Something Like Happy

by Eva Woods

  “No, no. I don’t need him. It’s just strange, listening to Mum talk like he’s still about. They must have been happy at one point.”

  “I think that about my parents sometimes.”

  Annie frowned. “Your parents seem really happy.”

  “Yes, well, appearances aren’t always the truth, Annie. But listen to me! No pity party. We’re here for Jacob, to remember him with love.”

  Annie bent to pull up a weed. “I...I guess Mike hasn’t been coming here much, either. You must think I’m awful.”

  Polly said nothing for a while. “You know, when I was little, my grandpa died. He was cremated, and his ashes were scattered at sea—he loved boats. I asked my mum once how we would visit him, if he didn’t have a grave. She said graves aren’t where the people are—they’re just a place we go to remember them. I bet you don’t need any help remembering Jacob.”

  Annie shook her head, trying to swallow down the ball in her throat.

  Polly bent down, wincing with a hand on her back, and spread a purple pashmina under her knees. “We can sort this no bother. Weed it, tidy it up.”

  Annie wished she’d brought some garden tools. They’d all been left behind, along with her garden, at the house Mike and Jane were now living in not three miles away. She knelt herself, knowing she’d get grass stains on her jeans but not caring. She’d forgotten how the earth felt under her in spring, the gentle wet give of it. “Here.” Polly passed over a mini trowel and fork from her tote bag.

  “Where did you get these?”

  “Oh, they’re Mum’s. She never uses them—she has a gardener in. Thought they might come in handy.”

  For a while they hoed and cut in silence, the sounds of the city far away. The only other people were on the other side of the graveyard, tending to someone else’s plot. Annie looked up at one point and saw Polly digging intently, a smudge of soil on her pale cheek, and thought how strange it all was, gardening at her baby’s grave, with this woman she hadn’t even known a month before.

  “You should forgive them, you know,” Polly said quietly.

  Annie didn’t need to ask who she meant. “I can’t.”

  “I know. What they did was crap, beyond crap. But...it’s you who suffers when you don’t forgive people. It’s you who has to carry them around, day after day.”

  Annie pulled up weeds in silence for a while. “They almost destroyed me.”

  “I know. But they didn’t. You’re still here.”

  Barely. There’d been times over the last two years when she wasn’t sure she’d make it. The feel of Jacob in her arms, the same lightness as always, but cold and still. The day she moved into her damp little flat, looked around her and wondered how the hell she’d slid back down so far in life. The day the police called to say they’d found her mother, confused and wandering, and she realized she’d been losing another person, right under her eyes, and she hadn’t been able to see past her own grief. She was barely living as it was—so what Mike and Jane had done felt insurmountable. She gave her standard response to most of Polly’s suggestions: “I’ll think about it.”

  * * *

  “Ta-da!”

  Annie looked suspiciously at the daffodils in Polly’s arms. “Where did you get those?”

  “They were just growing. Trust me, no one here will know the difference. Aren’t they pretty?” She examined the bold yellow trumpets, the green stems oozing sap. “I love the way they come up every year, out of this cold dead soil, just when you think winter’s going to go on forever. I think that’s what I’ll miss the most. I mean...not that I’ll know, I guess. I don’t know if I’ll even know it’s spring, or if I’ll just be...gone. Can I leave some for Jacob?”

  They rinsed out the jar and filled it with fresh water from the tap the parks office provided. For once, Annie approved of the organization she worked for. She’d never thought of how they were there to jam up the cracks in people’s lives, take away rubbish, fix the holes in the roads, keep the parks nice. Polly shoved the flowers in, tidying them so the petals frilled out. “There. These are for you, Jacob. Nice to meet you.”

  Annie stood in silence. “Can I say something weird?”

  “Always.”

  “I don’t think he can hear me. I tried to believe it, after we lost him... It hurt too much to think I’d never see him again. But I think he’s just gone. I guess that’s why I don’t visit very often. I used to come with Mum—she believes in all that—but it would be too cruel now, to remind her he’s gone. I’m not sure she even remembers she had a grandson, sometimes.”

