Everything Has Changed

by kendra Smith

  He scurries ahead of me, then stops and looks back. The sky is a milky wash of blue and white; it’s just nine o’clock and a pocket of darker clouds are smeared across the horizon. There are a few chinks in the sky though, letting through a ray of sun here and there, falling on the lush grass. It’s glorious here, and with the vastness of the moors stretching ahead it makes me think things through, and when I do, I feel lighter, as if a burden has been lifted. I take a deep breath, stuff my hands in my pockets because it’s pretty chilly, even in late April. Pickle darts towards the fence, sniffs, then scuttles over to the other side. I stand lost in thought, looking at the bubbling stream, the water frothing at the edges, the calming whoosh of the water, wild yellow primroses in clumps by the water’s edge. My fingers find my phone inside my pocket and I wish, not for the first time, that it would bleep, that there would be another message. I take it out and look at it anyway. One new message. My heart thuds, but it’s a message from Victoria.

  All OK? Call us later, will you? Speak to you and Dad then. Hope you’re resting! V x

  I carry on with Pickle along the path for about another mile. There’s a noise above, it could be a plane, and there are some thick clouds gathering. I look up at the sky and can feel a change in the air. It was so beautiful about half an hour ago. I call Pickle who comes up to me and starts to trot next to me as I feel a sprinkle of rain. ‘We’d better get back, Pickle.’ As we walk together in the drizzly rain, I make a decision. I will call that number Markie texted me, see if the counsellor has any spaces. I know it’s the first step on a long road, but it’s a start.

  When I get back, Dad’s laid out the brunch things – it’s become a daily treat – and by now it’s raining quite hard. I’m due to leave tomorrow, take the train back. This afternoon Dad and I are going into Harrogate to look at a new dishwasher for him. I’m going to miss him and Pickle, and our walks.

  Dad’s lit the fire in the sunroom and we take our bacon sandwiches, mugs of tea and toast through there. The toast is thickly sliced and covered in homemade apricot jam from one of his neighbours, Liz. She’s a widow and they seem to have hit it off. He’s started to look after her dog for her when she goes to visit her mum in a care home in Bradford. Pickle curls up beside me on the sofa as I swing my legs round.

  ‘Good walk?’

  I nod and take a bite of toast. ‘Yep. Going to miss them, actually.’

  ‘And Pickle will miss you, and so will I.’ Dad looks at me and I wonder how I didn’t notice before how he’s aged a little, his hair is just that bit thinner on his head, his skin more papery.

  ‘Me too, but I need to get back.’

  ‘Course you do, pet. And face the music.’ Dad takes off his reading glasses and fixes me with his pale blue eyes.

  ‘Well, I need to see Simon,’ I say, taking a sip of tea. ‘I owe him an explanation.’

  Dad nods. ‘And then what?’

  I shrug. ‘I don’t know. But I do know that I don’t want to marry him, I should never—’ I stop because I don’t want to burden Dad with too much – there’s only so much he could cope with. ‘I should never have gone down the aisle.’

  ‘He seemed like a decent bloke, Lulu, but somehow he wasn’t really your type, was he? Ah well, you won’t make that mistake again.’

  No, I won’t, I think, stroking Pickle who has curled up by my feet. It was wrong to look for security with Simon. I did it for all the wrong reasons, I realise that now. It was just so easy to get wrapped up in the wedding, in running away, in being safe, in being someone that wasn’t you, a little voice says.

  ‘Do you remember what I told you and Vicky when I was staying, about your dreams?’ I look up at him and nod. ‘You need to follow them, Lu,’ he carries on. ‘I don’t think you were ready to get married. There’s too much you want to do. Mum only had one year here,’ he waved his hand around the lounge and gestured to the view outside. ‘But she did it – we followed her dream.’

  He stands up and walks towards the mantelpiece. There’s a photo of Mum and the two of us, on a swing chair. I’m about six and Vicky is a teenager, maybe seventeen. She’s wearing a lemon-yellow dress and beige wedges; I’m sitting in Vicky’s lap, looking up adoringly at her. Mum’s looking at the camera, her blonde hair cut into a short bob. I take after mum, with her fair hair and blue eyes, Vicky has always been more like Dad, darker hair and skin, but you can see we’re sisters, it’s in our slightly wonky smile.

