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‘YOU’RE JOKING? DID you challenge him about it?’ Michelle gripped her mobile so hard her fingers hurt.
‘No,’ said Gary. ‘Mam and Dad are adults.’
‘But Mam will never leave the house again, for fear of bumping into them. Someone needs to speak up for her and quickly, before Dad and Sylvia make a decision.’
‘They need to sort out this stuff themselves.’
‘You know fine well she hasn’t got the confidence to confront him.’
Gary sighed. ‘It’s their business.’
‘So, it’s down to me. Again.’ Michelle hung up on her brother and buried her head in her hands.
Why did she always have to muster up the courage to step in where she was terrified to go? Right now, there was plenty in her own life she wasn’t coping with. She’d already lost the love of her life and she was about to lose her job. Surely it must be someone else’s turn to sort out everyone else’s shit.
Michelle opened her laptop, unable to comprehend how her father and Sylvia could be so insensitive. Of all the places to move to, why would they return to Ashpeth? The thought of tackling her father about anything filled her with dread. But someone had to.
Gary reckoned their father was jealous and wanted to get Sylvia away from Ripon. Apparently, she’d become flighty of late and had volunteered to work in the local hospital library. Jim couldn’t understand why she would rather push a trolley of second-hand books around the wards than spend time with him. This was not how he’d envisaged his retirement. Pity for him, thought Michelle, God forbid his wife runs off with his best friend...
She stared at the screen, sipping coffee as she pondered over what to write. It was tricky. A serious approach might give the impression her mother was still hankering after him. But if she implied it was no big deal, they might return to Ashpeth and devastate her all over again.
It took a full hour of typing and deleting to come up with the final email. Email? she thought. What kind of relationship must she have with him if she had to email? She struggled to express her opinion to him about anything. Face-to-face couldn’t possibly work in this situation– she’d never get the words out. No, email was the only option.
Hi Dad,
I hope you and Sylvia are well. Gary mentioned you’re thinking of moving back up to the North East. That’s great news. I hope you don’t think I’m trying to interfere or that I’m stepping over the line or anything. And I’d hate to offend or upset either of you, but do you have anywhere in particular in mind?
Gary said that you haven’t found a house yet. I might have got it wrong, but is Ashpeth on your list of potential places? Obviously, you can live wherever you choose to, and I know I don’t have any right to ask, but do you think, if you haven’t already decided on somewhere, that you could maybe consider not returning to Ashpeth? It’s just that, although it was all a long time ago, and everyone has moved on, my mam might still be a little embarrassed if she were to bump into you and Sylvia in the supermarket.
It all sounds a little silly when I see it in writing, but I’m just trying to look out for Mam a bit because I know she wouldn’t say anything herself. I hope you don’t mind me asking.
Love, Michelle x
She pressed Send and exhaled a sigh of relief.
***
AS HER LAST SET OF blood results were normal, Michelle had been called into the surgery for more. She was sure the practice nurse had listed the same ones they’d started off checking years ago. They were going around in circles now, and she was on a downward spiral of tiredness, so she’d made an appointment to see the GP again in person.
Dr Bain looked, in Michelle’s opinion, like a teenager in a trendy suit. With his toothpaste-advert smile and green sports water bottle, he was the picture of youth and good health. Michelle found the system of seeing a different doctor each time frustrating, and she felt like an old hypochondriac, explaining everything yet again.
‘Well it won’t harm to repeat the tests,’ said Dr Bain. ‘After all, you’ve aged a little since they were last checked.’
‘Exactly. I’m older, even more shattered and still nothing has shown up. What about the ones they did at the fatigue clinic?’
‘All normal, apparently, though I have no idea what they tested for, as the clinic letter didn’t say. Unfortunately, the computers don’t talk to each other either.’
She sighed and agreed to yet more blood tests. If only it could all be down to a low level of something simple. Then she could top up whatever that was and stop the green smoothies, which didn’t seem to be helping at all and smelled more like rancid old grass cuttings every day.
‘Oh, while I’m here, could I ask you about this?’ She pointed to the blue mark on her face. ‘Do you think it would be safe to have it tattooed skin-coloured?’
