by Jemma Forte
Two days later, Matthew shows up at the house to pay his respects and also to deliver Hayley and I a letter each, which unbeknown to us, Dad had written a few weeks before he died.
It takes me three more days to summon up the courage to be able to read mine. Partly, I think, because I know it will be the last contact I’ll ever have with him so want to savour it fully.
When I do finally summon up the courage to open it, I discover that it’s not a particularly long letter and that it’s written by hand, the slightly spidery writing a reminder of how ill and weak he’d been. It says –
My dearest daughter,
Thank you for everything. Thank you for accepting me back into your life so quickly, without judgement or bitterness. By being so forgiving we made the most of what time I had left. My time spent with you were the best days of my life and I’m so grateful that you had the wisdom to understand something that most people take far longer to realise, and that is that life’s too short.
Know that I am truly sorry for all the pain I’ve caused you in the past. I love you and I leave this world a very proud man. Keep playing, Marianne. You have a talent and it would be criminal for it to go to waste. I hope that, wherever I may be, I will always hear your music for you play like an angel.
Look after your sister, and your mum but, more importantly, look after yourself because you deserve looking after. I’ve left you and Hayley some money. Please use it to help towards your college fees (if you get in). Either way, put it towards your exciting future, which I know will be golden.
One last favour. At my funeral, please will you play the Adagio from Bach’s solo Sonata No. 1? You were playing it the night I came back into your life, so it feels only fitting that you should be playing it as I leave.
Your loving Dad.
P.S Good luck with Matthew!
The tears roll down my face and I hold the letter at arm’s length, worried that if any splash on the letter it may smudge. His words unleash a wave of pain inside me as I realise how much I am already missing him, yet through my tears he’s also managed to elicit a laugh because of his cheeky P.S at the end. It’s very poignant of course, because I know that that is exactly what he would have intended and I can picture him smiling to himself as he wrote it, happy that he had the chance to get one more remark in.
The next few days pass in a blur of grief that is so intense, it’s all I can do to function and get through them. Hayley is feeling the same way of course and one afternoon when we’re sitting in my room together, staring numbly at each other, she asks, ‘What now? What are you going to do?’
‘I’m going away,’ I reply.
She looks completely shocked.
‘How can you go away?’ she demands to know. ‘You can’t just piss off now, feeling like this, leaving me like this.’
I silence her with a look.
‘All right,’ she says. ‘That came out wrong, what I meant was, I don’t want you to go, Marianne. Not now.’
She’s learning, admittedly slowly, but my sister is definitely learning.
I sigh, a long heavy sigh.
‘I’ve got enough money saved in the bank to go away and to help pay for college,’ I explain wearily. ‘And I’m not running away, it’s just that I know I’m going there in nine months so I might as well make the most of this time before I spend the next few years working harder than I ever have before. I’m determined to get to concert standard. Not just because it would have made Dad proud, but because it’s what I want. Probably always have wanted, but before that, I need to get away. I need to look out to sea. I need to feel the sun on my bones. I need to be away from this house for a while because I’m in so much pain right now I can hardly think straight.’
‘But you will still be in pain when you get there,’ says Hayley flatly.
‘I know,’ I say, the inevitable tears rising up in a wave of fresh grief, though by now I’m so used to them I just allow them to pour down my face. ‘And I’m not trying to run away from my feelings,’ I add. ‘Quite the opposite really. I want to take the time to really think about and absorb what’s happened. To heal myself a bit …’
I take a second to grab a tissue from the box next to my bed and blow my nose.
‘What about Matthew?’ she asks more gently.
I look up and smile weakly. ‘Hayley, if Matthew cares about me, which I think he does, and if we’re meant to be with each other, which I hope we are, then he’ll still be here when I get back. Only hopefully I’ll be stronger, more sane and ready to think about someone other than myself and what I’m going through.’
‘But I’ll miss you,’ she whispers.
‘You’ll be fine,’ I say. ‘And you’ve got Jason.’
‘I know,’ she says. ‘I know.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
We bury my father just after Christmas on a gloomy, cold day. The service is beautiful, but there aren’t huge numbers at the church. There’s all of us of course, Matthew and Teresa come, some of the nurses from the hospice and a few of my dad’s old cronies whom Mum has contacted. I’m very touched when Mrs Demetrius shows up of her own accord.
The service is lovely. Hayley and I spent a lot of time picking out the readings, which we both manage to get out, albeit with our voices cracking and trembling along the way.
And then, with my dad’s coffin before me, I play for him one last time and, as I do, I remember that stormy night back in April and feel thankful for the nine months we ended up having together. It’s the first time I’ve felt an inkling of something other than anger and sadness towards the time I’ve been cheated of and I hold on to this sliver of positivity with every fibre of my body. After all, Dad was so adamant that he didn’t want me to be bitter.
After the funeral it’s back to ours for tea and sandwiches, laid on by Mum of course, who has been amazing these past few weeks. Matthew comes back to the house too and we nip upstairs together for a private moment.
We lie on the bed together and hug, like two people who’ve just been told the world’s about to end, and he strokes my hair, which is soothing and nice.