  Polly shrugged. “We’re not really built to understand death, I don’t think. I sometimes imagine what it would be like to go up to people on the tube, or in the street, and tap them on the arm and say, ‘Excuse me, do you realize you’re going to die? Maybe not today or tomorrow but one day.’ All those people rushing about to meetings and Pret and the gym. I wonder what would happen if they suddenly realized it. Let it sink in. Wouldn’t you drop everything and do the one thing you’d always dreamed of? Jump out of a plane. Quit your job. Tell that person you fancy him.”

  Annie shot her a look. “This better not be about Dr. Quarani.”

  “He is gorgeous, though. So stern.”

  “He’s got a family photo on his desk.”

  “Could be his sister.”

  “Poll-ee.” Annie wasn’t sure if Polly herself had let it sink in that she was dying. How could she flirt with people, make plans, even make new friends, when her life had an expiry date? “Maybe it’s not possible to live being constantly aware you’re going to die. Hard to get the motivation to wash the floor and stuff.”

  “I keep thinking I need to renew the car insurance or buy my summer bikini before all the good ones go,” said Polly. “Then I remind myself...but I can’t, you know? It’s impossible to not think about the future.” She hauled herself off her knees, with difficulty. “Anyway. Another thing you don’t have to do if you’re dying is quit sugar. In fact, I have actually taken up sugar. So, fancy a hot chocolate and cake?”

  Annie looked down once more at the little grave. It was tidier now, the worst of the weeds gone and the grass trimmed. Jacob never got to make his mark on the world. He’d barely been there before he’d gone from them. But to her, and to Mike, and her mother—and if she was totally honest: to Jane, as well—Jacob’s short life meant nothing would ever be the same again. There was probably some quite profound thought in here somewhere, but she felt too overwhelmed to tease it out, and Polly was looking pale and tired, and slumping on the grass in a way that Annie now knew meant she was exhausted. “Sure,” she said. “Let’s go and have cake.”

  DAY 27

  Change your bedsheets

  “Annie! You are having someone over to stay?”

  Annie snorted. “Some chance.” In all the time Costas had lived with her, she’d never had anyone spend the night. She knew he did sometimes, but they always crept out before dawn, leaving only rogue hairs in the shower.

  “Then why are you...?” Costas stood in her bedroom doorway, indicating the piles of linen all over the place. Buster was scooped in his arms, licking his face with a pink tongue.

  “Don’t let that dog down—I’ve just cleaned all this,” she warned. Annie’s usual beige-ish bedspread was lying in a heap on the floor, and she was putting on a new one, turquoise with pink flowers.

  “He will not eat things. He’s a good dog, aren’t you, baby? Yes, you are. Yes, you are! So, Annie, why do you clean?”

  “Oh, I just thought it was time for a change. Make things nicer.” She’d slept in those bedclothes since she moved in here, broke and possessionless. She’d left all her nice things behind, turned her back on her old life, bought the cheapest sheets she could find, scratchy and uncomfortable, and hadn’t washed them quite as often as
she should have.

  Costas gave her a thumbs-up. “Good for you, Annie. I go out now.”

  He was dressed in a tight silver T-shirt and she smiled at him indulgently. “You have fun.” Maybe she should buy some sheets for him, too. After all, it wasn’t very nice in the little box room he called home. As she plumped and smoothed and admired her new bed, she thought about what he’d said. If, in some parallel and very unlikely universe, someone did happen to see her bedroom, it would at least now not entirely embarrass her.

  She bent down to open the lowest drawer in her cabinet, looking for a pillowcase. Something rustled. Tissue paper. And too late Annie remembered what she’d hidden away in there, her most precious treasure.

  It was the only thing of Jacob’s she’d saved. The rest had been clothes bought from shops, that anyone could have, but this little cream cardigan had been made by her mother, knitting solidly in front of the TV for two months. The buttons were shaped like lambs’ faces. Annie pressed it to her face and breathed. Out of it fell a small plastic hoop, with the name Jacob Matthew Hebden printed on it. His hospital ID.

