by Emma Davies
Her mum had gone to bed as promised, gently and without protest, soft words on her lips and a smile in her eyes. Lia never dreamed for one minute that the light would go from them so soon, but the very moment she entered the room she knew her mum had gone. Her sweet smile had slipped away into the quiet spaces of the night while Lia wasn’t looking. She pulled aside the covers and lay down gently on the edge of the bed, cradling her mother to her one last time as she waited for the dawn.
She wondered afterwards whether she should have done more, whether in the small fragments of time before it all went mad she should have checked whether anything more could be done. But, no. A massive brain haemorrhage, the doctor said when he arrived; one final stroke of bad luck that had carried her away from Lia for good.
She hadn’t known who else to call at such an early hour, but Jasper had been calm and reassuring, knowing instantly what to do and who to call: the doctor and the local undertaker. The undertaker took her mum away, gently persuading her that she was better off at the funeral home. How could she be? This was her home. This was where she belonged. With Lia.
Jasper would have rushed to her side if she’d let him, but he seemed somehow too solid, too male in this house of women, and so instead she turned down his offer and sipped at the hot, sweet tea, which he had said would be good for her, and dressed herself in yesterday’s clothes. There was only one other person who could comfort her now, someone who would take a single look at her and understand exactly how she was feeling and what she needed.
‘Lucy,’ she’d said softly in response to his question. ‘I’d like Lucy to come.’
Chapter Thirty
‘Jasper rang me,’ explained Lucy a little breathlessly. ‘I came as soon as I could.’
She stood on the doorstep without a clue what to do. How on earth could she possibly be of comfort to Lia when she had had so little experience of life, or more importantly death, before? She felt totally out of her depth, and almost ashamed of her inability to help when Lia needed her the most.
Because Lia had no-one. No brothers or sisters, no other parent with whom to share the grief. In life she, and she alone, had been there to care for her mum, and so it was in death. Only Lia must make the decisions over how to carry her memory forward. Her other relatives were scattered, scarcely seen, her mum’s illness keeping them at bay. It was a huge burden for Lia to bear and one that was written across her face. Instinctively, Lucy held out her arms, folding Lia’s mute body into hers.
The tears didn’t come straight away, but Lucy could feel them building, could feel the tension in Lia’s body as she fought to stay in control, fearful of what would happen once she let go. Eventually, with a huge intake of breath, she felt Lia’s first sob shudder against her shoulder. From then on it was all Lucy could do to hold onto her friend, her slight frame shaking violently as her grief exploded from her. They clung together, rocking, Lucy’s own tears falling onto Lia’s hair until gradually, like a storm rolling past, the intensity lessened, the ragged breathing eased and a washed-out calm took their place.
‘Do you know what the very worst thing is?’ said Lia, a little while later as they sat in the living room, Lia holding a copy of Dancing Shoes in her hand. ‘It’s that her life has suddenly become so very small. I want to shout out to the world that she’s gone and make them listen, make them acknowledge that her life had meaning. I want to scream at them that she was huge, that she was so very important that they cannot just carry on as if nothing has happened. But there’s no-one to tell. If there’s no-one to listen, then she’s just gone – her life over in a blink, like she was never really here. So utterly, utterly tiny in the vastness of everything.’
‘But to you, she was the world,’ replied Lucy. ‘She was a whole chunk of universe that surrounded you and everything you did, and she’ll never be unimportant or small if you remember all the million, gazillion things she was.’
‘But what if I forget? What if I stop remembering?’
Lucy looked at her friend’s pale anxious face. ‘You won’t,’ she said, ‘you can’t, because she’s inside of you, Lia. She is you, and you are her, and that’s the way it will stay until the day you die.’
Lia nodded slowly, eyes brimming but seeing the truth of Lucy’s words and finding some small measure of comfort in them. ‘That’s a nice thought,’ she said, and Lucy had to turn away as her own eyes filled with tears again.
