A Song for Tomorrow

by Alice Peterson

  Suddenly Daisy remembers they have to be somewhere else. ‘What, right now?’ says the friend, protesting when Daisy grabs her arm and yanks her away.

  ‘Anyway, it was lovely seeing you again, Daisy,’ I call after her. ‘Happy Christmas!’

  We hear Daisy’s friend saying, ‘Ouch, you’re hurting me,’ before the alarm rings and Daisy is hauled back into the shop. She’d forgotten that she was still carrying the black lace top.

  70

  Mary’s Diary

  December 2002

  Alice went Christmas shopping with Cat and Tom. They do look a funny sight, Tom pushing her around like a maniac, making it more of a joyride. Tom phoned me from outside the house so that I could see the presents they had bought all piled up on top of Alice in her wheelchair, including a huge teddy bear for Rose. It was a wonderful sight but it made me weep. We’ve invited Tom to stay with us this Christmas.

  I put my pen down and wipe my eyes, unable to write any more.

  71

  Tom

  When Mary invites Tom to join them for Christmas, he is taken aback at first, thinking he might feel like an outsider. Not that they’ve ever made him feel unwelcome . . . but it’s Christmas, a time to be with his parents. His brother is flying his family over from New York. Tom would be sad not to see his niece and nephew. And he knows his mother will be disappointed . . .

  Yet he can’t ignore that nagging feeling inside that this might be Alice’s last. Mary doesn’t have to voice it; her look says it all.

  ‘I’d love to,’ he says.

  Christmas Day arrives. There is certainly more bling in Alice’s house than at his own home. The Christmas tree is so tall it almost hits the ceiling, every single branch covered in baubles and some kind of white frosted foam imitating snow. He’s relieved that Jake, Lucy and baby Rose are with them all. Mary’s brother is here too, along with his new girlfriend. Nicholas’s mother, who dresses like someone from the Edwardian age, seems to be a popular guest. Alice and Jake tell Tom how they used to imitate their granny, dabbing the corners of their mouths with a napkin at mealtimes.

  Christmas lunch is turkey with all the trimmings, before they get to the juicy part of opening their presents. Alice is overjoyed when she unwraps a pale-coloured sheepskin coat that Nicholas proudly claims he saw first in a shop window. Jake teases Alice by saying it will make her look like a pop star. Everyone wants her to try it on, but Tom knows Alice so well. It’s heavy, she’s tired, so he takes the coat from her and soon he is sashaying around the room like an idiot, saying it suits him more than Alice. Thankfully the family finds this funny, even Granny juts out her chin and hoots with laughter, a glass of sherry in her hand.

  Since Alice’s music deal she now has a budget to splash out on. She bought Tom a navy leather book engraved on the outside with ‘Life is a Gamble’. Inside she’s signed it, ‘all my love, funny feet’. She can’t wait to tell her parents, Jake, Lucy and Tom that part of their present is drinks and dinner at Claridge’s on New Year’s Eve. She has also booked a hotel suite with Tom for two nights.

  Tom knows Susie’s death has had a profound impact on Jake when he suggests taking along his video camera to film them on New Year’s Eve. He senses Jake is really saying that he wants to film Alice before it’s too late.

  No one wants to be sad, the show must go on, so soon the family are singing carols around the piano, Jake playing and Tom warning them that he can’t sing, but joining in anyway.

  72

  Alice

  I glide towards the reception desk in my new cream sheepskin coat while the hotel porter struggles behind me with our luggage plus various machines and boxes of medication. He must wonder why Tom and I need quite so much for two nights.

  When the receptionist takes our names and is about to give us a key for our room, Tom says, ‘You must have heard of Alice, She’s a singer. Her album’s already gone platinum.’

  Dream on!

  ‘Double platinum.’ I hand him a CD, asking, ‘Would you like me to sign it for you?’

  The first thing he does is call his manager, before upgrading our room to a suite.

  He gets two kisses with my signature for that.

  ‘This is what happens when you go out with a celeb,’ Tom says, laughing with me before I collapse onto the double bed. I look around the room, everything so sumptuous: silk curtains, freshly laundered plump pillows and cushions, a vase of flowers on our antique coffee table. I take a peek into our enormous bathroom with its free-standing bath and a gleaming shower enclosed behind solid glass doors. ‘Come into the drawing room!’ Tom calls out.

