by Nicola Gill
‘I is going to eat you all up,’ Billy’s T-rex said to his diplodocus.
Laura measured out her ingredients. She could hardly believe she was making the cakes five whole days before the funeral just so they could sit smugly in the freezer. That was the sort of thing Jess would do. In actual fact, Laura had intended to get even further ahead by making the cakes yesterday but then she had been unravelled by the sight of her mum’s favourite teabags on the supermarket shelf and suddenly found herself in floods of tears. It was quite embarrassing really, especially when an assistant who looked young enough for her to have given birth to him tried to comfort her. She could see his thin, white neck developing big red splotches as he asked if she wanted to sit in the staffroom for a minute. His badge said: Happy to help! but Laura was sure he was anything but happy to have to help with this.
‘RRRR, RRRR!’ went Billy’s T-Rex.
‘For Christ’s sake, Arsenal!’ Jon shouted.
The doorbell rang.
‘Could you get that?’ Laura said to Jon.
‘I will, I will,’ Billy said, jumping up. ‘Grandma’s dead!’ he announced to whoever was at the door.
Was this normal? Really? Laura wiped her hands on a tea towel and went to the door to see Amy with Josh balanced on her hip.
‘Hey,’ Amy said. ‘How are you doing? I’ve been thinking of you so much. Such a terrible time. I just wondered if there was any chance you could have Joshy for an hour? This friend of mine from LA just texted and she’s in London for a couple of days so I said I’d go and have one drink with her.’
‘Yay!’ Billy said. ‘Josh can play dinosaurs with me!’
Billy loved younger kids (surely that meant he couldn’t actually be a psychopath?) and was particularly keen on Josh. As was Laura, for that matter. She was just slightly more realistic about the fact that no eighteen-month-old just happily plays dinosaurs unattended for an hour. And the fact that Amy’s ‘hour’ was always about three hours long. ‘Umm, I’m actually making a cake for the funeral.’
Amy’s face fell. ‘Oh, I guess I’ll have to take Joshy with me then.’
‘Well, if it’s only an hour.’
‘You’re the best!’ Amy said, shoving Josh into Laura’s arms.
‘Hey, Joshy!’ Jon said. He also liked little people so perhaps Laura would be able to carry on making the cake after all.
Laura put Josh down on the floor, where he sat and earnestly chewed an ankylosaur while Billy told him what all the other dinosaurs were. Laura felt as if her heart might burst.
She put her cake ingredients into a bowl. She felt bad now about suggesting she wouldn’t take Josh. Not only did Amy keep her sane at work, but the pair of them shared the special bond of feeling like the world’s worst Dulwich mums (neither of their offspring had been exposed to a single flashcard and both were more likely to be found eating a chicken nugget than an olive).
Now where on earth was the electric whisk?
As she pulled her head out of the recesses of the cupboards she saw Josh had pulled a chair over to the kitchen counter and was now attempting to scale it. ‘Jon!’ she said, scooping Josh up.
‘What? That’s more like it, Arsenal!’
She plonked Josh into Jon’s arms.
‘I don’t think he wants to be held,’ Jon said.
‘Maybe not but I want to make the cake.’
‘Joshy wants to play dinosaurs,’ Billy said.
‘Give him one to play with on the sofa then,’ Laura said, starting to whisk the cake ingredients. She couldn’t believe the funeral was a matter of days away. She hoped it would all go okay.
Her mind flashed back to her father’s funeral. Her and Jess sitting side by side on the hard pews, their legs almost touching. She was twelve, Jess fourteen. She’d been so ashamed of herself for falling apart. Jess had kept it together. Comforted her and their mother. Thanked people for coming. Read from the Corinthians in a calm, clear voice: ‘You have not gone away …’
‘I think he’s done a poo,’ Jon said.
‘Eww, eww!’ Billy shouted.
‘Could you change him?’ Laura said, pouring cake batter into the tin.
Jon opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it. ‘Where’s the nappy bag?’
Laura had no doubt that Jess would be just as together on Thursday. She wondered what she would wear. As StyleMaven, she tended to go for an explosion of animal print and brights, but that was hardly suitable for the day you buried your mum. One thing was for sure though: whatever Jess wore, she’d look perfect. As would her husband and the girls. Lola and Hannah were the very model of solemn, grief-stricken granddaughters the other day. Not like Billy. Laura glanced up at him and felt a wave of guilt.
‘Oooh, that was a bad one,’ Jon said, returning with Josh and a nappy bag.
‘I think you do need a suit for the funeral.’
‘I’m not a suit kind of guy.’
Laura sighed. ‘You’re not a funeral kind of guy either. Some things are out of the ordinary.’
‘I don’t want to blow loads of dosh on a suit.’
Laura rescued Josh just before he stuck his finger in the plug socket. ‘I’ll pay for it.’
‘Bloody hell, ref, that was miles offside!’ He reached down his tracksuit bottoms and adjusted himself. ‘Well, if it’s important to you.’
‘It’s important to me.’ Laura may not be in control about anything to do with this funeral – from the typeface for the Order of Service to her own swirling mass of emotions – but she could control how her family looked.
