I need to ask you for a big, humongous favour. Please can you come really early this year so we can have a special Christmas with Robyn? I know that’s not fair on all the other boys and girls in the world, but it would make Robyn happy. Think of it, Santa – if you could come now, then you don’t have to come again at the real Christmas so you would have one less house to do and everyone knows how busy you are on Christmas Eve .
The next thing I need to ask for and this is the most important bit please can you ask the elves if they have some magic medicine to make Robyn get better so she doesn’t have to die?
The last thing I want to ask for is something for my Mam. She’s really sad all the time since my dad went away to live in a different house so I think if you could bring my dad home to live in our house, she will be happy again.
Please, Santa, I know I’ve asked for a lot of stuff, but if you can help me, I will always eat my broccoli and I will never complain about stinky fish pie again. I promise I will try to be the best boy in the ENTIRE UNIVERSE.
Lots of love,
Harry aged nine and a half from Dublin, Ireland xxxx
37
After JP’s confession the previous night, we had stayed up late talking and laughing and even crying together too. I had caught a glimpse of the way we used to be, back at a time when we used to really talk to each other, probably way before we had had the kids, if I was completely honest. I had forgotten what we were once like before the years had slipped past and time had muted our feelings for one another.
When I had climbed into bed beside Harry and Robyn that night, I had lain awake wondering when had we stopped kissing one another goodbye as he had left for work in the mornings. Or when was the last time we had said ‘I love you’ at night before we went to sleep? When had we stopped caring for one another? I knew our sex life had taken on a perfunctory role in our relationship over the years, especially after the IVF. Then, when you throw in the exhaustion that follows young kids, I guess it had sort of died away like a flower you forgot to water. How many times had I used the excuse that I had a headache when JP had wanted to make love? When exactly had we stopped looking at one another as a person we loved and begun taking one another for granted? Why had we just assumed that the other would always be there?
The next morning while the house was still sleeping, I crept downstairs and left a note in the kitchen for JP explaining that I needed to go out for a while. As I reversed out of the driveway, the clock in my car told me it was 6.03 a.m. The sun was rising in an indigo sky and I knew it was set to be another scorcher. I could see the towering spire of St Sylvester’s Church like a beacon in the distance. I kept driving until eventually I pulled up outside. Its old limestone façade and formidable gothic windows were lit up in the morning sunlight. This was the church where JP and I had got married, where Harry and Robyn had been baptised. It was here that Harry had made his first communion and where Robyn would have made hers in a few years’ time. I knew JP would probably scoff at the idea of me going to a church, his views on religion and spirituality were different to mine, but today was going to be our last Christmas Day together and I needed strength to get through it. St Sylvester’s had been the first place I had thought of and so I drove there seeking solace.
It was only as I walked across the churchyard that I realised the church might not even be open at that hour of the morning. I pushed the door and was relieved when it moved with my hand. I went inside and dipped my finger into the font of cool holy water and blessed myself. I continued into the nave of the church, where familiar religious statues stood atop pedestals and pictures depicting the stations of the cross hung along the walls. I walked over to the candles and, after putting money through the slot, I lit one, watching the flame as it struggled to come to life before it finally flourished and glowed. Then I sat on a pew near the back, where sunlight flooded in through the stained-glass windows, scattering beams in bright colours around on the bench beside me.
In the stillness, I could hear the echoes of happier times: strains of laughter when I couldn’t get JP’s wedding band onto his finger; Robyn’s shriek as the cold baptismal water startled her awake; the sweet sound of children’s voices as they sang at Harry’s communion.
I bent my head and prayed for the courage and strength to get through this day and for all the other days to come. I prayed for all of us, for Robyn, for Harry and for JP. I prayed until warm tears streamed down my face.
My note was still sitting on the worktop when I got home. The house was quiet, and everyone was asleep, so I went into the kitchen and made myself a black coffee. I was feeling calmer after my visit to St Sylvester’s, my heart more peaceful. I would get through this day, no matter what.
When JP got up a while later, he came into the kitchen bleary-eyed and I knew he had slept as badly as I had.
