Unhedged Futures

F.I.R.E. It’s always at the back of my mind, even when absent-mindedly fiddling with the hole in my much-loved cardigan, and distractedly tapping my feet on the hardwood floor.

“Can you please stop the tapping? It’s so irritating.” broke in Flo’s voice. "Isn't it amazing? I saw it and had to have it” she squealed, admiring herself in the mirror. “It’s perfect for my trip to the Alps. You know I hate to be cold.” That’s something we still have in common. I’m sure I spent more time hugging my hot-water bottle than I have hugging all people combined.

“If you don’t want to be cold, maybe don’t go somewhere that's…well… really cold!” I snarked

“If you agreed to have some fun for once, you would understand. Winding down the slopes, sun on your face, surrounded by freezing air but wrapped up warm, topping-up your energy with glasses of spiced mulled wine or thick hot chocolate, followed by warm fries smothered in mayo and ketchup.” Taking a pause she concluded with a laugh, “The apres-ski might be even better than skiing!”

“You can get mulled wine and hot chocolate here you know? Why go abroad 100 times a year?”

“You sound like our parents. Stop exaggerating” said Flo, rolling her eyes in the mirror.

“Sorry, my mistake. Just 87 times a year”

“Ha ha” laughed sarcastically. “You used to be more fun.”

“Who will be having more fun in 2 years, when one of us is retired, and the other is slogging away at a soul-sucking job?” I said, raising my eyebrows knowingly.

“Ergh… F.I.R.E again. What does it stand for? Fun-sucking Idiots Reject Entertainment?” she mocked. Eyes flicking towards our old family photo of Mum, Dad and us two at the local beach she added “I have a good job and money now. I can splash out a bit.” Seeing my head move in the mirror, she sighed “Don’t shake your head at me!” I pretend like it didn’t happen.

“It means ‘Financial Independence, Retire Early’.”

“Retirement? We are only 33.”

“Retirement can be closer for those smart with money”

“We will have to agree to disagree what being ‘smart with money’ means.” returning to admiring her coat, as I rub my temples in an effort to stave off a brewing headache.

People don’t believe we are twins, especially nowadays. It happens a lot with fraternal twins. Flo has her blonde hair fashionably in a pixie, whereas my strawberry-blonde waves are in a loose, low-maintenance, shoulder-length bob. We were more alike as kids. Flo was my shadow in matching clothes. Although that wasn’t our choice. Mum found a couple nearby who had older twin girls and got their hand-me-downs. I just hope our knickers were new (second-hand undies would be too far!) It wasn’t all bad, but I swear the mustard-yellow cardigan had little bugs in it! I felt like I was always getting bitten and crawled on. I tried to ‘lose’ it several times, but Mum was dogged in reclaiming lost things. It was her superpower.Budgeting is her other one- something I admire more nowadays. However many times we begged to try on the ruffled skirts, sequined tops, or whatever the current fashion was, she never relented. I don’t buy new, fashionable clothes. But it’s my decision. And I know why I am making it. It was a similar story buying glasses. Looking at all the glasses on display in the opticians, catching the light like jewels, my heart ached for the Lion King themed glasses with Nala and Simba on each arm. Leading us over to the shelves in the corner, Mum however always pointed to the frames with the NHS stickers on. She wasn’t prepared to fork-out for what she could get for free. I can’t get free glasses now, and since they are on my face all day everyday, I don’t limit myself to the absolute cheapest. Just the cheapest ones I actually like. Considering the cost per minute of use, they are still excellent value. Our glasses led to namecalling like ‘four eyes’, ‘boff’ and ‘geek’ ( this was before geek-sheek came in). Dad tried to convince us glasses were cool and made you cleverer. Flo didn’t care. She repeatedly told her teachers she lost them, and that her eye-sight was miraculously improved.. Thinking of my dad’s words, I touch my glasses with a sad smile, holding the arm tightly, like I used to clutch onto his arm. I make a note in my phone to check if my prescription is correct. These headaches are suggesting it’s not.

