by Anna Mansell
I fold the letter up, my lip curling in disgust. I shove it into the envelope and bury it at the back of my bottom drawer. Today me would never let that happen. Today me is appalled at the old me. Today me pours another glass of wine and knocks it back in one before sinking deep into my bed and pleading for sleep to come quickly. Today me is exhausted of the noise in my head. The constant, judgemental noise.
52
I’m ticking my way through the bank statements for my client, Leanne on FaceTime beside me. ‘What did you say?’ she asks, because of course I had to tell her about Mitch’s love declaration.
‘I didn’t know what to do. I don’t know if he meant to say it or if it just sort of tumbled out of his mouth.’
‘It’s a bit soon, isn’t it?’
‘Does it matter? If that’s how he feels about me? I mean, yes it’s quick, but…’
‘I guess you can’t help what your heart feels.’
‘Exactly.’
‘So, what’s holding you back?’
‘I like him. I do. I really like him. He makes me feel… I don’t know. It’s like butterflies. It’s strange. I don’t think I’ve ever felt about anyone quite the way I think I could about him.’
‘What? Not even Ben?’
My heart sucker punches at the sound of his name. ‘I don’t know. No. I don’t think even Ben.’
‘Wow. You loved Ben.’
‘I did…’ I drift off. For a fraction of a second I am back in Cornwall, the sun on my back, his arm resting across my shoulders as we both sunflower to the sky. ‘But maybe only as much as I let myself. And I want it to be different with Mitch. He’s thoughtful. He gets me. He doesn’t judge. I feel like maybe I’m a better person because of him.’
‘You don’t need him to make you a better person, Jem. You’re already great.’
‘You know what I mean. Doesn’t Andy make you a better person?’
‘Depends if he’s dropped his pants in the wash basket or just beside it! Look, you know what I’m going to say, don’t you?’ She strokes Freddie on her lap, not looking like a Bond villain because Freddie’s a scruffy, three-legged black cat and she’s in her pyjamas.
‘To stop being frightened?’
‘This is your time.’
‘It’s my mum’s time,’ I say, hearing Mum move about downstairs.
‘Okay, yes, it’s your mum’s time. But you can’t look after her if you don’t look after yourself and if looking after yourself means allowing yourself to leave your past behind you and fall for someone new, and you’re really certain he’s a good guy, then maybe that’s what you should do.’
‘Do you ever wear those on the nursery run?’ I ask, deftly changing the subject.
‘My pjs? Of course I do. I like to shock the soccer mums with my laissez-faire attitude.’
‘Laissez-faire? Yes, I’ve always had you down for not giving a shit.’
‘Don’t you try turning the tables on me. I see you. I see what you’re doing. It’ll not wash with me, my girl. Look, go on, get yourself to Hathersage. Enjoy some time away. Relax. Let him run you a bath. Let him treat you. Let him do that thing you like—’
‘Leanne!’
‘Just saying. I’m sure he would if you asked.’
‘I’m going!’
‘And tell me everything when you get back!’
I hang up, slinging my old phone on the bed. Which reminds me, the bill’s due. I check my bank account to see I’ve not quite got enough in to cover it and I sink into the chair, wondering what the hell I’m going to do. I’ve a tiny bit left in my savings, may as well move the whole lot over, as I can’t imagine when I’ll next see any decent income. Shit. How did things get this bad? How did I let myself get into this mess? What is wrong with me?
The phone Mitch gave me is on the windowsill, all bought and paid for. It’s brand new and doesn’t have a smashed corner of the screen from when I was trying to bring all the shopping into the house in one trip not three. The two phones are like a metaphor for my life. One pristine, available, there for me and Mum. The other, a little bit battered and bruised and there’s no cash in the bank to pay for it. The new phone definitely feels more appealing on that basis, for sure.
I send my new contact info to Mum so I can save it into her phone when I go down. Bubbles pulsate as she immediately types a response. I can hear Alexa streaming music from the 70s and I wonder if she’s reminiscing.
