Rory.
Should I admit to enjoying spending time with my parents? It has been a while and I hadn’t realised how much I missed it. Yesterday was great, we didlotsof eating and catching up, reminiscing about childhood – we always skip uni as if any mention of my time there will cause some kind of catastrophic meltdown – and silly giggling.
Inevitably, Mum talked at length about how well I look, how tanned I am and how I must be beating off Australian women with a stick. I managed to side-step it this time but know an interrogation won’t be far off. I hate it. As much as I love my mum, this constant assumption that I should start dating again makes me angry. Angry, misunderstood and somehow at fault. Jess and I may not have stood in front of a vicar and made vows – although that had always been the plan – but we whispered vows to each other, our heads side by side on a pillow, her hair fine as silk stretching out and weaving in with mine. Those vows do not lose power because she has gone, and to break them would disrespect the bond we shared, the lifelong commitment we made to each other. I know there will be a time in my life when I can both honour Jess and move forward but that time is not now.
But morning is here, Mum, Dave and I have done the nice catching up bit and Jess and my refusal to date are not on the agenda. Now we need to discuss reality. I love my mum but this is serious and I cannot indulge her. I’m not taking any prisoners. I need to focus and take control of this.
‘Thanks, Mum, I needed that.’ I drink the tea she has made for me. ‘No, thanks, I really don’t need another biscuit. Will you come and sit down?’
She puts the biscuit tin on the table and takes the lid off, of course she does.
‘Now, can we talk about the elephant in the room?’
‘That’s no way to talk about your father.’ She has always referred to Dave as my father rather than step-dad and I’m happy with that – he’s earnt it far more than the man that walked away before I was even born – but she isn’t getting away with deflection, no matter how big the grin on her face.
‘Right! I know this is unpleasant and you would probably rather not talk about it, but I love you and I need to know what exactly is happening.’
‘Of course, I’m so grateful you’re here but you mustn’t worry. We can’t always change the hand life deals us but we can choose how to deal with it.’
‘Hmmm.’ It is true but I’m not here for philosophy. ‘Look, I’ve lined up an appointment with a consultant and thought we could maybe all go along together.’
‘That’s good of you.’ Dave pulls out a chair and joins us at the table.
‘But not necessary. I have a perfectly good doctor on the NHS,’ Mum answers.
‘Yes, but this one is good too. I did some research, she’s local to Bristol and one of the leading oncologists in the country. Here, take a look.’ I pass her the details of the appointment I’ve booked and she scans it quickly.
‘She’s already my doctor. We don’t need to pay a fortune to see her again. I don’t believe in private health care, never have, never will, and it seems stupid to me to pay out for something I’m getting just the same and for free. My surgery is lined up for the week before Christmas and that timing suits me really well. The NHS have been very quick to respond and I have no need, or desire, to queue-jump. I won’t do it.’
‘I just want to help. I didn’t realise it was the same doctor. It’s not a crime for me to be concerned is it?’
‘No, it’s not, and I love you and I understand your need to have things go the way you want them, I do. But this, this you can’t control and you need to stop trying. Let me do this my way, I promise I’m going to do it right and I’m not going to take any risks. Having you here is lovely, but you can’t come home and take charge. Come to my appointments, spend time with me but let go of the reins. You can’t control the world, love, you just can’t.’
My sigh, although unintentional, is so forceful it ruffles the piece of paper with the doctor’s details on it. I know that since Jess’s death I have been trying even more than usual to control the world around me. That maybe I need to relax a bit more, let go. But the thought of losing Mum as well… Now is not the time to chill.
‘But what you can do is tell me all your news. I noticed you dodged my question last night.’ She scrunches up her shoulders, and her nose, her brow furrowing with excitement and she shoots me a broad grin. ‘So any young ladies on the horizon?’
‘Mum … please…’ I don’t know how to say it clearly without snapping. I don’t know how to say that even looking at a woman makes the guilt rise up in me, gurgle in my throat, bitter like bile. That even thinking of it makes me feel as if I’m cheating. I don’t know how to say that I don’t believe it’s possible to find someone else who will understand me like Jess did, that being that lucky twice in life wouldn’t be fair. I certainly don’t dare tell her that I can’t risk falling in love with another woman and disappointing her as I did Jess. I can’t say those words out loud and I can’t listen to her tell me I can do no wrong. I want to tell her all the whirls of feeling scooting around inside me but I cannot tolerate the answers I know she’ll give. The lies she believes to be true.
I hope to God she can’t see the tear pricking in the corner of my eye as, pasting the fakest smile ever across my face, I beam at her and reach for the biscuit tin and try again to explain how busy I am with work.
Belle.
Three more times. Three more times that night.Goalhas been followed byScore, and most alarminglyBoot it. I’m not surprised the pilot hasn’t found his forever partner yet. I really hope it’s not going to be Chardonnay.
I hadn’t got to sleep until gone four and by that timeI was considering hacking the pair of them to death with the set of kitchen knives my dad had bought me when he realised we were being followed into Harvey Nichols and getting papped. One of the good things about my father’s utterly shallow fuckwittery is that when the cameras are on him he is remarkably generous. When the cameras are off he struggles to remember my birthday and for Christmas one year I received his latest cookbook, complete with wine stain on the cover. But still, it was better than the chlamydia he had lovingly gifted my mother.
I have a big meeting at work today and as it’s common knowledge that the company is in trouble and as I was the last person in, I’m nervous about what today may bring. I’m not married to this job, I’m an office assistant and do little more than answer phones, respond to emails, provide hot drinks and smile. But still, I’m both bleary-eyed and anxious as I fill my reusable cup and prepare to leave.
‘Morning! Glad I caught you. That smells gorgeous.’ Chardonnay nods at my coffee. ‘So, just wanted to say that your rent came through okay and … ooh, this is awkward, but no sign of that money I lent you a couple of months ago.’
Oh shit, I had forgotten about that. That is actually a serious fault. Pure me messing up right there. Again. Every month I mean to and every month something comes up or I forget. I hate myself a little bit right now, and my bad temper at her sexual meowings disperses as I realise I’m guilty of a far bigger crime.
‘Oh, Chardonnay, I’m so sorry. I’ll get to that.’ I had promised her she’d have it back before Christmas and now I am zero paychecks away from the happy day, my wages had all zoomed out pretty much as soon as they had zoomed in, and I have no clue what the hell I am going to do. I don’t need to look at my banking app to know that I’ll be making gifts again this year.
‘Yes.’ I can see her discomfort and am cross with myself for putting her in this position. ‘Thing is, Belle, I really need the money.’
How much can you get for a slightly ropey kidney these days?
