Born to Be Trouble

by Sheila Jeffries

  Tessa picked up her key and ran down to the pay phone. Freddie was awkward on the phone. If the pips sounded to prompt her to insert more coins, Freddie would panic and hang up. So she made a reversed charge call to give them uninterrupted talking time.

  The phone rang and rang and when he answered he was out of breath.

  ‘What were you doing, Dad?’ Tessa asked.

  ‘Hoeing me onion bed,’ he said. ‘I ran up the garden.’

  Tessa imagined him running up the path with money jingling in his pockets. It made her smile. And it made her homesick.

  ‘How’s Mum?’

  His voice went down an octave. ‘Ah – she’s bad. Really bad this week. Taken to her bed. I’ve never seen her like this, Tessa. ’Tis hard.’

  ‘Oh Dad.’ Tessa empathised with his feelings of confusion, injustice and anxiety. And something else. ‘You feel powerless, don’t you?’ she asked, guessing.

  He struggled to speak. ‘You’re right, Tessa.’

  ‘But Mum needs you – just having you there is the best help, Dad. Love is better than any medical stuff.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Don’t give up, Dad. You’re doing so well – I’m proud of you.’

  ‘Ah – well – I’m doing me best. But Kate is on morphine now, and sometimes she can hardly open her eyes – but when she does, and she sees me there, her eyes light up and she smiles so brightly. Melt a battleship she would, with that smile. It breaks my heart.’

  ‘Aw, Dad – I wish I was there to give you a hug.’

  ‘She’ll get weaker, see, if she lies in bed, and she’s gone so thin. Like a shadow of how she was – and yet, it’s odd, but when she is awake she’s more radiant than I’ve ever seen her, Tessa. She – shines like an angel.’

  Tessa nodded slowly. Being so far away from her parents felt wrong. Paul was hunched on the stairs, listening. Beyond the veneer of scepticism in his eyes, beyond the hunger for control, was the endless shadow of the rejected child he had been. The compassion Tessa had once felt for him had hardened into a knot she couldn’t unravel. He’d taken her love, her money and her energy and twisted it into bitterness. She needed to detach from him. Live on her own. Or find the man who loved her the way Freddie loved Kate.

  She wondered if Freddie now knew the truth about Kate’s illness. Kate had willed herself to get well. She’d hung on to the threads of her life, each time setting herself goals. Things she didn’t want to miss. ‘I love my life so much,’ she said constantly. First she’d hung on for Christmas. Then she’d wanted to see the snowdrops come up under the apple tree in late January. Then the crocuses, the primroses, the daffodils, the first blackbird singing. Everything was precious to her. Each flower a jewel not to be missed, each day a new gift.

  ‘I was going to come down again this weekend,’ Tessa said. ‘What do you think, Dad? Do you need me?’

  ‘Kate does. She’d love to see you. You come, Tessa, but . . .’ Freddie hesitated. He and Tessa still picked up each other’s thoughts. ‘What about Paul? He won’t want to keep coming down here. Could you come on your own?’

  He knows, Tessa thought. She was desperately tired on that Friday, from trying to cope with her job, her astrology course, the weekly mediumship training, and the weekend chores of shopping and housework. The shadow of Kate’s illness had flooded the spaces in her life. Lexi’s voice had been so urgent, like a warning bell, and Freddie’s silences ached with pain. Kate’s bright brown eyes shone in her mind. She had to go.

  And be strong.

  For one last time.

  On the Wednesday before Easter, at twenty past three in the morning, Tessa woke up with a jump. The chilling sound of the hall telephone echoed through the block of flats, making the stair rods and the lampshades tremble.

  Paul didn’t wake. He slept deeply, needily, curled up on his side. The bell went on ringing, relentlessly. Mum, Tessa thought. She rolled out of bed, ran downstairs and grabbed the ringing telephone.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Tessa? – It’s Lexi.’

  ‘Lexi! What is it? What’s wrong?’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Tessa. I had to ring you. There’s no easy way to say this, dear, but your mum died about an hour ago. I was with her, and your dad, and the Marie Curie nurse. We held her hands until her pulse stopped beating. She went peacefully – without pain.’

  Tessa’s aura turned to ice. Hot tears ran down her cheeks. She couldn’t move.

