by Phil Earle
It must have been that feeling that led me to open my mouth.
‘You know, I’ve been thinking –’ which was a lie, as the impulse had only just grabbed me – ‘that it might be the time for me to think again about Dad’s ashes.’
‘Mmmm?’ mouthed Ade, although her body language suggested a greater, hidden excitement.
‘I mean, I still don’t want to have a load of people there. I’m not doing it for anyone else, but maybe we could do something round here, on the cliffs. Scatter his ashes or something?’
‘I think that would be terrific.’ She beamed, the corners of her mouth touching her ears. ‘For your dad and for you.’
‘How would it work, then?’ I asked, a late moment of fear kicking in.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, what would I have to say? Who would I have to invite? Everyone back at Bellfield?’
‘Daisy, don’t let fear creep in. How you do this is entirely up to you. It’s your bravery making it happen in the first place. It can be just you, or everyone, or just me. No one will be offended. No one even has to know. You know, this is actually the perfect time for you to take more control and not let things happen to you. Make them happen for you instead.’
It was a rare time that one of her riddles made sense and I promised not to chew it over in my head. I’d do it when I was ready, when I was comfortable, and with the people who understood why I was doing it.
And if anyone didn’t like it? Well, that was tough shit.
I’d make the choices. This was my goodbye. He was my dad, after all.
Chapter 46
Deciding to say goodbye to Dad seemed to anger someone, as it did nothing but rain for the next week and a half. And I’m not talking about squally showers or drizzle. I mean end of the earth, fire and brimstone, hammers falling from the sky. Stuff that none of us, mad as we apparently were, were prepared to set out in.
At first I took it as a blessing. I mean, I’m not religious or anything, but it gave me a bit more time to reflect on what I was doing and who I wanted there while I did it.
I was torn. Would it really do any harm to invite other people who knew Dad? Colleagues or school mates maybe, people I remember him drinking with as I grew up? Neighbours or kids I’d allowed myself to play with over the years? But none of them seemed right. That part of my life was so distant it felt like it didn’t belong to me at all.
Which left me with everyone at Bellfield. But while I had no problem with the carers being there, it seemed like lunacy to invite any of the others, even Jimmy, whose concentration span extended only to the cycle of a washing machine. Somehow, I didn’t think funerals were really his thing.
The rain gave me plenty of time to chew it over, too much even. It affected the house as well, creating further divides within the group. Not only did it deepen Patrick and Naomi’s hatred of the rest of us, but it also widened the distance between Susie, Jimmy and me.
They’d decided that we should pool together to do something for the show, and naturally Jimmy wanted this to be a song, a prospect that gave me the almighty fear.
I knew this show meant putting myself in the firing line, but somehow the thought of doing it on my own was more appealing. At least that way I could choose my own humiliation, rather than banging a tambourine as Jimmy wailed his way through some Beatles song or other. Quite what Susie planned to do was another matter, but I didn’t fancy standing beside her as she did it.
I turned their offer down carefully, telling them I had plans of my own, and it was news that they met with a shrug before retreating to one of the classrooms, thankfully closing the door before picking up their instruments.
With the two pairs deep in rehearsals, immersed for hours on end, I was left to concentrate on myself, and doing what I needed to do to move forward and hopefully on from Bellfield.
The show was only a week away when the rain forced me into a corner. I’d listened to the Walkman so often that the tape was starting to wear out, my voice wobbling and distorting comically. Ade hugged me when I told her, praising my dedication, while ploughing even more time into my recovery. She took me to relaxation classes, acupuncture sessions, fed me little rewards for another week passing without cutting myself. I was starting to believe, starting to take pride that it had been twenty-three days since I’d let the fear take over me.
The last of my scabs had fallen away and although the skin was pink and sore to the touch, I wasn’t repulsed at the sight of it. If anything the recovering skin spoke to me, told me how far I’d come.
The one person that managed to get inside my fledgling sense of calm was of course Naomi. It may have been paranoia, but every time I came back from somewhere with Ade, she’d be watching. Always from a distance, but that didn’t dilute her sense of menace.
I knew what it was all about. She felt that I’d stolen Ade from her, and I worried that maybe I had. After all, she was there before me, with Ade as her key worker, and I couldn’t help but remember her strop when I arrived and she discovered she had to share.
I was becoming paranoid about it, started cutting short conversations we were enjoying, almost prompting Ade to spend more time with Naomi.
I shouldn’t have bothered. Naomi had pulled down the shutters as far as Ade was concerned. She refused to talk to her, did not show up for sessions, did everything she could to make it look as if she didn’t give a shit. But I knew she did, as she singled me out more and more, telling me that Ade didn’t care about me, that I was just a project, something to kill time before the next psycho arrived.
It got so bad, so relentless, that in the end I was desperate to get out of the house and away from her, and it was Dad who gave me the excuse to do it.
Ade was shocked when I told her I was ready, peering out at the freezing fog before turning back to me with a look that said, ‘Really? Today?’
I nodded quickly, giving myself no time to back down: Ade dashed for her coat, telling me to do the same.
