by Alyson Rudd
‘Are you awake?’ Simon said.
‘Yes. Why are you awake?’
‘I was thinking about your staff meeting next week. You should tell them you had a virus and you’re fine but it left you a bit drained, that way if you forget something they won’t be mad.’
She wanted to say that was funny because she had forgotten all about the staff meeting but decided it would be inappropriate.
‘Thank you, that’s a good idea. I’m awake because this whole thing has stopped me being a good person. Your mum, for example, I haven’t been to see her in hospital. Can we all go tomorrow?’
‘I told her you had a virus and wouldn’t be allowed in. But yes, she’d love that. The kids will last five minutes then get bored but we can take it in turns to take them to the vending machine or something.’
The next day, Karen, Simon’s mum, was sat in an armchair by the side of her bed, a loose black cardigan over her long cream nightdress. As the children ran to hug her – ‘Gently now,’ shouted Simon – Lauren froze.
She remembered vividly seeing Karen sat in a chair, frail and thin and deathly many years before. She realised with horror that she must have seen her as she was now.
‘Oh, Lauren,’ Karen said, ‘surely I don’t look that ill.’
Lauren dashed forward to embrace her mother-in-law.
‘Of course not,’ she said, ‘I was just reminded of a childhood memory that was confusing me.’
Lauren made a concerted effort to be cheerful and chatty but her heart was not in it.
On the way home, Simon wondered if they should go away for the night together to mark the end of summer and she knew he was grasping at ways to have his wife back to normal.
‘Am I very different?’ she asked as the children counted red cars versus blue cars.
‘No,’ he said lightly, ‘but you are worrying about things, and that does upset me, of course it does.’
He dropped her at the bottom of Miriam’s road. It was not unusual, she now recalled, for her to walk the last few miles of any car ride home, so she did not even have to lie about the need to visit Miriam. She was half an hour early for their next appointment but decided a stroll along the lanes nearby might be therapeutic. There was something liberating about the simple act of going for a walk; the ease with which her limbs worked. Each step was a delight, like walking on pavements padded with foam.
Miriam was busy at her desk plotting ways to decipher Lauren’s problems. She made a list of possible avenues of enquiry and had, in bold letters, the word ‘SUNBEAMS’. She would have to tread carefully there. She traced back over her notes and realised she had failed to pursue how content Lauren had initially felt in the church, how she said she had belonged there. Sometimes the more productive course is the less obvious one, she thought.
Lauren arrived promptly and Miriam poured her a glass of iced water and slowly it emerged that the Stannings had needed no introduction. She had remembered them instantly.
‘And can you think back to when you had met George before?’
‘I took Rosie in when she was born so Dad could show off his new granddaughter and George was still getting to grips with the company. Poor bloke, he had to grow up fast. I took Toby in as a baby too but I don’t think I saw him that day.’
Both women knew this was an incomplete answer. Lauren would not have felt an urge to speak to George if she had only met him once, nine years earlier.
‘And I had used the disappearance of his father in an art project at college so I probably felt closer to him than I was,’ she added, hoping this would satisfy Miriam. It didn’t.
‘I can’t get past a block,’ she sighed. ‘It’s like there is a window but there are big rolling black clouds blocking the view, warning me off.’
Lauren stared at the patterns in the tasteful flock wallpaper. These sessions were becoming more a case of cat and mouse than a means of regaining her equanimity. She was deliberately not telling Miriam all that she had felt, not because she wanted to lie or deceive her but because the self-defence mechanism was too strong.
‘I’m a bit scared, Miriam,’ she said, ‘that to get through the clouds will be so painful or shocking or hurtful that I might die or something. I’m sure you’re right that it is usually best to confront such things but I’m not convinced. I might have to just accept the weird way I live now. I’m sorry, but I don’t think this is working.’
Miriam admired her honesty. Most clients who backed off did so via letter. The least she could do was be honest in return.
