by Vivien Brown
Beside her, Jenny heard Beth gasp as a man crept up from behind them in the wings and flung his arms around her. So this must be the elusive Sean?
‘But nothing,’ Ollie continued, ‘can beat the joy of welcoming my daughter Evie into the world … and her mother back into my life. Laura, wherever you are … In fact, could we have some lights, do you think?’
After a short delay, the hall lights came on and Sean looked out into the sea of parents and children who all seemed, despite blinking in the sudden brightness, to be looking straight back at him, and ran his gaze rapidly from row to row until he found her.
‘Laura. I know this is all very public, and you might well feel as embarrassed as I do, but … this just has to be done. Right here, and right now. While we’re surrounded by all these wonderful children, and while we’re celebrating the birth of a baby and the miracle of Christmas. And while I still have the courage. So …’ Holding Evie very carefully, he slowly lowered himself down onto one knee. ‘Laura, will you marry me?’
Jenny’s hands flew up to cover her face. She could feel the tears spring up in her eyes as she watched this unscripted and totally unexpected finale to the show, a real-life happy ending in the making. Beth and Sean sprang apart and, throughout the hall, all heads turned to pick Laura out from the crowd.
Laura just stood there, rooted to the spot, taking no notice of the people buzzing with anticipation all around her. She kept her gaze directed straight at Ollie and slowly nodded her head. ‘Yes,’ she said, her face lighting up with a smile bright enough to outshine even the biggest flashiest Christmas star. ‘Yes, I will.’
Chapter 49
Kate, 2017
We stuck it out for another ten years, Dan and I, after we walked away from the farm for the last time. Because it was the right thing to do. Like the old clock that still hung on Molly’s wall – I can’t bear to think of it as Sam’s any more, now he’s gone – we hung on, ticked along, passed the time, got by. We had money at last, but it didn’t seem to make us any happier. Not even Dan.
We went through the motions, side by side, like so many others probably do. Until Ollie went off to uni and came back again. Until the girls had jobs and boyfriends, and Jenny reached eighteen. Until they were all adults, with lives of their own, and none of them seemed to need us in quite the same way any more.
And then we finally let go. Stopped pretending, stopped trying and went our separate ways.
I have tried to fill the gap in my life with other things. Supporting good causes, a bit of half-hearted gardening (which has at least helped me to prune the rose bush back into shape), occasional yoga (which is meant to help still the mind but somehow never did) and badminton with Caroline (which I was terrible at, but we enjoyed the glass or two of wine in the bar after), trying to improve my cooking … I even took up knitting for a while, but what a disaster that was! My little projects, the girls laughingly called them.
And Dan tried to fill the gap in his life with other women, none of whom stayed very long.
But things felt different now.
I watched the school show, by myself, on its second night, so I missed the big proposal. But I am so proud of what Ollie has become. I know Dan must be too. No longer that sickly asthmatic child I fretted over, but a sportsman, a teacher, a father, with a lifetime of good things ahead of him. And of Natalie too: independent, happy, utterly accepting of what life threw at her, and sharing her life with a man who has loved her almost as long as I have. And then there’s Beth, our brave and adventurous Beth, making plans to cross the world, her eyes shining with what already looks suspiciously like love for a man I have yet to meet. But I trust her decisions, her judgement, because she is strong and because we made her that way.
And little Jenny, soon to set out on a course that has the potential to help so many frightened and grieving women in the years to come.
***
I could have done with a Jenny when I lost you, couldn’t I? Someone warm and caring, and real, to listen and to understand. But I am so glad that I have her now. She was never a replacement for you, my baby girl. Nobody could ever be. She’s Jenny, just Jenny, and I love her, just as I love all of you, as if she was my own.
But you … In my mind, you will always be that tiny dot of a baby I lost too soon, and you will always need me. Or is it that I will always need you? My little Rosie, my confidante all these years. The keeper of my secrets and my sanity.
