You can physically smell the fear from her. I wait for her to acknowledge my threat, because that is what it is, a threat. Clear as day, bold as brass fucking threat.
I won’t stand for Cammie hurting over her so called family anymore. Making my way out of the coffee shop I spot a bench nearby and decide to wait for them there.
From this position I can see Cammie sitting by the window and at the moment she looks okay.
Three cigarettes later she still looks okay and when she walks out with her mother close by her side, I hope their talk went smoothly. I wait on the bench until her mother awkwardly hugs her and walks off in the opposite direction before I make my way over to her.
“You okay?” I ask, sliding my arm around her waist.
“Surprisingly, I am. We caught up a little and she was interested and sad about the wedding. She asked if I’d send her a photo of us on our day, I said I would.”
I doubt she will put it up on the wall with her brothers but if her having a keep sake will please Cammie, then I won’t utter my opinion.
“So, I’ve got my passport. Where to now?” she asks, looking up at me.
“Everywhere, babe.”
Chapter Thirty-Two – February 2006
Cammie
Twenty-four hours. That’s all it took to pack our belongings and say goodbye to Marg and William.
Drake was taken back when Marg began crying, whether he had told her what he had done I don’t know, but her sadness to see him leave affected him more than he or I thought it would.
After visiting with my mother, I was worried it might bring a few regrets. Going to the town I grew up in and before I met Drake, Great Yarmouth was all I knew. There wasn’t anything left in me that felt any sort of emotion, for either the town or my father. My mother didn’t say much about him, but I know how he would act if he knew of my visit. She surprised me by admitting her guilt of the state of our relationship and when she asked if I would send her a photograph of our wedding, I believed that was our first step to progress.
The twenty-four hours that transformed our relationship to another level changed us both.
It was and still is an unspoken fear we both share, we both fear being torn from each other but the drive to be together overrides it and brushes it away for brief flashes of time where everything is perfect and there is nothing to fear.
Our first destination was a six-week tour around Spain. The warm, white sands beneath our feet, squishing between our toes. The sun boring into our souls, keeping it warm on constant. We were free to do what we wanted, when we wanted. We slept till the afternoon and we partied into the night, always making sure we were always on the beach for the sun rising.
I had everything I could ever want and I realised as I laid in Drake’s arms, he would kill for me and I would kill for him too. I spent my teenage years dreaming of the perfect man and trusting that I would one day find him. All any girl wants is for the one to love her unconditionally and I have that. He wants to marry me and give me the world and is waiting for me at the altar. All I have to do is walk down the aisle and say I do. It is funny really, I thought I would need a piece of paper to feel secure in a relationship. To always know that your man wants you and chose you to be eternally tied to, but Drake already makes me feel secure and loved and everything some women think they will get after getting married. I regard today as a celebration of our love rather than a unity of two souls, because we were eternally tied together the night I left my family to be with him. Our tie was made stronger when our baby was taken from us and we had to wait two and a half years to be together again. Every day our tie to each other is pulled tighter. We are forever and we both know it, better yet, we feel it.
A large bouquet of pink lilies stands at the entrance and I breathe in the fresh aroma before taking a step inside. With no father to give me away, soft music hits my ears and I begin the short march down the aisle on my own.
If I could have dragged my eyes away from Drake standing proudly in his black suit and combed hair, I would have seen the joyful tears in my best friend’s eyes. I would have seen that Marg and William are here with us, even though Drake told me they couldn’t make the trip abroad. I even would have seen Stan genuinely smiling for once. I didn’t see none of this because I couldn’t see anything but Drake. It’s always him and will be till the day I die.
The ceremony is short and sweet, perfect for our day. As soon as it was over we were engulfed in our friend’s embrace.
“Drake said you couldn’t make it,” I cry, as Marg squeezes me hard.
“I wouldn’t miss this day for the world, lovey.”
“Congratulations, Cammie. You make a beautiful bride,” William offers, taking Marg’s place.
“Thank you, I’m so glad you’re both here.”
And I mean it. Drake is my family by law now and these four people are my family by bond. A bond that can never severed. I’m going to cherish it.
“Shall we, Mrs Deveroux?”
I turn to see Drake holding his hand for me, I entwine my fingers through his and let him lead me out the room.
We had planned a quiet ceremony and a meal to follow in the hotel, with Lorna and Stan. When Drake leads me past the restaurant with a mischievous grin, I wonder what he has planned behind my back. I don’t have to wait long, as we approach two huge doors, a man standing in hotel uniform opens them as we near. Inside, a single table set with six chairs sits in the middle of the room. A white linen table cloth draped over the top and a huge bouquet of red roses set in the middle. The rest of the room is empty, but is decorated as if we are actually holding the wedding reception here for more than six guests.
“I thought you deserved to have it all, it’s ours for the night with our own waiter and music,” Drake informs me.
We have the whole room to ourselves. I don’t know what to say. I lean up on my tip toes and claim my husband’s lips.