  Dad picks up the photo and turns it round in his hand. ‘This was taken on Vicky’s seventeenth birthday, we’d just been to Brighton for the day.’ At the mention of Brighton all I can think about is Markie, his broad smile, the smell of fish and chips, the ice skating, his face when I was bearing my soul to him. It’s such a fond memory and suddenly I have such an urge to go home.

  ‘I will follow my dream – well, dreams, Dad, believe me, I will.’ I tell Dad about one of my dreams, about an agency I’ve contacted, who put out-of-work actors and singers in touch with productions that need help, understudies, extras, just to get you back on the stage. It’s not the West End, but it’s the first step. And it’s not hiding underneath caterpillar outfits anymore.

  ‘And there’s something else, Lulu love. Your mum, she had two life insurance policies. Now, I don’t want you to say anything, but I want you to have half of one, for now. I’m putting away Vicky’s share, but I want you to have yours now.’

  My heart sinks. ‘No, Dad, I can’t take your money.’

  ‘It’s not my money, pet, it’s yours. Don’t argue,’ he says standing up and getting his coat from the hall. ‘Come on,’ he says shaking out his coat, ‘we’ve got a dishwasher to choose. Get your jacket on.’

  In bed that night after a warm bath, with Pickle curled up beside me, I listen to the rain on the roof and I think about my future. Drum, drum, drum. And I let my mind drift to Markie and to our time together. Victoria’s told me that she’s seen him and Miss Perfect, his new assistant, at the village hall and that he’s waved to Victoria once or twice when he’s been in his van, and she’s been in the passenger seat. I frown and pull out my phone. I quickly find his business Facebook page and I scroll through all the new images of him and her. I feel a stab of envy, even though I know I have to leave that business behind; it’s not just that it’s—

  I decide to text him.

  Dear Markie, How are you? I’m fine but I really miss you.

  I delete that.

  Hi Sexy,

  Everything’s GREAT. Dad’s great, Pickle is a little terror, everything’s fine. How is Little Bo Peep without me?

  I delete that too.

  Hi. It’s good being at Dad’s, walking on the moors with Pickle has cleared my head a bit. But I’m ready to come home. How are things with you? Be good to catch up.

  I press send.

  I’m getting the train back tomorrow – another five hours to think about the future and mull over how I get back to being the me I want to be. But I already know what I want. Follow your dreams, said Dad. I frown as I tickle Pickle’s tummy. First, I owe Simon an explanation.

  37 Victoria

  ‘No, fat arse, I said I wanted Hawaiian.’

  ‘Jake! Don’t talk to your sister like that!’

  ‘But she’s being really annoying and not making up her mind. Last week she was vegetarian, now, not only is she so not vegetarian, she wants a Meat Feast. I mean, is she for real? I’m having a Hawaiian,’ said Jake mutinously.

  Victoria held the phone to her ear to complete the pizza order and practised her deep breathing. ‘Anyone for Coke? Sides?’ she said brightly. ‘Apparently today’s a Family Fun Special.’

  The twins sat at the kitchen table and glared at each other. She put the phone down and listened to the rain pelting down outside. Perhaps the only thing to look forward to was a slab of dough with melted cheese. Did she even like pizza? The absence of James was making everything so much harder, but she had to try, try for the kids, to keep things as normal as poss
ible until she could talk to him. It had been a week since Lulu’s not-wedding as Jake liked to call it. A week since James had left and all she’d had was a brief text telling her that he was collecting some things; he’d made sure he came over when she was out. He was staying at an Airbnb in the village. A week since Lulu had been wandering around the Yorkshire Dales sorting out her head, or at least Victoria hoped she was. She’d seen Markie a few times, normally driving past in his clapped-out van with some blonde at his side.

