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

by Anna Mansell

  He shakes his head. His eyes flick to mine, then away. There’s a chink, a split in his bravado. There’s something there that I can hook on to. Something that will give me what I need to understand who he is and how to get him out of my life as quickly as he came in. And I don’t know if I can do this but Leanne’s right, I can’t spend the rest of my life going along with things as they are because I’m frightened to upset something, or someone. I can’t keep making mistakes that affect other people because I’m too afraid to own my feelings. I’m not perfect, who bloody well is, but I am tired of living with self-loathing.

  Life’s too short.

  ‘What did she do to you?’ I ask, leaning into him before I stop and wait.

  73

  I’ve almost given up waiting when he starts talking. His voice is low to begin with, I have to work really hard to hear him. But I listen to every word, I let him speak. I let him take all the time he needs.

  ‘You’re right. Lisa is my ex.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say, gently, heart now in my throat. ‘Tell me about her. What happened?’

  He turns his back on me, head in hands over the edge of the bed. I shift to make sure I don’t miss a single thing he says.

  ‘She was… controlling.’

  ‘How?’

  He lets out a sigh. ‘She came into my life not long after Abby left. I had come back up to be with Mum, but the timings are a little different to what I said. I’m sorry… I think I just wanted to pretend none of it had happened.’

  ‘None of what?’ He looks up at me from beneath his eyebrows, so I lay my hand on his.

  ‘She made me fall for her and I did, with everything I had. And before I realised what was happening she took over. She moved in to Mum’s with me, brought Pip with her, Pip was Lisa’s dog, not Mum’s.’

  If it was Lisa’s dog, but they’d split up when we met, how did he still have it?

  ‘She took over. Changed things around. Put her stamp on my mum’s house.’ I grit my teeth. She took over. Like he has here. ‘That’s why I really want to sell it. That’s why I wanted to stay here with you – there are too many memories there. Too much pain. And I love you, I just want to be with you, I don’t want any ghosts. I don’t want to feel like she’s still watching over my every move.’

  I look down at his fingers, still clasping mine. ‘It must have been awful, for you to feel this way.’

  ‘I never thought it’d be me. I mean, you do hear about it happening to men, but I never imagined I’d be that weak.’

  Weak? ‘It can happen to any of us,’ I say, trying not to sound too pointed. Incredulous that he’d weave a tale that reflects our own journey so closely. As if I wouldn’t notice. Alcohol courses through my veins giving me an odd confidence that I can’t let take over. I have to manage this carefully. Damage limitation. For Mum’s sake. For my own. ‘I’m sorry you felt you couldn’t tell me about her.’

  ‘I wanted you to see me for the man I believed I was, not the one she turned me into.’

  ‘Were you afraid of her?’

  He takes his hand away now, looking down at his fingers, fiddling with the ring on his right hand. ‘Stupid, isn’t it?’

  ‘No! Not at all. You were vulnerable, what with everything going on with your mum, and just coming out of a relationship.’ As I say this, I almost want to kick myself because the mirror is so bloody clear and up in my face right now.

  He nudges me, gently. ‘I should have known you wouldn’t judge.’

  ‘As if I could!’ Oh, I’m bloody well judging. I am judging you hard.

  ‘You know… that’s why I had no money to pay for the hotel. Within weeks of being together, I wasn’t working because of Mum. Lisa put me on her accounts, we shared everything, she said it was easier that way as she earned the money. Then we split and she emptied everything. That’s why the car is in her name too, but it’s my car. I was paying for that much at least. Well, I was, until the money ran out.’

  ‘Oh, love. I thought you’d said you had money?’ Like all those times you sneered at the fact I had none.

  ‘Did I? I mean, I didn’t mean to give that impression. I was probably trying to impress you. But no, Mum had nothing, she left nothing apart from the house. Well, there was enough to pay for a basic funeral and that’s it. It was awful. I’d wanted so badly to give her the proper send-off she would have wanted. A beautiful coffin, a wake for all her friends so we could share stories and celebrate her life.’ He sniffs, wiping his eyes as he blatantly lies to me. I’ve heard him say he’s got money. I’ve heard him tell me I’m earning nothing, to let him pay. Fuck, that’s why he bought me the phone.