She’d never had to think like this before; to explore what death might look like, or to consider the possibility of a pain so vast and all-consuming that it might never leave. A few days ago, Lucy had seen Lia happier than she could remember her being, but now her life had turned once again and become something else. She thought back to her conversation with Oscar all those weeks ago. Love was at the heart of everything; the most wonderful of emotions with the biggest capacity for hurt. Oscar’s daughter wasn’t dead, but he had still grieved for her as if she were, and it was only the thought of that love now that was keeping him going, giving him hope. Lucy knew without a doubt that the same would be true for Lia; above all the hurt and pain she was currently feeling, she must never forget what it was to love someone like that.
She placed a hand on the book which Lia still clutched.
‘Have you got photos of her?’ she asked. ‘From when she was dancing? I’d love to see them.’
Lia looked surprised but she nodded and crossed the room to a bookcase which stood in one corner. She lifted down a wicker basket and brought it back for Lucy to see.
‘I used to get this lot out for Mum sometimes,’ she said. ‘In the early days of her illness. It seemed to help then. There’s medals and all sorts in here, not just photos.’ Lia lifted out a blue-and-red striped ribbon to show her. ‘For a long while, after my dad left, she wouldn’t have anything to do with this stuff. She said it was a part of her life that was over and there was no point dwelling on it. It was all up in the loft, though – she hadn’t thrown any of it away.’
Lucy took a photograph that Lia handed to her. It was a rather stiff and formal picture, clearly taken at a competition. Two dancers stood side by side, medals around their necks, while two judges, Lucy supposed, flanked them on either side.
‘Were these your parents?’ she asked, looking at the black-and-white photo.
Lia nodded. ‘It’s hard to see the detail, but my mum had the most beautiful dresses. That one was one of her favourites – bright blue.’
Lucy looked at the diminutive figure. ‘She looks tiny next to your dad.’
Lia peered closer. ‘Yes, it’s funny. I don’t remember them ever being so different in height, unless my dad was standing on a box, of course. They did things like that in photos back then. When you think about it, they should have looked quite odd when they danced, but they didn’t; they were beautiful together, so graceful.’
‘It’s easy to see why you’re such a great dancer,’ added Lucy, smiling. ‘You’re so like your mum.’
‘Am I?’ Lia took back the photo. ‘I never thought so, but she had chestnut hair too, so I guess I do to some extent. That’s why she loved that dress I think; she had bright green eyes as well, and the colour really suited her.’
‘And your dad?’ asked Lucy.
‘Oh, dark is all I remember. Eyes like coals, but always smiling, twinkly.’
Lucy watched as Lia studied the photos, a smile playing over her face as the memories came flooding back, just as she hoped they would. ‘It’s so sad that your mum stopped dancing,’ she said. ‘I understand it up to a point, but to give all that up must have been heartbreaking.’
Lia sniffed. ‘She loved my dad, you see. That’s what it was. It broke her heart when he left and I think the thought of ever dancing without him was just too much to bear. He was the one, you see – her perfect lead – and no-one could ever match him.’
‘And is that how you feel about Jasper?’
To Lucy’s horror the tears began to well again.
‘I don’t
know now,’ said Lia, sniffing. ‘I thought so, but not any more… how can I? Not when I’ve let my mum down so badly.’
Lucy looked around the room as if suddenly realising that Jasper wasn’t there and thinking very much that he ought to be.
‘Lia, how could you have possibly let your mum down? You’ve done everything you could for her, and you said yourself how much better she’s been over the last few weeks. That’s down to you – you and Jasper.’
She had hardly finished the sentence before Lia shook her head violently. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I got it wrong. It’s like these photos. Once upon a time I was convinced that they were helping her. She would become more animated, lucid for longer periods of time, and she would talk about other memories too. But then, after a while, it made her more agitated. She got so distressed, and I realised that all the memories did were highlight what she had lost. They made her sad in the end, not happy.’ Her face was full of anguish as she looked up at Lucy. ‘I’ve been kidding myself these last few weeks, because I so wanted to believe that things were getting better, but in fact all I’ve done is forgotten what these memories did to her.’ She brushed angrily at her eyes and threw the photograph back in the basket.
