The Day I lost You

by Fionnuala Kearney

  I cuddle into her, like the child I am.

  ‘Just don’t say goodbye. Keep her with you always.’

  My eyes close. I say a silent prayer that during those moments that I will think of Anna always, I’m not crippled with the same anxiety I feel now.

  She taps my knee repeatedly. ‘You are the best mother, Jess, and you’ll be the best grandmother, mother, whatever to Rose. You’ll be whatever she needs, of that I’m sure. And keep Anna in her life. Don’t let her forget her.’

  ‘No …’

  ‘You’re all right?’ she asks.

  ‘I’m all right, though I’ll never be the same. I’ll have to find a new me without her.’ I’m about to spill to Mum but I stop short. ‘She left me with a few problems.’

  Mum laughs. ‘This is Anna we’re talking about. Pregnant at eighteen, a force of nature. I’d expect no less!’ She doesn’t ask, maybe because she has enough to do with Dad, but I suspect it’s more because she respects my need for privacy. Yet again, I’m in awe of my mother.

  ‘Thank you again for today and thank you for being you.’

  ‘Jess, my love, we’re all just souls trying to find our way, trying to do our best …’

  When I know Mum and Dad are settled, I make my way up to Anna’s bedroom. In the dark, I undress, put pyjamas on and crawl in beside Rose. She’s snoring gently. I can make out the shape of Anna’s things in the darkened room: her guitar standing in the far corner; her hair straighteners balanced on the top of the dressing table; her Pudsey teddy; her record player, a present from Doug last year for her birthday when she decided she wanted to collect vinyl; two shelves full of her collection of hats. The shapes of Anna’s world. In the shadows lie the grey bits, blurry and undefined; parts of her world I wasn’t privy to. I turn on my side towards Rose’s sleeping form; her daughter perfectly outlined, her profile the same shape as Anna’s. I reach across and run a finger down it, touch her lips.

  Anna always kissed me on the lips. She did it before she left for France and, of course, I thought nothing of it. ‘Bye, Mama,’ she whispered in my ear before she ran out to the waiting taxi.

  ‘It’s not goodbye, my love,’ I whisper back. ‘Never. It’s never goodbye.’

  The church is packed. There are people spilling out of the double doors at the front. It looks like one of those scenes that you see on television, either when someone famous dies, or someone young is tragically murdered. She was, I tell myself as I walk up the aisle of St John’s. Doug is by my side and Rose is between us. Leah, Gus and my parents follow, with Sean and his parents right behind. She was murdered by snow.

  My family huddle into the first pew and Sean’s in the next. Doug, an only child, has some cousins, but his mother, in a nursing home near the Lakes, is too ill to travel. Beyond that, I have no idea who is here. Doug hands me an order of service and there, on the front, is the photo of Anna taken on the ski-trip which also graces my phone screen. The mountains are in the background; the sun is high in the sky. She’s laughing, someone having caught her in a perfect moment. Her eyes shine, her smile beams, and my heart quickens on seeing it. Doug had emailed me through the order of service so there are no surprises. I glance up to the right of the altar, see all of Anna’s college friends assembled – the people she was in a choir with for two years. Sam, their choirmaster, sees me looking, gives me a small nod of his head and I remember the kindness of his wife that day at the play centre. That coffee and biscuit … In the front row, I see Cara and Louise, girls who Anna has known since pre-school right through to college – good friends who right after the accident came by often and then stopped. I thought Cara, Anna’s best friend, would never stop coming around, but it seems there is a time limit on hope in the very young.

  And then, because I can’t ignore it any more, I allow myself a glance to the right, to the centre of the aisle just in front of the altar – Anna’s coffin. I gasp; Doug grips my hand and I stare at the gaudy pine box that Anna would have hated. Doug had tried to explain to me that a wicker one was out of the question and I didn’t dwell on why. I find myself wondering where Carol is. She should be the one holding Doug’s hand. I glance around, see her three pews behind, with her two boys – an instant reminder that Anna was their half-sister. I beckon to her to come up, but we’re already tight in the first pew. She holds a hand up, nods, telling me that it’s okay. It’s okay that I have her husband at this moment in time. I mouth a silent ‘Thank you’ to her. Mum takes a look over her shoulder, smiles at Carol, then turns back. I can tell she is resolutely ignoring the coffin. My father weeps silently and it’s his tears, my father’s rare and frail tears, which make mine finally fall.

