Her American Classic (Part 2)

by G J Morgan

  “Might have to donate some. I’m sure I could find somewhere that would take them. Better to be in a gallery than in some dark cupboard collecting dust. I might give some to his old school, they’ve got plenty of bare walls and long corridors.”

  “You think it will be strange, Mum? Finally saying goodbye to the place?”

  “I’ve been saying goodbye to the place for years. No, it’s time to let someone else fill it with memories. I hope we sell it to a young couple, I don’t like the idea of selling it to another old person. I want people to grow up in it.”

  “I don’t think we can be that picky, estate agent said the market is slow, not much work around here, which doesn’t help either.”

  “Well, we’ve till the summer. I’m sure we’ll sell it by then.”

  “We could always rent it out again?”

  “No. I like the idea of selling. It makes it more exciting, means we haven’t the easy option of coming back. Means we have to make it work. Though I don’t think Molly would be happy with any house at the minute.”

  “Unless it’s Florida.”

  “She’ll come around. Once we start looking at houses with us, once she gets to choose her bedroom, or run around new gardens.” Mum looked at the computer screen. “That’s pretty. Where’s that?”

  “Burgh Island.”

  “I’d like you to take us there one day.”

  “What, Burgh Island?”

  “I’d like to see all of Devon, actually. Go to all those places you always talk about. Meet the infamous Dot.”

  “Can’t see why not.”

  “Go in April or May perhaps, try to avoid the school holidays.”

  “That would be nice. I’m sure Dot wouldn’t charge us much.”

  “And you wouldn’t mind going back there?”

  “Why would I mind?”

  “I just thought with the whole Lilly thing. I thought you’d rather not go back.”

  “Mum. Lilly was like ten months ago.”

  “You’ve never actually showed me all of the photos from Devon before. I wouldn’t mind one night having a look through them, if you don’t mind, that is.”

  “I’ve just deleted quite a few, well almost all of them actually.”

  “That seems silly, Tom.”

  “Silly?”

  “Just because it didn’t work out doesn’t mean you have to be so drastic. You and Lilly did happen.”

  “This isn’t me being drastic. It’s me being careful.”

  Mum raised her eyebrow. “I’m going to put the dinner in, check why Molly has been so quiet, that normally spells trouble. I’ve had to put a few of my boxes in your room. I’ve run out of space in mine. If you get a chance, have a look through, think some of it might be yours.”

  I nodded.

  “And don’t throw it all away. Put some in bin bags, keep me a little nostalgia please.”

  “I’ve only deleted a few photos, Mum. You know I keep stuff.”

  “Other people’s nostalgia, not your own. Autographs of dead people. Posters for films I’ve never heard of.”

  “Mum, what’s your point?”

  “Try and keep some proof of your existence. I’ve hardly any photos of your travels, America, hardly any of Cassie, now you’re deleting Lilly. You’re allowed to own things you know, not everything you own needs to fit into a rucksack.”

  I went to answer, but got caught mid-yawn.

  “What time do you start?”

  “Got a couple of hours yet. Put Molly to bed then head out.”

  “Saturday night is no time to work.”

  “Saturday night is the only night to work.”

  “Didn’t realize there was anywhere worth going to round here. It’s all fields.”

  “That’s the whole point, Mum. Otherwise people wouldn’t need taxis.”

  “What time will you be home?”

  “Normal time. Though it’s raining so if it’s busy I might stay out longer. I’ll probably be back before it gets light.”

  “If it was up to me you wouldn’t be driving that taxi at all. It’s not like we need the money.”

  “We do, Mum. Thailand wiped us out. I know this is hard, but it gives us a little extra to play with, and means I get to see Molly.”

  “Means you spend most of the day catching up on sleep, walking around like a zombie. You’ll make yourself ill. Humans were never meant to be nocturnal. You know it shortens your life, it was on TV the other morning.”

  “It suits me, Mum. You know I’ve never been able to sleep anyway.”

