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

by Anna Mansell

  ‘I am making the most of it. Not that I know what our future holds, or how long we’ll even be together.’

  ‘Of course you don’t. But you like him, don’t you?’

  I nod. I think back to how cross I was in the hotel, how arsey I got over paying the bill. He must have been so embarrassed under the circumstances. He was trying so hard to make things nice. ‘It’s strange, Mum. I can’t put into words what it is about him. I guess, as terrifying as it is, I feel like I’m getting a second chance at happiness.’

  ‘Good. You should. You deserve it.’ She lets her head drop back onto her pillow. ‘I wonder how long it’ll take for them to come get me?’

  ‘I don’t know. Hopefully not too long. There’s activity out there.’

  ‘Is there? That’s good. And on a weekend. I’m honoured.’ We both know that a weekend procedure means things really aren’t good. Neither of us say as much. ‘Is Mitch still here?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s downstairs. He said he’d wait for me. I told him to go, but he wasn’t having it. Told me I needed him.’

  ‘That’s nice. You should feel like you can rely on him. I never could with your dad. Mitch is a good man.’

  ‘Yeah… I think he is.’

  ‘Mrs Whitfield?’ A porter arrives suddenly at the end of her bed. His name badge says Stuart. He’s tall and smiles kindly as he pushes the curtain around its rails. ‘I believe we have a journey to go on. You up for the ride?’

  ‘Blimey, that was quick.’ Mum looks to me, there’s fear in her eyes but she smiles as I lean in to give her a kiss. ‘Come on then, let’s get this sorted,’ she says, patting my hand. ‘First class, please, if that’s alright by you.’

  ‘It’s the only class I’ll push,’ says the porter. ‘No free tea and biscuits though I’m afraid, bit of a shame.’

  ‘Do you know how long she’ll be?’ I ask.

  ‘Not sure, did they say she was getting a stent? Maybe a couple of hours. Time for you to kick back and relax.’ He says it in such a way that I suspect he knows most visitors aren’t doing much more relaxing than the patients.

  ‘Yeah, I’ll go grab a coffee. Put my feet up.’ Mum squeezes my hand. ‘I’ll be waiting. Just call me when you’re back up, okay?’

  ‘Okay. Will do. Love you, Jem.’

  ‘Love you too, Mum,’ I say, really quickly, so I can shut my mouth and bite my bottom lip really hard until she can’t see that I’m not holding this together as well as I’d like. She fixes her own eyes forward, focusing on the ward door as Stuart pulls and pushes her bed, expertly navigating his way out of the ward and down the corridor.

  I watch until she’s gone. A final glimpse of her thinning brown hair and skeletal fingers holding on to the rail. Shit.

  A woman in the bed opposite puts her book down and looks at me. ‘I’ve been chatting to her. She thinks the world of you, you know.’ I just about manage a smile. ‘I reckon she’s a tough old boot, your mum,’ she says, kindly.

  ‘She is,’ I agree. ‘Toughest old boot I know.’

  I head downstairs to the main entrance. Mitch sits in the Costa Coffee nursing an empty latte as he reads a newspaper. ‘Hey.’ I drop into the chair beside him.

  ‘Hey, Jem, are you okay? What have they said? Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘Erm… I don’t know. Yes. No. I don’t know. They’re fitting a stent. It’s a blockage. That’s what they said would happen. I don’t… I can’t…’ I look up at the menu and over at the cakes and I can’t eat anything, and I can’t see because I’m crying and shit. ‘I can’t do this, I’ve got to be strong, I can’t…’

  ‘You don’t have to be strong for me.’

  ‘But if I let go, I don’t know if I’ll stop,’ I say, standing, pulling my jacket around me. ‘I can’t afford to unravel… I think I need air. Can we?’

  ‘Come on, let’s take a walk?’

  I nod, tears spill onto my cheeks. He pulls me into him, his arm around my shoulder, guiding me out into the blistering sunshine. And I just about manage to put one foot in front of the other, silently praying for this to all be okay because this is not the time for her to go. Not yet. Not now.

  55

  We find a bench beneath a tree that’s leaves are thick, rich and green. I sigh, stretching out my legs before me, checking my phone to make sure the volume is up as high as it will go. ‘Shit,’ I say, realising it’s dead. ‘The battery. I didn’t charge it. It never lasts more than a day any more. What was I thinking?’

