Sing me to Sleep

by Helen Moorhouse

  “Ummm, not yet . . .” Claudia replied with an uncharacteristic lack of assurance. “There’s a few things we need to sort first . . . the house, of course . . . and then there’s my shop – I’ve found a great little premises near the High Street – there’s tons of other antique shops around, of course, but I ran Fine Old Things in the heart of Camden for how long – nine years? So I think that I can make this one a little bit different.”

  She fell silent, turning her attention to the river as she stuffed a chunk of fish in her mouth and concentrated hard on chewing it.

  “What’s the real delay, Clauds?” asked Rowan outright. She had known her friend for too long to think that her silence was anything to do with the food or the view. “You don’t have cold feet or anything, do you?” Concern filled her voice as she watched Claudia swallow hard and look back intently at her plate.

  Claudia laid her knife and fork down slowly and cleared her throat as she looked up to meet Rowan’s eyes.

  “Well, I’m not sure how to put this,” she said, her tone serious, in complete contrast to just moments before, “but we definitely have to give it six months or so before we think about it.” She paused again, her hand straying to her stomach.

  Rowan took a deep breath as the penny dropped. “Oh, Clauds,” she beamed. “A baby! How wonderful – oh, come here!”

  She clambered awkwardly off her bench and around the table to hug her friend. Claudia stayed sitting, her arms stretching upwards to receive the embrace. They were silent as Rowan made her way back to her seat, climbing again back over the bench and settling herself. She took a long drink. Partly to quench her dry throat, partly for something to do to stall for time while she took in the news. She also wanted to avoid Claudia’s sympathetic stare across the table.

  “I’ve upset you,” said Claudia.

  Rowan was quick to shake her head vigorously. “No, no, not at all, Clauds. You couldn’t upset me. This is fantastic news – I didn’t think it could get any better what with the engagement but this is just . . . the icing on the cake . . .”

  Claudia rushed in. “I’m so sorry, Rowan – I wasn’t sure how to tell you –”

  “Clauds!” Rowan spoke over her.

  Claudia fell silent.

  “Clauds,” repeated Rowan. “Calm down. Please – I am happy for you – so, so happy. And you must never, ever, apologise again for telling me something wonderful.” She paused, her eyes moist. Claudia couldn’t be sure whether happiness, like Rowan said, or sadness, put the tears there.

  “A little baby,” Rowan said, her voice wavering slightly as she spoke. “A beautiful little ginger-haired, 1950s’ baby in an old Springsteen Babygro and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses . . .”

  Claudia snorted, tears filling her own eyes as her friend continued.

  “And you’ll put him or her in some ancient bassinet thingy and Rob will read it Chaucer and you’ll both manage to do a marvellous job and be incredibly happy and – and I am made up for you, I swear. Please don’t think I’m not.”

  “I didn’t want you to think I was rubbing it in,” said Claudia, her voice quiet now. “I mean, you’re drinking water today . . . a part of me hoped that we might have a double celebration . . .” The words trailed off as Rowan shook her head vigorously again.

  “You know I don’t really drink, silly. And no, not this time,” she sighed. “But what matter? This is about your news – not my lack of it.”

  Claudia reached across the table and squeezed her friend’s hand. “Have there been any more . . .” she began, unable to finish the sentence.

  Rowan looked down at her plate of food, her appetite gone as she nodded. “Two,” she said. “I made it to nine weeks on the second. Which was hard . . .” Her voice wavered again and she paused for a moment, biting her lip. “It was the furthest we’d made it, you know?” she said, sniffing and retrieving her hand from Claudia’s to wipe it across her cheek where a solitary tear trickled down.

  She sighed as she picked her cutlery up and forked at her risotto without eating a morsel. “Me and Ed . . . well, we’ve made a decision.” She shrugged. “To stop trying. I don’t think either of us can take it any more and we’ve faced up to the fact that it’s just not going to happen at this stage. Medically, it was always unlikely but we’ve had enough, Clauds. From now on I’m going to devote myself to good works and charity and the children of my beloved friends – of which there are approximately one and that’s yours.” She grinned, a smile that was at once strong and wistful. “It’s just not worth all the pain any more.” She sighed resignedly.

