One Moment, One Morning (32 page)

‘But your new one isn’t a party dress,’ says Karen patiently. How can she explain that turquoise and pink flowers are too jolly for a funeral? It seems ironic, as Simon liked Molly’s new dress. ‘This is your Christmas dress,’ she lures, and before Molly can descend into a full tantrum, pops the pinafore over her head. ‘There.’ She turns her daughter to face her and tugs down the hem. ‘You look really pretty. Can we brush your hair next?’

‘Noooooooo!’ wails Molly. Her hair is soft and fine, like candyfloss, and forms knots at the slightest opportunity.

‘You can’t go to Daddy’s special party with a great big tangle in your hair.’

‘Ow!’

She carries on, despite her daughter’s protestations. ‘Right, you’re done.’ She kisses the top of Molly’s head. ‘Good girl.’

What’s the time? she wonders, and checks her watch to see how long they’ve got.

*   *   *

‘It’s nearly nine,’ says Lou, poised at the bedside with two mugs. ‘You wanted me to wake you.’

‘Did I?’ mutters Vic. She rolls over and snuggles under the covers.

‘Yup. I’ve brought you a cup of tea.’ Lou edges a cup onto the bedside table. ‘You’ve got your party today.’

‘Bloody hell, so I have.’ Vic flings her arms out over the duvet. ‘My house is a wreck.’

‘Never!’ Lou teases.

The noise causes Sofia to stir. ‘Hello . . .’ she says sleepily, and smiles up at Lou.

She looks adorable, Lou thinks, all ruffle-haired and bleary-eyed. But she simply says, ‘Tea.’

‘Thank you.’ Sofia manoeuvres herself to a seated position and reaches across Vic for her mug.

Lou perches on the edge of the futon. ‘Don’t feel you have to rush.’

Vic takes a noisy slurp. ‘I thought you were going to your mum’s?’

‘I am, but I don’t have to leave till just gone midday.’

‘I need to get home, tidy up.’ Vic pouts. ‘Why did you let me get so drunk?’

‘I think you did it all on your own,’ Lou laughs. She finds bantering with Vic enjoyable anyway, but this morning Sofia’s presence adds a special thrill. ‘How are you feeling?’ she asks Sofia, her heart aflutter. She has been awake since six, consumed by hope and trepidation. Sofia said some lovely things last night, but was it the wine talking? Lou can’t be sure Sofia will want to see her again.

‘I’m good. A bit hungover, maybe . . . but yes, really good.’ Sofia opens her eyes wide, locking her gaze with Lou’s. ‘I had a
lovely
evening.’

That is a signal, surely it is! Inside, Lou jumps for joy. ‘Me too.’ Once more she can feel herself blushing.

Vic coughs pointedly. ‘Great,’ she declares loudly. ‘I am glad you two had such a good time. I feel fucking dreadful.’

‘Ooh, you!’ Sofia knocks Vic’s elbow, nearly spilling her tea. ‘I tell you what. I’m not busy today. Why don’t I help tidy up your place?’

‘Have you seen it?’ warns Lou.

‘No . . .’

‘She’s not wrong when she says it’s a pigsty.’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ protests Vic. ‘It’s only a few papers and stuff.’

Lou shakes her head. ‘It’s a tip!’

‘It’s fine,’ shrugs Sofia. ‘I come from a big family, I’m used to mess.’

‘I’d
love
you to help me.’ Vic kisses Sofia’s cheek.

Lou has a pang of envy. She wishes she were alone with Sofia; she would like to be the one spending the day with her; she wouldn’t even mind if they had chores that needed doing. Silently, she curses her mother. She switches focus. ‘What do you want for breakfast? I’ve lots in.’

*   *   *

I wonder how much of this they grasp, thinks Karen as she follows Luke’s forthright stride and Molly’s more careful bottom-sliding down the stairs. They seem to dip in and out of understanding; one minute connecting with surprising perspicacity, the next distracted by more immediate issues. So, ‘Did Daddy die because he did something bad?’ and, ‘Is he coming back after the special party?’ or the heartbreaking, ‘Was it my fault?’ jostle alongside, ‘Will there be cake?’ and, ‘When are we going in the shiny car?’

She has had to repeat some answers again and again. They seem to take in as much as they can manage, then change the subject abruptly when they’ve had enough.

