by Nicola Gill
Her mother rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t, Laura. You’ll upset your sister.’
Laura looked at Jess, who was sitting at the table quietly getting on with her homework and didn’t look the least bit upset. Laura noted, not for the first time, how much better her mother and sister seemed to be at this grief business. Although she did often hear Jess sobbing in the middle of the night when she thought everybody else was asleep. The sound leached through the wall and made Laura wish she and Jess still shared a bedroom because then she would just get out of her bed and creep into Jess’ like she used to when she was little (somehow having to open two doors and go into a completely separate room made this seem impossible, so Laura settled for just putting her hand on the wall and hoping that Jess would somehow be able to sense her presence). Even her mother, who normally played the plucky widow to perfection, had her moments. The other day she had lost the locket that Dad had bought her and she’d been inconsolable until it had been found.
‘I’m sorry,’ Laura said, staring at the saggy, dark green armchair that Dad always used to sit in. She could picture him there now, his head buried in the newspaper or shouting at Manchester United on the telly.
Mum raked her hands through her hair and shook her head. ‘It’s hard enough trying to cope with everything without you turning something straightforward into an emotional minefield. I was suggesting a takeaway because I’ve had a long day at work and because I thought it would be a treat for everyone.’
Laura nodded. She had registered the warning shot in the words ‘long day at work’. After years of being a stay-at-home mum (though very much not of the cake baking, gingham apron variety) Evie had been forced by Dad’s death to go back to work. Given the fact that she’d been out of the workplace for fourteen years and had a rather sketchy employment record before that (she’d been a singer on the working man’s club circuit and had a part-time job in a high-end bra shop), Evie had made little fuss about going back to work. In fact, she was often highly entertaining when she talked about her day working in an upmarket department store looking after what she affectionately termed as her ‘fat ladies’ (rejecting the store’s preferred moniker of ‘plus size’). However, if she was feeling aggrieved with the girls in any way – and she was frequently aggrieved – she was quick to point out that she was ‘killing myself to put a roof over their heads’ and that ‘a little gratitude wouldn’t go amiss’.
‘It’s a shame people aren’t bringing us food now,’ Mum said, rifling through the dresser drawer for the takeaway menus.
Laura knew exactly what she meant. In the beginning they had been deluged with lasagnes and roast chicken and cakes. Like the food could somehow fill the cavernous holes in their hearts. Shamefully, a great deal of that food had ended up going bad and being scraped into the bin because none of them could face eating it (not even Laura, who ate through most crises), or even had the wherewithal to put it in the freezer. And now no one came with casseroles anymore.
‘Right,’ Mum said, ‘what do the two of you want – Chinese or Indian?’
Laura shrugged. She just didn’t feel very hungry.
Chapter Twenty
Laura certainly hadn’t imagined that she would be spending the morning of Billy’s birthday at the hospice but, as she’d watched Billy rip open his presents and tuck into his birthday breakfast of pancakes (having scrupulously removed every single blueberry), she’d known it was exactly what she had to do.
She had waited until Billy was completely absorbed in playing with the Lego ship they had bought him and asked Jon if he’d mind if she popped out for a couple of hours. He looked confused when she said she was going to the hospice. Had she forgotten to collect something of her mother’s? She’d said yes because it was a lot easier than trying to explain the real reason.
She walked up to the main entrance, her heart thudding unpleasantly and a feeling of nausea rising. The last time she’d been here …
She propelled herself through the double doors. The woman on reception recognized her and gave her a confused smile.
‘Is Aileen working today?’ Laura said, suddenly realizing how epically stupid she’d been to get on two buses and travel nearly an hour without checking that first. Especially on her son’s birthday and with a kids party tomorrow, for which there still seemed to be so much to organize.
‘She is,’ the receptionist said.
‘May I have a quick word with her?’
The receptionist said she’d see what she could do.