  ‘So maybe we could watch a family movie later, what do you think?’ Victoria said, getting knives and forks out of the drawer. Izzy looked up from her phone and squinted at her. ‘Mum, we don’t live in an Enid Blyton novel. We don’t want to watch Jurassic Park!’ Izzy stood up and wandered over to the fridge and pulled out some orange juice. Victoria closed her eyes momentarily. This was exhausting. A week of silence, sleeping badly, checking her phone, refreshing her emails, double-checking her WhatsApp. Nothing. And why should he contact her? Because she wanted him to?

  It wasn’t Izzy and Jake’s fault that their parents were confused – and it wasn’t their fault that it had rained every day of the Easter holidays. Jake had been stuck in his room on his iPad, either watching movies or working on his ‘projects’; Izzy has been glued to her phone and was eating so many chocolate biscuits that Victoria worried about a new outbreak of spots to send her into orbit, yet couldn’t really say anything as she was so touchy. James was avoiding her and her sister was miles away in Yorkshire. She felt terribly alone.

  ‘How about some David Attenborough? I’ve recorded some great shows,’ Victoria suggested, beaming. But by the glares she got from her children, she could already tell that saving her family was going to be harder than Saving The Planet.

  ‘Right where do you want these?’ It was the week after Family Pizza Night and the weather was still foul. She’d got up early, with a new sense of purpose. She was holding up two bin bags full of designer clothes, handbags, shoes and gym gear, dripping wet from the rain outside in front of the nice lady at the charity shop. She’d had another sort-through as there was little else to do in the rain. She’d also visited her hairdresser, to gasps. But they’d fixed her hair. It was shorter, messier. It felt more like the old Vicky. And her cupboards were practically bare when she’d banged them shut. But it suited her. New start, she’d thought, surveying the empty rail. She’d rested her hand on her wedding dress and carefully stroked it, and considered getting rid of it. But she’d shook her head, and hung it up on the back of her bedroom door. No, you’ll stay where you are.

  She glanced out of the shop window; the rain had turned into drizzle, drizzle which would go down the back of your neck and seep into your pores. She’d rather have torrential rain. At least with that you knew where you were. She’d almost suggested pizza again last night, but remembered what a disaster it was last time. They’d all had their pizzas and the twins had gone to their rooms and she’d ended up watching The Holiday with a large vodka tonic – it was so romantic. She’d tried for a week to jolly them up, take them for a walk, watch a family movie, bake some brownies. She’d tried to stop checking her phone every five minutes for news from James, too.

  ‘Just over there, dear,’ the woman from the charity shop motioned, bracelets clanking on her forearm.

  ‘And this?’ She gestured to the coffee machine in its box under her arm.

  ‘Ooh, that’s super. Just pop it on the counter here.’

  Victoria placed it on the top of the glass counter with a thump. ‘Good riddance,’ she said, and felt the woman’s eyes on her back as she strode out of the charity shop. When she got outside she felt a sense of freedom and was more determined than ever to erase the New Victoria from her life. Back in the car, she watched the raindrops chase each other down the windscreen. She switched the engine on and blasted the windscreen with hot air. Just then her phone beeped. She practically emptied her bag onto the seat looking for it in case it was James. But it wasn’t. It was a Google Calendar message reminding her that her hospital scan appointment was tomorrow.

  ‘Oh shit,’ she said out loud, as she flicked on her windscreen wipers. James had said he’d take her when they first got the email. What now? Lulu was in Yorkshire with Dad, and Zoe was away. Victoria had been told she shouldn’t drive back from it, because of the possibility of taking medication at the appointment. How would she manage? She dearly wanted James to be there, even if he wasn’t speaking to her, just to be a solid physical presence. She needed him.

  She held her phone in her hand for a long while, watching the wipers swish this way and that, thinking of various messages to send him.

  Need help.

  No that sounded too dramatic. She deleted that.

  Brain scan tomorrow, please advise.

  No, that sounded ridiculous. She deleted that.

  Hospital visit tomorrow, at 12, are you able to help?

  She pressed send and bit her lip.

