by Linda Green
‘Yeah,’ I reply.
‘I’ll ring Julia right back and let her know.’
I listen to Angela’s end of the conversation, trying hard to blink back the tears.
‘For what it’s worth,’ says Angela, when she’s finished the call, ‘I think that’s worked out for the best. That dress was perfect for you, Jess. Absolutely perfect. It must be fate, eh?’
I nod and take a sip of my coffee.
‘Now, before I put my phone away, you must help me find you on Facebook so we can become friends. All we need to do then is try to persuade our Lee to join. You’re a better woman than me if you manage it, mind.’
I try to say something in response but am unable to form any words. I take a bite of the chocolate brownie she has bought for me instead. I no longer know if I am able to control my own future or if all I can do is go along with it. I’m beginning to feel like a passenger in my own life, and I’m not sure I can stop the train and get off, even if I want to.
Angela Griffiths Jess Mount
3 October 2017
I know it’s daft to think you can see this, but I wanted to show you the latest photo. He’s nearly six months old now, our Harrison. Looking more like his father every day too. He’s even trying to crawl, doing a sort of commando-style thing on his elbows and dragging his legs after him. He doesn’t want to be still, you see. Always likes to be on the move. I’m going to have my work cut out once he’s walking, I can see that. It won’t be long, either. He’ll be an early walker like our Lee was. Determined, see. And chunky thighs too.
Anyway, he’s happy as Larry. He misses you, obviously. But it’s such a blessing that he’s too young to actually remember you or to properly understand what happened. We will show him photos as he gets older, of course. And tell him all about you. You may be gone but you will not be forgotten. And you have left me with the most precious gift of all. My first grandchild.
Jess
Sunday, 3 April 2016
I am back home when I see it. I usually stay at Lee’s on Sunday nights but I made my excuses when we left Angela’s after lunch and said I would come home to see Dad and get an early night.
And now there is no chance of any sleep at all. My son is staring back at me from the computer screen. He has the most gorgeous big brown eyes and little dimples. And Angela is right – he does look like Lee. So much so that I can’t see any of me in him at all. I wonder for a second if he is actually my child, but deep down I know he is. It’s weird – I give birth to this baby and yet he is a complete stranger to me.
I reach out and touch the screen. For a moment I think I see his smile broaden and hear him gurgle back at me. I wonder if it would be possible to print out the photo. I suspect not, but it is worth a go. I save it to my pictures folder, but when I go there to find it, there’s nothing there. I can’t even have a photo of him. One single, lousy photo for his mother to keep. I wish I had one of those 3D printers. Maybe that would work and I could somehow print him out whole. Have him appear on the floor in front of me, laughing and crawling around and smelling of whatever it is babies smell of, a mixture of poo and vomit and milk, I suppose.
As it is, I will just have to bide my time. Because I will get to meet him. In a few months’ time he will be growing inside of me. And I will feel him kick, just like other mothers do with their babies. And I will get to give birth to him and hold him and feed him and all the other stuff new mums do.
The only difference will be that I’ll be saying goodbye to him very soon afterwards.
And the saddest thing, the thing I am really struggling with, is that he will never remember our short time together. At least when Mum died I had fifteen years of memories and happy times to cling on to. He will have nothing. Although perhaps, as Angela said, that will make it easier for him. I hope so. It is a horrible thing to hope for, though. That your son will be able to cope better with your death because he doesn’t remember anything about you at all.
‘I love you,’ I whisper to him. And I know at that moment that I do. And that I must stick by Lee whatever happens, because without Lee there will be no Harrison. And I don’t think I could bear that, I really don’t.
I am not going to read any more of these posts and messages. I mean it this time. I will stay away from Facebook. I will not let it get the better of me.
I smile again at H. ‘Night, night,’ I say. ‘I’m not going to look at you for a while, but it doesn’t mean I won’t be thinking about you.’ I kiss the screen, shutting my eyes and imagining one day kissing him for real.
*
My phone rings the next morning while I’m waiting for the train. I pick it up and am surprised to see Sadie’s name on the screen. I wonder whether to answer it or not, but pick it up on the next ring.
‘Hi,’ I say. ‘Bit early for you, isn’t it?’
‘I got up especially early to tell you what an arsehole I am.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The other day, at Pret. I behaved like a real jerk.’
I don’t say anything for a moment. I am stunned, to be honest. I thought I had lost her, I really did. I did not expect to be given another chance.
‘And I should have realised how hard it would be for you,’ I say, my voice quivering.
‘I wasn’t expecting it, that’s all. I mean, no one gets married nowadays, do they? If you’d said you were moving in with him, I would have half expected that. Given the choice of a tiny bedroom in a terraced house in Mytholmroyd or a swanky apartment in Leeds, I know which one I’d take.’
‘I’m not marrying him for his flat. I really do love him, you know.’
‘I get that. I just don’t want you turning into a middle-aged housewife on me, that’s all. If you’re not careful, you’ll be smelling of baby sick and complaining about sleepless nights before you know it.’
I have to hold the phone away from me while I take a couple of deep breaths. She doesn’t know what she’s saying, I understand that, but I am beginning to see how fraught this relationship is going to be, if it does survive.