We met at the gates, wrapped up like mummies, although Ade seemed to have found space for two scarves around her neck, which even to her must have been overkill. She gave me a squeeze as I arrived, before tapping her rucksack lightly. ‘I have your dad in here,’ she whispered, a surreal thought even by Bellfield’s standards.
The pace along the coast road was slower than normal as the wind was blasting, testing our resolve. It blew the fog upon us and I felt its touch on my cheeks, its fingers cold and damp.
The anxiety started to prickle in my chest and instinctively I sparked up a cigarette. It was so cold that I couldn’t tell when the fumes stopped and the clean air from my lungs began, but trying to work it out helped, diverting my mind from the fear.
I was two and a half fags in when the fog finally broke, a couple of hundred metres from a spot I’d come to love, where Ade and I had spoken on so many occasions. It was the one place where the rest of the headland disappeared, the one place on this bit of coast where you could see nothing ahead of you but sea. Even on the wilder days, there was a sense of calm here, and I had loved the thought that I could say anything while I was stood there, that there was no one to hear me but Ade.
‘This is where we should do it,’ I said, my voice emotionless.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Completely. I reckon he would’ve liked it here. He could’ve smoked without anyone telling him to stop it.’
‘Then it is perfect,’ she said, and hauled the bag from her back, removing her gloves long enough to unzip it and retrieve a black metallic urn.
My stomach churned at the sight and suggestion that everything Dad was, not just his body, but his character, his achievements, everything, could fit inside such a small space. I had to fight the impulse to rip it from her hands and free him immediately, telling myself he had been there for months now … that another five minutes couldn’t hurt him any more.
Hands shaki
ng, I cradled the urn, surprised by how light it was. I felt uneasy, scared that I was going to mess it up, that I’d say the wrong thing or that the wind would blow him back into our faces.
‘What do I do now?’ I asked. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘There’s no right or wrong way. Just do whatever comes into your head.’
‘Should I say something? You know, before I empty him out?’ My pulse was quickening and I felt my edges begin to unravel, to crave my room and the cold metal of the nail scissors.
‘Daisy, take a moment. Think about what you are doing here. Remind yourself of the bravery it is taking. Two months ago, two weeks ago even, you could not have done this, but now you can. Now you are here. Breathe deeply and think about what you want to say to him, about what you didn’t get the chance to say before he died.’
‘Should I say it out loud?’
‘Out loud or in your head, neither is important as long as you believe what you are saying, that you are telling your truth.’
I pushed my hood down and pulled my gloves off with my teeth. The urn was so cold on my skin it burned. I twisted at the lid, feeling it give beneath my fingers, scared that the wind would whip Dad away before I was ready.
I was engulfed by things to say, a mad clutter of memories that I needed time to order. But it was time I didn’t have, or want to have. I needed to do this before my nerve failed. Breathing deeply, I felt the wind gently rock me forward, making me confident I could push Dad slowly out to sea. My arm stretched out shakily in front of me and, as my hand rotated, his ashes slipped out, tumbling downwards until the wind took hold of them, embracing them gently, guiding them away from me.
A gasp escaped me as Dad’s cloud surrendered to the fog and I mouthed goodbye three times, each word deepening the sense of what I’d lost.
I suppose I’d been grieving since the day of the crash, but this time it was different, now I knew he was gone without believing it was all my fault.
There was pain, and a weakening in every cell of my body, but still it felt good to let go, to let something of me join Dad in the wind.
It was part of me I didn’t want to carry. It didn’t belong to me any more.
Chapter 47
I peered above the duvet cautiously, expecting something hideous to welcome me to another birthday.
Sitting up slowly, I stretched the stiffness from my legs, trying to work out if I felt any different from how I had for the past year.
Nerves had been brewing for a few days, in part due to the prospect of facing a birthday alone and in part, ridiculously, because of the God-awful show that they’d hijacked us with. Three weeks had passed since they’d announced the plan, but it was mere hours since I’d finally settled on what I was going to share. I hoped the others wouldn’t lynch me for it, because what I’d lined up was hardly sword-swallowing.
The pressure must have shown, as Ade had been around a lot in the run-up to the day, especially in the evenings, when she knew the fear tended to grip me the hardest.
‘There will be times – anniversaries, significant dates in your life – that will threaten to overshadow your recovery,’ she had said, ‘even when you are well down the road. What is important is that you recognize it will only be a blip. If you keep questioning the dark thoughts they will pass, just as the date itself does.’
I took her at her word, challenging each thought, telling myself it was Hobson’s fault Dad was in the car that day, not mine, and in the most part that settled me down. Since scattering the ashes, something had shifted in my head, moved me away from the guilt, squarely into the arms of grief itself. I wasn’t blaming myself for him dying any more, I just missed him instead, and while this new pain was sharp, it rubbed upon me differently, making it easier to tell Ade what I really missed about him.
‘He sounds like a special man, and he would not want you to be sad on your birthday. So we must do all we can to make sure this day equals any celebration you have ever had.’
