Beneath the Distant Star

by Lisa Shambrook

  Jasmine’s smile faded as she gazed. The sky paled as the sun lowered, and suddenly it was the same colour as Jasmine’s blue teddy bear. She swallowed hard as the teddy in the clouds scattered into a haze of smaller clouds.

  Purple Ted sat on Mum’s pillow. Where was her Blue Ted? She’d outgrown him a few years ago, a good few years ago. At first he’d remained at home, on her bed, snuggling down every night beneath the duvet with her, but when she passed eleven, maybe twelve, he’d been discarded. She knew he didn’t live in the boxes beneath her bed, and he wasn’t on show anywhere. She vaguely remembered Mum taking him away. So where was he, and why didn’t he live on Mum’s pillow like Purple Ted?

  The chilly atmosphere spread beyond the house when Jasmine finally came down for breakfast the next morning.

  “Where’s Dad?” she asked.

  “Popped out for a bit,” replied Mum, glancing nervously at her daughter.

  Jasmine evaded her mother and moved into the kitchen. She scouted around in the cupboards but couldn’t decide what to eat. She ducked back to the dining room door. Mum sat in the lounge, flicking through a magazine. As Jasmine peered round the door she looked up and tried to sweeten her guarded expression with a smile.

  “Where did Dad go?” Jasmine asked.

  “Just out…”

  Jasmine caught the hesitation in her voice, “Where? I know he’s not working this early.”

  Mum swallowed and closed the magazine.

  “What’s happened?” Jasmine frowned. “Where is he?”

  “He’s gone over to Pete’s.”

  “Why?”

  “Joan Hillman got taken into hospital last night. Pete wanted Dad to go with him to see her,” Mum told her.

  “Why Dad? Why not Jen?” Jasmine shrugged her shoulders.

  “Jen’s got her hands full with the children. Pete’s been up at the hospital all night, so Dad’s gone to see what he can do.” Mum kept her gaze on Jasmine.

  “Dad’s like that,” she said with a quick smile, “all heart. How is she?”

  Mum’s smile faded. “Not good.” She shook her head.

  “What happened?”

  “I think she had another heart attack, in the early hours. She phoned Pete when she began having chest pains again. He went straight over and this morning he called Dad,” said Mum.

  “Is she..?”

  “I don’t know…”

  “Has Dad called? Does Thomas know?”

  “No, Dad hasn’t called yet, and I don’t know what they’ve told Thomas,” said Mum.

  “How long’s Dad been gone?”

  “He went about an hour ago.”

  Jasmine nodded as she leaned against the door. “I hope she’s going to be okay, otherwise Thomas will be devastated. She’s very old,” she added as she rolled around the door and back into the kitchen, but before she had a moment to do anything the telephone rang. She moved back to the door. Mum held the phone to her ear and nodded to Jasmine. “Joe?” She nodded again. “Okay…”

  Jasmine hated one-sided conversations. “What’s happened?” she hissed.

  Mum held up her hand and frowned.

  Jasmine shook her head impatiently as her mum acknowledged her father’s words. “So what will you do now?” she asked.

  Jasmine wandered into the lounge and perched on the arm of the sofa. Mum bit her lip and cast a quick glance at her daughter. “What happens next then? Will Pete arrange the funeral?”

  Jasmine drew in a sharp breath and her hands began to shake as Mum spoke softly. “Okay, okay, no I’ll do that. It’s fine. I’ll see you soon.”

  She put down the phone and glanced at Jasmine.

  “I heard,” said Jasmine.

  They both sat quietly, contemplating, and neither able to put their feelings into words. Finally, Jasmine spoke, “So when did she die?”

  “This morning. Pete got her in, but it was still too late, they tried everything they could to save her, but she had a massive heart attack. They didn’t think she’d live through the first, the second was too much,” said Mum.

  Jasmine nodded. “I saw her the other day…”

  “I know you did.”

  Jasmine raised her eyebrow. They sat in silence again until Jasmine looked at Mum and opened her mouth. “Will you go to the funeral?”

  Mum didn’t answer straight away. She gazed at the magazine on her lap and smoothed her hand across the front cover. “Probably not,” she finally said.

