One Moment, One Morning (14 page)

But before Karen can come up with a solution, Luke jumps up from the sofa: ‘I know!’ and runs out of the room.

Molly wriggles out of Karen’s arms, slides down her leg and follows her older brother. There is a thump thump thump up the stairs to their room. She can hear Luke saying something to Molly, and her replying. A minute or two later, and they are both back down. When she sees what they have in their hands, Karen has to force herself not to cry.

It is Blue Crocodile and Princess Aurora.

‘The undertaker says to give them another hour,’ says Phyllis, replacing the phone.

‘Oh?’

Luke is struggling into his lace-ups at Karen’s feet; Molly is all buttoned up and duffel-coated, arms scarcely able to bend for padding, waiting to go.

Phyllis lowers her voice so the children can’t hear. ‘They’ve only just got the body after the post-mortem. I presume they have to dress it.’

‘Ah,’ says Karen. They must have sliced Simon’s beautiful barrel chest, and maybe more besides. She reels. The thought makes her sick, giddy.

‘Love,’ Phyllis touches her shoulder, ‘I know, it’s horrid. Here. Sit down.’ She pulls back a chair.

‘Thanks. Sorry.’ Karen puts her head in her hands, waiting for the dizziness to pass. When she lifts her head she sees Molly watching her, alarmed.

‘I’m all right, darling,’ she smiles.

Molly is clutching Princess Aurora close to her chest, tight, for comfort.

Immediately it strikes Karen: Molly
needs
Princess Aurora. Luke, too, needs Blue Crocodile, though right now the toy is discarded, felt legs in the air, on the kitchen floor. Now is not the time to take away these sources of comfort. They need –
she
needs – all the tools of support they can get.

‘I’ve been thinking, children,’ she says at once. ‘Maybe Princess Aurora and Blue Crocodile might like to stay here, with you.’

‘But I thought you said to get something for Daddy to cuddle?’

‘I did.’ Not for the first time, Karen is perturbed at the mixed messages she’s giving. ‘It’s just . . . wouldn’t you miss Blue Crocodile an awful lot, if you weren’t to have him to cuddle yourself?’

‘I’d be all right,’ says Luke, confidently. But Karen knows it’s because he doesn’t want to be seen as a baby.

‘Well,
I
would miss him,’ says Karen. ‘And I think you might too, just a little. Don’t you remember how sad you were when we thought we’d lost him at Gatwick Airport?’ Sad is an understatement: Luke’s wails of distress cut through the entire South Terminal.

‘Yes, but I was only four then.’

Phyllis chuckles at him. ‘I know!’ she exclaims. ‘I’ve got an idea. Molly, my dear, take off your coat.’ She swings into action, unbuttoning her granddaughter’s duffel, and Molly frowns, not keeping up. ‘We’re not going anywhere right now. They’re not quite ready for us to see Daddy yet. So we’re going to take a little while, and you can each do your dad a drawing.’

What an excellent solution, thinks Karen.

Phyllis briskly opens the drawer in the table where Karen keeps the children’s drawing materials. ‘Do you want to use crayons, or felt-tip pens?’

‘Pens!’ says Molly, obediently shifting focus.

‘But I want to give Daddy Blue Crocodile!’ Luke, however, is unyielding.

‘I tell you what,’ suggests Phyllis. ‘Why don’t we take Blue Crocodile and Princess Aurora with us, so they can say goodbye to Daddy too? How about that?’

Karen is grateful – Phyllis is doing a magnificent job. ‘That’s a great plan,’ she agrees.

Nonetheless, Luke gives each of them a black look. He can be awfully determined at times.

Karen truly doesn’t think it wise that Luke part with Blue Crocodile. She struggles for an alternative. Eventually – ‘You know the great thing about Charlie’s blanket . . .’ she cajoles.

‘What?’ Luke growls.

‘. . . It kept Charlie really snuggly and warm.’

‘Mm?’

‘Well, I’m not sure Blue Crocodile and Princess Aurora are going to keep Daddy that warm, are they? I mean, they’re very nice to cuddle, but they’re not as good as Charlie’s blanket when you want to be all snug, tucked up in a special box. So I’m thinking . . . why don’t we take Daddy his lovely blue dressing gown? Then if he gets cold, it’ll keep him really cosy.’

