by Shari Low
The bloke at the till was one of the regular two who sat there most nights. James. That came from his name badge, not my imagination. A student, I had decided, maybe twenty-two or three. He looked in my basket and I wondered if he realised… A sirloin steak, onion rings, thick-cut chips, a peppercorn sauce, a banoffi pie, custard. The same six things I bought every time I came. All Dee’s favourite things. Every year since she was a teenager, I’d cook her a birthday dinner, and her request never varied. ‘You know what I like mum,’ she’d laugh, throwing her arms around me and squeezing me in the tightest hug. ‘I’ve been on salmon and vegetables for a month to get ready for it. Steak, onion rings…’
‘Banoffi pie and custard,’ I’d finish.
So now, I came here when the insomnia kicked in and I bought all her favourites, because if I was buying them, then my girl must still be here. Out there. Working. Travelling. Drinking wine. Jumping from a bloody plane. Laughing. Talking. Breathing. Just breathing. Not lying in the ground.
James looked up as I tried to cover the involuntary gasp of pain with a cough, then looked back down at the items he was scanning. If he was curious about the tears and the muffled sob, he didn’t show it as he methodically put each item through the scanner, the beep of the till’s acceptance almost hypnotic.
I climbed back into the car, and slowly edged out of the car park. I was more careful now, even at this time of the night, so much more aware of the carnage a vehicle could cause. One more stop on the way home. The food bank. Criminal bloody shame that people were relying on charity to eat in this day and age, and don’t get me started on those incompetent fools running the country. I hung the carrier bag on the door handle and got back into car. I’d no idea if it would still be there in the morning when the staff opened up, but if someone swiped it before then, I just hoped that they needed it.
Don didn’t even murmur or change position when I crawled back into bed. Even when he was sleeping, it seemed like the exhaustion seeped from his pores. He was a good man, my Don. A huge heart, decent, loved his family, and would have done anything for Dee. I knew he’d have taken her place in a heartbeat. Now, he was broken-hearted and I didn’t know how to fix him. There was no fixing any of this. All we could do was remember.
I lay there, willing my body to sleep, my mind flicking through a photo album of Dee’s life. It was another new habit. Like those supermarket junkies looking for a fix, as I lay in bed I would think about moments of Dee’s life – her little scrunched up face on her first day of school as she shooed me off telling me she’d be perfectly fine, that summer on Arran when she ran into the freezing sea, squealing all the way there and back out again five seconds later, that morning when she came home pretending she’d failed her driving test, then made a paper airplane out of her test certificate and fired it across the room to me. I’d hope that if I drifted off to sleep thinking about her, a dream would follow and there she would be, real again for just a few hours. It never worked but I couldn’t bring myself to stop trying. I so regretted all those days and hours and minutes we weren’t together throughout our lives, when we were doing other things. Now I’d give everything in life for another hour with my girl.
Don’s arm flopped over me and I fought the urge to shrug it off. The closeness made me feel like I was suffocating, and not just here with Don. I could be anywhere, busy shops, streets, the train station, and I’d suddenly feel that everyone around me was too close, violating my space, and I’d have to push my way out of the situation I was in. I inhaled, counted to ten, tried to slow the galloping beat of my heart.
It was an hour or so later, 6 a.m. on the dot, when his alarm started ringing. He opened his eyes, I closed mine. I felt him leave the bed, then the room, wandering out into the bathroom. On the way, he picked up the hanger with today’s clothes from the back of the door, prepared and left there last night so that he didn’t disturb me.
Eyes still closed, I counted the minutes as I listened to the familiar sounds. The flush of the toilet, the patter of the shower, the buzz of his electric toothbrush, the snap of the laundry basket as he deposited his wet towel and the shorts he wore in bed last night.
For thirty-eight years of my fifty-seven on this earth, we’d eaten breakfast together, but not since… Not now. He didn’t ask why and I didn’t tell him. I suspect he welcomed it too, was glad of being able to start the day without having to pretend he was fine. I knew he wasn’t. I’d lived with Don long enough to sense every one of his moods and emotions. We could pretend with friends and family and neighbours, but not with each other. So instead, we were doing this dance of avoidance, orbiting each other’s lives without actually colliding. It was safer that way.
I waited until I heard the front door close before I got out of bed. I pulled on the robe Dee bought me last year for Christmas. Marks and Spencer’s. She’d let me pick it out during an afternoon of festive shopping on the condition that I’d act surprised when I opened it in front of the rest of the family. She’d laughed her head off when I ripped open the paper on Christmas morning and laid it on thick about what a great choice she’d made. ‘It’s exactly what I would have chosen,’ I’d said with a wink. She’d put her Bucks Fizz down and launched in for a hug. ‘You’ll never win an Oscar, Mum,’ she’d whispered, giggling.
That was our Dee. Always laughing. Always wild. Always there.
Until now.
I stopped at the top of the stairs, wanting that feeling of her, that memory to last just a little longer. Only when my breathing returned to normal, did I plod downstairs.
