Page 14 of You Were Always the One

It’s from Riggs.

That evening, when I go to collect Max, Miles still isn’t home. Nor has he been in touch. Max’s face is animated in a way I rarely see these days, as he tells me about a comedy show he and his friends watched. I detect the faintest hint of beer on his breath. But he’s almost fifteen. An occasional beer in one of his friends’ homes isn’t going to do any harm.

When we get home, he rummages in the fridge and makes himself a sandwich, then takes it upstairs to his bedroom. I glance at the clock. It’s almost 11 p.m. It was my plan to wait up and try to talk to Miles when he comes in. But when I have no idea how late that will be, it will have to wait.

I awake the next morning to find Miles in bed next to me. As I get up, he doesn’t stir. In the kitchen, I make coffee and deal with a load of washing, focussing my mind on mundane things. Try not to think about Riggs and the message I haven’t replied to. But despite what’s going on between Miles and me, right now, Riggs has no place in my life.

To my surprise, it isn’t long before Max comes downstairs.

‘You’re early,’ I say brightly.

‘Yeah. A few of us are meeting on our bikes.’ He’s wearing his old cycling gear from a couple of years ago – shorts that are a bit on the small side, his favourite faded hoodie.

‘I’m impressed.’ My heart warms. After preoccupied weeks and months, it’s good to see his mood has lightened. ‘It’s a lovely morning for it. Are you sure those old shorts still fit?’

‘They’re OK,’ he says. ‘Can you give me a lift to Ollie’s?’

‘Sure,’ I say. With a bit of juggling, the bike just about fits in the car. ‘But before we go, how about I make you some breakfast?’

While Max potters around getting his bike ready, I make him bacon and eggs on toast, a strong cup of tea. He comes in and devours it in what seems like seconds. Then piles his empty plate into the dishwasher and gets his water bottle.

‘Can we go?’

It’s a beautiful spring morning as I drive him over to Ollie’s house. The sky a clear blue, the trees coming into leaf, the landscape painted subtle shades of green. ‘Where are you biking?’ I ask.

‘The old railway line – probably down to Shoreham,’ he says.

‘Well, if you need me to pick you up, let me know,’ I say.

‘Thanks, Mum.’

It’s all I’ve ever wanted, to see my children happy. And teenage years aren’t the easiest to navigate. But today, after dropping Max and seeing him cycle off to join his friends, the sense of normality leaves me with a warm feeling.

As I drive home, I steel myself to talk to Miles. This can’t go on, this atmosphere of uncertainty. The denial that we have problems, this absence of real communication between us. His car is parked in the drive when I get back but as I go in, the house is in silence. Going upstairs, I push our bedroom door open. Still in bed, Miles stirs. But these days, at weekends, he often sleeps late. Closing the door again, I leave him to it. Then before I know it, Grace is delivered back from her sleepover. I cook us Sunday lunch. Then Miles comes downstairs. I finish cooking just as Max comes back and the four of us eat together. Another day comes and goes, with still no progress between us.

On Monday morning, I call on Dora. When I get there, her daughter opens the door. She looks tired. But looking after her mother isn’t an easy time for her. ‘How’s your mum been?’ I ask.

‘She’s asleep. She’s been asleep most of the weekend,’ Natalie says. ‘But I don’t think she’s in pain.’

‘That’s really good.’ I pause. ‘Is it OK if I pop in and see her?’

‘Of course. Come in.’ Natalie leads me into her mother’s bedroom. ‘Mum? Are you awake? Holly’s come to see you.’

This morning, there’s a jug of flowers on the table, while a couple of photos have been moved closer, presumably so that Dora can reach them. In the light through the gap in the curtains, I watch her eyelids flutter slightly before they’re still again. ‘Why don’t I stay a while?’ I say. ‘Have a bit of time for yourself.’

I go through Dora’s box of medication to make sure she has everything she needs, before sitting in the chair beside the bed. As chance would have it, it isn’t long before she comes to.

Looking at me, she tries to focus. ‘Holly?’ she says at last.

‘Afraid so,’ I say gently. ‘How are you doing, Dora?’

She’s silent for a moment. ‘I’m not sure,’ she says. ‘I feel a bit giddy.’

‘Any breathlessness?’ I ask her.

‘Not really,’ she murmurs. ‘And before you do anything, don’t go calling any ambulances,’ she says. ‘We both know there’s no point.’

‘I know you want to stay here,’ I say quietly. ‘I’m on your side, Dora. As long as you’re comfortable.’ I pause. ‘Does Natalie know how you feel?’