‘Absolutely not,’ he mutters into my ear, and then he pulls back just far enough for his lips to find mine.
It feels different this morning. His kisses are softer, more leisurely. It’s like we do this every day, and something about the familiarity makes my chest swell, a warm glow building behind my ribcage.
You could be happy here, I think, and before I can stop it, the idea takes root, finding a plot in my chest to grow in. I try not to think about how difficult it would be to get it back out. I just enjoy this moment, the feel of Bram’s hands on my skin, kissing me like he hasn’t got a care in the world.
It’s around nine when we get out of bed, and I’m floored when he offers to cook, throwing a surprisingly good breakfast together from the odds and ends in my fridge. He doesn’t put his shirt back on the entire time he’s cooking or eating, which I thoroughly appreciate, and when he catches me unashamedly checking him out, he just grins, his wild mop of morning hair falling over his eyes as he does.
He puts a delicious-smelling plate of food in front of me and leans across the breakfast bar to kiss me before sliding onto the stool opposite.
‘I have to see my mum before we go back to Whitby,’ he says, and I notice that he doesn’t quite meet my eyes. ‘You can come if you want.’
I’m not sure what to say, but my face must have its own reaction to the question, because he smiles softly and reaches for my hand.
‘I mean, I’d like you to come,’ he clarifies, his voice earnest. ‘I just don’t want you to feel like you have to. It can be a lot.’
I shake my head. ‘I’d like to come.’
He doesn’t say any more on the matter, and I don’t press him. I can tell by the set of his jaw that he’s still worried about her. He’s quieter than usual as we eat together, and when he gives me some privacy to get dressed, I start to worry that perhaps something’s wrong.
But that melts away to nothing with the look he gives me when I step out of my bedroom. I’m not sure I can even describe it. It’s like he can see into my soul. He’s in front of me in two strides, reaching a hand out for my chin and kissing me soft and slow.
‘Come on,’ he says, with one last brush of his lips, and then he shrugs on his leather jacket, feeling for something in the pocket before he follows me out of the door.
Chapter Twenty
BRAM
Bradbury House is an old-fashioned brick-built building nestled down its own private lane in a leafy suburb of northern Leeds. It’s so familiar to me now that I could probably drive here with my eyes shut. It looks fabulous now that it’s autumn– the trees around the perimeter are dappled with shades of gold among the vivid greens, and the contrast of them against the bright blue of the sky looks like something off a postcard.
I knew the first time I drove past that it was the right place for my mum.
She grew up in the country– in a small farming village near York, and her love of nature followed her all the way to the coast, where she met my dad. He was a sea lover through and through, but my mum was always happier on land, spotting shapes in the clouds or picking up really good leaves to show us.
It was about this time of year when I first drove past here, and it was the leaves that caught my attention. I knew she’d love them. She couldn’t stay in any of the places she thought of as home. It just wasn’t safe. This felt like the next best thing.
My heart is in my throat as I pull my car up in one of the visitor parking spaces and cut the engine. This is a part of my life that I don’t like to share with people, but I’ve got a hunch about Lucy, and I’m hoping like hell that I’m right.
I think that she’s going to get it.
She turns to me with wide eyes as I pull the key out of the ignition, leaning her head sideways against the headrest, just like she did last night.
‘It’s beautiful here,’ she says softly. I know what she’s doing, and I’m so grateful to her for doing it. She’s giving me space to explain. I know she saw the sign on the way in, and in the very unlikely event that she missed it, there’s a matching one just to the right of the entrance.
Bradbury House Residential Care Home.
I take a deep breath and rip off the band aid.
‘This is where my mum lives,’ I say, the words sounding more clipped than I mean them to. ‘She has early-onset Alzheimer’s. It’s quite advanced.’
It feels strange to say it out loud. I haven’t told anyone in such a long time. Other than my family– and the guys from the bar, whom I class as family– I haven’t talked about it with anyone except Jessica.
Word gets around in a small town though. It felt like everyone in Whitby had something to say about it when I moved her out of there. But Bradbury House has one of the best reputations of any specialist Alzheimer’s unit in this part of the country, and since it’s only ten minutes’ drive from my sister’s flat, it seemed like a no-brainer.
Since then, I’ve tried my hardest not to mention it to any new people I meet. I can’t bear the conversations, the awkward winces, the well-intentioned stories of hope.
But Lucy’s reaction surprises me.
She’s starting to make a habit of that.