by Shari Low
His voice cracked as he said that last line, a raw honesty dripping from every word. I heard him.
‘I don’t know how to fix this, Colm. I love you. You know I do. But this is my life and…’ I needed to just say it. ‘I need more than you in it. I want to be part of something…’
‘You are part of something.’
‘I’m not. Not in the way that I want to be. I love my friends, but when it comes down to family, let’s be honest, I have Annie and you. That’s it. And of course, I’ve got the twins, and I’m so grateful to share them, but they belong to you and Jess. I want more than that. I want to be part of a unit and to create the kind of family I wanted so badly when I was a kid, to have someone that calls me mum and who will be the missing part of this life we’re living now. I can’t give up on that. Not even for you.’
That brought us back to silence for a few more moments. Eventually, he sighed. ‘Okay.’
Okay what? Okay, you don’t have to give up your longing for a family, but I’ll just pack and go now? Okay let’s have another go at making a baby this instant? I waited for more.
‘Okay,’ he repeated, more resolute now. ‘I understand how you feel and I’ll do anything to keep you, Shauna. I promise I’ll stop being a dick.’
Even through the apprehension and sorrow, that made me smile.
‘I’ll get on board with this but can we just…’ He struggled to find the words. ‘Just pause for a minute?’
‘What do you mean?’
The hands that were under his chin, supporting it, now pushed through his hair as he exhaled. ‘Just give ourselves some time? I feel like we’ve lost each other and we need to get back to being us again. And let’s be honest, with the business and the finances the way they are, this isn’t the right time. We’d be financially screwed if you couldn’t work. You know that’s true.’
I did but I didn’t care. That was the difference between us.
‘So what do you want to do?’
‘Just take some time off the baby thing. This round of treatment is finished, so let’s just wait a while before doing anything else. Let’s get the business up and running properly, then you can cut back to working normal hours and we can get some cash in the bank, a bit of security so that if you do have a baby you can take maternity leave and we won’t be stressing. Let’s just take the heat off the urgency, and in the meantime, let’s just be us again. I know we’re knackered and up against it with work, but let’s drop all the bullshit stresses and try to make time for each other again, remember how to love each other without all the resentment and the strains. And when the time is right for us, I promise I will do everything I can to make this happen.’
There were a whole lot of promises flying around here, none of them coming with guarantees. I could see that every word he said made sense, but I wasn’t sure it was that easy. How did I switch off this deep, inherent need? How did I look at him again without feeling let down? But then, how could I live without him? I loved him.
He was still in full flow. ‘I’ll make my body available for sex twice a day and I’ll wear loose boxers to help the swimmers. I’ll put my legs up the wall too.’
I couldn’t help laughing. ‘I don’t actually think that you doing that makes a difference in the process.’
‘Doesn’t matter, I’ll do it anyway just to keep you company.’
Oh God, he was so sweet and funny he made my heart break. My Achilles heel, this man. The only person I’d ever known who could change how I was feeling with just a look or a word.
‘You know, when I see that family I want it’s always with you,’ I said, vocalizing my thoughts without editing them first. ‘I can’t imagine ever having that with someone else. I love you. If that’s what we need to do then I can do it.’
Even if it had to be on his terms, I knew there was no other option than to try.
As I turned to face him properly for the first time since he sat down, I saw his face flood with relief.
‘I’m not saying it’s going to be easy though, Colm. I don’t think I can just snap out of this and go back to being the way we used to be. It’ll take some time, a bit of adjustment, but I’ll try.’
My mind flicked back to what he said earlier, about me being a giver. He had to know that I wasn’t giving everything over to him here. He had to understand that this was conditional.
‘But Colm, when I think the right time has come, it won’t be up for debate. I’ll take a break for you, but when it comes, you’ve got to be ready to be there for me.’
His arm slipped around my shoulders and for the second time tonight – this time with so much more feeling – he gently pulled my head into his chest. I could feel the thudding of his heart and the change in my breathing as it synchronized with his.
