by Isla Dewar
Lola smiled. ‘Fabulously silly. Did you ever meet my father?’
‘No. I was away at uni. I now think he didn’t want to meet any of her friends. I think he wanted to keep George for himself.’
‘Yes. I think so. Where did you get this?’
Anna told Lola about finding the kitchen. ‘It was dismantled and put back together again in a house in Corstorphine. It’s amazing. Anyway, the woman who owns the house gave it to me to give to George.’
‘So why didn’t you give it to her?’
‘The last meal,’ Anna told her.
Lola read it. ‘He was saying goodbye.’
‘George didn’t know that. She still thinks his death was an accident. She thought he was coming back to her.’
Lola stared at her. ‘What are you saying?’
Anna took a deep breath. ‘Alistair killed himself. He’d been stealing, and the police were after him. He couldn’t face what was happening.’
Lola stared at the book. ‘My father?’
‘Yes.’
For a long time, Lola didn’t speak. She touched the book. She took this in. At last, she said, ‘You can’t tell her. That heart has been broken twice. When Alistair died and then when Willy went. She went deep into a grieving place. Let her be. She’s happy right now.’
‘I think I love George more than I’ve ever loved anybody,’ Anna said.
‘I know. Everybody loves George. She’s something. She’s been beating herself up about these few years most of her life. I think she became a nurse so she could give herself to people. If a patient was seriously sick, she’d stay with them after her shift was over, just holding their hand and chatting.’
She picked up her handbag and pulled out a photograph. ‘Here’s my mother and father strolling through the High Street.’
There was George, fresh-faced and smiling, hand-in-hand with an absurdly handsome young man. They were dressed in silks and satins, beads and scarves. George’s hair was long and had a flower tied in at the side. He had a drooping moustache. George’s skirt was skimpy. They were beautiful.
‘They were a well-known couple about town. Probably the clothes. They went to clubs and gigs. People looked out for them. I get the impression people wanted to know them but they hid away. I don’t think they actually had anybody round for drinks. They had each other.’
Lola smiled.
Oh my, thought Anna, there goes my friend, marching through her little world with her flag unfurled.
Lola stood up. Held the book close. Stroked it. ‘Thanks for this. It’s a treasure.’
Walking to the front door, Lola said, ‘I am the result of a love affair. I always keep that in mind. It was wild and probably foolish. But I comfort myself by thinking of George and Alistair dancing and singing and tucked away from the world, living only for themselves. I love that.’
Anna opened the front door. ‘It’s a good way to look at it.’
Lola kissed her cheek. ‘She’s tired these days. Sleeps a lot.’
Anna said, ‘So do I. I used to hate sleeping during the day. Now I love it. I’ve learned to relax at last.’
*
It had been a pleasant day. Autumnal and just right for a large warm polo neck jumper. Anna was happy. She’d met Marlon from school, and walking to Richard’s they’d chatted.
‘What do you think is the meaning of life?’ Anna asked. She wondered what someone Marlon’s age, starting out on the voyage to adulthood, work, mortgage and other bothersome things, would think.
Marlon paused briefly. ‘It’s when two of the boys at school are picking their football team and you get left out and you don’t cry. You just pretend you don’t care. That’s the meaning of life. Pretending you don’t care.’
Anna was impressed. ‘Excellent answer.’
She’d sat on her car seat in Richard’s workshop drinking tea, listening to music on his radio and rejoicing that it was now chilly enough for the log burner to be lit. Life was splendid.
Once home, she made hot chocolate and a tuna sandwich for Marlon and read her library book as he watched television. Now Marlon had been collected by his mother and Anna was alone. She was debating what to cook for tea. A boiled egg? A bacon roll?
The phone rang.
It was Lola. ‘She’s gone.’
‘Sorry?’ said Anna. ‘Who’s gone?’
‘George. My mother. She’s gone. She went for a nap this afternoon and didn’t wake up. She’s left us. I don’t know what to do. But I had to tell you. You have to know.’ She was panicked, desperate and weeping.
Anna went cold. She felt the blood rush from her face. ‘George? She died? But I spoke to her yesterday. She was fine.’
‘No, she wasn’t. She hasn’t been fine for some time. But she didn’t tell us. I think she gave herself permission to leave us all after she’d seen the kitchen. But she was a nurse. She knew what was coming.’
‘She died? She actually died?’
‘Yes,’ said Lola. ‘I’m sorry. We are all devastated here. Just staring at one another. Don’t know what to say. Emma’s in bits, sobbing. We’re just walking up and down, struck dumb.’
After that she had to go.
‘I can’t speak any longer. I’m finding it hard to breathe.’
Anna put down the phone. She sat on her sofa staring ahead and not seeing anything. Outside the world carried on. In this room, it stopped. It was seven o’clock in the evening and it was getting cold. But Anna sat. At midnight she was still sitting, still staring. She hadn’t moved and she was cold, though she didn’t really notice. She waited for truth and grief to take her.
