The Vanishing Point

by Val McDermid

  She went straight to the point. Now she knew she was dying, there was no time wasted with small talk. ‘You weren’t keen on being Jimmy’s godmother, I know that.’

  I had a cold, sinking feeling in my stomach. I knew what was coming and I didn’t know how to resist. ‘You know I never wanted kids,’ I reminded her. I had a horrible feeling I was wasting my breath.

  ‘I know. But you’ve done a great job. You’ve got to know him, you’ve played with him and read to him and taken him out for the day. You buy thoughtful presents for him and you don’t overindulge him. I couldn’t have asked for a better godmother.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I gave a half-shrug. ‘I tried to do what was best for him.’

  ‘Exactly. When we talked about this before, neither of us really believed push would come to shove. I was convinced deep down I was going to beat this fucking disease. And I think you were too. So it wasn’t real, what we agreed.’

  For one wonderful moment I thought I was going to get a reprieve. Scarlett had finally come to her senses and she was going to leave Jimmy in Leanne’s care. Keep it in the family. But no such luck. ‘This time it is real,’ she said. ‘We both know I’m dying. So I’m going to say again what I said the last time. You’re the person I want to take care of Jimmy. It’s in the will.’ She managed the ghost of a smile. ‘You can’t get out of it, Steph. I need to know that he’s in safe hands, and that’s you.’

  ‘Leanne would be—’

  ‘A disaster,’ she said, slapping her hand softly on the duvet to make her point. ‘You know that. I’ve not got the strength to argue with you, Steph. I need to know my boy’s sorted. Promise me you’ll look after him.’

  What else could I say? ‘I promise. I’ll take as much care of him as I would if he was my own.’

  And that was that. My life transformed in the space of quarter of an hour. Of course, I assumed there would be an inheritance for Jimmy. Not that I was in it for the money. Oddly enough, I was thinking of Jimmy. Thinking that he deserved as little disruption as possible, so I’d have to sell or rent my house in Brighton and move into the hacienda. Jimmy might have lost the people he loved most, but at least he’d be in familiar surroundings, which had to help. Hopefully there would be a bit of money to make it possible for us to carry on living here. And maybe enough left over to do something about the woeful décor. It never crossed my mind that she wouldn’t leave her beloved boy a penny.

  43

  After three weeks of living under siege in the hacienda, I needed to go back to Brighton for a couple of days. I told the kitchen poker school I needed to pick up my mail and pay my bills. The truth was I was desperate for a few hours on my own, in my own space. I was looking at a future that held precious little prospect of that, with a child to raise. I thought I was entitled to a last sliver of me time.

  I savoured every moment of those three days. Two nights in my own bed. Comfort food in my own kitchen. Early morning walks along the promenade. A pub quiz night. The sound of my own music on speakers rather than earbuds. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t begrudge Scarlett my time and energy. I just needed to recharge my batteries. Reculer pour mieux sauter, as they say on the other side of the churning grey waves I walked beside.

  When I got back, the landscape had changed. Simon was sitting in the kitchen on his own, reading a professional journal. No Marina, no Leanne. He tossed his magazine on the table and jumped up to greet me with air kisses on either cheek. He was wearing a ratty Boston Red Sox replica shirt and black cargoes that showed off slim, shapely calves. He had better legs than me, I noted, a tad bitterly. I let him mix me a gin and tonic to match his. ‘Where is everybody?’ I asked.

  He pushed his hair back from his forehead and gave me the pained, boyish smile. ‘Marina’s sitting with Scarlett. They’re watching some romcom. I bowed out on the basis that my genitals are on the outside of my body. And Leanne is, I believe, in Spain.’

  ‘In Spain? Why? What happened?’

  ‘They had a major bust-up. Leanne decided she needed to have a come-to-Jesus talk with Scarlett about the importance of family as far as bringing up Jimmy is concerned. Scarlett told her that it was already arranged and you are taking care of the kid. There was a bit of to-ing and fro-ing, then Leanne accused you of being a gold-digger. That you’ve only ever been interested in what you could make out of Scarlett and you only agreed to take the kid on because of his inheritance.’

