‘Laura.’ You shrugged. ‘You don’t know her.’
‘Steer clear of her,’ I advised you. ‘You don’t have much longer to go there. And there must be other people you can hang out with. She’ll lose interest eventually. Bullies always do.’
I could see from your face that you weren’t convinced. But I’d never known how it felt to go through what was happening to you.
You didn’t mention it again – and when I asked, you were evasive, as under my nose, there had been another shift in the pattern of our lives. I should have taken what you said more literally. Been prepared when, a few weeks later, you announced you were done with college.
‘Don’t you think you’ll regret not doing your exams? We can find somewhere else, Lex,’ I tried to persuade you. ‘With new people. It would be different to where you are now.’
But you shook your head. ‘It wouldn’t, Mum. I’ve always felt different to the rest of my class. The only people I know who think like I do are everyone I’ve met at the animal shelter, or at the vigils.’
As I looked at you, I knew I was fighting a losing battle. ‘Have you thought about going on a course? Related to animal care, or veterinary nursing?’
But you were resolute. ‘I don’t need to go to college. I’ve already learned so much just from work.’
I tried again. ‘Lex, it’s fine for now. But at some point, you need to think about earning money.’
You nodded. ‘I know. I’ve already spoken to Lea. She’s going to take me on full-time. I’ll start giving you some rent.’
But I was already shaking my head. ‘That isn’t what I meant. I’m thinking more about your life – in the long term.’ My heart went out to you as I took in your slumped shoulders, your air of defeat that was the flipside of the spark that fired you, of being an empath. But in basic terms, you felt, too much.
You were young. There was plenty of time for you to change your mind, I tried to tell myself.
‘Time is short. I don’t want to waste it.’ You turned your head to gaze at me. ‘Next week, next month…’ You shrugged. ‘None of us know what the future holds. I need to do something with my life – now.’
Even then, it was as though you had a sense that time wasn’t open-ended. As you spoke, I felt myself freeze. Was there something you weren’t saying? ‘Is everything OK, Lexie?’ I watched you like a hawk.
‘Why wouldn’t it be?’ If there was something on your mind, you gave nothing away. And in a sense, you were right. You’d already seen your path clearly, stretched out ahead of you. You were right about many things.
But I couldn’t help thinking, were you always?
20
NOW
Dear Lexie,
It was as though you’d always known you didn’t have long – as though it was wired into your DNA. Is that why you filled your days? Crammed them with the hopes of a million people, all of them searching for a better, kinder way to live. Put yourself out there, risked being ridiculed, in your quest to stand up for what you believed in.
I vividly remember you saying to me: Time is short. I don’t want to waste it. Maybe that’s what drove you to work tirelessly for the animal shelter, and to make people aware of what animals suffered. You achieved more than most people. But still you couldn’t rest. Instead, you were driven on, always aware of the suffering of others; frustrated that you couldn’t do enough. Did you feel a need to prove yourself? That feeling that went back to your childhood days that you weren’t enough?
It was how Ollie felt, too. An image comes to me of you both as children, your faces pale and drawn as your father raged in the background. Maybe your only way of making sense of everything he said to you was to blame yourselves. You believed that it was your fault, that you and Ollie weren’t enough.
But you and Ollie were everything to me, Lexie. You still are.
The run up to Elisa’s wedding is like nothing I’ve ever known before; takes over our lives so that I can’t think about anything else. I barely see Mary other than to check she’s OK and to prepare some meals for her.
‘Promise if you need anything at all you’ll call me,’ I say to her firmly.
‘Don’t worry about me,’ she says, with a twinkle in her eye. ‘I’ll be fine, dear.’
Meanwhile our workshop has never been so jam-packed with locally grown flowers, and as the week progresses, they keep arriving.
‘Funny how our suppliers suddenly can’t be helpful enough,’ Lucy remarks.
‘That is the power of celebrity, my friend.’ I smile at her. ‘Everyone wants a part of Elisa’s wedding. Talking of which, there’s more I need to cut from Mary’s garden.’
‘We don’t have room in here.’ Lucy surveys the workshop floor, of which barely a spare inch is visible.