‘I wouldn’t,’ he said, tapping the keyboard without looking up. ‘If it isn’t broken, don’t try to fix it.’
She explained about the pen comments and the ensuing embarrassment to all concerned. ‘I don’t expect to have it done on the NHS,’ she said, irritated by his lack of interest. At work, even when she was exhausted and sick of hearing about snoring, she tried to at least appear to pay attention when people spoke to her. At work... a wave of regret washed over her. She wouldn’t be able to say that for much longer.
‘Hmm, you could make an appointment to see Dr Nagar. She’d be able to advise you better than me. She’s very good. Has a diploma in skin disorders.’
Disorder? Offended, she covered her mouth and chin with her hand. ‘Oh, I was hoping to get it done soon, it’s getting on my nerves.’
‘Speak up, I can hardly hear you with your hand over your mouth.’
Fuckwit. ‘Sorry,’ she said, clasping her hands in her lap.
Dr Bain sighed. He checked his watch and wheeled himself around the desk on his chair. ‘Let’s have a look.’
As he smoothed his thumb over the mark, Michelle could smell a mixture of aftershave and chocolate. She’d never touch a patient without first washing her hands. Hopefully he hadn’t had to ‘have a look’ at an infected diabetic leg ulcer before she arrived.
He scooted around to his side of the desk and started tapping on the keyboard. ‘I’m referring you to dermatology – as a precaution.’
Great, she thought. A specialist would do a much better job than a high-street tattooist. ‘Could you refer me to my hospital, please? I might be able to attend in between my own clinics.’ She’d even had her own clinics. She was at the top of her game. How could she have so carelessly thrown it all away?
‘It’ll be the nearest centre with a free slot. That mark is slightly raised, with uneven edges. It needs to go on a two-week cancer pathway. Just as a precaution.’
Michelle sat in her car, staring into the rear-view mirror. The more she looked at the mark, the more it looked like a map. A dark blue map. Good God, she was a nurse. If she’d seen this on a patient, she’d have sent them straight to their GP. How on earth had she never noticed the signs? It couldn’t be cancer, she reasoned. She’d had it for years – she’d be riddled with metastases by now. She hadn’t even started to live yet. To hell with the job. Sod Dan. She just wanted to live.
Her mobile pinged. A text from her mother. Michelle had forgotten she’d promised to call in. She attempted to calm down and rationalise the situation. The mark started with a pen injury and had been there for years. Anyway, most people on a two-week wait were fine. It wasn’t cancer. The GP was simply following protocol. She’d get the all clear, have a tattoo, and that would be the end of it.
She took a deep breath and turned the key in the ignition with a shaky hand.
***
TOM AND TREVOR DISAPPEARED around the corner as Michelle pulled up. They’d be out for at least half an hour. Trevor was a strange dog, hated grass and insisted on walking the same route, and only via concrete footpaths. Sara reckoned that if he was a human being, he’d speak with a lisp and very precisely, like Chris Eubank. Michelle imagined him with a red cravat and an aversion to touching anything dirty. Trevor’s predecessor, Henry, had similar traits. She thought it was a case of nurture rather than nature that had made them odd.
Her mother was at the sink filling the kettle when Michelle walked in. She dumped her bag and keys on the bench. ‘Why is the back door unlocked?’
Audrey shot around, aghast, her hand clapped to her mouth.
‘Exactly. I could’ve been a burglar.’ She rummaged through the selection of sweets in the fruit bowl and picked out a butter mint. ‘I clattered through three doors and you didn’t even hear me.’ She dived back in for an eclair.
‘It’s Tom. I keep telling him to lock up when he goes out.’
Michelle noticed her mother’s unbrushed hair. She was wearing her fleecy dressing gown. ‘How come you aren’t dressed yet? Have you spoken to Gary?’
Audrey stared out of the window. ‘It’s our wedding anniversary today.’
Oh crap. ‘Sorry. Did Tom forget too? No, hang on a minute. Mam, you got married in September.’
Audrey turned to Michelle, her expression blank. ‘Mine and your dad’s.’
‘It’s a good job Tom’s not in to hear you say that.’
