by Emily Hudson
Shell-shocked and grief stricken it didn’t feel real pulling open the heavy hospital doors, leaving her there. However, the formalities had been completed, what more was there to do.
I woke with a blanket around me, my head splitting. Drowning my sorrows hadn’t helped last night, it barely numbed the pain. Livvy had sat up with me until the early hours, sharing memories, laughing, crying, questioning everything. Life is truly precious, in the blink of an eye it can go, just like that.
‘Here take these.’ Livvy said, handing me a bottle of water with some painkillers. ‘What time is it?’ I asked groggily. Livvy was far more alert than I.
‘Coming up to midday.’ Was her reply.
‘Midday!’ I bellowed far too loudly for my own head.
My sister looked on sympathetically, she was obviously not about to chastise me over my over consumption of alcohol, no my head was punishment enough.
‘We have an appointment at the hospital at three, so nothing to worry about; why don’t you take a shower and I’ll get a little lunch ready.’ I looked at my younger sister, amazed at the role reversal; I’d been so use to looking out for her. ‘Go on,’ she fussed. ‘Ok, ok I’m going.’ On my return, Livvy was busily arranging the table; on it a selection of sandwiches neatly arranged on a platter. I smiled, she had me fooled for a split second, I held up the packaging from Nico’s raising an eyebrow. My sister wasn’t known for her culinary skills, even the preparation of a sandwich had been deemed beneath her; whilst somethings about her had changed, this obviously hadn’t. Shrugging her shoulders, ‘I cut them into triangles,’ she defended.
‘And they are the best triangle shaped sandwiches I’ve ever seen,’ I said as her smile returned. ‘Don’t change too much kiddo.’
Turned out Livvy had been amazingly efficient whilst I slept off my alcohol induced coma. Following the appointment at the hospital to arrange the release of Kitty’s body to the funeral director we had an appointment to register her death. I felt like a bystander as she took control of the situation, her strength shining through. Within a few hours all the practicalities were set up. All that was left was to find the details of the grave plot that Kitty had mentioned was at her house.
Opening Kitty’s front door, everything was eerily quiet. I half expected her to walk out of the kitchen towards me smoothing down her apron. It felt wrong the pair of us rifling through her personal affects but someone had to do it. I came to a folder labelled ‘Important personal documents’. BINGO! This had to be it, her birth certificate, passports and then a folder containing a death certificate of Patrick Mulhurn and details of his grave plot at the local church, St. Agatha’s. Was this the plot she had spoken about? I carried on searching, there were no others, not even her sister’s. ‘Livvy? Fancy a trip out to St. Agatha’s.’ I called. ‘I haven’t been there for about ten years; Kitty took me there a couple of times when I was off school; it’s getting dark, why don’t we go to the service tomorrow morning?’ Hmm, I can think of a million reasons not too; I thought.
It had been a while since I’d stepped inside a church, it is fair to say my sister was enjoying my unease. ‘Don’t touch the holy water, it might burn.’ She teased as we walked past the font. ‘I’m sure the priest could set aside the whole of next week for all your confessions, or would he need two?’ I glared at her as the service started, ok I wasn’t an angel but I never admitted to be. Hymns, great, my favourites!
The service wasn’t as bad as I thought it might have been; thought provoking, yes. I still, however, wasn’t about to become a devout member of the congregation. Unlike Beryl and Diane, who swooped in on us, like prey as we were filing out, ready to sign us up as we exited. This, however, turned out to be a blessing, as they made light work of spreading the word about Kitty’s passing. Within minutes people were stopping us to pass on their condolences, including the parish secretary who set us up immediately with a meeting with the priest to arrange the funeral.
‘Good job she didn’t want to be cremated.’ I joked with my sister as we set off in search of the grave. Everything had happened in such a whirlwind, we didn’t have any choice in the matter. ‘I think it is just around this corner.’ Livvy stated marching round the side of the stone church. ‘Yes, here it is.’ She announced proudly.
