by CE Rose
A sudden tussle at the graveside lightened my morbid thoughts. The seven siblings and their spouses were jostling for position. Whether to watch the casket being lowered, or to inspect Laura’s boobs at close quarters, I wasn’t sure. But it was a relief to be on the periphery and stifle a laugh; another funny story I made a note to tell Mum.
Laura eventually sauntered over, holding onto Miles’s sleeve. Both with glowing complexions, blond and attractive, they looked like brother and sister.
‘Chuffing hell, I was nearly shoved in,’ she chuckled, sounding more Yorkshire than I’d heard her for years. She glanced at Joe, now asleep in his pram. ‘There were mutterings about the village hall, Ali. Please tell me I misheard. The Sportsman is grotty, but even that would be an improvement on nylon and formica.’
I laughed. ‘You vowed never to set foot in The Sportsman again.’
‘I might be more forgiving after twenty-something years, Ali.’
‘But the landlord’s wife might not be…’
Miles was looking on, his eyes wide with interest. ‘Go on, Laura, spill the beans,’ he said. ‘What happened with whom in The Sportsman?’
‘I suppose one would call him a paedo these days, but I thought he was drop-dead gorgeous. Dave the landlord. I’d had a crush on him for yonks before the fateful night when we—’
‘Medallion man gorgeous? You’re joking,’ I cut in.
‘So?’ Miles prompted.
‘I developed early, you might say.’ Laura shrugged. ‘Fourteen going on eighteen. Fake tan badly applied and pencil-thin eyebrows. Clothes that were way too tight. I drove Mum nuts. He was probably only our age, you know.’ She paused for a moment as though envisioning the scene. ‘He had a dark hairy chest that tapered all the way down to where the sun doesn’t shine. As for the clinch itself… well, all I can remember is the stench of beer in that cellar.’ She flashed Miles a smile. ‘I was desperate to shake off the burden of maidenhood. I’m sure you know what I mean.’ She came back to me, changing the subject as only Laura could. ‘But the village hall for Mum’s wake, Ali. Really?’
I was gazing at my husband and his enthusiastic nod. He was clearly still on Laura’s ‘burden of maidenhood’ comment. As ever the polar opposite to my sister, I’d been fussy when it came to romance and sex. My ideal man was a thoughtful, chiselled and poetic type who’d fall in love with me despite himself. Boyishly handsome, easy-going and posh, Miles didn’t fit that brief, but from his tears since Mum’s death, more emotional than I’d supposed.
‘Ali, are you with us?’
‘Yup.’ I dragged my thoughts back to the issue at hand. ‘Not guilty on the venue for the wake, but from my spy seat just now, I gathered Tom – or his funeral director – consulted with…’ I nodded meaningfully at Auntie Kathleen, bustling away with my uncle.
Laura dramatically covered her mouth. ‘Noo…’
I laughed. Kathleen lived in the village, and was probably on some relevant committee, but she was an in-law and not an actual sister.
‘But what about—’
‘I know!’
When Mum had lived in our house down the road, there’d been a pecking order of siblings – albeit an unspoken one – with Peggy and Brenda generally vying for top slot. Which was why it was still a shock that Mum and Brenda had fallen out. Still, I only had Laura to deal with, and that was a challenge, so perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised.
I glanced at the two woman now, still by the mound of soil. Dabbing their eyes with handkerchiefs, their arms were tightly linked. I’d always liked them both, but Brenda, a former teacher, was the more no-nonsense and straight-talking auntie. With her strident ‘home truths’ type of style, she’d always scared me a little, if I was honest.
‘Kathleen, eh?’ Laura said. ‘Mum will turn in her grave.’ She lowered her shades and looked at me pointedly. ‘See, I was listening.’
‘Touché…’ I began, but the distinct aroma of J’adore Infinissime perfume, followed by an accent out of place, interrupted me.
‘Alison! There you are, darling girl.’
Bloody hell; Madeleine. I didn’t bother glancing at Miles; I was certain his cheeks would be flushed with culpability.
Her arms outstretched, she strode forward. ‘Darling girl. I couldn’t not come. We managed an earlier flight.’ Looking both exquisite and soulful beneath her black hat, she placed a hand either side of my shoulders. ‘I’m so, so sorry. Little Joe causing trouble with his colic and then this. Our beautiful Eve. How are you coping?’
