‘I am, and I particularly like little boys.’
He was out of the door in an instant. But that’s it. I am never napping in the afternoon again.
Monday 19 October
I spent the morning cleaning but the third lot of viewers didn’t turn up.
‘Changed their minds and are going to look in Padstow instead,’ the estate agent told me.
‘Good plan,’ I said. ‘It’s lovely there.’
With a bit of luck, I’ll be able to stay for the winter, I thought as the agent took off to show another house.
14
Dee
Saturday 5 December
A bleak month. The winter of our discontent or, as Fleur used to say while practising the latest dance moves as a teen – the winter of our disco tent. Time for an overdue prayer to God, I thought, so that Mum doesn’t come and haunt me.
‘Dear God. The snow has come early, the weather Siberian, with gale-force winds and hail. My heating’s broken, the central locking has gone on my car and the windows won’t open or shut, the roof in the bathroom’s leaking, the blind in my bedroom has snapped and Max had a problem with his bladder and had to have three nights in the animal hospital. I think I paid for an extra wing with what it cost. But then you know that, being Mr Know-It-All omniscient being. I am broke. And cold. And miserable. Woah, woah, we’re all doomed. You could hire me out as Cassandra the Prophetess of Disaster, guaranteed to bring catastrophe in her wake and ruin any party. Please send money along the cosmic portal (if there is one), Amen. Thanks.’
The reason I was broke was because the only bit of extra income I got from my evening classes with the oldies had been spent sprucing up my house for my sisters. On Mum’s programme, the location for weekend number two on the kicking the bucket list was No. 3, Summer Lane. Luckily, it was still my home. Viewings dried up in late November and the only person who was interested still had to sell their house so, thanks to a chain, so far there had been no sale.
I had no idea what weekend two entailed. Daniel wouldn’t say when he phoned to check that I had space for my sisters to stay, but he added, ‘All will be revealed when I arrive.’
In preparation for Fleur and Rose, I had been over to Plymouth and bought scented candles and soaps, Molton Brown bath gels, new pillows (my old ones for the spare beds were lumpy and bumpy and I had no doubt Rose only slept on the finest Siberian goose down), new towels (old ones were hard with age and wear), organic nibbles for Rose, Belgian chocolates for Fleur, fresh flowers from M&S, two bottles of good wine.
‘Why are you bothering?’ asked Anna when she popped in to find me baking what I remembered was Rose’s favourite cake, Fleur’s too. Apple and blueberry. I’d even got organic flour to appease Rose.
‘I want everything to be nice for them.’ I showed Mum’s latest text to Anna. It said: ‘Kindness is the key to a happy life.’
‘A little kindness goes a long way.’
‘It does. Mum really was a sly old fox sending me a message like that just before they arrive.’
‘It must be lovely getting these messages from Iris, reminders of her.’
‘It is,’ I agreed. ‘Although slightly peculiar to be getting messages from the beyond.’
‘Better than having to go to a séance,’ said Anna.
Saturday 12 December
By Saturday morning, the house smelt lovely and looked warm and welcoming. As I made a few last-minute tweaks, I wondered about Anna’s comment. Why did I feel the need to make such an effort for two people who hardly figured in my life? Kindness, kindness, I reminded myself, though I had to admit that I hadn’t been doing the preparations with good grace or out of kindness at all, more like fear that Rose and Fleur would find my standard of living wanting. I’d agonized over whether to put the Christmas decorations up or not. I usually did around the twelfth. I decided against. Rose might be critical. From what I remember, her trees were always statements of money and elegance; one colour – silver or gold – not both. My approach was throw it all on, the more tinsel the better, and I’d had a fake tree for the last few years because I felt bad about seeing all the real ones thrown out with the rubbish on 6 January. It seemed like a waste to me, but that might have been seen as me being New Age or old hippie again. No doubt Rose would find a fake tree and a ton of tinsel tacky, so I decided to delay the bauble-bling mania until they’d gone.
*
They both arrived just before ten o’clock, having made an early start and driven by car together.
Progress of a sort, I thought. Mum would have been pleased that they travelled together.
I showed them to their rooms, Rose on the first floor, Fleur up top in my studio. As they got settled in, I noticed that Rose had brought her own pillows.
