by Lisa Jewell
The three of them ate together at a seafood restaurant in the village. It was chi-chi with dove-grey walls and prices written on the menu in fractions. Molly had ordered a tuna steak and was eating it like a man.
‘That was the hardest day of my life,’ she said, pushing her cutlery together and swinging her hair behind her shoulder.
‘Plenty more where that came from,’ said Megan.
‘We need more people.’
‘Well, actually,’ said Megan, ‘even if we had more people, there’d be no room for them.’
‘No, but outside, in the garden, to go through things. That’s what’s taking the time. Sorting everything out.’
‘I just wish we could bin the lot,’ sighed Meg.
‘No way,’ said Molly. ‘That’s, like, her whole life in there. In amongst all the rubbish. Imagine if we threw away something really important.’
‘I know,’ sighed Meg. ‘I do know that. It’s just so infuriating.’
‘We could still get the council in, you know,’ suggested Colin.
‘No.’ Megan shook her head. ‘No. I’m not having anyone we don’t know in there. It’s our house. It’s our life. No way.’
Colin nodded. ‘I do agree with you,’ he said. ‘It would feel wrong, somehow.’
His phone rang and he pulled it apologetically from his jeans pocket. He began talking sweetly into his phone and Megan assumed it was Tia. ‘Hello, sweets,’ he was saying. ‘Yes, we’re all fine. No, not the boys, just Molly. Yes, the big one. She’s sixteen.’ He looked to Meg who shook her head and mouthed, ‘Fifteen.’ ‘Sorry, fifteen. Yes. I know. Yes, she’s very pretty.’ He smiled at Molly as he said this. ‘Erm, yes, please, darling, thank you.’ He paused for a moment, as Tia apparently passed the phone to someone else, and then he laid his napkin on the tabletop, smiled at Meg and Molly and took his phone call to a quiet corner of the restaurant.
‘Why has Grandpa gone over there to talk?’
‘Because he’s talking to Kayleigh.’
Molly nodded knowingly. ‘I’d like to meet Tia,’ she said a moment later.
‘Yes,’ said Megan. ‘I know. And you will. One day.’
‘Yes, but when? I mean, I’m like, nearly an adult. I’d like to meet her while I’m still a child.’
Megan smiled. She sighed and said, ‘Yes, definitely. You’re right. It’s crazy. It’s just, you know, not talking to Grandpa for so many years. It’s all been rather complicated. But definitely. Now we’re talking again. Now I know …’ She paused, sorting her thoughts. ‘Now I know that he’s still just my dad, we’ll sort something out. I’ll sort something out. We’ll go over. To Spain. Or something. I promise.’
She covered her daughter’s hand with hers and thought of Tia. Her beautiful lost niece. And she was just one piece of the puzzle. One tiny piece.
‘Maybe she’d like to come to London,’ said Molly. ‘Maybe she’d like to come and stay at our house. She could sleep with me. If she liked.’
‘Yes!’ Megan beamed and squeezed Molly’s hand. ‘Wouldn’t that be lovely?’
‘Sorry about that,’ said Colin, retaking his seat.
‘That’s OK,’ said Meg. And then she took in a deep breath and prepared herself to say something unnatural. ‘How is she?’ she asked. ‘How’s Kayleigh?’
Colin looked at her with some surprise but then smiled and said, ‘She’s grand. She is. She’s good. Really good. Yes …’ He petered off, aware that this was a new and slightly awkward development.
‘How’s her business?’ Meg forced it out. She had to. They were here now. They were a father and a daughter having dinner together. They were part of the same world again.
Colin’s face lit up. ‘It’s great!’ he said. ‘She’s ever so good at what she does, you know. She really, really is.’
‘Good,’ said Megan, ‘that’s good. And does she ever … do you ever …’ Megan held her breath, considered her next question. ‘Will you have another baby?’
Colin laughed. ‘Oh, God, no!’ he said. ‘No, no, no! We did talk about it. A long, long time ago and we both realised it was just, well, a step too far.’
Megan looked at him questioningly.
‘Well, for Tia. I mean – how would that have been for Tia? A brother or sister who was also her aunt or uncle. Or, God, whatever. The technicality of it has always slightly eluded me. But no. A huge age gap. A cultural divide. I felt, we both felt, that there were quite enough challenges to be going on with. So, yes, Tia is my granddaughter and Kayleigh is my partner and we shall leave it at that. As awful as everyone thinks it to be.’
