by Linda Green
‘Come here, sweetheart,’ I said.
She climbed onto the bed and buried herself tightly between our bodies.
‘Wherever he is,’ I told her, ‘he’s thinking of us right now. And he knows that we love him very much.’
‘So why isn’t he here?’ she sobbed.
‘Maybe there’s some place else he needs to be right now,’ I said. ‘But the important thing is that we’re here for him. And we’ll save his presents, just like we said.’
‘Are we still going to have a party tea?’ she asked.
‘Yes, love.’
‘And can we still eat his birthday cake?’
‘Of course,’ I said with a smile.
‘We’ll save one slice for Josh, though, won’t we?’
I looked at Chris.
‘Tell you what,’ he said to Matilda, ‘we’ll save two. Because you know what he’s like, nicking things off your plate.’
Matilda smiled through the tears.
It was the best we could hope for.
* * *
The one good thing about the post coming later these days was that it avoided the crushing disappointment of there not being many cards on the mat on the morning of your birthday. Or, in our case, of being confronted with greetings for someone who wasn’t there before we’d even got down the stairs.
The emptiness of the house wasn’t so easy to escape from, though. We put the radio on, Matilda chatted away as usual, I even made a cooked breakfast in the hope it would distract from the quietness. It didn’t really work, though. Especially as Matilda mentioned how much Josh loved hash browns within a few minutes of sitting down.
We waited until after breakfast to tell her. Chris had been adamant that he would do it. I still wanted to be there, though. Not being sure how she would react.
‘It’s not just Grandma and Caitlin coming this afternoon,’ said Chris. ‘We’ve invited someone new for you to meet.’
‘Who?’ asked Matilda.
Chris looked at me. I nodded.
‘Although Grandma brought me up, she didn’t actually give birth to me,’ Chris said. ‘She and Grandad adopted me when I was a baby.’
Matilda frowned at him. ‘Does that mean she’s not my real grandma?’
‘She is your grandma,’ said Chris. ‘And she’s still my mum. But what it means is that you’ve got another grandma. Grandma Jayne.’
‘Why haven’t I ever met her before?’
‘Because I’ve only just met her. She didn’t know where I was, and I didn’t know where she was. Only Mummy found her again.’
‘Why did she have you adopted?’
‘Because she couldn’t look after me on her own, love. She was very young and didn’t have her family around to support her.’
‘Why not?’
‘Her family wasn’t very nice, love. So she moved away. She’s got her own family now.’
‘Are they coming too?’
‘Her husband Bob is. Her daughter lives in Australia.’
‘Is Bob my grandad?’
‘No, love. She met him after she had me,’ Chris continued. ‘He’s not my dad.’
Matilda was starting to look confused. Which was hardly surprising, given the circumstances.
‘They’re lovely, sweetheart,’ I said, ‘and they’ll make a great big fuss of you. You’re very special to them, OK?’
She nodded. ‘Is Grandma Jayne Josh’s grandma too?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Good. I’ll get to meet her first. Do you think she’ll bring presents?’
* * *
Caitlin arrived first. It was odd seeing her without her violin. Difficult, too. Because nobody could pretend she was here for any other reason than for Josh’s birthday.
‘Hello, love,’ I said, as she stepped into the hall.
I went to kiss her on the cheek but, before I could, she threw her arms around me and burst into tears. Chris took Matilda, who had been hovering behind me, into the kitchen and closed the door.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said when she eventually looked up. ‘I was so determined not to do that.’
‘It’s OK. We’ve all had a go already this morning. It’s your turn.’
She managed a hint of a smile.
‘Do you want to go upstairs?’
She nodded, slipped her boots off and followed me silently up to Josh’s bedroom. We sat on the end of his bed, Caitlin clutching the duvet with one hand.
‘I’ve still got his T-shirt,’ she said. ‘The one you gave me. Sometimes I think I can still smell him on it, though maybe that’s just my imagination.’
