The Mother-in-Law (Sally Hepworth)

AboutTheMother-in-Law
Someoneoncetoldmethatyouhavetwofamiliesinyourlife–theoneyouarebornintoandtheoneyouchoose.Yes,youmaygettochooseyourpartner,butyoudon’tchooseyourmother-in-law.Thecacklingmercenariesoffatedetermineitall
FromthemomentLucymetDiana,shewaskeptatarm’slength.Dianaisexquisitelypolite,butLucyknows,evenaftermarryingOliver,thatthey’llneverhavetheclosenessshe’dbeenhopingfor.
ButwhocouldfaultDiana?Shewasapillarofthecommunity,anadvocateforsocialjustice,thematriarchofalovingfamily.Lucyhadwantedsomuchtopleasehernewmother-in-law.
Thatwastenyearsago.Now,Dianahasbeenfounddead,leavingasuicidenote.Buttheautopsyrevealsevidenceofsuffocation.Andeveryoneinthefamilyishidingsomething…
FromthebestsellingauthorofTheFamilyNextDoorcomesanewpage-turneraboutthattrickiestofrelationships.
Contents
AboutTheMother-in-Law
TitlePage
Contents
Dedication
Chapter1
Chapter2
Chapter3
Chapter4
Chapter5
Chapter6
Chapter7
Chapter8
Chapter9
Chapter10
Chapter11
Chapter12
Chapter13
Chapter14
Chapter15
Chapter16
Chapter17
Chapter18
Chapter19
Chapter20
Chapter21
Chapter22
Chapter23
Chapter24
Chapter25
Chapter26
Chapter27
Chapter28
Chapter29
Chapter30
Chapter31
Chapter32
Chapter33
Chapter34
Chapter35
Chapter36
Chapter37
Chapter38
Chapter39
Chapter40
Chapter41
Chapter42
Chapter43
Chapter44
Chapter45
Chapter46
Chapter47
Chapter48
Chapter49
Chapter50
Chapter51
Chapter52
Chapter53
Chapter54
Chapter55
Chapter56
Chapter57
Chapter58
Chapter59
Chapter60
Chapter61
Chapter62
Chapter63
Chapter64
Acknowledgements
AboutSallyHepworth
AlsobySallyHepworth
Copyright
Tomymother-in-law,Anne,whoIwouldneverdreamofmurdering.Andformyfather-in-law,Peter,who,ontheoddoccasion,Ihave
1
LUCY
Iamfoldinglaundryatmykitchentablewhenthepolicecarpullsup.There’snofanfare—nosirensorflashinglights—yetthatlittlenigglestartsinthepitofmystomach,MotherNature’swarningthatallisnotwell.It’sgettingdarkoutsideandtheneighbours’porchlightsarestartingtocomeon.It’sdinnertime.Policedon’tarriveonyourdoorstepatdinnertimeunlesssomethingiswrong.
Iglancethroughthedoorwaytothelivingroomwheremyslothfulchildrenarestretchedacrossdifferentpiecesoffurniture,angledtowardtheirrespectivedevices.Alive.Unharmed.Ingoodhealth,apartfrom,perhaps,amildscreenaddiction.Seven-year-oldArchieiswatchingafamilyplayWiigamesonthebigiPad.Four-year-oldHarrietiswatchinglittlegirlsinAmericaunwraptoysonthelittleiPad.Eventwo-year-oldEdieisstaring,slack-jawed,atthetelevision.Ifeelsomemeasureofcomfortthatmyfamilyisallunderthisroof.Atleastmostofthemare.Dad,Ithinksuddenly.Ohno,pleasenotDad
Ilookbackatthepolicecar.Theheadlightsilluminatealightmistofrain.
Atleastit’snotthechildren,aguiltylittlevoiceinmyheadwhispers.Atleastitisn’tOllie.Ollieisonthebackdeck,grillingburgers.Safe.Hecamehomefromworkearlytoday,notfeelingwellapparently,thoughhedoesn’tseemparticularlyunwell.Inanycase,he’saliveandI’mwholeheartedlygratefulforthat.
Therainhaspickedupalittlenow,turningthemistintodistinctraindrops.Thepolicekilltheenginebutdon’tgetoutrightaway.IballupapairofOllie’ssocksandplacethemontopofhispileandthenreachforanotherpair.Ishouldstandup,gotothedoor,butmyhandscontinuetofoldonautopilot,asifbycontinuingtoactnormallyIwillmakethepolicecardisappear.Butitdoesn’twork.Instead,auniformedpolicemanemergesfromthedriver’sseat.
‘Muuuuum!’Harrietcallsout.‘EdieiswatchingtheTV!’
Twoweeksagoaprominentnewsjournalistspokeoutpubliclyabouther‘revulsion’thatchildrenundertheageofthreewereexposedtoTV.LikemostAustralianmothersIwasincensedbythisandrespondedwiththepredictablediatribeof,‘Whatwouldsheknow?Sheprobablyhasateamofnanniesandhasn’tlookedafterherchildrenforadayinherlife!’,beforeswiftlyinstatingthe‘noscreensforEdie’rule,whichlasteduntiltwentyminutesagowhen,whileIwasonthephonetotheenergycompany,Ediedecidedtotrytheold‘Mum,muuuum,MUUUUUM…’trick,andIrelented,poppingonanepisodeofPlaySchoolandretreatingtothebedroomtofinishmyphonecall.
‘It’sallright,Harriet,’Isay,myeyesstillonthewindow.
IhearthethumpofherfootstepsandthenHarriet’scrosslittlefaceappearsinfrontofme,herdarkbrownhairandthickfringeswishinglikeamop.‘Butyousaid…’
‘NevermindwhatIsaid.Afewminuteswon’thurt.’
Thecoplookstobemid-twenties,thirtyatapush.Hispolicehatisinhishandbuthewedgesitunderonearmtotugatthefrontofhistoo-tighttrousers.Ashort,rotundpolicewomanofasimilaragegetsoutofthepassengerside,herhatfirmlyonherhead.Theystartupthepathsidebyside.Theyaredefinitelycomingtoourplace.Nettie,Ithinksuddenly.It’saboutNettie
It’spossible.Ollie’ssisterhascertainlyhadhershareofhealthissueslately.Ormaybeit’sPatrick?Orisitsomethingelseentirely?
Thefactis,partofmeknowsit’snotNettieorPatrick,orDad.It’sfunnysometimeswhatyoujustknow
‘Burgersareup.’
TheflyscreendoorscrapesopenandOllieappearsholdingaplateofmeat.Thegirlsflocktohimandhesnapshis‘crocodiletongs’whiletheyjumpupanddown,squealingloudlyenoughtonearlydrownouttheknockatthedoor.
Nearly.
‘Wasthatthedoor?’Ollieraisesaneyebrow,curiousratherthanconcerned.Infact,helooksanimated.Anunexpectedguestonaweeknight!Whocoulditbe?
Ollieisthesocialoneofthetwoofus,theonewhovolunteersontheparentsandfriends’committeeatthekids’schoolbecause‘it’sagoodwaytomeetpeople’,whohangsoverthebackfencetosayhitotheneighboursifhehearsthemtalkinginthegarden,whoapproachespeoplewholookvaguelyfamiliarandtriestofigureoutiftheyknoweachother.Apeopleperson.ToOllie,anunexpectedknockonthedoorduringtheweeksignalsexcitementratherthandoom.
But,ofcourse,hehasn’tseenthepolicecar.
Edietearsdownthecorridor.‘Igetit,Igetit.’
‘Holdonaminute,Edie-bug,’Olliesays,lookingforsomewheretoputdownthetrayofburgers.Heisn’tfastenoughthoughbecausebythetimehefindssomecounterspace,Edieisalreadyjumpingforthedoorhandle.
‘Poleeth!’shesays,awed.
This,ofcourse,isthepartwhereIshouldrunafterher,interceptthepoliceatthedoorandapologise,butmyfeetareconcretedtothefloor.LuckilyOllieisalreadyjoggingupbehindEdie,rufflingherhairplayfully.
‘G’day,’hesaystothecops.Heglancesoverhisshoulderbackintothehouse,hismindcaughtupintheactionofafewsecondsago,perhapswonderingifherememberedtoturnoffthegasbottleorcheckingthathe’dplacedtheburgerplatesecurelyonthebench.It’stheclassicunassumingbehaviourofsomeoneabouttogetbadnews.IactuallyfeellikeIamwatchingusallonaTVshow—thehandsomecluelessdad,thecutetoddler.Theregularsuburbanfamilywhoareabouttohavetheirlivesturnedupsidedownforever.
‘WhatcanIdoforyou?’Olliesaysfinally,turninghisattentionbacktothecops.
‘I’mSeniorConstableArthur,’Ihearthewomansay,thoughIcan’tseeherfrommyvantagepoint.‘ThisisConstablePerkins.AreyouOliverGoodwin?’
‘Iam.’OlliesmilesdownatEdie,eventhrowsherawink.It’senoughtoconvincemethatI’mbeingoverlydramatic.Evenifthere’sbadnews,itmaynotbethatbad.Itmaynotevenbeourbadnews.Perhapsoneoftheneighbourshasbeenburgled.Policeusuallycanvasstheareaaftersomethinglikethat,don’tthey?
SuddenlyIlookforwardtothatmomentwhenIknoweverything’sfine.IthinkabouthowOllieandIwilllaugh.Youwon’tbelievewhatIthought,I’llsaytohim,andhe’llrollhiseyesandsmile.Alwaysworrying,he’llsay.Howdoyouevergetanythingdonewithallthatworrying?
ButwhenIedgeforwardafewpacesIseethatmyworryingisn’tunnecessary.Iseeitinthesombrenessofthepoliceman’sexpression,inthedownwardturnofhismouth.
ThepolicewomanglancesatEdie,thenbackatOllie.‘Istheresomewherewecantalk…privately?’
ThefirsttracesofuncertaintyappearonOllie’sface.Hisshouldersstiffenandhestandsalittlebittaller.Perhapsunconsciously,hepushesEdiebackfromthedoor,behindhim,shieldingher.
‘Edie-bug,wouldyoulikemetoputonTheWiggles?’Isay,steppingforwardfinally.
Edieshakesherheadresolutely,hergazenotshiftingfromthepolice.Hersoftroundfaceisalightwithinterest;herchunky,wobblylegsareplantedwithimprobablefirmness.
‘Comeon,honey,’Itryagain,sweepingahandoverherpalegoldhair.‘Howaboutanicecream?’
ThisismoreofadilemmaforEdie.Sheglancesatme,watchingforalongmoment,assessingwhetherIcanbetrusted.FinallyIshoutforArchietogetoutthePaddlePopsandshescampersoffdownthehallway.
‘Comein,’Olliesaystothepolice,andtheydo,sendingmeaquickpolitesmile.Asorrysmile.Asmilethatpiercesmyheart.It’snottheneighbours,thatsmilesays.Thisbadnewsisyours
Therearen’talotofprivateareasinourhousesoOllieguidesthepolicetothekitchenandpullsoutacoupleofchairs.Ifollow,shovingmynewlyfoldedlaundryintoabasket.Thepilescollapseintoeachotherliketumblingbuildings.Thepolicesitonthechairs,OllieandIremainsharplyupright,stiff.Bracing.
‘Firstly,IneedtoconfirmthatyouarerelativesofDianaGoodwin—’
‘Yes,’Olliesays,‘she’smymother.’
‘ThenI’mverysorrytoinformyou,’thepolicewomanstarts,andIclosemyeyesbecauseIalreadyknowwhatsheisgoingtosay.
Mymother-in-lawisdead.
2
LUCY
Tenyearsago…
Someoneoncetoldmethatyouhavetwofamiliesinyourlife—theoneyouarebornintoandtheoneyouchoose.Butthat’snotentirelytrue,isit?Yes,youmaygettochooseyourpartner,butyoudon’t,forinstance,chooseyourchildren.Youdon’tchooseyourbrothers-orsisters-in-law,youdon’tchooseyourpartner’sspinsterauntwiththedrinkingproblem,orcousinwiththerevolvingdoorofgirlfriendswhodon’tspeakEnglish.Moreimportantly,youdon’tchooseyourmother-in-law.Thecacklingmercenariesoffatedetermineitall.
‘Hello?’Olliecalls.‘Anybodyhome?’
IstandintheyawningfoyeroftheGoodwins’homeandpanaroundatthemarbleextendingineverydirection.Awindingstaircasesweepsfromthebasementuptothefirstfloor,beneathamagnificentcrystalchandelier.IfeellikeI’vesteppedintothepagesofaHello!magazinespread,theoneswiththeridiculousphotosofcelebritiessprawlingonornatefurnitureandongrassyknollsinridingbootswithGoldenRetrieversattheirfeet.I’vealwaysimaginedthisiswhattheinsideofBuckinghamPalacemustlooklike,orifnotBuckingham,atleastoneofthesmallerpalaces—StJames’sorClarenceHouse.
ItrytocatchOllie’seye,to…what?Admonishhim?Cheer?QuitefranklyI’mnotsure,butit’smootsincehe’salreadychargingintothehouse,announcingourarrival.TosayI’munpreparedforthisisthemostgloriousofunderstatements.WhenOlliesuggestedIcometohisparents’housefordinner,I’dpicturedlasagnaandsaladinaquaintblond-brickbungalow,thekindofhomeIgrewupin.Iimaginedanadoringmotherclaspingaphotoalbumofsepia-colouredbabyphotos,andabrusquelyproudbutsociallyawkwardfatherclaspingacanofbeerandwearingacautioussmile.Instead,artworkandsculpturesareup-litandgleaming,andtheparents,sociallyawkwardorotherwise,arenowheretobeseen.
‘Ollie!’IcatchOllie’selbowandamabouttowhisperfuriouslywhenaplump,ruddy-facedmanrushesthroughalargearcheddoorwayatthebackofthehouse,clutchingaglassofredwine.
‘Dad!’Olliecries.‘Thereyouare!’
‘Well,well.Lookwhothecatdraggedin.’
TomGoodwinistheveryoppositeofhistall,dark-hairedson.Short,overweightandunstylish,hisredcheckedshirtistuckedintochinosthatarebeltedbelowhissubstantialpaunch.Hethrowshisarmsaroundhisson,andOlliethumpshisoldmanontheback.
‘YoumustbeLucy,’TomsaysafterreleasingOllie.Hetakesmyhandandpumpsitheartily,lettingoutalowwhistle.‘Myword.Welldone,son.’
‘It’snicetomeetyou,MrGoodwin.’Ismile.
‘Tom!CallmeTom.’Hesmilesatmeasthoughhe’swontheEasterraffle,thenheappearstorememberhimself.‘Diana!Diana,whereareyou?They’rehere!’
AfteramomentOllie’smotheremergesfromthebackofthehouse.She’swearingawhiteshirtandnavyslacksandbrushingnonexistentcrumbsfromthefrontofhershirt.Isuddenlywonderaboutmyoutfitchoice,afull-skirted1950sredandwhitepolka-dotdressthathadbelongedtomymother.Ithoughtitwouldbecharmingbutnowitjustseemsoutlandishandstupid,especiallygivenOllie’smum’splainanddemureattire.
‘I’msorry,’shesaysfromseveralpacesaway.‘Ididn’thearthebell.’
‘ThisisLucy,’Tomsays.
Dianaextendsherhand.AsIreachforit,Inoticethatsheisalmostafullheadtallerthatherhusband,despiteherflatshoes,andsheisthinasalamppost,apartfromaslightmiddle-agedthickeningatthewaist.Shehassilverhaircutintoanelegant,chin-lengthbob,astraightRomannoseand,unlikeTom,bearsastrongresemblancetoherson.
Ialsonoticethatherhandshakeiscold.
‘It’snicetomeetyou,MrsGoodwin,’Isay,droppingherhandtoofferthebunchofflowersIamcarrying.Iinsistedonstoppingatthefloristonthewayover,eventhoughOlliesaid,‘Flowersaren’treallyherthing.’
‘Flowersareeverywoman’sthing,’Irepliedwitharollofmyeyes.ButasItakeinherlackofjewellery,herunpaintednailsandsensibleshoes,IstarttogetthefeelingI’mwrong.
‘Hello,Mum,’Olliesays,pullinghismotherinforabearhug,whichsheaccepts,ifnotquiteembraces.Iknow,frommanyconversationswithOllie,thatheadoreshismother.Hepracticallyburstswithprideashetalksaboutthecharitysherunssingle-handedlyforpregnantrefugeesinAustralia.Ofcourseshewouldthinkflowersweretrivial,Irealisesuddenly.I’manidiot.Ishouldhavebroughtbabyclothes,ormaternitysupplies.
‘Allright,Ollie,’shesaysafteramomentortwowhenhedoesn’tlethergo.Shepullsherselfupright.‘Ihaven’tevenhadachancetosayaproperhellotoLucy!’
‘Whydon’tweheadtotheloungefordrinksandwecanallgettoknoweachotherbetter,’Tomsays,pink-cheekedandsmiling,andweallturntowardthebackofthehouse.That’swhenInoticeafacepeekingaroundthecorner.
‘Nettie!’Olliecries.
IfthereisalackofresemblancebetweenOllieandTom,thereisnodoubtAntoinetteisTom’sdaughter.Shehashisruddycheeksandstockiness,whileatthesametimebeingendearinglypretty.Stylishtoo,inagreywoollendressandblacksuedeboots.AccordingtoOllie,hisyoungersisterismarried,childless,andsomesortofmarketingexecutivewhospeaksatconferencesaboutwomenandtheglassceiling.She’sthirty-twoyearsold,onlytwoyearsolderthanme,andIfoundhercareeralittleintimidating,butthisisimmediatelyforgottenwhenshecomesrightovertomeandgreetsmewithanenormoushug.TheGoodwins,itappears,arehuggers.
AllofthemexceptDiana.
‘I’veheardsomuchaboutyou,’Nettiesays.ShelinksherarmwithmineandIamengulfedinacloudofsubtle,expensive-smellingperfume.‘Comeandmeetmyhusband,Patrick.’
Nettiedragsmethroughanarcheddoorway,pastwhatlookslikeanelevator—anelevator!—pastframedartworkandornaments,andphotosoffamilyholidaysontheskislopesandatthebeach.ThereisonephotoofTom,Diana,NettieandOllieoncamelsinthedesertwithapyramidinthebackground,allofthemholdinghandsandraisingtheirhandsskyward.Growingup,IwenttothebeachtownofPortarlingtonforholidays,lessthananhour’sdrivefrommyhouse.
Westopinaroomthatisroughlythesizeofmyapartment,filledwithsofasandarmchairs,hugeexpensive-lookingrugsandheavywoodensidetables.Agiganticmanrisesfromanarmchair.
‘Patrick,’hesays,offeringhishand.HishandshakeisclammybuthelooksapologeticsoIpretendnottonotice.
‘Lucy.Nicetomeetyou.’
I’mnotsurewhatIexpectedforNettie—perhapssomeonesmall,sharp,eagertoplease,likeher.Atsixfootthreeinches,IthoughtOlliewastall,butPatrickispositivelymountain-like—sixfootsevenatleast.Apartfromhisheight,heremindsmealittleofTom,inhisplaidshirtandchinos,hisroundfaceandeagersmile.Hehasaknittedjumperaroundhisshoulders,preppystyle.
Withallgreetingsoutoftheway,Ollie,TomandPatricksinkintothelargecouchandDianaandNettiewanderofftowardadrinkstable.Ihesitateamoment,thenfollowthem.
‘Yousitdown,Lucy,’Dianadirectsme.
‘Ohno,I’mhappytohelp.’
ButDianaraisesherhandlikeastopsign.‘Please,’shesays.‘Justsit.’
Dianaisobviouslytryingtobepolite,butIcan’thelpfeelingalittlerejected.Sheisn’ttoknow,ofcourse,thatI’vefantasisedaboutbumpingelbowswithherinthekitchen,perhapsevenfacingalittlesaladcrisistogetherthatIcouldovercomebywhippingupamakeshiftdressing(asaladcrisisisaboutallmyculinarycapabilitiescanstretchto).Sheisn’ttoknowthatI’veimaginednestlinguptoherasshetakesmethroughphotoalbums,familytreesandlong-windedstoriesthatOlliewouldgroanabout.Shedoesn’tknowI’veplannedtospendtheentireeveningbyherside,sobythetimewegohomeshe’llbeasenamouredwithmeasI’llbewithher.
Isit.
‘So,youandOllieworktogetherattheITcompany?’TomasksmeasIplantmyselfnexttoOllieonthesofa.HepronouncesIT‘it’,Godblesshim.Olliehasexplainedthattechnologyisn’thisfather’sstrongsuit.
‘Wedo,’Isay.‘Havedoneforthreeyears.’
‘Threeyears?’Tomfeignsshock.‘Tookyourtime,didn’tyou,mate?’
‘Itwasaslowburn,’Olliesays.‘Forher.’
Olliewastheclassicsolidguyfromwork.Theguyalwaysavailabletolistentomymostterribledatingstoriesandofferasympatheticshoulder.Ollie,unlikethepowerful,take-chargeassholesthatItendedtodate,wascheerful,unassumingandconsistentlyagoodguy.Mostimportantly,headoresme,andthereissomethingaboutbeingadored.Itismuchnicer,Irealise,thanbeingmessedaroundbycharismaticbastards.
‘Heisn’tyourboss,ishe?’Tomtwinkles.It’shorrendouslysexist,butit’shardtobeannoyedwithTom.
‘Tom!’Dianachides,butit’sclearshefindsithardtobeannoyedwithhimtoo.She’sbacknowwithdrinks,andshepursesherlipsinthemannerofamothertryingtodisciplineherverycutedisobedienttoddler.ShehandsmeaglassofredwineandsitsontheothersideofOllie.
‘We’repeers,’ItellTom.‘IrecruitfortheITpositions,Ollierecruitssupportstaff.Weworkcloselytogether.’
Itbegan,oddlyenough,withadream.Abizarre,meanderingdreamthatstartedatmyGreat-AuntGwen’s90thbirthdaypartyandendedatthehousewheremybestfriendfromprimaryschoollived,butshewasn’talittlegirlanymore,shewasanoldlady.Butsomewhereinthemiddle,Olliewasthere.Andinthedream,hewasdifferent.Sexier.Thenextdayatwork,Isenthimanemailsayinghe’dbeeninmydreamthenightbefore.Theexpected‘whatwasIdoing?’banterfollowed,withanundercurrent.Ollie’sofficeisrightnextdoortomine,butwe’vealwayssenteachotheremails—wittycommentaryaboutourboss’sDonaldTrumphair,suspiciousbehaviourattheofficeChristmasparty,requestsforsushiordersforlunch.Butthatdayitwasdifferent.Myheartskippedabeateverytimehisnameappearedinmyinbox.
ForawhileIkeptmyheadaboutit.Itwasarendezvous,atryst…notarelationshipandcertainlynottherelationship.ButwhenInoticedhimgivingmoneytothedrunkatthetrainstationeverymorning(evenafterthedrunkabusedhimandaccusedhimofstealinghisbooze);whenhespottedalostlittleboyattheshoppingcentreandimmediatelyliftedhimupoverhisheadandaskedifhecouldseehismumanywhere;whenhebegantooccupymoreandmoreofmythoughts,arealisationstruck:thiswasit.He’stheone.
ItellOllie’sfamilythestory(minusthedream),myarmsspinningaroundmeasItalkquicklyandwithoutpause,asItendtodowhenIamnervous.Tomisenrapturedatthestorytelling,pattinghissononthebackatintervalsasItalk
‘Sotellmeabout…allofyou,’IsaywhenI’verunoutofsteam.
‘NettieisamarketingexecutiveatMartinHoldsworth,’Tomsays,proudaspunch.‘Runsawholedepartment.’
‘Andwhataboutyou,Patrick?’Iask.
‘Irunabookkeepingbusiness,’Patricksays.‘It’ssmallnow,butwe’llexpandwithtime.’
‘Sotellmeaboutyourparents,Lucy,’Dianajumpsin.‘Whatdotheydo?’
‘MydadwasaprofessorofModernEuropeanHistory.He’sretirednow.Andmymotherdiedofbreastcancer.’
It’sbeenseventeenyears,sotalkingaboutitisuncomfortableratherthanupsetting.Mostlythediscomfortisforotherpeople,who,uponhearingthisnews,havetofigureoutsomethingtosay.
‘I’msorrytohearthat,’Tomsays,hisboomingvoicebringingapalpablesteadinesstotheroom.
‘Ilostmyownmotherafewyearsback,’Patricksays.‘Younevergetoverit.’
‘Youneverdo,’Iagree,feelingasuddenkinshipwithPatrick.‘Buttoansweryourquestion,Diana,mymumwasastay-at-homemother.Andbeforethat,aprimaryschoolteacher.’
Ialwaysfeelproudtotellpeopleshewasateacher.Sinceherdeath,countlesspeoplehavetoldmewhatawonderfulteachershewas,howshewouldhavedoneanythingforherstudents.Itseemsawastethatsheneverwentbacktoit,evenafterIstartedschoolmyself.
‘Whybotherhavingachildifyou’renotgoingtostickaroundtoenjoyher?’sheusedtosay,whichiskindoffunnysinceshewasn’tabletostickaroundandenjoymeanyway,dyingwhenIwasthirteen.
‘Hernamewas…’IstartatthesametimeasDianastands.Weallstoptalkingandfollowherwithoureyes.ForthefirsttimeIunderstandtheterm‘matriarch’,andthepowerofbeingone.
‘Rightthen,’shesays.‘Ithinkdinnerwillbeready,ifeveryonewouldliketomovetothetable.’
Andwiththat,theconversationaboutmymotherseemstobeover.
Wehaveroastlambfordinner.Dianapreparesandservesitherself.GiventhesizeoftheirhouseIalmostexpectcatererstoshowup,butthispartoftheevening,atleast,iscomfortableandfamiliar.
‘Iwassoimpressedtohearaboutyourcharity,’IsayonceDianaisfinallysittingratherthanserving.‘Ollieissoproudofyou,hetalksaboutittoanyonewho’lllisten.’
Dianasmilesvaguelyinmydirection,reachingforthecauliflowercheese.‘Doeshe?’
‘Oh,absolutely.I’dlovetohearmoreaboutit.’
Dianaspoonssomemorecauliflowerontoherplate,focusingintentlyonthetransactionasifshewereperformingsurgery.‘Oh?Whatwouldyouliketohear?’
‘Idon’tknowexactly.’Ifeelunderthespotlightsuddenly,likeI’mpryingratherthanmakingconversation.‘Iguess…whatgaveyoutheideatostartit?Howdiditgetofftheground?’
‘Ijustsawtheneed,’shesays.‘It’snotrocketscience,collectingbabygoods.’
‘She’shumble.’Tompushesmorelambontohisfork,stillchewingwhat’sinhismouth.‘It’sherCatholicupbringing.’
‘Howdidyoutwomeet?’Iask,decidingtomovetoadifferenttopicaftermylackofsuccesswithDiana’scharity.
‘Theymetatthemovies,’Nettiesays.‘DadsawMumacrossthefoyerandsparksflew.’
TomandDianaexchangeaglance.Thereisaffectionintheirgazebutsomethingelsetoo,somethingIcan’tquiteplace.
‘WhatcanIsay?’Tomsays.‘Iknewrightawaythatshewastheone.Dianawasn’tlikeanyoneelsethatIknew.Shewas…smarter.Moreinteresting.Outofmyleague,Ithought.’
‘Mumcamefromawell-to-dofamily,’Nettieexplains.‘Middle-classCatholic.Dadwasacountryboy,noconnections,nomoney.’
ItakeamomenttochidemyselffortheassumptionImadethemomentIwalkedintothehouse—thatDianahadmarriedTomforhismoney.It’sasexistassumptionbut,inmydefence,perhapsunderstandable,giventhedisparityintheirlooks—Dianabeingstatuesqueandstriking,andTom,well…neitherstatuesquenorstriking.ThefactthatshemarriedhimforloveraisesDianaafewnotchesinmyopinion.
‘Andhowaboutyou,Diana,’Iask.‘Didyoujustknow?’
‘Courseshedid!’Tomsays,framinghisfacewithhishands.‘Howcouldyounot,seeingthisface?’
‘ActuallyI’vebeentryingtotellhimI’mnotinterestedfornearlyfortyyearsbuthejustkeepsspeakingoverthetopofme,’Dianasayswryly,andTomletsoutaheartyguffaw.
Afterherearlierformality,it’snicetoseethissideofher.Iallowmyselftohopethatoncewe’vespentsomemoretimetogether,we’lllaughaboutthisfirstmeetingwhenshewouldn’tallowmetohelpwithdinner(probablyaswepotteraroundinthekitchentogether).MaybeonedayI’llevenstarthelpingherwithhercharity.Yes,itwillallbefine.Dianamightnotbetheeasiestnuttocrack,butI’llgetthere.Beforelong,we’resuretobethebestoffriends.
Iwasthirteenwhenmymother,Joy,died.Mumwasaptlynamed—alwayshavingfun,nevertakingherselftooseriously.Sheworeheadscarvesanddanglyclip-onearrings;shecalledpeople‘dear’andsangloudlyinthecarwhentheradioplayedasongsheliked.Atmybirthdaypartiessheworefancydress,eventhoughnoneoftheotheradultsdid,andshehadapairoftapshoesthatshelikedtowear,eventhoughshe’dneverlearnedhowtotap.
Thatwasthekindofpersonmymotherwas.
TheonlytimesIsawMumdressinblack—withoutsomuchasaheadbandorhairpieceoradornment—waswhensheattendedaconferenceordinnerwithDad.DadisthepolaroppositeofMum—conservative,serious,gentle.TheonlytimeMumreinedinherpersonality,infact,wasforDad.‘Dad’sjobistolookafterus,ourjobistolookafterhim.’
Dadneverrecoveredaftershedied.Apparentlystatisticsindicatethatmostmenremarrywithinthreeyearsofapreviousrelationshipending,butalmosttwentyyearson,Dadisstillhappilysingle.‘Yourmotherwasmylifepartner,’healwayssays,‘andalifepartnerisforlife.’