  “Don’t know where you get it from, this love of the night time, no idea how we’ve managed to raise Nosferatu. Sorry if I was too hard on you earlier, about the photos.”

  “That’s OK.”

  “I was just concerned you were getting rid of Lilly for the wrong reasons.”

  “Not at all, the opposite in fact. I’m doing it to protect her. And us.”

  She kissed me on the head. “I’ll check on Molly, check how much flour she has managed to keep on the work surface. I’m guessing not a lot.”

  * * *

  Later was pretty uneventful, by a bit of luck I managed to grab a few airport runs, took me up to one in the morning. Decided to grab ten minutes, stopped in a lay-by, ate some cold pizza, watched the rain as I drank my coffee.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket. Immediately I thought it was Emma, she normally sent me a message before she started work, wishing me a good morning when I was about to go to bed.

  I checked my phone. A message, not from her.

  “I think we need to talk,” it said.

  I very nearly replied, nearly even rang back. But I didn’t, ignored it instead, finished my food, got back on the road.

  However, there were more messages to come, lots more.

  58

  I’d given myself a Sunday night off, had a nice evening with Mum, talked plans and futures, feasible and unfeasible. Now everyone had gone to bed and I was left to ponder my bedroom ceiling again, my body clock on meter time, still not able to sleep.

  I checked my phone, looked at what my friends had been up, scrolled through their photos and timelines. They’d all been busy, getting drunk, getting pregnant, having babies. Friends I never saw but friends just the same.

  I’d another message from Emma, they were coming hourly, what she was eating, wearing, the weather. I much preferred hearing her voice and I’d told her that, but she said talking made it harder, so instead I got messages, to which I always replied, a kiss, or a like, something that didn’t invite a response.

  I couldn’t blame her. This was new for us, and we chose to deal with it in our different ways. The messages were cute at first, but despite her good intentions they now felt a little desperate, like she was overcompensating. Emma predicted she would find this whole thing difficult, she’d never had a relationship like this one and neither had I, so we knew there would be some trial and error. I told her not to worry, a few days’ silence wouldn’t mean the worst, that we didn’t have to communicate every thirty minutes to validate our situation.

  On our last night together, Emma and I went out for our farewell dinner. It was a restaurant we’d been to before, by the sea, candlelit, food that tasted more expensive than it was. I’d purposely booked us a table in the corner, away from other diners, some privacy if things got too emotional, not that I thought they would, but I planned for it just in case.

  I met her at the hotel reception. Emma looked stunning in her dress and heels, she always looked a world away from a tunic and clipboard. It was a night talked about for a long time, a night set in our diaries, counted down over days and weeks and we assured ourselves we would try to treat it like our first date rather than our last, but as we looked over our menus we realized ending a relationship couldn’t be anything othe
r than awkward, regardless of whether it was amicable and planned in advance. So instead I decided to order wine.

  And the problem was the more bottles of wine we ordered the less absurd the whole long-distance relationship sounded. And what we both thought the end, wasn’t really the end at all and despite the pending miles and time zones between us we agreed we would at least try to make it work, see where it could go, if it was worth holding on to, if one day it could turn into something else. Somehow the night had turned celebratory and rather than us both walking our separate ways as I planned we would, instead we ended up leaving together, back to her apartment, into her bedroom.

  This was our relationship now, one that was supposed to end but didn’t and hence the reason for Emma’s constant contact. She was just worried, I could see why, worried it wouldn’t work, that it would eventually fizzle out, that it was only matter of time. It was my job to reassure her that we wouldn’t become pen pals, even when I had a job convincing myself most of the time.