  ‘Tessa? Are you there? Can you hear me?’

  ‘Yes – yes, I heard you – Lexi – I’m just – stunned. I didn’t believe she was going to die. I hoped she was getting better. I was there with her on Sunday. She – she gave me her ring, and – oh God – I should have stayed, Lexi. But Mum told me to go – she said she’d be fine – she understood I had to go to work – and said she was proud of me, told me she loved me.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Lexi said. ‘Look – Tessa – it’s a hell of a shock, losing your mum. Are you going to be all right? Is Paul there with you?’

  ‘He’s asleep.’

  ‘Wake him up,’ Lexi said in her fierce voice. ‘You can’t face this alone in the middle of the night, Tessa. Promise me you’ll wake him up.’

  ‘Okay,’ Tessa said, and realised she was shivering violently. She had an absurd memory of shivering like that on Weymouth Sands as a small child. She’d been in the sea too long, a cold east wind was blowing, and Kate had wrapped her in an orange beach towel. She could feel it now. The welcome. The comfort.

  Gone.

  Forever.

  ‘You must make yourself a hot, sweet drink,’ Lexi said, ‘and get back into bed, Tessa. Don’t jump in the car and drive down here when you’re upset. There’s nothing you can do right now. Are you listening?’

  ‘Yes – but – Lexi – what about Dad?’

  ‘Well – he’s devastated, of course,’ Lexi said. ‘It was so sad. He just sat there for a long time, looking at her, then he got up and stared out of the window at the moonlight, and he said, “That’s the end of my world”.’

  ‘Oh God, Lexi. I don’t know how Dad is going to cope.’

  ‘He will – in time – but you concentrate on YOU, Tessa. You’ve had a bad shock, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then you need to take extra, EXTRA care of yourself. Are you hearing me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Your dad said he’d ring you in the morning – he didn’t want me to disturb you, but I felt you should know. Now will you do as I say – go and put the kettle on. Will you? Promise?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘I’ll do what I can to help Freddie in the morning,’ Lexi said. ‘He’s too upset to drive. I’ll take him to register the death and cope with the formal stuff that has to be done.’

  ‘Thanks, Lexi.’

  Tessa put the phone down and plodded upstairs. She wasn’t going to wake Paul. She needed time alone.

  She made herself a mug of Ovaltine and sat in the lounge, by the window. She pulled the curtains back to see the night sky. The city sky. Dark orange and humming. She opened the window to the haze of night in London, and was overwhelmed by an intense longing for the sweet air of home, the scent of primroses and apple blossom. Mum died at home, she thought, in the place she loved. Where are you now, Mum? Where are you?

  As she sipped the comforting Ovaltine, a stillness came. The shivering stopped and she sat motionless in the red tub chair they had chosen from Habitat. Between the plane trees and the rooftops of London, the moon flushed pink as it sank into the west. Tessa watched it fade into a bank of cloud. Soon it would be morning. Where are you, Mum? She entered a mystic hour before dawn, a brightening twilight experience that opened her eyes and coloured her mind forever.

  She saw her mum instantly and with breathtaking clarity. Kate’s brown eyes were alive with wonder and joy. Tessa saw only her head and shoulders in a sort of cameo, a bubble of light. There was a rushing sound, like an eternal wind, and a sensation of s
peed, faster than anyone could ever travel on earth. The speed of light shone in Tessa’s mind, as if her mind had become the universe. She kept her eyes fixed on Kate’s eyes, and travelled with her. They shared the journey, over a vast celestial archway, shaped like the top half of a clock. Speeding, speeding onwards, until her mum’s bright image reached a point on the archway that would be about two o’clock.

  Something changed. The head and shoulders cameo of Kate entered a golden web that sparkled like fireworks. The gold was pure, mysterious and glistening with energy. Then ecstasy as Kate’s beautiful smile broke through the sparkling web.

  Tessa knew her mum had arrived. She heard cheers of celebration. She felt the warm welcome, and saw the radiant people of light who stretched out their arms to embrace Kate.

  But Tessa couldn’t follow.

  She was earthbound.

