by Prosecco
I walked into the kitchen, and felt my jaw drop. My stepmother, ridiculously young and usually beautiful, was not okay. I had expected her to be sitting there in her yoga outfit, meditating, before she opened her eyes and talked to me about the meaning of life, and how everything happened for a reason, and death was a part of a great, joyous cycle that we were blessed to be upon.
Instead, she was wearing a pair of striped blue boxer shorts and one of my dad’s T-shirts, an old one, softened in the wash until the wording had faded. She was resting her head on her arm, her eyes closed, her blonde curls dirty and tangled. In her hand was a glass of what I was pretty sure was whiskey.
Marjorie didn’t drink. Not even wine. She said it was an assault on the glorious purity of our bodies, and a poison. Which was probably why she was incredibly pissed.
‘Marjorie?’ I whispered. It didn’t matter. She screamed in fright.
And I mildly enjoyed it.
She leant her head back on her arm, simply tilting her face towards me, frowning. ‘Mia? You’re not meant to be back until this evening.’ Her voice was fuzzy, and as soon as she’d figured out who I was, she’d closed her eyes again. ‘I shouldn’t… I mean…’
‘You want a coffee?’ I said, and she wrinkled her nose.
‘Caffeine is evil… poison…’
‘Well, it’s the kind of poison that’ll counteract the one you’ve already put in your body,’ I snorted, clicking the kettle on and busying myself with mugs.
I didn’t make her a coffee in the end, and picked up instead one of those disgusting nettle and ginger teabags she loved. I watched Marjorie try to compose herself; she just looked so young, drowned in Dad’s clothes. When she sat up, her eyes were puffy and she was paler than ever.
She rubbed her face, ‘I’m sorry, I just…’
‘You miss him.’
Her face crumpled suddenly, and she looked away, wiping her eyes as she looked upwards.
I placed the mug on the table and averted my eyes, sitting down opposite her. She was a wreck.
‘I should have been stronger. You were right, I was weak…’ Marjorie pressed her hands around the mug. They were brightly painted ceramic – they’d picked them up on a holiday in Greece and I’d hated them because she loved them. I’d broken one of the set of four out of spite. And she’d just smiled and said that was lucky, because now we had one each. Poor Marjorie, trying so hard all this time.
‘You weren’t weak, Marjorie,’ I said. ‘I never said you were weak.’
‘When I called…’
I took a deep breath. ‘I had to be like that, you know I did. You wanted some big Kumbaya-crying fest, and that wasn’t going to help you.’ I shook my head. ‘And I’m sorry. I was cruel.’
Marjorie laughed, wiping her eyes. ‘You’ve always hated me. And I can’t blame you. I never blamed you.’
‘I didn’t—’
‘You did. It’s okay. I’ve been there.’ Marjorie sipped her tea. ‘My parents split when I was a kid. My step-parents just didn’t want me around. My mum married this much older guy, and my dad went through a bunch of different women who all loved that he was a dad, but didn’t want me taking his attention. I went from having two parents who loved me to not having a home at all.’
I said nothing, wondering if this was the first time we’d had a real conversation, the first time she hadn’t just wandered in from a crystal-healing session to offer us a wheatgrass shot. Dad had gone along with it all, gagging down green juices and rolling his eyes with me when he thought she wasn’t looking. But he had been mad about her, always. Whatever Marjorie wanted, he did. Hadn’t forced it on me, but sat there, eating his vegan dinners, pretending the unflavoured tofu tasted of something.
Marjorie looked at me intently. ‘I didn’t want to be like that with you. I wanted you to feel like there was someone else who was interested in you, and wanted you around.’
‘You dragged me around to everything.’ I laughed, remembering the obsession Marjorie had with family outings. They were always a failure, but she never gave up. The aquarium, barbecues in the back garden, activity holidays. ‘It was like you were trying to punish me.’
‘I know, I was trying too hard. Always trying too hard.’ She traced the rim of her cup with a fingertip. ‘That’s what Rob said. I should let you be, stop trying to make us into a family.’
