Chapter 1 #2
Another twenty-five years of how it’s always been? I can’t do it , I think, watching the party through the big wide window. Another twenty-five years of playing it safe, paying off the mortgage, just to sit back and put our feet up?
No one has noticed I’m not in there, and I realise I’m no longer needed here.
I’ve played my role, organised the party, made sure the invitations went out, the menu was agreed, the drinks bought and flowers arranged.
But I’ve become invisible. Just like in Pete’s speech, I’m Jules the wife, the mum and, now, the cancer survivor.
I’ve lost everything else I once felt about life.
What am I supposed to do for the next twenty-five years?
The gift of being in remission, of having a second chance, is a constant reminder of how lucky I am to be alive. I want to take risks. I want to be known for being more than the wife, the mum, the cancer survivor. I want to be known for being me.
My phone pings.
It’s Annie, a young woman I met at the hospital. We’ve become close friends. I’d hoped she’d be here tonight, but she’s not well enough. Have a lovely evening. You deserve to celebrate after what you’ve gone through. Keep going. Seize the day! x she messages.
I glance through the window again. This isn’t really my evening, I think.
I may have played a role in Pete’s twenty-five-year journey to be here, but we’re not celebrating ‘us’.
We’re celebrating getting this far. This is about another trophy to put on the shelf, next to the golfing ones and the Player of the Year cup from the rugby club when we were first going out.
He said I was his lucky mascot and he’d have to marry me.
We got engaged first, then married and bought the house.
Made all the right moves. We kept fit and active, prepared for retirement with pension plans.
But no one prepares you for the rug being pulled out from under your feet, threatening to whip everything away from you, including life. And, actually, it makes me feel angry.
Wish you were here, I type back to Annie.
Me too , she replies. Enjoy every moment!
I’m enraged on Annie’s behalf, a woman with everything to live for. A husband and young family. Tears gather along the rims of my eyes.
Suddenly there’s giggling and laughter as Maddie and her girlfriend come stumbling out in each other’s arms, pulling out their vapes and sucking at them, disappearing into clouds of smoke, then falling into a deep kiss.
A little embarrassed by their enthusiastic display of affection, I clear my throat.
‘Mum?’ Maddie says, and frowns. ‘What are you doing out here? I thought you were inside with Dad, celebrating.’
I shake my head. ‘No, love. I’ve been out here, watching.’
There’s a pause, and I know Maddie’s not sure what to say.
I’m not either. I just know I’m feeling something and it’s not celebrating the prospect of another twenty-five years of marriage to Pete.
We’re at a crossroads and seem to be heading in different directions.
I’m grateful for everything we’ve had, but I’m sad too, because I know we’re at the end of our road.
The one thing holding us together over the last year, the cancer, has gone.
‘Are you all right? Do you want me to get Dad?’
I smile. ‘I’m fine. Really. Never better.
’ In fact, I feel drunk, although I haven’t had a drink all night.
I’m high on life … a cliché, I know, but I’m so grateful still to be here with the possibilities I want for myself in front of me.
I think about Annie, wishing with all my heart she was standing in my shoes.
‘Wait here,’ I hear Maddie say to her girlfriend. ‘I’m getting Dad.’
‘No! I’m fine, really,’ I say, and wish she’d listen, but she’s gone already and I can see her pushing her way through the throng at the bar, reaching him and pulling him away from telling a story that involves swinging an imaginary golf club.
Pete reluctantly leaves his friends and follows her outside. ‘Jules, you okay? Maddie said you weren’t feeling well.’
‘I’m fine,’ I say, trying to calm the fuss that’s bubbling around me.
‘Shall I get you some water?’ Maddie asks.
I know she wants to help and is worried. ‘Actually,’ I say quickly, ‘some water would be great. Take, erm, your friend with you, get a jug.’
‘It’s Heidi,’ Heidi says.
‘Heidi, of course. Sorry, I couldn’t remember. Warm evening.’ I say, knowing that it really isn’t. We’re barely into spring. ‘I’ve had a lot on my mind.’
But Heidi doesn’t seem happy. ‘Your friend ? Do you have lots of friends?’ she asks, as the two of them go inside.
As I watch them, I’m hoping I haven’t dropped Maddie in it.
Once they’re through the doors, Pete turns to me. ‘How long have you been out here?’ he asks.
I feel a glow of affection, warmth, security, but not the love we once had, giddy with excitement to be with each other. That’s gone.
‘Long enough,’ I say, without needing to add, long enough to work out what I need to do and say to you.
‘I didn’t realise—’
‘Pete,’ I cut him off. I need to get to the point. No use in prolonging this and making it tricky for either of us. ‘I … I need some time away.’
‘Another holiday? We could go to the coast for a couple of days.’
‘It’s not you. It’s me.’ I cringe at how corny that sounds. But I can’t stop now. ‘I don’t think …’ I look at him. He’s clearly confused and hurt, and I hate myself for doing this, but I’m doing it for us both.
‘I don’t think I can do this for another twenty-five years.’
‘Do what?’
