“Isn’t he coming home?”
“We explained, didn’t we? Daddy’s gone to heaven.” Beneath my steel exterior, the core of me is trembling, my foundations threatening to crack, like an earthquake just ripped right through me.
“Oh, but how did he get to heaven?”
I don’t know how to answer her. I don’t know what she’s thinking or feeling or how this must seem to her. If I could only see inside her head, then I could help her understand.
“When your body dies, darling… your spirit inside flies up to heaven. You can’t see it, it’s that invisible magical bit inside you that makes you who you are… that’s the part that’s gone to heaven. Daddy’s body is resting here still, but soon we’ll have to say goodbye to it.”
“But where’s his body? Isn’t he coming home?”
“No darling,” I explain gently. “You know when we had to bury your pet fish, well we’re going to have to bury your father, too. Except we’ll have to bury him somewhere else.”
Emily shakes her head from side to side. “I didn’t like that. I don’t want to bury Daddy.”
“Okay, you don’t have to come.” I’m biting the inside of my cheek, anything to stop myself from crying.
“I want a picture of Daddy so I can talk to him and tell him things. We could put it on Teddy’s belly so that I can still hug Daddy.”
I shut my eyes and take a deep breath. “Of course, whatever you need Ems.”
She continues eating her dinner and I watch her, trying with all my might to hold it together. We’re eating at the kitchen dining table so I get up from my chair and walk to the window, letting my tears fall with my back to her.
“What are you doing, Mummy?” she asks.
“Just washing my hands. I’ve got muck on them from Rupey’s dinner.”
“Okay, Mummy.”
My daughter reminds me so much of myself at that age – too clever for her own good.
AFTER THE KIDS are fast asleep in their own beds for the first time this week, there’s a knock on the door I’m determined to ignore. However, my car’s outside and if it’s someone who knows me, they probably know I’m in because I wouldn’t leave the house at this time of night without my car.
When the knock comes again, along with a text message saying: open up!, I shake my head and unlock the door.
Hetty walks in unaccompanied. Joe must be looking after the milk monster.
“All right?” she asks, trying to seem disengaged, as if she’s popped round on the spur of the moment. She scans the rooms as she passes down the hallway towards the kitchen, seemingly assured I’m not yet past caring for my kids.
She puts on the kettle and props herself against the sideboard while we wait for it to boil. She doesn’t know what to say to me, so when the kettle has boiled, she goes about mashing the tea and grabbing milk from the fridge.
We take the drinks into the living room and sit in the smaller two-seat sofa which the kids like to play on.
“So, you been sleeping then?” she asks, holding her mug to her lips.
“I don’t think so. I seem to snatch a few winks, but nothing good enough.”
“It’ll get better,” she says.
“You think?”
“It can’t get any worse, right?”
“Yep.”
“If you wanna talk, you can talk, you know?”
I turn and look at her. She’s make-up free and tired. Her hair is barely brushed but she looks beautiful, in her own quirky way. She stopped dyeing her hair blue once she got pregnant, but the tips are still blue. The rest is blonde, her natural colour.
“I can’t talk about it yet,” I whisper.
“Okay.”
“I just want to get on with things. Once the funeral’s over with, I’m going to sell his car and this house and put everything in trust for the kids. I don’t want any of it.”
“Liza, come on. Don’t act rash.”
“I don’t want any of it, Het. None of it.”
“Well, that’s fine, but your children still need a roof over their head and they are his kids. With his money, you’ll be providing them with a safe future.”
I start shaking my head. “It doesn’t feel right, though.”
“It doesn’t matter what’s right, all that matters is the kids.”
“Yeah, well…”
“Listen, okay?” she asks, and I nod that I’m listening. “I’ve got cover for you at the shop for a few weeks because we all agree you need time out. The thing is, while there will always be a place for you at the shop, I really think it might be time for you to consider doing all the things you said you were going to do.”
I take a deep breath. “You mean my MA and all that?”
“That, yeah. And everything else. Travel. Teaching. All that.”
“I can’t think about any of that right now. Besides, we discussed the other day that we were going to work together on building your brand.”
She looks awkward, like she doesn’t want to upset me with her true feelings on that.
“Just say it,” I ask.
“I’m not ready for that. Betty’s still very small.”
“Cute. You’re calling her Betty now?”
“It suits her.”
“It does.” I manage a small smile; it seems there are still things that give me some semblance of peace.
“I discussed it with Joe and we decided I’m not ready to go big yet.”
“No, you told Joe you’re not ready. You told Joe you’re not ready, and you went mental on him because you’re nervous about it all.”
She turns her head and eyes me with scorn. “I hate you.”
“I hate you, too. But I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Yeah… fuck.”
“Then, let us continue as we were going to. It’ll give me something to focus on.”
“She is small, Liz. I can’t… I’m not going to upend my life suddenly if we manage to do this.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m only asking you to draw some pictures and develop the ideas, then for us to approach manufacturers and make them a reality on a grand scale. You won’t need to do much but design, and I bet you’ve been doing that in the back of your bloody head since you had Betty.”
