by C J Morrow
Sally comes in carrying a tray of coffees, Mum trundles along behind her with the biscuit tin.
‘We thought perhaps you should sleep at ours?’ Sally makes a statement that sounds like a question.
‘Yeah. Okay.’
Mum offers up a meek little smile, at the same time nodding.
‘That’s settled then.’ Sally takes the biscuit tin from Mum’s hands and opens it. We all eat biscuits we don’t want and smile without any joy.
By nine pm I’m asleep against Stephen’s shoulder; it’s not a comfortable sleep. By ten pm I’m in Stephen’s old bedroom. It’s a match for Mads’s room and separated only by the thickness of a wall, yet it seems a thousand miles away. Thank God.
Someone, Stephen? Mum? Sally? has brought more of my clothes from my house. I pull on my favourite pyjamas, thick and soft – Robin hated them and would only tolerate them on the coldest of nights and even then, he would protest – before stumbling along to the bathroom. Unlike Mum and Dad’s, it’s been modernised; a sleek design and super bright lighting highlights the wreck that stares out at me from the mirror.
I look like I’ve been stitched together from bits of other people. My eyes, despite being normal are still puffy and bruised, my face is gaunt, my hair, well I don’t think it’s a style that will catch on. I’ll be wearing hats for the foreseeable future.
A soft knock on the door as I’m easing myself down brings an unexpected smile to my face.
Stephen comes in and sits on the bed.
‘How are you doing?’
‘Okay. Thank you.’
‘It’ll get easier.’
‘I bloody hope so.’ I hadn’t expected that to come out so loud.
He half smiles.
‘Oh Etty.’ He pats my leg over the duvet. ‘How’s my bed?’
‘Not bad.’ I wriggle around. ‘Actually, quite comfortable. Certainly, better than the hospital ones.’
‘New mattress.’
‘For me?’ How sweet.
‘No. For me. Last time I was here I had backache, so bought that just before I went back.’
‘Cool,’ I mutter for want of something better to say.
‘We’ll get through this. Together. I’ll always be here for you.’ He pats my leg again.
I feel panicked. It’s too soon to be playing happy families with Stephen. Far too soon. Alarm must show on my face.
‘No pressure. No hurry. At your pace.’
‘Okay. Thanks.’ I sound ungrateful.
‘Your mum says for you to be round there by ten at the latest. Paula’s coming. Something about hair.’ Stephen shakes his head affecting not to understand, suggesting my hair is fine when we all know it isn’t.
‘Thanks. I have physio at eleven.’ I grimace. ‘I also need to arrange to see Robin.’
‘Already done. Tomorrow afternoon. I’ll take you.’
‘Thank you.’
He kisses me lightly on the forehead, opens his mouth to speak then changes his mind. He was probably going to say something stupid like sweet dreams.
I won’t be having those.
I imagine Robin’s dead body in the chapel of rest. He’s probably been wondering where the hell I am.
Seventeen
Robin visits me in my dreams. Even in Stephen’s bed. He’s not saying or doing anything much, just visiting.
It was inevitable that he would. When I saw the psychiatrist yesterday she asked me if I’d had any more visits from Robin. I told her I hadn’t. Not when I’m conscious anyway. But he visits me in my dreams. Dr Bev had said it was to be expected, that my mind was still processing his death. She encouraged me to talk about my dreams. I won’t be doing that. Mum won’t want to hear it and neither will Stephen.
I shake off the night’s memories and hobble along the landing. Sally’s beautiful bathroom doesn’t have a bath but it does have a double shower. This is so much better for me, I don’t have to bend too much, I can wash my hair with ease. But, it also reminds me of home; mine and Robin’s home and Robin’s power shower.
I turn up at Mum’s just as Paula arrives. We’ve met before, a long time ago; I instantly recognise her face, but I doubt she remembers mine. Paula is visibly shocked by my head with its scalping and scars, but she does her best to hide her horror. My hair is still wet from my shower which means Paula won’t have to wash it. She lifts strands and lays them back down with care, as though they might fall out.