  The music vanished like wind chimes in the still of the night. Her mum’s face turned away into the light and she was gone, into the essence of divine joy. The golden web dimmed and closed its network of brilliance. The archway melted into the sky over London, and the dawn chorus began with the shrill cries of swifts and swallows. On the highest building, a song thrush flooded the city with his endless song. Tessa could see his tiny silhouette, his breast faintly gold in the rising sun.

  Oriole Kate, she thought, my mum, named after a golden bird. Gone now, into the light.

  And how will we live, without her? Without Mum?

  CHAPTER 19

  A Black Dog

  Freddie stood in the kitchen looking at the egg in his hand. Kate had always made his breakfast, nicely arranged on willow-patterned china with silver cutlery and a hand-knitted cosy to keep the egg hot. She’d cut his toast into fingers, the way he liked it, and it was always perfect. Crisp and warm with the butter just melting. The pepper and salt, porcelain models of a cockerel and a hen, were always there, and the square glass bottle of Daddies Sauce. Sometimes she’d give him half a grapefruit, lusciously juicy, cut into convenient chunks and glazed with white sugar. And the teapot would be basking under its knitted cosy, a reassuring curl of steam wafting from the spout.

  He looked down at the bare table, brushed away a few crumbs from his last hasty meal, and the task of getting breakfast seemed impossible. All those things Kate had done, and he’d taken it for granted. How did you boil an egg? For how long? And should he try to lay the table first? Make the tea? Put the toast under the grill? So many decisions. About things that didn’t matter, or hadn’t mattered before.

  There were lambs bleating out in the meadows. Blackbirds singing and bees humming. But Freddie heard none of it. To him, The Pines was silent and gloomy, the voices of his children long gone, the chicken run empty, and the vibrant presence of Kate gone forever. There was only Benita looking up at him, meowing for her breakfast. His body ached to sit down at the table and cry. Grief seemed to have a gravity of its own, pulling him down towards benches, chairs and beds, towards the hopelessness of sleep, and down even deeper into the living earth and the need to burrow and hide like an animal.

  Freddie fed Benita and then made himself open the cupboard. He took down the biggest saucepan he could find and filled it with cold water. He put it on the electric hotplate and gingerly lowered the egg into the deep water. He looked at the clock. About half an hour, he reckoned, to boil an egg. He waited impatiently by the saucepan for the ten minutes it took to boil the water and for the egg to be afloat on furiously boiling bubbles. Thinking it might get ejected from the saucepan and broken, he turned the heat down and went to find himself a plate and an egg cup.

  Just touching the china Kate had used made him even sadder, and he found himself holding the tea cosy to his face for a moment, knowing Kate had knitted it; every coloured strand of wool had passed through her hands, and picked up her happiness. He stared into the garden, and listened for her laughter, her quick footsteps on the path, but heard nothing. Nothingness was his whole life now. A time capsule adrift in the universe. The birds, the scent of roses, the sound of rain, the bees in the lime trees, all that he loved was gone, banished, outside his capsule of nothing.

  It was as if he was suddenly deaf, blind and stupid. Humiliating. But did humiliation matter when there was no one in his life or in his home to witness it? Freddie had never felt stupid. He could make intricate models, he could carve angels and owls, he could mend complicated engines, and grow prize-winning vegetables. But he couldn’t cook himself a simple meal. Alongside the unspeakable sorrow of bereavement was the shock of having normal home comforts removed. Living basic. Like a hermit.

  While the egg went on boiling he wandered around their home, touching things, wondering how he would keep them clean. He opened the airing cupboard and gazed at the stacks of pure white neatly folded linen, beautifully scented from the homemade lavender bags Kate kept in there. It made him nervous. How would he know which sheet to put on his bed? And if he dared to unfold one, could he ever fold it up again? Kate had been proud of her airing cupboard. He could keep it undisturbed like a museum, or try to use it and let it turn into a heap. Ashamed, he closed the door, and something made him open the coat cupboard. He switched on the light and looked up at the metallic glint of a gun hanging on the wall, a twelve-bore shotgun which had belonged to Kate’s father, Bertie. She’d kept it polished all these years. Freddie had handled it and examined the mechanism as he did with any gadget, curious to know how it worked. But he’d never used it and never wanted to. The thought of killing a wild creature sickened him.

  But now?

  Freddie imagined himself in the woods, holding that gleaming gun to his head. He relived how he felt when Tessa had tried to take her life at fourteen. Sick, and profoundly shocked.

