The One I Love (31 page)

“Because of what, Jane? Because you love Dominic? Do you honestly for one moment think that your love for Dominic is real?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Bullshit,” Rose said. “Dominic was just the best time you ever had, that’s all.”

“And whose fault is that?” Jane shouted.

“Oh, here we go again! I’m the bad mother who stole your future. I’m the one who made you have a baby and raise him. You’re just a victim of my bad decisions.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to – you’ve said it all before. And maybe if I had my time again I would have considered getting that abortion and maybe I wouldn’t. And, yes, I am a bad mother. There, I said it. Are you happy now?”

Jane didn’t know what to say. She was shell-shocked so she said nothing.

“I should have been more supportive. I regret that. I did punish you, Jane. I punished you because I was so angry at all that potential lost. I should have helped you more. Especially that time when –”

“Don’t say it,” Jane said, then sat silently because Rose’s apology had taken the wind out of her sails.

“Do you remember when you stopped calling me ‘Mum’?” Rose said.

“The day we received Principal Reynolds’s letter and you told me I couldn’t go back to school.”

“No,” Rose said, “that was the day you decided to call me Rose but long after that you’d let the word ‘Mum’ slip once or even twice a day. It used to amuse me because every time you said the M-word you’d almost kick yourself.” She stopped, but Jane knew she wasn’t finished. Rose moved in her chair and tapped the table twice. “The day you stopped calling me ‘Mum’ was the day you walked into the police station with Kurt in your arms and asked if they would take either him or you because if they didn’t you’d kill him.”

“Stop it,” Jane said. “You promised we’d never talk about it.”

“They took him and you went hysterical so they drove you to hospital and the doctors sedated you.”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” Jane yelled.

“Social Services were called, and when they asked me if we had any history of depression in the family, I said no.”

“So what? I was just tired. His colic was so bad for so long, and he wouldn’t stop crying!”

“I lied,” Rose said. “My daughter was sedated and my grandson was in the care of social workers and all I could think about was making sure no one found out.”

“Found out what?”

“About your dad.”

“What about my dad?”

“Oh, Janey, he was so clever – just as you are! Did you know that he was one of the country’s top mathematicians? He had such a great mind. Sometimes he was so happy, the life and soul of every party, and everyone loved him, and sometimes he was so sad that he found moving his head hard.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“He didn’t have a heart attack, Janey,” Rose said. “He hanged himself.”

“No.”

“He hanged himself with your skipping rope.”

“No,” Jane said, “you’re lying.”

“People didn’t talk about such things in those days – it just wasn’t something you discussed,” Rose said, pale and tired. “I blamed you and Elle.” She laughed a bitter laugh. “For the longest time I told myself if you hadn’t left the bloody skipping rope out he would never have left us, and you were the oldest so you should have known better. Of course that was madness because it wasn’t your fault – you were just a little girl.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I’m telling you because I can’t keep making the same mistakes over and over again.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You got your dad’s brain. Elle got his temperament.”

“What are you saying, Rose?” Jane said angrily.

“I’m saying that when I look at my younger daughter I see her father,” Rose said, and tears ran down her face. “I’m
saying that you have to forgive her, care for her, protect her from the world and herself the way I should have protected your dad.”

Jane stood up and put her hands on her head. “There’s nothing wrong with Elle.”

Rose stood up and wiped her face with her sleeve. She straightened and took a moment to collect her thoughts. “It’s a lot to take in,” she said. “I’ll leave it with you.”

She walked out, leaving her older daughter both gob-smacked and utterly devastated.

Two weeks had passed since they had returned from their holiday and Leslie decided to tell Jim how she felt. She would have sought advice from either Jane or Elle but as they were locked in combat she decided that honesty was the best policy, and if Jim was going to shoot her down it was best he did it before she fell too hard. She put on a cute little vest top and matching briefs that Elle had helped her choose, then slipped on a pretty black cowl-neck jersey dress and some heels. She applied makeup and fixed her pixie haircut. She put on some music and poured wine, and at seven thirty on the dot her doorbell rang.

