Chapter 39
Ben
The late afternoon sun beats down on my face. I’m lying back on the grass, eyes closed, listening to the kids playing soccer. Bex is snuggled up beside me. She hasn’t been so well this last week, but she was determined to come along to our family picnic before school restarts.
Time passes too quickly.
I still can’t believe that Ollie and Liam are starting high school. They’ve both grown considerably over the summer and need full wardrobes of new clothes again. Ollie’s slightly taller, but they remain unnervingly similar in looks. It’s hard to believe they have different mothers.
They’re inseparable as friends. I’ve been summoned to the headmaster more than once for them tag-teaming bullies. I told him I’m proud they’re standing up for what matters. I suggested to school that they should start reprimanding the criminals, not just the vigilantes.
Bex mumbles in her sleep. She drifted off a while ago. Whenever or wherever she sleeps, I’m grateful for it. Her treatment is severe now, and she suffers from headaches most days.
Eamon took over her case file as soon as she received the terminal diagnosis. He was the only doctor I trusted with her ongoing care. The focus is on pain management.
All the children dote on her. She’s forged fantastic relationships with both my daughters, taking interest in their hobbies and pursuits. It’s not unusual for me to find the three of them locked in the girls’ room, trying on random outfits or painting each other’s nails.
The days they announce they’re going shopping, my credit card screams in pain. Normally, I can’t get in the front door because of the mountain of boxes and bags.
Ollie and Liam both play for the local soccer club, which means most Saturdays are spent at the side of a field. Rain, hail, or shine, my boys play soccer. Watching them in their royal-blue stripes on the field together makes my heart swell.
Liam is going to lose his mum. He will lose her much earlier in life than he should. It seems so unfair. His relationship with Ollie mildly comforts me. He will be there for his brother on the toughest days.
Even on her worst days, Bex forces herself to get out of bed for the children. She’s in a wheelchair now, but every week, she’s present, shouting them on from the side of the field. I’m so incredibly proud of them all.
Her eyes flutter open. “Hey, darling.” I smile down at her.
She’s wearing a light summer dress with thin straps.
It’s soft against her skin, as she’s very sensitive to certain materials now.
The hair on her body is gone. She jokes that she spent all those years going through the pain of waxing when she could have saved herself a fortune, as cancer has removed the fluff for her.
A bright scarf is constantly wrapped around her head to hide her missing platinum hair. It improves her mood on bad days.
“Oh, did I fall asleep? I’m sorry. What did I miss?” She tries to sit up, and I quickly help support her as she does.
“You’ve missed nothing.” I hold her tight. “You looked so peaceful. I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“I love you,” she murmurs.
She leans forward and kisses my mouth softly; all our interaction is gentle now.
Gone are the days of explosive sex and swinging from chandeliers.
But when she feels in the mood, we make love, always in the same position, so I can ensure she’s comfortable.
A heated discussion brings our attention back to the soccer match unfolding in front of us.
It’s boys against girls, and my girls are playing dirty.
Savannah and Rose are full-blown teenagers now, enjoying every damn minute.
My heart is in my mouth every time they leave the house.
Their dresses seem to get shorter each week.
Bex tells me it's normal, girls are allowed to express themselves, but I’d prefer they covered their asses properly.
But soon, I’m going to have to relinquish some control.
Savannah heads off to university next September.
She’s chosen to study medicine like me and is hoping to be accepted for a place in Scotland.
My little girl has excelled and is soon to set off into the big, wide world.
I’m devastated to let her go but excited to see her spread her wings and progress in this life.
Rose lives on her social networks, haunts the shops, and gives me reasons to worry. Her latest boyfriend is two years her senior and is planning to drop out of school to become a pop star.
“What are you laughing at?” Bex asks.
“Oh, I am just thinking about our conversation with Rose last week regarding the up-and-coming Ed Sheeran she’s dating.”
My wife giggles. I live for these moments with her. After squeezing Bex’s hand, I stand and go to join the game for a while. My kids are amazing. The family I have isn’t the one I planned for. The path I took to get here isn’t one I’d recommend. But I wouldn’t change them for anything.
We got married two months after Spain in a simple summer wedding, just like she wanted.
The girls in soft white cotton dresses. The boys in beige slacks and plaid shirts.
There was only our little family there, Amy and Terry, Eamon and Melissa, Katie, plus the registrar. Everyone important was present.
The sun had shone in the small hotel garden as we stood hand in hand reciting our vows.
With all the flowers in bloom and birdsong in the air, it had been perfect.
The ceremony was short and the celebrations toned down to a meal and overnight stay.