‘It doesn’t matter which it is,’ I said. ‘As long as you’ve got him in some small way.’
‘I really hoped –’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘I did too.’
‘The thing is, if he hasn’t come home for his birthday, what is he going to come home for?’
‘For us. Probably for you, mainly.’
Caitlin shrugged and wiped her eyes.
‘You know we’d understand –’
‘Please don’t,’ she said. ‘That’s all I get from Mum.’
‘She probably just wants you to be happy,’ I said. ‘You so deserve that.’
‘I will be,’ she said. ‘When he comes home.’
* * *
Barbara looked old when she arrived. It was the first time it had really hit me, how much of a toll this had taken on her. She might still be the rock of the family. But the fact was, she was made of something soft. And she was crumbling underneath.
‘Ooh, it’s blowy out there today,’ she said as she wiped her eyes.
She’d only come from Chris’s car. I knew she didn’t want me to say anything, though. I gave her a hug, feeling the slightness of her frame beneath her jacket.
‘Are they here yet?’ she asked.
‘No, just Caitlin. Are you sure this is OK? It’s a lot to ask, I know.’
‘It’s the right thing for Chris,’ she said, squeezing my hand. ‘So it’s fine by me.’
She went through to the lounge. Matilda ran up and hugged her. Caitlin stood up and gave her a kiss. It was like a wartime scene. Different generations of women left at home, mourning the young men who were missing.
Barbara went to put her present with the pile of others, which were arranged in the corner, as if underneath an invisible birthday tree. Chris came in behind me. I squeezed his hand. It felt like someone should say something, read a poem, or reminisce about Josh’s early years. No one said a word, though. Because we couldn’t mourn. Only miss. And there weren’t really words for that.
I went to put the kettle on. Barbara started chatting about the weather. Matilda showed Caitlin a drawing she had done at school. Life went on, the best it could. It was all we could do.
It was about ten minutes later that there was a knock on the front door. It was daft, really. We were all expecting someone, and yet I knew we were all thinking exactly the same thing. I looked out of the window. Jayne and Bob’s car was parked further along the lane.
‘They’re here,’ I said. Just to make it clear who it wasn’t.
Matilda followed Chris and me into the hall. She was holding my hand rather more tightly than usual. Chris opened the door. Jayne and Bob stood there, looking for all the world as if they had stumbled on some kind of gingerbread house in the woods and wanted to see if it was actually real.
‘Hello,’ Chris said, ‘good to see you again.’ He kissed Jayne on the cheek.
She grabbed hold of his forearms and smiled a lot. She didn’t seem to want to let go. And then she caught sight of Matilda and let out a gasp.
‘Matilda,’ I said, ‘this is your Grandma Jayne.’
Matilda went forward of her own accord. Jayne bent down and put her arms around her. She shut her eyes and held her for a very long time. When she did open them again, they were wet with tears.
‘Josh isn’t here, but we’re still having a party tea,’ Matilda told her.
&
nbsp; ‘Well, that sounds lovely. Is it OK if we join you?’
Matilda nodded.
‘And this is Grandma Jayne’s husband, Bob,’ I said.
Bob stepped forward and shook her hand.
‘I know you’re not my real grandad,’ said Matilda, ‘but do you mind if I call you Grandad Bob? Because it’s easier, and I haven’t got any grandads at all.’
‘That would be lovely,’ Bob said.
I took their coats. I could see Jayne checking her face in the mirror.
‘Barbara’s really looking forward to meeting you,’ I said to her.
She nodded. I wasn’t sure if she was actually capable of speech yet.
Matilda led them through to the lounge.
Barbara stood up.
‘Grandma, meet Grandma Jayne,’ Matilda announced.
They looked at each other for a second, perhaps recognising the differences first before they both saw through them to the thing they shared.
Jayne stepped forward, and I could see her hands shaking. A moment or two later those same hands were around Barbara’s back. Holding her, squeezing her tight.