  The phone. To replace my other one that wasn’t working properly.

  How did I not question any of this stuff? How was I so quickly wrapped up in his manipulation?

  How on earth do I get out of it?

  ‘I asked Lisa, begged her to let me use some of our money to do that and she wouldn’t let me.’ He pauses, his eyes full, his bottom lip quivering. ‘And when we met, I couldn’t believe it. You were so warm, and real. And I saw where you were at, what you had to cope with, I could see which way things were going to go and I just wanted to be with you, let you lean on me. Be the person Lisa never was for me, the person she never allowed me to be. I have so much to give, Jem. Meeting up with you meant I could get out of the house. I could leave it, let her stay there if she wanted to. I took the car, I told her I was. I don’t know why she said what she said because it was the last thing I did. I used the tiny shred of courage I had to tell her I was going and taking it.’ He closes his eyes.

  I want to grab hold of him, point out all the flaws in his story, not least the fact that if he was so frightened of this woman, how did he get the strength to log on to Tinder? How did he have the courage and confidence to be so forthright with me? How can he not see what he’s saying?

  He continues, ‘That was why I couldn’t let you kiss me, when we went out to the party for Great-Aunty Vi.’

  Oh, right. He had a conscience, did he? ‘You were still together then?’ I ask, gently.

  ‘I know, I know.’ He holds my hand to his chest. ‘I am so sorry, I know I lied. I just… I didn’t want to do that to you. I was falling in love and I couldn’t hurt you. I had to end it with her. You gave me the strength to do that, that’s how much you mean to me. I wouldn’t be here without you. That night, after I left you, I went home and told her to leave. I gave her a few days to get out but… well, she’s still there.’ I find that bit hard to believe. The woman I saw the other day didn’t seem like a woman happy to stay in a home that wasn’t her own.

  Oh my God. It’s not his home. I bet it’s not his home.

  ‘And that’s why you’re here, with me? Because she wouldn’t leave and you had nowhere else to go?’

  ‘It’s not the only reason, Jem.’ I shift to sit cross-legged before him, suddenly disgusted by the sight of him. ‘I promise you, that’s not the only reason. I’m here because I love you. Because I want to be here for you and your mum.’

  I nod, going over his every word. Aware I still don’t know what the truth exactly is but not questioning the feeling in the pit of my belly that says this isn’t it.

  ‘She emptied our bank account. That morning at the hotel. That’s why I couldn’t pay. Jem… I’m so sorry, I just… I’m so sorry…’

  He buries his head in my stomach, my hands stroke his hair. And now I realise that the butterflies I felt? Was a kind of fear. The uncertainty about him and us and what was unfolding? That was my gut, telling me something was wrong. And the nerves… that was me, ignoring that self-same gut, just like I always have. And it’s like the world’s in a bubble. Or I’m in a bubble in the world. It feels dreamlike, I can hear, I can see, I can feel the weight of him on me, no longer exciting, now just, suffocating. Utterly, terrifyingly, suffocating.

  74

  Most of the night I lay awake, Mitch beside me, sleeping. I’ve watched him, the flicker of his
eyes, the twitch in his legs. I’ve seen words play on his lips, though he doesn’t make a sound. I’ve studied his face, wondering how it’s possible to fall in love so quickly, then out of it even faster. When he’s moved, I’ve moved, so our skin needn’t touch. When he’s reached out for me, when I’ve not been able to escape the weight of his arm resting across my chest, I think I’ve barely felt it because I’m already suffocating under the weight of realisation.

  How could I have got it so wrong, so significantly, so quickly?

  How could I have let him come into mine and Mum’s life so completely? Was I wrapped up in his charm and how it made Mum smile? Was I convinced because Leanne was encouraging me to be fearless? Was it the sex? The feeling of being adored and wanted, needed, so all-consuming. Am I that shallow?