‘You don’t mind, do you?’ she asked as she stripped the two new ones I’d bought off the bed. ‘I sleep so much better on my own, don’t you?’
‘I …’ Kindness, kindness, I told myself. ‘Of course not. I hope you’ll be comfy on the mattress.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning nothing. Just, I hope you’ll be comfy on the mattress. As you said, you sleep better on your own pillows, the same probably goes for your own mattress, but obviously you can’t transport that.’
‘I just want to be able to sleep, especially after that drive. I’m exhausted and we haven’t even started yet. Why do you have to live so far away?’
‘I live here because I like it. I’ll travel to London when one of the weekends is at yours. I’ve left towels on the chair, or did you bring your own?’
‘Dee, if you’re pissed off with me because I brought my own pillows, just say.’
I took a deep breath. ‘I’m not. Really.’
‘Really?’
‘Really. As you say, nothing like the comforts of your own home.’
‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Nothing. God Rose, nothing.’
‘I knew it. I knew I shouldn’t have brought my own pillows. I’ve offended you. But really, I find it hard enough sleeping as it is, never mind in a strange bed. Loads of people I know take their own pillows when travelling.’
‘It’s fine. Really. Come down when you’re ready and I’ll make some tea.’ I made an effort to smile. And I can use the pillows I bought to put over your face in the night, I thought as I went downstairs to the kitchen, where my eyes went straight to a photo of Mum on the board. ‘And you can stop looking at me like that for a start.’
‘Who are you talking to?’ asked Fleur, coming in behind me a few moments later.
‘No one,’ I said.
‘But I heard you, just now, as I was coming down the stairs. Don’t tell me you’ve started talking to yourself?’
‘No. I was … talking to God,’ I lied. ‘Remember Mum asked us to in her letter.’
‘Oh yes, that.’
‘Do you do it?’
‘Keep forgetting. What do you say to him, her or it?’
‘Oh you know, any old thing. Chat, ask questions, sometimes pray.’
‘For what?’
Patience, I thought as I put the kettle on. ‘World peace,’ I said.
Fleur burst out laughing. ‘Good luck with that. Actually, I was thinking about it the other day. If there is a God, it can’t be easy being omnipresent. Like in the beginning, it was probably amazing, experiencing everything, everywhere, all brand new and shiny, but now there’s TV, satellite TV and catch-up TV, plus Netflix and so many others, which means that God, if there is one, having to be at one with everything, must have to experience movies, shows, YouTube clips over and over and over again. Enough to drive anyone bonkers. Like arghhh, another episode of Top Gear again and again in every language. No wonder God has gone mad and abandoned planet earth. It’s down to over-exposure of TV programmes and movies and anything in cyberspace.’
I laughed. ‘That’s deep, and a philosophy I can’t say I’ve heard before.’
‘I can do deep,’ said Fleur,
as she poked around in my cupboards and found a packet of Hobnobs which she opened.
Rose came down to join us and at first there was an awkward silence.
Fleur offered her a biscuit. ‘Hobnob?’
Rose waved her away like she was an irritating fly. It felt as if it might be a long weekend. It had been years since they had been in my home, in my kitchen, in my world, and even longer since we’d been comfy cosy together – if we ever had been.
‘Look, I really want you both to be comfortable, so please help yourself to anything in the fridge. Come and go as you please. Just be at home.’
Both nodded, then started looking at the photos on my board and asking about various people on it. ‘Oh how’s Marie? You still friends?’ ‘Ever hear from Andy?’
I answered, ‘Yes to Marie – she lives in the next village – and no to Andy, though I hear his news through Lucy.’
‘Hey,’ said Fleur, after she’d scrutinized the board. ‘Everyone in your world is up there, but not one of us.’
I cursed that I hadn’t noticed that before they came. I used to have pictures of us there, lots of them, but seeing their faces staring down at me as I ate my muesli every morning was more than I could bear after our big blow up over where Mum should live, and, one by one, I’d removed them.
‘I’ll find one and put it up,’ I said. ‘Do you have photos of us at your place?’
