The Man I Loved Before: A completely gripping and heart-wrenching page turner

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The Man I Loved Before: A completely gripping and heart-wrenching page turner Page 8

by Anna Mansell


  22

  I scrabble around on the bedside table in my box bedroom, searching out an Alka-Seltzer to drop into the glass of water that (it now appears) drunk me managed to organise last night before stumbling into bed. I don’t think I realised I’d had that much. I mean, yes, a fair bit, but enough to feel like this? Was it the fresh air? Sitting outside talking? The lack of food?

  As the tablet fizzes, and I try to focus my eyes, I tap out a text to Mitch, managing nothing more than, Ouch, my head. As is form for him, I’m learning, no sooner does he read the text than he calls.

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ he says, laughing.

  ‘I am very much not kidding.’ I try and shift myself to sitting so that I don’t pour Alka-Seltzer down my front.

  ‘We didn’t have that much!’

  A memory of me slamming a glass on the table before downing it seeps in. ‘I think it could have been the tequila slammers.’

  ‘We didn’t have slammers!’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘No. You suggested them and I said no ’cause the last time I had tequila I was violently ill and vowed never to touch the stuff again.’

  ‘That’s so weird. I could have sworn we had at least three.’ It wouldn’t have been unusual, let’s face it.

  ‘Well, unless you necked them when I was in the loo, then no, we did not do slammers.’ Did I do that? Surely I didn’t do that. ‘We left after our fourth large wine, I walked you home, we almost fell over laughing about the first time you shared a bed with a man and wore head to foot pyjamas and socks as he paraded in a luminous green thong.’

  I sip the Alka-Seltzer, grimacing. I did do that… ‘If I’d had salopettes I’d probably have worn them over the top.’

  ‘Thanks for the sexy image. I’ll bank that one for later.’ Is he flirting with me? ‘So, are you going to do what we said?’

  I search my sensitive brain for a hint as to what he’s on about. ‘Um…’

  ‘Oh my God, you really are a mess,’ he says, laughing.

  ‘Alright, you, less taking the mickey, more enlightening me, please.’

  ‘You were going to get back in touch with Kate. See if you could arrange coffee.’

  I have no memory of this whatsoever, but the fact he has brought my old schoolmate up suggests I really did open up last night. ‘Ah, right. Yes. I really should.’

  ‘It’ll be fine. Didn’t you say a year has passed? More than that, eh? She’s married now. She should be happy, so she surely won’t still be holding it against you. And like I said last night, from what you hinted at, you were in a bad place. It’s no more your fault than hers.’ Christ. How much did I tell him? ‘Invite her for coffee. Tell her you’re sorry. What can go wrong? At least with this one, you don’t have to chase anything to Cornwall.’

  Please God don’t let me have told him everything about Ben. ‘True.’

  ‘Go on. Feel the fear and do it anyway. You’ll be better for it.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say, uncertainly. ‘Okay, I’m going to message her.’

  ‘Good work. I’m proud of you.’

  ‘Thanks. I think.’

  ‘And hey, I meant what I said last night.’ I don’t say anything, hoping he’ll expand. ‘I’m here for you. I get it. This stuff with your mum, it’s not going to be easy, but you have me on the end of the phone, or in the pub, or wherever, whenever… however you need me. Okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Any time. Day or night.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Now go. Be brilliant for your mum. Be brilliant for you. Let me know how you get on with Kate.’

  My heart swells in a combination of oooh, I fancy him, and wow, it’s good to have people who have your back way. At least I think it’s my heart and not my stomach complaining about being empty after last night’s overindulgence. I try sitting up, my head spins. Maybe he’s right about Kate. Maybe I pushed her away because seeing her happy and in love was too painful for me, especially at that particular time. I’ve always found it hard, when others are moving on in life, and that particular time was the worst. She was the last one of my mates to marry and, for me, everything was colliding, collapsing. I’ve always felt judged, even though I probably wasn’t being. I’ve always felt left behind, like somehow I’m less of a person for not – in Kate’s case – falling in love, getting married… having a baby.