‘We were a family,’ I said roughly, surprised at myself. ‘Families fight.’ I took a sip of my tea. ‘What happened with the step-parents?’
‘Dad’s lasted, Mum’s didn’t.’ She shrugged. ‘I was an angry, bitchy teenager. I treated everyone like shit, screamed and fought. Got myself in trouble.’
‘Sounds familiar.’ I chuckled, looking at her.
Marjorie smiled, looking vaguely like herself again. ‘You were an angel child compared to me. I… I got into some dangerous situations trying to force somebody to care about me. No one came.’
I had no idea what to say.
‘So I had to grow up and take care of myself, when I realized no one else was going to do it. And then my mum got sick…’
‘I didn’t know that,’ I said.
‘Well, we’ve never really talked, have we?’
I shook my head. ‘I recall a very heated discussion about chia seeds.’
‘I remember that one.’ Marjorie swept her hair into a ponytail. ‘Second only to the one about your dad.’
‘Hey, if he’d told you to leave…’
‘I would have kicked and screamed and refused.’ She nodded, taking a sip of her tea.
‘Yeah, you would have.’ I tapped my fingertips on the table. ‘So… what do we do now?’
Marjorie took a breath. ‘We plan a funeral the way he wanted it, we remember him, we laugh and cry and we… figure out what to do with our lives. As a family.’
‘Funny little family we are.’ I pressed my lips together.
She reached out and patted my hand. ‘Yes, we are.’ Marjorie stood up. ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go and throw up.’
‘Okay. I’ll bring you up some water.’
‘Thanks, sweetpea,’ she said tiredly, padding up the stairs, yawning widely.
Sweetpea. She hadn’t even noticed she’d said it. That’s what he’d called us both, his girls. And I’d rolled my eyes and said I didn’t want to be a pea no matter how sweet it was. So he’d started calling me any other vegetable – runner bean, carrot stick, baby corn… It had made me so mad, until I’d caught the look on his face once and I couldn’t help laughing.
I stood in the empty kitchen and wondered what the hell I was supposed to do. I could unpack my bag in my room, I supposed, let the empty house echo. Stand and notice everything of his in our home and remember every story. It was both home and not home, now. I wondered if Marjorie would want to sell it.
My phone buzzed. There had already been messages from Allegra and Nikki, hoping I’d had a safe flight. Allegra reminded me to be nice.
Goal achieved. Sort of.
I checked the phone: Savvy.
On my way, petal. Love you xx
I fought back the brief hiccup that was almost a sob. My best friend was always there. Even when she wasn’t.
After I’d left a pint glass of water for Marjorie outside the closed bedroom door, I dumped my case in my room, the pale blue walls and striped curtains seemingly belonging to someone else. I’d never even bothered to redecorate when I came back from uni. It still looked like a guest room. I hadn’t thought I was staying that long. The lumpy bed and the same chest of drawers I’d had since I was a child, my initials carved into the side.
I unpacked carefully, showered off the feeling of the plane, and sat on the edge of my bed, towel-drying my hair. Somehow, time passed. I felt like I just sat down for a minute, but when Marjorie popped her head around the door, it was two hours later.
‘Sorry, I conked out. Wow, that tan. You’re golden.’ She was dressed now, in her usual yoga pants and oversized T-shirt c
ombination. Her long hair was tied in plaits and she looked insanely young. That was one of the reasons I never used to go out with her. All those offers of shopping trips and manicures, and yet any time we were together, everyone would comment on how much we looked like sisters, how lovely it must be to have a sister. That was almost more painful. Not only was my stepmother young, but I had wanted a sister. And if I’d had a sibling I wouldn’t be an orphan.
But I guess I had her. My hippie-dippy, young, beautiful, sad stepmother.
‘This place isn’t right,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Let’s go out and get something to eat.’
‘Sure. Thai food?’
That was the one food we could usually at least both enjoy.
‘Nope. Fuck it.’ She laughed. ‘I want a cheeseburger, and fries, and a very large beer. Come on.’