  ‘Your new phone’s okay though, isn’t it? The one I got you. That should have plenty of battery if you’ve barely used it.’

  I reach inside my bag to see the battery still has 87%. ‘Yes, thank God. Thank you. Thank you for this! I’ll just, I’ll call them, let them know the right number.’ I fumble with the phone, dialling the ward number scratched on my hand from earlier. They take my new number, saying they’ve heard nothing yet but that I shouldn’t panic. It can take some time. I hang up, turn the volume up high but keep it in my hand, shoulders hunched, neck sore. ‘Oh God, I can’t tell Leanne what’s happening.’

  ‘Do you need to?’

  ‘Well, I don’t need to. But I’d normally call her.’

  ‘I’m here, you don’t need to worry her at the moment. Focus on your mum.’

  ‘I know. But I can’t even text. Her number’s in my old phone and I didn’t give her my new number.’

  ‘Well it’s for your mum really anyway, isn’t it? You don’t want to get it clogged up with other people. Hey, don’t worry about it. She’ll understand. It’s fine. Come on, she’s not going to get cross about this, and if she did, well, you need to have words.’

  ‘No, of course she wouldn’t, I just… we talk all the time. She knows about Mum stuff. If she doesn’t hear from me, she’ll worry.’

  ‘She’ll understand.’

  ‘Yeah, okay, yeah. You’re right. God… I hate this. I can’t think straight.’ An ambulance siren kicks in as one passes us, racing out of the car park on a shout. A couple walk past, the man holding the woman’s hand as she caresses a swollen belly. An old lady shuffles past us using a frame to steady her walk. I look down because I feel bad that I wonder how old she is and how she’s still here, yet Mum may not make it past the next few hours never mind longer. I wonder how life is fair and then I feel bad because she might be someone’s mum too and how dare I be so selfish.

  * * *

  I don’t know how long it takes, or how many people pass us, or how many times Mitch asks me if I need anything, for me to tell him no, before the sun’s gone in and a cold wind gets into my bones and my phone rings. I leap on the unrecognised number, terrified. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Jem? Jem, it’s me.’

  Mum’s voice sounds funny, but I’m so relieved to hear her I could weep. ‘I got the nurse to lend me his phone.’ Of course she did. Impatient as ever. As if she’d have waited until she got on the ward. ‘They said it worked, the stent. I’ll be back up on the ward in about twenty minutes.’

  A weight lifts from my heart and shoulders and I realise I can breathe. ‘That’s amazing, Mum. I’m so pleased. Okay, I’ll be up in a minute. I’ll see you there. Tell them thank you!’

  I hang up, and let out a long, loud release of air and nerves and fear. ‘Shit, that was… Fucking hell. I thought…’

  Mitch stands, his frame masks the sun and I can look up at him and into his eyes for the first time since the hotel room this morning. ‘You can’t think anything, it’ll eat you up. Are you okay?’ he asks for the millionth time, now reaching for my hand and pulling me up to stand.

  ‘I think so, yes. Jesus, that was…’

  ‘Intense. Terrifying.’

  ‘Yes, both of those.’

  ‘Come on. Let’s get you a coffee and then you can go see your mum. I’ll wait back down in the coffee shop for you.’

  * * *

  By the time I get back up on the ward, the consultant is opening up her curtains and I’ve missed the pos
t procedure talk. ‘Excuse me,’ I say, hanging back to speak to him before I see Mum. ‘How did it go? Is she going to be okay?’

  ‘It went fine, as well as we could hope. I’m afraid I can’t promise it will make enough of a difference though, your mum…’ He takes my arm, moving me to one side. ‘Your mum is very ill. She’s clearly strong and fighting to be okay day to day, but things are advancing quickly. We’ve upped her steroids to give her some strength for eating and so on, but that will undermine the strength in her muscles. She’s going to need a lot of care, have the Macmillan team been in touch?’

  ‘Yes… erm, yes. We saw someone. The other day, she was wanting Mum to reduce her steroids. And some other stuff. What’s for the best?’

  ‘Your mum needs to keep pain-free, she needs to eat for strength, she needs to be okay day to day. The medicines we’re prescribing will do that. I’ll talk to your doctor and they’ll liaise with Macmillan, make sure everyone is aware. Okay?’

