Page 31 of The Inn on Bluebell Lane
Matthew gave her a wry smile as he shook his head. “You’ve been amazing, Mum, but I don’t need to be coddled. Not too much, anyway.” His smile turned into a sigh as he gazed at his plaster-encased arm. “I just want to get out and do something. I hate feeling so useless. And I know it’s all my fault. I can’t believe I was so stupid, acting like I knew what I was doing when I so clearly didn’t.”
Gwen heard the bitterness in his voice and her heart twisted in sympathy. “It was an accident, Matthew,” she told him gently, “and I know it’s hard to have to rest, but six weeks isn’t that long—”
“And months of physical therapy after?” He sighed and shook his head.
In the week since Matthew had come home from the hospital, he’d been slowly but surely going stir-crazy, just sitting around while John and an able assistant got on with the job of repairing the ceiling. Gwen couldn’t blame him; her son had always been the type of person to thrive on activity and busyness, and here he was, stuck reading the newspaper or watching TV, not even interested, it seemed, in perusing the architectural drawings he’d been longing to show her before the ceiling had caved in.
He hadn’t seemed particularly interested in spending time with the children either, Gwen had noticed, much to Ellie’s quiet frustration. Admittedly, it was difficult; he couldn’t kick a ball with Ben, which was all he seemed to want to do, and Jess wasn’t really talking to anybody. Matthew and Josh had done a puzzle together last night, but her son had stopped after half an hour, saying his arm hurt, while Josh had continued alone. Gwen had offered to help, but her little grandson had, politely but firmly, refused.
All their relationships continued to seem fraught, Gwen acknowledged, but she supposed it was simply the pain of adjusting… as well as keeping secrets. She hadn’t told anyone about her diagnosis, and with every day she left it, she knew it would be more difficult to finally come clean. Already, Ellie seemed to be noticing something was wrong—asking her if she was okay, offering to make dinner. Gwen appreciated the gestures, but in her defensiveness and anxiety about it all, she feared she sounded irritable to Ellie. She felt irritable, unable to settle, longing for things to be different in so many ways.
At least the worst of the damage had been repaired, she reflected as she went back into the kitchen to tidy up. Matthew and Ellie’s bedroom was still uninhabitable as they waited for the floor to be finished, but the house was no longer a mess of broken bits and plaster dust, and they could hopefully move on with freshening up the bed and breakfast, although she hadn’t spoken to Matthew yet about any of her concerns… not with his intentions for her home, or her own health.
She sighed as she slowly wiped the counter, the weight of her diagnosis settling firmly on her shoulders once more. Sometimes, for a moment or two, she forgot about it, only for it to come back in a fearful rush. Yesterday, she’d had the appointment to discuss her treatment plan. She’d meant to speak to Matthew and Sarah, and Ellie too, before she went, but somehow she hadn’t found the words, or maybe just the nerve. She’d told herself it would be easier to talk to them about it once she knew what she was facing—how often her chemotherapy sessions would be, what the effects would be like. Her consultant, Anne, had been reassuringly brisk but also kind, which was exactly the tone Gwen had needed to keep from breaking down completely. She was afraid, she realized, desperately afraid, and she didn’t want to admit that to anyone, least of all herself.
But now she was scheduled to start chemotherapy next week and she knew she needed to tell both Matthew and Sarah—and Ellie too—but somehow the moment still never came. Sarah was busy with her children, and Matthew was brooding over the B&B as well as his broken arm. And Ellie seemed busy too, rushing about after the children, doing errands or maybe just trying to stay out of Gwen’s way, and considering how touchy she’d been, Gwen couldn’t really blame her.
Still, Gwen knew she was just making excuses. She’d had plenty of moments to explain what was going on, she just hadn’t taken them. She didn’t want to be fussed over or be seen as someone who was nothing but a patient, a problem to be dealt with, a worry to have. And there was so much going on already, the last thing she wanted to do was add to everyone’s burdens.
But, she told herself, it really had to be done, because she would probably need some help, once the side effects of the chemo kicked in. She’d read them all in the brochure Anne had given her—nausea, vomiting, fatigue, mouth sores, hair loss…
None of it was particularly a surprise; she’d had friends who had had cancer, and she’d seen their symptoms and side effects, but it still all sounded rather dreadful. Like Matthew, Gwen thrived on busyness—her house, her garden, the bed and breakfast she’d lovingly nurtured. The thought of being too tired or ill to do any of the things she loved both frightened and depressed her.
