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There’s another pause. I can hear Eleanor sobbing even louder in the background; I can close my eyes now and picture the scene. I know it from Rose’s voice, I know it already, and I just need to be told.
‘There was nothing we could do for him.’ Rose gives me the truth that I asked for and I can't remember if I said thank you, I can't even remember hanging up the phone. I do remember a surge of annoyance, that all this time on, he can still mess up my plans at a moment’s notice – because instead of standing in my bedroom and trying to sort out an outfit for tonight, instead of trying on different styles of make up, I’m dashing to the hospital.
I’m dropping everything for him again.
That’s what he does you see.
That’s what he’s always done.
Somehow, even in death – he stops me from finding me.
CHAPTER SIX
Lucy
It’s all about them.
Always.
I promise you.
You’ll see.
‘Would you like to see him?’ Rose asks.
Eleanor starts to cry and moan and says no, she can’t face it, but I actually think the nurse was speaking directly to me.
I shake my head.
I’ve never seen a dead body.
Well, I thought mum was dead plenty of times when I found her passed out, but I’ve never seen a real live dead one – excuse the pun.
A real live dead one. I go over that in my head a few times and then Luke speaks. ‘It might be better to, Lucy. Charlotte might want to see him.’
‘She’s not seeing him.’ I’m adamant.
‘She might want to,’ Rose says. She’s actually nice, a big woman and she’s sort of comforting. She puts her arm around me and talks for a while, tells me that it might help Charlotte accept things, that maybe if I see him on my own first…
‘I can’t.’
I’m scared to go in there.
‘I can come in with you.’ Luke offers.
I shake my head but then I change my mind. I have to make things easier for Charlotte.
It’s funny that a curtain can block out so much noise, or maybe I just can’t hear the world outside when I step in there.
They’ve got a sheet over him and it’s up to his chest and there are all these tubes sticking out of him. To be honest, the first thing that I notice is that his hair’s a mess and that annoys me, he always looks after his appearance, he’s always smart. I mean, couldn’t they find a comb?
‘Can you take the tubes out?’
‘We can’t,’ Rose tells me, because it’s a coroner’s case.
‘He had a heart attack,’ I frown.
But they can’t say that for sure apparently and there’s this sweat beading on my forehead as I’m told that it’s for the coroner to determine. I insist that no, we don’t need a coroner. I tell her again that we don’t and somewhere in this conversation I hear the word inquest – she doesn’t say that there’s going to be one, that’s for the coroner to decide apparently. Just hearing the word, inquest, my insides are screaming, my skin is crawling and I realise what the policeman wanted to speak with her for – for details. I can see me standing there, or sitting on some court bench with his family beside me, with journalists there, and Gloria, and neighbours, and a piece written up in the local paper and everyone finding out…
‘Why don’t you talk to him, Lucy?’ Rose says.
Because, I have absolutely nothing to say.
I look down and I can see the teeth marks around a bruise high on his chest and I rearrange the sheet. His eyes are closed and I want to open them, to look into them like I did this morning.
To be the only girl in his world again.
But I can’t.
I’m not.
I think of that slut, I think of Gloria, I think of his daughters.
I realise, for the first time fully, that I never have, nor will I ever be, the only girl in his world.
I hear this strange breathing behind me, sort of rapid intakes of air and I realise it’s the sound of a grown man crying. I step aside and Luke says something to him while I still don’t have the words.
As I said, Luke’s not just a colleague.
The two of them are more like father and son. Yes, they’re friends and colleagues, but they’re more. I know this must be really hard for Luke, awful actually, but I can’t think about others now.
I can’t, because Charlotte’s here and I somehow have to find those words.
Thank God for Jess and Luke.
Jess has already told her that he’s very sick, she’s prepared her really – but actually telling Charlotte that her dad is dead is the hardest thing I hope I ever live to do.
I sort of kneel down and Jess is cuddling her and Luke’s hand is on my shoulder. I tell her as best I can and I watch her face and I can’t stand the pain I’m inflicting but I don’t have any choice.
She screams.
