One Moment, One Morning (33 page)

‘Hi, Mum.’ Karen returns the hug swiftly, then breaks free, remembering. ‘Hang on—’ She reaches for the spare keys on the hall table and slides them under the pot by the door. ‘Sorry, just worried I might forget.’

‘It’s OK. Now,’ – her mother grasps one of her hands – ‘stop.’ She stands away to look at her.

Karen exhales, closes her eyes with exhaustion, leans against the wall for support.

‘Come here again,’ her mother orders, and pulls Karen to her. Just as when Steve hugged her, the physical contact makes Karen cry. Yet her mother’s embrace feels different; far from reminding her of Simon, it reverberates back decades. She inhales her mother’s familiar scent – the Rive Gauche she has worn since Karen was a girl – and clutches her mother’s lambswool cardigan tight in her palms. It is soft and comforting. Their relationship might have changed in recent years; her mother needs caring for more now, she moves more slowly than she did, she has shrunk a little, too – yet she is still Karen’s mother, her rock.

For the first time since Simon died, Karen feels safe.

*   *   *

‘I don’t know what to do,’ confesses Anna. ‘I’ve tried everything.’

‘It’s not up to you to do anything,’ Lou points out gently.

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s his problem, not yours, if he’s drinking too much.’

‘I know, but—’

Lou cuts her short. ‘I hope you don’t mind my being honest, but I’ve worked with quite a few addicts, so I have some idea of what you may be going through.’

‘I thought you might have, that’s why I wanted to talk to you.’

‘The temptation can be to think you can cure him.’

‘Yes.’

‘But I’m afraid you can’t.’

‘Oh?’

‘He has to do it for himself.’

Anna is silent. Her head feels so full she can barely see straight. Simon’s funeral is in less than an hour, and although she’s said it’s a good time, now she and Lou are talking, the subject is more than she can cope with. She can feel her mind shutting down, blocking things off. Even the motion of walking seems separated from her, her feet miles below her. It is as if she is heading through mist, everything looks so foggy. ‘No, you’re probably right,’ she says, but her voice sounds distant; it could be someone else who is speaking. Then, suddenly – ‘Oh, I’m sorry, hang on—’ she rushes for the gutter.

She is violently sick.

It is mainly coffee; she has barely eaten. She is hot and clammy, shaking all over.

A few seconds later she hears a muffled voice. ‘Anna? Anna?’ It is Lou, still on the phone.

Anna picks her mobile up from the pavement where it has fallen, her hands trembling. ‘Yes, yes, I’m sorry.’

‘I think you should find somewhere to sit down.’

‘Right, yes.’ Anna sways over to a low garden wall nearby. ‘Found somewhere.’

‘You OK?’

She laughs at herself. ‘Um, I think so.’

‘Were you just sick?’

‘Mm.’

‘That’s not good,’ says Lou. ‘Do you want me to come and meet you?’

‘Oh, no, don’t worry.’

‘It’s fine – I could do. I’m going to my mother’s but I could be a bit late. And I wouldn’t stay, I could just see you were all right—’

‘Honestly, no, I couldn’t ask that of you.’

‘Yes, you could.’ Lou doesn’t pause for her to argue, ‘I’m going to. In fact, I’ll come with you to the funeral. I think you could do with some support.’

‘No, no – you can’t do that.’

‘I can. You’ve no one to look after you. You need it. Give me a few minutes. I’ve just got to gather my stuff. Then I’ll jump in a cab and come to you. I can head off to Hertfordshire from there. Really, it’s fine. Um . . .’ Anna senses she is considering. ‘In fact, I’d quite like to come to the funeral anyway. Pay my respects. In a funny way, I feel I sort of knew Simon a bit, too.’

Anna feels a bit better on hearing this: maybe she won’t be putting Lou out so much. ‘If you’re sure . . .’

Lou has evidently decided. ‘Where are you?’

‘On a wall.’ Anna looks around her, helpless. The street is lined with trees, detached 1930s houses are set back from the pavement by generous front gardens; she is outside one such property now. She can’t see a sign anywhere. She feels just like she did when she was small and got separated from her parents at the village fete once: panic, fear and helplessness mingle. Her voice trembles. ‘I don’t know the name of the road.’