  ‘How long will she be in here for?’

  ‘To be honest, now she has the stent, there’s no reason for us to keep her. She says she just wants to go home. Does she have anyone there?’

  ‘Me. I live with her. I can care for her.’

  ‘Okay, good. If that’s what you both want, I’ll sort out the necessary paperwork. Hopefully it won’t take too long, under the circumstances.’

  I hate that circumstances are used as a reason for special treatment, yet I’m so relieved at the prospect of getting her home. Of me getting home. I’ve never needed to be back in my own room, my own bed, so much as I do right now. ‘Okay. Thank you, I mean, for everything you’ve done for her. Thank you.’

  The consultant gives me a half smile then moves on. I take a deep breath before fixing my own smile and making my way back to Mum. ‘Hey, how you doing? They say you can come home as soon as they’ve sorted the paperwork.’

  ‘Yes, thank God. The woman over there is driving me mad and Liza Tarbuck’s on at six.’

  ‘Well, fingers crossed we can get back in time.’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  We pause; I don’t really know what to say to her.

  ‘Who knew the fuckety bollocks could get worse, eh?’ she says, eventually, resolute. ‘Is Mitch still here?’

  ‘Yeah. Downstairs.’

  ‘Get him to come up. He can entertain us. Distract us from all this nonsense.’ She waves her hand around at the room. ‘What’s the point in having an attractive man at our disposal if we can’t objectify him in a moment’s darkness, eh?’ Her smile is weak. Whatever she says now, she gets.

  56

  I climb into my single bed. It’s still light outside. Mitch takes me in his arms, holding me close. He insisted on staying, told me that Pip the dog had gone to a neighbour’s anyway, that it was fine, he was here for me. I’m glad I didn’t fight it. I can barely keep my eyes open, despite it not being late. Mum is in bed in the room next door, her gentle snores oddly reassuring.

  ‘I could never have carried her up the stairs you know, Mitch. Thank you.’

  ‘Hey. It’s fine. I’m just glad I could be here to help.’

  ‘I don’t know how we’ll cope when you’ve gone back home.’

  ‘I’ll stay as long as you need me.’

  ‘What? Here, in this single bed. It’s hardly ideal, is it?’

  He pulls me in closer. ‘It’s cosy,’ he says into my hair. ‘My place, it’s too much of Mum. I feel happier here, with you.’

  I imagine how his place might look, full of his mum’s pictures, fixtures and furnishings. A place that he’s inherited but perhaps hasn’t yet had the strength to put his own stamp on. I get that. I don’t think I could. Especially if he’s selling it anyway. Yet, even still, this isn’t right for a new relationship. Us here in my childhood bedroom. My body sags, disappointed. ‘It’s not how it was supposed to be though, tonight, is it.’

  ‘No.’ He shifts my face to look at him. ‘And another night in the hotel would have been lovely, but your mum needs us.’

  ‘She does.’ Us. I’m not in this alone.

  He adjusts, resting his head on his hand. ‘Maybe we should think about moving her bed downstairs. Or making her a new one up somehow, in the living room, or the dining room even. So she doesn’t have to climb those stairs, in case I’m not here.’

  I lay back into my pillow, aware how much she’d hate the idea of us creating a bedroom downstairs, yet not having any alternative ideas. Would it seem like she’d given up? Would she feel we’d written her off?

  ‘You could buy her a daybed. Pick one up from IKEA tomorrow, maybe. We can set it up nicely, get cushions or something. She can get up and about whenever she has the strength. Surely knowing she can just move to that would be better than her coming upstairs.’

  ‘It would, I suppose. But isn’t it taking her privacy away, her room? That’s her sanctuary, always has been.’

  ‘She’s going to need 24/7 care soon, trust me, this is going to be the best thing for you both, I promise.’

  I can’t help feeling doubtful, only because I know Mum. I know how she feels about her own space, about her room. Her bed is just as she wants it. Her pictures are how she likes them. The view out of her bedroom is the one she’s enjoyed from the first day we moved here after Dad left. Taking all that away seems so harsh and yet… Mitch is probably right.

  ‘I know this is hard. I really do. You don’t have to explain it to me; I’ve been there. But I’m here to help, to support you. We can get through this together. Okay? Leave it with me, I’ll sort it.’