  We stand for the first hymn. It’s something everyone belts out, led by the choir, but I don’t recognize it. Doug assured me, when I questioned it in the order of service, that Anna knew it, had sung it. Rose wants up in my arms and I hold her tight as she wraps her legs, spider-like, around my middle. As we sit down, she decides she wants to go back to her dad and Doug passes her back to Sean. I haven’t told Doug yet. I haven’t told Doug yet that Sean is not – may not be – Rose’s father. I’ll tell him when the DNA results are back.

  All of this shit is what’s whirring around my head when Anna is lying dead less than ten feet from me. I believe it but I don’t. I see the coffin but don’t want to think of her in it. I start to look at other faces in the congregation, those that I can see in my line of sight without turning around. Max is there. He’s sitting with a bunch of people whom I know, from photos Anna had, are the people she worked with. All of them look distraught; all of them have had a kick in the gut that reminds them they’re not immortal just because they’re young.

  Doug shifts in the pew beside me and I know immediately what’s coming. He is delivering Anna’s eulogy. He asked me if I wanted to; asked Leah, Gus, even Sean if they wanted to speak. All of us knew we would be incapable, which has left it to my ex-husband. The man who, until now, lived in my brain as someone who told me my love strangled him. Now, he is a capable, strong father and, as I squeeze his hand, I will him to get through it – for us all to get through it.

  Doug walks slowly to the pulpit. The vicar, John, angles the mic for him. Doug mutters his thanks, clears his throat and looks up. He told me he was going to try and find a spot in the church and focus on it. I hope he can. Rose has found her way back into my arms and together we listen to her papa speak.

  ‘Anna,’ he says. ‘We all have wonderful memories of her. She was truly the sunniest soul. She lit up a room when she entered, lifted hearts when she sang, made you feel like you were the only person in a roomful of people.

  ‘I’m not going to … I couldn’t …’ He taps his chest a couple of times with his palm, gathers himself before continuing. ‘Couldn’t stay up here for long, so I’ll keep this short. Anna was Jess’s and my only child. To have her torn away from us in this way has left a wound that will probably never heal. Yet, with every passing day, I hear her laughter in my ear, I hear her urging me to move past this tragedy and to remember her as she was – a gorgeous, free young woman, so full of life.

  ‘I hear her laughter in my granddaughter’s giggle. I see her smile in her eyes and she will never be gone.’

  There is sniffling behind me. I know my own face is awash. Leah reaches across to me and dabs it with a tissue. She and Gus are sobbing, clinging to each other. My mother is staring at Doug, willing him on, stoic as ever. My father is sitting beside her, his head hung low.

  ‘Anna loved to sing. Thank you to the brilliant choir that she used to sing with. Thanks for being such a fun part of her life and for being here today. Anna loved to ski, and thank you to all her work colleagues who were with her that day – thank you for being here. Anna is one of four people lost to you last December. May she and Lawrence and David and Ross all rest in peace. And to Anna, thank you for being the best, the very best. It was for too short a time, but Jess and I and everyone who loved you will savour each and ever
y memory. Thank you for Rose, who makes sure each day that you live on in more than just our hearts and minds. Rest in peace, our darling girl.’

  My jaw breaks. It bursts open, and it’s everything I can do not to howl. I want to run up to Doug, to hold him, to press rewind, to … He takes his seat next to me and the music starts as he weeps quietly. Leah stands, whispers to Gus and they leave the pew. It’s just a moment later when Carol and her two boys move in beside Doug. The scene is as it should be. I look behind, my eyes thanking my sister. I don’t know what I would do without her.

  Cara is next to sing an aria I cannot name but was one of Anna’s favourites. I have no idea how she does it either, how she makes it through. That day, back when they were both ten, Anna always said she cheated death. When the ski accident happened, it haunted me that death had finally claimed her. I stare at the flowers on top of the coffin. We have white roses … Someone, probably from her work, has placed a large bouquet of yellow roses. Whoever it was didn’t know her well. She hated yellow … Rose is stuck firm to my chest, her thumb in her mouth and she removes it, whispers in my ear, ‘Pretty music.’

