He lifts me into the hallway and shuts the door behind me. When our lips meet, it’s a chaste kiss, both of us aware of my mother standing behind me. ‘There’s some stew on the hob, Theo, shall I warm some up for you?’
Theo grins, removes his gloves and scarf. ‘That would be lovely, Barbara, thanks.’
I watch him eat, watch the clock.
‘Have you heard anything?’ he asks in between warming mouthfuls.
I shake my head and he nods.
By three, it seems that everyone who is coming is here; the dull day has made sure we have little light left. Wrapped up in scarves, hats, gloves and wellies, we trudge our way through the back garden to the small deck at the end. Doug guides and holds Dad. Carol holds onto the kids – both of her boys and Rose. Theo is holding me and I’m holding Anna. I look back towards the house, still hoping to see Leah pull back the sliding door, but knowing she won’t.
It’s cold out here, everyone audibly shivering, so I don’t waste time. I remove my right glove, hand it to Theo, steady myself, and turn into the right direction for the wind.
‘Anna.’ I speak loudly. ‘You loved it here.’
I unscrew the top of the canister, which is not in fact an urn but a tall circular container. I place a hand inside, allow my fingers to form a fist around my daughter’s ashes. There is no electrical charge, no plugging into her like I had hoped for, just my fingers on the fine, grainy remains of her body. My heartbeat is slow and steady, the sound echoing in my ears, reminding me of my own life force. My jaw feels clamped but I force my mouth to open. ‘You loved it here,’ I say again, ‘and we loved you and always will, my darling girl.’
I let the powders slip through my fingers, see most fall on the water below, some whisked away by the breeze. I see her here, as my hands fill again and again. Still images of her lifetime fill my head, nothing movie-like, no movie reel; it’s as if she’s stopped moving and I’m forced to take my time, to look and savour each image.
Everyone comes forward to help Anna leave, and when Rose fills her tiny hand, the image I have of Anna is one where she had just given birth, shock and joy on her tired face. Finally, I raise the canister into the wind and watch the last of her be taken. I replace the lid, look down at my hand. People have started to move back to the house where Mum has some soup ready. My hand is grey, covered in Anna. I wonder which part of her I can’t let go, whether it’s her femur, her hand, her heart. I bend down, reaching forward, and plunge my hand into the freezing water.
Then I feel it, like a clash of her energy with mine. I squeeze my eyes, take the pain, and tell myself it’s her – not just the icy water. It’s Anna, the last of her clinging onto me. ‘Rest, my darling girl, it’s time to sleep …’ I move my hand about and stand up. Theo takes it and squeezes it in his and together we walk back to where my dad stands, stooped, at the door watching us.
When it was done, Theo stood by the kettle waiting for it to boil. Leah hadn’t come. Though she had known she wouldn’t, he could see disappointment etched on Jess’s face.
‘You can’t fix everything.’ Doug was standing by his side. Theo didn’t reply.
‘How are you two going?’ Doug asked.
Theo turned to face him, unsure how to behave. His girlfriend’s ex-husband asking how it’s going. ‘Well.’ He kept the reply deliberately short.
‘I’m glad.’ Doug nodded. ‘All things considered, she seems happy.’
It was Theo’s turn to nod.
‘Way back when she came up here first, I helped her move. She had this bag, a stash of anything that came addressed to Anna. I was horrified, there were credit card bills that needed sorting; lots of stuff she couldn’t deal with – basically, anything that had a window in the envelope she’d shoved in a bag under the stairs. We went through it, both of us, before she moved.’
Theo was still nodding, a slow, rhythmic movement.
‘There was one thing I didn’t show Jess. A tenancy agreement, just a couple of pages long.’
Theo felt his Adam’s apple rise and fall.
‘Anna was moving to a two-bedroom flat nearby … But you know that, don’t you, Theo, since you’d signed it as guarantor for her.’
‘I haven’t told her,’ Theo said quickly, glancing at Jess. He hadn’t ever told her he’d known about Gus since Anna’s letter either. There was, he had reasoned, nothing to be gained.
