If You Were Here

by Alice Peterson

  Dr Harding inhales deeply. ‘Because she wanted to tell you it was over. She longed to be able to say that you didn’t have to worry about her future, or Flo’s. Most people who take the test crave release, for themselves and for their family.’

  I press a hand against my chest. The guilt eats away at me.

  ‘How did she cope, getting the results?’ I ask. It’s a question I dread hearing the answer to, but I have to know. It breaks my heart imagining Beth sitting in this chair, watching Dr Harding open the envelope, her future mapped out on a piece of paper. ‘Was anyone with her?’

  All my worst fears are confirmed when Dr Harding tells me she was alone.

  ‘The first thing she said to me was that she’d always known she had HD. She felt it was “in” her. This is quite common, especially with those who know from a young age that they might carry the gene. If they have grown up with a mother or father with HD, as Beth had, it almost becomes a way of life if that makes sense. Strange as this seems, some are disappointed to discover they’re gene negative.’

  My reaction must convey how impossible that is to conceive because she continues, ‘They feel part of their identity has gone. Others have survivor’s guilt. They might be gene negative, but their brother or sister isn’t. With Beth, it wasn’t the result she’d prayed for, but there were no tears, at least not in front of me. She was calm, she thanked me and she left.’

  ‘And she was alone,’ I say, my voice almost a whisper.

  ‘She was alone, Mrs Andrews, but we’d done months of counselling to prepare her for the results. Beth was determined to find out from the very beginning. If she’d had her way, she’d have skipped the counselling process altogether and gone straight to the blood test, which goes against all our guidelines because, as I said, you have to be emotionally ready to hear the results. If you aren’t, the result can be devastating.’

  I twist my wedding ring round and round my finger. ‘Yes, yes, I can see that.’

  ‘Beth wanted to have another child. She could have decided to have a baby without taking the test,’ Amanda claims, ‘many couples do. It’s an intensely personal choice and no one judges. But for Beth, she felt it was important to know if she was at risk before she went ahead.’

  It makes me wonder about the alternative life my daughter could have lived.

  What if she hadn’t taken the test? Would she have married her fiancé, Graham, a man Beth had met when Flo was six, and had another child? Flo would have had a baby brother or sister and I’d have had another grandchild. Flo wouldn’t be facing this alone.

  It could have been a much happier life.

  We search for the truth; we are determined to discover our fate – but at what cost?

  ‘There wasn’t a single thing you could have done or said to make Beth tell her family? I’m her mother,’ I stress again.

  She shakes her head. ‘I can’t force or demand anything of a patient. Ultimately, it’s their choice. It’s something I have to respect.’

  ‘So she was never going to tell Flo, or me, ever? She was going to wait until we worked it out for ourselves?’

  Peggy, calm down. This isn’t Dr Harding’s fault.

  ‘She thought about it constantly, but would always come up with reasons to put it off. All valid to her, but they allowed the fear to grow.’

  I nod, knowing about that only too well. ‘You must be sitting there thinking I’m a terrible mother—’

  ‘Not at all.’ Her voice is firm. ‘Beth talked about you with so much affection and love. She admired you hugely.’

  ‘She did?’

  ‘She talked a lot about her father, too, and what you did for him. You and Beth were obviously close.’

  But not close enough.

  Sensing my despair, Dr Harding says, ‘Do tell Florence her mother was going to tell her the truth—’

  ‘She was?’

  ‘Yes. Absolutely, but her priority was always to give her as carefree a childhood as possible.’

  For the first time since I broke the news to Flo I feel an overwhelming flood of relief that Beth had at least wanted Flo to know, that I didn’t speak against my daughter’s wishes. ‘Did she say when she was going to tell her?’

  ‘After Florence’s finals. Beth had become symptomatic,’ Dr Harding confesses, before describing things to me that are all too familiar. ‘I’d observed her fidgeting with her hands, the restlessness in her legs. And she was beginning to fall.’

  My darling Beth. I look away from Dr Harding, dangerously close to tears.

  ‘I understand this is hard for you, Mrs Andrews.’

