The Mummyfesto (48 page)

Esme charged into the bedroom as I was drying my hair.

‘It’s come out,’ she squealed. ‘My wobbly tooth’s come out. I just kind of pulled it and it came out all by itself.’

I smiled at her. ‘I see,’ I said. ‘Well, you’d better put it somewhere safe until later. Looks like the Tooth Fairy’s going to have a busy night.’

She beamed and ran back into her bedroom. I tried to recall whether I had any ribbon for the fairy scroll. Just what a parliamentary candidate needed to be worrying about on election morning. And then I stopped and looked in the mirror. And realised how lucky I was to be able to worry about such things.

‘The latest poll’s got the Lollipop Party at 15 per cent,’ said Will, looking up from the toaster as I entered the kitchen. I didn’t know what to be more surprised at: the fact that he was up, making toast, or that he was listening to Radio 4.

‘Really?’ I said.

‘Yeah. And that’s the national polls. You’ll do miles better than that in Hebden Bridge.’

‘Yes, but it’s the whole valley, isn’t it? And what with everything that’s happened, we haven’t managed to cover half of it.’

‘Switch your laptop on,’ Will instructed. ‘I bet you anything you’ll be trending on Twitter.’

I did as he said. Vote Lollipop was the top hashtag in the UK.

‘Woo-hoo,’ said Will, doing a top bit of air-punching.

‘Has Mummy won?’ asked Esme, coming into the kitchen with her cardigan buttons done up the wrong way.

‘Not yet,’ said Will, ‘but she’s going to.’

‘Hey, don’t get her hopes up too high,’ I said.

‘I’m not. I’m just saying I think you’re going to win. I wish I had some money on it.’

‘Not you as well,’ I said.

‘As well as who?’ he asked.

‘Nothing.’ I smiled.

We left the house together for a change. Will, Charlotte and Esme all sporting ‘Vote Lollipop’ stickers. As I looked
down the road into town, there were dots of purple all over the hillside and along the valley.

‘Look, Mummy,’ said Esme, ‘you’ve turned Hebden Bridge all purple.’

And I smiled. Because we had. And because no one could have predicted that happening three months ago.

The blur of purple increased the closer we got to the school gates. The school had even put purple-and-pink bunting up along the roof and railings. The Head was standing at the gates when we arrived.

‘Thank you,’ I smiled, ‘although I thought you weren’t supposed to be political.’

‘Oh, we’re not,’ she said. ‘We just thought it was a good day to have a celebration of how brilliant our parents are. And they happened to be the only colours the local shop had in.’

She had a twinkle in her eye as she said it and hummed ‘My Boy Lollipop’ as she walked away. I gazed around me: virtually every child and parent was wearing a Lollipop Party sticker. I felt humbled. Very humbled. But most of all I felt proud.

I looked out past the gates and saw Jackie and Sam walking up the road together, Alice and Zach chattering away behind them. When they got to the crossing point, Shirley the lollipop lady came over and gave Zach his special hug, as she had done every day since his return to school a week ago. Maybe one day she’d manage to do it without tears in her eyes. Zach smiled when he saw her lollipop. It had ‘school crossing patrol’ on one side, but
on the other was a great big home-made Lollipop Party rosette.

‘You don’t have to come with me, really,’ said Sam, when she opened her door later that evening.

‘No, we know that,’ said Jackie, ‘but we want to. You started this whole thing, remember? It’s only fair that we see it through with you till the end.’

Sam’s count was at Huddersfield. Jackie’s and mine were both at the leisure centre in Halifax. We’d offered to stay with her for the whole night, but she’d insisted we go back for our own count which was due first. She picked up a jacket from the coat stand. Put it down and picked up another one instead.

‘Are you sure you’re up for it?’ I asked. ‘People would understand if you didn’t turn up, you know.’

‘No. I want to be there. I think it would be worse sitting at home, to be honest. Besides, I’ve got to face the world sometime. It may as well be tonight.’

I gave her a hug. Jackie kissed her cheek and then groaned and tried to wipe her lipstick mark off with a tissue.

‘Get off me,’ said Sam, ‘you great big mumsy thing, you.’ Jackie pulled a face at her.

‘Is Rob coming later?’ Jackie asked.

‘Yeah. He’s going to hang on until Zach’s fast asleep, then he’s going to leave him with Mum and come over.’

‘How’s he doing?’ I asked.

‘Oh, you know,’ said Sam. ‘One day at a time and all
that. He’s been taking Zach over to the sibling group. I think it does him good to go there too.’

‘And you’re still planning to go back to work next week?’ Jackie asked.