  ‘Oh, the drawing room!’

  Tom is standing by the piano in the corner. I sigh, already thinking ahead to Cat, Mark and Milly visiting me later for tea. ‘I’m in heaven,’ I say.

  The shower might be luxurious but it’s so powerful that it almost blows me out of the hotel.

  We hear a knock and Jake shouts through the door, ‘Leech, are you there? It’s the documentary team.’

  ‘Are you sure we’ve got the right room number, Mary?’ I overhear Dad ask.

  ‘How odd,’ she replies, ‘it says, “Do Not Disturb”.’

  Another knock on the door, this time harder.

  ‘Coming!’ Tom says. He’s already dressed in a jacket, shirt and tie, hair washed. ‘Why didn’t you wake me up earlier!’ I say and feel even more irritated when he ignores me, welcoming them inside.

  ‘The documentary team has finally gained admittance,’ Jake says, holding his digital video camera towards me.

  ‘Alice has just had a power shower,’ Tom tells them, speaking as if it’s a headline.

  ‘Go away!’ I tell everyone when Jake catches a glimpse of me in my towel. ‘Don’t film me now!’

  Jake puts his camera down. ‘This is how it is with stars, one minute they’re your best friend, the next . . .’

  ‘Fuck off!’

  Jake shrugs. ‘Exactly.’

  ‘We could go down to the bar and have a drink,’ Mum suggests, dressed in her elegant long brown suede coat and heels. ‘Would that help, Tom?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll bring the old crosspatch down when she’s ready.’

  Lucy tells Jake to stop filming. ‘This is not the moment your sister wants caught on film,’ she says, pushing him out of the door.

  ‘Hang on,’ I say to Jake, fiddling with the tubes inside my nose. We’re downstairs, ready to order drinks before our meal. My oxygen machine is also present tonight, sitting under the table. It’s pretty much my VIP guest all the time now. I nod before Jake presses the ‘record’ button. ‘Welcome to Claridges, New Year’s Eve, 2002,’ I announce, soft piano music playing in the background. Breathe. ‘Let me show you around.’ I pause. Catch my breath again. ‘This is my father.’ Jake hones the camera in on Dad, dressed in his suit and dashing red tie, looking impossibly handsome.

  ‘Very professional,’ I overhear Tom muttering to Jake.

  ‘I thought so,’ Jake mutters back.

  ‘Maybe a new career in film broadcasting?’ Tom suggests.

  ‘Or on the side. I’m multi-talented, you know.’

  I cough to get their attention.

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ Jake says, returning the camera to me.

  ‘Dad is sitting at the table in the foyer. This is Jake’s wife, Lucy.’

  Lucy waves, shy in front of the camera. She looks so pretty tonight, her brown hair pinned back with a hairclip on one side. ‘We’re about to order cocktails before dinner.’

  ‘What are you going to have, Leech?’ Jake asks. ‘Something really rock ’n’ roll I expect.’

  ‘Pineapple juice,’ I say, making us all laugh.

  I can feel that rumbling inside of me, it’s getting bigger, deeper, like a giant wave that needs to break. I have to cough . . . ‘Stop . . . recording,’ I say breathlessly to Jake upstairs in our bedroom. I was too tired to stay in the restaurant, so Mum and I engineered one of the members of staff to bring my chocolate p
udding to my bed. ‘Technically we’re not allowed to do this,’ he’d said, ‘but seeing as you’re such a star . . .’

  Oh how I love being called a star.

  ‘Dad in the middle,’ I order, trying to take a picture of Jake, Dad and Tom. They are all lined up at the end of my bed. ‘You look so little, Dad! So funny!’

  ‘I feel like a figure of fun,’ Jake says.

  ‘Little Nicholas – why are you so small, Dad?’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘He’s taller than I am,’ Tom pipes up, ‘so you’re being rude to me, too.’

  ‘Just take the photo, Alice,’ Jake insists.

  ‘There’s a viewfinder on the camera.’ Tom storms towards me. ‘You’re pressing the wrong button. Keep the camera still.’

  Finally, when the photo shoot is over, I wave my hands at the television, the image of Big Ben on the screen. ‘Shush, everyone!’ I call out. ‘Quiet!’ I turn up the volume.

