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“Who said anything about feeling sad? Occasionally, maybe, but far more often I find myself laughing. When I see photos of your dad wearing his slippers in the garden for example, the silly man. Did you know he called them his ‘outdoor slippers’? Ridiculous, but endearing, too. And there’s a wonderful one of him sailing. His hair is all over the place and his nose is scarlet because you know how forgetful he was about sunscreen. I’ve put that one in a frame. He would have been furious that I chose that one to be on display. We probably would have argued, but I would have won. It’s the one I like.”
“Where is it? I haven’t seen it.” Clare racked her brains, picturing her mother’s living room.
“It’s next to my bed. His lovely sunburned face is the last thing I look at every night before I go to sleep and the first thing I see in the mornings, just as I did when he was alive.”
“Oh, Mum.”
“Don’t ‘oh, Mum’ me. I’m happy. Do I miss him? Of course. Every minute of every day. But it’s a little easier now than it was in the beginning. Not the pain—that’s the same—but I’ve learned to breathe round it. I’ve learned that the pain doesn’t stop me doing things, it just comes along with me like a very annoying companion. And having the photograph right there makes him feel clo
ser. If I confess that I talk to him, are you going to have me locked up?”
“Of course not. But why didn’t you tell me all this sooner? Todd and I moved here so that we could be closer to you. So that Aiden could have you in his life.”
“And I will forever feel lucky and grateful that you moved here. But it doesn’t mean I need you on my doorstep every minute of the day. That would be irritating for both of us.”
“But you miss him terribly.”
“I do. I miss his smile, the way he always put his head on one side when he listened. I miss the way he always found the good in the bad. And of course I miss the sex—”
“Mum!”
“What? I’m only seventy. Seventy is the new seventeen, did you know?”
Clare didn’t know. Her face was hot, and it had nothing to do with the stuffiness of the attic.
“Oh, Clare.” Her mother looked both exasperated and amused by her discomfort. “You think sex ends when you’re forty? Or fifty? Your father and I had a very active sex life right until the week before he died.”
Clare felt light-headed. She couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. Her mother never failed to surprise her. “I— Have you thought of dating again?” Was that the wrong thing to say? Apparently not because her mother had a thoughtful look on her face.
“I have thought about it. I’ve even gone online and had a look—”
“How?”
“Aiden helped me. I made him promise not to tell you. Judging from the look on your face, I assume he didn’t.”
“No.” Clare felt faint. “No, he didn’t.” She thought about her boy, her baby, sitting next to his grandmother helping her log on to a dating site. Even while a part of her was handling the shock, another part was saying good for him.
“That boy is growing into a fine young man. He dropped by one day to see if I needed him to empty the bins because he knew his grandad always did it, but I have no issues with my recycling. It’s other things I need help with. Anyway, in the end I didn’t have the energy for it. Good sex isn’t just about having the right parts. It’s about intimacy and knowledge. For me, it’s about caring. You can’t buy that online. You can buy sex toys, of course. I bought a vibrator.”
Clare swallowed. “Did Aiden help you with that?”
“I’m quite capable of making a purchase from the internet, Clare. I don’t need teenage assistance with something as basic as that.”
“Right.” Was she about to have a conversation about vibrators with her mother? Because she was fairly sure she’d die. Todd, of course, would think it was hilarious.
“The vibrator is better than nothing, but not as good as your father. I imagine him smiling smugly from wherever he is.”
Clare, who was imagining something quite different, decided that the conversation had to end right now. Yes, she was the one who had encouraged her mother to talk more about her feelings, but there were limits and Clare had reached that limit.
“I’d love to see the photos of Dad. And of Becca.”
“I’ll fetch them. I was looking at them just last night so I know exactly where they are.”
Now that the topic of conversation was no longer her mother’s lack of sex life, the guilt returned. “I wish you’d told me you were looking at those photos.”
“Why? You’d only cluck over me and neither of us needs that. You have your own life, and I have mine. I love that our lives intersect regularly, but I don’t need you checking on me. If I need you, I’ll ask. I proved that this morning when I called you for a lift to the hospital.”
“I’m glad you called.”