Molly stared at the table and said, ‘I don’t think it’s awful.’
‘Don’t you?’ said Colin, with a soft laugh.
‘No! I think it’s just, you know, it’s life, isn’t it? All these years I’ve just thought it was kind of gross, and I mean, I, personally, would not want to go out with my child’s grandfather. But maybe I’ll end up doing something else unconventional. Who knows. And I really hope that if I do, and as long as I’m not hurting anyone or doing anything, like, illegal, that everyone would accept it, you know, just carry on loving me anyway.’
Meg and Colin exchanged a look. A look that said, ‘Dear God, what a bloody mess we’ve all made of everything.’
Then Megan’s phone ding-donged and she switched it on to find a text. It was from Bethan.
I’m here. I’m staying with Sophie. At Vicky’s old place.
I want to help. I’ll see you at the house tomorrow.
Megan switched off her phone and let her head drop on to her chest. Fine, she thought to herself, breathing in deeply, fine. ‘Beth’s coming,’ she said, forcing out the words. ‘She’s coming to the house tomorrow.’
‘Yes!’ said Molly. ‘Yes!’
Meg smiled grimly at her and in a small, dry voice she said, ‘Hurrah.’
12
Saturday 29th January 2011
Darling Jim,
I knew you’d understand. You always do. And you’re right, of course. I’m acting like the future is inflexible and set in stone, like people can’t change, like I can’t change. And of course I can, Jim. Anyone can change. You should see my ex-husband! He went from being a rather mild-mannered college lecturer, a bit of a mouse really (or maybe that was my influence! Argh!), and now he is all cool and groovy, living on a commune with a young girl, working with his hands, covered in tattoos by all accounts! It was as though this other person had been living inside him for all those years, just waiting for a chance of escape. And maybe I have another me, living inside my daft old body, a me who might wake up one morning and say, ENOUGH! A super little Lorelei Bird who’s all spick and span and in the mood for throwing stuff away. Who could contemplate a night away from home without breaking out in a rash. And my goodness, Jim, if that super little version of myself ever did find its way to the surface – assuming that it is there to begin with!! – you will be the first to hear about it, I can tell you! I would be on a train to Gateshead IMMEDIATELY. Oh, Jim, what I would give to have a night with you. (I strongly suspect that you are spectacular in bed!) But sadly, it is this little version of Lorelei talking, not that other fabulous one. So, yes, Jim, I will not close my mind to the possibility of CHANGE. And who knows, maybe this love affair will change me. Yes! Maybe it will. Maybe I will find that other part of myself through you, you darling, beautiful man.
Until then, SIGH, I will just ache for you. I have not had sex with a man for such a long time. When did you last have sex, Jim? Or actually, don’t tell me. I’m not sure I want to know. Supposing you said it was last week! I’d have to die!
I do love you so much,
Yours, for ever,
Lorelei
Friday 4th February 2011
Oh, thank God, Jim!
I thought I’d lost you! I can’t tell you how relieved I was to find your email in my inbox just now. I thought you’d finally had enough of me! That I’d lost you on the Internet for ever. And the
n I thought, how the HECK does one find a lost person on the Internet?! I wouldn’t have a clue! So to find that your silence was nothing to do with me, that it was just your nasty old demons. Such a relief.
What is it like, Jim? If you don’t mind me asking. What is it like when you lose control like that? On one of your benders? What do you drink? Do you have a tipple of choice? Or is it anything and everything? Are you happy when you’re wasted? Do you feel better? Or do you feel worse? Do you get drunk with other people? Are you a part of a big rousting, jousting gang of boozers, all singing songs together? Or is it just you? Alone in a room? Or on the last bar stool on the left? Do you get into fights, Jim? Do you get into trouble? Are you a messy drunk? Or a quiet drunk?
I feel the need to ask you these questions, purely because I love you and because this is a part of you. I want to understand all of you. When I don’t hear from you for a week, I want to be able to imagine what you’re doing. I want to know how much to worry about you. How long I should expect you to be out of contact. Because if the super-version of Lorelei that may or may not reside within me fails to materialise, then I am asking you to stick with this version. And if the super-version of Jim, the one who stays on the 12 Steps, who doesn’t drink and doesn’t keep vanishing, fails to materialise, then I fully intend to stick with this version. So I need to know it. Good and bad. Do you see?
