‘Just give it a go,’ he whispered to him.
‘You be careful with that knife,’ Finn replied, and Theo smiled. Their son was already the same height as his mother, who was five foot nine without shoes. A few more years and a few more growth spurts and he and Finn would be eyeballing each other at the six foot four level.
Seconds later, they were gone and the house was empty. Theo dropped the knife and slumped onto a nearby kitchen chair. The silence was audible. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his hands in a prayer position and his head resting against the tips of his fingers. ‘Shit,’ he said aloud. ‘It’s quiet …’
‘It must be hard,’ Jules said as she played with the last of her lamb chops.
‘I can’t imagine.’ Eddie made a face.
‘It’s the family thing, isn’t it?’ Jules said.
Theo put down his knife and fork, no appetite left for the food on his plate. Just as he did so, his phone vibrated on the table next to him.
Here safe. Finn.
Theo stared at the screen. ‘I feel like I’m grieving and I don’t know what exactly I’m mourning – the loss of her or … or the loss of the family unit. I miss that, Finn misses it.’
‘I’m sure Harriet misses it too,’ Jules offered, and a sound escaped from Eddie, one that said he doubted that very much.
‘She probably does, she’s told me already that she does.’ Theo moved his cutlery to the centre of his plate. He looked up. ‘I can’t actually believe she’s gone. That’s the thing. I know she has. I know why, but with all the ups and downs we had, I never thought she’d leave, not for someone else, I never thought …’ He swallowed hard. ‘I thought we’d agreed that, with Finn, it wasn’t an option.’
Jules grimaced. ‘That sounds frigging awful, Theo. “We’d agreed it wasn’t an option.” Makes your marriage sound like a cold business arrangement.’
Theo shook his head. ‘It wasn’t like that.’ He sighed – a long, deep sigh. ‘I’m not expressing this very well, so you’re right. I’ll shut up.’
‘You loved that woman, probably still do,’ Jules muttered. ‘Whatever other complications you had together, I know that. I saw that over ten years of knowing you.’ She turned to her husband. ‘You’re very quiet all of a sudden.’
Eddie held his palms up. ‘I plead the fifth.’
‘Well, maybe Theo needs you to speak.’
‘Theo doesn’t,’ Theo said. ‘Who’s for pudding?’
He sliced three portions of shop-bought meringue roulade onto plates and placed them on the table. Jules scratched her head and laughed. ‘Harriet would have had home-made meringue and fresh raspberry coulis.’
Theo winked at her. ‘Harriet’s not here.’
‘No shit.’ She ate a mouthful and made appreciative noises and pointed her spoon at him. ‘You loved her,’ she repeated.
‘I loved her,’ Theo said, his head nodding tiny, agreeing movements.
Eddie leaned forward. ‘What you need, Theo, my man, is a new diversion, preferably a good-looking one.’
‘Are you ready, Theo?’ Jules asked. ‘Could you see yourself dating yet?’
‘Ugh.’ Theo put his head on the table.
‘Jacqueline, the climber!’ Eddie punched the air triumphantly. ‘She’d be a good way to start. She definitely has the hots for you.’
‘No, no and no.’ Theo spoke without raising his head.
‘She does like you,’ Jules said. ‘And I like her. She’s really easy to talk to and …’ She shrugged. ‘Ed’s right. She does have the hots for you; even gave him her number to give to you. Text it to him, Ed.’
Theo’s head was reeling; he could feel a headache starting to brew behind his eyeballs. His friends claimed to know him, but no one could see into his head. If they could, they’d see a maelstrom of women. Harriet, Jess, Jacqueline and Anna. Anna’s face central in the vortex. Lifting his head slowly, he stood and headed towards the kettle.
‘Tea? Coffee?’ he said, praying his guests would leave soon.
After they had left, after they had gone and he had cleaned the entire kitchen, he sat in the den, eyes on the open letter lying on the coffee table opposite him. It had taken him a few days to convince himself to open it. He stared at it, one sheet of plain A4 paper, unlined, just Anna’s handwriting present on the page – all straight and ordered, her words tilting to the right as they did. Had he been capable of origami, it would have been the right size to create a small box with a lid. A small Pandora’s box, with a world of hurt inside. He sat back in the chair, afraid to touch it again, afraid if he did the paper would feel real in his hands and the content would have to be real in his head.
