‘Shit.’ I can’t even imagine how devastated Tom will be. I know they never got on great, but he’s still his Dad. Was he civil the last time he spoke to him? Did they argue? Did he tell him he loved him? God, we’re too young to be losing parents.
‘Apparently it was a stroke. There we were, all worried about Nic’s dad having another heart attack and then this happens.’
‘Yeah, I bet it’s scared the shit out of him.’ I need Tom to know I’m thinking of him. ‘Would it be weird for me to text him?’
Erica smiles sadly. ‘I don’t think it’ll hurt.’
‘This doesn’t mean I forgive him,’ I clarify, already unlocking my phone. ‘I know it’s awful, but I just... I can’t take him back just because of this.’
‘Alice, that doesn’t make you a monster. He gave you an STD. You have every right to still be angry at him. Its’s possible to be angry and sad at the same time.’
I get my phone out and send a message.
Tom, I’m so sorry to hear about your dad. Thinking of you x
My phone starts ringing almost immediately. I look down at it, sure it’ll be Tom, but it’s not.
‘Hello?’ I answer cautiously.
‘Hi, have I reached an Alice Watts?’
‘Speaking,’ I confirm in my poshest telephone voice.
‘Alice, this is Veronica from Glamour magazine. Our photographer for this month’s fashion shoot has come down with the flu. We tried to get our fill in photographer Karen Clarke, but she’s on holiday. She recommended you.’
‘You’re joking,’ I blurt out. ‘I mean... really? Are you serious?’
‘I am,’ she says. ‘But the shoot is Wednesday 5th December. Are you available?’
Am I available? I’d chew off my arm to attend.
‘Yes, I’m free that day,’ I answer coolly.
She takes my email address and promises to send all the details over later tonight. I can’t believe it! My bad case of networking has actually worked! I’ve got a job at a fashion magazine. This could be the start of my career. The career I actually want.
I accept the job later that night not knowing it would prove to be the date of Tom’s dad’s funeral.
Wednesday 5th December
Tom
The last week or so has been the worst of my life. When I got to the hospital and found Mum crumpled onto the floor crying hysterically, I knew it was bad. However, I still didn’t expect to be told by a doctor that Dad had passed.
I was thinking of all the things I was going to say to him. How I was going to tell him I loved him, and I was sorry for yelling the last time we spoke. So, to be told that I could never tell him... well, it gutted me.
I had to be the strong one as Mum was in bits. First, I called my brother George, who works in London, and told him to come home. I’d wanted to wait until he was here to find out the news, but he sensed in my voice something had happened. I was forced to utter those few tragic words. Dad has died. George broke down on the phone. I still couldn’t shed a tear. I had Mum with me.
Since George arrived, he’s taken over with making the funeral arrangements. He’s always been the organised, in control one. But with nothing to do I’ve been left helping Mum understand what’s happened. Hell, I don’t even understand it myself.
How someone can be here, healthy one minute, and then gone the next? It’s just... I don’t know, it’s all so final. To think I’ll never see him again, it’s just too much to comprehend.
If I’d have known it was the last time I’d seen him, I would have studied his face more, indented his features into my memory. I would have taken a hundred pictures of the mole he had under his left eye, the wrinkle he gets in between his eyebrows whenever he’s lecturing me on how to live my life. God, what I wouldn’t give to hear a lecture right now.
Today is finally the funeral. I feel like we’ve been working towards it for months, not weeks. We arrive in the hired funeral cars behind the hearse. I squeeze Mum’s hand before opening the door and getting out. Everyone is crowded silently around the hearse as the funeral directors get the coffin out. Looking on with pity. Just looking at it, knowing my dad is in there, it gets my throat clogging up.
‘Are you ready?’ the funeral director asks us. He means to carry the coffin. I hand Mum over to Auntie Janice who links arms with her.
