One Moment, One Morning (13 page)

‘Ah.’

‘What do you think?’

‘Gosh, Karen, they’re your children, I really don’t know. What about Molly?’

‘I was thinking she and I would stay here.’

‘Hmm, I’m not sure about that.’ Anna calls on all her emotional understanding. Gradually, she comes up with what she feels is the right solution. ‘If you’re going to give Luke that opportunity, I think maybe you ought to give it to Molly too.’

‘But she’s only three, don’t you think that it would be a bit much for her?’

Then Anna remembers. ‘Actually, that nice nurse yesterday suggested to me that you took them to see him. If they want to go.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, she did. I’m so sorry, I should have mentioned it.’ Anna feels guilty: she’s failed Karen again.

‘Oh, don’t worry. We were all of a dither yesterday. Well, we’re all of a dither today too . . .’

‘You could always ring her and ask her, but she did say that, yes.’ Anna stops, then adds, ‘It’s not as if Simon’s all bashed up or anything, is it? He’s not been in an accident or anything, in which case I’d say not; it might upset them to see him like that. But he looks at peace, really.’

‘Yes, he does. . . Mm, maybe you’re right. . . I wouldn’t want to force her, though . . .’

‘No, of course.’

‘I know what I’ll do. I’ll ask her too.’

‘That sounds very sensible,’ agrees Anna. ‘I’m sure you’ll put it in a way that she understands, so see what she says. But my guess is that in years to come she might be thankful.’

Goodness me, she thinks, putting down the phone a few minutes later. Who am I to encourage such openness? I keep half of my domestic life under cover. None of my colleagues know much about my troubles, do they? Imagine what Bill and Ian would say if I revealed what Steve is capable of when he’s drunk. They’d be horrified, surely.

Anna sighs. Bottling all this stuff up isn’t good. In the wake of Simon’s death it seems even unhealthier. She returns to her desk and her letters, attempting to put her thoughts on hold once more. Still, they are there, eating away at her. Secrets. Lies. Simon lived with such straightforward honesty that his departure casts an uncomfortable light on how much she keeps under wraps.

She is not sure how much longer she can carry on like this, now she’s seeing things from a different perspective.

‘Is that you, Lou?’

Blast. Lou was going to call, yet her mother has gazumped her. She feigns enthusiasm. ‘Yes, Mum, hi!’

‘I thought you were going to ring me last night.’

Barely a sentence spoken and Lou is made to feel bad. ‘Sorry, yes, I know – I, er . . . I had to phone a friend before I got back to you. I did mention that I had to cancel something if I was to come.’ Ha! Fight guilt with guilt, Lou: that is the tactic.

But her mother seems interested only in whether Lou is doing what she wants. ‘So you are coming, then?’

‘Yes, yes, I am.’

‘On the Thursday?’

Aargh! ‘No. I’ll come on Saturday morning.’

‘Oh, really? Not sooner?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t,’ she says abruptly. This is a lie; she
could
go on Friday after tennis, but can’t face the prospect of that long with her mother. ‘I’m not going to a party on Saturday night as it is.’ This bit is true, and to salvage some of her plans is only reasonable. She is damned if she’s going to surrender to her mother completely.

‘That’s good, darling, thank you.’ Lou’s mother has clearly picked up on her tone, and realized this is the most she’s going to get. ‘Uncle Pat and Auntie Audrey will be so pleased to see you.’

Yeah, right, thinks Lou, furiously twiddling the phone cable to contain her irritation. She decides to cut her mother short. ‘Is that all, Mum? It’s just I’ve a couple of other calls to make and I only have a few minutes before my next student.’

‘Oh, OK.’ Her mother sounds disappointed, but Lou ignores her. Do as you would be done by, after all.

‘Bye, then!’ Lou is ludicrously upbeat, and puts the phone down. She can’t resist kicking her filing cabinet, though, once she’s in the clear.

I’d better phone Vic, then, she concludes. Vic is an old friend, whom Lou has known since school. She’s still got a few minutes.

‘Vic, it’s Lou.’

‘Hello.’

‘I’m afraid I’ve got some really annoying news.’

‘Oh, what?’

‘I can’t make your party.’

‘Bugger. Why?’

‘It’s my mum.’

‘Not again.’

