We Are Family
Page 4
Jon brushed the comment aside. ‘We’ll be fine.’
Would they? If Laura did find herself out of work, she wasn’t entirely sure how easy she would find it to get another job or to find freelance work. There were a lot of unemployed journalists out there, most of whom probably had CVs way more impressive than hers. She would never forget her mother’s face when she’d told her she’d been promoted to Real Life Features Editor at Natter. Underwhelmed doesn’t really cover it.
‘It would be good if you didn’t get yourself fired,’ Laura said.
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Jon replied, grinning. ‘Shall I avoid calling Greg a knob to his face then?’
Despite herself, Laura laughed. ‘If you could.’ She mustn’t wind herself up about nothing. Jon might not be Mr Nine-to-Five but he wasn’t completely reckless. Plus, it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that Natter would survive the inexorable ‘pivot to digital’ she was sick to bloody death of hearing about.
‘By the way,’ Jon said. ‘I might need to borrow a bit of cash, just to get me through until the end of the month.’
Just like last month, Laura thought, and then she checked herself because surely she hadn’t become that person? She and Jon were a team; what was hers was his and (theoretically) vice versa. ‘Of course.’
‘Thanks,’ Jon said. ‘Hey, talking of money, you’ll be coming into some, won’t you?’
‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ Laura said, taking a swig of Gaviscon and clicking back to party-bag gifts. ‘Mum probably left everything to Jess.’ She scrolled down the page. ‘Are whistles a bad idea for the party bags? Probably.’
‘Definitely. Anyway, do we even have to do party bags?’
‘Yes. Everyone does them.’ She knew Jon thought she was making too much fuss about this party. They’re five, he’d said to her the other day, how complicated can it be? But she wanted to give Billy a proper party. ‘Do you think we ought to invite Angus Murray?’
‘Angus Murray?’
‘The kid who hits everyone.’
‘No!’
‘It’s just I feel a bit sorry for him. And his mum is so nice.’
Jon shrugged. ‘You ought to make sure you get half.’
‘Half what?’ Laura said, hastily scribbling an extra invitation for Angus.
‘Your mum’s money.’
‘I guess,’ Laura said, putting the invitation into an envelope and sealing it.
‘It’s only fair,’ Jon said. He sat beside her on the sofa and slid his arm around her. She leant her head against his shoulder. ‘I love you,’ he said.
‘I love you too.’ They sat there for a minute in utterly comfortable silence, Jon gently stroking her hair. ‘You really do have to get to work,’ she said finally.
He laughed. ‘I do. Don’t suppose you happen to know where my work jacket is?’
‘Yes, I hid it along with your keys and wallet. You know, just for fun.’
‘All right, sarky-pants.’ He started rooting through a pile of clothes on the floor.
‘We really have to tidy this place up a bit.’
‘It’s fine.’
‘Oooh, I think this would go down well. Rainbow slime.’
‘For the funeral or the party bags?’
Laura laughed.
Jon kissed the top of her head. ‘Bloody hell, the slime is nearly two quid a pop. How many kids did you say you’re inviting?’
‘Twenty-five. No, twenty-six now we’re including Angus.’
Jon laughed and rolled his eyes theatrically. ‘Twenty-six kids coming here? Are you completely mad?’
‘Probably,’ Laura said, laughing.
He kissed her goodbye. ‘I might go for a quick one with Jimmy after we leave the office. That okay?’
Laura knew the subtext here: Your mother died a week ago so you get to make unreasonable demands. But, again, who wanted to be that person? ‘Of course.’
‘Love you, babe. Don’t let your sister grind you down.’
Laura felt a stab of irritation. She could slag off Jess but she didn’t want anyone else joining in.
Chapter Nine
Laura’s mum might be resting in peace but Laura felt anything but peaceful. When she’d joked about her mum leaving everything to Jess, she hadn’t imagined that Jon would take her seriously. Or that the idea would begin to worm its way into her consciousness. Because, now she came to think of it, leaving everything to Jess was just the kind of thing that her mother would do. A slap from beyond the grave.