  Any doubts I have must take a back seat. I know Mitch is right. ‘Thank you, for this. For everything.’

  ‘Hey, it’s what I’m here for.’ He kisses me. ‘This is what you do when you care.’

  ‘I know, I just… I’m not used to it.’

  ‘Then the men before me have been shits and they didn’t deserve you.’

  ‘It wasn’t their fault, not really.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. I guess I was just never comfortable taking help, being cared for. It feels weird, it makes me feel more vulnerable somehow.’

  ‘That’s crazy.’

  I can’t help but agree. When I look at things now, this, today. I don’t know if I’d have coped without him. I mean, I’ve been through heavy stuff with her before, but this is different. There’s a reality that everyone is setting us up for. The medical professionals all know what’s going on and they’re telling us in the most basic terms without explicitly saying, ‘Your mum’s going to die. Soon.’ It’s weird to know that’s what they’re all thinking, yet none of us can bring ourselves to say the words out loud. I guess it doesn’t have to be said. It changes nothing. It’s a truth better left in the back of our minds whilst we find our path through the days, weeks we have left. Surround ourselves with people that can help us, support us. ‘Shit!’ I sit bolt upright.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Leanne, I didn’t call her. She’ll be worried.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We talk every day. She’ll wonder what’s gone off.’ I jump out of bed to dig in my bag for my phone, which still hasn’t been charged.

  ‘She knew you were away with me though, didn’t she?’

  ‘Well… yes.’

  ‘So, she won’t be expecting an update from you anyway, would she?’

  ‘Well, I’d have texted. At least.’ I plug my phone in, waiting a moment for the battery to charge enough for me to turn it on.

  ‘Really? Even though it was a weekend away, just me and you?’

  ‘We’re very close.’ I grin, cheekily. ‘She’d have wanted all the details.’

  ‘All the details? What’s that supposed to mean?’ He sits up in my bed, suddenly tight, wound up. ‘What are we? Kids again? You don’t talk details with your girlfriends any more, do you?’

  ‘Well, not girlfriends, plural… just Leanne.’

  He raises his eyebrows. ‘Wow. Right. Good to know I’m being
scrutinised.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘No, nothing, I just thought this was a grown-up relationship, I didn’t realise that you have to tell your best friend all the gory details. What does she want to know? What we did? How it felt? What I’m like in bed? Do you rate me? Marks out of what? Five? Ten? Shall I measure my dick so you can text her length and girth?’

  ‘Mitch! You’re being ridiculous!’

  ‘Am I?’

  I swallow. Not sure how we suddenly got here, like this, him staring at me as if I’m some stupid kid. I pull down the T-shirt that barely covers my modesty. ‘She’s my best friend,’ I say, quietly, stupidly.

  ‘And who am I then?’ He carries on staring before shaking his head, shifting off the bed nudging past me as he leaves my room. I drop onto the bed, stunned, not sure quite what just happened or what I did to trigger him. Not sure what to apologise for because I know it’ll be me that’s said the wrong thing, it always is, except that I just told it as it is. I mean, I wouldn’t have told Leanne everything exactly…

  And as the front door slams shut and his car starts up, pulling off the drive. I’m overwhelmed with a weight of sadness and fear that I’ve never known before. Because I don’t think I can do this without him and now I don’t know how to get him back.

  I glance at my phone, should I call Leanne? Text her? Or should this be the start of me standing on my own two feet?

  57

  When I wake the next morning, I can hear Mum’s radio in her room. At first, I forget what happened last night. But it’s not long from opening my eyes that I remember the look on his face. The way he stared, disbelieving. The way he judged my friendship with Leanne. Maybe he’s right, maybe I’m too reliant on her, maybe we do act like kids sometimes. I guess we just get one another’s sense of humour and there’s no secrets between us. I’ve made such a mess of all other relationships bar the one with her that I probably do put too much weight on it. My phone is fully charged, but I’ve not switched it on. There’ll be a message from her, I know it. But if he and I are in a relationship, he doesn’t need to feel like he’s second fiddle to her. He shouldn’t have to worry that I’ll be telling her intimate secrets. She surely doesn’t tell me everything, she’s got Andy. I’ll call her later. She’ll understand.