Chapter 11
NOW
Dear Lexie,
The last of the swallows have flown. We have all these brides calling us to book meetings to discuss next year’s weddings!
I know it amazes you that people continue to plan lavish weddings, but there’s something comforting about tradition.
And a wedding draws people together. And whatever you think about marriage, we need that, don’t we? The most human of connections?
Alone, I’ve found myself observing the fading autumn shades as winter takes hold.
I’m noticing the gentle slowing of the natural world, the way I’m drawn into its cycle, retreating as darkness falls earlier each day.
Nowhere is it more obvious than in Mary’s garden, where the walls are adorned with long strands of Virginia creeper, their scarlet leaves contrasting with tangled lengths of Old Man’s Beard.
I cut some of the flower heads that have gone to seed, leaving the rest for the birds, then gather moss and branches of bay as I find myself thinking back to a few years ago.
I’m guessing you were around seventeen, the shortening days meaning you spent more hours immersed in your laptop, emerging preoccupied, your face angst-ridden.
Your anxiety contagious, so that I asked you many times, ‘Are you OK?’
‘Why don’t people feel, Mum?’ you used to ask. ‘Can’t they see how much pain there is in the world?’
‘A lot of people don’t want to.’ I looked at you helplessly. ‘And too many people are struggling just to keep a roof over their heads. They don’t have the capacity to think about more than that.’
‘I realise that.’ You were dealing with a reality your mind couldn’t process. ‘But it isn’t right.’ Your eyes were at once angry and filled with pain. ‘Don’t you ever think about the way we live?’
‘You mean us as a family?’ I turned to look at you. ‘I’ve always tried to be conscious about the food I buy, the eco-friendly products. And recycling,’ I added.
‘I know you do.’ You paused. ‘I’m not picking on you, Mum, and there are loads of people like you who do all those things. But…’ You broke off.
‘Go on,’ I encouraged. ‘Tell me what’s on your mind.’
‘Animals.’ A shadow crossed your face. ‘Billions of them are slaughtered. Every year. Billions… Can any of us even imagine what that looks like?’
‘People need to eat, Lexie.’
You shook your head. ‘I know all the arguments. How everyone says food production is cost driven. How there are animal welfare laws. How slaughter is humane… I can tell you, it isn’t.
When you know what goes on…’ Your eyes were piercing as they held mine, sparing me more details. ‘There has to be a better way.’
It wasn’t the first time we’d had this conversation. But the suffering of animals in industrial farms ate away at you. And I’d seen enough images to know you had a point. ‘It is awful. And you can choose what you consume. But apart from that, there’s nothing you can do.’
You shook your head. ‘It isn’t enough, is it?
’ Your eyes were tortured. But you couldn’t turn away.
‘Sometimes, I imagine the future. Looking back at what we’re doing with this chapter of our evolution.
We’ll be so ashamed, Mum. Of the way animals are farmed and the cruelty we justify to ourselves – all for a bacon sandwich or a pint of milk.
’ You paused. ‘Some of us already are. So ashamed.’
I could see it in you, as though the collective weight of human cruelty rested on your shoulders alone. ‘More people are thinking about it,’ I tried to reassure you.
‘It isn’t enough. The whole system is broken.
You only have to look at all the wars and anti-immigration movements.
The erosion of hope people live with. It comes down to one thing, doesn’t it?
’ You stared at me. ‘People at the top prioritise power and wealth over absolutely everything. They simply don’t care about anything else.
’ You paused. ‘They don’t want us asking questions.
They want us programmed to accept that it’s just how things are.
For as long as no one challenges that, everything stays as it is. ’
‘It’s human nature.’ I tried to bring some kind of context to what you were saying, to assuage your angst. ‘And it’s how capitalism works.’
But you were intransigent; unreachable. You inhabited a world filled with injustice you felt deeply, that you couldn’t put right. ‘We are conscious beings,’ you argued. ‘It’s irrelevant if something’s easy or not. We’re capable of change.’
* * *
You always made me think, Lexie. There was, always will be, a need for the drive you had.
It’s what pushed you to seek out similar-minded people: attend marches for causes you believed in.
Anti-war, anti-racism, pro free speech; supporting numerous slaughterhouse vigils.
You had to add your voice alongside others who cared.
What was the point of a life where you turned a blind eye?
