by Sue Limb
Granny started to giggle: Mum shot her a very disapproving look in the rear-view mirror.
‘You’ve got him off to a T, Jess, love!’ said Granny. ‘Isn’t she clever, Madeleine? She should go on stage with a talent like that. It’d be a shame to waste it.’
‘I am going to be a stand-up comedian, remember, Granny,’ said Jess.
‘Well, I think you’ll be a wonderful one, dear. I only hope I live to see it.’
‘I’m going to drop you two off in the centre of Mousehole,’ said Mum, ‘then I’ll go off and find somewhere to park, and come and find you.’
Mousehole was just a village, with a small harbour almost completely enclosed by two curving sea walls, like arms cuddling the cluster of boats within. Right now the tide was out, though, and the boats sort of leaned over sideways, looking as if they couldn’t wait for the sea to come flooding back in and lift them up so they could bob and dance about again.
Jess and Granny got out right by the harbour, and Mum drove off. There was a little bench at the harbour’s edge and Jess and Granny sat on it.
‘Oh no!’ said Granny. ‘I forgot the blasted urn.’
‘Mum’ll bring it,’ said Jess.
There was a pause, during which a few seagulls flew over them, trying to see if they had any food which could be stolen with a quick swoop and wicked peck.
Suddenly Jess became aware that tears were running down Granny’s face. She was crying silently. This was terrible.
Jess put her arm round her. She couldn’t think of anything to say. She just wished Mum would come soon. There should be a law against grown-ups crying, especially in public. And Granny was usually so wacky and playful, it was particularly horrible to see her lip trembling and horrid little glittery bits in the bottom of her eyes.
‘Sorry, love,’ murmured Granny. ‘I believe this is what you young people call Losing It.’
Chapter 23
‘I’ve been thinking about Thomas Hardy, dear,’ confessed Granny, rootling in the sleeve of her cardigan for her hankie. ‘You know, how he asked for his heart to be removed. I wish I’d had Grandpa’s taken out. So I could keep a little bit of him once the ashes had gone.’
Jess imagined what it would be like if all she had left of Fred was a few ashes in an urn. The thought was so horrid that she burst into tears, too, and a ghastly bubble billowed out of her nose. Jess didn’t have a hankie so she wiped her nose on her sleeve. It was clear that her feelings for Fred were as strong as ever, even if he had run off with Flora, the faithless swine.
‘Don’t be upset, dear,’ snivelled Granny. ‘I’ve set you off. I’m sorry!’
This was awful. Instead of cheering Granny up and offering her support, Jess felt she was making things much worse. Instinctively, she reached inside herself again for Grandpa’s gruff, deep voice.
‘For crying out loud, Valerie, stop that bloomin’ caterwauling!’ she boomed. Granny laughed through her tears. ‘Get a grip, woman! Don’t even think about meddling with my vital organs. Wanting to carry me heart around with you, the very idea! Knowing you, you’d leave it on a park bench and it’d be gobbled up by a passing dog!’
Granny started uncontrollably, hysterically laughing. Jess was afraid she might have gone a bit too far, but Granny begged for more.
‘Do it again, Jess, do it again!’
‘I’m not saying any more to you, Valerie, until you’ve stopped that blooming snivelling and powdered your blinking nose,’ boomed Jess in Grandpa’s voice.
Hastily Granny got her powder compact out and repaired the damage. She had stopped crying now.
‘So where exactly do you want your ashes put, John?’ Granny asked, for all the world as if he were sitting right next to her.
‘I want to be chucked on the football pitch of Manchester United, of course, woman,’ said Grandpa – via Jess.
Granny stared at Jess in consternation. ‘I never thought of that!’ she whispered, in panic.
‘Don’t worry, Granny,’ said Jess. ‘I only made that up because he was such a football fan. You wanted to throw the ashes into the sea, and if that’s what you want, go for it.’
Granny looked out across the harbour wall, and shook her head slowly.
‘I’m beginning to think this isn’t such a good idea,’ she said. ‘I mean, look, love: the tide’s out. We can’t get anywhere near it. And if we came back when the tide was in, and tried to do it then, what if there was somebody watching? It wouldn’t be private enough. And what if there was a sudden puff of wind? I wouldn’t want Grandpa to be plastered all over the harbour.’