  “Why not?” asked Jasmine.

  “I don’t like funerals.” Her voice was guarded.

  “Have you ever been to one?” asked Jasmine. “Apart from Freya’s.”

  Mum looked up and met her daughter’s eye. She kept eye contact for a while as if to determine whether Jasmine was seriously interested. “Just two,” she replied. “Old Thomas and Grandpa. I’ve had my fill of funerals.”

  “But they weren’t long after Freya…”

  Mum chewed her lip and inhaled a measured breath.

  “Were they?” asked Jasmine.

  Mum shook her head. “So you can mention Freya, but I can’t?”

  Jasmine’s lip curled. “What?”

  “You can talk about Freya and it’s okay, but if I talk about her, it’s not?” Mum’s mouth was tight.

  Jasmine held up her hands. “I’m just trying to make conversation. I’m interested, after all someone just died, I think it’s okay to talk about funerals!”

  Mum shook her head. “I’m never allowed to mention her…”

  “It’s still always about you, isn’t it?” Jasmine jumped off the sofa’s arm. “I’m sorry, I’m just trying to understand, now seemed appropriate.” She shot a withering look at her mum. “Maybe going to another funeral might help, I don’t know? Maybe this one, Joan’s might help, because Joan was ready, she lived a long life, a very long life and was ready to go. Maybe it would help.”

  Jasmine didn’t even bother with breakfast and she retired back to her room with a scowl.

  ◆◆◆◆◆

  Later, when Carys sat on Jasmine’s mum’s lap and Danny huddled up against his father, Thomas and Jasmine escaped the heavy atmosphere and hurried across the field.

  “I’ve found another place,” said Jasmine, “shall we go there?”

  Thomas shook his head.

  “It’s really nice,” she said.

  “That’s what you said about the railway,” said Thomas. “I’m staying here.”

  They sat on the old oak bench and Jasmine glanced at her cousin.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  He nodded, but his red-rimmed eyes said differently.

  “Lots of people die,” said Jasmine.

  He nodded.

  “All the time, people die all the time,” she told him.

  “That doesn’t make it better.”

  “I’ve lost people, Grandpa, Freya…”

  “And you don’t remember either of those,” said Thomas flatly.

  She shrugged. “But they still died.”

  “And you don’t care…” said Thomas, and he was right.

  Mrs Scott?” asked an exuberant voice as Jasmine picked up the telephone on Monday morning.

  “No, it’s her daughter, she’s at work, can I take a message?” replied Jasmine.

  “Jasmine? Jasmine Scott?” he said.

  “Yes?” she hesitated as discomfort prickled her spine.

  “It’s you I’d like to talk to actually, Jasmine.” His voice rose and Jasmine swallowed hard. “I’m wondering if you’d like to talk about what happened down by the bridge on Saturday? Are you okay? Were you suicidal? What was troubling you?”

  Jasmine’s tongue stuck in her throat.

  He continued. “Are you being bullied at school, or are you bullying? I’ve spoken to a source who tells me you’ve been suspended from school, can you tell me why? I want to share your side of the story.”

  “Who are you?” Jasmine’s voice cracked.

  “Didn’t I
say? Oh, I’m sorry. I’m from the local paper. Can you tell me what happened on the bridge, Jasmine?”

  “Nothing happened!” she squeaked and slammed the phone down.

  Her hands shook and bile rose in her throat. The shrill ring of the phone echoed again as Jasmine stared at it. She reached out and but couldn’t bring herself to pick it up. His words still rang in her ears and after several more rings the phone was quiet. Then it began again. The noise of the phone carried throughout the house, echoing in every corner and Jasmine felt sobs rise with waves of nausea. She remained frozen then snatched her hand back and stepped away, sinking onto the sofa.

  The phone stopped ringing and as she stared the little green light on the phone began to flash. She picked up the handset and listened to the tone then slammed it back down, but the little green light still flashed insistently informing her of a voice message. She grabbed the handset again and dialled.

  “Can I speak to Mum, I mean Mrs Scott, please, please?” She wept. Tears now streamed down her cheeks and when she heard her mother’s voice, she allowed her sobs to escape.

