by HC Michaels
“Let me put this back.” Skye tried to prise the frame from her mother’s hands worried she might crack the glass and hurt herself.
This behaviour was just another thing to add to the list of things that didn’t make sense. Her mother was holding that photo like she actually cared about her. How sad that the only love Skye had ever felt from her mother had come when she no longer knew who Skye was.
Managing to get hold of the frame, she set it back down on the bedside table behind the plate of brownies she’d baked the night before. That was one blessing of having dementia—calories were impossible to count. For the first time in her life, her mother was able to enjoy the wickedness that chocolate had to offer, without fear of ruining her figure. Unfortunately, Skye didn’t have that same luxury.
She wondered if one day she’d let herself go and have the same rounded thighs and rolls of belly fat her mother now had.
“Skye.” Her mother’s eyes widened as she looked at her daughter.
“Yes, Mum. I’m here.” She reached out and took her mother’s hand, tears stinging her eyes. She was being seen in her mother’s dementia in a way she hadn’t been seen before. It made her both incredibly joyful and painfully sad.
“You look gorgeous,” her mother said.
Skye’s emotions intensified. Her mother had never given her compliments growing up, instead preferring to remind her of her shortcomings, which had been a total waste of breath. Skye had already known her hips were too wide, her nose too long and she showed too much gum when she smiled. She hadn’t needed her mother’s constant reminders. Even as an adult when she’d shed every possible ounce of fat from her body, had her nose reconstructed and learnt to smile without parting her lips, her mother wasn’t satisfied. There was always something else she could improve on.
Now, with thanks to dementia, suddenly, she was gorgeous.
It was these rare moments of warmth that made all the hours spent sitting by her mother’s bedside worthwhile. It was like panning for gold and uncovering a diamond. She’d collect these precious gems and store them close to her heart.
Skye contemplated whether she should tell her mother about the cancer. It would feel so nice to have her take her in her arms and soothe her worries. She thought of the way other children’s mothers fussed over them when they were unwell. If Amber had even the slightest sniffle, her mother would be on their doorstep with chicken soup and hugs and kisses to make her better.
Whenever she’d gotten sick as a child her mother had looked at her in disgust, ashamed at the way she’d succumbed to her weakness.
“I couldn’t get away with that at the ballet,” she’d say. “Once I danced on stage for three hours with a temperature of forty-three.”
“But I’m not in the ballet,” Skye would complain.
“Not with those thighs you’re not!”
Maybe now she was gorgeous her mother would care about things like her daughter being unwell.
“It’s a shame about the glue, though,” her mother said. “Messy stuff.”
Skye’s perfectly shaped brows pulled together. “What glue, Mum?”
“Someone came into my room last night and painted my feet with glue. Why would they do that?”
The moment was over. Her mother had disappeared beneath the blanket of her disease once more. There’d be no taking Skye in her arms and soothing her. If anyone was going to be doing any soothing, it’d be her.
“Nobody did that, Mum.” Skye patted her hand, please to find she didn’t pull away. “I promise. Nobody would do that to you.”
Her mother looked at her with her familiar look of suspicion.
“I know it feels like they did,” said Skye. “I know it feels real to you, but you need to trust me. Nobody painted you with glue.”
Her mother pulled her hand away from Skye, holding it to her mouth. “Dean did it.”
Of all the crazy things to say, it had to be that. Dean painting her feet with glue!
Skye knew for a fact her first husband hadn’t done any such thing, mainly due to the fact he was dead. Perhaps he’d come back to do a spot of haunting? She knew of a few men who’d like to do that to their mother-in-law.
“Dean’s dead,” said Skye. “He didn’t do it. Nobody did it.”
“Dead?” Her mother’s eyes filled with tears. “Dean’s not dead.”
“No, he’s not dead.” Skye sighed. Even though her mother’s dementia had only just begun to take hold when Dean died, it was one detail she didn’t seem to be able to keep a grasp of. Normally it was easier to just let her believe her beloved son-in-law was still alive. It was strange how she seemed to remember him, yet often had no idea who her daughter was.
Skye shook the thought away, unsure why she expected dementia to make sense. The whole point of it was that it was a muddled mess.
Her mother’s diagnosis had been a cruel blow for someone still relatively young, leaving her confined to life in an aged care facility with people decades older than her as her peers. It was just as well she didn’t realise what was happening to her most of the time.
“I almost forgot.” Skye handed her mother a glossy program she’d had sent to her from the Australian Ballet.
Her mother liked looking at the photos and her doctors thought it would be good to encourage her to hold onto as many memories as possible from that time of her life.
Skye had sometimes wondered if she should bring in her mother’s diaries. She’d found them when she’d cleaned out her home before selling it. She’d nearly missed them stacked up behind a pile of clothes in the bedroom. There were about a dozen volumes, dating right back to before Skye was born. Occasionally, Skye liked to flick through them, having read some of the entries over a hundred times.
She’d ultimately decided against bringing them to her mother. Some memories were better left buried.