  I shake my head, unworthy of her sympathy. ‘Please go on. I need to know.’

  ‘She was also finding the simplest things difficult, like shopping and cooking a meal or planning a journey. She would often get muddled with order and sequences. We talked about medication and planning her future care. We both knew the time had come to tell Florence.’

  Dr Harding opens her brown file and scans her notes as if she’s just remembered something else. ‘She said she’d written Florence a letter.’

  ‘Really?’ I rack my brain, going back to that day when I found the hospital letter, but I don’t recall seeing anything else. ‘Had she definitely written it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  My pulse quickens. ‘Did she show it to you? What did it say?’

  ‘It would have explained everything to Florence.’

  ‘Oh, where could it be?’ I say to myself, understanding Dr Harding couldn’t possibly know the answer.

  Sensing my struggle, she confides, ‘I wish I could do more to help,’ and for the first time I see emotion in her eyes. I hear it in her voice when she says, ‘It’s my job, but it was always a pleasure seeing Beth. Please tell Florence that she can always come to see me,’ Dr Harding adds. ‘Things are very different now from when your husband was diagnosed. Research has moved forward and there is a lot of support for people in Florence’s position. Our doors are always open.’

  I close my notepad and put it back into my handbag, before shaking Dr Harding’s hand.

  ‘Hang on,’ she says, as if unlocking another memory. ‘Beth used to write diaries. She wrote them when she was seeing me, religiously. I’m guessing you haven’t found them?’

  ‘No, but I will,’ I vow, already planning where to look first and to recruit Ricky to help me lift some heavy boxes tonight.

  ‘I wish I could have done more, for you and for Beth,’ Dr Harding says, leading me towards her door, her professional guard slipping again. I like her for it.

  ‘You were there for her and that’s all I could have asked for.’

  She nods, appreciatively. ‘Give her time,’ she says, her tone gentle, ‘and when she’s ready, she’ll come back to you.’

  As I’m finally about to leave, ‘Mrs Andrews,’ she says stopping me in my tracks. ‘Beth used to say writing her diaries was like going to confession. They might provide answers for Florence, but I just want to warn you . . .’ She stops, as if unsure how to put it.

  ‘Go on,’ I urge.

  ‘Florence might find answers she’s not yet ready to hear.’

  19

  Flo

  It’s Wednesday night, forty-eight hours since I saw Dr Sinclair, and he hasn’t yet called me with the results.

  He did say it could take up to three days. I’ll probably hear tomorrow.

  Meanwhile, I have to finish off my packing. I’m determined to behave like nothing has to change.

  I look around my bedroom, now sad and bare, the prints taken off the walls, the shelves empty of books, my wardrobe just a shell. The only thing that’s left to sort out is my doll’s house.

  Theo urged me not to bring too much – he’s allergic to clutter – but my doll’s house means the world to me because Granddad made it.

  ‘Can’t it stay with Peggy?’ Theo had suggested earlier this evening over the phone. ‘I can’t think where it would go here.’

  I didn’t ha
ve the strength to argue. All I could think was, here I am, talking as if nothing has happened, and as if my biggest problem was the future of my doll’s house. Maddie called me earlier, too, to check how I was.

  I didn’t mention the test. I couldn’t.

  And I haven’t seen James since Monday morning. I was relieved he stayed at Kate’s on Monday, and yesterday he had an emergency at work and didn’t come home until well past eleven o’clock. My heart lifts when I hear the front door opening and the familiar sound of his footsteps. I need to clear the air. I’d hate us to part on bad terms. ‘Flo?’ he calls.

  ‘In here.’

  Seconds later he joins me. ‘How are you?’ He glances around the bare room.

  ‘Fine. Nearly there with the packing.’

  ‘Needs a good paint,’ he says, touching one of the walls. ‘I imagine you’re taking your doll’s house?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Could you keep it here?’

  ‘But Flo—’

  ‘There’s not much space, that’s all. Just until I have a new home for it? Anyway, how are you?’

  ‘Fine,’ he says though I sense he’s holding something back.

  ‘How’s Kate?’