Walking home, a desk on the pavement has a sign saying ‘take me- I am free!’ Perfect! Lazy people like this make my goal of saving the majority of my salary much easier. One of my housemates, Steve, consistently saves 72% of his paycheck! If I can upcycle and flip this desk I could invest a few hundred more this month. People in posher neighbourhoods put perfectly good items out on the street. Madness. Don’t they realise what it’s worth? Flo doesn’t exactly fit in here. She isn’t throwing out perfectly good furniture. But she insisted the flats were amazing and she can’t put a price on being comfortable at home. I however, believe the price is reflected in my investment portfolio gains (that she doesn’t have). The earlier you invest, the more free money you make over time. Living in a shared house means I can save 500 extra pounds a month! In 2-3 years, I will be giving in my notice at my job, pulling 3-4% from my investments and living my best retired life. Who wants to retire at 67? Let's be honest, retirement age will probably be raised to 70 by the time I get there. Now I’m in control. Yes, it means I buy pre-loved clothes, cheap glasses, and take small holidays nearby, all the things I hated as a kid, but now it's my choice. I will have a freer future. I can pick and choose projects I want to work on, I can travel (not skiing), but maybe somewhere cheap, like Bosnia and Herzegovina, where my money will stretch a lot further. And a cup of coffee out will cost one quid and come with a side of rahat lokum. Life is going to be sweet!

Stopping for a rest, I look out at the open sea, intimidating and filled with power. Equally, I love the rhythmic waves. My headache seems to lessen. We spent so much time at the seaside as kids. I hear my Mum’s voice, “why pay to go to the beach in Spain when we have a perfectly good beach here?’” Dad wasn’t fussed, he just loved the water. He always had energy for swimming, regardless of his moods. I haven’t been in since he had his last swim. Not for years. Not anymore. Flo and I called him ‘Daddy Dolphin’, squealing as he splashed around, pretending to take us for rides, just like at the resorts when ill children dreaming of swimming with dolphins get their wish. Mum hissed like a cat when Dad treated us to both chips and ice creams. I must get my budgeting skills from her. The difference is, I started early, first saving, but then investing and soon compound interest became my new best friend. So did Steve. I met him at a free investing workshop and he enlightened me regarding the F.I.R.E movement. My parents weren’t shunning holidays abroad, takeaways and music lessons for a freer future. They were just doing it to survive month to month. Living paycheck to paycheck is not freedom. And it’s not what I want. My head jerks,so I wrap my scarf tighter around myself breathing the salty air, looking forward to my future.

As I struggle with the desk, my mind drifts back. We were seven. Flo and I played in our room waiting for Dad to return from his Saturday morning swim. Hearing the door bell, we snuck out our room like spies. Tiptoeing down the wooden stairs, accidentally touching the creaky step, we hastily shushed each other in fits of giggles. Two men in uniform stood somberly in the doorway. Speaking in a low, serious voice to Mum, her still holding onto the inside door handle, Mum sank to the floor with a wail. The giggling stopped. That’s the day our Dad passed away. How could he drown? He was such a strong swimmer. Ultimately, his death was declared an accident. Although he loved it, Dad constantly reminded us of the dangers of the sea. “Currents can pull you under when you least expect it. Or you can get a cramp. Don’t presume to think you can keep control in the power of the sea.”

Finally arriving at my building, I call Steve to help me get the desk upstairs. I don’t need to cause a near-death experience again like I did for our downstairs neighbour with the falling bookcase last week. Sweating slightly, I try to unzip my coat, swearing as it gets stuck. “You took your time” I snapped as Steve finally appeared.

“Oi. This is free muscle. Be nice.” he said, flexing his arms. Appraising the desk he said ‘Nice find!’

“Thanks. After work tomorrow, I am going to go to the Hub and rent the sander, so I can start fixing it up. I reckon I could get 200 quid for it.”

“Hope you aren’t forgetting something” Steve teased. Seeing my blank look he said, “You agreed to help me with that painting job, remember? I’m giving you half the cash. It will take two people to get it done in time.”

“Oh yeah… Of course. Maybe we will have time to make it to the hub on the way home then.” Steve looked uncertainly at me, like he had words on the end of his tongue that he wasn’t sure to share.

“Get off my back, would ya. It’s been a long week and I have just been listening to Flo yapping away about her holiday to flippin' Alps.”. Steve was quiet for a long moment.

“You don’t need to be so prickly Robyn.”

“Sorry” I sigh, “Can we just get upstairs so I can get to sleep. I think this cold wind is bringing on a headache. Looking more sympathetic, we heaved the desk to the doorway.

“Be careful tomorrow, yeah? I still haven’t forgotten spending 4 hours in the emergency room after your last tool disaster, you clumsy cow.” I don’t reply as we struggle up the stairs.

I’ve actually done it! Thirty-five years old and retired. Yes I missed some family holidays, weekend trips with friends, brand new clothes and trips to Ikea, but most people work for forty-five years, or more, and I am done in less than half that. Hello freedom! Letting out a long, slow breath, I smile as I continue displaying my birthday cards. A waste of money, but a nice thought I guess. One slips from my grasp as Steve enters the room, picking it up nimbly as he passes and putting it back in my hand.

“Hey, are these yours, birthday girl?”says Steve, holding out a bundle of papers from the table. My face tightens, sensing judgement from him.