Lucy could have kicked herself. She had thought that by encouraging Lia to revisit these happy memories of her mum it would help her to realise that they would always be with her, and for a time it seemed to be working – but now she had gone and put her foot in it. She should have realised that something was up after her strange conversation with Jasper that morning, or at least when she got to the house and found Lia by herself. Something didn’t fit. Jasper would want to help Lia right now, to comfort her, but Lia had pushed him away. Lucy passed across another tissue.
‘What happened, Lia?’ she asked gently. ‘Have you and Jasper had an argument?’
Lia plucked at the tissue she was holding, wiping her nose against the back of her hand instead of using it.
‘No, that’s just it,’ she said between sniffs. ‘We’ve been getting on so well that we even… well, we could have… in a little while…’
Lucy frowned. ‘Lia, I’m not sure I follow.’
Lia stared at her. ‘You know… kissed… and then…’
‘Would it have been so very wrong if you had?’
‘Of course it would!’ retorted Lia, her voice raised. ‘I spent so much time away from Mum, when I should have been here. Think how much worse it would have been if… So, I pushed him away earlier, on the phone. I couldn’t bear to see him.’ A tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. ‘Sometimes I’m so selfish, I disgust myself.’
Lucy flinched at the harshness of her words; Lia didn’t deserve to punish herself this way, and if Lucy was any kind of a friend she couldn’t stand by and watch her.
‘Your relationship with Jasper and losing your mum are two different things, you know, Lia. It might not seem like it now, but happiness and sadness can exist side by side. You have room in your heart for both, and you mustn’t let your grief confuse the two. Don’t push Jasper away when you need his love and support – now more than ever.’
Lia raised her chin. ‘I don’t need him,’ she said stubbornly. ‘He took me away from my mum when she needed me the most, and I was stupid enough to let him, following my own selfish whims when I should have remembered what I was supposed to be doing.’
‘Lia, he didn’t. He brought you and your mum a lot of happiness over the last few weeks. No-one could have predicted this would happen; you told me the doctor said so himself. If anything, dancing has made you more able to cope with things so that you enjoyed the time you had with your mum all the more. Last week you told me your mum had come alive of late and think how wonderful it is that at least she had that before she died.’
‘But my mum and I did perfectly well without anyone else, and… and…’ She suddenly realised what she had said and her face crumpled. ‘Lucy, what am I going to do? I’ve pushed Jasper away now too. There’s just me now.’
Chapter Thirty-One
The vicar smiled benignly at the gathered group as Hattie seethed, quietly. In one corner of the church stood a vast Christmas tree that twinkled under the church’s overhead lights. It was traditionally garish in a riot of clashing colours and, while Hattie approved wholeheartedly, she knew she would have to soothe her sister’s ruffled feathers at some point. When Jules had orchestrated the arrangements for her winter-themed floral decorations, she obviously hadn’t factored in the likelihood of being upstaged by a gaudy fifteen-foot tree.
It was not this, however, which was making Hattie so upset. The wedding rehearsal was nearing an end and, while she was keen to make everything as near perfect as possible for Jules’s frazzled nerves, there was no way she was leaving tonight without confronting her mum.
