Chapter 22
NOW
Dear Lexie,
Oh, the ties that bind us… And you know how hard I find it to turn my back on someone in need. In many ways, you were the same. But when it comes to your father, I question why it isn’t easier.
‘I don’t know what to do about Ryan,’ I say to Lucy after I tell her about his call. ‘I think he’s genuinely sick.’
‘How can you be sure?’ She looks at me uncertainly.
I understand her doubts. A few years back, Ryan fabricated an illness to try to persuade me to move back. It seems unbelievable that if it hadn’t been for you and Ollie, I might have considered it.
‘After last time, I can’t believe you’re even speaking to him,’ she says.
It’s what most people would think – unless they’ve been where I am; know the guilt that comes from being the wife who walked away, leaving a man they knew would struggle.
But even now, I’m in denial; reluctant to use the phrase that Caitlin did, however true I know it is.
Ryan abused you. ‘Don’t worry. I know the way his mind works. ’
He’d still been living in our family home at that point. The fact was, he was running out of money, his illness a ruse to persuade me to move back so that between us, we could afford to keep the house.
‘The house meant more to him than me and the kids.’ But that’s the kind of man Ryan is. And in the context of what was going on in our lives, the house was my lowest priority. Plus sorting it meant dealing with Ryan; I kept putting it off.
‘It was probably pride,’ Lucy says shortly. ‘He didn’t want to be the one to say he couldn’t afford it any more. And he didn’t have to, did he? Thanks to you.’
I’d inherited more money when my estranged father died – about the only good thing he’d ever done for me.
Given how damaging our relationship had been, I battled with internal conflict, until deciding it would make a significant difference to my life, When I offered to buy Ryan out, he jumped at the chance.
That was when I found out that he wasn’t ill.
‘It’s sad, really,’ I say to Lucy. ‘That he doesn’t want to make more of his life.’
‘He could if he wanted,’ she says unsympathetically. ‘But he just doesn’t seem to have any drive.’
With the money from the house, Ryan had enough for a deposit on a flat. But instead, he’d chosen to rent the place where he still is now. ‘He has a hospital appointment tomorrow,’ I say. ‘For some scans – and a biopsy.’
‘It was inevitable, I suppose,’ Lucy says soberly. ‘Decades of heavy drinking were bound to catch up with him.’
‘He says he’s stopped.’ Standing there, I have a flashback to Ollie saying the same about you when you were drinking. ‘I read somewhere that there can be a genetic predisposition to drink.’ I look at Lucy.
‘You’re thinking of Lexie, aren’t you,’ she says gently. ‘Who knows? I imagine it’s a whole mix of things.’ She breaks off as Mary walks in.
‘I brought you tea, dears.’ Her hands are a little shaky as she puts down the tray she’s carrying.
‘And more cake. You’re spoiling us, Mary,’ Lucy says as she reaches for a bunch of flowers she put together earlier to give her – autumnal dahlias, delicate grasses, a late-season rose. ‘These are for you.’
‘How lovely.’ As she takes them, it’s as though Mary’s smiling to herself. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it.’
‘We’re so lucky, aren’t we?’ Lucy says when Mary’s out of earshot. ‘Working in this gorgeous place, with these incredible gardens of hers to cut from.’
‘It works for all of us,’ I say. ‘But you’re right. We are lucky.’
* * *
It was how I felt. If I’ve learned anything over the years, it’s that life is many shades of light and darkness. That they arrive unexpectedly, change constantly. At this moment in time, I am grieving, yet in so many ways, I know I’m blessed.
And so it is against this backdrop of joy and kindness that I dip once again into Ryan’s world. Yes, it is of his own creation. For whatever reason, he doesn’t have the tools to make it any different. But this is Ryan’s journey. He has to find his own way.
‘I brought you a pie.’ I leave it in the fridge, noting how little food there is in there, before going through to his sitting room.
Ryan is by the window, gazing outside. He turns to look at me. ‘Why do you keep doing this?’ he says at last.
‘Bring you food, you mean?’ I shrug. ‘Believe me, I’ve asked myself the same question. It’s just a pie – and you need to eat.’ I pause. ‘And you did ask me to come here.’
‘I know,’ he says. ‘And I know I’m the one who’s fucked everything up.’
This? Again? It’s true. If he didn’t drink, we might have had a chance. I used to think that if I’d handled it differently, he would have stopped drinking. I remember saying that to you once; remember your frustrated response.
Will you ever realise it isn’t your fault he drinks? He’s a grown up, Mum. He makes his own decisions.
Yet another of those occasions you were right.