‘Have you booked your ticket?’ he asks, without anything other than genuine interest in his voice.
‘Going to do it tomorrow.’
‘Well, let me know if you want me to come with you. I’ve got a day off and I want to see lots of you before you go.’
I nod, wondering whether I’ll ever feel more than a few words away from breaking down into tears.
‘Right,’ I say, sitting up, reluctant to move but determined not to let Mum down by disappearing. ‘Come on, we’d better go downstairs and show our faces.’
‘OK,’ he agrees. ‘But first come here a second.’
I turn around to face him, unable to smile, unable to do anything other than stare blankly back at him.
‘I just want to say, or rather I want you to know, that I really care about you Marianne,’ he says, his brown eyes regarding me with incredible tenderness and warmth.
It’s so nice to hear, and any uncertainty I may have been experiencing about running out on him at such a fledgling stage in our relationship is erased altogether. However, I don’t feel capable of expressing this, or indeed of saying anything back. I’m too numb, and yet somehow I know he understands, which he demonstrates in the next second.
‘Come on you, let’s go and see what’s happening downstairs,’ he says, grabbing my hand and leading me out onto the landing.
Downstairs, Dad’s friends are getting stuck into a few drinks, as are Mum and Martin, and there’s a lot of reminiscing going on. Mum seems transported back in time as she tells tale after tale about Ray and his ‘antics’ while Martin lets her talk freely without worrying about what he thinks. It’s the same selfless quality I appreciate in Matthew. Letting someone be who they need to be without question. Though that’s where the similarity between the two men ends. Let’s just say that today Martin is wearing a black polo neck sweater with grey slacks.
> I go over to where Hayley, Teresa and Jason are chatting with Mrs Demetrius.
‘Hiya,’ I say. ‘Are you all OK?’
‘Yes fine,’ says my teacher. ‘I’ll be off in a short while though, I just wanted to come and pay my respects.’
‘Me too babe,’ says Teresa. ‘But I’ll give you a call later, yeah? Make sure you’re OK.’
‘Thank you,’ I say to my friend, hugging her tight. ‘And thank you, too,’ I say, pulling away and reaching out to Mrs Demetrius and pulling her in for an embrace. ‘You’re a star for coming.’
When she pulls away she says, ‘Right, well I’ll be off Marianne, but come and see me for a lesson before you go, won’t you. Don’t want you getting rusty do we?’
‘I’ll come I promise,’ I say.
I go with them both to the front door, to see the two of them out, and when I’ve finished waving goodbye, am surprised to find Hayley standing behind me in the hallway looking furtive.
‘You all right?’
‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘Sort of, actually there’s something I want to ask you.’
‘Go on then,’ I say.
‘I want to come with you.’
‘Go on then, Teresa’s only halfway down the road and Mrs Demetrius’ car hasn’t pulled out the drive yet, so if you hurry up you can still wave goodbye,’ I say, not catching her drift at all.
‘No, when you go away, I want to come with you, if you’ll let me?’ she repeats.
I’m genuinely not sure I’ve just heard her right.
‘When I go where?’
‘Well, come to think of it that’s something I should probably make my next question,’ says Hayley. ‘Since it would be quite nice to know what I’m letting myself in for. If you agree to letting me come that is, of course.’
‘I’m going to Australia,’ I answer, still in a bit of a daze.
We stare at each other for a second and as we do it dawns upon me what it is my sister is suggesting and that she is absolutely serious. I still don’t quite believe she means it though.
‘What about Jason?’ I say quickly.
‘I really like him,’ she says. ‘I mean really like him, but it’s like you said I guess, if he likes me then he’ll be here when I get back.’
I narrow my eyes. ‘But you never go away for more than two weeks at a time and I’m not going to be staying in nice hotels. It’ll be backpacks all the way.’
She shrugs.
‘And I want to travel around, see the country a bit. Not just stay in Sydney.’
‘Look, I can tell you’re trying to put me off, so just forget about it,’ retorts Hayley, indignant suddenly and blushing madly.
‘Wait Hayls,’ I say, as she starts to stomp off, back towards the lounge. ‘Just wait a second.’
She stops, but her expression is mutinous.
‘I’m not trying to put you off,’ I say. ‘I’m just finding it hard to believe you’re totally serious.’
‘Well I am,’ she says, flicking her hair off her shoulder and out of her eyes. ‘If you really want to know the truth, Dad wrote one or two things in my letter that made me think. Plus, I’ve always been a bit in awe of your travels. I suppose I’ve always thought you were really brave to go away on your own and to see the world, which I reckon might be just what I need right now. You know, to sort my head out a bit. I also reckon it might be all right going on an adventure with you. But if you’re not up for it …’
‘Oh my god,’ I tell her. ‘I am so up for it. I would bloody love you to come with me, but don’t go mucking me around. Either you’re in or you’re not. I don’t want you changing your mind on me.’
She shakes her head and a slow triumphant grin starts to spread across her face.
‘Are we actually going to do this then?’ I say.
‘Looks like it.’
‘Shit, you’d better tell Jason,’ I say, worried suddenly, because for all my speeches about people waiting for you, of course deep down I do worry a bit about Matthew still being free when I get back. I would also hate her to piss off Jason just because of me and …
‘I’ve told him,’ she says sheepishly. ‘I asked him first how he would feel if I did it.’
