I swallow hard, regret coursing through my veins. I shouldn’t have started this.
‘You get to keep Rose,’ he whispered. ‘That was what mattered. It’s what has driven us and, in the long run, it’s what’s best for Rose, but Jesus, Jess, what are we going to tell her? She’s just lost her mother and now she’s going to lose her father too?’
I try to run my hand through my hair, catch my fingers in the morning-time, untamed mess. The boys have found an old tennis ball; they’re throwing it in the air and Pug is leaping skywards towards it.
‘It is what it is.’ Doug shakes his head. ‘Look, can Rose come over later today to play with the boys? They were hoping to see her before you head back.’
I nod. ‘I’ll drop her over.’
Doug only manages to get the excitable pair back in the car with a promise of a visit from Rose. When I return to the kitchen, robotic-like, I spoon coffee and boiling water into a mug. Pug circles my legs and I pick her up and take my drink out into the back garden. It’s still early. Steam rises from the patio where the spring sun fights the overnight dew on the stones. I walk towards the edge of the water, treading over the muddy footprints that Tom and Ethan have left. Putting Pug down, she bolts from my hands and runs through the mud. Rose and I will have to wash her later.
From nowhere, a deep sigh, followed by a gut-wrenching scream escape from the depths of my belly. I hurl my mug to the water, watch it soar through the air and land with a heavy splash before disappearing. Then I scream again, crying at the top of my voice. GOD. IS. A. BITCH.
I feel immediate guilt and relief. Guilt because someone, somewhere will have heard that. Relief because I needed it. Back at the house, Leah is leaning in the doorway to the garden, static as a statue. My father is up out of his sick bed, standing above her, staring out of his bedroom window, his good hand flattened against the glass. Pug runs to me and I pick her up, holding her away from my clothes. By the time I stand upright again, Dad and Leah have both vanished. I’m overcome by a coughing fit after my vocal efforts and walk slowly back to the house. I use the lead to tie Pug to the patio table until I can wash her in a few minutes.
‘Morning.’ Leah pads across the heated tiled floor towards me and hands me another mug of coffee as I remove my shoes.
‘Morning. You came to bed late,’ I say. Neither of us refers to my outburst.
She yawns. ‘Lots of work shit to catch up on. Then Gus kept me on the phone for an hour.’
‘Everything okay?’
‘It’s fine. He just hates me being away.’
I play with the handle on the cafetiere. ‘Sean’s tests are back. He’s not the father.’
Leah plonks onto one of the chairs. ‘Shit.’
‘Yup.’
‘Nightmare.’ She chews her bottom lip.
‘I’m dropping Rose over to Doug’s for a bit. Sean is going to his parents’ to tell them. Doug told me not to, but do you think I should go over there?’
‘Are you mad? Stay out of it.’ She spoons more sugar into her own drink. ‘Don’t even think about it. I will sit on you if I have to until we go home in the morning.’
‘I feel guilty.’ ‘Find a way to live with it.’ She peers at me through the steam above her mug as she sips. ‘You have Rose now. Just find a way to deal with the guilt.’
‘If Anna were here, I’d ask her for hints. Lessons on how to deal with guilt.’
‘If Anna were here, none of this mess would be happening.’
I tie my hair up with a tieback I find in one of Mum’s kitchen drawers, look out through the window to the lake. Ain’t that a fact, Honey-girl. Ain’t that a fact …?
33. Jess
Rose has had such fun with Tom and Ethan that she’s sleeping over at Doug’s. Leah and I have opened a bottle of wine, while Mum is upstairs with Dad and Daniel Craig.
‘It’s wrong, I’m telling you, a woman of her age.’ She grins. ‘If we’re not careful, you and I will come from a broken home.’
It’s our last night here. Dad is much improved and Mum has taken to both the carers, especially the one Leah has nicknamed Diet Coke.
I am relaxing in an easy chair, looking out at the mirror shimmers on the lake, when Leah looks at me and announces, ‘I want to work on something tonight, so I suppose I’ll just let you see it.’
I crane my head to see what she has in a large refuse sack that she pulls out from behind the sofa. It reminds me of the black bag I have shoved under the stairs at home; the one in which I have put all of Anna’s mail. She’s not here, yet the mail keeps coming. Leah removes a square box, about thirty centimetres by thirty. It is shiny and red.
