‘True, but the reality is she’s moved away. Her life is on the other side of the world now, with Raph.’
‘Do you think you would ever try and reconcile with your mum?’
‘Ha!’ If only he knew the half of it. ‘I’ve tried, I really have. When I first left home I swore I would never contact her again. The anger was so intense I couldn’t see past it, butover the years I found there was a hole inside me I couldn’t seem to fill. Not with work, not with food, not with men. I wrote her so many letters telling her how she’d made me feel, how it was growing up in a house like ours, and how much I wanted to hear her say, “I love you.” But it was pointless. I burnt the letters and made peace with it. My family is elsewhere and I don’t need her validation to be happy.’
The words were flowing now; she knew she couldn’t stop even if she wanted to.
‘Sarah is my family. I have acquaintances and people who care about me, but I don’t let anyone get too close. I used to think that was a choice. Being independent was a sign of strength and a badge I wore so fucking proudly, right in the middle of my chest. “You can’t hurt me because there’s no way in hell you’ll get close enough to try.” “The only person you can count on is yourself.” “Other people let you down, even those who are meant to take care of you and love you unconditionally.” “The most important relationship you’ll ever have is the one you have with yourself.” All this bullshit I fed myself, just so I didn’t have to face the reality that I’m scared about being vulnerable and intimate, and God forbid, falling in love with someone. In the end I either pushed or let everyone fall away, and now, with this hideous body and face, no one is going to want to even come close.’
‘I’m still here.’ His voice was so quiet and timid, like a little boy.
‘Only because you’re stuck in the bed next to me.’
‘Yeah, it’s mandatory for me to spend my whole day speaking to you because I’m stuck in the bed next to you.’ Through the sarcasm, the resentment was unmistakable.
‘OK, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing, I’m sorry. I’m tired, my mum is coming tomorrow and it’s going to be a tough day, so I just took it out on you.’
‘That’s OK. Why is it going to be tough? Is everything all right?’
‘Yeah, yeah, all fine. Ignore me. I’m just tired.’
‘OK …’ She wasn’t convinced but she didn’t push it. Maybe she was starting to know his boundaries too. ‘Goodnight, Alfie, sorry for keeping you up.’
‘Goodnight.’ She heard him sigh and pictured this faceless man closing his eyes. ‘And just so you know … I love being stuck in the bed next to you.’
Her breath caught in her throat, and for one glorious moment she felt her heart flutter. ‘I love you being stuck in the bed next to me too, Alfie.’
44
Alfie
When he woke up the next morning he instantly felt regret at last night. Why had he said all those things to her? There was something about the darkness that made it feel safer to talk openly – no one to stare or judge you as you let fragments of your heart pass between the curtains. It had been the first time he’d ever admitted his realization about Lucy. In fact, he hadn’t even known it himself until he’d reflected on it a few days ago. He had cared for her, deeply and truly, but he had never had conversations with her like he did with Alice. As he was describing all the things that were missing from his relationship with Lucy, it dawned on him where he now sought them. Sometimes his connection with Alice felt more real and precious than three years with his ex-girlfriend. Had he revealed too many of his feelings last night? Had he given away any hint of where his thoughts were going? He prayed not. He didn’t want to give Alice any reason to push him away again, not now they’d come so far.
The conversation hung around him like thick smog. His head was cloudy with lack of sleep and his body ached withfrustration. Alfie concluded that it could be nothing else but an emotional hangover. And what’s the last thing you want to do when you’re hungover? Deal with your parents.
He hadn’t lied last night when he said today would be a tough day, although he knew that his mother would try as hard as she could not to let her pain show through. In fact, he presumed she would go in the opposite direction and be overly energetic and full of joy. She would have also definitely been baking. The small silver lining to his mother’s grief was the copious amounts of baked goods that would always appear. Selfishly and very inappropriately, he found himself praying for brownies.
*
‘Oh wow, Mrs Mack, you’ve got enough there to feed the entire hospital. Are you sure you don’t want any help bringing it in?’
Alfie rolled his eyes at the sound of the nurses greeting his mother that afternoon.
‘No, no, not at all! You’ve got enough on your plate without carrying all this stuff in. I can manage, and if I can’t that’s why I bring Robert along.’ She laughed at her own joke.
Yes, she’s definitely sad today.
‘I’ll make sure to save you some though. I’ve got lemon drizzle, flapjacks and brownies. Knowing my Alfie, there won’t be a crumb of brownie left, but I’ll try and wrestle one off him.’
‘Thank you, Jane. You’re a good woman, and a brave one to go up against that cheeky so-and-so!’
‘Oi! Ladies, stop talking about me, and come and share some of that baked goodness you’re hiding over there,’ Alfie shouted across the ward, with the hope of piquing the interestof Mr Peterson, who remained very quiet and rather lethargic these days.
‘Don’t forget to serve the elderly first, please,’ the old man piped up. His voice sounded strained and was almost cracking. ‘We have to make the most of these pleasures before we snuff it.’
‘No, thank you, Mr P. None of that talk. If anyone is going to live for ever, it will be you; if for nothing else but to continue being my favourite person to annoy!’ Alfie hauled himself up out of bed and saw his mum sneaking a plateful into Mr Peterson’s cubicle. ‘Mother! I’ll have you know he’s on a strict diet. You can’t be feeding a fragile old man that sort of thing.’ Alfie waggled his finger at them both.
