Chapter 21
I finished brushing my mum’s hair and put the brush on the side, next to the photograph of me and her walking up Snowdon.
It had always been one of her favourite pictures.
I looked hideous in it, my cheeks flushed red, from the cold or the exertion, my skin clammy and my hair both frizzy and sticking up in as many directions as it could, thanks to the constant drizzle of rain that had plagued us all day.
Mum, on the other hand, looked radiant. Her red cheeks were rosy and healthy and her smile was wide.
We were both smiling. It was the toughest of days, but the best of days.
‘Did you want to take a walk today to get a coffee?’
Mum turned her head and looked out the window.
‘Looks like rain.’
‘It’s February, it always looks like rain.’ I took the coat off the hook on the back of her door.
She stayed sitting in the chair in the corner of her room and she pulled her pashmina further round her.
‘I don’t think so. Not today.’
I put the coat back on the hook. Sometimes Mum went willingly to the café on the edge of the park, and sometimes she just wanted to stay in. I couldn’t force her, she’d only get agitated, and my point was to try and brighten her day, rather than make things worse.
‘How about a game of Scrabble?’
‘I’m a bit tired.’
‘OK, did you want me to go?’
‘No.’
‘Right.’ I sat down in the armchair next to her and looked at the same view that she had. I could see the elm tree out of the window, and there was a squirrel running along its branches. ‘Look at that.’
‘He’s always in that tree.’
‘Huh. Have you named him?’
She paused and tilted her head. ‘Martin.’
‘Martin.’ Just like Dad. I wondered if it was deliberate or just the first name that came to hand for her. ‘I’ve always thought that squirrels were essentially vermin.’
Deliberate then. At least on a subconscious level.
She was smiling with a mischievous look on her face, which made me smile too. Martin the squirrel it was. It was these little moments in our exchanges that kept me coming back. They reminded me that my mum was still in there somewhere. That sometimes her mind might take her back to the right place.
‘Has Dad been to visit you lately?’
‘Dad? My dad’s been dead years.’
She wrinkled her brow, shooting me a look that made me feel like I was the one with the memory problem.
‘No, I mean, my dad.’
‘Your dad? How would I know your dad? I’ve not even met you before.’
No matter how many times this happened, it didn’t hurt any less.
‘Mum, it’s me, Lucy,’ I said, trying to keep my voice as soft as possible.
The first time she’d thought of me as a stranger it had broken my heart, not that there was a lot left to break.
It had been gently cracking and fissuring since her diagnosis and now it was so brittle that the tiniest thing would shatter it into pieces.
I’d thought that it was the start of it.
That once she forgot who I was, she’d never remember me again.
But most days, and most of the time, she knew me.
I was the one that got the panicked phone calls at any time of day when she was spiralling about whether or not she’d put the bins out, despite not having bins anymore, or why she hadn’t got Marion’s number in her phone, her sister that had died of cancer two years previously.
I shelved the topic and went back to the squirrel.
‘Do you think he has a nest in the tree?’
‘Who?’
I nodded. ‘I think I might get a fancy coffee from the café on the corner. Do you want to come?’
‘No, it looks like rain.’
In Mum’s world, it always looked like rain. If she didn’t want to go somewhere, that was always the reason, whether it was perfect, cloudless blue skies, or whether the heavens were teeming it down. Today, it was cloudy and on the way here it had been drizzling.
‘I can bring you one back?’
‘No, thanks. No need to come back. I’m going to have a little sleep.’
‘OK, Mum,’ I said, reaching over and taking her hand.
She let me hold it for a second but snatched it away soon after, not making eye contact.
‘I’m going to go then. I’m away tomorrow overnight, but I’ll be in on Sunday afternoon.’
She looked up and smiled, but it was the smile I’d seen her do countless times in my life when she was being polite to strangers.
I walked to the reception at the end of the hallway.
‘How did you find her today?’ asked Carol. She was tapping away at her keyboard and staring up at me at the same time. I wish I could multi-task like her.
‘Mixed,’ I said, wrinkling my nose. ‘But she seemed calm.’
‘Good, calm is sometimes the best we can hope for.’
This is usually the point that I’d wish her well and walk off, but I found myself lingering and Carol stopped typing. She glanced up at me again.
