Change Of Life

by Anne Stormont

  “Got to, Rose-Marie, I’ve had enough of the globetrotting, the dashing around. It’s been a blast – I wouldn’t change it – but it’s a young man’s game.”

  “But won’t you miss it - all that mountain climbing, camping in the deserts, trekking in the Arctic and whatever?”

  “Yes, in some ways. There’s nothing like the buzz of spending hours, days, months and then, finally, getting the perfect shot, but it’s a case, now, of been there, done that. Now I look around and think - is that it? International acclaim and recognition is very gratifying, but it’s come at a price.”

  “What price?”

  “No wife, no kids, no home, no – meaning, I suppose.”

  “You’d have hated the wife and 2.4 kids thing. Anyway, there’s more to life than being married with kids. How can you say your life’s had no meaning? You’ve done all those daredevil expeditions, been on TV, published books, had exhibitions. You’re a hero to my daughter, Jenny, with all the stuff you have to have say on saving the planet.”

  “Am I - a hero - really?” He looked genuinely pleased at this. “I’ve tried to do my bit, use my photos to get people to realise how beautiful and fragile our wee planet is. And yes, you’re right, I couldn’t have settled when I was younger. I did have a couple of longer-term relationships. But in the end the long separations killed them off. When I had to choose, I chose work.”

  “So there’s noone, no significant other, at the moment?”

  “No, noone. I’m not really looking, not desperate or anything. But, I don’t know - getting to fifty – you realise you’ve not got forever - less ahead of you than behind you. If there’s stuff you still want to do, you better get on and do it. And I want a home, time to stand and stare –and yes - if the right person were to come along to share it with… Blimey, I don’t know where all that came from – I’ve never put it into words before. It’s you – you always were a good listener - that was one of the things I loved about you.”

  I felt flustered again. “Shall we look at the tenancy agreement?”

  A week later Rick moved in. Tom wasn’t all that happy about it. I found it amusing that, all these years later, Tom still didn’t like Rick. In early May, Rick let me know he was off up to Skye. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be away.

  At the end of June, he was back. I’d been living in the flat for about a month. I’d just returned from my first chemo session. Kirsty was with me. She’d insisted on being my driver and moral support for my first time at oncology. She was about to leave me and get back to school.

  “Thanks, Kirsty,” I said, “for being with me – taking time off work – it was good of you”.

  “No problem. Being the boss has its perks. I can take time off to help a friend if I want to. Are you sure you’re going to be all right on your own?”

  “Yes, you get away. I think I’ll just rest for a while.” I lay back on the sofa. Then we heard the front door clatter shut.

  Rick stumbled into the living room, laden with bags and cameras. “Oh, Rose-Marie! And – and good lord, it’s Kirsty isn’t it?” I hurriedly sat up. He grabbed hold of Kirsty by both hands and stepped back to look her up and down. “You’re looking good! How are you?”

  Kirsty was only momentarily thrown by Rick’s enthusiastic greeting. She recovered quickly. “Yes it’s me, and I’m well, thank you. Rick, isn’t it?” She smiled, teasing. “How are you?”

  “Glad you remember me! I’m good.” He turned to me. “You’re not looking so great though. What’s up?”

  While I tried to work out how to answer this, Kirsty said she’d have to go. Rick insisted on seeing her out. I heard them speaking in the hall for a couple of minutes, but couldn’t make out what was being said. When Rick returned to the living room he sat down beside me. “So, Rosie, I knew you were going to use the flat for a little while, but I didn’t expect you still to be here. Not that it’s a problem, but what’s going on? What’s been happening to you?”

  I told him.

  “Christ, what a tough break! The big ‘C’ – that’s a bummer. And Tom, you really think him and Heather – that this boy, Robbie, is – well…” He looked at me, at the tears running down my face, and then he took me in his huge embrace. He stroked my hair and rocked me gently.

  Later, when I’d composed myself and we were drinking tea, he said, “I’m sorry I didn’t make the funeral. I heard she’d died – that Heather had died. Lucy let me know – but I was out of the country.”

