‘It works for all of us,’ I say. ‘But you’re right. We are lucky.’
It was how I felt. If I’ve learned anything over the years, it’s that life is many shades of light and darkness. That they arrive unexpectedly, change constantly. At this moment in time, I am grieving, yet in so many ways, I know I’m blessed.
And so it is against this backdrop of joy and kindness that I dip once again into Ryan’s world. Yes, it is of his own creation. For whatever reason, he doesn’t have the tools to make it any different. But this is Ryan’s journey. He has to find his own way.
‘I brought you a pie.’ I leave it in the fridge, noting how little food there is in there, before going through to his sitting room.
Ryan is by the window, gazing outside. He turns to look at me. ‘Why do you keep doing this?’ he says at last.
‘Bring you food, you mean?’ I shrug. ‘Believe me, I’ve asked myself the same question. It’s just a pie – and you need to eat.’ I pause. ‘And you did ask me to come here.’
‘I know,’ he says. ‘And I know I’m the one who’s fucked everything up.’
This? Again? It’s true. If he didn’t drink, we might have had a chance. I used to think that if I’d handled it differently, he would have stopped drinking. I remember saying that to you once; remember your frustrated response.
Will you ever realise it isn’t your fault he drinks? He’s a grown up, Mum. He makes his own decisions.
Yet another of those occasions you were right.
‘Things don’t have to stay the same,’ I say to him.
‘I’ve been thinking a lot about that,’ he says. ‘If my test results are good and I come out of this with a second chance, I’m going to make some changes.’
I don’t ask what will happen if the results aren’t good. And if marital problems, divorce, the alienation of his children, and ultimately the loss of you haven’t done it, I’m not sure what it will take for Ryan to change. ‘When will you get them?’
‘In a couple of weeks,’ he says.
‘Ryan…’ I pause, because it isn’t any of my business. But Ryan stands to lose what little is left in his life. His home, his fading health, work – even if it’s intermittent. ‘You don’t have to wait for your results to come through. Start now – do it for yourself.’
He looks at me slightly shocked. ‘Do you have any idea what kind of prognosis I’m potentially looking at?’
‘I have an idea. But drinking isn’t going to magically change the outcome. It’s what caused your problems.’ Pretty much all of them. ‘If you carry on, it will make things worse.’ When it’s so obvious my words will never get through, suddenly I wonder what I’m doing here. ‘I have to go. Good luck. Let me know how you get on.’
Walking out of there, I’m suddenly exasperated with myself. But when I already have one loss on my conscience, I can’t face taking on another.
Pushing thoughts of him from my head, I drive to the churchyard. It’s a while since I’ve come here, but then I don’t need your grave to remind me of you. More and more, you are with me, Lexie. Whatever I’m doing, I think of you.
But it’s only when I come here that I empty my mind of the rest of my life. The afternoon is still and quiet, of cool air and the first of the fallen leaves. As I walk across the churchyard, my hands are in my pockets, the damp seeping through my trainers. The mist is closing in, grass beginning to soften your grave, framed by the sunlight.
I have a million memories of you. Dazzling, sparkling, that make my heart burst with love. You as a baby. The innocence of your early years. The chubbiness that gave way to lanky limbs, your endearing, gap-toothed smile. Your endlessly enquiring mind filled with questions I didn’t have the answers for.
The teenager you became – that was when I felt you start to slip away. I tried to hold on to you; but for too many reasons, the distance between us widened.
I gaze at your headstone, then close my eyes. Your face fills my mind. Your blue eyes flecked with hazel, the angst they held. Your fight. I wish I could have bottled it, Lexie. Give some of it to those of us who’ve never known how it feels to have that.
But you do know, Mum. You fought for me and Ollie.
You said that once. And I did. But I should have fought harder, sooner, for longer.
Sound like me, don’t you? Never taking credit for everything you’ve done? Beating yourself up for not doing more?
I love you, Lexie. To the ends of the earth. I always did, always will. And I will always regret that I couldn’t find a way to make things right for you.
‘Sometimes, it’s like I can hear Lexie,’ I say to Mary that evening. ‘Her voice comes into my head – sometimes with things I remember her saying, other times, they’re not.’
‘It still happens to me,’ Mary says. ‘When my son died and Joe was small, I spent so much time thinking about how he’d want him brought up. I used to ask David – my son. Sometimes the answer was there straight away, other times, it wasn’t. But in the end, it would always come to me.’ She sounds quite matter-of-fact. ‘I’m quite sure I’ll see him again one day. And you will see your daughter.’ Reaching across the table, she pats my hand.
‘You don’t think I’m going mad?’