Stop worrying about something that hasn’t even happened yet, Laura told herself (goodness knows there was already enough to deal with in the realms of reality). But her mind refused her attempts to quieten it. The more she tried to push away any thoughts of an unfair split, the more they forced their way into her mind. She even found herself waking up in the night (finally the insomnia of the properly bereaved, even if hers wasn’t for the right reason).
Which is why Laura had to have this conversation. She dispensed with the elegant run up; there was no easy way to say this. ‘Look, I wanted to talk to you about Mum’s will. If, when we come to look at it, we find out she hasn’t split things equally between the two of us … well …’ Laura’s mouth was dry and she couldn’t look up. ‘I want you to know I don’t think that’s fair. You may have been her favourite but I was her daughter too and we ought to split everything down the middle.’
The night before, Jon had told her that even that was crazy. ‘Jess doesn’t need the money.’
‘That’s not the point,’ Laura had told him. Anyway, she was happy with half. She just wanted things to be fair (for once).
She rooted herself back in the present. ‘I would rather not fall out about this.’
Silence.
She paced around the room, took a swig of Gaviscon. Jon had kept telling her she had to fight this for Billy’s sake. She took a deep breath. ‘I hope we can sort this out amicably but if we can’t, I want you to know I’m going to take legal advice.’
Silence.
Laura’s head pounded and she clenched her fists. She wasn’t a greedy person. In fact, she’d always prided herself on not being materialistic. (Mind you, so had Jon and to hear him spending this inheritance in his head before she’d even got it was quite something. They could pay off all their debts. Put a deposit down on a flat. He’d love somewhere with a home office so he could really concentrate on his writing. He’d even talked about scaling back his shifts at the restaurant. Scaling them back more? Laura felt like saying.)
‘I know you don’t believe me but I promise you I mean it. I’ll take you to court if it comes to that.’
Silence.
The thought of going to court made Laura feel sick. The whole orphan label felt Dickensian enough but now she and Jess were going to turn into those characters who lost their entire inheritance in legal fees: Jarndyce and Jarndyce. Laura did not want to be them. ‘Splitting everything down the middle is the fair thing to do.’ She looked up. Still no response.
But then, what did she expect from one of Billy’s teddy bears? Now she just had to hope the real conversation went better than the rehearsal.
Chapter Ten
Laura should not have opened that bottle of wine and should not have been sitting there winding herself up into a frenzy.
She was angry with everybody.
Jon for being out with Jimmy again.
Billy for refusing to eat his tomatoes or do his reading properly.
Her mother for dying.
Jess for bossing her about. (And saying she was an ‘idiot’ when it came to Jon. And taking the locket without so much as asking. And … well, the list went on.)
Laura poured herself another glass of wine (sod Dry sodding January!), a little sloshing over the edge of the glass. She was supposed to be finishing the Order of Service, addressing Jess’ unwelcome feedback (jeez, it was just like work), but instead she was going from Facebook to Twitter on her laptop. Every now and again a pop-up ad for the
mobile-phone-shaped floral display appeared and Laura would smile. Jess would be so mad.
Earlier, Laura had been to the beauty counter of a big department store having decided that, overdraft notwithstanding, she was going to treat herself to some proper, grown-up make-up; Jess-type make-up. She’d had quite enough of just making do with what was left in the beauty drawer at work because, although Natasha the beauty editor always made a huge thing of how she shared out all the freebies, everyone knew she kept the best stuff for herself and what was left was slim pickings. When Laura had walked into the store, she’d felt giddy with the excitement of it all and suddenly remembered her mother sitting at restaurant tables and fishing a rose-gold compact out of her handbag in order to touch up her lipstick while Laura looked on, knowing she could never be so impossibly glamorous. A woman approached and asked if she could help. Laura explained that yes, she was looking for some new ideas, that she was a bit rubbish with this sort of thing.
