by Andrea Darby
‘Stop! No.’ I try to pull her fingers away, but her grip tightens. I lash out, striking her outstretched arm with my fist. She lets go, and I push her away. She looks startled, body stiff, as it suddenly dawns on her what she’s done.
I stand to go, hand rubbing my sore neck. I’m petrified, want to run, blood rampaging in my head. But I have to tell her.
‘He was a good man,’ I say. She sits, a little calmer, still gripping the notes, fidgeting from side to side, head bowed. ‘Forgiveness,’ she mutters. ‘Forgiveness. Sorry.’ I walk towards the door, grabbing the handle for support.
‘Maybe cryonics is wrong; certainly for some people. Maybe I would have preferred my husband to have a Christian burial.’ My voice is shaky, throat tight and sore. ‘In hindsight, if I could change his decision, I probably would. It’s caused me a lot of pain. And Eleanor, too.’ She looks at me and I stare back, determined to make her listen. ‘But that wasn’t his intention. Like I said, he was a good man, a BLOODY good man.’ She flinches at my words, shifting position in the chair.
‘It was his choice, his will.’ I raise my voice, tears forming, pulse erratic. ‘And YOU don’t make the judgement. It has nothing to do with you, or anyone else. Most keep their cryonics wishes a secret because of narrow-minded people and their ignorant reactions. Dan showed great courage.’ She stands, hands flinching by her sides.
‘Get out!’ she yells, head quivering.
The scrape of a key follows her shout. I see a tall figure the other side of the door. I stand back.
‘What’s going on?’ It’s Ruth’s husband. He looks at me, then at Ruth, his long forehead creased with concern. ‘Are you OK?’
‘I came to talk to Ruth about what she’s been doing.’ I search for words, try to snatch breaths. ‘She’s been expressing her disapproval over my husband’s decision to be—’
‘I know about the notes – Bethany mentioned it,’ he cuts in. ‘I’m so sorry. She’s been causing a lot of problems.’ His eyes are veined and sore under drooping lids.
‘It’s not just the notes. She’s been calling, and …’ I stop. He looks so distressed.
‘Sorry. She’s really unwell, but won’t see a doctor.’ He puts down his satchel.
‘What’s it got to do with you?’ Ruth snarls. ‘You want a divorce, to break the vows. In Sickness …’ she accentuates each word, ‘… And In Health.’
‘Shut up, not now, in front … I’m calling the doctor.’
‘No!’ Ruth shouts, pacing by the phone.
He asks me what else she’d done. Bethany had been reluctant to go into detail. I tell him. He glares at Ruth.
‘That’s awful. She’s been harassing my sister, too, and several other people have been disturbed by her behaviour. I’ll pay for any damage and—’
‘Don’t talk about me as if I’m not here.’ Ruth strides into the kitchen, slams the door.
‘It has to stop, or I’ll have no choice but to involve the police again,’ I say, apologetically. He nods with a pained look, fingers splayed across a widow’s peak.
‘She’s had mental health issues before, but nothing we couldn’t cope with, nothing like …’ the end of his sentence is drowned by banging in the kitchen.
‘It’s such a shame. Do you know what’s caused … why she—?’
‘I think it all started after she lost her job.’ He walks over to yank open the curtains. ‘She’d been at the opticians for ten years, since Bethany started school. They had to let one of the receptionists go. I think Ruth may have upset a few customers – she can be a bit terse – although she was extremely efficient.’ He pulls a hand across the sheen on his forehead. ‘She didn’t tell us for ages, still left the house the same time each morning. I think she’s worried about money, though she still insists on giving regular payments to our church and a ridiculous number of charities.’
‘I hope she can be persuaded to see someone,’ I say. ‘Bethany’s welcome to stay with us any time.’
‘Thanks.’ He walks me politely to the front door.
‘And if I can do anything else to help.’ It occurs to me that Sunny may be able to help in some way. Perhaps Ruth would talk to her at least. I decide not to say anything until I’ve spoken to Sunny.
I step out into a brightness and sense of release that’s overwhelming.
***
‘Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in the sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life.’