Jim had brought flowers and she accepted them gratefully. He complimented her on the smell coming from the oven and she didn’t tell him it was ready-made lamb tagine that she was simply heating up. She handed him a glass of wine and he sat at the table while she dished up.

“You look nice tonight,” he said.

“Thanks,” she said. “I bought the dress yesterday.”

“Well, it suits you.”

She put his plate in front of him and a plate in front of herself and she sat. “Eat up,” she said.

“No need to ask twice. I’m starving.”

They ate in silence.

“Is there something wrong?” he said.

“No, why do you ask?”

“Well, usually you’re giving out about something or someone.”

“That’s not true,” she said, “and anyway you’ve been here five minutes and you haven’t mentioned one single article you’ve read today.”

“Well, now that you mention it, I was reading the details of the government bank-guarantee scheme earlier. I tell you, Leslie, people have no idea how close this country came to bankruptcy a few weeks ago. The good times are officially over.”

“Oh, don’t say that! I’ve only just started to leave the apartment,” she said, and he laughed.

“Well, right about now I think your apartment is the best place to be,” he said, and she smiled. She’d forgotten to buy dessert so they enjoyed coffees on the sofa. She was wondering when and how she’d break the news of her love for him when he put his coffee down and fished in his jacket pocket. “I forgot,” he said. “I have something I thought you might like to see.”

“Oh,” she said, and put her coffee on the floor. “What is it?” She didn’t notice her cat shove her face into the coffee, lick her lips and turn on her heel, raising her tail high in the air. She was focusing on Jim digging in his pocket.

“Here it is,” he said.

“What is it?”

He smoothed it out and handed it to her. “It’s a letter from Imelda.”

“Imelda. My dead sister, Imelda?”

“One and the same.”

“To me?” she said, pointing at herself.

“No, to me but it’s about you. Go on – read it.”

She opened the letter and part of her wanted to read it and part of her didn’t and she was totally thrown.
Why did he bring this tonight?
She began to read it silently.

Dear Jim,

It’s time to talk about Leslie. We both know she’s stubborn and cut off and we both know why. When I’m gone you’ll be all she has left in this world and I know it’s a big ask but please look out for her.

She looked up at Jim. “What is this?”

“Just read it,” he said.

We’ve talked about you remarrying and you know I want you to find someone to love and to love you. I want you to have a great new life that doesn’t include overcrowded hospitals, dismissive doctors, overworked nurses and cancer. I want you to find someone strong and healthy, someone you can go on an adventure with, someone you can make love to, someone who doesn’t cause you anguish and pain. Every time I see your face it hurts because for the first time I see that, in loving you, I’ve been selfish and I understand why Leslie is the way she is.

“I’m not that person any more,” Leslie said. “I’m trying to change. Why are you bringing me back in time like this?”

“Just read on,” he said.

Leslie is a better person than me. I know you’re probably guffawing at that as you read but it’s true. She’s watched her entire family die of cancer, and when we were both diagnosed with the dodgy gene after Nora’s death, she made the decision not to cause pain to others the way Nora caused pain to John and Sarah and I’m causing pain to you.

“She’s praising me but I was so stupid, so wasteful,” Leslie said. “She was right. I was wrong.”

Before cancer she was smart and funny, kind and caring, and she still is to me. Without her care I wouldn’t have coped. I know sometimes she calls you names but, trust me, she knows you’re not a monkey, so when she calls you an arse-picker, ignore it and be kind.

Leslie laughed. “I’d forgotten I used to call you an arse-picker.”

“And I’ve tried to,” he said, and smiled.

I thought she was being defeatist. I thought that we’d suffered enough as a family and that we’d both survive. So I made plans and fell in love and for a while we had a great life, but then that dodgy gene kicked in. Now I see you look almost as ill as I feel and I realize that my sister Leslie knew exactly what she was doing when she broke up with Simon and all but closed off. I watched her disappear from her own life. I thought she was insane back then but it makes sense now. She put the pain of others before her own. She watched John and Sarah suffer after Nora and she’ll watch you suffering after me, and, although she pretends not to like you, she does, and it will hurt her and it will also confirm for her that she is right to remain alone, waiting for a diagnosis that may never come.

