by Nicola Gill
‘We can have Mum’s favourite songs,’ Laura continued. Don’t ask me what, don’t ask me what!
‘Like what?’ Jess said, straight-backed, discouraging and palpably amazed to have her decisions questioned.
Laura’s head spun. She could barely think of a single song, let alone one her mother had loved. What the bloody hell was she going to suggest? ‘Another One Bites the Dust’? ‘Err …’
‘It’s just she did say she wanted live music.’
Laura sighed. ‘Fine.’
‘But if you’re not hap—’
‘Fine.’
Robert scribbled in his notepad. Did they know how many readings they were having and who would be doing them?
Laura sat back in her seat and stared out of the window. Let Jess sort everything out. She’d probably have made a spreadsheet by now. She was, after all, The Big Sister, Chief of Chivvying, Queen of the Family WhatsApp.
Laura let her mind drift to the night before. Her friend Amy had popped over with a huge bunch of flowers. Amy and Laura worked together at Natter magazine and, coincidentally, lived a few roads apart.
‘I’m so, so sorry,’ Amy had said to Laura, her eyes filling with tears, at which point her toddler Josh, who was balanced on her hip, started to cry too and Laura had been the one dry-eyed person in the awkward three-person hug. Laura felt like a bit of a fraud. She had had a very complicated relationship with her mum. Yes, she was sad. But also a bit relieved. And she knew that made her a terrible person, but it also happened to be true.
She tuned back into the conversation in the funeral director’s just as it turned to flowers. Jess – of course – had very strong feelings about them. There were to be no chrysanthemums and no lilies, she said, shuddering at the very thought. They also didn’t want red and they didn’t want pink.
Even Robert looked a bit bemused. There were two florists he normally recommended, both local. Now, he said, that just about concluded things for the day but there was just one other matter. Would the deceased want make-up?
Laura and Jess didn’t miss a beat. Yes, the deceased absolutely would.
On that much, at least, the two of them could agree.
Chapter Three
Laura wasn’t quite sure why she’d agreed to have lunch with her sister. Because it seemed too churlish to say no when Jess suggested it? Because by that point Laura’s stomach was growling so loudly she assumed people in France might be able to hear it? Or because she couldn’t face being alone with her contradictory and scary mass of emotions?
She and Jess sat across the table from each other in awkward silence.
‘So, how’s Jon?’ Jess said.
Christ, her sister was annoying. The seemingly innocent question with its oh-so-glaring subtext: How’s that loser you live with? Is he managing to be supportive? He didn’t exactly get off to the best start by being in the pub when Mum was dying.
Laura was still smarting about a conversation she’d had with her mother a couple of months earlier. ‘Jess and I both think you’re an idiot when it comes to that man.’ The words had stung, of course, but what was even worse was the idea of the two of them talking about her behind her back – a witches’ coven.
‘Jon’s fine. He’s been fantastic.’
‘Good,’ Jess said.
Laura stared wistfully at a group of women a few tables away who were laughing loudly at something.
‘It’s weird to think Mum and Dad are both gone, isn’t it?’ Jess said.
‘Very.’ Laura’s mind flashed back to that day when she was twelve. Coming home from school, seeing Uncle James at the door and thinking it was nice that he’d come over – and on a weekday, too – but then looking at his face and knowing something was terribly wrong. Her mother on the couch. There had been an accident, their father was dead. The world tunnelling around Laura. Not being able to understand. An accident was when their little cousin peed his pants or someone broke a vase.
‘I guess we should decide what we want to eat,’ Jess said.
Laura picked up her menu. ‘I’m supposed to be on a diet,’ she said, more to herself than anyone else.
‘The grilled salmon is nice here,’ Jess said.
The waitress came over to take their order. She was wearing a lipstick that was almost black and said ‘perfect’ like a verbal tic. One Diet Coke and one sparkling water? Perfect. Some mixed olives? Perfect.