‘Yes,
again
.’

‘What this time?’

‘She wants me to go and help with my Auntie Audrey and Uncle Pat. Uncle Pat’s not been well and she’s asked them to hers as they’ve barely been out of their house for months.’

‘Why does she need you there?’

‘To look after them. They are quite hard work.’

‘Can’t she do that?’

‘She says not. Her hip’s bad, you know.’

‘But you
always
go. Can’t your sister Georgia help?

‘You know she won’t be able to. She might be able to drop by, but she’s got kids and things – she’s bound to have stuff arranged already.’

‘But so have you! I’ve had this party planned for
ages
.’

‘I know, I know, I’m sorry.’ There’s guilt wherever Lou turns. And it’s not as if she isn’t disappointed anyway. Vic knows so many colourful people that her parties are usually a riot.

‘It’s my birthday on Sunday. It’s rare it falls on a weekend.’

More guilt. ‘Vic, honestly, I’d so much rather be with you – it goes without saying, surely. But I can’t say no. You know what my mother is like. She’ll be a nightmare for months if I don’t go.’

Vic sighs. ‘I suppose so. It’s a shame, though. There was another reason I wanted you to come.’

‘Oh, yeah?’

‘I had someone I wanted you to meet.’

Lou stops twiddling the phone cable. ‘Really?’

‘Indeedy.’

‘Who?’

Vic isn’t gay herself, but she works in the theatre and has heaps of gay friends, although most of them tend to be men. ‘This lovely woman I met recently backstage.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes. A friend of one of the actors. She’s just your type.’

‘What’s her name?’

‘Sofia.’

‘Is she Italian or Spanish or something?’

‘Yes, Spanish, but she’s lived here for years.’

‘What’s she like, then?’

‘She seems like a very nice person. Funny and intelligent and, well, just lovely.’

‘What does she look like?’

‘I said, she’s just your type. Pretty.’

‘Pretty in what way?’

‘Short dark curly hair, brown eyes; honestly, she’s really attractive. I’d fancy her myself if I was gay.’

‘Mm, she sounds great. What does she do?’

‘She works for a web company. She’s a director, I think.’

So, bright too, and seemingly capable. Lou has had it with needy types. It is all most appealing. ‘How old is she?’

‘Thirtyish, I’d say.’

That’s a couple of years younger than Lou, but not too young. ‘Where does she live?’

‘Acton, at the moment. But she works in East Croydon.’

Lou races ahead. She’s at her happy ending already: ‘Ooh, so if we got together she could commute!’

‘My thoughts exactly.’

Lou remembers her obligations. She kicks the cabinet again. ‘Damn!’

‘Well, it’s your loss . . .’

‘Can’t I meet her some other time?’

Vic exhales theatrically. Her profession is no coincidence – there’s more than a little drama queen in her. ‘I suppose so, if you must.’

‘Aw, Vic, go on, you know I haven’t had any sex for months. Set us up.’

‘What, on a blind date?’

‘Oh, no, that’s a bit embarrassing. Can’t we go out, you, me and her or something?’

‘I’m not introducing you if this is all just going to be about sex.’

‘You’re a fine one to talk!’

‘No, I know, but still, I’m not. She’s a nice girl, Sofia. I’m not having you break her heart.’

‘Of course I’m not going to break her heart!’ Lou protests. Though in some ways she is flattered Vic would think her capable of such a thing; treating women mean is hardly her style. In truth, she’s usually the one who gets hurt, not the other way round.

‘All right,’ Vic relents. ‘I’ll see what I can do. You’d better tell me when you’re free, then.’

‘Friday night?’ says Lou hopefully. She doubts Vic will be around at such short notice.

‘Hmm, as a matter of fact, I might be available . . .’ Vic is toying with her, Lou can tell from her tone. She’s loving it.

Thank goodness Lou told her mother she couldn’t go to hers until Saturday. ‘Why don’t you come down to Brighton?’ she suggests, eager. ‘We could go out.’

‘Well . . . I was supposed to be painting my flat – I want it to look nice for the party. And as you’ve let me down, I’m not sure I should be quite so accommodating . . .’