Anyway, I was absolutely dancing-like-a-loony delighted to hear that you haven’t had sex for many years. Sorry if that’s selfish of me, but there you go. If I can’t have you, then neither can anyone else! And if I ever get my hands on your beautiful body, I want it PURE!!
I have no news to report, lovely man. It’s business as usual here. Swimming, shopping, surfing the Net. Oh! I forgot to say. I had an email from Rory! He is out of jail! He didn’t have much to say for himself (but then, he never did). Just that he’s out and he’s considering his next move. Thank God for that! One tiny little sunray of normality shining down upon this wretched family!
Love love love love love love love love
L xxxxx
April 2011
Beth sat at the table in the garden. It was just before nine o’clock. She already had a faint sheen of sweat upon her brow. She ran her hand up and down the cool sides of a bottle of Evian. Sophie had given it to her from her fridge that morning. Sophie had been so sweet to her, mothering her almost, even at twenty years her junior. ‘Make sure you drink tons,’ she’d said, looking at Bethan with concern. ‘You mustn’t get dehydrated. It’s forecast to be thirty degrees today.’
She’d given her a bag of yogurt raisins and a banana and sent her on her way.
On the street outside, Beth heard the clank of heavy chains. She got heavily to her feet and peered out. It was the truck, come to replace the skips. Pulling in behind the huge vehicle was a people carrier, one that Beth recognised from her last visit to London. She pulled herself straight. She adjusted her smock top and wiped a glow of sweat from her upper lip.
Megan slammed her door shut, beeped the car locked and turned to see Bethan standing there.
‘Oh, my God!’ she said, her eyes locked upon Beth’s stomach. ‘Oh, my God. Beth!’
Beth waited, rooted to the spot. She could not, for some reason, make the small movement that might propel her towards her sister. Instead she nodded and stroked her belly, waiting, as ever, for her sister to do the thing that needed to be done.
Megan walked towards her, her eyes still on her bump. ‘My God, Beth, how far gone are you?’
‘Thirty-two weeks,’ she said. She was blushing. She didn’t know why.
‘And they let you fly?’
She nodded. ‘I had a letter,’ she said, ‘from my doctor.’
She saw Meg’s eyes scan the fingers of her left hand. ‘Wow,’ she said, that one syllable full of a hundred questions. ‘Wow.’ She brushed the side of her face against the side of Beth’s face, vaguely, as though she’d met her only once before.
Beth saw Molly step out from behind Megan, and she smiled. ‘Hello, Molly!’ she said, swallowing a gasp of amazement. Her niece looked like a model. All legs and hair and perfect feline features.
Molly came towards her and embraced her. Then she rested a hand on Beth’s tummy and said, ‘A cousin!’
Beth could see that Megan was surprised by her daughter’s actions. So was she. ‘Yes!’ she said. ‘A girl.’
‘A girl!’ said Molly, turning to face her mother. ‘Did you hear that? She’s having a girl.’
‘How wonderful,’ said Meg, and Beth could not tell if her words were genuine or facetious.
They all stood and watched the skips being taken away and replaced, the teetering piles of cardboard boxes, of newspapers, bin bags, broken lamps, ugly vases, stained duvets, odd shoes, splintered chairs and burst Pilates balls. ‘That was just one day?’ asked Beth.
Megan nodded. ‘One day. And approximately three per cent of the hoard.’
Hoard.
Beth had never heard her mother’s possessions referred to as a hoard before. It had always been her mess, her stuff, her crap. A hoard. It made it sound almost like a single, enormous entity. ‘Well, hopefully an extra pair of hands will help.’
‘You won’t be able to get in there,’ said Megan, nodding at her belly. ‘I mean, seriously, I can only just about squeeze in there.’
‘Oh, I’m sure …’ she began.
‘No,’ said Megan sternly, ‘really. You have no idea. You have absolutely no idea.’
Beth laughed nervously and nodded. ‘You look very well,’ she said, as the three of them turned towards the house. ‘You’ve lost a lot of weight.’
‘Well, yes.’
‘And you, Molly, wow. I can’t get over it. I mean, you were still a child last time I saw you.’
