The Day She Died (12 page)

But she'd left a note.

And who knows how it would feel to be married to someone that didn't love you. Even a great guy like Gus. Or a moody bastard like Gus, who hated you asking anything he wasn't ready to tell you. Which one was he, when you got right down to it, really?

I stared out of the kitchen window, thinking of how he had told me he didn't want to bring the novelty pen through the room, even in a bag. That's who he was. And how could living with a guy like that be bad? I could just see one corner of the grey plastic lid. It was still in there. I felt a pulse starting to thump in my neck.
Stupid bi—

Then I stopped myself. Instead of that, I told myself:
it's hidden away and it can't float out. It can't hurt you. And for the first time in your life, you've got someone to help you. Someone even willing to give his kids a talking-to about it. So don't waste his efforts and freak yourself out, eh?

But I could feel the misery unrolling over me like fog. Gus
had
been great, but it wouldn't last. He'd get sick of me like everyone always did. There'd be some day, some advert on the telly, or some fancy-dress costume, some daft comedy that suddenly had a slow-motion pillow fight where you could see them hit people's face and they'd have them stuck to their eyelashes and be spitting them out of their mouths, and I'd lose it. And Gus would have had a long day or a bit of bad news or be stressed like last night (
Did you switch that bloody monitor off when you were touching it?)
and he'd wish that just for once I would give it a rest, and he'd roll his eyes or crack a joke and this lovely, impossible bubble would burst and then there'd be nothing.

Unless. I could feel the blood draining out of my face and my hands turned cold. Unless I made the most of this miracle—having someone who cared—and tried again. There was a novelty pen, in a bag, in the wheeliebin, ten feet from where I was standing. I could open the lid and find out if the bag was see-through. If it was, I could look at what was inside and count to a hundred. And then tonight I could tell Gus what I'd done, and instead of
so what
I'd get a great big cheer.

And if the bag wasn't see-through, then at least I tried.

I'd walk on the beach and I wouldn't avoid the sticks and seaweed at the high tide line, which is where they always were. I wouldn't look at them, like some OCD freak, and I wouldn't look away from them either. I'd act like a normal person. And I'd tell Gus later how brave I'd been.

“I'm just nipping out the back, kids,” I shouted. My voice was warbly with adrenalin; I sounded like a pigeon. There was no answer. I stepped outside into the porch and then outside again to where the wheelie stood against the wall, next to the wood store. I gripped the lip with both hands and breathed in and out.

“Gus King cares about you,” I said out loud. “Sick timing, but it's true. You're not alone anymore. It's all going to be okay.”

I lifted the lid with my eyes screwed tight shut, then leaned over the rim and opened them.

Twelve

It was empty. No
bag, see-through or otherwise. Nothing. Not so much as a sweetie wrapper. I let the lid fall again and rolled around to lean against the porch wall until my breathing settled.

He had taken it away. I smiled at the thought of it, and a warm feeling started low in my stomach. Not one in a million people would know I'd be freaked out at the thought of it being there and take it away. Not even folk with problems of their own. Not even my sister-in-law, who was dead scared of heights. Especially not her, actually.

“But the thing about”—she pointed upwards but couldn't say the word—“is that you can … ” She pointed downwards and gave me a patient smile. “See? Whereas
feathers
”—oh, she could say that word okay—“can't harm you at all. That's just silly.”

I had swivelled in my chair to stare at my mother. We were all sitting round the table having Sunday lunch together, for the benefit of Allan's suitable new fiancée.

“Yes, they can,” I said.

Penny blinked and smiled, a flash of her eyes and a flash of her teeth for each one of us round the table, one after the other. My mother managed a bit of a smile back. My brother dropped his eyes. I kept up my hard look.

“In a roundabout way, right enough,” I said. “But they caused me quite a lot of harm once, didn't they Mum?”

“They can't have,” Penny said, patiently. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, Jessie likes nothing better than to spoil nice things,” my mother said. “She'll never learn, no matter what lessons are sent to her. Take no notice, Penny. It's not worth worrying about.”

“True,” I said. “Not worth a worry. Not like dropping from a great height and going splat and crunching all your bones to rubble.”

I got sent away from the table. Twenty-two I was, and I got sent to my room. I could hear my mother saying sorry and assuring Penny that she wouldn't have to put up with me again. That poor Allan was too kind for his own good, but I just spoiled everything, been the same since I was a child. “Takes after my late husband,” my mother said. She always called him that.
Late
. Maybe she even believed it herself by now.

“Jessie?”

I looked down. Dillon was standing in the porch doorway, one foot on top of the other so that only one of his socks would get wet. “Done a poo,” he said. “A big one.”

“Good!” I said. “Let's see if it's big enough to win a prize!”

He giggled and held up his hands for me to lift him. I took a deep breath and held it, but it wasn't so bad. Just kind of warm smelling, really.