‘How did you sleep?’ he asked, joining me at the table.
I shrugged my shoulders.
‘Stupid question, isn’t it?’
He seemed sheepish and I guessed he was feeling embarrassed after our heart-to-heart the night before. Despite everything that had gone on between us and the mistakes he had made, I think I finally understood him. I knew that he wasn’t a bad person – he had just needed a connection with someone, and he had found that in Megan. It was as though the slate had been wiped clean and we were ready to start a new chapter – a chapter that we both knew was going to be our most difficult yet.
‘I found this under the tree,’ he continued.
‘What is it?’
He handed me a page with blue feint lines ripped from a copybook. It was the letter Harry had written to Santa. As I read through Harry’s scrawled handwriting, my breath hitched in my chest. I realised with a slap that he was counting on Santa to fix all of this sadness in his life. In Harry’s eyes they were simple requests, he didn’t understand things like terminal illness and mortality. His innocence on the paper was crushing to read; he was going to be so disappointed when he realised that Santa had no magic cure for Robyn.
‘Oh God, JP,’ I said, shaking my head.
When Harry got up, he was shocked to see his dad sitting at the kitchen table.
‘Dad!’ he sang.
‘Come up here, son,’ JP said, opening his arms.
He ran and climbed up onto his knee. I immediately thought of the letter JP had just shown me. I hoped Harry didn’t think that JP being here this morning was part of Santa’s gift to him.
‘Dad came to see you open your presents,’ I said in case there was any confusion about JP coming back home.
‘Did Santa come?’ Harry asked.
‘Well, I just peeped into the living room – now, I didn’t go in – but it did look like there were presents in there! Will we go have a peek?’
Harry shook his head. ‘Let’s wait for Robyn.’
We waited until Robyn woke and then we carried her downstairs and crept into the living room to see what Santa had brought.
‘He drank all the milk – and look – the reindeers ate the carrot too!’ Harry cried, running over to the plate we had left out for Santa. He looked around the room in amazement. The floor was covered in toys. There was no carpet visible.
I could see the gleam of excitement in Robyn’s cerulean eyes too as she took in the scene before her and my heart soared. I had been worried she might be too sick to enjoy the magic of Santa. I carried her over, and we sat down on the floor while JP brought a present with her name on it over to her. We both helped her to tear it open and she smiled when she saw it was a unicorn that lit up like a rainbow when you pressed a button. As I helped her to use it, I noticed JP was videoing us on his phone. I was so glad he had remembered to do that. I gave the camera a smile and he smiled back at me. I wanted to capture every little detail and memory because I knew we would need them in the awful days that were to come.
‘Mam!’ Harry cried after a few minutes. ‘Santa brought you one too!’
‘Really?’ I said in surpr
ise as Harry handed me a gift. I hadn’t put anything out for myself. ‘Are you sure?’
‘It says your name, look.’ He pointed to the handwritten gift tag that said Sarah in cursive script. I began to unwrap the silver bow that secured the red paper. There was a box inside and, as I removed the lid, it revealed a robin made from glass. I lifted the ornament out to take a closer look, taking care of its delicate structure, and I realised it was a bauble. I saw it had painted black eyes and an auburn breast, but otherwise the light filled the clear glass. Words deserted me. ‘It’s beautiful,’ I said eventually. ‘Thank you, Santa.’ Tears welled up in my eyes and I saw JP was looking down at the floor. ‘Thank you so, so much!’
When all the presents had been unwrapped, I noticed Harry seemed to be a little subdued and I knew it was disappointment. He had been counting on Santa to deliver something that would save Robyn. My heart ached for my little boy.
