‘Now, you see,’ Victoria says, as she clambers out of the car, shaking, ‘that’s quite enough excitement for me.’
‘It was pretty scary, Mum,’ Bertie admits. ‘You should try The Big One. Really, you should. It feels way safer than that thing.’
‘No,’ Victoria says definitively. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
It is half past six when they return to the hotel.
‘I just need to lie down for half an hour, and then we can go out and find somewhere for dinner,’ Victoria says. She discreetly popped a Valium after the Wild Mouse and is feeling suddenly sleepy.
‘Fish and chips?’ Bertie suggests.
‘If you want.’
‘Can I have my phone, then?’ Bertie asks, as they pass into the lobby. ‘Just so I’ve got something to do while you sleep.’
‘No,’ Victoria says. ‘You can watch television if you’re—’ She freezes. Because there, in the lobby, is Martin. He has his legs crossed, and he’s reading a newspaper.
Bertie follows her gaze and then shouts, ‘Dad!’ and runs to join him with unusual enthusiasm.
‘Hello!’ Martin says, standing and ruffling Bertie’s hair.
‘So Mum really did leave you a note,’ Bertie says. ‘I didn’t believe her.’
‘A note?’ Martin repeats, then, ‘Oh, yes. Of course.’
‘Hello,’ Victoria says, stopping a few yards from her husband and crossing her arms. ‘This is a surprise.’
‘I thought I’d join you,’ Martin says. ‘You made it sound so much fun in your note. It seemed too good to miss.’
‘Here,’ Victoria says to Bertie, uncrossing her arms and fumbling in her handbag for the room key. ‘Take this, and we’ll see you up there.’
‘OK, but—’
‘Just do it, Bertie.’
‘But can I have—’
‘Bertie!’ she says, raising her voice.
‘OK, OK,’ Bertie says. ‘God, I only wanted to phone Dad, anyway.’
‘Here, come and sit down,’ Martin says, once Bertie has left them alone. He returns to the sofa and pats the space beside him. But Victoria takes the armchair to his left instead.
‘So what’s going on, hon?’ Martin asks.
‘I don’t know,’ Victoria says. ‘How did you find us?’
‘Bertie’s phone,’ Martin tells her.
Victoria frowns and shakes her head. ‘His phone?’
‘It has a function. It’s called Find My iPhone. It’s in case you lose it. It shows you where it is on a map.’
‘But it’s in the car outside.’
‘I know. I saw it was next to this place and I phoned them. And they confirmed that you were here. So here I am.’
‘Really?’
‘Really. Modern technology, huh?’
‘And you . . . what . . . rented a car?’
‘Train,’ Martin says. ‘It’s quicker. Only three hours.’
‘I see.’
‘Did you not want to be found?’
‘Apparently not,’ Victoria says. ‘Seeing as I didn’t leave you a note.’
‘May I ask why?’ Martin asks.
Victoria shrugs.
‘Is this to do with . . . I mean . . . I take it you know. I take it you’ve listened to at least some of your messages.’
‘Yes,’ Victoria says. ‘Yes, they phoned this morning. Just after you left for work. Vivian Court. They phoned me first thing.’
‘And how are you feeling?’
‘I don’t know,’ Victoria says. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Mainly worried about you.’
‘Worried?’
‘Yes, you don’t seem yourself to me.’
‘Don’t I?’
‘No, you don’t.’
‘OK, then,’ Victoria says. ‘Who do I seem like?’
‘Running off to Blackpool is not the most obvious choice of action when—’
‘When my mother dies?’
‘Exactly.’
‘OK,’ Victoria says.
‘OK?’
‘Look, Martin. Here’s an idea,’ Victoria says, sounding exasperated. ‘Why don’t you tell me how I’m supposed to react, and then I can just try to fulfil everybody’s expectations, OK? Because I’m at a bit of a loss here.’
‘It’s not about expectations,’ Martin says. ‘It’s about . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘It’s . . . Well, I think you’re having some kind of breakdown, to be honest, honey.’
Victoria sighs and looks down at her hands. She fiddles with a cuticle for a moment, then says, ‘Maybe I am. It’s possible. I mean, how would I know?’
