The Story of Our Life

by Shari Low

  Before I could ask her any more, another familiar face walked in the door.

  ‘Jack!’ I exclaimed, rising to greet him with a kiss on both cheeks. Lulu did the same. I had a real soft spot for Rosie’s latest man and couldn’t help hoping that her happiness with the new café would be swiftly joined by the relationship security she’d always craved. On top of that, he was cute. There weren’t many forty-five-year-old men that could carry off a ponytail and white linen trousers.

  ‘Come, sit with us,’ I offered.

  He didn’t make a move to do so. ‘Thanks, but I’m just popping in for a minute to congratulate Rosie and then I’m off.’ This wasn’t the demeanour or words of a man who was here to share in his girlfriend’s success. Or the confident, assertive manner of a life coach who always took steps based on solid aims and positive outcomes. This guy was nervous. Sad. Definitely uneasy.

  Although Lulu hadn’t seemed to pick up on that.

  ‘Congratulations!’ she bellowed. ‘I’m so thrilled about you asking her to move in with you. Glad you recognized a good thing when you saw it. Although, of course, if you hurt her we now know where you live, making it easy to hunt you down and break your legs.’

  My neck was starting to hurt from looking upwards, but not enough to distract me from the confused mottling of his brow.

  ‘You don’t know.’ It was a statement, not a question. Or rather, it was a sad, angst-filled admission.

  ‘Know what?’ I asked, hoping I was misjudging this.

  ‘She said no. Didn’t want to move in with me. Ended things a couple of weeks ago. I just came in tonight because I wanted to see how she’s doing. Clearly, she’s fine,’ he observed, gesturing to Rosie, who at that exact moment threw her head back, laughing at something Colm had said.

  Lulu and I looked at each other, dumbfounded. She’d said no? I racked my brain for our last conversation about it. Sure, there had been a hesitation, but I’d assumed that was the ‘moving in together’ equivalent of pre-wedding jitters. She said no? Why didn’t I know this? God, I was a crap pal. I’d been so wrapped up in my own problems I was unaware of major things happening to my friends.

  ‘Can you tell her I was here? And I wish her well?’ He made a move to go, but I stopped him.

  ‘Jack, I’m so sorry. We had no idea,’ I said, wanting to ask more, but realizing it would be rude to probe.

  Lulu had no such qualms. ‘But what happened? You two were perfect together.’

  He sighed helplessly. ‘I thought so too. But… look, I’m just going to be honest because let’s face it, I’ll probably never see you again…’

  That one caused a twinge of dismay. Hopefully he was wrong about that.

  ‘The truth is, I’m pretty sure she is seeing someone else. Actually, looking back, I think she might have been seeing someone else all along,’ he studied us as he said it, no doubt trying to gauge from our reactions if there was any truth in that.

  ‘Noooooo!’ I argued, the whole notion preposterous. ‘That’s ridiculous. Trust me, Rosie isn’t having an affair. We’ve been like sisters for a million years and we’d know. Wouldn’t we, Lu?’

  No answer. I realized Lulu’s gaze had drifted over to where Rosie and our husbands were still in deep conversation. Lulu watched for a few seconds, before finally sharing her thoughts.

  ‘I really don’t know if we would.’

  30

  2009

  No Time For Goodbye

  ‘Line dancing.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ll be at line dancing, my lovely, but you’re welcome to come with me.’

  I tried to keep the hilarity out of my voice. Class. Sheer class.

  ‘Gran, when did you take up line dancing?’

  ‘When I got bored rigid at Pilates. There’s no point to it at all. I fell asleep last time I was there, and some strange and very flexible gentlemen with his hair in a bun wasn’t best pleased.’

  Hilarity won, as I exploded into giggles.

  ‘There are no words to express how much I frigging love you, gran.’

  ‘Try, dear. I need the ego boost,’ she cackled.

  ‘So, line dancing it is. What time do I need to be there?’

  ‘Eight o’clock.’

  ‘Okay, I should be done around seven, so I’ll pick you up on the way.’

  ‘Lovely. Oh, and you need to bring cowboy boots. And a Stetson. And Vincent.’

