As I watch him run off, I look up to the sky.
‘Ready?’ Iona prompts me.
My legs, back, knees and feet are knackered, I have no fuel left in my tank, but that thought keeps me going.
Mum is with me. She is here.
As I run, I see myself standing proudly next to the bicycle Mum gave me for my fifth birthday, wearing my lilac dungarees, my long dark hair styled into two plaits.
‘This is a big day, Flo,’ Mum says to me. ‘Everyone remembers the day they learned to ride their bicycle.’
We’re at Barnes Common, an expanse of open grassland, with plenty of space for my bike and me. ‘I promise you don’t need to be scared,’ Mum says, ‘I’ll be here.’
‘I won’t fall off?’
‘You won’t fall off.’
‘You won’t let me go?’
‘I won’t let you go, Flo.’
I get on to my bike, immediately losing my balance, until I feel an arm against my back and holding on to my side.
‘You’ve turned into jelly!’ Mum laughs. ‘Wobble, wobble.’
I’m too nervous to laugh back, intent on concentrating as Mum tells me to put my feet on the pedals again.
‘I’ve got you,’ she says, holding on to the back of my saddle and leaning forward to grasp the handlebars to keep me straight. ‘Look at the horizon, Flo. Always look straight. Never look back; that’s not where you’re going.’
Slowly I pedal.
‘Go, Flo. Be brave. Let go of the brakes.’
Soon I’m pedalling away with Mum running alongside me, still holding on to the back of my seat and the handlebars. ‘Keep going!’ she encourages.
Don’t let me go. Don’t let me go.
‘Mummy!’
‘Look out!’ she calls as I almost swerve into a bush. Fear kicks in again until I see Mum running alongside me again. ‘Keep pedalling, Flo! Keep straight!’
‘Hold on to me,’ I call back.
‘I am.’
‘Are you still there, Mummy?’
‘Yes, I’m here.’
But her voice seems further behind me than before. ‘Mummy?’ I look over my shoulder and see her metres behind me now. She is not holding on.
I must have been doing it on my own.
I turn back round and keep on pedalling, my fear now overtaken by adrenaline and excitement, especially when I hear Mum saying, ‘You’re doing it, Flo. Look at you! You’re off to the moon. Tell me what it’s like when you get there!’
I am off to the moon! I’m flying!
If I can do this, I can do anything, I think, hearing Mum clap when I cycle back towards her.
‘You’ve done it,’ she says with a smile as big as the world.
*
Mum carries me all the way to the twenty-five mile mark, to Birdcage Walk. I am tantalizingly close to Buckingham Palace and the finishing line on The Mall.
My heart soars when I see Granny, Ricky, Shelley, Mia, James, Maddie, Stu, Jane, Natalie from work, Maddie and James’s parents and a few others I assume must be Granny’s new Italian friends, all clustered together wearing their green HDA T-shirts, waving their banners and shouting out my name and Iona’s.
I wave at everyone before hugging Granny.
‘Oh, Flo,’ she says tearfully. ‘You’re almost there.’
I hug Maddie and then, finally, before Iona and I tackle the very last stretch, I walk over to James.
‘Not a cool look,’ he says rubbing his eyes, close to tears himself, ‘but I don’t care. You’ve done it, Flo.’
‘Only because of you,’ I say, unsure how I can even begin to thank James.
‘No, you’re here because of you.’
I try to imagine a world without James in it. It hurts even to think of such a place.
He touches my shoulder. ‘Go, Flo.’ His eyes remain on mine, his expression softening. ‘What are you waiting for?’
I think of Mark, of Mum’s message, and the years they could have spent together. The years they never had.
I take James’s face in my hands, saying, ‘You.’
A small smile surfaces on his lips. ‘Are you . . . is this . . . what I think?’ he murmurs, our foreheads touching, our mouths only inches apart.
‘Yes.’ I nod, ‘If I’m not too late.’
‘Never too late,’ he says quietly.