‘I will be, I swear.’
I believed him, even if I wasn’t sure he believed himself.
It was going to be okay. I could do this. We could make it work. That positivity wasn’t entirely mutual.
‘Think I’ll still hide your shoes, though, just in case.’
27
2015
The One Before
Jess put a mug of coffee on the table in front of me, passed another to Steve, and then sat down opposite me at the kitchen table.
‘Thanks,’ I said as I lifted it. I took a sip, and blurted, ‘Oh feck, your coffee is still terrible.’
‘It is,’ Steve agreed, laughing. ‘Stuff will kill you.’
I saw Jess’s immediate reaction of horror, before Steve clicked on to what he’d said and started to stammer. ‘Sorry, Colm, I mean… I didn’t mean… em…’
I put my hand up in a conciliatory gesture and smiled. ‘It’s fine, honestly. Don’t worry about it. I’m far more likely to get run over by a bus.’
The two of them laughed too much, grateful the awkward moment was over. It was one of thousands in the last few months and I’d developed pretty good brush-offs for all of them. People made innocent comments or jokes, realized they could have significance to a dying man and all of a sudden you were sliding down a chute of discomfort to a whole big pit of mortification.
Steve stood up. ‘I’m off, anyway,’ he said. ‘Need to pop into the office for a couple of hours.’
He shook my hand. ‘Take care of yourself, Colm,’ then headed out the door. Even a blinkered, socially unaware, emotionally stunted man like me found several things odd about this situation.
He had barely looked at Jess.
He hadn’t said goodbye.
No kiss.
No details about when he’d be back.
And he was going into the office on a Sunday afternoon.
He was some kind of property developer – not an occupation that normally required weekend shift work.
‘Is everything okay with you two?’ I asked tentatively, aware that none of this was any of my business and Jess and I had kept our conversations purely about the kids for the last decade. It was only in the last few weeks, since we’d broken the news to the boys, that I’d started popping in when I dropped them off or picked them up. Sometimes just for ten minutes, other times I’d have a beer and pass an hour or so.
‘Yeah, he’s just under a bit of pressure right now. Things have been tough with the whole financial crisis. Rubs off at home a bit when he’s got a lot on his plate. Not that it’s anything compared to what you’re going through. I mean… erm…’
There it was again. Two said-the-wrong-thing-squirms in the space of five minutes.
I halted her right there. ‘Jess, you need to get over the whole “worrying about offending me” thing. I promise they didn’t replace the bit that was cut out with a sensitivity chip. I’m still pretty much unoffendable.’
‘Thank God, because Steve and I seem to be doing pretty well at testing that theory.’ I noticed the smile didn’t reach her eyes.
‘You sure you’re okay?’ I asked again.
‘Positive. How were the boys this weekend?’ she asked, changin
g the subject.
The boys. That made them sound like kids. The reality was they were both over six feet tall, and thanks to a fondness for the gym, almost as wide.
‘Great,’ I told her, honestly. ‘We stayed in a lodge out by Henley. Just played football all weekend and chilled out at nights. They’ll tell you all about it but they were on good form.’
‘Any more questions?’
‘Nope, and I know it’s not because they’re afraid to ask. I think they’re just okay with the details for now.’ I shrugged my shoulders, grinning, ‘Jess, they’re my sons. They don’t have the DNA for emotional depth and introspection.’
‘That is so true,’ she replied. ‘They’ve been the same here. Obviously the way we told them helped. They seem to be handling it really well, but I’m keeping an eye on it. Have spoken to the university as well, just flagged it up in case there are any issues there.’