‘Oh, Vic, honestly! Since when did decorating ever take precedence over anything?’ Vic’s flat is a tip; she has lived there nearly ten years and has barely cleaned it in that time, let alone decorated. ‘Anyway, aren’t you better off painting it after the party? It might get damaged.’

‘Maybe you have a point,’ Vic concurs. ‘I’m not getting drunk, though – I’ll have to host the next day.’

‘No, no, we won’t,’ assures Lou, though she knows Vic will.

‘And you’ll have to invite someone else too. I’m not going out in my prickly green suit with just the two of you. That won’t be much fun for me.’

‘OK.’ Lou racks her brains. A suitable candidate is not that simple: a lot of her friends are paired up; another couple could exacerbate Vic’s sense of exclusion. Plus Vic’s a strong character; some of her quieter single friends might find her overwhelming. ‘What about Howie? You met him before – at that Murder Mystery gathering, remember?’ Howie lives locally and there’s the chance he might be available, especially as he’s just dumped his boyfriend of several years and is up for socializing at the moment.

‘Let me ask Sofia before you speak to him. Even if she is free, she may not want to come all the way to Brighton.’

On this score, Lou appreciates she is being truthful. ‘Sure, fine. I’ll keep it open until you let me know. I must get on now, anyway – my next student’s due any second.’

*     *     *

‘Right, children,’ says Karen, going over to the television. Luke and Molly are sitting on the sofa, legs swinging as they don’t yet reach the floor, mesmerized by the closing credits of
Dora
. ‘That episode is finished, so there will be no more telly for a bit.’

She switches it off. ‘Aw,’ says Luke.

‘Now, Molster, in a while, Luke and Granny are going to say goodbye to Daddy. And we can go too, but only if you’d like that. So you need to listen to me very carefully before you make up your mind.’

But Molly just sits there wide-eyed. Her face – so heart-wrenchingly reminiscent of Simon’s – has borne the same perplexed expression for most of the morning. Karen is not sure if she understands or if it is all simply too much.

‘Daddy is going to be buried soon,’ Karen explains.

‘But not in the garden,’ remembers Luke, soberly.

‘No, not in the garden. And when he is buried, he’ll be in a special box, called a “coffin”.’

‘Like Charlie’s?’ They’d buried the cat in a large shoebox.

‘Yes, I suppose you’re right. A coffin is a bit like that. Anyway, when we see Daddy in his special box, he won’t be the same as you’re used to. He will be like Charlie was, when Charlie died. So although you can say things to Daddy and tell him goodbye, he won’t be able to say anything back to you, because Daddy is gone to—’ – she flounders and then uses the only word that seems appropriate – ‘heaven.’

‘Up in the sky,’ nods Luke.

‘Yes. So what we’ll be seeing is only part of Daddy, not all of him.’

Molly looks anxious. ‘Is he missing some bits? Like Princess Aurora?’ Princess Aurora is Molly’s favourite toy. But the doll long ago lost the ball in her hip joint, so only has one leg.

‘No, no,’ Karen corrects her. ‘He’s all there, nothing like that. It’s just his body will be there, but not his
character
.’ As soon as she’s uttered this, she knows it’s too big a word for Molly.

But somehow Molly seems to have understood the essence. ‘I want to say goodbye too,’ she proclaims.

‘Are you sure? We don’t have to go. You and I could just stay here and – oh, I don’t know,’ – Karen plucks an idea from the air – ‘make biscuits. Then Luke and Granny can have them when they get back.’

Molly shakes her head. ‘I want to go with Luke and Granny.’

So far as Karen can tell, she has grasped it. ‘Right, that’s settled then. Who’s my gorgeous girl?’ She picks her up from the sofa and gives her a hug and a kiss.

But then, as she leans to ruffle Luke’s chestnut hair, she sees it’s his turn to look troubled. ‘What’s the matter? You worried about going now?’

‘Mummy, will Daddy be all right in a shoebox?’

She understands his thinking. The thought of Simon alone in hard, frosted earth upsets her too.

Luke continues, ‘When we buried Charlie, we gave him his favourite blanket.’

‘Ah, yes.’ Bless him; he’s following the Charlie parallel right through to its conclusion. ‘Are you thinking it would be nice to give Daddy something to cuddle, sweetheart?’ They can hardly bury Simon with a rug matted with fur, however. She tries to think what might work instead.