Rose's mouth turned down like an umbrella. I'd done it again. Maybe I was more like Mother than I liked to think. Rose is lucky if she can string three sentences together around my mother without having her grammar corrected somewhere along the line. 'What's cooper?' she asked.
'Copper. It's this shiny, gold-coloured metal at the bottom of the pan.'
I lifted it up to show her. Soap suds slid down its surface like giant snowflakes. Rose's eyes lit up at the sight of them. She walked over to the sink and blew a hole through the biggest mound of bubbles. The bubbles scattered in all directions.
'Rose!'
My daughter just laughed, turning her sparkling eyes up towards me. I smiled back at her, loving the sound and sight of her laughter, clinging just as hard as I could to the way it made me feel inside. Rose unexpectedly hugged me round my waist. I carried on smiling but shrugged her off, my hands still in the sink.
'Mummy, what did my dad die of?' Rose asked, leaning against the work surface next to me.
I turned away from her before she could see the look on my face. It wasn't as if it was the first time Rose had asked me that. But each time sharp fragments of dread shot through me. I started scrubbing away at the pan again, trying to frame my answer. Each time Rose asked me, I tried to say a little more, to skate a little closer to the truth. So what to say . . .
'Mum, what did Daddy die of?' Rose asked again. 'Was he sick?'
'Rose, I haven't really got time to answer all these questions now,' I snapped.
'Why not? You're only washing up.'
I opened my mouth to argue, but then closed it again without saying a word. Deep breath. Calm down.
'I'm sorry, Rose. I promised myself that I wouldn't do that.'
'Do what?'
I tried to smile. 'It doesn't matter. So what was it you wanted to know?'
'What did my dad die of?'
'Your dad was killed,' I said slowly.
Rose's eyes instantly started to leak. What the hell was I doing? She'd asked that question before many times, and each time I'd said, 'Your dad died, love. Just one of those sad things.' Then I always moved the conversation swiftly on to what Rose's dad was doing in heaven. That usually took Rose's mind off the how and why. It was . . . an evasion, for my daughter's sake.
But not today.
Quickly rinsing off my hands, I wiped them in the hand towel hanging up beside the sink. I squatted down until Rose's face was level with mine and brushed away the tears spilling down her cheeks.
'Rose, don't cry,' I said softly. 'Your daddy's death was . . . an accident, that's all. A tragic accident.'
'Was he in a car accident like Sam's dad?' Rose asked.
'Something like that.' I stroked Rose's hair, then kissed her forehead. 'But all you need to remember is that your daddy loved you very much.'
'But he didn't get to meet me. How can you love someone you don't know?'
I smiled again. Rose smiled back. I love it when she smiles at me like that. But memories made the smile inside wither away.
'Your daddy loved you when you were still growing inside me. Your daddy even loved the idea of you.'
'I don't understand.'
'Your dad was very happy when he found out I was pregnant with you. He wrote me a letter to tell me so,' I said carefully. No more lies. Just the careful truth. 'If I remember rightly, he said he was ecstatic'
'What does that mean – eggs static?'
'Ecstatic. It means over the moon, thrilled, deliriously happy, overjoyed, elated, in raptures—'
'Yeah, I get the idea,' Rose said quickly before I could go through the whole thesaurus.
'Besides, you don't have to be with someone day in, day out to love them, Rose,' I told her.
I could see Rose had to think about that.
'I guess that's true,' said Rose at last. "Cause I love Grandad Kamal and I've never met him.'
And just for a moment, my heartbeat stilled. Just for a moment.
'Can I see the letter that Daddy wrote to you about me?' asked Rose.
'I threw it away years ago,' I said.
Just a tiny lie . . . No harm in a tiny lie.
'That's a shame. I wish I'd met my dad. Not when I was a baby but when I was older – just once so I could remember him.' Rose sighed.
'So do I,' I said. 'You two would've been very good friends.'
'Am I like him then?'
Oh, Rose. Are you like Callum? How do I even begin to answer that?
I could feel my expression twist painfully to reflect what was happening to my insides.