Patrick Mulhurn
28 Jan 1942 – 29 Jul 1966
Until we dance again, my love.
As we read the inscription a voice came from behind us.
‘She tended it for over fifty years.’ We turned to see a little old lady. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Violet, Patrick was my brother.’ Warmly she smiled as we introduced ourselves, explaining our relationship to Kitty. ‘She spoke of you both often.’ Her words were comforting but what we really wanted to know was why Kitty tended her brother’s grave?
Eventually Livvy piped up, ‘You will have to forgive us, who was Patrick to Kitty?’ Violet smiled, ‘Why he was the love of her life my dear.’ She said simply as we looked on stunned, we had no idea. ‘Do you have the time? Come into the hall and have a drink, this could take a while.’
An hour later Violet had given us an insight into Kitty’s life in her younger years. A life that had changed dramatically when tragedy struck. Engaged to be married, Kitty and Patrick had been travelling back from an RAF ball when the car that they were travelling in had been hit by another. Patrick took the force of the impact and was killed instantly, Kitty surviving with a few broken bones.
‘Now it makes sense,’ I said Livvy looked at my questioningly. ‘She told me to woo, Lucy. She said that she had been wooed once, that you rarely get second chances.’ Livvy’s hand went to her heart, as struck as I by the heart-breaking sentiment.
‘There was never anyone else?’ Violet’s eyes lit up. ‘Oh, she had offers, did she have offers, but she never entertained them. Always said they would never be a patch on her Patrick.’
Livvy frowned, ‘She must have been so lonely.’
Violet shook her head, ‘It’s fair to say she would have much rather lived with him, but she was happy. She lived her life, doing everything she wanted to do, as if he were beside her and he would have only ever wanted that for her.’
‘Wow!’ I said collapsing into my favourite chair, I was emotionally drained. I was used to working hard but the last few days had sapped every ounce of my energy. It didn’t help that Lucy was on my mind too, I hope she’d forgive me, stupidly I had no way to contact her on Friday and I wasn’t about to leave a message on her work answering machine. ‘Why don’t you send her an email?’ My sister guessed my thoughts.
‘Err because I don’t have that either!’
Shaking her head, ‘You know, for one so clever…’ waving Spectrum events website in front of me on her phone. ‘Want me to do it for you?’
Successfully managing to bait me. ‘No what I want you to do is grab a take-away menu and make a selection.’
Thirty minutes later, I was still struggling to find the right words. I spent my life using words, manipulating their meanings and here I was in a complete muddle. Then I thought of Kitty losing the love of her life at twenty-four, never to find love again. ‘Make it count, you rarely get second chances.’
To: [email protected]
Subject: My sincere apologies
Lucy,
Trust me when I write if I could have been there on Friday night I would have. I’m going to be tied up for the next week. I will be in touch when I can give you the attention you deserve.
Marcus
The doorbell sounded, I hit send in response before having the opportunity to read it back. Oh well, done now, SENT.
Chapter Ten
Thank goodness I was in the lap of luxury right now, it was the only positive I could take from what was possibly the worst weekend I have ever had. OK, on the scale of recent world events there were worse things happening, but alone on a Sunday night in an huge empty house with a tub of Ben and Jerry’s, my thoughts tur
ned increasingly narcissistic. Gorging myself on god alone knows how many calories, I read and re-read the official notice from my landlord. Worst case scenario, I could find somewhere else just as grim. Trawling the internet was fruitless, unless I was willing to share a one bedroomed flat, in what was described as, ‘a friendly flat share/open minded, singles only,’ my mind boggled. I eventually stopped when I started considering the legality of sleeping in my car and renting out a garage. No, scrap that, worst case scenario would be running back to Mum and Dad’s. Don’t get me wrong, my parents are wonderful, always have been. They would give me the world, it’s just, I have and always will be fiercely independent. My parents never did understand my desire to live and work in London and I think they have been waiting for the day I come home with my tail between my legs. ‘Not everyone’s cut out for the big smoke,’ was my dad’s favourite line. My parents came from a beautiful little village in West Sussex; I’d enjoyed growing up there, surrounded by chocolate box cottages, cows, fields and bluebell forests; but when I left to go university it wasn’t just in pursuit of an education, it was for excitement, the buzz I got from the sheer vibrancy of the city. To go back now, well it would feel like I’d failed, that I couldn’t cut it, I wasn’t there…yet. Then it hit me, it was time to work on one of my weaknesses, asking for help. I didn’t want to bother Licia and Ethan whilst they were on their honeymoon, what with them being away for a couple of weeks, but I’d run out of time to sort out a possible alternative.
