by Nicola Gill
Laura held her breath. Objectively she knew that when you’re not even five yet, you have no frame of reference for death. That Billy might well be expecting her mother to pop back up like one of his cartoon characters, but his sing-songy tone was still a little disconcerting.
‘Dead, dead, dead,’ Billy continued.
‘Yes, sweetheart. And we are very sad about it. But Grandma is in heaven.’ Probably.
‘With Roger?’ Billy asked.
‘Roger?’
‘Dorothy’s goldfish,’ Billy said, as if he couldn’t believe Laura didn’t know that.
‘Yes, with Roger.’
‘Can you read me a story?’
‘Sweetheart, it’s really late already. You ought to be asleep.’
‘Pleeeeeeeeeease. Just a little story.’
Laura sighed. ‘Just one.’
Chapter Six
The to-do list was going to have to be put off a bit longer because Laura had to pull together this week’s Dear Laura column (suddenly her insistence that she wouldn’t hand it over to a colleague despite being on compassionate leave didn’t seem quite so smart after all).
She leaned back in her chair. As she’d walked Billy to school this morning, he’d been hopping up and down and talking animatedly about what Grandma and Roger the goldfish might be doing together in heaven. He thought they might be eating ice cream, only goldfish weren’t allowed ice cream. But maybe they were when they were dead? Laura knew he was only little but still wondered if his unbridled enthusiasm about his grandma’s death was a little odd. Not for the first time it crossed her mind that she ought to be writing in to Dear Laura instead of being the person dishing out the ‘wisdom’. She’d certainly have lots to ask: Dear Laura, Is my four-year-old normal? Dear Laura, Am I sad enough about my mother’s death? Dear Laura, My bossy sister drives me bananas.
She turned to her real letters and emails. When she’d first taken on the role, Laura had expected that hardly anyone would write to her. In the internet age, the idea of an agony aunt felt anachronistic. And, even if you were going to pour your heart out to one, well, why make it Laura, whose bio at the top of the page made her sound extremely hokey? Laura got her agony aunt qualifications at the School of Life (if that was how her editor justified it to her, that was how she’d justify it to the world). She’s here to answer all your personal, sexual and emotional problems. Sorry, but she can’t reply personally. Laura had been amazed by just how many letters and emails she did get, and it was always really tough to whittle them down to the three a week she could fit on the page.
Dear Laura, one email read, I am married with a beautiful two-month-old baby boy. My problem is my mother-in-law who is always telling me what to do. Why don’t I give my son formula top-ups, then he wouldn’t be so hungry all the time. Why do I rock him to sleep …
Laura decided that this problem was definitely one for this week’s page. Interfering mothers-in-law were a perennial hot topic. She popped the email into the appropriate folder on her computer, her mind already fizzing with things she would put in her reply.
She glanced down at her food-stained pyjama bottoms. It was a good thing she didn’t often work from home because honestly, if she did, she wasn’t sure she’d ever wear proper clothes again. Even bothering with a bra felt like Making An Effort. In the school playground this morning, she’d been pretty sure that people had noticed she was still in pyjamas underneath her coat and she knew they’d have been quietly horrified. Dulwich mums did not wear their nightwear to school drop off. Even the women in gym gear wore full make-up.
She scrolled through a few more emails. A woman who wanted to know whether to stay in a loveless marriage, someone who wasn’t sure what to do when her friend made racist remarks, three people in love with a colleague (not the same colleague, although how intriguing that would have been).
There was a heartbreaking letter from a nineteen-year-old who said she felt desperately lonely and desperately ashamed of admitting that. Laura decided that not only would she make sure an answer was included in this week’s column, but also that she’d call a trained therapist to ask for their take on this. She often did this if she felt a problem was serious and beyond her (let’s face it, limited) skill set, and even though her editor Dani had challenged her on why she was wasting time, she allowed Laura to do it as long as she didn’t pay the therapists. Which meant Laura was left feeling bad about not paying the therapists but less bad than she would have done if she hadn’t got their steer. She just hoped the namechecks the therapists got helped them sell their books or promote their private practices.