I gestured to Caitlin to take Matilda out of the room. She nodded, took her hand and asked if she could go and have a look at her bedroom. They left the room. I wasn’t sure what emotions would come out here, but I wanted to make sure they were free to say anything which needed to be said. I took hold of Chris’s hand, struggling to imagine how weird this must be for him.
‘Thank you,’ Jayne said, in little more than a whisper. ‘For looking after him for me.’
‘He was your gift to us,’ said Barbara. ‘I should be thanking you.’
They looked at each other, smiled and hugged again.
‘I used to dream he’d be looked after by someone like you,’ Jayne said. ‘That he’d grow up with two parents who would dote on him.’
‘Oh, we doted on him all right,’ said Barbara. ‘Didn’t spoil him, mind. That’s not a nice thing to do to a child.’
‘Well, he’s turned out lovely,’ said Jayne, turning to grasp Chris’s hand. ‘Absolutely lovely.’
Chris was pulled into a group hug.
I smiled at Bob. ‘Tea or coffee for Jayne?’ I whispered.
‘Tea please,’ he said as he followed me through to the kitchen. ‘She doesn’t want Barbara to think she’s trying to replace her,’ he said.
‘I know,’ I replied, ‘and she doesn’t. She thinks it’s good for Chris. And if it’s good for Chris, then she’s happy. She’s like any mum, really.’
Bob nodded. ‘I’ve booked flights to Australia,’ he said. ‘For February. For both of us.’
I turned and stared at him. ‘But I thought –’
Bob shook his head. ‘I went on one of those fear of flying courses you mentioned,’ he said. ‘I suppose I realised that, however scared I was, it couldn’t compare with how scared Jayne must have been when she gave birth on her own like that.’
I gave him a little hug. ‘That’s brilliant. Well done you.’
‘Daft thing was, I actually quite enjoyed it in the end, when we went up on our little flight.’
‘Australia’s a bit further than that, mind,’ I said with a smile.
‘Oh aye, but I’ll have Jayne with me, won’t I? And we’ll be going to see our grandchild.’
‘Have you told Cassie about Chris?’
‘Yep. She’s made up about it, having a brother and being an auntie and that. Says there’s an open invitation to you all to come over.’
‘That’s lovely. We’ll give her a chance to settle down with the baby first, though.’
‘Yes. And maybe your Josh will be back by then.’
I smiled at him and nodded.
We went back through to the lounge. Barbara was showing Jayne the photo albums she’d brought full of snaps of Chris’s childhood. They were taking it in turn to ooh and aahh over how curly his hair was. Chris was sitting at the end of the sofa squirming ever so slightly and looking about sixteen. I imagined what Josh would say, if he were here. How he’d rib him about it. Maybe that was what Chris was thinking too.
We had the party tea, as planned. No one mentioned that the guest of honour was missing, just as nobody mentioned the pile of unopened presents in the corner, but his absence hung over the whole proceedings.
‘Can we do the cake now?’ asked Matilda, when the last of the tea things had been cleared away.
I glanced at Chris.
He nodded.
I couldn’t help thinking we should have rehearsed this. I had no idea how we were actually going to do it. I needn’t have worried, though. Matilda was very clear. The cake was standing on the worktop. It was round and smothered in a chocolate ganache. I’d told Matilda that people stopped doing their age in candles when they reached seventeen. She’d looked at me dismissively and insisted on putting one on. A purple one. I lit it now and carried the cake back to the table. It was doubtful if so many breaking voices had ever sung ‘Happy Birthday’ at the same time.
Matilda looked up at me with a frown when we got to the end. I knew what she was wondering.
‘You do it for him,’ I said.
She shut her eyes and blew.
Caitlin shut her eyes at the same time. I didn’t need to ask what either of them was wishing for.
* * *
Jayne and Bob left first, with hugs and kisses all round and an offer to have Matilda to visit very soon. We waved them off before shutting the door.
‘What did you think?’ I asked Matilda.
‘I liked them,’ she said. ‘It means I’ve got more family, which is good, because it was feeling a bit small.’
