Beneath the Distant Star

by Lisa Shambrook

  “So, is anyone going to tell me what’s wrong with her?” he asked, folding his arms against his chest.

  “Do you want to see her?” asked Meg.

  “Can I?” he asked.

  Meg nodded. “Yes, silly, of course, but when did you last see her?”

  “A few weeks ago, and Mum’s been coming round while I’ve been at school. She says Joan’s too tired for visitors after school.”

  “Right, come into the kitchen, both of you.” Meg beckoned them across the hall and into the bright and airy kitchen.

  A tray of lemon muffins sat on the counter.

  “Do you want one? See if mine are as good as hers?”

  Thomas shook his head. Jasmine took a cake, bit into it and grinned. “These are good, but I haven’t had any of Joan’s cakes for years!”

  Meg smiled.

  “So, how’s Joan?” asked Thomas.

  “The heart attack took a lot out of her…”

  “Heart attack?” Thomas stared right at Meg. “No one said she had a heart attack!”

  Meg frowned. “No one said?”

  “No!” His indignation bloomed. “Mum said she had heart problems and needed to rest, but not a heart attack. When did that happen?”

  “A month ago,” said Meg.

  “Why wouldn’t they tell me that?” he said through pursed lips.

  “They probably didn’t want to worry you.” Meg touched his hand.

  “She’ll think I don’t care.” His eyes glistened. “I haven’t been here since then. Was she…did she go to hospital?”

  “She was in for a week, but insisted on coming home.” Meg smiled. “She’s on lots of medication and needs rest. She’s not young anymore, is she?”

  “I know exactly how old she is,” said Thomas.

  Jasmine glanced from Thomas to Meg and back again. “So? How old is she?” She reached for another cake.

  “I already told you before. She’s ninety-nine, one hundred in September.” Thomas spoke quietly. “She’ll get her letter from the Queen soon.”

  “That she will,” agreed Meg.

  Jasmine’s eyes opened wide and she spoke with her mouth full. “I knew she was old, but not that old!”

  “Quiet!” hissed Thomas. “So, can I go up and see her?”

  Meg nodded. “She’s reading, and she’s due some tablets.”

  Meg pushed out her chair and filled a glass with water from the tap. “Come on then, but Tommy, she does look frail. She probably looks older to me, as I’ve been away longer, but Mum said she looks more fragile these past few weeks.” She paused at the door as Jasmine and Thomas got up. “Bring the cakes, Jasmine, you never know, she might even be hungry!”

  Jasmine grabbed the tray and followed her cousin. Thomas tapped Meg’s arm and looked up at her. “How’s your mum, Meg?”

  Jasmine sniggered. “You’ll make a great husband for someone one day, Tommy! You know all the right things to ask!”

  Meg ignored Jasmine and rewarded him with a bright smile. “She’s good, really good. She hasn’t run away in seven years, so it’s all good!”

  Thomas smiled and cast Jasmine a sideways glance. “Good,” he said.

  They moved up the stairs in single file. Jasmine gazed at the photographs adorning the wall. There was a wedding picture, a young couple, an old-fashioned motorbike and a man in goggles and a photograph of two striking, fluffy white cats. Jasmine grinned. “Has she got a cat?”

  “Just one, but not either of those two anymore,” replied Meg.

  Meg led them into a bright bedroom at the front of the house. She moved to the window and placed the glass of water down on a side table. Thomas followed. Jasmine stood in the doorway and stared about the room. The room was feminine. Frilled curtains hung beside lacy nets and another vase of sweet peas stood on the windowsill. Joan sat in bed, propped up against frilled Wedgewood-blue pillows. She wore a fluffy, beige cardigan and peered at them over wire-rimmed spectacles. She dropped her book beside her and gave Thomas a huge smile.

  “I knew you’d come!” she said, her voice wavering. “My Tommy.” She beckoned him to sit on the side of the bed. “How’re you, and Danny, and little Carys?”

  “I’m good, they’re good, but what about you? I didn’t know if I was allowed to come and see you?”

  Meg offered Joan the glass of water and a tablet, but the old lady waved them away. “Later,” she said, “this is Tommy’s time.”

