A Part of Me and You

by Emma Heatherington

  Rosie nods and smiles more.

  ‘I’d love that,’ she says. ‘I could maybe see Merlin again, too. I’d love to see him when he’s all dry and snuggly and cuddly. Do you think I could get a dog someday, Mum? Maybe when we move to a bigger house like you said we would?’

  I pause at the mention of the future and I honestly don’t know what to say.

  ‘Never mind,’ she says. ‘It’s not the most important thing in the world right now. I’ll go get some chocolate. Do you want a glass of wine?’

  I sometimes think I gave birth to a mind reader. I would bloody love a glass of wine.

  ‘That would be just perfect,’ I tell her and my heart glows as I watch her walk out of the room in her fluffy pink robe and slippers, so much more content and happy than I’ve seen her all day.

  How on earth am I going to leave her behind in this world without me?

  Chapter 10

  Shelley

  SUNDAY

  Sundays are the longest days when Matt isn’t here to share them with me. We normally start the day with breakfast, then Eliza joins us for Sunday lunch, which Matt has mastered, and then we chill out for the afternoon in front of an old movie and the Sunday papers. We used to go for a swim just before dinner, but that hasn’t happened in three years, not for me anyhow, and in the evenings Matt joins the lads in the local for a few pints while I browse online for bargains for the shop or read or have an early night.

  I used to have so much to do, it felt like there weren’t enough hours in the day. I was always coming and going, folding laundry, washing dishes, vacuuming up bits of spaghetti, lifting toys, washing her face and hands, making sure she got to the loo on time, getting her a drink, finding a lost sock, negotiating between Peppa Pig or Paw Patrol or whatever movie she had her eye on at that time. It was always Matilda. I catch my breath at the memory. And we’d eat together and we’d chat about nursery and her friends. How she loved making friends.

  Today, I make poached eggs for breakfast and eat them on my lap, hurriedly, barely tasting them, eating only because I should. I don’t know when I last tasted anything or made an effort with food. I used to set the table for breakfast, even amongst all the madness with a toddler, with such precision and pride – a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, some salt and pepper, a mug for my coffee, some milk, some toast and I’d turn the radio down low and let the sounds of my youth fill the kitchen as country music filled my soul and took me right back to my childhood, when my mum and dad would enjoy it so much as they cooked and laughed together. I’d flick through Sunday magazines at my leisure while Lily ate breakfast beside me or played with Merlin on the floor and I’d love the fact that Sundays dragged on and on and we never had anything important to do – just eat and sleep and enjoy each other’s company.

  But everything has changed since then.

  I don’t cook much at all these days, not like I used to anyhow. Dinner parties were once my speciality and I’d invite the mums from Lily’s playgroup round at any excuse and we’d eat our fill and drink wine and chat about men and children and politics and celebrities.

  We’d have pizza parties in the summertime and invite the neighbours over and Matt might get out his guitar and entertain our guests with a few James Taylor songs and after a few drinks he’d be rocking out to AC/DC with his biggest fan, old Harry from up the road, on ‘air drums’ and Harry’s wife would beg them to ‘stop that racket’ as she plugged her fingers with her ears.

  I have so many brilliant memories of our life as it used to be, but now, the very thought of having so many people in our home makes me feel panicky and full of guilt. How could I laugh and entertain like that again when Lily is gone?

  Oh, how I long to feel good on the inside and the outside, to get excited at things, to laugh with friends until my sides are sore.

  My doorbell rings and I look at the clock, startled as to who it might be and I feel my heart race and anxiety rush through my veins. It’s certainly not Eliza. She knows not to call before midday on my day off and it can’t be the postman on a Sunday. I hesitate. My first instinct as always when this happens is to stay put, not to answer and wish any callers away, but Merlin races to the front door barking in excitement and blows my cover. My stomach is gripped with nerves that gnaw at my insides and I look around the kitchen, trying to figure out what to do. The bell rings again. Shit. I gulp. I breathe out. I don’t want to talk to anyone.