DadhiredahousekeeperafterMumdied,tocookandcleanandshopforus.Mariawasprobablyfifty,butwithherblackhairfleckedwithgreyandrolledintoacoil,shemayaswellhavebeenahundred.Sheworeskirtsandpantyhoseandlow-heeledcourtshoes,andfloralapronsshesewedherself.Herownchildrenweregrownandthegrandchildrenhadn’tshownupyet.Shecamefromnoonuntil6pmeveryday.ShewasalwaystherewhenIgothomefromschoolanditseemedlikeitwasthebestpartofherday.Itwasthebestpartofmydaytoo.She’demptymybagandrinseoutmylunchboxesandchopupfruitandcheeseonaplateformyafternoontea—thingsMumwouldn’thavedoneinablindfit.Withhindsight,someteenagersmayhavefeltsmotheredbyMaria.ButIjustfeltmothered.
Once,whenIhadtheflu,Mariacameforthewholeday.Shepotteredaround,checkingonmeperiodically,bringingmewaterorteaoracoolclothformyforehead.Acoupleoftimes,whenIwasdozingandheardherentertheroom,IletoutalittlemoanjusttohearMariafussing.She’dkissmyforeheadandbringmewater.Sheevenfedmesoupwithaspoon.
Itwas,handonheart,oneofthebestdaysofmylife.
MarialeftwhenIturnedeighteen.Shehadherfirstgrandchildbythen,aswellasanagingdogwithglaucoma,andbesides,Iwasnearlygrownsotherewasn’tmuchforhertodoanymore.Afterthat,Dadgotacleanerandstarteddoinghisgroceryshoppingonhiswayhomefromwork.MariakeptintouchwithbirthdaygiftsandChristmascards,buteventuallyherlifegotfilledupwithherownfamily.Andthat’swhenIrealisedIneededmyownfamily.Ahusband,somechildren,anoldblinddog.Mostimportantly,IneededaMaria.Someonetosharerecipes,togivewisdom,andtodrownmeinwavesofmaternallove.Someonewhowouldn’tleaveandgobacktoherownfamilybecauseIwasherfamily.Ididn’thaveamotheranymore.Butoneday,perhaps,I’dhaveamother-in-law.
Afterdinner,Tomtellsustogohangoutinthe‘den’,whichisaroomwithsoaringcathedralceilingsandfloor-to-ceilingbookshelvesandmassesofleather.Itremindsmeofagentlemen’sclub.IthasanenormousTVthatrisesupoutofacabinet,aswellasanactualbarloadedwithspirits.Olliehasbeencalledintothekitchentohelpwithcoffeeanddessert(whichIassumemeanstheywanttodebriefaboutme),soIamkickingbackinthegentlemen’sclubwithNettieandPatrick.
‘So,’Patricksaysfromthebar.Heismakingussomesortofcocktail,whichIdon’tneedbecauseI’vealreadyhadtwoglassesofwine,butheseemssohappymessingaboutwithallthespiritsthatIdon’thavethehearttotellhim.‘WhatdoyouthinkofDiana?’
‘Patrick,’Nettiewarns.
‘What?’Asmilecurlsatthecornersofhismouth.‘Itisn’tatrickquestion.’
Iscramblepatheticallyforsomethingtosay,buthonestly,thereisn’tmuch.Dianaspentmostofdinnerintermittentlyaskingifanyonewantedmorevegetables.ShedeflectedanyquestionsIaskedher,andapartfromherlittlechuckleaboutherfirstmeetingwithTom,sheremainedfrustratinglydistantallevening.Ifithadn’tbeenforTomandNettieandPatrick,itwouldn’thavefeltlikeasocialfunctionatall.AllIknowisthatDianaisnothinglikeIwashoping.
‘Well…Ithinkshe…is…’Irollseveralwordsaroundinmymouth—nice,interesting,kind—butnonefeelrightandIdon’twanttobeinsincere.Iam,afterall,notjustheretoimpresstheparents.IfthingsworkoutbetweenOllieandI,I’llbespendingalternateChristmaseswithNettieandPatrickfortherestofmylife,soitisimportanttobereal.Problemis,it’stooearlytobereallyreal.Meetingthefamily,Irealise,requiresyoutobeapolitician.Youneedtoknowwheretothrowyoursupportatthetimethatyieldsmaximumresults.Idecidetodoasmymotheralwaystoldmeandfindsomethingtruetosay.
‘Ithinksheisawonderfulcook.’
PatricklaughsalittletooheartilyandNettielooksdaggersathim.
‘Ohcomeon,Nets.’Patrickgivesherapokeintheribs.‘Listen,itcouldbeworse.AtleastwehaveTom,right?’
Ismile,butit’scoldcomfort.I’vehadsuchaclearpictureofwhatIwantedinapotentialmother-in-law—nofather-in-law,notevenTom,couldtakeitsplace.Patrick,ontheotherhand,seemstohaveacceptedhisfrostymother-in-lawwithouttoomuchconcern,despitethefactthatsheclearlyisn’thiscupofteaeither.
‘Well,’Isayafterafewminutes,whenOlliehasstillnotshownhisfaceandIgetthefeelingNettiewantsamomentalonewithPatrick.‘Imightseehowdessertiscomingalong.’
Iwalkthroughdoubledoorsintothegreatroomthatfeedsintoawidekitchen,centredaroundahugegraniteislandbench.OllieandDianaareattheislandwiththeirbackstomeandappeartobearrangingitemsontoacheeseboard.
‘Itdoesn’tmatterwhatIthink,’Dianaissaying.
‘Itmatterstome,’Olliesays.
‘Wellitshouldn’t.’Dianaenunciatesherwordslikealibrarianorpianoteacher,crisplyandproperly,notintheleastuncertain.Ipauseinthedoorway.
‘Areyousayingyoudon’tlikeher?’
Dianapausesforfartoolong.‘I’msayingitdoesn’tmatterwhatIthink.’
Ipullback,outofsight,tuckingmyselfaroundthecorner.IfeelasthoughI’vebeensucker-punched.OfallthereactionsI’vehadsofar—thatsheisn’tthemother-in-lawIwanted,thatshehasn’tmeasureduptomyexpectations—Ihaven’t,narcissisticallyasitturnsout,evenconsideredthatshewouldn’tlikeme.
‘Seriously,Mum?You’renotgoingtotellmewhatyouthinkofLucy?’
‘Oh,Ollie!’Ipicturehershakingherhandlikeshe’sswattingafly.‘Ithinkshe’sfine.’
Fine.Itakeamomenttodigestthat.I’mfine
Isearchforanupsidetofine,butIcan’tseemtofindone.Beingcalledfineislikebeingtoldyouroutfitdoesn’tmakeyoulookfat.Beingcalledfineislikebeingtheday-oldsandwichthatdoesn’tgiveyoufoodpoisoning.Beingcalledfineislikebeingthedaughter-in-lawthatyoudidn’twantbutwhocouldhave,onbalance,beenworse.
‘Thereyouare,Lucy!’
Iwhirlaround.Tomisatthemouthofthehallway,beaming.‘Comeandhelpmechoosesomedessertwine.Ineverknowwhichonetogofor.’
‘Oh,Idon’treallyknowmuchaboutw—’
ButTomisalreadydraggingmedowntoacellarwithanastonishingarrayofwines.Ifakemywaythroughadessertwinetastingsession,gratefulforthedarktohidethetearsthatIblinkback.
Tome,fineisasgoodasdead.
3
LUCY
Thepresent…
Thepoliceareinmykitchen.Themalecop,Simon,hasfoundmugsandteabagsandmilkwithouthavingtoaskwheretheyare,andnowhe’smakingmeacupoftea.Thefemalecop,Stella,isbesidehim,loadingupthedishwasherandtippingtheremnantsofburgerbunsandtomatosauceintotherubbish.
Ollieisinthehallway,onthephonewithNettie.Icanhearhimexplainingthathe’snotsure…thathe’stoldhereverythingheknows…thathesaidhedoesn’tknow!…thatsheshouldjustcomeoverandtalktothepoliceherself.
HeistalkingaboutDiana,Iremindmyself.Dianaisdead.Thefactthatwenevergotalongseemstovanishinthefaceofthis,oratleastsoftenalittle,andIfindmyselfgrippedbyaprofoundsadness.It’sasthoughDiana’sdeathmakesourpastissuesseemtrivial,evenpetty.Afterall,noonegetsalongwiththeirmother-in-lawdothey?MyfriendEmily’smother-in-lawrefusestobelievethatPoppyislactoseintolerant(‘Whataloadofnonsense,theydidn’thaveallthese“intolerances”inourday.’).Jane’smother-in-lawcan’tfathomhowshecanusedisposalnappies,especiallyaftershe’dgonetothetroubleofpurchasingHenryaboxofclothones.Sasha’smother-in-lawtalksincessantlyabouttheinheritancesheisapparentlygoingtoreceive,makingsuretoremindherhowluckysheshouldfeel.Danielle’smother-in-lawisagratuitousadvicegiver,Kena’sisaninterferer.Saraistheonlyonewhoadoreshermother-in-law,andthat’sbecauseMarglooksafterSara’schildrentwodaysaweek,whilealsodoingthefamily’slaundry,ironingandpreparinghome-mademealsforthefreezer.(Margiswhatwecalla‘mother-in-lawunicorn’.)
Thekidsarefinallyinbed.Unfortunately,themomentafterthepolicetoldusaboutDiana,theydecidedtoshowupanddemandourattention,soSimonandStellakindlyofferedtohangarounduntilthechildrenhadbeenfedandputtobed(Simonevenwentasfarastoserveuptheburgersandchattothekidswhiletheyate).Ithadbeenhell,havingtowaitforthedetails,butwecouldn’tseeanywayaroundit.Whenitcametobedtime,OllietookEdiewithoutconsultation(theeasiestofthethreetoputtobed,requiringnothingmorethanachorusof‘Twinkle,Twinkle,LittleStar’,herlambie,andadummy)andIlethimbecause,afterall,hismotherhasjustdied.Itooktheoldertwo,who,itseemed,hadfinallytwiggedthatthepolicemusthavecometoourhouseforareason.Ataloss,Itoldthemtheyhadcometoaskusaboutastolenbike.
‘Whosebike?’ArchiedemandedasIpiledthecoversonhim,tryingtopushhimdownwiththem.‘Notmine?’
‘No,notyours.’Hepoppedupagain.
‘Harriet’s?’Ipushedhimbackdown.‘Sheprobablydumpeditsomewhereandispretendingitwasstolen.She’sbeenwantinganewone.Ifshegetsanewone,Iwantanewone.’
‘Nooneisgettinganewbike.’
Heregardedmescepticallybutremainedinalyingposition.Iwasabouttokisshisforeheadwhen,bounce,hewasuprightagain.
‘DotheythinkIstolethebike?’
‘No,Archie.’
HesettledafterImanagedtoconvincehimthatHarrietwasnot,underanycircumstances,gettinganewbike.
Harriet’sconcernswerealittledifferent.AsItuckedherunderthecovers,sheshiftedandsquirmed.‘Whywouldthepolicecometoourhouseaboutabikethatisn’tevenours?’
‘Well…theythoughtwemightknowwhereitis.’
‘Whywouldtheythinkthat?’Therewassomethingall-knowinginherunblinking,blueeyes.Harrietoftencaughtmeoffguardwiththislook.‘Maybe,’shesaidbeforeIcouldanswer,‘theyarejustsayingtheyarehereaboutabike,butreallytheyaregatheringinformationaboutsomethingelse.’
HarriethadwatchedSpyKidsatasleepoverlastweekendandIsuspectedthatwasresponsibleforallthis‘gatheringinformation’talk.Butwhoknew?Harriethasalwaysbeenaperceptivelittlething.Toowiseforherfouryears.
‘There’sonlyonewaytofindout,’Itoldher.‘I’llspeaktothemandletyouknowtomorrow.Yougetsomesleep.’
Shenoddedslowlyandslippedunderthecovers,lookinganythingbutsleepy.Sheactuallylookedalittlerattled.Whichwasodd,consideringshedidn’tevenknowthathergrandmotherhaddied
IlookupasOllieemergesfromthehallway,hisphoneinhishand.Hesinksintoakitchenchair.Isitbesidehim.‘HowwasNettie?’Iask.
Ollieputshiselbowsonthetable,restshisforeheadinhislefthand.‘She’sonherwayover.’
‘Nettieis?’
‘AndPatrick.’
Iinhale,ignoringthetinyflutterofpanicthiskicksoffinme.Forgoodnesssake!OfcoursePatrickandNettiearecomingover.Nettie’smotherhasjustdied.It’sagoodthing,usbeingforcedtogetherlikethis.Haven’tIbeenhopingforweeksthatNettiewouldreachouttous?
Simonbringsmycupofteatothetable,andheandStellapulloutchairsandsit.Weallsquareup,preparingourselves.Anyinformalityweadoptedwitheachotherwhilethekidswereawakeisgoneandwe’rereadyforbusiness.
‘So…?’Ollieprompts.
‘I’llgetstraightdowntoit,’Simonsays.‘Wedon’thavealltheinformationyet.Whatwedoknowisthataneighbouralertedpolicejustafter5pmthisafternoon,reportingthatshe’dseenyourmother’sunmovingbodythroughawindow.Bythetimethepolicegotinsideitappearedshe’dbeendeadforseveralhours.’
‘Yes,butwhatcausedit?’Olliecan’tkeepthefrustrationoutofhisvoice.Ireachoutandplaceahandoverhis.
‘Wewon’tknowforcertainuntiltheresultsoftheautopsycomein,’Simonsays,‘butsomematerialswerefound,aswellasaletter,whichappeartoindicatethatyourmothermayhavetakenherownlife.’
InthesilencethatfollowsIfindmyselfawareofeverything,thefaintsheenofsweatonSimon’stemple,theflycaughtbetweenthecurtainandthewindow,thebloodpulsingwildlyaroundinmyhead.
‘Irealisethismustbeashock,’Stellasays.
‘Yes,’Isay.
IturnmyattentiontoOllie,whoisoddlystill.Iputanarmaroundhim,rubbinghisbackinrhythmiccircles,likeIdotothekidswhentheyfalloverandhurtthemselves.Still,hedoesn’tmove.
‘Areyousure?’heasksfinally.‘Thatshe…’
‘Thenotewasquiteclearaboutwhatshe’ddecidedtodo.Andthe…materialsmusthavebeenpurchasedinadvance,whichindicatesthiswasn’taspur-of-the-momentact.’
Olliestandssuddenlyandbeginswalkingwithpurposeinonedirection,thenbacktheotherway.Then,abruptly,heplantshisfeet.
‘Whatmaterialsdidyoufind?’
‘Unfortunatelywe’renotpermittedtotellyouthatatpresent.Untilthecoronerrulesitasuicidewehavetotreatitasapotentialhomicide—’
‘Apotential…’Ollie’smouthhoversopen,buthecan’tseemtofinishthesentence.
‘It’sjustsomethingwecan’truleoutuntilwe’retoldto.Iunderstandthisisdifficulttohear.’Simon’sdemeanouriscompetentandprofessional,yetIfinditdifficulttotakehimseriously.Heisjustsoyoung.Howmuchcouldhepossiblyunderstandwiththatyouthful,unlinedface?
‘Canyouthinkofanyreasonyourmothermighthavewantedtotakeherownlife?’Stellaasks.HerfocusisonOllie,buthergazeflickerstomeeverysooften,asifsurreptitiously.‘Maybeshewasdepressed?Didshesufferfrommentalorphysicalillness?’
‘Shehadbreastcancer,’Olliesays.‘Butshewouldn’ttakeherownlife.Idon’tbelieveit.’
Olliedropshisheadintohishands.Butamomentlater,whenheadlightsbeaminthefrontwindow,helooksupagain.Patrick’scarispullingintothedriveway.
‘They’rehere,’Isayneedlessly.
‘Goahead,’Stellatellsus.
OllieandIwalktothedoor.Patrickunpackshimselffromthedriver’sside,standingafullheadandshouldersabovethevehicle.HewalksaroundthecartoopenthedoorforNettie,butsheisslowtoemerge.Whenshefinallyappears,it’sashock.Herfaceisgaunt;hereyesaresunken.It’sonlybeenafewweekssinceI’veseenherbutinthattimeshemusthavelostastone.
‘Nettie,’Isayasshemakesherwayupthesteps.‘I’msosorry.’
‘Thankyou.’
ShekeepshereyesdownsoitcatchesheroffguardwhenOlliethrowshisarmsaroundher.Perhapsbecauseofthesurprise,sheallowsit.Patrickwaitsafewpacesbehind,greetingmewithasinglenod.
Iturnandheadbackintothehouse.
Inside,SimonandStellaaregatheringupmugsandtalkingquietly.Islipintothebathroominstead.Bathtoysarescatteredalloverthefloorandthekids’toothbrushesarelineduponthevanity,stillloadedwithtoothpastebecauseweforgottobrushtheirteeth.Irinsethemoffandputthembackintotheplasticcupwheretheylive.ThenIopenthecupboardunderthesinkandreachforanoldyellowtowel,onesothreadbareI’veonlybeenkeepingitforthoseoccasionswhereonerequiresanoldtowel—moppingfloorsorshiningshoesorcleaningupvomit.Ollie,ofcourse,doesn’tunderstandtheconceptofoldtowelsandsomehowalwaysmanagestoselectthisonetoputondisplaywhenwehaveguestsover.Butallofthisisinsignificant,ofcourse,becauseDianaisdead.
‘Lucy?’IhearOlliecalloutfromthenextroom.‘Lucy?Whereareyou?’
‘Justaminute,’IsayandIpresstheyellowtoweltomyfacesonoonewillhearmecry.
4
DIANA
Thepast…
‘Ohthat’sright,’Jansays.‘Youmetthenewgirlfriendlastnight,didn’tyou?Howdiditgo?’
Kathy,Liz,JanandIareonthedeckoftheBaths,withthewaterapaneofblue-greenglassbehindus.We’veorderedaseafoodsharingplatter,abowlofshoestringfriesandabottleofBollinger,andthewholeaffairisbothextremelypleasantandfrightfullypretentious.AseagullhoversoverJan’srightshoulder,watchingthefrieswithinterest.
Iliftmyhandtoblockthesunfrommyeyesandnoticethegirlsalllookingatmeintently.
‘Yes,dotell,Diana,’Kathysays.
ThegirlsleanforwardandIfeeltheself-consciousprickleofbeingthecentreofattention.AtthesametimeIfeelindignant.OneofthereasonsIenjoythecompanyofthisparticulargroupoffriends—thewivesofTom’sfriends—isthattheyareusuallyfartoointerestedintheirownbusinesstocareaboutmine,andifthere’sonethingIloathe,it’speopleknowingmybusiness.
‘Yes,ImetLucy,’Isayvaguely.‘Itwasfine.’
Isipmydrink.It’sthefirstWednesdayofthemonth,ourusualmeet-upattheBrightonBaths.Onceuponatimeourmeet-upshad,ostensibly,beenabookclub,andIwasquitekeenonthatidea.ThefirstbookIsuggestedwasabiographyofClementineChurchill,andIcametotheBathspreparedwithalistofdiscussionpoints,onlytofindnoonehadreadthedarnthing.Attheendofthemeetingnoonesuggestedanotherbook,andsincethenJanhasstartedcallingit‘drinksclub’.
‘Fine?’Janwhistles.‘Ohdear.’
‘Why“ohdear”?’Iask.‘What’swrongwithfine?’
‘Damningwithfaintpraise,’Lizmutters.
‘Nothinggoodeverstartedwithfine,’Janagrees.
Idon’tunderstand.AsfarasIamconcerned,fineisanappropriatesealofapprovalformyson’snewgirlfriend.WhatelseamItosay?Loveisobviouslytoostrongaword,andevenlikewouldbeoverstatingitafteramereeveningtogether—heavenforbidIbeoneofthoseoverbearingwomenwhofawnoverthenewgirlfriend,beggingtobebestfriendsandshoptogetherandgotothespa.AsfarasIamconcerned,ifLucylovesmysonandhelovesher,sheisfinebyme.Absolutelyfine
‘Comeon,we’retalkingaboutDiana,’Kathysays,liftingthechampagnebottlefromtheicebucketandfindingitempty.Shesignalstothewaitertobringanother.‘Fineisactuallyveryhighpraise.’
Everyonechuckles,whichIfindperplexing.Whatissowrongwithfine?Thisistheproblemwithnewfriends.New,admittedly,isastretch,asI’vebeenfriendswithJan,KathyandLizforthirtyyears,butthereisnothinglikethefriendsyou’veknownallyourlife,theonesyouneverhavetoexplainthingsto.CynthiawouldhaveunderstoodwhatImeantbyfine.Tothisday,IstillmissCynthalot.
‘Didyougiveherahardtime?’Kathyasks.‘Askheraboutherintentionstowardyourdarlingson?’
Why,praytell,doeseveryonecaresomuchwhatIthinkanyway?SurelyitisOllie’sopinionofherthatmatters?Inthegrandschemeofthings,afterall,whatIthinkofherislargelyunimportant.Someparents—includingmyown,MaureenandWalter—maketheiropinionscountalittletoomuchifyouaskme.IgrewupCatholic,withamotherwhokeptacloseeyeonwhateveryoneinourneighbourhoodwasupto,especiallyherchild.IpromisedmyselflongagoIwouldn’tbelikethat.And,indeed,I’mnot.
‘Wereyoupleasantlysurprised?’Janasks.‘Horrified?’
‘Neither,’Ireply,becauseLucyisexactlywhatIexpected—pretty,neurotic,desperatetoimpress.Ollie’stypetoatee.Borncleverandattractiveandalittlebitquirky,she’dhavespentherlifebeingadored—byherparentsfirst,andlater,bytheboys.She’dhavebeentheteacher’spet,aschoolprefect,asportingchampion.Thingscomeeasilytogirlslikeher.AndwhileI’dhavelikedtobehappyforher,I’veseentoomanygirlsforwhomthingsdidn’tcomesoeasily,forthisnottoirritateme.
‘Notgoodenoughforyourson,isthatit?’Janasksknowingly.
‘Nooneeveris,’Lizagrees,bizarrely,asshedoesn’thaveason.
‘Idon’tknow,’Kathysays,‘I’dpaysomeonetotakeFreddieoffmyhands.I’mterrifiedhe’sgoingtowanttomoveinwithmeoneofthesedayssohecanquithisjobandsitonhisbacksideandwatchrealityTVallday,callinghimselfa“carer”.I’dgiveanythingforadaughter-in-law.SomeonetopluckthehairsfrommychinandputonmylippyformewhenI’moldandgrey.Sonsareuselessatthatsortofthing.’
Imunchonacoupleoffriesandhopethey’llargueitoutamongstthemselves.Thebottomlineis,italwaystakesalittleadjustmentwhenanewpersonjoinsthefamily.Theyhavedifferentvalues,differenthistories,differentopinions.Itmightallworkoutwonderfully,but,ofcourse,itmightnot.PatrickhasbeenaroundafewyearsnowandwhileI’dbeenlessthanthrilledabouthim,we’veadjusted.Idon’tdoubtitwillbethesameforLucyifshesticksaround.Still,it’snaturaltobracealittle.Achangeiscoming—ofcoursewe’regoingtobeonourtoesforawhile.
‘Doyouthinkshe’sagold-digger?’Janlaysahandonmyforearm,makingthecommentalittlemoresinisterandexciting.
‘No.’
Thegirlscan’thidetheirdisappointment.‘NotanotherPatrickthen?’
Idon’trespond.IhavemyownfeelingsonPatrick’slittlebookkeepingbusiness,whichherunswiththeenthusiasmofsomeonewhoisexpectingasizableinheritancetorescuehimfromhisproblems,butthat’snoneofmybusiness,andit’scertainlynoneofJan’s.Besides,nomatterhisworkethic,PatrickisfamilyandNettieloveshim.AssuchIowehimalittleloyalty.
‘Well,theonlythingthatmattersisthatshemakesOlliehappy,’Kathysaysafteralongpause,andeveryonehumsinagreement.Everyoneexceptme.
Ifyouaskme,everyoneisalittletoointerestedintheirchildren’shappiness.Askanyonewhattheywishfortheirkidsandthey’llallsaytheywantthemtobehappy.Happy!Notempathetic,contributingmembersofsociety.Nothumble,wiseandtolerant.Notstronginthefaceofadversityorgratefulinthefaceofmisfortune.I,ontheotherhand,havealwayswantedhardshipformykids.Real,honesthardship.Challengesbigenoughtomakethemempatheticandwise.TakethepregnantrefugeegirlsIdealwitheveryday.They’vebeenthroughunimaginablehardships,andheretheyareworkinghard,contributingandgrateful.
Whatmorecouldyouwantforyourkids?
TheengagementcamefasterthanIexpected—withintheyear.Ollieannounceditatdinneronenight,wearingthesameproudsmilehe’dwornattwoyearsoldwhenhe’dcarriedinadeadbirdfromthegarden.Tom,ofcourse,justaboutcombustedatthenews,atonepointburstingintoactual,flowingtears.Forheaven’ssake!Thatwasfivemonthsago.Beforetherealworkoftheweddingplanningbegan.
‘Ready,MumandDad?’
I’msittingbesideLucy’sfather,Peter,inaLouisXVupholsteredarmchair,angledtowardablushvelvetcurtain.Atintervals,LucycomesoutfrombehindthecurtainandstandsonastagewhileRhonda,theassistant,fussesaroundher.Itis,quitefrankly,agonising,formanyreasons,notleastofwhichisthefactthatRhondacontinuestorefertousas‘MumandDad’despitethatfactthatIhavetwicepointedoutthatIamnotLucy’smother,andIamcertainlynothers
‘Ready,’wechorus.
IthinkofwhatmymotherwouldhavesaidifI’dinvitedhertoaplacelikethis.(Whataloadofnonsense!I’llmakeyourweddingdress,andIdaandNormafromchurchwillhelp.IdadidthemostbeautifullittlerosettesforhernieceGeraldine’sweddingdress,youshouldhaveseenthem!Ofcourseshehadtoletitoutbecausethepoordearhadthickeneduparoundthemiddlebythebigday.Goteveryonetalking,youknow…)
I’lladmitIwassurprisedwhenLucyinvitedmetoday(apparentlythematronofhonour’sdaughterbrokeherarmfallingfromthemonkeybarsthismorningandiscurrentlyatthechildren’shospitalawaitingsurgery,andLucywantsafemaleopinion).Itisquitetheunorthodoxlittlegroupactually,withLucy’sfatherinattendanceaswell,butLucywasfirmaboutthat.‘He’sbeenmymotheraswellasmyfathersinceIwasthirteenyearsold,Ithinkhe’smorethanearnedhisplacehere.’
Fairenoughtoo,Ithink,thoughIdaren’tgivemyopinioneitherway.Mothersmayweighinonsuchmatters.Mothers-in-lawmustwearbeigeandshutup.
Funnilyenough,Lucywasquiteshywhensheaskedmetocome.‘I’msureyou’rereallybusy,butjustincaseyouarefree,I’dloveitifyoucouldmakeit.’
Asfatewouldhaveit,Iwasn’tbusy,andI’veneverbeenmuchgoodatmakingupexcuses.Nettiewasinvitedtoo,apparently,butshehasaconflictingdoctor’sappointment,muchtoherchagrin.
‘Hereshecomes!’Rhondacries,flingingopenthevelvetcurtainandfrogmarchingLucyontothestageinadressthatlooksexactlylikethelastone—straplessandfullskirted,likeBarbiepressedintoachild’sbirthdaycake.SheforcesLucytodoaridiculoustwirl.
‘Doyoulikeit?’Lucyasksshyly.
Petertearsup,predictably.Herisestohisfeet,thearchetypalex-professor,fromhistweedjackettohissoftwhitebeardandleatherlace-upshoes.Heproducesahandkerchieffromhispocketandpressesittohiseyes.
‘Ithinkwecantakethatasanapproval,’Rhondasays,thrilled.‘Andwhatdoyouthink,Mum?’
Everyonelooksatme.
AllIcanthinkisthewholethingismonstrouslyindulgent.Thedress,theblushcurtains,theLouisXVchairs.ButwhatamIsupposedtosay?
‘Doesn’tshelookbeautiful?’Rhondaprompts.
Lucyisaprettygirl,certainly,butI’vecometorealisethatoneofthemostinterestingthingsaboutherisherunusualstyle—theclashingprints,thepopsofcolour,thesequinsallovereverything.Today,whenshearrivedatthebridalshop,shewaswearinganenormouswide-brimmedstrawhatandclogs.Clogs!Itwasalittleoverthetop,ifyouaskme,butyoucan’tdenythegirlmadeastatement.Inthisdress,however,shelooksutterlyforgettable.Aclassicgenericbride.
‘Well,Ithinkit’s—’
‘Whatdoyouthink,Lucy?’Petersays,emergingfrombehindhishandkerchief.‘Doyouloveit?’
AcautioussmileappearsonLucy’sface.‘Ido.’
Atthis,Rhondatakesoffforthebackroom,returningwithaveilthatsheaffixestoLucy’shead,andaplasticbouquetofrosesforhertohold.ItissuchasalesstrategyIfindmyselfglaringather.Notthatthere’sanythingwrongwithmakingasale,ofcourse,oneneedstoearnaliving.Butthisfeelsuntowardsomehow,coercive.
Peterclearshisthroat.‘Okay,Rhonda.What’sthedamage?’
Rhondagoestohercomputerandtapsawayforanunreasonableamountoftime.Apparently,atbridalstores,providingapriceisincrediblycomplicated.Iturnandpretendtolookatsatin-coveredweddingshoes.Peterispayingforthedressaswellastheweddingandhasturneddowneveryofferfromustopayhalf.Tom,predictablyhorrified,practicallybeggedhimtoreconsider,untilIconvincedhimPetermightfinditinsulting.Besides,LucyandOllieareplanningaverylow-keywedding,tomyrelief,soI’mconfidentthatPetershouldbeabletostretchtocoverit.Thatis,untilIhearRhondawhisperanamountthatcouldpurchaseabrandnewfamilycar.
ThecolourdrainsfromPeter’sface.
‘Oh,God,’Lucysays.‘Really?’
Rhondanodsearnestly.‘ThosearerealSwarovskicrystals.Andit’saballgown,sothere’salotofmaterial.’
‘I’lltrysomethingelse,’Lucysaysimmediately.‘Somethingofftherackorasample—’
Ipickupaweddingmagazineandfocusonitintently.Thisiswhymothers-in-lawaren’tinvitedtothissortofthing.Peterwillfeelincrediblyawkwardwithmeheretowitnessandwillfeelbackedintoacorner.IfTomwashere,he’dbeonhisfeet,holdingouttheblackAmex,forcingRhondatotakeit.MystylewouldbetosuggesttoLucythattheremustbeaperfectlynicedressthatisn’tthesamepriceasadownpaymentonahouse.