‘Take a seat,’ the woman had said, half smiling. She’d examined Laura under the spotlight, her perfect brows furrowing. ‘Oh dear,’ she’d said. ‘Oh dear, dear.’
Laura felt hot with shame. Whatever was the matter? Did she have chronic halitosis?
‘Your skin,’ the woman said, poking at her. ‘It is so dehydrated. So prematurely aged. So damaged.’
The memory made Laura feel horrible all over again. She poured herself more wine and was surprised to see she had finished the bottle. Never mind – tonight she needed it.
She had left the store £148 lighter, and it wasn’t just the price that had made her eyes water. Her hair was something of a disaster zone but she hadn’t actually thought her skin was that bad. Granted, her regimen, as the woman had insisted on calling it (it was all Laura could do not to shout: we call it regime in England), was somewhat of the quick cleansing-wipe sort but it seemed to do the job.
She bet Jess had a really full-on regime/regimen. She probably blogged about it. Without thinking, Laura found herself typing in ‘StyleMaven’. And there was Jess looking radiant and talking about all manner of things from how she’d renovated her living room (err, paid someone a bloody fortune to do it) to her high-street cashmere edit. There’s something so glorious about cashmere, Jess trilled, it just adds a touch of luxury to everyday life.
Pah! As if everyone could afford bloody cashmere every day. Honestly it made Laura so furious. Jon was right when he said Jess had no idea how real people lived. Someone ought to put her straight; remind her that not everyone had a hundred quid to blow on a jumper. Laura couldn’t say it, of course, but she wished someone would.
She took a swig of her wine, noting that she really did feel quite drunk and perhaps it would have been sensible to have more than a chocolate HobNob for dinner. The pop-up of the mobile-phone-shaped floral display appeared again and, purely for her own entertainment, she added it to her basket and filled out the order details.
She still had her order for the party-bag presents open too. She couldn’t decide whether to go for the rainbow slime or the football erasers and pencils. Either way, she mustn’t forget to complete the order once she’d made up her mind.
Perhaps she would get her hair cut before the funeral? There must be a hairdresser out there somewhere that could tame her unruly locks? If her hair looked better it might distract from her terrible skin. She Googled good haircuts for bad hair. She quite fancied a swishy bob … could her hair ever be swishy?
Maybe she could tell Jess that cashmere wasn’t an everyday choice for most people? Not in person, of course – where it would go down about as well as the proverbial cup of cold sick – and not even online as herself, but she could say it anonymously. She’d be doing Jess a favour, really. No good leaving her to say things that would garner lots of hate.
Laura quickly created a new account. Now what could she call herself? ILoveDoughnuts? No, Jess would know that was her. Truthteller? No, too portentous. MsRealityCheck? Perfect.
She started typing. Perhaps don’t talk about cashmere as an everyday choice? I’m pretty sure if you’re a teaching assistant or a nurse you don’t think like that.
She posted it and felt an immediate rush of shame. She had always thought of herself as a reasonably decent person – she bought the Big Issue, considered the interests of people less fortunate than her when she voted, avoided trolling her own sister.
On the other hand, she hadn’t said anything really horrible. And it would do Jess good to think more about some of the things she said. She needed a reality check.
Laura finished the last of her wine. She wondered what time Jon would roll in. At least if she’d gone to bed before he got in, she wouldn’t have to listen to him going on about her mother’s will again. She was tired of having to remind him that she hadn’t actually seen the thing yet; that it wasn’t entirely impossible that her mother had split everything straight down the line. Tired of him looking dubious and saying he hoped so but that it didn’t hurt to be prepared. I’ve been having practice conversations with Billy’s teddy bear, Laura would think irritably – what more do you want?
Laura stretched and decided that there was no way she could face the Order of Service tonight. It would have to get done along with everything else on the long list of things she was hoping to squish into tomorrow.
She could at least order those party-bag presents before she went to bed though. The rainbow slime was perfect and there was absolutely no need to overthink it. She clicked on the order and paid before she could change her mind.
