The Years of Loving You

Now

‘So. Tell me about the symptoms again,’ Sam said, taking Molly’s hands.

Molly tried not to sigh. They were currently sitting in bed going over and over the details. Again. They had done this a number of times now and Molly was feeling exhausted. She understood why Sam was doing this; it was his way of coping. He was a person who got to grips with something by gathering as much information as possible in order to make sense of it. It was all part of his process. Molly knew that Sam would spend considerable time after their discussions ordering books about early-onset Parkinson’s, scouring the internet for data and immersing himself in the subject so deeply he would practically be able to take an exam on it.

‘Primary motor symptoms are tremors, slowness, stiffness, balance problems.’ Molly leant back against the headboard. She was beginning to feel like a broken record. ‘Non-motor: changes in mood – depression being the most likely – sleep disorders, skin changes – whatever that means – problems with low blood pressure and sweating. I mean, you know this stuff, you’ve looked it all up.’

Molly faltered. She didn’t want to move on to the possible bladder and bowel issues or the way her speech might be affected. Not yet. Sam might have already read about those symptoms, but if he had, he hadn’t mentioned them.

‘Well, honestly, I don’t see that there is anything there we can’t cope with,’ Sam said confidently. ‘I know this is very grim for you and a huge shock.’ He put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer. ‘But I’m here for you. We’ll get through this together. You’re not alone. Always know that.’

Molly started weeping again. She had done an awful lot of weeping over the past few days. Obviously it was a huge thing to deal with, but Molly had surprised herself with the volume of tears she had managed to produce. Yet oddly enough she no longer felt she was in a nightmare. Telling Sam had made everything feel extremely real. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. Since she had dropped her bombshell a few days ago, she and Sam had done nothing but talk non-stop about her illness. Molly wondered what on earth they had talked about before, because it seemed that every single conversation revolved around Parkinson’s in some fashion. It was overwhelming to say the least.

‘We will need to get a second opinion, of course,’ Sam said, reaching for his phone. ‘I’ll see if I can rush you through to see someone. I have a few contacts I can probably lean on.’

‘I don’t need any kind of special treatment,’ Molly said, swinging her feet out of bed. She placed them on the floor cautiously. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but since her diagnosis, she seemed acutely aware of all movement and motion. Being able to walk, to pick something up, to clean her teeth. Writing something down, using her phone. Each of these actions gave her relief and, at times, joy. It had only been a few days, but Molly was suddenly so appreciative of the things she had previously taken for granted.

Which was a horrendous cliché, of course. Not appreciating something until you were threatened with the loss of it. But Molly couldn’t help it. Being told she might lose control of certain motor functions, that she might not be able to conduct herself in the way she always had, had been like someone throwing cold water in her face. It was a sharp shock and it had brought everything into focus.

Molly heard her phone alerting her to another text message. She glanced at it quickly. As she thought, it was Ed again. Molly really had to get back to him soon, before he got really worried.

‘I wasn’t thinking of any kind of special treatment,’ Sam was saying mildly, already selecting a number from the address book in his phone. ‘I just think it’s important that we get you seen immediately. I mean, until we do, we don’t actually know if we’re dealing with early-onset Parkinson’s. We could be looking at –’ Sam turned to his iPad, predictably already open at the Michael J. Fox Foundation page ‘– any number of neurological disorders. We don’t know anything for certain yet.’

‘True.’

Molly knew Sam was clutching at straws. She would let him. It was his way. It was what he needed to do. Of course he wanted to think it might be something other than Parkinson’s; it was only natural. She would feel the same in his shoes.

Molly walked to the bathroom, enjoying the sensation of thick carpet beneath the soles of her feet. ‘I’m going for a shower,’ she said over her shoulder.

Sam wasn’t listening. He was already on the phone to his contact, whoever that was. Switching the shower on to get the water heated up and spending a fair time cleaning her teeth, Molly peeled her t-shirt over her head. Ed always used to laugh at her cleaning her teeth before she had a shower, but her argument was that she was such a clean freak, she liked to feel completely fresh and sparkling by the time she left the shower.

Ed. Molly leant her head against the cool tiles in the shower. She must speak to Ed. She had missed his engagement party and she had to explain why.

Molly hoped Ed would forgive her for missing the party. After all, he had managed to make it to her wedding, despite the way things had been between them. Molly felt a pang when she remembered that time. Christ, she had been so in love with Ed. Not at her wedding, but before … What she felt for Sam was completely different. Safe, secure, deep. Molly’s feelings for Ed might have been passionate and romantic, but they were childish by comparison. Passion was overrated. It didn’t last and it wasn’t more important than friendship and companionship.