  Is he really that bad?

  He’s so charming. So generous. He’s so tender at times, so loving. He’s so supportive of all we’re going through, the cooking and cleaning, the taking time to make things nice for Mum. For me. How does that sit beside a man who would look for a relationship when he was already in one? One who would lie, day in, day out? One who would send photos of the letter I wrote to Ben? He knew, he knew what that letter meant for me. He knew Ben hadn’t wanted to read it. Why would he send it, knowing what damage could be done? How could I let him do this to me?

  Except the more I read up on the kind of person Lisa had said he was, the more I recognise, and come to understand; the more I see how little I have to do with any of this. He doesn’t need me; he needs someone that lets him be him. And I will not do that any more.

  I don’t have much of me left. I thought I was rock bottom before, I had no idea there was more to come. But here I am, still breathing, still standing. Because of Mum, because of Leanne. Maybe… maybe even because of me. He will not take what tiny bit is left.

  * * *

  At six a.m., I creep out of bed because I know I can’t sleep, but I don’t want to wake him.

  I tiptoe through towards the kitchen, but Mum reaches out her hand.

  ‘Love, I was just about to call you.’ Her voice is strained, fractured. ‘I need you to get the doctor.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  She reaches for a pot she’s got by her side, vomiting into it. She spits, she dabs at the side of her mouth, she shifts her hips like she had yesterday, and I see pain etched across her face. ‘Please, call the doctor.’

  * * *

  It takes almost two hours for Dr Fairleigh to arrive and in that time, Mum has continued to be sick, just small amounts, but her discomfort has increased significantly. She didn’t want to drink anything, I tried rubbing her back but where it would help for a second it would irritate not long after.

  ‘The pain started yesterday,’ I say, showing him in to her, glancing upstairs, relieved to see there’s still no sign of Mitch stirring. ‘She had codeine.’

  ‘How much?’ he asks, reaching for her wrist as he studies his watch.

  ‘Gosh, I can’t remember. How many times, Mum?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she squeaks, then sinks into herself as a wave of pain crushes her breath.

  ‘Maybe three lots, it was helping,’ I say, letting her free hand squeeze mine.

  ‘I took some an hour ago, it’s not touched it,’ she says between breaths and I don’t know what labour looks like, but I imagine this is it. Late stages. As the woman pulls away from reality and finds the part of her that allows her body to do what it’s supposed to. Do they hear, in that state? Can they say all they need to say?

  ‘She’s also been sick.’

  I pass him the jug, its contents worryingly discoloured. His face remains poker straight as he says, ‘Right.’ He digs out a stethoscope from the leather bag he carries, which looks like the ones you get on TV shows, and I didn’t realise they really were the ones doctors use when on a visit. He takes her blood pressure.

  I crouch down to her eye level.

  ‘I don’t want to go to the hospital,’ Mum manages. ‘I’ve done the paperwork, it’s on the side there. I want to stay here.’

  ‘Mum, let’s see what happens first.’ But she’s gone again, inside of herself, breathing and squeezing my finger before vomiting again. And I see the look on the doctor’s face and I feel the pain in my heart and something inside me tells me this is it.

  Please let me be wrong. Not now. Not like this.

  He turns to me. ‘We wouldn’t ordinarily administer morphine due to her blood pressure, I think, however…’ It’s the look in his eye that tells me he doesn’t need to finish the sentence. The look that says, I’m sorry, but this is happening. The look that says, there is nothing we can do and we did say it might come to this.

  ‘What’s happening?’ I ask as Mum breathes through more pain.

  ‘It’s very difficult to be certain, but it looks like one of two things, potentially both; I think there is a blockage somewhere, that’s what is causing the pain. The hospital suggested that would be the case, didn’t they?’ I nod. ‘However, her vomit would suggest there’s also a bleed.’

  I drop from crouching to my knees. My head rests on her hand as she tightens her hold, her body rigid.

