suffocating the life out of me.’
Within this outpouring, I omit the fact that Sasha herself, with her well-cultivated worry farm, has also not helped the situation.
She sighs and shrugs helplessly, unable to refute my case. I reach out and take her hand as a bolt of lightning pierces the sky outside, followed by an ominous cracking and deep rumble of thunder.
‘What about when you have a relapse?’ she asks. ‘What will you do?’
‘You know they have the NHS in Birmingham too, right? It’s not like I’m emigrating to the US without health insurance.’
‘I mean, if you’re struggling…’ Sasha chews her lip anxiously. ‘Who’s going to do your shopping? And what about work – you really think they manage sickness absence differently south of the border?’
‘Don’t worry, I’ve thought all that through. Soon as I hear back about this job, you’ll be the first to know. Just trust me.’
We sit silently for a moment. Sasha looks deeply hurt. This doesn’t surprise me, given I haven’t shared any of this plan with her until today, but that’s how I’ve discovered I must now operate. Everyone’s so quick to tell me what I cannot, must not, should not do, so I now share information on a need-to-know basis. I’m only telling Sasha now because it’s almost signed and sealed, and I need her on side when I take the dreaded step of sharing it with my mother and Carol.
‘I’m not just worried about your health situation.’ Sasha breaks the silence between us. ‘I’m going to miss you so much.’
Feeling unexpectedly overwhelmed by emotion, I take a deep breath to steady myself. As much as Sasha’s recent worrying and overprotectiveness has frustrated me, she’s still my best friend in the world.
‘I know, Sash.’ I stare into my empty coffee cup and try to compose myself. ‘But I can’t live like this. I’ll lose my head if I have to endure—’
I’m silenced as my iPhone bursts into life. I look down and see a Birmingham number illuminated on the screen.
‘Sorry, just give me a moment.’ I answer the call. ‘Hello, this is Alex speaking.’
‘Hi, Alex. It’s Jim from New Horizons,’ says the caller.
‘Hi, Jim. I hope you’re calling with good news?’
I wince as Sasha resumes staring out of the window miserably.
‘I certainly am,’ Jim’s upbeat voice confirms in my ear. ‘Your relocation package has been approved and we’ve found you a small one-bedroom apartment to rent near the city centre. I’ll email you some photos. They’d like you to start next month.’
‘I’m sure that can be arranged, Jim. I’ll put my notice in tomorrow. Thanks again.’
I terminate the call and take a moment to digest its full meaning. It’s all sorted. I’m moving to Birmingham in a few weeks’ time. My stomach churns with a mix of excitement, nervous anticipation and melancholy: for the second chance I’ve gained, and the life I loved so much, that I’ve lost. I turn back to Sasha.
‘It’s all confirmed. Are you ready to hear the details?’
* * *
By the next morning, I’ve managed to get Sasha on side. I also may have let her think she can come with me if she can find a job in Birmingham. Something I’m not particularly proud of, but it serves two purposes: perking Sasha up by thinking she’ll be with me ‘every step of the way’, as she put it; and I’ve realised I can use the idea of her moving with me to call off the wolves aka my mother and sister.
By the time Sasha realises that uprooting her whole life for me is ridiculous and totally impractical (her mum is also unwell with long-term heart problems and having suffered a recent heart attack), I’ll be home and dry, so to speak, in my new-build rental apartment. Sasha’s too much of a home bird to leave Glasgow anyway.
We’ve arranged to meet my mother, John and Carol for Sunday lunch at the Art Lover’s Cafe out at Bellahouston Park, my intention being to prevent them kicking off Glasgow-style when I break my news.
Sasha and I park the car at the back of the house and amble through the well-manicured gardens towards the beautiful iconic white building, designed by the late Charles Rennie Mackintosh. It’s one of my favourite places to visit, with its lavishly detailed interior design. So much so that Dom and I had actually considered it as a wedding venue, until the wedding coordinator told us they couldn’t cater for our numbers.
As this memory develops in full technicolour in my mind, my body reacts with an emotionally charged lump in my throat and an anguished tug at my heart, a feeling I’ve become too familiar with since our split. I place a hand on my chest, take a deep shaky breath to calm the swelling feeling of loss, and draw my focus back to what today is about.
‘You OK, Lex?’
I feel Sasha’s concerned eyes on me. ‘Yes, fine. I just love this place. Always gets me, you know?’
‘I do.’ Sasha appears convinced by my answer, her eyes following my gaze towards the building. ‘It really is one of Glasgow’s special places.’
The thunderstorms of the previous day have freshened the air, and the late July sunshine sporadically peeks through from behind light wispy clouds. Despite a drop in temperature, we’re still comfortable in our short sleeves and cropped trousers, so with ten minutes to spare, we grab a seat on a bench to enjoy the warmth on our faces.