Molly turned to smile at her. ‘I remember,’ she said. ‘You fainted.’
Beth felt a solid kick against the wall of her stomach and instinctively held her hand to it. ‘Gosh,’ she said, ‘how did you know?’
‘Mum told me.’
‘Oh.’ She wondered how much else Megan had told Molly. Beth had assumed that Molly would know everything. She’d been expecting a cool reception. But Molly seemed almost excited to have her here.
‘What are you going to call her?’ asked Molly, as Megan rang on the doorbell.
‘Oh,’ she said, staring in awe at her niece’s satiny skin, her doll-like cheeks, the sweeping lashes and perfect nose. ‘Erm, I don’t really know. I was thinking of something old-fashioned. Agnes, maybe. Or Maud.’
‘Oh,’ said Molly politely.
Beth peered through the grimy glass of the back door. ‘Is there somebody actually in there?’
‘Yes,’ said Meg. ‘Dad.’
‘Dad?!’
‘Yes, he’s staying here.’
Beth blinked. She had not considered this possibility. ‘On his own?’
‘Yes,’ said Meg. ‘On his own. It’s all fine,’ she said somewhat tersely. ‘It’s no big deal.’
Beth nodded and peered again through the back door into the kitchen beyond. ‘Are you sure he’s there?’ she said, as the seconds ticked by.
‘Yes,’ said Meg, in that same slightly impatient tone of voice. ‘It’s just rather a journey, from upstairs to downstairs.’
‘You’ll see,’ said Molly, ‘when we get in.’
Finally the door opened and Beth saw her father appear, in a scruffy T-shirt and shorts. His lanky old body was covered in tattoos and she swallowed down a bubble of distaste. Move on, she reminded herself, move on now. So she smiled and let him embrace her.
‘Beth,’ he gasped happily.
‘Hello, Dad,’ she said.
‘And who is this?!’ he asked, cupping her belly.
She smiled down at herself and said, ‘This is your next grandchild.’
‘Granddaughter,’ Molly corrected.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘granddaughter.’
Colin looked from Beth to Meg and then back
again and then his eyes filled with tears and he began to cry. ‘My cup runneth over,’ he said.
Beth thought of the last time the three of them had stood together like this. She thought of all the hurt and spite and anger that had controlled her actions that day. She had been so brittle and furious. Now she felt centred. She felt strong. She and her swollen belly. She and the baby girl who had finally made her normal.
‘You daft old fool,’ Meg said to Colin and he smiled.
‘Come,’ he said, gesturing theatrically behind himself, ‘come into my humble abode.’
Beth couldn’t make sense of it at first. It was definitely the kitchen. But it seemed suddenly to stop about a quarter of the way in. There was a wall of stuff, with a small gap in it. And nothing else. She turned to her sister. ‘Is that …?’
Meg nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘that is the only way through to the rest of the house. Yesterday morning it came all the way to back here.’ She pointed to the doorway. ‘Do you see, now? Do you see that you won’t be able to get in?’
Beth nodded numbly.
‘So, I think we’ll need to put you on box-sorting duty. We pass stuff out to you. And you sort it.’
She nodded again.
‘But, Beth, listen,’ said Meg. ‘We’ve only got a few days. You’re going to need to be ruthless. Do you understand? Really ruthless. There’s no room for sentimentality here. Unless it’s important, unless it’s documentation, photographs or it’s worth actual money, it goes in the skip. Yes?’
Beth nodded. And then she said, ‘But what about—?’
Meg threw her a terrifying look. She recoiled. ‘Nothing,’ she said, mock-nervously. ‘I understand.’
‘Good.’
They shared takeaway coffees and croissants in the garden. They discussed the possibility of animal faeces and decided that Beth should wear latex gloves (there had, of course, been a full, unopened box of the things in amongst the hoard). They talked about the horror of the coroner’s findings, and plans for a funeral. They talked about Lorelei, about her laptop and the mysterious Jim. The sun shone. Bees hovered around the St John’s Wort bush. A blue butterfly landed momentarily on the sleeve of Molly’s hoody and they all cried out in delight. It was a perfect spring morning and hard for Beth to believe she was here. With her sister and her father. She’d thought she’d never see them again. She’d planned never to see them again. And now here they were.