Don't let Rosie see, Persephone. Don't let her know.
'You have the same smile, the same shaped eyes, the same way of tilting your head to listen, the same stubborn streak, the same common sense. Lots of things about you and him are the same.' I forced another smile, feeling that my face was going to crack at any second.
'Tell me some more about him.'
'Why?'
"Cause I've been thinking about Daddy a lot recently.'
'Funny . . . so have I,' I admitted. 'Well, your father stood up for what he believed was right. And he was a man who loved his family. He was very loyal to the ones he loved. Very loyal.'
'What does loyal mean?'
'Faithful, devoted, will stick by you, dedicated—'
'Yeah, I get the idea, Mummy. Did you love my dad?'
Some kind of bird was singing outside. I wondered what its song meant – if it meant anything at all.
'I don't mind you being soppy,' Rose teased when I didn't immediately answer.
'Yes,' I said. 'Very much.'
'Did Daddy love you?'
Oh God . . .
'He used to, before he died,' I managed to reply.
'Well of course it was before he died,' said Rose, unimpressed. 'He can't love you after he's dead, can he? Silly!'
'I don't know.' I kissed Rose on the nose. 'Maybe love lives on, even after death. Maybe it's the only thing that does.'
'So I'm really like him?' Rose asked again, just to make sure.
'Oh yes.' I nodded.
'That makes me feel a bit better. If I'm lots like Dad then it's almost as if I know him – or at least part of him. That's better than not being anything like him at all. Can I go out on my bike?'
The abrupt change of subject threw me for a moment. It never ceased to amaze me how Rose could just skip from one subject to the next in the blink of an eye.
'Only up and down this road and only on the pavement and watch out for pedestrians – that means people walking.'
'Yes, Mum. I know.' Rose spun round to get her safety helmet from the cupboard under the stairs. And there stood Meggie in the doorway, listening to every word I'd said about her son.
thirteen. Rose is 8½
Nana Meggie was staring at Mummy and she had a very peculiar look on her face. And Mummy was looking straight back at Nana Meggie with a different kind of peculiar look. It was kind of the way I look when Jinn in my class takes my pencil without asking and then won't give it back.
'What's wrong, Nana Meggie?' I asked.
'Nothing, pet.' Nana Meggie's frowny, stern look sagged into a smile.
'I'm off to ride my bike,' I told her.
'Be careful,' said Nana.
'Yes, I know,' I interrupted. 'Mum's already told me.'
I ran out of the room before Nana Meggie could say all the same things about watching out for cars and people that Mum had already said. Grown-ups like to say the same things over and over. Maybe they all go to a secret grown-up school and get taught to say the same things and act the same way. I ran to get my helmet and then skipped back into the kitchen. Mum was still scrubbing the saucepan, which had to be the cleanest one in the street by now. Nana Meggie had the fridge door open and was searching for something to munch, I guess. I skipped out into the garden. My bike was leaning against the wall underneath the kitchen window. I bent down to check the tyres the way Mum had taught me. I squeezed each tyre like I meant busi
ness. They were firm and not squishy like brown bananas. I loved to ride up and down our road. Sometimes I rode so fast, it felt like the wind was jealous and trying to blow me off my bike – but it never did. When Mum took the stabilizers off my bike, she used to run behind me, holding onto the saddle to stop my bike from toppling over. And then sometimes she'd let go and she wouldn't tell me. But I only ever fell off once – and I didn't cry, even though I wanted to 'cause my elbow was really hurting. Mum dusted me off and kissed my forehead and told me I was a brave girl for not crying. So I swallowed down my tears and didn't let a single one escape. Not even one.
'When are you going to tell Callie the truth?' Nana Meggie's voice drifted through the open kitchen window.
'I did,' said Mum.
'My son's death wasn't an accident,' said Nana Meggie.
'No? He was born a Nought in a Cross world. You can't get much more accidental than that.'
'Isn't that just . . . what's the word – sophistry?' There was a pause before Meggie added, 'Don't look so surprised. I might not have had as much schooling as you, but I do read and I'm not stupid.'