‘OK . . . Don’t move, but see if you can find a landmark.’

Anna spies trees on the opposite side of the street ahead of her. ‘Ah yes, I’m by the park between the Dials and the beach. I can see a bench. I could meet you there.’

‘I know where you mean. And where’s the funeral, and what time?’

‘At a church round the corner from here, at half eleven.’

‘That’s good, we’ve nearly three-quarters of an hour. What on earth were you doing leaving so early? It’s not that far from you, surely?’

‘I wanted to get away from Steve.’

‘I see. Well, it’s better, actually – it means you don’t have to rush. Take it slow.’

‘Thanks,’ says Anna. The fog is lifting: not fully, but slightly, so she can function. Having given in to being rescued, she is extremely grateful. Through the haze, she can see why Lou is such a good counsellor. ‘I’m going over to the gardens now.’

‘Stay talking to me. I don’t want you keeling over. What shall we chat about?’ Lou’s tone is light.

‘I don’t know.’ Anna doesn’t feel she can initiate anything.

‘Then I’m just going to talk to you. It won’t be scintillating, because you’re going to have to listen to me while I tell you what I’m going to pack, so I remember everything, but you’ll have to put up with me.’ She begins, ‘Toothbrush, toothpaste, shower gel, comb . . .’

And although she isn’t really taking in what Lou is saying – there is no room for further information in her brain – the very ordinariness of the items she is listing calms Anna, giving her a distinct sense of solace.

How tough to have a boyfriend who sounds such hard work, thinks Lou, as the taxi crawls through the traffic of central Brighton.

Beside her is a hastily packed overnight bag. She checks her hair in the driver’s mirror; she looks a bit rumpled, but it could be worse, considering the time she got to bed and the rush just now. Right: next. She had best let her mother know her plans have changed.

‘Hi, Mum.’ She tries to keep her voice positive.

‘Hello, darling. You just setting off?’

‘Kind of. I’m really sorry, but I’m afraid I’m going to be a bit later than I said.’

‘Oh.’

That pause laden with meaning,
again:
her mother is peeved. Yet Lou is damned if she’s going to be made to feel guilty: Anna’s is a genuine need, surely her mother will understand that. But as often happens, her mother’s aggrieved tone makes her defensive, less inclined to soften her words, or explain herself fully. ‘I’m going to a funeral,’ she says bluntly.

‘A funeral?’

‘It’s a long story, I’ll tell you when I see you.’

‘Who’s died?’

‘It’s no one I knew very well, a guy I met on the train.’

‘What?’

‘Mum, I really can’t go into it now. It’s something that happened earlier this week.’

‘Ri-ight.’ She can detect confusion – and, she suspects, scepticism – in her mother’s voice. How dare she! Lou seethes. Why can’t she just trust my judgement? Realize I wouldn’t be doing this without a very good reason?

‘Look. I’m sorry. I know it’s important to you that I am there. I’ll be with you as soon as I can. The funeral’s in half an hour, I’m just staying for that, then getting a train. I’m not going to be very late, I promise. I should be there just a couple of hours after I said. That’s all. OK?’

‘Er, yes,’ says her mother. Lou can tell she is reeling from trying to keep up, but she doesn’t care.

‘Good. I’ll see you then.’ And to make the point that she is annoyed, Lou cuts the connection without bidding her farewell.

*     *     *     

Anna takes a seat and curls her legs up under her to try to relax.

It is quite mild, for February, and the mist seems to be clearing – whether it is real or imaginary, she can’t tell. She is surrounded by crocuses: swathes of yellow and mauve adorn the patchy grass, their trumpet heads pointing optimistically upwards to the sky. They give off a faint smell too; she didn’t think they did, but in such hundreds she is aware of it: sweet, honeyed, and – what else? That’s it: saffron.

Spring is here. In the few days that have passed since Simon’s death, the season has turned over.

And here comes a taxi, edging slowly down the road; the driver must be looking for her.

She gets to her feet, waves.

‘Sit down,’ Lou orders, the moment she has paid. She fishes in her rucksack. ‘I brought you some water.’

‘Thanks.’

They sit without speaking on the bench, taking it in turns to sip. Their silence makes way for the sounds of recreation to be heard: children shouting, birds singing, dogs barking, owners calling them.

