Chapter 1
‘A nother one?’ Pete’s aunt mouths loudly, after three glasses of cava.
I don’t want to discuss my daughter’s partners – not at a family gathering or, actually, at any time.
It’s no one’s business. I make an excuse that I’m hot and start to move towards the glass door of the entrance to the golf-club bar.
‘Speech!’ someone shouts, and people clap.
I glance around at my smartly dressed friends and family.
Our children are here, with their partners.
Although this one isn’t the same woman our daughter Maddie brought with her at our last family meet-up just after New Year.
There have been so many over the past couple of years and, while I make a real effort to remember their names, I can’t recall this one.
I usually try to picture something to remind me of the name – for Belle I saw a little silver bell.
Daisy was self-explanatory. But I’m just distracted this evening, and forgot to make a mental image to help me after our introduction.
They haven’t been together that long, and Maddie’s relationships never seem to last. I’d love her to find The One and settle down.
But from the way they’re holding hands and talking, turned in to each other, forehead to forehead, they seem happy enough right now.
That’s a good sign. Who knows? This may be it.
I just want Maddie to find lasting happiness.
Our son Jake is across the room with his partner, Becky, tanned from their recent holiday.
They’re looking into business opportunities in Spain and hoping to relocate there.
Having spent years at university studying biochemistry, Jake dropped out in his final year and now wants to be a DJ on the European rave circuit, which came as a bit of a shock, and Becky dreams of opening an estate agency on the Costa del Sol.
They’ve been together for years. Becky is very business-minded: she works in mortgages and insurance, setting up her own business during Covid and going from strength to strength, if the holidays are anything to go by.
Jake’s only recently focused on becoming a DJ .
He’s moved on from trying to be an online gamer, which didn’t work out for him.
I have to keep reminding myself that, much as I would love them to be near, they have to live their own lives.
That’s how we grow as adults, isn’t it, deciding which risks to take?
I feel helpless, like a mother watching her chick fly the nest, wishing she could turn back the clock, hoping and praying he’ll be safe and come home again soon.
I can only help and support from the sidelines now.
Saying yes to marriage. That’s a risk you take too, I think, contemplating the other people in the room. Most are Pete’s golfing friends, some of whom I’ve met for the first time this evening. Only you can decide if it’s what you want, and if it’s still what you want , a voice in my head says.
‘We’ve been through a rough year!’ Pete interrupts my thoughts.
His voice is cracking. Someone hands him a glass of fizz and he takes a sip.
Everyone seems to have a drink, as instructed when I organised the party with the staff.
Everyone, I realise, but me. I wonder if it’s strange that Pete didn’t wait for me to be by his side to give his speech.
He’s unfolding the piece of paper that he’s written his speech on, fumbling, trying to juggle paper, microphone and glass.
One of his golfing buddies steps forward, takes the glass, and he shakes out the paper, then pulls out his specs from the same top pocket where I suggested he keep them and puts them on.
He clears his throat. ‘When Jules first told me she was ill, I thought it was an April Fool!’ he says, looking around for a reaction to his badly judged attempt at humour.
I wince as it falls on stony ground. He clears his throat and reads on, nervously.
‘But it was no joke. Far from it.’ The room is silent, listening to him.
‘It’s been a hell of a year. I’ve had to stand by, helpless, as Jules has battled this bloody cancer.
’ The word catches in his throat. ‘She’s an amazing woman.
She’s been so strong, supported me and the children when it should be us supporting her.
But I hope we have all been there for each other.
It’s been a scary time.’ He gives a hiccup, making tears spring to my eyes.
‘You’ve been amazing, Jules. Like always.
You’re as determined as the woman I met so many years ago, and we all love you very much.
’ A tear rolls down my cheek. ‘No one could have gone through what you have this last year with such good humour, always putting your family first. But now it’s time for us to take care of you.
Back in March you rang the bell at the hospital, signalling the end of your treatment. And let’s pray that is the end of it.’