‘And what did he say?’
‘He said he was proud of me and that I should go for it,’ she says, her voice full of emotion.
‘Well,’ I say, desperately trying to keep myself together by taking extra deep breaths. ‘In that case, you’ve got yourself a date.’
‘Wicked,’ beams Hayley, looking happy for the first time in a long time. Strangely I feel suddenly quite euphoric too. It feels utterly right that after everything we’ve been through, Hayley and I should head off into the sunset together for a bit of sisterly bonding. I find myself looking up, quietly thanking Dad, praying that somehow he can hear me.
‘What are you two looking so suspicious about?’ asks Pete, who’s meandered through from the living room, looking unusually perky.
‘Hayley’s coming travelling with me,’ I say, unable to wipe the smile from my face. I wish I could tell Dad. I would love to have known what he would have made of it.
‘Right,’ says Pete, looking chipper.
‘Tell us,’ I say bemused.
‘What?’
‘Well, you look pleased about something.’
‘Oh well, actually Dad has just asked me if I want to go with him on a bit of a lads’ trip.’
‘Right …’ I say, wondering where they might be off to. IKEA? Slumberland? Asda? The mind boggles.
‘To Graceland!’ exclaims Pete, cracking a grin so wide it looks like it might be about to split his face in two.
‘No way!’ exclaims Hayley.
‘Yes way,’ interjects Mum, barrelling into the hallway to join us in her new, black wedges bought especially for today. ‘My precious prince, off to see the home of The King,’ she says ruffling Pete’s hair, though for once he doesn’t look like he minds too much.
‘Yeah, it’s amazing,’ says Pete, literally looking the happiest I’ve ever seen him.
I’m so pleased for him, envious too of him being able to go away with his father, but mainly delighted that Martin took my hint and that they might be able to salvage their relationship.
‘Ah, come here my bubbas,’ says Mum sentimentally, gathering the three of us towards her for a group hug. ‘I’m so proud of you. The way you girls read in the church today was really wonderful and Marianne you were brilliant on that fiddle,’ she says, a lone tear running down her face. She sniffs hard and blinks it away, refusing to let it get the better of her. ‘Your father would have loved it.’
We stay in her embrace, all thinking of Dad.
‘And you’ve put on such a lovely spread for everyone today, too,’ says Hayley after a while.
‘Oh thank you darlin’ I have, haven’t I. Those platters of sarnies were very nice, especially the prawn ones.’
The four of us continue to stand there, all huddled together, grateful for each other and aware that we have all gone through so many changes recently.
‘I think Ray brought this family closer together,’ sniffs Mum.
‘He did,’ I agree. ‘We may only have had him in our lives for nine months, but boy did he change a lot of things in that short space of time.’
‘He was a good man,’ says Mum. ‘And I’m only sorry that …’
‘Don’t Mum, it’s fine,’ says Hayley, who has changed possibly more than any of us. She has started to demonstrate that she is a kind person, one who is able to have empathy for others and now it looks like she’s going to give standing on her own two feet a try for the first time too.
‘Do you know how much I love you all?’ Mum asks with feeling.
‘A lot?’ I suggest.
‘Very very much,’ she confirms.
‘More than Deal or no Deal?’ asks Hayley.
‘Even more than that,’ she chuckles.
‘Loose Women?’ says Pete, earning himself a nudge in the ribs.
‘Mariah Carey?’ I add.
‘Don’t push it,’ she cackles.
If you loved When I Met You
turn the page for an exclusive extract from
If You’re Not the One
by Jemma Forte
Available now!
PROLOGUE
Friday May 18th
Jennifer Wright slammed the door and ran down the road as fast as her ill-fitting footwear would allow her to, tears blurring her vision. She didn’t care who saw her. All she was conscious of was her need to get away from her husband and his ability to hurt her. Not that he was letting her get away that easily.
‘Jen,’ Max yelled down the road, clearly in no mood to consider what the neighbours might be thinking. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? Come back. For goodness sake, you’ve made your point.’
Jennifer ignored him. If anything, she picked up the pace, wishing it was dark so her flit could go unnoticed. She’d always loved living in the suburbs of South West London partly because everybody looked out for everybody else. Today however, it would have suited her far better if she’d lived in a place where people didn’t give a damn about their neighbours. That way she could have wailed like a banshee and charged down the road without worrying she’d provided the man on the other side of the street (the dull husband of the quite nice woman at number forty-two) with a juicy bit of gossip.
She’d caught his look of alarm as he’d taken in her tear-stained face and heavy coat, which was far too warm for this unusually clement May evening. Not that there was any way she was taking it off, for what Jennifer knew, but the man from number forty-two didn’t, was that all she had on underneath was a bra, a G-string, suspenders and stockings. The killer heels she’d originally teamed the whole ensemble with had been kicked off mid-argument, replaced by the footwear that happened to be nearest the front door, a revolting pair of lace-ups, usually reserved purely for gardening purposes. Without woolly socks, her stockinged feet were slopping about inside them.