Page 58 of For One Moment With You
‘I will call him.’ He took his phone out of his pocket and made a call, murmuring in Greek before he stopped for a moment. ‘He says you can have a room.’
‘Can you tell him thank you? And can you ask how much?’ I said anxiously.
He murmured in Greek again, then turned to me, mentioning a price that seemed overly cheap.
I blinked at him. ‘Is that all? I mean, is he sure?’
‘Of course. Or he would not say. Winter is coming. His place is not busy.’ He shrugged. ‘You want it?’
‘Definitely,’ I said hastily.
‘My brother asks, what is your name?’ he said.
‘Tilly.’ I watched him tell his brother, before ending the call.
‘It is organised,’ he said. ‘I am Nicos. My brother is Andreas.’ He started to clear the table. ‘I will get your bill, Tilly. Then I will call you a taxi.’
As he walked off, I sat there, marvelling at how what had seemed like a problem had been taken somewhat effortlessly out of my hands. Maybe it was the benefit of the wine, but already, it was the complete opposite of how life felt before I left England, when one problem after another had kept hitting me head-on, seemingly relentlessly.
But maybe it was as Tallulah had said. I had been in the wrong place. It kind of followed, I couldn’t help thinking, that given the ease with which events were unfolding around me, that at long last I was on my way to where I was meant to be.
17
Anyone who has never made a mistake has never tried anything new.
ALBERT EINSTEIN
I used to live such a safe life – until the winds of change blasted through it. Then, it would have freaked me out. I mean, just the thought of arriving somewhere without a room booked. But that’s what I did. And of course, it all worked out.
Life was supposed to be an adventure – wasn’t it? Only I’d forgotten the inner recklessness I used to have. I used to covet that feeling – it came to the fore after meeting Adam, before responsibility filtered in like a fine cloud of mist that thickened over time. By that time, I was well on the way to becoming middle-aged Tilly who couldn’t see beyond the world outside her window – until Gareth left me.
Something Adam said to me comes back. It was just before my wedding, about how if we ignored the signs the Universe sent us, they’d keep coming until we took notice of them, which is a bit of a shocker. I haven’t thought about it like this before, but as if Gareth’s first infidelity wasn’t a huge great red flag, the second time was the biggest kick up the butt yet. And the fact remains that if he hadn’t moved in with Olivia, chances are I’d still be in England, still living with him; most likely applying for another uninspiring part-time job, then being rejected because it was better suited to the younger, more glamorous and tech-savvy applicants. Rick would be calling in, telling me the same old stories he’s told me so many times before that I know his spiel almost off pat. My dad would be summoning me to run the most trivial of errands for him. My only escape would be those solitary, nostalgic mornings on Selham railway station, where I’d sit, alone in the rain, lost in the past.
In short, my life would have stayed exactly the same, whereas now, at least I can say I made it to Crete. There’s comfort to be taken from that single fact. If it all ends here in this hospital bed, at least I’ve been somewhere.
As I lie here, I think of my dad again. He hasn’t been the same since my mum died. OK, so he’s hidden his grief in a way I can only describe as stoic, storing it inside. It’s brought out a side of him I hadn’t seen before – or maybe it was one my mother used to mollify. You see, I’ve started to see a darker side to my father. A tendency to withdraw that seems at odds with his outspokenness.
I know that grief can cloud the everyday. That he is lost without my mum’s light. But if you bury emotions, they fester inside you, so much so I think they damage our bodies. All that unexpressed sadness and guilt… Not healthy, is it? I picture it as black and noxious, seeping into your cells, slowly spreading, taking your body over, pushing out all the nice things like joy, happiness. Even love.
Since Lizzie died and the boys moved out, I’m the only person in our family who talks about love. I used to tell the boys I loved them with almost every goodbye. Lizzie, too. Not so much Gareth, for obvious reasons. And I still say it to the boys, but it would be so nice if there was someone else to sayI love youto.
Thinking of Lizzie again, my mind winds back to a rainy spring morning about six months after Mum died. I was in the kitchen, mulling things. I was doing that more and more, still avoiding the bleeding obvious that if only I was brave enough to cut ties with Gareth, my life would have changed for the better, overnight.
But being the Tilly I was then, I couldn’t. Instead, just back from work, I was wallowing.Dear God. Since when had wallowing become my comfort zone?
* * *
That morning, hearing a car pull up outside, I’d glanced through the window just as Lizzie got out. My heart lifted. There was nothing quite like a couple of hours with my sister to make my soul sing.
She came in, her fair hair long and wavy, smiling the way she always did. But as she hugged me, I could feel it before she spoke. Something was wrong. Holding her at arm’s length, I frowned. ‘What is it?’
For a moment, she didn’t speak. Then her eyes filled with tears. ‘Tilly, I found a lump.’
Lizzie’s entire life – or at least, all those parts I knew of it – were literally flashing before my eyes as I reeled in shock. From the baby sister I remembered, to the gangly child who morphed into a beautiful teenager; who was my best friend in the entire world. ‘You need to see someone.’ My hands were shaking as I searched around for my phone. This couldn’t be happening now, so soon after losing Mum. ‘I’ll call the medical practice for you.’ Seeing my phone, I picked it up. We were both registered with the same doctor and scrolling through, tears filled my eyes as I found the number. Then I felt her hand on my arm.
‘Tilly, they already know. I’ve had a biopsy, and a scan.’
As I looked into her eyes, I saw both her calmness and the depths of her despair there. I tried to take in what she was saying, to pull myself together, but sitting down, it didn’t feel real as she told me about the form of cancer she’d been diagnosed with; her prognosis – it wasn’t good. Listening in shock, I had no words. ‘There has to be something they can do,’ I said at last.