By midday the next day, Theo had come to the conclusion that living alone with his thoughts was capable of driving him insane and that solitary living was not for the faint-hearted. He roamed the house listening to the pipes in the central heating. He watched a movie in the middle of the day and wondered what in Christ he normally did on a Saturday that was so time-consuming. By two p.m., Jess’s words from the other night, her fears about Rose, were playing on a loop in his head. He dialled her number.
When her voice prompted him to leave a message, he couldn’t.
Instead he opened the earlier text from Eddie and dialled a new number.
‘Jacqueline,’ he said. ‘It seems we have some scheming friends who think you and I should maybe meet, have a meal together …’
16. Jess
It’s a beautiful day and I’m determined to take advantage of it. I’m trying to keep busy in the garden; trying not to dwell on the fact that Anna would normally be here with me and Rose. She would help her put her tiny wellies on, her hands helping her work the child’s rake I bought for Rose earlier this year. The two of them would struggle, giggling, trying to water the seeds with the snaking garden hose. I hear laughter from near the house and shade the low-lying winter sun from my eyes with my right hand. Leah, who is spending the night with me while Gus is away on a stag night, has joined Rose outside, and Pug is barking and dancing around the two of them like a wild thing.
This south-facing rear garden, all one hundred and eighty feet of it, is my haven – come rain or shine. It’s also the reason that I bought this place after Doug and I split up. Today, the sun pulses its warmth on me as I work at the tall bench outside the greenhouse. The thermometer nailed onto a window lattice tells me it’s seventeen degrees – pretty respectable for late February and a welcome reprieve from the rain of late. My coiled hair is pinned up in a bun, tamed into submission, and I can feel lines of sweat on my brow and across the back of my neck on my hairline.
From the corner of my eye, I watch Rose and Leah. I prepare loads of tiny seed pots, drop the carrot seeds in and place them in numbered rows in the greenhouse. Leah is suddenly by my side, handing me a glass of water. ‘You nearly done?’
I nod, stop what I’m doing, rest my back against the glass, and stare up the garden. ‘I spoke to Mum,’ I say.
‘I know.’ Leah is already shaking her head. ‘She told me.’
‘I did try. I talked to the surgery; they have a care package all ready to go. All Mum had to do was say yes, and she won’t, not yet.’
‘Did she ask if the person coming would look like Daniel Craig?’
‘No, but if he looks like Daniel Craig, I’ll go up and give him a hand.’
‘Ooh, Jess, a joke!’ Leah rubs her hands together.
She’s right. It’s a long time since I’ve heard the sound of my own laughter, and yet it feels wrong, disloyal somehow. Leah sees this in me, takes my own hand and rubs it.
‘Gus thinks he should have a word with her; that we’re almost too close to it. What do you think?’
I shrug. ‘Can’t do any harm. She listens to him, thinks the sun shines from his nether regions.’
It’s Leah’s turn to laugh. ‘I’ve been downwind of his nether regions and I can tell you it ain’t sunshine.’
‘Get him to try? We can’t do
anything else for Mum, we can only react and support her if something goes wrong. I’d just feel so much better if she had some help.’
My rear pocket vibrates and I take the phone out. Theo. Leah looks expectantly at me and I put the phone back. Theo, I can call back. Leah is here talking to me now.
Later on, with Rose in bed, Leah has already consumed three glasses of wine and I’ve almost matched her with two vodkas. We’ve eaten a very mediocre Chinese takeaway which is already repeating on me. She tells me to move upstairs, now, before we both start ‘talking crap’. Always the good girl, I do as I’m told.
In Anna’s room, I feel like a thief. I have never been one of those prying mothers, never had any reason to be. Anna has always been so completely trustworthy. I’ve been here many times since her accident – many, many times – but until now it has been to look at, to stare at, to sniff or to touch her things. Tonight is different. We need to find something and I’m consumed with guilt the moment I open the first wardrobe door. Leah has chosen to sit on the floor, her back to Anna’s bed base, directing operations.