‘I think the best thing to do would be to cut what’s left quite short.’
‘How short?’ I think of Robin, then dismiss his preference.
‘Well, not as short as…’ she stumbles for the words. ‘The rest. But short enough that it doesn’t look so odd.’
‘Do what you can.’ I sound so glib. ‘Anything will be an improvement and I can always wear a hat.’
I see a little smile on Paula’s face as she takes the tools of her trade from her bag. A cape swirls around my shoulders, a rubber mat is laid snug to my neck where barely a week ago tubes had protruded; so, this is progress. Paula combs my hair with care and a little nervousness.
‘It’ll soon grow. You’ve already got over quarter of an inch regrowth. Was it shaved off completely?’
‘Yes.’ It’s Mum who answers for me.
Paula snips away and I enjoy the sensation and attention; I’m finding it quite relaxing. I let my eyes close and almost drift off.
‘That’s much better,’ Mum pronounces when it’s finished. ‘It rather suits you, Juliette.’ Mum holds up a mirror for me to see.
‘Elfin or gamine, maybe.’ Paula stands back to examine her own handiwork. ‘I’ve left this front section a little longer and swept it to the side. And, this style will only look better as the rest grows.’
‘It’s great. Thank you.’ I don’t recognise myself in the mirror. My face, no, my whole head, looks tiny. I look like a teenager. Robin always said he liked my hair long, that it kept me looking young, but he was wrong; this is the style which has wiped away the years.
‘You look like a young Audrey Hepburn,’ Mum says as Paula removes the cape. ‘Go up and see what make-up Madeleine has; do yourself up a bit.’ I think Mum might have, just for a moment, forgotten Mads is dead. But I go upstairs anyway and I find Mads’s make-up and I cover my sallow complexion and sunken eyes, and I use a soft gloss on my lips which makes me look as though I might break out into a broad smile at any moment.
I admire myself in the mirror; in a dim light I could pass for almost normal. I pop the lip gloss into my pocket; it’s good to have a little something of hers with me.
Before I go downstairs I flick through Mads’s things; her notebooks stacked neatly on her desk, her hairbrushes on the dressing-table. I don’t know what I’m expecting to find – Mum and Dad will have been through everything, as well as the police probably. I open a drawer, her phone, inside a plastic bag, lies inert and dead. I remove it from the bag and push it deep inside my pocket next to my own phone, my temporary phone. In the corner her school bag gapes open, her laptop, in a police plastic bag pokes out. Mum or Dad must have put it back there.
‘How much do I owe you?’ I say to a waiting Paula when I go back downstairs.
‘Nothing. Bless you.’ She heads for the door.
‘No, but…’ I say to her retreating form.
‘Really, nothing.’ She laughs. ‘I’ll charge you double when your hair grows back.’
‘Okay.’
‘No. I was joking. You look fab by the way.’ And she’s gone; Mum closing the front door behind her.
‘You do look much better. Even your clothes.’
I’m wearing a pair of jeans that I haven’t been able to get on for a couple of years, now they fit perfectly. Robin was right, I had become fat.
‘Did you bring these?’ I pull at the jeans.
‘Yes. I looked around for small stuff that would fit you now. Might as well wear it while you can.’
‘What, before I get fat again?’
‘No. You’ve never been fat. You’re pregnant, darling and you will get bigger.’
Pregnant. I’d almost forgotten.
By the time Stephen arrives at Mum’s I’ve met my new physiotherapist, had lunch and reapplied the lip gloss.
‘Wow. Is that you, Etty? You look amazing.’
‘Doesn’t she just.’ Mum beams.
‘You ready?’
‘Yes,’ I say as I shake my head. I’m apprehensive and I’m also conscious of my absence of hair, nothing brushes my shoulders or falls over my eyes. Odd feelings.
‘It’ll be okay.’ He helps me on with my coat. I’ve decided not to wear a hat.
‘Do you want me to come with you?’ Mum’s words say one thing but her voice gives her reluctance away.
‘No. No.’ I give her a kiss and a hug.