'Meggie, I never said you were stupid. And what should I have told Rose?' asked Mum. 'She's too young to hear all the sorry details.'
'You won't let me do it, so when d'you plan to tell her the truth?'
'When she's ready. In the meantime what harm does it do to let her believe her dad lived like a saint and died like a martyr?'
'I think—
'I already know exactly what you think,' Mum interrupted. 'But you don't want to fight me on this, Meggie. Not this.'
I didn't know what those words meant. What was a 'marter'? And what was 'sofis' . . . 'soap-is' . . . whatever the word was that Nana Meggie said? Why was Nana Meggie so cross with Mum? Maybe she thought Mum shouldn't talk to me about my dad. And Mum's voice was hard like the frost we get on the car windscreen in the winter.
'I'll tell Callie Rose all about her dad when she's old enough to know the whole truth,' said Mum.
'You'd better tell her before someone else does,' said Meggie.
'Is that a threat?'
'No, of course not. But don't you think it would be better coming from you?'
'I said, when she's old enough – or are you going to criticize me over that as well?'
'Meaning?' asked Nana Meggie.
'You know what it means,' said Mum. 'You think I don't see the way you watch me when I'm with Rose? You think I don't know what you're thinking?'
I didn't understand what Mum and Nana Meggie were talking about. Why was Nana Meggie watching Mum when she was with me? And what did Mum need to tell me about my dad? What was the 'whole truth'? Had she fibbed when she said that my daddy's death was an accident? But Mum wouldn't lie to me. She just wouldn't.
I was just about to go back indoors to ask Mum about the whole truth when a cream-coloured butterfly, the colour of Mum's music sheets, fluttered in front of me. Holding my breath, I slowly held out my hand. The butterfly settled on my palm, its wings soft and gentle as a blink against my skin. It was so beautiful, so peaceful. Just watching it made me feel smiley inside. Then with a shake of its wings it lifted up and fluttered away. I watched it disappear against the sky – it seemed to just melt into the air. And although Mum and Nana Meggie were still talking, I didn't hear any more. I wheeled my bike down the side path and out onto the pavement. Today I'd be . . . a star fighter, flying my spaceship around the universe and fighting evil. Lots of evil.
When Nana Meggie comes back from church each Sunday, I always ask her what happened there. And Nana Meggie always says, 'We discussed evil. Lots of evil.'
I'd like to go to church to see what they all talk about but Mum won't let me. Mum says church is a waste of time. Mum says God is a waste of time. Mum says that in front of Nana Meggie sometimes and then Nana Meggie gets upset. Sometimes I wonder if Mum says it just to wind Nana Meggie up. Sometimes Mum looks at Nana Meggie like she doesn't like her very much. And sometimes Nana Meggie looks at Mum like she's almost afraid of her.
Grown-ups are very strange.
fourteen. Sephy
'I wish he'd hurry up or I won't get to see him,' Rose complained.
The early afternoon sun was making Rose squint but she refused to budge from the living-room window. I glanced down at my watch. Sonny was late arriving and Meggie was late leaving. And the social forecast for today? Frost, as always.
'He's here!' Rose sprinted out of the room. I'd barely made it out of the living room before Rose had the front door wide open.
'Sonny!'
'Hello, pumpkin!'
Rose leaped straight up into his arms, scarcely giving him time to brace himself first.
'Ooof!' Sonny grinned at my daughter as her flying tackle knocked the wind out of him.
'Rose, don't do that,' I admonished. 'You're too big for that sort of thing.'
'Nonsense! My girl will never be too big. Will you, pumpkin?' said Sonny.
He tried to ruffle Rose's hair whilst her head dipped and ducked away from his hand. Sonny treated Rose like . . . like she was his own. Which was the way Rose had always treated Sonny – like one of the family.
But he wasn't.
My heart tipped as I watched them, totally lost in each other's company, oblivious to everything else around them. Including me.
'Come on, Rose. Down you get.'
Rose took her cue from my tone of voice and jumped down from Sonny's grasp.