But now, suddenly, your dad needs me too. He is sick and he is lost. The fear of losing him, the way I lost you, to death and eternal darkness, is all I can think about. Just as our children have blossomed and bloomed, just as the next generation of Campbells is bursting into life, the roots of our family are being chopped away from under me and all I want is to scrabble at them with my bare hands, no matter how messy or how torn, and pull them back together again.
It’s never too late, is it? Tell me it’s not. Never too late to swallow my pride, throw all the past hurts aside, open my heart and find out if he wants to step back in? Because I know we can’t go on like this, full of regret and recriminations. Or I can’t, anyway. Life is too short, too precious. Evie is here now and she marks the beginning of our future, a future that should be full of joy and hope … and love. It’s what we all need, isn’t it? Because there is joy out there, waiting to be had. I felt the first stirrings of it the first time I held her, so I know it’s there, but we have to reach for it. Just as we have to hold out for hope, no matter how bad things might seem. And as for love … I do still love him, Rosie, and I want him to live. More than anything in the world, I want him to live.
***
They say that time is a great healer, don’t they? But who knows how much of it any of us has left? When Dan arrived on Christmas Eve, fresh from the hospital, he still looked terrible. Pale and thin, like an old man. But then, he was an old man, really, wasn’t he? And I was an even older woman. We had somehow slipped into our sixties, an age my own father had never reached. Something about that scared me.
Ollie and Laura had been to collect him, proudly introducing him to his granddaughter for the first time. He was still smiling when they arrived. ‘She looks a lot like you, Kate,’ he said, his voice still hoarse and weak, touching my arm, pressing flowers into my hands. ‘Beautiful.’
It had been a while since he’d spoken to me like that and it felt strange, almost embarrassing, though I couldn’t think why it should. I turned away and hunted for a vase. Where had he found flowers? I’d thought Ollie and Laura had taken him straight back to the flat to pack his bag before driving him to me. Even when he was so ill, it seemed, he was still capable of surprises.
‘Go and sit down, Dan. Make yourself at home.’ It was a stupid thing to say. This was still his home, in a way. His name was still on the deeds and lots of his belongings were still crammed into boxes in the attic, just in case he should need them, although most of it hadn’t been touched in years. It was where we had raised our children and where two of them still lived. It had just felt easier, in the end, to live our day-to-day lives separately, and what was left of our share of the farm money had helped to make that possible. But neither of us had ever said it was for ever.
I made everyone tea. ‘Just the way I like it,’ Dan said, sipping it slowly. ‘Hot and strong. Some things you never forget …’
The heat from the radiator was making one of the branches of the Christmas tree move slightly and, behind Dan’s chair, a small paper angel Beth had made years ago looked like it was gently waving its wings. I lifted little Evie from the car seat they had used to carry her in and rocked her gently on my lap as the tree lights twinkled, turning her towards them so she could see.
‘It’s good of you to let me stay, Kate.’ Dan turned and slid his cup back into its saucer on the table beside him, and I saw his hand tremble with the effort. ‘I could have managed okay, you know, on my own. I have done for long enough.’
‘Not when you’re sick, though. And at Chr
istmas too. I think we’ll all feel better knowing you’re not on your own, that you’re being looked after properly.’ I looked across to Ollie for reassurance. ‘That you’re eating, and you have people to talk to. Clean sheets, someone to go with you for the radiotherapy, that sort of thing …’
‘I’m not really up to the three-meals-a-day routine yet. Just a bed and a bit of company, and plenty of your tea, that sounds good enough to me.’ Dan closed his eyes for a few moments. He looked so tired. ‘Thank you, Kate. I do appreciate it, you know.’
‘Well, we are still married, aren’t we?’
He opened his eyes and gazed at me for a long time. ‘Yes. Yes, we are. And I am so grateful for that.’
Once he had nodded off to sleep, I lay the baby back in her car seat and saw Ollie and Laura to the door.