Luke is silent, assimilating. Eventually he nods, cautiously.

‘I’ll get it,’ says Karen, and before he can change his mind, she goes up to the bedroom and unhooks it from the door.

*     *     *

There is a rap of nails on wood.

‘Yes?’

A face peers round the door of Lou’s room. Glasses, a frame of frizzy grey hair. ‘Can I come in?’ It is Shirley, the School Head. ‘Thought it might be easier if we had a chat in here.’

‘Sure,’ says Lou, getting to her feet and then immediately sitting again. Although she has scheduled the meeting and knows she is doing the right thing, she is nervous.

‘Mind if I eat my salad while we talk?’ asks Shirley. She doesn’t wait for an answer, pulling up a chair opposite Lou, unclipping her Tupperware lunch box and forking a pile of couscous, sweetcorn and red peppers into her mouth.

‘Not at all,’ Lou nods. She reaches for her sandwich, peels back the cellophane wrapper, pulls out a triangle and takes a bite. But the bread feels gluey, sticks to the roof of her mouth. She doesn’t want to eat; she won’t enjoy it. She’d rather get this over with. So she puts the sandwich down and braces herself.

‘It’s to do with Aaron.’

‘Ah, Aaron,’ nods Shirley. The ‘ah’ implies a lot: ‘we both know Aaron is trouble’, ‘I understand where you’re coming from’ and ‘why does this not surprise me?’ It’s remarkable how much a single syllable can convey.

But it pulls Lou up short. She can see them headed down the wrong path. ‘Actually,’ she corrects herself, ‘it’s not just about Aaron: it’s about me.’

Shirley’s fork, en route to her mouth, stops in midair. ‘Oh?’

‘It’s to do with something Aaron has worked out about me.’ The words are clumsy, the phraseology not quite right. Lou’s heart is pounding, her hands are clammy, she can feel colour rising in her cheeks. For all her professionalism, she is still a human being: vulnerable, sometimes shy.

‘Ah,’ says Shirley, slowly. The word conveys something different this time.

Lou knows Shirley has pre-empted what is coming, but she is compelled to explain nonetheless. They can’t skip the difficult bit, although she’d like to.

‘I’m gay,’ she blurts.

There is another pause. Lou’s heart beats faster; her cheeks are flaming.

‘You didn’t have to tell me that, you know.’

‘I know.’

‘It’s not really my business.’

‘I appreciate that.’ Lou feels the colour subside: the worst is over.

‘How you live your life in your spare time is truly nothing to do with the school.’

‘No, I realize.’ She understands that this is the right answer; the one Shirley must give so as not to cause offence, or get herself into trouble. She also knows Shirley probably means what she says; she wants to believe Lou’s sexuality has nothing to do with her work. Shirley is a good woman, and her views are liberal.

Nonetheless, it isn’t true: Lou’s private life
does
have something to do with her professional life – a great deal, in fact – and not just in her relationships with Kyra and Aaron, but on a deeper, wider level. In actuality, Lou might not be here, if it weren’t for her sexuality. Her identity is so bound up with being gay that it forms a huge – nay,
crucial
– part of her. From a very early age, she had a sense that she was different, even before she even really knew why. Wrestling with her sexuality has coloured her views of life, people and relationships. And working it out, with all the excitement, pain and fear that went with it, has given her a strong sense of herself, as the black and white of her poster declares: she knows who she is because of it. Not only that: it has given her a strong bond to those who are also, in different ways and for different reasons, disconnected from society. Ironically, she is connected to the Aarons and Kyras of this world by the fact that they are each of them disconnected.

Still, this isn’t the time or the place to go into these nuances with Shirley. It will confuse things, and is beyond what is called for.

‘I wouldn’t usually have brought it up,’ Lou continues. ‘I would have just assumed you knew. But the problem is Aaron has worked it out, and so has Kyra.’

‘I see.’ Shirley is still chewing.

‘I wouldn’t have troubled you with that either, under normal circumstances. Except that now their behaviour’s become rather intimidating. And obviously that’s not good or healthy, for Aaron or Kyra, or me. So far, obviously, I’ve kept my private life private, and I’m going to continue to do that – with them, at least. But I wanted to bring you in on the loop.’

