The Forever Home by Sue Watson
Chapter Twenty
My mum was diagnosed with cancer on her sixtieth birthday. It was a brain tumour, and she was told to expect a matter of months. I wasn’t with her that day, I was waiting at home to welcome her with birthday cake and the news that she was going to have a second grandchild; she said it was the best birthday present she ever had. She didn’t tell me she’d just come from the hospital, and that the chances of her meeting her second grandchild were slim. Instead, she danced in the kitchen with a six-year-old Phoebe, blew out her candles with gusto, and laughed like she’d never laughed before.
A week later, she told me, said she’d had to get her own head around it before she told anyone, and what mattered to her most wasn’t when she died, but how.
‘I want to keep my dignity,’ she said, sitting on a garden chair, freshly painted nails the colour of candy floss. ‘I want to die at home, I don’t want to go through chemo and pain and losing my marbles.’
I, of course, couldn’t bear to think about her leaving and refused to even consider her plan not to have any life-prolonging treatment. ‘Mum, you must have whatever the doctors tell you to have, and we’ll keep you going until they find a cure.’ I was already googling hospitals in America, new treatments, medical trials.
‘Darling, it’s too late for me,’ she said, and I remember her leaning forward, touching my knee and adding, ‘I need your help.’ But I refused to take part in that conversation.
For the next few months, I cared for her; it wasn’t easy with a lively 6-year-old and morning sickness. But I was with her every day, and often through the night, and watching my lovely, vibrant Mum deteriorate into a shadow was heartbreaking.
One afternoon, when she’d been ill for about two months, she was incapacitated, sleeping most of the day, and said she couldn’t take any more. ‘I’m in such pain, my darling,’ she said, ‘but more than that, I know I’ll begin to deteriorate mentally. I’m forgetting things, my words get mixed up. Please don’t let me lose my mind.’ She reached out her hand, her fingertips dusky from lack of oxygen. She was ebbing away, and in that moment, I realised, as much as I didn’t want her to die, I didn’t want her to suffer. So we finally talked, and the following morning, as one of her nurses left, I told her Mum would need more pills because her pain was now unbearable. She gave me a prescription, and that afternoon I retuned, with the pills, a bottle of gin, and a copy of Jamaica Inn, Mum’s favourite book, and mine too. I held her hand, and read the book to my mother, as she’d once read it to me, a story of love and loss, smugglers and secrets set against the backdrop of a rainswept Cornish coast. By the end of chapter two, we’d said our goodbyes.
I know in my heart I did the right thing; it was what she wanted, to choose her own death, to have some control in the horrific throes of a terminal illness, and escape the weeks or months of endless suffering. I didn’t intend to tell anyone, it was between me and my mother, but when I heard there was going to be a post-mortem, I was distraught. I was almost nine months pregnant, and in total despair – what if I ended up in prison? Who would look after the children? So I told Mark, who assured me I’d done the right thing, and came back to Mum’s apartment with me, where we took away the bottle with the remaining pills inside.
Mum’s autopsy showed a body ravaged by cancer, with high levels of morphine, but acceptable levels for a cancer patient in the final days of life. As sad as I was, at least the worst was over, little did I know it was only just beginning.
Later, Mark used the way she died to threaten me when I left him; it was all he had to bring me home, and he held it over me throughout our marriage. He’d said it just a few times, but it was always there, hovering like a dark cloud, tying me in knots.
Scared that I might spill the beans on his sordid love life, our strange marriage, and his inappropriate new relationship, he was trying again to hold this over me. By doing this, he’d tainted something quite beautiful, something between my mother and I –
a final goodbye without hospital gowns, machinery and busy nurses. Just a mother and daughter, a bottle of gin, and their favourite book.
I made coffee to calm my nerves, and wished my mother was with me now to tell me what to do. Thanks to my husband, I had no money, and at the end of the month I owed Ryan a month’s pay. He was now putting in new windows, as the frames were rotting. I felt terrible. I now had to break it to him that I couldn’t pay him yet, until I had the money from Mark, but knowing my husband, I wasn’t holding my breath on this deal. TV programmes could be dropped in an instant, and the person fronting them was like the wronged wife – usually the last to know. But first I had to deal with the Ryan situation, so with a packet of custard creams, and 2 mugs of fresh coffee, I set off into the back garden with a small tray.
It was another lovely spring day, crisp and sunny, the sky a blue halo over the sea, and any residue of anger I’d felt towards Mark began to lift and fly away. By the time I reached Ryan, happiness had landed in my heart. His T-shirt rose above his stomach as he reached for the top of the window, strong, brown arms lifted the frame clean out of the socket, and I marvelled at the sheer beauty of him, young and strong, the sun behind him, life in front of him.
I put the tray of coffees and biscuits down on the outdoor table, aware I was about to burst this perfect bubble.
‘Ryan, I’m so sorry,’ I said, and blurted it out, ‘but I’m going to have to lay you off.’
He stopped in his tracks. ‘Why?’
I quickly explained the situation, but promised I’d pay what I owed him as soon as I could. He looked disappointed, upset almost, and stood for a while, staring up to the sky, like there may be a solution among the clouds. The silence was awful.
‘I feel terrible, obviously if I’d had the slightest notion I’d be in this position, I wouldn’t have booked you,’ I babbled.
‘Never mind,’ he sighed, ‘it was good while it lasted,’ which made me feel even worse.
‘I just don’t know what to say. You must be so pissed off with me.’
‘No, it’s just one of those things,’ he muttered, kicking at the ground now, reminding me of Jake when he was little, trying not to show his anger over a broken toy, a day out cancelled. Then Ryan looked at me, his eyes dark. ‘I hate him, Carly – he had no right to take your money, it’s not fair. And you can lay me off, but the house still needs maintaining, the window frames can’t be left like that – this house is exposed to all the elements all year round. I can’t just do a few weeks here and there and fill in the cracks, cover up the problems. It needs someone working on it long term.’
