The Story of Us

by Dani Atkins

  ‘Oh, I almost forgot, I’ve brought you something,’ Richard said, pulling a large padded manila envelope from beneath his arm.

  My heart sank. After the flowers, I really hoped he wasn’t going to try and win me back with gifts. He was wasting both his money and his time.

  ‘It’s a book,’ he said, placing it on to the counter.

  I slid my fingers beneath the flap and pulled out a large expensive-looking hardback. Alzheimer’s: A Revolutionary Understanding. Although I’d read a great many books about this villainous disease since my mother had first been diagnosed, I hadn’t seen this particular title before.

  ‘It’s new,’ Richard said, as I turned it over and speed-read the back cover. ‘There are some really interesting case studies in the last chapter. They mention strategies we’ve not tried before. I think some of them might help her.’

  I laid the book back down on the counter. ‘Thank you. It looks interesting. What do I owe you?’

  A look of genuine pain flashed across his face.

  ‘Nothing. Of course, nothing. I ordered it months ago, before… before everything. It’s just taken a while to get here.’ He shook his head as though he still couldn’t believe I had offered him money. ‘You don’t owe me anything.’

  ‘Well, thank you again.’

  He glanced at his watch. ‘I have to go. I guess I’ll see you around.’ He saw the look on my face. ‘Or not.’ He walked to the door, and then stopped. I could almost see his inner struggle as he fought down whatever it was he really wanted to say to me. ‘Don’t throw that book away, just because it came from me,’ he asked, clearly remembering the fate of the flowers. ‘At least read it first.’

  ‘I will,’ I promised.

  And I did. Richard was right, the book contained strategies that could possibly help Mum. They gave me hope. What I didn’t know how to deal with, what I really struggled to push from my mind, were the countless notes Richard had painstakingly annotated in the margins of the book. He must have spent ages writing them, and I didn’t know what to make of that at all.

  Caroline timed her call perfectly. She knew exactly when I left work each day and phoned just as I was gathering up my bag and getting ready to leave.

  ‘Hi. It’s me,’ she announced, then plunged straight in. I guess she wanted to catch me off guard. Mission accomplished, my friend.

  ‘Do you know what day it is today?’

  It was a stupid question. Of course I knew. Important dates like that stick in your brain. ‘Yes, yes I do.’

  ‘Well I was wondering…’ My not-quite-so-certain-of-herself friend let the question hang in the airwaves between us. I remained silent.

  ‘I’ve bought some flowers.’

  ‘That’s nice.’ I wasn’t being deliberately sarcastic, but then, I wasn’t exactly being sincere either.

  ‘Will you come with me after work so that we can lay them together?’

  I sighed. I’d known that this, or something very like it, was going to have been the purpose of her call.

  ‘No, Caro. I don’t think so.’

  ‘But it’s her birthday,’ she protested sadly.

  ‘I can’t, Caroline. I just can’t.’

  ‘You have to forgive her some time, Emma. You can’t keep this up. I know you.’

  ‘Well, maybe I can. Maybe I’m just not as nice a person as you.’

  ‘Yes, you are,’ she defended loyally.

  ‘Go without me,’ I requested. ‘I’m sorry, but it’s still too soon for me.’

  ‘Well, all right.’ Caroline had caved with very little real argument. I guess she hadn’t really thought that I would say yes. ‘But I’m going to tell her the flowers are from both of us,’ she said with a small challenge in her voice.

  ‘Okay, whatever.’

  I stood staring at the calendar on the office wall, long after Caroline had hung up the phone. My eyes were fixed on the two black numbers in the square grid.

  ‘Happy birthday, Amy.’

  CHAPTER 12

  There was warm sunshine and a tree-ruffling breeze outside my window on Friday afternoon as I changed out of my work clothes and into something more suitable for visiting the lake. It’s not like it’s a date, I told myself fiercely as I pulled on a pair of black trousers and reached for just about the only thing I hadn’t yet tried on. It was a soft angora jumper with a deep cowl neck. The jade colour complemented the red in my hair, and brought out the green of my eyes. The one decision that had been easy to make was my footwear. Definitely flats.

