Change of Life (53 page)

“We can’t blame Max,” I laughed too. “It was me who was the idiot. I’m sorry, Tom.”

“Rosie – can we do a deal?”

“What?”

“Let’s stop apologising now.”

On our second evening at the cottage, Tom cooked another amazing dinner. Afterwards we sat on the sofa, drinking our coffee and gazing into the fire – me with my head on Tom’s shoulder. It was Tom who broke the silence.

Still staring at the flames, he said, “I read his diaries – my father’s diaries – I got them from Ma last week and I started to read them.”

“You did?” I turned away from the fire to look at him. “You’ve always been so resistant to looking at them. Why now?”

“Like I said – lately I’d feared I’d turned into him – the way I was acting. Both Ma and Dan suggested – again – that I read what he’d written. The time seemed right.”

“And did it help – what you read – can you – do you understand him any better?”

“I’ve not read them all. Ma suggested I begin with the one he kept at the time of world war two.” Tom paused for a moment, looked back at the fire,
lost
in thought. Then he turned back to me, put his arm round my shoulder and I leant against him as he began to speak again. “Yes, it did help. It helped a lot.”

And as we sat there, watching the logs burn down, Tom told me what he’d read.

“My father was still a medical student when he joined the army medical corps in 1940 – not much older than Adam. He was sent to Italy. Christ, he had a terrible time – tending to injured soldiers - appalling injuries. Then on top of that he was captured. He was a POW for almost a year, but then he escaped and had to find his way across enemy lines and home. He was very young and very scared.” Tom shook his head and stopped.

I looked up at him, stroked his face. He put my hand to his lips, held it there for a moment.

“Did you not know any of that before?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No, he never spoke about it – any of it. I’ve not got to the worst bit yet. It was a fucking harrowing read, Rosie.”

“Do you want to go on?”

“Oh, yes – I want to - need to - share it with you.” Tom got up as he spoke. He put another couple of logs on the fire.

“Okay, if you’re sure,” I said.

Tom remained by the fireplace, watching the newly added wood begin to burn, as he continued his father’s story. “At the end of the war, he was one of the first medics sent into
Belsen
.”

I gasped at this.
“Oh – Tom – no.”

“Yes,” Tom looked grim. “I struggled to finish that section. There was little my father, or anyone else, could do for the few poor souls still alive there. The filth, the disease – the carnage – I can see why he found it to be, literally, unspeakable. He wrote of how he sat with a dying prisoner – a man called Heinrich. Heinrich had been imprisoned in the camp because he was homosexual. He died in my father’s arms.”

“Oh, my God, Tom, how - how horrific – what he must have seen.”

“Reading about it all, it’s not hard to understand his bleakness, his black moments – his despair.” Tom turned away, prodded the logs with the poker.

I got up and went to him, put my arms around him. If anything, he looked worse than he had the night before, when he told me about Heather. I took his hand. “Come and sit down,” I said, leading him back to the sofa.

After a few moments Tom was able to go on. “No wonder he couldn’t stand what he saw as signs of weakness in Dan and me. Weakness made us vulnerable to all sorts of unnamed suffering. No wonder he wanted Ma at home and not out at work. He needed her where he could see her and protect her. I don’t think he was right, but I can understand. Yes, he was flawed - he was damaged - but I think - I think he did love us, Rosie. I understand his misguided attempts to keep his family
safe,
I understood that all too well.”

For some time after Tom finished speaking, I just held him. Then I kissed him softly and said, “So forgive him, Tom. Forgive your father - and forgive yourself.”

Tom nodded and held me very tightly.

Later that night, when we were lying in bed together, Tom ran his finger along the scar on my chest. He looked very thoughtful.

“What is it? What are you thinking?” I asked.

“Oh, just inspecting a fellow surgeon’s work. Angus Campbell did a good job on that scar.” He smiled, as I tried to look cross.

“Oh, very romantic - but praise indeed for your colleague!” I shook my head in mock despair.

Then Tom looked serious again. He took my hand and kissed it and then he moved nearer and put his arms around me. “I’m scared. I’m scared that, after all this, I’m still going to lose you.”

“Oh, Tom – the outlook’s good. Even Amanda Knox is sounding optimistic. Let’s just enjoy our lives together – we’ve been given a second chance.” I paused to kiss him. “After all, nobody knows how long they’ve got.”

Tom caressed my face, “You’re very brave, much braver than me.”

“I’m not brave – it wasn’t like I had a choice. It’s happened and I’ve had to face up to my mortality. But I don’t buy all the talk of bravery. What does that make you if you don’t get better? Oh don’t get me wrong – I’ve fought back - I’ve given the witch-bitch a run for her money.”

Tom looked at me, puzzled.
“The witch-bitch?”

I explained how I visualised the cancer. “But bravery doesn’t really come into it. I’m only doing what I have to do to stay alive – it’s just normal. Before having cancer, I thought death was for other people, not for me. I was actually dreading getting old. Now, I say, bring it on – getting older sure beats the alternative. I’ve no intention of dying just yet, but even if I died tomorrow, I’d die very happy.”

Tom didn’t seem able to speak. He buried his head in my shoulder.

