by Maria Savva
‘It’s from Jemima,’ explained Penelope, placing the envelope back into her pocket.
‘Jemima?’ Cara put a hand over her heart. ‘I-I didn’t know you two still keep in touch.’
‘We don’t. I’m not sure how she got my address…’
‘What does it say?’
‘I’m so confused, Nan. I need your advice.’ Penelope wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.
‘What’s happened, darling?’
‘I haven’t heard from Jemima or Mum since they left for Jersey. Jemima says Mum’s ill.’ She paused. ‘She’s dying. She hasn’t got long; the doctor says she’ll only survive a few weeks, maybe not even that long.’
‘W-what’s wrong with her?’
‘She had a stroke.’ Penelope lowered her eyes. ‘She’s in hospital.’
Cara’s eyes welled with tears.
‘Mum’s been living in London for the past few years.’
‘In London?’
‘Yes.’ Penelope lowered her gaze. ‘I wonder why she never got in touch after she moved back. It makes me so sad to know she was living in London and didn’t try to contact me.’
‘Hmm… Maybe she tried to get in touch. She wouldn’t have known where you’d moved to.’
‘Jemima’s written to me, so they knew where I live.’
‘Maybe they—’
‘Stop making excuses for them, Nan. They didn’t want to get in touch and now I get this!’ Penelope stood up and took the letter out of her pocket again waving it in front of her.
‘Calm down, Penny dear. People don’t always do the right thing until something like this happens. When death comes to someone’s door, that usually makes people come to their senses. They’ve probably realised that they should have got in touch earlier. Don’t hold it against them. This is your family and they love you.’
Penelope’s tears were flowing freely. ‘They… l-l-love me so-so much that they were there for m-me—’ She stopped to take another tissue and wipe her nose. ‘Where were th-they when I needed them?’ She sat back on the bed and looked at the envelope, which she’d placed on her lap.
‘This has come as a shock to you, Penny. Take a deep breath. Everything will be okay, you’ll see.’
‘You… You should eat your breakfast, Nan: it’ll get cold.’
Cara started to pick at her breakfast keeping one eye on her granddaughter.
‘Jemima wants me to go and see Mum. I don’t know what to do,’ said Penelope.
‘It’s so sad we all lost touch for so long. So many years.’ Cara’s eyes were misty: long-forgotten memories of Margaret and Jemima floated through her mind.
‘What should I do, Nan?’
‘Penny… I think you should—we should go.’
‘I never forgot about her, you know,’ Penelope began. ‘I thought about her a lot, especially in the last few years when life got hard with Dave. There were times when I really needed her.’ She stopped, her eyes battling unshed tears. ‘I wanted… I-I suppose I wanted her to get in touch with me; it would have been proof that she loved me. I thought she hated me, because I didn’t listen to her and I married Dave. But I loved him…’ A tear escaped and trickled down her cheek.
‘Don’t upset yourself.’
‘How was I supposed to know things would go so wrong?’
‘No one could have known, Penny.’
Cara handed her another tissue.
‘Mum shouldn’t have left; she should have stayed. Maybe if she’d been around, things wouldn’t have got so bad. Dad had already gone. Nan… I had no one.’ Penelope’s brown eyes were darker than ever. ‘She should have supported me. All I ever wanted was for someone to love me. I wanted her to love me.’
‘She did love you, Penny. She loved you too much; she didn’t want you to go through what she’d been through with your father.’
Penelope sniffed and dried her eyes. ‘Wh-why didn’t she try harder to get thr-through to me? She never even tried.’
‘Think back,’ said Cara softly. ‘Would you have listened? As you said, you were in love with David, and none of us knew what he was really like. None of us.’
‘She did,’ said Penelope, wiping the never-ending tears from her eyes.
‘We must go and see her,’ said Cara, after a brief silence. ‘I’d like to see her again, Penny. It’s been too long.’
‘That’s what upsets me, Nan. In all these years she hasn’t kept in touch and now I feel so guilty, as if it’s me who should have contacted her.’
