Postscript (P.S. I Love You #2)(31)

But an argument is never really over just one thing. It’s the creature that feeds off its host, and it leaves me wondering what exactly we are arguing about.





15


Back at work, I move more slowly around the shop but I’m still able to function. Though I can’t cycle, I’m able to drive, and I’m thankful that my car is automatic as my left foot is in a cast but I can still use my right on the pedals. I’m ready to get back to business. It’s been over a month since I spoke to or heard from the PS, I Love You Club and I have the overwhelming urge to begin as soon as possible. It was Bert who had a clear idea of what he wanted to achieve with his letters and Bert in my opinion who was the most misguided. Hearing the kind of things he was going to do for his wife reminded me exactly what it was that Gerry did for me and it made me feel angry that he was getting it wrong. I feel if I have any chance of helping the club, Bert is first on my list.

I call Bert and nervously wait to see if the gang I cast aside when they needed me, are willing to take me back. I would pace, but the cast hinders me, it slows me down in so many different ways.

‘Hi, Bert, it’s Holly Kennedy.’

‘Holly Kennedy,’ he wheezes.

‘From the podcast, I met your group some time ago.’

‘PS, I Love You, Holly,’ he says.

‘How are you holding up, Bert?’

‘So-so,’ he wheezes. ‘Had an … infection in my lung … just home … for as long as … I can.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘Better to be home,’ his words are a raspy whisper.

‘Did you write your PS letters?’

‘Yes. We decided to continue.’

‘I’m sorry that I let you down.’

‘You have nothing to be sorry for.’ He coughs. It’s so loud and violent that I have to remove the phone from my ear.

‘I wonder if you’d still like me to help?’ I realise, as I wait, that I really really want him to say yes.

‘You’ve had a change of heart.’

‘Maybe I just grew one.’

‘Now, now, don’t be so hard on yourself,’ he says breathlessly.

‘I didn’t express myself clearly when we met in Joy’s house. I was out of sorts, uncomfortable with what was happening. I wasn’t supportive and I apologise. I think I sounded defensive or that I wasn’t happy with Gerry’s letters. That’s not true. So please allow me to redeem myself. Maybe I could cast my eye over your letters and offer some advice? I could think of it from the perspective of your loved ones.’

‘I’d like that,’ he whispers.

Relieved, I grow in confidence. ‘Gerry’s letters were special to me for many reasons. I’ve come to realise that what Gerry did for me was to create a conversation between us. Or more importantly, continue it. Even after he passed, we continued to have a relationship and a connection that went beyond revisiting memories. We were making new moments after his death. That’s the magic. Perhaps that’s what you should focus on. Your letters to Rita are not for entertainment purposes – well, not exclusively for entertainment purposes – and it’s not a test of her love for you either. I’m sure that’s not what you were planning on achieving.’

‘No.’

‘Does Rita like history?’

‘History? No.’

‘Do any of the questions for her relate to a private joke or hold a private meaning between you both?’

I wait.

‘No.’

‘OK. What you should do, if you would still like to take my advice, is ask her questions that relate only to you two, that only you could both know. Personalise your quiz so that it means something to her, so that it unlocks a special memory and then physically brings her to that place to make it even more intense. Bring Rita on a journey, Bert, make her feel like you’re right by her side and you’re doing it together.’

He’s silent.

‘Bert?’ I stop pacing. ‘You still with me?’

He makes choking sounds.

‘Bert?’ I panic.

He starts laughing, wheezy rasps. ‘Just … joking.’

I curse his humour.

‘Sounds like I’ll have to start again.’

‘I’ve to get back to work now, but I can drop by your house later this week so we can plan it, is that OK?’

Pause. ‘Tonight. Time is … of the … essence.’

I visit Bert’s house after work as promised. His carer shows me into the house, and I share the obligatory story that follows the observation of my crutches and cast, and I sit on a chair in the hallway, as if I’m in a waiting room while the family gathers in the living room. As was the case in my house during Gerry’s illness, it has been turned into a bedroom, so that Bert doesn’t have to go up and down the stairs. It meant that I could be with Gerry at all times, even when preparing the food that he inevitably wouldn’t eat, and he felt more connected to the world instead of hidden away in the bedroom, but he preferred to have a bath instead of the shower we installed downstairs. The bath was upstairs. We installed a stair chair. Gerry hated using it, but he hated leaning on me more and so he swallowed his pride. He would close his eyes and relax in the bath, while I sponge-cleaned him. Bathing him, holding him, drying him, dressing him, were some of the most intimate moments we ever had together.