I stand forward towards the coffin with George, Uncle Barry, Jack, and Dad’s friends Mack and Jason. We’re instructed how to lift the coffin and are helped as it’s hoisted over our heads and rested onto our shoulders.
Knowing the weight on my shoulders is my dad’s body is enough to get my eyes stinging. I blink rapidly until the tears are able to force themselves out. I look to Jack and he’s already bawling, his shoulders bouncing up and down so hard I worry we’ll drop the thing.
We start the slow walk into the church as Sailing by Rod Stewart plays over the speakers. Hearing that raspy bastard’s voice talking about flying free above clouds has my chest constricting so tight I have to take deep breaths. It’s like this song was written for him.
For as long as I can remember Dad’s been obsessed with sailing. Whenever we’d go on holiday he’d find somewhere he could go sailing for the day. My grandad taught him when he was younger. He offered to teach me, but I wasn’t interested; the selfish bastard that I am.
I remember asking him once why he never bought a boat of his own. He’d laughed and said they were expensive things. Looking back, I now see what he spent his money on. He invested it in me and George. All of those football lessons, guitar practise, extra tutoring. None of it was free. No wonder he resented me so much for being such a fuck-up.
I force myself to look forward at the empty church. My dad wasn’t even religious. God knows why Mum wanted a Church of England funeral. But I suppose they did get married here. Just thinking of her pain has the tears pouring out of my eyes and down my cheeks.
I sniff, praying for my eyes to quickly recover. My Mum can’t see me upset. It doesn’t work.
We manage to place the coffin down onto the stand at the front of the church with the help of the undertakers. The priest says something to us, but I’m not listening. I’m too busy trying to hold it together as his friends and family take their seats. People are already having to stand at the back. He was so popular. Why didn’t I see how great he was while he was alive?
I make my way into the reserved pew and force myself to zone out. If I think of the words being spoken or listen to the sniffs of everyone around me I know I’ll break, and I don’t want to do that in public. I’ll wait until tonight when I can sleep in my own bed and let the unrelenting grief take over. I know once I let it loose, there’ll be no going back.
Before I know what’s happening, we’ve taken his body to the crematorium and said goodbye. When we walk out everyone surrounds us with ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘thinking of you,’ but the only person I want to talk to is Alice.
I’m in so much pain. From the fact that I’m never going to see my dad again, and also that although I’ll see Alice, she’ll never be mine—the one person who could have helped me get through this.
The reception is lovely. Or do you call it a wake? God knows. I should really scrub up on my funeral etiquette. We’ve held it in a local golf club that Dad once joked he’d like his funeral at.
The walls have been decorated with pictures of Dad. It’s interesting to see the kind of life he led before he settled down with my mum. He seemed just like me when he was in his twenties. Every picture is of him and a group of mates, all with the same terrible porn star style moustaches. But it’s clear that when he met Mum things changed for him. The photos showed how much he adored her. Every single one had him looking on fondly at her. I know myself that you can’t fake that kind of adoration in pictures.
My brother George and I were such cute kids although we couldn’t have been more different. George has dark brown hair and matching eyes, compared with my blonde hair and green eyes.
I wa
lk over to our table where the gang is still munching on the buffet, and drinking cups of tea. I bring George with me, wanting to introduce him to the girls.
‘Hey, guys,’ I say, trying to sound chipper and failing. ‘You know my brother George, right?’
I see the girls’ eyes light up the moment they take him in. I suppose to anyone else he is good-looking. He has some sort of air about him too; I think it’s confidence. Not cockiness like me. You just know that he has his shit together. It helps that he’s always wearing a suit that fits him like a glove. He pulls out a chair and sits down.
‘Hi. Hope you don’t mind if I hide here a while. Aunt Carol is on the rounds and she likes to kiss on the lips.’ He squirms with a grimace making the girls giggle. ‘So, my brother was rude and didn’t introduce me to any of you ladies. What are your names?’
I roll my eyes.
