The Kicking the Bucket List

by Cathy Hopkins

  ‘Not interested.’

  ‘You should be. I like the look of him. He has a kind face.’

  ‘Then you have him.’

  ‘Not my type. Anyway, I have my own fish to fry.’ For an awful moment, I thought she might be about to confess that she’d been seeing Daniel.

  ‘You do? Who?’

  ‘Andrew, of course.’

  ‘The mindfulness teacher?’

  Fleur nodded and her eyes softened. ‘Early days, but I like him a lot.’

  I felt so relieved that she hadn’t been talking about Daniel, and that any niggles of suspicion I’d felt about them having a secret affair over the last months were just my paranoia. I also wished I could have told her about Daniel as easily as she had just told me about Andrew. I was glad for her. I’d sensed that she had been lonely for some time and liked to think that she wouldn’t be any more. She obviously had the same concerns about me and, as I watched Michael chatting to Bet behind the bar, I thought I probably would have been interested if it hadn’t been for Daniel.

  Fleur stood up. ‘Drinks anyone? I think a bottle of champagne is in order to celebrate your success, Dee. On me.’

  ‘Excellent idea,’ said Anna. When Fleur got up and went over to the bar, she moved closer to me. ‘Listen, Dee, Fleur asked me about you and Daniel,’ she whispered.

  ‘Asked you what about him?’

  ‘How you felt about him. If you liked him.’

  ‘Oh no. I thought she’d dropped all that. What did you say?’

  ‘I was vague. Acted ignorant, but I don’t like this Dee. Now I’m having to lie too.’

  ‘God, I’m sorry, Anna. But you didn’t say we’d been seeing each other?’

  ‘No. No. Course not, but you know you have to tell her – and soon.’

  ‘I will. I will. When we’re with Rose next.’

  ‘Why not tell Fleur this weekend? One down and all that.’

  ‘Shh,’ I said as Fleur turned to look at us from the bar. ‘Want crisps?’

  We shook our heads, but eagle eyes Fleur never missed anything, and I could see that she’d clocked something was going on. When she brought the drinks back, she asked, ‘So what were you two whispering about?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said.

  ‘Nothing is always something.’

  ‘Dee has something to tell you,’ said Anna.

  ‘I …’

  Michael appeared at our table. ‘Mind if I join you?’

  ‘No, course not. Sit,’ said Fleur, and she moved so that Michael had to sit next to me. As she did, she gave me a wink. Oh no, I thought, this is turning into some kind of farce.

  Fleur spent the next ten minutes doing a PR job, talking about how marvellous I was, how talented. I felt very embarrassed. Michael listened and was very charming. The way Fleur is going on, he must think I’m desperate, I thought, As I knocked back a slug of wine, I prayed that he wouldn’t ask me about my partner again. Or Ian did. Or Anna.

  ‘You’re drinking a lot,’ Anna commented as I started on a third glass.

  ‘Celebrating,’ I said, though that was a lie. This evening should have been a great night. I was a success, but I felt full of anxiety and unease about who was going to say what to whom and when.

  Fleur, on the other hand, seemed to be having a great time. She was completely at home with my friends and the locals. As I watched her in between Anna and Marie, being one of the girls, making them laugh, I felt a pang of tenderness towards her. She was clearly relishing being with people, part of something, and not sitting on her own in her soulless perfect flat back in London.

  *

  After half an hour, I felt rather drunk and very tired. I stood up and wobbled on my feet. Michael got up to support me. ‘No, no,’ I waved him away. ‘Don’t need help.’

  ‘It’s no trouble,’ he said.

  ‘Wrong there – men are always trouble,’ I said, and staggered towards the door, doing my best to walk in a straight line and not knock anything over.

  Anna was beside me in an instant and helped me out of the pub.

  ‘Tell Fleur,’ she said.

  ‘Bossy boots. Too pissed. Need clear head.’

  Anna laughed, and when Fleur joined us, they pretty well carried me home where I went straight up to bed. However, despite the wine, I couldn’t sleep, and I tossed and turned, thinking: how can I tell Fleur about Daniel? Must tell her. But when? I didn’t want to ruin things just as we’d got closer. And Michael Harris. I seemed to remember waving him out of my way. I groaned into my pillow. I just don’t seem to know how to behave around men, I thought. Needy and paranoid with Daniel, rude to Michael.

