I even remember the flowers from that day combined with stems of unripe blackberries from the hedgerows, trays of herb plants in terracotta pots, while we’d hired in some trees to decorate the marquee.
Amidst our stress, you came breezing in, in loose-fitting jeans and a plain white T-shirt, your long hair streaked from the sun. Calm and unruffled, you looked the opposite of how we were feeling. ‘Would you like a hand?’
‘Oh God. Yes,’ Lucy said fervently. ‘There is so much to do.’
You pulled on one of our florists’ aprons. ‘Where would you like me to start?’
Your creative side, plus years of helping out, meant floristry had become second nature to you. And just by being there, you calmed us. You probably thought we were mad! I mean, getting so flustered over wedding flowers?
‘Here, Lex.’ Lucy gave you a bucket of flowers, then passed you her notebook. ‘This is the brief. Make us the bride’s bouquet of your dreams.’
I smiled as she said that. But I knew you didn’t dream about bride’s bouquets. Your dreams were bigger than lavish weddings; woven of kindness and justice in the world.
But you rose to the challenge. It was as though your fingers gently coaxed each flower, gently interwove the most delicate foliage; that bouquet was one of the most stunning ever to come out of our workshop.
You passed it to me. ‘What do you think?’
My eyes met Lucy’s before I smiled at you. ‘I think you’re better at this than we are.’ It was a moment of connection between us; so many times, I wished for more of them.
You shrugged it off. ‘I don’t know how you do this every day.’ The moment passed. You stayed another couple of hours before taking off your apron and setting off for your shift at the animal sanctuary you loved.
The memory stays with me this evening, into tonight as I’m falling asleep, when yet again, I’m wishing I could go back to that day, that I could have made you see how talented you were. Maybe if I had, you might have chosen to stay.
A tear rolls down my cheek. It’s hard sometimes as a parent, the act of letting go. Realising that your children have to follow their dreams, however you might feel, wherever that ends up taking them.
But you’ve always been braver than I am. As I drift off to sleep, in my dreams, suddenly I’m back in your childhood years. You with pink-cheeks and tangled hair, aged about six, Ollie two years older, an anxious look on his face. And I know why. Ryan has just come in. Instead of hugging you both, he pours himself a drink. As for me, I simply stand there, say nothing.
Yeah, well, Dad’s emotions were bottled in more ways than one, Mum. Did you ever ask him why? Or were you scared of him?
It wasn’t long ago you said that to me. I was shocked. I hadn’t known how aware you were, the extent of the impact of his drinking on you, on Ollie. On all of us.
Really, Mum? D’you expect me to believe that?
My eyes spring open. Lying here, I gaze at the ceiling. In the darkness, it’s like a spotlight being shone into the furthest corners of my life, on all the mistakes I’ve made, my regrets. You can be confrontational, Lexie – in a way that always made me uneasy. But in the context of our lives, you had every right to be.
Suddenly there’s a lump in my throat. I underestimated the reality of Ryan’s drinking on you and Ollie, on the dynamics of our family. I got so much wrong.
As I lie here, I miss you desperately. There’s so much I want to tell you. If I could go back in time, I’d change so many things. First off, I’d be more aware. I’d have left Ryan before the damage happened. I would have made sure you’d known that home would be a place of safety for you, always.
A need to make things right consumes me as I lie here; with it, a desire that’s overwhelming to come and see you.
5
BEFORE
Dear Lexie,
I was thinking of you again this morning – I was walking to work and I passed this young mum with two small kids who were obviously arguing about something. She looked frazzled – being a mum tests you sometimes. I think also that it pushes you to find degrees of patience you’ve never uncovered before! Not that it happened to me that often. I was always grateful that you and Ollie got on so well – mostly, that is. There were odd spats, as you’d expect from strong-willed individuals! But I will always be grateful you were strong-willed; the spats never lasted.
One morning in particular sticks in my head. Opening my eyes, I lay in bed drowsily, as the sound of your voices reached me.
‘Mum… Ollie’s being mean…’
I slipped out of bed without disturbing Ryan, glancing at my watch. It was 8 a.m. – later than it felt. Daylight was filtering through the gap around the curtains, as always, yours and Ollie’s waking hours driven by the rising of the sun. Slipping through the door, I closed it quietly then padded along to your rooms, pushing the door open into yours where the noise was coming from.
‘Hey, guys. What’s going on?’
You were sitting amidst your duvet, your face screwed up. Across the room, Ollie’s back was to me. ‘Ollie’s taken my Eeyore,’ you said tearfully. ‘He won’t give it back.’