It struck me that I should probably have thought of that and been the one to broach it with the others involved in my sons’ lives, but as always, it hadn’t occurred to me. What did occur to me was how lucky I was to have married two smart women. In many ways they were so alike and that had shown over the last few months. Shauna and I had been careful about what we told Beth, settling on a sanitized version of the truth, omitting the ultimate detail that the tumour was incurable and I could… well, you know. I didn’t like to even give that thought headspace. Quite literally. It went along the lines of ‘Daddy had a sore head, doctors have fixed it, so we hope it won’t get sore again.’ At which point Beth kissed the top of my head ‘all better’ and skipped off to watch Frozen for the 3321st time.
Jess and I decided to take the same approach with the boys, only the language being more teenage-appropriate. Brain tumour. Operation. Radiotherapy. Chemotherapy. Feeling great. Hoping it’ll stay that way for a long time.
We answered their few questions, at no point telling them the type of tumour, so that they couldn’t look it up on the web.
‘But it won’t kill you dad, will it?’ Joe asked.
‘I’ve no idea, son – I could get knocked over by a bus tomorrow. But I’m not worried. People live for twenty years with brain tumours.’ Absolutely true. No lies. People might think it was the wrong approach, but it’s what was right for us. I didn’t want the kids’ first thought every morning to be that I might die soon, didn’t want them worrying, fretting, getting stressed, treating me differently. So far it had worked. It helped that by the time the boys came back from the exchange trip to France, I was through radiotherapy, done with the first round of chemo, and looking so much better than I had in the midst of it all.
‘You know, you look great,’ Jess interrupted my thoughts with a point that was taken straight from my wavelength. There was an irony in there. Over a decade divorced and we still thought along the same lines. I knew she wasn’t bullshitting me because I agreed. I looked exactly the same as before, only with a bit of a tan from a few days on the golf course. As long as no one studied the back of my head, they’d never know there was anything wrong with me. That’s the way I wanted it to stay.
The liaison nurse had suggested a support group but I’d declined. I honestly didn’t need one. I was fine. Doing great. What was the point of talking about what was going to happen if I couldn’t change it when it did? And besides, maybe it wouldn’t. I understood the prognosis, I’d read the statistics, but if you looked hard enough, the internet was full of stories about patients with my tumour that outlived the odds by miles. I’d take that option, thank you, and in the meantime, I wasn’t going to worry about the alternative.
‘How’s Shauna doing?’ Jess asked.
‘She’s grand. She’s one of those people that no matter what life throws at her she just keeps on going. I got lucky with her. With both of you,’ I said, vocalizing my earlier thought.
‘I’m not…’ she stopped, as if the words had caught in her throat and I could see that her eyes had filled with tears. She hastily wiped them away with the back of her hand and sniffed. ‘Sorry Colm, it’s just that… fuck, I hate this. It’s so fucking unfair. After everything that happened to us and now this. How much heartache are we supposed to endure? I can’t stand that this is happening to you and not just because of how it will affect our boys but because you don’t deserve it.’ She paused, forced a smile. ‘Are you checking for the nearest exit yet?’
It was an old joke, one I couldn’t believe she remembered. Jess had always been quick to show her emotions, wore her heart on her sleeve, and she used to say that the minute I spotted tears, I’d scan the room for an emergency exit. There was admittedly a grain of truth in there, but not tonight.
I got up and went round to her side of the table, slid into the seat next to her and put my arm around her. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘What are you apologizing for, you crazy person?’ she smiled, while still crying, a bittersweet combination that took me right back to fifteen years ago, when it seemed like we couldn’t have a conversation without heartbreak. Looking back, I probably let her down, not equipped or willing to deal with a relationship that was unravelling quicker that I could stop it.
Not that I’d suddenly become some kind of new man, enlightened and in touch with his inner soul, like that bloke Rosie used to date. Couldn’t remember his name. Not sure that I ever called him anything other than Yogaman. However, I’d progressed enough to know that she didn’t need me to fix this, just needed me to be here. No need for a swift exit this time.
Joe picked that moment to wander in the door, then froze when he saw us.
‘Has someone died?’ he asked suspiciously. Even I got the irony there.
Jess wiped her tears away again, with both hands this time. ‘No, darling, everything’s fine.