Great. Mitch is so lovely. We’re lucky to have him around.
And that she considers him around for us both makes me smile. So what if he loves me before I’m quite sure what I feel. I don’t have to hide from that, I don’t have to worry. I was just taken aback. She’s right. He is a good man. And I deserve that, I’m sure I do. And very soon, I’ll start feeling that too, right? Fake it ’til I make it?
I pull out my weekend bag from the back of the wardrobe and start throwing clothes into it. I’m going to enjoy this, the being spoiled, the being taken care of. It’s all allowed. I don’t have to run away.
But I’m definitely not going to ask him to do that thing that I like…
53
My head sinks into the pillow, my face hot, my heart racing. Mitch nuzzles into me, his own breath heavy. Whatever happened before, on Mum’s carpet, in our love pit, can’t possibly have been as good as the sex we just had, because surely, I’d no way have forgotten it. So focused on me, so generous, so all-consuming and free and dizzying. I mean, I’ve had it good before, now is not the time to compare, but somehow, this was different. Is it me? Am I different?
When Mitch said he was booking us a little trip away, I didn’t expect it to be the honeymoon suite in The George. I had not imagined us dropping our bags in the room, lying on the bed and holding one another until I thought I might explode, at which point he got up off the bed and ran me a bath, undressing me and holding my hand as I climbed in, then talking to me as I soaked. I had not imagined him picking out a dress for me to wear, helping me into it, kissing me, up against the wall, with everything that he had, before taking my hand and leading me, breathless, to the bar downstairs to order champagne whilst we waited for our table. It was like I didn’t have to think about a thing, I could just relax, give in to him to care for me. It felt strange at first, the control freak in me panicked, and yet he was so gentle, so loving. And it’s time I stop trying to hold on so much that I never let go. Which is why it felt good to have him pull out my chair as I went to sit down, laying the serviette across my lap before bending down to kiss me on my forehead, then taking my hand in his as he sat down before me. I couldn’t have dreamt of having my food ordered for me to see if he could guess what I might have liked and him getting it exactly right.
We took another bottle upstairs with us. He poured us both a glass as I lay on the bed. I took a sip, and he kissed me. The fizz of bubbles matching the fizz in my belly as he pushed me back onto the bed. His hand, slowly moving down my neck to my chest, brushing against my nipple, then down further still, his own breath catching, as he realised how much I needed to feel him inside of me.
And now I feel heavy and light at the same time. I feel whole, I feel safe. I feel like everything that has gone before can no longer cast a shadow over me because I’m in the moment and I’m happy and I’m drifting, weightless, content.
* * *
A shaft of light casts a golden pool from window to carpet. I reach for my watch to see the time. It’s eight in the morning, the latest I’ve slept in since Mitch stopped over. I feel rejuvenated. Sleep was heavy, no dark dreams or memories this time. I turn to watch him, the sheet down to his waist, his chest rising and falling as he shallow breathes. I yearn to reach out to him, trace my finger from his neck to his waist. I want to pull him into me, feel everything I felt last night again and again until I sleep once more. I shift closer to him, I lay a kiss on his shoulder, before biting him gently. He doesn’t open his eyes, but wraps an arm around me, pulling me in close. We’re chest to chest, I drape
my leg across him and feel him come alive. Eyes still closed, he pushes me back, lying on top of me, my legs wrapped around his. He rocks, gently, and I let out a soft moan gripping him closer into me. And then my phone rings, and I panic because it’s the phone Mitch bought me. The one only he and Mum have the number for. He stops, instantly, reaching to pass me the call.
‘Mum?’ I ask, moving to sit up as he places a hand on my leg and waits to see what’s up.
‘Love, don’t panic, but I’m in Calow Hospital.’
‘What? What happened?’ I jump out of bed, wrestling clothes out of my bag to find pants and jeans and my T-shirt.