A little cheer goes up in the gathered group and I blush, brushing away the tears at the heartfelt words I hadn’t expected to hear from Pete. But I also wish there was more to us right now – more than the cancer and the treatment.
‘But now,’ Pete says, gathering confidence with the words he’s rehearsed, ‘it’s time to look to the future.’ I feel a little lift. I don’t want to be Jules and the cancer any more: I want to be just Jules …
He looks around for me as I stand in the shadows by the door, enjoying the cloak of invisibility it brings me, hiding my blushes and tears.
He smiles when he sees me. ‘Let’s hope everything can go back to how it was.
I’m proud of everything we’ve built together.
The life we’ve created. It’s time for us to step back and let the young people have the adventures.
With the mortgage paid off,’ he raises a glass and his friends give a little cheer and there’s a clap.
I know how much it meant to him, owning the house outright.
‘It’s time for us to take things a little easier; put our feet up and look back on everything we’ve done. ’
Something inside me twists – hard. In my heart, my throat and my stomach.
Images, as if on a Facebook slideshow, play out in my head.
Our wedding day, picking up the keys to the house, having Maddie, then Jake.
Watching them grow up. And now, cancer-free, I’m ready for the next stage in my life.
His words play in my head: Time for us to put our feet up .
I’m suddenly frozen with fear. I’m not ready to put my feet up.
I’m not ready for matching armchairs and trips to the garden centre on a Sunday.
I want more , says the voice in my head.
I’m ready for adventure. I want to celebrate being alive, not wait for the end.
I’ve fought that one off for the time being!
I want to sing from rooftops and dance in the rain!
I want to look forwards, not back! As much as I love Pete for being there for me, at every step of my life, as much as I love our kids for the joy they’ve brought us and who they’ve become, right now, I want us all to look forward.
For the children and Pete to live their own lives without worrying about me.
I want us all to move out of the shadow that’s hung over us.
‘To my best friend …’ I hear Pete saying, but my head is whirling and wrestling with my heart.
My head is saying I should be quiet and grateful, do as Pete suggests and put my feet up, but my heart is telling me I need a new start in life and to live for the moment.
‘… my wife of twenty-five years. Here’s to the next twenty-five!
’ Pete raises a glass. His golfing friends, their wives, our children, his mother and brother are all raising their glasses and cheering.
I step back, enough to push the door behind me ajar, enjoying the breeze from the night air through the golf-club reception area.
Pete raises his glass a little higher towards me and part of me wants to hug him.
Another part wants to head outside to escape the claustrophobia I’m feeling: I’m suffocated by everything the last year has been – exhausting, terrifying and bleak. I want to breathe fresh air.
Pete sips his drink and is distracted by his mate, Fridge – once a rugby friend in their younger days and now a dedicated golfing buddy at weekends. I slide out of the door, making my way across Reception and outside into the early spring evening.
I take a couple of deep breaths, looking out over the car park at the golf buggies and the neatly kept course beyond.
I wonder what it’s like in France this evening by that lake, still and silent.
Then I turn back to the golf club, a stark brightness from overhead lighting in the function room where Pete is chatting with the friends he grew up with, went to school with, plays golf with.
Loud laughter fills the air. Pete, my other half for twenty-five years.
The constant in my life and the father of my children. I love him, and them.
But as I watch the room, I feel as if I’m watching a film of my life, being played out after I’m gone.
I feel so proud of all three of them. It’s been horrid for them, not knowing what the future would look like.
No one does once the doctor says the words you never want to hear.
But with the cancer in my breast removed and the rounds of chemo finished, it’s time everyone got back to normal.
I’ve had the all-clear and I’m not ready to go anywhere yet.
Every now and again the monkey taps me on the shoulder, reminding me that it could come back at any time, but now I feel more alive than I have done in years, like a bottle of prosecco ready to pop.
Twenty-five years. And what was it Pete said? Here’s to another twenty-five?