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I move the seat forward and adjust the mirror and I start to sweat because I can see it again–what I came home to. I can see it in my rear-view mirror. I can see him lying on the floor and the smell of sex in the room and the paramedics and police and her standing there shivering. I don't want the world to know, except I feel it's all about to spill it out, that any day now the truth will be told, that I’ll be the talk of the village...
I’m the talk of it now, mind.
‘Lucy!’ I’m wrapped in the bony embrace of Ricky the second I step in the salon. ‘I’m so sorry.’ I’m taken straight to a chair and there’s one of the mums from Charlotte’s school there and she gives me a sort of pussy cat smile but her eyes are narrowed at the sides and I can see her reaching for her phone – I can just picture the text she’ll be firing, how I’m up and I’m out, when presumably, I should be in bed sedated.
At least Ricky understands. ‘Good on you, Lucy,’ he says. ‘I’m so proud of you for taking care of yourself.’
‘It’s what he’d have wanted.’ I say it loud enough for her to hear and I look up to the mirror and I see her hesitate before she smiles and agrees with me.
Ricky is great, he doesn’t ask questions; he just makes me a coffee and lets me be. I do actually feel a whole lot better by the time he takes the cape off and I stand up.
There’s another mum from the school coming in as I’m paying. I see her do a double take when she realises that it’s me, then she remembers her manners and offers her sympathy and asks when the funeral is but I pretend I’m about to cry and dash out.
I haven’t cried yet.
I did on the night it happened but I was crying then with anger and shame.
I haven’t cried for him yet.
I go to a boutique that I really like but they don’t have anything suitable in black and so I go into another one. I find a dress, it’s thin wool and it really is lovely, perhaps a tiny bit low cut for a funeral but I think it would be okay.
‘It’s a bit big,’ the assistant says. ‘I think you need the eight.’ She wanders off and comes back with a red one.
‘It’s for a funeral.’
‘Try on the eight,’ she says. ‘I’ll ring around and see if we’ve got it in black in another store.’
I try it on and I’m not so sure - it’s gone from demure to a bit tight and I walk out to see what the assistant thinks when, again, I hear my name.
‘Lucy!’
They’re everywhere! It’s Simone and she sees me in brick red dress coming out of a changing room in a boutique with my hair just done. ‘You poor thing!’ She hugs me too but not in the nice way Ricky did, with Simone it’s a minimal contact hug, the air kiss hug I call it, one where you make sure you don’t get any make up on each other, or horse hair, or trade perfume or anything. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I heard. It’s such a shock.’
‘I know,’ I respond. ‘It’s just a terrible shock for everyone. Charlotte’s beside herself.’
So why aren’t you with her? Simone doesn’t say it but I know that’s what she’s thinking.
Everything that I do seems to be wrong
Everything I say seems deemed inappropriate.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to be.
‘I was going to bring Felicity over to see Charlotte,’ she says, ‘but I wasn’t sure you were up to visitors.’ She sort of looks down at me, at my red dress with the label hanging out. ‘You let me know when you’re ready. Just let me know if there’s anything I can do.’
‘It would be great if Felicity came over,’ I say. The shop’s too hot and the dress is too warm and I feel horrible and sweaty. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say, how I’m supposed to be but I know that Charlotte needs her friends now.
But maybe her friends don’t need me, because Simone does a quick recalculate. ‘Why doesn’t she come to us? It will give you a little break. I can come and get her when Felicity gets home from school.’
‘We’re going out,’
Her face does not move, she says not a word but I still feel the need to justify that I’m not in bed sedated. That, like it or not, when you’ve got kids, the world just has to move on. ‘Her sister (half sister, but I don’t say - I keep my animosity to me) just had a new baby and we’re going to visit.’
‘Well, drop her over afterwards.’
‘Thanks.’
‘When is the funeral?’
Here we go again!
