I’m so sorry to be leaving you now, my dearest, but it could be worse. We’ve done a good job keeping the cancer at bay for so long. Over twelve years now! And remember that initially they said I’d only have a year left. So we’ve stolen eleven years from the grim reaper. That’s a long time. I love to prove a doctor wrong (not that there’s anything wrong with healthcare professionals, my darling – I’m so proud that you’re a midwife and it’s a wonderful profession – it isn’t because they’re doctors that your parents are over-focused on their careers – I think they’d have been like that whatever they’d done).
Secondly, advice: well, I don’t have much. You’re fabulously funny, lovely, kind, caring and sensible. I would say, though, that you can only get away with those dungaree shorts because you’re young and you have a gorgeous figure and amazing skin. I wouldn’t necessarily recommend wearing them forever. And also it wouldn’t HURT to have a couple of cooking lessons. Although there’s no reason for a modern woman to be able to cook, thank God. But mainly, continue to follow your instincts. They’re very sound.
Matt’s wonderful. If you stay together long-term, I’m sure he’ll make you an excellent life partner. If you don’t, he will have been a lovely experience.
What you can achieve: anything. That tiny baby on a breathing machine, that toddler in and out of hospital with such severe asthma, that little girl who couldn’t play outside in the winter because of the effect of the cold air on her airways – to grow up into the healthy, vigorous, fabulous young woman that you are – that’s testament to what you can do, my darling.
You are fabulous. Never forget that.
And that’s it for advice.
Thirdly: my ashes. I’d like YOU to be in charge of scattering them. And I’d like them to be scattered at Beachy Head. We had so many wonderful times there together. At a time of your choosing, though. I don’t want to push you into having to go there soon if it’s inconvenient. I’m very happy to spend a few weeks, or months, or years in an urn. Maybe on your mantelpiece. Maybe I’ll haunt you.
I’m sorry. That was probably in very poor taste. It made me laugh when I wrote it, though. I’m not sure whether or not I’d like to become a ghost but I really don’t believe in them so I don’t think it’s going to happen.
I need to finish now. I have so many things to say to you – I could just keep on writing and writing. But at the same time, you don’t need any more advice from me, and you already know how infinitely proud of you I am and how infinitely much I love you.
Goodbye, my darling. I love you more than words can say.
You’re perfect.
All my love,
Your granny
P.S. Remember, this grief WILL pass in its own way. You’ll become accustomed to life without me. Remember your grandfather used to say, apropos of almost anything: ‘Worse things happen at sea’. It sounded silly, but he was right. He was a good man. I’ve missed him so much over the past fifteen years and yet I’m so grateful that I’ve lived so much longer than he did, because I’ve enjoyed the richness of life, even without him. I’ve enjoyed YOU. And you in your turn will be able to continue to enjoy life without me (and also ideally without those dungarees).
Lily gave an enormous, shuddering sob. Thepainand themagnitudeof her loss.Howwas she going to be happy without her granny in her life? If anyone was funny and loving and kind and caring and sensible, it had been her grandmother. Lilyneededher.
She heard a strange wailing sound, and realised that it was coming from somewhere deep inside her. She rolled over and buried her face in her pillow and justsobbed. Life was going to be a much bleaker place without her granny in it.
When her sobbing had subsided to sniffles, she sat up and re-read the letter. This time, she smiled a couple of times through her tears. The lawyers actuallyhadmessed up, because she was reading this the day before the funeral, not the day after. And shelikedthose dungaree shorts. Oh, God. She missed her grannyso much. It was hard to believe that they’d never go shopping for clothes together again, squabble over the TV remote, play late-night cards, gossip together.
She was still sitting on the bed when the doorbell rang. The doorbell. She looked over her left shoulder at the clock.
Shit. She’d been sitting here for ages. It was Tess, Aaliyah and Meg. They’d insisted that they should come over to keep her company the night before the funeral because Matt was working away yet again and couldn’t get back until tomorrow, just in time to meet her at the crematorium.
The bell rang again.
Shit. She really didn’t want them to see her like this. She knew how much they cared about her and that they were already worried about her, and right now she didn’t feel up to talking about things, even with them. She’d talk when things were a little less raw so she wouldn’t get so emotional and feel like she’d flipped back into being the weak, fragile one.
She quickly but very carefully folded the letter and replaced it in its envelope, and tucked it under her pillow for the time being, before going to the front door.
The mirror in the hall told her on her way past that she looked absolutely atrocious. Puffy eyes with mascara rings underneath – big mistake to have been wearing make-up today – and a red nose and patchy cheeks.
She opened the flat’s front door and said, ‘Go through to the kitchen, back in a second, just got to go to the loo,’ and whisked herself along the hall and into the bathroom.
She slapped cold water on her face, dried it and spent a couple of minutes wiping up the mascara and applying a lot more make-up, and then looked at herself critically in the mirror. Yep, all good; she genuinely didn’t look now as though she’d just been crying.
When she got to the kitchen she discovered that it only contained Tess and Aaliyah. Tess was unscrewing a bottle of red while Aaliyah pulled glasses out of a cupboard.
‘Where’s Meg gone?’ Lily asked.
‘Er, she isn’t here?’ Aaliyah put the glasses on the table in the middle of the room and sat down. She and Tess were both staring at Lily like she’d gone mad.
‘I wasreallydesperate for the loo,’ Lily said, to explain her inability to count to three this evening. Nothing to do with being overcome by grief.
‘She can’t make it,’ Tess said, moving over to the table with the wine. ‘She asked me to let you know that she’sreallysorry and she’ll see you at the funeral and afterwards, obviously, but it’s just that Rupert’s going away for a month tomorrow and she thinks he’s The One and shehadto see him.’
