by Dawn Goodwin
Norma had travelled with me in the car to the crematorium, but we had remained silent for the journey and I had never felt so isolated, even though I wasn’t alone. When the car had pulled up outside the house, Norma had already been standing on the pavement waiting. She had swapped her pinny for a simple outfit of black trousers and a grey blouse, with patent leather pumps on her feet. She looked better than I had ever seen her and I was touched at the effort she’d made.
‘Oh, you do look lovely, dear,’ Norma had said.
My feet were already pinching in my heels and my dress kept riding up. ‘Thanks, Norma, so do you.’
‘This blouse only comes out for funerals and weddings,’ she’d chuckled.
Mr Liu was already in a pew, weeping openly before the service had even begun. I greeted him as I went past and he gave me a wan smile.
‘He’ll see his battered sausage profits drop now, won’t he, with no Bert to eat them,’ I said in a quiet voice to Norma.
Norma tittered again, then shepherded me into the front pew. I tried to concentrate as the hymns began, but the sight of the coffin coming in threw me off balance and I began to shiver uncontrollably. It turns out Mr Liu had quite an impressive baritone and he carried us all through the singing. Soon it was time for me to approach the lectern and give my reading, which I had agonised over writing. For someone who fancied themselves as a writer, I had certainly struggled to come up with suitable words for this.
All eyes were on me, judging me, the absent daughter, as I tripped up the steps in my ridiculous heels, tugging at my dress as I went. I stared out at the faces in front of me and could feel my teeth chattering behind my lips. I coughed, then said, ‘Erm, er, thanks for coming, everyone,’ in a quiet voice.
The hand holding my speech was shaking. My eyes swept over the ring I now wore on my left hand. My mother’s engagement ring – a simple gold band adorned with four small diamonds. Mam had worn it every day since my father had given it to her, even after he had left, still refusing to accept he was gone. I had found it among the personal items the police had returned and had slipped it on my own finger immediately, tucking it behind my understated engagement ring and wedding band. I looked down at it now, forever a reminder not to waste the life we are given.
I put the piece of paper down on the lectern, its flimsiness not doing justice to the weight of the occasion.
‘My mother was a stubborn woman, stoic, formidable, who loved the simple things in life: a gin and tonic while watching her favourite programmes, a box of Black Magic on the weekend and Bert, her constant companion.’ Suddenly a knot of emotion clogged my throat like a cork and I couldn’t dislodge it. I choked, coughed, then began to cry silently. Stumbling over the words swimming on the page in front of me, I forced myself to carry on, but the letters were a blur. ‘She was a woman of simple pleasures, but I found out recently that there was more to her than I gave her credit for. Thank you to her devoted friend, Norma, for being there for her when she needed someone. I wish I had been. I loved her more than she knew and I will miss her.’
With a final strangled sob, I returned to my seat.
As the curtains parted and the coffin disappeared, I looked away.
I hung onto Norma’s arm as we walked out of the crematorium ahead of everyone else.
‘Lovely words, Kathy, lovely words,’ she said.
‘No, they weren’t, Norma. I sounded like a complete idiot up there. Couldn’t even do that right, she’d be saying.’
‘No, you sounded like a grief-stricken daughter.’
At that, I began to cry again. We stopped in the doorway to greet the small congregation as they filed out. Faces were vague and unfamiliar, so I kept my smile in place but my eyes downcast.
The cool outside air was a welcome relief on my sweaty face. ‘That breeze is nice – it was like a furnace in there,’ I said to Norma in between accepting condolences. Then I realised what I had said and felt a bubble of giggles well up in my throat. Norma looked horrified, then a sparkle of humour lit up her eyes.
‘Eeeh, you’re terrible, Kathy. But I bet she’s having a laugh at that.’
I chuckled a little more, then noticed a couple approaching us in even more inappropriate clothes than mine. They were both as round as they were tall and dressed in Bermuda shorts and loud, Hawaiian-style shirts with little hobbit feet clad in neon orange plastic Crocs.