IthinkofAmina,whomIvisitedinherhomeearliertoday.ShearrivedfromSudanthreemonthsago,pregnantwithtwins,withthreemorechildrenundertheagefive.ThismorningIbroughtherawell-useddoublepramandshebrokedownintearsandaskedAllahtoblessmeandmyfamily.Shewasgoingtouseittopushheryoungesttwokidstothesupermarket,shesaid,becauseusuallyhertwoandthreeyearoldshadtowalkandtheirlittlelegsgotterriblytired.Somedays,shetoldme,ittookthemanhourtomaketheonekilometrewalk.
‘Thisistheoneyoureallywant?’Petersays.
‘Dad…areyousure?It’salotofmoney.’
‘I’veonlygotonedaughter,’hesays.‘Andyou’reonlyabrideonce.’
‘Willyoubewantingtheveilaswell?’Rhondasays,avulturecircling.‘Ijustaskbecausethisisthelastonewehaveinstock.Icangiveyoutenpercentoff,’shesays,andbeginstappingonhercomputeragain.Afteramomentortwo,sheannouncesapricethatmakesmyeyeswater.
‘No,Idon’tneedtheveil,’Lucysays.
‘Butitreallydoescapoffthelook,doesn’tit,Mum?’Rhondasays,draggingmeintoheruglyplot.‘Andit’sasmallpricetopaywhenitcomestogivingyourdaughtertheperfectwedding,amIright?’
Rhondahastakenonanewlevelofevilinmymind.Guiltingapoorfatherintobuyingaveilhecanillafford.Encouragingmetojoinhersideandgangupontheman.Insinuatingthatifhedoesn’tbuytheludicrouslyoverpricedpieceoflace,itmeanshedoesn’tlovehisdaughterorwanttogivehertheperfectwedding.Ifitwereuptome,thewomanwouldbetakenoutontothestreetandhorse-whipped.
‘Frankly,Idon’tthinkanyoneoutsidetheroyalfamilywouldconsiderthatamountasmallpricetopay,’Itellher.‘It’sdaylightrobberyandyoushouldbeashamedofyourself.Idon’tknowhowyousleepatnight.’
PeterandLucyturntostareatme,andRhondaadoptsthesullenfaceofateenagerwhofeelsliketheworldisagainstherandnothing—noneofit—isherfault.
‘Andoneotherthing,’Isay,sinceIhaveeveryone’sattention.‘AsI’vepointedoutseveraltimes,I’mnotLucy’smother.’Ifoldmyhandsinmylap.‘I’mhermother-in-law.’
5
LUCY
Thepresent…
‘Wouldanyoneliketea?’Iask.
NoonerespondsbutIheadtothekitchenanywaytoputthekettleon.Mythoughtsskitterabout.Dianaisdead.IntellectuallyIunderstandthis,butsomehowitdoesn’tfeeltrue.Thispeculiar,anesthetisedfeelingisfamiliar,itremindsmeofthedaysfollowingmyownmother’sdeath,whenIwalkedaroundoblivioustothedayoftheweek,thetimeofday.Itwasn’tuntildayslaterthatthepainhit,fastandhard,asifithadbeenloadedintoaslingshotandfiredatme.Itwasduringmymother’sfuneralthatIfinallybrokeundertheweightofit,sobbingsohystericallymypoorfatherhadnoideawhattodo.
Islidethemugsoffahighshelfandlinethemuponthecounter.Theskybeyondthewindowisblack.Patrick,NettieandOllieareinthelivingroom,spreadacrossfurniture,staringoutindifferentdirections.IgetthefeelingthatPatrickandNettiewouldliketoleavebuttheyfeeltheyshouldn’t,asthoughitmightbeconsidereddismissivetoDiana.Thisis,afterall,atimeforfamilytobetogether.
SimonandStellaleftoveranhourago,leavingbehindtwoshinybusinesscardsandasoberatmosphere.SincethenNettieappearstohaverethoughtherinitialembracewithOllieandhasperchedherselfasfarawayfromhimaspossiblewhilststillremaininginthesameroom.Patricksitsrightbesideher,pattingherleg,sincerebutunemotional.TearsstreamfromNettie,fillingandfallingwithoutmuchapparenteffortonherpart.
Ollieissurprisinglydry-eyed,andseemstobeanimpossiblecombinationofbewilderedandirritated,alternatelyshakinghisheadno,thennoddingityes,whateverthatissupposedtomean.Peculiarly,it’sexactlyhowIfeel.No,Dianacan’tbedead,followedby,Yes,sheisanditisn’ttheworstthingintheworld.Afterall,I’venevermadeasecretofmydislikeforDiana.Ourrelationshipwasvolatile.Itwaseven,atonepoint,violent.IwonderifthepolicewilldiscoverthiswhiletheyareinvestigatingDiana’sdeath.
AsIgetdownmy‘visitortea’(I’mgettingthefeelingthatNettiemightdowellwithchamomile),Ican’thelpbutthinkofthedayTomdied.We’dallbeencalledawayfromhomeandworkmidmorningtosayourgoodbyes,butbymidnighthewasstillhangingon.Itwasn’tthefirsttimewe’dgotthecall.We’dgivenourtearyfarewellstwicebefore,onlytohaveTombattleon,butthistime,thedoctorstoldus,wasit.Apparently.
Aftertwenty-fourhours,asTomcontinuedtohanginthere,OllieaskedthenurseiftherewassomethingshecouldgiveTomto‘endhissuffering’.Whenthenurseexplainedthattherewasn’tanything,andthatitcouldtakeasmuchasafewdaysbeforeTomdied,Olliereachedforacushionandannouncedthathe’dlike‘afewminutesalonewithDad’
Everyonehadbecomeslightlyfeverishwithexhaustedhilarity—evenDianaamazingly,smiledassheexplainedtothenursethat,obviously,hersonwasjoking.Buttherearenojokestobehadtoday.Everythingisutterlysombre.
ItaketheteaintothelivingroomandholdoutamugtoNettie,butshedoesn’tseemtonotice.Afterasecond,Patricktakesitandsetsitonthecoffeetable.
‘Iguessit’stooearlytotalkaboutthefuneral,’Isay.Itistoosoon,butIcan’tbearthesilenceanylongerandwhatelsearewesupposedtotalkabout?Nettiestaresattheblanktelevisionscreen.Ollielooksathisshoes.
OnlyPatricklooksatme,shrugsslightly.‘Dependswhenwegetthebody,Isuppose,’hesays.
Nettievisiblystiffens.
Isitonthearmofthesofa,nexttoOllie.‘Whenwillthatbe?’
‘Theystillhavetodotheautopsy,’Patricksays.‘That’lltaketime.’
‘But…whyaretheydoinganautopsy?’Nettieasks.Sheglancesaroundtheroom,half-dazed,likeshe’sjustwokenup.
‘Thepolicesaidtheyaretreatingitasahomicide,’Ollieexplains.
Nettie’seyeswiden.Everyoneseemstohaveforgottenthatwe’renotsupposedtobemakingeyecontactandwealllookintentlyateachother.
‘Theysaidtheyhavetotreatitasahomicide,’Patricksays,‘theydon’tactuallythinkitwasone.Itsoundedprettyclear-cuttome.Theletter,the…materials.’
‘Whatkindofmaterialsaretheytalkingabout,doyouthink?’Olliesays.Hisfaceistheimageofbafflement.‘Arope?Agun?’
‘Ollie!’Isay.
Nettiehasgonesopaleshelookslikeshemightfaint.Somewhereinthenextroom,Ollie’sphonebeginstoring.Eamon,Ollie’sbusinesspartner,wouldbetheonlyonetocallthislate.I’mrelievedwhenOlliemakesnomovetoanswerit.
‘Iftheythinkitcouldbeahomicide,’Nettiesays,hereyessearching,‘willtheybequestioningpeople?Investigating?’
Patricklooksathislap.‘Iguessthey’llhaveto.’
‘Butwhowouldtheyinvestigate?’Olliesays.‘Who’dwanttokillMum?’
It’saslowprocess,butonebyone,Patrick,OllieandNettieallturntolookatme.Idropmygazeandstareintomytea.
6
LUCY
Thepast…
‘Idon’thavesomethingborrowed,’IsaytoClaire,mymatronofhonour.ShesitsinthearmchairinmyDad’sbedroomwithherthree-year-olddaughter,Millie,inherlap.Millieisgoingtobeaflowergirlatthewedding,arolethatdelightedheruntilabouttwominutesagowhensherealisedshe’dhavetohaveherhairbrushed.NowClairegripsMilliebetweenherkneesasshedragsthebrushthroughhercurls,butMillieistwistingandwrigglinglikesomeonebeingtickledwithathousandfeathers.
‘Leaveher,’Isay,watchingtheminthereflectionofthemirror.‘Herhairisfinethewayitis.’
‘Howdoyounothavesomethingborrowed?’Claireexclaims,releasingMilliefromherthigh-gripandputtingdownthebrush.‘It’syourweddingday.Speakingofwhich,areyouhavinganyRunawayBridefeels?WillIneedtowinchthiswindowopenandsaddleupahorsesoyoucanmakearunforit,JuliaRobertsstyle?’
‘Nochanceofthat,’Isay,fanningmydressoutaroundme.
‘Areyousure?Icouldhaveamarewaitingincaseyouwanttomakeaquickgetaway.Fromyourmother-in-law,perhaps?’
Icheckmyteethforlipstick.Fireengineredisarisquécolourforone’sweddingday,butIthinkIcangetawaywithit.‘Maybekeepthecarrunningjustincase.’
MyfriendsandIhaveunpackedmyrelationshipwithDianaatlength,fromhercallingmefine,toinsistingshewasn’tmymotherwhilebridal-dressshopping,tointimatingthattheweddingdressIselectedwasfrivolousandoverthetop.Admittedly,shehadapointaboutthedress.IknewI’dgottencarriedawaywiththemoment,butit’sararebridewhocouldn’tsaythesame.AndatleastIwasbigenoughtoadmitit!AfterDiana’soutburstatthebridalstore,IconvincedDad—muchtothesaleswoman’shorror—thatIneededtimetothinkaboutthedress.Ithadtakenafewdays,butI’drealisedDianawasright,itwasludicrouslyoverpriced—daylightrobberyeven,justasshe’dsaid.Andafewdayslater,whilelookingatmyparents’weddingalbum,InoticedhowbeautifulMum’sdresswas.Iwasn’tsurewhyIhadn’tthoughtofit.I’dalwayslovedwearingMum’sclothes.BarelywasthereadaywhenIwasn’twearingacoatorascarforapieceofjewelleryfromhercollection.Havingsomethingofherswrappedaroundmemademefeelclosetoher,andondayswhenIreallymissedher,IworemultipleitemsofMum’s.
Itakeafewstepsbackfromthemirrorandlookatmyreflection.Mum’sdressismysomethingold.A1970sivorysilkdresswithahighneckline,longsleevesandanempirewaist,withcoveredbuttonstravellingfromtheleftshouldertojustunderthechin.WhenIaskedDadaboutit,heproducedthedressfromtheattic,lovinglywrappedinacid-freetissuepaperoverthirtyyearsearlier.Therewereafewyellowstains,buttheywereonthewaistlineandwerehiddenbythewide,mintgreensashI’dadded.Mypillboxbridalhatwithbirdcageveil,whichIdidpurchasefromthebridalstore,ismysomethingnew.MysapphireearringsthatOlliegavemeformybirthdayaremysomethingblue
‘Rightthen,’Clairesays.‘Somethingborrowed.’Shepointstothediamondstudsinherears.‘Howaboutmyearrings?’
‘Butthesapphiresinmyearringsaremysomethingblue.’
‘Myshoes?’
Claire’sfeetareasizeandahalflargerthanmine.Also,hershoesarepink,thesamecolourasherdress.
‘Mylipstick?Myhairbrooch?’Clairetries,butshe’sstabbinginthedarknow.I’vealreadyhadmymakeupdone.Myhairisout,inaloosewave,soontobetoppedwithmyhatandveil.Millie,whoisjumpingonDad’sbednow,willwearaflowercrown,aswillClaire.
Thereisagentletapatthedoor.‘Comein,Dad,’Icall.
DespitemytellingDadrepeatedlythatitisnotbadluckforhimtoseemebeforethewedding,hehascoveredhiseyeseverytimewe’vecrossedpathsthismorning.Iwaitforhisbeardedfacetoappeararoundthecorner,eyesclosed,butthedoorremainsclosed.
‘Dad?Youcancomein.’
‘Lucy?It’sDianaGoodwin.’
ClaireandIlockeyes.Silenthorrortravelsbetweenus.Dianaisatthedoor.Whatonearthisshedoinghere?
‘Hello,Diana,’Isaytremulously.Iwonderwhythereisn’taruleforbiddingthemother-in-lawfromseeingthebrideonthedayofthewedding.‘Wouldyou…wouldyouliketocomein?’
Thereisashortpause,andthenthedoorhandletwists.Diana’sfaceappearsintheopening.‘I’msorrytoshowuplikethis.Ijusthavesomethingtogiveyou.’
‘Oh?’
IopenthedoorfurtherandDianacastsabrisksmileatClaireandaslightlylessbrisksmileatMillie,whopracticallypausesmid-bounceonDad’sbed.ShestaresatDiana.IgetthefeelingsheisasterrifiedasIam.
‘I’llgiveyouaminute,’Clairesays,gatheringupMillieandscurryingoutthedoor.Dianawaitsforthemtoleaveandthenenterstheroomfully.
‘Youlooklovely,’Isay.
‘Thankyou.Sodoyou.’
Itisn’tlipservice,I’veactuallyneverseenDianalooksolovely.She’swearinganavylinenshelltopwithasoftblueA-linefloor-lengthskirt.Sheiswearingmakeup—pinklipsandsmokyeyes—andshesmellslikeabouquetoffresh-cutflowers.IsuddenlygetaglimpseofDianaasayoungwoman,abeautifulyoungwoman,andIunderstandwhyTomalwayslookssopleasedwithhimselfaroundher.
‘Thankyou,’Dianasays.‘IcalledyourfatherthismorningtoseeiftherewasanythingIcoulddoandhetoldmeyoudidn’thavesomethingborrowed.’Dianareachesintoherclutch,pullingoutanavyleatherjewellerybox,trimmedwithgold.‘Iworethisonmyweddingday.’Sheopenstheboxandproducesasilvernecklacewithasmall,flat,twistedpendant.‘It’saCelticknot.Itrepresentsstrength.Ifitdoesn’tgowithyourdressyoucouldperhapshideitunderneaththebodice.’
‘Iloveit,’Isayimmediately.‘AndI’mnothidingitanywhere.I’llwearitaroundmyneckwhereeveryonecanseeit.’
Dianalooksaspleasedasanyonecanlook.ShecomesaroundbehindmeandIliftmyhairforhertofastenit.Whenshe’sdone,shegesturestomyhatandveil.‘Doyouneedhelpwiththis?’
‘That…wouldbewonderful.’
Dianaistall,nearlyafullheadtallerthanme,andasshefastensthehatatmytempleIcanseehereyes.Theyarenarrowwithconcentrationasshefussesaround,fixingthebirdcageveilaroundmyfaceandthensmoothingthedressoutaroundme.OfcourseIthinkofmymother.Ifshewerehere,shewouldhavebeentheonefasteningmynecklaceandsmoothingmydress.Alumpformsinmythroat
‘Thankyou,’Isayturningandwrappingmyarmsaroundher.Shestiffensslightly,neitherreturningmyhugnorpullingaway,butIhangonallthesame.SheisthinandknobblyanditfeelslikeI’membracingasackfullofcoathangers
Afteramoment,Iuntanglemyself.
‘Right,’Dianasays,clearingherthroat.‘I’dbettergetbacktoOllie.’
Andthatappearstobethat.Itrynottofocusonthefactthatthehugwasn’treallyreturned.Afterall,sheshowedup!Shebroughtmeabeautiful,meaningfulpieceofjewellerythatsheherselfworeonherweddingday.We’vemadeprogress.AndIamgoingtocelebrateit.
Dianamakesittothedoorbeforeshestopssuddenly,pivotsback.‘Oh,er…Lucy?’
‘Yes?’
‘Thatnecklaceisyoursomethingborrowed.’
‘Iknow,’Isay.Iglanceatitinthemirroragain,marvellingathowperfectitis.ItisactuallyhardtobelieveIalmostdidn’twearit.
‘Good,’shesays,‘becauseborrowedmeansyouhavetogiveitback.’
Alongsilence.
‘Iunderstandthat,’Isayslowly,andDianagivesalittlenodandletsherselfoutoftheroom.
‘Thegirlswillwantchampagne,’Eamontellsthewaitressintheblackpantsandcrispwhiteshirt.‘Ifthere’sonethingIknowaboutgirls,it’sthattheyalwayswantchampagne.’
Eamon’swife,Julia,nodsenthusiastically.ShecallsoverthewaitressandselectsabottleofDomPérignon.
‘Lovelychoice,’thewaitresssays.
TheblooddrainsfromOllie’sface.Evenbeforewearrived,hewasnervousabouthowmuchthismealwasgoingtocost(mealswithEamonwerenevercheap),butwhenwearrivedatArabella’sandsawthewhitetableclothsandthemenuwithnoprices,Icouldseehewaspanicking.NowDomPérignon.It’sachoicemadeevenmorefrustratingbythefactthatI’meightweekspregnant,thusneitherabletodrinkitnordisclosethatI’mnotdrinkingit,whichmeansleavingaveryexpensiveglassofchampagneundrunkattheendofthenight.
‘Sohow’sthehousehuntinggoing?’Juliaasksusoncethewaitresshasdisappeared.Herfacecreaseswithworry,asifsheisaskingaboutararediseasewithwhichoneofushasbeenrecentlydiagnosed.‘Youknow,weusedagreatbuyer’sadvocatewhenweboughtourplaceinSouthYarra.Whydon’twegiveyouhisdetails?’
ThefactthatOllieandIrentahomeisanendlesslyperplexingfacttoallofOllie’sfriends.Atsomepointitseemstohavebeenuniversallyacceptedthatwesimplycan’tfindtherightplace,theassumptionbeingthatOllie’sparentswouldfootthebillfortheplaceofourchoosing.Unfortunately,thisisn’tthecase.Instead,intheyearsincewemarried,OllieandIhavebeensavinghardforadownpayment.Currently,withbothofusworking,weearnagoodincomebutsoon,fingerscrossed,I’llbehomewithababy.Andsadly,nobuyer’sadvocatewillbeabletohelpusifwedon’thaveanymoney.
Ifitwereuptome,I’dsimplypointoutthefactthatOllie’sparentsaren’tfootingthebill,butOlliecanbeoddlycoyaboutthesethings.AndsoIsaynothingandplayalong.
‘Whynot?’Olliesays.‘Can’thurt,canit?’
Julianods,delightedshecanbeofassistance,andEamonfumbleswithhisphone,firingoffthecontacttoOllie.Ireallydon’tunderstandthegamesOllie’sfriendsplay,spinningeveryfailureordownturnas‘awonderfulopportunitytogoinanewdirection’.I’dlovetoseeEamon’sandJulia’sfacesifweweretosay,ActuallyIcanguaranteeyourbuyer’sadvocatewouldnotbeadvocatingpropertiesintheareaswe’relookingat!Ha,ha,ha
‘Anyway,’Eamonsays,slidinghisphonebackintohisjacketpocket.‘S’meals!’
EamonhasbeentryinginvaintoexplainhisnewbusinesstoOlliefromthemomentwearrived.Lordknowswhy!EverytimeIseehim,Eamonappearstobecookingupanewbusinessidea,claimingitisgoingtobethenextbigthing,talkingabouthowpeopleneedtogetonboardearly.Forawhilehefranchisedmobilespraytanbusinesses,thenhemanufacturedchildren’sfingerprintingkits.He’dhadvariedsuccess,accordingtoOllie,andyoucouldn’tfaulthistenacity.Ijustwishedhe’dstopdiscussingitallinpainstakingdetailoverdinner,whenanyonecouldseeOlliewasentirelyfocusedonfiguringouthowwecouldgetoutoftherestaurantforlessthanfivehundredbucks.
‘They’reasmoothieforameal.Chockfullofsuperfoods.Thefreshfoodisdeliveredtoyourdoorinziplockbags,youjusthavetostickitallinyourNutribulletandvoilà!’
Iblink.‘So…fruitandvegetables?Inbags?That’swhatitis?’
‘Notfruitandvegetables.’There’sanoteoftriumphinEamon’svoice.‘Nutritionallybalancedmeals.Youcandrinkitatyourdeskandcallitlunch.’
‘Likemealreplacementshakes?’
‘Butwithactualfreshfoodinsteadofchemicals.Superfoods.’
Eamonhassaid‘superfoods’atleastseventeentimessincewearrivedandIfindmyselfdesperatetoaskhimwhatasuperfoodisbecauseIsuspecthedoesn’tknow.Butagain,forOllie’ssake,becausetheyhavebeenfriendssincekindergarten,andtheirparentsknoweachother,Iforcemyselftoabstain.
‘Interesting.Wellgoodluck!’Isay.
He’llneedit.
ButEamonisn’tlisteningtome,he’stoofocusedonOllie.‘Howarethingswithyouthen,oldboy?Howarethingsintherecruitmentworld?’
‘Thingsaregood,’Olliesays.‘Didagreatplacementlastweek,actually.Theguy,Ron,wassixty,andhe’dbeenoutofworkforsixmonths.Hereallyneededtoworkforanotherfiveyearsbeforehecouldretire,buteveryonewastellinghimhehadnohopebecausehisentirespecialtywasinasystemthatwasnowobsolete.IpromisedhimI’dfindhimsomethingandthenboom,lastweek,IfoundaclientwhowasupgradingtheirERPfromasystemthatRonvirtuallywroteduringtheeighties.Nowhe’stheheadofdataconversion.NeitherRonnortheclientcouldbelievetheirluck.’
Olliebeams.Iloveseeinghimlikethis.Helivesforputtingtherightcandidateintherightjob,particularlytheonesthatarehardtoplace.Helistenstocandidatesduringinterviewsandbythetimetheyleavetheyareusuallyfriends.Unfortunatelyitisanassetthatisrarelyrewardedinanindustrythatvaluesgoalsandtargetsabovehumanrelationships,andforthisreasonmostofOllie’scolleagueshaverisenaheadofhimintomanagementwhilehehasstayedexactlywherehestarted,agonisingoverplacementsforcandidateslikeRon.
‘Cool,cool,’Eamonsays.‘You’vebeenthereawhilethough,right?Don’tsupposeyou’vethoughtaboutextendingyourwingsabit?You’vegotsomeprettyvaluablecontactsnow.Theworld’syouroyster.Youcan’tkeepworkingforthemanforever.’
Thislittlespeechreeksofsomeonewhowantssomething.Ifeelmyselfbrace.
‘Allright,spititout,’Olliesays,clearlyinterpretingEamon’sspeechasIdid.‘Youwantmetojoinyourbusiness,isthatit?Orstartanewbusinesswithyou?Orinvestinabusiness?’
Eamontriestolookinsulted.‘Can’taguybeinterestedinhisoldmate’scareer?But,sinceyoumentionit,Imightbelookingforabusinesspartner.’Hegrins.
‘Inyoursmoothiebusiness?’
‘Mealreplacements,’Eamoncorrects.‘Withsuperfoods!’
‘HowcouldIpossiblyhelpyouwiththat?’Ollieasks.
Youcouldgivehimmoney,Ithinktomyself.Or,rather,yourfathercould.AtleastthatiswhatEamonisthinking.
‘Don’tundersellyourself,mate,’Eamonsays.‘You’dbeamassiveassettoanybusiness.You’reapeopleperson.Everybusinessneedsthat.’
Olliedoesn’trespondrightaway,andforahorriblemomentIthinkhemightbeconsideringjoiningEamoninhissmoothiebusiness.Ilookathim.Heappearstobethinkingdeeply.Butthispropositiondoesn’trequireevenamoment’sthought.Doesit?Unless…haveImissedsomething?IsOllienothappyinhisjob?HesoundedhappywhenhewastalkingaboutplacingRon.Surelythenhewouldn’tbeconsideringacareermovejustbecausehisfriendsuggesteditoverdinner?
‘Haveyouallhadachancetolookatthemenu?’thewaitresssays,appearingatthetable.IusethedistractiontotrytocatchOllie’seye.Don’tdoit!Don’tgointobusinesswithEamon!ButOlliehassnatcheduphismenuandhasstartedperusing.
‘Whydon’tItellyouaboutthespecials?’shesuggestswhennoneofusspeak.‘Wehavealovelythrice-cookedporkbellytonightandthefishisbluegrenadierwithaparmesancrust.’
‘Giveusafewminutes,’Eamonsaystothewaitress,hiseyesnotleavingOllie.He’spracticallysalivating,readytogoinforthekill.‘Whatareyouthinking,buddy?Walkmethroughyourthoughtprocess.’
Ollie’seyesareskyward,hislipspinched.‘I’mthinkingporkbelly,’hesays,‘Butthefishreallydoessoundgood.’
‘Fish!’Eamonexplodes.‘IthoughtweweretalkingaboutS’meals!’
‘Aboutwhat?’Olliefrowns.‘Oh,yoursmoothiebusiness.No,listenIwishyouallthebest,mate,butcomeon.Mixingbusinesswithpleasure.Badidea,right?Everyoneknowsthat.’
IfeelOllie’shandsqueezemylegunderthetableandIexhaleinrelief.Ollieisn’tdumbenoughtogointobusinesswithEamonCockram,Irealise.He’sright,Ijustworrytoomuch.
Butasitturnsout,Iamwrong,onbothcounts.
7
LUCY
Thepresent…
ThenextdayIfocusonthechildren.Despitethepoliceshowinguplastnight,thekidsseemtobeblissfullyunawarethatanythingisup,eventhoughEdiehasbeenallowedtochowthroughsevensqueezie-fruitpouches(normallyherlimitistwoperday),andArchieandHarriethaven’tbeentakentokarateorgymnasticsorforcedofftheirdevicesatmiddayonaSaturday.Butnowwehavetotellthem.Wemightnotbeabletotellthemhowshedied,butatleastwecantellthemDianaisdead.Wecansaythatwedon’tknowwhyyet,thatthedoctorsarelookingintoit.Thatwillsatisfythem.Honestly,they’dprobablybesatisfiedwith‘shewasveryold’.
IlookatOllie.Afteryesterday’sprotestingthatitcouldn’tbereal,heseemstohavemovedintoanotherstageofgrief.Allmorninghe’sbeensombreandquiet,apartfromtheoddspasmofbizarreemotion.LikeafewminutesagowhenHarriet—inthemiddleofaspontaneousarabesque—slippedonacushionandwent,quiteliterally,headoverheels.Shelandedflatonherback,faceuponthefloorandpromptlybegantowail.Olliestaredatherforasecondortwo,thenbegantolaugh.BythetimeImadeitovertoHarriet,hewaspositivelywildwithhilarity.
Grief.
IcatchOllie’seyeonthecouchandmouth,‘Let’stellthemnow.’
Ihalf-expecthimtokeepstaringintospace,buthenods,picksuptheremotecontrolandturnsoffthescreen.
‘Hey!’Archiecries.HarrietandEdieglareatus.Isitonthearmofthesofaandthekidslookbackatthetelevision,morecomfortablewiththeblankscreenthanwithactualhumanfaces.
‘Kids,wehavesomethingtotellyou.’
‘What?’Archiemoans,throwingdowntheXboxcontroller.
‘We’vehadsomesadnews.’
BothArchieandHarrietspinaround.Sadnews.Wehavetheirattentionnow.They’vewatchedenoughkidsmovies(isitjustme,ordotheparentsdieineverydamnkidsmovie?)toknowaboutsadnews.
AfterTomdiedthekidsweredevastated.Archiebeganwettingthebedagain,andHarrietpanickedifOlliewasevenalittlebitlatehomefromwork(‘Ishedead?’she’dask,herlittlesaucereyesgawpingupatme).Edie,ofcourse,wasnonethewiserbackthen,butthistimeit’sdifferent.SheadoresDido(thenameDianainsistedupon).TheyallloveDido.LovedDido.
Itakeadeepbreath.‘Didodiedyesterday.’
Harrietisthefirsttoreact,withagasp.Herhandsrise,formingatentaroundhermouth,andshebreathesinandoutloudly.There’ssomethingfalseaboutit,likeshe’sre-enactingsomethingshe’sseenontelevision.
Archieisstillyettoreact,soIfocusmyattentiononhim.‘Didyouhearme,mate?’
Archienods.Hisexpressionissombre-ish,butmorecollectedthanif,say,I’dtoldhimhecouldn’thaveicecreamfordessert.‘Didodied,’herepeats,hanginghishead.
Harrietdropsherhandsfromherfaceandburstsoutlaughing.‘Didodied.Thatrhymes.’Shefallsbackontotheemptycouch,chortlingsohardshehastoholdherbelly.
‘Itdoesn’trhyme,idiot,’Archiesays.
‘Itdoes.’
‘Doesn’t.’
‘Does!’
‘Kids,’Isay.‘DoyouunderstandwhatI’msaying?RememberwhenPapadied?HewentuptoHeavenandwecouldn’tseehimanymore.Well…nowDidohasdied.’
Harrietlaughsagain.‘Sorry!Itjustsoundsfunny.’
Archieletsoutachuckle.ThenEdie,ofcourse,joinsin,thoughshehasnoideawhat’sgoingon.Istareattheircheerfullittlefaces,baffled.Iknewkidscouldreactinstrangewaystogrief,butI’dneverforamomentdoubtedtheirloveforDiana.Iexpectedthemtobedevastated.
‘Aren’tyousadthatDido’sdead?’Ollieasks,aslightinflectiontohisvoice.Awobble.Thekidsalsoregisterthewobble,andonebyonestoplaughing.
‘Yeah,’Archiesays,buthedoesn’tsoundsad.Hesoundslikeheknowsthat’swhatheisexpectedtosay.Archieisdutifullikethat.Edieislookingatherfeet,marvellingatthespotwhereherbigtoepeeksthroughhersock.Harrietisrollinghereyesandinspectingherfingernails,whicharecoveredinchippedlolly-pinksparklynailpolish.