  ‘TEN, NINE . . .’ We shout, ‘EIGHT, SEVEN, SIX, FIVE, FOUR, THREE, TWO . . . ONE . . .’

  FIREWORKS! HAPPY NEW YEAR!

  They said I’d only live until I was ten. I have lived to see 2003. And not only that, I have an album, something physical that I can leave behind.

  Alice, stop. It’s not over yet . . .

  It’s far from over . . .

  Everyone huddles round my bed for hugs and happy New Year kisses. Mum touches my gold necklace, engraved with my name, a present given to me this Christmas by Tom. ‘Thank you for giving us such a lovely evening, Alice.’

  ‘We’re proud of you.’ Dad kisses my forehead.

  ‘And on that note . . .’ Jake switches off the camera.

  ‘I’m scared,’ Tom says later on in bed that night.

  ‘Of what?’ But I know what he means.

  ‘I want to talk about it.’

  ‘Shush. It won’t happen.’

  ‘But it might.’

  ‘Shush.’

  ‘I need to talk . . .’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

  ‘Alice, why can’t you—’

  ‘If it does happen, I’ll haunt you.’

  ‘Oh, Alice,’ Tom sighs, frustrated that I never want to walk down this path with him.

  ‘In a good way.’

  He gives in. ‘How?’

  ‘OK,’ I say, thinking out loud. ‘When you’re in a meeting I’ll make sure the men in suits cough up the money. If you’re in a hurry I’ll turn the traffic lights green. . .’ I stop to cough. ‘If you see a beautiful woman I’ll . . .’ I take another breath. ‘. . . I’ll make sure she doesn’t fancy you.’

  He laughs quietly.

  ‘If you do have a new life without me . . .’ It’s the closest thing I’ve ever said to suggesting I might die.

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘You’ll live by the sea and have children. You’d make a great dad . . .’

  ‘Alice, don’t.’ He’s now the one who doesn’t want to talk about it.

  ‘If you do, I’ll be happy,’ I promise him. ‘I’ll be cheering you on. You deserve to meet someone special.’

  ‘Alice . . .’

  ‘You’ll fly your children in . . . Paddington . . .’ I stop for a moment. When I can speak again, ‘But you’re an idiot if you have twins. Double the work.’

  When Tom doesn’t say a word I reach to turn on the light. I hold his face in my hands, my touch urgent. ‘I love you.’ For once I’m not laughing or being silly, because that’s what we do best, Tom and I. We laugh our way through this crazy wonderful thing called life, because often we’re too scared to do anything else.

  ‘I love you too.’

  ‘Don’t cry, Tom.’

  ‘I . . . oh God.’ He can’t control his tears any longer and it breaks my heart. ‘Shush,’ I say, holding him closely, thinking of all those times he has lain on the hospital floor, ready to press the buzzer if I need a nurse; the way he squeezes my funny feet each morning; for loving me, for putting up with things no boyfriend should have ever had to put up with. ‘Thank you for standing by me . . .’

  ‘Not all the time.’

  I press a finger to his lips and wipe the tears from his eyes. ‘You have been my rock.’ I pause. Breathe in. ‘You are my everything and—’

  ‘Stop, Alice. Stop! You’ve got to live. You have to live.’

  ‘I will.’

  I wish I could buy time. I’d buy years and years to be with Tom.

  ‘2003 is going to be our year, I promise.’ We hold on to one another. I stroke Tom’s hair, letting myself be his rock and strength.

  73

  It’s mid February and I’m staying the weekend with Tom’s parents. Wrapped in many layers, Tom pushes me in my wheelchair along the beach. I enjoy hearing the sound of the sea and feeling the fresh air against my cheeks. It’s good to be out of hospital again, and to be with Tom. If my bleeper goes off, if I get the call, it may be further than two hours away from Harefield, but Tom and I felt it was worth the risk. He wanted me to see his parents. They had wanted to see me too.

  That evening, Tom’s father lights a fire and after supper Olivia sits by my side on the sofa as we look at photographs from one of their old family albums. I smile at a picture of Tom and George covered top to toe in brown sludge. ‘Mudlarking,’ Tom tells me. ‘We used to love it.’

  ‘They’d come home and get sent straight up to have a bath,’ Olivia adds.