‘Actually, I do,’ Fleur replied. I could tell from the way she said it that she was put out. Rose didn’t answer so I took that as a no. Luckily there was a knock on the door and any further discussion of photos was ended as Daniel arrived. He was laden with bags and boxes, which he put in the corner of the kitchen.
I’d made an effort with my appearance as well as the house, and had put on a little make-up and my best (and only, courtesy of the Oxfam shop) jade green cashmere sweater with good jeans, not the ones that were baggy round the knees. I’d tried to tell myself it wasn’t for his benefit but I knew that it was. He’d been on my mind a lot since October, and when he’d telephoned to check the sleeping arrangements, I’d felt like a girl, nervous and excited.
My small kitchen felt crowded with everyone in there, but it was the only place we could all sit around a table for the recording. Fleur and Rose seemed to fill the room with their presence and perfume (Annick Goutal for Rose, Acqua di Parma for Fleur. I’d seen the bottles in their bedrooms), and with Daniel in the mix too, it felt rather overwhelming. Seeing him again was a jolt, he was better looking than I remembered and, being in such close proximity on my own territory, I had the sensation of having drunk a double espresso.
‘Just got here?’ I asked.
He shook his head. ‘I arrived last night. Stayed at the Bell and Anchor.’
‘Wise decision,’ said Fleur. ‘It is a long way from civilization. The drive took us for ever.’
‘Surprisingly for a long way from civilization, we do have electricity and even Wi-Fi,’ I said.
‘Sorry, Dee. I didn’t mean to offend, but you have to admit it’s a long way.’
This coming from Fleur, who has travelled the world and been more long distances than anyone, I thought. I decided to let it go, plus I didn’t want to appear petulant in front of Daniel. I wished he’d let me know he’d stayed last night. I could have gone to meet him, but supposed he wanted to keep his distance and didn’t want me, or any of us for that matter, asking too many questions about what Mum had in store for us. I felt disappointed. If he was attracted to me, surely he’d have sought out the opportunity to see me without my sisters, I thought, so he clearly isn’t. He’s been hired to do a job and we’re the clients.
I made tea, got out the cake tin and offered them all a piece. ‘Home baked. Apple and blueberry.’
‘Has it got sugar in it?’ asked Rose.
‘A little.’
‘Not for me then. I don’t do sugar any more. Have you got an oatcake? Organic if you have.’
‘I do actually, but what about you Fleur?’
‘Maybe later,’ she said. ‘I’m watching the old figure too.’
Rose looked indignant. ‘I’m not watching my figure.’ She wrinkled her nose in disgust. ‘It’s sugar. Everyone knows it’s the enemy.’
I burst out laughing. ‘Come on, Rose, chill out a bit. One piece of cake isn’t going to kill you. This used to be your favourite cake. This whole sugar thing, it’s like anything – do it in moderation.’
‘I’ll have a piece,’ said Daniel, and helped himself. ‘Looks delicious.’
‘Thanks. I used my mum’s recipe. I made it specially.’
Rose sighed. ‘And now you’re doing the guilt trip.’
‘I am not.’
‘Yes, you are. You made it specially.’
‘I don’t do guilt trips, that’s your department.’ It was out before I could stop myself. Rose ignored it.
Fleur laughed. ‘Oh well, Mum, we’ve got off to a good beginning.’ She turned to Daniel. ‘OK, messenger from the dead. Turn on your laptop and let’s see what’s next on the agenda.’
Daniel shook his head. ‘Messenger from the dead? Makes it sound like we’re in some kind of horror movie.’
Fleur looked over at Rose and me and raised an eyebrow. Even Daniel laughed. ‘You girls.’
I was about to comment that Rose didn’t like being called a girl, but I bit my lip again because I am kind, kind, and anyway, if it bugs her that much, she can tell him herself, but she was busy shooing away Max who had wound himself around her ankles. Hah. As I remembered, she wasn’t mad about cats. With a bit of luck, he’d do his party trick and pee on her shoes to mark his territory.
Daniel got out his laptop and switched it on. Rose and Fleur sat at the table as I finished making tea. How can something so familiar be so weird at the same time? I wondered as we waited for Mum to pop up and join us in our strange version of Happy Families, the cast being three living, one dead.
