I survey the array of bridal flowers that will be the finishing touch to the most magical of days. ‘Are you sure we haven’t forgotten something?’
Lucy shakes her head. ‘I’ve checked our list.’ She pauses. ‘Twice. Everything’s done. You know what this means, don’t you?’ She smiles. ‘For once, we have time for breakfast.’
When we arrive at the venue, the installations we created yesterday still look as fresh as the proverbial daisy, while the rest of the wedding set-up happens effortlessly. The bride is ecstatic about her flowers. As florists, it’s everything we could wish for.
The warmth of everyone we come into contact with makes the contrast with my own life all the more stark when I get home. For the rest of Saturday, I catch up with housework and do a load of washing, picking up a voicemail from Ollie.
Jenna’s had a scare but she’s fine. Don’t worry Mum. Just thought you’d want to know.
Feeling a jolt of fear, I call him straight away. If anything were to go wrong, it doesn’t bear thinking about. As it rings, I pray that Ollie picks up.
‘Ollie? What’s happened?’
‘Everything’s fine, Mum. Jenna couldn’t feel the baby moving. But she’s had a scan and everything’s OK.’
‘Thank God.’ My mind is racing. ‘Did they say why it happened?’
‘They think it’s because the baby’s got bigger.’ He sounds tired, but relieved. ‘Jenna’s upstairs – resting.’
I’m horrified. ‘You mean they didn’t keep her in?’
‘This was early this morning, Mum,’ Ollie says. ‘I didn’t want to worry you. I knew you had a busy day.’
They’re fine, I tell myself. But I know how things can change in an eyeblink. How, when it does, you can’t think about anything else. It’s how I felt the day you were in an accident. Thrown into turmoil because I wasn’t with you; every maternal instinct telling me you shouldn’t have been going through that without me. It must never, can never, happen again. ‘Ollie, promise me, if something like this ever happens in the future, whatever the time of day or night, you’ll call me?’
‘Sure, Mum.’ He sounds surprised. ‘Please don’t worry. Jenna’s fine.’
Making myself a cup of tea, I stand at the window, gazing across the garden. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that day. Dropping everything. Hurrying to the hospital. Not knowing how bad your injuries were. Every mother’s worst nightmare to know there’s nothing you can do, except be there.
Going to the cupboard, I get out a box of old photos and start going through them. As I look at them, a feeling of nostalgia takes me over. Motherhood has been the most important part of my life and there are a thousand images of you and Ollie together as memories flood back, bittersweet, of Christmases and birthdays, of family holidays. I’ve always told myself they were happy times. I look at the two of you as young children, your lit-up faces, my heart twisting with love. Then at photos of Ryan and me, both of us younger, his arm around me, my face turned towards his. No question, once, there was love between us.
There are more photos of when we met, when Ryan was fun – the life and soul of the party, his friendship sought after. I think of the pranks he and his friends got up to – how they worked hard, but they played hard too. Nostalgia tightens its grip on me as I study photos of him with the two of you. When you were young, on those days that he was fun Dad; when your faces were alight with happiness, when laughter rippled through our house. But those moments became less; as the years pass, the pictures tell a different story.
I study a photo of Ollie, then search for more. Find a handful in which he is smiling, too many in which he looks closed off, as if his mind is far away.
There are as many of you and slowly I trace your years back; my beautiful child. Where did I miss the change from sweet, bright-eyed girl to a teenager with guarded eyes, to whom the world was not kind; for whom the light seemed to go out? I hope where you are now, you’re so much happier, Lexie.
My body tightens as I sit here, this home that used to feel so cosy suddenly empty. I put the photos away, the memories suddenly too painful. And there’s the thing. When it comes to emotional pain, I can’t take it. Can’t let myself feel it. It strikes me that Ryan can’t either, that it’s the reason he feels he needs to drink. But Ryan has always drunk, I remind myself. All the time I’ve known him – apart from the occasional, hope-filled, life affirming interludes, when he managed not to. When, for a while, I believed everything would change.
9
BEFORE
Dear Lexie,
You know how much I loved your birthdays! Like new terms, the start of the school holidays, they herald the passing of time, of being a year older; are one of the markers of childhood.
With Ollie’s birthday falling just two days after Halloween, it always set the theme for our celebrations, didn’t it? It was fun – I used to put heart and soul into planning your parties. You both loved them – or so I thought. Until just before Ollie turned eleven.
When he asked if he could have a fancy-dress party, my mind was already running away with ideas. ‘I don’t see why not.’ Mentally decorating the house with spiders’ webs and pumpkins, I looked at Ollie. ‘Do you think ten friends would be a good number?’
He hesitated for a moment. ‘I was thinking… Only… Could we have it somewhere else, Mum? Like at Auntie Lucy’s?’
Taken aback, I frowned slightly. ‘Usually we have your parties here, Olls.’ I smiled at him. ‘We can make it super-fun and decorate the whole of downstairs. You can find a spooky soundtrack, and I’ll make tons of delicious food…’
‘Thanks, Mum.’ But he didn’t smile.
I watched him closely. ‘What’s the problem, Olls?’ The answer, when it came, stunned me.