‘Well, that’s fine, Granny,’ said Jess. ‘You must do what you want. If you need more time to think about it, take more time. And you don’t have to part with the ashes at all if you don’t want to.’
‘Oh, don’t I?’ said Granny, and relief broke out all over her face.
‘Course you don’t, you daft lass,’ boomed Jess in Grandpa’s voice.
‘Well, perhaps I won’t part with him at all, then, ever,’ said Granny in a determined voice. She sounded much less wobbly now. Jess gave a great sigh of relief. She felt shattered. It was exhausting, bringing people back from the verge of despair. However did professional counsellors do it? And when was somebody going to do the same for her?
Mum arrived, carrying the urn and looking rather frazzled.
‘I had to park almost in the next village,’ she moaned. ‘And even then I got some dirty looks.’
‘Never mind, dear,’ said Granny serenely.
‘Shall we get on with it, then?’ asked Mum. ‘This urn’s heavy. Where’s the sea gone?’
‘The tide’s out,’ said Granny. ‘And I’ve decided not to throw Grandpa’s ashes in the sea today.’
‘What?’ said Jess’s mum. ‘But I’ve got my poem ready and everything. This is the moment we’ve been preparing for.’
‘No it isn’t, dear,’ said Granny firmly. ‘Now let’s find a cafe. I’m gasping for a cup of tea and I could murder a cake or two.’
After the tea break, they walked around Mousehole. Jess and her mum took turns carrying the urn. It was a bit odd, taking your dead grandfather for walkies. But on the other hand, it would have tickled Grandpa to bits. Jess could almost hear his voice in her head, saying, ‘For goodness’ sake, Jessica, let’s be getting back. The football starts at half-past two!’
The tiny little back streets of Mousehole were like a maze. The houses seemed ancient, and right in the middle of the village was somebody’s garden behind a high wall, with some banana plants poking their great big tropical leaves up towards the sky.
‘Banana plants! How exotic!’ said Jess’s mum. ‘Like Tangiers or somewhere, I imagine.’
Jess didn’t ask where Tangiers was. She’d had quite enough education already for one morning. It was odd how her mum could cheer up at the sight of a plant or two. Jess was glad she was looking happier, because she was planning to cry on Mum’s shoulder at the first opportunity. And it wouldn’t be fair to cry on somebody’s shoulder if they were already depressed.
Obviously, she wouldn’t mention Fred. But she was fairly confident that Mum would give her a cuddle and a bit of comfort. Jess would just say she was feeling sad. She wouldn’t have to go into details. What with the Grandpa’s ashes fiasco, there was plenty to be upset about without mentioning lurve.
They stayed for lunch in Mousehole – delicious fish and chips – and got back to Penzance in the middle of the afternoon. Granny went off for a little siesta, and Mum said she was going to have a look at a nearby park.
‘Do you want to come, Jess?’ she asked, expecting Jess to say no. Jess was too old for swings, and too young for plants.
‘Yes, I think I will, actually, Mum!’ said Jess.
Her mum looked startled, but accepted Jess’s company, and they strolled arm in arm to the park, which was only a couple of minutes away from the B&B.
Flowering shrubs and palms grew everywhere, and Jess could feel her mum relaxin
g at the sight of so much botany. They sat down on a bench in the shade.
Now’s my chance, thought Jess. She was just about to tell her mum how low she was feeling, and place her head tragically on her mum’s shoulder, when Mum got in first.
‘I’ve been thinking about what you said,’ she murmured, holding on more and more tightly to Jess’s hand, until it seemed that the blood would never again be able to reach Jess’s fingers. ‘It hasn’t been fair at all of me not to tell you what went wrong between me and Dad. I suppose I’ve always felt a bit embarrassed about it.’
‘There’s no need to tell me now, Mum,’ said Jess hastily. She wasn’t sure if she could bear any more tragic stuff today.
‘No, it’s all right. You’ve been pestering me to tell you about it for ages,’ said Mum. ‘The fact is, we were only married for a couple of years. He just – well, he made it clear he didn’t really want to be married to me. He just went sort of cold and distant, and a few months after you were born, he moved out. I assume …’
She hesitated for a moment, and to Jess’s horror, she realised her mum was fighting off tears. Oh no! Not again!
Chapter 24
Jess’s mum got out her hankie, blew her nose and resumed her tragic account of her marriage break-up.