‘I’m not rifling through her stuff, just wouldn’t feel right,’ she says, her glass by her side. ‘I’ll be right here, making suggestions, getting you another drink, whatever.’ She looks as uncomfortable as she obviously feels, her eyes darting around the room. It’s her first time in here since December. I can tell she’s thinking what I have many times before: How can someone with this life, these things, someone with so many memories already and so many yet to make, just not be here?
Anna has an accordion paper file. I know – I’ve seen her with it. I rummage around on the floor of the wardrobe. It’s not there. But the novelty slippers of reindeer heads I bought her last Christmas are. I raise them to my nose and smile at the memory of her prancing around Theo’s in them.
‘They don’t smell like cheese … still new,’ I say before putting them back, lining them up neatly side by side.
There are two deep drawers in her dressing table. I leave the wardrobe, crawl across the floor to it, pull open the right drawer first and there it is, lying flat on its side. I tug it out and slide it across the floor to Leah, then sit next to her. Anna’s contract of employment is the first thing we find. Leah and I skim-read it until her legal eye finds the ‘death in service’ clause. Anna had laughed about it at the time … joked about her being worth a fortune dead. The multinational bank she had only worked at for a year pays four times Anna’s salary to her next of kin in the event of her death. Attached to the contract is a single page ‘Life Assurance Nomination Plan’. Anna has stuck a neon green Post-it note on it saying ‘wishes letter’. This we read more slowly, then I throw my head back against her mattress and close my eyes. Leah sighs loudly. I am Anna’s named next of kin. According to my daughter’s wishes, she has asked that the money be allocated one hundred per cent to me in order to look after Rose, in the event of her death. I also heave a deep sigh and immediately feel guilty.
What am I doing? This was Leah’s idea. No, it was Doug’s idea. I do not want to know any of this.
‘You need to know.’ Leah reads my mind. ‘You need to know what happens. You need to have all of your ducks lined up in case Sean decides to play full-time Daddy in Lytham St Annes.’
Her fingers scramble through the file. ‘Right, we know you control the money; now let’s find the will.’
‘There’s no need. I know I signed a guardianship form. I know I’m Rose’s legal guardian.’ My eyes are still closed. Anna. Oh, God, Anna, please come home. My stomach is churning.
‘Got it.’ Leah pulls some papers from the ‘W’ section. It’s a simple three-page document which we quickly scan until we reach an attached sheet outlining guardianship. I read it once, then read it again, and then drop the paper into Leah’s lap while my blood seems to freeze in slow motion – an icy feeling that starts at the tip of my toes, crawls up my legs, torso and out to my fingertips. Within moments my scalp starts to tingle. The will is signed by Anna, but the guardianship section is signed by both Anna and Sean. They are Rose’s parents. In the event of one or other of their deaths, responsibility for their child’s welfare passes to the other. It is only in the event of both of their deaths that I am named, and have signed my name, as chosen guardian.
Leah watches me as I process the facts. I can tell by her face that she has already concluded that this is a bit of a mess. She drains her glass. ‘If Anna is dead,’ she says, ‘Sean can take Rose. If Anna is dead,’ she adds, ‘you control the money.’
I lower my head to my sister’s lap. She strokes my hair as best as anyone can stroke straw curls. ‘It’s two more reasons to pray she’s alive,’ I say, as if even one is needed. ‘I should show all of this to Doug.’
Leah nods.
‘It’s a mess, isn’t it?’
‘It’s confused,’ she agrees.
‘Fucking hell.’
Leah giggles nervously. ‘You don’t swear.’
‘I do now.’ I use Anna’s bed to pull myself to a standing position.
Downstairs, both Leah and I are squeezed into the tatty sofa. ‘There’s something else.’ I take the phone out of my rear jeans pocket, pass it to her. ‘I can’t open it. She’s put some sort of lock on.’
Leah takes Anna’s phone in her hands, turns it over several times, and feels the raised diamantés, just like I did when I got it back first. I have a choking lump in my throat but Leah’s must rise because she starts to cry.
‘Oh,’ she sobs, as she presses various date-of-birth combinations to no avail.