‘We’re all to blame for not keeping in touch.’
‘Maybe you’re right. I suppose we should go and see her if she’s dying…’ Her voice trailed off into almost a whisper.
Cara felt tears in her eyes.
‘I don’t want to get the boys involved, though,’ said Penelope, standing up. ‘I’ll take them to school and then we’ll go.’
‘Today?’
‘Yes, Nan. It might be our last chance.’
Jemima had sent Penelope the details of the hospital where Margaret was receiving treatment. The drive took about an hour. Penelope hardly said a word throughout the journey, and Cara noticed her hand was trembling as she reached to change gears. When they arrived at the hospital ward, they were told that Margaret had discharged herself the day before.
‘She must be all right if she’s discharged herself. I don’t think we need to be too worried,’ said Cara, feeling brighter as they drove away from the hospital.
‘Maybe, but the nurse said she discharged herself against the doctors’ orders.’
‘Yes… but… well, she can’t be very ill if she’s able to make those sorts of decisions.’
‘I hope you’re right, Nan.’
Soon they arrived at Margaret’s house. Penelope parked the car outside and sighed deeply. ‘I’ve brought a present for her,’ she said, reaching over to the back seat of the car and picking up her handbag. She opened it, and took out a small velvet box. ‘There’s something I’ve never told you, Nan.’ Penelope took a deep breath and said, ‘A year or so before you moved in with me, I was pregnant… a little girl. The due date was seventeenth of December: Mum’s birthday.’ She opened the velvet box, took out a gold cross on a chain and held it out to show Cara. ‘I had it engraved; it says “Margaret” on the back. That’s the name I’d chosen for my daughter. Wanted to name her after Mum.’ Pausing, as if unable to continue, she placed the cross into its box. ‘I want to give this to Mum.’
Cara remained silent, unable to speak. Penelope telling her the story about the lost pregnancy made it more real, erasing all doubt. She didn’t explain why she’d lost the baby, and Cara did not ask.
When the front door opened. Cara recognised Jemima at once. She’d always resembled Margaret, with her round face, green eyes and wavy brown hair. Cara couldn’t help the tears that came to her eyes. The last time they’d seen each other, Jemima had been fourteen years old: a child. Now a woman stood at the door.
Placing a hand in front of her mouth, Jemima stared at Penelope, then she looked at Cara.
Penelope let go of the wheelchair and walked over to her sister. The girls hugged and started to cry.
Cara’s eyes filled with tears as she watched them.
Eventually, Penelope wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her cardigan and walked over to Cara. She took hold of the wheelchair’s handles.
Jemima turned her attention to Cara. ‘Hello, Nan, it’s good to see you again. I’m so glad you’ve come.’
She invited them in and led the way through the narrow hallway into the living room. Cara took in the small room with its pale blue wallpaper. A pretty border halfway down the wall, embossed with small cream-coloured flowers, caught her eye. The carpet, a dark navy blue, matched the velvet curtains. There was a brown three-piece suite in the middle of the room and a coffee table made of the same dark wood as the stand for the large television.
Penelope scanned the room as they entered. ‘Where’s Mum?’ she asked.
> Jemima’s face stiffened.
‘Jemima?’
‘I think you should sit down, Pen.’
‘Okay.’ Penelope sat on the edge of the sofa.
‘Mum died yesterday,’ said Jemima, looking straight ahead towards the window as she explained, ‘It was sudden. She’d just got back from the hospital. The doctor told me she wanted to come home; he wasn’t happy about discharging her, but she insisted she didn’t want to die in hospital.’ Jemima reached for a tissue from the box on the coffee table. ‘Sorry,’ she sniffed, ‘It’s still all very raw.’ She wiped away the tears that streamed from her eyes.
‘I’m so sorry, dear,’ said Cara. It pained her to see her granddaughter’s sorrow.
‘Th-there was nothing more they could do for her.’ Jemima’s voice sounded distant.
‘When did she become ill?’ asked Cara.
‘A couple of months ago.’
‘It must be so hard for you.’ Cara reached out and touched Jemima’s hand.