‘Things don’t have to stay the same,’ I say to him.
‘I’ve been thinking a lot about that,’ he says. ‘If my test results are good and I come out of this with a second chance, I’m going to make some changes.’
I don’t ask what will happen if the results aren’t good. And if marital problems, divorce, the alienation of his children, and ultimately the loss of you haven’t done it, I’m not sure what it will take for Ryan to change. ‘When will you get them?’
‘In a couple of weeks,’ he says.
‘Ryan…’ I pause, because it isn’t any of my business. But Ryan stands to lose what little is left in his life. His home, his fading health, work – even if it’s intermittent. ‘You don’t have to wait for your results to come through. Start now – do it for yourself.’
He looks at me slightly shocked. ‘Do you have any idea what kind of prognosis I’m potentially looking at?’
‘I have an idea. But drinking isn’t going to magically change the outcome.
It’s what caused your problems.’ Pretty much all of them.
‘If you carry on, it will make things worse.’ When it’s so obvious my words will never get through, suddenly I wonder what I’m doing here.
‘I have to go. Good luck. Let me know how you get on.’
Walking out of there, I’m suddenly exasperated with myself. But when I already have one loss on my conscience, I can’t face taking on another.
Pushing thoughts of him from my head, I drive to the churchyard. It’s a while since I’ve come here, but then I don’t need your grave to remind me of you. More and more, you are with me, Lexie. Whatever I’m doing, I think of you.
But it’s only when I come here that I empty my mind of the rest of my life.
The afternoon is still and quiet, of cool air and the first of the fallen leaves.
As I walk across the churchyard, my hands are in my pockets, the damp seeping through my trainers.
The mist is closing in, grass beginning to soften your grave, framed by the sunlight.
I have a million memories of you. Dazzling, sparkling, that make my heart burst with love.
You as a baby. The innocence of your early years.
The chubbiness that gave way to lanky limbs, your endearing, gap-toothed smile.
Your endlessly enquiring mind filled with questions I didn’t have the answers for.
The teenager you became – that was when I felt you start to slip away. I tried to hold on to you; but for too many reasons, the distance between us widened.
I gaze at your headstone, then close my eyes. Your face fills my mind. Your blue eyes flecked with hazel, the angst they held. Your fight. I wish I could have bottled it, Lexie. Give some of it to those of us who’ve never known how it feels to have that.
But you do know, Mum. You fought for me and Ollie.
You said that once. And I did. But I should have fought harder, sooner, for longer.
Sound like me, don’t you? Never taking credit for everything you’ve done? Beating yourself up for not doing more?
I love you, Lexie. To the ends of the earth. I always did, always will. And I will always regret that I couldn’t find a way to make things right for you.
* * *
‘Sometimes, it’s like I can hear Lexie,’ I say to Mary that evening. ‘Her voice comes into my head – sometimes with things I remember her saying, other times, they’re not.’
‘It still happens to me,’ Mary says. ‘When my son died and Joe was small, I spent so much time thinking about how he’d want him brought up.
I used to ask David – my son. Sometimes the answer was there straight away, other times, it wasn’t.
But in the end, it would always come to me.
’ She sounds quite matter-of-fact. ‘I’m quite sure I’ll see him again one day.
And you will see your daughter.’ Reaching across the table, she pats my hand.
‘You don’t think I’m going mad?’
‘Quite the contrary, my dear. I think you’re lucky – we both are, that we hear their voices.
I don’t think many of us do when we lose someone close, which of course doesn’t mean they’re not there.
Goodness.’ She takes a sip of her tea. ‘I must have spent years thinking about these things. But they never leave our hearts, do they? Our loved ones?’ She winces suddenly, as if she’s in pain.
Alarm fills me. ‘Mary?’
‘It’s nothing, dear.’
‘It doesn’t look like nothing.’ I get up and go over to her. ‘Where does it hurt?’
‘It isn’t now.’ She gives me one of her angelic smiles. But it doesn’t reach her eyes.
‘I’m calling an ambulance,’ I say firmly.
‘Edie, please. I don’t want to go to hospital,’ she pleads.
‘I know you don’t,’ I say. ‘But at the very least, we should get someone to check you out.’
Mary’s quiet as we wait for the paramedics to arrive. When they check her over, they find nothing obviously wrong, agreeing to let her stay at home as long as she sees her GP in the morning.
‘I suppose I’ll have to,’ she says reluctantly. ‘But I already know what he’ll say.’
Suddenly the penny drops. ‘This has happened before, hasn’t it?’
‘Once or twice,’ she admits. ‘Edie, please don’t tell Joe.’