Change of Life (35 page)

And it wasn’t only in matters of sex that Rick initiated me. He opened my mind to many new things. He was into whole foods and ecology, at least twenty years before most people gave them any thought. His politics were Scottish socialist. He loved Scotland, its landscape and its history. He took me hill-walking all over the country. He told me about the flow of the ice-age glaciers, of how the ancient ice gouged out the glens and shaped the peaks, leaving mounds of moraine in its wake. He took me to Glencoe and brought the story of the massacre there to life, in a way it never was at school. And, always, he was taking photographs.

It felt strange seeing him again, after a gap of nearly thirty years. It was early April, several weeks before I met Robbie or knew I was ill. We’d arranged to meet at the flat, in the afternoon. I got there ridiculously early. I busied myself making a coffee, mainly so I’d stop going to the window every few minutes to see if he was coming.

I knew him before university, of course, but only as Lucy’s big brother. He was way out of reach as boyfriend material when I was a schoolgirl. During my first year at St Andrews I only saw him in passing. It wasn’t until Lucy’s engagement party that we met up properly. I fell for him in a big way and I think he was flattered.

We went out together for eight months. I dumped him after I walked in on him in bed with another girl. He broke my teenage heart. I got over it.

When I opened the door to him that spring morning, he was leaning on the door frame, head to one side. I’d forgotten how tall he was, taller than Tom, certainly, – and how loud.

“Hey –Rose-Marie!” he boomed, using the name he called me by when I was nineteen. No-one else ever called me that. He looked me up and down, and the next thing I knew I was engulfed in an enormous bear hug. “You’re still a fine looking woman – if you don’t mind me saying so.” He released me and took a step back, his hands still on my shoulders. “Tom McAllister’s a lucky man – is he here?” He stepped into the hallway of the flat, looking round as he did so.

He looked older, of course.
His, once, thick, dark hair was thinner and greying and his beard was flecked with silver.
He was less slender than he’d been at university. But all these changes suited him. He was still attractive and his smile was the same.

“Rick,” I said, feeling slightly flustered. “It’s good to see you. Come in. No, Tom’s not here – he’s at work.” It didn’t take long to show him round the flat. We finished up in the living room. “So, that’s it,” I said. “Would you like to look round again, on your own, or is there anything you want to ask?”

“No, I’ve seen enough. This will suit me fine. Lucy told me how much the rent is and that it’s a standard six month lease. It’s available now, is that right?”

“Yes, you could move in any time. I didn’t renew the previous tenants’ lease at the end of the spring term –they were students –three girls. They had little respect for the neighbours or the flat –or, for that matter, paying the rent on time.” I knew I was rambling on – disconcerted by Rick’s presence. God, how ridiculous, how embarrassing!

And Rick wasn’t about to make it easier for me. “So, you’d be happy with an older man then?” He grinned and raised his eyebrows.

Was he was flirting with me? If so, I was out of practice. “Oh, yes - that is - yes I’d be happy for you –a man - to have it - the flat. I mean, our first tenants were two lads - students. They were here three years and were no trouble at all.”

“Well, I’ll do my best not to let the male side down and will show the place due respect. You can come and inspect me any time.” Again there was that grin, that dangerous twinkle in his eye.

I tried to keep playing it straight. “So you’re coming home – to Scotland – to stay?”

“Yes, ready to settle down, at last. It’s time to re-establish my roots. I’ve got a project on Skye for the next few months, as well as some other commissions around the country. There’s also a retrospective exhibition of my stuff, during the festival, here in Edinburgh, in the autumn. So I can use this place as a base while I prepare for that, and do a bit of house hunting as well.”

“Do you really think you’ll be able to settle in one place – after all this time?”

“Got to, Rose-Marie, I’ve had enough of the globetrotting, the dashing around. It’s been a blast – I wouldn’t change it – but it’s a young man’s game.”

“But won’t you miss it - all that mountain climbing, camping in the deserts, trekking in the Arctic and whatever?”

“Yes, in some ways. There’s nothing like the buzz of spending hours, days, months and then, finally, getting the perfect shot, but it’s a case, now, of been there, done that. Now I look around and think - is that it? International acclaim and recognition is very gratifying, but it’s come at a price.”

“What price?”

“No wife, no kids, no home, no – meaning, I suppose.”

“You’d have hated the wife and 2.4
kids
thing. Anyway, there’s more to life than being married with kids. How can you say your life’s had no meaning? You’ve done all those daredevil expeditions, been on TV, published books,
had
exhibitions. You’re a hero to my daughter, Jenny, with all the stuff you have to have say on saving the planet.”

“Am I - a hero - really?” He looked genuinely pleased at this. “I’ve tried to do my bit, use my photos to get people to realise how beautiful and fragile our wee planet is. And yes, you’re
right,
I couldn’t have settled when I was younger. I did have a couple of longer-term relationships. But in the end the long separations killed them off. When I had to choose, I chose work.”

“So there’s
noone
, no significant other, at the moment?”

“No,
noone
.
I’m not really looking, not desperate or anything. But, I don’t know - getting to fifty – you realise you’ve not got forever - less ahead of you than behind you. If there’s stuff you still want to do, you better get on and do it. And I want a home, time to stand and stare –and yes - if the right person were to come along to share it with… Blimey, I don’t know where all that came from – I’ve never put it into words before. It’s you – you always were a good listener - that was one of the things I loved about you.”