I’d only been back a few hours, and already Marjorie had surprised me more times than in all the years I’d known her.
Chapter Eighteen
‘You didn’t have to pick me up from the airport, you idiot. I came here for you.’ Savvy nudged me. ‘And we certainly didn’t have to come here.’
I looked around at the Martini Club, quiet even for a Monday night, and shrugged. ‘Where else would we go? It’s quiz night at The Ferret and Trouserleg.’
Savvy nodded, nursing her cocktail. I sat clutching a bottle of beer.
‘How was today?’
I exhaled slowly. ‘I woke up with an almighty combined hangover-and-greasy-food headache. Marjorie and I went through some weird stages-of-grief trip while planning the funeral…’
Savvy frowned. ‘How’d you mean?’
I snorted, swirling the beer around in the bottle. ‘Well, we were incredibly wary and polite to each other, trying to make sure the other was comfortable with the decisions.’
‘At first,’ Savvy said into her drink. I clicked my fingers.
‘Bingo. Then it was all about how flowers are murdered living things and symbols of death didn’t need to be dead, and why didn’t everyone just give to a charity…’
‘And then you lost your shit…’ Savvy led me on, waving over to Jacques for another round of drinks.
‘Too right I lost my shit – no flowers at a funeral?’ I finished my beer. ‘But I felt like we’d finally reached a good place, so I suggested fake flowers. Well, you can guess how that went down.’
My best friend paused, resting her chin on her hand. ‘Plastic, non-degradable, non-recyclable toxic poison?’
I grabbed her hand. ‘You have no idea how good it feels to talk to someone who actually knows me, and my crazy family.’
‘Well, now you have a whole new crazy family element to catch me up on. But how was it settled with Marjorie? You’re not in some sort of stand-off, are you? Because your dad wouldn’t want that.’
‘No, he wouldn’t… which is why he’d already made all of the arrangements himself. Donations to charity, a biodegradable coffin, paper flowers that are very much recyclable but also beautiful, and the caterer is serving a mixture of home-comfort canapés, and a fuck-off massive array of chocolate cakes. And he’s requested a jazz band.’
Savvy shook her head, laughing. ‘Nice one, Rob. Classy and a piss-taker till the end.’
‘Exactly!’
Savvy waited for our fresh drinks to arrive and held hers up. ‘To your dad.’
I clinked my bottle against the glass. ‘To Dad.’
The silence was comfortable, and I leaned my head on my friend’s shoulder. ‘You’re not gonna let me make a fool of myself, are you, Sav?’
‘There is no way to do that,’ she said, then paused. ‘I mean, don’t get into a screaming match with Marjorie, or get drunk and tell the guests you don’t like to go screw themselves, but beyond that, I think you’re fine.’
I nodded, my fingertips tracing shapes in the lacquered shine of the table top.
‘Tell me about the antiques shop,’ she said, and I did. I told her about Antonio, and how he remembered me. I told her about that first memory, where a kind old man handed me a compass to help me find my way. I skipped around the parts with Salvatore, the look he got when he was doing the books, or the way he smiled when he thought no one noticed. I didn’t tell her a man had bought me coffee every morning because he thought he might like to do that every day for the rest of his life. It seemed too ridiculous to say out loud.
Thankfully, when it got too close, when I desperately wanted to start talking about him, Bel came over. The owner of the Martini Club was a strange creature. Her dark hair had a red tint, and was swept back into carefully created curls. Her lips were red and luscious and she had a beauty mark painted on her face. She wore a black sparkly shirt under a black silk corset, with black trousers and huge heels. It was a Monday, for crying out loud. But she had always seemed like this – a vaguely threatening vessel of womanhood, like she was waiting to pounce if you did something wrong. And yet here she was, bringing me a bottle of Champagne.
‘Are we celebrating?’
‘You always celebrate life with Champagne, darling.’ She expertly poured us each a glass – Jacques too – and said she was sorry for my loss. We clinked glasses. The conversation carried on, Bel just listening and nodding as we talked about my dad.
