Always You by Erin Kaye Page A

small voice. ‘Do come in.’
    Ian looked round to find Sarah standing by the door with a battered biscuit tin in her hands. He drew in his breath, for a moment not recognising this glamorous apparition for his rather frumpy former wife. The black dress and matching Jackie Kennedy-style jacket skimmed her curves in all the right places. Glossy tights sheathed her well-shaped legs and black patent heels added several inches to her height. She’d put on a lot of weight after having the kids and she’d struggled with it over the years. But he was aware suddenly, even though he’d seen her only a few days ago, that the excess weight was all gone. She looked once more like the Sarah he had married. Her natural blonde hair was tucked behind one ear; the rest fell like a curtain of gold about her face. And while he was pleased to see her smile, full and warm, directed at Evelyn, he wished she would smile at him like that.
    ‘Hello, sweetheart,’ she said, approaching the bed. When she bent down to kiss his mother on both cheeks, a waft of perfume drifted across the bed; it filled Ian with longing. Evelyn let go of the tissue in her good hand and clasped Sarah’s hand instead. Ian blinked and looked away, the moment of intimacy between the two women making him both uncomfortable and glad. He and Sarah had had their differences, but he would forever be indebted to her for her affection towards his mother.
    ‘Hello, Ian,’ she smiled when Evelyn had released her, and then looked from Ian to his mother with a little frown between her arched brows. ‘I got home from work early and thought I’d just pop in and see how you were. But,’ she said, her intonation at the end of the sentence turning it into a question, ‘I can come another time?’
    ‘No,’ said Ian and his mother simultaneously. Ian stood up, smiled, and gestured towards the chair he’d just vacated. ‘Please, come and sit down, Sarah.’ He liked her being here; she’d always made the relationship between him and his mother easier, like oil between two slightly out-of-sync cogs.
    She placed a hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him back into the chair. ‘You stay right where you are, by your Mum,’ she whispered. She patted his shoulder, then withdrew her hand. This gesture of solidarity conveyed so much – recognition of the perilous state of his mother’s health and the grim, inevitable outcome that lay ahead. And he was grateful. ‘I’ll pull up another chair.’
    She sat on the opposite side of the bed and Evelyn said, ‘Well, isn’t this nice?’ She paused to cough. ‘My two favourite people – not counting Molly and Lewis of course – come to see me at the same time.’
    Sarah grinned. ‘Like buses. We all come at once.’
    ‘You should have brought the children,’ said Evelyn, out of one side of her mouth, a little dribble of saliva running down her chin. If she was aware of it, she showed no sign.
    While he was wondering if he ought to wipe his mother’s face, Sarah got up and discreetly dabbed the corner of her mouth with a tissue from the box on the bedside table. Her smile never wavered as she carried out the task, but she gave Ian a quick, knowing glance.
    ‘Maybe next time. When you’re feeling a little better,’ she said.
    Evelyn closed her eyes and Ian said, ‘Isn’t your chest any better?’
    ‘Never mind that now. Tell me about the children, Ian,’ she said holding out her hand.
    He took it, cold and frail, in his own. ‘The kids are fine, Mum. What did the doctor say?’
    Her voice had dropped to a whisper. ‘Didn’t Lewis have a swim gala this week? You know how much I love to hear all about –’ A coughing fit took hold and the sentence was left unfinished.
    ‘Mum!’ cried Ian, gripped by sudden fear. The infection wasn’t shifting. If anything it sounded worse! She’d had that cough for over a month now.
    The coughing subsided. ‘Shush,’ she commanded, her tone firm in spite of her affliction.