Page 67 of For One Moment With You
I remember his hesitation.Was I sure?
But the pull to Adam was too strong; even if I’d wanted to stop it, I couldn’t have. In that moment, I’d never been more sure of anything in my life, as he took my hand and led me upstairs.
Realisations had come at me that afternoon. I’d known I was on the edge of something magical with Adam; that if I chose it, what lay ahead was beyond my wildest dreams. The connection between us only affirming that soulmates weren’t a myth; they were real.
I wanted to find my courage. To call off the wedding. To explain to Gareth how I felt – for all I knew, he would have been relieved. But the hold of my programming was too powerful; I held myself back. And Adam knew.
‘Maybe we should look at it this way.’ As we lay on his bed gazing at each other, there was a lifetime together reflected in his eyes. ‘Maybe we just have to say goodbye. And trust that there’s divine plan or something. One thing I do know…’ He stroked a lock of my hair off my face. ‘However long it takes, I believe in us. I also believe there’s a reason this is happening to us.’
‘It’s hard to see that,’ I’d said tearfully.
‘I know it is.’ He paused. ‘But perhaps we have to accept that, the way things are right now, it isn’t our time.’
The saddest words – and in the years that have followed, I’ve reminded myself of them, over and over.It wasn’t our time. I’ve kept what happened to myself, let Lizzie believe I’d walked away.
And in the years since, my boys have always been everything to me. Added to that, they’ve had to witness the end of a marriage. If only I could have been honest with Gareth, with myself back then, I would have called off the wedding, saved us all the pain.
A feeling of panic wells up inside me. You see, it’s obvious, isn’t it? I made a mistake. One that altered the course of my life. But here lies the paradox, because if I hadn’t gone ahead with the wedding, I’d have saved myself from having to endure Gareth’s infidelities.
But… I wouldn’t have my boys.
The realisation hits me that out of all the probabilities that exist, however hard you search, there is no perfect answer. Maybe this is more about accepting the imperfectness of life, of the people around us. The way that people change, that life rarely works out the way we think it will. The reality that no matter the best of intentions, none of us know what the future holds. That only one thing truly matters through it all, and it isn’t the nuts and bolts, the frivolous trimmings I’ve allowed myself to obsess over. Quite simply, it’s love.
My psyche seems to sigh at this point, as though I’m letting out a breath I’ve been holding in my entire life. And that’s when things start to go a bit haywire. One of the bleeping sounds grows louder, more urgent. Then becomes constant. There’s a flurry of activity around me, of voices. Then it feels like my bed is moving, the haze darkening, before everything goes blank.
A single thought consumes me.
Is this what dying is like?
A feeling of anguish comes over me. If it is, I’m not ready.
By way of an answer, Lizzie’s face appears in front of me. I feel myself smile.It’s so good to see you again. I’ve missed you.
Her hand reaches for mine.I’ve missed you too, Tills. But you’re not supposed to be here. It isn’t your time.
What do you mean? It’s not like I have a lot of choice.The fight seems to have gone out of me; my sense of anguish has disappeared. Instead, I seem to be floating on a wave of peacefulness, of bliss.It’s been a long haul, but I’m getting better. The boys have been to see me.
Tilly. Listen. This isn’t you getting better. This is dying.
Shock hits me. But it doesn’t last. I’ve been so busy fighting this, I haven’t realised how tired I am, achingly so, deep inside, in my soul.I can’t go on battling Gareth. Never getting anything right. I’m tired, Lizzie.
She shakes her head.No. Think of the boys, Tills. Think of all the life you have to live.
As her words sink in, suddenly I realise Lizzie’s right. It isn’t my time. So exhausted as I am, I think of the boys, imagine a silver thread connecting us; with the remaining strength I have, I reach out and grasp it.
* * *
The haze has gone. In its place, there is pain. Pain I would tolerate magnified a hundredfold, because I can actually feel. More than that, I can open my eyes.
The blur in front of me clears to form a face. ‘You’ve had us worried,’ the nurse says in accented English. For the first time, I can see her dark eyes, her hair tied back, her royal blue uniform. ‘You must rest, Tilly. You are doing OK.’
But I don’t want to close my eyes; it feels like too much of a risk. Instead, I lie there, taking in the hairline crack in the white-painted ceiling, the muted sound of voices around me. Turning my head, I register the drip I’m attached to, a screen that’s monitoring what I guess is my heart rate.
It’s like I’m living out an episode ofCasualty, in the starring role, no less. But my delusions of grandeur are forgotten as a familiar figure hurries towards my bed, behind him, another.
My heart. My everything. My boys are here.
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