‘Her account is still open,’ I say. ‘It’s paid from her bank every month and the phone’s fully charged. I just want to get in, see her photos, just see her—’
‘I have a guy in work,’ Leah says, wiping her face with the back of her hand. ‘He’s a nerdy guy, and a whizz with stuff like this.’ She shakes herself out, seems to want to pull herself together. Instead I pull her to me, put her head on my shoulder and stroke her hair. We have swapped roles. She has smooth silky hair that I have always coveted. ‘Don’t cry,’ I whisper.
‘I need to, sorry,’ she says as I bang the back of my head rhythmically on the tatty sofa. All I know is I can’t lose her. I can’t lose Rose too.
And even in my thoughts, I hate the fact that I use the word ‘too’. I want to stand up and run around the room smashing things. I don’t do it. I can’t do it because Rose is upstairs but I let the images play. In my head, I stand and run my hand along the two glass shelves nearby. Photos, ornaments, a tiny tray with pens and pencils all smash to the floor. I walk over the glass fragments from the photo frames, lift a vase from another shelf and hurl it at the back door, smashing the window. I breathe it in, this imaginary destruction. I let it feed my veins.
‘DO YOU HEAR ME, ANNA? YOU HAVE TO HELP ME! I CANNOT LOSE HER.’
Tonight, Leah, though she flinches a little when I raise my voice, just behaves as if my frightened cry is completely normal.
The next morning, Leah crawls into my bed early. I am already awake – have been for three hours since 04:43. I was googling the snowfall in the Alps and the whole of Queyras has had little fresh powder. All of the normal half-term holiday-makers are disappointed and the travel bloggers are telling people to steer clear of the area. Doug has left a voicemail which seemed almost hopeful at what an unexpected thaw might bring. I can’t think about it. I don’t even respond. I cannot be someone who prays for a thaw to find her daughter’s body. I can only be someone who prays for her to come home safely.
‘I just called Gus,’ Leah says through a yawn. ‘He’s suffering … You’d think he’d learn, but he still thinks he can drink like a twenty-year-old.’
She huddles under the duvet next to me. ‘He won’t be back until lunchtime. Do you fancy doing something? It’s supposed to be nice again today. Let’s take Rose down to the river and maybe meet Gus at the pub there afterwards. He can buy us all a nice Sunday lunch.’
I find myself
agreeing, if only for the lunch offer. Sundays are particularly awful, as they were days that were carved in stone for us as a family. Our odd but fantastic family. Me, Anna and Rose. We would always spend Sundays together, except once a month when Anna had to go into work – something to do with the IT department and a crash recovery plan.
Leah’s talking and I’m wondering if I myself will ever recover. My life continues but with a large, gaping hole. As Leah giggles at something Gus told her on the phone, something stag related, all I can hear is my daughter’s voice; the sound of her devilish laughter; the feel of her hand in mine just before she left; the taste of those blueberry muffins she made with muesli and fresh fruit; the image of her trying to out-ski an avalanche. Yes, Gus can sort us all out with food. Today is going to be a bad day.
I drink too much over lunch. I tell myself off in the mirror in the cloakroom. I may not have to drive, but I do have to look after Rose.
Back at the table, I pour a pint glass of sparkling water and listen to the hiss of the bubbles before taking a sip. Rose is cackling with laughter at whatever shapes Gus is making with his hands. He’s so good with her, so patient; he always has been. Today he seems to instinctively know that I’m torn; that it’s a day I want to park Rose at the table with the iPad and just keep her quiet, but I hate doing that and he knows it. I’m grateful he’s quietly entertaining her with books and tricks. He’s doing the Incy-Wincy spider thing I used to do with Anna, but somehow a coin has appeared in the middle of his hands. Magic. I stare at the scene and wonder if he could just conjure up her mother for me, please. Pretty please.
La, la la, la la la, la la la la la …
I sing the ‘Incy’ tune in my head, drink more water. Leah leans across, kisses Gus on the cheek and he laughs, makes an ‘oooh’-shape sound with his mouth, which makes Rose giggle madly. I am suddenly seized with an insane jealousy which I don’t understand. I don’t want a man I can reach across to and kiss. I’m happy with occasional sex. I don’t want someone who will stroke my arm the way Gus is doing now to Leah. I deliberately shunned that intimacy long ago – right after Doug left – so what’s wrong with me?
The Day I lost You Page 10