‘I’mnotsad,’shemutters.
Ilookatherdefiantlittleface.‘Whyaren’tyousad,Harriet?’
Sheshrugs.‘Didowasmeantoyou.Idon’tlikepeoplewhoaren’tnicetomymum.’
OllieandIlookateachother,andallIcanthinkis…Ifailed.I’vealwaystriedtoprotectthemfrommyissueswithDiana,asIneverwantedittoaffecttheirrelationshipwithher.Ithoughtithadworked.ButIfailed.
‘It’llbemuchnicernowthatshe’snothere,won’tit,Mummy?’Harrietcontinues.Sheboundsoutofherseatandflingsherlimbsaround,tryingfor,perhaps,aleapingpirouette.Butshemissesherfootingandthistimeshelandsflatonherface.Shehowls.Ediesqueals.AndArchie,inadelayedreaction,suddenlyburstsintotears.
8
DIANA
Thepast…
Ipullupatthetrafficlightsandglareattheenormousstuffedteddybearonmypassengerseat.Tomhadboughttheridiculoustoy,obviously,andasifthatwasn’tbadenough,heinsistedthatIbetheonetotakeitalongtothehospitaltogivetoLucy.
‘Whatonearthfor?’Isaidtohimonthephone.‘It’snotlikeArchiewillbeplayingwithitinthenextfewdays!’
‘It’sourfirstgrandchild,’hereplied.‘Besides,Lucywillloveit.’
Heisprobablyrightaboutthat.Hisperfectunderstandingofourdaughter-in-law’spsycheisalmostasspectacularasmylackthereof.LucygavebirthtoArchieintheearlyhoursofthismorning,afterashort,uncomplicatedlabour.Tomwantedtogotothehospitaltheinstantweheardthenews,butI’dmanagedtoconvincehimtogointoworkforacoupleofhourstogivethemsometimealonewiththebaby.Nowthough,evenI’mitchingtogetthere.TomisgoingstraightfromworkandI’mmeetinghimthere
Thetrafficlightsturngreenatthesametimeasmyphonerings.Istabatafewbuttonsonthesteeringwheeluntilfinallyitconnects.(UsuallyIdrivemylittleFordFestivaaroundwhenI’mdoingerrands,butithasgoneinforaservicesoI’mintheRangeRoverandyouhonestlyneedaPhDincarmechanicstomakethedarnthingwork.)‘Hello?’
Thecarfillswiththesoundofheavybreathing.‘MrsDiana?’
Irecognisethevoiceimmediately.‘Ghezala?’
Twenty-twoandpregnant,GhezalahasbeeninAustraliaforfivemonths,havingescapedfromAfghanistan.InrecentweeksI’dvisitedherseveraltimes,todropoffapram,abassinetteandsomenewbornclothes,andeachtimeGhezalahadputonapotofkahwateaandwe’dsettledinforagoodoldchinwag.HerEnglishisn’tgreatandtheconversationsareoftenlistsofwhatshehashadforbreakfast,whattheweatherisgoingtodothisweek,whatshe’swatchedonthetelevision…yetIalwaysenjoythesimplicityofit.
‘MrsDiana?’Morepuffingandpanting.‘Thebaby.’
Ipulltothesideoftheroad,calculatingdatesinmyhead.It’safewweeksearly,notdangerouslyearly,butearly.AndGhezalahasnofamilyorfriendsinAustralia.Herpartner,Hakem,isatleastinthecountry,buthiscapabilitiesasabirthpartnerremaintobeseen.
‘Youneedtogotothehospital,Ghezala.RememberthevoucherIgaveyouforataxi?Callthetaxiandusethevouchertopaythedriver.Ghezala?Doyourememberthevoucher?’
Ihearanothercontractiontakehold,soIwait.Thefactthatshecan’ttalkthroughitworriesmeandIwonderifIshouldcallanambulance.
‘Ghezala,’Irepeatwhenthepantingstops.‘Doyouhavethetaxivoucher?’
‘I…Idon’tknow.’Shesoundsspent.WithoutthinkingaboutwhatI’mdoing,I’vealreadydoneaU-turnandamheadedtowardherhouse,butit’sagoodtwenty-minutedrivefromhere.‘WhereisHakem,Ghezala?’
‘Outside.’
Ibitebackanurgetoscream,‘Whatishedoingoutside?’andinsteadask:‘Andhowbadisthepain?Outoften.’
‘It’s…afour.’
ButIgetthefeelingGhezala’sfourismostwomen’seleven.Hernextbreathcatchesonanothercontraction.
‘Ghezala,I’mgoingtocallanambulance.’
‘No,’shesays.‘Canyoucome,MrsDiana?’
‘I’monmywaytoyourhouserightnow.Ghezala—’
Butthephonegoesdead.AndwhenIcallback,itringsout.
Ittakestwenty-fiveminutestogettoherhouseandwhenIgetthereHakemisinthefrontyard,smokingacigarette.Hemustspendhalfhislifeinthetiny,overgrowncourtyardoftheirs,smokingcigarettes.Ileapoutofthecarandruntowardthehouse.‘Hakem?Where’sGhezala?’
Hegesturestowardthehousewithhishead.‘Inside.’
‘Inside?Whyaren’tyouintherewithher?’
HelooksatmelikeI’vesuggestedhebookaholidaytotheBahamas.
‘Haveyoucalledanambulance?’
Heturnsaway,takesadragofhiscigarette.‘Youmightthinkyouareoursaviour,butyouknownothing.Youaredifferentfromus.Differentfromme.DifferentfromGhezala.’
‘Hakem.Have.You.Called.An.Ambulance?’Iaskthroughgrittedteeth.
Hetakesasteptowardme.Thewhitesofhiseyesareyellowandcrackedwithlittleredbloodvessels.‘No.I.HAVEN’T.’
Hakemisthicksetandagoodthirtyyearsyoungerthanme,butImatchhiminheight,inchforinch.Isquareuptohim.‘Donottryandintimidateme,youngman.Ipromiseyou,youwillcomeoffworse.’
It’snottrueofcourse.Iwouldcomeofffarworse,butifthere’sonethingI’velearnedinlifeit’sthatmindswinwars,notmuscles.AndasI’vemadeupmymindtogetGhezala’sbabydeliveredhealthyandwell,I’llbedamnedifIdon’tdoexactlythat.
I’mstillrightinHakem’sfacewhenheholdsuphishandsindefeat.
‘Callanambulance,’Isayasthescreendoorslapsclosedbetweenus.‘Now!’
IfindGhezalaonthetiledkitchenfloor,herbackagainstpillows.Iskidandalmostfallinawetpatch,gaspingwhenIseethebaby’sheadisalreadyout.There’snotimeforanambulance,IrealiseasGhezalashudders,andIdroptomyknees.ShegivesagreatmoanandIonlyhavetimetograbatea-towelbeforeGhezalapushesherbabyboyrightintomyhands,pinkandbloodyandsquirming.Iwraphiminatowelandrubhimvigorouslyuntilheletsoutapiercing,gloriouscry.
Ittakesmebacktoanothertime.Asinglebedwithmoonlightstreaminginacurtainlesswindow.Apopfollowedbyafeelingdeepwithinofsomethingbursting.Mybreathisacloudintheroom.
Hakemiswrong,IamnotdifferentfromGhezala.Weareexactlythesame.
9
LUCY
Thepast…
‘Whereonearthhasshegotto?’
TomshiftsnewbornArchieinhislapandglancesathiswatch.Dianashouldhavebeenatthehospitalanhourago,andshehasasurprise,hetellsme(onlyholdingoutaboutthirtysecondsorsobeforelettingitslipthatthesurpriseis—was—agiantteddybear).Nowheisinhischair,positivelyjitterywithimpatiencetogiveittohisgrandson,whoisallofsixhoursold.Godlovehim.
EversinceIannouncedmypregnancy,Tomhasbeentheimageofadevotedgrandfather,droppingtohiskneeseverytimeIvisitedto‘talk’tomybelly,orreachingouttofeelthebabykick.Dianachastisedhim(‘Givethegirlsomespace!’),butIdidn’tmind.ActuallyIpreferredTom’stactileapproachtoDiana’sstyle,whichwasbarelytomentionthebabyatall.OfcourseI’dsteeledmyselfforthefactthatmypregnancywasn’tlikelytobethebondingpointIhopeditwouldbeforDianaandme,butIwasnonethelessdisappointedtofindthatithadn’tinjectedeventheslightestwarmthintoourrelationship.
Whenthealarmonmyphonegoesoff,signallingthreehourssinceArchie’slastfeed,IadjustthepillowonmylapandgesturetoTomtobringhimover.Tomdoesashe’stold,carryingArchieasifheismadeofglass,thenhebacksawayagain,hiseyestheatricallyaverted,asIfiddlewithmynursingbra.
‘Whereonearthcouldshebe?’Tomsays,glancingathisphoneagain.
‘Traffic?’Olliesuggests.He’sstretchedoutbesidemeonthehospitalbed,watchingfootballonthetelevisioninthecorner,buthiseyesdartbacktoArchieeveryminuteorso,asifcheckingthathehasn’tgoneanywhere.
‘Ihavetextedhertwice,’Tomsays.‘Ihopeshehasn’thadanaccident.’
IliftArchietomybreastandtrytolatchhimon,butthelittleguyisstilldeeplyasleep.Iblowgentlyonhisfacelikethenurseshowedme,buttonoavail.He’soutcold.‘Whydon’tyoucallher?’Isay.‘Foryourpeaceofmind,ifnothingelse.’
Thefactis,I’mgettingimpatienttoseeDianatoo.I’mhavingcrampyafterpainsfromthebirth,Ifeeloddlyteary,andthereisalotoftestosteroneintheroom.BeforeTomarrived,IhadavisitfromDad,andwhileIlovehavingallthesemenfolkaround,I’mfindingmyselfcravingamaternalfigure,someonetoleanon.
Also,inthebackofmymind,I’mpainfullyawarethatthisisourverylastchance,DianaandI.Ifshedoesn’twarmtomeafterI’vebirthedherfirstgrandchild,whathopedowehave?
‘Yes,’Tomsays.‘Yes,allright.I’llcallher.’
Tomisjustreachingforhisphonewhensuddenly,theresheis,inthedoorway.Wealldoadouble-takeatDianastandingthere.Shelooksflustered…no,shelookslikeawreck.Thekneesofherlinentrousersaredampanddirty,andherlinenshirtisrumpled.I’veactuallyneverseenDianalooksodishevelled.
‘Di!’Tomsays,standing.‘Areyouallright?’
‘I’mfine.SorryI’mlate,Ihada…Oh,nevermind,I’mherenow.Oh.’Shestopsafewpacesfromthebedandinhalessharply.‘Thereheis.’
Archieisshowingnosignsofwakingorfeeding,soIturnhimaroundtofacehisgrandmother.Ismile.‘Hereheis.’
Dianaremainsrootedtothespotforseveralmoments.Imightbeimaginingit,butIthinkhereyesarealittlemisty.Itmakesmealittletearytoo.
‘Wouldyouliketoholdhim?’Iask.
Dianaissilentforseveralsecondsbeforenodding.Thenshewashesherhandsinthesink—niceandthoroughly—andcomestomybedside.IholdArchieouttoherandshetakeshimgentlyfromme,cradlinghistinyheadinbothhands.
‘Well,hellothere,youngman,’shesaysquietly.‘It’sverynicetomeetyou.’
TomrisesfromhischairandstandsbesideDiana,lookingdownatArchie.Everythingisquiet,apartfromtheblissfulsoundofArchiebreathing.Forafewmoments,Ifeelatease,totallyfilledup.
‘Whereistheteddybear?’TomasksDiana.
‘Oh.’Dianalooksup,suddenlyflusteredagain.‘Actuallymy…client,asithappened,gavebirthtoday.That’swhyIwasheldup.And…’
Thereisalong,chargedsilence.Tom’sjawdrops.
‘Shedidn’thaveanytoysforthebaby,andIguess…Ijust…’
Idon’tknowwhy,it’snotasthoughIhaveanyparticularaffinityforteddybears,andIcertainlydon’tthinkArchieneedsoneatonedayold,butforsomereasonDianagivingthebearawayfeelsdeeplypersonal.Abetrayal.
‘We’llbuyArchieanotherone,’Dianasaysfinally.
‘Yes,’Tomsaysrecovering.‘Ofcoursewewill.We’llbuyitthisafternoon.Wecanbringitbacktonight!’
‘Guys,guys!’Olliesays,holdinguphishands.‘Calmdown.Archiedoesn’tneedagiantteddybear,andhecertainlydoesn’tneedittoday.’Hegrins,enjoyingbeingthereasonableone,thepeacemaker.‘I’dsayit’smuchbetteroffwithyourrefugeeladyandherkid.Wehavenowheretoputagiantteddybearanyway,dowe,Luce?’
Theyallturntolookatme.Idropmygaze.
‘I’dbettertakeArchie,’Isay,takingmysleepingboyfromDiana’sarms.‘He’sdueforafeed.’
10
DIANA
Thepast…
IstandonOllieandLucy’sdoorstepandknockbriskly.ThebrisknessisanattempttocounteractthedoubtsI’mhaving.Archieistwoweeksold.WillLucywantmeshowinguplikethisunannounced?Willshehateit?Whoknows?Tomhasdroppedinseveraltimes,ofcourse,neveroncequestioningwhetherornothe’dbewelcome.It’sself-fulfilling,thatkindofconfidence.Mylackofconfidencealsoseemstobeself-fulfilling.
Intruth,IthinkI’vestayedawaybecauseofthatdarnbear.WhenIgaveittoGhezalaitseemedabsolutelytherightthingtodo.Thatteddywouldlikelybethebesttoythatchildeverreceived.Perhapstheonlytoy.AndasIhandeditovertoGhezalaandwatchedhertearup,suddenlythebeardidn’tseemsosillyafterall.IshouldhaveknownTomwouldtellLucyandOllieabouttheteddybear.WhenIshoweduptothehospital,lateandempty-handed,I’lladmitIfeltguilty.Ishouldhavedonebetterthanthatformyfirstgrandchild.IshouldhavedonebetterthanthatforLucy.
Sotoday,Iwilldobetter.
Iknockonthedooragain,eventhoughpartofmewantstogetbackinthecaranddrivehome.ButifIdidthat,whatwouldIdowiththechicken?Ilookdownatitdoubtfully,rawandheavyinitsblueplasticbag.Lucyisprobablyasleeporhavingsomequiettimewhilethebabynaps.Ifthebabynaps.AccordingtoOllie,Archiehasbarelysleptawinksincehewasborn.Thematernalhealthnurse,apparently,saidhehadcolic.ThelastthingLucywillwantthroughallofthisishermother-in-lawshowingupunexpectedly.
Ishouldtakemychickenandgetoutofhere.
‘Diana?’
Ilookup.Lucyisstandinginthedoorway,dressedinagreytracksuitandpinkfluffyslippers.Despiteherquicksmile,itisclearthatshe’snotthrilledtoseeme.Archieisperchedonhershoulder,wailing.
‘Thisisasurprise,’Lucysays,sweepingafewthreadsofhairoffherface.
‘Yes.I,er…justbroughtyouachicken.’
I’mawareit’sanoddgift;I’mnotanidiot.ButwhenOlliewasababy,someonebroughtmeachickenanditwasoneofthemostthoughtfulgiftsI’veeverreceived.ItwasbeforethedaysofUbereatsandhomedelivery,andsometimestheexhaustionofmotherhoodwastoogreattogettothesupermarket.IthoughttodayImighttellLucythestoryand…Idon’tknow…itcouldbecomeaGoodwinfamilytraditionorsomething,bringingachickentowomenwho’vejusthadanewbaby.Nowitjustseemsdreadfullytwee.
‘Oh,’shesays.‘Wellwhydon’tyoucomein?’
IfollowLucyintothehouse,registeringthemilkypossetonhershoulder,andonefurtherdownherback.Archie’slittlehandsstretchupandIhaveafullviewofhisperfect,angrylittlefaceashehowls.Sweetboy.
Thesittingroomisgloriousinitsfilth.Abagofpopcornhasspilledonthefloor,abowlofcerealiscongealingonthecoffeetable.Packetsofbabywipes,nappysacksanddirtydishesarestrewnallabout.Inonecorneroftheroomausednappyisrolledintoaball,unbagged.Ittakesallofmyself-controltostopfromgasping.
‘Icleanedlastnight,’Lucysaysdefensively,‘butitjust…Archiehasbeensounhappy…hehascolic…andIjusthaven’thadaminuteto…’
‘I’lldoit,’Isay,becausehonestly,Ican’tstandtobeinthisfilthamomentlonger.Nottomentionthefactthatcleaning,unlikesmalltalk,issomethingIknowhowtodo.Besides,Archieisrootingabout,clearlyhungry,andhiscryislikenailsonachalkboard.‘Yousitdownandfeedthebaby.’
‘Okay,well,ifyou’resure—’
‘I’msure.’
Isetthechickenonthekitchencounterandgettowork.Irollupthenappy,bagitandtakeittotheoutsidebin.ThenIgatherupthedirtymugsandplatesandtakethemtothekitchen.Ihavenoideahowtheycanlivelikethis.ThelasttimeIvisited—Ollie’sbirthday,Ithink—theplacewastrickeduplikeashowhome,withflowersandcushionsandsoftmusic.PoorLucyspenttheentireeveningsweaty-facedinthekitchen,cookingthemostridiculousVietnamesebanquet.I’dsuggestedthatwemightjustorderin,butLucyhadinsisted.Itwassomenewrecipeshewantedtotry,she’dsaid.
Forgoodnesssake.
Iemptyandreloadthedishwasher,andI’mabouttosetitgoingwhenInoticesomethingintheoven—half-a-dozenchickennuggets.They’rehardasrocks.ClassicLucy,Ithinktomyself.Feastorfamine.
LucyappearsbehindmeasIdragthetrayofnuggetsoutoftheoven.‘Oh!TheymustbeOllie’s…ohmygoodness…he’salwaysputtingthingsintheovenandthenforgettingaboutthem.Ohno,letme.’
ShesnatchesthetrayoutofmyhandswhileArchiescreamsonhershoulder.Iwanttotellhertodealwithhimandletmesortoutthekitchen,butI’vetriedthatanditclearlydidn’twork.SowhatdoIdo?Theproblemisit’sjustsoeasyforamother-in-lawtogetitwrong.Itseemsthereisanendlesslistofunwrittenrules.Beinvolvedbutnotoverbearing.Besupportivebutdon’toverstep.Helpwiththegrandkidsbutdon’ttakeover.Offerwisdombutneveradvice.ObviouslyIhaven’tmasteredthislist.Thesheerweightoftherequirementsmakesitintimidatingeventotry.Themostfrustratingpartisthatit’snearlyimpossibleforafather-in-lawtomessitup.Hehastobewelcoming.That’sit.
Peoplehavehigherexpectationsofadog.
Archieisstillwailing,pullinghislittlelegsuptowardhisbellyasLucystruggleswiththetray.Upclose,IcanseeLucy’sexhaustion.Shehasacneonherchin,andithastobesaid,she’salittleonthewhiffyside.OnherT-shirtIseeanoldstain…spaghettisaucebythelookofit.
‘Lucy,pleaseletmedoit,’Isay.There’sahintofbegginginmyvoicewhichI’mnotproudof.‘Yousitdownandfeedthatbaby.Goon!’
ImusthavesaiditrightbecauseLucynodsanddisappearstothesittingroom.Iletoutalongbreath.It’ssorarethatIgetsomethingrightwithLucy,andit’snotforwantoftrying.ItriedwhenIlenthermymostbelovedpossession,myCelticknotnecklace,onherweddingday.Myownmother-in-law,Lillian,lentittomeonmyweddingday.Theknotrepresentsstrength,andLillianhadboughtittostaystrongwhileTom’sdadwasawayatwar.Sheleftittomeinherwill,withanotethatsaid:Forstrength.ItoccurstomenowthatperhapsIshouldhavetoldLucythestorywhenIgaveittoher.Sillyme.
‘Hashebeenfussyallday?’IaskLucy,whenI’vefinishedtidyingthekitchen.IbringheracupofteawhichIsetonthecoffeetable.Archieliesflatonherlap,red-facedandwailing,despitehavingbeenfed.
‘Alldayeveryday,’shesays.‘Andallnighteverynight.’
‘Haveyoutriedgripewater?’Isitbesideher.‘WhenOlliewasababyitsortedhimoutwhenhewasgassy.’
‘I’vetriedit.I’vetriedeverything.’
‘MayI?’
Lucygivesahelplessshrug.‘Whynot?’
IpickArchieupandplacehimverticallyagainstherchest,sohisheadisnestledunderLucy’schin.ThenIpatthemidsectionofhisbackfirmly.Almostinstantlyhebelches,aloud,cavernoussoundthatisutterlyincongruentwiththesizeofhim.It’sincrediblysatisfying,Iwilladmit.ForamomentArchielookslikehemightcry,butthenhecloseshiseyesandpromptlyfallsasleep.
‘There,’Isayhappily.
LucyisstaringatmeasthoughI’vegrownanothereyeball.‘Howdidyoudothat?’
‘Burphim?Oh,Lucy.Tellmeyou’vebeenburpingthischild.’
Lucy’seyesfillwithtears.Ikickmyself.
‘Well,’Isayquickly,‘youmustburphimaftereachfeed.Sometimesevenduringthefeed.Otherwisewindgetstrappedandhurtshistummy.’
‘Okay,’shesays,nodding.It’sasthoughnoonehasevergivenheranymotheringadvicebefore.‘Okay,Iwill.’
‘Good.Nowpophiminhiscribandtakeyourselfofftobed.I’lljustpoponthedishwasherandthenletmyselfout.’
Lucylookssurprised.‘But…aren’tyougoingto…stayforawhile?’
Iknowtherightanswertothis.Noyoungwomanwantshermother-in-lawtostayforawhile.Thebabyisasleepandthehouseistidy.Nowisthetimetoleave.I’mnotsureofmuch,butI’mabsolutelysureaboutthis.
‘No,no.Thingstodo.Mustgeton.’
Igatherupmythingsandsetthedishwashergoing.I’moutthedoorbeforeIrealiseIneverexplainedthesignificanceofthechicken.
11
LUCY
Thepresent…
InthethreedayssinceDianadied,Ihaven’tcookedameal,donealoadoflaundryorbeentothesupermarket.Ihaven’tdisciplinedachild,helpedanyonewithhomeworkorhiddenanyvegetablesinspaghettisauce.Ihaven’tdoneanythingnormalatall.It’sasthoughwe’recaughtinanunmoving,timelessvoidwhiletherestoftheworldkeepsmovingaroundus,oblivious.
Thebigkidshavereturnedtoschoolandkindergartentoday,butOlliestillhasn’tbeenbacktowork.It’sasurprise,eveninlightofhismother’sdeath.Inthepasttwoyearsmypreviouslyunambitioushusbandhasturnedintoaworkaholic,headingtoworkonweekends,evenings,publicholidays.Nowhe’ssittingonthecouchnexttoEdie,staringintotheetherasifhe’sinsomesortoftrance.AtintervalsIgoandtellhimhowsorryIam,thatIwishtherewassomethingIcoulddo.EachtimeIhavetowonder:doIreallywishthat?
Iheadtothekitchen,decidingit’stimetoreinstatesomeorderandroutine.ThisseemstobetheveryleastIcando.ApileofunopenedmailsitsontheendofthecountersoIstartthere,tearingeachenvelopeopenwithmythumbnailandfoldingthepapersflat,onebyone.
Thefirstdocumentisabankstatement.Itendnottolookatbankstatementsasarule—sinceI’mtheonemanagingtheparentingload,IamhappytoletOlliemanagethefinancialload(it’snotsexistasmuchasfairdistributionofresponsibilities).Butwhenmyeyecatchestheseven-digitfigure—debitratherthancredit—onthebottomofthepage,Ican’thelpbutdrawinabreath.MyeyesjumpbacktothetopwherethenameCockramGoodwinisprinted.TheCockrampartcomesfromEamon,obviously,hisbusinesspartner.Howonearthcouldtheybethisfarinthehole?Moreimportantly,whyhasn’tOlliementionedittome?
IopenmymouthtoaskhimbutbeforeIcanspeakthere’saknockatthedoor.IglanceatOllieoverthekitchenbench,buthebarelyregisters,toolostinhisthousand-yardstare.
‘I’llgo,’Isayneedlessly.
WhenIopenthedoor,twopeoplearestandingthere,notuniformedbutclearlypolice.Myinstinctstellmethis,andalsothebadgethatisprofferedbythefemale.
‘I’mDetectiveSeniorConstableJones,’thewomansays,‘ThisisDetectiveConstableHousseini.’
‘Hello,’Isay,lookingfromonetotheother.
They’renotSimonandStella,theyoung,fresh-facedcopswhoinformedusofDiana’sdeath.DetectiveJonesisfortyish,slim,mediumheight.Shehasanattractive,slightlymasculineface,chin-lengthbrownhairfleckedwithgoldenhighlights.Herclothesareplainandpractical:whiteshirt,navytrousers,fittedenoughtosuggestshetakesprideinherfigure.
‘Andyouare?’sheasks.
‘Oh…I’muh…LucyGoodwin.’
‘Thedaughter-in-law.’Jonesnods.‘I’msorrytohearaboutyourloss.’
Housseinibowshishead.Hiscrownisthinningandaringofpalebrownskincanbeseenthroughhissweepofblackhair.
‘Maywecomein?’Jonesasks.
ImovebackoutofthedoorwayandJonesandHousseinistepintothefronthall.
‘Niceplace,’Jonessays.
‘Thankyou,’Isay,thoughitisn’tespeciallynice.‘WhatcanIdoforyou,Detectives?’
AweddingphotocatchesJones’seyeandshepausesbrieflytolookatit.‘Thisisanicepicture,’shesays.‘Isthatyourmother-in-law?’
ShepointstoDiana,standingtoOllie’sleftinthepicture.‘Yes.That’sDiana.’
‘Iimagineit’sahardtimeforyouall.Wereyouveryclose?’
Jonescontinueslookingatthepicture,seeminglyuninvestedintheanswer.
‘It’scomplicated.’
‘Isn’titalways?’Jonessmiles.‘Myex’smotherwasarealpieceofwork.Icouldbarelybeinthesameroomwiththemiserableoldcow.Itkilledmymarriageintheend.Sohowaboutyou?Howwasitcomplicatedforyou?’
‘Oh,youknow.Justcomplicated.’
JonesandHousseinipicktheirwaydownthehall,pausingtolookatthephotosthatdotthewalls.
‘Didyouspendmuchtimetogetherasafamily?’Jonescontinues.‘Birthdays,Christmases,thatkindofthing?’
IthinkofthelastChristmaswespenttogether.Theuglywords,thegnarledfaces,thescreamingovertheturkey.Itwasn’texactlyaHallmarkcommercial.
‘I’msorry,didyousaywhichunityouwerefrom?’Iask.ForamomentIfeellikeacharacteroutofLaw&OrderSVU,whichis,ofcourse,myonlypointofreferenceforpoliceshowinguponthedoorstep.
‘We’refromhomicide,’Jonessaysevenly.
‘Lucy?’Olliecallsfromthenextroom.‘Whoisit?’
Itakeadeepbreathandwalkintothelivingroom.JonesandHousseiniareatmyheels.ThebackdooriswideopenandEdieseemstohavedisappeared—aballmusthavelandedinouryard.Edieadoresnothingmorethanthrowingaballbackoverthefence.
Olliestandsup,confused.
‘It’sthepolice,’Isay.
HousseiniapproachesOllieandextendsahand.‘YoumustbeOliverGoodwin?’
‘Ollie,’Olliesays,shakingHousseini’shand.
IseeOlliethroughthepolice’seyes.Helookslikehell.He’swearingnavytrackpantsandamaroonrugbyjumper,hishairisashambles,hisskinhasagreytingetoit.Itremindsmeofthewayheusedtolookwhenourkidswerenewbornsandnotsleeping,whenhewouldappearinthedoorwayandbegtogobacktosleep‘justforhalfanhour’,despitethefactthatIwastheonewho’dbeenupmostofthenight.
‘I’mDetectiveSeniorConstableJonesandthisisDetectiveConstableHousseini,’Jonessays.‘Wehaveafewquestions,ifyoudon’tmind.’
‘Questionsaboutwhat?’Ollieasks.
There’sapause,thenJonesgivesaslightchuckle.‘Uh,aboutyourmother’sdeath?’
Ollie’seyesshoottomeandIshrug.Finally,afterasecondortwo,hegesturesforthecopstositdown.Theydo,onthecouch.
‘Sowhatcanwedoforyou?’Iask,sittingbesideOllie.‘DoyouhaveanymoreinformationaboutDiana’sdeath?’
‘Wedon’thavethecoroner’sreportyet,’Jonessays,‘butwe’llhaveitsoon.Inthemeantime,we’restillgatheringinformation.YoumentionedtoSeniorConstableArthurandConstablePerkinsthatyourmotherhadcancer,isthatcorrect?’
‘Itis,’Isay,whenOlliefailstoreply.‘Dianahadbreastcancer.’
Jonesflicksopenablacknotebookembossedwithagoldpolicelogoandholdsherpenpoised.‘Andcanyoutellmewhoherdoctorwas?’
‘HerGPwasDrPaisley,’Isay.‘AttheBaysideMedicalClinic.’
‘Andheroncologist?’
Everyonelooksatme.EveryoneincludingOllie.‘Actually…I’mnotsure.Shenevermentionedheroncologist’snametome.’
Jonesclosesherbook.Igetthefeelingthisisn’tnewstoher.‘Isee.’
Ollieblinks.‘Whatdoyousee?’
‘Yes,whatdoyousee?’Iecho.
‘Wehaven’tfoundanyevidenceofyourmother’scancer.Thereisnorecordofhervisitinganoncologist.Nomammogramsorultrasounds,nochemotherapy.Asfaraswecansee,shedidn’thavecanceratall.’
Jonesseemsirritatedbythis,asthoughtheirincompetenceissomehowourfault.‘Wellobviouslyyouhaven’tlookedintherightplace,’Isay.‘Youcan’thavecheckedwitheverydoctor—’
‘There’snoreferralfromDrPaisley,’Jonestellsuscalmly.Herelbowsrestonherknees,herhandsareclaspedtogether.‘Therearenoscansorbloodtestresultsoranythingthatmightindicatecancer.’