Part Four
Chapter Thirty-Three 2008
Cammie
Cammie,
I hope this letter finds you well, I never know if you will receive it within a few days or if ever, as you are leading the life I could only dream off. I never know if you will be at this address or off gallivanting around the globe.
I have some bad news to share. I’ve tried not to write it in a letter but I no longer have your number and waiting for you to call is like waiting for your father to realise how wrong he has been over the years.
I’m afraid to tell you that I was diagnosed with breast cancer and while the chemotherapy seemed to be taking an affect in the beginning, the tumours have spread and chemo is no longer an option. I’m currently staying in the Bloomsgate hospice. I have enclosed a leaflet with an address.
I have enjoyed our back and forth communication over the last few years and I have got to know the daughter I should have known since birth. I would like it very much if I got to see you one last time. I don’t know how much time I have left but I want to spend it with you. I hope you can forgive my need to see you at the end when I flitted through the beginning.
If you don’t come, I’ll understand. I want you to know how proud I am of you, and to be honest, a little jealous.
You found a man who dotes on you and would do anything for you. I know your father loves me but if he would do one thing for me, I wish he would see how wrong we both were with you.
I hope you come, I would love to see your face one last time.
Your mother, Susan.
The enclosed leaflet falls to the floor as my hands shake in shock. I have been meaning to call her for some time now, but I never got round to replacing my phone after I left it on the beach after a day of sunning ourselves in Spain. How long has she been suffering? We’ve kept in contact over the last few years, writing to each other every couple of months or so. Telling each other of our lives and plans ahead. I would describe every country we travelled to and sent her photos as tokens so she could see for herself how happy we are. She would tel
l me the local gossip, how my brothers and their wives were doing. She hardly ever mentioned my father, only on occasion when he mentioned me to her. But, apparently that was rare.
In some ways, it felt like I was writing to a pen pal. Someone I didn’t know, only on paper what they told me and it felt good to have someone I could tell my adventurous tales too.
It felt even better because that someone wasn’t a pen pal, it was my mother and we have begun to get to know each other well.
I slowly began to learn that she was quite sarcastic and humorous in a way I never saw from her when I lived at home. I found that the overbearing cleaning and constant need for perfection and order was her way of raising a good, strong family. Her will was just not as strong as my fathers.
I can often hear her telling me what she is writing as I read and all I hear is regret and a longing to find adventure for herself.
Now she is fucking dying and yet again I am going to lose something I didn’t really have.
One tear is followed by another and before I can wipe them away, my cheeks are saturated.
I always feared turning out to be the same as my mother but right now, there isn’t anywhere else I want to be.
Four hundred miles. That is how far we are from her.
Collecting the letter and leaflet, I know what I have to do. Taking the stairs, passing walls filled with happy, carefree photos, I enter our bedroom and pull a case from the cupboard and make a start packing what we will need to survive for a few days away.
In my haste, a frame crashes over when I yank the drawer out.
“Hey, what you doing?”
He hasn’t been sleeping very well since our return to England so when he eventually does find sleep, I don’t wake him for anything. My plan, not that I consciously had one was to wake him when I was finished packing and making reservations in a hotel somewhere close to my mother’s hospice.
“Read this,” I say, throwing the letter on the bed by him for him to read. I don’t have time to explain.
I barely register his face as he reads my mother’s dying words and continue to pack.
“You’re going to see her?” he asks, flinging the duvet off of him.
“Of course I am. I have to say goodbye.”
“Do you think she would travel hundreds of miles to come and say goodbye to you if you were in her position?”
Probably not, my father wouldn’t want to drive her and where he doesn’t drive, she doesn’t go.
“That doesn’t matter, we’re going,” I say adamantly, making a start on filling Drake’s case.
“How would you have felt if someone said you couldn’t say goodbye to your mother?”
His sharp hiss tells me I overstepped the line.
“My mother was different, she loved me.”
“My mother loves me, in her own way and I love her the same,” I try to explain.
“Please, Drake. I need to go.”
There is no way I am asking for permission. I want him to hear for himself the urgency in my need to see her.
Every day of my childhood was awkward and the older I got, unbearable. Apart from being the mistake baby, I don’t have a clue why life wasn’t the same for me like it was for my brothers. Loads of people have a midlife baby, sure it can be a shock when you think you have a different life panned out for the future and with the added addition of another baby, those plans have to wait but they get over it.
They do the three am feeds, they find themselves buried in dirty nappies and wish they could sleep for more than two hours at a time. Not my parents. The older I got and the more I didn’t need to rely on them, the more I saw in their eyes they didn’t want to be there. But then I think, what would they have done? Because since I left home over six years ago, my mother hasn’t been on one holiday. Why was my birth such a mistake when I took nothing away from them?
Once and for all, I want to know why they didn’t want me.
“If this is really what you want, I’ll take you,” Drake tells me, grabbing a clean pair of jeans from the wardrobe.