  Saturday 16 July, morning

  I woke early and went downstairs, resolute that today was the day. I’d tell Fleur everything.

  ‘How’s the head?’ she asked when she came down to join me.

  ‘Not great. I’m never going to drink again.’

  Fleur laughed. ‘You’re so lucky to have such good friends down here. Who needs men when you have good girlfriends?’

  I took a deep breath. ‘Listen Fleur, I wanted to talk to you about Daniel.’

  ‘Daniel. Oh. OK.’ She opened the fridge door, not meeting my eye.

  ‘I … I know I should have told you earlier but well—’

  Fleur turned back and looked at me. ‘You don’t have to say anything. I already know.’

  ‘You know?’

  ‘Dee, it’s been obvious from the start.’

  ‘Has it?’

  ‘Course it has. I knew from the beginning that you had a crush on him.’

  ‘More than a crush.’

  Fleur sighed. ‘Look Dee, we had a great time last night. Let’s not talk about him now. It only leads to upset. It will only ruin things.’

  ‘Why would it ruin things?’

  Fleur shrugged. ‘Just … I don’t think he’s the one for you?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I don’t want you to get hurt. That’s all. Come on, let’s not talk about him. Let’s put into practice what we learnt about mindfulness – live in the present.’

  Why doesn’t she want to talk about it? I wondered. Why not? She was always the one who was asking if I was interested in Daniel, trying to set me up?

  ‘Yes but—’

  ‘Yoo-hoo. You up?’ called Anna as she came in the front door with Ian who was carrying a bag of croissants.

  Anna looked at my face, then Fleur’s, and clocked the situation straight away. ‘Bad timing? Were you having a private chat?’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ said Fleur, taking the croissants from Ian. ‘Oo, still warm. Yum. So. Who’s for coffee to go with these?’

  All the insecurities from my teen years threatened to emerge as I watched Fleur busy herself getting coffee and plates. Our conversation had felt weird and I remembered the same feeling of doubt from many years ago when my intuition had told me that Fleur was not to be trusted about something. Nine times out of ten I was right back then, so what could it be that she was trying to avoid? Something to do with Daniel? She’d just started seeing Andrew and had appeared genuine about liking him, so what could it be? Could it be that she knows something about Daniel? Maybe not to do with her but Rose? I felt sick at the thought. Maybe he had been seeing Rose, Fleur knew about it and was trying to protect me.

  After breakfast, Fleur went into busy mode, insisting that she had to be back in London for the afternoon. She set off before Anna and Ian left and I could question her more. It was as if she knew I was going to confront her and was getting out as fast as she could, also putting an end to my attempt to tell her about my affair with Daniel.

  I had my exhibition to go to and, as I walked up the lane to the village hall after Fleur had gone, Rose’s words from months ago played over and over in my head. Mañana, mañana, it’s always mañana with you, Dee.

  28

  Dee

  Saturday 13 August

  A text from Mum came through just before I knocked on Rose’s
front door in London. ‘Do not judge, or you too will be judged,’ Matthew 7:1.

  Very timely, as always, I thought as I heard someone approaching from within. I hope my sisters take heed of this when I tell them about Daniel. I had my speech planned. This time, nothing was going to stop me. No more mañana mañana. I’d put into practice the visualization techniques that I’d learnt on our last weekend together and pictured us, a cosy trio over a cup of tea in the evening, Fleur and Rose with understanding expressions having heard my confession, and both of them wishing Daniel and me well.

  Rose had lived in the same house in Highgate for over ten years so I was familiar with the road and place. A four-bedroomed semi-detached Edwardian build on a quiet, leafy street. It wasn’t an exceptional-looking house from the outside, though, due to the location and it being London, probably worth a few million, maybe more. That much would buy a stunning detached manor house with acres of land down where I lived, I thought as Rose opened the door and beckoned me inside.

