We’ve just arrived home from Ben’s after telling Liam his mother is gone. His little face dropped as the words hit home. He looked from his father to me and back again before disappearing out into the garden. After a few minutes, he appeared with a small box wrapped in pink paper and tied with a white bow.
“Dad,” he said. “I didn’t realize yesterday was goodbye forever. I thought I would see her again. How can I give her this?”
Ben looked at his son and swallowed audibly. He reached for the box, taking it in his hands and staring down at the intricate wrapping.
“Can I open it?” he asked, and his son’s head bobbed. Carefully, he untied the bow, then peeled the paper back, ensuring it didn’t rip. He lifted the lid of the box inside. We all watched on silently. Tears came to his eyes, and he tried to blinkthem away. “It’s beautiful, son. She would love it. I’ll make sure she gets it to wear on her final day on this earth.”
Ben handed me the box. Inside was a small silver brooch with the word Mum inscribed across it. A butterfly in pale pink sat on the M. My heart burst with pride but broke in the same moment.
“How did you get this?” I asked my nephew. His eyes moved to my husband. My heart thrummed a little. Last week, when Ben and I spoke to the doctors, Terry took Liam away. Now I know where they went.
Terry, placing my mug of steaming hot coffee on the table in front of me, brings me back to now. He stands behind me and rubs my shoulders in comfort then drops a kiss on top of my head.
“I love you, Amz.”
Terry’s my rock. He steadies me without even trying, my calm in every storm. Sometimes I look at us and wonder how the hell we work, but somehow, we do.
He’s the ultimate lost boy and even at the age of fifty-two has never grown up, but I wouldn’t have him any other way.
There’s only us in our little two-bedroom apartment in London—we’ve never been blessed with a child. Down in the wardrobe, the baby clothes I bought in hope over a decade ago still wear their tags. I still pray a miracle may happen for us, but now in my mid-forties, it’s almost impossible.
“Thank you,” I say, lifting my hand to his on my shoulder. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“That’s something you never need to worry about.” He wanders back through to the kitchen.
As I sip my coffee, which is so hot it burns my tongue, the electric kettle clicks, a drawer slams, then a spoon chatters against a mug. Terry is helpful, but dramatic. No task is ever completed quietly or without fanfare, even when he’s trying to be silent. I smile softly to myself.
The floorboards grumble a little under his weight. He resembles a Nordic Viking with sandy-blond curls tumbling into his eyes and a bit of a gut. He’s no model, but those green eyes still undo me.
Terry has been the same since I met him when I moved here over twenty years ago to live with my friends. He was the older neighbor from upstairs, an out-of-work actor who wanted to show us the highlights the city had to offer. After a string of romances with city boys, Terry swept me off my feet by being a true friend.
Two years after my move, we slept together, and he’s been mine ever since. He’s my soulmate. The only thing missing in our house is the pitter-patter of little feet.
“Is chilli all right for dinner?” he shouts.
“Yes,” I call back. Not that I have an appetite, but he’ll fuss around me until I eat.
Over the past two years, I started bodybuilding and recently competed in my first competition. I loved strutting about the stage, showing off my muscles. I can still hear Bex’s whistle from the crowd.
She’s the reason that, three weeks ago, I signed a lease on a gym. In a month, I take possession. When she suggested I go for my lifelong ambition of owning my own club, I protested.
“What do you have to lose, Amz?” she said. “You’re already working crazy hours for someone else. Why not do it for yourself?” Then she passed me the advertisement for Shapes she had printed off the internet. “We have an appointment to go and see it tomorrow. Terry and Ben think it’s a great idea. Something for you to focus on, once…” She trailed off, not finishing the sentence, but I knew what she was going to say: once she was gone.
Even now, I can see her in that chair, wheeling herself around the gym, grinning as if it were already mine. She whispered thatshe could imagine hot men in Lycra lifting weights in the corner as she flashed me a cheeky grin.
“Are you going to keep the name?” she asked. “Shapes is predictable for a gym, I think. Could you not call it something quirkier?”
I shrugged. Less than twenty-four hours before, owning a gym wasn’t even on my radar, but my sister had bulldozed me into it.
Her final months were spent getting us all prepared for her departure. When she couldn’t control her own demise, she attempted to put us all on the right path. That night, she and I sat in her room at the hospice for hours and talked. She was exhausted all the time, but refused to sleep unless she had to.
“I’ll be a long time dead,” she would say. The words hit like a fist, stealing the air each time.
“Can I tell you something?” she asked, her voice quiet, subdued.
“Anything,” I replied.
“I spoke to Ben today about his and the children’s future. He’s not happy with me.” Her eyes shimmered, tears gathering fast. “I told him once I’m gone and enough time has passed, he’s to find someone else. He shouldn’t have to live a life without love.”
