‘God, you are amazing. You’re so beautiful, Abigail. Look at me. Look at what you do to me. I’m a mess when it comes to you. I can’t stay away.’ His mouth claimed mine in a powerful kiss and I could feel just how much he meant what he said. But what about Lexie? Did he tell her the same things? My logical mind snapped back into action – what the hell was I thinking? This couldn’t happen.
‘Jack, stop, please, we can’t do this.’ At first, I thought he hadn’t heard me as he didn’t release me from his grip, but when he pulled back to look at me I could see the hurt and confusion in his eyes. He lowered me to the floor and stalked across to the sink, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the counter.
‘I’m sorry, Jack, I just can’t…’
‘Can’t what? What can’t you do?’ He whirled round to face me. ‘Can’t bring yourself to be near me? Can’t get over the fact that I left and somehow you think that makes this—’ he gestured back and forth between us ‘—impossible to even consider. What is it?’
‘You should go. Go back to Lexie, go back to your life.’
‘Is that it? Is this about Lexie? I told you, Abigail, that’s nothing. Why won’t you believe me? What do I have to do to convince you?’
‘It’s not nothing. She loves you. I heard her calling your name when we were speaking on the phone earlier. She was there with you.’
‘Goddamn it, Abigail! I have a suite of rooms at the hotel. She has one of those rooms. I wasn’t sharing a bed with her.’
He walked towards me and I instinctively backed away. I didn’t get far; I hit the kitchen table and I was stuck. He stood in front of me, effectively preventing my escape, looking as weary as I felt.
‘I can’t control how Lexie feels about me. As far as I’m concerned, we’re just good friends. She’s a sweet kid but that’s all. There could never be anything between us, especially not now. I knew that the minute I saw you at that party the other night. I don’t want anyone else, Abigail. I only want you.’
‘That’s how you feel now but you’re getting caught up in memories, that’s all. It’s not real, it’s in the past and you need to forget about it.’
‘That’s bullshit and you know it. The way I feel about you isn’t just fucking nostalgia. It’s more than that.’
I shook my head. ‘I can’t take the chance that you’ll wake up tomorrow and realise I was right. I’m not willing to risk it, Jack. I’m not strong enough.’
He stepped away from me with a pained look on his face.
‘I want you, Abigail, more than I’ve ever wanted anyone, I think. But I can see that you’re not going to believe me. I’ll go if you really want me to but be careful – if I leave now, then I won’t be back. I’m not a masochist and I don’t enjoy being tormented.’
‘And I don’t enjoy being bullied,’ I replied. ‘I’m not trying to torment you, Jack. I’m trying to be realistic about our situation. It would never work and I’m getting too old to mess around like a teenager. If that means that we can’t at least be friends then so be it, but that’s your decision not mine.’ My voice was full of a strength that I didn’t really feel but I was grateful I could at least muster the appearance of a backbone for the moment. Fuck him and his ultimatums. He shook his head and then leaned in to kiss me on the cheek.
‘Goodbye, Abigail. Take care of yourself.’
And with that he walked away, down the hallway and out of the door without looking back. I sank to the kitchen floor in an ungainly heap and started to cry.
Chapter 16
It was amazing how time flew when you were organising the funeral of your mother and long-lost father. It had been almost two weeks since Jack had left me in that pathetic heap on the kitchen floor and he’d kept his promise; I’d heard nothing from him. I’d like to say that I hadn’t given him a minute’s thought but that would be a lie. There had been plenty of nights in the last couple of weeks where I’d replayed that last scene between us and imagined it ending very differently. In my fantasy, I didn’t stop him from kissing me and we ended up making love right there on the kitchen floor. I didn’t have stretch marks or saggy bits and he adored every inch of me. But that was only in my head, of course. I was sure the reality would have been somewhat different. He’d probably have taken one look and run a mile, right back to sexy Lexie. But I’d never know now, would I? Whatever the fantasy, I knew I couldn’t waste any more time on what might have been. I needed to deal with my life the way it really was, rather than the way I wished it could be.
I shook away thoughts of Jack and tried to focus on the situation in hand. I was late – I should already have been at Mum’s house. There was a bit of good old East End tradition to get out of the way before the funeral tomorrow – my parents were coming home to spend their last night in our old house. I’d been against the whole idea at first; I wanted to remember Mum as she was and I certainly didn’t want the first time I saw my Dad in twenty years to be when he was laid out in a coffin looking like a waxwork version of himself, but Matt had insisted.
‘It’s tradition, Abs, and that’s how she wanted it done,’ he’d said. I didn’t feel as if I could argue; he knew so much more about Mum’s wishes than I did.
Our family had always followed the same ritual when it came to funerals: the body was brought home, in an open casket, so friends and relatives could come and pay their respects. The one exception to this that I could remember had been Great-uncle Freddie – he’d blown his head off with a shotgun so an open casket would not have been the best choice.
