Chapter 16
As before, the next day dawned bright and sunny. This was now the fifth day since his arrival. Surely he would be allowed to see her today, right?
He dressed quickly, making sure to appear a little smarter than his usual clothes. In place of his normal red hoodie and jeans, he had decided to wear a chequered shirt and a pair of pressed trousers than Francis had bought him. They felt a little tight and different to his comfy denim, but he decided in this case appearances were definitely more important than comfort.
It seemed he had made the right choice, as Francis gave him an approving smile when he got to the table for breakfast. He smiled back tentatively, his eyes questioning. Discreetly, Francis waved a hand at him. Wait and see. Matthew nodded imperceptibly.
He slid into the seat next to Michelle, who was up early for once. "What was that about?" she asked, smiling.
Matthew shot a glance to Francis, who bowed his head, indicating that it was alright to tell her.
"I've been hoping to talk to our grandmother, but she apparently keeps saying she doesn't want to see me. So I'm hoping today she'll be feeling well enough to want to talk."
Michelle nodded. "I see. Grandmamma has good days and bad days. I think she was so worried and excited for you to come that now you are here she is, umm, worked up? Is that what you call it?"
Matthew nodded. "I understand. I don't mind. I'll wait as long as it takes."
They finished breakfast, chatting aimlessly. Francis sat opposite them, sipping a cup of coffee and occasionally replying or commenting.
Matthew couldn't help staring at the clock. Nine o'clock passed, then ten. The huge grandfather clock in the hall chimed the hour, each ringing throughout the house.
The doctor came just after the clock had chimed 11. Michelle had taken Matthew out of the house to stop him worrying. All he saw was a tall back and dark hair as the man entered the house.
They spent the next hour wandering around the garden, going down to the lake again and paddling in the soft sand at the edge. Neither of them spoke much, both caught up in their own thoughts.
They crept back into the house when hunger forced them to, just as the clock was striking midday. As before, they sat at the table quietly, barely speaking. Both were listening hard for any sounds that could give a hint as to what was going on upstairs.
The doctor came back down at half past twelve. They heard Francis talking to him quietly, then the sound of the door closing. They held their breath, waiting until the sound of the car drawing away had fully faded.
Francis came through into the kitchen, running a hand through his hair distractedly. He didn't seem to notice the two teens staring at him worriedly.
Matthew was the one to break the silence. "Papa?" he asked, his voice tentative.
Francis looked over at them, his face surprised. "Oh, Matthieu, Michelle." He took a deep breath. "I suppose you have been waiting for the news, yes?"
They simply stared back at him, waiting. He sighed.
"I cannot really say much. She is much the same. The prognosis has not changed."
He looked at them both seriously. "I will not soften this for you both. She is dying. But you knew this. It is only a matter of time. We can do what we can, obviously, but even with medicine the most we can do is make her comfortable and keep her as happy as possible. It-it will not be long now, I think."
He turned away from them for a moment. Michelle's hand reached out slowly, gripping Matthew's, who clutched hers tightly. Somehow, seeing Francis lose his composure suddenly made it all the more real, in the way that an adult's tears always scared a child. They shot a glance at each other.
Michelle's eyes were bright with tears, but she tried not to show it. "H-how long?" she whispered.
Francis turned back to them, trying to keep his face smooth. "A month, two perhaps. That is all." He swallowed harshly. "I believe she was waiting for Mattieu, as I told him last night. She loves you both very much."
He looked to his son, his gaze boring into Matthew. "She wants to see you."
Matthew stared back at him, not quite believing. "Really?"
Francis nodded. "Oui. Wait a few hours, until she has eaten and rested. I expect she will call for you at around 3 o'clock."
Matthew nodded, dazed. He smiled slightly, relieved. Michelle clutched his hand tightly, then hugged him. They stood for a moment, Francis walking over and wrapping his arms around them both. A single tear ran down his cheek, but he made sure to hide it from the two. They did not need to see that, after all. He had to be strong, for them.
Matthew spent the next few hours in a daze. He tried to read, play a few games on his phone, but couldn't make his attention stay on anything. Time seemed to drag on, stretched out in the way it always seemed to when waiting for something. Eventually, however, Francis showed up at his room.
"She is ready now. Come on, quickly."
Matthew stood up hurriedly, smoothing his shirt down and running a comb through his hair. "Do I look alright?" he asked worriedly.
Francis smiled softly. "Of course. There is no need to worry. You look wonderful. Now, let's go."
