If You Were Here

by Alice Peterson

  When our form teacher asked Maddie to introduce herself to the class she said, ‘Hello, my name’s Madeleine, but everyone calls me Maddie, and I’m always hungry.’ Her voice buzzed with energy and her smile was contagious. It was love at first sight.

  Luck came my way when, shortly afterwards, we were paired to do an English project called, ‘When I’m a grownup’. We had to write a short story and put pictures together of how we imagined ourselves in the future.

  Maddie drew a ballerina. I was a deep-sea diver, because I loved the ocean and drawing sharks.

  When she invited me over to her house to do our homework together, I was struck by how different it was to mine. Firstly, it was at least double the size, over three floors, with steep stone steps leading up to a front door adorned with a lion’s head door knocker. Their place was also filled with animals – a yellow Labrador called Monty, Dandelion the rabbit, who lived in a hutch at the end of their garden and a fluffy, white cat called Billy the Bastard, who would have made a convincing villain in any James Bond film.

  The first thing Maddie’s mother, Lucy, said to me, cigarette dangling out of her mouth as she iced a Victoria sponge cake, was, ‘Don’t go anywhere near him, ducky, he’ll scratch your eyes out. The only person he loves is James’. Quickly, I discovered James was Maddie’s older brother, the fridge door adorned with photographs of him either playing cricket or standing on a riverbank proudly holding up a large salmon. There were, of course, pictures of Maddie too, licking an ice cream or devouring a doughnut on a sandy beach, her lips coated in sugar and jam. They both shared an easy smile and charm, but they didn’t physically look alike; James has my olive colouring – I have Italian blood in me – with thick brown hair brushed forward, partly covering light brown eyes and only a few freckles dotted along his cheeks and nose.

  I also noticed that the edge of the kitchen door was lined with pencil markings and dates indicating the growing heights of Maddie and James, along with the names of other family friends and cousins that had visited. I began to panic about returning the invite. What would Maddie think of our house, so shy of family pictures and four-legged creatures? I didn’t have a dad; I’d never known him. I didn’t even have a goldfish.

  I hear a key in the lock. ‘Hi, honey, I’m home,’ James calls, entering the kitchen with a bottle of wine and some cans of beer. He sticks them all in the fridge before pulling off his shirt, saying ‘I need a shower. I’ve just castrated a skunk.’

  ‘Disgusting.’ Maddie pulls a face.

  ‘Who said the life of a vet wasn’t glamorous?’ he says, before dipping his finger into my creamy white chocolate sauce. He has a lick and is about to do it again before Maddie slaps his wrist and I shove him away from the pan. ‘Any news on the flatmate front?’ I ask.

  He tells us he’s only had one response from the ad he placed online, ‘The guy had some serious hygiene issues, so I won’t be asking him to move in in a hurry,’ he concludes, dipping his finger into the chocolate sauce again.

  ‘I’d have thought you two would get on perfectly,’ Maddie says.

  ‘Fuck off,’ he replies, leaving the room.

  We can’t help laughing when we hear James singing badly in the shower.

  ‘I swear to God, I don’t know how you’ve put up with him for so long,’ Maddie reflects.

  It makes me think back to the week I moved in and how much has changed.

  ‘Would you like to have a shower?’ James asked on our first morning together. ‘No, you go,’ I replied.

  ‘No, please, after you,’ he said, leaving me thinking that at this rate neither of us would ever wash.

  Things began to warm up about a month later, after James’s mother called him one evening, when we were having supper together. ‘Mum still checks up on me to make sure I’m eating my five-a-day,’ he’d moaned, before looking at me, realizing how insensitive he’d just been. ‘Oh, Flo, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.’

  I couldn’t bear the awkwardness any longer. I knew we’d been circling the subject of Mum’s death for weeks, James too scared to ask the wrong question, me still too raw to say a word. Grief was a foreign language to both of us.

  So I picked up the bottle of wine and said five words that would soon change everything: ‘Shall we get drunk, James?’

