Page 36 of You Were Always the One

Miles turns to look at me. ‘Thank you.’ Then in an uncharacteristic gesture, he reaches for my hand. ‘I’m sorry,’ he murmurs.

My instinct is to pull it away. He’s lied to me, has been lying for some time, not about anything trivial, but about a life-threatening illness. But then I meet his eyes. See the fear in them, as his hand tightens around mine. ‘You need to rest,’ I say quietly.

It’s gone midnight by the time I get us home. I maintain as much normality as I can, then once my children are in bed, I sit down heavily on the sofa. Slowly, I piece together the last few weeks. If Miles has been having tests, it would explain his absence. Knowing what he’s been going through, I can understand his reticence to talk about it. But with surgery scheduled for next week, he must have known he was running out of time to tell me.

But as I’ve told him more than once, we don’t talk about anything important, while this distance between us has been building, for years. Slowly, barely noticeably at first. But it was there from the start. In fact, Miles and I have never really talked about things. Leaning back, I sigh. And now, this. A brain tumour, potentially a malignant one, that can’t be confirmed until after the surgery.

After the day we’ve had, I can’t think straight. But as I lie in bed, nor can I sleep. Instead, I wind the clock back, search for signs I missed that something was wrong. But due to some quirk of his diagnosis, or his ability to hide his symptoms, I saw none. A tear rolls down my cheek as I think about my children. Whatever the outcome of Miles’s surgery, it isn’t in question that all of our lives are going to change.

When I get to the hospital the following afternoon, Miles is lying propped up in bed with his eyes closed. I don’t kiss his cheek; it’s years since there’s been any affection between us. As I pull up a chair, he opens his eyes.

‘Hi,’ I say quietly. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘I’ve felt better.’ He gazes at the ceiling.

‘When were you going to tell me?’ I ask.

His eyes turn to look at me. ‘Last night – after the cinema. But then I collapsed.’ He sighs. ‘I wanted to tell you, Holly. I’m sorry I didn’t.’ There’s regret in his voice. ‘I just didn’t know how to.’

‘I wish you had.’ There is so much I want to say. But Miles is sick; it isn’t the time. ‘How long have you known?’ I ask.

‘About a month.’ He pauses. ‘I started getting dizzy spells. Then my vision wasn’t right. I saw someone privately – one of the benefits of company healthcare. Apparently the scans suggest it’s malignant. But I won’t know for sure until I have surgery. It’s scheduled for next week.’

‘I’m sorry you’re going through this,’ I say, wondering how we are so unemotional.

His eyes meet mine, just briefly. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. But it isn’t the easiest subject to broach.’ He’s silent for a moment, before he goes on. ‘I’ve found it difficult enough getting my head around it. The surgery’s going to be in London. They want me to go up there on Wednesday afternoon.’

It gives us a few days. ‘What about the kids? Would you like me to talk to them?’

‘You’ll probably do it better than me. Do you mind?’ He sounds matter-of-fact rather than grateful.

‘No. It’s fine.’ It’s probably easier for me to tell them before Miles comes home. ‘Have they said how long they’re keeping you in here?’

‘Not yet.’

I get up. ‘I’ll go and find out.’

He looks as though he wants to say something, then thinks better of it. But Miles is used to being in control; he’s way out of his comfort zone. I go to the nurses’ station. They are busy, the phone constantly ringing, patients’ call bells sounding. Eventually, I manage to speak to one of the doctors. He tells me they’ve been in touch with Miles’s consultant. As long as Miles is stable, he can go home tomorrow.

I go back to Miles. ‘They think you’ll be going home tomorrow,’ I say. ‘I’ll pick you up – I’ll call work and explain what’s going on. I’m owed some time off.’

‘There’s no need for you to be involved, Holly,’ he says. ‘After the surgery, I’ll be staying in hospital until I’m over the worst.’

‘Not get involved?’ I stare at him. ‘I already am. I’m your wife, Miles. You’re going to need some help over the next few weeks.’

‘I don’t want to put it on you,’ he says. ‘My insurance will cover any nursing I need.’

‘That’s crazy,’ I say. ‘It makes sense for me to look after you.’

He’s silent for a moment. ‘I have no expectations of you,’ he says. ‘Especially not now. I haven’t been straight with you – and I don’t want your pity. I don’t think it’s going to work, you looking after me, when the fact is we’ve barely been speaking to each other.’

I’m taken aback. ‘Fine. If that’s what you want.’ I swallow my hurt.

‘It is,’ he says tersely. ‘Would you mind? I’m tired. I could do with getting some rest.’

It’s obviously my cue to leave him. ‘Let me know when you need picking up,’ I say.

As I walk out of the ward, I bite back what I want to say. I know Miles is frightened; that he’s lashing out at me because I’m closest to him. And I’m frightened, too – for him, for Max and Grace, for this life that’s already starting to change around us.