  I pulled the clip from my hair and brushed it until it fell in a waterfall of burnished copper on my shoulders. I had just finished applying a slick of gloss to my lips when his car pulled up outside. My heart began to pound, and my mouth felt suddenly dry. It was absurd, but I felt like a nervous teenager about to go on her very first date.

  It was strange to see Jack standing in the hall of my parents’ house, politely shaking my father’s hand. He looked up with a warm smile when he heard my descent on the stairs, and I hoped the clatter of my feet was loud enough to mask the sound of my breath catching in my throat as his eyes met mine.

  There was an odd feeling of worlds colliding as Jack and my father exchanged their greetings. This was new and alien territory for me. Richard had been like a member of our family for so long that I scarcely recognised the feeling of fluttering anxiety as my family and personal life crossed paths, and all I could do was stand back and hope that everyone would like each other. I needn’t have concerned myself on that score. Jack was charming, modest and respectful when my father haltingly expressed his long-overdue gratitude to our visitor.

  ‘We owe you everything, Frances and I,’ he said humbly. We all turned as my mother walked silently from the kitchen and came to stand beside him. ‘There are no words that can express it adequately. If it hadn’t been for you, we would have lost her. You saved all of us, when you got Emma out of that car.’

  ‘It was my pleasure.’ Jack’s soft American accent made his reply sound both warm and sincere.

  ‘She means the world to her mum and me—’ My father’s voice was choked with emotion.

  ‘Dad,’ I interrupted, finding his honesty with a total stranger both touching and unexpected. ‘You’ll embarrass Jack if you keep going on like this.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Jack interjected smoothly, lifting his hand to briefly cover mine where it rested on the wooden banister. ‘I understand perfectly how you must feel. Losing Emma would be unthinkable.’

  A silence fell over the hallway. I swallowed so noisily that I’m sure all three of them heard it. ‘And this is my mother, Frances.’ I hastily filled the void with a totally unnecessary introduction.

  Jack extended his hand and after a moment or two of awkward hesitation, my mother placed hers within it. ‘It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, ma’am,’ Jack said, his smile warm and genuine. ‘Emma talks about you so fondly all the time, that it feels like I already know you. I was really hoping I’d get the chance before I go back to the States to tell you how much I admire your work. There’s a wonderful piece of yours hanging in my rental home. Emma tells me you painted it in France and it is, without doubt, one of the most captivating paintings I have ever seen.’

  His words hit just the right note with my mother, who seemed to suddenly relax in his company – which was particularly unusual with strangers – and swell with pride at his compliment. Was it his admiration that had pleased her, I wondered, or was it that he’d said he was soon returning to America? Because she certainly hadn’t looked happy a moment earlier, when his hand had briefly covered mine. If my personal life was ever divided into teams, there was very little doubt whose side Mum would be cheering for.

  ‘I like your parents,’ Jack said when we were in his car and pulling away from my house. ‘They seem like really good people.’

  ‘They are.’ I fidgeted slightly in my seat, still feeling uncomfortable about what had happened as we were leaving. ‘I’m sorry abou
t just now… my mum, she gets muddled quite easily.’

  His hand left the wheel and gently patted mine. ‘It wasn’t a problem,’ he assured me, returning his hand to the wheel, ‘don’t give it another thought.’

  But I couldn’t help it. The thought was there. Constantly. Today’s incident just served to underscore it. As far as my mother was concerned, nothing would ever really be right again until the day she saw Richard and me get married.

  Jack had been helping me into my coat, when my mother had spoken for the first time. ‘Are you one of Richard’s friends?’

  There was an awful moment when I looked hopefully at the ground, to see if a hole might just have appeared. Unfortunately, all I saw beneath my feet was beige carpet.

  ‘No, Mrs Marshall,’ Jack replied gently, ‘I’ve only met him a few times and don’t know him that well at all.’ He looked down at me with a kind smile. ‘But I am one of Emma’s friends.’

