Isolation

by Jenni Regan

  As she went to order their chosen potato-and-meat combination at the bar, she left Tom checking his emails. Rachel was heading back when she noticed him drop his phone. The blood drained from his face, and she practically ran to him. The last time she had seen her brother look like this was when their very old cat had been run over. She knew this was something serious.

  ‘What happened?'

  ‘Oh jeez, Rach, I can’t believe it. I was so sure she was screwing us over.’

  Still white as a sheet, he turned the phone round so she could see. It was a Go Fund Me site, and it was attempting to raise money for the funeral of an Alice Carmichael who had apparently been killed in the Bournemouth terrorist attack, which still hadn’t left the world’s media. The prime picture on the page was one of her daughter—his niece—taken a few years ago with a big smile on her face and a bow in her hair. The face of an angel.

  Alice

  I always wondered what my In Remembrance page would be. There was always the worry, of course, that people may not realise I was dead—after all, I knew how elusive I could be—but I was a prolific presence on all platforms, so I was sure people would realise something was wrong quite quickly.

  I guess just like when, in previous generations, people would think about what they wanted for their funeral, I had the same thoughts about my page. I always made sure that the most flattering picture was my profile pic. Of course, no one really looks like their photos, not with so many editing apps.

  I hoped that all the people I had been in contact with would leave a thought, a gif or even a good death quote. Dying seemed to raise people to the level of saints or angels. I didn’t really think about the death itself; I just thought about the reaction.

  In fact, I have to admit there were times—rare times—when I was feeling lonely or morose that I would think about pretending to be dead for a day or two to see what people really thought about me.

  Tom

  1 November 2018, 9 a.m.

  Tom slept poorly despite the sleeping pill and mini-bar brandy he had used to calm himself down. The streets of London were noisy, and they clearly hadn’t heard of double glazing in this hotel. For some reason, Halloween over here suddenly meant fireworks being set off at all hours. It hadn’t even been a marked event when he was a kid.

  He was feeling jittery after dealing with loud explosions all night, especially after what had happened in Bournemouth. He could imagine there were a lot of people feeling shaken.

  He had tried to call his boyfriend, Will, before bed, but Will hadn't picked up, which filled him with dread. He was already awake, thoughts whirring, when Rachel called him.

  ‘All set. My lazy lump of a partner has finally shown some balls and agreed to take the kids to school. Then, my lazy lump of an ex-husband will pick them up later. I also told my school that I have conjunctivitis so I can’t possibly go near a classroom, so we are good to go!’

  Tom felt like he would be kicking a puppy when he told her later what he now knew. He could sense a fire in Rachel, different from the downtrodden woman who had met him at the airport two days ago. Unburdening herself, spending time with her brother and being on a mission to find her estranged daughter had definitely given her a spring in her step. He felt horrible that he would be the one to crush it.

  ‘Oh, and what was it you wanted to tell me?' Rachel asked.

  ‘It can wait until I see you. Do you want to come and join me for breakfast? They do a great buffet here . . . as many greasy sausages as you can eat!’

  Tom was a frequent hotel dweller and had long since lost the childish enthusiasm for the breakfast buffet. He was more of an egg-white-omelette man these days, but a full English with all the trimmings wouldn’t hurt for once.

  He waited until they had sat down with their bulging plates before he broke the news. He had even piled up the glistening food to a grotesque level to make her feel comfortable. In a way, it was timely given the obsession his mother had in sending everyone off in the morning with a cooked breakfast inside them.

  ‘So, I found something out after our meal that might change a few things. I wanted to tell you in person.’

  Rachel looked expectantly, and Tom really didn’t know how to break the news to her.

  ‘It seems that Mum has indeed passed away.’ Even he cringed at his use of language; he thought he sounded like a vicar.

  Rachel showed no emotion. ‘I guess we always thought that this could be the case. It’s not really a surprise given her lifestyle of fags, fried food and sitting on her beloved sofa. What was it that finally got her?’

  ‘Well, I don’t actually know yet. I only found this out through looking at Alice’s Twitter feed, of all things.’

  Rachel didn’t have a clue about Twitter; she was a bit obsessed with Facebook but couldn’t understand people updating their every move and thought in just a couple of lines.

  Rachel’s heart immediately went out to Alice. ‘Oh my god, my poor girl; she has had to go through all of this by herself—all the hell of finding funeral directors and getting death certificates—with no support!’

  ‘This might sound strange, but it almost seemed like she enjoyed it! She even posted the outfit she wore to the funeral on Instagram and described literally every second of the service.’

  Rachel’s maternal instinct had fully kicked in. ‘I can’t imagine that any of Mum’s bitchy old friends were much company; no wonder she turned to her real friends. That’s what kids do these days.’

  ‘OK, but why did she blatantly lie on her birthday? I asked her how Mum was, and she told me she was fine. According to this, Mum would have been dead and buried for at least three weeks by then. You think she would mention it.’