  I couldn’t see that much had changed since my last visit over three years ago, though the hall looked tidier than when Simon and Laura had been at home. When they were at school, there were always coats, shoes and bags, where now there was an elegant console table with a crystal vase of white peonies. From what I could see in the other rooms as we passed through the hall, they were just as I remembered. Rose favoured a traditional style of décor with comfy chairs and books everywhere, on shelves, on coffee tables, even piled up on the floor by armchairs.

  Through the open door to the back room, I saw family photos in silver frames: Simon, Laura, Mum and Dad and, surprisingly, I saw one of Rose, Fleur and me when we were very young, sitting on a bench on a sunny day by the tennis courts where Mum used to play.

  ‘Hugh’s out playing cricket, so it’s just us,’ said Rose as we got to the kitchen diner at the back of the house. This room had been changed and a large conservatory built on to the back, a wonderful light space that was also full of books, piled on the floor amongst rattan chairs and palm plants in massive grey pots.

  ‘Looks fabulous in here, Rose,’ I said.

  ‘Thanks.’ Rose was dressed more casually than usual, in leggings and an oversized shirt, perhaps because she was at home. She looked pale and tired and her hair looked thinner and not as glossy as normal. Perhaps a symptom of the menopause? I made a note to ask her if she was OK later.

  ‘I don’t believe it!’ I exclaimed when I spotted who was curled up on a chair basking in the sun. It was Clifford, the ginger cat from the rescue home. ‘You went and got him?’

  Rose smiled. ‘I did. They said he didn’t have long to live and, I don’t know, something about him touched me. I wanted him to end his days in comfort. He’s a lovely old boy.’

  ‘Rose is growing soft in her old age,’ said Fleur.

  I turned to see Fleur and Daniel, mugs of coffee in front of them, at the long, wooden kitchen table. Daniel nodded hello then went back to fiddling with his laptop. I went to the French windows and looked out over the garden. An easy-to-maintain level garden that looked picture perfect in the August sunshine. Beds with small plants at the front, tall at the back, a riot of pink, lavender, blue and purples. No doubt Rose had someone come in to do it. She wasn’t a gardener, but I could see that her beds had been professionally planted.

  ‘I feel sad that this will be the last recording,’ I said to no one in particular.

  ‘Me too,’ said Fleur. ‘I’ve looked forward to seeing Mum. As long as we’ve had these times with her, it’s been as if she hasn’t really gone – but after this, what will we have of her but memories?’

  ‘Exactly.’ I felt an emptiness about this weekend that I hadn’t on others. We’d had a visit from Mum every other month, even if it had been from cyberspace. ‘But we have each other now don’t we? Mum lives on through us all, and personally I feel that she has achieved what she wanted. Look at us, we’re talking again, we’ve spent time in each other’s houses.’

  ‘But what about after this? Will we still meet up when we don’t have to?’ asked Fleur.

  I took a seat at the table. ‘I hope so.’

  Rose didn’t comment. ‘So what’s in store for us this time, Daniel?’

  Daniel didn’t waste any time and switched on his laptop. ‘Let’s find out.’ He didn’t meet my eyes at any point, apart from when he said hello, his expression neutral as it always was on these occasions. I felt annoyed by his lack of response to me, or to anything that any of us said; it was as though he was being oh-so-careful to be invisible. At first I’d admired his cool, now it irritated me.

  On the screen of his laptop, Martha, Jean and Mum were seated in armchairs and appeared to be dressed normally. Martha in a lavender twinset, Mum wearing her favourite green cardigan, Jean in a blue one.

  ‘Hello dollies,’ said Mum from the screen. ‘So … this is our last weekend. I hope you’re all there and soon you can sign Mr Richardson’s form saying you’ve all done what I asked and you can get your inheritance. Hurrah. Don’t spend it all on sweets. Seriously, I wanted to say something about that today. Yes, the money will help. It does that, but don’t any of you get caught up in it. Money doesn’t bring lasting happiness. It can give you some security and a few more options here and there, but my happiest times have always been with family and friends; with people I loved – nothing to do with what was in the bank. Sometimes we had more money, sometimes we were struggling, but my friends were always there for me, in good times and in bad.’

  ‘So, this weekend, we want you to enjoy some simple pleasures. A bit of home-baking to start with,’ said Martha. ‘There’s nothing like the smell of a cake or baking in the oven to make one feel more cheerful and to make people around feel cared for.’

