BEWARE -- this story may make you cry! My ever helpful editor, Hatsuda, suggested that this is a story of pathos, and I think he's right. Further, there is only one erotic episode in this story, although I believe it is important to the story as a whole.
Anyway, try it and see—and I will appreciate any feedback you may care to give.
I held her hand as she died.
I felt the slightest twitch from Stella's fine, fragile hand, and saw a faint smile as she turned her head towards me. She closed her eyes, gave a deep sigh and stopped. On the other side of the bed, her daughter, Carrie, sat with her head bowed to her chest with tears flooding down her face. I kissed Stella's silent mouth lightly in a final gesture of farewell and left the room, followed by Carrie. A nurse showed us to a quiet room and we sat looking at each other, memories flooding back, becoming almost tangible between us, but neither of us seeming to want to break the silence.
"It was only after mum told me all the details of your relationship that I agreed to contact you," Carrie told me eventually.
"Surely it would have been easier for her to get a nurse or a social worker to make the contact?" I observed.
Carrie smiled, a rather watery smile, "I think she was trying to get me to reconcile with you. She knew how I felt about you, and she didn't want it continuing after she died. Underneath all her fierce determination, mum had a very soft spot for the people she cared about."
I knew this to be true, and my mind went back to that evening six weeks ago. I was relaxing after a hard day's work; I was a clinical psychologist and the clients that day had been particularly tough. Around 6.30 pm, the phone rang and I swore mildly before answering with my number as I always did.
A quiet voice that I somehow felt I ought to recognise asked, "Peter Craven?" "That's me," I replied. "Peter, this is Carrie Temple, formerly Carrie Hemmingway."
I was astonished; this was probably the last person on god's green earth who I would have expected to hear from. "Uh well, hi Carrie, how are you?" I managed to ask. "And how's your mum?"
"I'm coping, I guess," she replied with a tight voice, "but mum ... ," she sobbed and my heart tightened inside me.
"Carrie, what's happened," I asked, my voice betraying my fear.
"Peter, I really don't want to talk about this on the phone—could we meet somewhere?"
"Sure, Carrie—if you think you can trust me, you could come round to my place." I gave her my address.
Carrie hesitated briefly, then said, "Yes, I guess that will be okay—I'm actually quite close, so I'll be there in about fifteen minutes."
Shortly after this, the doorbell rang, and I invited Carrie in. She had changed quite a lot over the past twenty years. She'd put on weight in all the wrong places, her hair was pulled back in an untidy ponytail and her finger nails were bitten to the quick. She looked the epitome of a harassed, defeated housewife.
"Thank you, Peter," she said as I offered her a drink, "white wine if I could, please." She settled into a lounge chair and I waited for the news that I secretly dreaded. And dreadful it was.
"Mum has been diagnosed with an incurable and rapidly spreading cancer," she eventually gasped, throwing the words out as if she needed to get rid of them, as if they were some form of curse. "When she was first diagnosed that rat Eddie walked out on her saying he wouldn't be able to care for her. Not that he ever had cared, really," she reflected. "When it was obvious that there wouldn't be a cure, and the doctors were evasive about how long she might live, mum became adamant that she wanted to see you again."
Carrie paused then continued, "Peter, I owe you a huge apology. I'd hated you ever since I can remember, first because I believed that you broke up my parents' marriage, then I assumed that you had walked out on mum. It's only been over the last few weeks that mum has managed to persuade me about the truth. Anyway, she was desperate for me to contact you. I objected strongly at first," Carrie looked at me with a cautious expression on her face, but I didn't bite and she continued, "then we made a deal. I would contact you if she told me the whole story, warts and all, about your relationship. She did and I did."
"I'm so glad, Carrie", I replied. "I can guess how hard it must have been for you to contact me and I don't like the idea of anyone hating me. I suppose your mum told you that I was just the catalyst for the marriage breakdown; the seeds had been there for a long time. As to walking out on her, well, yes, I guess I did, but it was the result of a monumental row after we jointly decided that we couldn't continue our relationship. We discovered that, no matter how much we loved each other we just couldn't live together."
I returned to an earlier theme. "Carrie, you must be completely devastated. I know how close you have been to your mum. How are you managing to cope?" My professional training started to kick in but I resisted the temptation to go into full psychologist mode.
"Only just, Peter; I know she doesn't have too much longer—six weeks seems to be the maximum estimate but it could be less."
"SIX WEEKS," I shouted, regretting my outburst as soon as it was out seeing the pain in Carrie's eyes. "I'm so sorry, Carrie, I was just astonished at how little time there is left. When can I see her ... please?" I begged.
"Mum hoped that you would be prepared to see her again after all this time, but I'd better warn you, the disease and the treatment have knocked her around quite badly. She won't be the same person you used to know." Carrie warned.
"Mmm, I actually think she will—the externals may be different but I doubt whether her spirit will have dimmed," I was more hopeful than convincing.
"Okay, Peter, she's at the Central Palliative Care Unit in town. I'm there every day, and mum is usually at her best just after lunch. If you could call in tomorrow around, say, 2.00 pm, I think she'd be happy to see you."
At two o'clock on the dot the following day, Carrie took me into Stella's room. She was asleep as I walked in and Carrie put her fingers to her lips and turned, indicating that we should leave. However, I walked to Stella's bedside and looked down at the woman I had loved so passionately twenty years ago.
Carrie was right. Stella had shrunk, her skin looked fine and fragile and she had lost a great deal of weight, the bones showing through her hands, and probably other parts of her body. Her head was covered in a scarf, the legacy of hair loss through chemotherapy. I bent and kissed her forehead as lightly as I could, but she woke from her sleep.
"Boy?" she queried after opening her eyes; her pet name for me as I was seven years younger than her. "Oh my god, I thought I was dreaming. You're really here, it's really you?"
"Yes, Stella, I'm really here, thanks to Carrie's generosity and powers of persuasion. Now what on earth have you been doing to yourself?"
"Well, I managed to develop a very aggressive, very fast moving form of cancer, and I'm afraid it will kill me within a few weeks. When I heard about it, and particularly after Eddie abandoned me, I knew I needed to see you again. I had a bit of a battle to persuade Carrie to contact you, but I told her our sad story and she agreed to do so. Now here you are," and she favoured me with a brilliant smile.
"Oh Stella ...," I started, but my voice choked up and I was unable to go any further.
