Martin would amend any errors she had missed and wait for her to call. She had left a reminder on Pete’s mobile and her laptop to prompt them if they forgot, and if not…
Her bag was packed and waiting in her wardrobe upstairs along with a list of last-minute things, like her wash kit, comb and books. Books. As if she was going to be in a fit state to read any books! But they comforted her. She would get the girls off to school in the morning and… Here her world caved in. How was she ever going to let them go, or say goodbye.
Time. It was such a precious thing, she thought. There was no controlling it, whatever you did. It slipped through your fingers like grains of sand, until all you had left was a pile on the floor.
Pete’s mum would be there to collect them at the end of the school day. They’d like that. A bit of spoiling from their gran.
They were playing hide and seek now and she loved to play with them, so she saved the file onto her laptop and wrote her final note.
Dear Martin,
Well, it’s done. I’m attaching it to this email for your safe-keeping. If all goes well, I’ll call you in a couple of days. Then we can file it away for a rainy day and maybe make it into something special, something beautiful. If not, you know what to do.
If what I fear most happens, Pete will need time to come to terms with things, but he knows I want it to be published and that the names can be changed. Please don’t pressure him if you need anything from him, give him time. He’s stronger than he thinks. And who knows, if all goes well and I pull through, one day he might actually let me publish it as it should be, as us.
I’m relying on you to come up with a great title. And I’d just like to thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for everything you’ve done for me over the years. You made my silly dream come true. (But if I make it through tomorrow and am back at my work by next week, I will deny ever having said that!)
Think of me, at a quarter past eleven in the morning. And send up a prayer. I think I’m going to need one.
Wishing you all the best,
Jenny.
Jenny attached the file, braced herself and pressed ‘send’. It was done. She was ready. Or was she? She looked down at her trembling hands and bit back the urge to retch. No. Not now. She wouldn’t let it. Today… This afternoon… Now, had to be perfect.
Looking back at the scene outside her window, she smiled. The sun was shining down and she could hear her children’s laughter as they played with their father, the man that she loved. The man who had brought her peace and who set her heart aflame every time he looked at her. Still. After all these years. And now she wanted to be with them, to be surrounded by those who meant more to her than life itself. What better way to spend a final day? And she closed up her laptop and walked out into the sun.
Epilogue
For four days Pete sat in a white room and looked at the woman behind the tubes. The love of his life was lying there fighting for her own and he could do nothing but wait, and hope, and tear himself apart. He should have spotted it earlier: the headaches, the nausea, even the blurred vision. He had thought they were just migraines. He had hoped she might be pregnant. Now he would give anything to be lying there in her place.
Her head was bandaged where the surgeons had been and the monitors bipped quietly around her. Tubes were running out of her mouth, her neck, and her arms. He nodded to the nurses who crept quietly on and took over her care.
In the days leading up to this, he had tried to prepare himself for its coming. He had been through every scenario in his mind. They had not spoken of it, of course. Too painful. Too emotional.
He had expected her to pull through straight away. She was strong. Stronger than him. But he had also feared that she would not at all and he would have had to say goodbye. This, now, was almost worse. Almost.
They said there had been complications. The tumour, although benign, hadn’t come out as easily as they’d hoped. There would be a lot of swelling to settle and after that, they would just have to wait and see.
Pete took hold of her hand, so frail and lifeless, lying over the crisp white sheet. It was warm.
There was too much emotion for him to let go right now, for then he would crumble and she needed him to be strong. But he needed to be there, beside her. Waiting. Hoping.
A nurse walked over and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. He looked up. “Any change?” he asked.
“Not yet. It’s still early days,” she said.
She walked around and pulled over a seat next to him. “Jenny left something before she went down to theatre. She knew she would be coming here after and she wanted to make sure we had it to pass on to you, should the need arise. I think she would want you to have it now,” and she pulled a white envelope out of her pocket, looked at it and handed it to him. “I’ll leave you alone to read it.”
Pete turned the envelope over in his hands. It was a regular white envelope with just his name in the centre: Pete.
He was afraid of what was inside. If it was a goodbye, he wouldn’t be able to cope. He wasn’t ready for that. He never would be. He stared at the envelope in his hands for a long while until finally he found the courage to open it.
Dear Pete,
Comatose Prose!
He stopped and smiled. Trust her to try and do that to him. Even now.
If you are reading this, I expect I will be lying close by.
He looked across at the bed and studied her. It was as if she was speaking to him from right there.
First, just let me say that I am still with you. And I know this is going to be hard for you, as it would be for me if our roles were reversed. But you are the finest man I have ever known. I know you have it in you to be strong for me and our girls. But I know, too, that you need me to stay strong for you. There is nothing else in this world half so worth fighting for as the love you have given me. You are my world and my harbour, my safe place to stay and the force that drives me on. I was empty without you and now I am so full that sometimes it makes my heart ache just to think of it. I am constantly in awe of Daisy’s love for life and am moved every day by Lily’s incredible heart. Thank you for being part of them.
I have written our story, as I told you I would, and sent it to Martin. I want him to print it. I want the world to know what a wonderful man you are. I have told them everything. If you can bear it, let him do it, and if you can’t, he can change the names and no one will ever have to know. It’s your call. He’ll be in touch.
I don’t know how long it’s been since I spoke to you last, but know this, that it is as lonely for me in here as it is for you out there. Be kind to yourself. Don’t blame yourself for any of this. I know you will try. We both knew it was going to be a journey; I’ve just had to make one more stop than most. But I miss you.
I have loved my life with you and I am nowhere near ready to leave it, so wait for me, my love; I will be there, by your side again soon.
You are my world, Peter Florin, so whatever the struggle, whatever the odds, I will be fighting my way to get back to you, through whatever darkness tries to claim me. And I will come back to you, I promise you that. However long it takes me, whatever hardships I face, I will get there. Keep waiting.
So smile at me now and take hold of my hand and tell me that you love me. Tell me about our girls and all that they have been through and tell them that I love them and that I will be home soon. Don’t give up on me, my love. I’m coming back to you.
Yours, patiently waiting,
Jenny Wren. xxx
Pete looked up at her then, tears pouring like rain, and taking hold of her hand, he whispered, “I love you, Jen,” squeezed it, and began.
Hard-fought days passed in that corner of the ward; painful days, where nothing else seemed to matter. Just him. And Jen. And keeping her alive.
Long days and nights were spent by her side, talking, whispering, praying, and then, on the ninth day, when Pete was at his lowest ebb, and all hope seemed to be lost, a hand sq
ueezed gently back and slowly, on the wings of angels, the woman he loved came back to him.
Also by Wendy Lou Jones …
By My Side
The Songbird & the Soldier
Wendy Lou Jones
I was born and raised in West Sussex and moved to Birmingham to study Medicine at University, where I was lucky enough to meet my husband. We now live in a little village in Herefordshire with our two grubby boys. I discovered a love of writing not long after my youngest son started school. And if you were to ask me what it was that made me make the switch, I'd tell you quite simply, that it started with a dream.
http://wendyloujones.weebly.com/
@WendyLouWriter
About HarperImpulse
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The Summer We Loved Page 23