She said it in the breezy, throwaway-comment style favoured by nine-year-olds. I tried very hard to take it like that.
Matilda dragged Caitlin back to the lounge for one last game of Connect Four before she went.
‘Well, I thought she was very nice,’ said Barbara. ‘And him too.’
‘Good,’ said Chris. ‘They weren’t too BBC2 sitcom for you?’
Barbara gave him the kind of reproachful look only a mother can.
‘I like her too,’ said Chris. ‘Just not as much as my real mum.’
I left them hugging in the hallway. I went upstairs, supposedly to go to the toilet. I didn’t really need to go, though. I took a detour instead. Found myself standing in Josh’s room. Breathing him in and breathing him out.
‘Everyone’s going now,’ I whispered. ‘They all send their love. It hasn’t been easy but we’ve survived. I think we’re going to be OK. Not brilliant but OK. And sometimes, you know, OK has to be enough.’
* * *
I lay there in the stillness some hours later. We’d gone to bed early, because it was easier than staying up. You would have thought that, having imagined it so many times, I wouldn’t have trusted myself. But I knew as soon as I heard the key in the front door that, this time, it was for real.
In a moment, I would wake Chris, would leap out of bed and hurtle downstairs. Matilda would be woken by all the commotion and run down to give Josh the two slices of birthday cake we’d saved and insist he eat them and open his presents right that minute.
Later, I would phone Barbara and listen to her tears on the other end of the line. And I’d text Lydia – with Chris’s blessing – and smile when I received the ‘Thank you’ text back.
Later still, I would drive Josh over to Caitlin’s and sit sobbing in the car as they hugged each other to death on the doorstep.
All that was to come.
But for now, it was simply enough to know that he was home.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Huge thanks to the following people: my original editor Jo Dickinson who was with me all the way during the conception of this novel and the ‘labour’ of writing it, and my new editor Kathryn Taussig who made sure everything went smoothly at the tricky bit where it emerged kicking and screaming into the world at the end! Also to the whole team at Quercus for their hard work, ene
rgy and enthusiasm; my agent Anthony Goff for his expertise and advice and everyone at David Higham Associates; Relate (www.relate.org.uk) and Missing People (www.missingpeople.org.uk) for providing invaluable research information and who both do tremendous work; my fellow authors on Twitter for answering the odd weird question and being supportive, encouraging and thoroughly entertaining colleagues in our virtual writing room; my family and friends for their on-going support and encouragement; my wonderful son Rohan for always wanting to know what was going to happen next and for all his ideas (you and Matilda really would be the best of friends!); and my husband Ian, who had no idea what he was letting himself in for when he invited me back to see his photographic portfolio twenty-three years ago (I never said living with a writer would be easy!). And you, my readers, for buying my books, borrowing them from libraries, spreading the word and sending the emails, Facebook messages or tweets saying how much you enjoyed one of my books, which have kept me writing at 12.30 a.m. in the morning on numerous occasions!
EXCLUSIVE EXTRACT FROM
THE MUMMYFESTO
BY LINDA GREEN
ANNA
‘Look, Esme. The first snowdrops are almost out.’
Esme stopped leaping along the stepping stones between the roses in our front garden for a nano-second to glance down to where I was pointing.
‘Oh yeah,’ she said, with the casual indifference of one who has better things to do. I smiled to myself. It was one of the things you didn’t get told in parenting manuals. That one of your children may be so different to you that you sometimes wonder if she is really yours at all. Not just different to me, mind. Different to her entire family. I used to spend hours in the garden with Charlotte when she was this age. She wanted to know what every flower was called. The names of the roses, the variety of tulips. She would help with pruning and planting bulbs. Sit for hours on the front step writing notes and drawing leaf shapes in her exercise book. Even Will, although he’d been less studious in his interest, still used to join me out here and help with the weeding and planting. Although maybe the novelty factor had played a part there. We hadn’t had a front garden in Islington. Or a back one come to that.