After she’d finished her drink, she stood up. ‘I’ve got to get back to work. Time and tide, darlings…’ It was funny: half the time she spoke like an affected toff with a mouthful of pear drops, but as she went to leave, she grasped my arm and said, ‘I’m really sorry this shit is happening to you. But you’ll be okay.’ Then she walked off without a backwards glance.
It was the right thing to say because somehow, I suddenly knew it was true. I turned back to my two friends, suddenly full of love and appreciation.
Jacques sat up straight, as if he’d had an idea, ‘Hey! You know this means you have to actually go and do a job you love, right?’
It was clear he’d given up on the bar for the night, but I was pretty sure he was performing later.
‘Only if you want to.’ Savvy sat as the angel on my shoulder, the voice of kindness and comfort. ‘You could always go back to the make-up counter if you’re still thinking about it.’
Jacques was outraged. ‘She most certainly can not. And you know I really mean that, because I’d become accustomed to my twenty per cent discount!’
Savvy patted his hand in faux concern.
‘I’m not going back to the make-up counter. I’m… I’m going to go on a dig.’
‘You are?’ Savvy blinked.
‘I am!’
‘And when did you decide this?’
‘About five seconds ago,’ I replied. ‘Decision making under pressure – much better than all that endless thinking everyone seems to insist on doing so much of.’
‘Well, good. Great!’
My glass was filled up again and again. This time I asked for Savvy’s stories. I asked about Milo, and what was in Prague, and whether she’d heard her mother’s new album.
My best friend glowed in a way I hadn’t expected, a kind of insistent sparkle. It was the joy of following her dreams. She had an energy of purpose about her, as if now that she’d finally figured it out, no one was going to stop her. It was infectious.
In my head, I started making plans. Lists of places I wanted to go, things I wanted to see. Contacts who might be able to help me find a dig, get me back on the right path. Start over again.
Jacques briefly bitched about his life, and moaned about missing me, whilst delicately trying to check how I was. Eventually, he got himself so flustered he almost missed his cue for his performance that night, just as I’d predicted he would. He kissed me on the cheek and bounded up to the stage, pulling off his tie with a flourish. He’d found his passion, too: crosswords by day and half-naked dancing in the dark by night.
‘Wanna know a secret?’ I whispered to Savvy as we watched our friend astound the ladies at the front table. The whooping was loud and irritating, but I could tel
l Jacques was loving it.
‘I do. Tell me.’ She leant her head close to mine, the same way we would do when we were kids. When secrets were so expensive, so precious, they had to be whispered to be safe.
‘I accidentally fell in love, I think.’
‘Oh, petal,’ Savvy said, putting an arm around me. ‘I know.’
‘You know?’
‘We’ve been here for hours and you haven’t said a word about him. Even if it was out of some respect for your dad, you would have made a joke, or mentioned his place in the story. If it didn’t mean anything you’d be sitting here telling me he was a gorgeous bastard and you should have shagged him whilst you had the chance.’
I blinked. ‘You’re more forthright than I remember. What has Barcelona done to you?’
‘It’s what working in a kitchen has done to me, I’m afraid. No time for bullshit!’
I sipped the last of my Champagne, and felt it fizzle in my stomach. Too much booze and thinking. Not enough cheese on some sort of carbohydrate.
‘So, what am I meant to do?’
‘Live a life of regret, of course,’ Savvy said seriously, crossing her arms. Her blonde hair was white in the light of the bar, pink strands intertwined with a few purple ones weaving down into a chunky plait on the other side.
‘Um… okay. Not the best advice.’
‘Look, you want real advice?’ Savvy raised an eyebrow. ‘Here it is. You are in a weird place in your life, and you met a gorgeous guy who was grumpy and sincere and let you teach him things and go on adventures. He was exactly what you needed, right? The perfect distraction.’
‘Yes.’
I felt irritated. The old me would have loved that clear, distinct answer. It explained away everything. And yet it didn’t explain how I could be heartbroken to lose my father, and want someone here to comfort me who didn’t even know I’d lost him.