“Thank you.”
After he is dressed he heads downstairs to call around to book us a room while I finish packing and get dressed myself.
Drake pulls me into him and I curl around him and hold on for dear life outside the hospice.
“This might not come as a shock to you but I’m not going to let them talk to you like shit. If they even look at you the wrong way, I’m…”
“Shh, I know. I’m not going for them. As far as I’m concerned, they don’t exist anymore.”
It’s true, it has been so long, I don’t feel any connection to them. Not once has any of my brother’s asked after me. I’ll treat them the same as they treat me. Like strangers.
“Are you sure you want to do this? I can drive you anywhere, all you have to do is say where.”
I smile at the man who has never let me down and squeeze his hand.
“Thank you.”
“What are you thanking me for?” he grunts.
“For bringing me here when I know you want to keep me from being hurt by them again. Thank you for trying to understand, most of all, thank you for loving me and making me your only.”
He releases my hand and wraps his around my neck, pulling me closer to him.
“Never thank me for loving you, it always goes without saying, I don’t want to ever imagine my life if I don’t have you to love.”
He leans in and I first feel his warm breath hit me before I feel his mouth on mine. His kiss tells me everything I need to know, he is here and he will support me and protect me. It’s all I need.
“Shall we go in?”
I nod and we clasp hands and walk in.
Drake informs the nurse who we are here to see and she kindly shows us to my mother’s room.
The place is quiet, too quiet.
We turn the last corner and I’m faced with Adam and Melanie, sitting on a little couch in the corridor. He does a double take when he sees us coming and stands.
He looks confused. I take a little pleasure in this, he’s probably wondering how the hell I know she is here.
I waltz past him and ignore him when he tries to speak to me. Drake walks closer to me and I’m thankful he is here with me.
“Cammie? Is that you?”
I stop. How dare he? My appearance hasn’t changed from the last time he saw me. Okay, I look a little older but I’m exactly the same now as I was back then. Drake tugs on my hand and I continue to my mother’s room.
I’m not going to give any of them the satisfaction of a reply. Of course it’s me, unless I had a twin who was lucky enough to be adopted at birth because two babies would just be too much for my parents to take on at the point in their lives.
The door is closed and I can see a partial of the room through the little window. My father is the first one I see and beside him is a woman I don’t recognise at all.
Wearing a soft yellow bandana, her eyes are sunken in and she is pale. Borderline transparent. And small, she has lost so much weight too.
This is not the mother I left behind.
Drake pushes open the door and her eyes slowly find us in the doorway. The smile that creeps across her face is the only strength I see about her.
“You came,” she breathes, still smiling.
I stand there, staring. I can’t help myself.
“Go to her, it’s why you’re here,” Drake has to remind me, whispering close to my ear.
“Don’t be afraid,” my mother coos.
My father on the other hand, looks deathly afraid. Sliding my eyes to him by my mother’s side, I watch as his face transform from sadness to disbelief to anger.
In a rush to get to his feet, the chair he was sitting on tumbles over and crashes against the floor causing us all apart from Drake to flinch. I don’t know why I flinched, I was expecting this outburst and what followed next.
“What are you doing here? How did you even know she was here?” my father
rants, his face completely red now in anger.
“Leave now, or I’ll have one of the nurses escort you out,” he threatens.
“Mr. Darcy, Susan asked to see Cammie and Cam wants to visit her mother, so that is what’s going to happen.”
His body thrums next to mine and I try to stop things from escalating.
“Drake, please. Not today, not here.”
“Stop it, all of you. Leave me with Camila, please.”
“Darling, she hasn’t been around for years…”
“I’m quite aware of that, Robert. I want to be alone with my daughter. And I swear to all that’s unholy, if you argue out there and cause a scene, I will never rest in peace.”
I smile weakly, I’ve never seen my mother stand up to my father and shut him down. I wonder what life might have been like if she had been like this during my childhood.
Surprisingly, Drake is the first one to leave the room, I see him lean against the wall opposite the room, I know he hasn’t gone far.
I step to the side as my father leaves seconds later and closes the door behind him.
“Come and sit, Cam.”
I do as I’m told and pick the chair up my father had vacated.
“You look really good,” she smiles, reaching out to my hair falling loosely over my shoulder.
I don’t have the heart to say I can’t repay the compliment but she already knows it.
“Your husband looks good too,” she adds, making me laugh.
“He always looks good.”
It is the first time I’ve heard her refer to Drake as my husband, I like it.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick sooner?” I ask.
Her hand falls from my shoulder and I catch it in mine. She is so weak.
“In a way I wanted to protect you. The photos and letters you send me are light and full of fun, you’re happy and I didn’t want to be the reason you were dragged back here.”
“Why now, mum?”
I googled hospices on the drive down here, I read how they operate as a last place for the sick to rest before they pass on. I know she doesn’t have long left.
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