  Meg grinned and sat on the other side of the big double bed.

  “And who’s this?” she asked smiling up at Jasmine.

  “Jasmine Scott,” said Meg, “You remember? Tommy’s cousin and Freya’s little sister. You remember Freya?”

  “Of course I remember Freya,” said Joan.

  “I don’t think anyone’ll ever forget her…” mumbled Jasmine.

  “And I remember you too, Jasmine, I don’t forget anyone.” Jasmine’s face reddened and she glanced at Joan. “I remember you, such a sweetheart you were, always running around after Freya. She was a sweetheart too, gone too soon, far too soon…”

  Jasmine couldn’t help herself as words grumbled out of her mouth. “Not a minute too soon in my opinion…”

  Joan’s eyebrows rose in her crinkly, wrinkled face, widening her pale-blue eyes. “When you lose someone, anyone, every minute, every single minute is a minute too soon.”

  “I’m sorry…” muttered Jasmine. She stood awkwardly at the foot of the bed. She didn’t know Joan very well and discomfort rose with a flush of red across her neck.

  Beside Meg, a grey Persian cat with huge orange eyes gazed up at Jasmine. As Jasmine balanced on one foot, leaning against the bed, the cat stretched and stood. It arched its back and yawned then stepped lightly towards her.

  “That’s Horatio…” said Joan, waving her hand at the cat.

  Horatio nuzzled Jasmine’s hand, and Jasmine grinned. She gently stroked him, raking her fingers through his thick fur.

  “He likes that,” said Joan.

  The cat burrowed into Jasmine’s hand and a heavy purr filled the room.

  “Yes, he’s as loud as a motorbike!” The old lady laughed. “Reminds me of my Thomas! That cat reminds me of your namesake, young lad, every time.” She gazed at Jasmine. “I lost my husband, Thomas, twelve or thirteen years ago, your uncle named Tommy after him. They both loved motorbikes.”

  Jasmine nodded, she knew the story.

  “Your Uncle Pete took him out on his motorbike just a few months before he died!” She shook her head. “He loved it! Heavens forbid, but he was younger than I am now! I’ve outlived everyone and everything!”

  “But it was his dream…” said Thomas.

  “Ah, yes, that it was, and everyone needs dreams.” She nodded sagely. “Everyone needs dreams. Isn’t that so?”

  The cat purred beneath Jasmine’s fingers as she kneaded his fur. “I wish I had a cat…” she said pensively.

  “Then why don’t you have one?” asked Joan.

  “Mum said we can’t.”

  “Allergies?”

  “No.” Jasmine shook her head and stroked the cat longingly. “I love cats and I’d love one, but we can’t because Freya never had the chance to have one, it wouldn’t be fair.”

  Joan’s eyebrows again disappeared into her wrinkly forehead as she watched the gentle burgeoning relationship between the feline and Jasmine. “I don’t think Freya would mind, somehow, I think she has more important things going on than cats.”

  “She’s dead,” said Jasmine, staring at Joan.

  “Oh, I know she’s dead. She died just before Thomas did, and he said, he said…” Joan’s voice broke. “He said she was waiting for him, up there, somewhere. Maybe he’s waiting for me…like she did for him.”

  Jasmine closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath.

  “Don’t say that,” murmured Thomas.

  “I’m not foolish, lad,” Joan patted his hand. “I’m no fool, I’ve seen enough in my century, you know I�
��m ready.”

  Thomas fidgeted as distress glazed his eyes.

  “You’re so young, Tommy, I was up at that old oak when it was a baby.” She winked at Meg. “I’ve outlived it, and it’s time for you young ones now.”

  Jasmine tightened her fists.

  “Time to live, to take all those opportunities thrown your way, make the most of all those clichés you grow up with!” She chuckled. “Take what life gives you and make it yours—including cats.” She threw a look at Jasmine. “But don’t, don’t ever, forget those that went before you.”