Ifeelmyfacescrewup.Thisisjustridiculous.Peopledidn’tsaytheyhadcanceriftheydidn’t.Orperhapssomepeopledid,peoplewithhypochondriaorMunchausen’s,thosewhowantedtogarnersympathyormoneyorfriendship.ButDianahatedsympathyandshecertainlydidn’tneedmoney.Asforfriendship,shehatedpeoplefussingaroundherorofferinghersomuchasatissue.Dianawouldneversayshehadcancerifshedidn’t.I’massureofthisasIamofmyveryexistence.
Andyet.
‘Aproblemwiththesystem,’Olliesays.‘Thatmustbeit.Whywouldshesayshehadcancerifshedidn’t?’
‘That’swhatwe’retryingtofigureout.’
Ollieshakeshishead.‘Butshecommittedsuicide.That’swhatyouguyssaid.’
‘Wedon’tknowthatforsure.’
NowOllieseemstosnaptoattention.‘But…yousaidtherewasaletter?’
‘Therewasaletter.’
‘Canwereadit?’
‘Eventually.Butit’scurrentlypartofourinvestigation.’
‘Whatdoesthatmean?’
‘We’recheckingitforfingerprints.Doingahandwritinganalysis.’
‘Youthinkitwasforged?’
‘We’renotgoingtomakeanyjudgmentsuntilweknowmore.’
‘Thisisridiculous,’Olliesays,standingup.Hebeginstopace.‘Justridiculous.’
‘Listen,thereisevidencetosuggestshecommittedsuicide.Thematerials.Theletterwefoundinherdesk.’
Iblink.‘Herdesk?’
‘Mummy,Ihungy.’
Everyoneglancesinthedirectionofthevoice.Edieisstandingatthebackdoor.JonesandHousseinirisetotheirfeet.
‘Whoyou?’Edieasks,walkingrightuptoJones,notstoppinguntilshe’spracticallybetweenherthighs.
‘MynameisDetectiveJones,’Jonessays.‘Thisismypartner,DetectiveHousseini.We’repolice.’
Ediepointsathersuit.‘Wherepoliceclothes?’
‘Somepolicedon’twearuniforms.ButIhaveabadge.Here.Look.’
Jones,Inotice,haschangedtemperamentsasifonanaxis.Suddenlysheis,perhapsnotquitematernal,butcertainlyfriendlyandwarm.It’scleartomesomehowthatshedoesn’thavechildrenofherownbutisverypossiblysomeone’sfavouriteaunt.
‘Ithinkwe’llleaveitatthatfortoday,’Jonessays,takingherbadgebackfromEdieandputtingitinherjacketpocket.‘Butifyouthinkofanythingsignificant,orrememberDiana’soncologist’sname,pleasedogivemeacall.’Hertoneindicatesthatshedoesn’texpectthatcalltocome.
‘Itjustdoesn’tmakesense,’Olliesaysasweallwalktowardthedoor.‘Mumwouldn’tlieabouthavingcancer.’
Butmymindiscaughtupwithsomethingelse,somethingirritatinganditchy,likehavingsomeone’snameonthetipofyourtongue.NomatterhowmanytimesIturnitover,Ican’tmakeanysenseofit.
Ifyoucommittedsuicide,whydidyouleavetheletterinthestudydrawer,Diana?Whydidn’tyouleaveitwhereyouknewsomeonewouldfindit?
12
LUCY
Thepast…
AweekortwobeforeArchie’sfirstbirthday,OllieandIarriveatTomandDiana’shouse.Weareimmediatelyshuffledintothefrontlivingroom,the‘goodroom’alltheGoodwinscallit,whichisstrangebecausealltheroomsseemprettygoodtome.Still,it’sanoveltyasweusuallysitonbarstoolsinthekitchenorhangoutintheden.
‘CanIgetyouanothermineralwater,Lucy?’Dianaasks.
‘No,I’mfine,thankyou.’
DianaandTom’ssofaissoplumpwithstuffingthatIhavetoclutchthearmrestforstability.Itdoesn’thelpthatmykneeisdoingitsnervousbounce.Dianadoesnothingtoputmeatease.Sheisherclassicselftoday—hergazebeadyandguarded.Shesitsrightontheedgeofthecouch,herlegscrossedattheknee.NettieandPatrickwereherewhenwearrived,butaftergivingusaquickapologeticwave,theymadethemselvesscarce.IwishIcouldmakemyselfscarce.
DianaandIattempttomakesmalltalk—aboutwork(mine,neverhers),aboutmydad’shealth(theprecancerousmoleherecentlyhadremoved),aboutthe70szebra-stripedjumpsuitandjacketcomboI’mwearing(whichDianamistookforpyjamas),butIsenseDiana’sheartisn’tinitandneitherismine.Webothwanttogetonwithwhatwecameherefor,andit’sclearfromthefactthatOllieandIsuggestedthismeetingthatwewantsomething.
‘Cheese?’Dianasays,holdingupanantipastoplatter.
‘Nothanks,’Isay,andwedriftbackintosilence.
Unfortunately,OllieisstilllockedinconversationwithTom,longafterDianaandIhaveexhaustedallavenuesofconversation.Tom,itappears,istalkingabouttheinheritanceagain.Headorestalkingabouttheinheritanceanddropsitintoconversationasoftenashepossiblycan.Itremindsmeofachilddesperatetotelltheirfriendwhatthey’dgotthemasabirthdaypresentbeforetheycantearoffthepaper.Theinheritance,hesays,willlookafterusinouroldage.Admittedly,it’snicetoknowwe’llbelookedafteranditdoesgivemesomecomfortinthosetimesweeatinstantnoodlesfordinnerbecausewecan’taffordanythingelse…butatthesametimeitfeelslikepoortastetotalkaboutwhatwe’llgetwhensomeonediesbeforetheyaredead
‘Anyway,wewantedtoaskyousomething,’Olliesays,afterwhatseemslikeaneternity.DianaandIsitalittlestraighter.Tomistheonlyonewhoseemssurprisedthatthereisapurposetoourvisit.Forsomeonesosuccessful,hereallycanbequitethick.
‘We’vefoundahouse,’Ollieannounces.
‘Andnotamomenttoosoon!’Tomsayseagerly.He,likethemajorityofOllie’sfriends,hasbeenunsettledaboutthefactthatwe’rerentingandlikesthesecurityofbricksandmortarforinvestment.
‘It’satwo-bedroomworkerscottageinSouthMelbourne,’Olliecontinues.‘It’sprettyrundown,butwecouldrenovateit.We’vegotagooddeposit,justshortoftwentypercent.’Hehesitateshere,stealsaquickglanceathismother.‘Problemis,withoutthefulldeposit,we’dneedtopaymortgageinsurance,whichisjustthrowingmoneydownthedrain.Wehatetoaskbut—’
‘SouthMelbourne,eh?’Tomsays.‘Agoodspot.Closetothecity.Nearthemarket,nearAlbertParkLake.It’snoteasyforyouyoungfolk,isit?Everythingissoexpensive.Ireadtheotherdaythatalotofkidsarenotbuyingtheirfirsthomeuntiltheyareintheirforties,canyoubelievethat?Whatdoyouthink,Di?’
TomistheonlyoneI’veeverheardcallDiana‘Di’.Once,IheardhimcallherLadyDi.Thestrangestpartwas,Dianaactuallysmiled.Tombringsoutanentirelydifferentsidetoher.Asofterside.Unfortunately,nowDianadoesn’tlooksoft.Herlipsarepressedtightlytogetherasthoughshe’stryingtobreaksomethingwithherteeth.
‘Lifehasneverbeeneasy,’shesaysfinally,foldingherhandsprimlyinherlap.‘EverygenerationhasitschallengesandIdaresaymosthavehadtosufferthroughworsethanunaffordablehousing.YouandLucybothhavegoodheadsonyourshoulders.Ifyouwantthishousebadlyenough,Idon’tdoubtyou’llmakeitwork.Otherwiseyou’llfindsomethingelse…somethingyoucanafford.’
Silencefollows.Deafeningsilence.Istareattheswirlsoftherugonthefloor,unabletomeethergaze.Afteramomentortwo,IstealalookatOllieandTom,whobothlookdisappointed,thoughnotsurprised.
‘Diana,’Tomstarts,butDianaisalreadyholdingupahand.
‘YouaskedmewhatIthought,that’swhatIthink.Nowthat’sallI’mgoingtosayonthematter.’Dianauprootsherselffromtheoverstuffedcouch.‘Willyoukidsbestayingfordinner?’
OllieandIstareather,blinking.
‘I’lltakethatasano,’shesays,anddisappearsoutoftheroom.
‘I’llwalkyouout,’Tomsays.
‘No,no,’Isayhurriedly.‘Don’tgetup,please.Wecanseeourselvesout.’
IexpectTomtoinsistbuthejustnods.‘Rightiothen.Youkidstakecare.’
Iamsickwithmortification.WhatwerewethinkingaskingDianaformoney?Suddenlyitseemssoobvious.WithwhatOlliehastoldmeabouthisupbringing—howDianainsistedheandNettieberaisedwithpart-timejobsandsecond-handcarsandanunderstandingthatnoteveryoneisasprivilegedasthem—ofcourseDianawasn’tgoingtobeinfavourofgivingthemahandout.Sure,theywenttoprivateschoolsandhadsomeprettyamazingholidays(atTom’sinsistence),buttheyalsospentweekendspickingupdonationsforhercharityandservingatthelocalsoupkitchen.Theworstpartis,ashumiliatedasIam,Dianamadesomeverygoodpointswhensheturnedusdown.Othergenerationshavehaditharder.OllieandIdohavetheabilitytobuyahousewithinourmeans.WhichmeansIcan’tevenhateherforwhatshesaid.
AswereachthefoyerNettieandPatrickmaterialise,asiffromnowhere.
‘How’ditgo?’Nettiewhispers.Herfaceisapologetic,asifshealreadyknowsexactlyhowwewent.‘Didshegiveyouthespielabouthoweverygenerationhasitschallenges?’
Ollienods.‘Butifwewantitbadlyenough—’
‘—you’llmakeitwork?’
OllieandNettiechucklequietly.
‘Commiserations,’Patricksays.He’sobviouslybeensamplingsomeofTom’stop-shelfdrinkswhilewewerebeinggiventhelayofthelandbecausehesmellsofwhisky.
‘ThankgoodnessforDad,eh?’Nettiesays.‘Ifitwasn’tforhim,we’dallbeleftpennilessonthestreet.’
‘Whatareyoutalkingabout?’Iask.
‘Oh,don’tlooksoworried,Lucy!’Nettiesays,throwinganarmaroundmyshoulders.‘Dad’snotgoingtoletyoumissoutonyourhouse.He’sprobablyalreadywrittenOllieacheque,amIright,Ol?’
Olliepatshisjeanspocket,andgrins.
‘What?’Isay.
‘WeallknewMumwouldn’tgoforit.Sheneverdoes.’HeglancesatNettiewhonods.‘WealsoknewDadwould.’
‘Sothat,’Ipointtowardthegoodroom,‘waswhatexactly?Aperformanceputonforyourmother’sbenefit?’
Ollie,NettieandPatricklookmildlyperplexed.ItislikeeveryoneisinonajokeIdon’tunderstand.
Olliegivesasmallhaplessgrin.‘Imean,Iguessso.It’snobigdeal,Luce.It’s…justthewaytheGoodwinsdothings.’
Nowit’smyturntolookperplexed.Ishakemyhead,sincerelystunned.‘Well,I’msorrytotellyouthattheGoodwinsaregoingtodothingsdifferentlyfromnowon.’
‘Canyoupullover,please?’IaskOllieassoonasweareoutofTomandDiana’sdriveway.
Ollieglancesatmethensighsandrollsthecartoastop.
‘Pleasedon’teverinvolvemeinthesegameswithyourparentsagain.’
Olliepullsupthehandbrakeandshiftsinhisseatsohiskneesareangledtowardme.Heisattempting,Iknow,tobeconciliatory.‘Itoldyou.Thisisjusthowitworksinourfamily.YouheardNettie.It’sjusttheprocess.’
‘Theprocess?’Iblinkhard.‘Whatdoesthatevenmean?’
‘Don’tyouandyourdadhaveprocessesaroundmoney?Likewhenwegotmarried,youaskedhimformoneythen.’
‘Ineveraskedhimforanything.Heofferedtopayforourwedding.’
‘Butyouknewhewouldoffer.That’saprocess.Kindof.’Olliesmilesalittle,butitslidesawaywhenIdon’treturnit.‘Listen,I’msorry.You’reright,Ishouldn’thaveinvolvedyou.’
‘Youshouldn’thaveinvolvedyourself!’Ilookatthedashboard.‘Yourmotherwasright.We’readults,we’resmart.Weneedtotakeresponsibilityforourownlivesnow.Idon’twanttoaskthemformoneyeveragain.Notforahouse.Notforacar.Notforalitreofmilk.Okay?’
‘Okay,justhangonamin—’
‘I’mserious,Ollie.Andwe’renottakinganymoneyfromthemforthehouse.We’llpaythemortgageinsuranceandbuyitourselves.Thisisadealbreakerforme.’
Olliestaresatme.‘Seriously?’
‘Seriously.’
Ollietakesadeepbreath,letshisheadfallbackagainsttheheadrest.SilencehangsbetweenusandIcanfeelOlliewrestlingwithit.It’shard;Igetthat.It’sinstinctivetoreachouttoyourparentsforhelpwhenyouneedit,it’sasfamiliarandcomfortableasgettingdressedinthemorning.Butatsomepointinadulthood,youhavetoteachyourselfanewwaytobe.It’sinfuriatingthatDianahadtobetheonetopointthatout,butit’struenonetheless.
FinallyOllienods.‘Okay,fine.We’llpayforthehouseourselves.’
‘And?’Iprompt.
‘AndI’llneveraskthemformoneyagain.’
‘Evenifwe’repoorandstarvingandcan’tfindacrumbbetweenus?’
‘Eventhen.’Hesmiles,butthereisgreateffortbehindit.‘ThereisnooneI’dratherstarvewiththanyou.’
WelaughandIfeelimpressedwiththespeedinwhichOlliecamearound.Iwonderifit’sbecause,inthebackofhismind,heknowsthatwewillneverhavetostarve.Heknowsthatatsomepointahugeamountofmoneywillbecomingourway,moremoneythanwecouldeverpossiblyspend.And,toaccessit,allweneedtodoiswaitforsomeonetodie.
13
DIANA
Thepast…
ThekidshavebarelyleftthehousebeforeTomstartspouting.Iknewthiswouldhappen,withthesamecertaintythatheknewIwasgoingtoturndownOllie’srequestformoney.Whenyou’vebeingmarriedforaslongaswehave,whileyoumayhopefordifferentresults,youstopexpectingthem.Andifyouwantahappymarriage,youhavetolooktotheotherthings,thethingsyoudoseeeyetoeyeon.Luckyforme,whenitcomestoTom,therearemanyofthese.
Tomsitsheavilyinhiswingbackchair.
Iholdupahand,palmforward.‘Iknowwhatyou’regoingtosay,Tom,sopleasesaveit.’
‘DidIsayanything?’Heletsoutalong,world-wearysigh.
‘Idon’tlikebeingthebadguy.Youknowthat.’
Heshiftsinhisseat.Hisexpressionisresignedratherthanannoyed.‘Idoknowthat.’
AsfarasargumentsbetweenTomandIgo,thisisasheatedastheyget.OnceuponatimeTomhadmorefiretohim,butnowthere’sonlyahandfulofthingsthatreallymakehimflyoffthehandle.Traffic.Peopleleavinglightsonaroundthehouse.Racism.Theimportantthings.Today,despiteourdifferingviews,TomandIrespectwheretheotheriscomingfrom.TomgrewupintheoutskirtsofMelbournewherethesuburbsmeetthecountry,alowsocioeconomicareaevenbeforehewasorphanedandhadtomovefurtherouttolivewithhisgrandparents.Hewasschooledinarougharea,anddroppedoutatfourteentodoanapprenticeshipwithalocalplumber.Oncequalified,hefoundhimselfajobonaresidentialdevelopmentproject,befriendedtheownersandsuggestedtheytrytheirhandatretirementcommunities,whichwasasuggestionsoprofitablehewoundupabusinesspartnerinofoneofthelargestresidentialdevelopmentcompaniesinAustralia.
‘Iwouldhavethoughtthatyouofallpeoplewouldunderstandthatyoudon’thavetobegivenahandouttosucceed,Tom.’
‘Butthingsaredifferentnow,’hesays.‘Everyoneisgoingtouniversity,workingforfreetogetexperience,usingtheirprivateschoolnetworks.It’sharderthaninmydaytomakesomethingoutofnothing.Thesekidsneedhelp.’
Butofcoursethisisjustpartofthewafflethatprivateschoolparentstelleachothertojustifytheexorbitantfeestheypay.AfterTombadgeredmeforyears,IfinallyrelentedandallowedOllieandNettietoattendschoolswithtermfeeshighenoughtofeedanentireAfghanvillageforayear.Yearslater,I’mstilldoubtfulastowhethertheschoolswereanybetterthanthelocalones.WhatIamsureaboutisthatgivingchildrenhandouts—nonotchildren,adults!—aftertheyhavealreadybeenprivatelyeducatedandgiveneveryadvantageinlife,simplytokeeppushingthemfurtheraheadofthosewhoaretryingtomaketheirwaywithoutassistance,isnottherightthingtodoforanyoneinvolved.
‘It’salwaysbeenhard,Tom.Youwerehungrierforitthanourkidsare,that’sall.’
UnlikeTom,Igrewupinamiddle-classfamily.Wedidn’thavethekindofwealthTomandIlivewithnow,butwewerecomfortable.Thefactis,Iwouldn’thavebeenhungryforiteitherifmycircumstanceshadn’ttakenadrasticdiveinmyyouth.
‘IthinkOlliecoulddowithbeingalittlehungry.Alittlehungerisgoodforyoungpeople.Itwasthemakingofyou.’
TomslidesoverandIsitbesidehiminthewingbackchair,whichisgenerousenoughfortwomiddle-agedbottoms.‘Actually,’Tomsmiles,‘itwasthemakingofyou.’
1970…
CynthiaandIcalleditthesummeroftheFalcon,mostlybecausetherestofourfriendswereinEuropeandwewantedtomakeitsoundmoreexcitingthanitreallywas.TheFalconXRGTwasacar,anditbelongedtoCynthia’sboyfriend,Michael.Iknew,ofcourse,whathappenedinthebackoftheFalcon,whatMichaelandCynthhaddoneintheFalconmanytimes.Iwasn’tdesperatelyinlovewithDavid,thoughIlikedhimwellenough.Hewastall,andhewasstudyingengineeringatuniversity,whichseemedtobeenoughbackthen.Heightandsmarts.Whatelsecouldawomanwant?
Asitturnedout,whenIdiscoveredIwaspregnant,David’ssmartscameinuseful.‘There’saplaceinBroadmeadows,’hesaid.‘Ahomeforunwedmothers.Yougothere,youhavethebaby,andthenyoucomeback.YoucanjusttelleveryoneyouwenttoEuropetoo.’
Iwasgladhehadn’tsuggestedtheothertypeofplaceyouwentasanunwedmother.Anabortionclinic.Imaynothavebeenthemostmaternalofgirls,butI’dalwaysbeenabelieverintakingresponsibilityforyouractions.Itwasn’tthepoorbaby’sfaultthatI’dgotintothebackoftheFalconwithDavid,Ididn’tseewhyitshouldhavetopaytheultimatepriceforit.MymotheragreedthatDavid’splanwaswiseandmyfathertendedtoagreewithmymotherwhenshethoughtsomethingwaswise.TheideathatIwouldhavetogivemybabyawaybeforeleavingthehomewasathoughtsofaroffinthedistancethatIdidn’tevenbothertothinkaboutit.Afterall,whenyou’redrowningandsomeoneoffersyoualiferaft,youdon’tcheckitforpuncturesbeforeclimbingaboard.
‘Areyoufeelingallright?’DavidaskedmethenightbeforeIleftforOrchardHouse.Hewavedahandvaguelyinfrontofmymidsection,whichwasvisiblyroundnow,indicatinghewasaskingaboutthepregnancy.
‘I’mfine,’Isaid.
ItwasawarmeveningandIwassittingonthebrickstepsofmyparents’bungalowwithabagofgrapesinmylap.(I’dhadmorningsicknessfornearlysixmonths,andgrapesweretheonlythingthatstaveditoff.)I’dputoffmysecretarialcourseandtoldmyfriendsIwasspendingasemesterinSicily.NooneapartfrommyparentsandDavidknewthetruth.NotevenCynthia.TurnedoutthatCatholicshamefellharderthanI’dthought.
I’donlyseenDavidacoupleoftimessinceI’dbeenacceptedintoOrchardHouse.WhileI’dbeenlyinglow,Davidhadapparentlybeenworkingaroundtheclocktohelpmyfatherpayforthehome.MyfatherwasimpressedwithDavid’scommitmenttohelp.I’donceheardhimtellmymother,hewasglad‘I’dbeenconsortingwithanhonourablesortofboy,atleast’.OnceI’dpeeredroundmybedroomdoorandseenmyfathershakingDavid’shandandmymotherthankinghimprofusely.Incontrast,myfatherhadbarelylookedatmeinmonthsandmymotherhadbecomeconsumedbykeepingmehidden.InrecentweeksI’ddevelopedahabitofsweepingmyfingertipsovermybellyeverysooften.WhenMothersawit,she’dswatmyhandsaway.
‘Stopit,’she’dwhisper.‘Whatwillpeoplethink?’
‘Itwillbeokay,’Davidsaidnow,andIrealisedIwasholdingmybelly,cradlingit.ButIhadafeelingthatitwouldn’tbeokayatall.‘MaybeI’llseeyouagainwhenyougetout,’hesaid.
Butwebothknewwewouldn’tbeseeingeachotheragain.
*
MyfatherdroveustoOrchardHouseandwaitedinthecarwhileMothertookmein.
‘Itwon’tbeforever,’shesaidatthefrontdoorandthensheturnedandleft.IwasstartledthatthiswashergoodbyebutIforcedmyselfnottocallherback.Iwashumiliatedenoughasitwas.
Irangagoldbellandapinched-lookingwomaninanavypinaforecametothedoor.‘YoumustbeDiana.’
Inoddedandsheopenedthesecuritydoorandsurveyedmesilently.‘You’dbettercomeinside.’
OrchardHousehadthelookandfeelofahospital.Itwasthreestoreyshigh,withwidehallsandlinoleumfloorsandvinylfurniture.Thediningroomwasonthegroundfloor.Matrontookmeupthestairstothesecondfloor,whichhadacommunalareainthecentreanddoorsaroundtheedges.PregnantwomeninsmallclusterslookedupwhenIentered,thenquicklydownagain.
‘You’reamongtheoldestatOrchardHouse,’Matrontoldme,leadingmearoundtheedgeoftheroom.‘TheyoungestisagirlnamedPamela,whoyou’llbesharingwith.Pamelaisjustfourteen.’Matron’slipswerepinchedwithdisapproval.‘WeonlyexchangefirstnamesatOrchardHouse,andwedon’ttalkabouttheschoolswewentto,thepeopleweknow,oranythingthatcandistinguishustotheoutsideworld.It’stoprotectyouridentities,’shesaid.
‘Pamelaisalittletroubled,’shetoldme,stoppingjustshyofadoorwhichIassumedledtomyroom.‘Ithoughtitwouldbegoodtoputyoutogethersoyoucanteachherhowtobehaveproperly.’ShesteppedforwardthroughthedoorwayandIsawagirlwithgreasyhairandasourexpressionsittingononeofthesinglebeds.‘Ah,’Matronsaid.‘ThisisPamela.’
‘Hello,’Isaid.
Pamelalookedresolutelyatthefloor.
‘Yougirlsarelucky,’Matrontoldmebeforeshelefttheroom.‘Manyhomesworkgirlstothebonetocovertheirkeep,butOrchardHouseisapaidhome,paidforbyyourparents,andassuchwehaveonlylightchorestocomplete.I’msureyou’llbeverycomfortablehere.’
Matronleftmethen,to‘makemyselfathome’.AsIsatonthenarrowtwinbed,oppositethestrange,reticentgirl,Ifeltthetearsstarttostackupinmyeyes.ButIbrushedthemaway.Afterall,Iwaslucky.
AfterdinnerthatnightIwenttothecommunalarea.Mostofthegirlsonmyfloorwereinthere,sittingaroundonbrownvinylcouches.Mostwatchedthetelevision,acouplestaredatnovels.Onegirlsatatatablepaintinganothergirl’snailsaprettypalepinkthatremindedmeofCynthia.
‘MayIsithere?’Iaskedablondegirlsittingonthecouchinherpyjamasandslippers,herhairpinnedupinrollers.Shewaschattingtothegirlsonherrightandsheslidalongwithoutlookingup.
Thecouchwasstartlinglyuncomfortable,butasIwasn’tsureIcouldphysicallystandagain,IstayedwhereIwas.Allaroundtheroom,girlswerepinnedtotheirseatsbytheirenormouswatermelon-shapedbellies.Icountedseventeengirls,seventeenwatermelonsthatnoonementioned.Pamelawastheonlyonewhodidn’tsit.Shestoodbythebookshelvestotherightofthetelevision,ostensiblychoosingabookbutmostlyfidgeting.Shewasoneofthosetypeswhocouldn’tsitstill,I’dnoticed.Shewasjittery.Itwasdistracting.
Theblondegirl—Laurel,Ifoundout—talkedquietlytothetwogirlsonherright.AsIeavesdropped,IdiscoveredthiswashersecondtimeatOrchardHouse.She’dbeenheretwoyearsearlier,whenshewassixteen.RatherthanpeoplefindingthisstartlingandhorrifyingasIdid,sheseemedtobetreatedasacelebrityofsorts,andregardedasthefountainofallknowledgeaboutOrchardHouse.
AsIlistenedin,conversationinLaurel’scircledriftedtoPamela,whounsurprisinglyeveryonethoughtwasstrange.Apparentlysherefusedtodochoresandshehadahabitofscreamingoutswearwordsifanythingtookherbysurprise.IalsofoundoutthatMatronhadacrushonPhilip,thegardener,andeveryonethoughtitwasdisgusting,including,theysuspected,Philip.Iwasn’tactuallyincludedintheconversationatanypoint,butthebanterremindedmeofmyownfriendsandmademefeellonelyandcomfortedinequalparts.
Attenminutestoten,Matronappeared.‘Tenminutesuntillightsout,girls!’Matronhadashrillvoicethatpiercedtheairandknockedanysenseofnormalityoutoftheroom.‘Comeon,now.Don’tdillydally.’
Shedisappearedandthegirlsallshuffledtheirhipstotheedgeofthecouch,readytohoistthemselvestostanding.Ifoundout,viathegirls’grumbling,thatthelightsdidindeedgooutat10pm,andifyouweren’tinyourroom,youhadtofindyourwaybackthereinpitchdarkness.
‘Tenminutesuntillightsout,’Matronsaidagain.‘Don’tdillydally.’
Weallglancedatthedooragain,butMatronwasn’tthere.
‘IfyoudillydallyIwon’tbeabletodillydallywithPhilipafterlightsout.’
Aslowgigglebrokeoutacrosstheroom.ItwasMatron’svoice,butshewasnowheretobeseen.Everyoneglancedaround.InoticedPamela’sbackwastous.
‘Pamela?’someoneasked.‘Wasthatyou?’
Shebentover,fiddlingwiththespineofabook,pretendingnottohearus.
‘Oh,Philip,stopthat!’cameMatron’svoiceagain.‘Oh,goonthen.Keepgoing.’
Thegigglesbecamefever-pitchedlaughter.Pamela’simpersonationwasspoton.
‘JusttakemeintoyourshedandI’ll…I’ll…’
‘Whatareyougirlsstilldoinginhere?’avoicecamesuddenly.OurheadsswungtowardthedoorwaywhereMatron—actualMatron—stood,handsonhips.Herlipswerethinandirritated.‘Didn’tItellyounottodillydally?’
‘Rightaway,Matron,’Pamelasaidandshewasthefirstonetoexittheroom.
Ourbelliesgrew.Weweren’ttoldmuchaboutwhatwascoming.Weguessedwhenourbabieswereduebythesizeofourbellies.Inpublicwetalkedaboutourpregnanciesinsofarastheyaffectedourbodies—‘Mybladderisthesizeofawalnut’,‘Icanhardlywalkupthisflightofstairs’—butwedidn’ttalkaboutthebabies.Noonetoldusnotto,wejustdidn’t…anaturalformofself-protectionperhaps.Ididn’tdevelopmanyfriendships,itwashardwhenyoucouldn’ttalkaboutwhoyouwereandwhereyoucamefrom.Anyway,I’dneverbeengoodatsmalltalk.
DuringthedayPameladidn’ttalktomeatall.Itriedtoteachherthings,asMatronhadasked.Howtousecutleryproperly,howtospeaknicely.Shejuststaredatmeorrolledhereyes.Onetime,shepickedupaforkandthrewitacrosstheroom.Theproblem,Irealised,wasthatPamelawasdamaged.Iwasn’tsurehowtoteachhernottobedamaged.
Pamela’simpersonationsbecameanightlyritual.Shecoulddoalmostanyone—DrHumbert,theobstetricianwiththebushymoustachewhocamebyonceaweektotakeourbloodpressure;Philip,thegardener;anyofthegirls.Shewasthemasteroffindingpeople’squirks,thetiniestdetailthatbroughttheimpersonationtolife.Everyeveningshestoodbythebookshelvesandwewaited.Itwasmysolace,thesefewminutesoflaughtereachday.Itdidn’toccurtomeuntillaterthatitmightbeacomfortforhertoo.Afewminutesofbeingsomeoneelse.
Onenightsheimpersonatedme.
‘Oh,yes,I’mDiana,Iknowhowtousecutleryandtalkposh.’
Everyonegiggled.Evenme.Perhapsitwashertonethatmadeitfunnyratherthanmean-spirited.Ormaybeitwasbecauseitwasthefirsttimeshe’dacknowledgedmeatall.ApartofmewasgladtorealisethatsomeoneinhereknewIexisted.