Yet, in a less obvious way, isn’t she doing this too? Connecting and disconnecting, facing grief then turning from it? One minute she is caught up in minutiae: Will her feet get sore standing in heels at the church? Have they made enough food? Will the kitten get scared by dozens of strangers in the house; should she shut him in a room upstairs? The next moment she is weeping uncontrollably, taken over by pain so profound she can barely move. Then there was the salad bowl incident; her own fury scared her.

But maybe these are different ways of dealing with events, for all of them. Molly and Luke are infantile echoes of her; their emotions pared down, their reactions simpler but similar, for if they have difficulty taking in what has happened, then so, too, does she.

Why is she dressing up, for instance? Why can’t she wear clothes to reflect the fact that she is at her lowest ebb – a tracksuit, a jumper full of holes, dirty jeans? Why can’t she leave her hair a mess, her face unmade-up? The crazed and grieving Karen doesn’t care about her appearance. Yet she must go through with this charade, polish herself and her children to perfection: she, in particular, must hold it together. Oh, she can cry, yes, that’s allowed, people expect that, they will sympathize. But what about screaming? Howling and hurling plates like she did yesterday? She imagines the shocked faces as she shouts and swears and smashes everything. But she is so angry, surely others must feel the same. Maybe a plate-throwing ceremony would be a more fitting ritual than church. Then everyone could have a go, smashing crockery up against the back garden wall.

‘I’m off,’ Anna tells Steve, keen to get out of the house before she explodes at him.

‘Oh, right.’ He is surprised. ‘I thought the funeral wasn’t till half eleven.’

‘It’s not. I fancy a walk. But you need to hurry up, or you’ll be late for Karen.’

‘Sure, sure.’

‘In fact, you ought to ring her, check when she’s leaving, in case she needs to put the keys somewhere for you.’ Here she goes again, sorting out his mess: if he had not got drunk the night before, he wouldn’t have overslept, wouldn’t be so slow and bleary now.

It is bad enough that is he not coming to the funeral with her – she is privately very hurt about that; but if he lets Karen down too, she won’t be able to control her fury, and it’s not the moment to lose her temper.

Steve says cautiously, ‘I haven’t got her number.’

‘Christ!’ Anna snatches her mobile from her bag. ‘
I’ll
ring her. You’re useless.’ She marches to the front door, yanks it open.

‘Where are you going to tell her to leave the keys?’ he cowers.

‘I don’t pissing know. Under a pot or something. Look for them!’ She stops herself: it’s actually important to Karen that Steve is able to fulfil his pledge to take care of the food. She presses speed dial and while she waits for Karen to answer, says, ‘Sorting keys for you is the last thing she needs an hour before her husband’s funeral.’

‘Sorry.’

‘No, you’re not!’ she snaps. ‘If you were really sorry, you’d stop getting drunk the whole fucking time!’

‘I can’t stop,’ he says, quietly.

*   *   *

‘I suppose we’d better get going shortly,’ says Vic.

‘So soon?’ asks Lou, disappointed: she doesn’t have to leave for over an hour to get to her mother’s.

‘I’ve heaps to do,’ Vic sighs. ‘It’s not just that the flat is a tip; I need to get booze in, and food.’

‘Right.’ Lou can’t help but feel a little miffed that Vic’s disorganization will curtail her time with Sofia. She’s also conscious of Vic’s presence. How can she and Sofia arrange to see one another again, or even swap numbers, with Vic sitting there? Vic is her oldest friend, but nevertheless Lou is shy about it.

Just then, Vic demonstrates genuine sensitivity. ‘I’m going onto the roof terrace, I need to make a couple of phone calls before we go,’ she says.

Lou wants to hug her.
That
’s why she is my friend, she reminds herself. For all her bluster, self-centredness and lack of tact, Vic has Lou’s best interests, and happiness, at heart.

*   *   *

Jesus, who’s ringing me now? thinks Karen, snatching up the phone. Oh, it’s Anna.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Anna opens without preamble. ‘It’s just I suddenly thought – you’re probably about to go, so Steve will need you to leave keys.’

‘OK . . .’ says Karen, catching up. She had not thought about that one – she’d assumed he’d be round any minute. Stupid of me, she thinks. Since when has Steve ever been reliable?