There they were again. Mum, Martha and Jean, smiling from the screen. I felt a lump come into my throat. I glanced at Fleur and Rose; both of them had glistening eyes too. At least that’s one thing we all have in common, I thought. We all loved our mother.
‘What are they wearing?’ Fleur asked.
‘Looks like keep-fit clothes,’ I replied. Mum had a pink bandana round her head, Martha and Jean were in baseball caps, Jean with hers turned backwards. The sight of them made me smile.
‘Hello dollies,’ said Mum. ‘I bet you’re wondering what’s the old bat cooked up this time on the “how to be happy” programme? Well, this weekend is simple. Day one a bit of physical exercise. Day two, you’re going to get creative.’
Rose groaned. ‘It’s like being back at school.’
‘Research shows that regular exercise can help reduce cancer, heart disease and stroke,’ Martha continued.
‘Aye, and depression,’ added Jean. ‘The best prescription for the blues is to get out and get some fresh air in your lungs. It can work wonders for the black dog in the corner.’
‘So, basically today will be just a taster,’ said Mum. ‘Anyone knows that to benefit from exercise, you have to do it regularly, and it’s important to do something you enjoy or else you won’t do it.’
‘I did t’ai chi and still do what I can,’ said Martha. ‘Jean does a bit of Pilates—’
‘Mainly because I can do that lying down,’ said Jean.
‘And I still try to do a bit of yoga,’ said Mum. She looked upwards and stuck out her tongue as far as it would go. ‘That’s the lion pose. I can still do that one. But for you, start today with a hike and have a think about what exercise you’d like to do as part of your lifestyle. I know, Rose, that you do yoga too, but what about you, Daisy and Fleur? Are you moving about enough? I chose to do this weekend down with you, Daisy, because it’s nice to accompany a walk with some lovely scenery, and it doesn’t get better than down your way, plus I’ve no way of knowing what month this weekend will fall in.’
‘Depends on w
hen you kick the bucket,’ said Martha.
‘Exactly,’ Mum agreed. ‘Could be the middle of summer or the middle of winter, but the chances of it being a nice day in the middle of December are more likely in Cornwall. Remember that Christmas I was down with you, Daisy? Many years ago. We walked after lunch and the sun was shining down on us. Kingsand to Mount Edgcumbe.’ I nodded. I did remember. Mum loved that walk. ‘So that’s the first part. Do that walk. Breathe in the air. Enjoy the scenery, then a bit of lunch maybe in the pub at Cremyll and back to Kingsand, where Daniel will have organized an exercise class.’
This time it was Fleur who groaned. ‘Exercise class? What’s she trying to do? Kill us?’
‘It’s important to do something that’s fun so that you stick to it,’ said Jean, ‘so we thought a bit of Zumba.’
‘But first a hike to get one’s lungs and heart going,’ said Martha. ‘Blow the cobwebs away.’
‘In fact, if you can, you could jog the last half-hour. Not race, just jog,’ said Mum.
‘I haven’t brought the right footwear,’ said Fleur, looking at her powder-blue suede boots with kitten heels. They matched her sweater and eyes perfectly.
‘And the Zumba to get you moving and dancing,’ said Jean.
‘Really, girls, take it seriously,’ said Mum. ‘Old age comes round too soon. Preserve your mobility as long as you can.’
‘And no excuses like you haven’t brought the right shoes, so we’ve ordered some for you – and fitness clothes,’ said Jean.
I looked at Fleur. ‘Spooky,’ I said.
‘No. Just Mum knowing what I’m like,’ said Fleur.
‘Tomorrow we’ve divided into three sections, and are going to look at different ways to express your feelings,’ said Mum.
‘We had a good long chat about what we’d enjoyed over the years, and being creative scored highly,’ said Jean.
‘So first a painting class,’ said Mum. ‘I know – easy for you Daisy, but tomorrow I want you to paint for fun, not to sell your work, and Fleur and Rose, just give it a go.’
‘After art will be a singing class,’ said Martha. She took a deep breath and let rip an impressive high note. ‘You might be amazed at how that can make one feel. I’ve been in a choir for as long as I can remember, and singing with others, the union of voices in harmony, can bring pure joy.’
The Kicking the Bucket List Page 11