‘I love you, James.’
As we kiss, time stands still. I block out the sound of the crowds. I forget where I am. It’s just James and me. No longer am I imagining James holding me in his arms. I am feeling his touch, his kiss and his hand running through my hair. I’m not going to waste another day worrying about what the future may bring, because the only certainty we have is right now, in this moment.
‘Go,’ he says when we finally part. He wipes away my tears. ‘Go, Flo, finish off what you started.’
‘I will,’ I say, kissing him once more before Iona grabs my hand, forcing me to leave James’s side. ‘You’ve got plenty of time for all that mushy stuff,’ she says with a mischievous smile. And we’re off again to further cheers from the crowds.
‘About bloody time,’ she adds, ‘what changed your mind?’
‘Mark.’
‘Mark? Who the heck’s he? Blimey, I can’t keep up with your love life, Flo Andrews.’
When I see the sign that reads ‘200 yards to go’ I turn to Iona, ‘Well you don’t have to, all you need to do is keep up with me. Come on. You ready?’
She nods, as if she’s thinking exactly the same as me, that this is our moment.
From out of nowhere, somehow, we have the energy to sprint down The Mall, towards the finishing line, holding hands, our arms raised in the air, the two of us sobbing like idiots, receiving rapturous applause for our final effort.
We cross the line.
After six hours and two minutes, we have finished.
Yet we don’t care about our time. It’s more than enough to receive our medal and know we have raised thousands of pounds for the Huntington’s Disease Association. It’s more than enough to have been a part of this day. This race has been everything I could have hoped for and more.
A marshal comes over to give us both a hug. He says, ‘You are the spirit of London.’
86
Flo
Three months later
‘Florence Andrews,’ Dr Harding says. She smiles when she spots me in the waiting room. ‘I could have guessed it was you. You look like your mother,’ she says. ‘Do come in.’ She gestures to her office.
I sit down opposite her desk. Her frame is so slender that you’d be forgiven for thinking it’s impossible for her to carry the responsibility of many people like my mother, people who have walked through her door with similar stories of secrets, loss, fear and abandonment, coupled with the angst and uncertainty of whether to take the test or not.
I only have to think of Iona’s family to know she has no doubt witnessed great courage and human spirit, too.
‘How can I help?’ she asks, though I think she already knows.
‘I wanted to talk to you about my mother, Dr Harding.’
‘Oh, please, call me Amanda, Florence,’ she says, as if she knows me already. And in many ways she does. I feel as if I know her too.
I relax, immediately understanding why Mum liked her.
‘In that case, call me Flo.’ I clear my throat. ‘You were the only person Mum confided in. I’ve read her diaries, every single entry.’
Except the very last one . . .
Somehow I can’t bring myself to read what Mum wrote on the day she died. It’s like watching someone you love walk slowly into the ocean, knowing they are going to drown.
‘That must have taken some time.’
‘Months.’
‘I hope they gave you some answers, Flo.’
I nod. ‘I just wanted to say thank you for being there for her until the very end. Mum clearly trusted and loved you.’ Amanda doesn’t offer me the box of tissues on her desk. She
takes one for herself instead.
‘I constantly encouraged her to talk to you and to your grandmother,’ Amanda assures me, as if this is all-too-familiar territory, ‘but she was determined to do it her way.’
‘That must have been frustrating for you.’
‘It can be, but we can’t force anyone. We have to respect our patients’ choices.’
I may well have argued my case when I first found out, but there is little point now. At the end of the day, Mum was the only one who could have told me her reasons.
‘She always talked about you, Flo,’ Amanda continues, putting us in danger of crying again. ‘She’d come into my office, sit down . . .’ She gestures to the empty seat next to mine, ‘and then take out a picture from her wallet to show me how much you’d grown since the last time we’d seen one another, or she’d tell me how well you were doing at school. I remember one time she was ever so chuffed that you’d won a competition for something like the best Easter hat, first prize, no less.’