‘I know, you’re right.’ I nodded, remembering how my own father spent all his spare time repainting, weatherproofing. ‘I promise, as soon as I get the money, I will pay you Ryan.’
‘It’s not just the money, Carly, but then again, I have to eat.’ He smiled. ‘I just love being here, I want to be around the house – around you.’ He touched my shoulder, and I felt a sting in my chest.
‘I like being around you too,’ I said, my chin trembling.
‘I don’t have to go anywhere if you don’t want me to,’ he said.
‘Yes, but you need work, and I can’t keep you here like my toy.’
‘I could think of worse things,’ he joked.
‘It’s just an impossible situation,’ I sighed, handing him a mug of coffee.
We sat down at the table, and neither of us spoke. He wasn’t looking at me, just looking down; I’d seen him like this before, brooding, dark, like a stormy sky. And suddenly he looked up and the clouds lifted.
‘I could just carry on working until you can pay me?’
‘That doesn’t seem fair. You need an income – as you say, you need to eat. I can’t always rely on Mark. When he says he’ll put the money back by the end of the week, it could be next month, next year even.’ I’d threatened him with the video diary, but in truth, it was an empty threat. I wasn’t stupid. It wasn’t in my interests to release it as the minute something like that went out, he’d lose the US deal – and I wouldn’t get my money back in the bank, or any percentage. And he always had the comeback of letting out my secret, which would be much more damaging.
‘Okay – well how about this? The guy who owns the house I rent with my brother has decided to put it up for sale, and wants us out as soon as possible so he can get it ready to sell. I don’t fancy being there while prospective buyers trail through my bedroom, so instead of waiting for the axe to land, maybe I could stay here?’
‘Here? Oh,’ I said, caught off guard, imagining Phoebe’s face if I told her one of the Jarvis boys was moving in.
‘Think about it. If I stayed here, I could get work whenever I can, but do bits and pieces in the evenings and weekends. I’d have somewhere to stay, and we could call it rent, and then when you’ve got the money from Mark, you could hire me full-time?’
‘I don’t know, Ryan, it feels too much like an arrangement, and what if it doesn’t work out? I don’t want to commit to anything at this stage.’
He looked disappointed again. ‘I understand.’
‘It’s not that I don’t want you here.’ It was one thing Ryan staying over the odd night, but I wasn’t sure if I was ready for him to be a lodger.
‘It’s fine, honestly.’
I felt so bad. I’d booked him for several weeks over the summer, his busiest time, and now just dropped him. Then he’d come up with a solution, and I’d thrown it back in his face. I watched him sip his coffee and offered him a custard cream. He shook his head.
‘Oh God, you are pissed off, you love custard creams,’ I teased, trying to lighten the moment, but he looked at me and there was anger in his eyes I’d never seen before.
‘Yeah, I am pissed off, Carly. I love being with you, and I’m gutted. I thought it’d be nice. I love it here and just want to help out.’
We both sat in thick silence, not meeting the other’s eyes, just sipping our drinks. I pretended to look out at the garden, and he just looked down at the table. I heard myself say, ‘You’re right, it would be nice, and I need the work done. Why not?’
He looked up and his face broke out into a big smile.
‘Shall we say you’ll stay for a couple of weeks, and hopefully I’ll be able to pay you something?’
‘And if it works out, we can talk again?’ he said.
‘Mmm, but for now, let’s keep it from my kids, eh? They might take it the wrong way.’
‘Fair enough.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m trying to save up anyway, going travelling once the summer’s over – so you can save it up for me.’
I was surprised at the little thump in my ribs when he said this. I don’t know why. There was I kidding myself that he might not want to leave, but that’s exactly what he planned to do. I reminded myself that this was about two consenting adults having a casual relationship, a mutually supportive, lovely thing – with no strings.
‘Anyway, let’s not worry about money and shit,’ he said, pushing into my thoughts. ‘I wanted you to see this.’
He reached for my hand, and I took his, expecting him to show me some extra cracks in the wall or yet another rotting window frame, but instead he guided me through the garden, and down to the thick hedge that ran down the side. It wasn’t too far from where we threw the maggots, and for a moment my heart was in my mouth. Then he put a finger over his lips, and held back some of the foliage for me to see inside. He stayed an arm’s-length away, and I didn’t get too much closer, but I suddenly heard the chirping of hungry little birds, and saw the nest, precariously yet firmly balanced inside the hedge.
‘I noticed it this morning,’ he whispered, and we both looked at the tiny little heads bobbing up and down eagerly. My heart melted, not just at the baby birds, but at Ryan’s face, filled with childlike delight. ‘We’ll need to keep Miss Anderson away from here,’ he whispered, and I was warmed again by the way he never referred to her as ‘the cat’ – she was always Miss Anderson or Missy to Ryan. It sounds silly, but it was those little things that drew me to him. For all his charm, Mark was more likely to kick the cat when no one was looking. The only time he gave Miss Anderson any attention was when Estelle got her a ‘modelling gig’ for a pet food company – The Andersons’ cat – she was quite the celebrity. But as for showing me a nest of baby sparrows in a hedge in our garden, it wouldn’t have happened with Mark.
As Ryan watched the baby sparrows, I watched him. I wondered if I’d done the right thing in letting him stay at the house. He’d shared my bed, wandered freely around my house, but now I’d agreed to something that might, down the line, be difficult one way or another. I just had to hope it would be okay – but history had taught me that blind faith wasn’t something I should rely on.