‘What is it?’ I’m fascinated.
‘I’m going to need some stuff from you to make it work anyway, so you’ll have to know sooner rather than later, I suppose,’ she says without looking at me.
I’m intrigued, pull the bag towards me and look inside. There are photographs, large silver stars, a CD of The Lion King, a book and some of Rose’s smaller toys. Leah has the box on her lap and, when she opens it, there’s what looks like a pillowcase inside. I recognize it as the one from Anna’s bed and make a face.
‘Don’t worry. It’s not from Anna’s room. I found another set like it on eBay, knew it was a fabric Rose would recognize. I’m using it for lining.’ As she speaks, I catch sight of the inside of the lid, and there is the most beautiful blown-up picture of Anna and Rose. I gasp.
‘It’s for Rose’s birthday, a memory box for her to remember Anna by.’
My lower lip trembles and I press it with my fingers to stop it. ‘What a lovely thing …’ is all I can muster. I drop to the floor in front of her and pull my sister into a fierce hug. ‘What a lovely thing. Thank you. She’ll love it.’
‘Yeah, yeah, you love me, I know. I’m the best aunt in the world, I know.’ She pushes me away gently. ‘Have a better look.’ She nudges her head towards the bag of goodies.
I’m on my knees right by the bag but shake my head. ‘I don’t know that I can.’
‘Go on. Do lucky dip, say, five times?’
I don’t move. She’s already head down, concentrating on gluing the pieces of pillowcase in place.
‘When did you cut them?’
‘I wasn’t really working all of last night,’ she says.
I dip my hand in the bag, move it around, pull a photograph out and take a sip from my glass before I turn it over.
‘Let’s see?’ She bends towards it to get a better look.
It’s one of Anna with Rose sitting on her knee, when she was about three. They’re both focusing on making a puzzle on a table and their expressions mirror each other completely.
‘Peas in a pod,’ Leah says. ‘Perhaps there was no Dad involved. Maybe Anna just split in two. See, that’s how you move forward. Pretend Rose is a miracle of science.’
‘She is anyway.’ My mother’s voice sounds behind us and she takes the chair next to Leah. ‘Jesus, put the lid on that glue will you, we’ll all be high as kites.’ Daniel has left for the evening.
Leah does as she is told and Mum picks up something from the box, removes a needle and thread from it.
‘Mum’s idea,’ Leah says. ‘It’s a heart made from the same fabric.’
‘I’ll stuff it, make it soft, and it will be scented when we spray Anna’s perfume on it. And the heart was my idea but the box is Leah’s.’ Mum smiles across at her and Leah grins back. My own heartbeat begins to settle. This is good. It is all good, I tell myself. We are here, my family and I, remembering Anna. For the first time since December I feel like celebrating her life rather than utter despair. I feel like these women here have helped me inch forward into the new landscape that is life without Anna.
‘Thank you both,’ I say, and delve into the bag again. I pull out what looks like a Mars bar and Leah laughs. ‘That may not last when Rose sees it, but it was Anna’s favourite.’
‘God, remember when she was doing her dissertation?’ I smile.
‘Whatever food I tried to get into her, the only staple was these. At least three of them a day. And you’re right, it won’t last …’
My hand dips in again and I retrieve a tiny, pink, well-loved teddy bear. ‘Beany,’ I say aloud. It was one of Anna’s collection of Beanie toys, her very favourite.
‘Sorry.’ Leah looks at me, bites her bottom lip. ‘I sort of nicked that from her room the night we were … remember when we were both in there?’ Neither of us speaks aloud in front of my mother of the night spent looking for papers.
I stand up, nuzzle Beany to my face and walk towards the large windows overlooking the lake. It’s quiet out there tonight; no wind blowing, no fox barking, nothing.
‘Would you mind if I scattered her here, Mum?’ It’s the first time I have spoken aloud of the container I have at home in my wardrobe. Doug agreed that I should keep it until we decide where to finally scatter her ashes. I’m quite sure he’d be very happy for her to be here and I think Anna would like it. I see them glance at each other in the window reflection. ‘If that’s what you want, darling.’
