What Goes Around...

by Carol Marinelli

  The front door opens and it’s my mum bringing back Charlotte. I asked her to pick up the dress that I’ve chosen for Charlotte for tomorrow.

  It’s linen and a very dark navy, because I don’t want her wearing black. It’s beautiful.

  Or it was.

  ‘I’ve saved you sixty pounds,’ Mum says as I rip it out of her hands. She’s been to the market again. ‘Lucy, you can’t tell the difference,’ she responds to my protests.

  Till Charlotte self-combusts.

  ‘It’s acrylic!’ My face contorts. ‘She’ll have sparks coming off her when she walks. Jesus, Mum.’ I’m raging; she does this sort of thing all the time! ‘One thing! The ONE THING that I ask you to do and you go and stuff it up.’

  ‘Lucy!’ It’s another warning from Luke but Jess steps in.

  ‘She’s upset, Valerie.’ Jess takes Mum off to the kitchen for a cup of tea and Charlotte is pleading for Jess and Luke to stay. I know they won’t say no to her but my head is pounding. I just want to go and lie down.

  I want to be Eleanor.

  Instead, Luke drives Mum home and then, once he’s back, Charlotte heads off to bed and we start setting up the lounge and things.

  ‘Bonny had another go at me.’ I haven’t got the energy to move furniture. I honestly don’t. I don’t think I’ve got the energy to even get upstairs to bed.

  I flop on the sofa and close my eyes and I think there might even be a couple of tears, because they actually hurt as they slide out. ‘Do you think Gloria will be there tomorrow?’ I’m scared to face her at his funeral; I’m scared of having all his kids here in this room. I’m scared to have everybody looking at me and so many with loathing - for so many reasons I'm dreading tomorrow and I especially don’t want to see Gloria.

  ‘I'm not sure if she’s coming,’ Luke says. ‘She might want to be there for her daughters.’

  That’s another thing you don't think of when you marry that sexy older guy, you don't think of his funeral.

  ‘I’m going to contest,’ I suddenly say. It’s been on my mind since he told me the news and I’ve made up my mind now.

  ‘Just leave it for now,’ Jess suggests.

  ‘I’ve made up my mind,’ I say. ‘I’ve got no choice.’

  ‘You could sell the house and get something smaller.’ Luke chimes in.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, it’s pretty big just for you and Charlotte. It's a lot to maintain on your own.’ My head is spinning, thinking of the cleaner, the gardener, the windows. All the people I’ll have to pay and I won't have any money because he’s left it to his children. ‘Do you really need five bedrooms?’ Luke asks. He’s enjoying this, I’m sure. He’s not smiling of course and no one, not even Jess could guess, but I know that he's enjoying this, enjoying watching Princess Lucy get her come-uppance.

  I love my house, and I'm not giving it up. I’m not having Charlotte change her school, or leave her home, just because her dad couldn't keep it in his pants. I’m not going under just because he took too much stuff to keep it up. Especially not when he wouldn’t even use it for me…

  ‘You don't have to think about it now,’ Jess says gently. ‘Though it might be something to consider. It’s a very big house and all those bedrooms…’

  ‘I wanted another baby,’ I start to cry. ‘The front one was going to be a nursery, we were going to try…’ That shuts them up; Jess comes around the table and puts her arms around me. I'm sure you've already guessed, I’m lying through my tears, there were never going to be any more babies, I made sure of that many years ago. I was terrified enough to have one. I weep on Jess about the babies we were hoping to have, it’s my chance to garner some much needed sympathy and I steal a look at Luke, my eyes pleading for him to do something, to sort this mess out but do you know what he says? Oh, not when Jess is around, he waits till she's gone to the kitchen to get me some water. I sit gulping and trying to be brave and wishing Jess would hurry up, because I can feel the appraisal of his gaze. I can feel the simmering dislike crossing the room and I know I'm not imagining it, I've never been imagining it, but he confirms his loathing now.