  I hung up, still laughing, and shouted to Vincent, who was over the other side of the kitchen preparing trays of chicken wings, nachos and mini burritos for the Tex-Mex bowling party we were catering at a huge house on Richmond Hill at six p.m. It was food delivery only, no serving or clearing, so we’d be done by half past. Tomorrow morning, we had a breakfast event in Wimbledon, so it made sense for me to stay at Annie’s house tonight, especially as Colm was away for a few days in… in… I actually had no idea where he was. I’d lost track of where he and Dan were working these days.

  ‘Annie says I’ve to bring you to her line dancing class tonight.’

  He grinned. ‘Is it just me who suddenly got the best mental image in living history?’

  ‘Does it involve Annie and a large cowboy hat?’

  ‘It does.’

  ‘Then no, it’s not just you. Please tell me I’ll be like her when I grow up.’

  ‘That’s never been in any doubt,’ he confirmed, putting the final piece of chicken on the tray and then slipping off his gloves. ‘Okay, we’re set. Ready to go?’

  ‘Yup.’ I grabbed my jacket and slid on my backpack. Handbags were out of the question in this job, as I always needed two hands to carry trays. ‘Would you mind dropping me at Annie’s when we’re done and picking me up there in the morning? Colm’s away and I don’t fancy going home to an empty house.’

  ‘Of course not. Here…’ he handed me the burrito tray. ‘I never want to see another one of those for as long as I live.’

  ‘Aw, I’m feeling your pain,’ I teased. The burritos were a sore point. He’d dropped the first lot, burnt the second lot and these were the third attempt. So far it was looking good, but I concentrated on getting them to the car before I brought up the question I’d been dying to ask for ages.

  ‘Heard from Carole yet? Or is she still treating you like a cold-caller trying to sell her pet insurance for a dog she doesn’t have?’

  ‘Fido is alive and well,’ he retorted dryly, before answering the question. ‘And no, not heard a word since she moved out and called me an emotional fuckvoid. I’ve no idea what that means. Anyway, I tried to call a few times, but I’ve given up.’

  ‘Are you sure you want to do that? If you just explained that she got the wrong end of the stick…’

  ‘Do not give her a stick,’ he warned ruefully. ‘Give her nothing that can be used as a weapon.’

  He was joking but I knew it had to sting. After the nightclub fiasco last month he’d been mortified, but there was a little indignation thrown in there too.

  The next morning, I’d pouted dramatically, sweeping my hand to my forehead like a forties movie star. ‘So you’re not in love with me?’

  ‘You’re great with a piping bag, but no,’ he’d assured me, laughing. The official verdict was therefore in – I wasn’t thick. Not that there had ever been any doubt.

  ‘What about Colm? Things any better?’

  I shrugged. Were they? I had no idea. We were fighting less, so that was good. But we were like two people floating in the same zero-gravity situation, occasionally bumping into each other and passing the time of day. I was still faking it, I suspect he was too. I wasn’t sure that either of us had the energy to change that. Right now, we just needed the energy to work to pay the bills that were starting to suffocate us. I glossed over the subject and then flipped to talking about next week’s bookings. The diary was full, which was great for the balance sheet, but I was increasingly aware that Vincent and I were so tired we were almost running on empty.

  The delivery t
ook half an hour and then we headed to Annie’s house. We were almost there when I said, ‘Vincent, thanks for doing this. I don’t say that to you enough.’

  ‘For doing what?’ he asked, puzzled, indicating to turn at the approaching set of traffic lights.

  ‘For working every single day and night with me. I know you’re giving up a lot. I could bring someone else in to help though,’ I told him for the millionth time. ‘Just because I have no life doesn’t mean you should suffer too.’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘Shauna, stop saying it like it’s such a hardship. Sure, the hours are crap, but I’m taking home half of everything we earn so I’m profiting too.’

  There was no time to discuss it any further, as we pulled up outside Annie’s house and she stormed out like an aging SAS when she saw the van. And oh dear God, she hadn’t been kidding about the Stetson.

  ‘Vincent, you have to come. I swear it’ll be the biggest thrill those ladies have had since before the menopause.’