‘I’ll have the fishcakes, please,’ Laura said. Jess’ face dropped for a fraction of a second. She had ordered the grilled salmon and was no doubt perplexed by Laura not doing the same despite being told to. Laura could practically see a flashing neon thought bubble above her sister’s head: Thought you were supposed to be on a diet. ‘And chips,’ Laura added.
‘Perfect,’ the waitress said.
Laura glanced across at the table of laughing women. Maybe they wouldn’t think it was too weird if she joined them?
‘So I guess we’ll have the wake at my house?’ Jess said.
Laura felt her shoulders go rigid. Jess’ huge house in Clapham looked like houses do in magazine spreads, right down to the large bowl of lemons on the island unit that always made Laura wonder where all the normal fruit was kept and why there wasn’t a lone banana that was too ripe for anyone to eat but not yet overripe enough to be consigned to the compost bin. To say that Laura and Jess’ homes were different would have been to employ a powerful use of understatement. ‘We could have the wake in a pub or a restaurant?’ Neutral territory.
‘If you prefer. It’s just an additional expense though.’
‘Who’s having the fishcakes?’ the waitress asked, arriving with their food.
‘Me,’ Laura said.
‘Perfect.’
‘It probably wouldn’t cost much,’ Laura said.
‘Probably not,’ Jess said, taking a mouthful of salmon. ‘But, if we have it at my house, it won’t cost us anything.’
‘Fine.’
‘Look, if you really feel strongly about it …’
Jess always did this: bullied you into doing what she wanted and then suddenly came over all reasonable when it was too late. ‘I said it’s fine.’
The waitress reappeared. Was everything okay over here? They told her it was. Perfect. She beamed.
‘We need to sort through Mum’s things,’ Jess said.
Laura nodded. It was typical of her sister to be in a rush about something like this but, for once it suited her too. Since Jon had scaled back his shifts at the restaurant, they’d got into a bit of debt. ‘Yeah, we’ll want to get the flat sold as soon as possible.’
Jess speared a piece of broccoli. ‘Well, actually I’ve been thinking about that. The market isn’t great at the moment so I think it would make more sense to rent it out for a while.’
What? No! Not everyone had the big, fat financial cushion behind them that her sister did. ‘I don’t want to do that.’
Jess’ brow scrunched. ‘It makes much more sense financially.’ Her tone was so imperious and emphatic Laura wanted to slap her. ‘I don’t think we’re going to get loads for the flat at the best of times,’ Jess continued. ‘I know Mum had already borrowed a bit against the value: an equity release scheme.’
‘How much?’
Jess chewed thoughtfully. ‘No idea. The power of attorney still hadn’t been registered by the time Mum died so I never did get to help her sort out her finances.’
Laura was ashamed to find she took a small amount of pleasure from this. For all her brisk efficiency, Jess hadn’t managed to hurry along the Office of the Public Guardian.
Laura had been hurt when her mum announced that she wanted Jess to be her power of attorney. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Laura!’ Evie had said, noticing her starting to cry. ‘Don’t be so over-emotional. It’s just Jess is so much more financially savvy than you. Or me, for that matter.’
Laura knew she shouldn’t let it upset her. Or, indeed, surprise her. Her mother was always going to pick Jess. She was b
etter with money (notwithstanding her husband’s big, fat salary). Also, Laura had spent her life on the bench. She took a mouthful of her fishcakes. They were cold in the middle and she knew she ought to send them back but she couldn’t face the conversation with the waitress: not perfect. ‘I want to sell the flat straight away.’
Jess put her head to one side. ‘Let’s decide once we’ve gone through all the financial stuff.’
She always had to be in charge. As though because she’d been born two years and a month earlier than Laura, it was her God-given right. ‘Fine,’ Laura said wearily.
A message flashed up on Jess’ phone screen and reflexively Laura glanced across.
‘Stop reading my messages,’ Jess snapped, snatching the phone off the table.
‘I’m not reading your stupid messages!’ Laura said. She was taken aback actually. Jess wasn’t normally like this. Bossy and controlling, yes, but short-fused not so much. What did she have to hide, anyway? Probably a series of lovey-dovey messages from Ben (they were the type for nauseating pet names).