‘I think Dad moved out, basically because, well … because he didn’t find me attractive any more.’
Jess cringed. She had been pestering her mum for years to tell her all about the break-up, but now the moment had come, it was the last thing Jess wanted to hear. It was way too soon after all that emotional stuff with Granny. Jess decided to head off this heavy scene before her mum got any more tearful.
She had to be bold. She had to be hugely brave, but if she did it with enough panache, it just might work.
‘Well, is it surprising?’ she said. ‘What man could endure your enormous nose like an elephant’s trunk, Mum?’ (In reality Jess’s mum’s nose was tiny and cute.) ‘And your green teeth, dripping with slime, home to numberless small molluscs?’ (Jess’s mum used inter-dental brushes three times a day.)
Mum listened. For a moment she looked a bit cross that her tragic moment had been railroaded into comedy, but then the corners of her mouth began to twitch towards a smile. Jess redoubled her efforts.
‘Most men like their wives to have hair, Mum, not a bald pate like yours covered with tattoos.’
Mum smiled, fighting off a laugh. Jess was determined to get her going. But it was much harder work than earlier, with Granny.
‘I’m sure Dad would have been happy with a quiet woman who liked to spend her evenings reading and gardening.’ (Jess’s mum’s very favourite things.) ‘But frankly, the way you go out and get drunk every night, swearing horribly, beating up policemen and forcing chips through people’s letterboxes, would put a strain on any marriage.’
Jess’s mum laughed. Out loud!
Jackpot! thought Jess in triumph. She spent the rest of the afternoon assuring her mum that she was the most attractive of all the fortysomething women in Cornwall. If Lawrence of Arabia had met her, he would certainly have abandoned the habits of a lifetime and urged her to become his wife. If Thomas Hardy had known her, he would have offered her his heart, possibly even with salad and fries. If Shakespeare had seen her, he wouldn’t have written Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. It would have been Madeleine, Princess of Penzance.
Eventually, Mum abandoned her deep self-hatred and agreed to have an ice cream while admiring some canna lilies.
‘Thank you, darling, for cheering me up,’ she said, licking her Exotic Solero. ‘You are the very best daughter anybody could have.’
Jess was relieved, though exhausted. After supper that night, she went straight to bed feeling shattered.
I’ll just lie awake and torture myself with thoughts of Fred and Flora for a few hours, she thought. I’ve been so busy with other people’s misery I haven’t had any time to wallow in my own.
Maybe she should give up all hope of happiness on Earth. Maybe she should give away all her possessions and become a Buddhist.
Then, out of the blue, her mobile buzzed on the bedside table. Jess grabbed it. There was a text from Fred!
CURSES! LOST MOBILE FOR WHOLE DAY! FOUND IT IN SOCK! WILL YOU EVER FORGIVE?
Instantly Jess whizzed off a reply: HAD ASSUMED YOU WERE TOO BUSY FLIRTING WITH FLORA AND HAD FORGOTTEN ME.
Within seconds she had her answer: WHAT?? FLORA??? WHERE IS THE DITZY NITWIT? HAVEN’T SEEN HER FOR WEEKS.
REALLY? replied Jess. SHE’S AT RIVERDENE, TOO — HAD ASSUMED SHE WAS WITH YOU.
There was a brief appalling pause. Then his answer came.
JUST TRUST ME — I HAVEN’T SEEN HER AT ALL AND I’VE NEVER STOPPED THINKING ABOUT YOU FOR A SINGLE MINUTE. EVEN WHEN EATING.
DITTO, replied Jess.
WHO’S DITTO? said Fred. SOME LEERING BEACH BUM? I AM CONSUMED WITH JEALOUSY, MADAM. DO NOT EVEN LOOK AT ANOTHER MALE ANIMAL, NOT EVEN A CANARY, OR WOE IS ME.
At this point, for some reason, Fred’s phone went out of range. However, Jess did feel reassured. Suddenly her phone buzzed and there was another text – from Dad.
CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU ON TUESDAY! HAVE GOT SOME NACHOS IN BUT CAN’T MANAGE A PUPPY THIS TIME. CAN OFFER YOU A TIMESHARE IN MY PET SEAGULL. WILL THAT DO?
I CAN’T WAIT EITHER, replied Jess. BUT SEAGULL A LITTLE UNIMAGINATIVE. HOW ABOUT PARROT? NOT SO MUCH A PET, MORE AN ON-SHOULDER FASHION ACCESSORY.