  James is three years older than Maddie so I never knew him that well growing up. He was just Maddie’s brother and he enjoyed playing that role, wielding his power to make us clean out Dandelion’s hutch or pick up after Monty again, even when we knew it wasn’t our turn. When I moved into the spare room here, Maddie always thought it would be temporary. ‘You won’t want to live with him for too long.’

  But here we are, five years later . . .

  And I’m going to miss him. Even his bad singing.

  *

  ‘How’s Granny Peg?’ Maddie asks me over pudding, somewhat absent-mindedly, since James’s ex, Emma, has just called.

  Emma, the woman James met in his second year at King’s University in London, when she was also studying veterinary science.

  Emma, the woman he dated for almost nine years until he decided to let her go, and for the past year he has been wondering if that was the biggest mistake of his life.

  Obviously James wanted to take the call in private.

  ‘She’s been fine. Better,’ I reflect. ‘Will you promise me to call her every now and then? I know you’re busy—’

  ‘Of course I will, Flo.’

  ‘I’m worried she’s keeping something from me about her health: you know her heart problem.’ Granny has high blood pressure coupled with atrial fibrillation, an abnormal heart rhythm. ‘It would be so typical of Granny not to tell me if it’s got worse. If you find out anything—’

  ‘I’ll let you know, I promise.’

  I squeeze her hand. ‘Thank you. Any news on the man front?’ I ask, wondering why Emma has called James. I don’t think they’ve spoken in months. A part of me always suspected they would get back together.

  ‘A guy came over last night.’

  ‘Maddie! Who? Why didn’t you say something before?’

  ‘Ricardo.’

  ‘Ricardo?’

  ‘It was delicious. He was delivering pizza,’ she confesses, before I chuck my napkin at her. ‘Seriously, Flo, I’ve got way too much work on even to think about men and dates.’ She turns round, glancing at the kitchen door. ‘What’s taking him so long? Shall I—’

  ‘I will,’ I say, leaving the table, knowing James is more likely to open up to me than his sister.

  I find him smoking on our roof terrace. James hardly ever smokes so I always know something’s wrong when he gives in to his bad habit.

  ‘So, you’re excited about the Big Apple?’ he says, staring ahead.

  ‘Want to talk about it, James?’

  He turns to me. Smiles. ‘Emma’s engaged.’

  He withdraws when I touch his shoulder, as if he doesn’t deserve any sympathy.

  ‘It was decent of her to call,’ he reasons. ‘She didn’t want me to find out on Twitter or Facebook, or through someone else. It’s cool. She’s moved on. I’m happy for her.’

  ‘You don’t have to pretend with me.’ I wait for him to say more, watching him stub out his cigarette with unnecessary force.

  ‘Is this what it’s going to be like from now on, Flo? Me standing on the sidelines, watching friends get married and have children – you going off to New York, and I’m still here, castrating skunks for the rest of my life.’

  ‘James, it’ll get easier, I promise.’ I struggle to know the right thing to say. ‘Try to remember you broke up with her for a reason,’ I suggest, gently.

  ‘Yeah, but right now the reason feels pretty flimsy.’ He lights another cigarette. ‘I have no right to be jealous or upset,’ he maintains. ‘I was the one who thought I didn’t love her enough to go the whole distance, but what exactly am I looking for? The truth is, I had everything, Flo, and I threw it away thinking the grass mig
ht be greener somewhere else. Listen, ignore me; it’s your last weekend and I don’t want to ruin it. She’s moved on. It’s time I did the same.’

  ‘But you have moved on,’ I say, leaning over the railings next to him. ‘It was probably just hearing her voice, remembering the past, all the good times you shared. You’re allowed to feel sad, okay? Emma was a big part of your life, and you still care for her. It just feels like—’

  ‘The end of an era?’

  I nod. ‘Exactly. I know this might sound spoilt – here I am going to New York and getting engaged – but change terrifies me. The thought of leaving Granny, Maddie and you terrifies me,’ I repeat, reaching out to touch his hand. ‘I’ll never forget living with you, how much you helped me through one of the toughest periods of my life. And what am I going to do without Justin Timberlake singing in my shower?’

