Page 24 of A Part of Me and You
‘God bless, Shelley, night night love,’ he says, just like he always does. I hang up the phone and sit down on the kitchen sofa, staring out at the lighthouse as I realize that Eliza, for once, may have been right on the mark with her colour predictions.
The English lady who was sick, she bought a blue dress from me today. The little girl, Rosie, whose mother is dying said that her mum bought a new dress today. That warmth I felt when I walked away from Rosie was a feeling I really haven’t experienced since, well, since Lily’s death I suppose. I totally believe that they are all connected, but then I suppose when you’re wrapped up in grief, you’ll cling onto any little sign at all, won’t you?
Juliette
‘And who was this lady? Did she tell you her name?’
Rosie and I are snuggled up in our pyjamas, dry and warm at last with a steaming bowl of noodles and prawn crackers on each of our laps and I am quizzing her on her travels earlier. She seems a lot more settled now, much more like the daughter I know and adore and a lot less edgy and defensive than she was when we first got here this morning.
‘Her name was Shelley and she lives in the big house that overlooks the beach, across from the lighthouse,’ she tells me. ‘I was so upset but she made me feel a lot better and told me to give you a big hug. Her mother … well, her own mother got sick too, just like you, when she was around my age so she kind of understood why I was so upset and afraid.’
‘Oh, you poor baby,’ I say to my darling girl and my instinct is to go to that kind lady’s house right now and hugherand thank her for looking after Rosie and sending her back to me.
‘Mum, you should see the dog she has,’ says Rosie, her eyes widening in excitement. ‘His name’s Merlin and he ate my chips and though his fur was soaked in the rain he was so nice to touch and he let me pat his head and didn’t even bark. I’d love a dog like him. He’s cool.’
‘Really? What type of dog is he?’ I ask her, knowing that no matter what type he is, there’s no way she could ever have a pet where we live. It’s too close to the middle of the city and there’s hardly room for the two of us never mind an animal. Plus, I’m hardly in a position to make any big plans for the future right now, am I?
‘A golden retriever,’ she says. ‘Or something like that. He’s big and sandy and I bet when he’s all dried he’s really cuddly and fluffy. I think he liked me.’
‘I bet he did,’ I tell Rosie. She always did have a connection with animals and again, my ‘future’ dream was always that we would live in the countryside or better still, by the coast and she could fill the place with dogs, cats, chickens, the works. Even a pony if she wanted one. I always dreamed of her owning her own pony, but instead I could only ever afford that tiny terraced house where there wasn’t room to swing a cat, never mind own one.
‘Maybe this placeisnice after all, Mum,’ Rosie announces, her young innocent mind full of dogs and kind ladies on the beach. Whatever or whoever it was who changed her mind, I will be forever grateful.
‘I really hope we can have a nice time,’ I say to her, wanting so badly to tell her the whole truth about my now terminal diagnosis right from the horse’s mouth and how precious this time really is, but she is smiling and eating and she looks so content, so I daren’t rock her world, not yet. ‘Maybe tomorrow we will quickly drop by and say thank you to Shelley for her little chat with you?’
Rosie nods and smiles more.
‘I’d love that,’ she says. ‘I could maybe see Merlin again, too. I’d love to see him when he’s all dry and snuggly and cuddly. Do you think I could get a dog someday, Mum? Maybe when we move to a bigger house like you said we would?’
I pause at the mention of the future and I honestly don’t know what to say.
‘Never mind,’ she says. ‘It’s not the most important thing in the world right now. I’ll go get some chocolate. Do you want a glass of wine?’
I sometimes think I gave birth to a mind reader. I would bloody love a glass of wine.
‘That would be just perfect,’ I tell her and my heart glows as I watch her walk out of the room in her fluffy pink robe and slippers, so much more content and happy than I’ve seen her all day.
How on earth am I going to leave her behind in this world without me?
Chapter 10
Shelley
SUNDAY
Sundays are the longest days when Matt isn’t here to share them with me. We normally start the day with breakfast, then Eliza joins us for Sunday lunch, which Matt has mastered, and then we chill out for the afternoon in front of an old movie and the Sunday papers. We used to go for a swim just before dinner, but that hasn’t happened in three years, not for me anyhow, and in the evenings Matt joins the lads in the local for a few pints while I browse online for bargains for the shop or read or have an early night.
I used to have so much to do, it felt like there weren’t enough hours in the day. I was always coming and going, folding laundry, washing dishes, vacuuming up bits of spaghetti, lifting toys, washing her face and hands, making sure she got to the loo on time, getting her a drink, finding a lost sock, negotiating between Peppa Pig or Paw Patrol or whatever movie she had her eye on at that time. It was always Matilda. I catch my breath at the memory. And we’d eat together and we’d chat about nursery and her friends. How she loved making friends.
Today, I make poached eggs for breakfast and eat them on my lap, hurriedly, barely tasting them, eating only because I should. I don’t know when I last tasted anything or made an effort with food. I used to set the table for breakfast, even amongst all the madness with a toddler, with such precision and pride – a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, some salt and pepper, a mug for my coffee, some milk, some toast and I’d turn the radio down low and let the sounds of my youth fill the kitchen as country music filled my soul and took me right back to my childhood, when my mum and dad would enjoy it so much as they cooked and laughed together. I’d flick through Sunday magazines at my leisure while Lily ate breakfast beside me or played with Merlin on the floor and I’d love the fact that Sundays dragged on and on and we never had anything important to do – just eat and sleep and enjoy each other’s company.
But everything has changed since then.
I don’t cook much at all these days, not like I used to anyhow. Dinner parties were once my speciality and I’d invite the mums from Lily’s playgroup round at any excuse and we’d eat our fill and drink wine and chat about men and children and politics and celebrities.
We’d have pizza parties in the summertime and invite the neighbours over and Matt might get out his guitar and entertain our guests with a few James Taylor songs and after a few drinks he’d be rocking out to AC/DC with his biggest fan, old Harry from up the road, on ‘air drums’ and Harry’s wife would beg them to ‘stop that racket’ as she plugged her fingers with her ears.
I have so many brilliant memories of our life as it used to be, but now, the very thought of having so many people in our home makes me feel panicky and full of guilt. How could I laugh and entertain like that again when Lily is gone?