  No. I need to stop this. I close my eyes, take a deep breath and I walk through the kitchen and into the hallway and open the front door. I am trying, I really am.

  Juliette

  ‘There’s no one here, love. Come on. We’ll try again later.’

  I am just about to give up when the dog that Rosie told me about runs up to the glass panel on the door, barking excitedly, and Rosie kneels down to his level, calling his name as he wags his tail and jumps around on the other side.

  This really is a magnificent house. It is modern, yet tasteful with its gleaming white exterior, landscaped driveway and black front door with potted spider plants outside, but behind it is the real magic because you look right out onto the magnificent sights of Galway Bay.

  ‘I really think we should just—’

  My urge to give up and leave is interrupted when the lady of the house opens the door and we recognize each other instantly. It is her from the shop where I bought the dress, but I can see her properly now that she isn’t stuck behind a counter and she resembles a little doll; frail and small and pretty with that look of fear and worry still lingering on her face. She looks annoyed at first that we have disturbed her but then she speaks.

  ‘Rosie!’ she says, her face softening. ‘Gosh and you must be Mum? Well, it looks like we have met before after all.’

  She holds the door with one hand and her dog’s collar with the other and already Rosie is reaching across to pat the dog’s head. I really do get the idea we have interrupted her morning and I am highly embarrassed that we have done so. I only came here to say thank you, but it’s Sunday and we probably shouldn’t have called unannounced like this. I feel my face burning.

  ‘I am so sorry to spring ourselves on you on a Sunday morning,’ I try to explain. ‘Rosie, well actually me, not Rosie, well … I just wanted to say thank you for yesterday for talking to her on the beach and for sending her back to me feeling so much better than she was when you found her. I was worried sick, as you can imagine.’

  The lady nods and smiles at me in fleeting glances but it is Rosie who she is really looking at, her head tilted in sorrow.

  ‘That’s very nice of you,’ she says to me, still holding the door and the dog, still looking at Rosie. ‘I hope you are a bit better today.’

  I hand her a gift bag, wondering which she will let go of first to take it from me, the door or the dog. She lets go of the door and looks back at me in bewilderment like I have done something wrong.

  ‘Really, you had no need to bring me a gift,’ she says. ‘Sorry, I didn’t get your name? I’m Shelley.’

  ‘Yes, yes of course, Shelley, Rosie told me that. I’m Juliette, Juliette Fox. I bought the blue dress from you yesterday? It’s just a book and a bottle of wine, some chocolates in there too. I hope you like chocolates. And reading.’

  She nods at me and smiles a little.

  ‘I love both. It’s very kind of you to pop by,’ she says, but she still doesn’t move from the door or invite us in. I can’t wait to get away from here. I really shouldn’t have come at all but at least I know I did my bit to thank her.

  ‘Well, we’ll not keep you, I’m sure you’re busy,’ I say to her, taking Rosie’s arm as a cue to go but she is engrossed in the dog.

  ‘I told you he was cute, Mum,’ she says. ‘Oh, I’d so love a dog like this, wouldn’t I Merlin? Wouldn’t I love a dog like you?!’

  My eyes meet the woman in front of me for a split second.

  ‘Erm … would you like to come in for a coffee?’ she asks. ‘I don’t hav
e much more to offer you, but I definitely do have coffee. I think.’

  My gut instinct is to turn down her offer and get on with our plans which include a beach walk and then Sunday lunch on the pier to start with, but something tells me that this lady, Shelley, hasn’t invited anyone in for coffee in a long, long time and that as hard as it is for her, part of her would like us to stay.

  ‘Are you sure we aren’t interrupting your morning?’ I ask her. ‘We really only intended on saying a quick hello and thank you. You don’t have to—’

  ‘No, no, I insist. Please come in. I hope Merlin behaves. He really does get excited when someone comes to the door.’

  She opens the door wide and lets the dog go, then puts her gift bag on a sideboard in the hallway and allows us into her beautiful home. Everything is white or cream and there is nothing on the walls – no pictures, no mirrors, no rugs on the floor, no ornaments, no lamps. It really is very bare, like she has just moved in.