‘Listen, I can’t talk long,’ I say. ‘My train’s due in a minute.’
‘Are you not at his place?’
‘No. I came home to see Dad. I was pretty knackered, to be honest. I went wedding dress shopping with Lee’s mum at the weekend.’
‘Oh wow. That really is serious. Did you get one?’
‘Yep.’
‘Would I like it?’
‘It’s not black and it doesn’t involve leather, if that’s what you mean. And before you ask, no, I will not be wearing my DMs underneath.’
‘Shame. Would have been a good look.’
‘I don’t think Lee’s mum would approve.’
‘Does she approve of you?’
‘I guess so. We’re friends on Facebook now, anyway.’
‘I’d better be careful what I tag you in then. Don’t want you getting into trouble with your mother-in-law.’
My train pulls into the platform.
‘Anyway. I’ve got to go,’ I say.
‘Look, how about we try that lunch again this week? Only I’m paying this time, to make up for being such an eejit.’
I hesitate, unsure whether it’s a good thing to start this up again, bearing in mind what I was reading last night. But I have already decided not to read it anymore. And maybe it would be a good idea to get her onside again. Maybe if I make her see what Lee is really like, it’ll stop her doing all the shit stirring later.
‘You’re on. Just let me know when.’
*
I feel it as soon as I wake up on Wednesday morning. It is the same every year. The ache. The hurt. The pain. People are lying when they say that time heals. It doesn’t. It means you have more days in between where the pain is numbed and you aren’t conscious of it all of the time, but every
year, on the anniversary of her death, it’s like the anaesthetic wears off and you realise that the wound is still there, as deep and painful as ever, and you have just been masking it all year in order to get by. And the whole day just becomes one long, silent scream while you wait for it to pass and for the anaesthetic to kick in again.
I dress quickly and go downstairs. Dad looks up as I enter. He has been crying already, I can tell. I go over and hug him. We don’t need any words. Just the comfort of knowing we are both feeling it as bad as each other. After a while, he takes my head in his hands and kisses me on the forehead.
‘It doesn’t get any easier, does it?’ he says.
‘No.’
‘Do you want any breakfast or shall we just go?’
‘Let’s go.’
We get in Dad’s car and make the ten-minute journey in silence. All I can think of on the way is Dad doing this same journey with his spade in the boot. Of how desperate he must have been to try to dig me up.
I fiddle with the stems of the daffodils I have in my lap. Daffodils were Mum’s favourite flower. Actually, I don’t know if that was true or she simply said it because I always gave her daffodils on Mother’s Day. I wonder what flowers Harrison will bring for me when he is old enough. I don’t have a favourite flower. I guess I need to pick one, tell Dad and Lee what it is. Anything to make it easier for them.
As cemeteries go, it’s a nice one. There’s a gorgeous view over Luddenden Valley – a few chimneys from the old mills and fields and trees and little winding lanes with dry-stone walls. It’s peaceful, too. We used to walk up here as a family when I was little. Me complaining about my legs being tired, even back then.
I follow Dad over to the far corner where the newer graves are. The trees behind them screen us off from the church beyond. There are a few splashes of colour around – flowers wrapped in cellophane with handwritten messages in wobbly writing.
Mum’s grave is in the corner. Dad got a family plot. He told me it meant that we would all be back together one day. That Mum would be waiting for us. But I know from his post that it is me who is buried here first. It is our two graves that he sits between and where he sobs.
I watch as he lays his single red rose down. His hand is shaking, his bottom lip trembling. I go over and squeeze his hand, lay my flowers down next to his. But as I do so, the noise that has been brewing deep inside me comes out, like something primeval. I sink to my knees and gasp the air back in to fill the hole it has left inside. Dad crouches down next to me, grabbing my arm.
‘It’s OK,’ he says.
‘It’s not. It’s not going to be OK. Not for you. Not for either of us.’
‘Jess, come on. We’ve made it this far. We can do this together.’
I shake my head and start scrabbling at the earth with my hands.
Dad tries to pull my hands away, to haul me up to my feet. ‘Jess, stop it, please.’
‘I can’t,’ I shout. ‘I can’t stop any of it. It’s all going to happen anyway, whatever I do.’
‘Come on, you’re not making sense. We need to get you home.’
I realise he is going to think I am ill. That it is starting again. I take my fingers out of the earth and look at them, bring them closer to me and sniff the soil in case I can get a faint trace of Mum.
Dad’s hands reach under my arms and he hauls me to my feet. My legs are still shaking. I cling on to him, not daring to let go.
‘When I die, you’ll bury me here,’ I say. ‘Next to Mum.’
Dad wipes the tears from his face. ‘No, you’ll bury me here. But there’s a space for you too, when the time comes.’
‘What about Lee?’
‘I don’t know if there’s enough space. Maybe I can ring up and ask, if it bothers you.’
‘And any children we have,’ I say. ‘I want them to be here too.’
Dad nods. ‘Let’s not worry about it now, eh? We’ve got a wedding to look forward to.’
He is gripping my shoulders hard. I can sense the worry in his fingers. I nod back at him.