I smile in awe of Amanda’s memory, remembering myself the hat she must have meant. I’d made a sculpture of a chicken with eggs when I was ten. I still have the picture.
‘What are you doing now, Flo?’
‘I gave up my art,’ I confess. ‘I had all these ambitions to work in theatre, but when Mum died something died in me too. I couldn’t do it anymore. Does that make sense?’
‘Yes. I should think that’s common.’
‘I’m finding my way back to it now, though. I’m looking for a new job,’ I say, crossing my fingers. ‘I have a couple of interviews coming up.’
‘Good luck.’
‘Do you think Mum’s accident . . .’ I stop, unsure how to phrase the question.
‘Do I think her accident had anything to do with her HD?’ Amanda suggests.
Slowly I nod. This is something Granny and I have talked about too, although Granny hates to think about it, and I don’t like to upset her.
‘It’s impossible to say. It may have played a part. Beth was showing symptoms, but it wouldn’t have been the whole cause. I still believe it was a terrible accident.’
‘I probably shouldn’t have even asked,’ I say, feeling stronger than I thought I would. ‘It won’t bring her back.’ I also know Mum would hate me to dwell on the past. ‘Is there any more news about the trial? Are you encouraged?’
‘Yes. I think it will be at least five years until we know the results of the next phase of the trial but the data we’ve received so far indicates it’s safe and it lowers the levels of the huntingtin gene, so it’s extremely promising. It’s not a cure, and there are no guarantees, but it’s a big step forward.’
‘Five years is a long time.’
‘It could be more, Flo. Or less, but it’s not weeks or months. I know the wait is frustrating, but a drug like this is very different from a drug that just targets symptoms.’
‘Is it changing people’s minds about wanting to take the test or not?’
She considers this. ‘On the whole, no, but we are getting many more referrals. People are coming to see us because they’ve heard the news about the trial. I don’t think that it’s changing people’s minds about taking the test but even if they decide not to, they can still take part in research studies. People tend to make a decision to test or not when something comes along, like meeting someone or getting married or wanting a family. They can do all these things with HD or not, but for them it’s important to know, and in my experience, a drug in the pipeline isn’t going to convince them to wait. Others never want to know. So much depends on timing and what is most important to you.’
‘Do you think, deep down, Mum regretted taking the test?’
‘I have a theory, a non-scientific one, you’ll be relieved to know,’ Amanda says. ‘I believe, in this life, we are born either glass half full or glass half empty. That whatever is thrown at us, however frightening or punishing or unfair it may be, we always, over time, return to the person we used to be. Some people will never find peace or happiness. Even if the most wonderful things happen to them, they don’t see the sunshine, only the rain; others, who have known nothing but strife, smile through it all. You know which category I’m going to put your mother into, don’t you?’
I nod, urging her to go on.
‘It wasn’t easy for Beth to begin with. It took her months to accept the results and it was important for her to take that time. But I can recall so clearly seeing a certain peace in her during one appointment, an acceptance. It was in her eyes. In the end, she chose never to look back, but to embrace life. She chose to make every single moment with you count.’
Now I’m the one reaching for the box of tissues.
‘How about you, Flo, have you had any thoughts about finding out or not?’
‘Yes,’ I say with conviction, before blowing my nose and laughing nervously.
Is it best to live your life with hope or live your life with fear?
‘I don’t want to find out yet,’ I tell her, ‘if at all.’ The marathon played a huge part in my decision. Seeing all those people running for HD, all of us wanting to make a difference in some small way, how could I not have faith that one day our efforts will pay off?
Days after completing my run, I woke up knowing I didn’t want to find out one way or another. I resolved that I was going to put my faith in science, and hope, but I kept my decision to myself for a few days, just in case I changed my mind again, but this time I haven’t once wavered or had any doubts.
