The Mummyfesto (47 page)

Anna stepped forward, a copy of
The Lighthouse Under the Clouds
in her hand. She’d remembered reading it with Esme at the library and had ordered it specially from the bookshop in town.

She started to read. Her voice shaky at first, but finding its rhythm after a minute or two. Telling the story of a girl called Kate who dared to try to find out what might be above the clouds over her lighthouse. She found the sun, when all around her had doubted that a clear blue sky could exist in such a place.

I nodded at Anna as she finished reading. I gave her Esme’s hand back. And let her take Alice’s hand on the other side. I took my place at the end of the grave and opened up my copy of
Tell Me Something Happy Before I Go to Sleep
. There had been no doubt about what I would read when Sam had asked. There wasn’t a better story about sibling love than Willoughby looking after his little sister Willa who was too scared to go to sleep in case she had a bad dream.

The tears started rolling down my face when I got to the bit about Willa’s chicken slippers. By the time Willoughby had looked at the night sky with Willa and told her about all the wonderful things which were waiting for her next morning, the trickle had become a stream. I kept going though, determined that I would see this through. Conscious of Zach and Alice and Esme hanging on my every word.

Finally, when I’d finished, I closed the book. Sam mouthed ‘thank you’ to me. And Oscar’s coffin was lowered into the grave.

I held Zach’s hand as we walked back up towards the cars, leaving Sam and Rob to have some time alone at the grave.

‘They’ll be daffodils on it by next spring,’ I told him. ‘He would have liked that, wouldn’t he?’

Zach nodded. He looked up at me with a solemn face. ‘Mummy said your big sister died when you were seven.’

‘She did, sweetheart.’

‘Do you still miss her?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘And you’ll always miss Oscar. But you mustn’t let it stop you enjoying your life. Oscar wouldn’t want that, would he?’

Zach shook his head. ‘Do you think he liked my jokes?’

‘Liked them?’ I said. ‘He
loved
them. In fact, I think I can still hear him laughing.’

I walked into the press conference with Anna at my side and felt stronger, far stronger, than I had ever felt in my life.

I sat myself down at the table, shuffled the papers in my hand and promptly stood up again. ‘OK,’ I said. ‘It’s my turn and I’m angry. And when I’m angry I like to stand up.’

A couple of flashes went off. I took one quick look at my speech and put it down on the table. ‘Two days ago,’ I began, ‘Sam Farnell’s son Oscar was laid to rest. He spent his last days at the Sunbeams Children’s Hospice in Huddersfield. A hospice which is currently struggling to raise enough money to offer a full range of services.

‘Less than 5 per cent of its funding comes from the government. The rest of the five million pounds a year it needs to survive comes from fundraising. Ordinary people running half-marathons, doing sponsored bike rides, shaving their hair off, for Christ’s sake.

‘It’s embarrassing. I’m embarrassed. I hope you are too. Because if there’s one thing in this world everyone should be assured of, it is dignity in death. And as much as Sam is hurting over Oscar’s death, what is sustaining her and her family is the knowledge that he could not have had a more loving, dignified and peaceful end to his life.

‘And if anyone can think of one single thing that is more important to fund than that, I would like to hear it. I think Sam would like to hear it too.

‘So today the Lollipop Party is reiterating our pledge to fully fund all hospices in the UK and to fund the building of new ones in whichever areas they are needed.

‘And we are also challenging the new government,
whoever that may be, to pledge to do the same. Because it is at times like this that you realise what’s important in life. And small-minded, backbiting, negative election campaigns appear crass and undignified.

‘So if you want to slag us off for being crazy, being different, for daring to dream that we can make better choices, set better priorities and take better care of our people, then go ahead.

‘I like to think that the people of the UK will see straight through that. Because they are not stupid. They are crying out for politicians who care about the same things they do. Who share the same priorities they do. And who are prepared to do anything, absolutely anything, to ensure children like Oscar can end their all-too-short lives surrounded by love and dignity and peace. Thank you.’

I sat down heavily on my chair at exactly the same minute that Anna stood up.

‘Er, I think we’re done, actually,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t think there’s anything else left to say.’

I nodded, stood up again and walked out of the room arm-in-arm with her.

Alice asked for
Tell Me Something Happy Before I Go To Sleep
again that night. I suspected it was going to be the bedtime story of choice for quite some time to come. Not that I minded. Anything that helped her to deal with it, that allowed her to talk about Oscar instead of bottling it up inside was a good thing.

‘Zach’s not going to die, is he, Mummy?’

‘No, love. He hasn’t got the disease Oscar had. He’s been tested and everything.’

‘Oh. Only I did like the ponies, you see,’ said Alice. ‘I would like to see them again if someone else dies.’

I smiled and shook my head as I turned out the bedside light, safe in the knowledge that she was going to be just fine.

The final leaders’ debate had just started when I went downstairs. I sat down next to Paul on the sofa and stared at them: three Oxbridge-educated men in suits pontificating over whose fault it was that we were in such an economic mess and who was better qualified to get us out of it. I seemed to remember hearing something very similar at the last election.