From the sitting room, she heard the sound of Matthew turning on the telly, and she straightened her spine. Really, there was no time like the present, was there? Ellie was out, giving them privacy, although, of course, she would have to tell Ellie too, or Matthew would. How would her daughter-in-law react? Gwen realized she had no idea, and for some reason this shamed her. She hadn’t really ever got to know her daughter-in-law at all, had she? She’d let their differences stand in the way, although she’d felt they’d made progress recently, before the weight of her diagnosis had come crashing down on her.
But her relationship with Ellie, she told herself, was a problem for another day. Her son was home with nothing to occupy him, save for the dubious options of daytime television. If she didn’t talk to him now, when would she? What, really, was she waiting for?
Gathering her courage as well as her determination, Gwen went into the sitting room. Matthew was where she’d left him, sprawled on the sofa, watching one of those home improvement shows from America.
“Look at that bathroom,” he said as he caught Gwen’s eye, his tone an unsettling mixture of despondency and enthusiasm. “Carrera marble. Isn’t it fantastic?”
“Mmm.” Gwen did not particularly want marble bathrooms in her homely guest house, but that was yet another conversation for another day. “Matthew…” She took a deep breath. “Look, love, I need to talk to you about something.”
“I know you do, Mum.” Matthew pulled a grimacing sort of face as Gwen stared at him in astonishment. Surely he couldn’t have guessed? Had he seen the letter from the hospital? Why hadn’t he said anything?
“You… do?” she asked uncertainly.
“Yes. To tell you the truth, I’ve been wanting to talk to you, as well.” He turned the television off and laid the remote control on the arm of his chair, giving her a direct, serious look.
Gently, Gwen lowered herself onto the edge of the sofa opposite, her mind spinning. She couldn’t believe that Matthew might have suspected what was going on and not said a word. Did Ellie suspect, as well? And Sarah?
“I didn’t think you’d realized…” she began slowly, feeling for the words as if through the dark.
Matthew shook his head sorrowfully. “I don’t think I wanted to realize. I’ve been so full of my own plans… but look how they’ve turned out.” He let out a gusty sigh as Gwen tried to work out his meaning. She had a dawning feeling Matthew was not talking about her cancer diagnosis, and his next words confirmed it. “I’m really sorry, Mum, about everything. I’ve taken on this whole bed and breakfast idea without any thought or consideration for you, or how you felt about all my grand plans. I just rushed ahead as I always do, because I needed to, I guess. Or I thought I needed to. And I’ve made a mess of it.”
Gwen let out a little sigh—whether it was relief or disappointment, she didn’t know. Matthew hadn’t guessed. They were talking about two entirely different things, but she knew this was a conversation they needed to have, as well.
“You’ve been excited about the project, Matthew,” she told him gently. “And I’m happy about that, truly.”
“I know, it’s just…” Matthew frowned into the distance, his shoulders drooping. “Being made redundant really knocked me for six. I thought I had it all sorted, you know? Good job, nice house, great life. And then, in one fell swoop, it felt as if everything had been taken away from me, and all because I wasn’t good enough.” He pressed his lips together. “We were about to lose the house, because we hadn’t been able to keep up with the mortgage payments. Did Ellie tell you?”
Gwen shook her head. “No, of course not. She hasn’t said a word about any of it, Matthew, and I don’t think she would.”
“Well.” He shrugged. “It would have had to go back to the bank, if we didn’t do something fast. Ellie was looking for work, as I was, and then moving here seemed the best option. We sold the house in a fire sale… way under the going price, but what can you do?” He shrugged again, his head lowered as if he couldn’t bear to meet her eye.
“Oh, Matthew.” Gwen shook her head, overwhelmed with sympathy for her son. She’d been so concerned with her own worries, she hadn’t realized how badly all this had affected her son. And Ellie too, she realized. No wonder her daughter-in-law had seemed so stressed. “That all sounds as if it has been incredibly difficult, and I’m so very sorry. But you still have a beautiful family, Matthew, and a wife who loves you. That’s more than many people have.”
He didn’t look at her as he answered, his face set and grim. “I feel like I’ve let them down. Disappointed them with my own failure. Ellie’s angry with me, and I don’t blame her.”