After Isabella

by Rosie Fiore

  ‘Thank you. Thank you so much for coming,’ she said fervently. ‘I had no idea you were here. It means so much.’

  ‘Of course we’d be here,’ said Tim, hugging her too. ‘We all wanted to give you support, precious friend.’

  ‘All…?’ asked Esther. Looking up, she saw Sally standing beside Tim.

  ‘I’m so sorry for your loss,’ said Sally, hugging her and kissing her cheek.

  ‘How… er…?’ Esther was confused. Sally had not been one of the people she’d rung to inform of Laura’s death. She had called only her closest friends and a few key work colleagues, reasoning that most people would find out when she got back to London.

  ‘Paul and Tim rang me and told me what had happened. I wanted to be here to support you too,’ Sally said. ‘I remember your mum so well. She was always so beautiful and elegant, always making things, or out in the garden.’

  Esther swallowed hard and fought back yet another terrible wave of guilt. Of course. Of all the people she might have invited, Sally was one of very few who had actually known Laura. She should have been one of the first people Esther had thought of. But she hadn’t been.

  ‘I’m so, so glad you came,’ she said, rather more fervently than she intended, and she hugged Sally. ‘We’re going to the cemetery – well, it’s a bit of managed woodland, really – and we’ll be coming back to the hall in about an hour.’

  ‘Are you going in a funeral car or driving yourselves?’ Sally asked.

  ‘We’re driving ourselves. We didn’t go for funeral cars in the end, it seemed a bit… old-fashioned. Not really Mum’s style.’

  ‘I’m happy to squeeze in with you, if there’s room,’ said Sally, and Esther realized she was asking to come to the burial, or expecting she should come. She couldn’t say, ‘It’s family only,’ because of course Michael was coming with her and he wasn’t family and had never even met Laura. She’d already made a faux pas by not ringing Sally herself. She couldn’t snub her again.

  ‘There’s room in our car, of course,’ she said. ‘Lucie will be travelling with her dad.’

  Sally moved away to chat to Lucie, and Esther looked across at Michael.

  ‘Did I hear that right? She’s coming to the burial?’ he asked.

  ‘I didn’t know how to say no,’ Esther said, realizing as she did so how pathetic that sounded.

  ‘That’s kind of you,’ he said, coming to stand beside her and putting his hand on her back.

  ‘I feel – confused. I’m not quite sure how it happened,’ Esther looked over at Sally, who was talking earnestly to Lucie. ‘I don’t know even why she’s here.’

  ‘She knew your mum, didn’t she?’ Michael said.

  ‘Well, yes. She seems to have admired my mum a lot. She went through a phase, after her mum died, of ringing me to talk about our childhoods. She remembered things I didn’t even know she knew, about my bedroom, and birthday parties, cakes my mum baked…’

  ‘Wow. You must have been close. I thought Isabella was your friend, not Sally.’

  ‘She was, but Sally was her little sister, so she was around a lot.’

  ‘How little? I mean… how much younger?’

  ‘Six years younger, I think. Something like that.’

  ‘That’s a big gap to be trailing around after your sister’s friends. Didn’t she have friends of her own?’

  Esther thought. ‘Not that I can remember, but then, why would I? We barely paid any attention to one annoying little girl, so I doubt we’d have noticed if there were two.’

  Michael looked over at Sally, thoughtfully. There was something tender in his expression – was it sympathy? Pity?

  ‘It seems likely to me that you and your mum were important to her, so coming to the burial would probably mean a lot.’ He looked back to Esther. ‘As long as you’re sure you don’t mind.’

  Esther did mind. She minded a lot. Now her memories of Laura’s internment would always include Sally. But without causing an awkward scene, she could see no way out of it.

  ‘Will Lucie object?’ said Michael.

  Esther saw Sally standing with an arm around Lucie’s shoulders. They had their heads close together and were talking. She could read Lucie’s body language pretty well, and she seemed to be leaning into Sally, as if she were happy to be close to her.