Chapter Thirteen
It was 11 p.m. the night before her mother’s funeral and Laura was making the icing for the chocolate cake and wondering where on earth the day had gone.
At least she had finally managed to put on the face mask that bitchy beauty counter lady had sold her, which meant her skin was being sorted out at the same time as the cake.
She broke up the dark chocolate and put it in a bowl over a pan of simmering water. She had already ruined one lot of chocolate, which had turned into a lumpy and unusable mess because she’d let it get too hot. Luckily, Jon had picked up his mobile for once so he’d grabbed her some more chocolate from the corner shop on his way home from the pub. She wished she hadn’t had to have the conversation with him about how he much preferred milk chocolate but what can you do.
The face mask was making her skin tingle a bit which she assumed was a good sign. According to bitchy beauty counter lady it contained high levels of retinol which was a ‘must’ for people with skin that was ‘so badly damaged’. Anyway, the packet promised youthful suppleness and radiance would be dramatically improved with a single application, so Laura was hopeful.
Laura took the melted chocolate off the heat, grateful that it looked smooth and glossy and she wasn’t going to have to go to Spar in her pyjamas. She set it aside to cool down a little.
She could do with cooling down herself and felt like she’d spent the whole day being either angry or weepy.
First, she’d been angry because – despite her thinking she’d got ahead on the cake-making front – she’d ended up having to make another chocolate cake this morning (having burnt the one she made on Saturday because Josh had somehow managed to switch off the oven timer).
Then Laura had turned her somewhat sour attentions to today’s batch of condolence letters. One woman had just put ‘Thinking of you. Bella.’ What good was that to anyone? Laura supposed it was better than the long-winded flowery numbers though. Heaven has got another angel … eeeeurgh! The absolute worst, though, were people who said, Let me know if there is anything I can do. Don’t ask, just do something!
Laura beat the butter with the icing sugar. She knew she should have sifted the icing sugar first, but frankly it was too late, and she was too tired.
When Laura had got to the undertakers, there were a whole host of new people to be annoyed with, from the woman with the irritating high-pitched laugh in the next room, to
her bossy sister (wearing the locket again!), to Robert, who had done her mother’s hair all wrong.
Laura folded the melted chocolate into the butter and sugar mixture.
From the undertakers, she had gone to the printers to pick up the Order of Service (Jess having visibly paled when Laura told her they were still not in her possession). She sat in the bright orange-and-white reception doing a quick proofread and was horrified to see that the eulogy was to be delivered by ‘Little Miss Bossy’, which didn’t seem quite such a funny thing to call Jess now as when Laura had originally put it on the draft, just for her own entertainment. Now she felt furious with herself for being so childish and for leaving everything to the last minute. Luckily the printers had said that, if she could give them a couple of hours, they could sort it out and do another run. Which was great even if it did mean that Laura lost a big chunk of her day.
The face mask really did feel quite stingy now. Laura guessed it was just doing its work.
When she’d got back from the printers, Jon was still in bed and she bit back a wave of annoyance. It was normal to sleep later when you worked nights (although Jon only did three shifts a week and they finished at midnight; he wasn’t exactly a junior doctor). ‘Are you going to do any writing?’ she’d asked him. ‘In a bit,’ he’d replied, not looking up from his phone. As if starting your day before lunchtime was a ridiculous ask. They’d probably have ended up having a row if Laura hadn’t opened her laptop right at that very moment to find Jon had hidden a Post-it note inside, telling her he knew things were tough right now but he loved her and they were going to get through it together.
Laura spread the icing over the cake, making sure she put a particularly generous amount over the cracks and trying not to think of that as a metaphor for her life. She really ought to get the face mask off now; it had been on considerably longer than instructed.
By mid-afternoon, Laura had ditched angry in favour of weepy. Why had she left it until now to get shoes for tomorrow? Why hadn’t she resolved things better with her mother before she died? (Like resolving things was the work of moments.) Why was she throwing a children’s birthday party three days after her mother’s funeral?
By the evening she was both weepy and angry (yay, full house!). She’d snapped at Billy for not wanting to eat his tomatoes and then burst into tears when he’d said she was mean. The note by then a distant memory, she found herself saying ‘really’ in a sarcastic voice when Jon had asked her if he could wear his trainers with his funeral suit, and then sobbing after he left for the pub even though he’d told her several times he didn’t have to go.
She stepped back to look at the cake. It wasn’t perfect but it would have to do. Now all that stood between her and her bed was getting this face mask off.
She really hoped she would manage to sleep tonight (hard to believe only days ago she was feeling guilty because she had been sleeping fine – perhaps she’d jinxed herself?). She had meant to get to the GP to ask for some sleeping tablets but it had somehow slipped off the list, along with getting her hair cut, losing half a stone, and sorting out some storage solutions for this flat (boy, did it need storage solutions).
Laura was determined that she wasn’t going to completely lose it at the funeral tomorrow. Or, for that matter, stay totally dry-eyed. She needed to be the right amount of sad.
Still, if she couldn’t seem to control what was happening on the inside, at least by using this super-expensive face mask she was making sure she looked slightly more polished on the outside.