‘Honey . . .’ Martin says. ‘Listen . . .’
‘And then again,’ Victoria continues. ‘Maybe I’m not. Maybe I just don’t care.’
‘You don’t care?’
‘Yes. Maybe I just don’t care. Maybe I actually feel relieved. And maybe I just needed a little space to try and work out why that might be. Still, that’s not happening now, is it?’
Penny hangs up the phone and pulls it to her chest. She closes her eyes and sighs deeply.
‘You OK?’ Sander asks, on entering the kitchen.
Penny reopens them and sighs again. ‘Yes. They’ve been found. Everyone’s OK. And the kids?’
‘Sad . . . upset . . . you know.’
‘Normal upset, or . . . ?’
Sander nods. ‘Chloe’s crying a bit. Max is more . . . more like angry, really.’
‘Good,’ Penny says. ‘They need to let it out, one way or another.’
‘So, they’ve been found. Where? Was that Victoria on the phone?’
Penny shakes her head and glances at the handset before putting it down. ‘Oh, no,’ she says. ‘No, that was Martin. You’re not going to believe this.’
‘Why?’
‘He found them in Blackpool.’
‘Blackpool?’
‘Uh huh.’
‘Up by Liverpool?’
‘It’s closer to Manchester. And Preston, I think. But yeah.’
‘What the fuck are they doing in Blackpool?’
Penny stares into the middle distance and shakes her head slowly. She’s trying to imagine the scene – she’s trying to make it make sense. ‘She took Bertie to the funfair, apparently.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘You have to stop making me say everything twice, sweetheart. I’m too tired for it. She took him to the funfair. In Blackpool.’
‘So, she didn’t even know?’
Penny snorts sadly. ‘Oh, yes, she knew, all right. She got the message first thing this morning. And then she put Bertie in the car and drove him to Blackpool.’
‘But that’s . . .’
‘Crazy?’
‘Well, yeah.’
‘You’re right. It is. Martin thinks she’s in shock. And it sounds like a pretty good diagnosis to me. Still, at least they’re OK, I suppose.’
‘And they’re still there? In Blackpool?’
Penny nods gently. ‘Martin’s staying with them – she booked them into the Hilton, apparently – and then he’s driving them back tomorrow. He’s going to tell Bertie about . . .’ She clears her throat before continuing. ‘He’s going to tell Bertie about Mum after dinner. And then I suggested he take her to see someone tomorrow.’
‘Who? Oh, a shrink? Does Victoria have a shrink?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Penny says. ‘But I think she needs one.’
‘I think she does, too,’ Sander says, now joining Penny and resting one hand lightly on her arm. ‘She’s taking it really badly, then?’
Penny shrugs. ‘I don’t know,’ she says. ‘It’s a funny one, isn’t it? I mean, Martin says she’s absolutely fine. A bit too glazed and a bit too happy, but otherwise fine. So I suppose we have to deduce that she’s not fine at all. Because being fine isn’t really a normal reaction, is it?’
‘Maybe she’s in denial,’ Sander says. ‘You’re always going on about people being in
denial.’
‘Yes, it will be something like that, I expect.’
‘Are you worried about her?’
Penny pouts and shakes her head. ‘No,’ she says, her voice cracking a little. ‘No, I think I’m too upset about Mum to care about Vicky right now. I don’t think I have any space left. You know, in my heart.’
‘Did you actually speak to her?’
Penny shakes her head. ‘She didn’t want to speak to me. And Martin says there’s no point anyway. She’s too out of it to be any use. But there’s plenty of time, isn’t there?’
At that moment, the back door opens and Will and Ben appear. ‘Hey,’ Will says. ‘You OK?’
‘Just about,’ Penny offers, smiling vaguely.
‘Posh got found,’ Sander tells them. ‘Up in Blackpool.’
‘Blackpool?!’ Will exclaims. And so Penny tells the whole story again.
When she has finished, Ben says, ‘So, we’ve been talking, Will and I, and I think we should go. I don’t think you want us here right now. Not at a time like this.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ Penny says. ‘It’s nice that you’re here. And anyway, it’s too late.’