Onenight,aswegatheredinthecommunalarea,werealisedMarywasn’twithus
‘Where’sMary?’someoneasked.
‘Shewentintolabourlastnight,’Laurelsaid.
‘Whathappened?’someonewhispered.Weknewthatgirlswenttohavetheirbabies,butwewerestarvedofactualdetails.
‘Itwasprettytough.ShewaitedaslongasshecouldbeforeshecalledMatron.Shedidn’twanttogotothehospital.’
Maryhadbeenoneofthebravergirls.She’dbeensayingforweeksshecouldn’twaittogetthisbabyout,thatwhenitwasallovershewasgoingtobuyapairofhip-huggingflaresandabottleofwhisky.
‘Whydidn’tshewanttogo?’someoneasked.
SixteenpairsofeyesstaredatLaurel.Finallysheshrugged.
‘Yougointothehospitaloneperson,’shesaid.‘Youleaveasanotherpersonentirely.’
Later,whenMatroncametoannouncelightsout,wewereallanimated.
‘DidMaryhaveherbaby,Matron?’Laurelasked.
Astrangeenergypiercedtheroom.Noonehadusedtheword‘baby’sinceI’dcometoOrchardHouse.Matronneverusedtheword.EvenDrHumbertmanagedtoavoidit.
Matronlookedguarded.‘Shedid,’shesaideventually.
IstoleaglanceatPamela.Shewasstanding,asusual,bythebookshelves,butforonceshewasstandingsostillIdoubtedshewasevenbreathing.
‘Whatdidshehave?’Laurelasked.‘Aboyoragirl?’
‘Thebabywashealthy,’Matronsaid,andthatwasthelasttimeIheardhersaytheword‘baby’atOrchardHouse.
AfternewsofMary’sbirth,theimpersonationsstopped.Itwasasthoughwe’dforgottenwhatweweredoingthereandsuddenlywe’dallremembered.Pamelabecamequietagain,rarelyspeakingatall.Atleast,sherarelyspokeduringtheday.Atnight,whenwelayinbed,shesometimessaidafewwords.Somethingvulnerablehappenedtoyouatnight,I’dcometorealiseinmyfewweeksatOrchardHouse.Youtookoffyourclothes,youtookoffyourarmour.
‘IthinkI’mhavingagirl,’shewhisperedonenightaswelayinbed.‘Whatdoyouthinkyou’rehaving?’
Istaredather,makingoutthefaintoutlineofherheadagainstthestarkwhitebedlinen.‘I…Itdoesn’tmatter,Isuppose.Itwon’tbemybaby.’
‘Butwhatwouldyoucallit?’sheinsisted.‘Ifyouwerekeepingit?’
Iblinkedintothedarkness.‘Idon’tknow.’
‘I’dcallmygirlJane,’shesaid.‘JanePamela.It’spretty,don’tyouthink?’
Astreakofmoonlightcrossedherbed,andforamomentIsawthehopeinherface.Alumpfilledmythroat,preventingmefromresponding.AllatonceIfeltpinnedbytheweightofwhatwascoming.Itstolemybreath.
‘Diana?’Pamelasaidafteramoment.
‘Mmm?’Imanaged.
‘MyfriendscallmePammy.’
Iinhaledsharply,swallowedhard.
‘Diana?Didyouhearme?’
‘Yes,’Isaid.‘Iheardyou,Pammy.’
Asourduedatesdrewcloser,Pammysharedafewdetailsaboutherlife.HermotherwasahousekeeperatabighouseinKew.Herdadwasarooftilerwhofelloffaladderanddiedwhenshewastwo.Shehadthreeolderbrothersandshewastheyoungest,theonlygirl.
Thefatherofherbaby,shesaid,wasawealthymannameChristopher,adoctor.HehadpaidforhertocometoOrchardHousebecausehedidn’twanthertohavetoliftafingerwhileshewaswithchild,that’showmuchhelovedher,Pammysaid.ShetoldmethatChristopherhadawifebutshewasjustobsessedwithhismoney.Moneyruinedpeople,Pammysaid.Itfracturedfamiliesandmadepeoplemean.ItmadeChristopher’swifemean,shetoldme.
IwonderedifitwasmoneythatmadeChristophermean.
Afterthat,mystoryaboutDavidandtheFalconfeltveryuninteresting.Thetruthwas,IhadnowishforafuturewithDavid.ButIwassurprisedbythefeelingsIhadformybaby.Apparentlywewouldn’tbeallowedtoholdourbabiesaftertheywereborn,andyetmyurgetoholdmybabywasoverwhelming.Atnight,whenIfeltitkickandmove,Icradleditandtalkedtoitinsidemyhead.
Atnight,whenwespoke,PammystartedreferringtoherbabyasJane.
‘IwonderifJanewilllooklikemeorChristopher.’
‘IbetJanewillbesmart,likeChristopher.Smarterthanmeanyway.’
‘Ohlook,Janeiskickingme.She’safeistyone!’
‘Idohaveaname,’ItoldPammy,onenight.‘Foraboy,thatis.Oliver.’
‘Whatalovelyposhname,’Pammysaidapprovingly.‘Lovelyandposh,likeyou.’
Despitemyhurt,despitemyself,inthedarknessIlaughedoutloud.
*
Oneevening,asIsatinthecommunalarea,IrealisedIhadn’tseenPammyallday.
‘Matron?’Isaidwhenshecametotellusitwastenminutesuntillightsout.‘HasPammygonetohaveherbaby?’
Matron’slipsthinned.‘Pamelahasbeenmoved.’
‘Movedwhere?’
‘That’snoneofyourconcern.’Sheclappedherhandstogethertwice.‘Allrightgirls,timeforbed,don’tdillydally.’
‘Matron,’Isaid,loudernow.‘WherehasPammybeenmoved?’
Matron’seyesflashed.‘Areyougoingtostartcausingtrouble,Diana?Ithoughtyouwereoneofthemoresensiblegirlshere.’
‘I…’Istart,butIfeelLaureltugmyhand.SomethinginhereyesmakesmeabandontheconversationwithMatronandfollowherintothecorridor,whereshefallsintostepbesideme.
‘HasPammybeensayinganythingaboutwantingtokeepherbaby?’
‘No.Idon’tthinkso.’
‘Hasshesaidanythingaboutherbabyatall?’
Ithoughtaboutthat.‘Well…shegaveheraname.’
‘Her?’
Ishrugged.‘Shethinksit’sagirl.’
Laurelnoddedknowingly.
‘What?’
‘IthappenedthefirsttimeIwashere.ToJosephine.Onedayshetoldeveryoneshe’ddecidedtokeepherbabyandthatshewasgoingtotellMatron.Thenextdayshewasgone.’
‘SoJosephinekeptherbaby?’
‘Weassumedso.ButIsawherontheoutside,ayearorsolater.Shetoldmetheykeptherdownstairsinadifferentroom—acellalmost—andwouldn’tletherseeanyone.Theyputhertowork,nightandday—cleaning,doingdishes,cooking.Theysaidthatifshewasn’tgivingherbabyupshe’dhavetopayforallofherlivingandhospitalexpensesherself,andsheneededtostartworkingforthemrightaway.Theyworkedhersohardshewentintolabouramonthearly.Andwhenshehadherbaby,shehadn’tpaidoffherdebt,sotheyheldthebabytoransom.Eventuallyshehadnochoicebuttohandthelittlethingover.Myguessisthat’swhathashappenedtoPammytoo.’
‘Enoughofthatchatter,’Matronsaidfromtheotherendofthecorridor.‘Offtobedwithyouall.’
IneversawPammyagain.
MothercametovisitwhenmybellywassoroundandtightthatIcouldn’tputonmyshoesandIhadbeenwearingslide-onslippersforweeks.Motherwaswearingherhatandgloves,asthoughshewasgoingtochurch.
‘Iwanttokeepmybaby,’Itoldherasshesatonthevinyl-backchair.‘ButIneedyourhelp.’
‘Don’tberidiculous,’Mothersaid.
‘It’snotridiculous,’Isaid.‘It’s1970.Singlewomenhavebabiesnowadays.’
Shesmiled,humouringme.‘Oh?Whichwomenareyoureferringto?’
Ididn’tknowany,ofcourse.ButIwascertaintheyexisted.Thenewssaidthingswerechanging,thatwomenwerebeinggrantedmorerights.Apparentlywomenwereabletoaccesswelfaretohelpthemsupportthemselvesandtheirbabies.
‘Meredithisdivorced,’Isaid,becauseMeredithwastheclosestthingIknewtoasinglemother.Mydad’scousinMeredithhadleftherhusbandacoupleofyearsearlierafterfindingouthewasunfaithful.Unfortunatelyitwasnotthebestexample.DivorcehadruinedMeredithsocially,nottomentionfinancially.ShehadbeentossedoutofherluxuriousHawthornhomeandnowlivedinarentedhouseinMelbourne’sindustrialwest.She’dgotherselfajob,apparently,inafactorycafeteria.
‘DoyouwanttoenduplikeMeredith?’Motherasked,stillplayinginnocent.
‘Icanjustleavehere,youknow.There’snolockonthedoor.’Infact,Ihadnoideaifthatwastrue.Inanycase,Icertainlywouldn’tbetellingMatronaboutmyplans.‘Idon’tneedyourapproval.’
‘Isupposethat’strue,’shesaid,unperturbed.‘Butwhatwouldyoudothen?Bringthebabybacktoyourfather’shouse?Idon’tthinkso.’
‘I’dgetmyownplace.’Iliftedmychin.
‘Withwhatmoney?Whowouldrentahousetoapregnantsinglewomanwithnoqualificationstowork?’
‘I’dstaywithfriends.’
‘Whichfriends?’
Isaidnothing,tryingtomakemyexpressiondefiant,asthoughIhadfriendsshedidn’tknowabout.ButIdidn’t.TheonlyfriendsIhadthatweren’toverseasoratuniversitylivedwiththeirparents.Ihadnowheretogo.Myplanwasagiantbluffandmymotherwascallingit.
Sheplacedacoldhandontopofmine.‘Comeonnow,Diana.You’renearlythere.Haveyourbaby,comehomeandmakebetterchoicesnexttime.’Shekissedmyforeheadandthematter,asfarasshewasconcerned,waslaidtorest.
Iwantedtosay:Thisismylastchance.Ineedyou,Mum.InsteadIsaidnothing.
Andthatnight,Iran.
14
LUCY
Thepresent…
Thefuneraldirector’snameisPearl.She’sakindlywomaninhermid-fiftieswithapuffofover-dyedchestnuthairandthepatienceofakindergartenteacher.Thankgoodnessforherbecause,asitturnsout,there’salottodoaftersomeonedies.WhenTomdied,DianaorganisedeverythingandIneverappreciatedhowheroicthatwasuntilnow.Howdoesone,throughhisorhergrief,meetwithfuneraldirectorsandselectcaskets,figureoutreadingsandchooseflowers,allthewhilesupportingothersandmanagingtheminutiaoftheirlivesatthesametime?IguessI’mgoingtofindout.
We’vebeenatthefuneralhomeforseveralhours,selectingthings,butmymindiselsewhere.ApparentlyJonesandHousseinialsopaidavisittoNettieandPatrickyesterday,andtoldthemaboutthecancer,orlackofit.NettieandPatrickagreeitallmustbesomesortofmisunderstanding,butIcan’tseemtoshakethefeelingthatsomethingisn’tright.Whydidn’tDrPaisleyreferDianatoanoncologist?Whyaren’tthereanyrecordsofmammogramsorultrasounds?Whywouldshelieaboutit?Ikeepturningthepiecesofinformationoverandoverandtheyjustgetmoremuddledup.ButJonestoldNettietheautopsywouldbedoneandthebodyreleasedinacoupleofdays,soatleastwe’llhaveanswerssoon.
‘Whataboutthewake?’Pearlasksus.‘Willitbeatyourmother’shouse?’
Nettieshudders.‘No.Let’sdoitsomewhereelse.’
‘Iagree,’Olliesays.‘KnowingMumdiedthere…it’sdifferentnow.’
‘Howaboutalocalbarorrestaurant?’Pearlsuggestsandweallmutterouragreement.
‘Now,fortheservice.Somepeoplewhohavenondenominationalservicesliketohaveafewchurchhymns.DoyouthinkDianawould—’
‘No,’OllieandNettiesayinunison.
‘Mumwasn’treallyintohymns,’Ollieexplains.
‘Nohymns,’Pearlsays,makinganoteinherpaperwork.‘That’sfine.’
WhileIhadn’tthoughtaboutitmuchinthepast,Diana’sharshrejectionofherCatholicupbringingiscurioustomenow.Ifindmyselfwantingtoaskheraboutit…andI’mhitbyajarringsadnessthatIcan’t.
‘Allright,’Pearlsays.‘Movingon.’
Forthemostpart,NettieandIdothechoosing.OllieandPatricksittherelikeacoupleofteenagers,noddingandgruntingandlookingattheirphones.Aroundlunchtime,PearlsuggestsNettieandIpopdowntothecornerstoreforsandwicheswhileOllieandPatrickselectphotosfortheslideshow.
‘I’mnothungry,’Nettiesays.
‘It’simportantthatyoueat,’Pearlsays.She’sentirelyfirmandalsoentirelyserene.‘Andgrabsomethingforthemenwhileyou’reatit.’
Outside,weshufflealongthestreet.Atraintrackrunsalongthesideoftheroadandthenoiseofapassingtraintakestheedgeoffthesilenceforthirtysecondsorso.Thenit’sgone,andthere’snothingbutthesoundofourbreathing.Nettieliftsahandtoscratchhernoseandhershirtsleeveridesuprevealingathickpurpleringaroundherleftwrist.
‘Whathappenedtoyourwrist?’Iask.
Hergazeflickstome,thenbacktothefootpath.‘What’sittoyou?’
‘Nettie.Comeon.’
‘Let’sjustgetthesandwiches,shallwe?’shesaysquietly.
Wewalkafewmorepaces.
‘Ihatethis,’Iexplode,suddenlyunabletokeepitinanylonger.‘Dianawouldhateittoo.Youknowshewould.’
Nettiestops.
‘Nowofalltimesweshouldbecomingtogetherasafamily.’
‘Family?’Nettiesquaresupagainstme.‘YouandOllieandthekidsareafamily.PatrickandI…we’rejusttwopeople.Twopeoplewhodon’teven—’
‘Iknow—’
‘Youdon’tknow.Youcouldn’tpossiblyknow.’
Isigh.‘Nettie,Iwantsomuchforustoputthisbehindus.Iwanttohelpyouthroughthis.’
I’mnothopeful,butIthinkIhaveachance.Here,withoutPatrick,withoutOllie,Imightbeabletogetthroughtoher.AndIwanttogetthroughtoher.Therehasalreadybeentoomuchlossforthisfamily.FirstTom.ThenDiana.Ican’tloseNettietoo.
‘Idon’tcarewhatyouwant.’
Sheturnsawayandcontinueswalkingdownthestreet.It’snotuntillaterthatIrealiseshenevertoldmewhathappenedtoherwrist.
15
DIANA
Thepast…
I‘vehearditsaidthataparentspendseightypercentoftheirenergyononechild,andspreadstheremainingtwentypercentamonganyotherchildren.Olliehasalwaysbeenmyeightypercentchild.Ispentmostofhischildhoodwonderingifhewaseatingenough,learningenough,doingenough.Hewasn’tthemostpopularkidinschool,buthewasn’tasociallepereither.Hisgeneralcontentment,whichshouldhavecomfortedme,somehowonlyservedtobaffleme.Didhewanttoinvitehislittlefriendovertoplay,ordidhewishI’dstopinvitingthatfriendover?Heneverseemedtocareeitherway.
Nettie,ontheotherhand,wasbornsocapableandarticulate,Ineverbotheredworryingabouther.Beinghermotherwaslikehavingatinypeerwhoaccompaniedmeeverywhere.Ifsomeonepickedonheratschoolshe’dsimplyhaveaquietwordtothebully,tellingthemthatiftheydidn’tstopbeingmeanthey’dhavenofriendsleft,andwouldn’tthatbesilly?WhenIservedthemvegetablesfordinnerandOllie,fiveyearshersenior,refusedtoeatthem,she’daskhim:‘Don’tyouwanttobebigandstronglikeSuperman?’
Once,whenOlliewaselevenandNettiewassix,they’dbeenswimminginthepoolformostoftheafternoonwhenIhadtogoinside.OllieandNettiewerebothstrongswimmers,itwasn’tabigdealtopopbacktothehouseforashortwhile.
‘Keepaneyeonyoursister,’Imusthavesaid,orsomethingtothateffect.
Iwenttothekitchenandstartedondinner,peelingpotatoes.Itwasawarmdayandthesunbeamedinthroughthewindow.AsIpickedupthelastpotato,afunnyfeelingcameoverme.Mother’sinstinct,perhaps.Ishouldcheckthekids,Ithought.
WhenIgotoutside,Isawatangleofbodiesjustunderthesurfaceofthewater
Ididn’tpauseeventotakeoffmyshoesbeforeleapingintothewater.
IgrabbedNettiefirst,butOlliehadaholdofherandwasn’tlettinggo.Ipulledandtwistedherbuthewaslikeananchor,weighingherdown.Finally,IgaveOllieakickinthestomachandshecamefree.IpushedhertothesideofthepoolandamomentlaterdidthesamewithOllie.Heclungtothesideofthepool,bloodandwaterdrippingdownhisfaceandfillingthehollowed-outpartofhiscollarbones.
‘What…onearth…happened?’Isaid,panting.
‘Olliedidaflipandhithishead,’Nettiegasped.‘Isawbloodandhewasn’tmoving.Itriedtosavehislifeandthenhetriedtodrownme!’
IlookedatOllie,suckinginwildbreathsatthesideofthepool.‘Didyoupanic,Ollie?IsthatwhyyouwereholdingontoNettie?’
Olliedidn’treply.HeseemedjustasconfusedasNettiewas.
That’swhenIrealised.Somepeoplejumpedinandtriedtosavesomeonewhowasintrouble;othersdidanythingtheycouldtosavethemselves.Olliehadn’tmeanttodrownNettie,hewassimplyfollowinghisinstincts,justasshewasfollowinghers.
Mychildrenhadjustshowedmewhotheywere.
WhenIarrivehome,Nettieissittingonabarstoolinmykitchen,leafingthroughthenewspaper.Hersuitjacketisonthebackofthestoolandherhairissweptintoaverycorporate-lookingchignon.
‘Hello,darling,’Isay,jostlingwithmybagsfromthesupermarket.
Hergazeflickersupfromthenewspaper.Nettiestopsbylikethisfromtimetotimeonherwayhomefromwork,sometimesundertheguiseofdroppingsomethingoff,sometimesjustbecause.Idon’treallyunderstandit,butI’vecometoquiteenjoytheroutineofit.‘Hey,Mum,’shesays.
‘IsawyourfriendLisainthesupermarketjustnow.’Ihaulthebagsontothecounter.‘ShementionedabunchofyouweregoingtoHongKongforagirlstrip.’
‘I’mnotgoing,’Nettiesays.
‘Oh.Whynot?’
Shesighs.‘Money.Time.’
Inod.ButitseemstomethatagirlstripmightbeexactlywhatNettieneeds.
‘HaveyouseenLucyandArchie?’Iaskher.
‘Notsincethehospital.’
‘I’vejustbeentovisitthem.’
‘Oh.’Nettieturnsthepageofthenewspaper,studiouslyuninterested.‘Howarethey?’
‘IthinkLucy’shadbetterdays.Butthat’swhatit’slikewithanewbaby.’Theclockontheovencatchesmyattention.It’searlierthanusual.Notevenfiveo’clock.‘Nettie,shouldn’tyoubeatwork?’
‘Ileftearly.’
‘Areyouallowedtodothat?’
‘I’mallowedtodoanythingIlike.’
Ilookather.She’sinastrangemood.Herpostureissullen,almostteenage.
‘Issomethingthematter,Nettie?’
Sheshakesherhead,ofcourse.Mydaughter,forallhersoftnessandlight,isfiercelyprivate,atleastwithme.She’sactuallyoneofonlyahandfulofpeoplewhocanmakemeuncertainofmyself.Ienjoythisabouther,thejuxtapositionofit.TherewasatimethoughwhenNettieusedtoopenuptome.Whenshewasyounger,Ipracticallyhadtotellhertostoptellingmethings.‘Somethings,’I’dsay,‘areforsharingwithyourgirlfriends,Antoinette.’Butsomewherealongthelineshe’dstoppedsharingsomuch.StartedtalkingtoPatrick,Iassume.
‘Areyousure?’Iask.
She’llneverdivulgethatshe’ddearlyloveababy.ThatshewisheditwasherholdinganewborninsteadofLucy.Iknowit’struejustthesame.Thepoorgirlissodesperateforababyit’spracticallywrittenonherskin.Herpolycysticovariansyndromemakesittrickytoconceive,buttheremustbethingsshecandotohelp.She’sprobablyalreadydoingthings.Butshewon’ttellmeandIwon’task,insteadwe’lljustbetogetherforalittlewhile,notsayinganythingatall.
‘Wouldyouliketostayfordinner?’IaskasIputawaythegroceries.
‘No,’shesays.‘IneedtogethometoPatrick.’
‘Patrickiswelcometojoinustoo,’Isaydutifully.
Intheearlydays,NettieandPatrickwouldcometodinneroften.They’dretiretothedenafterdinnerandPatrickwouldmixdrinksandsmokecigarswithTom.Patrickalwaysseemedsocomfortablethat,forawhile,Iworriedwe’dneverhaveanighttoourselves.Butayearortwoin,hestoppedcoming,saveforChristmasandfamilyoccasions.
‘No,’shesays.‘I’llgohome.’
‘Youknow,ifsomethingisbotheringyou,youcantalktomeaboutit,’Isay.‘Imightnotbethebestconversationalist…butI’mnotabadlistener.’
Nettielooksatme,andforalongmomentIthinkshemightcry.Nettieisnotacrier,shehasn’tbeensinceshewasaverylittlegirl.ButafewsecondspassandNettieregainshercomposure,sitsstraight.‘Thanks,Mum,’shesays.‘Buteverythingisfine.’
16
LUCY
Thepast…
‘Areyoufeelingokay?’Ollieasks.
Inodgloomily.
‘Notcarsick?’
‘No.’
Ishakemyhead.Idogetcarsick,butthat’snotwhat’sbotheringme.We’reinthecar,onourwaytotheGoodwins’beachhouseforaweek.Iunderstand,ofcourse,thatitisaprivilegetobemiserableaboutthis.Therearepeoplewithworseproblems.Certainly,Ollieisn’tunhappyaboutit.HelovesSorrento.Allyearheromanticisesit,waxinglyricalabouthowniceitistohavethewholefamilytogetherunderthesameroofforaweek.Heisutterlyoblivioustoanyundercurrentsoftension.IfImentionanythingtohim,healwayslooksbaffled.(‘Mum,stressed?No.That’sjusthowsheis!Sheenjoysthestress.’)
Perhapsit’sjustOlliewhoenjoysthestress.He’sbeenwhistlingallmorning,andhisentirebodyisgrowingmorespongyandrelaxedasweinchalongtheforeshoreinbumper-to-bumpertraffic,catchingtheoddglimpseofsapphirebluethroughthecoastalscrub.
WheneverItellanyonemyin-lawshaveabeachhouseinSorrento,theymakeappreciativenoises.Sorrento,oohlala.Iunderstandwhy.TomandDiana’sclifftopbeachhouseisarguablyoneofthemostspectacularhousesontheMorningtonPeninsula,a1900ssandstonebracedintothecliff,withmanicuredgardensandawhitewashedtimberpathdowntothebeach.Thereisapool,atenniscourtandathree-tieredlimestonepatiowithuninterruptedseaviews.
Ihateit.
‘Howonearthcanyouhatethat?’Clairedemandedrecently.‘IwouldkilltohaveabeachhousedowntherethatIcouldvisitwheneverIliked.Imean,I’dliterallykillforit.’
Iwouldkillnottohavesuchaplace.Foronething,theGoodwins’placeisentirelychildunfriendly.Artwork,potteryandsculpturesadorneverywallandsurface.IcanbarelysetArchieonthefloorwithoutDianagasping.It’ssoforeigntome.Myownmothercouldn’thavecaredlessaboutartworkorsculptures.Ifshe’dhadthechancetobeagrandmother,alltheartworkonherwallswouldhavebeenpaintedbyhergrandchildren,andsheonlywouldhavegaspedwhenItoldthekidsitwasbedtime.(Don’tberidiculous,kids,shewouldhavesaid.You’restayinguplatewithNanatonight.)
Growingup,we’dspentoursummersinPortarlington,aquaintbeachtownonthelessglamouroussideofthebay.Onthemainstreetoppositethebeachwasafishandchipshop,apub,andashopthatsoldbeachchairsandumbrellas.FortheentiremonthofJanuary,old,baldmensatindeckchairsalongthesand,exposingtheirbellies,andmiddle-agedwomeninsunhatsstoodintheshallowsinfrillyone-piecebathersandtie-dyecover-ups,offeringchildrenwatermelonfromTupperwarecontainers.PriortovisitingTomandDiana’splace,Ialwaysthoughtofabeachhouseasaplacethathadsandonthefloor,beachtowelsontherailofthedeck,andajumbleofplasticshoesinsidethefrontdoor.ButSorrentoissomethingelseentirely.
‘TheGreenansarecomingfordinnertonight,’DianasaidonthephonetoOlliethismorning.‘YourememberAmeliaandJeffrey,don’tyou?’
IrememberAmeliaandJeffrey.Ameliaisniceenough,butJeffrey,acolleagueofTom’s,isproperlyawful.Allofthe‘ists’:sexist,racist,classist.Thefirsttimewemet(andwithinminutesofmeeting)heaskedmewhatschoolIwentto,andwhenIsaidBaysideHigh,hescrutinisedmeamomentandthensaid(alittleawed):‘Wow.You’dneverknow.’
AnotherreasonI’mdelightedtobegoingtoSorrento.
Whenwearrive,NettieandPatrickarestillunloadingtheirbagsfromthecar.Patrickresemblesapackhorse,lumberingunderhalf-a-dozenbagswhileNettieonlycarriesherpurse.Nettielooksalittlegreen.
‘Welcome!’Tomsays,standinginthegrandfrontdoorway,hisarmsoutstretched.‘Diana,they’reallhere!’Hebeamsatus,ontopoftheworld.Havingallthefamilydownatthebeachhouse—thisishishappyplace.‘Where’smygrandson?’hesaystome.IputArchiedownandhetoddlesovertoTom.‘Well,hellothere,myboy.Haven’tyougrown?’
IkissTomandthenwalkpasthimintothehouse.Isetmypurseontheoakdiningtable,custombuilttoseatsixteenguests(‘Whysixteen?’IaskedTomwhenhepointedthatdetailout,buthejustseemedbaffledbythequestionandmovedontodetailingthenextitemonthetour.Isuspectedhehimselfwasn’tentirelysure.)Althoughit’snotexactlytomytaste,there’snodenyingthehousehaswowfactor.Thesoaringceilings,thevastopenspaces,thefloor-to-ceilingwindowswithviewsoftheseaandthecliffs.Walkinginthedoorfeelslikesteppingintothepagesofaninteriordesignmagazine(andinfact,accordingtoTom,theyhavebeen‘begged’tofeaturetheSorrentohouseinseveralpublications,butDianahasdeclined,callingit‘vulgar’).Dianacatchesmyeyenow,fussingaroundintheadjoininggleamingwhitemarblekitchen.
‘Diana,’Isay.
Shesmiles.‘Hello,Lucy.’
‘Hi,Mum,’Olliesays,enteringthehousebehindme.Heputsdownthebagsandplantsakissonhercheek.BesidesTom,OllieisoneofthefewpeoplewhoisalwayspleasedtoseeDiana.Ifthefeelingismutual,it’shardtotell.Shealwaysseemsshy,almostembarrassedbytheattention.
‘Hello,darling,’shemutters.
Tomstridesintothehouse,holdingArchieuplikeatrophy.‘Di!Comeandseeyourgorgeousgrandson.’
Aflurryofactivityfollows—Patrickappears,askingforsomePanadolforNettiewhohasaheadache;Archiespotsabowlofnutsonthecoffeetableandupendsthem,spillingthemeverywhere,andTomtriestofigureoutwhichremotecontrol(therearesix)opensthegaragedoor.Meanwhile,Olliepicksupthebagsagainandwalkstowardourusualroom.
‘Ollie,wait!’Dianacries.
Olliefreezesmid-stride.
‘I’vesetuptheroomsdownstairsforyouandLucyandArchie,’shesayswithlesscertainty.
Miraculously,alltheactionstopsandthereissilence.EvenArchielooksupfromthespillednuts,sensingsomethingisup.
‘I…thoughtyoumightpreferhavingyourownspace,’shesays.
It’sagoodsuggestion,apracticalsuggestion.Thedownstairsareaishuge,andwe’llhaveaseparatebedroomforArchie.Ifhecriesduringthenight,itwon’tdisturbanyone.IcanwalkthehallwayswithhimallnightifIneededto.
Sowhydoesitfeelsomuchlikeaslap?
Thatevening,wearebathingArchiewhentheGreenansarrive.Actually,NettieisbathinghimandIamsittingonthevanitywithaglassofrosé.Outinthehallway,OllieandPatrickaresittingonthefloorwiththeirbackstothewall,drinkingcocktailsthatPatrickhasmade.Ifind,tomysurprise,thatI’mnothavinganawfultime.
Nettiehasbeenagodsend.Whensheheardwe’vebeenrelegatedtothedownstairsrooms(admittedly‘relegated’isalittleharsh;ourroomisgranderandmorespaciousthanmosthotelsuites),shepromptlytoldDianatheywouldbemovingtheirbagsdownstairstoo.(‘We’llmakeapartyofit,’she’dsaid,winkingatArchie.)PatrickandNettiearewonderfulwithArchie.AllafternoontheytookitinturnstoplaywithhiminthegardenorswimwithhiminthepoolwhileOllieandIatelunchandunpacked.Infact,I’vehardlyseenhimallday.
‘Whattimedoeshegotobed?’Nettieasks.
‘Seven,’Isay.
‘Sowhathappensnow?’
‘Oncehe’sinhissleepsuithe’llplayforabit.ThenIreadhimastory,givehimabottleandputhimtobed.’