I shoved a cup into the machine that spat out just enough water for a mug, plopped in a teabag and some milk, then sat in my usual seat at the battered but beautiful oak table in the middle of the kitchen. Six chairs were around the table, each one of them belonging to one of us. Don always sat at the end of the table, mine was to his left. Dee’s to his right, Luke next to her. Jen sat next to me, in the seat that had been Mark’s, before he left for Australia and Pete was on the other side of her. It was an informal thing, grown from years of habit. No one sat in Dee’s chair now. No-one ever would again.
My back was to the door when I heard it open and Mark came in. My reaction was automatic. I steeled myself, rearranged my face into something resembling happiness, forced normality into my voice. He had a gap in his work schedule so he’d stayed around since the funeral.
‘Morning son.’ I said, turning with a smile. ‘Coffee?’
‘Thanks Mum.’
The Dolce Gusto machine this time. I loved a gadget. Had dozens of them. I’d enjoyed them all immensely. Now, like so much in life, they seemed so ridiculously stupid.
I pushed the thought away and handed over his freshly brewed cappuccino. ‘There you go, m’darlin.’
I resisted the urge to ruffle his hair, sticking up in ten different directions, the way it had always done first thing in the morning when he was a kid. Oh, the battles I’d had trying to get that hair to look smart before he went to school. Now he was kicking towards forty and it wasn’t any different. It was almost a comfort that some things didn’t change.
‘So I’ve been thinking. If it’s OK, I’m going to stick around for a while,’ he said.
I slipped into my chair and lifted my teacup before I answered. It gave me time to work on the correct response. ‘Of course it’s OK. It’s great.’
And it was. I meant it. In some ways.
If you’d have told me a month ago that Mark would be back home for a while I’d have been ecstatic. Now, though, and I’m so ashamed I’d never tell a soul, every time I looked at him I was reminded why he was there. He was a grown man, almost twenty years he’d lived in Australia, but he was still my boy and he came as part of a pair with our Dee. My children. But now, I only had a child.
Nevertheless, my smile stayed on as I reached over and put my hand on his. ‘I hope you’re not just doing this for me, Mark. I’m fine. I really am. There’s nothing that any of us can do to bring Dee back so we al
l just need to get on with life again.’
Thank God he couldn’t see into my head and realise that I didn’t mean or believe a single word I was saying. This was the way it had to be, though. What were the options? That I sit here weeping and wailing every day, bringing everyone down and making it all about me? No. That wasn’t going to happen. This was my family and I had to be the one to support them, to get them back to their lives. That evil little fucker – God forgive my language – behind that wheel had taken my Dee but he wasn’t going to take another thing, another moment of normality or happiness from my family. I’d make sure of it.
The noise of a key in the front door interrupted my internal rant, and before the kitchen door opened, I’d pulled out a mug for Jen. Don was at work, so she was the only other one who’d let herself in with a key. My heart was sore for the girl. Dee and her had been like sisters their whole life, inseparable they were. And she’d had such a rough start, what with her mum dying so young. Now that history of premature loss had repeated itself. Jen’s mother, my daughter.
What a tragic hand that girl had been dealt. She’d lost her mum, her best friend, her dad was a waste of space, and don’t even get me started on Pete. I’d always thought he was a nice enough lad, but to dump her on the day of my girl’s funeral? Who does that? Needless to say he’d made himself scarce round here ever since. Fifteen years he’d been coming to this house and now nothing. I just hoped I’d bump into him so I could give him a piece of my mind.
I’d already put Jen’s cup in the machine and pressed the button for her tea before she reached the kitchen.
‘Hello love, I’ve put the kettle… Luke!’ When she came in the door, I realised I needed two cups. Luke’s usual mug was at the front of the cupboard, well-used over the last couple of weeks. I was so grateful that he still popped in every day. It would have been so easy for him to shut himself away and I’d almost have understood if he had. I was about to ask him what he was up to when I noticed the outfit. Years I’d been telling him he should join our Dee with that jogging lark and by the looks of the shorts and training shoes, he’d finally got started. I didn’t even need to ask him why. I had my supermarket, he’d obviously found his own form of distraction.
We’d been pleased as punch when he’d married Dee and he’d never given us a single minute of doubt. He’d been steady as a rock and they’d been so happy. Was it better or worse that our daughter had lived a wonderful life? Better. Definitely better. And I would always be grateful to Luke for his part in that. The minute he married Dee he became our son and it would stay that way, even now that Dee’s chair lay empty.
Jen gave me a hug that lasted just a little longer than usual, and then Luke did the same, before taking their seats at the table.
There was a pensiveness about Jen, a sadness and hesitation that caused a few seconds of silence. That was new. We usually had an outpouring of chat from the moment we got together. So it was going to be up to me then. I had to set the tone. Our Dee would expect it. She couldn’t stand moaning and moping.
‘Right then Luke, so what has the town done to deserve seeing your legs at this time of the morning then?’ I joked. As if nothing was wrong.
‘They just got lucky,’ he replied, sharp as a tack.
‘So. What’s happening then?’ I stuck with bright and breezy. I wouldn’t crack. This lot needed me and I wasn’t going to let them down.