‘I’m glad you did.’ Shirley gives a kind, supportive smile. ‘In fact, I’m honoured you’ve told me, thank you.’

‘Oh.’ Lou is surprised, and relieved. So far this is proving easier than she’d feared.

‘I don’t want my staff to feel they have to undertake everything single-handed. That’s not what this school is about – the kids are hard enough work as it is. We all need as much backup as we can get.’

‘Right.’ It takes Lou a few moments to process this; it’s a warmer response than she’d anticipated.

‘So where do you think we should go from here?’ asks Shirley.

Deciding to be honest with Shirley is as far as Lou has got. She thinks hard. ‘I’d rather you didn’t tell the other members of staff, if you don’t mind.’ She’s not ready for some great public announcement. That would feel overly dramatic, embarrass her.

Shirley scrapes the last vestiges of couscous from her container. ‘I don’t see why I need to. It’s none of their business. As for Aaron and Kyra, how can I help? Would you like me to talk to them?’

Lou thinks again. ‘It wasn’t anything specific I wanted; I think it’s better I deal with them personally, in our sessions. It’s just I realized no one here knew about it, and, well—’

‘ – you felt bullied,’ nods Shirley.

‘Close to it, yes. And I’m always advocating the kids are open and honest about their emotions, and I encourage them to tell someone in authority if they feel intimidated. So I felt I wasn’t practising what I preach.’

‘Well, now you are,’ assures Shirley. ‘And please, don’t hesitate to talk to me again if you need to.’

‘No, I won’t.’ Lou smiles; she feels lighter already. It all seems surprisingly simple.

‘Great.’ Shirley rises from her chair. ‘I’d best get on.’

‘Thanks.’ Lou also gets to her feet. As she closes the door behind Shirley, she wishes coming out to everyone could be that painless.

*

Lou is at her parents’ house, in Hitchin; she has her own place, locally, but has returned to the family home because her father is very, very ill. Cancer, which started in his lungs, has spread rapidly. He was only diagnosed six months previously and it has been a horrible time. Though no one has uttered the words, his spectral figure says everything: he has been sent home from hospital to die. Today he has requested that he see his two daughters, in private. Her younger sister, Georgia, is in the kitchen, red-eyed; he has spoken to her already. Now it is Lou’s turn.

‘Hello, Dad,’ she says, entering the room. Her father is propped up, pillows behind his head. A tube drips morphine slowly into a vein in the back of his hand.

‘Hello, love,’ he rasps. He has little energy, he has had a tracheotomy; it is tough to speak. His fingers are frail, birdlike, shaky. He reaches to hold the hole in his neck shut. ‘Sit,’ he orders.

She pulls an armchair close to him.

‘My Loulou,’ he says, using her childhood name. It tears her up. Sharing many of the same passions as Lou – sport, the outdoors, making things – he seems to have found her, more than her sister, a kindred spirit as they were growing up. In fact, Lou has often wondered if, secretly, she is his favourite. Certainly she loves him unconditionally, whereas her relationship with her mother is more strained.

‘Dad.’

‘I know you’ve not had it easy,’ he continues.

She is surprised; this is not what she had expected him to say.

‘With your mother, especially.’ He is forcing the words out; they are slow, painful. She almost wishes he wouldn’t, yet she is keen – desperate – to hear him speak. ‘Let’s face it,’ he laughs, but his laughter causes him to start coughing. Lou gets up and bends him over gently, patting his back until he stops. He slips back onto the pillows. ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t worry.’

‘She is not an easy woman . . . Lord knows, I know.’

Lou nods. She’s long realized her parents’ relationship is far from smooth: they are very different. Her father is an optimist, humorous, freethinking. Her mother is more suspicious of the world, constantly comparing herself to others, nervy, brittle. Her father has sublimated a lot of himself to stay with her, Lou believes. He is a good man, of a generation imbued with a sense of duty; he’d never leave her, however incompatible they are. Instead he’s bent himself, like the wood of a bow, to accommodate her tautness, the string. One day, Lou has felt for years, something will snap.