‘Do you need to see someone, Jess? Are things troubling you?’
I hesitate. I wish I could tell him, but I can’t. He will only worry. And I’ll get put away again and the wedding won’t happen. And if the wedding doesn’t happen, Harrison won’t exist and I couldn’t bear that. I couldn’t bear to not have my baby boy.
‘No. I’m fine. But I want you to know that my favourite flowers are daffodils too.’
Jess
August 2008
I stand with Sadie on the platform, waiting for the train to come in. Stations are very difficult for me now. I think about the people who throw themselves in front of trains. I don’t think about doing it myself – I have never thought about that – but I do wonder what they might be thinking about just before they do it. What it feels like, the moment they step off the platform, the moment when they hit the track or the train hits them, whichever happens first.
I think about other people too. The people on the trains that crash. Whether anyone ever actually manages to break the safety glass. Whether it’s better to be in an aisle or a window seat. What would happen to the person who was in the loo at the time?
The train is coming in. My fingers curl up. I dig my nails into my palms. I can do this, I can. I count the carriages but there are only two, which means I can’t get in the middle carriage. I don’t like being in the end ones. You are much more likely to die in a crash if you are in the end ones. Sadie reaches out and presses the button, and the doors hiss back. I can see her looking at me, looking and waiting.
‘Come on,’ she says. ‘Let’s see if we can grab a seat.’
I force my legs to move, to follow her onto the train. But once I do, they seize up completely. There are only two seats together in the carriage. They are the two nearest the driver’s cab. Sadie has already got the window seat; she is looking at me, a frown creasing her brow.
I shake my head. It is all I can do.
She picks up her bag and comes over to me. ‘What is it? What’s the matter?’
I can’t tell her the real reason – that I don’t want to sit there in case there’s a train crash. I can’t explain that you are statistically more likely to die in a train crash if you are sitting at the front of the train. People don’t think about it. They just hear that three people died in a train crash. They might know that one was the driver, but they don’t ask where the other two were sitting. People don’t ask because they don’t want to know. They want to be blissfully ignorant.
I look at Sadie. She is still waiting for an answer. I move my mouth but no words come out.
‘Would you rather stand?’ she asks.
I nod. She gives a little shrug and grabs hold of the rail as the train sets off. I can see it in her eyes though. She has crossed to the other side. She is one of them now. She thinks I am cracking up.
PART THREE
Angela
Saturday, 2 July 2016
I get to the bridal shop for the final fitting before Jess. She is not as punctual as Lee and me, I’ve noticed. But if that is her worst fault, it’s not such a bad one. I get my to-do list out of my handbag and start to go through it. As fast as I cross one thing off, it seems there is another one to add. Not that I am complaining. It has been lovely to be so involved in the wedding. Some of my friends felt completely shut out when their sons got married. I suppose, in a way, I am the mother of the bride and the groom for this wedding. That is certainly what it feels like.
At least it’s been a fairly smooth process so far. There have only been one or two sticking points since the whole business with the dress. Jess was adamant that she didn’t want any bridesmaids, and I accepted that, even though the hotel was prepared to be incredibly accommodating about matching the colour of the napkins to the bridesmaids’ dresses.
And she did
insist that her father be allowed to organise the menu with the hotel’s chef, even though I’d have been perfectly capable of doing it.
I look up as the doorbell tinkles and Jess rushes in.
‘Hi, Angela. Sorry to keep you.’
Her hair is still damp at the ends, as if she has just got out of the shower.
‘That’s OK. I’m just glad you didn’t go for a morning wedding.’
‘I’m always so knackered at the end of the week. I don’t think my body clock’s got used to the early starts yet.’
‘Well, only one more week to go and then you can spend a fortnight in bed if you want to.’
She flushes slightly. I do too, when I realise what I’ve said. It’s not something you like to think about – your son’s sexual appetite. Though I should imagine it is quite a healthy one.
‘And here’s the bride-to-be!’ says Julia, bursting through from the back of the shop. ‘How are we this morning?’
‘Fine, thanks,’ Jess replies. She is not as excited as I thought she would be by now. Maybe a touch of last-minute nerves? It’s hardly surprising, really, especially without her mother around to support her.
‘Right, let’s go through,’ says Julia, beckoning her towards the changing rooms. ‘We’ve got the dress ready for you. And if any minor adjustments are needed, we can still get them done in plenty of time for the big day.’
Jess nods and disappears into the changing rooms with Julia. I take my phone out and scroll down my Facebook page. Jess hasn’t put anything on about the wedding preparations. I asked her about it once – I wondered if it might be because she was superstitious – but she just said she didn’t really go on Facebook anymore. I had a look through her timeline when we became friends. There were quite a lot of posts from last year – all those silly selfies with pouting lips that the girls do. Lots of things she was tagged in by her friend Sadie, the one who’s going to be her witness. But it all seemed to stop around the point she started going out with Lee. I guess she hasn’t had so much time on her hands, and I know he doesn’t like people being on their phones when he’s with them. It was the one thing about Emma that used to really wind him up. It was the only time I ever heard him snap at her, when he caught her on the phone.