Right, so she had the woman with the interfering mother-in-law and the woman who was lonely. What would balance those nicely on the page? One of the people who’d fallen for a colleague, perhaps? Yes, that would work.
She set about drafting her answers.
Maybe you could get your husband to have a gentle word with his mum …
I am so sorry to hear you feel lonely …
An office romance creates all kinds of issues …
When she finished, Laura read back her replies. She still wanted a therapist’s input into ‘lonely’ but, that aside, she was pretty pleased with what she’d written. Other people’s problems are always so much easier than your own.
Chapter Seven
‘Grandma’s dead!’ Billy said, opening the door to Laura’s sister and her two daughters, much like one would say, ‘Happy Christmas!’
To Jess’ credit she managed to mask any shock, unlike Lola and Hannah, who were staring at Billy with the cold condescension that eight- and ten-year-old girls are so good at.
‘We were just passing,’ Jess said to Laura. ‘So I thought as we had so much to discuss, we may as well pop in.’
So much to discuss? That was code for: I’m checking up on you.
Laura had had to fight Jess for a share of the to-do list and now she was going to have to prove she was actually doing it (tricky when, for the most part, she wasn’t). ‘Come in,’ she said, trying not to mind that the flat was even messier than usual. The coat stand had collapsed again, which meant there were coats and hats and umbrellas all over the hall floor, along with the ever-growing mass of footwear. And she was pretty sure last night’s pizza boxes were still out on the kitchen counters.
‘Shall we play hide and seek?’ Billy said to Lola and Hannah.
The girls exchanged a look of amazement at being asked to take part in such a childish pursuit but then said yes, that would be lovely.
In the kitchen, Laura cleared a pile of washing off the chair so Jess could sit down. ‘I’ve been working today,’ Laura said, hating herself for feeling the need to apologize. ‘I had to do my Dear Laura column.’
Jess nodded. As usual, she looked immaculate in a hot-pink satin slip skirt with a red slogan T shirt, freshly blow-dried hair and the type of no-make-up make-up that takes forever. Laura supposed she had to make an effort since it was part of her job – and it still seemed weird to call it that – as a fashion blogger. She remembered her mum telling her Jess was going to give up her job as a management consultant to make StyleMaven a full-time pursuit. Laura’s first thought had been: Why writing? Writing is my thing. It reminded her of a summer when she was nine years old and obsessed with making papier mâché animals. Then Jess had breezed in and made a perfect pig and Laura never picked up the PVA glue again. Over the years, her antipathy towards Jess’ new career had grown. Everyone knew that the rise in popularity of digital influencers had been a huge factor in the demise of women’s magazines, so it was difficult for Laura not to feel like a vegan whose sibling had suddenly decided to open a slaughterhouse.
‘So which of the world’s problems was Dear Laura solving today?’ Jess asked.
Laura’s shoulders tensed. Was Jess being snarky, or was she just making conversation? So much distance had built up between them over the years that Laura often found her sister hard to read. She decided to take the question at face value. ‘Oh, interfering m
others-in-law, loneliness, office romances – the usual sort of stuff. Luckily, I didn’t have any adulterers to deal with today. I often do, and I find it a bit hard to dish out sympathy.’
‘Maybe you shouldn’t be an agony aunt if you can’t be sympathetic,’ Jess snapped.
Laura spun around. ‘Excuse me?’
Jess shrugged. ‘Sorry,’ she said, sounding anything but. ‘I was just trying to make the point that nothing in life is black and white. That, of course, affairs are terrible – everyone knows that – but it doesn’t mean that everyone who has one is beyond the pale.’
Laura’s brow scrunched. This was the second time Jess had snapped at her in a matter of days (maybe this was the new her? Bossy, controlling and short tempered.)
Also, it seemed extremely odd for her sister, Little Miss Perfect, to be putting up a defence for adulterers. Jess was no doubt just mouthing words she thought sounded ‘woke’ and Instagram-worthy. It made Laura sick. She’d had two boyfriends who were cheats and she could still remember how it had destroyed her. In a matter of seconds, all trust had evaporated, years of good memories had been rendered fake and she’d had to live with the stark realization that she wasn’t enough. One of the many reasons she loved Jon was because, despite his laid-back take on life, he’d told her very early on that he believed unequivocally in monogamy (her mother and her sister might be quick to brand her an ‘idiot’ when it came to Jon, but they just didn’t know him like she did).