And that wasn’t to say that she and Sam didn’t have passion, Molly thought to herself, pushing her wet hair back from her face. It was just more measured. Not as uncontrollable and head-spinning. Although – Molly paused with her shower gel in her hand – when had they last had sex? She couldn’t rightly remember. But there had been a lot going on lately. Her worry over her health, her diagnosis – and Sam had been extremely busy. Well, Sam was always busy, but he had seemed even more distracted than usual. Molly felt guilty about that. He must be finding it difficult to juggle everything now that she had ducked out of work to paint more. Molly reasoned that Sam could always hire someone else, but she knew Sam liked keeping staff to a minimum. And that he preferred to work with her.

Molly wondered if she should join Sam at work again. It would be disappointing to have to do it now that she had finally got back into her art, but if she wasn’t able to paint any longer, what did it matter? She felt the now-familiar stiffening in her hand and cursed it. Bloody, bloody disease. She jumped as she heard the door opening and put her hand behind her back.

‘I’ve managed to get you an appointment for tomorrow,’ Sam said, poking his head into the bathroom. ‘With a top guy. We’ll find out if you have this once and for all. Or if it’s something else. And then we’ll know exactly what we’re dealing with and how to plan for it.’

‘Right. Great, thanks. Sam,’ Molly called to him before he could walk away. ‘Um. Join me?’ She wasn’t sure if she was after sex as such. Maybe just a cuddle. A wet one. Intimacy. Something to reassure her. Something to convince her she hadn’t suddenly become the sexless being she felt she had.

Sam smiled. ‘Very tempting. I wish I had time. But I have to get to the office – I have about six meetings today.’

‘Can’t they wait?’ Molly felt exposed, vulnerable. ‘It’s just – I’d really like to spend a bit of time with you.’

‘In the shower?’ Sam grinned and glanced down at himself. ‘I’m fully dressed.’

‘Then come in and get wet with me. Please.’ Molly hoped she didn’t sound desperate. But she really needed Sam. She needed him to be with her, to comfort her, to let her know he still loved her. Not just as a wife, but as a woman.

‘Molly, I’m really sorry. Can we call a rain check until tonight?’ Sam looked at his watch. ‘I really want to, but I have to get to the office.’

‘Sure.’ Molly turned away so he couldn’t see her tears. She heard the shower door open and felt Sam’s hand on her waist.

‘Molly. I’m not freaked out, I promise. I just have to be somewhere. And I meant it about tonight.’

‘But I really need you, Sam. I need you.’ Molly sounded whiny. She hated it when she sounded whiny. She got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her body.

‘And I need to be somewhere else,’ Sam said firmly as he walked away.

‘Why do you never put me first?’

‘What?’ Sam stopped by the door.

‘Why do you never put me first?’ Molly repeated.

Sam looked furious. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’

Molly shook her head. ‘I’m not. It’s just … I just sometimes feel like I come second for you, after your work.’

Sam let out an impatient sound. ‘Really? Are you actually saying that to me?’

‘I’m actually saying that to you. And do you have to keep answering with questions?’

‘You’re being stupid.’

Molly stared at Sam. ‘Am I? I’m being stupid because I want you to be here with me. To make me feel like I’m not just a walking disease. That you still see me. Me, as a person.’

Sam bit his lip. ‘Of course I still see you, Molly. How could I not, when you’re standing there yelling at me? Oh, I’m sorry, that was another question. Do forgive me.’ He left and slammed the door.

Molly walked into the bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed and started to cry. Sam was trying hard to be good about her diagnosis. He was coping the only way he knew how. But she couldn’t help wishing he had put work to one side. Just this once. To stay with her, to put his arms around her. To love her and let her know that nothing would change between them.

Molly knew Sam was hoping the diagnosis was wrong. She was too, obviously. But she knew it wouldn’t be any different to the first opinion. It would be exactly what she had heard from Mr Ward. Molly wasn’t being defeatist about it; she just knew when something made sense. She didn’t blame Sam for wanting to hear something else. He didn’t want her to be sick – why would he? He wanted her to go back to normal. He wanted everything to be normal between them again.

But Molly knew things wouldn’t be normal again. She wasn’t being negative, she was being realistic. And Sam would be too. Once they had the second opinion confirmed, Molly knew Sam would be fine with the whole thing. He would be his usual practical self, sorting out a plan of action, wanting to know every type of medication available and basically taking control.

It was for the best that Sam was this way, Molly decided. After all, she was so far out of control, she needed someone to rein her in. She just hoped Sam remembered she needed love and affection as well as support. And that rows were the last thing she needed. Even though she felt she might have started the one just now.

She stood up and tiredly selected some underwear. As soon as she had the second opinion confirmed, she would go and see Ed. She was loath to pee on his bonfire when he had just got engaged, but they were best friends. If Ed had news like this, she would want to know. She would have to know. Molly also knew that if Ed had something like early-onset Parkinson’s, she would feel as if her heart was breaking.