‘I think she’d like that. Here, at the house, out there on the water.’ I look up at the starry sky. ‘The sky is always clearer here. I think Rose would like it too.’ I return to my seat, replace Beany in the bag.
‘You done?’ Leah asks. ‘That was only a trio of lucky dips.’
‘I’ll wait for Rose’s birthday.’ I drain my glass, lean forward and fill Leah’s and mine again. I wave the bottle at Mum who shakes her head.
They’re chatting amongst themselves about the carers. Leah is trying to convince Mum that Diet Coke man is actually Daniel Craig moonlighting. He has lots of downtime, she tells her, in between making Hollywood blockbusters, and it’s his way of giving back to the community. I smile.
Having spent the afternoon on Anna’s phone, I’m scrolling through my own; thirteen emails in my work inbox which, frankly, can wait. In the text messages, Theo, if nothing else, is persistent:
I’m trying to find a way to say you’re being stupid without making you feel any worse. We’re friends. We’ve been friends for more than a decade since the surgery days. We’ve laughed and cried over that decade. (I am a metrosexual man.) So, enough sending me to Coventry because we had a kiss. Enough being angry because I couldn’t tell you about Anna. I did tell you when I could. Was I wrong to? Because I did, you will win any fight Sean brings. Yet because I did, you’re not talking to me. How does that work, Jess?
Suddenly, I feel very tired. Body-tired, bone-tired. My fight reflex is weary. Theo did tell me when he could, which reminds me of Anna’s letter. I have less and less desire to insist on seeing it and have come to the conclusion that I either trust Theo or I don’t. Seeing it doesn’t seem to matter so much when I am here in my mother’s house, surrounded by love. I close my eyes and try hard to tap into it, to allow it to nourish me. I imagine it a turquoise colour flowing through me, sustaining me.
My thumbs poised to reply, the words seem to type themselves:
You’re right. I’m sorry. When I get back from the Lakes, let’s talk. Or let’s not? I’m trying hard to think about moving on. I’m telling myself it doesn’t matter who fathered Rose. It doesn’t matter what Anna did or didn’t do. I loved her. If she was here today, I WOULD STILL LOVE HER.
The phone pings an immediate reply. Leah looks across at me, mouths the word ‘Theo’. I nod, read the text.
Move forward. Good plan. You need a friend? x
Always x
I check my single-word reply, certain it’s what I really mean, and then I press send.
When we walk back in the door of our home, Rose climbs the stairs with Pug tucked under her arm. She’s whispering softly to her as if she were a doll. I bend down to pick up the mail. There are the usual windowed envelopes addressed to Anna, which I put straight into the bag under the stairs, and also a cream-coloured envelope addressed to me. I leave it in the kitchen as Rose calls down to me: Pug has weed on her bed.
An hour later, the scolded dog is dozing on the same linen, nestling in the pile of dirty washing on the floor in front of the washing machine. She looks cosy and warm just as I have a sneezing fit. I slump down on the floor beside Pug, tug at a sodden tissue up my sleeve. I blow my nose then stroke the dog, who looks at me with one half-open eye, as if she’s letting me know she’s listening. ‘I love you, Pug,’ I whisper. ‘Just don’t tell anyone, okay?’
I close my eyes, pinch the bridge of my nose, and breathe as deep as my streaming nose will allow. Minutes later, when I open them again, Rose is beside me lifting the dog into her arms again. She has an old neon pink Babygro and is asking if Pug can wear it. I try to explain that dogs are not dolls and shouldn’t really be dressed up. Her response is to tell me all about her friend Hayley’s dog who has his own coat and she just wants to make one. She lets Pug down and pulls herself up onto a breakfast stool.
I find the scissors and hand them to her. ‘Be careful. You’ll need to cut the feet off and you probably won’t be able to close it, I—’
‘Stop worrying, Nanny.’ She grins up at me as she slowly trims the feet.
‘Where did you get that anyway?’ My hand reaches out to touch the almost threadbare outfit.
‘Mummy gave it to me for “Lou-lou” dolly but I think it will be much better on Pug.’
‘Okay.’ I look around to see that the poor dog has rightly scarpered.