  There was silence for a moment.

  “Plus,” Rowan raked her food vigorously, “I have to concentrate on being a fantastic stepmum to that wonderful, well-behaved and placid scholar, little Bee, of course.” She sighed again, but this time accompanied it with a roll of her eyes.

  Claudia made another sympathetic face, knowing that there would be no more discussion on this, that the subject had changed.

  “Oh dear,” she said, taking the baton from Rowan, “what’s she done now, the little hornet?”

  “What hasn’t she done? I love her – I really do – but she’s just an absolute nightmare, Clauds. Sneaking out at night, getting caught hanging about at all hours – by the police. She’s fourteen years of age! If I had done something like that at her age, Judith would have strung me up! I mean, her punishments were old school – she made me whitewash the outside of the goat sheds once for lying about going to the library when I actually went to the funfair, for crying out loud!”

  Claudia sniggered. “Your grandmother is such a legend, Ro – you know that!”

  Rowan smiled back. “In more ways than one, Clauds. More ways than one!”

  “So what punishment did Ed impose?”

  Rowan rolled her eyes. “I try to be patient with him, I really do. But when it comes to Bee he’s impossible. Initially he was happy with a severe telling-off so I had to give him a nudge and tell her that we’d discuss her punishment and then I was the bad guy when she was sentenced to a month’s grounding with no TV.” She sighed. “It’s just always been the same old situation, hasn’t it? He never disciplined her after her mum died because firstly he didn’t want to upset her any more than she was already . . .”

  It was Claudia’s turn to roll her eyes. Ed’s lack of stern parenting skills had long rankled with her.

  “She was only little, Clauds!” exclaimed Rowan, laughing aloud. “She didn’t need much in the line of discipline back then. In his defence, he hadn’t a clue how to do it anyway. His mum let his sisters run wild, more or less. Whereas my childhood . . .”

  “Well, when you come from Cold Comfort Farm like you did,” giggled Claudia.

  Rowan smiled back. “Precisely, again!” She sighed aloud. “Bee was fine for a while, but since she’s hit proper teenage years what a nightmare child she is. So far this year there’s been the drinking, the sneaking out, the bullying – although I don’t think she was the ringleader of that particular incident . . .”

  “You’re very good to defend her, Ro,” said Claudia sincerely.

  Rowan replied with a shrug. “I don’t think she’s a bad kid underneath it all – it’s just she had a bit of a tough start and Ed’s had all his problems too and then I landed on the scene. It can’t be easy for a kid that age who’s never had a proper mum.”

  “You never had a proper mum,” interjected Claudia, scraping the last of her mushy peas onto a chip.

  “That’s true,” replied Rowan. “But I did have Supergran.”

  Claudia smiled. “How is old Jude, then? It’s so long since I’ve seen her and her Queen of Puddings!”

  Rowan wiped her mouth with her napkin and placed it on the table, pushing her unfinished lunch away.

  “She’s not so good, as it happens,” she replied, resting her chin in her hands as she watched a punt slide lazily by.

  “What’s the matter?” Claudia asked, concern filling her voice. She had
met Rowan’s formidable grandmother a number of times and had become besotted with her, admiring her strength, her sacrifices and her kitchen skills.

  “Well, it sounds a bit worse than it is, I think . . . I hope,” Rowan replied, looking back toward her friend. “She found a dreaded lump a few weeks back. Unfortunately it’s the nasty type but they got it quite early and she’s lined up for surgery soon to remove it and then they’ll do whatever else it is that they do – chemo, radiotherapy, whatever.” Claudia made to sympathise but Rowan silenced her with a wave of her hand. “Oh it’s fine, Clauds. You know what she’s like – strong as an ox. She says her docs think that the prognosis is good – she’s older, but she’s very fit and healthy. And heaven knows that her skills at alternative medicine have practically made her into a witchdoctor. She’s just pottering about the Acre as always, baking and taking care of the chickens and driving into town in her old jeep to cause grief to the local council about one thing or another – you know what she’s like. She spends her days secretly wishing for another Greenham Common – itching to cause trouble, the mad old thing. I’m going to go see her next weekend anyway – make it two weekends away in a row that I’m free from the little Bumble Bee and unlucky number 17.”