When my grandad had died, my nan had insisted he be laid out at home for almost a week before the funeral. The house had been freezing because all the windows had been wide open to keep it cool. I’d overheard the funeral director telling one of his colleagues that if his body had lain there much longer we wouldn’t have been able to get the smell of death out of the house. It might well have been a family tradition, but it didn’t mean I had to like it. I’d made it very clear to my brother that I had no intention of sitting by their coffins all night. I was going to stay in the kitchen, making tea and washing up cups, and nodding politely when people expressed their condolences.
We’d already had a few strange phone calls from people claiming to have been ‘business associates’ of Dad’s – I assumed that was just a handy euphemism for criminal – and they all seemed very interested in coming to view his corpse. What fun.
I took a last look in the mirror. I couldn’t put it off any longer; it was time to go. I left the flat and walked along the landing, feeling as if I were wading through water. I was walking into the sea, fighting against the tide to make any kind of progress. I made my way down the concrete stairs at the end of the landing and out onto the street.
As I walked past familiar front doors and shops, I looked down at my feet stepping over the same kerbs and cracks as they had done when I was fifteen. I’d get off the bus at the top of the road and walk the last bit home, usually with Jack. He’d been such an important part of my life then and when he’d left I’d been lost for a long time. I’d got over it though, eventually. I’d managed to forget how important he’d been to me. His recent reappearance in my life had disturbed my carefully cultivated peace, made me remember feelings that I’d rather forget, and his most recent absence had almost turned me into that sad and lonely fifteen-year old all over again. I felt raw and vulnerable and I hated him for coming back and doing this to me, but I hated myself even more for letting it happen.
But this is what you wanted, Abby. You said you weren’t strong enough to face the inevitable end and you sent him away. You said it would be better that way. Does it feel better?
I pulled my coat tighter around my body to ward off the sudden chill I felt.
*
There was a black van parked outside the house when I arrived; two very sombre-looking men were fiddling around with some flowers in the back. I walked past them and into the house.
The coffins were already in the front room.
I could see them out of the corner of my eye as I passed the door. I didn’t linger; I went down the hallway and into the kitchen. Matt was there, filling the kettle, and I saw four mugs on the side.
‘It’s started already, has it?’ I asked, placing my coat and bag onto a kitchen chair. Matt turned when he heard my voice.
‘Hey, I didn’t know you were here. Yeah, just making a cuppa for the gents in the living room. It’s the least I can do.’ He flicked the kettle on to boil and came over to give me a hug. We stood there for a few minutes, neither of us keen to break the contact.
‘I know you’re not totally comfortable with all this, Abs. I just felt like I had to do it, for her,’ he mumbled into my shoulder.
‘I know, I get it. I’m just not ready to go in there.’
He nods and swipes away a tear. ‘What about Lucy? Is she coming?’
I shook my head. ‘She doesn’t want to see them, not like this. She’s keeping an eye on the café for me.’ I knew I had no right to try and force her. ‘She said she didn’t want her last memory of her Nan to be the image of her in a coffin.’
‘Fair enough,’ Matt sighed. ‘Better get this tea done for them,’ he says, pulling away from me. He started putting teabags into the mugs.
‘Don’t do it like that. It’ll be better if you make a pot.’ I opened the cupboard next to the fridge and pulled out the old brown teapot. I put the teabags in and then poured on the hot water.
‘Can’t give them weak tea, can we?’ I said.
Matt laughed. ‘Ha! That’s one of the things I do remember about Dad – he hated weak tea. Piss-water, he called it. He had his so strong you could stand your spoon up in it.’
‘And he always used the same cup. Never washed it, just rinsed it out under the hot tap between drinks,’ I said, surprised to find that memory so readily available. ‘The inside of that cup was so brown no one else would go near it.’
Mum had lobbed that mug at the kitchen wall a few days after he’d left; that was where that fond recollection ended, in pieces on the kitchen floor. Oblivious as to where my treacherous memory had just taken me, Matt poured the tea and took the mugs to the men in the living room. Shoving unhappy thoughts to one side, I busied myself wiping down the worktop where he’d spilt milk and sugar.
‘Sorry to disturb you. I just wanted to come and see how you are.’
I turned to see one of the funeral directors standing in the doorway.
‘Your brother tells me you’re not keen on the idea of having your parents here.’ He looked at me quizzically, as if there was something wrong with not wanting to share a house with two dead bodies. He looked young. I’d always assumed that funerals were an old man’s job. Wearing a black three-piece suit and a black tie, he looked very smart and respectful. His comment annoyed me; surely how I felt about all this was up to me, wasn’t it?
‘I don’t mean to imply anything by that – please forgive me if that’s how it came across.’ He had a very nice voice; deep and soothing. I imagined it would come in handy for calming grieving relatives in situations like this. He wasn’t that bad-looking either but perhaps it was the suit; I’ve always been a sucker for a nice suit. And good shoes – good shoes were very important. I glanced down at his feet: black, nicely polished but not too shiny. What was I doing? The man was organising a funeral, for God’s sake. Was I so sex-starved that this was what I’d been reduced to? Perving over the funeral director?
‘No, you didn’t… I mean… it’s fine…’ I babbled like an idiot and he smiled kindly at me.
‘It’s a difficult time for all of you. And it’s quite a unique situation, as I understand it.’ He was trying to be tactful but I couldn’t let it go.
