Page 61 of When You're Gone

‘I only wish it could be more,’ he replies sincerely as he turns and slowly walks away.

‘Wait for a bed?’ I snort when the doctor is out of earshot. ‘Wait for someone else to die, he means.’

‘Holly. Stop it,’ my mother scolds. ‘I don’t want to hear that kind of talk. It’s not helping anyone. You included.’

‘Holly, c’mon,’ Nate encourages. ‘It’s just your hormones playing havoc with you. You’re not yourself.’

‘It’s not my fucking hormones’ fault that Nana is dying, Nate. Jesus, what is wrong with you all? Why are you so calm? Nana is dying. She’s fucking dying. How can you just sit around and wait for her to go? I can’t stand it.’

My mother jams her coffeeless hand onto her hip and tilts her chin towards me. It’s a familiar pose. And despite her thinner, older frame, the position is just as assertive as it was when I was a little girl.

‘Days, Holly. That’s what they’re saying.’ My mother softens. ‘Nana has days left. I know how scared and angry you are. I am too. But didn’t you hear what the doctor said? Don’t be so full of anger that you can’t enjoy this time.’

‘How can we enjoy watching her go?’ I shake.

‘Don’t be blinded by the pain of knowing she’s going, Holly. Open your eyes and see that she’s still here with usnow. Cancer will take her from us – there’s nothing more the doctors can do. Don’t let it take our last moments too. These days don’t belong to cancer. They belong to our family. We need to savour them. Keep them close to our hearts forever. Because even though cancer can take your grandmother, it can never touch how much we love her.’

‘But it’s not fair, Mam,’ I sniffle. ‘I’m not ready to say goodbye.’

‘No one is ever ready to say goodbye, Holly.’

Silent tears stream down my mother’s cheeks, and I instinctively lean forward and wrap my arms around her. She drops her head onto my shoulder, and I hold her as she finally lets her pain out. Angry, tear-soaked sobs shake her whole body. At this moment, our roles suddenly reverse. My mother is a helpless child afraid to be alone, and I’m a grown adult trying to find a way to comfort her. But I don’t have words. I know I can’t say anything to change this. So I just hold her. Tight – like I might never let go again. I feel her chest rise and fall with heaving breaths as she presses against me, and I know just hugging her helps so much more than any words could.

I hug my mother all the time. When I visit for Sunday lunch, Mam rushes to answer the door with her apron on, holding a wooden spoon in her hand, and we hug briefly before she darts back into the kitchen. I hug her when I drop her and my dad off at the airport once a year on their annual holiday because my father refuses to use the long-term car park in case someone steals their car. I hug my mother all the time. But I’ve never hugged her like this before.

Within seconds, my mother pulls herself together as quickly as she fell apart. She shoves her hand up her sleeve and slides out a tissue. I realise that just because it’s the first time I’ve seen my mother fall apart doesn’t mean she hasn’t cried alone often.

‘A hospice,’ I say, the words feeling bulky in my mouth, but I try to smile.

Mam needs me to smile.

‘It’s time, Holly.’ Mam shakes her head slowly. ‘We all know that. And I’ve heard good things about Carry Me Home. Nana will be very comfortable there.’

‘Comfortable,’ I echo. ‘That’s good.’

‘Come on,’ Mam says, sliding her arm around my back to tuck my hip next to hers. ‘Let’s read some more. She’ll like that.’

My mother has always been slim. I remember being the same dress size as her by the time I was eleven and I’m at least a couple of sizes bigger now. But suddenly, my mother seems even more slight than usual. As if the doctor’s words have physically crushed her.

‘Of course,’ I sniffle.

‘Aren’t you coming?’ my mother says when Nate sits back down.

Nate shakes his head and slides his phone out of his jeans pocket. ‘I really need to catch up on some emails. I hope you don’t mind.’

Nate’s lying. I can tell because his eyebrows ruffle and try to come together in the middle. It’s his bluffing face. I see it all the time at work when he’s trying to wriggle out of lunch with an annoying colleague or when he blames a missed deadline on the flu.

I glance at the phone in Nate’s trembling fingers, and I know his white lie stretches further than an overwhelming desire to beat my Candy Crush score. He’s giving Mam and me alone time with Nana.

TWENTY-THREE

ANNIE

1959

Fridays have gradually become my favourite day of the week. Sketch picks me up at eleven on the dot, and unlike most mornings when we rush back to the farm, Fridays are unique. We drive into town, and check that the square is ready for the farmers’ market the following morning. We exit the car and walk the perimeter of the square. Never hand in hand in case the eyes of busybody neighbours are watching, but regardless, it’s a morning stroll side by side and we both enjoy it, almost as much as if we were physically touching. I’m never sure what we’re doing or what we’re checking, or if Sketch is simply seizing a sneaky opportunity for us to be together in public.

Often, we lap the square twice, especially if the weather is dry. We discuss all sorts. Sometimes, we laugh and giggle and reminisce about the past, and other times, we discuss what the future holds. Sketch always fills my head with silly notions about running away together to somewhere warm and sunny.

---