‘It isn’t. We can leave now and still be home by ten,’ Ben says, glancing at his watch.
‘No, please stay. I’d like you to stay.’
‘See,’ Will says, addressing Ben. Then to Penny, he continues, ‘In that case, I thought we’d go and get some dinner. The options are what? Fish and chips?’
‘Fish and chips from the place you know,’ Sander replies. ‘Um, Chinese. There are a couple of places that do Chinese. There’s an Indian on Oxford Street. Or pizza from the High Street.’
‘They’re all too expensive,’ Penny says. ‘I’ve got plenty of stuff in the freezer.’
‘This is our treat,’ Will says, looking back at Ben. ‘Isn’t it?’
‘Absolutely,’ Ben says.
‘I’m not hungry anyway,’ Penny tells them. ‘So . . .’
‘But which option are you the least not hungry for?’ Will asks. ‘Chinese? You like Chinese, don’t you? You love a bit of MSG.’
Penny shrugs. ‘I’m really not hungry,’ she says. ‘Ask the kids. See what they want.’
‘The kids will say pizza,’ Sander informs them.
‘But what about you?’
‘Chinese or Indian,’ Sander says. ‘But the kids will say pizza. They always say pizza.’
‘We can manage both, can’t we?’ Will asks Ben. ‘Chinese and pizza?’
‘Definitely,’ Ben says.
‘Then I could perhaps manage a mushroom chop suey,’ Penny says doubtfully. ‘If you’re definitely going there anyway.’
Once Will and Ben have left, Sander takes Penny’s hand and leads her to his studio, where he pulls his dope box from the shelf.
Penny crosses to the window and stares out at the sea, lit orange by the setting sun.
She remembers being little and asking her mother why the sky turned pink at sunset. ‘Because it’s pretty,’ Marge had told her. ‘They made it pink because it’s pretty.’ And she had imagined a team of painters, like the men who were at that time painting the seafront railings, having a meeting to decide the best colour.
When Sander taps her on the shoulder she jumps then turns to face him. Seeing the tears in her eyes, he wraps his arms around her.
‘It was just too soon,’ Penny tells him. ‘I wasn’t ready.’
‘I know,’ Sander replies. ‘I know, babe. Here. Have a smoke.’
‘Thanks,’ Penny says, ‘but not today.’
‘Really? I thought . . .’
Penny shakes her head. ‘It hurts but, you know, that’s normal. I want to feel this. It’s . . . it’s a process.’
‘OK,’ Sander says, adding guiltily, ‘You know, this is my first. I haven’t smoked all day.’
‘God, that’s true,’ Penny says. ‘I didn’t notice.’
‘I try so hard,’ Sander says, his voice expressing irony. ‘But nobody ever notices.’
‘Well, I have kind of had other things to think about today, Sander,’ Penny says, brushing a lone tear from her cheek.
One week to the day after Marge’s death, the coroner releases the body. She died, it has been established, from a massive haemorrhagic stroke.
Having googled the subject extensively, Penny suspects that this could logically have resulted from the multiple blood thinners Marge was prescribed after her previous stroke. Were she American, she would probably attempt to sue someone. But she knows that the anti-coagulants were a logical choice after Marge’s blood clot and she has no desire to make life more difficult for any of the lovely NHS staff who treated her, so she mentions her findings to no one. Money and blame won’t bring her mum back anyway.
She thinks about all of this and tries to imagine a suitable funeral as she drives up the M2 in the pouring rain. She worries, too, how her meeting with Victoria will go. It will be the first time she has seen her since their mother died, the first time they have even spoken, in fact, since their argument the previous October. She imagines them hugging and weeping together. She imagines Marge’s death being the thing that brings them back together. But she suspects she’s guilty of wishful thinking, especially as Martin has warned her that she is still ‘pretty strange’.
By the time she arrives in Maida Vale, the rain has stopped, but the sky is still dark, the streets are wet and, for August, it’s shockingly cold.
She leaves the car in a car park (it’s a stunning £8 for two hours) and then heads to her sister’s flat.