‘Mum hates Robin, you know.’ We’re in his car and Stephen is pulling away as I say it.
‘Mmm.’ A nice non-committal response.
‘I think Dad does too.’
‘Yeah.’ Stephen pretends to concentrate on turning left.
‘And you.’
He glances at me but doesn’t speak; he doesn’t need to.
We pull up outside the chapel of rest; it’s a newish building tacked onto the back of a Victorian end-terrace. Opposite, a primary school playground is full of children playing netball, there’s pushing and shoving as they attempt to get the ball in the net. A school and a funeral home; an incongruous pairing.
The car park is small and Stephen has to park someone in, but the alternative is parking in the street and that looked busy. I sit in the car and take deep breaths. Stephen comes around to my side and opens the door. I don’t get out.
‘We don’t have to do this today.’ His voice is soft, caring.
‘Yes. I do.’ I take the hand he offers and haul myself out of the car; my accident injuries suddenly rendering me immobile. Then I remind myself that I’m still alive. Robin is dead.
The black portico door looks solid and impassable. Stephen rings the bell and we wait for what seems an age before it is opened.
‘You have an appointment?’ There’s a neat professional smile behind the soft voice of the man in black waistcoat and pin-striped trousers.
‘Yes, we do.’ Stephen explains who we are and why we are here. Thank God for Stephen.
We’re ushered into a little room filled with low-slung waiting-room chairs. They’re dark green, as is the thick pile carpet and the curtains; the walls are painted pale green. I feel as though I’m deep in a forest. In the corner, a coffee machine and paper cups sit awaiting duty.
‘Can I offer you a coffee?’ The soft voice asks.
A farcical part of me wants to ask him if he can? For how would we know?
‘Not for me,’ Stephen speaks first, his voice quiet.
‘No, thank you.’
Soft voice excuses himself and goes off to find our funeral arranger.
Beverley comes in and introduces herself as Bev. Another Bev. This could be confusing, but probably only for me.
We go through a few formalities, all of us speaking in hushed tones, before she asks if I would like to see the deceased’s body. At this point Robin doesn’t seem to have a name. When I confirm I do want to see him we are ushered out of the dark green room and into a more open waiting area.
‘I’ll just pop through and make sure they’re ready for you.’ The way she says they makes me think there are several deceased people waiting to be seen. She disappears through another door, then seconds later, she pops back.
‘You can go through when you’re ready. Take as long as you like. There’s no rush. When you’re finished, just ring the bell.’ She points to the tiny brass bell on the table, the type usually seen in hotel receptions. Then Bev disappears through a different door.
I inhale deeply. Stephen stands and waits.
‘Do you want to go in alone?’
Do I? I don’t know.
‘How long has he been here?’
‘Since it happened. Four weeks or so.’
I stand still. I don’t know what to do. I want to see Robin. I don’t want to see Robin.
I must see Robin.
It might not be him.
‘Come with me.’
Stephen takes my hand and squeezes it. He pushes the door open and we go in together.
It’s chilly in the room and there’s an overwhelming scent of air freshener, just like when Mads was here. There’s the same green carpet and curtains in this room as in the meeting room. There are no chairs. A lidless coffin sits in the middle of the room on a pair of trestle legs.
I take a tiny step forward, then stop. I glance at Stephen, he’s still holding my hand but he’s looking down at his shoes. I inch forward and Stephen has to come with me.
I gasp when I see Robin’s face. He looks perfect, pale, but perfect. His hair is neat and brushed, his lips are slightly parted. He could be asleep. From his neck to his feet he is covered in a cream cloth – a shroud, I suppose.
I lean over the coffin, I peer at his face. He looks like Robin but I can see, quite clearly, that Robin isn’t there.
‘He’s gone.’
I’m crying but not making a noise; silent tears run down my face, yet I don’t feel distressed. It’s strange.
‘It’s him.’ I say as though I’m being expected to confirm his identity. Stephen squeezes my hand in response.
With my free hand, I stroke Robin’s beautiful face. It’s rock solid and cold. I pull my hand away as though I’ve been stung.