‘Kathy, you won’t know us, but we knew your mam from bingo. She loved a night at the bingo, bless her.’ I didn’t even know she had played. I thought she never left the house. I was beginning to realise I didn’t really know her at all.
The man noticed me staring at their feet. ‘Oh, excuse the outfit – we’re off to Benidorm on our holidays and had time to pop in here on our way to the airport.’
‘My mother hated Crocs – said they were ridiculous things to put on your feet. She’ll be turning in her grave right now.’
There was a stunned silence before I started to belly-laugh uncontrollably, the stress and emotion of the day tipping me over the edge into hysteria. I couldn’t remember when last I had laughed as hard. It wasn’t long before the others joined in, then my laughter dissolved into sobs.
‘I think you need a drink, pet,’ the man said. ‘Let’s get you over the road, eh?’
*
The pub was uninspiring, with bench seats along the walls, little round tables and dark red velvet upholstery. A typical northern boozer, its wallpaper steeped in years of cigarette ash, beer fumes and the breath of a million anecdotes.
An area had been set aside for us and the buffet had been laid out on silver foil trays decorated with doilies. There was a vast array of sausage rolls, scotch eggs, pork pie wedges, and egg and cress sandwiches, but it was the sight of the cheese and pineapple on cocktail sticks protruding from a 1980s foil ‘hedgehog’ that almost pitched me over again. My mother would’ve described it as ‘a nice spread’, that’s for sure.
I sat on one of the bench seats and Mr Liu wandered over with a gin and tonic for me. The balls of my feet throbbed from standing outside the crematorium. I took a sip of the drink, then remembered my overindulgences of the week before and pushed it to one side. If there was ever a time I needed a drink, then this was it, but the idea still made my stomach lurch. Norma appeared next to me and handed me a plate of food. I nibbled on a sausage roll, wishing the whole thing was over and that I was back in my mother’s little house in solitary again. Part of me wanted to hide there forever so that I didn’t have to face the decisions and responsibilities that waited for me – or Paul.
Norma sat on one side of me and Mr Liu on the other, both shooting furtive glances my way, as though worried I may burst into hysterics again.
‘Go on, get that drink down you, love,’ Norma coerced.
‘No, I can’t stomach it, really. A cup of tea would do me better I think.’
Mr Liu immediately shot to his feet, clearly relieved to have something to do.
I stared into the gin glass, watching the bubbles pop and the ice dance around the lemon wedges. A draught of air reached me as the pub door opened and I looked up.
‘Bloody hell, what’s he doing here?’ I scowled in a low voice.
Norma looked over to where Darren was standing. ‘Ah, come on, you and him were quite the pair back in the day, despite everything. I know his mam and mentioned we would be here. Didn’t think you’d mind.’
Could this get any worse?
He looked around with casual self-confidence, spotted me with a wink, then approached the bar. I let out my held breath, hoping I had got away with not having to speak to him. No such luck. Five minutes later, pint firmly in hand, he swaggered across and towered over the table.
‘Kath, sorry to hear about your mam, like.’
‘Thanks Darren.’ I looked away. Darren took that as an invitation to sit down next to me.
‘Hiya, Norma.’
‘Hiya, Darren, how’s your mam?’
‘Can’t complai
n, thanks. Sends her best.’
‘Ah, that’s kind.’
He turned his attention back to me as Norma started a conversation with a woman next to her whom I didn’t recognise.
‘Sounds awful, the way she died – your mother,’ he added unnecessarily. He gulped down a quarter of his pint in one go, then set the glass on the table with a thud and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
‘It could’ve been… more peaceful, I guess. I wasn’t there though.’
‘You sure? I kinda had money on it that you’d pushed her down the stairs.’ He leaned back against the seat with a smirk and spread his legs wide, his knee now touching mine.
I inched away in disgust, just as Mr Liu placed a cup of tea in front of me. ‘Thank you, Mr Liu.’ He smiled wanly at me again and, after a scowl at Darren, shuffled away.
‘That man sure doesn’t like me,’ Darren said.
‘Can’t imagine why,’ I replied in a low voice.