“I don't even know where your changing box is,” I told him, carrying him inside. “Or if there's a special bucket.” I stopped. Dillon was winding his fist into my hair, tugging it. “In fact, the bins must need emptied something chronic, eh?” I said. “Here's the deal, Dill. I'll change your bum and then you help me empty the buckets out to the wheelie, eh?”

“Can I help too?” Ruby was standing in her bedroom doorway with her hairbrush in her hand. “If you do my bobbles?”

“Deal, squeal, spit, and seal,” I said.

“Squeal, squeal, squeal,” said Dillon, wriggling and releasing quite a lot more smell.

“Dill's got a wet sock, by the way,” Ruby said. “I'll get some dry ones.”

Turned out there were nappies in bags all over the house. It must have been a pretty powerful deodorant on them, not to mention airtight twist-ties, but still I was ashamed to think that I hadn't gone round and cleared them before now, that they'd been piling up since Tuesday. In the basket in Ruby's bedroom, in the tin bin in the living room, in the kitchen flip-top, in the white plastic bucket in the bathroom. Everywhere except Gus's bedroom, in fact, and since the baby's cot was in there it took me a while to believe it. I searched down the sides of the furniture and even in the bottom of the wardrobe (which was nuts), then I carted them out one by one and tipped them into the wheelie.

“What day do the men come, Ruby?” I asked. “Do you know? Don't want to miss them.”

Ruby shook her head and held out her hairbrush and bobbles. “Wash your hands and do my bunches,” she said.

“What's the magic word?” It popped out automatically like I was a slot machine.

“Now,” said Ruby. Then her small eyes filled up with tears. “You're supposed to laugh. It's a joke. It's funny.”

“Is that your joke with Mummy?” I asked. She nodded. Tears were falling down her cheeks, one after the other, faster and faster, and when I went and put my hand on the back of her head, she pressed her face against me and howled. Which started Dillon off too.

“I'm sorry, hunny-bunny,” I said. I opened my mouth to say more, but what was there to say? She didn't know me, and even I didn't know what I was doing here. I didn't understand how asking about a post-mortem and organising a funeral could take Gus all day, even if he had to buy a suit to wear to it. But his face that morning when I had questioned him? I didn't want to see that again. I stood holding them against me as they wept, looking down at the whorls of their hair, identical patterns on their little heads.

“We need some chocolate,” I said. Not from being some kind of stupid Bridget Jones bimbo, but from remembering what totally
mental, off-the-scale shit sweeties could sort for you when you were five. Me? I was well past the age when chocolate could help, but being the big one with the money who could buy it for the wee ones? That was pretty great too.

The M&Ms were finished and the best the fridge had to offer was Babybel cheese. I checked inside the big pans, the butter bit in the fridge, the backs of the high cupboards—everywhere I'd have stashed it if it was me—and only found cream of tartar and mace, tins of Carnation milk and Devon custard, tangerine segments and packets of lemon jelly. I could make a sell-by-date trifle, I thought, sure that some of this stuff had to have been here since Granddad Dave was on the go. Why would Becky not have cleaned out the cupboards? She grew her own veg but didn't chuck out the old stuff in the larder?

Dillon's coat was a solid wodge of padded nylon, and once he was trussed, I had no worries about him. Ruby's was trimmed with fur and shiny pink and only reached the top of her thighs.

“
Have you got a pair of waterproof trousers?” I asked her. “I think it's going to bucket.”

“Wellies!” said Dillon.

“You betcha,” I said. “You too, Ruby. And hats on, hoods up. No discussion.” That had worked when Gus had said it.

The rain started when we were just about as far from the cottage as we were from the shop, no point turning back, since if we were going to get drenched we might as well get drenched for treats. Dillon was walking at forty-five degrees into the wind with his fringe plastered back over the outside of his anorak hood and his eyes watering. Ruby put her head down like a little bull and barrelled forward. I checked ahead of her for obstacles, but the beach was clear; she'd be okay. I took Dillon's hand, cold and pink, and tried to tuck my hair inside my hood to stop it whipping across my face.

“Hot baths when we get back,” I said. “Hot chocolate, jammies on, telly on, fire lit, cosy socks.”

The children said nothing, just kept fighting their way into the wind towards the sweeties. I felt an enormous rush of what felt a lot like love for them both. Little kids doing what little kids do. No one telling them they were devils for wanting to do it. That wasn't what she had said, not exactly. “Something devilish about you, Jessica,” is how she had put it. “From your father.”

“What does that make you then?” I'd said. “You slept with him, not me.”

And then she'd go on and on about how I was a test—my mother was big on tests and lessons; nothing just
happened
—and that she embraced God's plan no matter what he sent her.

“Look!” said Dillon. He had pulled back and was pointing at something on the ground. I turned my back on the wind—relief!—and crouched down. I thought it was a rat, drowned, or maybe a mouse. But then I saw the beak and the claws and knew. A starling. Black and sodden. Not scary when it was wet, no chance of anything floating towards me.