Victoria buzzes her in immediately, which is at least something. She had fully imagined a scenario whereby she would have to go on to the funeral parlour on her own because her sister had absconded to Blackpool again. Or some other ‘fun’ destination.
When she reaches the top floor, the door is ajar, so she lets herself in.
‘I’m in the loo!’ Victoria calls out. ‘I won’t be a moment.’
Penny hangs her raincoat on the coat stand and walks through to the airy kitchen. She moves to the window and looks out over the rooftops.
‘Sorry about that,’ Victoria says, and Penny turns to face her.
‘It’s fine,’ Penny replies. ‘I was just looking at your view. It looks quite stormy over there. It’s all purple – quite pretty, actually.’
‘It’s not much compared with your view,’ Victoria replies. ‘Cup of tea?’
Penny nods and takes a seat at the kitchen table. So they aren’t going to embrace, she realises. Or at least, not yet.
‘So how have you been?’ Victoria asks as she fills the kettle.
Penny frowns. ‘Since October? Or since Mum died?’
‘Either. Both.’
‘OK, I suppose,’ Penny says. ‘I’m coping. Just about. You?’
‘I’m fine,’ Victoria says. ‘You know, the usual.’
‘Nice kitchen,’ Penny comments. ‘I like it.’
‘Thanks,’ Victoria replies, stepping back to reappraise it herself.
Penny opens her mouth to say something about the new washing machine but then closes it again. They have more important things to talk about today, but she can’t work out how to get there. It’s as if Victoria has built a business-as-usual wall she can’t break through.
After a moment’s reflection, she stands and crosses to Victoria’s side, intentionally invading her personal space. She reaches out and touches Victoria’s arm. ‘So how have you really been?’ she asks.
Victoria looks at her confusedly. ‘I’ve really been fine,’ she says, using the excuse of fetching teabags to break away.
‘Vicky,’ Penny says. ‘You can’t be. Not really.’
‘Um?’ Victoria replies, then, ‘What can’t I be?’
‘Fine.’
‘Because Marge died?’
Penny chews at a fingernail. She can’t remember Victoria ever calling their mother Marge. She has always been Mum. She’s struggling not to slip into professional cou
nselling mode. She wanted to keep this honest and intimate and personal and shared. But it’s hard. Because Victoria truly is still pretty strange. ‘Oh, come on,’ she says. ‘This is me you’re talking to. She was your . . . she was our only remaining parent.’
‘I know,’ Victoria says. ‘Everyone keeps telling me that I can’t feel OK about that, but I do. I started seeing someone. Did you know that? Of course you know that. Martin tells everyone everything.’
‘No, I didn’t know,’ Penny lies. ‘Who are you seeing?’
‘A psychiatrist. He’s ancient. Nice, but ancient. Anyway, he spent the first two sessions telling me I was in shock. And then yesterday he agreed that I might not be after all.’
‘Were you somehow expecting it?’ Penny asks. ‘Is that it?’
‘Her death?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, we all knew she’d die eventually, didn’t we?’ Victoria says as she dunks the teabags. ‘We all knew she wasn’t going to go on forever.’
‘That’s true,’ Penny says. ‘But all the same.’
Victoria shrugs and places the two mugs in the middle of the table, then returns to the refrigerator for milk. ‘So the funeral,’ she says. ‘That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?’
‘Yes . . . well, no,’ Penny says. ‘I’m here to see you, mainly.’
‘OK. Well, here I am,’ Victoria says. She says it in such a neutral manner that Penny really doesn’t know how to take it.
‘But yes,’ Penny says, ‘we do need to talk about the funeral. In fact, we need to go to the funeral parlour in an hour. I thought cremation. I mean, I don’t feel like I need somewhere to visit her, do you? And burial is crazy expensive.’
Victoria shakes her head.
‘And an open-casket thing would be difficult, of course.’
‘Because?’
‘Because of the post-mortem.’
Victoria pulls a face.
‘I know . . . So, cremation?’
‘Sure.’
‘And the service. C of E, or . . . ?’
‘I don’t think Mum believed in God.’
‘No, but . . .’
‘I mean, she never mentioned God. Well, except when she was swearing.’
The Bottle of Tears Page 19
