by Nicola Gill
Jess put the picture back on the shelf. ‘I’ll do this cupboard,’ she said, sinking to her hands and knees.
The two of them worked side by side. Oh, by the way, Jon and I have split up, Laura kept repeating in her mind. Part of her was desperate to say something. It had now been four days since Jon had moved out and Laura hadn’t told a soul. But she couldn’t stomach seeing the I-told-you-so look on Jess’ face.
Besides, Laura didn’t know if the split from Jon was permanent. Although the two of them had talked yesterday about when and how they were going to have The Talk with Billy. That felt pretty final.
Laura could feel herself starting to cry and was torn between desperately wanting Jess to notice and desperately wanting her not to. She quickly decided on the latter and buried her head deep in the cupboard until she’d recovered herself.
She reached into her handbag, pulled out a bottle of Gaviscon and took a swig.
‘You seem to get heartburn quite a lot,’ Jess said.
Heartburn is the least of my problems, Laura thought. She shrugged and went back to sorting through the cupboard. The traffic throbbed in the distance and the smell of a roast dinner started to waft through the floorboards. Laura’s stomach rumbled. She hoped Jon was giving Billy a proper lunch, that he hadn’t just taken him to McDonalds again.
‘Do you remember when I was pregnant with Lola and Mum told me that she couldn’t believe there was only one baby in there?’ Jess said, giggling. ‘She really was the absolute master of the drive-by insult!’
‘What about the first time she met Jon?’ Laura said. ‘We were all having dinner and Mum suddenly said to me, “Do you remember that time you had thrush, darling? You were nearly driven mad by the itching.”’
Jess clamped her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh God, she did, didn’t she? And what about that time she told Auntie Ann she thought it was very brave of her to have another child considering how naughty the first two were.’
There were plenty more where that came from and the pair of them traded memories back and forth as they packed things into boxes.
It felt weird to be laughing like this. But it also felt good.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
It’s not good when you want to slap the person you’re interviewing.
Laura came across all sorts of people in the course of her work and generally managed to maintain a modicum of journalistic impartiality. But today she was struggling.
Tamsin had faked having terminal cancer to try to get a charity to pay for her wedding.
What kind of person does that? Laura thought, sitting opposite from her answer.
They’d met in the dingy bar of a budget hotel that smelled of artificial pine masking the faint, but unmistakeable, whiff of vomit. The only other customer in the bar was a dead-eyed middle-aged man in a sagging grey suit who was staring at a laptop screen as he knocked back whisky with grim determination.
‘I’m assuming your fiancé was in on the scam?’ Laura said.
Tamsin shook her mass of sleek blue-black curls. ‘No. I told Kevin I was ill.’
Laura had no idea how anyone could lie like that. She felt guilty not mentioning the break-up with Jon to anyone, and even though she knew it was her right to wait until it felt a little less raw before she talked about it, it still made her feel deceitful, especially when the likes of Jess or Amy mentioned him. She reckoned Jess would be particularly unimpressed by Laura withholding the news.
‘Kevin would have blown it if I’d told him,’ Tamsin said. ‘He can’t keep his big mouth shut, especially when he’s had a bevvy or two.’
Laura studied Tamsin. Her mum had been fond of saying that at twenty you got the face God gave you but by thirty you got the face you deserved. Laura had always thought it nonsense but, looking at the twenty-eight-year-old opposite her, it actually made sense. On paper Tamsin had model good looks, but there was an underlying hardness that was starting to calcify.
‘I told everyone I was ill,’ Tamsin said. ‘Kevin, my friends, my mum, my kids.’
‘Your kids?’ Laura said weakly. ‘That must have been hard?’
Tamsin shrugged. ‘Sometimes. When they cried and stuff. But I knew they’d be extra-happy when I told them I was going to pull through after all. That it would seem like a miracle. And I was going to take them on the honeymoon to the Caribbean with us. So, y’know, they’d have done well out of it.’