It was a big statement, huge in fact, but the faith I had in her made me sit up and listen, wanting to believe that she could be right.
When I spotted a card pushed under my door, with her writing on it, everything in me lifted, hopeful of the promise being kept, but after ripping off the envelope and devouring her words, my resolve slipped:
Good morning, birthday girl. Happy 15th to you!
I wanted to be here to give you this in person, but I have an appointment that cannot be missed, loose ends that need to be tied up.
Enjoy a restful morning, Floss has promised to make you a breakfast banquet in my absence, and I should be back in plenty of time for the show.
Everything will become clear later …
Ade
X
I tossed the card to the floor, not quite believing what I’d read. What was it with her? What was this knack of disappearing when I needed her most?
On my birthday, when the police came to interview me, even when I first arrived she didn’t show up. Did she have this in-built radar telling her to desert me when it actually mattered?
I fought hard to push the resentment down but couldn’t. She’d spent weeks preparing me for an event she said would be hard, then buggered off on the day itself.
It didn’t make sense and in my agitated state I didn’t want to give it any more head-space, so instead I spent the morning growling at anyone who dared to even say hello, never mind wish me a happy birthday.
I skulked through breakfast, picking at the eggs that had been made for me, not bothering to clear away my mess afterwards. Instead I slouched in the dining room, rolling cigarette after cigarette, despite the carers telling me I wasn’t to smoke in there. I was being a brat, doing a Naomi on them, but I couldn’t help it, couldn’t blow the fog away.
The buzz and excitement surrounding the show did little to help things either. Cliques were disappearing into rooms, costumes tucked under arms, smug smiles smeared on faces. Naomi was so full of herself she was in danger of overflowing. She danced around the dining room, circling me, pointing, mouthing the same word over and over again, ‘You, you, you’, her grin widening each time she sang. I had no idea what she was going on about, apart from knowing it was another of her threats. I hoped it was of the empty variety.
I started to fret about the paltry offering I had. Would anyone care what I was going to show them? Would it make sense, or change the way they looked at me? At the time it had seemed like a good idea, but as insecurity circled I wasn’t so sure. All I knew was that I didn’t want to sit around on the outside of everyone else’s excitement.
The next few hours were tough. The toughest in weeks.
The fuse I’d lit downstairs was burning shorter. It felt like I had to go back to scratch and work out another idea, something more in keeping with what the others were doing. But everything seemed beyond me. I was no singer, could barely run never mind dance, and I certainly wasn’t going to try and write a poem or anything. Can you imagine?
The fear was stinging, forcing me inside an endless cloud of tobacco, and by the end of the fourth cigarette I was doing all I could to keep myself away from the nail scissors. I paced the floor, speaking out loud, telling myself everything was fine, that it was only insecurity making me do this.
Rolling up my sleeve, I stared at my arm and its healing lines, reminding myself not to go back now. That tomorrow the fear would have subsided.
I wish I could tell you that I beat it on my own, that Ade’s strategies were holding firm, gifting me a way out of the panic. But the honest answer is, I was losing, giving in to it. I’d pulled out the bottom drawer and ripped off the tape securing the scissors, my hand shaking as I tried to reason with myself.
But it was too late. The blade rested gently on my skin, the anticipation of calm overwhelming.
A knock at the door almost jolted me into piercing the ski
n. As the handle turned, I shoved the scissors under my pillow, desperately hoping I’d done it quickly enough.
‘You all right?’ asked Floss, eyebrows arched in concern.
‘Kind of,’ I gasped, relieved and guilty at the same time.
‘You having an attack?’
I nodded. Didn’t have the strength to lie.
‘Have you hurt yourself?’
A shake this time.
‘Want to give me what’s under the pillow?’
‘Do I have to?’
She smiled sadly. ‘I’m not going to punish you, Daisy. We’re all so proud of what you’ve achieved, so let’s remove the temptation, shall we?’
My hand slid under the pillow and out again, palming the scissors to Floss.
‘Well done,’ she soothed. ‘You strong enough for a quick walk?’
‘Suppose.’
‘Nice one. Bex wants five minutes with you. Ade too.’
I wanted to put a face on, be stroppy now Ade was back, but I couldn’t. In fact, I couldn’t think of anything I wanted more than her reassurance. So, puppy-like, I followed Floss out of my room and towards Bex’s office.
They were laughing when I walked in. Didn’t even bother to stop when they saw my grey, waxy face.
Floss gave them a heads up instead.
‘Daisy’s having a difficult day,’ she said, ‘but she’s been fighting it. Winning too, eh?’ She rubbed the small of my back encouragingly.
Ade circled the desk and embraced me. If she felt my arms stiffen at my sides, it didn’t put her off.
‘We’ve been expecting this, haven’t we?’ She sighed. ‘And I know I’ve let you down by not being here.’
I pursed my lips and gave her the tiniest shrug, as if it was news to me.
‘There’s a reason Ade hasn’t been with you this morning,’ Bex said, sitting on the edge of her desk. ‘A good reason. Something that affects you, affects us all.’