She washed it off and looked in the mirror to see if she’d been transformed into a clear-skinned beauty of twenty-one. But instead what stared back at her was a puffy, red face.
It looked angry and sad. Which Laura supposed was pretty appropriate, really.
Chapter Fourteen
Laura was lying on the bed with a cold flannel over her face, trying not to think about the job ad she’d seen on a journalist Facebook group this morning. What kind of a person thinks about new career opportunities the day of their mother’s funeral? (Particularly when they’re not especially career-focussed to start with. Laura was more ‘lie back’ than ‘lean in’.)
Her skin was glowing – and not the good kind of glowing that Natasha the beauty editor was always banging on about.
How could she have done this to her face, today of all days?
Her mother would have something to say about it.
Her mother would have had something to say about it.
Despite herself, Laura started thinking about the job ad again. It was for a health and wellbeing editor at Inlustris magazine. She could remember the job description pretty much word for word. Applicants will be passionate about wellbeing and mental health, proactive at chasing a story, and brimming with ideas for creative, original and engaging content. You’ll also be responsible for our advice column.
Laura pressed the flannel into her forehead. It sounded like pretty much her dream job. Not only would she be able to keep up the agony aunt work she’d come to love, but she’d also get to write articles that were genuinely useful to people. No more stupid ‘Shock Confessions’, no more manipulating people into telling you things they’d later regret.
Also, Inlustris! One of the big monthly glossies. Even her mother would have been impressed by her getting a job at Inlustris. Well, no, probably not, but any normal person …
She pressed the flannel into her cheeks, wondering if there was any way in hell her face was going to calm down in the three hours and forty minutes before the funeral. She could hear Jon telling Billy that they were both going to wear ‘big-boy suits’ today.
Could she get this job and make up for all the lost time in her twenties when she was just pissing about? Could she reclaim those ‘lost years’?
No, of course she couldn’t.
And anyway, she shouldn’t be thinking about it today.
Chapter Fifteen
‘What the hell were you thinking?’ Jess said, before Laura had even got through the door of the undertakers.
‘What?’ Laura said.
Jess pointed behind her to where their mother’s coffin was sitting waiting to be loaded into the hearse. On top of it was a huge orange and red floral display that was fashioned in to the shape of a mobile phone. It was about three feet long and covered most of the top of the coffin.
‘I … I …’ Laura suddenly remembered putting it in her basket just for fun. She must have ordered it by mistake instead of the party bag presents that night she’d inhaled a bottle of wine. Which meant she’d spent goodness knows how much on that monstrosity and she hadn’t ordered the party bag presents. ‘I must order rainbow slime.’
Jess’ brow scrunched. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘Nothing,’ Laura said.
‘I suppose you think this is funny?’ Jess said.
Laura had been on the point of apologizing and saying that of course the flowers were a mistake, but there was something so imperious in her sister’s tone, she wanted to hit her. ‘She was my mum too, you know. I get a say about what flowers go on her coffin.’
Jess shook her head. ‘You do NOT actually like those, Laura. You were just trying to wind me up.’
‘They’re very … colourful. Also, Mum loved her mobile phone.’
Jess rolled her eyes. ‘You are too much. I can’t believe you’d let Mum’s coffin look like that just to spite me.’
‘I like them.’
‘Liar! Also, what on earth have you done to your face? You can’t be sunburnt – there hasn’t been any sun.’
Laura’s hands fluttered to her cheeks. ‘I’m just a bit hot is all.’ She headed towards the toilets to put on another layer of foundation. ‘Do not touch those flowers,’ she shouted back over her shoulder.
Chapter Sixteen
What kind of person struggles not to put someone straight about what their mother was really like when they’re standing five feet away from her coffin?
‘Your mother had a
big heart,’ the woman said.
Laura bristled. Did Evie have a big heart? Was that why she’d phoned Laura in the hospital, on the day of Billy’s operation, and banged on for forty minutes about a row she’d had with her current boyfriend? Was it because of their mother’s kindness that Laura and Jess had spent huge swathes of their childhood at the receiving end of her froideur because of the most minor transgressions? Was it Evie’s huge heart that had made her think of her – and only her – when Dad had died?
Laura shook herself. She was a monster thinking like this. She smiled at the woman, said thank you and, yes, her mother really did have a big heart.
Rule number one: You do not speak ill of the dead. You do not even think ill of the dead.
The woman tottered away, her feet spilling over the edges of her court shoes. Laura wasn’t sure who she was. Someone from her mother’s pottery class, perhaps? The church was filled with people she didn’t recognize. Her mother had always thought long-standing friendships to be rather a pedestrian thing. Whenever Laura mentioned Clare, her friend since primary school, her mother’s perfectly-groomed eyebrows would shoot up into her hair line. ‘Are you still friends with her?’ In her mind, friendships should be like butterflies: beautiful, bright and short-lived.
Laura glanced at the floral mobile phone sitting on top of the coffin next to Jess’ hand-tied bouquet of white roses. She was actually pretty surprised Jess hadn’t made her take her display off. Now she had to go through the whole day insisting she loved it and smiling when people said it was so ‘unusual’ or ‘interesting’.