  Seeing these photos of George and Tom as children makes me truly understand his friend’s protectiveness. Tom tells us George is finding fatherhood hard work; he misses his sleep, his kite and his surfboard. He and Tanya had a baby boy last summer, close to the time when Jake and Lucy had Rose. ‘Look at this one.’ She points to a picture of Tom as a schoolboy, his laces undone and his tie lopsided.

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ I exclaim, glancing at the school report proudly glued into the album. “Thomas sticks his head out of the train window and is surprised when it gets lopped off”,’ I read out. I turn to Olivia. ‘Tom told me about this.’ What he hadn’t told me was that his report had gone on to say, ‘However, he’s original, free-spirited, kind and stubborn-minded. He’ll go a long way.’

  Later that evening Tom carries me upstairs to bed. When we hear a faint knock on the door Olivia enters my bedroom to see if I need any extra blankets. ‘There’s no need to tiptoe across the landing tonight,’ she says to Tom with a small smile before kissing us both goodnight.

  ‘Don’t be scared of hurting me,’ I whisper to Tom in the dark.

  I’m not a china doll. I won’t break.

  I still need his touch.

  ‘We don’t have to . . .’ he whispers back.

  ‘I want to.’

  ‘We can just talk . . .’

  ‘Where’s the fun in that?’

  ‘You know how good I am, Alice,’ he says with that familiar humour in his voice that masks his fear. ‘I don’t want to, you know, over excite you.’

  ‘Get on with it, Tom. Over excite me.’

  74

  ‘How are you?’ I ask Susie, laying some flowers on her grave. Milly and I often visit Susie in the local churchyard close to her father’s home in Acton; we talk to her about what’s going on in the lives of her anti supporters. It started when we’d wanted to let her know that Ethan had turned up to her funeral. He hadn’t said a word to us about the letter Milly had given him, but just by being there, surely he’d demonstrated that in his own messed-up way he had cared for Susie, and we wanted her to know that. Susie always maintained that he had only hurt her physically that one time, after hurting Bond. His abuse had always been emotional, his character controlling, which can be just as destructive. While I found it hard to forgive him, I prayed he felt remorse for our friend. It had helped both Milly and me to talk to her like this, so we made a pact to do it as regularly as possible, to keep our anti support group alive. We could almost hear Susie laughing and saying, ‘Hilarious!’ when I told her about the encounter I’d had with Daisy
Sullivan just before Christmas.

  ‘Nothing much has been going on down here, it’s been freezing cold.’

  ‘Hang on,’ Milly protests. ‘Susie, she’s only about to go on an afternoon chat show. This week, she met the guys from the boy band Blue and they’re now her new best friends.’

  I laugh at that.

  ‘Alice is becoming seriously famous, Susie!’

  ‘ “The Right Time” was released recently, that’s why I’m on this chat show,’ I tell her, before thinking aloud, ‘What else can we tell you? I saw the Prof the other day.’ I think of him during our first appointment following Susie’s death. He was professional as always but there was sadness in his eyes when he acknowledged how much I would miss my friend.

  ‘Your dad says Bond misses you very much,’ Milly continues. ‘But your little boy is happy, especially now your dad’s left evil stepmum. Everyone loves him at the office, apparently he gets spoilt rotten.’ Milly and I have got to know Susie’s father, Michael, over the past few months. It’s been one of the most surprising things that gradually developed after the funeral, Michael asking us if he could stay in touch. Secretly Milly and I were delighted when he told us he couldn’t cope with his wife’s demands that he should find Bond a new home. He told us she seemed unable to understand that Bond was the one and only link he had left with his daughter. Bond is now his best buddy and companion. It’s adorable seeing them together, and I should think healing for them both.

  ‘Rose is nine months old and being christened this weekend,’ I tell her. ‘Jake won second prize for one of his portraits in a national competition,’ I recall with pride. ‘I’ve been on the waiting list for almost eighteen months, a long time but . . .’ I have to stop mid-sentence to cough. ‘I’m hanging on in there,’ I mutter, before breathing into my inhaler. ‘Miracles happen.’

  ‘Thinking of miracles, you’ll be proud of me, Susie,’ Milly states. ‘Finally I have said goodbye to my long red locks.’ I look at Milly, her hair now cut in a stylish bob, accenting her green eyes. ‘And I have a boyfriend.’