‘Willhewakeduringthenight?’
Nettieisinterestedineverydetail.It’sfunnyandalsounnecessarybecausesheisanaturalwithbabiesinawaythatfewpeopleare.InthepastI’vehadtheimpressionsheandPatrickarewaitingawhilebeforehavingkids,perhapsuntiltheircareersaremoreestablished,butnowIwonderifthat’sthecase.IthinkofNettie’sgreencomplexionearlierandwonderifshemightbepregnant
‘TheGreenansarehere,’Diana’svoiceannouncesfromthetopofthestairsasNettieiswashingArchie’shair.‘Canyoukidscomeup?’
‘We’rebathing,Archie,’Nettiereplies,grinningatArchie.Hegrinsbackather.
There’sapause.‘Allofyou?’Dianaaskespointedly.
Iopenmymouth,readytosaythatI’llfinishup,thateveryoneelseshouldheadonupstairs.Afterall,I’dratherbedownherethanupthere.ButNettie,tomysurprise,getsinfirst.‘Yes,allofus.’
Thesilencestretchesonandon.IfindmyselfdesperatetofillitbutNettielooksatmeandshakesherhead.Inthetinygesture,IrealiseI’veunderestimatedNettie.She’sabetterallythanIoriginallythought.
‘I’llgo,’Olliesays,climbingtohisfeet.Patrickalsorises,thoughIexpectit’shisdesiretodrinkTom’stop-shelfwineratherthanhisdesiretoappeaseDiana.Nettieremainswheresheisonthefloor,rinsingArchie’shairandbabblingtohiminalow,soothingvoice.
BythetimeNettieandImakeitupstairs,everyoneissittingattheoutdoortableandthepleasanthumofmusicandchattercanbeheardfromthestairwell.Iwatchthescenethroughthehugeglassdoors,takingitallin—waterasfarastheeyecansee;twinklingfairylightsstrunguponthetrees,thepeachglowofsunsetspillingitslightallovereverythingandeveryone.Thetablehasbeendecoratedinwhiteandburlapwithsilverlanterns,candlesandornaments…it’sbreathtaking.
‘Heretheyare,’Tomsays,spottingus.
Everyoneturns.JeffreyGreenan’steetharealreadystainedredfromwine.Hemakesagreatshowofgettingupwhenweappear,despiteourinsistencethatheremainseated.
‘Ladies!’hesays,swaggeringover.Hiswhiteshirtisunbuttonedjustalittletoofarandgrey-blackhaircurlsuphischestalmostasfarasthejugular.‘My,my,Lucy,motherhoodsuitsyou.AndNettie,aren’tyougrowingup?’
Itstrikesmeasanoddthingtosaytoawomaninhermid-thirties.HewinksandNettie’ssmiletenses.
HeisalreadymoreawfulthanIremembered.
Iwalkovertotheoutdoorpoweroutletandpluginthebabymonitor.Ifliptheswitchandthegreenlightilluminates,indicatingthatit’sworking.
‘Whatisthatnoise?’Dianaexclaimsandmystomachpullstight.‘That…crackling?’
Admittedly,themonitorhasseenbetterdays—it’sasecond-handoneIfoundatacharityshop.Itworksfinebut,whenswitchedon,ithumsahighlystatictune.I’vebecomesousedtoitI’vestoppednoticing.‘Oh,ArchiewasalittlefussysoIbroughtthemonitorup.’
Dianalooksperplexed.‘Doesitalwaysmakethatsound?’
EveryonequietsdownandlistenswhileIstandtherelikeafool.SomewhereinthebackofmymindIthink,Ifyouhadn’tsentusdownstairstothedungeon,wewouldn’tneedthedarnmonitor
‘Oh,butaren’ttheygreat,theselittledevicestheyhavenowadays?’Ameliasays,touchingDiana’sarm.Ameliaispetiteandfreckled,inawhitelinendressandgoldslide-onsandals.Sheis,atonce,prettyandplain,withsmallblueeyes,agrey-blondebobandapropensitytotouchthatsomehowmakesherendearing—theveryoppositeofherhusband.IfindmyselffantasisingabouthavingAmeliaforamother-in-law.EvenwithJeffreyforafather-in-law,itmightbeworthit.
Itmightbe.
‘Wouldn’twehavewishedformonitorswhenwehadlittleones,Diana?’Ameliacontinues.
ClearlyDianawishesnothingofthesort.Sheisano-nonsensekindofmotherandgrandmother,thekindthatthinksbreastfeedingandback-to-sleepandseatbeltsareallnonsensebecauseherkidsdidn’thavethemanditneverdidthemanyharm.AtleastIthinksheisthatkindofmother,butIdon’tknowbecausesherarelybestowsonmeanyactualadviceoropinions.Intheorythisisagoodthing,butinsteaditjustleavesmewithageneralfeelingofgettingitwrongwithoutanyideaofhowtodobetter.
‘Justmakesurethevolumeisturneddown,’Dianasaysunderduressasshebeginstohandouttheplates.
‘Comeandsitnexttome,’Jeffreysaystome.NettiehasalreadytakentheotherremainingchairsoIdon’thavealotofchoice.‘Tellme…howareyouenjoyingmotherhoodsofar?’
‘I’menjoyingitalotmorenowthatthosefirstfewmonthsareover.’
‘Yes.’Henodsasthoughheknowsexactlyhowthosefirstfewmonthsare,thenhelooksknowinglyatOllie.‘Alltitsandshits,thosefirstfewmonths,right,Ollie?’
Ollie’sfaceremainscarefullyneutralandJeffreybreaksintoalaughmoresuitedtoafiveyearold.‘Notthatthey’dhaveitanyotherway,ladies,amIright?It’sprimal.Amotherjustwantstobewithherbaby.It’showitshouldbe.’
Onthemonitor,Archieletsoutashortwhimper.Dianareturnstothekitchenwhiletherestofusserveourselveschickenandavarietyofinterestingsalads—ancientgrain,couscous,kaleandalmond.IdeducethatAmeliamusthavebroughtthemasDianadoesn’tdointerestingsalad.
‘Whataboutyou,Nettie?’Jeffreyasks,hismouthfullofcouscous.‘WhenareyouandPatrickgoingtotaketheleap?Youdon’twantallyoureggsdryingup,doyou?Havingacareerisallwellandgood,butajobisn’tevergoingtoloveyouback,youknow.’
Amelia,ontheothersideofJeffrey,putsahandonherhusband’sarm.‘That’senough,Jeffrey.’
ButJeffreyisunperturbed.‘What?Everyonewonderswhythereisafertilitycrisisthesedays.Youmustbe…what…thirty-five,Nettie?You’dbeagrandmotherifyouwereinAfrica.Yougirlsjustleaveyourruntoolate,that’swhatitis.Youneedtogetinthatsaddle,sotospeak.AmIright?’
HelooksatTom,thenatOllieforsupport.Theybothstudiouslyavoidhisgaze.
IvisualiseshovingachickenbreastdirectlyintoJeffrey’smouth.
Nettiekeepshergazeforward,onthetable.Jeffreyopenshismouthagain,andIamabouttosaysomething—anything—whenPatrickstands.
‘Enough.’
Patrick’svoiceiscool,calm.Ihaven’tseenthissideofhimbefore,theprotectiveside.Standingoveruslikethis,helooksquiteominous.Inanoddway,Ifeelquite…impressed.
Jeffrey,blessedly,looksalittleuncertain.‘Allright,noneedtogetupset.Iwasjustsaying—’
‘Enough.’
NettietouchesPatrick’sarm,whileTomnimblytakesovertheconversation,steeringittowardfootball.HeandJeffreyarebothmadHawthornsupporters,soit’sagoodchoice.PatrickkeepshisgazeonJeffreyforafewmomentslongerbeforeloweringhimselfintohisseat.
‘Well,’Ameliasayssometimelater,whenthetensionseemstohaveeasedsomewhat,‘Archie’sbeenagoodboy,hasn’the?Ishesleepingthrough,Lucy?’
‘Notexactly.Hetendstobeunsettledinthefirsthalfofthenight,butheusuallygetsagoodstretchinaftermidnight.It’sactuallyamiraclewehaven’theardfromhimtonight.’Iglanceatthemonitor.‘Uhoh.’
Iwalkovertothemonitor.Thepowerisoff.IlookatDiana.
‘Didyouturnthisoff?’
Idon’tsoundaccusing,becauseIdon’tbelieveit.Whatkindofgrandmotherwouldturnoffthebabymonitor?Butthewayshesetsherjaw,Istarttowonderifshedid.
‘Iturneditdown,’shesaysdefensively.
‘Downtooff?’Itwistthedial,increasingthevolumeuntilArchie’shystericalsobspiercetheair.Icantellfromthepitch,he’sbeencryingforawhile.
‘Mum!’Olliesays.‘Tellmeyoudidn’t—’
ButIdon’theartherestbecauseI’malreadyrunningdowntogetmybaby.
IttakesmetwentyminutestocalmArchiedown.Whenhefinallystopscrying,hewillonlysleepinmyarms.IpatandsoothehimwhilewhisperingfuriouslytoOllieinthedark.‘We’releavingtomorrow,Ollie.Firstthing.’
Olliestaresatme.Iknowwhathe’sthinking.Forhim,thisisn’tabigdeal.Tomorrowthingsmightbeabitawkward,butthentheywillgobacktonormal.Afterall,Archieisfine.Noneedtocuttheholidayshort.
Sureenoughhesays:‘Luce,let’snotmakeabiggerdealofthisthanitis.’
‘Thisisabigdeal.Dianahasnorespectformeasamother,soIcan’tstayhere.Howdaresheturnoffmybabymonitor?Howdareshe?’
‘I’msureshedidn’tmeanitmaliciously.Maybeshethoughtitwastherightthingtodo,togiveyoualittlebreak?’
‘Shehadnoright.Norightatall.’
‘But—’
‘Ifyouwanttostay,Ollie,knockyourselfout.ButI’mleavingtomorrowandsoisArchie.’
WegobackandforthforafewminutesbeforeOllieagrees,outofexhaustionmorethananythingelse.Almostimmediatelyafterwardheslidesdowninthebed,hisbreathingbecomingsteadyandrhythmic.Istayawakeafewminuteslonger,pattingandrockingArchieintoadeepsleep.I’vejustplacedhimintotheportacotwhenIhearawhimper,agentlemuffledsob.Butit’snotcomingfromArchie.It’scomingfromsomewherenearby—acrossthehall.
Nettie’sroom.
17
LUCY
Thepresent…
Somethingisnigglingatme.
IlieonthesofawithmyfeetinOllie’slap.ThekidsareinbedandIamnursingaglassofpinotnoir.Ollieisnursinghisownglass—usuallyit’smyfavouritepartoftheday.Buttoday,somethingisnigglingatme.AndIhaveafeelingIknowwhatitis.
Guilt.
WhenOllie’smobilestartstovibrate,webothspringtolifeasthoughweareexpectingit.
‘Whoisit?’Iask.
‘Don’trecognisethenumber…’hesays.
‘Whydon’tIgetit?’Iask.‘Itcouldbethefuneralhomeor…Idon’tknow…somethingimportant.Maybethepolice?’
Heshakeshishead‘I’llgetit,’hesays,thenpressesthephonetohisear.‘OliverGoodwinspeaking.’
Hefrowns,cockshishead.Thenhemeetsmyeye.‘It’sJones,’hemouthsafterasecond.
‘Putitonspeakerphone,’Imouthbackandhedoes.Jones’scool,efficientvoicefillstheroom.
‘We’vereceivedyourmother’sautopsyreport.We’dliketotalktoyouaboutitdownatthestation,ifpossible.’
‘Thestation?’Ollieblinks.‘Can’tyoutellmeoverthephone?’
‘It’seasierifyoucomehere.Yoursisterandherhusbandarecomingdowntoo.’
Ollielooksatme.Ishrug.‘Ifthat’swhatweneedtodo.I’llberightthere—’
‘Actually,we’dappreciateitifbothyouandLucycamedown.We’dliketotalktobothofyou.’
‘Bothofus?Together?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’seight-thirtyatnight.Ourchildrenareinbed!’
‘ThenIsuggestyoufindababysitter,’Jonessays.‘Becausethisisimportant.Andwe’dliketoseeyoubothtonight.’
18
DIANA
Thepast…
‘Haveyouheardthenews?’Tomsays,hisfaceashinybeaconofcheer.
Iglancearoundinsurprise.Theentirefamilyisgatheredinthegoodroom—Tom,Nettie,Patrick,Ollie,Lucy,evenArchie.Tom’sfaceisashinyroundbeaconofcheer.ThoughI’veseeneveryoneindividuallyoverthepastyear,wehaven’tallbeentogetherasafamilysincethebabymonitorfiascoatSorrentowhenLucyandOlliescurriedbacktoMelbourneafteroneday(adreadfuloverreaction,inmyopinion,evenifIdidoverstep).Inanycase,I’mpleasedtoseeeveryonetogetheragain.
‘Whatisit?’Isay,glancingatNettie.Ican’thelpit.Lucyiseightmonthspregnantwithbabynumbertwo,ithastobeNettie’sturn.Butshejustshrugsasiftosay:Don’tlookatme
‘Ollieisgoingintobusinessforhimself!’Tomcanbarelycontainhisjoy.‘Aboutiquerecruitmentagency!’
‘Oh!’
Myvoiceregistersmysurprise.Olliehasnevershowedanyinterestinstartinghisownbusiness,infacthe’salwaysbeenresistanttotheidea.Ashismother,I’veneverknownhimtobeparticularlyambitious,anddespiteTom’sdesperationtoseehisson‘makeanameforhimself’,Ithoughtitmadehimhappy,workingforsomeoneelse,havinglesspressure,evenlessmoney.Thefactis,Olliehasneverbeenmotivatedbymoney.‘Well…congratulations,darling.’
‘YoushouldcongratulateDad,’Olliesays,buthelookspink-cheekedandpleasedwithhimself.‘He’sbeenanglingforthisforyears.AndI’mnotexactlydoingitmyself.I’vegotabusinesspartner.’
‘Oh?Whoisyourbusinesspartner?’Iask.
‘Eamon.’
Awhisperofdreadcrawlsupmyback.‘EamonCockram?’
‘Yes.’
Itryforasmilebutitfeelsmorelikeagrimace.EamonCockram.I’veneverlikedthatsmarmyboy.He’stheinsufferabletypewhothinksheischarmingthemothersbytellingustheyearshavebeenkind(sadlytheyearshavenotbeenquiteaskindtohim—thelasttimeIsawhimhe’dgrowntubbyandquitebald).IheardthroughthegrapevinethathiswifeJuliahaslefthim,andIcan’tsayanyoneblamedher.
Tomisgrinningfromeartoear.‘We’llhavetohaveFrankandLydiaoverforadrink,won’twe,Di?’
Imakeanon-committalnoise.FrankandLydiaareEamon’sparents,andIwillbegoingtotheutmostlengthstoavoidhavingadrinkwiththem.Still,thereisnopointtellingthistoTomwhoispracticallyfloatingaroundthefrontroom,buoyedbythecloseproximityofhisfamilyandhisson’sbusinessventure.
Nettie,ontheotherhand,looksparticularlymelancholy.She’sgainedsomeweightandhasasheenofsweatacrossherface.Asshereachesuptopullhersweateroverherhead,hershirtridesupand,eventhoughshesaidshe’snotpregnant,Ifindmyselflookinghopefullyforabump.Idon’tseeone.Instead,totheleftofherbelly-button,Iseeafaint,oval-shapedbruise.Iopenmymouthtoaskaboutit,butshegetsinfirst.
‘Sotellmeaboutthisrecruitingfirm,’shesaystoOllie,ballinguphersweaterandrestingitinherlap.‘Willyouspecialiseinacertainindustry?’
‘We’llfocusonITrolestobeginwithbecausethat’sourbackground—’
‘That’syourbackground.WhataboutEamon?’
IfNettie’stoneisanythingtogoby,shesharesmyopinionofEamon,andIfeelaswellofsolidaritywithmydaughter.
‘Well,Eamonhasdonealotofthings,’Ollieadmits.
‘Anythingrelevanttorecruiting?’
Ollieraisesaneyebrow.‘Withduerespect,Nettie,doyouthinkI’dbegoingintobusinesswithhimifIdidn’tthinkhehadanythingtoadd?’
‘IthinkEamoncouldsellsandinthedesert,’Nettiesaysandshehasapoint.Besides,Ollieisn’tstupid,norisheirresponsible.Hewouldn’thavegoneintobusinesswithEamonifhehadn’tthoughtitthrough.AtleastIhopehewouldn’thave.
‘Isittimeforcigars,son?’Tomasks.‘Patrick,areyouinterested?’
Patrick,ofcourse,isveryinterested.He,OllieandTomwandertowardtheden.Tomhashisarmsaroundthemashegoes.Iknowallhewantsisthebestforhisfamily,buthecanbesosingle-mindedaboutit.
IglanceatLucy,sittingquietlyontheotherendofthecouch—I’vealmostforgottenshewashere.Sheisenormouslypregnant.Thismustbeunsettlingforher.Startinganewbusinessisastressfultimeforanyone,letalonewhenyouareweeksawayfromgivingbirth.Iwonder,asIhavewonderedsomanytimes,whyshehadn’tgonebacktoworkherself.Evenworkingparttime,keepinghertoeinthewater,wouldsurelygivethemextrasecuritywhenstartinganewbusiness.
‘Howdoyoufeelaboutthebusiness,Lucy?’Iask.
‘It’swonderful,’shesays.‘Ollieisreallyexcited.’
Shesmiles,theimageofthedotingwife,butIseeinhereyesthatsheisworried.AndwhileIknowIshouldbegratefulthatsheissosupportiveofmyson,allIwanttodoisgrabherbytheshouldersandgiveheragoodshake.
ThenextmorningI’mupandaboutearly.I’lladmitit’sastrangearrangementIhavewiththerefugeegirlsIworkwith.Generally,it’saveryintenserelationshipinthelead-uptothebaby’sbirththatpetersoutwhenthebabiesreachafewmonthsold.IkeepintouchwhereIcan—aphonecalleverysooftenoraChristmascard—butIquicklybecomebusywithnewpregnantgirls,andtheybecomebusywiththeirownlives.Still,I’malwayspleasedwhenIhavereasontohearfromthemagain.LikewhenGhezalatellsmeshe’shavinganotherbaby.
Ipullintothedrivewayofherhome—adifferentone,onlyafewstreetsawayfromthefirstbutjustasrundown.Thelawnisovergrownandthegateishangingfromonehinge.IknowGhezalahasbeencleaningsupermarketsatnighttomakeendsmeet,butasfarasI’mawareHakemhasn’tworkedsincetheyarrivedinthecountry.He’ssittinginafadeddeckchaironthefrontporchsmokingacigarettewhenIpullup.
‘Hello,Hakem,’Isay,slammingthedoor.He’sagedsinceIsawhimlast.He’sstillayoungman,barelythirtyataguess,buthisblackhairissweptthroughwithgreyandhe’spaunchyaroundthemiddle.Hiseyelidsaredrooping,asthoughhe’sdrunkorhalf-asleep.IgoaroundtothebackofthecarandretrievethebasketofmaternitythingsI’vebroughtforGhezala.‘Howareyou?’
Hedoesn’trespond.Iletmyselfinthewonkygate.
‘Everythingallright?’
‘Fine,’hemutters.He’sdressedinaflannelshirt,grubbybeigepantsandthongs.‘Ghezalaisinsidewiththeboy.’
Istop,restthebasketonmyhip.‘How’sthejobhuntgoing?’
‘Fine.Fine.’
‘Whatkindofjobsareyouapplyingfor?’
Hestubsouthiscigarette,shakinghishead.‘Oh.Thisandthat.’
‘Needanyhelp?ImighthavecontactsIcould—’
Hestands,yankingopenthescreendoor.‘Ghezala?’
‘Haveyouappliedforanyjobs,Hakem?Ghezalafoundhercleaningjobquitequickly,asIunderstandit.Surelyyoushouldbeabletofindsomethingtoo.’
Hecockshishead.‘Andwhatjobswouldyouhavemeapplyfor?Taxidriver?Supermarketpacker?’Helaughs,revealingamouthofeggshell-colouredteeth.‘InKabul,Iwasanengineer.Ibuiltskyscrapersforthebigwesternchains.Thisisoneofthereasonswewererunoutofthere.NowthatI’mhere,noonewillletmebuildtheirdogkennel.’
‘Soyou’rehappytoletyourpregnantwifecleansupermarketsbutyou’renotwillingtodothesame?’
HejabsafingeratmyLandRover.‘YoudrivethiscartomyhouseandthenaskmewhatI’mwillingtodo?’
‘I’mdrivingthiscarsoIcandeliveradoublepramtoapregnantwomaninDandenong,Hakem.’
‘Tellmethis,’hecontinues,turninghisfingeronmenow.‘Whatwouldyoubewillingtodo?’
‘I’dbewillingtodoanythingformyfamily.Imightnotbehappyaboutit.Itwouldn’tbefair.Butlife’snotfair,isit?’
Heshakeshishead,makesapahsound.Afteramoment,heextendshisfingeragain,overmyshoulder.‘Seethisbuilding?’hesays,pointingtotheshabbythree-storeyblockacrosstheroad.‘Theguywholivestherewasarespiratorysurgeonbackhome.Heusedtoliveinafive-bedroomhouse!Helivesinaone-bedroomapartmentnowwithhiswifeandthreekids.’HetakesasteptowardmeandIcansmellhisbreath,cigarettesandspice.It’sunclearifheisdoingthistointimidatemeorissimplyfiredupmakinghispoint.‘Haveyouactuallythoughtaboutwhatitwouldbeliketogofromhavingeverythingtohavingnothing?’
‘What’sgoingon?’ThescreendoorslapsclosedagainandIseeGhezalastandingtherewithalittleboyatherankles.Heisthespittingimageofhisfather.‘Hakem?’
Hepullsbackfromme,andIfeelthewelcomerushoffreshairinmyface.
‘Aarash,’Hakemsays,pattingtheboyonhishead.‘Come.LetMamantalkwithherfriend.’
Shewatchesthemwanderouttowardthestreet,thenturnstome.Ismileandholdupmybasket.‘Ibroughtyousomematernityclothes.Andsomeinformationaboutadoulaserviceincaseyou’dliketohavethisbabyathomewithalittlemedicalassistancethistime.Shallwetalkinside?’
GhezalanodsandIholdthedooropentoletherwalkbackintothehouse.BeforeIenter,IglanceovermyshoulderatHakem.Iwaswrong,Irealise,tothinkheisangry.He’smorethanangry,he’sbitter.Itworriesme.Becausewhenlefttotheirowndevices,bitterpeoplecandobadthings.
19
LUCY
Thepast…
‘You’renothappyaboutmegoingintobusinesswithEamon,areyou?’
Ollieismerelyadisembodiedvoiceasheremovesaloadoflaundryfromthewashingmachineinthenextroomandtossesitintothedryer.ForallofDiana’sfoibles,Iwillneverresentherformakingthemanlearnhowtodolaundry.Ilowermypregnantbodyontothecouchand,aftertryingandfailingtoremovemywedges,Iliftmyfeetandthunkthemonthecoffeetable,shoesandall.
‘Whydoyousaythat?’
We’vejustreturnedfromdinnerattheSandringhamPub,avirtualheavenforparentsduetoitsindoorplaygroundthatallowsmumsanddadstoconsumetheirbeersandchickenparmigianasinrelativepeacewhiletheiroffspringgetintofightswithotherkidsonbrightlycolouredplayequipmentbehindapaneofglass.UsuallyIenjoytheSandyPubforwhatitis—achangeofscenery,achancetodrinkwineandchatwithOlliewithoutbeingsurroundedbychildren—buttonightIwassimplytoopregnanttoenjoyanything.Thesavinggrace,atleast,wasthatArchiefellasleeponthewayhomeanddidn’trouseasOlliecarriedhimtobed.
‘Because,’Olliesays,appearinginfrontofme,‘you’vebeenquietsinceIbroughtitup.’
Theproblem,ofcourse,isthatunlikemymother,whowashappytosilentlysupportmyfatherineverythinghedid,Ifinditdifficulttokeepmyopinionstomyself.OrmaybeDadjustnevermadeanydecisionsasquestionableasgoingintobusinesswithEamonCockram.
‘Iknowyoudon’tlikeEamon.’Olliesitsonthecoffeetable.‘AndIknowI’vejokedabouthisbusinesssenseinthepast.ObviouslyI’dnevergetonboardwithoneofhisridiculousenterprises.ImeanS’meals?Comeon.’Helaughs.‘ButIknowrecruitment.Thisisn’tabadbusinessidea,Luce.Infact,IthinkEamonandIarewellsuitedinthisventure.IhavetheexpertiseandEamonhas…thehustle.’
It’shardtoarguewiththat.TheonethingEamonisprobablygoodatishustling.Andwhilenoself-respectingrecruiterwouldeverrefertothemselvesassuch,weare,inessence,hustlers.Oratleastsalespeople.Thecandidatesaretheproduct,theclientistheconsumer.Ollieisdedicatedtothecandidatetoafault,andEamon,ontheotherhand,isexcessivelyinterestedintheclient.PerhapsOllieisright.PerhapstheyareamatchmadeinHeaven?
Ollietakesmyfeetinhislapandbeginsundoingthebuckleofmyleftshoe.‘Look,Ishouldhavehadthisdiscussionwithyouearlier.I’msorryIdidn’t.Butifyoureallydon’twantmetodoit,Iwon’t.’
Hetakestheshoefrommyfootanddropsitontothecarpet.Ibelievehim.IbelievethatifItoldhimIdidn’twanthimtodothis,hewouldn’tdoit.Atthesametime,Ithinkit’snocoincidencethatOlliemadetheannouncementbeforeaskingmethisquestion.
Perhapshe’snotsuchabadhustlerafterall?
Dad’sjobistolookafterus,ourjobistolookafterhim
‘Ofcourseyoushoulddoit,’Isaywithasigh.‘Imaynotlikehimbutit’snotasifEamonisacriminal!Besides,what’stheworstthatcouldhappen?’
20
LUCY
Thepresent…
‘Everythingokay?’IaskOllie.
OllieandIsitinthereceptionareaofpoliceheadquarters,holdingwhiteplasticcupsofwater.Dadisbabysitting,thoughthepoormanwasoutofhismindwithworrywhenIexplainedwehadtogototalktohomicidedetectives.ButDadistheleastofmyworriesrightnow,andbythelookofit,theleastofOllie’s.Hiseyesdartaroundandhecan’tseemtositstill.IamcaughtbetweenafeelingofdreadandafeelingthatI’minaTVset,likeTheTrumanShow,andsoonsomeonewithaclipboardisgoingtocall‘Cut!’
‘LucyandOliverGoodwin?’
Awoman—whoisneitherJonesnorHousseini—isstandingbyaslidingdoor,lookingaround.OllieandIputdownourwaterandriseinunison.
‘Thisway,’shesays.
Thewomansmiles,butit’sthepolitekindofsmileratherthanthefriendlykind.Sheisyoung,latetwenties,buthard-faced,likeshe’sseensomestuff.
Wetakealifttothethirdfloorinsilence,thenexitdownacorridorwithdoorsalongtheleft,narrowenoughthatwefallintosinglefile.Aswepassroomafterroom,Ican’thelpbutwonderaboutthepeoplewhohavewalkedthispathbeforeus.Guiltypeople,presumably.Andinnocent,Iguess.InoticePatrickinoneoftheroomsandammomentarilysurprised,butthenIremember…JonesmentionedonthephonethatbothheandNettiewerecomingin.
Thewomanleadingusstopsabouthalfwaydownthecorridor.‘MrGoodwin,you’reinhere.’
Olliefrowns.‘LucyandIaren’ttogether?’
‘It’sstandardprocedure.’
‘Whyisthatstandardprocedure?’Ollie’svoicesoundsdifferent,moreclippedthanusual.‘We’renotunderarrest,arewe?We’reheretogettheautopsyresultsformymother’sdeath.’
Thewomanisunflustered.Shesmilesagain.‘It’sjustthewaywedoit.’
OllieglancesatmeandIshruglikeit’snobigdeal.Iknowthistypeofwoman.She’sthetypewhodoesn’tdeviatefromstandardpractice.Thetypethatmakesagreatdebtcollector,becausetheystayonmessageeveninthefaceofterribleextenuatingcircumstances(I’msorryyourwifejustdiedandyourhousehasbeenrepossessed,sir…Youoweeighthundredandfifty-eightdollars,wetakechequeorEFT.).SoIrecogniseimmediatelythatanyresistancetotheseparateroomsituationislikelytobefutile.
‘Wecangoseparately,’Isay.‘It’sfine,isn’tit,Ollie?’
‘What’sfine?’
Iturn.DetectivesJonesandHousseiniareamblingtowardusdownthenarrowcorridor.It’sJonesdoingthespeaking,asusual.She’scarryingabrightgreenKeepCup,andshetakesasip.
‘Iwasjustexplainingthattheyarebeingsetupinseparaterooms,’theladysays.
‘Yes,sorry,Ishouldhavementionedthat,’Jonessays,thoughshedoesn’tsoundsorry.‘It’sstandardpractice.Isthereaproblem?’
SheshootsaglanceatHousseini.Housseiniiswearingasuittoday,withtieandall.Itlooksgoodonhim.SomethingsubtleaboutthebodylanguagebetweenhimandJonesmakesmethinkthatJoneshasnoticedthistoo.
‘No,’Isay,eventhoughJonesislookingatOllie,whosefaceissayingtheopposite.Iwonderwhat’supwithhim.UsuallyOllieisthecalm,unflappableone.Usuallyheistheonecalmingmedown.
‘Allrightthen,’Jonessays.‘Ollie,you’rewithme.Lucy,you’rewithHousseini.’
MyfirstinstinctistoberelievedthatIhaveHousseini.Outofthetwo,heisclearlythegoodcop,sotospeak.ButIworryaboutOlliegoingoffwithJonesgiventhestrangemoodheisin.He’slikelytogethimselfintroubleforsomethinghedidn’tdo.
Housseinileadsmetoaroomwhereapersonisfiddlingwithavideocamera.Hetakesoffhissuitjacketandhangsitonthebackofhischair,andplacesamanilafolderonthetableinfrontofhim.‘Sorryaboutthemonkeysuit,’Housseinisays.‘Beenincourtthismorning.’