  She sat in the car holding her phone and looked at the village through the rainy windows. There was the village hall across the road, with the Little Norland Coffee Shop, the park in the far distance with the wooded hillside rising up from it, she looked across the road to the small independent grocer, a fruit and veg shop, a newsagent and the bridal shop. She stared at the little boutique with its flower display neatly adorning the window outside, and wondered how many other brides-to-be would walk in, clutching not only their bags but their hopes and dreams close to their chest, imagining a bright, shiny future. Suddenly her phone pinged to let her know there was a new message.

  Of course. Pick you up at 10am at the house. J.

  As she released the handbrake, she felt like she’d won the lottery. He cares. She drove home with a ridiculous swell in her heart and kept telling herself not to get too excited. She was going for a brain scan, after all, she reminded herself, not a date.

  38 Victoria

  It was a quiet journey down to the hospital as she sat lost in thought about what it had taken to get them to this point, to being perfectly polite strangers, and the cold chill that ran through her when James opened the car door for her in silence on their driveway this morning.

  ‘How’s your, um, accommodation?’ she’d asked, a few minutes into the trip. ‘Grim,’ was the swift reply. ‘And you don’t want to come home?’ she’d asked, biting her lip. He’d hesitated for a while, as they were at a junction and she tried not to read too much into it, until he said, ‘Not at the moment,’ navigating his way around a tricky roundabout. Then he’d told her that, when he dropped her back home he would be collecting a few more of his things. Her heart sunk. To take her mind off it, Victoria stared at all the new houses that had been built on the outskirts of Little Norland. ‘Look at all these new houses,’ she remarked to James, to measure his response.

  He simply looked over at her sideways. ‘They were here when we bought the house, Vicky.’ They fell silent as flashes of countryside whizzed past and privet hedges blurred into a line of fuzzy green and beige beside the road. Spring was truly on its way now, it was early May and the countryside seemed greener and fresher. Tiny lambs dotted the fields and clumps of daffodils broke up the grass as they sped past. They made their way through the small country roads twisting and turning across rural Sussex as James flicked the wipers and screenwash on; they swished intermittently across the smeared windscreen somehow emphasising the quiet in the car.

  After a while, James opened his window for some fresh air. A chilly blast went through the car. ‘How’s Lulu?’

  ‘She’s at Dad’s sorting her head out. I think it’s good for her to be there – away from all this,’ she wasn’t sure what she meant, she just knew that Lulu hadn’t been herself. ‘From this place, from memories, I don’t know, from who she was trying to be. She needs to figure out what she wants.’

  ‘I guess that makes two of us.’

  Victoria glanced at James. His hands were gripping the wheel and he was looking straight ahea
d. She looked at his temples, greying slightly, and wondered when time had marched on so fast. His jaw was a little slacker, but still strong and determined; it was a profile she’d know anywhere – memory loss or no memory loss. He was wearing a white shirt and his now-familiar reading glasses perched on his head. The rain had finally stopped and the sun had emerged from the mushroom-coloured clouds just as they’d set off from the house earlier. And there was a warmth to the air which had surprised her as they crunched across the gravel driveway to the car. She’d left her coat undone and stood and watched two blackbirds scavenging in the leaves by the holly bush as she’d waited for James to put his coat in the boot. I nearly threw this away, she’d thought, watching her silent husband move things around in the boot. The hum of a leaf-blower in the background had been soothing until James had slammed the boot shut and said they’d better get going because of the traffic.

  The road opened up ahead of them into a dual carriageway and the trees became denser on either side as they drove over shiny roads towards the hospital. She was dreading going there, revisiting the terror of that night, but a part of her was grateful, glad that at least there might be some more answers.

  They slowed at some traffic lights and James let out a sigh. ‘Traffic’s always bad here,’ he muttered under his breath. Was it?

  Do you love him?

  She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, weariness overwhelming her.

  Half an hour later, they were pulling into the car park. She still couldn’t believe the hospital had been built. It was going to take years they’d said. Years she’d never get back.

  ‘OK?’ he said as they passed the hospital entrance sign.