Challenging things that come along often make us stronger, even if it’s hard to see it at the time. I’m not saying everything happens for a reason, or that this is the way I wanted life to be. I’d bring Mum back in an instant if I could, and I wish Granny and Granddad hadn’t suffered so much. Yet at the same time, I wouldn’t want to go back to the woman I used to be. I hate to imagine what might have happened if the private blood test had been processed and I’d tested positive. Equally, if I’d tested negative, I would have packed my bags, relieved that the nightmare was over, and set off to New York to be with Theo.
I’m ashamed to say I’d have only thought of myself. I wouldn’t have made amends with Granny, since I wouldn’t have understood her past. Iona and I would be strangers. I certainly wouldn’t have been mad enough to run a marathon. Nor would I have met Mark for dinner and had the chance to reminisce about his friendship with Mum and how much they loved one another. We have promised to keep in touch.
I wouldn’t have discovered Mum’s past.
And I wouldn’t have fallen in love with James.
‘Would you want to know?’ I ask Amanda, purely out of interest.
She takes off her glasses. ‘After all my years working in this field, I still don’t know,’ she admits, which surprises me almost as much as it does her. ‘One day I think I would, the next I’m not so sure, but either way, Flo, we’re in a new dynamic age of research, and I do believe anything could happen. But remember, we’re not just here to talk about whether or not to take the test. Whenever you need to see me, or Dr Fraser, we’re here.’
As I brace myself to leave, I find myself heading over to Amanda’s side of the desk and wrapping my arms around her.
‘Goodbye,’ I say, ‘and thank you again. This hug is from Mum,’ I add.
‘Goodbye, Flo,’ she responds, touched, ‘and good luck with your interviews.’
I walk towards the door before I turn, realizing I have forgotten one of my most important questions. ‘I know Mum wrote to me; a card that she said she’d read out to you?’
‘I can’t remember exactly what she said,’ Amanda replies. ‘But she explained her reasons for not telling you sooner, hoping you’d forgive her in time.’
I nod. I hadn’t expected to find out anything more. I walk towards the door again.
‘Flo?’
I stop and turn round.
‘She also said she hoped you’d meet someone.’ Amanda pauses. ‘That’s right Flo,’ she says, as if
she can hear Mum now, reminding her. ‘She said she hoped you’d meet someone who loved you, no matter what.’
I think of James and our first date.
We met at a restaurant, James insisting he wanted to do it properly. He was wearing a pale blue linen shirt that I hadn’t seen before, and I realized he’d bought it especially for our evening. After our meal we walked hand in hand to the Natural History Museum, home to the ice rink where we’d skated on the night we found out about the trial.
‘I wanted to bring you back here on our first date,’ James said.
‘Why?’
‘Because I realized that night that I was in love with you.’
I linked my arm through his, recalling that evening too, James and I laughing on the ice, especially when we both fell over.
‘How about you, Flo? When did you know?’
‘At your parents over New Year,’ I told him. ‘When Maddie and your mum suggested you should travel with your work, I hated the idea of not seeing you.’
‘Well, I’m sticking around, test or no test, positive or negative. I’m sticking around to sing badly in the shower, to snore and nick the duvet off you, and to eat cereal out of the packet. I’m sticking around, Florence Andrews, to annoy you for the rest of your life.’
‘Flo?’ Amanda prompts, bringing me back to reality.
She said she hoped you’d meet someone who loved you, no matter what.
‘I have,’ I say, realizing I am strong enough, at long last, to read Mum’s final entry.
87
Beth’s Diary, 14 July 2012
I can hardly believe I’ve written a diary for thirty years. You should see the boxes in the loft. I have often thought about throwing them away, what use are they to anyone? I’m not sure I could ever reread them. It would bring back too many painful memories of Dad. But something always stops me from taking them down to the tip. It would feel like throwing part of my life away.
I’m cooking Flo roast beef tonight, her favourite, but stupid me, I forgot to go to the butcher’s after I’d been to the supermarket so I had to make two trips. I feel anxious. I keep looking at the clock and thinking, in only a matter of hours Flo will know the truth.
If You Were Here Page 29