  Claudia nodded appreciatively before smiling sympathetically again. “You’re not having much of a run of luck, lately, are you?” she offered.

  Rowan didn’t reply for a moment. As always, her friend had hit an exposed nerve with kindness. She bit her lower lip for a moment as it wobbled, taking a deep breath to control her voice so that she could speak again.

  “It’ll all work out,” she managed. “I think . . . only think, mind, that I can still persuade Ed to finally move out of Pilton Gardens and get a place of our own.”

  “If Pilton Gardens isn’t your own place, having lived in it for eight years, then whose is it?” scoffed Claudia.

  “You know what I mean,” replied Rowan, concentrating hard on the one piece of optimistic news that she’d had lately – feeling the hope that had grown inside her since Ed had tentatively agreed to think about moving.

  “It’s for a fresh start. Since we’ve decided to stop trying for a baby we just feel . . . well, I think, anyway, we just need to be somewhere new. That it would do us good.”

  Claudia nodded in agreement. “About time too. I’ve always said that living in Jenny’s house wasn’t the right thing for you all. Maybe next time you’ll trust Auntie Clauds. Ooh! Do you think you could persuade Ed to move to Cambridge? I’m sure we’ll find him an artistic sort of job somewhere – painting our house, for example!”

  Rowan grinned again as she shook her head. “I do love my Cambridge weekends, Clauds, but I think we’ll stay in London for the time being. I mean we like it there – well, Ed does, and I’m happy to compromise with a new house. After all this time, I just think it could be really good for us. To get to know each other in a different environment – get a bigger garden maybe where I can potter a bit more . . .”

  “I know, I know – get some chickens,” laughed Claudia. “I really hope it works out, Ro. You and Ed have had a tough time these past few years and you deserve something good to happen, even if it’s covered in shitty feathers.”

  The friends exchanged a smile again as Claudia signalled for the waiter to take their dessert and coffee orders. Resting her head in her hands again, Rowan looked back out over the brown water of the Cam and felt the peace that she always did while watching a river laze by.

  As Claudia excused herself to head to the toilets, Rowan was glad of the few minutes’ peace to absorb her surroundings, to be in the moment. To block out the voices of their fellow diners to a low hum and tune in, instead, to the birds on the trees nearby. To feel the prickle of heat on her skin and to visualise a weight lifting off her. If she decided to be happy, then she would be, she reckoned. Despite Bee, despite Judith’s illness, despite reaching the realisation that she would never feel a child of her own in her arms.

  Rowan took a deep breath and filled her body with warm summer air. Breathe the good in and the bad out, she thought to herself. It would be all right, she repeated to herself, centring her thoughts and her emotions in her chest before exhaling. Everything was going to be absolutely all right.

  Chapter 40

  September 2009

  Rowan

  Rowan had often wondered how Ed bore it, how he carried all that pain with him every single day of his life, how he lived a life of such loss. Until the day she realised that the life filled with loss was actually her own.

  It had begun with her parents, when she was nine. The weather conditions had been appalling as they drove at speed through the Yorkshire Moors – rushing home to be with her because she had fallen ill with measles while they had been on a weekend break.

  Then it had been her school, her friends, her ancient Labrador Izzy, too old to make the move from Yorkshire to Somerset where Rowan was to live with her mother’s mother.

  There was the loss of everything in college. Her course, her academic credentials, her future career in design.

  All of which paled in comparison to the six tiny lives that had planted themselves in her body and one by one hadn’t made it.

  And now Judith. The woman who had herself lost love so young. Who had pulled her granddaughter to her as tightly as she could, without hesitation – raising Rowan, sharing everything that she had, to bring her grandchild to adulthood as best she could before resuming her own interrupted life when Rowan had grown. A free-spirited life full of creativity, of nature, of protest and persuasion.

