I likened being in remission from cancer to a soldier returning home from war. You put your life on the line to fight an unseen enemy that wants to kill you. Then, if you’re lucky enough to return in one piece, it can be a struggle to find your place in the world you left behind.
While I’d been at battle, everyone else had simply gotten on with their lives. Selena ran my businesses more than competently; the kids returned to work and no longer worried about me on a daily basis. In short, nothing had changed, except for me. I was restless. I’d accomplished so much and was ready to share it with someone else. And Dr Edward Lewis was the someone who wanted to come along for the ride.
The day he told me my radiotherapy had been successful, I’d asked him to join me for dinner.
‘You must have received plenty of offers from single women,’ I asked over our meal at a posh fish restaurant in town.
‘I suppose so, and not all of them single.’ He blushed. ‘But I usually politely decline.’
‘Should I be flattered then?’
He smiled. ‘Actually, I’ve had no interest in meeting anyone, even platonically. I felt blessed to have had twenty-seven years married to a wonderful woman, and probably didn’t deserve a second chance.’
‘If I’ve learned anything in life, it’s that we’re all entitled to a second chance. Why did you change your mind?’
‘Not once during your treatment did I hear you feeling sorry for yourself. You showed strength and courage and I could see what a good person you were by how much your children adored you.’
‘Oh, I had my moments.’
‘We all have our moments. But you and I don’t give in to them for long.’
Hook, line and sinker, I fell for Edward. Our fledgling courtship went from back to front. He’d already seen me feeling my worst, looking my least attractive and knocking on death’s door. Yet it hadn’t put him off.
Gradually our dinner dates became more frequent, and any time we spent apart, I wanted to be near him. He was charming, attentive and had a sense of adventure and spontaneity. He made me feel like I carried no baggage and, like me, he discovered he enjoyed having a companion.
His late wife, Pamela, had died suddenly of a heart attack six years earlier, and he’d taken awkwardly to life as a widower. He was bitter they’d been robbed of an early retirement together, making up for the years they were separated by his work while she raised their sons Richard and Patrick. With one studying economics at Cambridge and the other working in finance in the Netherlands, he admitted his days were too long as an ‘only’. I knew how that felt. I’d lived it for twenty-four years.
I reintroduced him to my children, but this time as Edward and not as Dr Lewis. And slowly our families integrated, as he became a regular fixture around our dining table.
He’d brought me back to life not once, but twice.
19 December
A dark-grey car with tinted windows and a lot of doors pulled up outside the cottage six days before Christmas. A firm rap at the front door made the ivy wreath shudder. Before me, a young uniformed driver with a grey peaked cap clutched tightly under his arm handed me an envelope.
Your suitcase is under the bed, a note in Edward’s handwriting read. Pack enough warm clothes for a week. You only have thirty minutes. All my love, Edward.
‘Where am I going?’ I asked the driver, bemused.
‘I’m not at liberty to say, madam.’ He smiled. ‘But I’m under strict instructions to get you there on time.’
My work and family had made me an expert in timetable juggling and forward planning, so spontaneity wasn’t something I was entirely used to until Edward came along. Whether it was supper on a hired canal boat or golfing lessons at Gleneagles, he loved his little last-minute surprises. So as I scrambled around for suitable clothes, I texted Emily to warn her I was off on another of Edward’s jollies.
An hour and a half later, we pulled up outside Heathrow’s Terminal 4. Edward stood waiting for me with his suitcase by the revolving doors. He grinned.
‘Where are we going then?’ I asked.
‘To see Holly,’ he replied, and pointed to the destination board. When I realised where we were headed, I threw my arms around him like a child meeting Father Christmas for the first time.
I’d wanted to visit New York ever since I was a little girl. Breakfast at Tiffany’s was the only film Mum had ever taken me to and I’d watched it a dozen times since. I grew up wishing I could have Holly Golightly’s carefree life, instead of the glum one my parents had thrown at me.
My friends’ bedroom walls were plastered with posters of The Beatles and Elvis, but mine were decorated with black-and-white postcards of Audrey Hepburn. I’d pretend she was my long-lost big sister, and while I followed her every move in the newspapers, Mum found inspiration in her wardrobe.
Looking back on it, I’m sure people must have laughed behind my mum’s back as she sauntered through the village wearing her designer scarves and stylish hats even at the height of summer. But she didn’t care, and it was one of the few things about her I actually admired. Audrey offered us both an escape.
And whether it was because Breakfast at Tiffany’s was the only piece of herself Mum had ever given away, or the lure of a magical city across the pond that had more love to offer than my parents, New York was a place I’d fantasised about most of my life.
I’d never found the time to go, or maybe I was just scared it might not live up to my expectations as a little girl. But Edward never accepted a packed diary or the fear of disappointment as excuses for not following a dream.
After landing and checking into our hotel, we’d not even had time to unpack before Edward whisked me off to Fifth Avenue’s Tiffany & Co. It was every bit as timeless as I’d imagined it. I didn’t think my day could be any more perfect until I peered into glass counters and tried on sparkling bracelets and necklaces displayed in boxes as blue as a robin’s egg. I grinned at a framed photograph of Audrey hanging from the wall on the second floor. I was in my element, but typically, Edward found a way of making it even better.
He ushered me into the centre of the shop floor, held both my hands and cleared his throat as the room hushed.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked, feeling my face redden.
‘I never thought I’d ever ask this question again. But, Catherine, will you do me the honour of being my wife?’
My eyes opened so wide I thought they might pop. ‘Yes, of course,’ I sobbed as staff and customers began a ripple of applause around us.
‘We are ready for you, Dr Lewis,’ smiled a manager in a smart tailored suit, and he led us upstairs into a private viewing room. Row after row of twinkling rings had been laid before us on dark cushions like stars across our own private universe.
‘I don’t believe in long engagements, so why don’t you choose your wedding ring instead?’ suggested Edward.