Chapter 31
DAWN
As Henry pushes the tape into the cassette player, I lean my head back against the seat as music fills his second-hand red Ford Fiesta and make a face.
My sunglasses may be hiding my eyes but the unimpressed stance revealed in my expression is hopefully unmistakable.
Taking his eyes off the road briefly to glance over at me in the front passenger seat, Henry breaks into a wide, wonderful grin giving me my answer.
‘What?’ he asks, even though he knows what, returning his focus to the road ahead.
‘This song again? Really?’ I remark in a teasing tone.
‘Yes, this song again,’ he says stubbornly, a quality about him I’ve liked since we met and one I’m growing to love.
So often people refuse to be themselves, but not Henry.
He’s a gentle, reserved character, but he knows his mind which is inspiring to me.
I often wonder if it’s a good or a bad thing that I get on with almost everyone I meet, devoted to making them enjoy my company.
I will happily nod along with what they’re saying to avoid making anyone feel uncomfortable.
I want to be the person on every invite list, the sort of person people want to know and boast about knowing.
‘Yes, I know Dawn Dixon,’ I want them to say when I’m not there.
Henry doesn’t seem to care about anything like that.
While I compromise when necessary, he stubbornly refuses to be less than who he is.
It makes me feel like a better person being attached to someone like him.
Not to mention he’s gorgeous and treats me like I’m meant to be adored.
I think I’m doing well in encouraging him to fall in love with me.
‘If there were only one song left, it would be this one,’ he declares.
‘That doesn’t make any sense.’
‘It encapsulates everything,’ he argues, navigating the twists and turns of this Suffolk countryside road as we make our way to his friend’s birthday weekend away.
All of his friends have big dos in the country for their birthdays.
‘It’s comfort in hardship; joy and excitement still in there somewhere, despite it all.
It’s right there in the lyrics if you listen properly. ’
‘I do listen properly.’
‘And the vocals, you can feel it, can’t you, as it builds?
’ he continues, ignoring my protest, fuelled by the opportunity to talk about this.
‘At the start, you understand he’s accepting it and as it goes on, you hear him muddling his own way through, and then as it goes on, he finds hope without even realising that was what he was after.
The story is in the emotion of the voice.
’ He taps his hand on the steering wheel in time with the rhythm.
‘That’s why this song is it. Happiness and sadness, side by side. ’
‘There are lots of great songs by great artists, Henry, some from this decade,’ I remind him, smiling at his unshackled passion for this piece of music. ‘Don’t you think this one is a bit of an obvious one to love?’
He sighs, disappointed. ‘This is exactly what I mean. You don’t listen to the lyrics properly.’
‘What?’ I say defensively.
Turning to offer me a smile, he says, ‘It’s all there. “You know that it’s a fool who plays it cool”. I don’t care if it’s sneered at to like what’s obvious, Dawn. You can choose to make your world colder, but I like what makes my world warmer.’
‘Do I make your world warmer?’ I ask coyly.
He laughs. ‘Dawn, you make the world warmer in general.’
We fall into silence, listening to the song play out.
I think I know then that one day this man will break my heart.
***
Yesterday, the day of the ball, was a bad day.
Bad in terms of my health, not in setting or situation.
But that’s how it goes. Over the past year or so, I have had to accept that I will have good days and bad days.
Today might be another one. My limbs ache, the fatigue is heavier in the stuffy heat, and the headache lingers, albeit a more manageable one.
I allow myself a lie-in this morning. Surely, I won’t be the only one – it will be a lazy day for a lot of the guests who were there at the ball last night growing merrier and merrier with each passing hour. It was a truly enchanting evening.
I couldn’t stay for the entire time, but I had the pleasure of seeing my daughter happier than I think I’ve ever seen her.
I was also asked to dance, such a small gesture that somehow meant so much in the moment.
I didn’t feel myself, yet there was Laurence, extending a hand, choosing me over everyone else, making me feel beautiful.
If only there were more opportunities in life to dance.
I am sorry that he and I couldn’t continue the night in a similar manner to the conclusion of our date earlier this week, but I had to admit defeat and retire to bed alone, assuring him that it was nothing to do with his company.
Lying in bed this morning, propped up on the pillows and working up the courage and positivity to get out of the sheets, I choose to reflect on the last few days and come to the realisation that I may need to make some changes when I get home.
Today I might need to rest, but the activities of my time here have shown me that, while it’s natural to feel a sense of betrayal by my body in the midst of this uncontrollable illness, I still have an enormous and surprising amount of strength in it.