‘Is everything OK? You’re not going to be talking to me about this virus, are you? Did you see the news today?’
‘I’m trying to ignore that.’ I turned away from the newspaper on the counter. Every day the tickertape on the news channel was getting more alarmist. ‘I just wanted to let you know that I’m going away.’
‘OK, that’s fine. Let me bring up your mum’s file.’ She started clicking again. ‘How long for? And is there someone that you’re nominating to be an emergency contact in the meantime?’
‘It’s only tomorrow for the night to London. But it was just in case that something happened and—’
Carol tilted her head and looked down over her glasses.
‘Lucy, you’re going for one night. Enjoy yourself. Your mum is fine here. Fine.’
‘I know, it’s just sometimes she rings and when I’m at home I can pop down.’
‘She’ll be fine. Honestly. Have fun. Are you doing anything nice?’
‘It’s my birthday, actually. I’m meeting up with some friends.’
‘Nice, well, happy birthday.’
I nodded and turned to go.
‘Do you think I should be worried about the virus and Mum?’
Carol tutted. ‘You don’t need to be finding extra things to fret about. Don’t worry, we’ve asked relatives who have been abroad to maybe wait before visiting those in here.’
‘That’s sensible.’ I nodded.
‘Relax, enjoy yourself. Have a nice birthday.’
‘Thanks.’ I gave one last look towards Mum’s corridor and left. Carol was right, she’d be fine, but saying it and believing it were two different things.
I was early to meet Andrew for lunch, but he was still there before me, waiting on the wall outside the restaurant.
‘Here she is, here’s the birthday girl,’ he said, beaming when he saw me.
‘Here I am.’
We were in that awkward stage of dating, still finding our feet with each other, and he hesitated for a moment before kissing me on the lips. My hand found his stomach and we stayed there for a little longer, his hand grazing the small of my back.
I pulled away, and he smiled, the little lines at his eyes creasing.
‘Have you got something behind your back?’ I asked, taking a step back.
He was standing with one arm behind him, and he bobbed his head from side to side.
‘Um, I do,’ he started, pulling a face.
‘For me?’ He nodded. I tried to grab at the back of him but he stepped away.
‘Now, wait.’ He held out his free hand to push me back gently. ‘Before you get too excited, this was something that seemed like a really sweet idea at the time, but now I’m just thinking it’s mega cringe.’
‘Mega cringe. Ooh, is it over-the-top flowers?’
‘No,’ he said, shaking his head. His face looking apologetic. ‘I wish it was that cool. That would have been much better.’
‘What is it?’
I tried to turn him to the side. But he laughed and kept walking backwards until we’d gone in a circle.
‘You promise you won’t think any less of me?’
‘Promise.’
‘OK.’ He took a deep breath. He’d really built this up now. He brought his arm round to reveal a bouquet of sprouting broccoli in beautiful purples and greens.
‘Andrew, they’re beautiful,’ I said, taking them, and not knowing quite what to do with them I sniffed them. ‘No idea why I did that, but they smell fresh.’
‘Picked this morning. I went to the allotment on the way to work.’
‘Ah, that’s so sweet.’
‘Yeah. The jury was out with my colleagues; some thought it was romantic, some thought corny.’
‘Well, my verdict is kind of romantic.’
‘Kind of romantic?’ He did a fist pump. ‘I’ll take it.’
‘So, shall we get some food? I’m starving.’
‘Me too.’ I followed him into the café.
We sat at a table in the corner, and ordered quickly as Andrew was on his lunchbreak.
‘How was your mum this morning?’
‘She was mostly good. She’s named a cheeky squirrel Martin, after my dad.’
‘Is your dad a cheeky squirrel?’
‘Once upon a time he was. But not anymore. Now he lives a normal life with his second wife, Tania.’
I used to tell the story so differently, and whilst I’d never advocate the way that he went about it, the fact that he’d been with Tania for twenty years, far longer than he’d been with my mum, changed things.
‘Are they local?’
‘Yeah, I probably should make an effort to see them more. It’s so stupid but for a long time I felt disloyal to my mum hanging out with Tania.’
‘His new wife?’
I nodded.
‘Doesn’t sound silly. Divorces are tricky for the kids; they’re often caught up in the middle. I know that first hand, from my parents. It was why me and my ex were so reluctant at first to split. I didn’t want Jack to go through that.’