Her mum hadn’t been home the day Hattie had gone to see her, or the two times after that, and although her dad had been there on one occasion he wouldn’t discuss it, saying it wouldn’t be fair if her mum wasn’t present. Honestly! He even went so far as to say he understood how she was feeling, but his assurances that he would speak to her mum and ask her to call on Hattie had obviously fallen on deaf ears, because no further contact had been made. Ever since, her emotions had swollen to the point where it would have taken little for them to erupt, probably quite spectacularly. She just wanted to talk to her mum, to explain what she had meant all those years ago, but her mum’s point-blank refusal to discuss it was heartbreaking – and felt unfair, not to mention hurtful. Hattie baulked at the injustice of it all – but she wasn’t prepared to let tonight’s occasion stand in the way of resolving the issue. Her mum could be as stubborn as a mule at times, and with Jules’s wedding so imminent, and Christmas right behind it, she couldn’t afford to leave it any longer. After all, now it wasn’t just her relationship with her mum that was at stake.
The original plan had been for them all to go back to Jules’s house for a meal after the rehearsal. However, five minutes ago, as the vicar had been explaining what would happen at the wedding when they went through to the vestry to witness the signing of the register, she had heard her mum whisper to Jules that she had one of her headaches coming on and might have to give the meal a miss. It was political, Hattie was sure of it. She knew she didn’t see as much of her mum as Jules did, but she wasn’t aware of her suffering from headaches in the past. Her dad wasn’t looking too chuffed at the announcement, either.
She should have been paying attention to what the vicar was saying but she found her mind wandering back over the conversation she’d had with Jules at the final dress fitting and it was all she could do to keep a composed look on her face. The more she thought about it, the angrier it made her feel. It wasn’t just her mum affected by this – it had shocked Hattie to the core. What hurt Hattie more than anything was the fact that her mum had kept it from her all these years, like an embarrassing illness that had been allowed to fester over time, and all because of some innocent comments that Hattie had once made – Innocent because she would never have made them if she’d known the truth about her mum. Of course, her mum had totally misinterpreted them and, worse, never given Hattie the opportunity to explain. It was no wonder they found themselves in the situation they were in now.
Finally, things seemed as if they were being wrapped up. Jules and Ryan were beaming from ear to ear and shaking the vicar’s hand and, despite her turmoil inside, Hattie could still feel a thrill of excitement for them; it was less than a week until their wedding. She fell in line with the other bridesmaids and followed them back up the aisle as they went to collect coats, gloves and scarves, muffling themselves up against the bitter chill outside.
Her mum and dad were the first out into the quiet lane and Hattie hurried to catch up with Jules. She hated having to do this.
‘Is Mum really not coming back to yours?’ she asked.
Jules looked at her fiancé for guidance and Hattie could see the anxiety on her face, even in the dim light.
; ‘I know you need to do this, Hattie, but does it have to be tonight?’ She kept the smile on her face and her voice low.
‘Jules, you get married at the weekend – when else am I going to get the chance? I can’t come to your wedding and not have her talking to me; that would be awful… for all of us.’
Jules sighed. ‘I know she owes you an explanation, and she was wrong to take offence over what you said, but do you still think she’s wrong about the other thing too?’
‘Don’t you?’ Hattie countered. ‘Think what it might mean for us, Jules, and for any children you might have. Family is the most important thing in the world.’
‘I know. It is.’ Jules squeezed her hand and looked out into the night beyond the church door. ‘Go on, Hattie, go after her. I’ll make your excuses and we’ll still have a nice evening.’
Hattie flashed her a quick smile and hurried down the path from the church. Her mum and dad were just pulling away from the kerb, and as Hattie climbed into her own car, she prayed they were going straight home; it was just around the corner.
It was her dad who opened the front door, his initial smile of delight fading into sheepish understanding as he worked out why she was there.
‘It’s probably not a great time, love,’ he said. ‘Your mum’s not feeling too good.’
‘That’s rubbish, Dad, and we both know it. I know you’re sticking up for her, I wouldn’t expect anything less, but are you going to let me in, or what?’
‘Hattie, this is very hard on your mother – it’s very hard on all of us.’
‘But it’s not right, Dad,’ she protested.
Her father took a step backwards, an apology in his eyes. ‘I know,’ he said quietly. ‘Look, come in, but your mother doesn’t want to discuss it and I can’t force her to. We have to respect her decision, love.’