  ‘I don’t have a hat,’ he argued weakly. She took hers off and plumped it on his head. ‘You do now, son.’

  He was powerless to resist the passive-aggressive demands of my seventy-something Glaswegian powerhouse granny. It wasn’t a surprise. I’d never yet met anyone who could.

  A few hours and a whole lot of heel-tapping later, ‘Achy Breaky Heart’, ‘Boot Scootin’ Boogie’, and my personal favourite, ‘Honky Tonk Badonkadonk’, were just a few of the tunes that stuck in my mind. Annie knew every step, every turn every holler, while Vincent and I tried desperately to follow, like the two new kids on the yee-hah block who didn’t have a clue what was going on. We were hopeless. Embarrassing. Yet, it was the most fun I’d had in as long as I could remember.

  ‘Gran, you totally put us to shame,’ I told her on the way back to her house.

  ‘Aye, there’s life in me yet, love,’ she preened. ‘The day I can’t spin around a dance floor you can shoot me.’

  ‘Gran! Don’t say that. Anyway, you can’t pop your cowboy boots you’ve taught us how to do those bloody dances. Vincent, we were officially rubbish.’

  Annie sighed. ‘Aye, thank God you’re good-looking, son, because you’re never going to get a woman with those dancing skills.’

  Vincent hooted with laughter. Sometimes there was really no answer to my gran.

  At the house, she persuaded him to come in for a nightcap. The woman was incorrigible. It was near midnight and she still wanted to keep the party going.

  Inside, she headed to take her coat and boots off, while Vincent and I went to the kitchen to make tea.

  ‘So, not exactly how I anticipated tonight unfolding,’ he said, deadpan. ‘Kidnapped by Annie, forced to dance for my life, scarred by my inability to co-ordinate my arms and legs.’

  I plopped two sugars in my gran’s tea and poured her two fingers of her beloved MacCallan nightcap. ‘Are you traumatized?’

  ‘Absolutely. But I don’t think I’ve ever laughed more. You’re some team, you two.’

  I took that as a compliment.

  Picking up the tray, I headed to the lounge, Vincent at my back. I’d only taken a few steps in, when I stopped, forcing him to crash into the back of me.

  ‘She’s sleeping,’ I whispered, nodding to Annie, in her favourite chair, eyes closed, a hint of a smile on her lips.

  I put the tray down on the table and lifted a throw from the couch to keep the chill off my gran when…

  I stopped. Something wasn’t right. A look. A sense. I flew over to her side.

  ‘Gran. Gran! Vincent call an ambulance! Call an ambulance now!’ I screamed.

  He dived to the phone while I slipped my arms under her and lifted her over to the couch, her frame tiny, but even so, requiring strength I never knew I had. ‘No gran. Oh God, please no.’

  With shaking, furiously fast fingers, I checked her pulse by pressing on her neck. Nothing. I listened to her chest. It didn’t rise or fall. ‘No, no, no, no! Come on gran. You can’t do this. You can’t. Come on!’ This couldn’t be happening. She been bloody dancing only an hour ago.

  I placed my hands on her chest, one on top of the other and I pressed. One. Two. Three. Four. A steady rhythm.

  ‘Don’t leave me, gran. Annie, wake up. Please wake up. Oh God, please…’

  Vincent was at my side. ‘Ambulance is on the way. Let me take over.’

  ‘No, I can’t.’ Twenty-five. Twenty-six. Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty presses, then I moved to her head, gave two breaths into her mouth. Still nothing. Back to her heart. Steady beats, 100 a minute, just like I’d been taught on every first aid course I’d ever been on. Thirty presses. Back to her mouth. Two breaths. Nothing. Back to her heart. One. Two. Three.

  ‘Come on gran. Please. Please. Please. You can’t. Not you. Please not you.’

  ‘Shauna, let me…’

  ‘No! Go outside and wait for the ambulance in case they can’t find the cottage. Flag it down,’ I gasped. Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Nothing. No response. No movement. No sound. No beat of her heart.

  Again. Again. Head. Heart. Press. Head. Heart. Press. Nothing. Again. Again.

  Hours passed, days, weeks. Head. Heart. Press. Again.