The vicar’s sombre monotone voice cuts through the respectful silence as huddles of grey mourners gather in the corner of a packed graveyard. The smell of dew hangs in the air and the sky’s bruised with morning cloud. I shiver, the intermittent sun not a match for a chilly breeze.
Eleanor collapses into my shoulder, hair wet with tears, as we watch Mick’s coffin being lowered into the damp ground, next to his beloved Mary. I know she’s not just grieving for her granddad. She’s thinking of her dad. Maybe she’s wondering, as I am, why she couldn’t have said goodbye this way.
Mick’s gone to meet his maker, or hang out in hippy heaven with the flower-power and pot fairies, or whatever he believes awaits him. And we’ve all waved him off on his way. I kiss Eleanor’s head.
‘I know, darling, I know,’ I whisper as her body heaves.
Sunny brushes away her own tears, flashing her niece a soothing smile as she strokes her shoulder. She’s wearing a floaty blue dress and sober navy jacket with a patterned scarf in muted colours.
For a moment, my wet eyes are drawn to a mossy headstone to my right, inscribing their own words into the grey granite: ‘In Loving Memory of Edith Stanwell. Beloved Wife of Gordon’. In the past few days I’ve thought about Gordon a lot – the stranger who knows so much about me, whose words had truly spoken to me.
I blink hard and Dan’s name appears, in gleaming, silver lettering. ‘Dan Colwell. R.I.P’ R-stop. I-stop. P. Full stop. Dan had put an ellipsis by his life, but my eyes are struggling to see it any more.
Later, in the car, Eleanor falls into a brooding silence and I’m left to my musings, new grief tugging at old wounds.
‘Do you wish Dad had been buried?’ Eleanor turns to me. I’m stunned. I stare at the road ahead.
‘Yes.’ I have to be honest. ‘Or cremated.’
‘So do I. I think Dad was a bit selfish. It’s horrible for us, knowing his body is … he’s still … kind of, around … but sort of … not …’
‘I know. But we all have a right to choose – it’s what your dad wanted.’
‘Do you want to be buried, Mum?’ I pause to brake in a line of traffic, turning for a moment to meet Eleanor’s earnest eyes.
‘Yes.’
‘Me, too.’ I reach to touch her leg, smile a little. I can’t believe that, at last, Eleanor’s expressing how she really feels, and in such a calm, collected way. All her outpourings in the early days after Dan’s death were drowned in grief, anger and a zillion other emotions she couldn’t comprehend. Then the protective barrier went up, and I’d failed in all my attempts to break through her robust defence. I suspect Eleanor had read the cryonics leaflets and lingered on websites when I wasn’t around. Maybe she’d even chatted on forums with other children in her position. But I know this moment’s crucial; the breakthrough had to come.
‘I’m glad you’re happier. I don’t mind you having a boyfriend.’
I turn. ‘Thanks, darling.’
‘What’s for tea tonight?’ I suppress a snigger at Eleanor’s blatant signal that she wants to change the subject.
‘A run around the table and a kick of the cat,’ I say – another stupid saying to credit Dad with.
‘GOD, MUM!’
CHAPTER 31
I feel awful asking Pete for time off a week after officially handing in my notice – and so soon after Mark had done the same. Poor Pete. At least Tash is staying. She’s ruled out Brighton as her sister’s becoming ‘high mental maintenance’ and she doesn’t think she could stand living
too close. She and Joel have decided to start flat-hunting.
I wonder if it’s really bad form to see Ashley the day after the funeral, but it’s been too long and his life’s so hectic, I don’t know when the next opportunity will arise. Time spent apart feels like it used to when we were students, the absence agonising at times. The difference was that, back then, I could talk to my room-mate about my non-stop, guilt-free yearning for him to rip my knickers off until she begged me to stop or threatened to take my head off with her hockey stick. Now I have to hold it in.
‘Do you have to go?’ Ashley sighs, pulling me into his arms. He’s leaning against his car, an old blue Polo with a huge dent in the door and two missing hubcaps.
‘’Fraid so.’ I try to sound resolute.
We’ve just been snogging like a couple of teenagers in a dark corner at the school disco, and my lips are still tingling. So are other parts of my body, but we’re in Sainsbury’s car park, surrounded by frazzled mums and petulant toddlers, so any serious contact below the neckline’s out of the question.