  Not showing up at her wedding though, that was… eurgh, I shrivel at the memory of that time. All that was going on. I mean, it wasn’t actually her wedding day. It was weeks before when it all happened really, but still, it was shitty. I was shitty. I could make all the excuses – I have about all sorts for the last year – and though I appreciate Mitch telling me that sometimes we make choices to protect ourselves, something Ben always said too, I can’t escape the fact it was crap. And I really do want to make amends with her.

  I open the Facebook app on my phone, searching her name. And there she is. Ash blonde hair, pixie cropped. Kate Pinkerton. Grinning at the camera with adorably dimpled cheeks. She’s a mum now. There’s a tiny version of her, clinging to her arm in the profile photo, can’t be that old. I scroll her page, careful not to accidentally like anything because that would be weird. She posts photos mainly. The occasional news story relating to the charity she works for. There’s a post wishing her other half a happy first anniversary. Where did this last year go?

  A knock on my bedroom door makes me guiltily close down Facebook. ‘Come in.’

  Mum peeks her head around the door with a smile before entering fully, mug of tea and a plate of toast and Jaffa Cakes in hand. ‘Thought you might like these,’ she says, handing them over, then perching on the end of my bed. She smiles at the bedspread, running her hand across the face of a Forever Friends bear. She bought me the bedding for my fifteenth birthday when I was obsessed with all things Forever Friends, despite it not being particularly cool. (Proof if proof were needed for Mitch!) Of course, I’m now so attached to it and the memory of the years I’d come back to stay for the odd night here and there, even though I had my own place, that I won’t let her replace it with the new grey cotton bedding she bought me last month. I keep telling her she doesn’t have to buy me stuff. ‘Good night?’

  I nod. Which makes my head hurt. Did we really only have wine? ‘Lovely, thank you.’

  ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘The Green Dragon. Just had a few drinks.’

  ‘A few,’ she says, wryly, nodding at the spent Alka-Seltzer pack.

  ‘Yeah… well, I don’t know quite how many. Mitch just told me not as many as my head is suggesting, but I didn’t have much to eat for tea so maybe that’s the problem.’

  ‘Oh. You’ve spoken to him already this morning?’

  She’s got that look in her eye that mums have when they think you’re pretending not to be interested in someone you are in fact gagging for. ‘He called me. We are just friends at the moment. Do not overthink this,’ I warn. Wondering who in fact I’m warning. ‘He’s not long out of a relationship.’

  ‘Didn’t you say you met on Tinder?’

  ‘Well, we saw each other’s profiles, but we were actually at school together. And then we met up in the post office.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘I said don’t overthink it.’

  She puts her hands up in submission. ‘Who’s overthinking it? Not me.’ No. Me neither. Probably. ‘It’s just nice to see. I want you to be happy.’

  ‘I am. Thank you.’

  ‘Of course. That’s fine.’

  ‘Besides, he’s had a rough time lately.’

  ‘Oh?’

  And now I wish I hadn’t said that. Like I always wish I hadn’t said something about someone who’s died of cancer because it always makes me wonder how that makes Mum feel. ‘He split up with his girlfriend. Ended up back here.’

  ‘Right. Oh, and didn’t his mum die a while back too?’ she says, as matter-of-fact as you like because this is Dronfield and everyone knows every
body else’s business.

  ‘Erm, yes. I mean, I don’t think it was that long ago but, yes, that too.’

  ‘You see, that’ll be good for you. Having someone who knows what it’s like.’

  ‘Mum! You’re not going to die.’

  ‘Well, we all die someday, love.’

  ‘Yes. But not you. Not yet.’ We fall into a slightly awkward silence that is entirely of my doing. ‘Sorry,’ I say, reaching for her hand.

  ‘Hey, love. It’s fine. We’re both working our way through this. There’s no rule book. No guide.’

  ‘No. Which is a bit crap really, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s all a bit crap. A lot crap. But we will not let it define us, right?’

  ‘Right.’ I nod.

  ‘Anyway, on that note, can you sort out a new playlist for us? My Basingstoke Hospital date has come in, so we need a new road trip selection.’ The drive takes the best part of four hours. She retrieves an appointment letter from her back pocket. ‘Can it not include anything by The Wanted? But I do like that new song from Little Mix.’