Francis led him to her wing of the house, an area he had left out when giving Matthew the original tour.
He was shown into a small room. He could immediately tell it was hers, from the patterned wallpaper to the jar of roses on the dressing table, the scent filling the room with a gentle perfume. The windows were open a little, just enough to let a hint of the summer breeze into the room for a breath of air.
His grandmother was sitting in a chair facing the window, allowing her to look out over the garden. Francis led him forward, a steadying hand on his back.
"Maman. He is here. Matthieu, this is your grandmother."
Matthew stepped forward to stand in front of her, his hands twisting together nervously. Then he looked into her face, and all his worries fell away.
Even with the illness, her beauty was still apparent. The soft lines and wrinkles of her face did not detract from her stature, but added a wonderful sense of having lived, of a life of love and laughter. There was a certain strength that showed she would have been a formidable woman in her youth, and that strength was no less diminished now.
She was dressed in an elegant skirt and cardigan, a light blanket arranged delicately over her legs to ward off any chill. Although thin, she still sat tall and straight, her manner proud and elegant. Matthew could see her as she was then, willowy and slender, the same figure he saw in Francis.
She returned his gaze with an equally strong one of her own, taking in every detail of his face. They stared at each other for a long moment. Her eyes darted between him and Francis, comparing them. Eventually, she smiled, her face lighting up.
"You are definitely one of us" she said, her voice heavily accented. "You must forgive me, my English is a little rusty."
Matthew shook his head. "No, it's fine. I'm sorry I don't speak much French. Michelle is teaching me, and Papa."
She smiled. "Michelle is such a good girl. But this is about you. Come, come forward. Let me see you."
Matthew stepped closer, then, drawn forward, knelt down in front of her. She reached out to him, and he closed the distance, allowing her to take his hands. She stroked her thin, pale fingers along the back of his hands.
One hand reached up slowly, shakily, to run along his cheek. He couldn't stop a tear running down his cheek, and she shushed him.
"Oh, no, don't cry. Don't cry. You are so handsome, Matthieu. You have grown up so well. I could not have asked for more in my only grandson."
Matthew smiled through his tears. "I'm very happy to see you, too, Grandmother."
She made a sound of annoyance. "Please, darling, not so stuffy. Call me Grandmamma, like Michelle does. Or I think you say Grandma, nanny maybe?"
"Grandmamma." Matthew tried to say it the way Michelle did, rolling the sound softly. It was obviously right, as she laughed softly.
"That is better. Oh, Francis, why did you keep him from me for so long?"
Francis opened his mouth to reply, stepping forward, but she waved him away. "I do not want an answer. I do not blame you, you had your reasons. At least I am getting to meet you now. Come, tell me everything. What is America like? I should have liked to visit, you know, but somehow we never found the time. I want to know everything about you."
Matthew gladly complied, telling her everything of his life, his childhood with Alfred and their mother, then the move to England when they were little. He told her about the team, about Feliciano and Lovino and everyone else. He left out the details of Lovino's troubles at school, simply saying that he was less open than this brother (which was perfectly true, after all).
They talked for hours, Francis translating occasionally when needed. Soon, however, she began to tire, her voice becoming rough and hoarse. Matthew stopped speaking, realising that she was tiring and needed rest.
"Come here, Matthieu" she said. He leant forward, and she reached out slowly to embrace him.
He leant into the embrace. Weak though her hold was, he could tell that she was trying to convey all her love for him, making up for all the years they had missed together. He felt tears come to his eyes, his mind flashing with images of how it would have been to grow up here. Every hug, every touch, every little comfort for pain or tears. He hugged her back tightly, but carefully.
Francis made sure she didn't need anything, then ushered him out.
"She will sleep now. You have made her very happy, Matthieu. Thank you."
Matthew smiled, a tear running down his face. He wiped it away with his sleeve. "I'm just glad I got to talk to her for so long."
Francis smiled at him, giving him a quick hug. "You have made such a difference simply by being here, I know that. The next few weeks will not be easy on you, I fear. Just…do your best, mon petit. That is all any of us can do."
Matthew took his father's words to heart. It seemed that with that first meeting, all awkwardness had fallen away. He spent many hours with his grandmother, pouring over her many photo albums. Most were of her, the family, the house, Paris and its' landmarks, as well as newer collections of his cousins; at school, graduations and family visits.
To his utter shock, she also had a few pictures of his mother. Some were of her and Francis, pictures from their wedding, as well as of their first year together. Then, tucked away with all the rest, were a collection of pictures that rendered him speechless.