From: Lucy Crawford
To: Alicia Huntington
Subject: Squatters Rights
Hate to interrupt you two love birds, hope you’re having a great time. Nothing to worry about, house fine. My creepy landlord upped my rent, just wondering if you’ve rented your old place out yet? If yes, I declare Squatters Rights to your East wing! Barricades and booby traps going up immediately ;-)
Love you oodles,
Luce xx
I didn’t expect a reply immediately, they were on their honeymoon but I at least felt better that I’d asked. Step one, in changing my life. I was about the lower the screen of my laptop down when I saw an incoming email notification. I watched until it disappeared.
New message: Marcus Davenport Subject: My sincere apologies.
I’d convinced myself all weekend I didn’t want or need to hear what he had to say, I was done. I should just delete it, but he didn’t exactly stand me up, he did at least try to get a message to me. He didn’t know I’d been sat there for forty-five minutes before I was any the wiser. Note to self, if I’m unfortunate to have this happen again resort to the fifteen-minute rule and only if I deem they’re worth that time! The more I stared at my screensaver, the greater my curiosity became.
I read and re-read his message. OK he was sorry but trust him, really? I suppose I had no reason not to, he said he wanted to be there but he was tied up. Sadly, who with was my first assumption. Maybe the trust thing would take a while. No, I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt, I’m not as blinkered as I once was. He said a week, I’ll wait and let him contact me.
* * *
Thankfully it was a busy week, Friday came about quicker than ever before. I’d been rushed off my feet but I had everything to look forward to. I’d given notice to my landlord and, despite not having had a reply from Alicia, it felt like a weight had been lifted off me. As the end of the week had approached, I’d realised I’d been feeling a little giddy; was it because a week had passed and Marcus had indicated he’d be in touch or was it because my best friend was returning on Sunday? Whichever it was, one thing was certain, I had a bit of cleaning to do before Alicia returned.
By the end of Sunday afternoon, my fingers were chapped, nails chipped but the house was sparkling, my presence eradicated, all belongings taken back to my basement. Being the sole of discretion I made myself disappear too, leaving a fresh vase of flowers and a bottle of Champagne sat in a cooler in the large entrance hall.
By 9pm on Sunday, the only person I had heard from was the ‘she devil'. In a momentary lapse of call screening, her shrill voice invaded my ear piece. Assuming the call would be Licia; I naively answered. The assault on my eardrums finally concluded, the woman had obviously had one to many G&T’s, it hadn’t taken me long to realise she was slurring her words, ranting and raving about a new client, that had requested me personally. That this was going to be big for the company and the end of all our worries. Informing me she would tell me all about it tomorrow, but to start packing my things. To be perfectly honest, very little made sense towards the end of our conversation. As a company, I thought we were financially sound, business had been booming, despite the state of the economy. Why the hell she couldn’t just have waited eleven hours to tell me in person was beyond me, now all I could think about was work; bloody woman.
Sleep had all but alluded me, so I headed into the office early to go through the accounts. Just on the accounts I’d managed last year, we had a turnover of just over £400,000. I knew, as a whole, the company had turned over £1.2 million last year, as much as I racked my brains, I couldn’t see that any of Carole’s worries could be financial.
As the city came to life and work resumed, there was one noticeable difference. One that had all the office twitching; Carole’s office was noticeably empty. The gossips were having a field day by ten o’clock. I couldn’t stand the woman but the more I listened to the office chatter it was evident that most thought she had become slightly more unhinged in recent weeks. Something had knocked her off her game and as I watched the office slowly fall apart without her I knew someone needed to step up.