  ‘This is such an amazing house!’ says Rosie as we follow Shelley down the hallway, our voices echoing off the cream marble floors and blank white walls. ‘Do you have a gym? I bet you have a gym and a pool and everything! It’s like a hotel, isn’t in Mum?’

  I get the feeling either this lady has either definitely just moved in or she is about to move out. A messy divorce perhaps? It doesn’t feel lived in at all.

  ‘It is beautiful,’ I say to my daughter who probably has never been in a house like this before. I feel like Lloyd Grossman from that Through the Keyhole programme, looking round me in awe and trying to guess as much as I can about the occupants.

  ‘Have a seat,’ says Shelley, signalling us to some high stools around a shiny black marble topped island in the vast kitchen. I look out of the window as she boils the kettle and wonder if I’m drooling down my chin at the view. A lighthouse sits in the near distance, tall and white with black and red trimmings, and the sea, a mid-blue blanket of tranquillity, looks almost close enough to touch on the other side of the hilltop garden where an apple tree stands alone. A dining room table takes up most of the far side of the kitchen and double doors lead out onto a small balcony with a small table and two chairs. Whoever designed this house at this location … well, they were onto something.

  ‘So, are you here on holiday?’ asks Shelley, taking me out of my dream-like stance where I was imagining living here for even just one day.

  ‘Yes, yes we are,’ I say, realizing that we haven’t really spoken much yet. ‘I was too busy admiring your view there, sorry. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a home with such a spectacular view.’

  ‘Yes,’ says Shelley. ‘We are very lucky indeed. I guess it’s easy to take such things for granted when you look at it every day but I agree, it’s a top location. My husband worked his heart out to raise the money to buy it.’

  The kettle clicks off and she suggests tea or coffee.

  ‘Tea, please for me,’ I reply and look at Rosie who is, like me, drinking in the surroundings so much that she can hardly speak. ‘Rosie?’

  ‘Oh, sorry, what?’ she asks and I laugh and shake my head.

  ‘Shelley was asking if you’d like tea or coffee?’

  ‘Thanks, but I’m okay,’ she says. ‘Is that a real balcony out there?’

  Both Shelley and I laugh at her innocence.

  ‘I don’t think it’s an optical illusion,’ I say. ‘That would be just unfair to tease us like that, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘It’s very safe and there’s loads of room out there if you’d like to go outside for a look, Rosie? Thank goodness the rain has stopped. Yesterday was like the end of the world!’ says Shelley.

  She is slowly beginning to relax. Slowly. For someone who owns such an original and stylish shop, not to mention the funky clothes she wears, I can’t understand why Shelley has such stilted communication skills and such an empty home – it all feels so incongruous.

  ‘Yes, you must have been soaked through,’ I say to her. ‘It wasn’t exactly the welcome to Killara I was expecting. The last time I was here, the sun was splitting the trees.’

  ‘Do you have wi-fi?’ Rosie asks and I can’t believe she just asked that.

  ‘Rosie! Oh, please ignore that, Shelley. Rosie, you don’t need a wi-fi code everywhere you go.’

  Rosie doesn’t seem embarrassed, and Shelley just laughs graciously.

  ‘Of course I have wi-fi,’ she says and she calls out the code to Rosie who taps it into her phone, then makes her way out to the balcony with Merlin by her side while Shelley pours the tea.

  ‘I’m so sorry about that. Teenagers and their addiction to technology!’ I say to her. ‘It always makes me feel so old to say this, but what happened to the art of conversation? My daughter is always stuck to some sort of device and it drives me insane sometimes.’

  ‘You’re very lucky to have her,’ says Shelley without turning towards me, and then she brings the cups to the table with a slight smile.

  ‘Oh, I know I am,’ I say to her, sensing there is a reason why she is reminding me so. I want to ask her if she has any children, but there certainly doesn’t seem any sign of them around. The house is clinical, she is clinical, yet her warmth to Rosie yesterday tells me that if the surface was rubbed ever so slightly there is a very different person bursting to get out from under her cool exterior.

