myself by …………………………
There were twelve numbered vouchers in total. I looked up at Caitlyn, bewildered.
‘It’s your challenge while I’m away,’ she explained, with a grin that was achingly familiar. ‘You’ve put me first forever. Now it’s your turn. You have to treat yourself, do some things that are purely for you. It doesn’t matter how small it is – even a soak in the bath with some fancy new bubble bath will count. But you have to fill in each voucher and send it to me, to prove you’ve done it. Promise?’
‘Promise,’ I replied, helpless to resist that grin, as I had always been. ‘Thank you.’ I forced myself to check the time. ‘Do you think we should …’
Caitlyn was out of her seat before the sentence was finished, wheeling her suitcase through the crowds to the platform for the London train.
‘We’ll still speak all the time, won’t we?’ she asked, hesitating at the platform barrier, ticket in hand. ‘I mean, I know it’s only Paris, we’re not going to be a million miles apart, but …’
‘Of course we will. You’ll get tired of hearing from me. Now enough of this. You can’t miss your train. Gemma will be waiting. Give me a hug and get on your way. There are amazing times ahead of you!’
I wrapped my arms around her, feeling in our embrace the memory of a lifetime of hugs, from the tiny child around my knees, to the embarrassed teenager, to the young woman who now stood over me. Who knew when the next one would be? Caitlyn was the first to draw back.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ she said. ‘For everything. I know I haven’t said it, but I do appreciate how much you’ve done.’
I hadn’t done enough. I could never do enough. I shook my head, dismissing such talk.
‘Still Mum?’ I said, though my heart tensed in dread at the possible answer. ‘Would you prefer it to be Eve now?’
‘No.’ Caitlyn lunged forward for a last, desperate hug. ‘You’ll always be Mum. Love you!’
I waited on the concourse, my cheeks aching with a smile she couldn’t see, watching until the last carriage of the train disappeared from sight, and wondered what the hell I was supposed to do with my life now.
*
It was late afternoon by the time I pulled on to the drive of my small, semi-detached house in the market town of Inglebridge in north Lancashire. The early March sun warmed the bricks on the front of the house as the light faded for the day, but I couldn’t help thinking it a cruel illusion: with Caitlyn gone, the inside of the house was going to seem horribly cold and bare. I glanced across the road to my friend Tina’s house, but there was no car on the drive, no sign of life – no chance of going through her front door for a while instead of my own.
The silence hit me as soon as I stepped into the hall. I was used to getting home from work before Caitlyn, and greeting an empty house, but this felt different; the silence was deeper, as if the bricks and mortar joined with me in mourning her absence. Before I’d even taken one step, I’d noticed the changes: her shoes were missing from the usual place by the front door; the peg where she hung her coat was empty; her house keys lay in the bowl on the table, because she had no use for them now. Would this ever feel normal?
The front doorbell rang, and I opened the door to see Tina.
‘I saw you arrive home,’ she said. Of course she did: Tina lived in the dormer bungalow immediately opposite my house, and missed nothing. She had brought over some sandwiches on the day we’d moved in, fourteen years ago, and we had been firm friends ever since. ‘I came to offer tea and sympathy, assuming I can’t tempt you to anything stronger. Forget the healthy living for today – your face says you need alcohol and plenty of it.’
‘That bad?’ I asked.
Tina nodded, without even a decent pause to consider her answer.
‘At least two wine bottles’ worth of bad. It’s what I needed when Liam went off to university. I needed three bottles when he boomeranged back here!’ She laughed. ‘You look like you might burst into tears at any minute. You can’t be on your own.’
‘I was going to come over, but your car wasn’t there.’
‘Graham’s gone to play golf. He’d better get back soon; the kitchen drawer has jammed, and I can’t get it open. It had to be the one with the corkscrew in, didn’t it? I’ve no screw tops left. It’s at times like this I wish my neighbour wasn’t teetotal …’ She grinned, and I laughed.
‘But you do have a neighbour with some basic DIY skills. Let me get my toolbox and I’ll have a look at the drawer.’
‘I was hoping you’d say that. You’re a lifesaver!’
And so was Tina; this was exactly the distraction I needed, as I suspected she well knew. I collected my toolbox from the garage and crossed the road to Tina’s. As soon as she opened the door, I was assaulted by the deep thrum of rock music pervading the house from upstairs; another reminder of what I was going to miss. Tina gave a wry grimace before bellowing up the stairs. ‘Turn that racket down! Eve’s here!’
The music faded by a barely perceptible notch.
‘There! Twenty-four and almost house-trained.’ Tina laughed and looked me up and down. ‘I’ll never get used to this. You look like a Boden model who wandered into the B&Q catalogue by mistake.’ She opened the cupboard under the stairs and plucked a bottle from the pine wine rack tucked away there. ‘I’ll drink your share. No one counts on a Saturday, do they?’
While she was making me a cup of tea, I examined the drawer that was stuck. It was a disappointingly easy job to fix it; something was obviously catching when I tried to open it, but jiggling the drawer wasn’t enough to move it. I’d brought over a metal coat hanger, and inserted this into the gap, manoeuvring it carefully until the contents shifted and I could open the drawer. I removed all the drawers and lubricated the runners while I was at it.
‘You’re better than a husband,’ Tina said, snatching up the corkscrew. ‘Graham would rather have a golf club in his hand than a spanner.’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t mind. I enjoy it.’ More than I’d expected. I’d signed up to lots of basic DIY courses over the years, in a bid both to save money and be self-reliant, but had found a real sense of satisfaction in learning how to identify a problem and to solve it – in some aspects of life, at least.
I followed Tina into the conservatory, a recent addition to the bungalow and her pride and joy. South-facing, and with views across the small patch of garden to the fields beyond, it made the most of the advantage of this side of the street. My garden faced north, and looked out on to Winlow Hill, the highest peak in the area, and one that drew ramblers and tourists to Inglebridge throughout the year. It was a view that I loved; I wouldn’t have switched sides of the street for any money.
‘Did Caitlyn get off okay?’
‘Yes. No delays, no cancellations. Where are leaves on the line when you need them?’ I glanced at my watch. ‘She’ll be in London now. One night at Gemma’s, and then they’ll catch the Eurostar first thing in the morning. They’ll be in Paris by lunchtime.’
‘Lucky them! It makes me wish I’d tried harder at languages at school. I’d have given my eye teeth to have had the chance to drop everything and work in Paris when I was twenty, wouldn’t you?’
‘Yes.’ I gazed out through the conservatory windows, seeing nothing. I remembered too clearly how, at twenty, the world had seemed there for the taking; remembered the plans built on excitement rather than practicality, to travel the globe, to take part in ground-breaking archaeological digs across the continents. It had all been so possible, so tangible. But at twenty-one, my world had shrunk; it had all become impossible.
Tina must have read something on my face, as she stretched across and rubbed my hand.
‘Sorry.