  My returning smile was full of apology and thanks.

  ‘You know who this is, Frannie,’ my dad interceded. ‘I told you earlier. This is Jack Monroe, he’s the gentleman who helped Emma and Caroline after the accident.’

  My mother nodded, as though this was an interesting but somewhat trivial fact, and not what she really wanted to talk about at all. ‘And will you be going to their wedding, Mr Monroe? Emma and Richard’s wedding?’

  I looked at my dad, who shook his head helplessly. She knew that we had called things off. Or at least she had done just the day before.

  ‘Mum,’ I began, ‘you remember that Richard and I—’

  ‘She’ll make such a beautiful bride,’ Mum interrupted. ‘Of course, they had to postpone it; that was only right. But I think they’ve waited long enough now. Don’t you?’

  Dad looked uncomfortable and I felt vaguely sick with embarrassment. Jack, however, seemed quite unperturbed by the bizarre conversation. ‘Emma will indeed make a beautiful bride, but I’m afraid I won’t be around to see it. I’m not going to be here much longer, and I’m actually not a big fan of weddings.’

  The knife slid in and then twisted in the wound, as Jack’s comments cut deeper than he could ever have realised. From behind Mum, my dad mouthed an apology to us both, as he gently took my mother’s elbow and steered her back to the kitchen. They were almost at the doorway when her final comment rang into the hall. ‘Who was that nice young man with Emma? Was he a friend of Richard’s?’

  ‘She’s not always that confused. That’s what makes it so frustrating,’ I said. ‘You just never know how she’s going to be from one day to the next. It’s so hard on my dad.’

  ‘And you too,’ Jack observed sympathetically.

  I shrugged. ‘They’ve been married for nearly forty years, and the thought of not having her around terrifies him.’

  ‘Yes, she’s clearly a big fan of marriage. Your marriage in particular.’

  ‘I guess most mums want to see their daughter happy and settled, but with mine it’s become almost an obsession.’

  Jack was silent for a moment, concentrating on his driving.

  ‘And, of course,’ I continued, ‘she really loves Richard.’

  ‘Don’t we all?’

  I gave a loud snort of laughter which was neither ladylike nor refined. He took his eyes from the road and flashed a quick grin at me, which made me feel warm in places a smile didn’t usually reach.

  ‘What will she do when she realises that your marriage isn’t going ahead?’

  I sighed, all laughter evaporating at his question. ‘I don’t know,’ was my honest answer. ‘I hope she’ll accept it, and that it’s not going to make her worse. I couldn’t bear that, to be the catalyst that tipped her over. I couldn’t live with myself if that happened.’

  His fingers flexed tightly on the wheel, and he seemed to be carefully considering his words before speaking. ‘Just don’t let yourself get sucked back into a relationship with him, if it’s only to please your parents.’

  I didn’t reply. He took his eyes off the road for much longer than he should have done. There was no smile on his face at all this time. ‘Emma, you can’t be serious. That would, without doubt, be the worst thing you could do.’

  ‘It would make a lot of people happy,’ I said with a sigh.

  ‘Are you one of them?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then, don’t do it. Don’t even think about it. Take it from me; don’t marry someone to make other people happy. It just doesn’t work.’

  I suspected that Sheridan had suddenly joined us in the car. Oh yes, there she was in the back seat, sitting right next to Richard. There were suddenly far too many exes for anyone to cope with, and I was determined that neither of them was going to ruin my afternoon with Jack.

  We drove on with the surprisingly warm April sunshine filtering through the windscreen. The car was a warm and safe cocoon, taking me far away from the emotional endurance test my life currently resembled. I was happy to let it.

  ‘What will happen with your mom when your dad can no longer cope alone?’ Jack asked, returning to a subject I thought we had finished with.

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve looked at a couple of residential places, but Dad won’t consider them, not even for respite care.’ ‘What about home care? Could you get someone to live in to help? Would your father go for that?’