  ‘She was very taken by you yesterday,’ I say to Shelley. ‘I honestly don’t know what sort of magic you shared with her but she is a much brighter little girl today.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say it was magic but just a shared sense of fear,’ says Shelley. ‘I have offered to lend an ear if she ever needs it, I hope you don’t mind. Gosh, I sound like a counsellor and I am really the least likely person to be counselling anyone right now.’

  She gulps, like something has caught her breath. I don’t want to probe too much as I can see this woman is walking on eggshells emotionally. I don’t ask what exactly she said to Rosie yesterday for fear it might make her crumble and I’m glad when she changes the subject.

  ‘So, you’ve been here before then?’ she says. ‘Was it recently?’

  I laugh a little as the exact date rolls off my tongue.

  ‘21st to the 23rd of August, sixteen years ago,’ I tell her.

  Well, it’s not like I could ever forget the dates, could I?

  ‘I was only meant to stay one night but we loved it so much we stayed a second,’ I explain. ‘It was the last stop of a six-week backpacking trip around Ireland which I began alone and finished off with a Scandinavian girl I met called Birgit, and we had a ball here, we really did. Young, carefree and single. It was great fun.’

  Shelley sets the tea down in front of me and I glance out onto the balcony to where Rosie and her new best friend Merlin are making acquaintances, taking selfies, of course. Then she’ll be sending them across to her friends back at home, fishing for likes, isn’t that what they call it?

  ‘I moved here a year after you then,’ says Shelley, climbing onto a stool across from me. ‘I came here the first time when I was sixteen to stay with my aunt just after my mum died. I needed to get away for a while and I spent the entire summer here. The second time I came to visit, four or five years later, I met my husband and fell madly in love, as you do, and never went home. Oh, to be so young and in love once more … to have known what was ahead of me.’

  A divorce. I knew it.

  She twiddles her long, plaited hair as she speaks about her past and it’s the perfect opening for me to really explain how much her talk meant to Rosie yesterday.

  ‘Rosie has just turned fifteen,’ I tell her, my eyes darting back and forward to Rosie as I talk. ‘.. I am terminally ill, Shelley, and I want this holiday to be perfect for Rosie. I don’t want us to have to deal with my impending death just yet.’

  ‘I’m so, so sorry for you,’ says Shelley, biting her lip, still twiddling her hair. ‘I can only imagine how frightened you must be, knowing that you’ll be leaving such a beautiful child
behind. I’m so sorry.. How are you feeling?’

  ‘Well, I’m hardly tap dancing on top of the world,’ I say with a tired smile. ‘But there is something strangely peaceful about it all. I’ve accepted it and I’m determined to make the most of the short time I have left.’

  She looks like she doesn’t believe me. I don’t blame her.

  ‘Aren’t you angry?’

  ‘I’ve already been there,’ I tell her. ‘I’ve been through every emotion known to mankind since I was first diagnosed. The treatments, the sickness, the dependency on others to do the things I used to find so easy, then the hope and the glimmer of light when it seemed the treatments had been successful, then its blasted return, more chemo, same all over again and now here we are.’

  ‘That sounds like a living nightmare.’

  ‘Oh, it has been tough but even a warhorse like me knows when I’m beat and I intend to make the most of every second I have left,’ I say to her. ‘It’s back and I can’t fight it anymore but my only concern now is for Rosie and making the most of my time with her before I go. This is my last chance to give her some wonderful memories and I want to make every day special for her.’

  Shelley shakes her head and shivers.

  ‘She’s got a lot ahead of her, poor thing,’ she says to me. ‘And a lot to get her head around right now. I would love to tell you she is going to be okay but it’s not an easy path for anyone to have to travel so young. We always miss our mum, no matter what age we are. It’s a sad club that no one wants to belong to, and I’m in it too, I’m afraid.’

  We both look out at Rosie who is in another world with her phone and her new canine companion on the balcony. This is hard for me to hear but it’s straight from the horse’s mouth, from someone who has been through it all and if it comforted Rosie to hear that she isn’t the only one who lost their mum in their teens, then surely I should be comforted by that too?