  ‘Lucie really likes her,’ she said grudgingly. ‘I don’t think she’ll mind. I’ll ask her, as soon as I can get her alone.’

  She didn’t get the chance, because Lucie came over a minute or so later and said, ‘Sally says she’s coming to the burial with us. I’m so pleased. I wanted everyone to come to say goodbye to Nanny Laura.’

  Esther glanced at Michael and he gave a small nod. ‘I’ll go and get the car,’ he said.

  Later, in the church hall, Esther looked across the room and saw Sally chatting animatedly to a group of Laura’s friends from church. She was well dressed and well groomed, and she seemed to have found new confidence. The Sally of old would have hung around on the periphery, blurting platitudes at anyone who talked to her. Now, Esther saw a bright, outgoing, pretty woman who seemed happy to talk to anyone. She had certainly won over Paul and Tim – Esther hadn’t known that a friendship had developed since they’d met at her birthday party. She noticed they’d all gathered by the food table now and were sharing a joke. She would have loved to have gone over to Paul and Tim, and she could have done with one of Tim’s warm bear hugs, but she couldn’t face Sally right now. Sally had sniffled and sobbed quietly at Laura’s graveside. This had elicited a warm hug from Lucie, but had left Esther wanting to slap her. She herself had been dried eyed, stiff and quiet.

  She should be mingling more herself. These kind people had made such an effort in Laura’s memory; she needed to thank them all. She went over to a knot of ladies, whom she knew had been responsible for the food.

  ‘I just wanted to thank you all,’ she said. ‘The food is magnificent. You did my mum proud.’

  ‘We did our best, but none of us could come close to Laura on the baking front,’ said one wiry old lady. ‘No church spread would be complete without her lemon drizzle cake.’ Her bright blue eyes reminded Esther of Laura’s own, and as she registered this, she had a powerful memory of her mother’s lemon cake – a deliciously moist and delicate creation with a sharp, crystalline crust of sugar and lemon. Her breath caught in her throat and tears started in her eyes. She took a tiny step back and forced a smile, but the women had all seen. They crowded around and patted her, murmuring kind words. This of course made the tears flow faster.

  It was mortifying to be crying in front of complete strangers, but, worse than that, she felt like such a fraud. She had so neglected her mother that Laura had committed suicide rather than ask for help. How they must all be judging her. How they must despise her. She certainly despised herself. She pulled herself together, thanked them all for their kindness and withdrew. All she could do was count the minutes until she could leave this wake, and the days and hours until she could leave the island.

  Stephen and Lucie and the friends who had come to the funeral left the same day. It took another interminable two days to wind up the details for the lawyers handling the estate and the sale of the house. Esther and Michael drove onto the ferry in convoy and then went to sit in the lounge, ready to sail. As the ship moved towards the mainland, Esther looked back and watched the coastline of the island recede. She had left Laura there, beneath the chilly ground in the woodland cemetery. Her grave would be unmarked, as she had wished it to be. And Esther was returning home with no mother and no answers.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Esther got home in the afternoon, after a hot, grubby, frustrating three hours spent crawling up the M3 and around the M25. Michael had gone back to his own house, having promised to come by later. Esther pushed open her front door, feeling the resistance of the pile of letters behind it. No one had been in the house in ten days. The air smelled of dust and the unemptied rubbish bin. She had left i
n a hurry, and the shoes she had been wearing that day were discarded beside the sofa. A pile of student papers sat on the dusty coffee table where she had dropped them, and there were still cups and plates on the draining board. It was as if the house were frozen in the moment before everything had come crashing down. When she had kicked off those shoes, she had been happy and her life had seemed to be coming together very nicely. She had been looking forward to her time in Venice. Oh God. Venice. She had completely lost track of the days. She went into the kitchen to look at the calendar. They should have flown three days ago. She picked up her phone and rang Michael.

  ‘Hi there,’ he said. ‘Just on my way.’

  ‘Venice.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘We were supposed to leave for Venice three days ago.’