But it was ours, and everything it should’ve been.
After all we’d been through, and almost lost, I felt lucky to live it.
She was tired that day, but radiant. I still replay the moment she said, I do, like it was a promise long awaited. It was a special day for us all. A memory never to be forgotten. I’d slid the gold band on her finger, and it’d lodged into place perfectly. She was finally mine.
Time isn’t on our side, and I want to make the most of what we have. We’re going away for a few nights, just the two of us.
Because of her ongoing treatment, we can’t go far, but I can make it special.
Friday rolls around, and I tell her to pack a bag for a couple of nights.
“Where are we going?” she asks, excitement bubbling beneath the surface. I love it when she’s animated. She looks like my Bex from years ago.
“Don’t be nosey. It’s a surprise,” I say, tapping the side of my nose.
She throws half her wardrobe into a suitcase.
“How long do you think we are going for?” I laugh. “It’s only two nights.”
After flipping the bird at me cheekily, she fakes a scowl. “Well, you won’t tell me where we are going. I need to be prepared for anything. I mean, you might take me skydiving or something boring like that.”
As we wind our way through the lanes of the Cornish countryside, the car purrs beneath us.
We’re heading for the coast, and I can already smell the sea.
Our accommodation comes into view. It stands proud on the edge of the cliff, keeping watch over the waves.
Bex gasps as we approach the lighthouse.
“We’re staying here?” She squeals. “No way! You’re amazing. I love you so much.”
I laugh with her childish excitement, but I must admit, this is remarkable. Our room is right at the top in the lamp room. The old lamp still sits, pride of place in the center, though no longer lit. A balcony runs around the suite offering 360-degree views.
The late addition of a lift on the outside of the building has made bringing her here possible. So many places have become unattainable since she was made to use her chair. It breaks my heart each time she can’t do something that used to be easy. A little more of my Bex slips away.
The bed is huge and covered in red satin sheets. There are rose petals scattered everywhere and a bottle of champagne chilling on ice.
This is perfect.
Bex sits in her chair on the balcony as the sun sets over the water. The late summer breeze warms her skin. She’s wearing a long, floaty gown in pale blue. Her wig pinned high. I creep up and surprise her with a hug, singing her favorite song close to her ear. She turns and kisses me softly.
“I love you, but you’re a terrible singer,” she teases. She rests her head against my shoulder, the breeze lifting the hem of her dress. The sea crashes below us in a steady rhythm, as if echoing the tempo of our time together. “This is perfect.”
“It’s not enough,” I whisper. “I wish I’d found a way to give you this sooner.”
“You did,” she says, her voice quiet but steady. “You gave me Liam. You gave me these years. You came back.”
I swallow hard. “I should’ve stayed.”
She turns slightly to face me, her fingers brushing mine. “Maybe, but maybe we had to break to rebuild. We’re stronger now. Wiser, even if a little more wrinkled.”
I chuckle. “Speak for yourself.”
She smiles then grows serious again. Her face pinching a little, the way it does when she’s considering her words. These conversations, the ones I don’t want to have, are becoming more regular. She wants to discuss what should happen when she’s gone.
“I’m not scared, Ben.”
“You’re not?”
“Not of dying,” she says with a sad smile.
Her eyes flick over my shoulder to the view behind before returning.
“I am scared of leaving you, though. Of leaving them. But I’m not scared of the end.
I’ve had more time than I ever expected.
I’ve loved, lost, and loved again.” I press my lips to her temple, closing my eyes.
This hurts, her laying out what she’s had, what she’s grateful for, when it should have been so much more.
“I want more time,” I admit, selfishly. I’m not ready to let her go, but I know the time is getting nearer. It’s a hazard of the job.
“So do I,” she says softly. “But if this is all we get... I’m glad it was with you. I’m happy we had the time we did.”
We sit in silence as the sun dips lower, turning the sky shades of rose and fire. It disappears as night falls, bringing the day to an end once more.
“I’m going to keep making memories,” I tell her as I hold her hand. “Every day. For Liam. For Ollie. For the girls. For all of us.”
She nods slowly, but doesn’t look at me, her focus on the horizon, on the setting day. Another chapter closing.
“Just promise me one thing,” she whispers.
“Anything.”
“When I’m gone... don’t forget how to live.”
I blink fast. “I won’t.” She leans into me again, her voice almost a murmur.
“Good. Then we’ll be okay.” Her lips twist into a half-smile. “Because I’ll be watching you.” I hold her tighter, anchoring us in the present.
Because she’s right. Somehow, we’ll be okay.
But right now, I’ll hold onto her as long as I can, just to have one more moment.
***