Laura tried to force a smile. She’d probably be dealing better with Tamsin if she’d had a nicer week. On Monday, she’d woken up to find she had no heating or hot water, on Tuesday she’d come down with a streaming cold, and on Wednesday she’d broken a filling. Thursday and Friday had been without specific incident but of course there was the mood music: her mother’s death, breaking up with Jon, Billy acting like he needed a course in anger management, the very real fear of losing her job if all the rumours about Natter going under proved to be true. Not to mention the fact that it was cold, grey February – the only saving grace of the winter month was that it had the decency to be short.
‘You said on the phone you did quite a lot of research?’ Laura said.
‘Yeah,’ Tamsin said, before launching into a tale about how she’d read loads and loads of stuff about ovarian cancer so she could get all the details just right. ‘I even said my GP first thought it was IBS,’ she said with palpable pride. ‘The symptoms mean the two things often get mistaken for each other, you see.’
Laura blew her nose and tried not to scream that her mother had died just a month earlier from real cancer. ‘Tell me a little about how you got found out.’
Tamsin shrugged. ‘Can I get another coffee?’
Laura beckoned to the man uninterestedly polishing glasses behind the bar.
‘Some old bag at the charity called the hospital,’ Tamsin said.
‘Uh huh,’ Laura said. Although she’d already researched the details, she wanted to hear it all from Tamsin directly. The charity had asked Tamsin for documentation so Tamsin then faked a letter from an NHS consultant. The letter, however, seemed a ‘bit off’ to Esther at the charity, so she’d called the hospital, only to find out that they knew nothing of Tamsin’s supposed condition.
‘So the police came and arrested me for fraud.’
Laura nodded. In the judge’s statement, she’d commented that Tamsin showed little or no remorse. ‘And did you feel bad about what you did?’
Tamsin’s eyes narrowed. ‘A bit. But you see all these pictures of celebrities having these dream weddings and you think well, why shouldn’t I have that too?’ She squared her shoulders.
The barman came over with Tamsin’s coffee and Laura rubbed her pounding forehead. She thought about people in the office wishing each other a ‘Happy Friday’ this morning. This was not a happy Friday. In fact, Laura suddenly didn’t know if she could sit here with this dreadful woman in this depressing place for a second longer. Or whether or not she could bring herself to write up Tamsin’s ‘story’ without eviscerating her.
But then, what were Laura’s choices? She was a single mother now.
She was lucky to have her job and this was where she had to be. Sipping vile coffee with a woman who thought it was perfectly okay to tell her kids that Mummy was dying.
This was Laura’s lane.
Chapter Forty
Laura was lying alone and sobbing in the middle of Billy’s semi-collapsed den.
Billy was spending his first ever night away from her.
Jon and Laura were over.
Her mother was dead.
Her father was still dead.
Earlier she’d been okay. Well … not okay, but not like this. She’d watched Billy pick up his little backpack, then checked he had his grubby monkey he couldn’t sleep without, and promised to feed the guinea pig and tell him a bedtime story.
Jon had noticed her getting a bit watery-eyed. ‘It’s just he’s never been away from me for a night,’ she’d explained.
‘What? Even when he was
in hospital?’
She shook her head. ‘I stayed with him.’ She was surprised Jon didn’t remember. Every detail was etched on her mind. The doctors telling them Billy needed an operation but not to worry (NOT TO WORRY? DID THEY HAVE CHILDREN?), the smell of the recovery room, the child in the other bed who was never going to get better.
When Jon and Billy left, she didn’t lose it completely. She told herself that, after her horrible week, it would be nice to have a Saturday evening to herself; she could get things done and then get an early night to see off this cold. She started half-heartedly trying to tidy up the flat and was doing quite well until she was poleaxed by the sight of one small and two large plastic dinosaurs that Billy had grouped together as a family.
She pulled Billy’s duvet tighter around her, trying desperately to get the smell of him. That was why she’d come in here – to get a bit of Billy. And, yes, she knew it was faintly ridiculous to be in a child’s den without a child, but needs must.