‘It’s beautiful here,’ says Lou, after a while. ‘I don’t really know this park. It’s quite a way from Kemptown so I’ve never had reason to come.’

‘It’s my favourite,’ says Anna. ‘It’s got so many different bits. There’s a rose garden there’ – she gestures one way – ‘with a big stretch of lawn that’s perfect for sunbathing. Up that hill, it’s woody, and people come with their dogs. All those leaves to tear through and squirrels to chase . . . And tucked behind is a magical enclosed garden, with a dovecote and giant tree; they do yoga classes in its shade in summer. And over there, you can see, it’s rather a good playground. Karen and Simon bring Molly and Luke a lot.’ She flinches. ‘Used to, I mean.’ She sighs. ‘Well, I’m sure Karen will still bring them, but—’

Lou touches Anna’s hand. ‘It’s OK. I know what you mean.’

From where they are sitting they can see older children swinging down a giant pulley from the top of the hill to the bottom. Two smaller ones on a roundabout: ‘Come on, come on! Faster! FASTER!’ they are yelling. One is on all fours, head lifted up at the sky, hair flying, hands gripping the metal bars, eager; the other sits, more sedate. On the ground, passing the bars from right hand to left, right to left, right to left, are their parents, spinning them obediently.

After a while Anna says, ‘Thank you so much for this. I really appreciate it, you know.’

‘It’s my pleasure,’ says Lou.

It’s an odd choice of words, but Anna knows what she means. For what is life about, if not meaningful moments like these?

‘Are you feeling strong enough to go, then?’ Lou asks.

Anna takes a deep breath and gets to her feet. ‘Yes,’ she nods. ‘Ready as I’ll ever be.’

*     *     *     

The church is already quite full. It is a large space, not especially attractive, with cream walls and rows of highly polished wooden pews. Rather functional stained-glass windows rise up on either side of them, and the air is several degrees chillier than outside.

Anna heads up the central aisle.

‘Do you think it’s OK if I sit with you here?’ asks Lou. ‘There might be other people wanting to be close.’

‘Of course.’ Anna is certain. ‘We won’t sit in the very front, we’ll go back one,’ and she slides herself into a pew.

I wonder why Karen chose this? Lou muses. There must be prettier churches nearby. But she doesn’t say so. Instead she asks, her voice low, ‘Was Simon a regular churchgoer?’

Anna shakes her head. ‘Hardly.’ She smooths the back of her skirt, sits down and opens a guide to the service. Then she leans into Lou, whispers, ‘Apparently everyone has the right to a funeral in their parish church, even if they haven’t been churchgoers.’

‘I didn’t know that.’

‘Me neither. Simon went sometimes, but not very often – Christmas, usually, and sometimes Easter.’

Lou thinks of Simon; the man she never knew. He lies a few feet away: there is the coffin, draped in white cloth, a simple bunch of lilies the only adornment.

Behind them people are still streaming in; Lou can scarcely believe the numbers. Maybe that’s why this particular church, she realizes: it’s big. There are all ages; some in black, others not, though most look smart and soberly dressed. She is conscious of her own casual attire – a parka, jeans – she didn’t have time to change. She hopes no one minds, or thinks her unseemly.

Here comes Karen and these must be Molly and Luke – Lou has not met them before. Luke, she observes at once, is the spit of Karen, with his thick chestnut hair and delicate, pointed features. She wonders if Molly, with her blonde curls, rounder face and rosy cheeks, resembles Simon as a child. Poor loves, she thinks, to lose their father when they are so tiny.

They take a seat directly ahead, in the front pew. Karen turns round and smiles at Anna, and sees Lou next to her.

‘Thank you for coming,’ she says.

Lou can see she has made an effort: her hair is glossy and washed, she has make-up on, and she is wearing an elegant dark-grey dress. But she also looks as if she hasn’t slept for days, and her eyes are bloodshot; she must have been crying, moments ago.

Then, almost from nowhere, Jim comes to her mind, and Lou wonders if he had a service to mark his passing. It is tragic that Simon has died leaving behind so many people to mourn him, but perhaps it is even more tragic to leave this world with no one special to miss you.