  * * *

  Still awake, I decided to make myself of use, make my way through the stack of boxes in the corner that Mum had been asking me to sort out since we arrived back on English soil. It was a pointless exercise really, taking everything out, knowing full well I’d probably be boxing them back up when we eventually moved out. But Mum was adamant of course, didn’t want to live like squatters, wanted the house back looking sellable. Felt like I was boxing things for boxing’s sake, just making things neater, when I suspected wherever we’d end up, these boxes wouldn’t be coming with us anyway. Wherever our new home would be, the aim was to travel light, be able to fit our lives in a few small suitcases. Still, it was something to do, something for an insomniac to focus on. I’m glad I did, otherwise I wouldn’t have found what I did.

  It had fallen out of a book as I moved a pile from a box to my bed. I was about to slip it back inside till I noticed my name and Molly’s too. Whatever it was, it was half-finished, written in pencil scribble, words rubbed or crossed out. I should have just slipped it back where it came from, perhaps it wasn’t meant to be found, something that should have been thrown out.

  I looked at the date, 31st August, that was the night before we flew to Thailand. Before we all took the giant leap.

  Well my darlings.

  This is my seventh go at this, think I’m losing the will to live (sorry bad joke)

  Not even sure why I’m writing this flaming thing. As you already know I’m never one for sentimentality or following other people’s advice, so take it all with a pinch of salt, I won’t mind if you don’t take any of it on board, not that I’d know, being dead by the time you read it.

  But apparently writing a diary or farewell letter is all part of the cancer experience, like losing my hair, or a sponsored fun run. All part of coping with it, accepting cancer, accepting the possibility of death. Sounds a load of rubbish to me, death is death, no matter if I approve of it or not.

  Well here goes. Time for me to be profound and all-knowing.

  Molly darling.

  What a beautiful girl you are. I wish I was able to spend more time with you, but I’m glad of the months we shared. Now I’m not sure how old you’ll be when you read this, your dad will know the right time, but the three-year-old Molly that I knew was a girl filled with so much excitement and enthusiasm for the world. I hope that never changes, don’t get disheartened, you may not become a princess or an Egyptologist. Chances are you might end up in some office staring at a computer screen like most people. Don’t regard that as failure, our jobs don’t make us who we are. Just because you’re not an explorer doesn’t mean you can’t still explore. Keep asking those questions. And please don’t use your mother’s death or even mine as an excuse, it will make me so cross with you if you do. You’ve not had the easiest start and I wish I could give you all the answers but it isn’t really as easy as that. You need to find a way to deal with it, which I’m sure you will, you’ll be surprised how much sadness you can deal with, us humans are made of strong stuff.

  I’m not going to sugar-coat things, Molly. Life is pretty shit sometimes. You just need to get to the end of it unscathed. The only thing to do is smile and laugh. The art is pretending to know what you are doing. There’ll probably be a point where you might hate life a little. Some of it will be about things you can’t change, some of it things you can. Just make sure you talk about it, your dad, friend, a professional, yourself, me even. Being a woman is hard and being a girl is even harder, from both sides, men can be cruel, but females can be crueller. You’ve been blessed with good skin, that’s a start. I used to have good breasts and my mother had great breasts too, if you inherit anything from me let’s hope it’s that.

  What else?

  Love things or hate them. There should be no in-betweens. It makes life easier, it sounds cold-hearted I know but if it doesn’t evoke a reaction, good or bad, then you haven’t taken time to understand it fully. Trust me, I thought I hated Leonard Cohen, Margaret Thatcher, your grandfather even. Took me a lot of patience to fall in love with him, most things aren’t one-dimensional, especially people, you need to peel back a few layers. To have an opinion you need to educate yourself first, then you’ll know definitely if you love and embrace it, or hate and reject it. It’s better to be passionate about something or someone. Don’t be sat on the fence, or in the middle. Don’t just sit and nod.

  Look after your dad too. I predict he may need you more than you’ll need him, don’t tell him that, he acts strong but I do worry. He may never tell you this but he met someone after your mother died, her name was Lilly, you met her once. They loved each other, but it never worked out, you’ll have to ask your father why, I still don’t understand why myself. Maybe one day their paths will cross again, maybe he might meet someone else. I’d like him to marry again, someone to share things with. You might find that difficult at first, try not to give your new mother a hard time, it will be difficult for her too. You may not see it, but she is only doing her best, she’s isn’t trying to be Cassie, she’s just trying to be your mum, even if you don’t want one at the time.

