‘Are you in pain?’
‘I am today. I’m on the strongest painkillers I’m allowed but they don’t always hit the spot. What gets me the most is how erratic it is. Sometimes I can feel fine and, at other times, I can barely move. I thought I’d be in agony when we were away, especially after a long journey in the car, but I had the best week I’ve had in ages. I was okay most of last week too, then I woke up on Saturday feeling like I’d done several rounds in a boxing ring and that hasn’t improved since.’
‘Is there anything they can do for it?’
‘Possibly an injection in my spine, which sounds grim, but there’s no guarantee it’ll work. I’m on the waiting list but I’m undecided about going ahead with it.’
Dad returned to the lounge with drinks and the pair of them told me more about Mum’s back and how significantly it had deteriorated across the past twelve months or so. Dad was officially Mum’s carer and they’d had various alterations made to the house including having their en suite turned into a wet room so there was more space for Dad to assist Mum.
‘When my hair needs washing, it’s like a surreal visit to the hairdresser’s,’ Mum said. ‘Your dad’s there in his swimming trunks and my pink flowery shower cap while I sit in the middle of the room on a plastic chair getting shampooed. You should see him.’ She laughed lightly. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t. There are certain things you can’t un-see.’
The atmosphere had definitely lightened and it was good to see Mum laughing about her predicament.
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ I asked.
Mum shook her head. ‘We’re fine. Your dad’s doing a great job.’
I made a mental note to check with Dad privately that he was managing okay as, if he was finding caring for Mum a challenge, I couldn’t imagine him giving her any indication of that.
‘The mobility scooter on holiday was a game-changer,’ Dad said. ‘Your mum was worried she was going to miss out on valuable time with Astrid and it was the only solution that made sense.’
‘I should have accepted I needed one sooner,’ Mum admitted. ‘After all those years of trekking miles up fells and across the countryside, it’s been difficult to admit that I need help walking. On holiday, it struck me that I either hopped on a scooter or I spent most of the holiday on my own. After I got used to the controls, I found it liberating so we decided to get one. Finding the lump delayed that a bit but we’re going scooter shopping tomorrow.’ She rolled her eyes at Dad and added, ‘If I’m not in too much pain and ordered to relax.’
Dad and I went into the kitchen to prepare lunch and he told me they’d decided to change the car too, trading theirs in for a vehicle with more space for the scooter and in which the seats were higher, making it easier for Mum to get in and out.
After we ate, it was time to address the main reason for me coming – the move to Newcastle and my subsequent absenteeism.
‘I can’t fully explain why I went,’ I told them. ‘I just woke up on my birthday with this overwhelming need to get away and try to start afresh and, once that idea took hold, I couldn’t shake it. As for why I stayed away for so long, I’m still trying to work that one out myself.’
‘We understood you leaving after everything you’ve been through,’ Mum said. ‘We even understood you staying away but it hurt that you rarely came back and a phone call from you was once in a blue moon.’
‘And it’s not as though we didn’t call you,’ Dad added. ‘I dread to think how many conversations we had with your voicemail.’
I let them get it all out in the open – how they stopped leaving messages because they were worried they were exacerbating my problems by staying in touch when I so clearly wanted space. They’d understood me holidaying over Christmas and New Year for the first few years and still understood why I’d want to escape for the anniversary of Noah’s death over New Year, but that they found it hurtful that I still avoided the family every Christmas. Everything they said was fair and I appreciated that they delivered it in a non-accusatory way; simply a sharing of how they’d felt in the past and right now.
‘We’ve missed you, Mel,’ Mum said, ‘and I’m sure you don’t need us to tell you there’s a Noah-shaped hole in our lives. We often speculate on what he might be doing now.’
I nodded. ‘I do too. Sometimes it’s heartwarming, but most of the time it’s heartbreaking.’
We sat in silence for a couple of minutes. I’d already admitted that I was working things through but it felt too vague. If I was going to build bridges and move things forward with my parents, I needed to be as honest with them as they’d been with me.
‘I wasn’t doing so great in Newcastle.’
I told them that I hated my flat, admitted that I hadn’t made any friends in Newcastle and, cringing, shared Graeme’s proposal disaster.
‘The only thing that has kept me going is work so I flung myself into that more than ever before. I think I was scared that, if I stopped working, I’d be forced to reflect on everything that had gone wrong and it might just break me for good.’
‘Are you doing any better now that you’re back in Willowdale?’ Dad asked.
‘I’m taking it a day at a time.’ I told them about visiting The Bothy with Georgia, our conversation with Jessie and my unexpected encounters with Flynn.
‘Iwilltalk to him at some point. I’m just not quite ready yet. I’ve discovered that Mark still sees him regularly, which isn’t really surprising considering how close they were. But it struck me that you were really close to him too. Have you stayed in touch?’
‘He sends us Christmas and birthday cards,’ Mum said. ‘We send them to him too. We see him around from time to time so we always stop and say hello.’
‘He brought a gift round for your mum’s eightieth,’ Dad added. ‘June would have liked to invite him to her party but…’
‘But you didn’t because of me,’ I said when he didn’t finish the sentence. How bad did I feel? While I hadn’t told anyone they couldn’t see Flynn, my insistence that I didn’t want to hear anything about him didn’t convey a message of support for any of my family to keep him as part of their lives.