  ‘Daniel will have got all the ingredients for you and I’ve given him my old recipes for scones and my famous Victoria sponge,’ said Mum. ‘And I asked you all to bring your photo albums this time, so I hope you got the message from Daniel to do so. I know from my visits to you that you all have photos from different eras. Take a trip down memory lane. Remember when you were little, growing up together. Fill each other in on lost years. You don’t have to go further than the sofa with a cup of tea and a freshly baked scone.’

  ‘Tomorrow, we want you to take a trip to a local garden. I do hope it’s summer when you reach this part of the list, so that gardens are in bloom and you can take time to look at the flowers,’ said Jean. ‘Making a garden, seeing things grow, is one of the most life-affirming things you can do, and then to stand back and think, I planted that from a seed. Magic.’

  ‘Today, though, you can just enjoy being at home together,’ said Martha. ‘Tonight, you’ll watch a DVD. We picked one from David Attenborough’s Life series. His programmes show the glory of creation and can be a splendid alternative to the focus on the news of all the sadness and disasters that are happening. It is a wonderful world, despite all the fighting and madness they show us at six and ten o’clock.’

  ‘So that’s it,’ said Mum. ‘The end of the kicking the bucket list. We do hope that you’ve enjoyed it and that it’s brought you closer. And yes, I’m sure that you can say, and Rose you probably have, that many of the things you’ve done have been transient pleasures, like the massages or the shopping trip, the visit to the garden tomorrow, but all the things on the list were to help add up to a happy life. I’m sure there are many other things we could have included but there just wasn’t time.’

  ‘Like sex,’ said Martha. ‘I wanted to include a tantric sex workshop. Good sex can make you very happy.’

  Mum laughed. ‘We vetoed that one. Sitting cross-legged in the nudie talking to your vaginas might have been a tad too far, even for you liberated girls.’

  ‘Well, thank God for that,’ said Fleur. ‘I don’t mind looking at my lady parts I’m but not sure I’d have wanted to look at yours.’

  ‘Shh,’ said Rose as Mum continued. ‘In the end, it’s state of mind that determines happ
iness, but all the things you have done on the list can contribute to that.’

  ‘Not sure I agree about cleaning out cat poo,’ said Fleur.

  ‘Our last message is really about simple pleasures, time spent with people you love. Love one another, love the people you love, show them love, be kind to one another, choose happiness,’ said Jean.

  ‘And don’t judge,’ said Mum. ‘No one ever knows the whole story of someone else’s life.’

  Martha and Jean nodded at this.

  ‘If you have days when you’re feeling blue and aren’t in a happy state of mind, try one of the things on the kicking the bucket list,’ said Martha. ‘Take a walk, go to a dance class, meditate. You can shift states of mind. Remember, whatever is happening, you always have a choice as to how you’re going to react to it.’

  ‘So much of what you think matters,’ said Jean, ‘you will find doesn’t matter at all. What lasts is love. Sometimes it comes from the most unexpected places, but it is the most potent force of all. If you can find love, you will find happiness lies there.’

  ‘And it needn’t be a nebulous thing, love – an idea, a feeling. No, put it into practice. Practise love in action. Do things for the ones you love, show them you care—’

  ‘With acts of kindness,’ Mum added.

  ‘And cake,’ said Jean. Martha laughed and nodded.

  ‘And so this really is goodbye now,’ said Mum. Her eyes were glistening. She knew it would be the last time we would see her and I felt my throat constrict at the thought of it. ‘I’ll have been gone a year by the time you see this last recording.’

  Martha, Jean and Mum stood up and, from behind their backs, they produced three small silver hearts about the size of a hand, which they held towards the camera and indicated from left to right as though pointing out at Rose, Fleur and me.

  Mum brushed away tears. ‘So this is it,’ she said.

  Martha bowed. ‘Au revoir,’ she said then left the room.

  Jean took her bow. ‘Arrivederci,’ she said and also made her exit.

  ‘Auf Wiedersehen. Adios. Goodbye,’ Mum said. She bowed, gave such a tender look of love into the screen that I gasped at the sweet, sharp pain it evoked. She blew a kiss and walked off.