‘I don’t know. I had a fall. My legs, they just gave way. I couldn’t move. And I waited, I sort of hoped they’d come back to life and that I could move myself, get up. But it didn’t happen.’
‘So how did you end up in Calow?’
‘I waited until this morning; I didn’t want to wake next door. I didn’t want to bother you.’
‘You could always have bothered me, Mum. That’s why you have this phone, that’s why we didn’t come too far away.’
‘I know but—’
‘There’s no buts, Mum. Jesus!’
‘It’s fine. I managed to drag myself to my phone this morning. I called Marjorie, she came over, found the key in the back and let herself in. She helped me up then called the paramedic. They’ve just brought me in to check me over.’
‘I’m coming, I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
‘It’s fine, love. I didn’t call for you to come over, I just knew you’d be cross if you came home to find I wasn’t in and hadn’t told you.’
‘Mum! I’m not cross. I’m worried. I shouldn’t have come away.’
‘Nonsense, you can’t put your life on hold, just in case.’
I lean against the same wall Mitch kissed me against, energy suddenly depleted. ‘I’ll be there within the hour.’
‘Okay, love. I’m sorry.’
‘What for?’
‘Ruining your break.’
‘You’ve ruined nothing, Mum. I’m just glad you called me eventually.’
I throw clothes and underwear into my bag, telling Mitch what happened as I race around the room trying to collect everything. ‘I can’t believe I wasn’t there.’
‘You’re allowed a break, Jem,’ he says, packing his own bag. ‘You’re allowed to have time off.’
‘But I should have made sure she had everything she needed, or got someone to check in on her.’
‘As if she’d have let you do that.’
‘True, I suppose. Oh God, what if—’
‘What if what?’
I don’t really know what I was going to say, it just all feels so significant.
‘You can’t think about what ifs.’ He comes to stand before me, his hands on my shoulders. ’Breathe. Okay. Breathe. Let me finish packing your stuff, let’s check out and I’ll take you straight over.’
‘But we haven’t had breakfast.’
‘It doesn’t matter. It’s all fine.’
‘Are you sure? I feel so bad.’
‘Stop!’ His firmness takes me aback. ‘You don’t have to apologise every time something happens to ruin our plans. Please, Jem, this is your mum. She comes first, okay? No arguments. No question.’
I nod. Tearfully.
‘Come here.’ He pulls me into his arms and I wish I could stay there because reality isn’t nearly as warm. ‘I’m here. You’re going to be fine.’ I nod into his chest, grateful. ‘Let’s go.’
* * *
We’re downstairs. Mitch carries both bags. I’m flicking through the newspaper waiting for the bill to be settled, trying not to hop from one foot to the other. ‘It’s declined,’ says the girl on reception for the third time.
‘It can’t be. I don’t understand.’
‘I’m sorry, sir. Do you have another card?’
He flicks through his wallet. ‘No. I don’t. But there’s money in there, it must be your machine.’
‘I don’t think it’s our machine, sir. I just processed a payment a moment a go.’
‘Bloody hell.’
‘Hey?’ I say, rummaging in my bag for my purse. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll sort it.’
‘You can’t afford this!’ I look up sharply. ‘Sorry, I just mean, it’s expensive. It was supposed to be my treat.’
‘Look, don’t worry about it. It’s fine. Let me sort it.’ I just want to leave. At this point, I don’t care who pays the bill. ‘Here.’ I pass my card to the girl, hoping that the money I transferred from my savings is enough to cover it.
‘I’m so sorry. I can’t understand it.’
‘Don’t worry, it’s fine.’
‘That seems to have gone through, thank you.’ She passes me my card back and I’m relieved the money was there.
‘Come on then, let’s go.’
I grab for my bag but Mitch moves so it’s out of my reach. ‘The least I can do is carry your bag.’
‘Don’t worry, it’s fine.’
‘I don’t understand it. I’ll transfer the money back to you later.’