‘Probably because of your mother. She never liked me either.’
‘I repeat: can’t imagine why.’
He ignored the sarcasm and took another swig of his beer. ‘So, now that the witch is dead, maybe we can kiss and make up?’
‘What?’
‘Well, it was because of her that you left, but we can put the past behind us now. All is forgiven and all that. You’re still a looker, Kath. What do you say? Your husband needn’t know. And I can’t imagine there’s much in London for you, especially after that business you got caught up in.’ He placed his hand on my thigh and ran it up under the skirt of my dress.
My ears began to buzz and I froze, immobilised by his brashness.
‘We used to have a lot of fun, you and I. Don’t tell me you don’t remember.’ His hand pushed higher and I snapped out of my paralysis. I slapped him hard on the face, which whipped to the side under the force of the blow. He pulled his hand away from my crotch to clasp his already reddening cheek.
The pub stilled instantly, every pair of eyes turning towards me, but I hardly noticed.
‘How dare you! Are you actually hearing yourself right now? It’s my mother’s funeral and not only are you insulting her, but you’re coming on to me?’
Mr Liu rushed over and said, ‘Is everything okay?’
I replied in a menacing voice, ‘I’ve got this, thanks, Mr Liu.’
Activity hummed back into gear around me, as though someone had turned the volume up again, and eyes swivelled away, familiar as they were to domestic squabbles played out in public.
‘Ah, come on, we both know why you left. You hated her. You wanted to put as much distance between you and her as you could. Can’t blame you, really.’
I shook my head incredulously. ‘No, actually, it was you I hated.’ It was my turn to fill the space between us. Leaning across the tiny table, I spat, ‘You who slept with anything that moved. You with your heavy hands, getting one too many pints in your belly and shoving your girlfriend around, because she’s your property, right? Is that what you do to Jenni of a Friday night? Go out with the lads, get lashed, then come home and take out your pathetic, disappointing life on her? Make you feel better about yourself, does it? To be the big, strong, hard man able to knock ten bells out of a little lassie?’
‘Fuck’s sake, Kath, that only happened once or twice – and I said I was sorry. Besides, you gave as good as you got in those days.’
‘I never raised a hand to you. You left me covered in bruises and with a broken rib or two.’
‘You said you had forgotten all of that at the time.’ He had the sulky look of a boy who hadn’t made the football team.
‘Yeah, because I didn’t think I could do any better, pathetic as that was.’
‘And you’ve found better since, have you?’
I thought about Paul, who, despite his weaknesses and flaws, had never lifted a hand to me but, I was beginning to realise, was abusing me in different, more subtle ways by controlling my every move and undermining my confidence at every step. Had I done any better or had I just swapped one bad decision for another?
‘So that’s why you left?’ he continued, draining his pint. ‘Your mother said it was because you had found out about Hayley.’
‘My mother?’
‘Yes, she came over just before you left. Told me you’d asked her to tell me we were done because you’d found out about Hayley and, since you’d been offered a job in London, you were going to take it. I would’ve liked to have heard it from you though.’
‘She told me you had called it off, had decided that Hayley was the one you wanted.’ On autopilot, I drank from the gin glass still sitting next to my tea.
‘Not true. Hayley and I did get together properly afterwards – and yeah, we were having a bit of a thing when I was with you – but you were the one I loved.’
‘Until the next one came along, that is. I guess my mam could spot a toxic relationship a mile away.’ She’d had experience after all.
‘Well, from where I’m sitting, she didn’t do you any favours.’
‘And from where I am, she did. She gave me the push I needed and saved me from ruining my life with a shit like you. Thank goodness I got that abortion when I did or I’d be tied to you forever by now.’
I got to my feet, took a moment to feed off the shock filtering across his face as the meaning of my words sunk in, then grabbed my bag and left, pushing open the swing door of the pub so hard that it clattered against the wall with glass-cracking force.