  I shook my head. “Don’t be sorry. I didn’t make it to the funeral myself.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. I’d just had the twins. I wasn’t – I wasn’t very well.”

  “I met her again, you know. It was years after we’d all graduated – late eighties it must have been. We met at a fund-raising exhibition in Edinburgh. I’d been asked to put in some pictures – and Heather was there as a beneficiary of the charity. We went for a drink. She said she was off the drugs – was on this supported programme – had a wee flat.”

  “I wouldn’t know.” I couldn’t keep the bitterness out of my voice.

  “She said you two were estranged.”

  “Yes - it’s a long and nasty story. She did some terrible things, Rick. I find it hard to believe she was clean when you met her.”

  “And so did I, I’m afraid. She seemed pretty sorted, happy even, but I didn’t trust what I could see. Lucy had told me, over the years, how deep Heather was into drugs and - all the rest. Anyway – I walked away. Maybe I should’ve stayed – supported her on the programme - been a friend.”

  “It wasn’t your responsibility. I didn’t see her at all in the last year of her life. We all gave up on her.”

  We were both quiet for a moment, remembering our own versions of my sister.

  It was me who spoke first. “So, what’s next for you, work wise?”

  “Well, I’ve finished the first phase of the Skye project – done my research and preliminary photography. Now I need to do some processing, editing and writing up. I also need to do a bit of prep for the retrospective.”

  “Sounds like you’ll be busy.”

  “Yes, I’ve rented workspace at a mate’s studio, over at Inverleith. So don’t worry, I’ll be out a lot.”

  The side effects of the chemo kicked in a few days after Rick’s arrival. I couldn’t bear the thought of him seeing me throwing up, but he seemed to know to keep out of the way when I fled to the bathroom. He was a good cook and saw it as a challenge to find food that I could tolerate, coaxing me to try morsels of this and that.

  He was particularly supportive when my hair succumbed to the toxic consequences of the cancer drugs. Even though Lucy cut it short, before my treatment started, it was still a shock when it started to go. I first noticed it coming away in the shower. I’d just begun to rub in some shampoo and it felt like my hair, not my scalp, was sore. Then I saw clumps of it in the shower tray. I felt more of it between my fingers. I wept as I watched it clog the drain.

  Later, when I went back through to the living room, Rick was waiting. “Can I help?” He brandished his hair clippers. I nodded. He led me to the kitchen and sat me on one of the stools. Then he gently shaved off what remained of my hair. When he was finished he fetched the little mirror from the hall. “There was no point in prolonging it, was there?” He handed me the mirror.

  I gazed at my newly bald head. It was shocking, but it was also a relief. “Losing my hair –it was –I was dreading it more than the chemo. But now it’s done – it’s happened – it’s over. Thank you.”

  “No problem, Rose-Marie.”

  I appreciated that he didn’t make a big deal out of it. I suspected that having one of the family, or even Lucy or Kirsty, shave my head, would have been unbearable. There would have been way too much sympathy.

  Rick made sure he was out the day I told the children I had cancer, but he returned at precisely the right moment. It was just as I was beginning to struggle in my attempts to reas
sure them. He took one look at me standing there, trying not to cry, failing to reassure Jenny. I must have looked shaky. “Whoa, careful,” he said, as he put his arm around me. “Hello everyone, I’m Rick, Lucy’s brother, and you must be Jenny. Come and give your mother a cuddle. She looks like she could do with one. I’ll go and get you all some tea and biscuits.” He handed me over to Jenny’s embrace. “And you’re Max, right?” Max nodded. “Can you come and give me a hand, tell me how the girls like their tea – if they like tea?” Max nodded again. “And, Sam, it’s good to meet you too.” He smiled at her before turning to me. “I’ll get the tea made, and then I need to go out again for a while. I only popped back to fetch something I forgot earlier.”

  I didn’t believe a word of it, but I appreciated what he’d done, coming back to check on us.