  Until the cancer had come. Not just a single lump in her breast, as she had first told Rowan, but many. Which had spread and grown unstoppably through her old body before she so much as acknowledged that something might be wrong. Because the person who believed the most in Judith Garvey’s indomitability was Judith herself. She had no time for dying, least of all from cancer – a prolonged, painful process which would steal her dignity as well as her life. Much better to be hit by a truck, she said, or seized with a heart attack which would take her instantly. To just go when you were heading to the dairy for milking, painlessly, with no need for goodbyes. Just like her Emerson.

  In the end, it came quickly enough. A month after her official diagnosis, Judith Garvey was dead.

  They cremated her, as she had wanted, her ashes to be scattered across the Acre, the plot of earth that she had cultivated and loved for most of her life. Her very own place.

  In that way she could be part of it always. Washed back into the earth so that she could finally become part of the grasses and wildflowers, the cherry trees in spring, the holly berries in winter. They sent her off with choruses of Dylan and Baez, to ‘Swing Low Sweet Chariot’, to a rousing chorus of ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’.

  Ed read from a poem called ‘A Song of Living’ by Amelia Burr. So fitting, because of anyone he – and indeed most of the congregation – had ever met, Judith had loved life. It seemed fitting to think of her with her cheek pressed against the earth, like a drowsy child, finally returning to it gladly, as the poem said.

  And throughout it all, Rowan tried her hardest not to shed a single tear, much as she wanted to. Because this was what Judith had asked her to do in those last weeks when she had realised what was happening. And when she went, when she finally slipped away, her final act of defiance was to make sure that Rowan was not in the room with her as she had been, day and night, for over a week. Because Judith did not want her granddaughter to see her die.

  The tears came later. At the Acre, where they stayed the night after the cremation. When Ed had gone to bed, exhausted after the day, the long drive back to London ahead of him the next.

  When she stood at the ditch, looking out over the countryside below, just as she had done with Judith since the first night she had lived there. Inhaling the scents that signified the end of summer and the advance of autumn. Seeing the stars under which her grandmother had retired night after nig
ht in this place that she loved.

  It was as Rowan heard the silence that the tears came. For the first time ever, it felt all-consuming. And she felt so bitterly alone and anchorless because her beloved Judith wasn’t sleeping upstairs, or busy in the kitchen. And because she never would again.

  It was then, at that moment, all the familiar made unfamiliar around her, that Rowan’s tears came in a flood – that she cried for so many things: for her mother and her father, for the children she could never have and for troubled Bee, the child that she did. She cried for her past – her history, her mistakes, her lost opportunities. Tears that wouldn’t stop.

  And most of all she cried for the loss of Judith. The woman she adored and revered.

  And as she cried, Rowan prayed to the heavens for some of Judith’s strength to go on.

  Chapter 41

  August 8th, 2011

  Rowan

  The sound of the front door opening, close to 1 a.m, made Rowan’s stomach lurch. She had expected – feared – the doorbell ringing or, worse, a hollow knock. Ed jumped to his feet at the sound and charged to the living-room door, his hand reaching the handle at the same moment as the first step of the stairs creaked. As he flung the door wide, Rowan could see Bee’s face, terrified and pale, frozen in shock at seeing her father and stepmother still up at one in the morning, clearly waiting for her.

  “In here,” barked Ed, standing back to indicate that Bee should enter the living room.

  She didn’t move. She remained where she stood, peering out from underneath the grey hood which she had pulled over her head, one foot on the bottom step of the stairs, ready to begin her ascent. They stood like that for a few moments until Ed made both Bee and Rowan jump by shouting “Now!” in a voice more ferocious than Rowan had ever heard him use on his daughter.

  Meekly, Bee withdrew her foot from the step and followed the instruction, walking with small, silent steps past him as he pointed into the living room where Rowan sat on the edge of the couch. As she passed him in the doorway, he yanked the hood back, revealing her beautiful auburn hair underneath, scraped back into a tight ponytail. Rowan noticed that Bee was wearing large, gold, hooped earrings and wondered where they had come from.