Without waiting for an answer, she pulled back and smiled at Laura. ‘And Laura, hello.’ She kissed both her cheeks. ‘How wonderful to see you. Such tragic circumstances, but how nice for Alison to have you around. It’s nothing to worry about, but Ali hasn’t quite been Ali of late.’ She rubbed my arm and peered at me with loaded sympathy. ‘You’ve been a bit out of sorts one way or another, haven’t you?’ With an elegant hand, she gestured to our surroundings. ‘Such a lovely place to rest. So, where do we go now? Come on then darling, let’s walk together and you can tell me all your news—’
But Laura had already linked arms with me. She nodded at the pram. ‘You’re in charge of thingy, Miles. We’re going on the swings.’
Chapter Nine
We strolled along the cracked path to the far end of the graveyard. Most of the weathered dedications were familiar from childhood: Elsie and Elizabeth, George and Harold, Mabel and Frederick, born centuries before. Few were new graves; there wasn’t enough space. We were lucky that Dad had bagged a place for Mum.
When we reached the low wall, Laura removed her jacket. Her sleeveless shift dress emphasised her slim arms. ‘Weren’t there some steps here? Oh well; there aren’t any now.’ She slipped off her high heels, rucked up her skirt and jumped down to the grass below. Then she held out a hand to help me. ‘I believe you had an episiotomy. Mum said. And that it got infected or something. Sounds pretty revolting.’
Her flippant comment chafed. Childbirth was hard, wonky stitching even worse. Sure, I was slightly neurotic about my privacy, but I was still peeved that they’d been talking about me like that. With an inward sigh, I pictured the aunties getting merry on plonk in the village hall. God, I hoped Mum’s indiscretion had stopped at my sister.
‘Seems you’re the expert at stitches,’ I replied. ‘I assume a boob job involves them, not keyhole or whatever.’
Laura didn’t appear to notice my sour tone. ‘You mean the latest in power dressing?’ she replied easily. ‘The op took about as long as choosing a dress, actually.’ She raked back her Ray-Bans. ‘Oh don’t look so disapproving, Ali. You were the rebel, remember? Sticking that needle in your ear lobe for hours until it finally pushed through to the other side.’
I laughed. There it was again, common language. ‘Yeah, and when I finally wanted to wear a pair of earrings, I had to pierce the other and they didn’t match.’
‘So you’re not quite as perfect as I’d thought. Let’s have a gander…’ She peered at me intently for a beat, then tugged me into a hug. Eventually she pulled away with a sniff. ‘Sometimes I miss you, you know.’
‘Sometimes?’ I replied, my throat clotted with emotion. ‘I am honoured.’
‘So you should be,’ she replied, hurtling to the swings in bare feet.
Held back by the dull ache in my pelvis, I didn’t belt after her as I would once have. Instead, I ambled to the refurbished play area, perched on a swing and pictured a scene from our childhood. Me and a pal on the see-saw, Laura chatting to boys with a hand on her hip. Was it a memory or a photograph? My heart sank at the thought of the task ahead. Mum had so many belongings, made all the worse by her tendency to hoard. She’d kept everything, from our school reports, toys and books, to our artwork, craft and sewing. How lovely it would be to go through it all with Laura and speak our common language. But I knew it would be asking the impossible.
I turned to her now. ‘I miss you too,’ I said. ‘Not so much when you’ve go
ne, but when you’re here, if that makes sense.’
‘It makes perfect sense,’ she replied, stretching out her tanned legs from the swing. ‘That’s why I didn’t come home very often. The more I was here, the harder it was to go back. And if I’m not careful I might feel guilty,’ she added, pulling a wry face. ‘I hadn’t even spoken to Mum for two or three weeks.’
I thought of the missed calls. What had Mum wanted to tell me? Her tone on the Monday had seemed… yes, worried. ‘Don’t feel bad about it,’ I said. ‘About anything. It’s the last thing she would have wanted.’
Feeling guilty myself, I eyed my sister. Fair, classical and beautiful, she was a younger version of Mum. She didn’t need to dye her hair nor enhance her boobs to look stunning. But then again, I was more my natural self than I had ever been. I’d gone for an ‘alternative’ look growing up. ‘Alternative to what?’ Mum had asked, but in truth the spiky pink hair, torn clothes and dark make-up was alternative to my big sister. There was no point emulating her; I’d never be as popular, as blonde or as pretty, so I chose the opposite.