‘Thanks again for this, Sash. I know I’ve put you in a bit of a position on this one.’
‘It’s fine.’ She looks at me from behind her gree
n-rimmed oversized sunglasses. Her flaming red hair looks almost alight from the way the sun is catching it. ‘I may not like it, but I kind of get it.’
‘I appreciate that.’ I suddenly feel a bit guilty for having gotten so irritated by Sasha’s overbearing support over the last few months.
‘Anyway, I’ve already started looking for jobs in Birmingham and there are tons of options. Maybe this is what we both need. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to pack up and move somewhere else, but I’ve been too scared. Doing it together makes it seem easier.’
‘That’s good,’ I say automatically.
The guilt immediately dissipates. Despite me knowing Sasha won’t follow through on this, I realise it could become exhausting, very quickly. Probably more so because I know it will all be for nothing and she’ll eventually find a reason to back out (her mum being an obvious and quite genuine one).
We sit quietly for a few more minutes, enjoying the sun, until our zen is obliterated by the arrival of my mother and sister with John in tow.
‘There they are. Hey, wee sis!’ Carol’s high-pitched voice carries right across the gardens from the car park.
I can see my mother waving at us theatrically from afar. They trot along the path towards us, John trailing behind them at a slower pace.
‘Alex, dear, how are you?’ My mother reaches me and inspects me at arm’s length. Her wire-framed spectacles have darkened in the sun. ‘You look not bad. Have you been following that eating plan I sent you?’
‘No, I haven’t.’ I sigh.
‘Why ever not?’
‘She’s just being Alex, Mother.’ My sister perches her lipstick-pink sunglasses on her head and rolls her eyes dramatically. ‘Has to rebel against anything we say or do.’
I observe my mother and her familial shadow and decide this is not going to be how today is going to go. I invited them here, so I’m going to take the lead from the off.
‘Yup, I sure do. But can you blame me?’ I greet John with a warm hug and lead them towards the entrance to the house at a reasonable pace, my fatigue thankfully now more manageable than it was.
We enter the Art Lover’s Cafe via the gift shop. It’s a bright, open space with fairy lights strung across the ceiling, square pillars perforating the room and tastefully art-bedecked white walls. We’re shown to our seats, where I strategically place myself between Sasha and John for reinforcement.
‘So, how are you doing, Alex?’ John asks me, while my mother and Carol debate the fat content of the duck liver parfait on the menu, and whether that would be good for me in my condition. ‘I mean generally, not in relation to your health.’
‘I’m fine, John.’ I smile at him warmly. ‘Getting on with things.’
‘Good for you. Just you keep doing that.’
‘I intend to.’ A thought pops into my head and I lower my voice. ‘In fact, perhaps I should give you some advance warning. I’m about to give those two some news they’re not going to like – for which I apologise in advance.’
‘Whatever it is, I’ll cope.’ He gives me a little wink.
The waiter appears and is subjected to a painful ordering session, during which Carol interrogates him on the ingredients of almost every dish on the menu.
My idea to bring Sasha along works better than I thought. She keeps my mother and sister talking until our starters arrive, which she knows is when I’m going to share my news and the proverbial will hit the fan. If my plan works out, that will play out in a very restrained way, perhaps even allowing some sensible discussion to sneak through.
I allow us to get started on our food, then give Sasha the nod. She signals her understanding and expertly disengages herself from her conversation. I clear my throat in preparation to speak, then immediately regret doing so as this sets off my mother and sister’s annoyingly hypersensitised off-target MS radars.
‘OK, Alex?’ Carol cocks her head to one side and regards me like she would a crying puppy, a behavioural trait I’m sure she’s only acquired since my diagnosis.
‘Fine, thanks.’ I keep my tone bright. ‘Actually, I’ve been feeling a lot better recently.’
I’m deliberately paving the way for the message that I’m reclaiming my independence guerrilla-style.
‘You do seem so much better.’ Sasha delivers her supportive narrative. ‘It’s almost as if your relapse never happened.’
‘I think so too.’ I nod thoughtfully, with an air of gosh-we’ve-both-come-to-the-same-conclusion-so-it-must-be-true.
‘It happened all right.’ Carol readjusts her sunglasses and bleached-blond top knot. ‘Visits me in my nightmares, that day. My little sister, taken so young – nature can be so cruel.’
‘I’m not dead, Carol. If you’re going to milk this one, how about not doing it with the person who went through it? You were nothing more than an irritating spectator.’
‘Alex, don’t speak to your sister like that,’ my mother hisses quietly at me. ‘Carol’s gone out of her way to support you these last few months. The least you can do is be a bit grateful.’