I felt flustered again. “Shall we look at the tenancy agreement?”

A week later Rick moved in. Tom wasn’t all that happy about it. I found it amusing that, all these years later, Tom still didn’t like Rick. In early May, Rick let me know he was off up to Skye. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be away.

At the end of June, he was back. I’d been living in the flat for about a month. I’d just returned from my first chemo session. Kirsty was with me. She’d insisted on being my driver and moral support for my first time at oncology. She was about to leave me and get back to school.

“Thanks, Kirsty,” I said, “for being with me – taking time off work – it was good of you”.

“No problem. Being the boss has its perks. I can take time off to help a friend if I want to. Are you sure you’re going to be all right on your own?”

“Yes, you get away. I think I’ll just rest for a while.” I lay back on the sofa. Then we heard the front door clatter shut.

Rick stumbled into the living room, laden with bags and cameras.
“Oh, Rose-Marie!
And – and good lord,
it’s
Kirsty isn’t it?” I hurriedly sat up. He grabbed hold of Kirsty by both hands and stepped back to look her up and down. “You’re looking good! How are you?”

Kirsty was only momentarily thrown by Rick’s enthusiastic greeting. She recovered quickly. “Yes it’s me, and I’m well, thank you. Rick, isn’t it?” She smiled, teasing. “How are you?”

“Glad you remember me! I’m good.” He turned to me. “You’re not looking so great though. What’s up?”

While I tried to work out how to answer this, Kirsty said she’d have to go. Rick insisted on seeing her out. I heard them speaking in the hall for a couple of minutes, but couldn’t make out what was being said. When Rick returned to the living room he sat down beside me. “So, Rosie, I knew you were going to use the flat for a little while, but I didn’t expect you still to be here. Not that it’s a problem, but what’s going on? What’s been happening to you?”

I told him.

“Christ, what a tough break! The big ‘C’ – that’s a bummer. And Tom, you really think him and Heather – that this boy, Robbie, is – well…” He looked at me, at the tears running down my face, and then he took me in his huge embrace. He stroked my hair and rocked me gently.

Later, when I’d composed myself and we were drinking tea, he said, “I’m sorry I didn’t make the funeral. I heard she’d died – that Heather had died. Lucy let me know – but I was out of the country.”

I shook my head. “Don’t be sorry. I didn’t make it to the funeral myself.”

“Really?”

“Really.
I’d just had the twins. I wasn’t – I wasn’t very well.”

“I met her again, you know. It was years after we’d all graduated – late eighties it must have been. We met at a fund-raising exhibition in Edinburgh. I’d been asked to put in some pictures – and Heather was there as a beneficiary of the charity. We went for a drink. She said she was off the drugs – was on this supported programme – had a wee flat.”

“I wouldn’t know.” I couldn’t keep the bitterness out of my voice.

“She said you two were estranged.”

“Yes - it’s a long and nasty story. She did some terrible things, Rick. I find it hard to believe she was clean when you met her.”

“And so did I, I’m afraid. She seemed pretty sorted, happy even, but I didn’t trust what I could see. Lucy had told me, over the years, how deep Heather was into drugs and - all the rest. Anyway – I walked away. Maybe I should’ve stayed – supported her on the programme - been a friend.”

“It wasn’t your responsibility. I didn’t see her at all in the last year of her life. We all gave up on her.”

We were both quiet for a moment, remembering our own versions of my sister.

It was me who spoke first. “So, what’s next for you, work wise?”

“Well, I’ve finished the first phase of the Skye project – done my research and preliminary photography. Now I need to do some processing, editing and writing up. I also need to do a bit of prep for the retrospective.”

“Sounds like you’ll be busy.”

“Yes, I’ve rented workspace at a mate’s studio, over at Inverleith. So don’t worry, I’ll be out a lot.”

The side effects of the chemo kicked in a few days after Rick’s arrival. I couldn’t bear the thought of him seeing me throwing up, but he seemed to know to keep out of the way when I fled to the bathroom. He was a good cook and saw it as a challenge to find food that I could tolerate, coaxing me to try morsels of this and that.

He was particularly supportive when my hair succumbed to the toxic consequences of the cancer drugs. Even though Lucy cut it short, before my treatment started, it was still a shock when it started to go. I first noticed it coming away in the shower. I’d just begun to rub in some shampoo and it felt like my hair, not my scalp, was sore. Then I saw clumps of it in the shower tray. I felt more of it between my fingers. I wept as I watched it clog the drain.

Later, when I went back through to the living room, Rick was waiting. “Can I help?” He brandished his hair clippers. I nodded. He led me to the kitchen and sat me on one of the stools. Then he gently shaved off what remained of my hair. When he was finished he fetched the little mirror from the hall. “There was no point in prolonging it, was there?” He handed me the mirror.

I gazed at my newly bald head. It was shocking, but it was also a relief. “Losing my hair –it was –I was dreading it more than the chemo. But now it’s done – it’s happened – it’s over. Thank you.”

“No problem, Rose-Marie.”

I appreciated that he didn’t make a big deal out of it. I suspected that having one of the family, or even Lucy or Kirsty, shave my head,
would
have been unbearable. There would have been way too much sympathy.