  ‘Only a woman with cancer could make such a request and get away with it,’ I say, which makes her laugh and I know we’re going to be okay.

  ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to love you and leave you. Marjorie is taking me to lunch and you will, I am sure, have work to do.’

  I stretch and tighten my legs, toes pointed, hands above my head. It feels restorative. ‘You’re right. I do. Enjoy lunch. Thanks for the toast.’

  She shuts the door as I open up Spotify. Shakira’s the first thing I put on it.

  23

  It only takes a few hours to get on top of my workload, such as it currently is. I really need to try and get some new clients or get a proper job. Part of showing Mum that I’m on it. That I’m being a grown-up. Except that how can I get a proper job if I’m going to be toing and froing to Basingstoke with her again. Last year, along with the general appointments, I was there for two weeks, living on site in the family accommodation whilst she underwent her op. Eurgh, the family accommodation. I can’t even think about that.

  ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ shouts up Mum who’s been back twenty minutes and hasn’t stopped clattering pans since she walked through the door. God knows what she’s doing down there.

  ‘Please,’ I shout back over the din.

  I bring up Kate’s Facebook page again. Since this morning, she’s posted a photo of her baby and their dog. She’s got one of those Cockapoo things, by the looks of the tan-coloured blur that appears to be chasing something around the garden. Nice. She always liked dogs. And babies. I wonder how old it is – the baby, not the dog – I’m no good at guessing but it’s small. Bigger than Elsie, but maybe not that much.

  I open Messenger. It’s just coffee. It’ll be fine. She might say no, but she might not, and I won’t know if I don’t ask. Breath held, I tap out the invite:

  Hey, Kate. I know this is a bit out of the blue, but I’d love to catch up. Have a chat. Maybe over coffee? Whenever suits you. It would be lovely to see you, it’s been too long. X

  I click send before I can reconsider and, as I head downstairs for the cuppa, I wonder if I should have said something more apologetic in my message. Would she really want coffee with someone who basically just stopped answering her calls?

  * * *

  ‘So, Sue has booked you into the family accommodation. She said she’d do what she could to get you back in the same room you had before,’ says Mum about the super-efficient nurse administrator at Basingstoke. ‘She thought you might appreciate the familiarity but couldn’t promise as it depends if it’s being used when we get there.’

  I hope Mum can’t see that the idea of staying there fills me with literal dread in the pit of my belly. Even watching back-to-back Sex and the City from when it was good can’t make up for the hell of that place. ‘Bless her, that’ll be great,’ I say, pouring milk into the half-made cuppa she’s got distracted from.

  ‘She’s made my appointment for the afternoon so we don’t have to stop in the Apollo Hotel the night before.’

  ‘Ahh, that was the best bit.’ I nudge her. ‘Do you remember that woman you shamed out of the jacuzzi?’

  ‘It’s not catching!’ she cackles, reliving the moment she shouted after the woman who couldn’t wait to escape the jacuzzi when Mum told her she had cancer because she was irritated by her tone. ‘Gosh, wasn’t I awful?’

  ‘Yes. And also a little bit funny.’

  ‘She just had that way. I couldn’t get on with it. Coming in. Complaining about how busy it was. How she was a member and couldn’t even get a parking space. Asking us what we were doing there. How dare she.’

  ‘Sixty pounds a month she paid for that membership,’ I said, adopting the woman’s tone.

  ‘Ah, money to burn. Please herself. So, I was thinking we could leave around nine, when the traffic has died down. If we need to stop off, we should still have a bit of time, but hopefully we can just get there. My appointment’s at two-thirty.’

  ‘Okay. Sounds good.’

  ‘Sue said that we’d see that lovely Mr Faux first.’

  ‘You’re not supposed to fancy your consultant, Mum.’

  She swipes at me with a nearby tea towel before winking because she totally fancies her consultant. ‘He’ll run some tests. They’ll see us the next morning. Hopefully that’ll be it and we can come home.’

  ‘Cool. Sounds great. A road trip. We can Thelma and Louise the hell out of it.’