“Is that me?” Her mother pointed to a photo of one of the ballerinas.
Skye leaned in for a better look. “No, Mum. You were even more beautiful than that.”
“Was I?” Her mother smiled at the possibility.
Skye nodded.
She had been, too. Smoking hot, in fact. If only some of that warmth could’ve spread to her heart.
“But that was before Dean painted my feet with glue.”
Skye kissed her mother and left her with her ballet program. It hurt too much to stay any longer.
Skye had a head full of thoughts of Dean when she returned home and carefully undid the buckles on her Christian Louboutin heels. She placed them neatly next to the sofa in her living room and sat down, glad she’d worn the shift dress she’d ordered online from Harrods. The fabric was soft and didn’t crease easily.
Dean was her first love. The romantic side of her wished she could say he was her only love, but that wasn’t true. She loved Theo, too. Although, there were differences in the love she felt for her two husbands.
If she weren’t so exhausted, she’d reach for her phone and open the photo she kept of Dean in a secret folder. She didn’t do it often, but sometimes the urge to look into his eyes was overwhelming. It helped to know there was a little piece of him close by.
Tucking her knees up, Skye hugged a cushion to her chest. Then, worried she’d get foundation on the white fabric, she put it back down. It didn’t matter. A cushion was never going to take away the pain of Dean’s death.
Some people saw it as disrespectful to his memory that she’d married Theo so quickly. But they didn’t understand. She hadn’t married Theo because she didn’t love Dean, she’d married him because she did.
She looked over at the framed photo of Theo on the glass side table. It was taken at their engagement party and had caused quite a stir when it was published online, earning him the nickname, George Clooney. The resemblance wasn’t all that far-fetched. He’d looked gorgeous in his Armani suit, his olive skin and dark features giving him the appearance of a man who’d just stepped off a luxury yacht after a summer in the Mediterranea
n.
Theo was handsome, rich, devoted, and could fuck like a prize bull. Sex with Dean had never been like that. He didn’t fuck. He made love with tender caresses and soothing words whispered in her ear. With Theo it was hard, fast and dirty and turned her on in ways she never thought possible.
This was just another reason she found it hard to compare her two marriages. Not only were they with different men, but she was a different woman.
Her phone buzzed from within the depths of her Prada tote. She shuffled about for it, being careful not to chip a nail. She didn’t have the energy to visit the salon to have it fixed.
She found the phone and saw Theo’s name lit up on her screen.
“Hi, babe,” she said, wondering how he was coping today. He’d taken her news badly. He was even more upset than she was.
“Hi, yourself.” His sexy voice made her stomach twist into knots.
“You didn’t wake me this morning.” She was disappointed he’d let her sleep. It was one of the only times in their married life she’d woken without his hand sliding up the back of her silk camisole. Morning sex had become as routine as her green smoothie for breakfast.
“You need your rest,” he said.
“I need you.”
“Oh, babe.” She could hear the sadness in his voice. He must have so many thoughts running through his mind.
“I’m okay.” She tucked her feet up underneath herself and leant back on the sofa. “Really I am.”
But he wasn’t buying that. “You sound tired.”
“I just visited Mum,” she explained, trying to inject more energy into her voice. “You know how exhausting that can be.”
“Did you tell her?” he asked, cautiously.
“What’s the point?” She let out a long sigh. “It’s not like she’ll remember anyway.”
“True. No sense in upsetting her,” he agreed, always seeming to know the right thing to say. “How was she today?”
“Really good actually. Much better than usual.” It was true. Despite her confusion over the glue on her feet, she hadn’t sworn at Skye or tried to hurt her.
“Are you still...” He coughed.
Her stomach pulled into a different kind of knot and she sat up straight. “Am I still what?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said quickly.
“It does. What were you going to ask me?” She drummed her fingernails on the arm of the sofa, suspecting she knew exactly what he’d wanted to say.
He hesitated. “I was just wondering if you’re still going to get those tests done, with everything else that’s going on now? It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have asked. We can talk about that later.”
She’d made a deal with Theo when they were first married that she’d get tested to see if she had the gene responsible for her mother’s dementia. If it was negative, they could go ahead and have a child. If it was positive, well...Theo refused to look at that as an option. His life was too charmed for that. It seemed he was wrong. Her cancer news hadn’t just broken the charm, it’d smashed it to pieces.
“What’s the point?” she asked. “I told you they’re taking my ovaries.”
“But we still need to know…for you. For your future.”
She nodded despite the fact he couldn’t see her. “Once all this is over, I’ll do it, okay?”
“Whatever you want, babe. I’ll support you either way.”
She smiled, knowing this was true.
“Look, I’ve gotta run,” he said. “I just wanted to check up on you. Make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine. I love you.” She made a kiss sound, wishing he were there to receive it in person.
“Love you too, babe.” He put a smile in his voice even though she knew he’d be frowning. “See you tonight.”