I’m about to suggest that Carol’s support is about as welcome as a battered turd in a haggis supper, when I realise I need to stay focused on my original goal for today.
‘Sure, whatever. Sorry, Carol. Thank you for being there for me when I was unwell.’ I flash her a semi-sincere smile, which Carol seems a little too satisfied with.
‘The main thing is that you’re doing so much better.’ Sasha prompts me back on track. ‘Which we’re all so pleased about.’
‘Exactly. It’s almost—’
‘As if it never happened.’ My mother cuts me off. ‘Yes, we heard that, Alex. Now, are you going to share whatever it is you’ve brought us here for today?’
I quickly take a mouthful of my smoked mackerel salad, knowing I won’t get a chance to enjoy my food once I’ve stepped across enemy lines. ‘Right, yes. How do I put this… Probably best to be frank. I’ve got a new job and I’m moving to Birmingham.’
‘That’ll do it, all right,’ I hear John mutter under his breath as my mother’s fork clatters onto her side plate.
I stifle an involuntary snigger as Carol’s head snaps towards me so fast her sunglasses escape their perch and land in her duck liver parfait.
‘What a way to deliver a message like that,’ she sneers, and turns to my mother, who’s now an interesting shade of Tippex and uncharacteristically silent. ‘Mum, are you OK? Don’t listen to Alex. She’s not serious, it’s just her way of digesting this change in her life. Once everything settles down—’
‘Oh, I’m serious, Carol. I’m moving to Birmingham – in a month.’
My mother finally comes to, but she’s clearly dazed. ‘In a month? Alex, what are you talking about? You’re—’
‘I’m what?’ I stare at her defiantly. ‘Broken? Damaged goods? An invalid?’
‘Darling, please don’t be so melodramatic.’ My mother tuts at me, her usual air of superiority returning, along with the colour to her cheeks. ‘You’re none of those things. But you do need support.’
‘Yeah, you need us, little sis.’ Carol joins in the lecturing. ‘We’re in this together – for the long haul.’
She gazes at me with a demeanour to rival Mother Teresa and I feel myself gag a little. I can think of nothing worse than a life at the mercy of my mother and sister: my own personal eternal hell. But I was ready for this overprotective and patronising behaviour. Glancing across at Sasha, who gives me an encouraging smile, I take a deep breath to ensure I respond in a calm and composed manner.
‘Mother, Carol, I understand you have concerns. That is natural. You’ve been a great support to me and I do appreciate that very much. But you have your lives to live, and I have mine—’
‘Alex, you’re talking as if you’ve sprained your ankle,’ my mother interrupts. ‘This is MS we’re talking about, a degenerative autoimmune disease that will slowly destroy your body, bit by bit.’
‘I’m aware of
that. Though I’m not sure you need to be quite so graphic.’
‘But it’s the reality of this, Alex,’ Carol pitches in. ‘Mum, it’s OK, I can see what’s going on here. This is textbook denial and exactly the kind of behaviour we can expect.’
My mother’s face blooms with realisation and relief. ‘Oh, you are quite right, Carol, which means why didn’t we think of this before… we need to—’
‘Get Alex a counsellor to help her work through this.’
As I watch them wind each other up, I suddenly feel exhausted. Though I expected this kind of ridiculous behaviour, I felt more prepared for it in my head. Now, here, in the brightly lit restaurant, with the waiting staff bustling around me, I feel my composure start to slip. I steal a look towards Sasha and instantly regret doing so – she’s reflecting back similar concern. I take a moment to arrange my thoughts, then straighten up in my chair and push my plate away from me.
‘Mother, Carol, once again, I appreciate your concern. But I’ve considered this very carefully, and it’s something I’m going to do, I’m afraid to say: whether you like it or—’
‘But it’s totally absurd, Alex.’ My mother’s tone is dismissive. ‘If you can’t see that then you’re obviously—’
John places a calming hand on my mother’s shoulder, silencing her. ‘Isabel, how about you let Alex explain?’
My mother flinches, clearly unhappy at the suggestion, but she stays quiet. Carol looks like she’s ready to let loose again, but she respects John’s request.
‘Thank you.’ I give them all an appreciative smile. ‘Before my diagnosis, I was flying high. I was acing my career, getting married, everything was amazing…’
I suddenly feel a swell of emotion in my throat and I swallow aggressively to avoid showing any weakness that could be misconstrued.
‘Now, all that’s changed,’ I continue. ‘Because of a stupid diagnosis. If you both know me as well as you think you do, then you’ll understand that I can’t and won’t be defined by my MS. I’m ill, not ninety. I need my independence back and the only way to do that is to start afresh, somewhere I won’t be mollycoddled by generally well-meaning but overbearing, overprotective and highly risk-averse people.’