He turns to Evelyn first who’s busy texting on her phone. No doubt to Omar. She looks up, surprised he’s shown any interest in her.
‘Well?’ he asks with a grin. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Err... Evelyn,’ she answers cautiously. It’s a first for her to be stuck for words.
He seems to enjoy making her visibly squirm in her seat.
Erica goes around the rest of them introducing each one by one, but he doesn’t seem to be able to take his eyes off Evelyn. What’s going on here?
‘And where is Alice?’ he asks them.
My mouth drops open. How would he know anything about Alice? I haven’t mentioned anything?
Erica grimaces. ‘Alice couldn’t make it today.’
I already knew she wouldn’t with how we ended things.
‘She had her dream job offered to her. It was too good to turn down. Otherwise she’d definitely be here.’ She looks at me apologetically.
Dream job? This is the first I’ve heard of it. But then it’s probably an excuse. I wouldn’t put it past Erica to make something up to cushion the blow a bit.
George nods, his eyes shifting in sadness. ‘To be brutally honest, I’m tired of being sad today. People are starting to leave, and right now all I want to do is forget for a while and get completely shit-faced.’
Wow. Way to be honest, George.
‘So...’ Jack says, clapping his hands together, ‘who wants shots?’
I’m glad when the last set of people leave the reception. George had to be carried home by our next-door-neighbour an hour ago. Why he thought shots were a good idea, I don’t know.
I find Mum taking down the posters, her face a mix of melancholy emotions.
‘You okay, Mum?’ I ask carefully, helping her to put them away.
‘It just wasn’t his time, love,’ she says with a sad smile. ‘He was taken too soon.’
I wrap my arm around her. ‘I know, Mum. I know.’
I think back to the last time I talked to him. How we rowed. It’s true what they say; never leave loved ones on an argument.
‘At least he knew you loved him. The last time I spoke to him I was a dick, and he was thinking what a let-down of a son I am.’
She frowns. ‘Your dad loved you.’
I scoff. ‘Yeah, right. All I ever caused that man was heartache and stress. Hell, I probably caused this stroke with all of the worry.’
Her eyes turn hard. ‘Don’t you dare think that. He was immensely proud of you.’
I roll my eyes.
‘I mean it, Tom. He was only ever so hard on you because he knew you had so much potential.’
‘Potential I’ve never lived up to, unlike golden balls George.’
She shakes her head. ‘George and you are very different, but don’t for a minute think that we love you both any differently. Do you know why your dad was so proud of you?’
I shake my head, not believing a word.
‘Because you’d managed to move to a different area, get a job, a place to live, and most importantly, you’d found someone to love.’
Alice.
‘But he only ever met her once? And I never told you guys we were together.’
She smiles. ‘It was enough to see that you were crazy about her. Me and your dad, we were so happy. That’s all we ever wanted for you. For you to settle down and be happy with someone you wanted to share your life with. I overheard him telling George about her over the phone.’
Ah, so that’s how he knew her name.
I sigh. ‘Well, I’ve fucked that up now, haven’t I?’
She smiles sadly. ‘What’s happened between you two?’
‘I fucked up, Mum. Lied to her. Gave her... I did, I did something unforgiveable.’
‘Nothing is unforgiveable, Tom.’
God, she really has no idea how much of a fuck-up I am.
‘You might think it is, but there’s always hope of forgiveness. You don’t have any power over whether she chooses to forgive you or not, but you can try to fight for it.’
I put my hands through my hair. ‘I don’t know, Mum. It’s pretty bad.’
She puts her hand on my shoulder. ‘Did you know that your dad cheated on me when we first got together?’
My mouth hangs open. Dad cheated on Mum?
‘Please tell me you’re joking?’ I demand, wanting to pummel something.
Why on earth would she tell me that? Taint my memory of Dad so now whenever I think of him I’ll get angry at what a cheating bastard he is.
‘We were only just together. Things weren’t that serious. But yes, he was with that whore Marian from the Old Bell.’