Laura sat in the waiting area staring at a poster for the Samaritans. When she was at uni she’d thought seriously about volunteering for them. A girl in her year had died by suicide and – although Laura hadn’t been close to her – it had just struck her as so awful that someone had felt that alone. When she’d mentioned the idea to her mother, Evie had been appalled. ‘You’d be terrible as a Samaritan, darling – you know how over-emotional you get.’
The waiting room looked out on a small garden. It was a tiny space but the hospice had gone out of their way to make it pretty and, even though it was only the beginning of February, there were already a few flowers bringing splashes of colour. A woman in a wheelchair with an oxygen tank next to her was sitting out there laughing and chatting with a boy who looked like her teenage son. Despite the fact they were both wearing thick coats and the woman was also cloaked in a blanket, it was really too cold to sit outside. But Laura knew the woman probably didn’t have the luxury of waiting until the weather got warmer.
Looking at them made Laura feel sad (or over-emotional, as Evie would have said) so she started scrolling through Facebook. Before she knew it, she was staring at the ad for the job at Inlustris. It really did look pretty much like her dream job (once you’d removed ice cream taster from the equation). A proper ‘bossing it’ type of job; a Jess-type job. Also, unlike Natter, Inlustris was not teetering on the verge of collapse. Laura would never get the job there though. She’d be punching way above her weight.
‘Laura,’ Aileen said, appearing in reception. ‘Did we forget to give you something of your mum’s?’
‘No,’ Laura said. ‘I just wanted a quick word with you.’
‘With me?’ Aileen said in her soft Irish lilt. She brushed away a hair that had sprung free from her bun. ‘We’ll go into the office, sure we will.’
Laura stood up to follow Aileen. She knew just how hard the nurses worked here. How there was always someone who needed their pain meds or to be fed and that the nurses rarely, if ever, took their breaks. She made a mental note that, while she may need to have this conversation, she also ought to make sure she had it quickly.
The office was a small, cluttered room with shelves that were groaning under the weight of folders and big, fat medical books. Aileen smoothed the sleeve of her uniform and looked at Laura expectantly.
‘I wanted to thank you for the kindness and care you gave my mum.’ Aileen smiled but they both knew Laura hadn’t come all the way here to say that. ‘And also, the weekend before my mum died you were on duty on the Saturday—’ Laura had started to cry now and, although Good Grief was fantastically enthusiastic about the healing power of tears, they weren’t helping Laura get the words out. Aileen reached across and gently squeezed her arm and eventually Laura managed to gather herself. ‘That Saturday when you were on duty, you came into the room just as I was snapping at my mum about refusing to take haloperidol—’
‘Laura,’ Aileen said, interrupting. ‘We don’t judge.’
‘I judge myself,’ Laura said quietly. She bit the inside of her cheek and took a deep breath. ‘And the thing I wanted you to know is that I never felt that loved by my mother. She always preferred my sister and I never felt good enough. So that’s why—’ She interrupted herself. ‘No, it’s not why. I mustn’t make excuses for myself. I should have been kinder and more patient. It’s not why. But it is context.’
Aileen was looking at Laura, her expression gentle. If she was thinking she didn’t have t
ime for all this, she was much too kind to show it.
But Laura suddenly knew that Aileen wasn’t the person she really wanted to be having this conversation with. And that, unfortunately, that person was someone she would never be able to talk to again.
Chapter Twenty-One
As she stood at the kitchen sink trying to work her way through several days’ worth of washing up, Laura kept going over the visit to the hospice in her mind. Why hadn’t she tried to have a similar conversation with her mother before she died? Unlike her dad’s death, her mother’s hadn’t come as a shock (well, it had, but she’d still known it was coming). She scrubbed at a greasy pan.
Laura heard Jon coming in from the mystery errand he’d had to run and then a few seconds later heard Billy squealing with delight. She peeled off her rubber gloves and went into the hallway to see Billy raining kisses all over Jon’s face and telling him he was the best daddy in the whole world. ‘Someone’s excited!’ she said.
‘Daddy got me an extra birthday present!’