‘You know, the routine. Coffee at seven thirty, morning news, Sunday lunch at the garden centre …’
‘I thought you liked the garden centre. We could always go to Deri’s café instead, but I didn’t think you liked their bacon baps as much.’
‘It’s not about the garden centre or Deri’s baps.’
‘You’re leaving me, aren’t you?’ he says, sounding resigned.
‘I … I just need something more right now. I need to remember I’m alive! I love you, and the life we’ve had and our kids, but we want different things. You like your Friday nights at the pub, and quiz night. I hate quiz night.’
He laughs. ‘I like black-out blinds and you like the curtains open,’ he joins in.
‘Pete, we haven’t shared a bedroom in well over a year.’
‘That was the treatment. I wanted you to rest.’
‘And I wanted you to get a good night’s sleep.’
He sighs. ‘To be honest, I saw this coming. That’s why I wanted us to have the party – thought it might set us back on track. But it looks like we’re heading in different directions,’ he says sadly. ‘We have been for a while, haven’t we?’
I nod. ‘We’ll always be best friends. Parents to our children.
We’ll always be family. But, yes, there are different roads for us to explore now.
I just need some time away, to feel as though I’m making the most of my life after everything that’s happened.
I want to embrace adventure and get away from everything that reminds me of Jules with the cancer. ’
‘How long will you be gone?’
‘I’m not sure. But I think it would be good for both of us.’ I look at the golf-club doors.
‘Someone’s bringing the water,’ I say.
‘That’s Mandy. She’s the bar manager. Hang on.’ He hurries over to her, takes the jug and a glass and reassures her that, yes, everything is fine. ‘Mandy thought you might be having a turn. She’s been very supportive about the treatment.’
‘I don’t know her.’
‘Oh, she’s very nice, you’d like her. On her own since her daughter moved out and her husband left. But she runs a great bar. Always has a good selection of crisps.’
He’s waffling now. He stops talking. Then he says slowly, ‘This is for real, isn’t it?’
I take a deep breath. ‘I want us both to be happy. Let’s pursue that happiness in our different ways. Do our own thing.’ I take hold of his hands and give them a gentle squeeze. ‘I need to find out who I am without the treatment going on. What the new Jules looks like.’
He gazes at me. ‘But what will I do without you?’
‘You’ll play golf.’ I chuckle. ‘And more golf.’
He joins in. ‘I do like golf.’
‘I know. And you still have work – you love your job at the warehouse. And you enjoy a Sunday drink here.’
He smiles. I put one hand on his forearm.
He pats it. ‘Thank you. For everything. I mean it. I want you to be happy,’ he says quietly.
‘And I want you to be happy. We want the best for each other, so let’s just give this a go.’
He slips into practical Pete mode. ‘Will you take your car?’
‘If that’s okay.’ Suddenly it feels bizarrely like we’re arranging a weekend away with friends, instead of ending our married life.
‘It’s just been serviced and there’s a full tank in it.’
Suddenly the tears threaten to reappear as I realise this is it: I’m walking away, to a new adventure.
‘Where will you go?’
‘Back to France,’ I say. ‘See if there’s anything there for me.’
He frowns. ‘What about the cat?’ He seems more worried about that than anything else. ‘She likes her routine.’
‘A bit like you …’ I say fondly.
‘Yes,’ he agrees.
‘Let her stay with you,’ I say gently.
‘And what about the cake?’ He points back towards the party.
‘You eat it. It’s your favourite. Chocolate.’
‘I’m a bit more of a lemon-drizzle man, these days,’ he says.
‘There’s a lot we don’t know about each other any more, Pete.’
He smiles. ‘I know you like yellow roses. They’re your favourite.’
‘No, Pete, they’re yours. You felt red roses were too expensive and could get yellow ones for half the price and have bought them ever since. I like sunflowers and poppies.’
He falls silent. Then: ‘When shall we tell the children?’
‘Let’s tell them in the morning, shall we?’ I say.
‘What about other people?’
‘I bet no one will even notice I’ve gone.’
‘That’s not true!’
‘Tell them the truth. I’m having “a life pivot”. That’s what they call them, these days.’
‘Life pivot, right,’ he says, and stands very still.
I kiss him on the cheek as a best friend would do.
‘Will you come back in with me?’ he asks. ‘Share our last evening together, so to speak?’
I smile and nod, tears in my eyes.
He takes my hand and leads me back into the golf club where Maddie and Jake beckon us to their table with their partners and Fridge says, over the microphone, ‘And now we’re going to start the quiz.’
I wish I had quietly slipped away. This party isn’t for me.
It was about trying to hold on to what we once had.
But that’s okay, I tell myself. We should celebrate what we had.
This is one last night as the old Jules.
I’m already feeling lighter, freer. Tomorrow I will no longer be Mrs Juliet Townley. I will be whoever I want to be.
A huge wave of excitement and a happiness I haven’t experienced in a long time floods me.
I may not look like the younger me any more, but something inside me feels it.
And I like it. I regard my family around me, all about to spread their wings, and smile as they battle over quiz questions, cherishing the laughter and knowing that, from tomorrow, everything will change.
Tomorrow is the start of a new chapter for us all.