‘I’m all right.’ Jemima smiled sadly through her tears.
‘I wish we hadn’t lost touch,’ said Penelope.
‘She loved you, Pen. She talked about you a lot and wondered what you were doing. She nearly contacted you a couple of times, but…’ Jemima shrugged.
‘I should have tried to get in touch,’ said Penelope. ‘I’ll never see her again.’
‘I tried to get in touch earlier,’ explained Jemima, ‘but I didn’t have your address. I wrote to your old address when Mum had the stroke but I didn’t get a reply, so I thought you didn’t want to see us. The letter came back in the post the other day, so I got in touch with Aunty Gloria and she gave me your new address. She gave me your phone number as well. Maybe I should have phoned you, I don’t know. But I felt too nervous. It was easier to write it down.’
‘I used to have this fantasy that Mum would get in touch with me,’ said Penelope, a wistful look in her eyes, ‘and tell me she’d never forgotten me, and that she wanted to come back but for some reason…’
‘She really wanted to see you again,’ said Jemima.
‘Yes, but it’s too late,’ Penelope said in a small voice.
Jemima sat next to her and put an arm around her.
‘I shouldn’t have been so stubborn,’ said Penelope. ‘I should have tried to get in touch with her.’
‘Don’t blame yourself, dear,’ soothed Cara.
‘Yes, there’s no point in worrying about it, Pen,’ said Jemima ‘There’s no need to feel guilty. Really.’
Penelope nodded, forcing a smile.
‘I just wish we’d had a chance to say goodbye to her,’ said Cara, her eyes full of tears.
‘When’s the funeral?’ asked Penelope.
‘I’m going to arrange it today. It’ll probably be next week,’ replied Jemima.
‘Please let us know the date,’ said Cara.
‘I will, I’ll phone you.’ She smiled through tear-filled eyes. ‘I’ll go and make us some tea.’
‘I can’t believe Maggie’s dead,’ said Cara, when Jemima had left the room.
She noticed a silver-framed photograph on top of the television set. Margaret was smiling in the picture and didn’t seem to have a care in the world; her expression showed how far removed she was from the unhappy life she’d led with Benjamin.
As if picking up on her thoughts, Penelope walked over to the television and picked up the photograph. ‘Mum looks happy here.’
‘Yes,’ said Cara.
Penelope carried the picture with her to the sofa and sat down, without taking her eyes off it.
‘She looks so peaceful there, doesn’t she?’ said Cara.
‘I should have listened to her. She knew Dave was just like Dad.’ Penelope gazed intently at the photo. ‘Why didn’t I listen to her? Why?’
‘Don’t upset yourself, dear.’
‘She really loved me, Nan, I realise that now.’
‘Of course she loved you, Penny.’
Penelope placed the framed picture back on the television, then took a tissue and dried her eyes.
Jemima returned to the room carrying a tray of tea and biscuits.
‘Jemima, it’s been so long since we last saw you,’ said Cara, trying to lift the mood. ‘Now look at you, you’re all grown up.’
‘Yes.’ Jemima laughed, her eyes sparkling.
‘We’ve got so much to catch up on,’ said Penelope.
‘Yes,’ agreed Jemima. ‘How is David?’
Penelope coughed nervously. ‘Um…’ She looked to Cara as if for assistance.
‘David is dead,’ said Cara.
‘I didn’t know. Sorry, Pen, I didn’t mean to upset you.’
‘Don’t worry, we’d already separated when he died.’
Jemima served the tea and biscuits, then sat next to Penelope.
‘Are you married, Jemima?’ asked Cara.
‘Yes, Nan, I’m married to Mike. He’s a vet. We’ve been married for four years. He’s in Jersey. We still live there, but I’ve been staying here for the past couple of months to help care for Mum. I’ve got a daughter, Georgia. She’s three years old. She’s upstairs sleeping.’
Cara felt sad she had missed out on so much of her granddaughter’s life. ‘We must keep in touch, Jemima,’ she said.