There was an uncomfortable silence, which Jess broke. ‘Going back to the subject of the wake, I don’t think we need to go crazy in terms of food. But we do need to offer something because some people will have come a long way.’
Laura put a chip in her mouth. Her diet could start tomorrow. Well, not tomorrow; when the funeral was out of the way. No one should have to be thinking about calories and coffins at the same time.
‘Maybe just some sandwiches and a couple of cakes. I wondered if you’d do the cakes. You know how much better you are at baking than me.’
Laura nodded, wishing she didn’t feel like the child who’d been given the fairy cakes to make so she wouldn’t cause any trouble.
Chapter Four
Then
Laura could still smell her mother in the air. Years later, she would recognize the scent as Shalimar and the merest waft of it could cause the breath to catch in her throat. But, at five years old, it was just the smell of her mother.
She clutched her monkey tighter and squeezed her eyes shut to hold in the tears. They had started when Daddy had been reading her a bedtime story, but then he did all the funny voices of the characters in the book and gave Laura such a big cuddle she forgot to be sad. But when Mum had leaned over to kiss her goodnight, Laura felt the tears coming again and she was furious with herself for being such a stupid baby. Jess wasn’t crying. She was lying on her tummy on the other bed with her feet in the air, flicking through her book.
Mum was cross too. ‘Oh, Laura,’ she said, using that voice. ‘Don’t spoil Mummy’s evening!’
A siren wailed in the background.
Laura had somehow swallowed down the tears, told her mum she looked beautiful and been rewarded with a smile. Her mum held open her arms and Laura snuggled in, enjoying the sensation of the slippery satin dress under her fingertips. Her mum was wearing the new necklace that Dad had bought for her birthday and Laura felt relieved that she really liked it (the shoes he had got her last year not having been a success). The necklace was heart-shaped and apparently you could put teeny-weeny photos inside it. Laura was a bit worried there was only room for two photos though. If Mum put Dad on one side, would she have to share the other side with Jess? Or would it just be a picture of Jess?
Laura hugged too hard and too long. ‘You’re ruining my hair,’ her mother had said, pulling away from Laura and surveying her gravely. Laura pulled at her hot, itchy nightie. ‘Come on now, be a big brave girl like your sister.’
Laura nodded. Last time Mummy and Daddy had gone out, Mummy had been cross with her for making ‘such a fuss’. So tonight, she had tried extra hard to be good. She hadn’t looked sulky when Jess showed off yet another sticker from school, she’d eaten all her yucky supper, she’d gone up to the bath the second her mother told her to even though Blue Peter wasn’t finished.
But now she’d spoiled it.
Chapter Five
Order of Service
Phone funeral director
Book Calvin the Clown
Tidy flat
Laura looked at her notepad and sighed. This was the first time in her life she’d made a to-do list. She was turning into her sister. Only she wasn’t, because none of the things on Laura’s list were getting ‘to done’. (The clown wasn’t for the funeral – that really would be weird – he was for Billy’s birthday party, which was three days afterwards.)
Today was Blue Monday, which meant it was officially the most depressing day of the whole year. A day when the ‘stay in PJs all day and eat brie for breakfast’ joy felt as if it was a lifetime ago and not just weeks earlier. And surely there must be extra misery points for the bereaved? Laura wasn’t sure she was extra miserable though; in fact, she would have been hard-pressed to say exactly how she did feel since it seemed to change dramatically from one second to the next. Although if she’d had to settle on one constant, guilt would have been a strong contender. She felt guilty for not getting to her mother’s bedside in time, guilty for mindlessly surfing the internet when she was supposed to be making funeral arrangements and guilty that she still seemed to be able to both sleep and eat (really eat – perhaps it could be deemed ‘comfort eating’? Except, it was how she ate all the time …).