Laura smiled. It was nice to see Billy so happy. She really wanted him to have a lovely birthday but, despite her best efforts, it had been a kind of low-energy day and she was finding it hard to drag her mind away from the words she’d voiced earlier: I never felt that loved by my mother … I never felt good enough.
Plus, when Billy had opened his presents that morning, Laura had seen in his face that he was a bit disappointed not to get the Nintendo Switch he’d been banging on about. And although she knew they just didn’t have that kind of money and that anyway it wasn’t good for children to get everything they asked for, well, everyone wants to see their kid’s eyes light up, don’t they?
She bent down and peered into the cardboard box that was sitting on the floor. ‘You bought him a hamster?’
‘Guinea pig actually,’ Jon said.
Laura puffed out her cheeks. ‘Without talking to me?’
Jon stared at her, his face a mask of confusion.
Billy’s small hands were reaching for the little ginger and white bundle that was cowering in the corner of the cardboard box. ‘I love him! I love him!’
‘Could you come into the kitchen for a minute?’ Laura said to Jon.
Jon continued to look confused. ‘Don’t take him out of the box yet,’ he said to Billy. He followed her into the kitchen. Laura was standing at the sink with her back to him, her shoulders rigid. She turned and walked across the room to shut the door before she started to speak. ‘Why did you go out and buy Billy a pet without so much as a word to me about it?’
Jon blew out his cheeks. ‘Because it was a surprise and I thought you’d be pleased. I mean, you have to admit today has felt a little flat.’
‘Oh, yes my mother’s death was very badly timed.’
Jon rolled his eyes. ‘That’s not what I meant and you know it. Anyway, Billy’s been going on about wanting a pet for ages.’
Laura bit the inside of her cheek. ‘You could have asked me.’
Jon shook his head. ‘I don’t see what the big deal is. It’s not like I bought him a puppy.’
Laura laughed bitterly. ‘Oh, I’m supposed to be grateful for that, am I? You go out and buy a pet that I’ll have to take care of without even consulting me but, hey, at least it’s not a puppy.’
‘You’re being completely unreasonable. What taking care of does it need? It’s only a guinea pig. You know what? If you’re going to be like this, I’ll take it back.’
Laura spoke in a low hiss. ‘What? Now Billy’s seen it? You’re going to completely break his heart because of Big Bad Mummy? I don’t think so, Jon.’ She opened the kitchen door and went back into the hall where Billy was introducing the guinea pig to some of his toys. ‘This is Marvin Monkey,’ he was saying in a low voice, ‘this is Mr Ted and these are some of my dinosaurs. They look scary but they’re not really.’ Billy’s eyes fixed on Laura’s. ‘He is a beautiful guinea pig, isn’t he, Mummy?’
Laura knelt down next to Billy. She nodded.
‘I’m going to call him Buzz,’ Billy said. Then he shot off towards his bedroom saying he had to get someone else for the guinea pig to meet.
‘I really don’t think there’s much you have to do for them,’ Jon said.
Laura looked at him.
Billy came back with a small pile of plastic action figures which he plonked inside the box with the guinea pig. The guinea pig tried to shove itself even further into the corner.
Laura stood up. ‘Where is its cage?’
‘Oh, I didn’t buy one,’ Jon said. ‘They were stupidly expensive, and I thought it seemed ridiculous when he’ll be quite happy to live in his box. I bought lots of hay and food.’
Laura bit the inside of her cheek. ‘Isn’t a cage quite essential?’
Jon shrugged. ‘The guy in the pet shop said it was, but then he would, wouldn’t he? I reckon it’s baloney. I mean, Buzz doesn’t care what his house looks like, does he?’
‘No, but surely the box is too small? Also, he can’t see out. And it’ll rot when he wees in it.’
‘Then I’ll get him a new cardboard box. He can have a new one every week if you want. That’ll save us the job of cleaning the cage too!’
Laura gave him a look.
‘Okay, okay,’ Jon said. ‘I’ll get him a cage.’
‘Can I pick him up?’ Billy asked.