‘I understand, really I do, and I have no point of reference for your symptoms. I can’t reassure you that I have been through the same scenario with someone else and it all worked out for the best. We’ll take a break. I’ll keep doing research and maybe we can meet again. When you are ready.’
They shook hands and Miriam noticed, as Lauren left, that she walked away with a slight limp that she corrected within a few seconds. In that moment, Miriam wondered if it really was counselling Lauren needed or a private detective, but the thought passed and she went back to her books to prepare for the visit of an eighteen-year-old boy who had developed a shyness so chronic he could not start the university course his parents were so proud he had qualified for. She looked at the clock. He might not turn up. Sometimes she felt quite worthless.
Tim
It turned out just as Bella had predicted. There was a long queue of women hoping to be appointed Tim’s nanny and housekeeper. He had used agency staff on an hour-by-hour basis at first but soon it became clear that everyone, and most of all his daughter, would benefit if just one person could be relied upon.
‘They’ll all think they’ll end up marrying him,’ Bella said from behind her sleek reception desk in the ad agency to anyone who would listen, as if such romantic-fiction-style thoughts were beneath her.
To Bella’s astonishment, Tim handed her a sheaf of CVs one morning.
‘Bella,’ he said, ‘do me the biggest favour and look through these and tell me which ones catch your eye for good and bad reasons.’
She was almost paralysed by the unexpected responsibility and many a visitor to Pilot that day had to cough three times to be noticed by her. She photocopied every application and used highlighter pens to draw Tim’s attention to the salient points and then divided the CVs into three piles of: Yes, Maybe and No.
That evening Tim looked through Bella’s rejections first to check she was on a similar wavelength and not prioritising hair colour or likely regional accents and, having agreed with her objections, turned his attention to the best of Bella’s bunch.
There were just two he decided it was worth meeting; just two he could bear to meet.
Emily and Moirin.
Emily arrived by train from Devon and was young and smiley with a buttery complexion and a round, open, innocent face. She had a folder full of certificates that confirmed her competence in skills ranging from hygiene in the kitchen to kiddies’ arts and crafts, the latter being something Bella had highlighted; knowing that Tim would prefer a nanny who could bring out the artistic side of artistic Lauren’s child.
He liked her instantly, the way she kept looking almost greedily at Amber, the way she nodded eagerly, happily. He wondered if his sadness would poison her.
‘I ought to stress what might be seen as negatives to the job,’ he said. ‘There’s still a lot of grief and pain in this house. You’ll have to put up with all sorts of relatives grabbing hold of Amber, leaving you to sort the washing and the boring stuff. On a practical level, the house really isn’t big enough and I have yet to tell my in-laws that if I hire a nanny they’ll have nowhere to sleep. Which might make you feel awkward, I don’t know.’
Emily nodded and asked to see the nursery.
‘I’ll move in here when your in-laws stay,’ she said. ‘If you’re happy to get a camp bed for me. All it takes is changing some bed linen and I can do that while they hold the baby.’
He laughed.
‘Well, I’m seeing one more applicant tomorrow,’ he said, ‘so I’ll call you in a few days.’
Moirin arrived by train from north London, her long black hair in a plait, her white skin blistered by fading acne.
‘I won’t lie to you, Mr Lewis,’ she said, ‘but I’m desperate to leave home where I’ve been looking after five brothers and sisters, for all my life, it seems like, and I need the peace and quiet of one beautiful baby, a living wage and a beautiful home like yours is.’
Her Irish brogue was faint but mesmeric. Moirin was streetwise, practical and probably liked a nip of whiskey, he thought. He looked at her resumé. Bella had highlighted the fact that her mother had died eleven years earlier.
‘Won’t you be needed still at home?’ he asked. ‘I’m after someone to live in and do just about everything.’
‘You’ll be giving me a day off, though, won’t you?’
He had not thought about this.