  It was the same sort of thing that he did the day Tom and I met with Adam at the flat. Once again he gauged exactly how much support to offer and, once again, he could offer it in his slightly detached way. Rick didn’t add to my stress.

  And yes, there was some chemistry still between us. We flirted a bit and I must admit it lifted my spirits.

  Chapter Thirty Three

  However, Rick did have work commitments and sometimes had to be away from home – so for a lot of the time, I lived alone and, for the most part, I didn’t mind the solitude. It gave me time and space to reflect. I could begin to come to terms with the mastectomy. I allowed myself to grieve for my breast – to measure what I’d lost. I’d nursed my babies there. It was part of my sexuality - a source of such tender pleasure. It was part of my feminine identity. But I came to accept that its loss was a tolerable one – part of the price of my survival. The anger I’d experienced when I first saw the results of the surgery subsided and, gradually, I acknowledged that my breast was gone.

  And for some reason that I can’t really identify, the acceptance of this loss enabled me to grieve, at last, for my sister. I thought about her a lot – allowed the memories - good and bad - to come to the surface. For the first time since her death, I could think about her without anger. I conceded that there was probably more to her death than I’d chosen to believe.

  I mentioned my thoughts about Heather to Michael, during one of our regular phone calls. I told him that I felt better about her, asked him again how he coped with her loss.

  But, as always, there was his customary reluctance to talk about her. He changed the subject by asking how my treatment was going and offering, as he did during every phone call since I’d told him about the cancer, to fly home to see me. And as I always did, I told him to wait until my treatment was finished and then we could really enjoy each other’s company.

  As the summer passed, the rhythm of my life was dominated by the chemotherapy schedule. I was glad that the children didn’t have to witness just how sick and wretched the toxic medication made me feel. I was an adult when my mother went through it and it had been harrowing to watch. I didn’t want my children to remember me like that.

  Ruby kept me in touch with how Adam was, as well as how things were at home. And if Adam had to be away from home, I couldn’t think of anyone I’d rather he was living with. I tried to voice my gratitude to her one day when she was visiting. It wasn’t long after Adam had visited Tom and me at the flat. She was doing some cleaning, despite my protestations that she was visiting as a dear friend, and not in her working capacity as a cleaner.

  “Ruby, will you stop and sit down,” I begged. “Please, it’s embarrassing.”

  “Och, it’s nothing,” she replied. “I just want to look after you. I can’t help myself.”

  “You’re doing more than enough for me as it is – especially with Adam.”

  “Stop thanking me. I want to do it – all of it. Adam is one of the family – he’s like one of my own. I don’t run around after him – not like…” she hesitated.

  “Not like me?” I laughed.

  “Yes, not like you,” Ruby smiled. “He has to get himself up and out, do his own washing and ironing, muck in with the meals and the cleaning. Mind you he’s a very tidy lad – could teach my lot a thing or two.”

  “Yes, well he’s always liked things tidy, hasn’t he? I did think when he visited that he’d grown up a bit since being with you.”

  “I think that would have happened anyway, Rosie. Maybe I’ve just hurried it along a bit. He’s been able to see he can cope without his Mum, but he’s missing you all, I know that. His time out has been good for him, but I don’t think it’ll be long before he’s back at home – where he belongs.”

  “I hope you’re right, Ruby.”

  “And you, Rosie – have you any idea when you’ll be back? I’m sorry, hen – I know it’s none of my business but…”

  “It’s okay. The truth is I don’t really know when – or if. I’ve another month or so of chemo then maybe I can think about – about what I’m going to do.”

  “Tom really misses you, you know. He made a mistake with the Robbie business, but I’m sure that’s all it was – a mistake. I remember how worried he was about you when the twins were born and when your sister died. You were really ill, Rosie. And sometimes – well sometimes the right thing to do isn’t the best thing to do. For what it’s worth, I think Tom did the right thing at the time.”