Jon shook his head. ‘Actually, the guy in the pet shop did say it was best not to for twenty-four hours. Buzz is probably a bit scared right now, and he needs a bit of time to get used to his new surroundings.’ Billy looked crestfallen. ‘Oh, you know what?’ Jon said, ‘The guy was probably just being precious. I reckon giving him a little cuddle couldn’t hurt.’
‘No,’ Laura said in a low voice. ‘No. If the man in the pet shop said we need to give him twenty-four hours, that’s what we’re going to do. Let’s start doing this right.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
Then
Laura hadn’t wanted to see the therapist. When her mother had first said that Laura ‘wasn’t coping well’ with her dad’s death, it felt like a rebuke. Jess and I are managing to be brave but you’re not.
Despite this, Laura had grown to really like coming to see Helen. Helen didn’t seem to mind what her mother referred to as her ‘constant blubbing’. In fact, she always had a huge box of tissues on the pine coffee table that made crying seem not just okay but the ‘done thing’.
Today Laura was telling Helen all about her dad redecorating her doll’s house for her when she was little. How he painted the rooms in the doll’s house exactly the same colours as the rooms in their house and put working lights in it.
Helen listened to everything Laura said as if it was completely fascinating. Laura hadn’t thought Helen was very pretty when she’d first met her. She had small, round glasses and pale, limp hair that stuck to her head like clingfilm. But now Laura thought she was rather beautiful, in a quiet sort of a way.
‘It seems to me that you have a lot of happy memories of your dad,’ Helen said.
Laura nodded. She loved the funny, gentle way that Helen spoke. ‘It seems to me’ was one of her favourite phrases. She also liked ‘I’m wondering if …’ and ‘what I’m hearing is …’
Before Laura had come to the first session, she’d been worried she wouldn’t have anything to say and that she and the then unknown therapist would just sit and stare at each other in silence for a whole awkward hour. But actually, Laura found the words came tumbling out, often almost tripping over each other in the process. ‘Helen is just so easy to talk to,’ she’d gushed to her mother one day as they were driving home from an appointment.
‘Well, of course, she is,’ her mother said, snorting. ‘That’s what she is paid to do.’
That had made Laura feel a bit silly but she knew what she had been trying to say. She was also pretty sure that Helen liked her, even though her mother would no doubt deride such an idea.
Helen was asking Laura to tell her
more about her memories of her dad. Helen wasn’t like other people. Other people liked you to talk less. They asked you how you were doing but then looked uncomfortable if you said anything other than ‘fine’. And they avoided the subject of her dad even though she was often desperate to talk about him. ‘Let’s talk about something more cheerful,’ they’d say. Or, ‘Silly me, upsetting you.’
Helen wasn’t like that. You didn’t have to pretend to be happy around her. Once, during a session, Laura had been crying and talking – she couldn’t remember about exactly what now – and Helen had said simply that whatever it was must have been hard for her. And Laura had felt in that moment that she wished Helen was her mother. She felt very guilty about that, of course, and didn’t mention it to anyone, Helen included.
Laura had even grown to like the hot, stuffy little room, the tiny high window cranked open just enough to hear the thrub thrub of the traffic outside. Sometimes she imagined a grown-up version of herself in the room, except in that scenario she would be the therapist and she would be the one doing the helping. She’d mentioned the idea to her mum, thinking she’d be pleased, but Evie had made a big tsking sound and said that Laura would make a ‘rubbish’ therapist because she was so ‘over-emotional’. Anyway, she’d said, you had to be really clever to be a therapist.
Helen was saying something about their hour being up and Laura stood, smoothing out her school skirt and thinking how weird it was that she did so much crying in this room and still she looked forward to coming here every week.
‘I just want to have a quick word with your mum,’ Helen said, patting down one of the wispy strings of her hair and smiling.
Laura’s mum was sitting in the waiting room reading a magazine and looked surprised to be invited into Helen’s room.
‘I was wondering if family therapy might be something to consider,’ Helen said.