It wasn’t your fault, Mum. It’s how it goes. I don’t blame you. You were busy – and our worlds are very different.
The echo of your voice startles me. I was shocked to know that was how you saw us. In many ways, you and I were close. But time changes things; changed us. Maybe there was an uncomfortable truth in your words.
Do you honestly think it’s that simple? One day didn’t make me who I was. I was the product of everything that happened in my life. We all are! Think of everything that went on before my earliest memories were formed; everything that’s come after. You and Dad at loggerheads, me and Ollie wondering if you were going to split up. We spent most of our childhood anticipating divorce.
A memory comes back of something I once said to you.
I’m always going to be here for you.
I meant every word. That day you came into the shop, wanting to talk to me. I wasn’t there for you that day, was I? I let you go. Watched you walk away.
Would it have made a difference? I knew you were troubled; were still healing from the accident. In my limited way, I tried to do what I could. I’ve never been good at expressing myself – but you know that, don’t you? I internalise things, keep my head down, keep going. I always believed you were the same. That it was easier for both of us, to just carry on putting one foot in front of another. To trust that everything would work out.
It didn’t enter my head that it wouldn’t.
27
NOW
Dear Lexie,
From the day you came into the world, all I ever wanted was to keep you safe. But you chose your own way. One of bravery and courage, driven to right injustices; there were things I couldn’t protect you from.
‘There were so many signs that something was wrong,’ I say tearfully to Joe. ‘But somehow I missed them.’ My voice breaks. ‘Everything was escalating. And there was nothing I could do.’
‘Oh, Edie.’ Coming closer, he puts his arms around me. ‘I’m so sorry.’
I lean against him, feel the closeness of him, a wall of grief hitting me, knocking me sideways as pain sweeps over me.
But Joe holds on to me. ‘I’ve got you,’ he says softly.
And in that moment, I know I’m not alone.
28
BEFORE
Dear Lexie,
I will never forget that terrible afternoon. A Saturday. I came back from setting up a wedding. The curtains were closed and I went through the house, opening them all, before putting on the kettle. Later, I traced those moments back; counted the seconds. If I’d gone straight up to you, could I have saved you?
By the time I got to your room, you were still sleeping. I went to open your curtains. ‘Lex! I’ve brought you a cup of tea. It’s the middle of the afternoon.’ But as rays of daylight touched your face, I saw your colour. Froze for a millisecond as my brain took in the impossible.
Holding my breath, I went over to you. Breath I would have given you, a hundred million times over if only I could have. But as I felt your cheek, it told me what I already knew in my bones.
You had gone.
It was as though time itself had stopped. If only love could have brought you back, Lexie. But the unfairness of this world had taken you from me. I sank to the floor next to your bed, held your hand in both of mine. Told you I loved you a hundred times. Soaked the sheets with my tears.
My beautiful child. I brought you into this world. But I failed you.
I put off doing what I knew I had to, so it was dark by the time I called the emergency services. Then I called Ollie. Sitting with you, I waited, in those moments, telling you how proud I was of you, living through all the things we’d done together, then those we’d never get to do, staying with you until I heard a car pull up outside.
I let the doctor in and followed him up the stairs. He stayed until the undertakers arrived. All I remember is begging them to be gentle with you.
It was an accident, I kept telling myself. Either that or you had a heart attack. Unlikely in someone of your age, I knew that. But it wasn’t impossible.
‘What else could it have been?’ I sobbed to Ollie. But later that evening, he found the note you’d left, the bottles that had held the pills you’d taken, an empty vodka bottle.