'Ready to work, Sonny?' I asked.
'Willing and able,' said Sonny. Which was what he always said.
Meggie appeared from the living room, already wearing her coat and carrying Rose's.
'Hello, Mrs McGregor. How are you?'
'Fine, Sonny,' said Meggie without once looking at him.
'You're looking lovely today,' Sonny smiled.
'Maybe you need to get out more,' Meggie said sourly before turning to me. 'We're off to my sister's. We'll be back after dinner.'
'OK,' I said, careful to keep my tone neutral.
Meggie and I did our usual dance; her eyes on me, my eyes on her, an absence of trust, the absolute presence of suspicion. Meggie looked away first.
'Bye,' said Meggie, the front door already open.
'Bye, Mum.' Rose hugged me round my waist, her head against my shoulder. I could still remember when I was able to hold her to me with one hand, when she was about the same length and not an awful lot heavier than a cereal box. And look at her now. I put my hands on her arms. Not to pull her close, but not to push her away either. I kissed the top of her head, breathing in the red rose scent of her baby shampoo.
'Sonny, you won't go before we get back, will you?'
Sonny shook his head. 'You still owe me a game of chess.'
'What's the point? You always win,' said Rose.
'But not for much longer. You're getting so good, one day soon you'll win and I'll lose,' Sonny promised.
Rose beamed at the thought. 'You really think?'
Sonny nodded.
'Come along, Callie Rose,' said Meggie tersely.
'See you later.' Rose waved to Sonny and me as she skipped out.
Sonny and I didn't speak until I'd closed the front door behind Meggie and my daughter.
'D'you wanna try to finish our Just Ask Me song?' I asked.
Sonny nodded.
I led the way upstairs to the back bedroom. But some sixth sense kicked in halfway up the stairs and I spun round – to catch Sonny with his gaze firmly fixed on my backside.
'You won't find any musical inspiration there,' I said dryly.
'Oh, I don't know!' Sonny disagreed, his eyes dancing with mischief. 'That sway is poetry in motion!'
'Sonny, behave!' I said, adding pointedly. 'How's Kasha? That is the latest one, isn't it?'
'We've split up.'
'Already?' I asked, aghast then amused.
Kasha had lasted – how long? Two months, if that.
'She wasn't the right one.'
'Oh yes, I would,' Sonny said immediately.
'Then why don't you just go out with the right one and have done with it?' I asked, exasperated.
Sonny regarded me for the longest moment.
'Look, I'm sorry. It's none of my business,' I said quickly. 'The last thing I want is to antagonize one of my best friends.'
'Is that what I am?'
'Of course.'
'Is that all I am?' asked Sonny.
I frowned. 'What else is there?'
Sonny smiled to himself – a smile with no real amusement in it. 'I could be more – if you'd let me . . .' he said softly.
'I have no intention of joining the masses, thank you very much,' I told him, wryly.
'You wouldn't be one of masses.'
'Oh yeah? What would I be?'
'The one and only.'
'Yeah, right!' I scoffed. Now I knew he wasn't serious.
We carried on up the stairs. I didn't know whether to smile or sigh. Sonny was in one of his silly moods. We'd be lucky if we got one new verse written.
'Why doesn't Meggie like me?' asked Sonny unexpectedly.
I stopped abruptly on the landing, my head whipping round to face him. 'I don't think that's particularly true.'
Meggie just didn't like anyone. It was hard to get to know her, really know her. But then the same could be said about me.
'I've been working with you for over five years and I don't think Meggie's said more than five sentences to me at any one time. You and I have written songs together, songs that sell, I might add; we both make a decent living and yet she still treats me like I'm sponging off you.'
'That's just her way,' I replied, wondering why I was making excuses for her. After all, Meggie and I hadn't had much to say to each other for the longest time.
'You know what I think? She's scared of me,' Sonny said slowly.
'What on earth are you talking about?'
'She's afraid of losing you and her granddaughter,' said Sonny. 'She thinks I'm trying to take Callum's place.'
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