  ‘As soon as I got to the Isle of Wight, it was obvious we weren’t going. I cancelled the trip and put in a claim with the travel insurance. It’s covered, don’t worry.’

  ‘You didn’t say anything.’

  ‘I would have if you’d asked, but I figured, in the greater scheme of things, I should just make it one less thing for you to worry about.’

  ‘You’re a good man, Michael Wolfson.’

  ‘Just an ordinary man,’ he said quietly, ‘who loves you.’

  Her breath caught in her throat. It was the first time he had said it.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, her voice barely a whisper. ‘Thank you. I don’t deserve you.’

  ‘I’ll see you in a bit,’ he said. She could hear he was disappointed she hadn’t said she loved him in return, but she had been caught off guard. She would say it, when the moment was right.

  She wandered through the house, taking note of what needed doing. She’d have to get some shopping in and throw away all the spoiled food. But first she’d get the first lot of laundry on – she had completely run out of clean clothes and had had to buy underwear and a few bits and pieces on the island. She put a load of darks on, straight from her open suitcase, then went to collect the stack of post from the hallway. She sat at her desk and began leafing through the letters while she listened to her landline phone messages. She had missed an appointment for a boiler safety check, and the optometrist had rung to remind them that Lucie was due for an eye test. Was that all? She knew her landline was seldom used, but there were usually more messages than that. She clicked replay, and the automated voice told her she had one saved message. She usually deleted everything – perhaps this was an important call she had forgotten to return. The automated voice gave the date of the message; a Saturday two weeks before. And before Esther had time to think what it might be, Laura’s voice filled the room.

  ‘Morning, busy daughter,’ she said, and her voice sounded as it always had, cheerful and strong. ‘I expect you’ve gone out for a run. Give me a tinkle when you get back. Love you. Bye.’

  And now Esther remembered. She had heard the message when she got back from her run but had been on her way out of the door to go grocery shopping. She had deliberately not deleted it, as a reminder to ring Laura when she got back. But she hadn’t. And now…

  It wasn’t possible to feel worse. How could she feel worse than she had for these last ten awful, nightmarish days? She sat down on the sofa, then lay down, her head on a cushion that smelled musty and sad. She wanted to play the message again, to hear Laura’s voice one more time. But simultaneously she never wanted to hear it again. Laura’s voice, calling out to her forever, the call unreturned.

  Eventually, curiosity drove her back to the phone and she replayed the message. Was there a clue in Laura’s voice? Any sadness? Or, for that matter, any sign of her illness? A slurring or fuzziness to her speech? Was there any hint of a goodbye? She had left the message just two days before she went into the garage. Surely she must have known by then that she was going to do it? Esther played the message again and again, until the words lost meaning.

  When Michael rang the doorbell, she was still sitting at her desk in the dark. It took all her strength to go to the door and let him in. He looked at her, and drew her into his arms. She couldn’t relax into him. Her body felt stiff and brittle, as if she might snap. In as few words as she could, she told him about the message. Then she made him come and sit at her desk and listen to it.

  ‘What can you hear?’ she asked desperately. ‘Can you hear anger? Or resignation? Does she sound ill to you? Can you hear any slurring in her voice?’

  ‘Esther, I never spoke to her when she was alive,’ he said gently. ‘It’s impossible for me to tell. To me, she comes across as perfectly normal, and it sounds like an ordinary message from a mother to her daughter. But as I say, I didn’t know her. You can’t torture yourself like this.’

  She looked at him as if he was mad. ‘What else can I possibly do?’

  He gently bullied her into tidying the place up a little and got her to unpack the rest of her things. He cleaned up the kitchen and emptied the bins and then urged her out of the door. He drove her to a local Italian restaurant and ordered them both starter portions of pasta. She stared at her plate when it arrived, as if food were an alien substance she had once heard about but had no experience of or interest in.

  ‘You have to eat,’ said Michael, and for the first time ever, she heard a note of impatience in his voice. ‘You’re getting so thin.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Starving yourself won’t bring her back.’

  She looked up sharply. His tone was harsh.