  ‘Bravo, Lucy!’ I look up and his face is as cold and as hard as granite, his grey eyes as cold as sleet. I can't believe he would say that, that he could insinuate that I’m putting it on, even though I am, well just a little bit. He doesn't know what I’m going through, he doesn't know what I came home to find, he doesn't know the shit hole my marriage was. I deserve the bloody house for what I put up with. But more than that, so much more than that, I cannot believe that he would speak to a woman like that on the day before her husband's funeral.

  Bastard!

  I don't say it, I let my eyes do the talking, yet I regret that too because the savage look I give him pays into his theory. He gives a brief smirk as Jess comes back and I remember again that he hates me.

  Then I remember something else.

  My face starts to burn, because of course Luke would know that he’d had a vasectomy.

  Luke had driven him home afterwards.

  Shit!

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I see Charlotte pinched face at the door.

  ‘Nothing is wrong,’ I say, which is a stupid answer – I should have just said I was missing her dad. ‘Go back to bed, Charlotte. You’ve got a big day tomorrow’

  ‘I want a drink.’

  ‘Get a drink and then go back to bed.’ I just can't deal with Charlotte right now. I just want to go to sleep and for it to be the day after tomorrow. I want this nightmare to stop and to just wake up and for none of it to have happened, but Charlotte isn’t going to bed easily tonight.

  ‘Can I just check Facebook?’ She's over at the computer. ‘Please. All my friends are in-boxing me to say good luck for tomorrow.’ I’m too weary to argue and so I let her.

  I close my eyes as she reels off all her messages and I murmur, “that’s kind”, or “that’s nice,” and then she tells me that ‘Daniel’s starving.’

  Daniel is Eleanor’s son. Charlotte messages him back and then laughs when she gets a response. ‘They’re at Gloria’s and it’s chaos and no-one’s made dinner…’

  I hate Facebook, there’s just too much information on it, if you ask me. As if I want to know what’s going on at Gloria’s house. I just want to close my eyes and go to sleep.

  ‘Mum!’ I hear an excited squeal from the computer and I open my eyes. ‘She’s called Daisy - they chose my name! Daisy Lydia Jameson. She's got the same surname as me!’

  ‘Jameson?’ Luke frowns.

  ‘She's not Noel’s,’ I tell him. Clearly it’s all out in the public now.

  God, what a mess.

  Luke and Jess say goodnight. Jess gives me a cuddle and Luke does what he always does – jiggles his keys and gives me a nod. ‘We’ll be round at eight,’ he says.

  ‘Eight?’ The funeral is not until twelve.

  But he doesn’t elaborate, just jiggles his keys again as Jess gives me another cuddle. I put Charlotte to bed and thankfully she falls asleep, happy now, that she thinks she's named a baby. I try to sleep but I’m too wired, and about midnight I wander downstairs and sit at the computer. Normally, Charlotte’s paranoid about logging out, but she hasn't tonight. I can't help but go on and have a little peek. Sure enough Facebook wars are breaking out between Noel’s family and the Jamesons.

  And then a little window pops up.

  Go to bed!

  I blink. What the hell is Luke doing messaging me?

  You need to sleep and your mum needs a break.

  I realise I’m logged on as Charlotte and she’s friends with Jess and Luke. I realised that he’s still typing.

  Are you worried about tomorrow?

  Yes. I type back

  Jess and I will be there for you – if it all gets too much you just come and find one of us. For now you need to get some sleep. I cannot tell you the comfort this gives me. Well not so much that Luke will be there, but Jess. She’s been so great. Okay, they’v
e both been great. I cringe again when I remember earlier; how he knew all that time I was lying.

  night. He types.

  night. I type back, and then change it before I press send.

  nite I type, because he isn’t being nice to me, I remember.

  I’m supposed to be Charlotte.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Gloria

  You wouldn’t believe the work I have to do for a funeral that I’m not even going to.

  Black dresses, black bras, black shoes, black underskirts… don’t get me started. I’m the taxi tomorrow too – I’m picking up Daniel and Laura from Lucy’s – I’m to toot apparently and they’ll come out, then I’m to drop them back to Noel’s.

  The house is fit to bursting and we keep changing rooms but I’ve worked it out now.