‘But he’s doing OK?’
‘Yeah,’ he said, nodding. ‘It helps that I get on well with his mum and her new husband.’
Andrew always looked different when he talked about Jack; there was a mixture of pride and love written all over his face.
‘How old were you when your parents divorced?’
‘I was about five, so I can’t remember it any other way. Two Christmas days. Lots of presents. I’ve had three stepmums.’
‘Three?’
‘Yep, my dad was a truly cheeky squirrel,’ he said, his face wrinkling almost apologetically.
‘What’s his name?’
‘Eddie.’
‘Just so I know what to name the next squirrel if there’s another one at my mum’s.’
He laughed with his whole belly and I couldn’t help joining in.
‘That makes Dad sound really bad. But he’s had a bit of a run of bad luck. We’ll talk about that another day.’
I nodded. These early stages of a relationship were very much like sketching a picture, and slowly we’d go back and add the colour and definition.
It was the bit that I both loved and loathed.
It was that exciting time of butterflies and lust, but I missed the moments that came later when you really started to know and understand each other.
The waiter popped our coffees down on the table.
‘So, I have a question to ask you.’ Andrew pulled out a sugar packet and shook it.
‘That sounds ominous.’
‘Ha, does it? It’s just, I don’t know if it’s a bit soon to ask, but my mates are organising this trip to Bilbao, in Spain, to learn to surf.
I think it’s one of their things to do before you’re forty bucket lists.
Anyway, there’s a whole group of us going, hiring a big house.
And I guess I want to know if you want to come too?
It’s in July, early on before the schools break up. ’
My eyes were blinking, taking it all in. Bilbao. Friends. House. July.
‘Oh, um … that’s quite a while away.’
He had the same look of embarrassment on his face that he’d had when he’d pulled out the broccoli. I’m not sure he realised how cute it made him look.
‘I know, I said it was too soon, but they’re booking and I think it’ll be fun. That part of Spain’s supposed to be pretty too. Have you been?’
I shook my head. ‘Do I have to decide now?’
‘I was going to book it pretty soon, before the prices go too high for the flights. But I understand if it’s too much pressure or you think it’s too soon.’
By the time July rolled around, if we’d become a proper couple we’d have been together over six months, but what happened if we booked and then broke up? Or worse, stayed together because of the holiday?
‘Can I think about it?’
‘Yeah, of course. But you know,’ he said, stirring his coffee, ‘I look pretty hot in a wetsuit, in case that swings your vote.’
‘Oh really now? Is that a thing, looking cute in a wetsuit? Does anyone?’
He smiled. I could imagine that he’d suit a wetsuit. I’d been watching Andrew garden through the seasons on the allotment, and he looked good in most things.
‘Hang on.’ He pulled his phone out of his pocket and scrolled. ‘Here you go.’
He passed me a photo of him coming out of the water in a wetsuit, a surfboard under his arm. He was true to his word, it was working for him. But I squinted at the phone; he also looked a lot younger and baby-faced than he did now.
‘When was this taken?’ I said to Andrew, giggling.
‘About twenty years ago. It was the time me and my mates learned to surf the first time. Dec, who’s organising it, sent the pictures, hoping it would spur us on.’
‘So you can all already surf?’
‘No. That’s the whole point. We went to Newquay a million years ago to do it, but after half a day of lessons where we barely got on the board, we found the nightclubs, and the rest, as they say, is history.’
‘You suit your hair longer,’ I said, passing him back the phone.
‘I also suited less wrinkles.’
‘Don’t we all?’ Although I didn’t agree with him. I liked the lines on his face; they gave him character.
The waiter put our food down in front of us.
‘Oh no,’ he said, looking down at his plate after the waiter had left, ‘we’ve got a problem.’
‘What?’ I studied his plate, wondering if they’d got his order wrong.
‘We’re going to have to hide the broccoli bunch; don’t want them thinking they’ll be next.’ He unfolded the menu and put it up like a screen around the bouquet.
‘You are ridiculous,’ I said, secretly loving the fact that he really didn’t care that he was being silly.
‘Ridiculous, but slightly romantic.’ He gave me a wink, picking up his cutlery. ‘I’ll take it.’