  And she was back there. In her old bed, early in the morning. Mike bringing Jacob to her for a feed, his small body sliding in between them. The baby they’d made. A miracle. Usually when she thought about that time, it was blackened with the anger she felt. But Mike, too, had lost all that. Even if he had Jane now, Annie was not so blinded by rage she didn’t realize it could never make up for what had happened. Nothing could. Mike was the only person who could really understand how it felt for her to hold this little cardigan and remember the baby who was no longer inside it. And maybe, after all, that counted for something.

  Annie sighed to herself. Bloody Polly. Try as she might, it was very hard to stay immune from that irritating positivity of hers.

  DAY 28

  Forgive someone

  “I think I’ve changed my mind. Can we turn back?”

  “Come on. You know the saying ‘bitterness is like drinking poison and expecting someone else to die.’ And you, my dear Annie, have drunk a whole gallon of it.”

  Annie scowled. She liked her poison. It was like strong coffee, dark and stimulating and keeping her going. But here she was, all the same, sitting in the Volvo Polly had borrowed from Milly. “How come we aren’t forgiving someone for you, then, if it’s so important? I bet you have someone you’re angry with.”

  Polly screwed her face up. “I’m not quite ready yet.”

  “I’m not ready, either.”

  “You’ve had longer. And trust me, mine is an utter, utter bastard.”

  “You were the one saying we have to forgive people, let go of the poison and so on.” Annie looked at her. “Is it Tom that you won’t forgive?” she risked. “Not that you’ve actually told me who Tom is.”

  Polly made another face. “I’m not ready, I said. Anyway. It’s you today. Then I’ll think about me. Come on, it’s the perfect time for it. You’ve seen your old friends, they said Jane feels awful—it’s fate.”

  “It’s not fate, it’s you meddling. I wouldn’t even have seen Zarah if you hadn’t set it up.”

  “You’d have run into her sometime.”

  Annie sighed. Useless to protest. “Fine. But I’m only going to talk to them. I can’t forgive them. Not yet.” Not ever, probably.

  After a moment, Polly said, “Tom really is a massive bastard. Trust me.”

  “I’ll have to take your word for it.” Annie didn’t like to pry, but did Polly not trust her enough to share her secrets? She knew all of Annie’s. It seemed a little unfair, cancer card or no cancer card. “You can definitely drive, yes?” she said suspiciously as Polly ground the gears.

  “’Course I can! Now, which way am I going?”

  “Right, then next left. Look where you’re—Christ!” She winced as Polly lurched into the next lane. “Then go straight on.” She remembered the directions to the house so well she could have walked there with her eyes shut: 175 Floral Lane, Ladywell. Even the address sounded auspicious, she used to think. Because this had been her house once. It was destined to be hers when Mike had phoned in excitement, saying he’d found the perfect place, and they’d gone after work to see it, their hands sweaty in each other’s as they viewed the black-and-white hall tiles, the clutches of daffodils in the back garden—Annie’s favorite. She’d even tried to call it Daffodil Cottage for a while, but Mike thought it was daft and the postman could never find it. It had been hers when they’d found a chesterfield sofa in an antiques shop and when they’d sanded down the wooden floors with a big noisy machine they’d hired, so powerful it pulled Annie off her feet. And it had been hers when she brought Jacob home from the hospital, his rose-petal face peeking out from his bassinet.

  But now it wasn’t hers; it was Jane’s. Jane and Mike. “What if they’re not home?”

  Polly swung the car around the corner, almost knocking down a lamppost. “It’s Sunday, of course they’ll be home. They’ll be doing flat-pack furniture and Jamie Oliver recipes, like all suburban couples.”

  “Thanks for reminding me. And watch the road! Jesus!” A small terrier narrowly avoided death under the wheels. “When exactly did you get your license?”

  “Years and years ago. Relax, would you? I have cancer, car accidents hold no fear for me.”

  “But I don’t!”

  “Now who’s rubbing things in? Look, you’ll just say hello, and that you wanted to speak to them because it’s been a long time and you’re sorry you fell out and you think it’s time you all healed and let go of the past. Then you hug.”