Now I know why she said she had the worst Yorkshire puddings in Peterborough.
‘Anyway, your dad confessed everything to me. I was shocked and upset, but I chose to forgive him. And thank God I did. We wouldn’t have had all those years together, or you two boys. Those memories that are going to keep me going now he’s gone.’
Shit. I can’t get my head around this. It’s too much to take in at once.
‘I can see you’re appalled, but don’t you see? It just proves that even when someone has done the worst thing imaginable to someone, there’s always still hope.’
I sigh, sitting down on one of the chairs. ‘So, what do you think I should do?’
‘Simple. Fight for her.’
Fight for her. She makes it all sound so easy.
‘How?’
‘God, you kids of today have no imagination. Alice is an old-fashioned girl at heart. Romance her. Court her like your father did me.’
‘I just don’t know if I’m good enough for her, Mum.’ I look down at the tablecloth full of coffee stains, not wanting to see the disappointment in her eyes.
‘You listen to me.’ She takes my chin and forces me to look up at her. ‘You are good enough for her. You just need to prove it. I know you can do it, baby. You just need some faith in yourself. Luckily, I have enough faith for both of us.’
My phone starts ringing. I look down to see that it’s work calling. What the hell do they want?
‘Hello?’
‘Hi Tom, this is Greg.’ Greg is a good guy from my department. He’s been there the longest.
‘Hi, Greg. Everything okay?’ I don’t even know if they’ve heard about my dad.
‘Great actually. I thought you’d like to know that the bitch from the east has gone.’
‘Huh?’ Is he talking about Bernice Shuttlecock?
‘That’s right. HR asked around after they heard your recording. A few men, including me, admitted to her sexually harassing us. She’s been fired, and I’ve taken on the position.’
‘Wow, congratulations.’
‘And I want you back, Tom. You’re one of our best sales guys. Look, I know you’re going through a tough time right now, but I really need you back on Monday. Do you think you could make that happen?’
I look to Mum who’s been listening in.
‘Of course,’ she says with a smile.
‘Yeah, okay. I’ll see you Monday.’
Thursday 6th December
Alice
I wake up to banging on the door. I wait for Pickles to start barking, but then I remember she’s not here anymore. That I’m all alone. I got in so late last night after the Glamour shoot that I skipped dinner and went straight to bed in my make-up.
I drag myself begrudgingly out of bed passing Tom’s empty room. I should really put it up for let, but something’s stopping me. Some tiny pathetic hope inside me that Tom will come back. That he’ll fight for us. It’s so stupid of me. I know he’s got more important things on his mind, but I still can’t help but hope.
I answer the door, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.
‘Alice Watts?’ a guy in a red hat with a clipboard asks.
‘Yeah...?’ I answer dubiously. He nods to someone behind him, then moves to the side so that another guy holding pots full of violas comes in. He walks right through and along the hallway. Err... rude! I turn back to complain to the guy at the door but there are another two men coming in with violas too. What the hell is happening here?
Another two guys come in with flowers. More violas.
‘There must be some kind of mistake,’ I say to the main guy with the clipboard.
He shakes his head. ‘Nope. Alice Watts from apartment 226b. It says right here.’
‘Well, who the hell sent this amount of flowers? There must be a mistake with how many flowers they ordered.’
‘I’m afraid that’s confidential, Miss.’
God, this guy’s a dick. I grab the clipboard off him, but he tries to grab it back. I elbow him in the ribs and he doubles over. Bloody baby.
I quickly look down to the sender details. Tom Maddens. Tom sent these?
‘Is there a note?’ I ask the clipboard guy a little too desperately.
‘Yeah. One of these has it.’
The guys look between each other. ‘I thought you had it?’ they say to each other.
‘Oh Jesus, you’re useless.’
I scan down the clipboard again, moving when he tries to snatch it back again.
Bagging Alice (Standalone) (Babes of Brighton Book 3) Page 18