There, in grainy, small polaroid, were his parents. Young, happy, besotted with each other. And with him. One, a tiny baby, the back labelled as being the day he was brought home from the hospital. Another, a few months old, cradled in his mother's arms. She was beaming with happiness, laughing down at him with a mother's love. More of him with both his mother and Francis, of being carried, then beginning to smile, to crawl, and eventually, to walk.
But it was not that that made his breath catch in his throat.
Tucked among all the others was a strip, showing stills taken from a home video.
He was sitting at a table with his parents, one on either side. A cake sat on the table in front of them, a single candle pressed in the middle. His small, childish face was drawn in fierce concentration as he blew it out. In the next, he was looking up at his mother, his face alight with joy. Next to that, they hugged him tightly, all three of the caught in a moment of perfect happiness.
He turned it over, his hand shaking slightly. There, in perfect handwriting, were the words Matthew's first birthday. Our little boy, a whole year old!
A selection of cards accompanied the photos. He looked through them all, scanning each one eagerly. Many were from family and friends, each wishing him a happy birthday, some with little messages of love or jokes.
He got to the last of the pile. There, preserved in its' own laminated pocket, was a small, handmade card. It was red, decorated with a cut-out of a teddy bear holding a large candle 1. The bear had a speech bubble coming out of its' mouth, proclaiming a Happy Birthday! In large bubble letters.
He opened it with shaking hands. The card was filled with her writing, small, curved and perfect.
My darling Matthew,
Happy birthday! You are now a whole year old. Where on earth has the time gone? It seems that only yesterday I held you in my arms for the first time. So much has happened this year! It has been, without doubt, the best year of my life. You are my perfect little boy, and I cannot describe how much I love you. You have grown so much during this year, and learnt so much. I have seen you begin to crawl, walk and even start to talk! Your first word was papa, by the way. Not mama, but I don't mind. Your daddy is so handsome, I'm glad you love him just as much as I do! He is reading this over my shoulder, and talking to you in a silly voice. He's a silly papa, isn't he? Ah, there, see, you giggled at him. Yes, silly papa! But perfect all the same. Our perfect little family.
I love you so much, Matthew. Once again, Happy birthday. One down, and many, many more to go! I can only hope we spend all of them as happily as we have this one.
From mama and Papa, who love you so very, very, very much.
Matthew was silent for a long time after reading the last words. He barely noticed the tears streaming down his cheeks.
His grandmother reached across the table they sat at, gripping his hand with surprising strength.
"She loved you so very much, Matthieu. Never forget that."
He couldn't help a sobbing laugh. "I know. It's just…" he shook his head, unable to find the words. Instead, he stood up, walking over to her and kneeling down. He drew his arms around her, burying his face in her lap.
"Thank you. thank you so much, grandmamma."
She stroked his hair softly. "It is nothing. They belong to you, after all."
He raised his head, his face incredulous. "What?"
She laughed softly, sadly. "I want you to have them now. I wanted you to see them now, while we are together. I did not want to wait until I am gone."
She picked up one of the pictures. Francis was obviously the photographer.
Madeline was laughing at the camera, her face young and bright with happiness. She had a bright red scarf around her neck, and a matching bobble hat covering her long hair, a little curlier than his own, and a shade redder.
"She was so beautiful. I only met her once, at the wedding. She was so lovely, so sweet. I was so worried when Francis told me had met a girl he wished to marry. I wondered for so long, what would she be like? Would she be good enough? Would she make him happy? And then he showed me this picture of her, and I knew. I knew she would be perfect for him. And she was."
A single tear fell down her cheek, landing on Matthew's soft hair.
By some remarkable coincidence, Francis chose that moment to enter the room, carrying a tray of drinks and snacks. His gaze went immediately to the pictures and cards strewn across the table. He saw what Matthew held so carefully in his hands, and he could not stop the tears form forming in his eyes. Matthew looked up at him, his own eyes bright.
"I wish I could have known her" he said.
"I know" Francis replied. "So do I."
He set the tray down carefully, and walked over, embracing them both. "I love you so very, very much."
"I love you too, Papa. Grandmamma. I love you." He could not say it enough. The words hung in the room, and for a moment he could pretend that his mother was there too, completing the family.
They sat like that for a while, grandmother, son and grandson simply sharing in each other's company. The weight of what was to come sat heavy in the air, and yet for this moment, it was forgotten. They were here, and they were together. For how long did not matter.