‘Oh, yes, of course, we can work that out to suit both parties.’
‘To answer your question, of course they’ll be needing me at home but they’re not having me. They can fend for themselves these days, they just take advantage of my accommodating nature.’
He repeated what he had told Emily about Bob and Vera staying over and the lack of space.
‘You haven’t seen my house, Mr Lewis. This is a palace. We’ll all fit in just fine, trust me.’
When she had gone he bit his lip. He had thought Emily was perfect but now he could see how Moirin’s experience should not be ignored.
He took Bella out for a coffee and explained what had happened.
‘Great girls, both of them, but I’m at a loss how to decide,’ he said.
Bella stirred her drink, her hands shaking at the magnitude of the task.
‘Let’s say you have to leave for a business meeting and you’ll be back late tonight and you have to phone one of them right now to help out. Who do you ring first? Which one does your gut trust?’
‘Good question,’ he said. ‘But Moirin lives closer so that’s not fair.’
‘Then I know who you should hire,’ Bella said, her eyes sparkling.
‘You do?’
‘Of course. You wouldn’t have qualified your answer if you thought Moirin was the one.’
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Bella, what are you doing spending all day on reception? You are a genius.’
When he introduced Emily to Bob and Vera he felt far more nervous than when Lauren had introduced him to them. He saw how Vera cradled Amber that bit more tightly, how Bob scrutinised Emily’s face for signs of stupidity or callousness. But then Emily surprised all of them.
‘I hope you don’t mind but my mum is in the car downstairs and wants to meet you all, you know, seeing as how I’ll be living here.’
Suddenly it was Bob and Vera who felt under the microscope; it was Tim who hoped to be deemed of solid enough character for Emily’s mother to sanction the deal.
Emily’s mother Brenda was just as buttery-skinned as her daughter but shorter and rounder and reminded Vera of the covers of the Beatrix Potter books that were still on Lauren’s bookshelf in their home.
‘Emily was so pleased to get the job,’ Brenda said, as if she were less sure, less pleased, and Vera instantly knew why. She would not have wanted Lauren, at nineteen, to be surrounded by the bereaved day in and day out.
Vera did not know what to say so made the ultimate gesture and handed Amber to Brenda, who cooed appropriately and then handed her over to Emily, who beamed but instantly gave her back to Vera and said she would make them all tea.
Bob watched this all unfold with a sense of déjà vu which he could not explain so shrugged it off in order to engage properly with the conversation which, gradually, flowed more easily as Tim realised Brenda had every right to ask about bathrooms and privacy.
When Amber needed a nappy change, Emily whisked her off and Vera nodded appreciatively.
‘That’s a lovely daughter you have there,’ Vera said, and neither she nor Bob nor Tim felt the weight of the words; and neither she nor Bob nor Tim felt tearful.
Bob
It was as decent a life as Bob could have hoped for. Rachel occasionally became withdrawn but she never actually raised the subject of his infidelity. A whole year passed without a letter from Andrea, who never asked Bob for more money. He had given her as generous a lump sum as he could muster and she had no intention of bleeding him dry.
When Jevin was three and a half a letter did come for him inside the usual envelope addressed to Mr and Mrs Pailing. A few words on a postcard told them she was happy in Paris and grateful that Jevin had the home he deserved.
They read the card together. It was as much as Rachel could have hoped for although a dark part of her now and again half hoped Andrea would be found dead in the Seine, just to avoid the potential for a scene one day. Rachel adored their son more than she had ever dreamed she could and when she gazed at him she saw only glimpses of Bob and nothing much of Andrea at all. The brusqueness of the note was a sign of a young woman who had moved on. Of a woman unlikely to turn back and turn their lives upside down.
Vera
The day came when Hope was older than her big sister had been. Vera had expected the world to change as a consequence, and kept thinking of the phrase ‘nature abhors a vacuum’.