  ‘It is, sweetheart. It was one of your mummy’s favourites.’

  Her arm wraps around me and she whispers again. I have to strain into her to hear. ‘I know Mummy’s not coming back.’

  I squeeze her.

  ‘I just want her to.’ Tears form in her small eyes.

  ‘I know, sweetheart. We all do.’

  ‘She’s singing with the angels like Finn said, isn’t she?’

  ‘She sure is.’ I whisper in her ear. The choir have joined with Cara and they’re in full flow. ‘If you listen very carefully, you can hear her.’

  She seems to strain to listen, then her damp eyes widen and her face beams. ‘I do! I hear her!’

  I nod, smiling. I will my lips to stop trembling, will the choir not to stop singing, will the moment to last for Rose’s sake.

  ‘There’s Finn,’ she says, loud enough for those around to look at where she’s pointing. My eyes follow her hand. Four rows back to the left of us, Theo and Finn are sitting together. Finn gives Rose a tiny wave.

  ‘Can I go there, Nanny?’ she asks.

  My instinct is to say no, but the moment, this moment, was wrapped up in what Finn had said to her, and I know that Rose just wants to go to him and tell him that she can hear her mummy singing with the angels.

  ‘Be quick, come back, yes?’

  She makes her way and I watch her all of the time. Doug looks puzzled and I tell him that it’s okay.

  There is more singing; there are more words from John, there is an invite to those who would like to join us in the Duck and Partridge for a celebration of Anna’s life after the family-only service at the local crematorium. I catch Sean hear the word family and see him stare at the floor, his face scarred from tears, and I yearn for a time when Anna’s actions might make some sense. I reach back to squeeze his hand; hope he can forgive me for what I’ve had to do and feel my swollen eyelids close slowly as he shakes my hand free of his.

  26. Anna

  Raw Honey Blogspot 14/11/2014

  I’m speechless! This week He got me tickets to see the Royal Philharmonic Choir play ‘The Glory Of Christmas’ at the Royal Albert Hall, and it really was breathtaking … We never did dates when we were together before and this was a proper date! I spent the whole evening giggling like a schoolchild and He laughed, promised me we’d do ‘date’ things more often.

  And it snowed on the way home! I couldn’t believe it! November in London and we got a heap of snow the Alps would have been proud of. I bloody love snow! And I made snow angels in Hyde Park. We rolled tiny snowballs, tossed them at each other and laughed until our stomachs hurt. We were both soaked going home and I tried not to think about what He’d say to his wife when she asked how He’d got quite so wet.

  When Mum asked me, I just told her I made snow angels. She grinned, looked out the front window where I’d left one for good measure, then she grabbed my hand and we went outside and filled her garden with them, throwing ourselves on our backs, waving our hands up and down. Between both of us the hairdrier was going for almost an hour afterwards!

  Mum. A bigger kid than me sometimes …

  Comment: Nonplussed101

  Date nights? Will they work, do you think?

  Reply: Honey-girl

  Work? Not sure what you mean but this one was great fun! I suppose you mean ongoing and yes, I hope a few date nights here and there will work.

  Comment: Solarbomb

  I used to love doing snow angels with my mum too.

  Reply: Honey-girl

  Fun, aren’t they, Solarbomb?

  Comment: Nonplussed101

  I meant that even on a ‘date’ you’re still ‘sneaking around’ really, aren’t you?

  Reply: Honey-girl

  Thanks Nonplussed101 #howtoputad‌ampeneronmynight

  Comment: Nonplussed101

  Agh! Didn’t mean to! It’s just I’ve been where you are. I’ve been the other woman and the ducking and diving isn’t fun at all, even on a proper date.

  27. Jess

  ‘Sweet Jesus, did I really have to hear this from Sean? What the hell is going on? What are you doing to the poor man?’ Doug has taken me aside in the pub and is incensed. I am still reeling from Anna’s body going behind that curtain and disappearing. I think I have come to terms with the fact that she’s gone and then a thought like that invades … An image of her coffin carrying her remains disappearing behind a curtain to an acoustic version of ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine’ and the whole thing seems so surreal. So, when Doug is talking to me, all I see is a fishlike movement of his mouth and I’m struggling to understand what he’s on about.