Ashley didn’t make it to Tetford. His car had broken down on the way so we were left with a couple of snatched hours, time for a drink and a walk hand-in-hand around a few housing estates on the outskirts of a dingy town. He was so sorry to have spoiled our plans. I’d offered him a loan towards a new car. He’d agreed to consider it.
‘I really should take my leave, sire.’ I pull away, glance at my watch. ‘Shit, Eleanor’s back from her drama workshop at six and hasn’t taken a key, so I really must sling my hook.’
‘Fair play – you just covered five hundred years’ evolution of the English language right there.’ Ashley smiles. ‘I’m so sorry, again. I’ll make it up to you, sort out some free time really soon.’
‘You couldn’t help it. That bloody car. I mean it about that loan.’
He nods. ‘Thanks.’
He kisses me tenderly on the neck and I yearn for more time together, for full-on seduction. I suspect Ashley feels the same, judging by his loose, wandering hands. I have a moment of intense weakness, kissing his bristly lips once more. I can’t stop myself. I pull back.
‘OK, come back with me, ring your director and tell him you’re being held hostage in Sainsbury’s and can’t make it to tonight’s performance.’
‘I wish.’ He traps me with glittering eyes, we kiss again and I clench my muscles, trying to push the physical desire down towards my suede wedges, to trap it there.
Ashley holds me at arm’s length, staring at me intensely, fairer strands in his hair lit up by the sun.
‘I wish it didn’t have to be like this.’ My heart rate gathers pace. I’m desperate for him to go on. He obliges. ‘I wish I had a normal job, that we could be together more.’ I almost choke on an adrenalin rush. ‘Saying that, I might have to get one soon. I’ve heard nothing on the roles I’ve been up for.’
‘I want that too – to be together,’ I say.
Ashley’s phone rings in his pocket. He pulls it partially out, neck held awkwardly to view it. ‘Just a friend,’ he says dismissively, sliding it back in. It rings again.
‘A persistent one,’ I say, urging him to answer with my eyes.
‘It’s Lily.’ He looks at the screen as I lean over, then opens the car door, throwing the phone on to the passenger seat.
‘Are you sure she’s just a friend?’ I say, with an anxious smile, pretending to tease.
‘Yes.’ He rubs his hands down his trousers, looks offended.
‘So – that project you mentioned. Heard anything?’
‘Nope.’ He sniffs. ‘So I’m guessing it’s not good news.’
Then he does it. He bids me ‘adieu’ as we part. And I don’t bat back a witty reply.
Eleanor’s on the doorstep when I pull into the drive. She’s indignant, hands on hips.
‘I’ve been here ages, I texted, like, about five times.’
‘I was driving. Sorry, the traffic was bad. And I have to be at the doctor’s …’ I look at my watch, ‘… ten minutes ago.’
Later, I’m mashing several pounds of spuds – in a complete daze and in desperate need of comfort food – when Eleanor brings my mobile, telling me I’ve missed two calls and must be deaf. Both are Ashley’s number. I wonder why he’d ring so soon after seeing me, hoping it isn’t bad news about his nephew – though he’d told me earlier what fantastic progress he was making, amazing the medics. I call.
‘Now does my project gather to a head.’ Ashley’s really hamming it up. ‘The hour’s now come; the very minute bids thee open thine ear.’
‘What? Have you been mixing lemonades again?’ I’m confused.
‘I’ve got the project,’ he says. ‘I’ll be doing the photography, and some of the research, for a book and exhibition based on the history of London theatres. It should keep me busy – and fed – for months, maybe a year.’
I should be pleased for him. Yet my heart dives with despair. I have an enormous acting challenge – to sound happy when I’m really, really not.
‘Oh wow. So that’s what the mysterious biggie was. That’s incredible.’
I don’t think I pull it off. It’s not quite the news I was wishing for.
***
‘Thanks for coming over. I just had to see you before I leave,’ Sunny says, releasing my hands.
We’ve been stood by her front door for ages, Sunny prolonging the goodbye. She scoops Eleanor into another tight hug.