The way you saw it, life was about seeing beyond the obvious.
Feeling. Taking action. I commended you for your clarity of vision.
But it took longer for me to realise where it came from; why your mind was so attuned to the suffering around you.
I’m a tormented soul, Mum!
You were joking the day you said that; I was cut to the core.
Couldn’t bear to think that’s how life was for you.
But the fact is, while you were growing up, the world never felt safe to you.
For a long time, I was in denial about it.
But now, I can say it like it was. You grew up in a family that was devastated by alcoholism.
Like me, you walked on eggshells; like me, you felt responsible for Ryan’s aggression.
At the same time, I passed on my sense of powerlessness to you.
Could I have helped you, Lexie? So many times, I’ve wished there was more I could have done.
Just as people come into our lives when we need them most, you believe that sometimes they come to teach us.
Maybe that was part of the reason Ryan was in my life.
To teach me to listen to myself. But I was a slow learner, wasn’t I, Lexie?
It wasn’t so much that, Mum. It was more that you tried to keep everyone else happy. But sometimes, it just doesn’t work like that.
Since you went away, I’ve spent fleeting moments in your bedroom, but one Wednesday afternoon sticks in my mind. The rain had been battering against the windows as I found myself drawn back in. Switching on the light, your room felt cosy as I stood there, everything almost as you left it.
As I picked up your beloved Eeyore, my eyes skimmed your pictures and photos, the notes you’d written to yourself that were pinned onto an old corkboard; your collection of books that told a story of you.
Hearing the front door open then slam shut, suddenly I was on alert. Then realising it must be Ollie, I started to relax. I went to put Eeyore back just as your bedroom door swung open. Standing there, it wasn’t Ollie. It was Ryan.
My shock gave way to wariness; I could tell from his demeanour he’d been drinking. ‘What are you doing here, Ryan?’
‘It’s still my house.’ He slurred his words.
‘It isn’t. I bought you out.’ I clutched Eeyore, cursed myself for not changing the lock. ‘You can’t just walk in.’
‘You can’t stop me,’ he said. ‘I miss her too.’
I knew he was hurting. But it didn’t give him the right to walk in like this.
Suddenly I was furious. All the years you were in his life, Ryan did nothing positive for you.
He had no right to feel so sorry for himself.
‘When it comes to parenting, you fucked up – big time.’ I didn’t care how brutal I sounded.
‘You can’t let yourself into my house and make demands like this. ’
‘You should throw that thing away.’ His words intentionally cruel as he nodded towards Eeyore.
But my blood was boiling. How dare he say that?
Nor did he have any right to tell me how to navigate my grief.
Getting up, I put Eeyore back on the shelf, then pushed past Ryan.
There were things to say, but I didn’t want to taint your room.
Standing in the hallway, I glared at Ryan.
‘You are a vile, insensitive human being.’
He smirked. ‘I’ve always loved it when you’re angry.’
Looking at him, I was flabbergasted. I wanted to kick him, punch him. Hurt him as much as he’d hurt all of us. And maybe I would have, if a whisper of your voice hadn’t come to me.
Don’t lower yourself, Mum. He isn’t worth it. He’s scum.
‘I feel sorry for you.’ I spat the words out. ‘If you had a shred of decency in you, you’d think about someone other than yourself.’
‘Like you think about me?’ he goaded.
I could see now, clear as day, there wasn’t a void between us. There was a dark, rock-strewn chasm of unfathomable depth. ‘This is my house. Get out.’
Was it a turning point in some way? Did I learn? The next morning I called a locksmith; no way was this ever going to happen again.
* * *
After a period of rain, the weather gives way to clear skies and overnight frosts. This morning I come down to the kind of landscape you’ve always loved: dusted silver, sparkling. After scraping ice off the windscreen, when I get to work, Lucy is buzzing around at warp speed.
‘I forgot to tell you we have a meeting this morning,’ she says excitedly. ‘About what’s probably going to be the most massive wedding we’ve ever done.’
‘That’s good isn’t it?’ I look at her, wondering how she could have forgotten, not sure I’ve ever seen her quite like this as suddenly I’m uncertain. ‘What is it you’re not saying?’
Her eyes are shining. ‘They want to film us.’
I open my mouth to speak. Lucy knows my aversion to being in the limelight.