I wanted to keep the service personal and low-key, so I invited a very small group of close friends and family.
On the day of the ceremony, Noel asked, “Who have you decided on as godparents?”
“Are you ready for this,” I laughed. “Kate’s brother, Ben, my brother, Matthew; my sisters Kaye and Lucinda; Kate’s cousin Ian, my good mates Ken and Nathan; my best mate James, Kate’s best mate Ruth; and finally Jayne, a good friend who Kate met at the boys’ Montessori nursery.”
Noel raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Excellent,” he said. When the godparents were asked to step forward in the church, they made up more than half the congregation and everybody laughed.
“How could I choose between you?” I joked.
Noel got the next laugh when he invited the boys to “step up to the gallows,” as the font is raised up so high they needed a little stepladder to reach it. It was a lovely, personal service, and I knew Kate would have enjoyed it. She wasn’t overtly religious and she knew I wasn’t, but she wanted the boys to be christened so they would have the right to be married in church, which she hoped they would do one day.
“Would be good if they settled down sooner rather than later so you get to see grandchildren,” Kate wrote on her list.
“I can’t believe you’re thinking that far ahead,” I said in surprise when she came out with that one. Her words really brought it home to me just how much she would miss out on, how much we would both miss out on sharing together. Kate had only lived half a life, and I remember how I felt panicked, imagining decades and decades stretching ahead without her by my side.
“I have to,” she said, weeping but trying to give me an encouraging smile. “I can only think about it, I can’t do anything else now, can I?”
The boys didn’t question why they were being christened on a dull Thursday afternoon in March while all their friends went home from school. They were quite happy with the explanation that I wanted their christening to be on the same date I married Mummy fifteen years earlier, which I thought was enough information for the time being.
So many unusual things had happened in their short lives that I think they had both become very used to going with the flow. Looking at them that day, posing for photographs and not fully understanding the wider significance of the date in that it had also been the date of Kate’s interment last year, I couldn’t help returning to thoughts of the list.
I really wanted to slow down now, I realized. It was a gut instinct that I felt quite acutely. I wanted the boys to enjoy ticking off some items on the list with me, and to fully appreciate Mum’s List. The extension would fulfill several of Kate’s big wishes, and after that I’d go with the flow a bit more too, I decided. I didn’t have to rush into anything, not now. It felt like a good decision as I stood there in the churchyard, feeling the sun making a late break through the clouds.
* * *
My diary reminded me that Mother’s Day fell in early April. Having made cards at school for their nannies the previous year, the boys didn’t appear to worry about doing the same this year while other children wrote to their mummies. It was definitely easier second time around, and I knew it would be easier again next year.
The weather was improving daily, and I thought it might be a good time to plant some sunflower seeds, even though by now the builders had dismantled the old conservatory and filled the back garden with machinery and supplies. As well as having seeds pushed through my letterbox by people who must have known us, several packets had also arrived in the post from strangers who had heard about Kate and somehow tracked us down. I wanted to plant them while they were fresh and spring was arriving.
“Grow a sunflower every now and again,” Kate had requested. That was a typical Kate request, and I smiled every time I saw it on the list. I got the boys to help me press several sunflower seeds into little pots, which we propped up in the sunniest spots around the house and in the front garden, and one bright afternoon we cycled up to the graveyard and planted a few around Kate too. We also sprinkled some four-leaf clover seeds that came in a packet marked “Grow Your Own Luck” around her gravestone, using a piece of bleached coral to dig the ground and cover them over with soil.
“I hope they grow big,” Finn said. “Mummy would like that.”
“So do I,” I said. “But don’t be sad if they don’t. They’re not the easiest things to grow, but we’ll do our best.”
“OK,” Finn replied. “That’s all we can do, isn’t it, Daddy?”
On many occasions, when we’d walked the dog by the river behind the house, I’d mentioned to the boys that Mummy used to find four-leaf clovers there, but they didn’t really hunt very hard and we never had any luck. I didn’t let it bother me, because at least we’d tried, and that’s all you can do, as I’d told the boys often. Finn, bless him, had picked that phrase up and taken it to heart, and I was very glad he had.
* * *
I looked though the rest of April and then into May and June in my diary. I took the boys camping again over Easter with my dad and stepmum, and at home we had loads of great days out on the boat and jet-ski with the boys at the helm. Reef reached 55 mph on 4 Saints and thought he was the bee’s knees, which was a joy to see, and he and Finn both delighted in taking their little girlfriends from school out on the water and showing off their skills.
They were about the most exciting things to happen, and I realized that, despite the major upheaval going on in the house with the building work, we’d had the quietest and most ordinary few months since Kate’s death. Work was busy, and I was spending a lot of time helping at the school, but that was normal day-to-day stuff. Besides writing this book, the “Kate-related” events had petered out, and that was fine by me. It felt right to settle into a more regular routine, away from the unavoidable ceremony and aftermath of death.
* * *
“How’s things?” the pretty blonde woman in the grocery shop asked one day, giving me a sunny smile.