Tamsin, the woman who’d faked cancer, had a daughter the same age as Billy, as well as a three-year-old. How she’d thought it was okay to tell them she was dying was beyond Laura.
Laura lay on her back, the tears rolling down into her hair. She and Billy had used almost every sheet and blanket in the house to make the den. Laura had even strung up some fairy lights. Was she overcompensating? You bet she was. I may have ruined your life, kiddo, but look at this den we’ve built.
She felt desperately, desperately alone. ORPHAN, ORPHAN, ORPHAN, screamed a voice in her head. She wanted her mum here to give her a hug, despite the fact her mum hadn’t exactly been the most sympathetic person. If you were recruiting for people to take calls for the Samaritans, Evie would not be first choice (ironic, given the grave reservations she’d had about Laura wanting to do just that). If you wanted someone to make you laugh or to have fun with, she could well be a good bet. But as a purveyor of TLC? Not so much. When Laura had been dumped by her first ever boyfriend, Evie had said he was a ‘dreadful boy anyway’. When Laura had failed to get the grades she needed for uni, Evie had said she should have worked harder, like her sister. When Laura was in hospital after a traumatic twenty-three-hour labour, Evie had whirled in, pushed the IV cables aside, sat on the bed and talked about what a day she’d had.
So maybe Laura wasn’t wishing for her mother, exactly; she was wishing for a mother.
She should have gone out tonight, made the most of not having to get up and play Power Rangers at 6 a.m. The thought made her cry harder.
The air was still filled with the acrid smell of burning. Before the den building, she and Billy had made cupcakes. If there was a parenting activity that so richly illustrated the gap between expectation and reality as much as cooking with a small child, Laura was hard-pressed to think of it. The expectation was all about cosy togetherness with a delicious end-product to boot. Eat your heart out, Nigella! The reality, however, usually found Laura screeching, ‘No, not in that bowl’ and, ‘Careful, don’t get shell in it!’ within the space of about thirty-four seconds. And, oh God, the mess! How could one batch of (frankly disgusting) cupcakes make so much mess?
She wiped her nose on her sleeve and tried to take a breath. She wished Billy was still in the den with her, his warm little body curled up against hers.
Yesterday, she and Jon had talked to Billy and it had gone better than she could possibly have hoped for. Everyone had been calm. Billy had listened to what they had to say and then asked if he could go and play.
It had been almost too easy.
Later that evening, she’d told Billy he had to clear up some of the Lego all over his bedroom floor. She was tired of treading on it all the time.
‘You’re being horrible!’ Billy screamed. ‘That’s why Daddy went away!’
Laura steeled herself, told herself that this was to be expected and she mustn’t be hurt. But she was hurt. Later, when Jess called, asking about when they were next going over to their mum’s flat (Laura was amazed Jess had managed to go nearly a week without pestering), Laura had been on the verge of telling her everything. She desperately wanted Jess to say that Billy didn’t mean what he said, of course he didn’t, and that he was going to be fine and so was Laura. That it wasn’t crazy to throw out a man you still loved because you’d realized he was never going to be the things you needed him to be. But Jess didn’t get an opportunity to say any of these things because Laura found herself keeping quiet until suddenly she realized that Jess had started talking about where they should scatter their mum’s ashes. Laura sighed heavily, saying that Evie had only been dead a month – what was the rush, for goodness’ sake?
Billy’s pillow was damp with Laura’s tears. Good Grief had a whole chapter about ‘sad not being bad’ but Laura couldn’t see how working herself up into this sort of state was helpful to anyone. She needed to pull herself together. Get out of this den, go to her grown-up-sized bed and sleep. Wasn’t she always saying she’d like a lie-in? Now she could have one.
She wondered if Billy was asleep. She knew Jon wouldn’t have put him to bed on time but surely by 11.30 p.m. he’d be in bed? He was only five. ‘Is there a spare bed at Jimmy’s?’ she’d asked. Jon had looked at her as if she was crazy. ‘Oh yeah, it’s in the bedroom in the east wing. The one with the ensuite bathroom and walk-in dressing room.’ Laura had resisted the urge to slap Jon and packed Billy a sleeping bag.