  ‘Ouch. Cheeky bitch. I hope Scarlett didn’t fall for that.’ I was genuinely outraged.

  Simon smiled and patted my hand. ‘Not for a nanosecond. She told Leanne not to judge other people by her own shitty motives. That she knew Leanne would stop at nothing to get what she wanted and she, Scarlett, had made bloody sure that she wouldn’t get her clutches on Jimmy. Because if anybody was looking at Jimmy as a meal ticket, it’s Leanne. And why didn’t Leanne fuck off back to Spain instead of hanging round like a fucking vulture?’

  ‘Ah. Not a friendly parting then?’

  ‘Anything but. Leanne flounced out and got straight online.

  I took her up to Stansted yesterday morning. She was still sulking. She gave me hell for not weighing in on her side.’ He looked plaintive. ‘When I told her I thought Scarlett had made the right choice, she looked like she wanted to stab me. She had a few choice words for me, too. I tried to explain that it was not actually helping my career for me to take a leave of absence to care for Scarlett, but she kept on about me wanting to become the doctor to the stars.’

  I gave a bitter laugh. ‘She really has no idea how the world works.’

  ‘None whatsoever. Me, I’d pay money not to become doctor to the stars. Scarlett’s the exception. Mostly they are egocentric monsters. Anyway, Leanne has revealed her true colours. So the poker school is down to three.’

  Which was fine by me, now that I knew what Leanne really thought of me. So the world had contracted to four of us revolving like satellites round Scarlett. Jimmy was the bewildered one, not really understanding what was going on and why Mummy was spending most of her time in bed. Scarlett tried to conserve energy for him every day, but the nearer she came to death, the harder it became. In the final few days, it was all she could manage to snuggle with him while he watched cartoons in bed with her.

  When he wasn’t at nursery, one of us would take charge of him. We’d play in the pool, kick a ball round the garden, watch videos or build rambling Lego structures across his bedroom floor. I used to sit on the window seat with him and work my way through his collection of picture books. I think he found me quite comforting to be with. When I look back on those few weeks, it’s with a mixture of sadness and contentment; I think I did him a bit of good and built a bridge into our future.

  The only interruption to our routine came when the team from Yes! magazine turned up for the final photo shoot, complete with stylist and make-up artist. I know there were people who thought it was pretty sick, but Scarlett wanted the world to see what a woman dying of cancer looked like. ‘We shut sick people away so we don’t have to confront the fact that we’re all going to die,’ she said. ‘I want to show them that I’m still a human being, still the woman I always was.’ Then that achingly sad smile. ‘And it’s a few extra quid in the coffers,’ she added.

  When the end came, it was very peaceful. We were all in the room when Simon loaded up the last bolus of saline and refilled the morphine pump. Jimmy kissed Scarlett and gave her a last cuddle. I held her in my arms for the last time, unstoppable tears running down my face. Her courage in the face of impending death had been remarkable. The final act of a remarkable woman. I walked Jimmy out of the room and took him to bed.

  I was still sitting in his room, watching him sleep, when Simon came through to tell me it was all over. I stood up and wrapped my arms round him as he shook with the force of his tears. ‘I’m sorry,’ he kept saying. ‘If only I could have saved her . . . I’m sorry.’

  ‘You did your best. Nobody could have given her better care.’
<
br />   ‘She was special,’ he gulped. He drew away from me, folding his arms over his chest, hands on his shaking shoulders. Somehow, he pulled himself together. ‘I need to call the funeral director,’ he said. ‘They’ll take her away and prepare her. And I need to sign the death certificate.’ He bit his lip. ‘I’ve lost my share of patients, Stephanie,’ he said, ‘but I don’t think I ever minded more.’

  44

  The funeral was a circus. A perfectly orchestrated circus, but a circus nevertheless. Scarlett had left detailed instructions which it fell to George and me to carry out. And carry them out we did, even though our teeth were gritted for most of the time.

  The media were frustrated by the lack of a grieving relict. We knew they would dog our every step until they got something for the front page, so we arranged for them to have a single pool photographer take a series of shots of Jimmy carrying a posy of flowers into the funeral parlour where his mother was laid out. In his second black suit of the year, he walked in with bowed head, not quite five and already apparently master of his own public image.