But I feel compelled to say goodbye. I touch his lips lightly with my finger. They’re hard, it’s odd. His lips were always so soft, his mouth so sweet.
‘Rest in peace, Robin,’ I hear myself say. Then I squeeze Stephen’s hand and we back out of the room, closing the door behind us. Once back in the waiting room, I feel I can breathe properly again.
‘You okay?’
‘Yeah. I’m okay.’ And I am, amazingly I am. Poor Robin. It isn’t fair that he died and I lived. It isn’t fair at all, but deep down inside I know that fair or not, it’s right. I feel numb. I should be wailing and crying, but I just feel numb.
‘Shall I?’ Stephen’s hand hovers over the brass bell and I nod my agreement.
Bev arrives like a spectre who has been hovering in the ether. Pop, and she’s here.
‘Would you like to discuss the arrangements now?’ She pauses and smiles. ‘Or another time?’
‘Let’s do it now.’ I sound so rude. ‘Please,’ I add to soften it.
We’re ushered back into the green-green meeting room. Coffee is offered and this time we accept. Bev produces a long checklist and gives us a little speech about funerals. I hope Stephen is paying attention because most of it is washing over me.
A catalogue of coffins is produced, it seems the one he is currently in isn’t his. I don’t want to dwell on that too much. I choose one which is dark and smart, something he would choose himself. I wonder if it really matters. He isn’t here to care. A hearse is ordered, a service is arranged – just the one at the crematorium. Would we like a notice in the newspaper? A part of me shudders when I say yes.
‘We need to contact his mum and see if he has any other family.’
‘Okay.’ Stephen squeezes my knee before starting the car. I shift uncomfortably in my seat; I have a new cast which, despite its lightness, nips at my ankle. ‘I think we need to go to my house to do that.’
‘Today?’
I shake my head. Enough is enough. I’m tired.
Later, when I’m tucked up alone in Stephen’s bed I think of Robin’s face, so elegant, so smooth. It floats across my eyes as I drift into sleep.
I sleep well, I sleep deep. And Robin doesn’t visit me.
When I wake I feel happy, but only for a moment, only until reality kicks in and I remember what is happening in my life. Then I think of the little person growing inside me, and that happy feeling returns, momentarily.
Mum is nervous about me going to the house. She’s glad I’m not going alone, pleased that Stephen is accompanying me, relieved that she doesn’t have to come herself.
‘You could leave it, go another day. There’s no real rush.’ She’s trying her best to dissuade me.
‘The funeral is next week. I need to try to track his mum down. The last I heard she was in Brazil.’
‘Have you ever met her?’ Mum has that sceptical tone in her voice, not unusual when she talks about Robin.
‘No.’
Mum purses her lips, allows herself a little nod.
‘You might as well say it, Mum. Get it out.’ I know she’s wondering why I’m bothering.
‘No. No. You do what you need to do.’ Whether she’s aware of it or not, I’m not sure, but her eyes roll up to the ceiling.
‘Well how would you feel if it was me dead and no one bothered to tell you?’ The words are out without me thinking and now I wish I could take them back, but it’s too late. How insensitive can I be? ‘I’m sorry.’ I rush to her, wrap my arms around her. She remains impassive and unmoving.
‘Ready Etty?’ Stephen lumbers into Mum’s kitchen via the back door.
‘Yes, go on. Get off.’ Suddenly Mum is smiley and pleasant. ‘Don’t forget we’re all eating at Sally’s tonight. Make sure you’re back by six.’ Now Mum’s almost pushing us out of the door.
‘Everything okay? With you and your mum, I mean?’ Stephen holds the car door open for me.
‘Just put my foot in it. Cast and all. You know.’ I don’t want to say any more and Stephen doesn’t press me.
I feel myself start to shake as we pull into my street and I see the house, our house, mine and Robin’s. It looks so normal. Just like it does every day when we come home from work; Robin’s car on the drive.
I gasp suddenly realising that I don’t have any keys. Is that a deliberate mistake on my part?