‘Is that a birthday card for me?’ She spots the envelope.
‘No, it’s for me, I’d forgotten about it.’ I don’t recognize the handwriting, open it, one eye on Rose with the scissors. It’s a pretty card with peonies on the front and the words, ‘Just a note to say …’ Inside, some handwritten words make my heart swell.
Jess, I hope you don’t mind me calling you by your first name since we’ve never met. I did, however, meet your beautiful daughter, and have wanted to write ever since I heard of her death. Anna was beautiful – in both body and spirit.
We met last year during the ‘Choral For Cancer’ event. She befriended my own daughter, Imogen, who has beaten childhood cancer and has huge dreams of being a singer. Anna was wonderful to her, encouraging her to sing, telling her not to feel like she had to do it in public; just to do it because it made her feel good. I bitterly regret not writing to Anna afterwards the way I promised myself I would. I wanted to thank her – but life, busy as it always is, got in the way. I never did write that letter so I’m writing to you instead.
I can only try to imagine the hole in your life, but want you to know I’m praying for you and Anna’s daughter, Rose, whom she spoke of all of the time and seemed to love with all her heart.
In shared sorrow and with love, Aimee Gardner
I place the card on the windowsill and return to Rose’s handiwork. As I stroke her hair, taming some stray bits back into her ponytail, it is the kindness of a stranger that overwhelms me.
Aimee Gardner’s words about Anna slot like missing jigsaw pieces into the recent confused picture of her. The fact is that she was a kind and caring young woman. That was my daughter. Yes, she made mistakes, but they’re not what I want to focus on now. I do not want to dwell any more on her affair with a married man, her abuse of Sean’s trust and yes, mine too – it’s not how I want to remember her. Nor will she be sainted. That cannot happen either. But she can be Anna, my kind, inspiring, funny daughter.
‘You think she’ll like it, Nanny?’ Rose holds up the now footless pink Babygro.
‘She’ll love it,’ I tell her. I’m not sure about Pug, but Anna, I know, is laughing loudly somewhere.
PART THREE
34. Anna
Raw Honey Blogspot 15/03/2011
We’re finished. Something happened. Afterwards, I felt like a mirror was held up to my face making me see me as I am. Selfish. I’ve wanted to puke since.
We were caught.
It was Rose’s second birthday and Mama and I had combined it with a celebration for both of o
ur birthdays last month, so everybody and anybody we know was there.
He was milling around in the background and I’d gone upstairs to the loo. He knocked on the door and, when I opened it, He pushed through, grabbed hold of me and kissed me. I told Him not to be so fucking stupid, but was smiling as I left the room, a small part of me loving that He’d taken a risk.
Outside was a man I love and respect, standing as tall as I ever remember him, and I felt small, weak and stupid. He said nothing, just stared. Gramps adores me and I never, ever want him to look at me like that again.
Before he and Grandma left, he hugged me hard, whispered in my ear, ‘This is beneath you, Anna.’ I didn’t sleep a wink last night. I feel like the horrible person I am. It’s over. I’ve told Him. The reality check forced me to think about the fallout I always manage to ignore. I couldn’t face it. Love, obsession, whatever it is between us, we both agree now that we have to find a way to squash it like an ant underfoot. Kill it. Dead.
35. Theo
‘We have a problem.’ Harriet spoke the words from behind Finn, who shoved past her and Theo to run up the stairs to his room. She followed him into the hall, took her coat off and hung it on the coat rack.
Theo stretched his eyebrows. ‘Come in. Do.’
Harriet walked into the den, parked herself in the corner of the sofa that she had always preferred. ‘Have you got any wine?’
Wordlessly, Theo went to the fridge and removed a bottle, unscrewed it and poured her a glass. She never drank when she had to drive. Whatever the problem was, he held off pouring one for himself.
He handed it to her, closed the door. ‘What’s up?’
‘Our son. Our son is what’s up.’ She took a gulp and then placed the glass on the coffee table before turning to face him.
‘I tried to have a chat with him, like we talked about. I just wanted him to know that we both love him, that we both have his interests at heart, but he just exploded – went off on one about him never being able to trust anyone, that all grown-ups are liars.’
The Day I lost You Page 20