‘Yep, looks it,’ he said, with all the nonchalance and deadpan delivery of… well, me. Even if the brown wavy hair and the identical green eyes didn’t prove the case, there was no doubt that boy was my son. Momentary concerns swept aside, he went to the fridge, pulled out some ready-made sandwiches on a plate and headed back for the door, making a final show of both care and flippancy as he left.
‘Sure you’re okay, mum?’
‘I am, Joe. Just having a moment. I’m fine.’
‘Ok. S’pose at least it makes a change.’
‘What’s that?’ she asked him, bewildered.
‘It’s usually Steve that’s making you cry. At least this time it’s dad.’
Maybe it was time for a swift exit after all.
28
2009
The Revelation
‘So are you going to talk about it at any point?’ Vincent asked me, in between laying out a tray of lobster tails and plopping a trough of summer salad next to it.
This was a sixteenth birthday party in Chelsea. Very few carbs, but plenty of excess. The manicurist, the massage therapist and the make-up artist were setting up through in the lounge. A stylist was there with a long rack of clothes and boxes of accessories for the girls to choose from. I’m sure I spotted the Louboutin logo on one of them. The limo would arrive in an hour to take fifteen impeccably made up teenage girls to a One Direction concert at the O2, backstage passes and hospitality thrown in. Naturally. Add on the gifts and the overnight stay at the May Fair Hotel, and the whole party was probably going to cost what I earned in six months. Not that I was jealous. Actually, perhaps I was a bit. Or a lot. What would it feel like to have someone treat you to that kind of celebration? For my last birthday, Colm bought me a card and a bottle of perfume and even then he only remembered to give them to me the next day.
‘Talk about what?’ I asked, genuinely unaware of what he was referring to.
‘About the fact that you’ve had your very own small dark cloud above your head for weeks.’
Sighing, I put the last bright pink silk napkins in its crystal holder. ‘Have I?’
‘Yup.’
‘Bugger. Sorry.’
‘It’s ok. I’m thick-skinned. I c
an take it. So what’s going on?’
‘Nothing, I’m fine.’
‘Fine?’ he replied, only his version had added scepticism.
I swatted him with a bright pink silk napkin. ‘Absolutely fine! Dear Lord, it’s finally happened…’
He paused, dangling a tray of salmon blinis in mid-air. ‘What?’
‘You’ve turned into Annie. You have to know every detail and you’re not giving up until you get them. You’ll soon be swigging sherry and complaining about the shocking price of tights.’
I thought he’d leave it be after my attempt at deflection, but he wasn’t so easily deterred.
‘Look, if you’re going to make me spill my guts about my issues with Carole, it’s got to be a two-way street.’
‘No, it really doesn’t. I’m helping you develop emotional intelligence and depth. I’m already fully developed, thanks. Spilling my guts won’t help.’
Later, as we removed all the savoury foods and replaced them with a wonderfully elaborate cupcake pyramid, he took another pass at the interrogation.
‘Why?’
‘Why what?’ I asked.
‘Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong? How long have we been friends?’
‘Since catering college. About twenty years.’
‘Exactly. So spill.’
I stopped, mid stacking of small pink cakes with strawberry toppings.
‘Oh for God’s sake. Vincent, it involves my ovaries. Do you really want to go there?’
I hadn’t realized that two sixteen-year-olds at the makeshift grooming bar were within earshot and one was so entranced by our conversation that there was a sudden ‘Ow!’ as she burnt her scalp with her hair straighteners. The other one, a tall girl with waist-length blonde hair, cheekbones that could cut glass, and a swagger that belonged on a catwalk, had been subtly flirting with Vincent since we got here. I didn’t blame her. If I was a teenager and confronted with this walking, talking, funny, GQ cover guy, especially in tonight’s outfit of tight black jeans and a slim-fitting tailored white shirt, I’d fancy him too. Now she blatantly watched, waiting for his response.