I took his face in my hands. “And, Tom,” I said, looking into his eyes, “I want you with me when I get the scan and the radiotherapy. I want you with me on what’s left of this particular journey. And you can boss the medics around as much as you like.”

He still couldn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. He just held me very tightly.

A little while later, as we lay side by side, I took his hand and interlaced my fingers with his. I told him how much I’d enjoyed our walk on the beach. “It made me think of home and how much I miss it. I’ve been in the city long enough.”

Tom propped himself up on one elbow and looked into my eyes. He stroked my face. “So,” he paused, cleared his throat, “So, you’re coming home then, Rosie, home to Gullane, to the kids - and me?”

“Yes, I’m coming home.” It was indescribably wonderful to say those words.

Tom’s smile showed just what this meant to him. He took me in his arms and kissed me. He managed to say, ‘Oh, Rosie’, and then he kissed me some more.

The rest of the week passed too quickly, in some respects. But, in other ways, I wanted it to be over so I could go home. We spent some time with Sam, of course. She was happy at uni and delighted with our news. She showed me her room in the hall of residence, and took us to all the places she went to in a normal week. I was so proud of her and told her so. On our last day in St Andrews we took her out to lunch and said our goodbyes.

After lunch we loaded up Tom’s car. As we got in, Tom said softly, “You’re sure, Rosie – you’re definitely coming home?”

“I’m sure,” I said.

When we got home, Adam, Max and Jenny were waiting on the doorstep. Tom carried me over the threshold, and kissed me as he put me down in the hall. Max clapped, while Toby yelped ecstatically and ran in circles round me. Jenny and Adam rolled their eyes and muttered something along the lines of ‘gross’ and ‘embarrassing parents.’

Feeling quite overwhelmed, I walked from room to room, reclaiming my territory. I left our bedroom till last. I went in and sat on the bed and looked out to sea. I thought about Heather, about our childhood bed, about her death bed, about labour ward beds, hospital
beds,
a bed in St Andrews - and this bed, Tom’s and mine.

I lay back and fell asleep. I must have slept for a couple of hours. It was nearly six and dark outside when I woke up. Someone had put a blanket over me. It took a minute to remember where I was. I lay there, taking it all in again. I could hear movement downstairs, bits of voices and music in the background. I got up. The sounds were coming from the kitchen. I approached the doorway quietly and stood taking in the scene.

The radio was playing and Tom sang along while he prepared dinner. Jenny was helping him. Max sat at the end of the table, speaking on the phone about football.

Adam came up behind me, as I stood there watching. He hugged me, leaning against my back, and bent down to rest his head on the top of mine. “God, Mum – you’re really quite little aren’t you?” he said.

“No, it’s you, you’ve got tall!” I laughed.

Tom turned round when he heard us. “So, you’re awake. You looked so
peaceful,
I just covered you and left you to sleep.” He came over and put his arm round me. “Come and sit down. Dinner’s nearly ready.”

“Hi, Mum, that was Uncle Dan on the phone. He said to say hello,” said Max, getting up from where he was sitting. “Here, you can have your place.”

“No, no stay where you are Maxy, you have it. I’ll sit in your old seat – to be closer to your dad,” I replied. Tom glanced at me and smiled.

“Okay, cool,” said Max. “Does that mean I get to be one of the important people round here – sitting at the top of the table?”

“In your dreams, munchkin,” laughed Adam. “It just means it’ll be easier to ignore you – stuck out on the end there.”

Max frowned. “I hate being the youngest!”

“Aw, Maxy, I love you,” said Jenny. She giggled and went up behind him. She put her arms round him, gave him a kiss and ruffled his hair.

“Get off!” Max waved his arms at his sister. “Yuck, Mum, help me!

I shook my head and laughed. Tom and I exchanged another look. It was good to be home.

Epilogue

Tom

A Change of Life

It’s a whole year since that day, last May, when Robbie and Rosie met for the first time. I’ve spent most of today working in the garden, not doing anything creative, that’s still Rosie’s territory. I just clear the way for her. I’ve cut the grass and done some tree and hedge pruning.

Even now, I sometimes can’t quite believe that Rosie’s back. I hate to come home and find she’s not in. My heart still lifts when I see her again, after any time apart. It’s like I fell in love with her all over again and Rosie says she feels the same. But it’s different from before. We both know we can’t take anything, and especially each other, for granted.

The year has passed quickly. It seemed like no time from Michael going home until it was Christmas. It was a very special time for us all. I had Christmas Day off work and I cooked my first Christmas dinner. Ma and Dan joined us and stayed over. It was a happy day, all of us together, and everyone seemed to enjoy my efforts in the kitchen. On Boxing Day morning Ma and Rosie were sitting at the kitchen table, having breakfast and chatting to one another, as I emptied the dishwasher. Toby was snoozing in his basket and none of the children had surfaced yet. I remember watching those two women that I love so much, those two very brave, special women and feeling so grateful to have them both.

In January I started my six month sabbatical. I’ve enjoyed the chance it’s given me to study, to research and to prepare and publish papers. But mostly I’ve enjoyed the time it’s given me to spend with Rosie and the family. When the time comes though, I’ll be happy to get back to my work at the hospital. It’s still very important to me and I do miss it. I’ve negotiated a new work pattern, with more time off, and I’m determined to stick to it.