‘Yeah. They’ve been great in offering me more time off, but I think if I leave it any longer I might never go back. I know it’ll be tough, but in a weird way I think it might help me. There’s a sense of peace there. Of calm. And a little piece of Oscar is there too.’

‘Have they done the memorial brick yet for the glass wall?’ I asked.

‘A week on Saturday,’ she said. ‘We’re going to have a little ceremony. Zach and Rob will be there. And Mum and Dad of course.’ She hesitated and looked down. ‘I’d like you guys to come too,’ she said, ‘but I’d totally understand if you can’t make it. I know the kids have got lots of stuff on at the weekend.’

‘We’ll be there,’ I said. ‘We wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

We had another group hug. I was already glad I’d opted for the waterproof mascara. Although if we continued at this rate, even that might not survive.

‘Right then,’ I said, ‘We’d better get going.’

We walked either side of her along Fountain Street and down the steps.

Jackie stopped and held out her arm. ‘Your election battle bus awaits.’

It was only then that Sam looked up and saw the purple-and-pink monstrosity which was parked on the cobbles.

‘What on earth …?’ she said, as she gazed at what had once been Jackie’s Renault Scenic but was now lost under a sea of purple-and-pink Lollipop Party stickers, posters and bunting.

Jackie opened the door. She’d even put purple covers on the seats. ‘I’m afraid Paul drew the line at a respray,’ she said. ‘Bloody spoilsport.’

Sam said nothing.

Jackie glanced across at me and grimaced before starting to speak rather rapidly. ‘I did check with Rob. He said he thought it was a good idea. That you wouldn’t think it was over-the-top or insensitive or anything. That Oscar would have loved it.’

‘Yes,’ said Sam, looking across at her and managing a small smile. ‘Yes, he would have.’

We climbed into the back seat while Jackie got herself sorted in the front. ‘I’ve left a few gaps so I can see out,’ she reassured us, before turning the radio on and setting off.

‘So, how are you doing?’ I asked Sam.

‘Middling days, bad days, well, mainly bad days actually. It’s all the things I keep finding that belonged to him. Stupid things – felt-tips and what not. And I go to put them back and then remember that he won’t actually be needing them. Not any more. There are stupid things I miss as well. Like the sound of his cough machine. It’s daft, isn’t it? How something so mundane, so unpleasant really, could become so much part of your life.’

I nodded and squeezed her hand. Unable to speak for a moment.

‘And what about you?’ asked Sam. ‘How are you doing?’

I’d told her, a couple of days after the funeral, about David leaving. She’d been cross with me for not telling her sooner. Kept asking if there was anything she could do to help – as if she didn’t have enough on her plate.

‘I’m fine,’ I said. ‘I guess it will just take a bit of getting used to – being on my own again. The kids have been brilliant, though. Will especially. It’s almost as if he sees himself as the man about the house now. He’s pretty much grown up overnight.’

‘Well, at least that’s one thing, I guess. I had no idea, you know, that things were so bad between you.’

‘I don’t think I realised quite how bad they were myself,’ I replied. ‘It’s weird, the things you find out about during an election campaign.’

We walked up the steps of Huddersfield town hall together, Jackie still talking about how many people had beeped and waved at us on the way over. I wasn’t sure whether she was genuinely that excited about it or whether she was simply talking to try to take Sam’s mind off what it was she was about to do.

Attending an election count was probably one of the last things she felt like doing right now. Attending an election count in which she was one of the candidates was probably
the
last thing.

‘Ready?’ I asked, as we paused at the top of the steps.

Sam nodded. ‘Ready as I’ll ever be.’

‘Hang on then,’ said Jackie, reaching into her bag for
a camera. ‘I want to record this for posterity.’ She corralled a short, balding man who had the air of a council election official about him, into leaving his post at the door to take a photo of the three of us standing there, our arms around each other, dressed head to toe in purple.

‘Come on, then, my fellow musketeers,’ said Jackie, when she’d put the camera back in her bag, ‘all for one and one for all.’ And with that we linked arms and walked into the town hall, across the foyer and pushed open the double doors to the room where the count was being held.

It wasn’t like one of those surprise parties where people hide under tables and jump out cheering as soon as you enter. It was more of a ripple effect. As we walked down the side of the room, people looked up, stopped whatever they were doing and started to clap. The sound grew, gathering momentum as we made our way to the far end of the room. People of all political parties, all sorts of beliefs, religions and backgrounds, joining in the spontaneous round of applause for Sam. Applause which carried her forward without her legs really needing to move. She held on tightly to our arms, her tears splashing down onto our hands, and the sound of applause, of respect and sympathy and admiration, ringing in our ears.