‘You mean because sitting with my father’s corpse in the living room will be the most contact I’ve had with him in the last twenty years,’ I snapped. ‘Yes, I suppose that counts as a unique situation.’
He looked down at his feet, unsure of what to say next.
‘I’m sorry,’ I mumbled. ‘That was very rude of me.’
‘No, it’s fine. I’m the one that should be apologising. There was no need for me to mention it.’ He drained his mug and put it into the sink. ‘Thank you for the tea,’ he said and walked out of the kitchen. What a bitch I was. The poor man was only trying to be sympathetic. The people-pleaser in me wanted to go and apologise but that would have meant going into the other room and I wasn’t ready for that. Matt came back into the kitchen with empty mugs.
‘Thirsty work huh?’
He just nodded, as he filled the sink with water.
‘Everything all right?
He was concentrating intently on scrubbing out a mug. I thought he hadn’t heard me but then he mumbled, ‘Yeah, just a bit weird to see them both in there, laid out like that.’
My new friend appeared at the kitchen door before I could reply.
‘We’re all done now, Mr Cowan. We’ll be back tomorrow for the last part of Mum and Dad’s journey.’ He gave a respectful little nod and then walked away. I heard the front door go and then there was silence; we were alone with our parents and neither one of us knew what to do. Matt went back to scrubbing mugs in the sink and wiped down the worktop even though it was spotless. A knock at the front door saved us from having to talk about the elephants, or should I say bodies, in the room.
‘Fuck me,’ Matt exclaimed, ‘were they just hanging about outside waiting for the van to go or what?’
‘Probably. You’d better let them in before they start forming a queue down the street.’
Matt took a deep breath and plastered on a smile, before walking to the front door. I heard him greet my mum’s deaf neighbour warmly, and loudly.
*
The flow of well-wishers, and those just morbidly curious, kept up for most of the day. They ranged from close friends to casual acquaintances that I either didn’t know or just didn’t remember. I stayed in the kitchen, much to the bewilderment of a few guests who tried to persuade me to go with them into the living room. People kept making it their mission to get me to see my parents; it became like a challenge to see which one of them would finally succeed. But I stayed put, content to make tea, slice cake and deal with the washing-up.
‘Everything all right out here, darlin’?’ Flo came into the kitchen carrying some dirty plates and cups. She dropped them into the sink, rolled up her sleeves and then plunged her hands into the soapy water.
‘You don’t need to do that, Flo. I can manage.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t mind. I’d rather be in here, with you. It’s a bit odd in the other room, to be honest. People standing around chatting and drinking tea with your mum and dad all laid out.’ She gave a slight shudder. ‘I know it’s what she wanted but it still gives me the willies. Always did.’
I didn’t have to explain how I felt about all this to her; she knew already. She’d found me hiding in the kitchen when she’d arrived. Flo finished washing up and dried her hands before coming over to me. She smoothed a stray hair away from my face and smiled.
‘You look so much like her sometimes it’s frightening.’
‘Really? I’ve never thought that.’
‘She was only a few years older than you are now when your dad went away.’
‘I know.’
‘She was still young. She thought she had a lifetime to spend with the man she loved and then he was gone.’
‘I think we had more in common than I wanted to believe. I know what being a single parent feels like but I don’t know how I would have handled what happened to her. I had some say in what happened to me, I threw Martin out, but she had that decision made for her. There was nothing she could do about it.’
It made me feel so desperately sad for her; left to deal with two teenagers, gossip and the disapproving stares of friends and relatives.
‘I wish I could take back all the shitty things I said to her over the years. If she’d just told me the truth we could have sorted it out, made thing
s right between us.’
‘I know, dear, and so did she. You don’t have to feel guilty – she wouldn’t want you to.’
I sniffed back a few tears. ‘Despite everything, I think I’m a little envious of her, envious that she had someone in her life that she loved so much, a man she cared so deeply for that she stayed loyal to him for twenty years. That kind of love is a rare thing.’
‘It certainly is but I don’t know that it really did her any good in the end. She sacrificed so much for your dad, the rest of her life, her relationship with you, they all suffered because of her devotion to him. To a man who wouldn’t even return her letters. Still, she made her choices and she had to live with them. Same as we all do in the end.’
She gave me a weak little smile and then ambled down the hallway. I watched her as she stopped briefly at the living room doorway before gathering herself and going in.
*
I was waiting for the kettle to boil for at least the hundredth time that day, when I was joined in the kitchen by an older gentleman in a dark overcoat and trilby hat. He looked as if he’d just stepped out of a gangster movie. I guessed he was about the same age as my parents and I thought I vaguely recognised him. He had broad shoulders and his face was tanned but wrinkled, as if he’d spent too much time in the sun. He didn’t speak to me at first; he went and sat in one of the chairs by the kitchen table, just watching me as I moved round the room. After a few minutes, I couldn’t stand it any longer; the silence was too uncomfortable.
‘Did you know them well?’
He didn’t reply, he just removed his hat, stroked away a piece of fluff from its brim and placed it on the table before raising his eyes to me.
Secrets and Tea at Rosie Lee's Page 17