She disconnected the call. Her poor Kronos. She hated hearing him like that. Not only did he have a sick wife to deal with, but he needed to let go of his dream of one day having a son. That would really be hurting him. Hopefully, he’d be able to come to terms with it and realise they could still have a full and happy life together.
She couldn’t see the big deal in wanting to continue on the Manis name, anyway? It was only a surname. It wasn’t like Theo was the King of England or anything. There were plenty of other blokes around called Manis who could continue on the name for him, his twin brother included.
Theo’s first wife, Rin, hadn’t had a problem providing him with an heir, even if she’d gotten the gender wrong. According to Theo, the whole reason Rin had become his first wife was because of Amber. He would never have married her if she hadn’t fallen pregnant accidentally.
Clearly, Rin had wanted more of Theo than he’d been prepared to give, so she’d used everything in her arsenal to snare him. It’d backfired on her, though. Theo had packed his bags when Amber was only a few months old, telling Rin he couldn’t possibly be a father when his legal career was only just starting to take off. Skye felt sorry for her for having been silly enough to believe it was possible to trap a man who didn’t want to be locked in a cage. That kind of man always managed to find the key.
Poor Theo couldn’t win. He’d rejected Rin when having children wasn’t a priority and now it was, he was stuck married to a woman telling him she was soon to have two hollows where her ovaries had once been.
“Oh, you’re home, Skye.” Linda walked into the living room with a duster in her hand. That was the worst part of having someone clean your house. It was never your own. The garden was no different. There was always someone pottering around, sent by their landscaper to maintain the grounds. She hardly ever went out there, preferring to look at the garden from her windows.
She was going to have to tell Linda about the cancer, she supposed. Maybe she could get Theo to do it. She didn’t have the energy for it right now. Besides, Linda was her housekeeper, not her friend. Did she really have to tell her at all?
“I’ll be in the library if you need anything.” Skye dragged herself off the sofa and picked up her shoes.
“I can do this later. Sorry to interrupt you.” Linda took a step backwards and Skye frowned at a stain on her white apron.
Linda had been working for her since she first moved in with Theo. She didn’t have any references when she’d applied for the job, but Skye had hired her anyway, mainly because she was older than Theo. She trusted Theo, of course, but it was always better to keep temptation as far away as possible.
“It’s fine. I was about to get up anyway.” Skye pinched her mouth into a smile. “I have some work to do.”
It was true. She had an article to write for the media company she worked for. They ran a popular website full of witty stories about first world problems including health, parenting, sex and marriage.
In Skye’s peak she had over three hundred thousand followers on Instagram, although lately her popularity had been waning. But those loyal followers who remained should know about her cancer. It wouldn’t be right to keep it from them. Maybe she could give the story to Linda when she finished and tell her about it that way? It was so much easier to write words than to speak them.
“Would you like me to bring your lunch in there?” asked Linda.
“I’m not hungry today. I’ll just have a mineral water, thanks.”
It was at times like this she wondered if she should take up drinking something harder. Mineral water just wasn’t going to cut it today.
Maybe a quick yoga session would clear her head before she started writing? Now wasn’t the time to let her fitness slip. In the months to come she was going to need all her strength to stay standing on her two feet. She was lucky she had Theo to help hold her up.
Theo heard a loud gasp from outside his chambers. He went to investigate only to find his twin brother in front of his new assistant’s desk. Jane was wide-eyed to see her boss standing before her wearing blue overalls and a three-day growth when she’d been certain he was at his desk, dressed in his expensive suit.
“Sorry, Jane,”
said Theo. “Forgot to tell you about my evil twin. This is George.”
A deep blush crept up her cheeks and her eyeballs darted between them in the way people did whenever they stood side by side.
This reminder of how similar they looked made Theo feel uncomfortable. He saw several differences between them. For a start, they dressed in totally different styles. Shakespeare got it right when he said it’s the clothes that maketh the man. What they wore made them look completely different. When not in his overalls, George dressed like a hobo. He also had a lot more grey starting to come through in his temples than Theo. And he could use a decent haircut. Not to mention his filthy fingernails or the leathery state of his skin after all those years working outdoors.
Really, they looked nothing alike. Jane needed new glasses if she’d mistaken George for Theo.
It was quarter past twelve, which meant George was on his lunch break—a concept as routine to George as it was foreign to Theo.
“Got a minute?” asked George, who headed to his chambers without waiting for an answer and plonked himself down in a chocolate brown leather armchair. It swallowed him, making his knees stick up at an extreme angle. He shifted his weight, not seeming to be able to find a comfortable position.
This was precisely why Theo liked those armchairs. They were stylish, adding to the overall upmarket look to the room, yet the moment anyone sat down, they began immediately planning when they could stand up. He was too busy to have people hanging around when he was trying to work. It was best to make them as uncomfortable as possible.
Theo returned to his desk and leant back in his chair. The reinforced spring system balanced his weight, delicately positioning him at exactly the right height at his computer. He’d paid a consultant a fortune to set it up like this for him.