*
The funeral was on a Friday. Anna calculated it would have been George’s turn to provide a meal. It would have been special. On the way to the crematorium she amused herself by thinking that George had gone pretty far to avoid picking up the bill. George would have laughed. She knew that.
The place was crowded. Anna couldn’t believe it. How many people had come to say goodbye? Over a hundred, she thought. Richard had come with her. ‘Funerals can make you feel lonely,’ he’d said. ‘When you’re saying goodbye to someone special, it’s good to have a friend to see you through the day.’ There was the clattering rumble of many voices and she looked around her, hoping for a familiar face. She wore her best linen trousers and black jacket over a pale blue shirt and had a large dark blue silk scarf draped round her neck. She leaned on her stick. This was going to be dreadful. She was going to weep and wail in public. She was going to call on George to come back to her. She felt lost. Richard took her hand.
Lola was at her side and guided her to the front row. ‘You’re one of the family. We want you to say a few words. You’ve known her longer than anybody here.’
‘I don’t think I can.’
‘Please,’ said Lola. ‘Just a little something. George would want that.’
So Anna agreed and sat for most of the ceremony worrying and dreading the moment when her name would be called. There were no hymns. But ‘Into The Mystic’ hummed out. Lola stepped up and said something about a wonderful, wise mother who laughed and sang and cared. ‘Who knows, she might be with her beloved Willy as I speak. Hope so. She’ll be happy.’ James said his ma was a one-off and could fleece him at poker. Emma couldn’t speak. There were nods and voices of agreement. Lola told the crowd that George’s oldest and best friend had a few words to say.
It had crossed Anna’s mind to talk about the Two Yellows and the encouragement George had given her to read a poem on a bus. She thought to mention their meals and how George had waltzed in her seat in a posh restaurant and how she’d furiously insisted that her garden grow. But instead she said, ‘I am so privileged to have had such a friend. What a friend. She told me to drink wine, play old songs and be happy. I’ll try. But without her it will be hard.’
Nina Simone sang ‘Feelin’ Good’. But, right then, nobody did.
There was a gathering afterwards. People milled about, talking, remin
iscing. Wine was poured and downed. Anna sat on the sidelines, looking on. In the end she went outside and sat on a bench in the grounds, holding her empty glass and staring as she had stared on the night she’d been told of George’s death.
Richard found her. Gently took the glass and put it on the bench. ‘I’ll drive you home.’
It was a quick journey through back streets. Anna looked out of the window and felt loneliness and grief coming for her. She said nothing.
‘Will you be all right?’ asked Richard.
‘No,’ said Anna. ‘But I’ll try. I don’t think I really know how to be all right. How do you go on without your friend?’
38
There’s an Amazing Thing
The year moved on. The winter was cruel. Anna and Marlon walked the short distance from the school to Richard’s workshop bent against stinging rain, wind curling wildly round them. It snowed and their feet froze. Their faces were nipped by icy blasts. Marlon stepped ahead and led the way.
The boat he and Richard were building got bigger. In time they’d take it to the pond and sail it. ‘A trip,’ said Richard. ‘We’ll take supplies. Crisps and biscuits.’
Anna taught Marlon silly poems and took him to the cinema. They shared popcorn and loved the warmth and the dark and the unfolding story on the screen in front of them.
The walks to and from school strengthened Anna’s hip. She could manage without her stick but took it everywhere just in case she needed it. She noted she was doing well. And when spring came she forced herself to go out without her favourite woolly layer between herself and the world.
Richard came by for tea and conversation. Sometimes she cooked him a meal, sometimes he cooked her a meal and sometimes they ate out. They shared jokes and songs.
Anna missed her friend. There were times when she’d think of George and clutch her stomach, bend double and say, ‘Oh.’ There were days when she did not want to leave the flat. She needed to sit still, stare ahead and mourn. She knew George would disapprove.
But today she went out into the sunshine and walked down the street. She noticed she’d said hello many times before she got to the corner. She’d greeted Mother Dainty, Mrs Raincoat, and a new couple who looked interesting. The woman had blue hair and the man a ponytail. Anna called them Mr and Mrs Vegan. She greeted Swagger Boy and Lil. He’d passed his driving test. She was pregnant.
Anna congratulated herself on living like a normal human being and not someone who hid from the world and dreamed. Well, she thought, things change. Things shift and move on. As if anything lasts for ever.
She said hello again. Old Dungarees was shuffling up his drive, pulling his bin. He grunted a return greeting. ‘Just going to get a few things from the shop,’ she told him. He grunted again.
Then she saw Richard walking towards her. He waved and speeded up. She smiled wildly and waved back. And there it was, a sudden spark of happiness. She thought, There’s an amazing thing.