Audrey looked up at Michelle with pitiful eyes. ‘That woman ruined my life. Supposed to be my best friend. Coming down here, picking my brains about the state of my marriage. She betrayed me.’
‘Come on, Mam. It was him as well. For a start, he did all the chasing.’
‘No. She always liked the bright lights.’
Michelle laughed. ‘Bright lights? With Dad, in Ashpeth?’
Audrey flashed her a hurt look. ‘It isn’t funny.’
‘I know, sorry.’
Her mother might have a point. Sylvia had been rather flighty and glamorous for Ashpeth. She reminded Michelle of Marilyn Monroe. She pictured her in full make-up, jewellery tinkling, her heels clicking along the corridor as she pushed the library trolley around the wards. Sylvia had never struck Michelle as the caring type.
She shot her mother a cheeky grin. ‘Listen, this’ll cheer you up... Dad’s been whinging on about her to Gary. Apparently, her flightiness is driving him mad.’
Audrey cackled. ‘She’ll have another man on the go, the strumpet. I knew she wouldn’t tolerate his controlling ways.’
‘Will you promise me that you won’t stay hauled up in the house if they move back here?’
‘Is there a Tesco in Durham?’
‘You live in Ashpeth. You’re going to do your bloody shopping in Ashpeth.’
‘Don’t swear.’
‘Maammm. Why aren’t you on the phone swearing at him? How dare he think about coming back here.’
‘Well going on like a blaggard won’t help.’
‘You’re getting on for seventy. When the hell are you going to take your life back and stop allowing them to steal any more of it?’
Her mother looked so small, standing next to the kettle, a mug with a tea bag and no water in her little hand. She’d always looked younger than her years, but today she looked older.
‘It was so humiliating. I don’t know what I’d do if I bumped into them.’
‘He’s an arrogant twat, and you can’t allow him to ride rough shod over you. Tom’s worth a hundred of him.’
‘Don’t use words like that, it’s not the way you were brought up.’ She gave a little nod. ‘Tom would never do something like that, he’d show some respect.’ She sat down on a dining chair with her mug.
‘Tom would never have run off with your best friend in the first place.’
‘No, he wouldn’t.’
Michelle didn’t mention the email – she’d be mortified. She had a very real fear that her mother might one day reach the end of her life without ever having owned it. She’d done such a sterling job of bringing up her children on a shoestring, all the while nursing a broken heart. She deserved so much more.
‘Here, pass me that mug. Do you want an apple and beetroot sandwich with your cuppa?’
Audrey smiled at Michelle, her little eyes so kind and forgiving. ‘Ooh, yes please, that would be nice.’
What kind of person could hurt her? Bastards. Her mother looked like a little girl, and Michelle felt an overwhelming urge to wrap her up and protect her.
***
BACK HOME, THERE WAS no reply to her email, but the postman had been. Michelle opened the envelope and puzzled over its contents. Her Spanish was rusty, but from what she could make out, the documents were from a solicitor and related to an unpaid loan for twenty thousand euros. It had been secured against an apartment in La Chantrea, Pamplona, which apparently belonged to Fermín. The accompanying letter didn’t make sense. It rebuked her for changing her bank details and address without updating the loan provider after she moved out. He was in danger of losing the apartment if Michelle didn’t pay.
It took a while, but with the help of her old Spanish dictionary, she managed to understand enough to realise she might be in trouble. She’d been named as some kind of first guarantor for the loan. She began to shake at the sight of what appeared to be her signature, all over the documents.
‘No, this can’t be happening.’ It was too much. ‘It’s not fair,’ she cried. With tears streaming down her face, she ran over to the mirror and looked again at the mark below her lip, willing it to disappear. Why did no one care about her? She looked between the lesion and the scary documents lying on the sofa. What had she done to deserve all this? Why did others have people who loved them, but she just got one blow after another?
Michelle picked up her mobile. She texted Dan before she could stop herself. He couldn’t sort out her problems, but she desperately needed to hear from someone who cared.
Hi Dan, sorry to bother you. I’m in a bit of a fix. I could really do with someone to talk to. I need you.
She deleted the bit about needing him then sent it.