Laura looked at her sister, oblivious and smug, and was so tempted to tell her that she had no idea what it felt like to be cheated on, that not everyone had a perfect marriage like hers, and not to gob-off about things she knew nothing about. But today she simply couldn’t face the fight. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘That would be nice,’ Jess said. ‘Have you got any green?’
Laura made a face.
‘Builders’ will be fine.’ Like she was doing Laura some kind of massive favour.
Laura filled the kettle, Jess’ words still reverberating around her head: Maybe you shouldn’t be an agony aunt. Laura threw a couple of teabags into some mugs and poked at them angrily with a teaspoon before sloshing in some milk.
She was just wondering if maybe she should have said something after all when she turned back round to discover that her sister had started to cry.
‘Hey,’ Laura said, setting the tea down. She knew she probably ought to give Jess a hug, but as they didn’t really have a ‘huggy’ type of relationship, settled for roughly patting her on the arm as if she was trying to keep to some sort of unheard beat.
‘I’m being silly,’ Jess said, pulling a tissue out of her handbag. ‘We knew this was coming. Also, she was kind of a nightmare.’
Laura made a face. ‘Yes, but she was our nightmare. And you only get one mum.’
This set Jess off on a fresh wave of crying. ‘Sorry,’ she said eventually.
Laura squeezed Jess’ arm, feeling guilty about her own lack of tears. Earlier she had helped Billy with his homework, which was to fill in his family tree, and she had got a teeny bit tearful as she dug out photos of her mum and dad and was struck by the realization that she was no longer anyone’s child – but only a teeny bit tearful.
What was wrong with her?
Jess was crying and she was normally relentlessly positive – the type of person who posted endless ‘inspirational’ quotes on Instagram. (Laura’s idea of an inspirational quote was the one she had as her screensaver at work: Don’t talk to me until I’ve had coffee. And you’ve developed a personality.)
‘I wish I didn’t remember Mum like she was at the end,’ Jess said. ‘I hate thinking about how she was in the last couple of months. I want to remember her as strong and vital. I want to think of her racing around at a thousand miles an hour and making me laugh. I even want to think of her being bloody infuriating.’
Laura nodded; she knew what Jess was talking about. Recently it had been the husk of her mother lying in that bed, albeit one who could occasionally still make a joke that was just the right side of dark (‘This cancer will be the death of me’). But Laura also knew she hadn’t experienced their mother’s demise as intimately as Jess had. One day she’d arrived at the hospice and asked Jess why her clothes were damp. Jess explained she’d had to get in the shower with Evie to help her. Laura had felt a rush of sympathy and guilt. No one should have to wash their mother’s bottom. But there was also a touch of envy. Maybe the hard bits were a price worth paying for a lifetime of being the chosen one.
Once, one of her mother’s doctors had expressed surprise upon meeting Laura: ‘I didn’t know your mum had two daughters.’
I’ve tried to get more involved, Laura wanted to shout (had she? How hard?) but my sister always muscles in telling me I’m doing it all wrong. Mum doesn’t like that dressing gown because it’s itchy, we’ve already tried audiobooks, don’t try to move her like that.
It was exhausting. Especially when Laura knew it was Jess that Mum had wanted anyway.
Eventually, Jess stopped crying and blew her nose.
‘Okay?’ Laura said. Jess nodded. ‘Right, let’s cheer you up with some to-do lists.’
Billy burst into the kitchen. The girls followed in his wake, looking solemn. ‘Grandma’s dead!’ Billy sing-songed. ‘She’s in heaven with Roger!’
Was this normal four-year-old behaviour? Or was Laura’s sweet, mussy-haired baby actually a psychopath?
Billy scratched his head. ‘We need biscuits!’
‘Do you mind?’ Laura said to Jess, wondering if Jess’ whole family had given up sugar with her. If she tried to make Billy give up sugar it would immediately eliminate eight foods from the list of ten he deemed acceptable.
Jess said it was fine and Laura handed out the biscuits.