There’s no time to make her exasperation explicit, however, and anyway, this is not top of her concerns. She’s finding it hard to keep Molly and Luke focused – they are both restless and need to go and
do
something, not sit and watch telly, which is how she is trying to occupy them. And her mother is due any minute – she’s called to say she has made good time through customs, and will come to the house to drop off her case first.

‘I’ll put them under the box tree pot by the door,’ she says.

‘Great, thanks.’ There is a moment’s pause. ‘How are you?’

‘Frantic.’

‘Do you need me to do anything?’

Karen considers for a second. At once she feels a surge of gratitude. She would not have got through the last week without her friend, yet she has barely given a thought to the fact that Anna has lost someone dear to her too. Steve won’t have been much support, either; she could place a bet on that. Anna will be largely shouldering her grief alone. Karen’s voice softens. ‘No, no. I don’t. We’ll see you at the church. But thank you so much for asking.’

*   *   *

Vic has no sooner pulled the door to the roof terrace to behind her when Sofia says, ‘Do you have a busy week next week?’

‘Quite. Though I think I’m free a couple of evenings. Why?’

Sofia plunges straight in. ‘Would you like to go out, then?’

Lou nods. ‘That would be nice. I work Monday to Thursday in town, if you’d prefer to meet up there.’

‘How about Thursday? Then you won’t have to worry about getting up the next day.’

Well I never, thinks Lou. Either she is being very considerate, or she is planning on us having a late night. Either is good, though she would prefer the latter. The very idea makes her flustered and excited. She can’t believe how swiftly this is falling into place.

‘How about coming round for supper?’ says Sofia, as if she has sensed Lou’s desire to be somewhere seduction will be easy. ‘I’ll cook for you.’

‘That would be lovely,’ says Lou. Inside she’s turning somersaults and cartwheels and head-over-heels all at once.

‘Do you have email? I’ll send you directions.’

‘Of course. Hang on a minute – let me give you my card.’ This is good too: maybe they can chat more online between now and Thursday.

She is hunting for her purse when Vic comes back into the room. ‘That’s me sorted. Well then, Sofia, I guess we’d better get on our way.’

Five minutes later, Lou wishes Vic a happy birthday for the next day, then they are gone. Initially Lou is in something of a daze, she is so affected by Sofia. She allows herself to enjoy it for a while. Then she remembers, with a sudden pang of guilt: Anna. Perhaps now would be a good time to call.

‘Hi,’ Anna answers. ‘Thanks for ringing me.’

‘Not at all.’

‘Sorry for texting so late last night. I hope I didn’t disturb you.’

‘No, I was in the pub, I didn’t hear it. Is everything OK?’

‘Well—’ Anna snorts. ‘Hardly. I’m on my way to Simon’s funeral.’

‘God, I’m sorry.’ Lou comes back to earth with a thump – how could she have forgotten? ‘Do you want me to call you later?’

‘Actually, it’s not a bad moment to talk. I’ve a bit of a walk to the church and I’m ahead of schedule. Otherwise I won’t get to speak to you till tomorrow at the earliest, and I was kind of wanting your advice – um – quite soon.’

‘Of course. How can I help?’

Anna takes a deep breath. ‘It’s – er – my boyfriend, Steve.’

Lou suspected as much: she’s had such a strong sense of Anna holding something back that it had to involve someone major in her life. ‘Oh?’

‘He’s drinking too much.’

Lou waits.

‘Actually, more than too much. I think he’s an alcoholic.’

‘Ah.’ Lou’s heart reaches out to her. If ever she has experienced an almost insurmountable issue in her line of work, addiction to alcohol seems to be it. Haven’t events with Jim tragically underlined that? And the repercussions on the nearest and dearest tend to be profound – they invariably get the brunt of it. But telling Anna this won’t help her at this point, so instead Lou asks, ‘Is he not with you now?’

‘No. He offered to help with the food, so he’s going to Karen’s. He’s missing the funeral.’

Sounds like emotional evasion, thinks Lou, that’s typical addictive behaviour. But she keeps her opinion to herself.

*   *   *

The doorbell rings. Karen runs to answer it.

‘Darling,’ says her mother, holding out her arms. ‘My poor darling.’