  ‘The morphine will make her comfortable, if you’re happy for me to do that.’ I bite my top lip, to stop any sounds coming out because I can’t guarantee they won’t also be tinged with pain. I just nod, again. And he goes back into his bag, getting the injection ready, doing paperwork, making sure he’s noted the batch number, time and location before he takes her hand from me.

  Her relief is almost instantaneous.

  I watch her melt into her bed, relaxation moving through her body, eyes closed, breath returning to normal. It’s that quick. And the relief I feel is almost (but not quite) as equal to the dread I can taste.

  The doctor packs his things away, depositing the needle into a small yellow box that he places on the side. ‘We should leave that there,’ he says.

  He checks over her again, monitoring the impact of the drug, before tucking her arm into the duvet and ushering me out of the dining room into the lounge.

  75

  Dr Fairleigh invites me to sit down in my own home and when doctors do that, you know it’s not good news. He sits across from me in my chair. He leans forward slightly, his elbows on his knees, fingers steepled.

  ‘This is it, isn’t it?’

  He doesn’t answer straight away, but I can tell from the look in his eye. I could tell from the moment he arrived. In fact, I think I knew from when I called him. It was there, in the back of my mind, the truth I didn’t want to accept.

  ‘We have to keep her comfortable. That is the most important thing at this point, her comfort.’ I swallow. I reach for the tissues that sit by her diary and book, all stacked up neatly in a pile at the end of her sofa. ‘I’m going to stay for a while, just to make sure the dose I gave her is sufficient to keep her comfortable. We’ll need to get the community nurses over though. Sometime this afternoon. They can fit Mum with what they call a driver.’ I look at him blankly. ‘It’s like a drip that will administer both morphine and anti-sickness on a continual basis.’

  ‘How long for?’

  There’s a brief pause before he says, ‘Until she no longer needs it.’

  ‘But… how? This is all so sudden? She was fine, she was doing really well! We went out the other day! She was eating.’

  ‘And that can happen, we often see an uplift in a patient’s energy before things take a sudden change. And we knew something like this would happen. I know that doesn’t help you now, but…’

  I drop back into the chair, stunned. It’s all so surreal. ‘I’m not ready… Doctor. I’m not ready. I can’t… she can’t.’

  I stare at the carpet. I search inside my addled brain for some sense of what the hell happens next or a flash of information I can give that might change his prognosis. But nothing comes. ‘What can I do?’ I whisper, eventually.

  He offers a sad smile. ‘Talk to h
er. She can hear you. Keep her company. If you notice any signs of anything changing, or the nurses haven’t been, call us.’

  ‘What if she’s in any pain again?’

  ‘She shouldn’t be. What I’ve given her should be fine for several hours but I’ll organise a prescription for Oramorph too. Are you on your own here? Can anyone pick that up for you?’

  On cue, I hear Mitch move about upstairs.

  ‘Erm, that’s my boyfriend.’ The word sticks in my throat. He’s the last person I want here.

  ‘Can he pick up the prescription for you?’

  I nod. Mitch comes down the stairs. I catch a glimpse of him as he sees the doctor and my stomach flips.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he asks, sleepily, checking through to Mum. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘It’s Mum, she’s…’ but I can’t finish the sentence and he sweeps me into his arms so I don’t have to. I want to push him off, but I also want to hide.

  Dr Fairleigh is filling out paperwork. ‘Could you collect a prescription for her? If I organise it to be at the surgery pharmacy?’

  ‘Of course, anything at all.’ Mitch steps forward like a saviour, he’s all chest and arms and look at how helpful and important I am.

  The doctor goes off to make some phone calls and check up on Mum at the same time. He gives orders for the community team and reels off drug dosages that they need to bring with them. He discusses another patient and tells them he’ll be back in the office in an hour. Then he comes through to me, my hand held in Mitch’s, my heart still.

  ‘She’s comfortable. The community team will be with you by two thirty at the latest. If you need to give any more pain relief in the meantime, you can give her ten mills of Oramorph as and when needed.’

  ‘As and when? What if I give her too much?’