Always and Only You

Chapter Forty-Four

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Present Day

Mum and I take our daily walk in a small park around the corner from her house. It has neat lawns and well-tended borders and winding tarmac paths. Each day, we choose a slightly different route and today we pass by the fenced-in playground with sustainable wooden structures for the kids to play on and the rubberised flooring.

Parked beside the playground is a pink and yellow ice cream van. My spirits lift. I’m usually pretty disciplined about what I eat, but I get a sudden and intense craving for a soft whip vanilla cone with a chocolate flake sticking out of it.

‘Fancy an ice cream, Mum? I’ll pay.’ It’s the least I can do to make up for all she’s doing for me.

Mum stops in her tracks, and since my arm is linked with hers, it has the effect of tugging me backwards. ‘Not a good idea, Erin. Don’t you remember what I’ve told you about the nutrition research I’ve been doing? Following a brain injury, sugar is your enemy.’

Mum has been feeding me home-cooked meals full of lean protein and non-starchy veg for almost a month now. I wish I could forget about all the nutritional advice she slips in to conversations at every mealtime. ‘Surely one ice cream won’t hurt?’

She steers me in the opposite direction. ‘You can have a decaf tea or coffee at the kiosk near the pond.’

I look longingly over my shoulder at the van. ‘What if they don’t have decaf?’

‘Every coffee place has decaf these days.’

‘Coffee, yes, but not tea. And I fancy a cup of tea.’

My mother’s only answer is to unhook her arm from mine and rummage in her handbag for a small resealable bag of what I presume are decaf tea bags.

I laugh. ‘How long have those been in there?’

‘You know me,’ she says. ‘I’m always prepared for an emergency.’

It is in that moment I realize I am far more like my mother than I want to admit. However, I know when I’m beaten, so I allow her to lead me to the little wooden hut that looks almost like a garden shed, with a hatch that opens upward.

When I have my cup of hot water to plop my decaf tea bag in and Mum has her cappuccino, we sit down at one of the rickety tables and chairs spaced out in the tarmac area in front of the kiosk. Every single table has a folded napkin under one leg to stop it wobbling.

‘Is Simon coming over tonight?’ Mum asks.

I shake my head. ‘He’s really busy at work at the moment. However …’ I add this next bit casually, attempting to lull my bulldog mother into a false sense of security, ‘… I thought I might go home for the weekend. I can’t stay here forever, so maybe a staggered return would work?’

Much to my surprise, she nods. ‘I suppose that’s a good idea. The doctors have said that’s okay?’

‘Yes. Just the same advice about not overstimulating myself.’

‘No,’ Mum says, looking serious. ‘We don’t want you going backwards or, God forbid, having a seizure.’

‘It’s okay, Mum. Things are going well. And nothing like that has happened yet, has it?’

Along with all the other support, Sudoku puzzles from Mum have been replaced with a proper brain training programme – enough to challenge me but not leave me exhausted. It’s designed to help my grey matter grow new neurons and make new connections. My balance is almost back to normal unless I’m exhausted, and my memory is improving. Slowly.

‘You know, Simon has really surprised me,’ Mum says, taking a sip of her coffee.

‘He has? How?’

She looks a little sheepish as she admits, ‘Well, he’s not always been the most steady of people, but he’s really stepped up to the plate since your accident.’

‘I thought you liked Simon!’

‘I do! He’s great company and fun to be with, but you have to admit, he wouldn’t win any prizes for seeing things through. But when I’m wrong, I admit I’m wrong. I mean, I never thought he’d get around to walking you down the aisle—’

‘Mum! What do you mean?’

She gives me a knowing look. ‘Well, it did take him four years to propose, and he always had this air about him as if he had one foot half out the door.’

I put my teacup back down on the saucer and stare at her. ‘I was abroad more months of the year than I was at home while we were dating. That makes relationships … different. It takes longer to really get to know each other.’

Mum nods sagely. ‘I know … I know. And rushing in would have been worse. But you’ve always been such a romantic, Erin. I’m concerned that you see things the way you wish they were rather than how they really are sometimes, and I worried that because you wanted Simon to be Mr Perfect, that’s who he was to you.’

I’m dumbfounded. ‘I never knew you felt that way.’

She shrugs. ‘My mum always talked badly about your dad when we were together, and I hated that, so I promised myself I’d keep my nose out whenever you found who you wanted to be with.’

I suppose I should be grateful for that, but I still feel like I’m reeling. I don’t do well with adjusting to new information at the moment.

‘And nobody’s perfect, are they? There’s always going to be a learning curve in any relationship, adjustments to make.’ She reaches over and pats my hand. ‘Anyway, it’s a moot point about Simon now, isn’t it? Like you said, he’s been brilliant.’

I nod. He has. He’s stuck by my side like a loyal Labrador for the last two and a bit months.

Mum pushes her chair back and stands up. ‘Right. We ought to be getting back. I’ve got a Zoom meeting in fifteen minutes.’

Had she told me about this earlier? ‘A Zoom call? For work?’

She doesn’t look at me. ‘Sort of.’

‘Mum … What are you up to?’

For a second or two, I think she’s going to tell me she has no idea what I’m talking about, but then her face breaks into a huge grin. ‘It’s a surprise for you. You’re going to love it!’

My insides wilt. ‘Mum, I can tell you’re really excited about this … and I don’t want to be a party pooper or anything … but I’m not sure I’ve got the energy for surprises right now.’ Or mum’s talent for drama. She does love a big reveal. ‘Couldn’t you just, you know … tell me now? I promise I’ll still love it.’

She spends a few moments chewing the idea over and then sits down again. ‘Okay … If you’re sure?’

‘I’m sure.’

‘Well … I’m setting up a new charity.’

I smile because that’s what I’m expected to do. ‘A new charity?’ For the life of me, I can’t think why this is a) good news or b) has anything to do with me. How is she going to run two charities from her dining room office?

‘That’s what the Zoom is about. After the last couple of months, being in and out of the hospital with you, I’ve spotted gaps in the system, ways in which other people could really do with support.’

‘After the last couple of months?’ I echo. I know I should catch on quicker than I am, but I just can’t join the dots. ‘What sort of charity, Mum?’

‘For people like you and me,’ she says, looking slightly perplexed why this is not screamingly obvious. ‘Survivors of traumatic brain injuries and their families.’

It’s just as well she didn’t ask me to guess, because this would have been the three-millionth answer I would have come up with. ‘Um … I don’t know what to say.’

She wraps her arms around my neck and pulls me briefly to her. ‘No need to thank me. It’s the very least I can do for my baby.’