Maybe nature abhors little sisters being older than their big sisters, she thought. It also made her think of whether Lauren was aware of her family. What was Heaven, after all? It could be a place that had a window onto the world through which the dead could keep an eye on them, but that sounded cruel, like being in a prison, so she hoped it was nothing of the sort.
For all her grief and the certainty she had that but for Hope she would have killed herself, Vera had no real sense of Lauren by her side. She knew that the breeze that seemed to smell of her or the rustling branches that sounded like her were figments of her own imagination, that it felt plausible only because she needed it to feel plausible. If Lauren still existed, it was in a place she was incapable of understanding.
When Hope was older than Lauren by six days and Vera was still mulling over what impact that would have on Hope and on her own bereavement something terrible did happen. Hope’s classmate did not turn up for school, and the teacher told them it was because her brother had been knocked off his motorbike and killed. The teacher had paused, Hope said, as if hiding something and that was when the whispering began. Daisy’s brother had been decapitated.
As she told her mother the news, Hope, who sounded as if she were relating the gory details of a B movie, burst into tears the way only thirteen-year-olds can and Vera, full of foreboding, held her tight.
Vera knew the call would come, and sure enough two weeks after the funeral, the school nurse phoned her up. Would Vera meet with Mrs Talbot?
‘I don’t know Mrs Talbot,’ Vera said.
‘Yes, yes, but you are the only person I know among the parents, Mrs Pailing, who has lost a child in a road accident. I think she could really do with some help.’
Vera wanted to shout that there had been no one to help her other than Bob and then pinched her own arm in punishment.
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Would you be kind enough to arrange how and when?’
She told Bob about the phone call later that evening after he had spent fifteen minutes stroking Hope’s hair and telling her to think of ways to be kind to Daisy rather than dwelling on the macabre detail that seemed to gain new levels of gruesomeness with each passing school day.
‘That’s very nice of you,’ he said, ‘but you know it might be tough, really tough.’
‘I know,’ she said, ‘but I don’t believe I have any choice.’
Mrs Talbot was divorced. Mrs Talbot had been told, by her ex-husband, that it was her fault their son had died. Why had she let him ride his bike when it had been raining?
Vera had suffered guilt, oh, she knew that feeling all too well. Why had she let Lauren go
away without her? Had she been more protective, Lauren would still be here. But Bob had never blamed her. No one had blamed Vera but Vera, and that was bad enough. She tried to imagine how she would have felt if Bob had accused her of neglect.
For the first time, Vera properly accepted that although she had believed her grief to be the deepest of all grief, it could have been worse.
Mrs Talbot looked awful. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy and, for reasons Vera could not fathom, her hair was soaking wet on a sunny day. The kitchen was untidy and smelled of old bacon fat. Where were her friends, her relatives? Someone should have been keeping things tidy, keeping things ticking over, keeping an eye on this vulnerable woman.
Vera had assumed she would be asked about how she coped, how long it took her to smile again, how often she thought about her dead daughter. Instead, she saw that she needed to assume the role of a social worker. This woman did not need to be told that grief ebbs and flows and time heals the worst of it. This woman needed practical help.
‘Who will be here this evening?’ she asked. ‘Just you and Daisy or is there someone else popping by?’
Mrs Talbot, too distressed and disorientated to tell Vera to call her Connie, looked alarmed.
‘I’m not expecting anyone else,’ she said. ‘I want David to come home, that’s all I want.’
‘Were you expecting me?’ Vera asked.
‘Oh, yes, the school nurse said you knew. She said you wouldn’t expect a cup of tea and some bloody chocolate digestives and all the gory details.’
Vera stroked her hand.
‘How would you feel about me coming back later with the car and taking you and Daisy home with me and letting someone spring clean the house, but not touch David’s room at all, so you can get some sleep and Daisy can be with a friend.’
Mrs Talbot sat in silence, staring at the calendar on the wall showing the month before. Time had stopped when David had stopped.