Perhaps she should call Amy? Emergency: woman unravelling. It was kind of late though.
She rolled over and one of the heavier blankets that made up the roof of the den landed smack in her face.
It felt like her world was collapsing in on her.
Chapter Forty-One
Laura was going to die.
She’d started to get pains in her chest some time ago but she’d dismissed it. She must have pulled a muscle. It was hardly surprising given she’d slept in a child’s den.
As time went on she started to feel worse but still, she didn’t panic. She had a cold, she was stressed and tired. Also, despite the distinct February chill, she and Billy had spent the whole afternoon in the park. It was no wonder she felt rubbish.
But then, as she watched Billy hurling bits of bread at uninterested ducks, Laura’s heart started racing and she found herself struggling to breathe.
She was having a heart attack!
She lowered herself onto a bench and tried to stay calm.
‘Have we got any more bread, Mummy?’ Billy had the tentative half-smile that reminded Laura so much of her dad.
Laura shook her head. She was too busy trying to stay alive to worry about bread.
What should she do?
She didn’t want to alarm Billy by phoning an ambulance.
But she didn’t want to leave him to grow up without a mother, either. A sudden image of him at her funeral sprang to mind; tiny in the suit she’d bought him for her mum’s funeral, and trying not to cry. He would be the child that other people’s mothers hugged a little too hard. Laura wouldn’t be there when someone broke his heart, she wouldn’t attend his graduation or hold her grandchild.
A wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm her. She was covered in sweat and shaking violently. Surely she couldn’t be having a heart attack? That didn’t happen to a thirty-seven-year-old woman, did it? But then, most thirty-seven-year-old women took better care of themselves than she did. And they hadn’t taken lots of crazy drugs when they were young.
The chest pain was getting worse. She was having a heart attack.
She had to get help. But not in a way that sent Billy into a panic.
She tried to call Jon but it went to voicemail. She tried Amy but she didn’t pick up either.
‘Billy,’ she said, trying to keep her voice bright and casual. ‘We need to go.’
‘The ducks are still hungry!’
Laura gripped the edge of the bench, her knuckles turning white. ‘They’ll be fine. We need to go.’
‘Five more minutes.’
‘No!’
She looked around her trying to work out who would help them if she collapsed. The jogger stretching over by that tree? The old woman on the bench with the sad face? The teenagers on skateboards?
As they walked out of the park, a taxi with its yellow light on was speeding towards them. Laura flagged it down.
‘What are you doing?’ Billy said.
‘Mummy’s not feeling too well,’ she said, trying to smile. ‘We’re going to go see the doctors.’
‘Aww, I thought we were going somewhere fun,’ Billy said, his lower lip wobbling. Laura knew he was tired and on the edge (goodness knows what time Jon had got him to bed last night). She sat back in her seat and mopped her sweaty brow. It wouldn’t take very long to get to King’s from here. She wouldn’t die as long as she got to the hospital.
Chapter Forty-Two
Laura was lying in the crisp, cool sheets of Jess’ spare bedroom. ‘I don’t need to come back to your place,’ she’d told her at the hospital. ‘It was just a panic attack.’ But Jess was adamant.
Laura still felt faintly ridiculous about having taken herself to A&E, even if everyone at the hospital had been very nice to her. ‘A panic attack and a heart attack can present in a remarkably similar way,’ the doctor had said. ‘And we’d always prefer you to get checked out.’
Jess came in with a cup of tea. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Stupid.’
Jess rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t be daft.’
As soon as Laura had known she wasn’t, in fact, dying, she was keen to just slink out of the hospital and get home. But the nurse was very insistent it would be a good idea to get someone to pick them up and Laura simply didn’t have the energy to argue.
Jon’s phone was still going to voicemail so Laura called Jess, who was apparently in the middle of a Mandarin class but said she would come straightaway. (Mandarin? Laura thought. It seemed her sister was constantly striving to improve upon perfection.)