  ‘Bullshit, Tom. She knows what kind of relationship we both had with her gran. She probably thought you didn’t give a shit. Oh, my poor girl, all alone in the world.’

  ‘I am actually worried that the death might have pushed her to do something to herself. The message I got from one of her Twitter followers yesterday kind of suggested something along those lines. This girl was really concerned because apparently Alice posts at least twenty times a day, but there’s been nothing since the funeral.’

  Rachel gasped. Tom realised he was scaring her and moved into other territory. ‘I think it's much more likely that she has raided Mum’s piggy bank and gone on holiday. You know, looking at her Twitter feed, it is as though I never really knew her. She seemed like such a quiet little thing, but really she was always out on the town or on a beach, all while dating inappropriate men.’

  ‘You don’t really believe she is capable of that, do you?’ Rachel asked.

  ‘Who really knows? After all, she was brought up by that evil witch we called mother, so some of that must have rubbed off on her.’

  ‘Well, now we at least have some facts. This means that we need to get down there and find out more. Let’s set off and get some answers.’

  Alice

  It was one of those days when not even funny cat videos could cheer me up.

  I had no idea how to deal with grief—real grief—and was feeling so empty and alone.

  My grandmother was dead, and I had realised that she wasn’t coming back. This was something I hadn't yet made public, and this was probably why I hadn’t really accepted the news. Nothing was real until it was out there in the online world. Maybe my way of beginning to grieve was to post it up. Rather than my own memorial page, I could start giving Granny the immortalisation she deserved.

  I spent ages thinking up what to say, and I eventually decided I would post on all platforms for maximum efficiency. It was difficult to know exactly how to say it; after all, this was probably the most important thing that had happened in my life up until now.

  Absolutely devastated that my granny has passed away, words cannot describe how much she meant and how much I will miss her #tragicday

  I thought this sounded dramatic enough; after all, one of my online friends had lost a cat a week earl
ier, and the mourning and sympathy was still going strong—not that I was looking to milk it. As expected, I didn’t have to wait long before the messages flowed in, with most posting comments below my update but with some of my closer online friends messaging sympathy directly, which was nice.

  I found myself in tears for the first time since her death, so I posted an updated message about how lovely everyone was and how they had made me cry. Of course, I did it with the famous Britney Spears meme.

  Then I noticed a message from Stan, who I hadn’t heard from for a while. He was always blowing hot and cold. This was, at last, a change from the pornographic content he was so fond of sending through.

  ‘Hey baby girl sorry to hear bout yr nan, mine died a couple of yrs ago and it sucks. Keep smiling babe! X x’

  This made me cry even more. I had begun to think he didn't give a shit about me, but this told me different. It showed he really did care, and not just in a sexual way but with real-life feelings. I didn't use my usual five-minute rule, and I wrote back immediately; after all, he had opened his heart to her.

  ‘Soz to hr about yr nan too, I know it sounds a bit stupid but I feel like I lost my best friend! xxx’

  ‘Look after yourself babe xxx’

  I told him I was being looked after by all my friends and family and hoped he would write more nice things, but then I saw he had logged off.

  I soon realised that sympathy lasted a lot longer than joy in the online world. By day four of my online grief, all I seemed to do was post about the death, and that was even before the funeral. I described a world of death certificates, visits to the registry office and various meetings with the undertakers, often with the manager who I had renamed Mr Necro as I was sure he was sneaking into the chapel at night and having his way with the corpses. My friends really loved the fact I still had my wicked sense of humour, even at a time like this.

  Planning the funeral meant spending hours researching readings and poems online and going back through Granny’s Spotify list (that I had actually put together for her). I found the best coffin—a simple oak casket with a brass plaque—and chose plain white lilies to sit on top, avoiding the tacky names or objects that were also available. I didn't think Gran would want a religious funeral—after all, I didn't remember her ever going to church—so I found a registrar I liked the look of to carry out the service.

  The day arrived a couple of weeks after Granny had died. In a way, I was dreading the day, but I hoped it might bring me closure. I chose my funeral outfit carefully, a black dress with a vibrant turquoise scarf, which had been Gran's favourite colour. I posted a couple of selfies inside the kitchen. Lots of friends sent condolences and kisses, but I was also rewarded with people telling me I was looking too skinny. I almost laughed at the irony; most people lost weight when they were grieving, but for me, it seemed to have increased my appetite tenfold. Still, it didn’t matter; you never had to look fat online when you could reduce your weight in half with a few clicks.

  I thought about tweeting throughout the little ‘service’ but thought this may be considered a bit disrespectful. As soon as it was over, I broke my self-imposed social media ban with some relief.

  So sad to be saying goodbye to my gran but beautiful service to give her a good send-off.

  Later that evening, I signed off with one final update, knowing people would worry about me if I didn't tell them how I was feeling.

  All cried out after an emotional day but glad we managed to say goodbye to my gran properly.