It was after midday when our families began to arrive. Everybody had got into the spirit and had worn Christmas jumpers even though they must have been sweating in the thick wool. I couldn’t help but smile when JP’s father, Richard, arrived wearing felt antlers and my usually uptight mother-in-law, Joan, wore an elf hat. Although she clearly felt self-conscious with it on, it touched me that everyone had made an effort and wanted this day to be just as special as I did. Fiona and Seán were helping all the children to decorate gingerbread men at the dining-room table. They were sticking on far too many jellies and Smarties, but they were having a ball. Robyn was showered with gifts from relatives and friends. Her friend Lily brought her an Elsa costume. ‘You can be Elsa now, Robyn,’ Lily said, handing her the dress, and Robyn’s eyes lit up with excitement as we helped to put it on her. I was so touched when her playschool teachers handed me a scrapbook of all her artwork from earlier in the year before she had got sick. I knew I would treasure it forever.
I went into the kitchen to baste the turkey and I had just opened the oven door when I heard footsteps behind me. I turned around to see my mother-in-law had followed me and she was looking at me nervously.
‘Is everything okay, Joan?'
She cleared her throat. ‘I owe you an apology, Sarah,’ she began.
‘Really?’ I asked, closing the oven to give her my attention.
‘Well, for what I said to you about not letting John-Paul take her to the States. I’m sorry, Sarah, I just couldn’t bear to lose her – I still can’t…’ she quivered.
‘I know, Joan,’ I consoled. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever accept what is happening.’
‘I also need to apologise for being – so – so… harsh on you when John-Paul left. I shouldn’t have been like that. I’m sorry, Sarah.’
‘That’s okay.’ I meant it too; if there was one lesson that Robyn’s illness had taught me it was that life was too short for grudges and grievances.
She checked behind her to make sure nobody could overhear us before continuing. ‘You see, John-Paul’s dad used to carry on the same way. Now, he never left me – you wouldn’t get away with that in those days – but all the same I was expected to just put up with it, turn a blind eye and get on with things. It stung though, and of course when everyone else knew about it, it was humiliating. Those early years while the kids were small were tough, but there were plenty of women in my position, you certainly never left the family home, or you would have been a social pariah. Times have changed, I can see that now, and you were right not to tolerate it. John-Paul did an awful thing, but I admire how you handled it, Sarah. You’ve been very dignified throughout it all. I am proud to call you my daughter-in-law.’
‘Thanks,’ I mumbled, feeling embarrassed by the unexpected compliment but also unsure of what to say to this woman who had just exposed a huge vulnerability to me. I looked beyond the glass panel in the door leading to the living room where JP’s father was cradling Robyn gently on his knee. I had never known that Richard had lived a double life. He had always struck me as such a family man.
‘As you know, he’s a great husband now, he doesn’t stray, or at least not that I know of… I guess what I’m trying to say is…’ She broke off. ‘Don’t rule things out… people can change, remember that.’
I nodded. ‘I don’t know if JP and I will ever reconcile in that way, Joan, but for now we are together for Robyn and that’s enough for me.’
She reached out and clasped my hands between her own and gave them a squeeze. ‘I just wanted to say, thank you, Sarah, for allowing us to be here today and for being so good to John-Paul and for letting him still be part of the family at this time. It’s the greatest gift you could give him.’
A long table ran from the kitchen at the back of the house right through the double doors and into the living room at the front of the house. We had over twenty people sitting down for dinner and JP and I had set the food out like a buffet on the kitchen worktops. Everybody helped themselves and then we all sat down to eat together under the candlelight. We talked and laughed. We pulled crackers, wore silly paper hats, read even sillier jokes and it was lovely. Robyn sat on JP’s knee at the head of the table and managed to eat a tiny bit of puréed dinner and seemed to enjoy the taste. I was trying to take it all in, to switch off the part of my brain that was aching at all we were losing and just savour every detail, but it was hard when a booming gong seemed to be following me around, shadowing over me, sounding ‘this is the last time you will do this’ with every step I took.
I watched Robyn grow tired as the meal wore on and I knew she needed to sleep.
‘I think I should take her up to bed,’ I said after dinner.
One by one, the family gathered around and placed gentle kisses on her hair. Their eyes were misty, and I couldn’t look at them. We all knew they were saying goodbye.