  Then he remembered how closely Tessa had walked beside him at the funeral. She needed him. It was a reason to stop looking at the gun, shut the cupboard door and go back to the kitchen.

  The egg had now been boiling for forty minutes. He ate it miserably. The yolk had turned black around the edges and most of the white had bubbled out through a crack in the shell. It tasted leathery and sour. Freddie wondered what kind of a chicken could have laid such an egg. He didn’t bother with toast but cut a hunk of bread and struggled to butter it from the hard yellow brick he took from the fridge. Exasperated, he dumped lumps of the impossible butter on the bread, feeling more and more like giving up as he tried to swallow his lonely meal.

  The church clock struck eight, each chime a sharp reminder of the interminably empty hours before him. Freddie got up to wind the mantelpiece clock, another lonely sound he’d have to listen to. He began to sink into a negative spiral, and would have ended up in a dark well of depression when he heard Kate’s voice clearly. ‘Answer the door, dear,’ she said, and he was jolted awake by the sound of knocking. Benita was on the window sill, her fur bushed out with fright.

  ‘You there, Freddie? Come on, answer the door, man, or have I gotta break in?’

  Herbie stood there in dust-caked overalls, his eyes unusually serious and full of concern. Freddie opened the door, pleased to see Herbie’s dog come running in, eager for a stroke. ‘Hello, Jilly girl.’ Freddie picked up the squirming bundle of dog and allowed Jilly to make a fuss of him and gaze into his eyes as if she understood everything. ‘And who’s this?’ he asked, looking at the black Labrador Herbie was dragging into the kitchen. ‘I didn’t know you had two dogs.’

  ‘This one’s for you,’ Herbie said.

  Freddie threw him a look of disbelief. The Labrador was quivering. His tail was down and so was his head.

  ‘He’s called Tarka – after Tarka the otter,’ Herbie said. ‘And he’s a bundle of nerves. I can’t do anything with him.’

  ‘Where did he come from?’ Freddie asked. He put his hand out to stroke the silky black head, but Tarka backed away.

  ‘If you don’t have him, he’ll have to be put down,’ said Herbie. ‘Rory O’Sullivan had him – paid a lot of money for him – tried to train him as a
gun dog, but Tarka wasn’t having it. Useless, he was. Got no heart. Scared witless if he hears a gunshot. Hypersensitive he is, or something. Goes under the table if I even strike a match.’

  ‘Aw.’ Freddie’s heart went out to the shivering dog. ‘My Tessa would love you. Pity she’s not here. She’s got a way with animals.’

  ‘So have you,’ Herbie said. ‘And you could do with a dog right now. For company.’

  ‘The only company I need is my Kate,’ said Freddie bitterly.

  ‘I know – but ’tis no good talking like that,’ Herbie said. ‘You gotta let love into your life, even if ’tis only a dog.’

  Freddie was silent. He tried again to hold out his hand to Tarka, but the big dog ignored him and crept behind the sofa, taking no notice of Benita who was hissing at him from the top shelf of the dresser.

  ‘I got work to do,’ Herbie said, looking at the clock. ‘What if I leave the dog with you for today? I’ll come back at tea time and if you don’t want him, I’ll take him away. But don’t let him loose. He’ll run away and end up goodness knows where.’

  Herbie gave Freddie an understanding pat on the shoulder. ‘You know where I am, if you need a friend.’ He left, with Jilly trotting happily beside him. Freddie stared after him. Gratitude and annoyance jostled in his mind. He thought of Jonti’s bright friendly face. This miserable Labrador couldn’t have been more different from the confident little terrier.

  He padded round the sofa to look at Tarka who was crouching there, trembling, his body pressed against the upholstery. ‘I won’t hurt you,’ he said, and the dog looked hard at him, as if he’d heard it all before. Freddie thought of the outside jobs he’d planned to do, in his first week without Kate. A vague, subconscious list, separate from his grief, a work-list from another lifetime. As he looked down at the terrified dog, a startling thought came to him: In this moment your job is to love.

  The thought triggered an intense ache in his heart. ‘You gotta sort yourself out,’ he said to Tarka. ‘I’ll be upstairs if you need me.’