Molly and Ed

February 1998

‘Tonight, I drink to the health of … of … Cardinal Puff, Puff, Puff.’

Molly carefully tapped the top of the table three times, then underneath the table, clicked her fingers and looked helplessly at Ed. She was drunk. Hopelessly so. And she couldn’t for the life of her remember the rules of this dumb drinking game.

‘Three fingers on your glass, Molls,’ Ed whispered loudly, falling about laughing.

‘Don’t help her!’ Jody, Molly’s housemate nudged him indignantly. ‘There are rules in drinking games, you know.’

Everyone in the lounge – a plethora of bodies that had somehow found their way back here from the student union – booed and hissed. Someone even tossed a cork coaster at Jody’s head.

Ed blew Jody a kiss. ‘Ignore them. I love how pedantic you are. It’s endearing.’

Jody made a show of looking cross for a second before giving him a wide smile. A sexy smile. One that said, ‘Fuck me later you massive bastard.’

Ed deliberately broke the eye contact. He had slept with Jody when he and Molly first arrived at Lincoln University, oblivious to the fact that she had just moved into a house with his friend. Molly had no doubt told him about her new living arrangements before they had even left home, but names weren’t Ed’s strong point. Well, remembering names of random flatmates-to-be wasn’t his strong point. He hadn’t acquitted himself well on the Jody front; he’d done that shitty bloke thing of collecting up his clothes and sneaking out without a word in the early hours. Ed wasn’t proud of himself but he had regretted the union almost as soon as it was over and he couldn’t wait to get away.

He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately. He had found university to be a veritable goldmine when it came to available, willing pretty girls and he had over-indulged somewhat in the first few months. Ed was seriously beginning to wonder if he had some sort of problem, but his old school mate Boyd had ruefully reassured him that if he possessed half of Ed’s charm and good looks, he wouldn’t think twice about making an absolute killing, instead of surviving on what he described as ‘meagre pickings’.

Molly caught Ed’s eye. She couldn’t help making a bit of a dig at him every so often about Jody. They had slept together months ago and Jody had waxed lyrical about it, providing Molly with rather more detail than she might have liked. She was fascinated on the one hand, appalled on the other. Molly didn’t want to visualise Ed with someone else but she found herself perversely intoxicated by the intimate details Jody had provided her with.

Molly was laughing at him again, Ed thought grumpily. She was always making references to the Jody situation, stopping short – but only just – of singing ‘Ed and Jody, sitting in a tree …’

Ed cursed himself as he watched Molly flick her long, newly blond curls over her shoulder. He hated that she saw him as an idiot Lothario. It shouldn’t matter, but it did. Of course, he was both an idiot and a Lothario, but still. Ed felt irrationally self-righteous about the unfairness of it all.

He truly wished he could control himself, especially when he was drunk. But his nether regions thought differently. The stupid thing was that his mind was consumed by thoughts of Molly – both wholesome and not so wholesome – for an absurd amount of time. But when he had a few drinks, he acted like a total and utter nobber and found himself sticking his tongue down the throat of any number of inferior girls. Sometimes he slept with them as well. Mostly because he knew Molly didn’t want him that way. Probably because he kept sleeping with her friends. Jesus. He seriously was a nobber.

Ed really was a nobber, Molly thought. Why on earth did he keep sleeping with all of her friends? She didn’t know if he did it on purpose to annoy her or if he had some sort of problem. Molly stole a glance at him. He looked rather drunk this evening. His hair was all over the place and his eyes had gone all sexy, the way they did when he was a bit squiffy.

Ed rubbed his eyes. God, but he had drunk too much tonight. Some filthy cocktail in the union – just because it was half price and he knew he looked as camp as Christmas drinking it. He gazed at Molly again and felt a pang. He felt it almost every time his eyes alighted on her. Sometimes in the groin, but mostly in the heart. Fuck it. He was her best male friend. Which meant that after her father, he was sort of the number one dude in her life. Ed knew it couldn’t stay that way for ever, but he couldn’t think about that, couldn’t think about her being with some other guy. The one thing Ed had on his side right now was that Molly was discerning. When it came to men, she was pickier than anyone he knew. He wasn’t even sure if she’d slept with anyone yet, but it wasn’t a subject he liked to dwell on. It made him feel as though his guts had been kicked inwards.

Finally remembering what she was supposed to be doing, Molly picked her beer up, holding it awkwardly with three fingers. She hit the table three times with the bottle, clearly searching her mind for the next bit of the drinking game. ‘And, ee, once a cardinal, always a cardinal!’ she exclaimed triumphantly. She drained her beer in one and twirled the empty bottle over the top of her head, beaming at Ed.