‘Ali’s attention-seeking as usual,’ Laura had always commented. It had never felt that way to me – more a question of hiding. I’d spent so many years as an ugly duckling that I never noticed I was growing into something else, not a swan exactly, but attractive enough.
I must have been staring, as Laura abruptly snorted. ‘Yup, botox around the eyes and on my forehead.’ She smoothed her flat belly. ‘And I only eat one meal a day.’
‘Bloody hell, Laura! Don’t you get hungry?’
‘Yes,’ she replied, opening her handbag and plucking out a packet of Marlboro. ‘Which is why I still indulge in too many of these.’
I frowned. Mum had recently made a point of telling me Laura had given up cigarettes. It made me feel uneasy, that who-said-what-to-whom discomfort I didn’t like. I was relieved we were outside and away from Joe; he already had a mum who apparently ‘wasn’t herself’, so I didn’t want him passively smoking. Laura must have followed my thoughts as she said, ‘Little thingy is cute. Still ugly, but cute.’
I lifted my eyebrows. ‘I hope that’s a joke. It’s common knowledge that all newborn babies – and brides – are beautiful.’
‘Hmm, if you say so, but I’ll still opt out of cuddling.’
‘No cuddles? Mum says it’s the nicest part of being a grandma.’ With a jolt of emotion, I corrected myself. ‘Said. Getting all the best bits, then giving the baby back.’
Taking a deep drag, Laura looked away. ‘It might make me broody.’
‘Would that be such a bad thing?’ I asked. ‘Not that I recommend the delights of pregnancy and birth, but the ugly prize at the end is quite nice,’ I said, trying for humour.
‘Not when you’ve been sterilised,’ she replied flatly. She glanced at me and shrugged. ‘It seemed a good idea at the time. I put on weight with the pill, the coil gave me excruciating periods, and I wasn’t about to rely on rubbers.’
I reeled. Bloody hell. Sterilisation? Yet was it a complete surprise? ‘I’ll never get married or have children,’ she’d frequently say to Mum. ‘So I’m saving you money. Can I have a car instead?’
But Mum would look a little sad and shake her head. ‘One day you will, Laura. One day, your own baby will be the most important thing in your life. You’ll hold that newborn in your arms and feel a surge of love you can’t imagine.’
I now took a deep breath. Laura had always been wilful, doing pretty much everything in the face of sound advice to the contrary. Yet still I was shocked, not only at her deciding to do something so huge and final, but that she’d found a doctor who’d condoned it when she was so young.
‘Could it be reversed? If you change your mind?’ I asked. ‘Surely they can do all sorts of things these days if you have a womb.’
Laura guffawed. ‘Do you remember how we hated that word as kids? Womb! Vagina too. And vulva…’
She had changed the subject. As smoothly and expertly as ever.
‘Discharge, menstruation and puss…’ I added, knowing the conversation was over. Suddenly aware of my full breasts, I looked at my watch. ‘Time to face the music?’
She crinkled her nose. ‘If we must. Talking of which: your wedding planner…’
I sighed. Madeleine, of course. Like a dolly, I’d complied with her every command: hair by Peter; make-up by Paul. A bespoke ivory silk wedding dress with a train, satin shoes and a floor-length veil; a cake with five tiers and the reception in a fourteenth-century castle. All done with the greatest of taste, as one would expect of my mother-in-law.
Laura was mimicking her enunciation. ‘Such a lovely place to rest. Yeah, in the middle of rickety gravestones, ancient monuments and thistles.’ She cocked her head. ‘So what was that all about earlier? You being out of sorts?’
I paused before answering. I didn’t want to talk about it, even to Laura. Was I unhinged? Maybe. Paranoid? Perhaps. ‘Nothing. Just Madeleine being—’
‘A psychiatrist?’
‘A retired psychiatrist.’
‘On a busman’s holiday?’
That snapshot of Madeleine fired in. Her eyes astonished, her hand to her cheek as she pitched and reeled. Then me, staring at my stinging palm.
‘Ali? What’s up?’
‘Nothing.’ I smiled wryly. ‘We’d better get back to the party. Rein the aunties in.’
Laura stood and lowered her sunglasses. ‘Has my mascara smudged?’
Wondering when the tears had come, I nodded.
‘Then a trip to the ladies’ room is in order, my dear,’ she said in her best Mary Poppins voice. ‘Let’s hope that frightful place has toilets.’