  No response. Had to keep going. She’d come back. She’d never leave me. Not Annie. Never. Keep going. Had to keep going.

  Vincent ran in, two guys in hi-vis jackets following him.

  ‘Shauna, they’re here. Let them take over.’

  Head. Heart. Press. One. Two Three.

  ‘Shauna, you need to let them…’

  Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Had to keep going.

  ‘We’ve got this, love.’ A voice I didn’t recognize.

  Twenty-one. Twenty-two.

  ‘Shauna…’ Arms around me, pulling me back, gently, forcefully, holding me to him as we sat on the floor. Two men moving to Annie’s side. Oxygen mask. Head. Heart.

  I fought to get back to her, but Vincent was too strong. ‘Gran. Gran!’ I screamed.

  They pressed. They counted. They worked on her until one looked at the other and I knew. I was still on the floor, Vincent was holding me and I pushed him off, crawled to her. The men moved to let me in.

  I wrapped my arms around her and I lay my head on her motionless chest.

  ‘Please don’t go,’ I whispered. ‘Please….’

  She didn’t answer. Didn’t laugh. Didn’t touch me. Didn’t run her fingers through my hair. Didn’t hold me. Didn’t tell me everything would be okay.

  It would never be.

  I stayed there, held on to the woman I loved more than any other and I wept until there was nothing left.

  31

  2016

  Counting Days

  ‘Goodnight, gorgeous girl,’ I crooned, as I lifted the duvet off Beth and slipped in beside her, making her squeal as I covered her face in kisses. I’d probably just added half an hour to the time it would take her to fall asleep but I didn’t care. I got so little time with her these days that I needed to make every moment count. That fucking brain tumour wasn’t getting this. It wasn’t taking one ounce of joy away from my girl. Fake it until you make it. A few years ago, when Colm and I were having problems, that was the slogan I lived by. That was before this incredible little girl made an appearance, but I could still go with the concept. As far as Beth would ever know, I was happy, fun, giggly, silly mum when I was with her. Exhausted, worried, stressed, miserable me only came out to play when Beth wasn’t around.

  ‘I love you right up to the moon, past Mars, round Saturn, through Venus, and then back,’ she told me solemnly, the list getting longer the more she learned from the book we were reading about a little boy who visited all the planets.

  ‘I love you to all those places and back too. Twice.’

  She giggled again, and was rewarded with another round of kisses before I finally said goodnight and headed through to our bedroom.

  Colm had his suitcase open on the bed, packing in a couple of shirts, extra shoes, toile
tries.

  ‘That’s Beth just nodding off if you want to go say goodnight,’ I told him.

  ‘Yeah, I will,’ he answered, distracted as he foraged in a drawer.

  ‘What have you lost?’

  He stopped, irritated. ‘My black belt. I’m sure it’s in here.’

  ‘It’s already out, babe,’ I said gently, pointing to the pillow, on which a strip of black leather was resting. This happened a lot. His memory was definitely erratic, his attention span even more so. His sense of humour, temperament, communications, all in the same boat, tossing on the waves, sometimes high, sometimes low. I wasn’t sure if it was the personality changes the doctor had warned us about, or if it was the strain of dealing with the prognosis, or if it all came from tiredness, from the long-term exhaustion that was often the result of a trauma to the brain. Or was there something else? Something I was missing?

  He didn’t say anything, just lifted the belt and tossed it in the case.

  ‘Colm, are you sure you want to do this?’ I asked for the tenth time this week, before going on, ‘Dan said he could go and…’

  ‘I don’t want Dan to go. I’m doing it.’

  The trip to Manchester was a pitch for a new client, one that Colm had been working on before he got sick. Dan had taken over but the deal still hadn’t been sealed. Now, Colm was jumping back on it, determined to bring it in, even though it meant a couple of exhausting days of trains and taxis. A cab was picking him up at eight p.m. to take him to Euston for the nine p.m. train, then he was heading straight to the hotel at the other end, so he could get a night’s sleep before meeting the client tomorrow morning. I’d at least made him accept that doing it all in one day would be way too tiring. Even a half day in the office was exhausting him and I was worried that this would push it too far.