Engrossed in idle gossip, no one noticed as I dialled Carole’s direct line. The conversations simmered down as her phone rang, indicating I’d get it I set up my ruse. ‘Hi Carole,’ I said loud enough to focus everyone’s attention. After a few inane comments, ‘ah-ha, yep, that’s fine…’ and the like, I replaced the receiver. I still held everyone’s attention as I walked out of her office. ‘Carole’s been waylaid at a breakfast meeting, potential new client. She’s asked me to run down with her tablet so she can go over some case studies.’ I wasn’t the greatest liar in the world and could see some suspicious eyes on me. ‘Tess, she’s asked that you compile a list of clients that haven’t engaged us in any repeat business and Georgia, she’s asked you to create a portfolio of our most recent successful marketing designs. Rope in anyone you need to help.’ That should keep the loudest jungle drummers quiet I thought. ‘Is there a problem?’ I questioned as I overheard some groans as the floor settled down to work. Grabbing my coat and bag, I headed out the door, dialling Carole King as I went.
‘Carole, its Lucy, I’m worried about you, I’ll be at your place in twenty.’
It was a blustery walk from the office to Carole’s flat in South Kensington. It was a journey that I had become all too familiar with in my probation year as I ran every kind of errand the woman wanted, from dry cleaning to feeding her fish when she was away on business.
I barely recognised the woman that opened the door, bereft of make-up, her signature red soled heels and typical power dressing. Carole looked a mere shadow of the feisty, driven woman she projected at work. Swollen red eyes greeted me as her front door creaked open.
‘Carole, are you OK?’ Her head shook before she shrouded her eyes from the daylight. Opening the gloss black door just enough from me to squeeze through. I stood taking her in, unsure of exactly what to say, she was my boss not my friend, this was unusual to say the least. Leading me through the hall to the large open plan kitchen/diner I had often admired for its show home minimalism, it had always baffled me how anyone lived in it so it was quite the relief to see it in complete disarray. Empty take away cartons, a bottle of gin, three quarters empty on a table, beside a pile of papers, bank statements on closer inspection.
‘Can I make you a coffee?’
Having taken me up on the offer, she started to confide in me.
‘It’s the first time in twenty-s
ix years that I have missed a morning. I built that place up from scratch and for what…’ she said staring into the bottom of her coffee cup as if an answer would appear. ‘Don’t worry about Spectrum.’ I told her handing her, the tablet whilst filling her in on the ‘breakfast meeting’ and the potential, if somewhat imaginary, client that had taken her away from the office this morning.
‘You’ve always been resourceful Lucy, I can always rely on you.’ I would have been touched by her words if it weren’t for her defeatist attitude. ‘Can I do anything else to help?’ She moved her hands nervously from her cup to her lap, alternating rubbing her hands together. ‘Terry has left me!’ She announced. ‘After thirty years, that part I can cope with.’ She laughed, ‘I can accept that another woman has finally turned his head, but all this talk of half of everything, of valuing the business, my business. The business I built from scratch, sacrificed having children for, worked all hours of the day for. For what?’ She said slamming her fist down on the table in anger.
I knew nothing of divorce proceedings but I could see the logic of it being classed as an asset and valued accordingly.
‘I can’t afford to buy him out and the thought of continuing to pay him from the revenue in the years to come…’
‘Have you sought legal advice? It might not come to that. I can’t see a court demanding you sell up and give him half, particularly, when he’s the one to have the affair.’
‘No, not yet, I’ve been given the name of a good divorce lawyer, strangely from the new client I mentioned to you yesterday, but I’m yet to follow it up.’ I hadn’t been married for thirty years but I knew what betrayal felt like. I also knew Carole would need more time before she faced the office. ‘Well, why don’t I go and get us some lunch and you phone and make an appointment, then you can tell me all about this new client.