  Ruby paused and looked at me. This was blunt, even by her standards. A small part of me conceded that she had a point. But there was also the question of Robbie’s paternity. Ruby seemed to know what I was thinking. “Oh, I know there’s more to it than Tom not telling you about Robbie - and I’m not saying anything about that. That’s between the two of you.”

  “Yes it is, but thanks for – for caring. Now what gossip have you got for me from Gullane?”

  “Ah, now, funny you should say that. I do have a couple of titbits. I’ll get a cup of tea and fill you in. I’ve also got the latest copy of ‘Hallo’ in my bag, so we can get stuck in to that too.”

  Another of my regular visitors was Robbie. I wished the circumstances could have been better, but I was delighted to see him and to be getting to know him.

  He had a summer job in town. He’d quit Tesco once he made contact with us. He was working as a kitchen porter at the Bruntsfield hotel, quite near the flat. When he was on his week of split shifts he would often turn up on my doorstep, rather than going all the way across town to get home between the early and late stints.

  I loved when he visited. I became consciously aware of his shift patterns and would hopefully anticipate his probable arrival. We were, by then, completely at ease with one another. He had lots of questions about Heather and the rest of the family - and I enjoyed answering them. I was fascinated by my sister’s boy. He was likeable, intelligent and mature and I loved him utterly.

  He was very keen for me to meet his mum, and I was curious to meet her. So, one afternoon in early August, Robbie brought her to the flat. I was quite nervous waiting for them to arrive. It was important to me that Sue Sutherland would like me. For some reason her approval mattered.

  She smiled nervously as Robbie introduced us. Her hands shook as she handed me the large bunch of flowers she’d brought. “From our garden – I hope you like them.”

  “I love flowers, thank you,” I said, inhaling their scent. There were yellow and cream roses along with similarly coloured freesias and sweet peas. “They smell gorgeous –freesias are my absolute favourite, but I’ve never been very successful growing them.”

  She smiled again and gave a little shrug. “Glad you like them.” She didn’t seem comfortable doing small talk. There was wariness in her manner.

  But, once she was in the living room, she went straight to the family photos on the mantelpiece. She seemed fascinated by them. She exclaimed over the resemblance of Adam to Robbie. She lingered over Heather’s photo, after I pointed it out to her. She picked it up and held it out to Robbie, “Have you seen this son?” she asked. “She was a pretty girl – your mother.”

  “Yes, Mum,
I’ve seen it.” He took it from her and looked at it for a moment. Then he replaced it on the mantelpiece. “Rosie’s shown me a lot of photos of her and of the rest of the family. I told you that.” He spoke gently and squeezed her hand.

  She nodded. “I know you did, son – I know you did.”

  “I hope you didn’t mind me showing him the photos,” I said.

  Sue shook her head. “No, of course not, but can I ask you something?”

  “Yes – of course - and please, both of you, sit down.”

  Sue looked anxious and paused before continuing. “Do you think it would have been better for Robbie to have been with you – to have grown up with his biological family? Do you think you would have done a better job than us?”

  Robbie touched his mother’s hand. “Mum, don’t do this to yourself.”

  She put her hand on his arm and gave a slight shake of her head. She was sitting forward, intent, looking at me.

  “No! That is, I don’t know,” I said. “You’ve done a great job. Robbie’s a lovely boy. He was lucky to get you and your husband as parents.”

  “But - it would have been better to be with his blood relations? I know you must think you could have done better by him – you’re a teacher, Tom’s a doctor. You’ve got money and your children are at private school.” Her voice had got quieter. She looked down at her hands, twisting her wedding ring as she spoke. “Bob and I – a bus driver and a janitor – it’s not in the same league, is it?”

  “No – honestly, that never occurred to me. Good parents are good parents – jobs and money – they’re incidental. You work in a school – you must see that all the time. It’s love and security that’s important.”

  “And the biological connection – is adoption second best?”

  “No, not necessarily –like I say - because someone gives birth to a child doesn’t guarantee they’ll be a good parent. It’s – I suppose it’s just that I didn’t get the choice with Robbie.” My voice cracked as I spoke. I could feel tears starting.