Thirty-eight. Meggie
Our days filled with platitudes. We both talk, but neither of us says much. The evenings are mostly filled with silence. Like last night. There we were again, sitting down, watching the telly. Sephy was sitting in the armchair she's made her own. I sat on the sofa. Callie was asleep in her cot in Sephy's bedroom – bless her. And thus our evening in began. After an hour, Sephy hadn't said much. In fact she hadn't said anything at all. When she first moved in, we'd talk. We'd discuss telly programmes, the things we'd heard, the things we'd seen, items in the news. Now there was only silence. Finally I couldn't stand it any longer.
'Sephy, you mustn't believe what was in that letter—'
'I've already told you,' Sephy interrupted without looking at me. 'I don't want to talk about it.'
'I just want to—'
Sephy stood up and headed for the door.
'OK. Have it your way. I won't say another word.'
Sephy looked at me, trying to gauge whether or not I meant it. She finally decided I did because she sat down again. And there we sat, in silence. And I didn't dare say another word. Because I was afraid Sephy wouldn't just walk out of the room, but would walk out of my house taking my granddaughter with her. I try my best not to criticize, not to interfere – but it's hard. I don't want to drive Sephy out by nagging her too much, but sometimes I look at her and I could swear that we're both feeling the same, both going through the same, but neither of us has the courage to just come right out and say so. Sometimes, I see Sephy's eyes cloud over. It might be for a minute or a moment, but it's enough. I know she's trying to match the memory of Callum against the words in his letter.
That bloody letter.
I don't believe for one second that Callum wrote those hateful, hurtful things – not for a second. Callum loved Sephy. I don't know much in this world but I do know that. He loved Sephy the way my husband Ryan loved me. The way Lynette loved Jed. The way Jude could love too, if he'd just let go of all the hate inside him first. It must be a McGregor thing – love all the way, hate all the way. Nothing in between.
No matter what anyone else says – like my sister, Charlotte – my family were lucky in one way at least. We loved each other very much and no one can ever take that away from me. My husband Ryan would've done anything for me and our kids. Anything. When I think of my family, it makes me realize that there's not much in this life that remains constant. The only thing that never changed in our lives was our love for each other. When the memories come and threaten to wash me away, I hold onto that one thought for my life and my sanity.
Sometimes I catch Sephy watching me, a puzzled look on her face. She looks away when she realizes I've caught her but that expression on her face has been there more times than I can count. I think she swings between not quite believing that I don't hate her and wondering why, if I don't, then why I don't? I hope she didn't agree to stay with me out of some need to do penance or as her stint in purgatory for some imagined sin. Sephy never did understand just how much she means to me. She is almost as dear to me as my own daughter, Lynette. I can't tell her that though. She'd never believe me. I look at her sometimes, when she's eating or reading or when she's nodded off on the sofa and I go through in my head all the things I'd like to tell her.
Like how much I love and admire her for what she did on the day they hanged my son. Like how much I love and cherish her for having my grandchild, Callie Rose. I know she could've had an abortion. I'll bet that's exactly what her bastard father wanted. Or she could've put her child up for adoption. But she didn't. Does she have any idea how strong she is? I hope so, I really do.
And as for Callie Rose, well, every time I look at her I can see Callum. The same eyes, the same expressions, the same tilt of the head when puzzling out something. I look at Callie and I want to just gobble her up or hug her tight and never let her go or wrap her up and put her in my heart and never let her out. I'm so desperate to keep her safe and wrapped in love. Because I know she's not going to have it easy. She's neither nought nor Cross. And in a world desperate to pigeon-hole and categorize and stereotype, she may feel forced to come down on one side or the other.
And the truth is, she's both.
And the truth is, she's neither.
She's new and special and different and individual and herself. Maybe that's what we all need – to be mixed and shaken and stirred as vigorously as possible until 'nought' and 'Cross' as labels become meaningless. But what I wish for, and what is, are worlds apart.
Sephy has me worried. She's changed. And Callum's letter is the thing which changed her. It's difficult to put into words, but it's as if something has gone out in her. She was ready to take my head off before when I suggested that it wouldn't hurt Callie to be occasionally left in her cot when she cries. But that was before Callum's letter. Now she follows my advice a little too often. Sometimes I sit in the living room with Sephy, whilst Callie cries in her cot in Sephy's bedroom, and I have to bite my lip not to say anything. I want to scream at Sephy to get up and take care of her child. There've been plenty of times when I've been close to doing just that. Then with a sigh, Sephy manages to drag her backside out of the armchair and she heads towards the bedroom. Before Callum's letter, Callie couldn't cry for longer than five seconds before Sephy was at her side.
But that was before Callum's letter.
And this is most definitely after.
Take what happened yesterday afternoon. Sephy was in the kitchen, making herself a sandwich, and I was in the living room watching a chat show when Callie Rose began to grizzle. I glanced down at my watch. It was about time for her next feed. Less than a minute later, the grizzling turned into a full-blown, full-throated bellow. Callie wasn't happy at being ignored – and I couldn't blame her. I stood up, wondering if and when Sephy was going to sort out her daughter. Callie's cries continued. I sat back down. For heaven's sake, if I could hear Callie then so could Sephy. But Callie carried on crying. And on. And on. I couldn't stand it any more. I stood up and went upstairs to comfort her. Sephy had obviously decided that her sandwich was more important than her daughter.
But I was wrong.
Sephy was in her bedroom with Callie. But she stood at the foot of the cot, staring down at her. I watched Sephy, wondering when she was going to do something about Callie's cries. She continued staring down at her – and my blood ran cold at the expression on her face. Because there was no expression on her face. Not love. Not tenderness. Not hate. Just a blank.
'Is everything all right, Sephy?' I asked.
She turned to me and it was like shutters coming down. She smiled with her mouth, not her eyes, and nodded.
'Yes, Meggie. Everything's fine,' she told me.
And only then did she pick up Callie Rose. I backed away, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature around me. I'm losing Sephy, losing her to that letter. But worse than that, Callie is losing her too.
And I can't for the life of me figure out what to do about it.