  He sits down on my bed. ‘It’s over,’ he confides.

  ‘Already?’ I sit down next to him. ‘Why?’ I ask, for the first time relieved not to be thinking about my results.

  ‘It’s Emma.’

  ‘Does she know about Emma?’

  ‘She does now. Things were actually going pretty well between us, you know. We were keeping it cool and casual, but ever since I heard Emma’s news, I’ve been thinking about her constantly. I knew I had to end it with Kate. It’s not fair stringing her along.’

  ‘Oh, James, I’m sorry. What did she say?’

  ‘That she didn’t want to be second best.’ He shrugs. ‘And she’s right. She deserves more.’

  ‘Are you still in love with Emma?’ I ask, certain he is.

  He turns to me. ‘Even if I am, it doesn’t matter. How about you?’ he asks, determined to change the subject, ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘Fine. It’s all good.’

  ‘Have you spoken to Theo?’

  ‘Yep. So back to Emma—’

  ‘Flo?’

  ‘Not about that.’

  ‘But you’re leaving in a few days,’ he says, clearly bewildered.

  I stare ahead, anticipating his reaction when I say, ‘I’ve taken it already.’

  ‘You’ve what?’

  ‘I should get the results tomorrow.’

  James looks stunned. ‘Who did it?’

  ‘Theo’s doctor.’

  ‘This feels way too rushed. What if—’

  ‘It won’t be.’

  ‘You need to tell Theo,’ James says, as if I were skating on dangerously thin ice.

  ‘How would you feel if you were going out with me and I dropped this bombshell?’

  He doesn’t answer.

  ‘Exactly,’ I prove my point.

  ‘But you shouldn’t be going through this alone. He’s your fiancé. If you do test positive—’

  ‘I’ll have to tell him and we’ll work it out.’

  ‘Flo, he’s not going to run away.’

  ‘You run away from women the moment they ask you to hang around for breakfast,’ I say, referring to the string of rebound dates he had after he broke up with Emma. I remember James often returning to the flat in the early hours of the morning having made, in his words, ‘a quick escape’.

  ‘That’s different and you know it. If Emma were in trouble or needed me, I’d be there for her.’

  ‘Look, if I test positive, that’s the time to talk to Theo. I won’t keep it a secret like Mum and Granny did.’

  He breathes in deeply as if he’s about to take the test too. ‘I can’t believe this doctor was allowed to do it.’

  ‘He’s private. It works differently.’

  ‘Money talks.’

  ‘I signed a consent form. It’s all above board.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re not rushing into this?’ he presses me again. ‘Are you sure you don’t need more time?’

  ‘Time won’t make any difference to the results. It’ll be fine,’ I reassure him as much as myself, ‘I won’t have it.’

  ‘And Granny Peg?’

  ‘What about her?’

  James looks lost as to what to say, defeated in his argument that I should tell her what’s going on. ‘It’s up to you,’ he admits finally. ‘You’ve got to sort this out your way.’

  *

  I wake up screaming.

  ‘Flo!’ I hear James rushing into my bedroom. ‘It’s okay. I’m here.’ He turns on my bedside light and hands me a glass of water.

  ‘I was in this room,’ I say breathlessly, ‘it was like a prison cell and I had to make the choice: did I want to know if I had HD, or not. When I told them I wanted to, they said the answer was going to flash on a screen in front of me. A yes or a no.’ I take another sip of water. ‘I was tied up against a chair, fighting to get away, but I couldn’t escape. It was yes. I had it, James.’

  ‘It was just a dream, Flo.’

  ‘What if I test positive?’

  ‘Why don’t we call the doctor in the morning? Even if he gets the results, he doesn’t have to tell you.’

  ‘No,’ I say, trying to calm down. I remember all the reasons why I made the decision. Fears are always magnified at night.

  ‘Try to get some sleep. Make the decision in the morning.’

  ‘Stay.’ I grab his hand. ‘I’m scared. Will you stay with me?’

  20

  Peggy

  A member of staff unlocks the door of the allocated unit at the storage company in Hammersmith. The room is covered in dust sheets. Chairs are piled on top of one another, cardboard boxes are stacked full with books and Beth’s paintings are covered in bubble wrap.