Sunny’s departure announcement – she was flying to the States later tonight; her taxi due any minute – was sudden, though not entirely unexpected.
Apart from when she’d popped round to tell me Ruth had finally seen a doctor, that a stay in a hospital unit looked likely if they could get her to agree to it, Sunny had kept a low profile since Mick’s death. We soon discovered why.
She’d been searching for the man her mum had the affair with, using information Mick left in his letter. And, not only had she found him, but he’d happily agreed to a paternity test that confirmed he was her dad. He was a Green Party activist living in Arcata, California and Sunny was flying out to see him and her two half-sisters and half-brother.
‘How long will you be gone?’ Eleanor asks, hands still held tight in Sunny’s.
‘Just for a few weeks for now, sweetness,’ she assures, the bottom of her Madonna gap visible between slightly parted lips. ‘I haven’t really thought beyond that.’
I think we all know that once Sunny’s back on a plane, her absence could end up being much, much longer. Maybe that’s why she’d given Eleanor the agate. Had she known then that it could be a special leaving gift?
It’s a time of great upheaval for Sunny, but she’s clearly excited at the prospect of meeting her new family. She’s less serene, eyes alight, movements more animated.
I’m bemused when she asks Eleanor to double-check the upstairs windows are closed. Then Sunny tells me. She didn’t want to say in front of Eleanor, but she’s checked with the company in Arizona, where Dan’s body’s being stored, and established that it’s permissible for relatives to visit. Would I mind?
‘Of course not – if that’s what you want to do.’ I try to wipe a visual of that stark, sanitised space from my mind.
‘Only if you’re sure. Are you?’ Sunny stares, eyes moist.
‘Absolutely.’
‘I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to him. I need to.’
‘I know,’ I say, with a half smile. ‘I understand.’ And I really did. ‘And thanks again for helping out with Ruth – I really appreciate it.’ I pat her arm gently. ‘And at such a difficult time. Her daughter says Ruth really responded to you.’
‘That’s so good to hear. I hope she gets the support she clearly needs.’
‘Goodbye. Take care.’
Tash is wide-eyed when I deliver the news about Sunny the next day. ‘She’s not hanging about, is she? Well, I don’t think I need any more reflexology – the specs have done the trick.’ She chuckles.
She’s already bought two pairs of designer glasses to colour co-ordinate with her outfits, and contacts for ‘special nights out and shagging’.
I don’t want to let Pete down with Lorex, so despite everything, I knuckle down to some writing. It’s Mark’s last day at the office – he’s planning a well-earned break before heading off to Bristol. I only have two more weeks.
Although I’ve brooded a bit about Ashley’s job, I’ve accepted it. I’m proud of his achievement. He’s worked so hard, made so many sacrifices. Our lives haven’t been simplified as I’d hoped, far from it, but the obstacles aren’t insurmountable.
I’m nervous stepping into Pete’s office before we leave for Mark’s farewell drink. He’s speechless for a moment when I hand the cheque across his desk.
‘I can’t take this.’ He looks down at the piece of paper, then back at me, one hand fiddling with his tie. ‘You can’t give me – the business – this amount. It’s a wonderful gesture, but it’s too much—’
‘It’s not from me. It’s from Dan,’ I interrupt. ‘This business gave him the start he needed. It meant so much. Your son was a good friend.’
‘It’s too generous.’ His hand’s shaking, face blank as if stuck for the right expression.
‘It’s great that your son has plans to expand. He needs investment – Dan would have wanted to help.’
Pete spends the next five minutes trying to talk me out of it. He still looks dazed, but small smiles break out now and then. He finally relents.
At the pub, Mark enjoys telling us all how little he has planned for his two weeks off.
‘I’ll think of you all when I climb out of bed at lunchtime,’ he says, raising his pint with glee. He’s going to rent a flat near Bristol, then he and Georgia will look for a place together and everyone will be invited to the house-warming.
He has some great leaving gifts – a new briefcase from me, a few silly things Tash and I bought, including a cauliflower-shaped stress ball, and, after a short speech, Pete proudly presents him with a posh silver pen, pointing out that it’s one of the pressurised, ‘space’ ones and can even write upside down.