  Jasmine’s cheeks blazed. Heat spread throughout her body and she fought her tears. “As if anyone will ever let me…” she mumbled. “I’ve got to go…”

  Thomas glanced round at her. “But, Jasmine…”

  “Sorry, Thomas, I have to go, got things to do…” She rubbed her nose and swallowed hard. She caught Joan’s eye and hesitated. Her pale eyes pierced Jasmine through, and for a moment she wondered if the old lady could read her thoughts. She pulled her gaze away and hurried out of the room.

  As she bounded down the stairs, Joan’s voice rang out. “No, Thomas, let her go. She needs to come to terms with her sister in her own way, and in her own time—let her go…”

  The door slammed behind her and Freya fluttered about in Jasmine’s mind. The girl who no one could forget, the girl who was everything she wasn’t. She turned at the gate and stared back up at the window. Meg faded back behind the curtains. Jasmine hurried away.

  Tears blurred the road and the houses, and she stopped to wipe away her tears. She didn’t want Freya to make her cry, didn’t want Freya to have any control at all! She grasped a lamp post, until she was free from tears and clear-headed. She considered going back to Joan’s, but the old lady’s final words had only annoyed her more and she muttered. “I don’t need to come to terms with anything, least of all her!” Her lip curled in exasperation and she growled under her breath startling a sparrow in the hedge beside her.

  Instead of heading home, she wandered the streets. She found herself heading towards the river and struck a faster pace to get there. She was on the wrong side of town for the quayside and well away from the towpath, but she pushed through overgrown grass and cow parsley to get to the old public footpath.

  She followed the path, ducking beneath overhanging trees. Pendulous lilacs hung, and bees swarmed, drinking nectar, and gnarled hawthorns lined the trail. Bluebells peppered the verge and swathes of white wood anemone interspersed with primroses. Jasmine hurried towards the sound of water, almost tripping over a protruding root in her haste.

  Down by the river, she finally gave way to her sense of loneliness and permitted a sigh. It was also a sigh of relief as the world vanished behind the dense trees and woodland.

  Jasmine stared ahead. The path was long, and straight, and wide. It used to be an old railway, but the tracks had long since been removed and nature had taken their place. Grass flourished where the trains had once rolled and wildflowers pushed through the ground, carpeting the trail. For a moment Jasmine stood staring then she turned and stared the opposite way. She was completely on her own with only birds twittering and rushing water in her ears. She twirled on the spot, her heavy boots thudding on the ground and her black leather jacket creaking.

  The sun gazed down through the trees dappling the path and Jasmine gazed as far as she could. She wandered further and stopped beside a long discarded railway sleeper. It sat on the side of the path, broken in two. She balanced upon it. Then despite the quiet and tranquillity around her, a sob rose and erupted, bursting out of her throat. Her head throbbed and the frightening sound of a train whistled through her head. She stared wildly about her, down the never-ending abandoned path and back again. She lost her balance and slipped off the sleeper, landing in bluebells. In her head she recalled the train from a week ago, and her cousin’s terrified expression blurred before her.

  She scrambled to her feet and stood in the centre of the track, ghost trains racing past her along the empty footpath. She turned and ran. She ran full pelt until she reached a muddy gap in the hedgerow and she slid and slipped down to the water’s edge.

  She sank down onto a rock and hugged her knees to her chest, allowing her panic to subside with the rushing river. When she finally looked up, her head was clearer and her juddering breaths began to calm. She stared at the water, the pebbles clear beneath the surface, and she threw a pebble of her own into the river. It plopped with a satisfying echo and she threw several more.

  Just before her the rocks dammed a section of the river and before she could stop herself, Jasmine pulled off her boots, and socks, turned up her jeans, and stepped into the water.

  It was icy cold and Jasmine’s sharp intake of breath was loud and uncontrolled. She squealed and clenched her fists, but the refreshing cold stirred her. Her teeth chattered and she laughed. She shook her hands and arms like an excited child and stepped deeper. She exhaled and shivered and stepped into a patch of water lit by the sun. The slight change in temperature made her grin and she dug her toes into the pebbles and grit. She ignored her jeans and moved until she was more than knee-deep in the water.

  The river continued rushing by on the other side of the rocks and the sound gratified her. She stood, her toes becoming numb and goose bumps erupting across her body, but the cold was welcome, invigorating even.