Jess now felt relaxed enough to go to sleep instead of lying awake for hours torturing herself with horrible fantasies about Fred and Flora honeymooning on a desert island. It wasn’t what you’d call the happiest ending to the most delightful of days, but it was a step in the right direction.
‘I want to have a bit of time to myself today,’ announced Granny at breakfast next morning. ‘I’ve got some thinking to do.’ She didn’t look anxious or tragic or anything, so Jess’s mum accepted it without a fuss.
‘I got a text from Dad last night,’ said Jess. ‘Saying we’re going to see him tomorrow. Is that right?’
‘Yes, I told him to expect us then,’ said Mum. ‘I’m planning to go to the Eden Project today. Do you fancy coming, Jess? It’s a wonderful place with huge biodomes with tropical plants and so on.’ Mum’s eyes began to shine with insane radiance at the thought.
‘No thanks!’ said Jess in horror. ‘I’ll just hang out in Penzance. I could spend a whole day here just window-shopping. And I might even go to the museum,’ she added hastily, to make her day sound a bit more educational. Mum didn’t seem to care. She was keen to make a quick getaway herself.
Jess started by spending about two hours in clothes shops, shoe shops and music shops. Then she wandered further up the main street and found a shop selling what seemed like 500 different scented candles. Jess sniffed about 267 of them and then her nose began to feel tired, so she went back outside and strolled a bit further along the road.
There was a bus at a bus stop. People were getting on. Then suddenly she noticed that the destination said ST IVES. That was Dad’s town! Jess’s heart leapt with excitement. She knew Mum had promised to visit Dad tomorrow, but suddenly she had a terrific, mad irresistible urge. She would jump on the bus right now and go to St Ives and surprise him!
Chapter 25
She jumped on, and the fare wasn’t very much, so it couldn’t be far. They travelled out of Penzance, over open countryside, and finally down a rather exciting road with lots of signs indicating that the magical St Ives was just around the corner. Jess saw the sea glinting in a great curve of light, out on her right, and then the bus plunged down a steep street, and finally stopped. Everyone got off, so Jess thought she had better follow.
‘Is this St Ives?’ she asked the driver, feeling like a bit of a fool.
‘Sure is, my dear!’ he replied, with a curious mixture of country and western and Cornish pirate in his voice.
Jess jumped off and looked around. She had no idea where Dad’s house was. People were q
ueuing to get on the bus. She selected a middle-aged woman with glasses. Her mum had always insisted, ‘If you have to speak to a stranger for some reason, make sure it’s a woman.’
In fact, Jess had always made it a rule to ask directions from someone who looked as much like her mum as possible. Which was stupid really, as Mum’s sense of direction was appalling.
OK, this woman in the queue might be a secret mass murderer. She might try to lure Jess back to her house and make pies out of her. But Jess was ready to grab her glasses and stamp on them if there were any signs of an approaching kidnapping. Anyway, Jess was pretty sure you couldn’t kidnap anybody by bus.
‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘Could you tell me where the Old Pilchard Loft is?’
The woman frowned, and shook her head. ‘I dunno, dear,’ she said. ‘Over by Downalong, I reckon.’
‘Where’s Downalong?’ asked Jess.
‘Over the other side of the harbour,’ said the woman.
‘Where – er, sorry, but where’s the harbour?’ asked Jess.
‘Just go down there to the end of the road, turn left, and then right, keep going, go down on the left-hand side of the church, and you’ll come out by the lifeboat station,’ said the woman. ‘Then you just walk around the quayside and round the other side and then up again. That’s Downalong.’
Jess ran down the road to the corner, followed the instructions and within seconds was standing by the lifeboat station. The harbour stretched away in a curve, with higgledy-piggledy old buildings lining the quayside, mostly shops and pubs, all glittering in the sunlight. The tide was out: there were lots of little boats lying on the sand of the harbour. Children and dogs were running around the quayside. Old people were sitting basking in the sun, their eyes closed. Young people were eating pasties.
A Cornish pasty! Jess’s stomach rumbled. She went into a pasty shop. She didn’t want to arrive ravenously hungry at Dad’s house. It wouldn’t be very polite to turn up out of the blue, a day early, and demand food immediately.