‘I just popped into the shop…’ He tried, but Luke couldn’t keep his voice from faltering. He recovered quickly, with a quick glance at Jen before he went on. ‘OK, I’m just going to say this. Dee had some trips booked in the next few months and I think Jen should take them.’
My glance went to Jen, who was staring at her mug, shoulders slumped.
Luke went on, ‘Someone has to keep up the blog and honour the deals Dee made to feature hotels and activities on the website. But Jen feels…’
He broke off and looked at Jen, still staring at her mug. I saw the tension in her jaw, her teeth clenched together. In her own quiet, understated way, she was a tough cookie – her upbringing had left her no choice on that. But I could see she was struggling. We all were. It just didn’t feel right doing anything without Dee, much less stepping into her shoes.
The stabbing pain ripped across my stomach again and it took every ounce of strength not to fall to the floor.
‘You feel like you can’t take her place?’ I said, softly.
Jen nodded, still staring at the mug.
I moved behind her, bent forward to wrap my arms around her. Only then did I realise she was trembling, her shoulders shaking under my hug.
‘I think you have to do it, love. You both worked so hard to build up this business and you don’t want to stop that now. Dee would be bloody raging.’ I tried to inject some humour into the last line, but I’m not sure I pulled it off. I meant every word though. That company was Dee’s dream, a huge part of her, and it was up to us to make sure it continued to thrive.
Finally Jen spoke, thinly disguised anguish in every word. ‘But I need to look after the shop, so it’s not feasible.’
I was just about to offer to step in, when someone else beat me to it.
‘I’ll do that.’ Mark. ‘I’m going to stay around for a while and, to be honest, I’ll go a bit stir-crazy if there’s nothing to keep me busy, so I’d actually appreciate having something to do. I can work in the shop with you, and take care of stuff when you’re not around.”
“But what about your job and your life back in Australia?” Jen asked. “Don’t you have to get back there?”
I’d been putting off asking the same question, not sure of my feelings. I desperately wanted him to stay. But at the same time, every moment he was there was another minute that I had to pretend I was ok, act like I was coping. Maybe that was for the best though.
“I’m not back offshore for a couple of months yet so it’s no problem. And there’s no-one there pining for me to come back,” he added with the same cheeky grin he’d had since he was a boy. “So it’s no hassle at all for me to stick around.” He was speaking to me now. “Is that OK with you, Mum?’
I smiled. ‘Of course it is, son. It makes sense. Keeps you out from under my feet as well.’
He smiled, recognising a familiar saying from when he was a child. I was never one of those overprotective types. I’d send them into the garden, off to the park, down the shops. ‘Away and get out from under my feet. And take your sister with you!’ I’d say, stopping the Hoover, or putting the mop down, or abandoning the washing machine to give them some change for an ice cream or a packet of crisps. Off they’d toddle, just the two of them together, happily exploring the world until it was time to come back for dinner. These days it’s all that helicopter parenting and hothousing and mollycoddling. Everyone to their own, I suppose, but how are kids supposed to mature and become independent when their parents are always two feet behind them? Let’s be honest, we can never protect them really. Our Dee had travelled the world, gone to all-night parties, climbed mountains and jumped out of bloody planes, and yet she was only five minutes away from here, watching telly on a Sunday afternoon when…
‘So that’s settled then,’ I announced. ‘When do you want him to start?’
Jen finally looked up. ‘Tomorrow?’
Tomorrow. That was sorted then. And I knew that Jen and Mark would get along fine. Maybe having him around was going to be a really good thing for all of us after all.
Chapter 10
Mark
It was pretty damn hard to put into words how much I didn’t want to be there. The whole place felt alien to me now and, let’s face it, I was a few years past being comfortable living back with my mum and dad. Going from an apartment at the beach in Cairns to a semi-detached bungalow in suburban Weirbank had been a bit of a culture shock to say the least. I’m not sure if I ever really fitted in here but I definitely didn’t now, especially without my sister here.
Dee and I hadn’t been partic
ularly close as kids. I used to get totally pissed off being made to take her everywhere. But later, long after I’d moved down under, she’d visit me once or twice a year and we became good mates.
There was never any doubt that I’d come back for her funeral.
There was no good time to bury your sister, but at least the way the timing had worked out, I’d managed to get here and stick around to support mum. If I was honest, getting away from my life on the other side of the world for a while wasn’t a hardship after everything that had happened there. Not that I was going to share that information and all the details with my mother. The woman had a core of steel, but I wasn’t going to do anything that could make her worry about me for a second.
The door dinged as I pushed it open and the first thing I saw was Jen, staggering out of a doorway at the back of the shop, carrying a cardboard box that was half the size of her. I rushed over and went to take it from her but she rejected the offer.
‘No, no, it’s fine. I’ve got it,’ she said, her knees buckling as she crossed the room and dropped it at the window. She turned back to me. ‘I’ll show you around,’ she offered.
I might not be the most emotionally intelligent of blokes, but even I could see that she wasn’t gleefully happy to have me there. I thought volunteering to help was a good thing for both of us, but she clearly had a dose of the hump. Great. Just what I needed.