“All the better for seeing you,” I replied cheekily. I noticed her cheeks went a little pink, and there was a hint of a twinkle in her green eyes. I’m an “eye” person and I always notice eyes. Hers were lovely. We’d been sharing a bit of banter on and off for months, and I always enjoyed bumping into her as I did my shopping.
“You’re such a flirt, Singe,” she laughed.
“I know, I can’t help myself,” I replied, adding spontaneously: “You bring out the flirt in me.”
Now she was crimson, and I could feel myself blushing a bit too.
“In that case we’ll have to stop meeting like this!” she giggled as she filled a carrier bag with bread and milk.
“We will,” I replied. “We should go for a drink instead. Do you fancy it?”
“Yes,” she said, sounding surprised but pleased. “Why not? I’d love to.”
I drove home with her number stored in my phone under “Ali,” feeling quite pleased with myself. All the other dates I’d been on had been fixed up by my friends, but I’d actually arranged this one all by myself, and it had all happened almost without me having to think about it. Perhaps dating in your forties wasn’t that bad after all, I thought.
We arranged to go for a drink in a quiet pub the following Wednesday, when Kirsty was babysitting. I didn’t stress about what to wear or what to say, I just looked forward to spending a few hours in the company of someone I quite fancied, who seemed to feel the same way about me, and appeared to be easygoing and up for a giggle.
I wondered if Ali liked boats, and I really hoped she did. I couldn’t be with someone who didn’t share my passion for the sea, and for adventure. “Calm down, Singe,” I told myself. “It’s just a drink. You are not looking for a new wife!”
It was early July by now, and the building work was almost complete. Dressed for my date, I walked around the house feeling like the king of the
castle, knowing Kate would love what I’d done, what I’d been able to do because of her.
Downstairs, the new kitchen was really taking shape, and I’d chosen an eye-catching granite with a stunning pebble design. The spotlights in the ceiling picked out the stones and made them look like pebbles scattered on the beach. Dividing the kitchen from the living room, we had the most spectacular fish tank ever, which the boys could peer into from any angle. They’d chosen to fill it with red candy-striped cleaner shrimps and regal and yellow tangs, because of the characters in Finding Nemo, as well as firefish and electric blue damsons like the ones they’d seen in the Red Sea, plus sand-sifting gobies, crimson hawkfish, maroon clownfish, hermit crabs, starfish and finally some algae-eating turbo snails to help keep the tank clean.
“Sort out fish tank,” Kate asked, and we’d certainly done that, and more. I’d even kept the old tank, planning to install it in the boys’ playroom in the loft eventually.
Outside, despite the large, two-story extension, we still had enough room for Reef and Finn to play, and now that the builders were nearly finished the boys could throw balls and bounce on the trampoline again, which they loved. Creating a climbing wall was still outstanding on the list, but that is a project we will have fun working on together, as well as planting some more flowers and making the garden look pretty. None of our sunflowers or clovers had grown, either at home or at Kate’s grave, and I looked forward to trying again and perhaps planting wildflowers too, to attract butterflies. Kate adored butterflies, and I loved to remember her pregnant with Reef in the garden, chasing after them in the sunshine.
Upstairs, the boys’ double bedroom was almost complete, kitted out with matching cabin beds and pirate-themed lamps, storage chests and curtains. It was exactly as I’d envisaged it. In prime position on a special shelf was the fantastic photo of the boys with Kate and me, swimming with the dolphins in Florida, plus one of us posing with Father Christmas in Lapland. “Pictures of us in boys’ room.”
The secret passage led from what had been my old office up to the new playroom in the loft. As this book was being completed at the same time as the extension, I got a designer to copy the cover of Mum’s List and re-create the image on the doorway leading to the secret passage. The idea is to make it look like a giant book on a shelf, and when you push the book and go through the doorway you feel like a character entering a secret world of adventures, which the boys are totally thrilled about. Kate would have been tickled pink by the whole thing, and I am too.
Eventually we’ll kit the loft out as a chill-out space with beanbags and books and computer games for the boys, and no doubt one day it will be their teenage den, when all their toys are gone. It makes far better use of the space than before, and I know Kate would not have wanted me to keep the loft stuffed with our dusty old belongings. I stowed a few precious mementos, including Kate’s wedding dress, in one smaller, storage section of the loft, and that was all I needed. My memories are mostly in my head and in my heart, where there will always be plenty of room for them.
My date with Ali went well, in a funny kind of way. It turned out she knew quite a lot about me already, having read a few stories in the local press and remembering seeing me and the boys on TV. I was glad I didn’t have to start at the beginning and tell her all about Kate, and we were soon chatting like we’d known each other for ages.
I was pleased when she told me she quite enjoyed jet-skiing, though as a single mum she didn’t get the chance to do it often. She also had a good sense of humor, which really put me at my ease and made me warm to her. When she asked me, after a couple of drinks, “Are you glad Kate wrote the list?” I wasn’t in the least bit put out.