  I’m sleeping downstairs with the baby.

  Eleanor’s called her Daisy.

  Or rather I’ve pressed Eleanor for a decision and, with a lot of prompting, she’s now called Daisy Lydia Jameson.

  Daisy, probably because she’s wearing the outfit that Charlotte brought her and it’s the first thing Eleanor’s glazed eyes landed on. Lydia, because, as I told Eleanor, her other two have middle names. I suggested Lydia after my mother and it’s Alice’s middle name too and she gave me a tired nod of agreement.

  And Jameson, because she’s not Noel’s.

  We announce it, or rather I announce it.

  ‘Are you going to tell them?’ I sort of pretend she isn’t sitting slumped in the chair and not engaging. ‘Are you going to tell them the baby's name?’

  ‘Daisy.’ Eleanor mumbles.

  ‘Daisy Lydia Jameson.’ I say in that happy clappy voice that I seem to have reserved lately for Eleanor. I should audition for Play School. Daniel her eldest goes off to announce his sister’s name on Facebook. Noel should be picking them up soon.

  I head out to the kitchen. It’s after nine and we still haven’t had dinner and Daisy’s bottles are all scattered on the bench waiting to be washed and there are her little sleep suits going around in the washing machine. I must remember to put them in the tumble dryer before I go to bed. I’d forgotten just how much work a new baby is. Eleanor is still having nothing to do with her.

  I can’t begin to get my head around dinner.

  It’s his funeral tomorrow.

  Tomorrow he goes into the ground and I don’t get to be there.

  Lucy gets everything.

  She gets to be his widow.

  She gets the cards and the sympathy.

  I bet she’s not lifting a finger.

  I bet she’s not making dinner and running out of loo rolls every five minutes – no, she gets to bask in her grief while everyone supports her.

  I'm hurting too, I want to scream.

  I was married to him once, or don’t you remember?

  I’ve lost someone too!

  But I don’t think I count.

  I hear the doorbell and they’re all talking in the living room and probably don’t hear it.

  It rings again and I guess, again, it’s down to me.

  I open the door and there is Luke with his lovely wife Jess.

  He is holding up three bulging plastic bags and it’s the nicest thing I’ve ever seen.

  ‘We stopped at the fish and chip shop….’

  Jess is wonderful. She sorts out plates and knives and forks and tomato ketchup and takes them through to the dining room table and calls everyone through to eat. I stand in the kitchen, my head on Luke's chest and his arms around me and, for the first time since the whole thing happened, I properly cry.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Lucy

  How can you keep a stiff upper lip when you haven’t got one?

  I should have had my fillers and Botox, I think, as I face the mirror to tackle my make-up. If that sounds shallow, then I think it’s safer for me to be shallow today, or I swear, I’m not going to get through.

  Luke and Jess arrived as promised at eight and now I understand why. Flowers keep arriving and the doorbell keeps ringing and Jess looks after Charlotte as I lock myself in the bathroom and try to face today.

  Everyone’s going to be looking at me, everyone’s going to be turning their heads towards me and for once I don’t want it.

  I pull my hair out of the shower cap. I had it blow-dried yesterday (and a few more foils) and I was going to wear it up, but I feel better with it down. I feel, that way, people can’t see so much of me.

  I pull on black underwear that’s supposed to keep it all in and then sit on the edge of the bath and wrestle my damp legs into black stockings. I tear them but I bought two pairs, so I put the second pair on really slowly. They’re really sheer and they’re not really black, I should have got darker ones. I look at the dress and I should have got a size ten. People have been here all week, there have been cakes and casseroles and rolls and I know I’ve put on weight and everyone is going to be looking.

  I can’t do this.

  I feel the bubble of panic start to rise.

  I can’t do this.

  I shouldn’t have had breakfast; I can feel it still sitting there. I can feel my anxiety building and I try to find a hair tie, but there isn’t one, so I stuff my hair back into the shower cap because there’s only one thing that can bring me relief.