The trouble was there was no manual for how to behave. At one time, when someone died, you drew the curtains, donned a wardrobe of black (which was pretty much Laura’s normal wardrobe) and went into a period of almost hiding. Now the bereaved were expected to carry on with their day-to-day lives, but this presented so many challenges. Laura felt weird chatting to a mum acquaintance in the school playground and not mentioning her mother’s death – it was like it was of no consequence – but she felt uncomfortable at the thought of bringing it up too – I don’t deserve your sympathy. And what about laughter? Jon had been telling her a funny story the other day about a couple of women who were in front of him in the queue in one of the delis in Dulwich Village. One of the women was lamenting her child’s ‘laziness’ because he had said he was too tired to do his homework after being at school all day, then swimming fifty lengths at Tiger Sharks and going to his piano lesson. ‘How old would you guess the poor kid was?’ Jon said. Laura said she didn’t know. ‘Younger than Billy. Four – tops!’ And they’d both laughed and laughed, but then Laura heard herself and thought: your mother died three days ago.
Laura pulled up the draft of the Order of Service she’d started work on earlier. She’d do some more – even if she couldn’t control her inappropriate laughter or moods, she could at least make sure she did the things on her list. Jess would have done everything on hers by now and would be busily making new lists.
One person who didn’t seem particularly blue this Blue Monday was Jon, who had gone out drinking again with his mate Jimmy the Guitar. ‘Just a quick one after leaving the office.’ Jon and Jimmy loved that gag – neither of them had ever worked in an office in their lives. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’ Jon had said to her tonight. ‘Of course not,’ she’d replied, because she didn’t really feel right playing the grief card and because they both prided themselves on her being a cool chick who didn’t nag about stuff like that. She would kind of like him back now though. And preferably not completely hammered.
Laura’s eyes landed on the book she had found herself buying on impulse the other day: Good Grief. She had no idea what had made her get it. She’d only read the ‘Stages of Grief’ chapter so far and it had got on her nerves by implying that bereavement was simply a tick list. Also her grief wasn’t like other people’s grief, so the book would almost certainly be utterly useless to her. Terrible jaunty title too, now she came to think of it.
She didn’t suppose Good Grief would make any mention of sometimes feeling almost happy about your mother’s death. That wouldn’t be in there because other people – normal people – wouldn’t suddenly be hit by this strange feeling of lightness; a feeling that they’d been released from a stronghold
and could finally be who they wanted to be. That was the feeling that made Laura feel like a very bad person.
Laura felt like she ought to be doing better with grief – not to mention life in general – since she was the agony aunt for Natter magazine and, as such, the purveyor of knowledge and wisdom. When the trained counsellor who used to write the column had become the victim of budget cuts, Laura’s editor had ‘asked’ her to take on the role. Laura was horrified. ‘I’m not qualified,’ she’d stuttered.
‘School of life,’ her editor had shot back without looking up from the pages she was checking.
Despite Laura’s reservations about her ability to dispense sage advice, being an agony aunt had quickly become her favourite part of her job. She spent way longer than she should reading the emails and letters that came in and carefully crafting her replies. She’d even insisted on doing this week’s column despite being on compassionate leave. (The rest of her work they could split between the team. She wasn’t going to fight anyone for the chance to interview the woman who was in love with her father-in-law.)
‘Mummy,’ Billy said, appearing in the doorway. ‘I can’t sleep.’
Every now and again Billy had a certain expression, a sort of hesitant half-smile that reminded Laura very much of her dad. Once, when Billy was about three, Laura had made the mistake of pointing this out to her mother and been amazed by her mother not only disagreeing but disagreeing in a way that suggested the comparison irked her. ‘Oh, I don’t see that at all.’ Laura hadn’t said anything but she was hurt by the realization that Evie wouldn’t cherish the likeness.
Laura got up from the table and picked Billy up, burying her face in his warm, yeasty-smelling neck. ‘How about Mummy lies down with you? Just for five minutes though.’
Billy nodded approvingly.
She tucked him under his dinosaur duvet and lay down next to him.
‘Grandma is dead!’ Billy trilled.