Chapter 22 #2
‘He would want to know if you’re not well,’ I say.
‘We don’t actually know yet if anything’s wrong,’ she says persuasively. ‘It would be a shame to worry him for nothing.’
‘OK.’ I pause. ‘But I’ll make an appointment first thing. We’ll see what your GP says.’
* * *
The next morning, after telling Lucy what I’m doing, I drive Mary to see her doctor. Seeing her away from the home she knows so well, I notice the impact that unfamiliar surroundings have on her.
Her GP has known her for years, and it transpires it isn’t the first time he’s tried to persuade her to have tests, a request that this time she agrees to.
‘It’s not as though I have a choice, is it?’ she says a little huffily.
‘Because of me?’ I say.
‘Mary, if anything’s wrong, there’s a good chance I can prescribe something to help,’ he tells her. ‘If you’re worried at any time, please call me,’ he says to me.
‘I’m perfectly capable of making my own calls,’ she says, uncharacteristically shortly.
‘It’s OK, Mary. I won’t do anything behind your back,’ I reassure her.
As we drive home, at first, she’s quiet. Then I feel a hand touch my arm lightly. ‘I’m sorry, Edie. I should have told you I never like going to that place,’ she says. ‘It always reminds me how old I am.’
‘I understand,’ I say. ‘Your GP is nice, though.’
‘I suppose he is,’ she says. ‘And it isn’t him.
It’s me.’ She sighs. ‘I have a pathological fear of becoming ill and helpless. You know how independent I am.’ She pauses.
‘Can I ask you something? If anything happens to change that, don’t let anyone drag the rest of my life out, just for the sake of keeping me alive. ’
‘I think this is a conversation you need to have with Joe,’ I say quietly.
‘I know I should.’ She’s silent for a moment. ‘But he’s lost too many people, that poor boy.’
‘Yes, but on the plus side, he had you,’ I remind her. ‘And he isn’t a boy any more.’
‘You’re quite right,’ she says more briskly. ‘I’m just going to have to face up to this and talk to him, aren’t I?’
‘I think you’ll feel better once you have,’ I tell her.
* * *
Back in the stables, Lucy and I busy ourselves preparing flowers for a small winter wedding. It’s my favourite kind, with winter-flowering bulbs coming into bud, silvery eucalyptus, delicate twigs, with the bride carrying a small posy of ranunculus and winter jasmine.
‘Do you think she’s OK?’ Lucy asks, meaning Mary.
‘I’m not sure.’ I’m silent for a moment. ‘She put up a bit of a fight about having tests.’
‘No one likes the idea that something’s wrong, do they?’ Lucy says. ‘It’s just as well you’re there to look after her.’
‘I was feeling like a bit of an imposter,’ I say. ‘She’s seemed fine until now.’ But over the last few days, her frailty has shown.
* * *
At the weekend, I go to see Ollie, Jenna and Harrie. It’s impossible to believe that nine months have passed since she came into the world. But a lot has happened in that time.
‘She’s grown since I last saw her.’ I gaze at my granddaughter in astonishment as she holds out her hands towards me.
‘She’s nearly walking,’ Jenna says. ‘It’s slightly terrifying! Nothing will be safe!’
I remember those days with Ollie and you, putting away everything within reach. ‘You get used to it,’ I say. ‘Now.’ Crouching down, I hold out my arms to Harrie. ‘Come and say hello.’
I watch her as she crawls towards me along the floor and onto my lap, then scoop her into a hug in another of those gorgeous moments when I’m reminded what matters most.
* * *
As November morphs into December, a winter storm scatters the last of the leaves from the trees, after which the temperature drops. Lucy and I start planning for our Christmas orders and I take Mary for her tests, while Ryan’s results come back.
‘It’s not as bad as I thought it might be.’ He sounds oddly unelated.
‘That’s great, isn’t it?’ I say. ‘I’m pleased for you, Ryan.’
‘I thought I’d feel like I had a whole new lease of life,’ he says.
I can’t help but feel exasperated. ‘If that’s what you really want, then for goodness’ sake, get out there and look for it!’
* * *
Having assumed Mary would talk to Joe, I’m surprised to find out she hasn’t. ‘I know what you said, but I don’t want to worry him,’ she insists.
‘I’m sorry, but if I was Joe, I would want to know you’re having tests.’ I look at her. ‘Let me call him.’
Reluctantly, she agrees and I call him and fill him in.
‘I’ll try to come down this weekend,’ he says, ‘if that’s OK with you both?’