  ‘What?’ she said blankly.

  ‘I know this has been horrible for you,’ he said. ‘But you cannot fall apart. You just can’t. Laura may be gone, but Lucie isn’t. Your job hasn’t disappeared. I’m not going anywhere. You’re needed.’

  ‘Hang on,’ she said coldly. ‘I got back from my mother’s funeral two hours ago. I found a message from her on the phone an hour ago, and you’re telling me to get over it?’

  ‘I’m not saying get over it…’

  ‘You’re saying my grief is inconvenient for you.’

  ‘Esther…’

  ‘I know this is a comparatively new relationship. I know it’s not ideal that my mother committed suicide when we’d only been dating a few months. I’m sorry. I didn’t schedule it that way.’

  ‘Please don’t be sarcastic.’

  ‘Why not?’ she said, caught off guard by the uncharacteristic coldness and anger in his voice.

  ‘Because it’s how you shut people out. You speak very clearly in your Jane Austen voice and you get very cutting and there’s no way to break through that. I’m trying to tell you that I love you. We love you. We need you. This is a terrible thing that has happened, but I’m asking you, please, don’t give up on yourself. Don’t give up on Lucie or me.’

  ‘Can you say that again?’ she said, so softly she wasn’t sure he’d heard.

  ‘Which part?’

  ‘The first part.’

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘I love you too, Michael. This is the worst thing that has ever happened in my life. I will do my best, and I won’t give up. But please, don’t give up on me either.’

  ‘I give you my word. Now will you eat something? Please? There’s nothing of you. I’m scared you’ll blow away in a strong gust of wind.’

  Michael had an early start, so he dropped Esther at home after dinner and went back to his own place. She wandered aimlessly around the house; her body ached with tiredness, but her mind would not let her sleep yet. She poured herself a glass of wine and went up to the bedroom to put fresh linen on her bed and clean the bathroom. She hadn’t slept in her own bed for a fortnight, and her room looked entirely unfamiliar. There was a novel on her bedside table, with a bookmark between the pages. She had no recollection of having started to read the book, nor any idea what it was about. And even worse, when she glanced at the stack of notes on the dresser in her bedroom, it reminded her that she had just four days before she was due back at work. The university felt like some kind of foreig
n planet. After years of keeping up with her emails day and night, and worrying about work even when she was supposed to be on holiday, she hadn’t given it a moment’s thought for the past ten days. When she forced herself to think about it, she recalled that she was probably a week overdue in returning a collection of second-year essays, that she had promised to submit a chapter for a new Austen publication, which was also overdue, and that she had had no contact with Regina for days. The department could have burned to the ground for all she knew – and she wouldn’t much care if it had.

  Michael was right. She was going to have to pull herself together. She just had no idea how to do so. She sat down on the edge of her half-made bed, a pillow on her lap. One day at a time, she told herself, and if that was too much, one hour at a time. Or one minute. Or breath by breath.

  When the phone rang, it sounded so loud in the quiet room, she jumped. She snatched it up.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Esther?’ It was Sally.

  ‘Oh, hello, Sally,’ she said, trying to sound warm and friendly.

  ‘I thought you might be coming back from the Isle of Wight today. I called an hour or so ago but didn’t get an answer. Have you just got back?’

  ‘I got back this afternoon, but Michael took me out for dinner.’

  ‘That’s a nice man you’ve got there.’

  ‘Well, I think so.’ This time Esther managed a smile.

  ‘I wasn’t ringing for anything special. I just thought I’d see how you were doing.’

  ‘Awful,’ said Esther, surprising herself with her own honesty. ‘Absolutely awful. I’ve come back to my house, to my life, to work… and I have no idea how to pick up where I left off. How can I?’

  ‘It seems impossible, doesn’t it? When something so dreadful has happened, worrying about ordinary everyday things like whether or not you’ve got milk, well, it feels almost disloyal, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. That’s exactly how I feel,’ said Esther. ‘I know there are things I have to do, but if I do, if life goes on… if I’m not thinking about her…’