“Yeah,” she groans, “but I still hate you.”
We have an extremely complex and complicated relationship. We’re probably closer than sisters. We’ve never had any rivalry at all. We do get on one another’s nerves, but it’s only because we’ve got each other’s backs and we want the best for one another. It can be difficult when one of us fucks up and the other one can’t do anything about it. We just have to ride the fuck-up together.
“What about Sam?” she asks, buffing her nails on her shirt. “Has he been in touch? Warrick said he showed up on Tuesday night.”
“Apart from him helping me sort out a cleaner for this place, I haven’t heard anything else since then. He’s never been the type to barge his way into my business, unlike some people I could mention…”
She throws her head back on a suppressed scoff. “Charming.”
“Well…”
“So, what are you going to do?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. I’m not ready for anything like that.”
“If you ask me, Gage got what he deserved.” She stares at me with that serious look in her blue eyes, lips pursed.
“Well, I didn’t ask you. Not that I would expect anything less than scorn from you.”
“Well…” She flicks her hair over her shoulders, sniffing the air like she does.
“Emily doesn’t want to come to the funeral, you know.”
She turns and assesses me more intimately, twisting her body towards mine. “What?”
“I was thinking maybe you could have them for the day while I get it over and done with. I’m glad she doesn’t want to attend actually. It’s adult stuff they have no comprehension of. She doesn’t need the memory of watching a load of ad
ults pouring their hearts out, crying.”
Hetty swallows visibly, even partially looking harrowed. She quickly shakes it off and straightens up again. “Sure, I’ll have the kids. Won’t you need me there, though?”
“No, I need you to take care of the things that mean the most to me.”
Her chin goes, then mine does. Her eyes turn red raw and then she leaps across and cuddles me.
“I’m so sorry, Liz. So sorry. And for slapping you.”
“God, I thought the sorry was for the slap first and foremost. I’m sure you enjoyed that a bit much, you know?”
“I was just so angry. I can’t help it. It’s the emotion that hits me first, you know? I’m hardwired to be angry first.”
We pull apart and she grabs a box of tissues, taking one for herself before handing them to me. We wipe our eyes and she tells me, “Of course, I’ll have them. Joe and I will take them somewhere fun. I’ve been thinking of taking Betty to one of those baby-friendly cinema screenings. I’ll see if we can’t find a suitable thing to take them all to. It’s going to be fun!” she declares, but I’m not sure who she’s trying to convince.
“Good luck!” I exclaim.
“Yeah, maybe we should go to The Deep. It’s dark in there, the babies will sleep.”
We laugh and I notice it’s getting dark outside. It’s the night when grief is the worst… when the quiet and the lull and the memories and the lack of sleep all make for one big nasty nightmare.
“Listen, if he is the man you love, you shouldn’t hang about. I know it’s been an awful time and everything, but why wait, Liz?” She’s biting her nails as she says this because she’s expecting a bad reaction.
“It’s not that easy, Het.”
“Why isn’t it?”
“Because I love him and it’s not right to drag him into this with me right now. He doesn’t deserve it. Gage would be loving this right now, you know? We both know he would never have made it easy for me to leave him.”
She peers at me, her expression changing from casual to worried. “Are you saying he was that kind of husband?”
“I’m saying I wouldn’t be surprised if he went on a self-destructive bender last weekend to make me feel bad about myself, because that was what he was like. Always making me feel bad about everything. When I came back from Paris with you that time and told him what a good time we’d had, he slagged off each and every part of the trip and even told me I needed my head testing for walking around cemeteries, not that he would have ever realised how many famous people’s graves there are in Paris.”
“He was a bit of a nasty fucker, then?”
“I just kept going for the kids, Het. It’s what I’ll always keep going for.”
“But what about you?” she frowns. “When are you going to realise that some self-love could change your whole world?”
“That’s the thing, Het. I know that. I do. That’s why the thing with Sam has to wait. I’m not ready. There are things I’ve ignored for so long, and do you know what? The worst thing about his death is that I’ve got no excuse to ignore all my problems anymore. No excuse whatsoever. He’s gone and it’s just me now. I get to call all the shots.”
“Oh, you certainly do, sister. You really, really should, too.”
She takes our mugs into the kitchen and tidies them into the dishwasher.
Before she leaves the house, she gives me that wicked grin of hers and says, “I hope you know I’m gonna make you wear my dresses.”
“I’m not in it for anything else.”
She cackles as she heads out of the door.
Chapter Fourteen
I WAS RUNNING LATE, THE scent of wood and dusty paper and coffee invading my nostrils as I jumped stairs, then chased down samey corridors. I couldn’t even remember the name of the girl I’d just been screwing, only ten minutes ago. All I knew was that I was afraid I had leaked a bit since zipping up quickly, having left my latest conquest in a hurry when I realised I was late.
The door on the seminar room was shut when I arrived, which didn’t bode well. I checked my watch and I was three minutes late.