Mary, of course, is delighted at the thought of seeing her grandson, while for some reason, I find myself looking forward to seeing him, too.
I know I rant a lot, but there are some nice people in the world, Mum, I remember you saying once. You’d wished there were more of them. That they would stand united, find a way to be a force for good.
You were one of a relatively small number, weren’t you, Lexie?
All of you impassioned, tireless in your efforts.
Since, I’ve wondered if there’s the beginning of a sea change in our human development; if you were part of it, a movement that’s slowly gathering momentum as more people become educated about the toughest of realities that the rest of us would rather turn away from.
Being here when you were, you saw the worst of what we’re capable of; had a clear vision of how the best could look. However much you told yourself you failed, there’s no question that your life counted, Lexie.
And it still does. More and more I find myself drawn the way you went. To be part of that movement in some shape or form; to find a way to do more.
* * *
When Joe comes down on Friday morning, leaving Mary safe in his company, Lucy and I go to deliver our wedding flowers.
‘He’s nice, isn’t he?’ Lucy says.
‘Yes.’ I glance at her sideways; I know that look. And Joe is really nice. ‘He’s also married. And I have no interest in meeting anyone.’ Nor am I sure I ever will be.
‘All I said was he’s nice.’ Lucy gives me a knowing look.
But Joe is good company and that evening, I cook for the three of us as Mary regales us with stories of the comings and goings at the house over the years.
‘Edie and Lucy are decorating it for Christmas,’ she tells Joe. ‘I hope you and Isla are going to join us – and Tara, obviously.’ There’s clearly not a lot of love lost between Mary and Joe’s wife.
‘I’ll talk to her.’ Joe glances at me. ‘Isla’s coming home for a couple of weeks.’ Isla is his grown-up daughter who moved away. ‘I know she’d love to see you.’
I never find it easy, listening to other families – happy ones, though that said, I’m not sure Joe’s is.
Leaving them to it, I go to my room. Standing at the open window, I gaze across the grass towards the walled garden, dimly making out the trees in the darkness, feeling a sudden pang of longing for you.
You used to love coming with me when I first started growing flowers here.
It was somewhere untouched by Ryan; a sanctuary not just for me, but for all of us.
A memory comes to me of your windswept hair, the bunch of flowers you’d just picked; your pale blue eyes as you smiled.
I wipe away the tear that rolls down my cheek.
Wonder if these moments will get any less agonising; if I’ll ever get used to losing you, Lexie.
* * *
On Saturday I wake up early. With Joe looking after Mary, I am not needed here. But there’s something I’ve wanted to do for some time, now.
I’ve told no one my plans, not even Lucy. Getting up, I go out to my car. It’s a cool morning, and a feeling of uncertainty surrounds me about what to expect as I set off for one of the vigils you used to attend.
I have a nervous feeling in my stomach, a feeling of dread as I park my car and see the small crowd assembled. I’ve never been to an abattoir before and I know this is going to be difficult. But it’s important to me to see what you saw, to feel what you felt.
We don’t go inside. Instead, we stand quietly at the gates, some of the group holding placards.
It’s strange to think of you standing here before me, my uncertainty changing to a sick feeling when a lorry approaches.
Slowing down, it stops as the gates are opened; but it’s stationary for long enough for me to glimpse the cows inside.
Dairy is a slaughter industry, you explained to me once. It isn’t just the unwanted boy calves that die. All their lives, the mothers are exploited for milk. Then when they’re not productive enough, they end up here.
I take in the black and white hides of the dairy cows in the lorry, observe their restlessness as the lorry carries on, the gates closing behind it.
I can’t describe the feeling that takes me over.
All I know is it’s how you must have felt.
It gets worse as the lorries keep coming, one containing young calves, their voices unmistakable.
It’s harrowing to behold, worse to imagine what happens after they’re unloaded.
Across the group, my eyes meet those of a young man with floppy hair. A look of recognition crosses his face before he comes over to me.
‘You’re Lexie’s mum, aren’t you?’ He pauses. ‘We met once – I came to your house.’
I frown, trying to remember.
‘I’m Jordan,’ he says.
A memory comes back, of you wanting his help with something, of a teenaged boy who clearly liked you. ‘It’s nice to see you again.’ He looks older, but we all are, I remind myself.
‘I was so sorry about Lexie,’ he says quietly. ‘She really inspired me.’ He glances around the small crowd. ‘I think it’s fair to say she inspired all of us.’ He touches the arm of the woman standing nearest to him. ‘Jeannie? This is Lexie’s mum.’