She sits there and screams and I shall never, ever forget that sound.
I don’t know exactly what I say. I do know I try to comfort her and then some still, silent voice inside of me, tells me that I can’t. Oh, I can say the right things and I can cuddle her but I can’t make this better, I can’t take her pain away.
This is her grief.
And it is separate to mine.
All I can do is be there.
She stops screaming and she’s sobbing and I sit beside her and wrap an arm around her skinny shoulders and take her cold hand in mine and hold onto it and I cannot stand her pain.
She doesn’t want to see him.
I’m glad of that.
She can see him at the funeral home if she chooses but not here, not so soon.
You do know best, Lucy.
You can do this.
I tell myself that, over and over again but I don’t really believe it.
Then his mum and his brother arrive and the ridiculous thing is that it’s as if they expect me to host this strange gathering. It’s as if I’m supposed to bring them up to speed when they arrive, to answer their questions, to stand up when the old mum comes in. It’s as if I’m supposed to know what happened and what’s going on. That it’s for me to make things better, smooth things over, console, comfort, be strong, break down, grieve, cry….
Except, I can’t.
I don’t stand, I don’t speak, I don’t cry, I just sit there numb. I’m not sure if I’m holding Charlotte’s hand or if she’s holding mine and I don’t know why we’re here. I just really want to go home.
Then, as promised, because it’s always about them, Eleanor starts.
She’s one of the Original Jameson Girls.
And they’re all from the same mould.
It’s always, always about them, and even if it isn’t at first, then they make it so.
Every time.
‘How far apart are the pains.’
Rose, who has been so lovely to Charlotte, is now kneeling down beside Eleanor and she’s got her hand on her tummy. I’m not watching, I can just sort of see it in my peripheral vision and it’s scaring Charlotte. Can’t they take her to a cubicle or up to maternity; does she have to sit groaning and carrying on here?
Oh, that’s right – she’s an Original Jameson.
And I’m sick of them.
‘I want to go home.’ I sort of slur it out to Jess, but we’re waiting for an interim certificate, whatever that is, and then joy of joys Jess tells me that my mum is on the way.
That, I so do not need.
But worse, far worse than that, I hear Eleanor tell the nurse, so too is Gloria.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Gloria
I don’t know how I feel.
I just get in the car and drive. I want to get there but there’s a diversion that’s been set up at the roundabout and I keep getting taken back to the same point. The hospital’s not far away, but I can’t get there and now the traffic lights are red and I sit there and wait for the green arrow.
I’ve thought about this day.
Not often.
But I sort of wondered what would happen when he died or what he’d do if first it was me.
Women think like that I think – I’m sure he doesn’t.
Didn’t.
I’m not ready for him to be past tense.
He should already be past tense – I mean he’s been my ex for years. It doesn’t work like that though.
I think, when he left, he thought that was it.
But when you’ve had children together, it never is.
I hear a car toot behind me and then another one and I look in the rear view mirror and I realise they’re tooting me. I’ve missed the light change and now we’ll have to wait.
I catch sight of my newly arched eyebrow in the rear-view mirror and I know there is a God.
You see, I’ve thought about this day, not just about him dying, I’ve thought about facing Lucy again. It’s ironic that I look the best I have in years, in decades in fact, and I’m pleased that I do.
I am.
I’m really pleased.
In the days when I used to plot my revenge, or his come-uppance, when I made up scenarios in my mind, I always looked amazing. I was always a lot thinner and a lot more glamorous than I am in real life. I had a camel coloured coat on, that was knotted at the back and lots of jewellery from Marcel, my sexy French lover - his car is waiting in their carriage driveway, as I stop by to let them know that I’m leaving the country today and no, I’m not taking the children. ‘But who’s going to look after Alice?’ Lucy begs.
‘And Bonny!’ I remind her, because even though she’s older she still lives at home. ‘And I have Eleanor’s kids two days a week,’ I tell Lucy and I just hand the whole sodding lot over to her and she starts crying because she can’t deal with them. ‘You knew he had kids when you took him,’ I tell her and she’s really crying now and not prettily either.