Suddenly Leslie felt the tide of sadness returning. “She always knew me better than I knew myself,” she said.

I’m her last family and friend. She hasn’t even let herself get to know her niece so when I’m gone she’ll have no one and that haunts me. Please go and live your life but all I ask is that every now and again, no matter how rude or uninviting she may seem, call to her, talk to her, be her friend even if she fails to be yours, because she has been there for me, for Mum, for Dad and Nora, and I can’t stand the idea that after everything she’s been through she should live or die alone.

Leslie put her hand to her mouth. She looked from the letter to Jim and back to the letter. She shook her head. “This is why you’re nice to me,” she said. “It’s because Imelda asked you to. You don’t have any feelings for me. You have feelings for her. I’m so stupid.”

Jim looked confused. “I just found the letter. I thought you’d like to know how your sister felt about you, that’s all.”

“Well, now I know,” she said, “and I’m actually quite tired so, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to say goodnight.”

“We were having a nice time,” he said, startled and dismayed. “I shouldn’t have given you the letter.”

“No,” she said, “I’m really glad you did. It’s cleared something up for me, so thanks and goodnight.”

Jim was standing outside Leslie’s apartment with the door slammed in his face before he had time to work out what had happened and it was only when he was halfway home that realization dawned: Leslie had totally misread his intentions.

*

Leslie took the letter to bed, lay with her cat and read the last piece:

I know I say it all the time, and in all my little notes and letters about this and that, but time is running out and I need you to know that it’s been a privilege to be your wife and, although I feel selfish for all the pain I’ve caused you, I know I’ve brought happiness too so hang on to that and forgive me because, even knowing what I know now, I’d love and marry you again. I suppose Leslie would say I was a selfish truffle-sniffer but I can die with that.

Yours,

Imelda

Leslie let the letter drop from her hand and closed her eyes.
I’m such a fool. Jim has no real interest in me. And why would he want me anyway? I’m half a woman. I’m such a silly, silly fool
.

Tom opened the door and was surprised to see Jane, red-eyed and tearful. “Are you alone?” she said.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“Why?”

“Because I want you to take me to bed,” she said.

“Jane, I think you need to –”

“Are we friends?”

“You know we are.”

“So please do what I ask and take me to bed.”

He nodded, led her upstairs, kissed her mouth and took off her coat. He removed his shirt and unbuttoned her blouse, kissed her neck, and when his face was wet from her tears he took her over to the bed and sat her down. He
handed her a pillow to hug and asked her what was wrong. Jane told him about the time when Kurt was fourteen months and he hadn’t stopped crying in a week and everything she’d tried hadn’t worked and she’d thought she was losing her mind and she’d hated him with a real, palpable, seething hatred and wondered about killing him more than once, she was so tired. Even when her eyes were black and she was zombie-like and skin and bone, not once had her mother relieved her. Not once did she pick up the baby and tell her that it was okay, that she’d take care of him while Jane got some much-needed sleep. Not once did she offer to babysit so that Jane could go out with her friends, and not once did she tell her that everything would be all right.

Jane told Tom about that day when she’d walked into the police station with her son. “I wouldn’t have hurt him,” she said. “I just needed someone to help me.”

“Ah, Jane,” he said, and he took her into his arms.

He lay down on his bed and she lay on his chest and she told him about what Rose had said about her dad and Elle. “I should have known Dad didn’t have a heart attack. I’m so stupid.”

“You couldn’t have.”

“And Elle – Rose has always been so protective of her and it used to drive me insane. I made one mistake and she punished me for years. Elle messes up time and time again, and Rose always finds a way of making what she’s done seem normal and okay when all the time she knows it isn’t – and I should have known. How could I have been so blind?”