“Yes,” I replied, feeling glad I could correct what I realized was a common misconception—that Kate had written the list on her own and presented it to me on her deathbed. “We wrote it together, actually,” I told Ali, taking a deep breath. “We did it in a time of extreme stress, and looking back, we could have added more. I thought she’d make it. I was convinced we wouldn’t need it. If I’d had a reality check it would be even more comprehensive. I think everyone should write a list.”
“Why?” Ali asked, her emerald eyes full of questions.
“Well, it’s been such a help and support to me,” I said. “It gave me a reference point when I was lost in grief, and I’ve enjoyed doing lots of the things Kate asked me to do, even if I haven’t done them perfectly. Reef’s birthday party was amazing, for example, and Kate would have been gobsmacked at how I organized and delivered it. The camping holidays she wanted me to do I can do better with practice, but I’m glad I’ve done them. Having the list to turn to has kept me going, and made me feel less alone.”
Ali smiled but looked slightly perturbed, and I found myself reassuring her that the list in no way held me back.
“I’m not clinging to the past,” I explained. “I’ve already changed in some ways since losing Kate. The list helps me deal with the present, and the future.”
Ali looked at me expectantly.
“How have you changed?” she asked.
I thought about that question for a moment, and then I told her I didn’t take things to heart so much.
“I used to get upset by criticism,” I said. “But now I shrug and think: ‘It’s my life.’ I’ve become a bit harder and I don’t suffer fools gladly . . . but then again some things haven’t changed at all. I’m still a big softy at heart, and I’m still amazingly romantic.”
Ali smiled at that last point.
“Glad to hear it,” she teased. “So where’s my bunch of flowers?”
“You’ll have to wait and be surprised,” I smirked. “The best romantic gestures are unexpected—and far better than a bunch of flowers.”
She told me she had a romantic streak too, and that she didn’t like being on her own, but was kept very busy by her lively children.
“I can’t say I’m lonely, because I never have a minute to myself,” she laughed. “But chasing round after the kids isn’t the same as being whisked off your feet, is it?”
“I know exactly what you mean,” I said. “I’m coming to terms with being on my own, but being a single parent is bloody hard work.”
“How are the boys doing,” Ali asked, adding sensitively, “if you don’t mind me asking?”
“The boys are great, and I love talking about them,” I said. “The house is going to be amazing for them when it’s all finished, and they’re very excited about it. They have a remarkable resilience, and I’m really proud of them. They’re both cheeky and playful and we have giggles every day. They’ve got really close as far as brothers go, and Reef is becoming more and more confident.”
“So Finn is the naturally confident one?”
“You could say that,” I laughed. “He is me all over. He is winding me up at the moment because he whines when he wants attention. I need to work out how to stop him doing it instead of letting it get to me. I suppose I should have more patience with him, being a bit of an attention-seeker myself . . . Reef is naturally quieter and more thoughtful. He’s missing his mum at the moment. The trouble is he has started to mention her a lot at bedtime, and I can’t work out if he’s being a bit cute and using it to delay lights out . . .”
I stopped talking, suddenly aware I was being very honest here and perhaps rambling on a bit, even though I was enjoying having the space to unload. Ali said nothing to fill the gap in the conversation. She just smiled and nodded, so I carried on.
“Both boys look after me as much as I look after them,” I said. “They cheer me up and they sense when I’m upset.”
“Do you get upset a lot?” Ali ventured. “I mean, I suppose what I’m asking is, are you getting over Kate . . . will you ever get over Kate?”
“That’s the million-dollar question,” I said, blowing out a long, deep breath. “The saying that t
ime is a healer is apt. In time you improvise and adapt to overcome the difficulties of being on your own, of being bereaved. You’ve got to let your grief come out, and I don’t bottle things up. That said, there’s a time and a place for tears and I’ve had to be careful not to cry too much in front of the boys, because they are so young and impressionable. I choose my moments to indulge in self-pity, but thankfully those moments are becoming fewer and further between.”
“That’s good to hear,” Ali said kindly.
“Having Mum’s List has helped me so much,” I added. “Kate left so much of herself behind. Of course, she left Reef and Finn. But she also left bits of her heart sprinkled all over her list and all around our world, and that will never die.”
I noticed Ali had a tear in her eye and so I stopped talking again, realizing my own eyes were loaded with tears too.
“God, I’m so sorry,” I apologized. “This is hardly what you want to hear on a first date!”
“A date?” Ali said with a question in her voice. “Well, maybe it’s just the start of a good friendship, who knows?”
I liked her attitude. She told me she was flattered I’d told her so much and asked if she could ask me one last question.
“Don’t answer it if I’m being too nosy, though, Singe.”
“Fire away,” I said.
“OK, here goes. Do you think you could ever settle down again, as Kate wanted? I mean, it’s tough enough after a divorce, I should know, let alone after losing the love of your life.”
“I can,” I said emphatically. “I’ve thought about this long and hard and I do want to get married again one day. It surprises me to say that, but it’s true. Kate was my soul mate and she lives on through her list, but life goes on without her. Maybe I’ll be lucky enough to find another soul mate one day.”
I’d learned quite a lot about Ali that evening, and I enjoyed her company and straight-talking manner. Our unexpectedly deep conversation also helped me learn a lot about where I was too.
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