‘Nothing’s going to change, is it?’ I said.

‘Don’t write it off just yet. I bet they’ll be running your speech on ten o’clock news later.’

‘Yeah, but it feels like we’re just a sideshow now. Something a bit quirky to give viewers a break from serious politics.’

‘Bollocks. Last opinion poll still had you at 13 per cent.’

‘I know but that’s not going to win us election, is it? And besides, you know what people are like when they get to polling booth. They suddenly lose their bottle and vote for same old parties as usual.’

‘I’ll still vote for you. Well, not you because I can’t, but Sam anyway.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, rubbing his shoulder. ‘Let’s just hope you’re not only one.’

‘I’ve found somewhere by the way. For your mum, I mean. A home I think will be just right for her. Somewhere you’ll like.’

I turned to look at him. ‘When did you do this?’

‘Just while you’ve been busy. I figured it was least I could do. I’ve got a brochure; you can have a look through it if you want. I’ve been through lots of different ones. There’s quite a few I wouldn’t touch with a bargepole, mind. This is a good one, though.’

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘She’ll be OK, won’t she?’

‘She’ll be in the best place she can possibly be.’

I sat on the toilet for a long time the next morning gazing at the testing stick in my hand. There had been so many occasions when I had stared at one, willing a blue line to appear, that I still wasn’t convinced it was real, rather than a figment of my imagination.

I was only a day or so late. It could be a false result. I could quite easily be in the one point whatever it was inaccurate bracket. But somehow I knew that wasn’t the case.

I started crying. Soft, silent tears full of so many mixed emotions. All the times I’d imagined this moment and the one thing I’d never envisaged was that I would feel guilty. Guilty for having a new life growing inside me when Oscar’s had just been extinguished. For somehow swapping places with Sam so that she was the mother-of-one and I wasn’t.

I felt I’d cheated. Had run in and stolen the treasure while the other person hadn’t been looking. I should give
it back. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

My crying must have grown louder. There was a quiet knock on the door.

‘Jackie? You all right?’

I stood up somewhat shakily. Washed my hands under the cold tap and opened the door, the test stick in my hand. ‘I’m pregnant,’ I said.

Paul stared at me and the test stick in turn, then back to me again. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Well, 99 per cent so, I guess.’

‘But that’s brilliant, isn’t it?’ he said.

‘It would have been, but it feels so wrong now. The whole thing with Oscar. It’s too soon.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he said, taking hold of both arms. ‘Sam’ll be delighted. She’ll be thrilled. You know she will.’

‘But how can I tell her?’ I said. ‘After everything she’s been through.’

‘Well I’ll tell her if you don’t.’

‘No. I just mean—’

‘She’s in a dark place, Jackie. But that doesn’t mean she wants to be surrounded by doom and gloom. I imagine she’s desperate to see some chinks of lights. It’ll be the best news she’s had in ages.’

‘Really?’ I asked. ‘You don’t think she’ll hate me for it?’

‘I’m not even going to answer that,’ said Paul.

I looked at him again. I breathed for the first time in what seemed like ages. And slowly, very slowly, a smile began to creep over my face. ‘I’m pregnant,’ I said again, wanting to hear it this time.

‘I know,’ said Paul, pulling me closer. ‘And I’m bloody chuffed to bits.’

‘We weren’t even trying,’ I said, allowing the smile to develop into a full grin.

‘Oh, you’re always trying,’ he smiled, ‘believe me.’

I opened my eyes, the sunlight was forcing its way through the muslin curtains into my bedroom. It took me a few moments to remember what day it was. Thursday, 2nd May had been a long time coming. A very long time indeed.

I stretched out. It was going to take some getting used to, having a double bed all to myself. I hadn’t yet worked out whether I missed David or simply missed the presence of another adult in the house. It wasn’t exactly something people aspired to, being a single mum. You didn’t catch little girls writing it on their ‘When I grow up I want to be …’ lists. But there again, you didn’t catch them saying they wanted to be in an unhappy, loveless marriage either.

And the truth was I had been lying in bed at night feeling lonely and unloved for a long time. The fact that there was no longer anyone there with me actually made
it a bit easier. I had taken the first step. Or maybe I’d been pushed over the edge. Either way, I was on my own now. And the view wasn’t nearly as terrifying as I had feared.

I switched the radio on. The election day coverage on Radio 4 was in full swing. I’d never expected to feel this detached about the whole thing, had assumed I’d be out there at the crack of dawn knocking on doors, monitoring the latest poll results. I hadn’t known life would overtake us. And then death would overtake that too.

I ached for Oscar. And if I ached I couldn’t even begin to imagine the raw pain Sam and Rob must be feeling. Oscar was gone and nothing would bring him back, and somehow they had to accept that, get used to it and get on with their lives. Anyone who said running the country was the hardest job going was wrong. Very wrong indeed.