  “What is it? Jasmine, what’s wrong?”

  Jasmine could barely speak, and Mum told her she was on her way home.

  Jasmine paced the lounge, trying to ignore the phone every time it rang. When Mum’s key scratched in the door, Jasmine hurried to let her in and Mum found herself enveloped in a hysterical hug.

  “I don’t know what to do! I don’t know what to do? They won’t leave me alone…” Jasmine garbled into her mum’s shoulder.

  “Who won’t leave you alone?” asked Mum, gently embracing her weeping child.

  The phone began to ring again and Jasmine leapt away pointing at the telephone. Mum picked up the receiver. “Hello?” she said guardedly. “No, this is not Jasmine, I’m her mother…you’re who? No we’re not doing any stories or interviews. This is a family matter and will stay that way. Goodbye.” She switched the phone off. “We’re leaving it off.” Mum bit her lip. “I wondered if there’d be more calls today.”

  “More?”

  “Yes, we had a few Saturday evening, they’re vultures.” Mum gazed out of the window.

  “They won’t come here? Will they?” asked Jasmine.

  Mum shook her head. “I don’t think so, but stay away from the door today just in case. Are you alright?” She turned to her daughter.

  They stood awkwardly and Jasmine nodded. As she wiped her eyes, mascara smeared across her cheek. Mum automatically moved forward to brush her thumb across Jasmine’s marred cheek. Jasmine ducked away and Mum mumbled. “Sorry, that was automatic…”

  They both smiled, and Mum took brave step closer, opening her arms for a hug. Jasmine clumsily stepped into her mother’s embrace and arms closed around her. They stood like that for a moment then uneasily broke apart.

  “Will they print a story?” asked Jasmine. “About me on the bridge?”

  “They might.” Mum gazed at her. “But Dad tried speaking to the newspapers and requested they don’t. He’s only a policeman, though. I don’t know how much sway he has over journalistic morals…”

  Jasmine paled. “I don’t want stories about me in the paper. I wasn’t doing anything stupid and they’ll misconstrue everything!”

  “They might,” repeated Mum as her eyes trailed to the mantelpiece.

  Jasmine’s eyes followed. “What’s wrong?”

  “They asked for a story and a photo on Saturday. I told them where to shove it.”

  “A photo of what? Me?”

  Mum nodded. “A picture of you, I don’t want a picture of you in the paper.” Tears glistened. “I don’t know if they can get one online though? They used a school photo of Freya in the paper…”

  Jasmine shivered. “A school photo, they can’t do that?”

  “We gave them one…”

  “Of me?” Jasmine looked incredulous, “I thought you didn’t want me in the papers!”

  “Not you! Freya, we used a school photo of Freya.”

  “I thought you were talking about me, seeing as I’m the one in trouble here!” scoffed Jasmine, “but no, we’re back to Freya again!”

  Mum looked blankly at her daughter. “I didn’t mean…”

  “Oh, you did, you always do!” Jasmine scowled. “Well, I’m back at school on Wednesday, I suppose we’ll see then, not that you really care!”

  The thought of school sent icicles shooting down Jasmine’s spine.

  “I’ll phone the school, we’ll keep you off ‘til Friday…” Mum spoke quickly as Jasmine hurried to the door. “Compassionate leave, we’ll keep you here ‘til after the funeral…”

  “Do what you want!” yelled Jasmine from the stairs, not wanting Mum to see her fresh tears, though this time they were tears of relief.

  Ivy leaves trailed across the headstone for Old Thomas, a fretwork of dark green leaves clinging to the old grey slate, echoing a similar design etched into the stone beneath. Jasmine smiled. The tasteful pattern of leaves was mirrored in Joan’s brand new headstone only without the real rambling vines.

  The small group of mourners gathered together around the grave, and Jasmine stepped back behind her father, moving to the side to watch from behind a tall, statuesque angel. Meg stood with her parents. Meg’s mother dabbed a pristine white handkerchief to her eyes every few moments and her father held his arm around his wife. A few older men and women Jasmine didn’t really know stood with bowed heads, and a string of church-going friends trailed down from the graveside to the path.