  I touch an old lamp on an adjustable stand. It was a special light that Tim and I had given to her for her twenty-first birthday, specifically for her to use in her studio.

  ‘So we’re looking for diaries,’ Ricky says, wiping some dust off the top of Beth’s old television. ‘Any idea where they might be?’

  Mentally, I return to that day again, only days after Beth’s funeral, Flo and I going through the contents of the house, sorting out what to keep in storage, and what to throw away. I recall going through her desk, picking up the file and seeing the official hospital envelope. After rushing to the bathroom to be sick, did I go through the rest of the bottom drawer? I can’t think. It’s a blank.

  ‘Let’s try her desk first,’ I suggest, ‘and we’re also looking for a letter Beth wrote to Flo.’

  Ricky begins the search at one end of the unit, while I take the other.

  ‘By the way, Peggy, I hope you don’t mind, but I talked to one of the docs today. I didn’t mention names, just said I knew someone who was possibly at risk. He says they’re working on better drugs and treatments, even a cure.’

  ‘I’ll be lucky if I see that happening in my lifetime.’

  ‘But it might happen in Flo’s. You’ve got to have faith.’

  If only our faith remained bright, even on the darkest day. If only our faith remained constant. Often mine disappears, but makes a return when I least expect it to. Like the day I bumped my leg into the dishwasher and met Ricky, this man who is now giving up his evening to help me. Days like that restore my faith in humanity.

  ‘Thank you, Ricky,’ I say. ‘For helping.’

  He laughs. ‘Gets me out of nappy duty.’

  I come to a box filled with Beth’s old photo albums.

  ‘Here it is,’ Ricky says, after pulling off another dust sheet. I watch as he opens each drawer of Beth’s desk. My heart stops when he gets to the bottom one.

  ‘Sorry, nothing,’ he says.

  ‘Bugger.’ My hope was that some of her diaries might have been kept in a drawer with her sketchpads. I rack my brain again, remembering taking
some of her old novels and art books to a charity shop. What if the diaries were lost among them? What if some stranger is reading about our family?

  ‘Oh, Ricky, they must be here somewhere.’

  ‘We’ll find them Peggy; don’t worry.’

  For the next hour, Ricky and I search high and low.

  ‘Peggy, come here, quick!’

  Ricky shows me a leather suitcase that used to belong to Tim. Inside the case are several books, some with stickers on the front.

  ‘You brilliant man,’ I say, my heart in my mouth as I open one. It’s dated 1979, when Beth would have been ten. Seeing her familiar writing makes me feel choked.

  That was weird. I just walked into the kitchen to get a pack of crisps and Mum and Dad stopped talking. They looked spooked, as if they’d just seen a ghost, until Dad laughed, saying he’d lost a golf ball up a tree.

  I stagger to my feet and wipe the dust off my skirt, vividly recalling that night. It was the night after Tim had seen a neurologist and he’d feared the worst.

  Ricky puts an arm around my shoulder. ‘Are you all right?’ he asks.

  I nod, before looking at my watch. It’s close to ten o’clock at night. I need to get home and work out my next plan of action. I need to give Flo these diaries as soon as possible. After all, she is leaving on Sunday morning.

  Ricky lifts the case, making it look as light as a feather in his arms. I feel so shaken I wish he could carry me home, too.

  *

  It’s no use. I turn on my bedside light and get out of bed. Earlier this evening, I placed the diaries in a box in the corner of my bedroom, certain Flo should be the one to read them first. Yet I can’t get Dr Harding’s voice out of my head.

  Beth used to say writing her diaries was like going to confession. Florence might find answers she’s not yet ready to hear.

  I take in a deep breath as I dive back into my past.

  Mum then asked me what I wanted for supper: quiche or toad-in-the-hole. I said toad-in-the hole. I left, but then decided I wanted juice, too, so was about to go back into the kitchen when Dad mentioned my name, although I couldn’t hear the rest. Mum told him to keep quiet.

  ‘Don’t tell Beth,’ she said.