  Anything else? I think that covers it just about. I know it’s not the conventional letter, if you get stuck, type in ‘farewell letters’ into Google, I’m sure that covers whatever normal advice dying people give to their loved ones. It’s all a bit sappy if you ask me.

  Just don’t be sad. I’m not, a little scared perhaps.

  I wish you a great life, Molly.

  I love you. I don’t know how much you will remember me, don’t worry if you can’t, I’ve taken plenty of photos of us. I hope from those you see how happy you made me. Please know I loved you. You were my best friend. Believe me when I say that, I’ve only had a few friends who I felt I could tell anything to. You were one of those.

  I love you.

  Kisses from heaven. Me and your mother will always be looking down.

  Tom.

  My little boy.

  Thank you for everything. And I don’t mean just recently, I mean from the day you were born, you only weighed just under seven pounds, a perfect little bundle. Of all my creations, my paintings, my sketches, you are by far my best work. Nothing has changed since then, I may pretend to be a rock, but the worry I had when I shushed you to sleep are the exact same worries I have now knowing I’ll have to leave you on your own. I hope I’ve given enough guidance and resources to be able to fend for yourself, I’m sure you will, you’ve always been one who copes and adapts.

  We both knew there was a chance this cancer would beat me and if you are reading this then I assume it has won. But that is life I’m afraid, and sometimes it doesn’t seem fair, and I know you have had a hard few years with Cassie and now me. But it will get better, it always does.

  I’m deeply sorry I haven’t left you and Molly any money. Me and your father should have handled our finances better, but at least you can sell the
house, must be worth a fair bit. Don’t worry about any fancy burial for me either, I mean it, Tom. I don’t want any fuss, I’d rather Molly have a couple of thousand pounds than have a pointless coffin or headstone. Take her to Disneyland, keep it for her driving lessons, or university. And I don’t want to be kept in some urn on a fireplace, I’m not an ornament. Scatter me somewhere pretty. I’m sure you’ll find me somewhere you know I would like, just make sure it gets lots of sun, you know I’m not one for shade.

  Now in regard to little Molly. You are going to have to deal with some uncomfortable subjects, girls are complicated, both anatomically and emotionally. Without me and Cassie around, you’ll need to be aware. Don’t be frightened by the changes you’ll see in her, things will happen down below and on top, keep an eye out. Please, please, please, get her a bra that fits her when the time comes, take her into town, Marks and Sparks, get her measured by a professional. She’ll be really confused about what’s happening to her body, be honest with her, educate her, don’t let her feel embarrassed and don’t let her go to school unprepared. Girls don’t need much excuse to bully each other. Anyway, I’m sure you’ll know what to do.

  I want to thank you for all you’ve done these last few months, Tom, and don’t for one minute think if I don’t last the whole of Thailand that you are responsible in anyway. This is the best thing for us, Tom, gives me hope, makes me want to get up each day. I will have so many new memories to take with me, ones I never thought I’d have. I can’t wait, not long now. How exciting.

  Try to find something you love doing. I know your last two professions didn’t sit well with you in a moral sense of the word. But you were good at it, I think you need something with that kind of speed, something to rattle your bones, keep you on your toes. Fireman, a policeman, dashing about the place. Just don’t settle for something that makes you miserable. Jobs are about money, yes, but me and your father have had money, lost money and had it again. I preferred not having it, makes you work harder, live smarter. I don’t want you back in some warehouse again, you’ll be dead by forty if you do. You could always ring Vince, I wouldn’t think any less of you if you went back to stalking celebrities, it was the happiest I’d seen you, though I guess Lilly had something to do with that.