  I hunch over the toilet bowl, I have my fingers at the back of my throat and I stick them right back and start to wiggle them but, at first gag, I pull them out and I lie there cuddling the toilet bowl because I can’t do this either.

  I can’t go there again.

  ‘Lucy!’ There’s a rap on the bathroom door and I hear Luke’s brusque voice as I sit on my knees clinging on to the toilet. ‘Your mum’s here.’

  Great!

  I nearly put my fingers back down my throat but instead I stand up. ‘I’ll be there in a moment.’

  I wash my hands and teeth then shake out my hair and brush it and I put on some lipstick.

  I head back to the bedroom and I swear I have to step over him. It’s like he’s still lying there dead and naked on the floor with his Viagra beside him.

  There’s no escaping today.

  Even if Gloria’s not, his daughters will be there -whom I now have to provide for.

  Well, I do.

  If he’d left it all to me, things would have been fine.

  Instead, we’re still paying child support for the Original Jameson Girls.

  I’m savage inside.

  I’m not upset.

  I am savage with anger at what he’s left me to deal with.

  I pull on my shoes.

  And then I put on the diamond necklace he gave me on our first anniversary, which sounds romantic, but two days before I’d threatened to leave, to end it.

  I can’t think about that.

  But memories are raining in.

  I put in the diamond studs that he gave me a couple of years later – I’d been threatening to leave then too and I’d told him I was getting the house.

  I wasn’t going back to slumsville.

  I look in the mirror and the dress that just fitted last week is a bit too clinging now. It really shows my hips and boobs, though it actually suits the dress – I look curvy, sort of hourglass.

  Even if I suit the dress, I don’t know that the dress suits a funeral and Ricky’s gone overboard with the foils. I’m a bit too blonde to be mourning, if you know what I mean.

  I look good.

  I’m not supposed to, but I really do.

  I know I do, because Luke’s jaw tightens in disapproval as I come down the stairs. Here’s Mum arriving - staggering under the weight of cakes and sandwiches. ‘I told you,’ I say to her. ‘I’m getting it catered.’ As if she’d ever listen. I just let it go, but there’s no way I’m putting out the cheese and pineapple squares and black forest gateaux and egg sandwiches that are whizzing through the hallway courtesy of her merry band of helpers. Jess gives me a smile and a hug, not an air kiss hug, a real one.
>
  ‘You look so good, you bitch,’ but she says it so nicely. Jess knows what they’re like, his family, his friends, the people in the village, the school, the whole circus really.

  She knows what today means.

  Charlotte comes over to me and I wrap her in my arms and I tell her it’s all going to be okay, to just try and be brave and I’ll be there by her side.

  And you know what?

  I can do this.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  No one tells you when you marry that sexy older man that you’ll have to stand at his funeral with his daughters who hate you. Gloria’s not here, thank God, and there’s no sight of her – I swear, I’ll kill her if she shows up.

  Except, I don’t want a scene.

  I’m on the edge of the pew, then Charlotte, then the three of them.

  The pews are tiny.

  Luke is behind me and on the edge of a pew too, as he’s speaking. Next to him are Jess and Mum and then there’s his old mum and brother.

  It dawns on me, as I stare at his coffin, that really, Jess is the only person I have. Everyone else in this room is for him and my friends from school are friends from Charlotte’s school, not mine.

  I didn’t really have friends and the few I did, well, I’ve always stayed well away from my past.

  My friends from the gym are here, I tell myself. But, in truth, we don’t really talk about much.

  I have never felt more alone.

  I am alone.

  I have Charlotte of course but I’m there for her, not her for me.

  I have Mum.

  Yeah, right – as if I can ever rely on her.

  I close my eyes. I cannot cry but I don’t want to be on my own.

  I never have been.

  Not since I was sixteen.

  Not since I discovered men and left home.

  And now, when there is so much to deal with, the time I need someone the most, I am alone and I don’t think I can be.

  Luke stands to read the eulogy and I wonder how he’s going to play it. He clears his throat and stands for a very long time before he starts speaking. Luke goes through all the formal stuff - his name, the town where he was born and a bit about his brother and parents and then he pauses.