‘Will you be all right, Mum? Having him here, I mean.’
‘Of course. He can have Nat’s room. It’ll save him the stairs. I’ll hardly know he’s here.’ I bent and kissed Evie’s head, breathing in the sweet talcy scent of her. ‘And it’s not for ever, is it? Only until he’s better.’
‘We’ll see you tomorrow, then.’
I closed the front door after them and went back into the living room. The remains of Dan’s tea had gone cold in the cup, and his head had tilted to one side, the dressing on his neck exposed and staring at me, stark and white. Just until he’s better …
I sat down and watched him, remembering the first time I’d seen him, dripping rain in that dingy hallway, his glasses all steamed up, the sound of that dreadful party reverberating through the walls. The mousey hair had been replaced by grey lately, and there was a lot less of it, but he still wore glasses. Contact lenses had never appealed to him. There were more wrinkles now too, more worry lines around his eyes, more wiry little hairs around the base of his ears. But this was Dan. Still Dan. Just an older, more careworn version.
I don’t know quite what I felt in that moment, but I did know, above all else, that I didn’t want him to die.
I looked at my watch. This wouldn’t do. It was Christmas Eve. Time to bring the presents down while the girls were out and pile them around the tree, time to dig out the red festive tablecloth we’d used every year since we’d bought this house, time to peel the potatoes and pop them in a pan of water, ready for the morning. It would be so good to have everyone here together. Except Natalie, of course, but there was no need to worry about her any more. By the time I’d finished my preparations, the light was starting to fade. I swished the curtains closed, shutting out the cold, dull world outside, and Dan slowly opened his eyes.
‘Oh, sorry. Did I nod off?’
‘No need to apologise. You obviously needed it.’
‘I suppose so. Do you mind if I go to bed for a while? It might help me be a bit more alert for the big day tomorrow if I get a decent sleep now.’
‘Don’t you want any dinner? I can do soup if solid stuff’s too difficult.’
‘Maybe later.’
He struggled with the holdall that lay at his feet, so I grabbed it for him and led the way. ‘I thought Nat’s room …’
‘Of course.’
As he sat down on the edge of the newly made bed, I reached over and pulled the curtains shut behind him.
‘Do you remember the day Trevor came up with the idea of converting the garage?’
I nodded. ‘He worked so hard on this room. And paid for most of it too. I sometimes wish …’
‘That you’d been a bit kinder to him?’
‘Yes. I was awful to him. I don’t know how he put up with me.’
‘But he did. He loved your mum very much, so I think that was why. That’s why he wanted to help with the costs of the IVF too, just to make her happy. But I think he came to love all of us, in the end. He was a fine man, and taken way too soon.’
‘Oh, Dan. Don’t.’ Thoughts of death were in the room and the urge to throw my arms around him and sob my heart out was so strong, but I couldn’t let him see how ashamed I felt, or how afraid. Not when I needed so badly to be strong.
He patted the bed beside him, and I sat down, my hand shaking as it brushed against his.
‘We did a good job, didn’t we? Despite our problems. The kids are all healthy, happy, doing what they want to do …’
‘They are.’ I smiled at him. ‘And now we have Evie. What a Christmas present, eh?’
‘The best. Bit odd though, isn’t it? Just having the one. We’re really only used to dealing with babies three or four at a time.’
‘That’s true!’
‘It should make babysitting a doddle, shouldn’t it? Do you think we’ll get to do much of that? Looking after Evie, by ourselves?’
‘I bloody well hope so. It’s what grandparents are for – and spoiling them rotten.’
‘And giving them back when they start playing up?’
‘Oh, yes, that too. I’m really looking forward to it, Dan. Being a granny.’
‘Granny Kate. God, how did we get to be so old?’
‘Don’t think of us as being old. Just wiser, more experienced, and with more time on our hands. That makes us perfect babysitting candidates, I’d say.’