  “I am not saying that. They’ll think I’ve joined a cult or something.” Which she had, in a way, she thought, reflecting on the last few weeks. The cult of Polly. “Anyway, I’m not sorry we fell out. It was entirely their fault.”

  “Annieeeee—this isn’t in the spirit of reconciliation, is it? You must have done something you regret.”

  Annie thought of the long angry emails she’d sent them both, when she’d drunk too much wine, saying how much she hated them and hoped they’d catch ebola. “Um, I don’t know.”

  “Just say you forgive them, then. It’s the greatest gift you could give.”

  But Annie didn’t forgive them. And as they drew nearer to what had been her home, the familiar streets and shops, she felt the anger she still carried inside her like a dark child. But she’d come this far—she’d started something—and she knew she couldn’t be friends with Zarah and Miriam again unless she at least tried to talk to Jane. “Turn here. It’s the last one on the left: 175—175, I said.” Polly had massively overshot. Annie saw the way she was screwing up her eyes and a horrible thought occurred. “Can you not see or something?”

  “It’s fine!”

  “Polly!”

  “Okay, okay, I’m having some sight problems. Bob is pressing on my optic nerve, that’s all.”

  Annie closed her own eyes briefly. “Jesus. I’m driving home. This is it, anyway.”

  “It’s cute! I love the bay windows, and the slate tiles.”

  Annie used to curl up in those windows and daydream on cold winter days. She’d imagined Jacob doing the same when he was older, reading a book or watching a film. And maybe another kid or two, as well. Ghost children now, just like Jacob, never to be born. “Too bad I don’t live there anymore. Well, I guess we better get this over with. Are you coming with me?”

  Polly shook her head. She’d parked with one wheel up the curb. “I’ll stay here, and listen to the top tunes of Magic FM. Life really was too short for Radio 3. I wish I’d known.”

  What would she say? What if they threw her out? On the path she looked back nervously, to see Polly headbanging away to the radio. She noticed with a sort of strange mix of satisfaction and sorrow that they’d let all her flower beds overflow, weeds crowd
ing out the delicate bulbs and seedlings she’d nurtured. She raised her hand to ring the bell but it stayed frozen in midair. She glanced back to Polly again, who had wound down the window, letting out the banging beats of the Backstreet Boys. “Cancer card!” she hollered. Annie cringed and pressed the bell.

  No one answered for ages, and a terrible relief was growing in Annie’s stomach, when suddenly she heard steps approaching on the other side of the door. “Coming!” Jane’s voice. One that she’d once heard every day, on the phone if not in person. Dissecting boyfriends, jobs, Annie’s wedding plans and the plot of the latest Grey’s Anatomy.

  This was a terrible idea. Then it was too late, because Jane was opening the door, and Annie didn’t know what to look at first. Her former best friend, two years older, a little more lined and gray, in pajama bottoms and a big baggy jumper. Or the swelling bump beneath the jumper, which Jane’s hand rested on, her wedding ring glinting. Oh, God. Why hadn’t Annie considered this possibility?

  Jane was pregnant.

  * * *

  It was a strange thing, to go into a house that used to be yours and now wasn’t. The furniture and even many of the books in the living room were the same, but a framed picture of Jane’s wedding sat on top of the TV instead of Annie’s. Same groom, too. But it was a lot untidier—Annie had once been so house-proud, strange as it was to remember—and there were empty coffee cups and magazines strewn around the room. There was also a mat that was clearly for a child on the floor. It was designed like a garden, with embroidered butterflies and birds and flowers. Getting ready for their baby. Mike and Jane’s baby. When Annie spoke, her voice was thin ice on a river of tears. “I didn’t know.”

  Jane looked stricken. “No. We tried not to put anything online, in case... I told Mike he should tell you. But...you know.”

  We. The two short letters knifed at Annie. “I’m sorry to just turn up like this.”

  Jane busied herself tidying up some magazines. “Have you come...um, did you come to pick something up?”