JP helped me up the stairs and then I put her under the covers in my bed. I felt bone-tired – every part of me, every muscle, even my skin ached. I was wearisome from the emotional toll of the day and I guess my lack of sleep from the night before. Even though I could still hear the chatter from all our guests down below, I climbed into bed beside her and wrapped her warmth in mine. I traced my fingers along the contours of her face, along the conch shape of her ear while she slept. Every time I looked at her, my stomach churned with fear.
When I woke next, I was unsure of the time. It was dark outside, and I could hear the muffled sounds of TV from downstairs. Robyn was still sleeping soundly so I got out of bed and crept down to find JP sitting alone in the living room. There was no sign of a party and the house had been restored back to normal.
‘I’m sorry, I fell asleep…’
‘You’re exhausted, everyone understands.’
‘When did they go home?’ I asked.
‘They left about an hour ago.’
‘Did Harry go to bed okay?’
‘He fell asleep on the couch, so I took him up to his room a while ago.’
I sat down onto the sofa. I still felt tired. No matter how much I slept, I felt exhausted. I recognised one of the Bourne movies on the TV. My eyes looked at the screen, but I couldn’t concentrate on anything right now.
‘Thank you for making today so special, I think we’ll all hold on to these memories forever,’ JP said.
‘You did your bit too; I can’t take all the credit. It was having everyone together that made it really special.’ Despite everything, all the painful goodbyes and undercurrent of sadness, it had been joyous in a way I could never have imagined. All the people who meant the most to me had been there; we were together and that’s what Christmas was all about.
‘I know Santa forgot you last year, so I just wanted to give you this.’ JP got up from his armchair and took a small box down from the top of the mantlepiece.
‘But what about the robin…’
‘That was from Santa, this is from me.’
‘But I never got you anything,’ I said quickly. ‘With everything going on I forgot – I’m sorry…’
JP laughed. ‘Tha
t’s payback for last year.’
I couldn’t help but laugh too. ‘What is it?’ I said, taking it from him.
‘Open it.’
I pulled back the lid of the box to find a gold locket sitting on the black velvet cushion. I lifted it out and opened the clasp to see Robyn’s toothy grin beam back at me from the photograph inside.
‘It’s beautiful,’ I whispered as he helped me to secure it around my neck.
‘When she’s no longer around, she’ll always be with you.’
‘I can’t believe that this is the last one…’ I said, feeling desolate beyond words. I had put so much energy into preparing for this day to make our last Christmas together perfect and I was left feeling so low now. I began to sob suddenly. It took me by surprise. My whole body was trembling. ‘I can’t do this,’ I whispered, shaking my head. The mountain ahead of me seemed impossible.
JP sat down onto the sofa beside me. Then he put his arms around me and held me close, so close that I could smell his musky aftershave, the scent intense and manly. I had chosen it with the kids for Father’s Day last year. I was glad to have the safety net of his strong arms around me, somebody to catch me and soften the fall.
‘Yes, you can,’ he said. ‘You’re the strongest woman I know. We’ll do it together, when you feel like you can’t go on, I’ll get you through it, and on the days when I’m falling apart, you’ll carry me through.’
Suddenly his face was in front of mine and our eyes locked with one another and I could sense a longing behind them. I felt it too. He leaned across so his breath was hot on my face. We had been through so much together. Years of understanding passed between us as our lips met. And I needed that. I needed the easiness of someone I knew – someone who knew me better than I knew myself. Right then, I needed closeness. I craved intimacy with someone, it had been a long six months and I wanted to surrender into someone’s arms. I wanted someone to hold me, to catch me from my fall because I was sinking. Having a terminally ill child and all the pain and tormented thoughts that it brought was a lonely place to be on your own. I knew my barriers were softened by exhaustion, but there was comfort in the familiar and before my head could catch up with my heart and make me think twice, I melted into his embrace as our mouths searched for one another. It was too familiar not to instinctively keep kissing. It was like sitting on a bike and automatically pedalling. His kiss was slow and tender, and it was a balm being applied to my broken heart. Past hurts were left in the past and we were just JP and Sarah once more, with no history or backstory.
The Last Days of Us Page 22