“I was about to tidy it.”

“All good. I just want to prep my lunch on this table quickly. What is all that?” he gestures at the pile.

“Some stuff Mum asked me to sort out. Now she is moving to a smaller place she needs to sort through the junk. Since I am retired now she figures I have time to help her.Not exactly how I thought I would be spending my new freedom.” I grimace. “I will go through it in a minute and get it done.”

That's when I found it. Tucked in with old documents, photos and miscellaneous correspondence. It was a letter addressed to ‘My Darling Girls’. The loopy writing looked familiar. Writing I had seen before... I looked carefully, feeling through my memories. Dad. It's the same loopy ‘y’ he used to write when spelling my name. How long has this letter been here? Why would it be in this pile? Why would he have written us a letter at all? We all lived together. What would he have to say that makes more sense being passed on in a letter rather than face-to-face? Maybe it was part of a game, like the written clues we used to do around Easter, to make a game of finding our Easter chocolate. But why would he address it as ‘My Darling Girls’? Maybe Mum left it there on purpose, as a birthday surprise, a special message from Dad. But then wouldn’t she have given it to me and Flo together? Unless… My heart clenched in my chest as the possibility crossed my mind. Why do people write notes and leave them for their family? When they know they won’t be able to talk to them in person. With a shaking hand I flipped over the envelope and saw a small note in the top right corner saying ‘Once you know something, you can’t unknow it. Think carefully if you want to open this. I love you all’. Should I call Mum, or Flo and open it with them? Or maybe we shouldn’t open it at all. I could set it on fire so none of us ever read it. Dad clearly wasn’t sure if we should. But this is his last message to us. How can I ignore hearing his voice again, even if only in writing? Maybe I can open it and then see if I should share the contents Flo. Mum might have already read it.

I have to know.

The papercut from opening the letter doesn’t bother me. Opening the page I read:

My darling girls,

I have gone back and forth on whether I should write you this. I have hidden this letter in the hope that you won’t find it for a long time, or maybe it’s best if you never see it. It’s in fate’s hands now. Marie, my love, if you find this letter first, you must decide whether to share it with our daughters or not.

I am going out swimming today, for the last time. Sorry for putting you through this. Not just losing your father and husband, but for what you may have to live with as you grow older. I thought if I ignored this, it wouldn’t affect me, and it wouldn’t affect you, my daughters. But doing that was the most selfish thing I have ever done. And leaving you, Marie, alone to care for our girls and me, you deserve so much better. I can’t live with that.

Robyn and Florence, having you girls was the brightness in my life, having my own family after struggling to find my family since childhood. But having you has also been a darkness. How could I have you, knowing what you might suffer. A few years before you were born, I found out a genetic disorder ran in my family from my birth mum. I pushed the knowledge down, but I couldn’t bury it completely. A few months ago, I decided to take a test to find out if I carry the gene mutation, to put my mind at rest. However, it did the opposite. I have Huntington’s and there is a 50% chance that each of you will have it too. And now I start to see the symptoms ´progressing. How could I be so selfish? You will lose me anyway to this disease, so it’s better I go now before you see my decline and have to care for me. I don’t want to be a burden on either of you or your mum. And my last thought as I swim out to see will be of you all, and my prayer that neither of you will inherit this blight and, maybe, you can even be ignorant that it is even a risk you have.

All my love,

Dad

My breath catches in my lungs. “He did it on purpose.” I stammer to myself. Staggering to a chair, I sit and grab my phone with a racing heart, typing ‘Huntington’s symptoms’, pausing before hitting search. Did I want to know? Should I tell Mum? And what about Flo. Can I keep this a secret? My life of freedom was just about to start. But maybe I will be a slave to whatever this disease does to my mind or bodyThere is still a chance I don’t have it. Did Dad have strange symptoms? I try to think back and remember, but I was so young, and parents don’t often let you see their weaknesses. If I press this search button, will I see these symptoms in myself even if they aren’t there? Or maybe I will start seeing them in Flo, knowing what they mean. Is that knowledge I want to have? What about Bosnia, cheap coffee and rahat lokum? What about the control I wanted over my time and choices? What have I been saving for-an uncontrollable descent into illness? If I do a test and find out I have it, then I have spent my young, healthy years forgoing meals, trips, gadgets, privacy and convenience, all in the mistaken belief that it would be worth it when I retire early. I wasted all those years! Maybe Flo has it right. Even if she has the disease, at least she has so many memories and experiences to look back on. What do I have? I don’t hate the life I chose, but I can’t help feeling like I made sacrifices in pursuit of a better, freer future that was never guaranteed. I slip sideways off my chair as everything goes black.