Same goes for my mind. There have been moments this week when I have proven to no one but myself that I’m not done yet.
There’s still so much to see and do. There’s still so much to write.
I make a pact with myself. I will not hide from this diagnosis anymore but accept it and work with it.
By ignoring it, I’ve only let the frustration fester and reveal itself in painful outbursts.
Who am I to ignore the truth of what’s happening to me?
Do I think it a show of strength to deny I’m human, unaffected by the viruses and life complications that come for us all?
Hardly. Megan’s revelation about what really happened between her and Dominic has only made me prouder of the woman she’s become.
She went through hell and here she is, braving the world, still smiling at life’s little wonders when she comes upon them.
Jemma telling me that she and Iris aren’t the perfect couple I always thought they were has served to make me even more in awe of her and to feel closer to her.
We don’t always get it right. Things happen that we can’t foresee.
We can call it good luck or bad luck, but no one is immune to it and that, I think, is a good thing.
To simply keep going through the messy bits, that is the tenacity that gives life meaning.
That’s how we realise who we are and what we are capable of being.
And there is a connection formed in admitting that we’re not perfect.
I think that’s what Henry has been trying to tell Megan and I through these silly adventures in each other’s company.
Hope will not be extinguished for me if it’s not for you.
I will tell Jemma about my MS and I will make every effort to nurture this newfound relationship with Megan.
I will do my best to help my mind cope, and if that means trying out new activities and maybe, maybe, drinking a little less, then so be it.
I felt so alive on that bloody raft. I felt so happy when I danced with a tambourine in front of an adoring crowd.
I heard Henry’s cheer when I jumped from the boat and into the water.
I may not be at one with nature, what with my hatred for camping and horses retaining a vendetta against me, but I have discovered that vultures and I have a similar taste in lingerie, which has to mean something.
Oh, how I’ve laughed this trip. Yes, this illness will not define me.
None of us are invincible. But we, all of us, are adaptable.
‘You are making me philosophical this morning, darling,’ I say hoarsely to the box of Henry’s ashes. ‘Another thing I won’t forgive you for.’
But we both know I don’t mean it.
***
At the end of dinner, Nico raises a glass.
‘A toast to Henry, and to you both,’ he says, tilting his glass across the table to clink against ours. ‘Tonight marks the end of a difficult time. He would be very proud, I know.’
‘Thank you, Nico,’ I say graciously as Megan smiles at him, their eye contact lingering a moment too long to disguise whatever has passed between them.
We chose a restaurant near the beach in anticipation of the fireworks later tonight, hoping to relax here a while before getting a good spot on the sand with a perfect view.
The town is busy, the excitement of the festival still hanging in the air as it nears its end.
Megan looks lovely in a summer dress, and Nico is handsome as ever in a relaxed white linen shirt and dark trousers.
He offered to leave us to enjoy dinner alone tonight, but I insisted he be there.
Partly because he’s been an integral part of this journey since the moment we arrived and deserves to be treated after all the hard work he’s put in to help Henry organise it all, but mostly because he makes Megan happy.
Sitting back in my chair, I listen to Nico answer a question from Megan about the ball last night, still on a high from its success, and my eyes drift over his shoulder to the passers-by on the street beyond.
That’s when I catch a glimpse of him.
At first, I’m not sure if I’m seeing things, but then when the couple blocking my view of him stop to peruse the menu at the front of the restaurant and he continues on his way, I can see that I’m right. My whole body tenses in panic.
‘Mum, are you okay?’ Megan asks, breaking the conversation upon noticing my expression. She’s right. I do need to control my face more.
‘Fine! Absolutely fine. Although I’d like a walk,’ I declare, standing up.
‘Okay, we’ll come with you,’ Megan says, reaching down to grab her bag.
‘No! No, no, I think you two should stay here and relax, enjoy the rest of your drinks,’ I insist, stopping her from getting up by placing a hand on her shoulder. ‘I’ll meet you at the fireworks, shall I? Very good, see you then.’
Before they have a chance to counter my suggestion, I hurry out the restaurant and make my way down the street in the direction he was going.
Moving quickly, I scan the backs of the heads of everyone strolling in front of me until I see him again.
I won’t lose him this time. I keep a safe distance and when he breaks from the crowd to turn down a narrow, cobbled street, I realise that I don’t need to follow him to know where he’s going.
I wait until he stops in front of Henry’s dream house.
‘Mathieu,’ I call out, approaching him.
He turns his head to look at me and, even in the dimly lit street, I watch his eyes fill with sadness and regret from here.