  The water deepened in front of her, its glassy surface transparent and inviting, and Jasmine wondered whether she could brave it. She shrugged off her jacket and threw it back onto the rocks near her boots. Her necklaces jangled and her black, corded bracelets slipped down her arms. She shivered, and pulled nervously at her purple t-shirt.

  She stared longingly, rubbing her arms, and gazing into the watery depths. It was only a couple of feet, but enough to plunge right into. She imagined the water engulfing her, swallowing her, closing over her head. She imagined sinking beneath it, her body weightless and free, and twisting like a water baby. She longed to feel its silky embrace, but instead she shivered and almost overbalanced.

  She remained in the water until she could barely feel her feet then climbed back out and sat down on the rock. She sat there until she realised the sun was dipping down behind the trees and a chill tickled her skin. She pulled on her socks and boots and grabbed her jacket. She pulled her jacket tight and zipped it up. She knocked her boots together, trying to put life back into her feet, and tried to guess the time.

  She screwed up her face and jumped up off the rock. It wouldn’t be much past six o’clock, but she was at least thirty minutes from home and she knew she’d be walking straight into trouble.

  Her mother barely looked at her when she strode into the lounge. “Where’s Dad?” asked Jasmine nonchalantly.

  Mum didn’t answer, so she turned and asked again. “Where’s Dad?”

  “He should be back about eight,” said Mum through narrow lips.

  “Have I got dinner?” Jasmine asked.

  “Dinner,” began Mum, “was well over an hour ago.”

  “So, have I got any?”

  “Do you expect any, when you traipse through the house this late?” Mum’s cheeks blazed pink.

  Jasmine shrugged. “If there isn’t any, I’ll make something.”

  “Do you think you can just waltz in at any time? That you can just disappear off without telling anyone? That you can live as you wish?” Her mother’s words were sharp and high pitched already.

  “It’s not like I stayed out all night!” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s seven o’clock!”

  “The time is irrelevant. I had no idea where you were!” Mum replied trying to stay calm.

  “I didn’t know I was in jail.”

  Mum closed her eyes. “I came home from work and you were gone. You said nothing. You left no note, not even a phone call or text. You’re on suspension and yes, I know we don’t ground you, but there are certain common courtesies.”

  “So, is there any dinner?”


  “Yes! There’s a plate out there for you, in the microwave.” Jasmine could feel Mum’s eyes burn as she walked away.

  “That’s all I asked,” she muttered.

  She heard the sofa squeak as Mum got up. “What about what I ask for?” Mum demanded. “What about me?”

  Jasmine ignored her as she walked into the kitchen. Mum followed.

  “Don’t ignore me!” cried Mum as Jasmine found her dinner. “I had no idea where you were! I even phoned Jen to see if you were with Thomas, but no, you had been, but he was at home, eating his dinner! Where were you?”

  Jasmine shut the microwave door. It began to whir and Jasmine remained with her back to her mum.

  “Where were you?” Mum’s voice rose higher.

  “Just out,” said Jasmine as the microwave pinged.

  “Just out? Where?”

  “Ow, ouch, hot!” Jasmine picked up her plate and moved to the dining table. “Why do you care where I was? I was out of your hair.” She moved back into the kitchen to get a knife and fork.

  “Of course I care!” Mum was wounded.

  “Yeah, right.” Jasmine sat down.

  Mum turned on her heel and marched out of the room. She didn’t get further than the door when she turned and came back, pulling out a chair and sitting down. She watched as Jasmine ate.

  She finished her mouthful. “It’s okay, you don’t have to stay. I learned how to eat many, many years ago. I’ll be fine.”

  Mum bit her lip and clasped her hands in her lap. Jasmine shrugged and ate. Silence reigned until Jasmine finished. She took her plate out to the kitchen and as she entered the dining room again Mum spoke calmly. “Where were you? I came home and no one was home, and I didn’t know where you were. Anything could have happened! You could’ve got lost, or had an accident…” Her voice broke.

  “Gosh, Mum, I wasn’t that late, what do you want? Do you want to account for every minute, every last minute of my life?”

  Mum shook her head, tears welling. “I was just worried…”