Page 49 of On The Edge

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She held her mother's hand in hers. Her appearance was so different now, at the end. Her healthy, pale Celtic skin was now tinted a dull yellow, like marzipan. Her skin clung to bones, she had lost so much weight as the cancer ravished her body. Her breathing grew raspy, but her body tried to take in the oxygen, determined to continue living for as long as possible. Cat held onto her mother's hand, the one thing that remained familiar. Those hands had held her as a child, made jam with her on late summer afternoons, and cradled her face when she was upset. Those freckled hands were the last thing Cat remembered of her mother as she held onto them tightly, until the end, until there was no more of her left to hold onto.

Cat bought some flowers, and made her way to the graveyard that morning. She had no idea where her head had been at yesterday, coming down and secretly having dinner with Dave. She hated to think that, for a moment, she had wanted him back. She hadn’t been in her right mind. Thank god Dave saw she had been in a low place. He had protected her. And after leaving on good terms, she felt at peace, and what was more, happy for him. He had told her a little about Louise, and how they had met. Cat could see how different they both were now to when Dave first knew her. It was meant to be; Dave had found his path, but Cat knew she was still to find hers.

The sun cast its warm morning light onto the icy graveyard, bringing another new day to that place of constant death. Cat walked by the familiar graves until she came to her mother’s:

Here rests Mary MacGregor

Loving daughter, and beloved mother

Dearly missed

Cat thought of all the words she had wanted to say to capture her mother’s life, much more than what had ended up on that small gravestone. It hurt her still that her mum would never see certain moments of her life. If she ever got married, had a baby, none of them would know her mother, Mary. Cat cleaned the grave a little, lay down the fresh flowers, and rubbed away the moss that was starting to grow on the stone edges. She cried for her mother in that quiet tranquil space, breathing deeply, and allowing the sorrow to seep in.

A hand touched her shoulder, accompanied by a familiar voice: “I’m sure she’s proud of you, lass,” said Billy. “Anyone would be proud to have you as a daughter.”

Cat turned around to see Billy and Jess each holding a bunch of flowers. Cat cried harder, too much in pain to be surprised, and let them take her heavy burden.

“It’s OK,” Billy murmured, gently hugging her. “We’re here. We’ve got you.”

Jess rubbed her friend’s back, until Cat’s sobs steadied, and gradually her breathing slowed.

Billy and Jess laid a large bouquet of lilies, and one of daises next to the flowers Cat had brought. Billy wore a smart tweed suit, and Jess had her hair tied up in her usual 1950s flowery scarf, above a long black coat.

“Daises were her favourite...?” Cat said to Billy, confused.

“I know, you told me.” He smiled.

Cat couldn’t remember any discussion of her mother’s favourite flowers.

“You speak of her often.” Billy patted her hand gently as Jess nodded.

“Oh...” Cat was lost for words. “I didn’t realise I really spoke of her at all.”

Jess smiled at her “Of course you do, and so you should. She was your mother.” Jess looked sadly on the grave. “I wish I had met her. She sounded very interested in art and I think she would be so happy for you and the life you’ve created, Cat.”

Cat looked down at the small chipped words on the grave that summed up her mum’s life of fifty short years.

“I just don’t want to leave her here,” she breathed, “If I move on, then she gets lost, or left behind.”

Jess handed her another tissue. “But she’s with you Cat. That’s what I believe anyway. She may have gone from this world, but she’s in a happy place – just, somewhere else now. And a part of her will always be with you. I’m sure she wouldn’t want you to feel stuck because of her.”

Cat couldn’t put into words how she felt, but standing there with the people that she loved, opening her heart to them and letting them love her, helped more than she could have imagined, and she felt stronger for it.

They stood there for a time, Cat relaxing and consciously speaking more of her mother than she ever had done before. She adjusted the flowers on the grave. “I love you, mum.” She sighed with a deep feeling of gratitude as she looked at her friends standing either side of her around the grave. “Thank you both for coming. But how did you know where I was, I never told anyone?” Billy and Jess looked at each other sheepishly.

“Well, the postwoman said you weren’t in your cottage. She told Monique, who told a few people at the bakery, which included Mrs White. Then Mrs. White came into the gallery and mentioned it to me...” Jess ran through the subsequent events at rapid speed.

“Jeez, that bloody island! Nothing is a secret!” Cat shook her head in amazement.

“But you love it!” Jess chimed in.

“I do!”

That afternoon they planned to go for a coffee; Cat took them to her old haunt, the Irish pub, which was warm and welcoming. She waved to the barman who recognised her.

“Well well! How are you, haven’t seen you in ages!”