Chapter Ten
We walked down the concrete steps to the village hall. Their edges were still rough like a tooth. I could clearly remember tripping on them and badly grazing my shins. The blood had sparkled and stung and I had wanted to cry, but other school children were behind me and I couldn’t bear to hear their laugher.
I nodded to The Sportsman across the road. ‘Do you still fancy going in?’ I asked Laura with a grin.
‘Bloody hell, can you imagine?’ She looked pensive as she stared at the sixties-build pub. ‘Mum sent Dad to “have words” with Dave. Not that they knew anything specific… But I was so angry at their interference, I refused to speak to either of them. So bloody humiliated; I couldn’t get over it for weeks. Then Dad died. It felt as though the two things were linked, that I’d somehow accelerated…’ She shook her head. ‘A lifetime ago, eh?’
Surprised at her revelation, and the guilt she had clearly felt, I took a breath to comfort her, to say that a rapid-spreading cancer wasn’t anyone’s fault, but she’d lifted her chin and stepped into the foyer.
At the double doors she turned and raised her eyebrows. ‘So what do we think? Unchanged is my bet. Curtains matching the brickwork. And those formica tables. Shades of orange! God help us…’
The room was warm, a glut of people milling in the large, rectangular space. The church hadn’t felt empty, but I’d been too preoccupied keeping my gaze fixed on my feet to take in the numbers.
‘Perhaps it’s the bingo crowd come early for a free glass of sherry,’ Laura whispered as we edged past the egg and cress sandwiches towards the toilets.
‘Or more likely our cousins and their kids. Any idea how many rellies at the last count?’
‘Nope.’
Finally in the ladies’, Laura took off her sunglasses and peered at herself in the mirror. ‘Good God, I look like a Goth.’ She glanced at my handbag. ‘What have you got in that bloody satchel to fix the damage?’
I unzipped my old Mulberry. It was large in comparison to her slim clutch, for sure, but not a patch on the sack of baby essentials I usually lugged with me. ‘Cheeky mare. Baby wipe or baby wipe?’ I replied, offering her the small packet. ‘Is it me or is there an aroma of prunes in here?’
‘You and your smell obsession. It stinks of shit, Ali. Fruity shit, I
grant you. I bet they haven’t refurbished these loos for years. They are pretty disgusting.’
I opened a cubicle door and peered in. ‘No chains anymore.’ I chuckled. ‘Maybe we should have sampled the ones at the park—’
‘Oh my God. They were revolting. Metal panels instead of mirrors; graffiti and faeces on the walls. And tracing-paper loo roll.’ She snorted. ‘You wouldn’t believe the number of boys I snogged in there, though. Mum always seemed to know. “Girls who get pregnant out of wedlock ruin their lives, Laura.” Said conversationally as she prepared tea, as though she wasn’t being completely obvious.’
‘Maybe the smell of poo on your clothes was a clue. Not to mention the love bites.’
‘True. But it was only snogging—’
‘And biting…’
‘Bet you’ve never had a love bite. Have you, Ali?’ Laura asked, plucking out an expensive-looking mascara from her purse. ‘The good golden girl.’
I self-consciously touched my long ponytail. Over the years I’d tried every feasible shade of hair dye, but I never went blonde. As for length, I eventually grew it for Miles. He liked my hair the Madeleine way: dark, thick and way past my shoulders. People used to say that we looked like sisters, which of course she adored.
‘You had the blonde curls; the real golden girl,’ I commented.
Laura spent a few moments applying lipstick, then replaced the lid with a sharp click. ‘Was I really?’ Seeming to shake her thoughts away, she straightened her back. ‘Sergeant majors are awaiting. Are you ready for the inspection parade?’
* * *
With admiration – and love – I watched Laura mingle with the mourners. It was how it should be: all eyes were on her – not just her new figure, but her glowing face, her bearing. The aunties and cousins hadn’t seen her for some time, so appraisal was inevitable, but she was indeed soldier-like, erect, regular, symmetrical and neat, but with a genial smile like a starlet opening a local fete. Although their colouring was different, she reminded me of Madeleine. Acting, I supposed. Of course I’d been theatrical when needed in court, but on a personal level I’d never been able to pretend. Hiding or avoiding was more my thing. But today I felt surprisingly fine, as though I was in the ‘damned village hall’ for an auntie’s sixtieth birthday celebration or a cousin’s wedding reception, rather than the wake of my mother.