Nothing for it, though.
My first seminar of university and I was shitting late!
This didn’t bode well.
The teacher looked up briefly from filling in an electronic register, passing no judgement, making no comment. This entire world was so different to boarding school and I loved it.
I felt relieved to see most people were still getting their books out and putting their coats on the backs of their chairs.
There was only one available seat and so I made a beeline for it, at first not even aware of who I’d be sitting next to.
“Welcome to Approaches to Poetry, just in case any of you are in the wrong class?” He waited hilariously for someone to get up and walk out. Nobody did, thankfully. Our teacher remained seated – another oddity it’d take me time to get used to. “I’ll give you a brief introduction, outlining how we’ll be proceeding this term.”
I was nervous because I’d missed the first lecture and felt sure I’d be able to contribute nothing to this class as a result of neglecting not only that, but my reading list too. I knew I could piss about and still sail through my first year (at least I thought I could), but even so I didn’t much fancy making a fool of myself.
I’d gained a few top A levels and could have studied at any of the country’s more grandiose universities, but studying at Hull would be good for me, I’d always known. My parents (my mum more like) would never visit such a place, and besides, I fancied myself a poet and wanted to follow in the footsteps of Philip Larkin. I’d done as I was told all throughout boarding school, determined not to get into trouble, but now it was like I’d been let off the leash and I had decided that at a university like this, I wouldn’t have to work too hard.
“If you could open your books at page twenty-six,” the tutor said, and like the eager beavers we were, it being our first class, we scrambled to open them up.
I found myself staring at ‘Prufrock’ by T. S. Eliot. I had no idea who the fuck he was, nor why I was even here. I considered pressing the snooze button on my brain, when the tutor asked, “Would anyone like to start us off?”
The girl sitting next to me tentatively raised her hand. The tutor squinted, determining who it was he was looking at.
“Thank you… Liza? Is it?”
“Yes.”
“Go ahead, Liza.”
I didn’t look across at her. I still wasn’t sure if I had a cum stain on my jeans or not, meaning I didn’t particularly want to attract the attention of anyone else that day until I’d gone home and showered.
All I knew was that as she started reading, I liked her voice. Yorkshire. She was definitely local.
The class fell silent as she read audibly and with feeling…
I know people say “with feeling” all the time, like it’s so easy, but I knew from experience that feeling wasn’t so easy… not at all, in fact.
I realised she was reading with feeling, however. It was the rise and fall of her language and the diction… something about her conviction. It was maybe even the fact that she was fucking passionate, I don’t know. She just sounded… nice.
After a while, the tutor interrupted, “Thank you, Liza. Anyone else?”
Some other geek’s hand shot up and read quite well, but not as delightfully as Liza.
The tutor waited until around two-thirds of the way through, then read the last part himself.
I felt jaded by the end of it. I needed coffee and food, stat. I hadn’t been looking after myself since freshers’ week and that became more evident, the more I tried to engage my brain.
“So, in pairs, I’d like you to consider why T. S. Eliot rejected the idea of his work as surrealist.”
For fuck sake, I felt sure the man was trying to fry my brain.
A little voice to my left whispered, “I guess we’re working together, then.”
It was the girl wh
o’d been reading earlier. It seemed that by virtue of how the class was seated that we were indeed sharing a desk, and that meant we’d already been paired without any process of selection whatsoever.
“I guess so.” I took out a pen and notebook, ready to write down whatever she had to say – because from the feel of it, I believed she knew what she was talking about.
I turned to glance at Liza – make it look like I was interested – but instead I found myself unable to take my eyes off her as she scribbled down notes. She was undoubtedly the prettiest thing I’d ever laid eyes on and had the most succulent rack.
When she looked right at me, I froze. Whatever effect she was having on me, all I knew was that it was instantaneous and arresting. It was unmistakable.
“So, his work was a stream of jumbled consciousness, right?” she said.
“I don’t know, I don’t know… I mean, I could wander around, you know… just tacking one idea onto another. Like how the café serves the most obscenely hot coffee, it’s undrinkable… and how it’s impossible to find a lift that works in the library, plus there’s never any loo roll in the union loos, you noticed that?”
She raised her eyebrows, then held out her hand. “I’m Liza.”
“Sam.”
She viewed me with interest, figuring me out. “You’ve been enjoying all the delights of halls, then?”
“Yeah. Which one are you in? Cottingham, or…?”
She smirked. “I live with my parents. Well, aside from when I stay over at my boyfriend’s. He’s a rugby player. He has his own place. I don’t really need to stay in halls.”
I didn’t know what to read into that. Was she proud of her boyfriend’s living arrangements, or disdainful of halls?
The way she was dressed in her neat skirt, tight sweater and cute tights told me she wasn’t the type to roll off a lover and head straight for a class without checking for cum stains first.
She made me feel inferior, but I was okay with that. I just knew she was my better. In that moment, I knew I would never, ever be good enough for her. She was one of those people you could tell straight away was special.
Guilt Page 10