‘Sure you’ll have time for it, though? You don’t have any frogs to protect, or trees to save, or any of your other hare-brained schemes?’
‘The trees can wait. They’ve been around for centuries. Another eighteen years won’t matter.’
‘Eighteen?’
‘Until Evie’s grown up, of course.’
‘There’ll probably be others by then, Kate. This grandparenting lark could be a long-term occupation. I mean, Laura might want a second one. Nat’s just married. And Beth … well, Ollie tells me she’s fallen for some Ozzie teacher, so who knows …’
‘You’d better make sure you stick around long enough to meet them then, hadn’t you?’
He took my hand in his and squeezed it.
‘I intend to, Kate. And, with you here to help me …’
‘I know.’
And I did. Suddenly I knew. That we were still a couple, still a family, and that there was still hope. I could still save it, put it all back together. Save us. All Dan had to do now was live.
I lay my head against his shoulder, in the place it had always fitted so well, and let the years wash away with my tears. Just until he’s better, I’d said, but what about if that never happened? Letting him face an uncertain future alone, not knowing what it might hold, would be unforgivable. Possibly the most unforgivable thing either of us had ever contemplated. And I knew I couldn’t do it. Didn’t want to do it. And that I never would.
Epilogue
Kate
August 2018
Dan is still with me. He’s stronger, happier, healthier than I think he’s been for years. Giving up his flat and moving back into the house seemed a natural, inevitable step, as if it had always been supposed to happen. As if it had only ever been a matter of time.
Dan hardly mentions work any more, or money. It’s as if that was all in another life, a life he no longer wants to remember, or to live. Since he decided to retire a year early, we find we have time to do all the things we could never do before. He has thrown himself back, headlong, into us. He has become a decorator, a gardener, a babysitter, a friend. Sometimes, although a lot less energetically than in our much younger days, a lover too.
We curl up together in front of the TV, squabbling over the remote, we eat out at restaurants with flickering candles on the tables, and we stand side by side, in baggy pyjamas, to brush our teeth. I have bought him Donald Duck undies and he wears them on Sundays. He has bought me lacy red ones that I refuse to wear at all.
We once again sleep wrapped into each other like spoons. Maybe not the shiny new teaspoons we once were, but old well-used and rounded ladles that still fit together the way they always did. He even pushes the vacuum cleaner about sometimes, and waves a duster around, ineffectually, in the air, as something hot and steamy bubbles on the s
tove. His cooking always was better than mine.
The cancer has gone. It could come back, we know that, so he takes his drugs and goes for check-ups, but we are hopeful it’s over. Hopeful about a lot of things …
Little Evie sat up in her buggy and giggled at the ducks this morning as we strolled in the park, her dark curls buried beneath a floppy white hat, her cheeks pink in the sun. I can’t be sure but I think the ‘Gug’ sound she was making as she pointed at a fat green duck might have been an attempt at her very first word, not that I’m going to say anything to Laura as I’m sure she’s hoping it will be ‘Mummy’ and that she will be the one to hear it for herself.
We will be doubling our grandparent duties soon, when Natalie’s honeymoon baby arrives in a few weeks. And who knows how many more might follow? It will be lovely to have the house filled again, with the joyful sounds of tiny feet and jingly toys and laughter.
Jenny still lives with us. The only one left now. She has taken over Natalie’s downstairs room, giving both her, and us, more privacy and space. Her training is going well, and with a bit of financial help from my mum (who at nearly ninety has been giving her money away like there’s no tomorrow), she’s given up the caring job, so she has more time to study. And she’s met someone. His name is David and he’s a doctor. Older than her, but that’s not always a bad thing. I can see her confidence growing every day, and it probably won’t be long until she wants to branch out too, fly the nest, find her own place in the world. With or without him, it’s up to her. She has been talking about tracking down her uncle in Canada, trying to find out more about her birth mother, but that doesn’t worry me. She is my daughter and has been for more than twenty years. Nothing is going to rock that now.