  Back at the grave beside Meg, Thomas stood with his mother and Pete patted his shoulder. Jasmine caught her cousin’s eye and he gave her a watery smile.

  Bishop Brewer finished his remarks and allowed Meg’s mother and Jen the opportunity to lay flowers. They placed ‘Cariad’ roses tied with pale pink ribbons on both graves. The pale blush petals enhanced the grey stone and linked the couple with their beloved blooms. Joan and Old Thomas were finally together again after thirteen years.

  Jasmine watched as Meg guided her mother away. Pete’s hand sought Jen’s and they linked fingers. Thomas glanced across at Jasmine and cut away from his parents. Jasmine’s dad smiled at him as he passed and moved to join his brother and sister-in-law.

  Jasmine pulled Thomas behind the angel. “So what happens now?” she whispered.

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “This is my first funeral.”

  She raised her eyebrow and let out a cynical sigh. “Yeah, my first funeral, but I know all about graveyards…”

  “Where’s Freya’s grave?” asked Thomas. “I’ve never seen it.”

  Her eyes skirted the cemetery, finally resting on the group of cherry blossom trees a few paths away. She nodded. “Up there…where the pink blossom trees are.”

  “Do you…um, do you want to go up there?” he asked.

  She looked at him in surprise. “Me? Up there?” She didn’t mean to sound as incredulous as she did.

  “I just thought, you know, a funeral and all that…” He shrugged again. “I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head. “I’m fine, I don’t need all this for someone I didn’t know,” she continued, “I mean, I get why you’re here for Joan, she was like a grandma to you, an extra aunty, you know, but me, I’m here for you, I didn’t really know her. I did like her, you know I did, but I’m here for you.”

  Thomas nodded. “Thanks.”

  “So,” she echoed his earlier question. “What now?”

  “Now…” a soft voice rose from behind them. “We go for a walk, just the three of us.”

  “Meg!” Thomas couldn’t hide his smile.

  An elderly couple glanced their way and Meg steered them to the path. “It’s okay, both your parents know where we’re going, we’ll be fine. Let’s leave the adults to their—whatever they do after funerals.”

  “Is your mum okay?” asked Jasmine glancing down the path to where Meg’s parents stood in a tight embrace, and sniffles and sobs could be heard.
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  “She will be. Joan helped her through some tough times.” Meg caught both their arms and whisked them down the path. “Come on. There are other ways to say goodbye.”

  Meg drove towards Jasmine’s home and Jasmine cried out in alarm. “I don’t want to go home! Mum’s there with Carys and Danny, they were her excuse for not coming…”

  “It’s okay. We’re not going to your home.” She turned off the main road and up a back street. “I’m just taking my car home first.”

  “Then where?” asked Jasmine.

  Meg smiled, but didn’t speak. She drove on and arrived at her house. She parked the car and as they got out Jasmine stared up at Joan’s house next door. Flowers of many kinds sat along the windowsill beneath the jardinières and Jasmine sighed. People would miss Joan. Lots of people would miss her.

  Meg caught her gaze and stood for a moment then she hurried them away and down the street.

  “Keep up with me!” Meg began to run down the road with the confident gait of one who’d made the journey many times before.

  They ran, their feet pounding on the pavement and their arms pumping. They reached the kissing gate, moved through in turn and ran down the footpath. Tall grass brushed their legs and nodding cow parsley decorated the hedgerow with summer snow.

  They turned at the bend in the path and raced on, coming finally to the fence at the end. Meg hitched up her black dress and climbed over the fence. Thomas followed and Jasmine almost tumbled over as her long, black skirt caught on a nail. She unhooked the material and picked herself up, and followed them into the familiar field.

  Meg paused, holding out her hands to stop her friends passing, and stared up at the ridge. Jasmine panted glad for the breather then she glanced up at Meg and saw tears sparkle in her eyes. She nudged Thomas, who nudged her back and shook his head. “Wait,” he mouthed.

  They waited while Meg gazed up at the horizon. After a minute or two, she nodded to herself and lowered her arms.

  “Sorry,” she murmured. “Let’s go.”

  Meg sprinted away, her long legs leaving Jasmine and Thomas trailing.