‘We’re not sure,’ I feel my voice thicken and I really don’t know what I mean by we’re - as if my husband has a say still, as if we’re sitting together in the evenings deciding on his fate, but I’ve said it once and now I can’t stop, I cram in two more into my answer. ‘We’re just waiting for the coroner; we should know soon.’
She gives me that smile, the one I keep getting and a little pat on the arm and then, oh, what the hell, she gives me another air kiss hug and I’m left standing there and finally the shop assistant comes off the phone. ‘They’ve got it in black in our Islington branch,’ she tells me too late for Simone to hear. ‘Yes, the eight looks much better.’
I’m still not sure, the eight just fits, the ten was too big, but I guess with hold it in knickers it might be okay. I say yes, for her to order it in and she tells me it will be here the day after tomorrow.
There’s no one in the baby boutique that I know, or it would be all around the school that I’m barking mad with grief or pregnant. Maybe I am barking mad with grief because I pick up a little baby suit and it’s so tiny and beautiful that I hold it to my cheek. I remember being pregnant and buying tiny outfits like this for Charlotte and it makes me want to weep. I run my hands over the fabric, it’s soft and lemon coloured and dotted with tiny white daisies.
I remember being here in this very shop, we were back from the most amazing honeymoon, we’d moved into the house and it was such a wonderful time… Then I look down and the tiny daisies blur before my eyes as, for the first time, I admit that maybe it wasn’t so wonderful, that the honeymoon wasn’t actually so amazing.
I admit what I daren’t.
I was lonely then too.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Gloria
They’re talking about discharging Eleanor and the baby tomorrow.
Eleanor’s got support (me).
The baby is taking its feeds now (from me) and isn’t requiring top ups and has reached her birth weight.
They hope that in a home environment (mine), Eleanor might respond better to the baby. She’ll be kept a close eye on by the health visitor and GP (which again really means me) and if things don’t pick up then they’ll look at getting her into a mother and baby unit but they’re a bit hard to get into.
I don’t think they’re ready to go home.
I know I’m not ready to go home.
It’s bedlam there at the moment. There’s Bonny, Alice and Hugh and I’ve got Eleanor’s other two kids coming and going and now Eleanor wants to come home with me.
Which means, to top it all off, I have to make room for a newborn baby.
As much as I love having the girls home…
I stop myself there.
The truth is - it’s driving me mad having them home.
Does that make me a terrible mum?
Perhaps.
But I swear it’s easier here in the hospital.
It’s so much easier to hide.
Eleanor is in a single room and she just sleeps most of the time and I take care of the baby and watch some daytime TV. To tell you the truth, I'm enjoying the peace. I’m enjoying not having to deal with it all; I know what Bonny and Alice can be like. Yes, it's their dad, but how can they be so sure it's what he would want?
The church.
The hymns.
The readings.
I know I haven't seen him for an awful long time but he never really cared about that sort of thing.
It was me who worried about all that sort of stuff.
Still, I’m staying right out of it.
Or I was trying to, until Alice rang to say that Lucy might be stopping by with Charlotte to visit the baby later this afternoon. I was about to say I’ll come home, because I really can’t stand the thought of coming face to face with Lucy, but then Alice uttered the immortal words - ‘What’s happening for dinner?’
Honestly! You raise three independent girls, yet as soon as they cross back over the threshold, it's like having teenagers again. After he left, when I had to muster everything I could, just to get out of bed, the question would be the same.
Every night.
When I’m home, I am cleaner, chef, coffee maker, grief counsellor and sounding board and frankly, today, I'd rather face Lucy.
‘Surprise me,’ I say and hang up the phone and then I feel a bit mean, they have just lost their dad.
I’ve lost him too.
I sit there in the quiet.
I lost him a long time ago, I remind myself.
But it hurts.
Perhaps rather more than it should.
And there’s no one I can tell.
It’s the same as the first time really – I just have to carry on.
I see my granddaughter stirring; see her little eyes open. She's such a good baby, she doesn't wake with a cry, she just pops in her thumb.
I actually want her to wake up just so that I can cuddle her, she’s been my only saving grace this week.