“It's a dead bird,” said Ruby. “Dirty.” She started to kick sand over it and then stopped. “It's dead,” she said. It wasn't a question, but I could see her thoughts turning and I knew what was coming next.

“Ditty!” said Dillon.

“Mummy's dead,” said Ruby. Still not a question. Her cross wee face was tied up tight. “Dead like that?” She kicked the bird, and it shifted a bit into the slush that the rain had built up behind it. I winced. “Not gone to heaven?” said Ruby. She kicked the bird harder. “Dead like that?”

“Poor buddy,” said Dillon. “Dop it, Ruby. No kicking!” It was the most I'd ever heard him say. Wee darling, feeling sorry for a dead bird even if he had to be brave and stand up to his sister.

“Listen,” I said. I grabbed Ruby's hand and tugged her away from the thing. “Keep walking and I'll tell you.”

And I did. About how our body is just an earthly shell to hold our soul, and how our soul flies out of our body when we die and lives forever. In heaven.

“What's a soul but?” said Ruby.

“Soul but,” said Dillon, back to normal.

“Your soul is … ” I said. No point in giving them the holy spirit living inside each one of us routine. I never even met a minister who had a bloody clue what the holy spirit was. “Okay, your soul is … your essence.” Silence. “Or, your spirit, your vital spark.”

“That bird was dead,” said Ruby.

“Your soul,” I said, louder, “is the bit that the Blue Fairy gave to Pinocchio to turn him into a real boy.” Both faces turned up to me, just for a second, until the rain hitting their cheeks turned them down again. “And Sleeping Beauty? Her whole body except for her soul was asleep until the Prince kissed her. And the wicked Queen poisoned every single bit of Snow White
except
her soul, and that's how come she was okay. You know Babe?”

“Babe the Pig?” said Ruby.

“He was a pig with a person's soul,” I said.

“And your body dies,” said Ruby, “but your soul lives forever and it can fly.”

“You've got it,” I told her. “Close enough, anyway.” I steered them towards the low dunes at the top of the beach and the path that cut through to the campsite shop, then stopped, tugging on their hoods to hold them. At the corner of the nearest caravan, a figure was huddled under the shelter of the overhang. Must really want a ciggie, I thought, hoping it was true. But I knew who it was even before he came shuffling over to stand in front of us.

“Please, jess?” he said.

“Yeah, hiya,” I said. “Didn't recognise you … ”
dripping wet with another two day's muck
.

“Where she is?” he said. “Jaroslawa. You tell, jess?” He was hunched inside a soaking wet worky's jacket that was only making things worse, chuting the rain down onto the thighs of his jeans. There's nothing worse than wet jeans, unless it's wet trainers and he had them too.

“Okay, I'm sorry to be telling you this,” I said, “especially if you had a fight and maybe you said things you didn't mean. Cos you are going to be sorry for the rest of your life.” He didn't understand a word of it. I tried again. “She died. On Tuesday. I'm sorry. She died.”

“But her soul will live forever in heaven,” said Ruby.

My mother would be proud of me.

“Dead?” He crossed himself. I nodded. “Jaroslawa,” he said, like he always did. “Sick?”

“Car crash,” I said. “She … listen, I'm sorry, but she … ” I didn't want to use the simple words he would understand in case the kids understood them too. “She committed suicide,” I told him, talking quite loud that way you do to help foreigners decipher it.

“No,” he said. He had stopped hunching against the rain, and the way he stood there with the water streaming down his face, over his eyebrows and through his scrubby beard, made me think of the starling. “Not ever. No way. Jaroslawa! Jaroslawa!”

“I know,” I said. “It's tough to take. But you need to stop hanging around us, right? If Gus sees you, it'll make it harder for him. So you have to just leave us alone.” The kids were huddled in beside me, sheltering, but a strong gust blew a good soak of rain against us and made Dillon start to grizzle. “Listen, I need to get going,” I said. “You should go back inside. Get in out the rain.”

But he was still standing there when I reached the corner of the track and turned. I looked back twice, and he was still just standing there.

At least the shop was open. The door dinged and we fell in, dripping and shaking like dogs.

“Stay on the cardboard!” It was the same woman as yesterday, Princess Charming herself, in jeans and a fleece now instead of her kaftan, barking at us like a sergeant major. “Get that kid off my clean floor!” The lino was newly mopped and she'd laid flattened boxes on top to walk on, but she hadn't wiped it off or let it dry, and the cardboard was soggy round the edges. She'd find out later about the ink coming off when she saw inside-out
Walkers Crisps
and
Borders Biscuit Co
all over.

“Why the heck would you clean a floor on a day like this?” I said.

“No dafter than going out for a walk,” said the woman. She was poring over a ring-binder full of dockets and a pile of loose papers, but she still had an eye for the kids, watching them like she could hear them ticking and see the fuse fizzing down. “What do
you
lot want anyway?”