When the kids disappeared Laura made a face. ‘Do you think that “Grandma’s dead” thing is normal?’
Jess laughed. ‘Yes! He’s a baby. He doesn’t understand what death means.’
Laura suddenly loved her sister so fiercely it was as if all those years of petty fights were wiped out in an instant. Hell, at this moment she could almost forgive her stealing her platform sandals, even if it was the day of the sixth-form prom and even if Laura had planned her whole outfit around them.
‘How are you getting on with the Order of Service?’
Laura was pleased to be asked this. Despite the fact she’d ended up reading Billy not one, not two but three extra stories last night when he couldn’t sleep, she’d still worked on the Order of Service late into the night. It was the one thing on her list she’d actually made good progress with. ‘Pretty good. Do you want to have a look?’ She opened the file and pushed her laptop in Jess’ direction.
There was the world’s longest pause before Jess said, ‘I think it’s a great start.’
Laura dug her nails into her palms. ‘But?’
‘Is that typeface very “Mum”? And don’t you think we should include a couple of photos?’
Laura pulled the laptop out of Jess’ hands and snapped it shut. She was a writer, for goodness sake. She could knock up an Order of Service without being micromanaged. And even if Jess had strong opinions on EVERYTHING from the flowers to the food, Laura would be The Boss of the Order of Service.
‘I think it looks great,’ Jess said.
Laura snorted. Never trust a woman who steals your new shoes.
Chapter Eight
Laura had one tab open on party-bag gifts and one on flowers for the coffin.
Flowers for the coffin weren’t actually on her list because Jess had appointed herself High Priestess of Tasteful Flowers, but she was getting on Laura’s nerves so much, Laura was tempted to order something super-tacky just to spite her. She’d sent Laura fourteen messages since she’d visited yesterday – fourteen! Just checking you’ve done this, just checking you’ve done that. Like Laura couldn’t be trusted (she couldn’t, in point of fact, but Jess didn’t know that).
&n
bsp; Laura scrutinized a heart-shaped pink and white chrysanthemum spray – that would infuriate Jess. Then she stumbled across an arrangement spelling ‘Mum’ in carnations – better still!
‘What are you up to?’ Jon said, appearing behind her.
‘Trying to find flowers Jess will really hate for Mum’s coffin.’
‘Mature!’
They both laughed.
‘Oh, my goodness, look at these!’ She pointed to a floral arrangement that had been crafted into a giant mobile phone. ‘Can you imagine Jess’ face?’ Jon grinned. One of the lovely things about having been with Jon for over a decade was that they hardly ever had to explain anything to each other. Let’s face it, if you told someone you’d recently started dating you were thinking of ordering hideous funeral flowers just to annoy your sibling, they’d think you were more than a little unhinged.
Laura glanced at the time. ‘Shouldn’t you have left for work by now?’
Jon shrugged. ‘Yeah, I’m running a little late. I was really getting somewhere with the writing this morning so I didn’t want to stop.’
Laura knew full well he’d only got up half an hour ago but she said nothing.
‘Anyway,’ Jon said. ‘What’s the worst they can do? Fire me?’
‘Well, that would be quite bad.’
‘Would it? I’m a manager in a crappy pizza place. It’s not like it’s my dream job. I’m at a stage in my life where I’d really like to be able to concentrate on my writing.’
There were so many things Laura wanted to say. Did he think every minute of her working life was a breeze? Did he realize that while he may find his boss Greg annoying, her editor wasn’t exactly a delight? Also, if Jon cared so much about his novel, why didn’t he spend more time writing the bloody thing? After all, the muse was unlikely to pitch up in the Hope & Anchor. ‘It’s a job though, isn’t it? And we need the money.’
Jon shrugged as if she’d mentioned something incredibly trivial.
Laura swallowed down a football-sized lump of irritation. She’d told Jon over and over again that Natter magazine was in trouble. That the team had been cut not just to the bone but to the marrow. That the subs desk was now just one lonely – albeit scary – sub/proofreader and Laura now did the work that three people used to do (without any increase in pay, naturally). She’d told him that all around her, titles had closed and no one would be surprised to see Natter go the same way. ‘I just wouldn’t take my job for granted.’