Chapter Eleven
Then
Laura’s chest hurt and her legs screamed but she didn’t stop running. She was catching up with Charlotte Davies. She was overtaking her!
Laura so wanted to do well in this race. The day had not got off to a good start. First of all, there had been a scene because Mum had forgotten to wash her red T shirt and Laura had been all ‘bratty’ about it. Mum had said she should have reminded her and although Laura was pretty sure she had, and more than once, she didn’t argue. Her mum told her she’d just have to wear another T shirt and Laura had started to cry because she was on the red team. In the end she wore an orangey-red polo shirt of Dad’s that came down almost to her knees.
Dad was at the side of the running track cheering her name and Laura went faster and faster. She overtook Ruth Morris. She was near the front. She could hardly believe this was happening. Jess was the one who was good at running. (Jess was the one who was good at everything.)
After the upset about the T shirt, there had been another row at breakfast when Mum took Jess’ side in a dispute about the last of the cornflakes (even though Laura ought to get priority, of course, since she had her race that morning whereas Jess was just going to sit in a classroom). Then they were late leaving the house because Mum was hunting around trying to find some flat shoes to wear for the mothers’ race. Laura stood in the hallway feeling panicky and her dad told her not to worry because he’d get her there on time even if that meant he had to drive like Stirling Moss. Laura had no idea who Stirling Moss was but she smiled anyway.
Laura could see the finish line, but her heart felt like it was going to burst out of her chest. She felt a bit sick too and wished she hadn’t eaten so many cornflakes. The trouble was, she’d felt she had to after making such a big fuss about getting them.
‘Come on, Laura!’ her dad shouted.
She kept going, squeezing her eyes shut as she burst through the finish line.
She was third! She was going to get an actual trophy!
Her dad was suddenly there, high-fiving her and wrapping her in a huge hug. The lemony smell of his aftershave mingled with the smell of freshly-cut grass. He told Laura he was so proud of her, his little superstar!
Laura leaned over and put her hands on her thighs while she got her breath back. Even though it wasn’t quite ten in the morning, it was already baking hot. Laura had commented on how warm it was when they’d first arrived and her mum had laughed and rolled her
eyes. ‘It’s a beautiful day. Honestly, there’s no pleasing some people!’
Mrs Harris was using a loud hailer to announce the next race even though Mrs Harris was the last person in the world to need a loud hailer as she had a built-in one.
‘Where’s Mum?’ Laura said, thinking she must still be somewhere near the start of the track.
Dad pointed in the direction of the gates and Laura saw her mother, resplendent in hot pink, surrounded by a clump of people, all of whom seemed to be roaring with laughter.
‘She got chatting,’ Dad said, shrugging ruefully.
‘She didn’t see me run?’ Laura said.
Dad shook his head. ‘No, but we’re going to tell her all about it and she’s going to be so super-proud of you!’
Laura nodded and swallowed down the lump in her throat.
Chapter Twelve
Laura cut a rectangle of baking parchment and used it to line the base of the traybake tin. ‘What are you going to wear for the funeral? And what’s Billy going to wear?’
Jon didn’t look away from the football on the TV. ‘I dunno. Trousers, a shirt?’
‘Don’t you have a suit?’
‘What am I, an accountant?’
‘What’s an accountant?’ Billy said, looking up from the dinosaurs that he was lining up across the floor.
‘Someone who is clever with money,’ Laura said vaguely as she got out butter, caster sugar and flour. She started to zest a lemon. I thought I’d do one lemon drizzle and one chocolate cake, she’d said to Jess. Perfect, her sister had said. She wasn’t always difficult. Perhaps she’d be similarly easy-going if Laura had to talk to her about splitting their mum’s money straight down the middle? (Yeah, because the decision over what cakes to have was just like the divvying up of thousands of pounds.) God, Laura hoped she would never have to have that chat with her sister. Apart from anything else, what really mattered to Laura wasn’t the money itself but whether her mother had treated her and Jess equally. If Evie hadn’t done that, then no amount of cash could make Laura feel okay.