‘We will keep in touch.’ Jemima smiled at them both.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Cara woke up early on the day of Margaret’s funeral. Six o’clock. The room was shrouded in shadows. She sat up, knowing that she would not be able to get any more sleep.
As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she noticed the old photograph album on the bedside cabinet and it took her back to the evening before when she and Penelope had spent a few hours flicking through old photos of Margaret and reminiscing. The imminent funeral had made them both feel a need to reach into the past and perhaps recapture some of the moments that seemed to have been lost for ever. They’d laughed and cried over the photographs as they remembered the precious times spent with Margaret.
Cara picked up the album and began looking through it again in the half-light, tears in her eyes.
The bedroom became brighter as the morning sun filtered through the curtains. Cara drew the curtain nearest her bed and peered out of the window, through bleary eyes. The sky was grey, although the sun had begun to break through cracks in the clouds. No sign of life could be seen in the avenue below.
She heard Penelope walk out of her bedroom and into the bathroom. Silence resumed and served to magnify her sense of loss.
She watched as the postman strolled along the avenue delivering the mail, and she heard the sound of the letterbox flapping open. Every morning, for the past few days, she’d waited, holding her breath from the time she heard the letterbox open to the time Penelope brought her breakfast tray into the bedroom. Today, although she did immediately wonder whether the DNA test results might have arrived, she didn’t dwell on it: everything was trivial in comparison with the grim promise of the day that lay ahead.
In the back of her mind, she’d always held out hope that she’d meet Margaret again, that somehow their paths might cross and they’d be friends as they were before, their differences forgotten.
She was riddled with regret. If she’d known Margaret was going to die, she would have done everything in her power to see her just one more time.
Cara hoped that if Margaret could see her from some other world, she’d understand her reasons for being so estranged.
Cara heard the front door open and close as Penelope left the house with the boys. She watched them walk along the avenue with the other parents taking their children to school. The familiar small green car parked up across the road just as it began to rain. The mother helped her two children out of the car whilst holding up a big red umbrella. Scurrying over to the pavement, the little girl with the coffee-coloured hair opened a bright pink umbrella: her brother opened a bright blue one. The family walked along the avenue, the vibrant colour
s of their umbrellas temporarily distracting Cara from the grey surroundings, but soon they were gone and only the grey remained.
Life outside the window carried on as normal. Inside, Cara’s heart was breaking.
The rain was falling more heavily and a storm cloud threatened in the distance. Cara hoped the weather would improve, the day ahead would be hard enough to face.
Shortly after Penelope returned from taking the boys to school, she entered Cara’s bedroom, carrying the breakfast tray. As she placed it on the bed, Cara noticed an envelope in the tray.
‘Nan, the test results have come,’ said Penelope, her face stiff.
Cara put a hand to her throat, bracing herself.
‘I haven’t opened the letter yet. I’m too nervous. I thought maybe you could do it.’
‘Yes… I mean. Oh… all right, dear. But… Um… How do you know it’s the results?’
‘I don’t, but it’s from the solicitor, so it must be.’ Penelope sat on the edge of the bed.
Cara stared at the envelope that sat innocently alongside her toast and coffee. Why today of all days?
Penelope drummed her fingers on her leg, impatiently. Then she began biting her nails.
Cara didn’t move. She wanted to start eating her breakfast but was too afraid to put her hand near the tray in case Penelope then expected her to open the envelope.
‘Oh, this is silly,’ said Penelope, with a nervous laugh. ‘I’ll open it.’
Cara gaped helplessly as her granddaughter took the envelope from the tray. ‘Penny dear,’ she said, anxiety evident in her high-pitched voice. ‘Do you think you should open it now? Wouldn’t it be more appropriate to wait until after the funeral?’
‘Oh.’ Penelope looked at Cara and then at the envelope. ‘Yes, you’re right. Sorry, Nan.’
‘That’s all right, dear.’ She watched as Penelope placed the letter on the bedside cabinet.
‘I’ll leave it here till later,’ she said.
Cara breathed a sigh of relief.