‘There’s no need. Come on.’
I jog over to the car, waiting for him to unlock it. He fumbles for the keys and I try to hold on to the moment before her call when everything was perfect and I wanted him to swallow me whole, not this moment now, where his floundering is making us late, and emptying my bank account, and it’s fine, it’s not his fault, I just really need to get to Mum.
54
The consultant sat before us has Mum’s full notes in his hand. ‘I’m afraid there’s a few things going on. The fall was probably just due to increasing muscle weakness owing to your steroids. Not ideal, but a known side effect. I’m more concerned about your colouring, from the scans we did it appears as though the bile duct blockage has shifted and increased in size, which is now causing a major problem. I understand from your Basingstoke notes that Dr Faux had warned us this may cause a problem, but as this cancer can move around within your abdomen, they hoped it might do, relieving the bile duct without invasive intervention.’
‘What does that mean?’
We’re surrounded by the blue curtains that seem to make doctors think the rest of the ward can’t hear your diagnosis. The ones they swoop closed as they whoosh in with files and people and no real answers about what is happening and how long it’s going to take and what they’re doing actually means. Or maybe that’s just how I feel now, sat here, looking at Mum as she half smiles at me, clearly frightened.
‘It’s not going to move on its own, so we need to intervene. I’ve liaised with a colleague and though it’s tricky surgery, owing to the extent of cancer mass, we believe there is a small section that is clear enough for us to fit a stent, something that will allow the bile duct to navigate past the blockage.’ I suppose that’s fairly self-explanatory. ‘It’s a risk, because you’re weak, and it’s not an easy area to access, but the procedure itself shouldn’t be too difficult, once we get in there.’
‘Do I have to have it done?’
‘Well, no… you don’t have to.’
‘What do you think, Jem?’
I look at her: tiny, exhausted over being poked and prodded. ‘I think you need to do whatever you want. Whatever feels right for you.’
‘What happens if I don’t have it fitted?’ There’s a sharp intake of breath from the consultant, he perches on the side of her bed. ‘Just tell us how it is, please. We can take it, can’t we, Jem?’
I’m not sure if I can, but obviously I agree. The consultant nods, reaching for Mum’s hand and I button up as tight as I can because whatever he is about to say, this isn’t good. And I didn’t see it coming. I mean, I know they said things weren’t great, but it’s so quick, so… sudden. I’m not prepared. Can you ever be?
‘If you were my mum, I’d tell you to have it done. The alternative is that the blockage rapidly gets worse. Honestly, it could be the difference between a few days and a
few weeks, maybe months, if we can manage the rest of your symptoms.’
He’s the first to be so explicit and it’s like having the wind whipped from my sails. I can’t imagine how it feels for Mum who gives a brave, shallow nod. ‘Book me in,’ she says, her voice fracturing.
‘Great. Good call. I think this is the right decision, Mrs Whitfield. We can try and get it sorted this afternoon, if you’re ready to go as soon as we can fit you in. We’re just looking to juggle a few procedures around. All being well, I’ll send someone for you within the next hour. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
He looks at me with a bedside manner smile, then leaves, talking to one of the nurses on the way out. This time he leaves the curtain closed, save a small gap. I watch him walk away. I am stunned, silent.
‘I’m so sorry for all this, love, I bet you were having a lovely time and there I go and spoil it.’
I turn to face her, refusing to let her see how scared I am. ‘You didn’t spoil it, Mum, it’s fine. I’m just glad I can be here, I’m glad you called, though…’
‘I know. I should have called sooner. I was just trying to do the right thing, you know? Not interrupt things for you. You’ve done so much these last few months, this last year, I am so desperate for you to have nice things in your life, nice people, a nice time.’
‘I have those.’
‘Yes, but… well, this with Mitch, it’s new, isn’t it? These are the best times, the most exciting. And they’re important to treasure because when you’ve been with someone forever, the excitement goes. You have to make the most of it.’