  I sighed. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. Richard and I looked into it a while back, but even with our combined salaries, it wasn’t something we could afford.’ I gave a humourless laugh. ‘And somehow I don’t think his offer to help still stands.’

  ‘Then how about me?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘I could help you. I’d like to.’

  His words were so completely unexpected, they took a second or two to register. And in those moments I caught a glimpse of another life. I saw my father, unbroken by exhaustion and worry. I saw him going out to play golf, or popping down to the pub with his friends, all the things he was no longer able to do. I saw too the changes it could make to my own life. I could go back to London, resume my career. Become a daughter to my mum, instead of a carer. I saw it all, and then I slammed the door on those reckless dreams.

  ‘No. Absolutely not.’

  I don’t think my words surprised him, although he breathed in sharply when I laid my hand on his upper arm. ‘Please don’t think I’m not grateful, Jack. It’s really generous of you, but it’s not something we could ever accept.’

  ‘What’s the point of being successful and earning more money than I can possibly spend, if I can’t help other people?’

  ‘That’s what charities are for.’

  ‘I already give to charity. That’s not why I offered.’

  ‘Then why did you?’ Perhaps my question sounded more confrontational than I intended, but I really wanted to know the answer. He took a long time before replying.

  ‘Because I care about you, about what happens to you. I want to make your life better.’

  ‘Thank you for the offer, Jack. I really mean that. But no.’

  Jack took his eyes from the road for a moment. ‘Just promise me this: if the time ever comes when you do need help, you won’t do anything stupid like rob a bank, or take three extra jobs… or get married, just to fix things.’

  I wanted to ask him which of those options he thought was the worst idea, but I think I already knew the answer.

  Jack must have sensed my need to drop the subject, because he skilfully took our conversation in a totally different direction, and spent the next twenty minutes relating an amusing anecdote about something that had happened on a book tour of the Far East. But it was his evocative description of the country and the people which captured me most, making me yearn to book myself on the very next flight to Shanghai.

  ‘Your life is so very different from mine,’ I said, my voice sounding unintentionally wistful.

  ‘In what way? Explain.’

  I sighed, not wanting to sound as though I was moaning, just observing. �
��In just about every way imaginable. You do a job you clearly love, and you’re very good at it.’ Jack shrugged modestly. ‘You travel; you get to see the world. You aren’t tied down by responsibilities.’

  We had reached the turn-off for the lake. ‘Here?’ he asked. I nodded. He hadn’t needed me to navigate at all and I wondered, not for the first time, why he had asked me to come today.

  ‘You could have all those things too.’

  I gave a long exhaled breath and shook my head regretfully. ‘I don’t think so. Not for the time being, anyway.’

  His mouth drew into a line, and I think my answer may have disappointed him slightly.

  ‘You shouldn’t give up on the things that are important to you. Your family matter and you want to do right by them, but you shouldn’t give up on your dreams, they’re what make you you. Sure, you have responsibilities, and commitments, but then everyone has those.’

  ‘Do you?’ I asked unthinkingly.

  He paused for just a moment before replying. ‘Yes, of course I do. Really important ones that I can’t ignore – that I wouldn’t want to ignore.’

  I twisted in my seat, my curiosity aroused. Who or what were the commitments he was referring to, the things that had brought such a serious tone to his voice? But he was done with sharing. He unclipped his belt and reached for the door handle.

  ‘We’re here,’ he announced with a smile.

  Jack held his hand out to me as we approached the lake. For just a second I hesitated, before placing my palm against his and allowing his fingers to firmly twine around mine. He was a tactile man, that was his nature, and by now I should know better than to attach too much importance to his frequent physical contact. But that was easier said than done, when my heart had a habit of leaping and my lungs constricting whenever his skin touched mine.

  We circled the lake twice and I was grateful for his supporting arm when the ground was uneven or slippery, and even when it wasn’t. Jack seemed preoccupied, perhaps lost in a twist or conundrum within his plot, although I suspected there might be more on his mind than just the perfect murder location.