  Once the media had the pics they wanted, they decamped from the hacienda. There was nothing to see now Scarlett was gone, after all. Their place by the side of the country lane was swiftly taken by the tributes left by Scarlett’s army of fans. Bunches of flowers, cards and soft toys soon covered the verges and we all prayed that the rain would stay away. Banks of sodden tributes would be an eyesore that would provoke complaints to the council from the other residents of the lane, who had never approved of Scarlett or what she brought in her wake. It would be one more hassle we could do without.

  The grown-ups went for a viewing before they closed the coffin. I barely glanced at her; I’ve never understood the need to mourn with the dead in your eyeline. From what I saw, they’d done a good job on her. She looked less gaunt than I expected, and Marina had chosen one of her signature hats to cover her baldness, the deep watermelon shade giving a welcome splash of colour to the interior of the woven willow coffin. ‘It looks like we’re sending her off in a giant picnic basket,’ George said.

  ‘It’s what she wanted,’ Simon said. ‘She cared about the planet. Even if she wasn’t going to be here, Jimmy’s got to grow up in this world.’

  George sighed. ‘I know, I know. It just looks . . . odd, that’s all. I’m accustomed to a more traditional look.’

  On the day of the funeral, George arranged for a driver to collect Scarlett’s mother and sister from King’s Cross Station. To her final days Scarlett had been adamant that she didn’t want Chrissie and Jade at her bedside. She didn’t want them to so much as set foot in her house. The instructions were to provide them with first-class return tickets from Leeds and a hotel room if they needed to stay overnight. George had booked them into a decent hotel near King’s Cross. In an act that would have made Scarlett smile, he’d chosen one that had no bar or restaurant.

  Marina, Jimmy and I were taken from the hacienda to the nearby funeral home by 1940s black Rolls Royce. I couldn’t help feeling that Leanne should have been with us, but she hadn’t turned up. The day after Scarlett’s death, Simon said he’d called to try and persuade her to put the rift behind her and pay her last respects with the rest of us. But Leanne had been adamant that Scarlett hadn’t wanted her there, so she would stay away. She wasn’t going to be two-faced about it. It seemed a sad end to what had been one of the few important relationships in Scarlett’s life.

  There were two other vintage Rollers in the cortège, one carrying Simon and George, plus the two assistants from the agency who had worked most closely with Scarlett. The third was occupied by the team from Scarlett’s TV chat show – her co-host, the producer, her stylist and a couple of others I hadn’t met before. Chrissie and Jade were in a black BMW bringing up the tail.

  The hearse itself was a horse-drawn carriage, all four bay horses with black plumes on their headbands. They were preceded by two professional mourners, their silk top hats beribboned and their black Crombie coats perfectly fitting their burly frames. You could hardly see the coffin for the floral tributes. MUMMY from Jimmy, of course. SCARLETT along one side from the TV channel and SMILE in the style of the logo from the perfume company. I hadn’t seen a cortège that over the top since a fellow ghost writer had persuaded me to come with him to a Kray family funeral.

  There must have been thousands of fans lining the half-mile route from the funeral home to the crematorium. They wept, they cheered. They threw flowers and, bizarrely, confetti at the hearse. Once we had passed, they abandoned the pavements and fell into step behind the cortège. The police, there to prevent any public order offences, were hopelessly outnumbered. They looked completely bewildered, taken aback by this outpouring of public sorrow for a Northern underclass underdog who had somehow won people’s hearts.

  The Prime Minister himself had jumped on the bandwagon. The local MP had got to his feet in the House of Commons and asked if the PM had plans to extend breast screening to younger women in the light of Scarlett’s tragic death. The PM had put his serious face on and said, ‘I was saddened to hear of the death of Scarlett Higgins, a brave young woman who demonstrated how it’s possible in today’s Britain to triumph over adversity and build a successful career. She brought delight to us all and she will be sorely missed. I will ask the Health Secretary to write to the Honourable Member in response to his question.’ I hoped he was watching the live coverage on the satellite news channels, so he could see what popularity looked like.