  ‘I was having a conversation with him, asking him in a roundabout way if he and Anna were … you know.’

  No, I don’t know. My head hurts.

  ‘Then he gets all upset and tells me that you and Leah are demanding DNA from him. Fucks-sake, Jess. Really?’

  I take a very deep breath, as deep as my lungs will allow. ‘Can we talk about this tomorrow?’

  ‘Tomorrow, I’m driving my family back home.’

  I wince and he immediately apologizes. ‘Sorry, I’m sorry, but what the hell’s going on with Sean, Jess?’

  He is running one hand through his thinning hair, the other is holding a pint.

  ‘You gave a beautiful eulogy,’ I tell him. ‘And you have to trust me. Today’s not the day to talk about Sean. Look, I’ve got to get home. Mum and Dad are already back there and Clara is dropping Rose off shortly.’

  ‘Are Barbara and Geoff leaving tomorrow?’

  I nod. Doug always calls my parents by their first names. Even when we were married, they were never Mum and Dad, at least not in name – though in spirit, they probably were.

  ‘Do you want me to pick them up, drive back in convoy?’

  Doug and I met at the Lakes and he went back there to live after we split up. Though we have in the past only had rare contact, I know he keeps a quiet eye on Mum and Dad. ‘Would you? Though you may not get home until late; Mum drives a bit slowly for the motorway.’

  ‘I don’t mind.’

  I say goodbye to him and those people I need to, realize that Theo never came to the pub, convince myself it’s for the best. I’m caught at the front door by Max, who is outside with a few colleagues smoking.

  ‘Max.’ I give him a hug. ‘Thanks for coming.’

  ‘It was a lovely service,’ he says. The other people hold back, don’t speak, and just nod their agreement. One moves forward, offers his hand. ‘James,’ he says, introducing himself. ‘So sorry for your loss.’

  James. James Elliot. I remember the name. He’s the guy who Anna did a college internship with in the bank; he helped get her the full-time job. I take him in: his clothes, his height and body shape, the colour of his eyes, his wedding ring. He’s about thirty-five, a lot older than Anna. As he shakes my hand, I s
pot Rose in his face and immediately tell myself I’m imagining it. Nowadays, I seem to move through life spotting Rose in every man I meet …

  Anna, Anna, Anna. I keep saying her name over and over in my head during the short trip home. When I get there, Mum’s car is safely in the drive; the lights are on in the house and I let out a sigh of relief. I worry about them. I worry about her. She shouldn’t be driving the distance from the Lakes at her age. She shouldn’t be looking after my dad alone, lifting him alone. Leah is right, we need to intervene and make sure she gets some help. Meanwhile, I’m grateful to Doug for taking the slowest route possible home tomorrow and watching over them.

  The clock reminds me I have only ten minutes before Clara drops Rose home. Sean was still in the pub when I left; unbeknownst to him, maybe mixing with Rose’s real father, or maybe not. My mind wanders back to Anna’s first year at university and I try to remember the names of her tutors and friends. I rub my eyes. How do I find out? Do I really want to know? If I don’t know, isn’t it better for Rose and me? I can hear Leah’s voice already admonishing me, telling me that Rose should know who her father is, have her father in her life. God knows, Gus had a huge battle on his hands with his first wife, who used their child as weapon when she was younger. He fought through the courts for years to get access, which is how he and Leah met. She had helped him fight to see his child, had fallen in love with him and then reluctantly agreed not to have any more, he was so determined never to have to go through anything like that again.

  Here, in the darkness outside my house, on the day of my daughter’s funeral, is not the time I expect to have a Eureka moment about my sister. I have always told her she hasn’t a clue what unconditional love is. I’ve said it in anger. I’ve snarled it to myself under my breath when I’ve been pissed off at her. I’ve had this ‘mightier than thou’ attitude because she never gave birth. Suddenly, I feel sick and ashamed. She loves Gus unconditionally. She gave up her desire to have her own children when she met him, she loved him that much. And she loves his daughter, Jen. And she loves Rose … I pull my phone from the depths of my bag, thumb a text to her.