‘I know,’ Doug replied. ‘Me neither. I think we both have her best interests at heart.’ Both men stared at the large table where people were still eating, where Rose sat on Jess’s knee.
‘Was the flat just for her and Rose?’
‘I would never have been involved if it hadn’t been,’ Theo said. ‘That’s what she told me.’
Doug sighed. ‘I suppose we’ll never really know, but you’re right.’ He looked to Jess. ‘It’s best that she knows nothing.’
‘She knew Anna was thinking about moving out, she knew from the blog. I just didn’t see the point in …’ Theo shrugged. ‘In rubbing her nose in it.’
‘What I don’t understand,’ Doug said, ‘is why Anna didn’t ask me for help?’
‘You might have told Jess her plans. Or Jess might have found out you’d helped and blamed you.’
Jess looked across in their direction.
‘Right.’ Doug smiled broadly. ‘She’s looking over now, so smile. Big smile.’
Theo did as he was told.
‘And if you ever hurt her, you’ll have me to answer to.’ Doug feigned a laugh, knew he was being watched. ‘She loves fiercely, and God knows she deserves the same back.’ He clapped Theo on the back. ‘Remember that.’
It’s a black, cloudy, night. I feel sorry for Rose, who is star-searching right beside me, her tiny hands making prints on my mother’s glass.
I allow myself to think ahead to Christmas in three weeks. We will all be here, Mum fussing over everyone, feeding us until we burst. Dad loving us all from his chair. Leah too, hopefully. My heart feels as if it’s in a vice when I think of her; how I miss her, miss what we had. I’m trying hard to respect the fact that she still struggles with the loss of her marriage, to respect the fact that she didn’t come today. Yesterday’s telephone call with her had given me a little hope that she might. She has agreed to try and somehow forgive Anna so that she and I can move forward, but if the last year has taught me anything, it is that love can be a complicated, conditional thing. I just don’t know how Leah’s and my love will look in the future and I hate that.
Rose’s hand slips into mine. Her fingers curl around the edges and the feeling grounds me. I love that. She points with her free hand to a patch in the cloud; whoops with delight at the tiny cluster of stars. And I hear Anna, hear her voice as if she was standing right beside me.
– I miss you, Mama.
– I miss you, today more than most.
– I know …
– I heard your laugh in Rose again this morning; that deep chuckle that you used to have.
– Thank you for making sure she laughs. Give her an extra-tight hug from me today. Tell her that her mummy loves her.
– Unconditionally?
– Ha! You’re funny … but yes. Yes … I love you, Mama.
– You too, to your stars and beyond.
Acknowledgements
Thank you, as always, to friends and family. To my beta readers Claire Allan, Anstey Spraggan and Jacqueline Ward, thank you for help throughout, comments on point as always! Thanks to Ger Downing and Jo Cannon for help on some research points – any mistakes are my own. Thanks too to Steph, Doody, Jan, Penny, and Ann – a wonderful focus group.
Continued thanks to my agent, Maddy (the best agent in town) Milburn and her brilliant crew, Cara, Thérèse and Sarah.
A huge shout out of thanks to everyone at HarperCollins, I’m really grateful for all you do. Thank you to Liz Dawson and Jaime Frost in publicity, the cover design team, and the sales teams in the UK and Ireland. A BIG FAT thank you to the editorial
team, particularly Kim Young and Martha Ashby whose instincts and keen eyes have really helped make The Day I Lost You appear on the page just like I had imagined it in my head. #fabeditors
To Aidan, thanks for your love and endless supply of cups of hot green tea. And finally, to you readers, thank you, for helping to make my dreams come true.
About the Author
Fionnuala Kearney lives in Ascot with her husband. They have two grown-up daughters (both with deliberately simple monosyllabic names). One of seven children, Fionnuala likes to write about the nuances and subtle layers of human relationships, peeling them away to see what’s really going on beneath. The Day I Lost You is her second novel.
To find out more about Fionnuala, visit her on Facebook and Twitter – she’d love to hear from you.
@fionnualatweets
/FionnualaKearneyAuthor
Also by Fionnuala Kearney
You, Me and Other People
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