  When we reached the crematorium the funeral director emerged with a large wicker basket. As the pall bearers slid the coffin out and on to their shoulders, he opened the basket and released a dozen white doves into the blue sky in a flurry of feathers. The crowd gasped at the sight. A moment of pure theatre. I was making mental notes every step of the way; this would be the final chapter of the final Scarlett book, after all.

  Outside the crematorium, there were giant screens relaying the service so the punters could share the grief. Inside, we followed the coffin down the aisle. Jimmy’s hand gripped mine so tightly I knew I’d have tiny half-moon bruises across my palm from his fingernails. He was my responsibility now, and it weighed heavily on me. Again, I wished Leanne was here to share it with me. Marina was all very well, but she wasn’t family. And besides, she would be leaving soon to take up the job Scarlett had promised her in Romania. I couldn’t afford the cousin she’d offered Scarlett, nor did I have room in my small house for live-in help. I was going to have to get used to doing this by myself.

  Inside, there were more flowers everywhere and the air was filled with the fragrance of Scarlett Smile. I was rapidly reaching the point where I never wanted to smell that bloody perfume again. The crematorium was crammed with faces from the pages of the red-tops and the slag mags. It was a paparazzo’s C-list collezione. I hoped Maggie wasn’t going to work the room at the wake. I’d had enough celebrity biography to last me a lifetime. Over the past couple of weeks, I’d come to a firm decision about my future. No more books with people who were only famous for being famous. From now on, there would have to be genuine achievement on the table to garner my interest.

  The service managed to deliver more dignity than I would have expected. Liam Burke, whose rich Irish brogue delivered the pronouncements of Big Fish to the Goldfish Bowl contenders, read Christina Rossetti; the producer of Real Life TV spoke movingly about working with Scarlett – her creativity, her sense of what would please the viewers, her willingness to work hard, her sense of humour; George spoke about her rise from humble beginnings and the pleasure she’d given to everyone who knew her (an exaggeration that nobody was going to quarrel with that day); and the lead singer of a boy band she’d interviewed on her first show sang ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’. And yes, I cried.

  Jimmy clung to me throughout the service, his little body trembling with an overdose of emotion. In the end, I scooped him up into my lap and he threw his arms round my neck as if he would never let me go. I rubbed his b
ack and made soothing noises. I didn’t know what else to do.

  Once the service was over, George whisked us all back to the waiting cars. ‘I’m not doing a bloody receiving line,’ he said firmly. ‘If we do, we’ll have to include Jade and Chrissie and I am not having that.’

  From a distance, they didn’t look too bad. I said as much to George. ‘I sent one of my girls up to Leeds to dress them and travel with them. So they’re relatively sober and relatively straight. I have no confidence that state will survive the wake, however. We need to keep the bloody media away from them in case it all gets grisly.’

  ‘What about Jimmy? Does he have to meet them?’

  We’d reached the cars now. George looked around, uncharacteristically indecisive. ‘I’ll travel with you,’ he said, getting in alongside Marina and me. Jimmy was still attached to me like a baby monkey. ‘I’d like to keep him away from them if we can. My girlie said they’re making noises about claiming Jimmy.’ His mouth curled as if he’d encountered a bad smell. ‘They see him as a meal ticket, of course.’

  ‘I’ll take him home,’ Marina said. ‘I don’t need to be at the party.’ She shrugged one shoulder. ‘I don’t know anyone and it’s not necessary for me to remember Scarlett that way. Me and Jimmy, we’ll go back to the house and take off our funeral clothes and have ourselves some fun.’

  ‘You’re sure you don’t mind?’ George said.

  ‘I went to Joshu’s memorial and I hated it,’ Marina said. ‘It’s no loss to me. And better for Jimmy to go home and not be paraded like a prize pig.’

  That wasn’t quite how I would have put it, but I saw her point. And it was a relief, I had to admit. The last thing I wanted was a public tug of war over Scarlett’s son. As it turned out, we couldn’t have played it better. I was barely in the door of the hotel ballroom where the wake was being held when Chrissie and Jade Higgins swaggered up to me, drinks in hand. A space cleared around us as if by magic. One thing about slebs – they can sense handbags at dawn at fifty paces and they always like to give the antagonists plenty of room to make a show of themselves.