  His expression softens. ‘The stupid thing is I always imagined we’d live together for ever. How naïve is that?’ James laughs at himself. ‘Nothing lasts, right.’

  ‘You’re going to be fine, James Bailey. In fact, more than fine. One day you’re going to meet someone extraordinary, you’ll live in the country and have an army of mini Baileys along with your two Labradors, and we’ll look back on this conversation and know everything happened for a reason.’

  ‘Right,’ he says, as if that’s enough emotion for one night. ‘We’d better go inside otherwise Maddie will be sending out a search party.’

  I link arms with his and we return to the kitchen. ‘By the way, I don’t want an army,’ he sets me straight. ‘Two at the most.’

  I laugh. ‘I’m going to miss you, James.’

  ‘I’ll miss you too.’

  9

  Peggy

  The only time Beth and I spoke about the risk she carried was in 1993 when Flo was about to turn three. We had heard groundbreaking news that the HD gene had been identified, making it possible for those at risk to discover their fate with a simple blood test.

  Yet I begged Beth not to do it.

  I thought it better to cling on to the hope that my daughter didn’t have HD, rather than allow a test to destroy it. I couldn’t cope with losing both a husband and a daughter – and possibly eventually a grandchild – to this disease.

  It would kill me.

  ‘How can I help?’ says a young-sounding woman on the charity helpline after she has introduced herself and snapped me out of my reverie.

  Don’t hang up like last time, Peggy. And the time before that . . .

  ‘Oh yes, hello,’ I say, ‘I was wondering . . . I have a friend – er – Maureen. She’s going through a terrible time.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  ‘She has a granddaughter, you see, who could have HD. Her mother was gene positive, but she died without telling her daughter anything about it so now Flo doesn’t know—’

  ‘Sorry, could you slow down, please? Who’s Flo?’

  ‘Sorry, yes.’ Breathe again. ‘Maureen is unsure if she should tell her granddaughter or not.’

  ‘I see. Flo is the granddaughter?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Oh, do keep up. ‘So I was wondering what advice I could give her, I imagine this happens all the time? She’s particularly anxious because she’s about to move abroad with her boyfriend—’

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m not following. Maureen’s leaving—’

  ‘Of course she’s worried that Flo – sorry, what did you say?’

  ‘Who’s leaving? You said—’

  I shake my head in a tizzy. ‘Flo’s leaving! So Maureen is worried that her granddaughter could become pregnant without knowing she’s at risk, so it’s all very difficult.’

  ‘I think I understand.’

  About time!

  ‘She’s a dear friend of mine and I hate to see her in such distress. But I’m not sure what advice I can give her. I wondered whether I should tell Flo, I mean, whether Maureen should tell Flo or not? I think she should, don’t you?’

  ‘Maureen is lucky to have a friend like you,’ the woman says, ‘and there is something you can do, Mrs . . . ?’

  ‘Maureen. I mean, Mrs Andrews. I’m Peggy!’

  Oh dear Lord.

  ‘Mrs Andrews, do tell Maureen to give us a call. We’re here to help.’

  My heart sinks. ‘But what would you tell Maureen? I can pass it on to her. She’s nervous, you see, to pick up the telephone.’

  ‘We really do need to talk to her directly.’

  There’s a long silence.

  ‘Please pass on to Maureen that she doesn’t need to be scared of picking up the phone. We are trained to talk to people who find themselves in exactly these kinds of situations – which are very common – and every call is confidential.’ She pauses. ‘We understand how difficult this must be.’

  You have no idea.

  ‘She might find it comforting talking to us. It could help her feel less alone.’

  She waits.

  ‘Mrs Andrews?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m here. Thank you,’ I say eventually. ‘So, there’s no advice you can give me right now?’

  ‘We often advise people to practise the conversation first before talking to someone. Rehearse it in front of a mirror or we will happily go over some role play with you, I mean with Maureen, if that would help?’

  I jump when I hear a knock on the door. ‘Thank you, I’ll pass that on to her,’ I say, abruptly hanging up and staggering to the front door. I look through the peephole and see Ricky in a red crochet hat holding a bunch of flowers. I haven’t seen him since he nursed my wound just over three weeks ago.