I stood outside, doubled over with my hands on my thighs, breathing hard. I couldn’t take it all in – my mother, the funeral, Darren, memories of the abortion with its cold, clinical processes and my feeling of emotional detachment that never quite went away afterwards. I’d hidden those feelings away as best I could, but I was still haunted by the decision I’d made. It was all a swirl of disconnected thoughts and emotions like gunfire in my head. I hadn’t meant to blurt it out to him like that, but the shock and hurt on his face had been cathartic.
I began walking, but my feet had reached excruciating levels, so I removed my shoes and continued in my stockinged feet, not caring what anyone thought. Not that anyone would bother around here. They’d seen worse on a weekend.
Tears tracked down my cheeks – of frustration, anger, regret, sorrow. I felt all of it in equal measure. It was like I was perched on the tip of an iceberg surrounded by freezing water, with no lifeboat in sight and sharks circling, waiting for me to surrender – or die.
I wandered the streets, not entirely sure where I was going, but after years of roaming these parts in my youth, muscle memory took me home, back to the terraced house with the peeling gate. I unlocked the door with my mother’s set of keys and dropped my shoes in the hallway, no fear any more of Bert stealing one and chewing it beyond recognition.
I slumped into the kitchen chair, feeling for the first time the numbness of my toes after the long walk. My tights were now shredded and a blister had ballooned on the ball of my left foot. I hastily removed the tights, balled them up and threw them in the bin, then took off the tight dress and sat in my underwear at the table.
The clock ticked above my head, an hour out of time as my mother couldn’t reach it to change it every winter. It would eventually catch up with itself next spring when the clocks sprang forward again. The calendar on the fridge would be stuck in November for eternity now. Everything stagnating; nothing changing.
This can’t be me. I won’t let them be right.
I pushed up from the chair and went up to my old bedroom. Changing into my baggy jeans and an old jumper, I pulled my laptop from my bag and returned to the kitchen. I’d brought it with me on a whim – or as a two-fingered salute to Paul.
It was cold in the room. I needed tea – and lots of it. I turned on the kettle. The upturned teapot still stood on the draining board after Norma had rinsed it days ago. I went to grab the handle, but my hands and eyes weren’t co-ordinating and the teapot slipped from my grasp an
d shattered on the linoleum floor. I closed my eyes for a moment, sighed, then reached for the dustpan and broom that had always lived behind the kitchen door.
Shards of porcelain had scattered everywhere. I cleared the mess into the bin. The writer in me wanted to create symbolic parallels with my own shattered dreams; the cynic in me told my inner voice to shut the fuck up.
My mother used to say it was sacrilege to make tea from a teabag in a mug, so I began rummaging in the cupboards for another teapot. I remembered one from when I was younger – a prized possession that was only brought out on special occasions. A large, white teapot covered in tiny gold stars, accompanied by a matching tea set that had been a wedding gift to her. I used to love it, but she never let me near it. It wouldn’t have been used much, was probably hidden at the back of a cupboard somewhere if she’d kept it. Bu there was no need to keep it for special occasions any longer.
Deep in the corner cupboard I found what I was looking for behind a blender that hadn’t seen any action in years. The cups and saucers were stacked neatly with the teapot peaking between them.
I lifted it down onto the countertop carefully, not entirely trusting my hands not to drop this one too in my current, emotionally charged state. It felt surprisingly heavy for such fragile-looking porcelain. I ran the hot water in the sink and lifted the lid to wash it out. As I went to plunge the teapot under the water, my eye caught on what looked like sheets of paper jammed inside it. I turned off the tap and reached in to free whatever was in there.
The inside was rammed full with envelopes containing hand-written letters, all addressed to me. I sat down at the table again and opened the first one. I flipped to the last page and saw it was signed by ‘Dad’. Attached to the back of the letter was a wad of cash. I turned my attention back to the words written on the paper, curiosity getting the better of me. It was brief.
Hiya Kath,
How are you, love? Things are good here. The cottage is coming along nicely. Brenda is a dab hand with a sewing machine and has done the place up nice. You can see the sea if you squint your eyes. It’s lovely to walk down there when the weather is nice. I’d love to show you it sometime. You just let me know when.