  I went to bed that night satisfied that I had finally given Granny the send-off she deserved and touched that so many people out there obviously cared about me. However, there was a deep and growing hole inside me, making me feel empty and lost. I had to face the facts that apart from a blossoming relationship with Stan, I was now completely alone in the world, despite all my online friends. I finally dropped off in the early hours of the morning, drained and out of tears.

  Rachel

  30 October 2018, 11 p.m.

  Rachel couldn’t sleep that night, so she headed downstairs after everyone was in bed and heated some milk. It had been so strange seeing Tom in her house. She couldn’t quite match this slightly distant man with the boy who had been her world for so many years. She had been popular at school, but it was hard to become close to people when you could never invite them to your house. She had become so good at cutting herself off from her family that she had almost believed she was an only child and an orphan. Her current family life had become very important to her, and she had been devastated when her first marriage hadn’t worked. All she wanted was love and stability for her kids, but she seriously doubted that this was what she was providing right now.

  She hated how Tom now made her feel like he was the one who had made it—the successful one. They had started from the same platform, backgrounds and opportunities, yet he had managed to escape almost unscathed. It didn’t seem fair. He even seemed to have met the love of his life in Will, who not only seemed like a good man, but he was also loaded!

  Rachel was constantly feeling anxious, and she knew she was taking it out on the kids and on Dave. He may deserve it, but they didn’t, and neither did Tom, really. Some people, when they were stressed, lost lots of weight and kept busy. Rachel found herself becoming a wiry insomniac with a churning stomach and bad skin.

  Her biggest worry was obviously Alice. Who knew that someone she had not laid eyes on for nearly two decades could rule her thoughts so much? But joining these thoughts and sitting happily alongside all her familiar niggles were a couple of new ones—things that were eating away at her soul and things she couldn’t tell anyone. Just like the horrific secret she had been forced to endure all those years ago, this one had the power to destroy every part of her family home.

  Tom

  30 October 2018, 10 p.m.

  After all his research, Tom finally had a proper lead. He had received a direct message from one of Alice’s many Twitter followers. Tom had followed almost everyone on her list in a desperate attempt to find out what had happened.

  Hi, I saw that you are looking for Alice. I don’t actually know her but I do know that her gran died recently, she was really upset about it for a long time. I know that they were really close. I hope she didn’t do anything stupid as none of us have heard from her for a while.

  Tom didn’t tell Rachel that he had been sent this, mainly because he didn’t want to upset Rachel’s kids, but it had been a ruined meal for him once he saw it. He even decided on their behalf that none of them would have dessert, claiming he was tired and had to get back to his hotel. The girls were understandably upset at having their most important course snatched away, but Rachel had placated them with the promise of something sweet and full of artificial flavours when they got home.

  Tom waited until he safely dropped them all off at home before starting his investigations. He felt stupid; he had checked all her social media feeds for the days before and after her disappearance, but he hadn’t gone back any further than that. There was so much to plough through. He immediately brought up her Twitter profile and, sure enough, he came across the whole story of his mother’s death from a few weeks earlier. Tom was shocked to feel incredibly sad. He had known, of course, that this was a possibility and had felt numb towards the idea, but seeing it written in black and white made it real. He realised that he had, in practice, been mourning his mother for years, at least the mother of his youth—the slightly scary lady who smoked like a chimney, fed him a load of crap but had always been there to patch him up, whether it was a scraped knee or an argument at school. She had also stood at times as a buffer between him and his father. She never condoned or condemned the violence that her husband had unleashed on his kids, but, somehow, if she was in hearing distance, the beating would never be as bad. He wondered if that had been the same for Rachel’s situation.

  He read on. There were no details posted by Alice about how her gran had died, but she went to town descr
ibing how she was feeling and sharing memories. Tom was astonished to note how much of the funeral Alice had shared. It sounded like a wonderful ceremony full of love and remembrance, and he noted with shock that Alice had even held a wake back at the house. He was surprised she hadn’t livestreamed it, considering the amount of detail that had gone into it. Tom didn’t know what to think. He realised that Alice had been lying to him, as this death definitely preceded the last conversation she had shared with him. Alice had told him that his mother was downstairs at that time. Surely he had a right to know if his mum had died. He had always thought of Alice as being a victim and someone to be pitied, but this showed extreme cruelty. He guessed that she would be the one beneficiary named in the will, but then he found himself wondering if this wasn’t the case and if lovely, sensible Alice was somehow keeping quiet for her own gain.

  Feeling guilty that he hadn’t shared this with Rachel yet, he quickly texted her, hoping that she would be in bed already. He told her that he had found something out. The problem was that these facts had completely thrown what they had originally been looking for out of the window. Would they actually discover Alice living a life of luxury on her dead gran’s pension in some penthouse apartment? Maybe his niece wasn’t the sweet, popular girl she seemed to be. What else were they going to discover?