  I feel so out of sorts that I’m tempted to go back to pretending I’m not in. Or hide behind the sofa.

  ‘Hello,’ he says when I open the door. Elvis rushes to greet him as if he’s a long-lost friend. ‘I was wondering how your leg was, Peggy? I know these wounds can take weeks to heal.’

  ‘I’m much better. The nurse said you did a grand job.’

  ‘Good. Well these are for you.’ He hands me the flowers.

  ‘Oh Ricky, how kind, but I’m far too old for you.’

  He laughs. He waits.

  I suppose I must: ‘Would you like to come in?’

  *

  I put the kettle on before arranging the lilies into a vase. I tell Ricky to sit down, even though my chairs look far too small for him. In fact, everything looks miniature around Ricky. ‘How do you like your tea?’

  ‘Black, one sugar, thanks,’ he says, arranging his long legs under the table.

  ‘Have you always been a nurse?’ I ask, reaching into the cupboard for my teapot.

  He shakes his head. ‘My dream was to be a famous footie player. I left school aged fifteen, applied to clubs across the country. They wrote back saying I was too old.’

  ‘Oh, what a shame.’

  ‘Maybe it was a blessing. What’s meant to be, and all that. Anyway, I stopped dreaming and got a proper job on reception at a medical centre in Ealing. When they began to train their staff to take blood, I was terrified of needles, had to practise at home on an orange,’ he says, picking one up from my fruit bowl and playing with it in his hands. ‘But it got me interested, you know? People would often come in, I’d take their blood and then they’d whip off their tops and ask me to take a look at the mole on their back or an odd lump under their arm. I’ve seen some strange sights in my time, Peggy, many I wouldn’t like to see again.’

  I chuckle at that.

  ‘Anyway, I started reading medical books in the library, I wanted to be better equipped when the next person asked me my humble opinion, so I decided to go to university as a mature student and train as a nurse.’

  ‘How wonderful!’

  ‘It was. I was one of four men out of a hundred and eighty women. What’s not to love?’ His face lights up. ‘Seriously, it’s humbling looking after people. When I work on the hospital wards, I see so much suffering and heartache, but there is love and laughter too. Nursing has opened up my
eyes to how precious life is. I’ve seen people dying, Peggy. I’ve held their hands as they’ve breathed their last breath.’

  I think of my Tim.

  ‘I always tell my son, Leo, that health is a gift. Not that he listens. But one day he’ll get it.’

  ‘You’re right. Health is a gift.’ I look at him, fantasizing about the relief I’d get from someone else knowing my secret. Perhaps Ricky would have advice, especially being a nurse. ‘The thing is, Ricky . . .’

  Say it.

  ‘The thing is?’ he repeats.

  Don’t say it.

  ‘So, how long have you lived in London?’

  ‘Lived here all my life, grew up in Stamford Brook round the corner. What were you about to say?’

  ‘But where are you from? Are you a West Indian?’

  He seems to find that funny. ‘Jamaican. My family moved here for a better life.’

  I offer him the tin of biscuits. ‘Was it a better life?’

  ‘It was tough, but happy, you know. We lived on a council estate. Everyone thinks they’re rough and all that, but it was a community. I think we’ve lost a bit of that. People like to keep to themselves these days, plugged into their devices or watching TV. In my days, we didn’t have computers or mobiles. We had to talk. We looked out for each other. It taught me to help others, not just number one. We were never rich, but Mum had more opportunities with work over here.’

  ‘And your father?’

  ‘Dad walked out on us when I was six weeks old.’ His smile doesn’t reach his eyes this time.

  ‘And you’ve never seen him since?’

  ‘Saw him when I was eleven. I was outside playing footie, mud on my shirt and smeared across my face, when someone said to me, “Ricky, your dad’s back”. I froze, then ran off the pitch, sprinted home, raced up the stairs, and flung myself through the front door. But you know what? I was standing in front of a stranger.’ The smile has disappeared completely now. ‘He could have been anyone. I didn’t feel a thing.’