They’re strangers to me, and yet they are part of Andrea – and I am on the outside looking in, watching them sob, unable to help.
I feel sharp tears sting my own eyes, and let them come. I’m old enough and ugly enough to let my emotions take over at times like this. Times of such pain, and such loss, that all we can do is roll over, legs in the air, and surrender.
I wonder if I should knock. Call in for a cup of tea. See how they are getting on. I wonder if we could console each other, us poor lost souls trying to rebuild a life that Andrea’s passing has devastated.
But no, I decide. Not right now. They are consoling each other, or at least sharing their unhappiness – and that is, after all, what Andrea had wanted. Seeing them there like that, faces raw and twisted with grief, doesn’t feel like much of a victory – but I realise, in a way, that it is. And that they have a few more steps to take yet.
The A–Z, I know, becomes altogether more random towards the end. She was running out of energy, out of time, out of everything, and I found myself often answering the door to delivery men bearing boxes of movies and other strange items. Those last few days were terrible, just terrible – how she managed to rally to make that final video, I still don’t know. Sheer bloody-mindedness on her part.
And love, of course. That was always her motivating factor – the love she felt for these two sobbing women; her precious grubby angels.
I put Betty back on her lead – it will be the only way to get her to move – and walk on as quietly as I can, hoping they don’t hear my feet crunching on the gravel. I’m sure they won’t – they are lost in their own moment.
As I leave, I am still crying, the tears streaking through the dust that our walk has left on my cheeks. I feel as though I might never stop crying, and yearn to be back out in the hills, where I can be alone with my memories.
My life feels so dull without Andrea’s light to illuminate it, and I am clinging to the forlorn hope that all of those stories I was told as a child are true.
That, when my time is done, and this useless old body finally catches up with my mind and decides that it’s had enough, we will be reunited.
Chapter 63
Poppy
Awhole day passes before we feel able to move on to the next letter, even though it is cheerily marked as V is for Victory.
That letter – her last night in the cottage – destroyed us both. I know how guilty I feel, and know that Rose must feel the same. Mum had made her views on guilt very clear earlier on, but neither of us was at all capable of saying no to it after that. And I don’t think we deserved to.
The fact that we weren’t there with her wasn’t completely our fault. But the fact that she had been put in this position – unable to reach out to her own daughters – was.
I still don’t know how we would have reacted, if she had made that phone call. If we’d both been told that she was dying, and that she wanted us at home with her.
I like to think that we’d have both risen above our petty differences, called a truce for her last days – but I’m not 100 per cent sure we would. More likely, we’d have faked it, badly, and she would have seen that, and it would all have been so much worse. We’re a pair of absolute arseholes, and we are both right to be ashamed of our behaviour.
The one positive to come out of that letter, to come out of our mother’s anguish, was the way we reacted – the proof that her A–Z was working. That it hadn’t all been wasted, or meaningless, or insignificant.
In the middle of all that pain, all that guilt and regret, we had turned to each other, and we weren’t alone. I had Rose, and Rose had me. That much, Mum had achieved.
Drained and battered, we are now both ready for round 22, which comes with a mysterious package and a note. It’s another British mammal card – a darling deer, this time – and I can tell from the slightly clearer handwriting that she is feeling a lot better than she did when she wrote T and U.
I find myself stroking the cardboard, and sniffing the ink, as though I can somehow find a trace of her there. A trace that I can hug, and comfort, and care for. Because, right now, I am sick of thinking about myself, and even about Rose – I just want my mum.
I want my mum, so I can tell her how much I miss her, and how much I love her, and how very, very sorry I am that we all ran out of time.
Chapter 64
Andrea: V is for Victory
Girls, I can only apologise for that last letter. I’m sure it was a difficult read, but the ever-wise Lewis insists that it stays.
I was feeling very down, and I hope you’ll forgive me. I’m all set up in hospital now, and it’s really rather nice. The staff are so kind, I have some superb drugs flowing through my system, and as much jelly as I can eat. Not bad!
There isn’t much space here, although I can use the back of the card as well, so onwards with V – and Victory. There are four items in your package. Two are medals – I’m so sorry they’re plastic, they were described as ‘party favours’ online and came in a pack of six. I’ve given the others to Lewis and Rhonda and myself, and left one for Joe. We are champions all, just like that delightful Mo Farah.
Also in the package is that lovely leather-bound copy ofThe Secret Gardenthat you won in high school, Poppy, for the Creative Writing prize. Such a clever girl. And Rose, you were named Forest Hills Young Scientist of the Year in 1991 – and here’s your prize, a paperback ofA Brief History of Time. I can see that you read it, from the dog-eared pages and the notes you left in red pen, as though you fully intended to quiz Stephen Hawking at some later point.
I was so proud of you both back then, and I still am today. I know you’ve probably long forgotten these small victories, but I kept them, of course. I loved those little plates inside, with your names and your achievements written on them in fancy letters.
I fully expected you to go on and be a writer Poppy – you were always so good with words – and for you to carry on with your science, Rose. You’ve both made careers for yourselves, and there is nothing wrong with either of them – but I don’t sense a great air of Victory around the two of you when you talk to me about your jobs.