  ‘I look terrible in a headscarf.’

  I agree. We know this because she tried them in several different ways when she thought she might lose her hair. I bought her a wig from Amazon instead. Thankfully she never needed it because she didn’t look much better in the rainbow dash, multicolour, cosplay wig I bought her for giggles. ‘Some people just can’t carry off headgear that’s not their own. You want pasta for tea?’

  ‘No. Not hungry really.’

  I turn to face her because if there’s one thing I know, she may not be able to eat as much as once upon a time, but Christ, she’s never not up for food. ‘I went out with Marjorie, didn’t I? We had one of those afternoon tea do’s at The Manor House. It was lovely. They made me a special selection of sandwiches that I could eat. And they used a jam in the sponge cake that didn’t have seeds in it. There was so much of it though, I’m stuffed! There’s a doggy bag over there, if you want to finish it.’ She leans against the kitchen worktop. ‘Stuffed and shattered actually. I might take a book to bed and have an early night.’

  I check the kitchen clock. ‘Now? It’s not even four o’clock!’

  ‘Of course not now, no.’ She looks around at the pots and pans she’s pulled out of the cupboards. ‘I thought I’d give these a clean and sort through first.’

  ‘Why on earth…?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. It’s been waiting for yonks. I’ve still got loads of stuff I need to sort, love.’

  It’s not the first time she’s said that. She’s a hoarder and has been slowly but steadily working through cupboards and rooms these last few months. Taking stuff to the tip. Giving things to charity. Now I know what she’s been doing: clearing her stuff, getting organised, making sure she doesn’t leave a mess. I want her to leave a mess. Or not leave at all. I also want her to feel like she’s in control of her destiny and maybe this is part of that process, however I feel about it. ‘Do you want some help?’

  ‘No, love. Go on, you go finish whatever you were doing. I’ll get this sorted and give you a knock before I go to bed.’

  I must give her an uncertain look because she shoos me out of the room as she puts her apron on and crouches down to start bleaching the cupboard.

  24

  ‘So, when do you go?’ checks Leanne, and I know she’ll have the phone in the crook of her neck as we talk, so her hands are free to put the date on her family calendar in the kitchen. She biro’d an extra column with my name on it back on New Year’
s Day.

  ‘Erm, a week today. Driving down on the Tuesday, hopefully home Wednesday.’

  I’ve taken myself back to the Green Dragon for a small wine for one tonight. Thought I’d leave Mum to have some quiet for her early night and I needed to escape after being in the house all day.

  ‘Well that’s not too bad then, is it,’ Leanne says.

  ‘I guess not, no.’

  ‘Do you want me to come too? A bit of moral support? I can crash in your room.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. It’s fine. I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Andy’s still working down in London, but the kids could have a cheeky sleepover at Nancy’s.’ Her mother-in-law loved having them whenever possible.

  ‘Elsie’s too little for that yet, isn’t she?’

  ‘Well, maybe, I mean I could try and wean her to a bottle but she can be a picky little bugger. I could bring her; she’d be no trouble. We can watch a film and pretend none of it’s happening.’

  I laugh. ‘It’s fine. I’ll be okay. It’s one night.’

  ‘If you’re sure.’

  ‘I’m sure. Mitch offered too, which is sweet. Both of you are lovely, but I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Did he? That’s nice. How is he then?’

  ‘Oh, you know, he’s okay.’

  ‘How did it go? Your date.’

  ‘Was it a date? I don’t know, we just had drinks and talked. We talked for hours.’

  ‘In a bar, after both having swiped right on Tinder – it was a date, Jem. So, what did you talk about?’

  ‘God, all sorts. How it’s been hard for him with his mum, and before that, splitting up with Abby, his girlfriend.’

  ‘Abby?’

  ‘No one we know. They met at work, I think. They were together for about six years.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Dunno. I think they just outgrew each other. It happens, doesn’t it?’ She mumbles an agreement. ‘Anyway, he was lucky, or so he says, he got a heads-up his mum didn’t have long left and he could be there for her. I think he’s struggling a little to adjust to his new normal though.’

 

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