IsmileeventhoughtheideaofHousseinigivingevidenceincourtmakesmenervous.DespitethefactthatIamapparentlyjusthereforafriendlychat,itoccurstomethatit’sonlyafriendlychatuntilI’maccusedofsomething.Thenthatvideofootagewillbewheeledoutincourt.Thenitwillbeusedasevidence
‘So…theautopsyreport?’Istart,butHousseiniinterrupts,explainingthatwearegoingtoberecorded.Thenwegothroughmyparticulars,myname,myaddress,myrelationshiptoDiana.Housseini’spostureiscasual,oneelbowonthedesk,hisbodyangledtotheside,oneankleontheoppositeknee.AsIanswereachquestion,henodsencouragingly.Hiseyes,Inotice,arethecolourofmaplesyrup.
‘Canyoutellmewhereyouwerebetweenoneandfiveo’clocklastThursdayafternoon?’hesays.
Iglanceatthecamera.‘Um…well,Iwasathomewithmytwo-and-a-half-year-olddaughteruntilaround3.40pm.Thentheothertwokidscamehome.’
‘Cananyoneverifythat…otherthanyourdaughter?’
Ithinkaboutthis.‘Olliecamehomefromworkearly,around2or2.30pm,thenhewentoutagaintogetourson,Archie.Sohecanverifypartofthetime.’
‘Whydidhecomehomeearly?’
‘Hewasn’tfeelingwell,’Isay,thoughitsuddenlyoccurstomethathedidn’tseemparticularlyunwell.Infact,Irecalledthinkinghe’dbeeninagoodmoodthatday.
‘Yousaidhepickedupyourson?’Housseinisays.‘Andoneofyourdaughterswashomewithyou.Wherewasyourotherdaughter?’
‘Harriethadaplaydateafterkindergarten.Shewasdroppedhomebyanothermother,KerryMathis,around4pm.Icameoutandwavedfromthedoorstep.’
‘AndMsMathiswillverifythis?’
‘I’msureshewill,’Isay,thoughIcringeattheideaofthepolicecontactingakindermumtoverifymywhereabouts.
‘Good.’Housseiniputsdownhispenandsitsbackinhischair.Heexhalesslowly.‘Iunderstandthattherewasanincidentbetweenyouandyourmother-in-lawafewyearsback.Doyouwanttotellmeaboutthat?’
‘Incident?’Iask.I’mjustbuyingsometime,asclearlyheknowsaboutit.I’mnotgoingtodenyit.
‘Anassault.’
‘Oh,’Isay.‘Thatwasn’tanassault,exactly.’
‘Youpushedyourmother-in-lawover,asIunderstand?’Housseiniwatchesme.‘Andshewasunconsciousforquitesometime?’
‘Iwasn’tchargedwithanything,’Isay.Butofcourse,ifHousseiniknowsabouttheincident,healreadyknowsthistoo.He’sfeelingmeout,tryingtogaugemyreactions.
‘Whatdoyouthinkhappenedtoyourmother-in-law,Lucy?’
‘Well…obviously…Idon’tknow.Ithoughtthat’swhatwewereheretofindout.’
‘Itis.’He’slookingatmetoointently.‘ButI’minterestedinyouropinion.’
‘Okay.Ithinkshekilledherself…’Isay,withwhatIhopesoundslikeconviction.‘Imean,youfoundaletter.’
‘Wedidfindaletter.Inherstudydrawer.Kindofastrangeplacetoleaveasuicideletter,don’tyouthink?’
‘I…yes,Idothinkso.’
‘DoyouthinkitisincharacterforMrsGoodwintodosomethinglikethis?’hecontinues.‘Totakeherownlife?’
‘Itwasincharacterforhertobeheadstrong,’Isay.‘Onceshe’ddecidedtodosomething,itwashardtochangehermind.’
Housseinilooksdownatamanilafolderonthetableinfrontofhim,thenretrievesapairofwire-rimmedglassesfromhispocketandplacesthemonhisnose.‘Thecoronerreportedhighlevelsofcarbondioxideinthedeceased’sblood.’Housseiniglancesupatmeoverthetopofhisglasses.
‘AmIsupposedtoknowwhatthatmeans?’
‘Shealsohadbloodshoteyes,bruisingaroundthelips,gumsandtongue.’
That,admittedly,soundsodd.WhywouldDianahavebruising?
Housseinilooksbackathispaperwork.‘Theexamineralsofoundfibresinyourmother-in-law’shands.Thread…itlookslike.Goldthread.’Heshufflesthroughsomepagesinthefolder,pluckingoutone.‘Yourmother-in-law’shouseindicatesshewashouseproud.Verytidy.Everythinginitsplace.Matchymatchy.’
I’mthrownbythesuddenchangeindirection.‘Whatdoesthathavetodowithanything?’
HousseiniturnsthepieceofpapersoIcanseeit.It’saphoto.Irecoil,expectingapictureofDiana’sbody.Butit’sjustapictureofDiana’splace,thegoodroom.
‘Doesanythinglookwrongtoyouinthispicture?’Housseiniasks.
Igiveitacursoryglance.‘No,nothing.’
‘Areyousure?’
Ilookalittlecloser.Atthebookshelf,thecoffeetable,thedeep,creamsofawithamatchingcreamcushion…threadedthroughwithgold.
‘Itfeelslikeshewouldhaveapairofthesegold-threadedcushions,don’tyouthink?’Housseinisays.HisgazefeelsaccusingandforamomentIwonderifheis,infact,thegoodcop.‘Butwelookedandlookedandwecouldonlyfindone.’
Ilookbackatthepicture.He’sright,thereweretwocushions,definitely.Irememberseeingthemrecently.IwasatDiana’swiththekidsandHarrietwaspickingatone,tryingtopulloutthethreadsoshecouldtieittoherhairandhavelonggoldenlockslikeRapunzel.Ihadtosnatchthecushionfromherandputitback.Dianaimmediatelystraightenedit.Housseiniisright,Dianawashouseproud.
‘WellIdon’tknow.Maybeshespilledsomethingonone?’Isuggest.‘Andsentitoutforcleaning?’
‘We’relookingintothat.We’relookingintoalotofthings.’
‘Okay.But…wait.Ithoughtyousaidyoufound…materialsinDiana’shouse.Suicidematerials.’
‘Wedid.’Housseinisurveysmecloselywithhisshiny,syrupyeyes.‘AnemptybottleofLatubenwasfoundbyyourmother-in-law’sbody.Latubenisapopulardrugthatpeopletaketobringaboutafast,painlessdeath.UsuallypeopledrinktwobottlesofLatubeniftheyaretryingtoendtheirlife,butevenonebottlecouldbeafataldoseforsomeoneofDiana’ssizeandbuild.’
‘So,’Iclearmythroat,‘therewasonlyonebottlebyherbody?’
‘Onlyone.’Housseininods.‘Andinanycase,thedrugwasn’tfoundinherbloodstream.Sowe’vebeenlookingatalternativecausesofdeath.’
‘Alternativecausesofdeath?’
‘Yes.SoinlightofeverythingI’vetoldyou,I’dliketoaskyouthefirstquestionagain.’Hewatchesme.‘Whatdoyouthinkhappenedtoyourmother-in-law?’
IopenmymouthandrepeattheanswerIgaveHousseinithefirsttime,thatIthinkDianakilledherself.Butthistimeitdoesn’tcomeoutwithquitesomuchconviction.
OllieemergesfromhismeetingroomatthesametimeasIdo,andJonesandHousseiniwalkusbackdownthecorridor.TheroomthatPatrickwasinisnowempty,andifNettiewashere,itseemsshe’sgonetoo.HousseiniandJonestakeusasfarastheelevator,thankusforcominginandgiveustheirbusinesscardsagain.ThenJonestellsus,twice,thatshe’llbeintouch.Probablysheisjusttrippingoverthenicetiesofconversation,butthenagain,thepoliceTVprogramsIwatchleadmetobelievethecopsdon’tdoanythingbyaccident.
‘Itwentfine,’Olliesaysoncetheelevatordoorcloses.Buthisfacesaysotherwise.Hehasablotchylookabouthimthathegetswhenhe’scomingdownwithsomething.Theelevatordoorpingsopen.
‘Areyouallright?’Iask.
Westepoutintothefoyer.‘DidHousseinitellyouabouttheautopsy?’hewhispersaswewalk.‘Thebruisedlips?’
Wecrossthefloorofthefoyer,gothroughtheautomaticdoorsintothecarpark
‘Yes.Andthemissingcushion.Andthat’snottheonlythingthatdoesn’tseemrightaboutthis.’
Olliestops.‘Whatelsedoesn’tseemright?’
‘Thecancer.Whyisn’tthereanyevidenceofthecancer?’
OllieopenshismouthbutIgetinfirst.
‘Andtheletter,whywasitinadrawer?Wouldn’tsheleaveitsomewhereobviousforsomeonetofindit?’
Ollie’sexpressionisaspuzzledasIfeel.‘IwishIknew,’hesaysfinally.‘Shewasmymotherbutasitturnsout…Ididn’treallyknowheratall.’
21
DIANA
Thepast…
Thecallcomesataround5.00am.Iturnoverinbedandlookattherednumbersblinkingintothedarkness.
‘Thebaby’scoming,’OlliesayswhenIpickupthephone.‘Lucy’scontractionsareabouttenminutesapart.Canyoucomenow?’
Igetoutofbedandmakemyselfastrongcoffee.Idon’ttrustmyselfontheroadsuntilI’vehadmymorningcoffee—myeyesaren’twhattheyoncewere.Ishowerquicklyandgetmyselfdressed,double-checkingeverythingintheovernightbagI’vepacked.Theselabourscangoonforalongtime,sowhoknowshowlongI’llbeatOllieandLucy’shouse.I’vepackedmypyjamas,atoothbrush,anovel.I’mevenbringingalittlegift-wrappedThomastheTankEnginetrainforArchie.IplantogivethetraintoArchie‘fromthebaby’,becauseapparentlythat’swhateveryonedoesthesedays,atleastthat’swhatJansays,andJanseemstoknowthesekindsofthings.OnceI’veconfirmedthatIhaveeverything,Igetinthecarandmakethetwenty-minutedrivetotheirhouse,arrivingat5.55am.
OllieisonthedoorstepandLucyishalf-bentoverthefrontfence,havingacontraction.
‘Wherehaveyoubeen?’Ollieexclaims,justshortofahiss.
Ibristle,I’lladmitit.HeavenforbidItakelongerthantheyexpecttogetthere.NooneisaskingwhereTomhasbeen.He’llwakeupsometimearoundeight,playeighteenholesofgolfandthenswanintothehospitalwhenthebabyisafewminutesold,bearinganextravagantgiftandpromisesofatrustfund,andhewillbeeveryone’shero.
‘Here’sthetaxi,’Lucysays,ignoringmeentirely.Sheisinlabour,andIknowthereasonablethingtodoistoforgiveherforthis.Butathankyou,Ifeel,wouldn’thurt.Evenahello.
ItfeelslikeyesterdayIwasinherposition,doubledoverinpain,waitingformybabytocome.Butinmycase,noonewasontheirwaytohelp,nohusbandwastheretocallataxitothehospital.Iwasleftonthestepsofthehospitalwithabaginmyhand.Andafterthat,Iwasonmyown.
IknowthatIshouldlookatLucyandseethesimilaritiesbetweenus.Wearebothmothers,wehaveamutualloveformyson.We’realsobothmotherless,althoughmymothersteppedawaybychoicewhereasherswastakenfromher,kickingandscreamingnodoubt.
Iknowallthis.
Butforsomereason,despiteoursimilarities,whenIlookather,allIseeareourdifferences.
*
WhenTomarrivesatOllieandLucy’shouselaterthatday,Itellhimhehasagranddaughter.
‘Agranddaughter?’Ofcourseheismisty-eyedinaninstant.‘It’slikehistoryrepeatingitself,isn’tit?Ason,thenadaughter.’
‘Ourstoryisalittledifferent,though,’Isay.
‘Alittle,’heagrees.
IlaughasInoticeashinypoolofliquidgatheringinthecornerofhismouth.‘You’redrooling.’Iwipeitawaywithmythumb,thesamewayIdosometimestoArchie.‘OlliewantsustobringArchieintomeethissister.’
Tom’seyescanvassthelivingroom.‘WhereisArchie?’
‘Napping.Heonlyjustwentdown,soI’llgivehimanotherhourorso.’ItakeoneofTom’slegsintomylapandbeginmassaginghiscalf.Hiseyesfallshutandhemoansappreciatively.‘Tom,Iwaswondering.You’renotlookingforanyengineersatworkatthemoment,areyou?’
Hefrownsbuthiseyesremainshut.‘Engineers?’
‘Imightknowofsomeone,that’sall.’
‘Anengineer?’
‘Yes.Veryqualified.HeusedtobuildskyscrapersinKabul.’IrubmythumbsfromthebackofhiskneeallthewaydowntohisAchillesheel.
‘Areyoutryingtoinfluencemewithalegrub,Diana?’TomsmilesandIfeelthatfamiliarsurgeofjoythatTomGoodwinlovesme.Itiswithoutquestionthegreatestblessingofmylife.
‘Ifyoucanvouchforhim,’Tomsays,‘considerhimhired.’
22
LUCY
Thepast…
Lightningdoesn’tstriketwice,that’swhattheysay.Well‘they’canjumpoffacliff,becausetherewasaman,RoySullivan,whowasstruckbylightningseventimesduringhislife.Seven!WhatmustRoyhavethoughteverytimeheheardsomeonesaythatlightningdidn’tstriketwice?Igetthepoint,ofcourse—it’snotcommon.ButthatmusthavejustmadepooroldRoyfeelevenworse.Roysurvivedallsevenstrikes,whichismoreinspiringifyouaskme.Hewasfounddeadinhisbedattheageofseventy-oneaftershootinghimselfinthehead—andIdaresayallthose‘lightningdoesn’tstriketwice’folkshouldshouldertheirshareofresponsibilityforthat.Becausethefactis,sometimeslightningdoesstrikemorethanonce.ItdidforRoyandithasforme.
BecauseIhaveasecondchildwithcolic.
I’msittinginmyreclinerholdinganippletomyscreaminginfant’smouth.Myreclinerisintheloungeroom,whichisnowtheplayroom,TVroomandHarriet’sbedroom.AnepisodeofGameofThronesplaysonthetelevisionandIhalf-watchit.I’vewatchedthisepisodethreetimesnowandI’mstillnotentirelysurewhat’sgoingon.Toomanycharactersinthisdamnshow.Still,there’sJonSnowwhomakesitworththeeffort.
‘Justfeed!’Ihiss-whispertoHarriet.
IthankmyluckystarsthatatleastArchieisoutofmyhairasIdothis.DianacomesonTuesdaysnowandtakesArchietotheparkforanhourandahalf,andforthisI’mtrulythankful.ArchieadoresDianaformanyreasons,notleastofwhichisbecauseshepackshimfullofbabycinosandmarshmallowsandletshimrunriot,andIamfinewiththisbecauseIhaveanewbornwithcolicandifamurderousgangsterofferedtotakemykidoffmyhandsforacoupleofhoursI’dbesorelytempted.
Harrietisapieceofwork,Icantellthisalreadyatthreemonthsold.Shewon’tgotoanyoneelse,noteventoOllie,andwhenItrytohandherover,shesucksinabreathandwatchesmewithknowingeyes.Whydoyouevenbother,Mum?I’mabouttoscreamsoloudlytheneighbourswillthinkyouaretryingtokillme.Theymightevencallthepolice.You’dbetter…Ohtherewego,Daddy’shandingmeback.Don’tmakethissillymistakeagain
DianapersistsintryingtoholdHarrietweekafterweek,asifexpectinghertohavemagically,sincetheweekbefore,warmedtopeople.Eachweek,aswegothroughthislittleroutine,Ifeelliketellinghernottobother,butthatwouldbedenyingDianahergrandmotherlyrights,nottomentionmakemeoneofthosecrazydaughters-in-law,theonesthatmakeeveryonegetawhoopingcoughshotbeforetheycanholdthebaby.AndsoIletherholdHarriet.I’velearnedtoplaythegame.
IhavejustmanagedtogetHarrietlatchedonwhenIhearArchie’sapproachinggiggle.Myheartsinks.Already?IhadgrandplansforthisafternoonbutinanhourandahalfallI’vemanagedtodoisfoldatinypileofwashing(Ihaven’tevenputitaway)andwatchJonSnowandRamsayBoltonbattleitoutinthe‘BattleoftheBastards’.Now,Archieburststhroughthedoor,clutchingafistfuloflollies.IpickupthecontrollerandpauseGameofThrones.Archierunsaroundtheroominamaniacalcircle,pumpeduponsugar.
‘Archie!’Ishoutashetracksamuddybootrightacrossmypileoffoldedlaundry.MybreastcomesoutofHarriet’smouthwithapainfulpinch.‘Shit!’
‘Shiiiiiit!’Archiesays.
DianaappearsbehindArchie,lookingappalled.ShesurveystheroomandimmediatelyholdsoutherhandsforHarriet,whostartsinhalinganicedeepbreath.IhandHarrietoverandlookatmyruinedpileoflaundry,thegrandsumofmyday’sachievements.Intruehormonalstyle,Ifindmyselfholdingbacktears.
‘Archie,lookwhatyou’vedone,mate!’
Idon’tscreamit.There’sthe‘mate’Iaddattheend,forgoodmeasure.ButArchie,ofcourse,decidestoburstintotears.
Dianasquatsdown,transferringawailingHarriettotheoppositeshoulderasifthatwillmakeadifference,andtriestocomfortArchie.
‘ThatfoldingisallImanagedtodowhileyouweregone!’Iexplain.‘OtherthantrytofeedHarriet,wheremyeffortswerejustaspathetic.’
DianaglancesatthetelevisionwhereapictureofJonSnowisfrozenonthescreen,thenbackatmepointedly.‘Maybeyoucouldtrymultitasking.WhenOlliewasababy,Iusedtounloadthegroceries,vacuumthehouseandpaythebillswhilefeedinghim.’
ObviouslyDianaislying.Sheneverunloadedthegroceries,vacuumedthehouseandpaidthebillswhilefeedingOllie.It’sphysicallyimpossible.IknowbecauseI’mwellversed—nottomentionrecentlywellversed—inbreastfeeding.Butitdoesn’tmatterwhatIknowbecausemothers-in-lawareallowedtosaythingsthataren’ttrue.Whetherthey’relyingormisrememberingisentirelybesidethepoint:
‘Richardtookhisfirststepsatthreemonthsold.’
‘Susienevercried.Never!’
‘IstartedfeedingJudysolidswhileshewasstillinthehospital.’
‘IwashedallofTrevor’sclothesbyhandinhome-madelaundrypowder.’
‘Philiplovedvegetables.Lovedthem.HedevouredeverythingIeverservedhim.Brusselssproutswerehisfavourite!’
Daughters-in-lawknowtheirmothers-in-lawarelying,butitdoesn’tmatterajot,becausehowdoesoneproveitisn’ttrue?Moreimportantly,howdoesoneprovesomethingisn’ttruewhilsttryingtobepolitetotheirmother-in-law?Itisasimpossibleasbreastfeedinganinfantwhileunloadingthegroceries,vacuumingthefloorandpayingthebills.Andso,mothers-in-lawgettosaywhateveroutlandishstatementstheylikeaboutmotherhood.Mothers-in-lawwin,everytime.
‘YoucouldputHarrietdownforaminuteortwoanddosomelaundry,’Dianaissaying.‘Throwbothkidsinthepramandtakethemtothegrocerystore.PutapuzzledownforArchieandpopHarrietinthebouncychairwhileyoucookdinner.Youshouldn’tneedtobesittinginthatchairaroundtheclockwhenshe’sthreemonthsold.’
Ittakesmeamomenttocollectmyself.Ishouldbeclear,Idon’thavepostnataldepressionoranxietyoranypostnatalmooddisordertospeakof.Iknowpeoplewhohavesuffered.MycousinSophieconfessedtomeoncethatshefeltindifferenttoherdaughterJemima.Shefelthopelessaboutherroleasamotherandwouldhavedoneanythingtoturnbacktheclockandnothavehadthebaby.MyfriendRachelreportedbeingtrappedinaworldofexhaustedinsomniaformonthsafterhavingRemy,whereshewouldlieinbed,hermindlockedinanOCDcycleofIfyoudon’tmoveyourrightlegrightnow,Remywillbedeadinthemorning.I,ontheotherhand,ammentallywell.Iadoremychildren.Apartfromthe(Iamtold,totallynormal)hormonalmomentswhenIdecidemybaby(orhusband)isthedevilincarnate,Iamveryfondofmylife.Ienjoybeinganat-homemum.Ievenlikemyteenytinyworkerscottagewiththeunrenovatedkitchen.
WhatIdon’tlikeisbeingtoldwhattodobymymother-in-lawinmyownhome.
‘Thankyouforthatadvice,Diana,’Isayfinally.‘Thatis…incrediblyhelpful.Ican’twaittotryyoursuggestions.’
Welockeyes.WebothknowI’mbeingsarcastic.ButcallingmeonitwillbefutilebecauseI’lldenyit.ItisanunexpectedlittlewinformeandIbatheinit.Harriet,whoisstillscreaminginDiana’sarms,reachesformeandItakeher.Thecryingstopsinstantly.Anotherwin.
Itoccurstomethatonlyamother-in-lawanddaughter-in-lawcanhaveanall-outwarwithoutanyonesomuchasraisingtheirvoice.Thefunnythingis,ifanyofthemenwerehere,theywouldn’thaveacluethatanythingotherthanapleasantconversationwasgoingon.IfOlliewerehere,he’dprobablycommenton‘whataniceafternoonthatwaswithMum’.Inthatway,menarereallyquitesimple,blessthem.
ArchiecomesandsitsonmylapnexttoHarriet,andforanunexpectedmomentbothmychildrenarecontent.Ifind,tomysurprise,thatI’mquiteenjoyingmyself.
‘AllI’msayingisIdon’tknowifyou’reusingyourtimeeffectively,’Dianasaysfinally.
Andwhatbusinessisthatofyours?Iwanttoask,butthat,webothknow,wouldbebreakingtherules.Imustnotattack,butdefenceisallowed.Ithinkofmyhigh-schoolnetballdays.I’mgoaldefence.IfI’mgoodenoughatmyjob,theotherteamwon’tscore.AndsoIcomeupwithsomethingelse.
‘You’reright,’Isaywithasmile.‘Youdon’t.’
Andeventhoughitwillneverfeatureonascoreboard,I’mprettysureIjustshotagoal.
23
LUCY
Thepast…
‘Areyougoingtotrademeinforayoungermodeloneday?’IwhispertoOllie.
We’restandingonthebackdeckbythebarbecue.OllieisbarbecuingandIamshufflingaround,tryingtolookbusy.It’sSaturdayafternoonandEamonhasbroughthisnewgirlfriend,Bella,tolunch.Sheistwenty-twoandIhaveneverfeltolderinmylife.
‘Can’taffordto,’hesays.‘Anyway,Imarriedayoungonetobeginwith.’
‘You’vealwaysbeenaforwardplanner.’
‘Iplaythelonggame,’hesayswithawink.‘Bytheway,Bella’sinthekitchen.You’dbettergetinthere.Shemightstartplayingwithmatches.’HegesturestoHarrietandArchie.‘I’llkeepaneyeontheotherkids.’
ReluctantlyIheadtothekitchentotalktoBella.It’snotoutofloyaltytoEamon’sex-wife—Iwasn’tespeciallyfondofJuliaeither.It’spurelythefactthatI’mamarriedmotheroftwo…andshe’stwenty-two.
WhenIgettothekitchen,Bellaisstandinginfrontofthesalads,staringdownatthem.
‘Where’sEamon?’Iask.
‘He’sjustgonetothebottleshopforchampagne.ItoldhimIdidn’twantany,butheinsisted.’Sherollshereyes.
‘Oh,well,canIgetyouadrinkinthemeantime?Orsomethingtoeat?Ihavecheeseandcrackers—’
‘Water’sfine,’shesays,gesturingtotheglassbesideher.
‘CanIatleastgetyousomeice?’
‘No,roomtemperatureisbetter.’
Betterforwhat?Iwonder,butIdon’tasklestshedecidestellme.Ihaveavaguerecollectionofbeinglecturedabouttheperilsofcolddrinks(somethingtodowithdampheatcollectinginthebody)whenvisitingaChineseacupuncturistaboutapersistentneckinjuryafewyearsback,andwhiletheacupunctureworkedatreatonmyneck,Iamsomeonewhoispartialtoanice-coldbeverage,sotheunsolicitedadvicewasanunwelcomeadditiontomyservice.
‘SohowdidyouandEamonmeeteachother?’Iaskinstead.
‘Hegoestomygym,’Bellatellsme.‘Hewasinmybodypumpclass.’
‘You’reafitnessinstructor?’
Shenods,andIfeelrelieved.OllietoldmeshewasoneofthosefitnesspeopleonInstagram,theoneswhopostphotosofsmoothiesandproteinpowderinamongstpicturesoftheirabsinexoticlocations.It’scomfortingtoknowshehasanactualjobaswell.
‘Well,Iusedtobeanyway,’shesays.‘Imostlyfillinnowthatmybusinesshastakenoff.’
‘Oh?’Isay,lookinginthedrawerforsaladservers.‘Andwhatisyourbusiness?’
‘I’mafitnessinfluencer.’
Myhandsflattenonthecutlerytray.
‘Ihaveahundredandtwenty-twothousandfollowersonInstagramatthemoment,soyeah,thingsaretakingoff.ButImean…Ineedtokeepgrowingit.’
Ifindsomeserversandstarttossingthepotatosalad.Iwentheavyonthemayonnaise,whichInowsuspectwasamistake.Thegreensalad,too,ischockfullofavocadoandfetaandoil.‘Andhowdoyou…growit?’
‘Youknow…analysingthebestperformingposts…lookingatthehashtagsyou’reusinglike#fitspoand#fitnessporn,keepinguptodatewithwhoisinfluencinginyourfield.’
‘Gotcha.’
‘Thenit’sprettymuchaboutpartneringwithbrands.I’vebeencontactedbyareallyinterestingup-and-comingorganicjuicebrandandI’mgoingtobedoingsomereallycoolstuffwiththemandyeah,it’sgood.’
‘Great!’
IfeellikeI’mbabysittingafriend’steenagedaughter.SheiswearingasportsbraandLycraleggingswithaclearslickeroverthetop.Tolunch!ThroughtheslickerInoticethatherbreastslooksuspiciouslyroundforherslenderframe.Ispareasuddenthoughtformyowndeflatedbreasts,destroyedbytwopregnanciesandtwohungrybabies.Olliedoesn’tseemtomindmybreasts—infactheseemsratherfondofthem—butallthesameIindulgeinamomentofmourningformypre-babyboobs,alluprightandroughlythesamesizeasoneanother.
AdoorslamsandamomentlaterEamonappears,abottleofchampagneineachhand.Hewagglesthemaboutlikeanidiot.‘It’spartytime,ladies!’
Eamon’sshirtisunbuttonedtoofar.He’slostabitofweightlately,thewaymendowhentheyarehavingaffairsormidlifecrises.(Ollie,Godlovehim,hasmaintainedarelativelystableweight,evengainingalittlewitheachpassingyear,whichisgoodnewsontheaffairfront.)
‘Champagneglasses,Luce?’Eamonsays.
Afewminuteslaterhereturnswithfourglasses,filledtothebrim.‘IsaidIdidn’twantany!’Bellaexclaimsashepushesaglassintoherhand.‘I’monacleanse.’
‘Nothingbetterforcleansingthanchampagne,’hesayscheerily.
‘Whoiscleansing?’Ollieasks,appearinginthekitchenwithatrayofovercookedmeat.
‘Bella,’EamonandIsaytogether.
OllieglancesatthemeatonhistraythesamewayIlookedatmysalads.
‘Don’tworry,’Bellasays,smiling.‘Ibroughtmyownfood.’
Olliegawpsather.‘Youbroughtyourownfood?’
Sheunzipsabrightlycolouredcool-bagthatI’dpreviouslythoughtwasherpurse.‘Imealprepatthestartoftheweek,soit’snotroublereally.AllIneedisaplate.Easiestguestyou’veeverhad,right?’Shelaughs.
IcanalreadyhearOllieandmeimpersonatinghertonightafterthey’veleft.Easiestguestyou’veeverhad,right?Forthisreason,andthisreasonalone,Imanagetosmile.
IgiveBellaaplateandshedishesupasad-lookingsaladthatappearstobebrownriceandlettuce.Therestofustuckintopotatosalad,sausagesandburgers.
‘Sohow’sbusiness,Eamon?’Iask.‘Thingsgoingwell?’
TheoneupsideofEamonbeinghereisthatIhaveanopportunitytoaskhimaboutthebusiness.Sinceitstarted,Olliehasbeenworkingaroundtheclockformonths,butwhenIaskhimhowthingsaregoing,hesaysverylittle.Hehasatendencytobeaworrier,andIconsolemyselfwiththiswhenheseemslessthanoptimistic.ButtodayI’dbeenhopingforalittlereassurancefromEamonaswell
‘Wedon’tneedtotalkshoptoday.’Eamonputsdownhisglass.‘It’stheweekend.’
‘I’mhappytotalkshop,’Isay.
‘Youknowwhatwouldbemorefun?’Eamonputsdownhisglass.‘Truthordare.’
Mid-sipofmychampagne,Ichoke.Truthordare?Eamonisforty-three,Iremindmyself.Forty-three
‘Comeon.It’sagoodicebreaker.Weplayedittheothernight,didn’twe,Bells?’
Bellanods,spearingaspinachleaf.She’slistening,itseems,butherentirefocusseemstobeonherfood.Thepoorlittlethingisprobablystarving.
‘Okay,youcanstart,Bells,’Eamonsays.‘Truthordare?’
‘Hmmm,’shesays.‘Ishouldsaydare.BecauseIlikeaphysicalchallenge.Butgiventhelocation,andthefactthatwe’rehavinglunchI’llsay…truth.’Sheshrugsgaily.
‘WhatwasitaboutEamonthatyoufirstfoundattractive?’ItcomesoutofmymouthbeforeIcanhelpit.NormallyI’dbecautious,incaseitimpliedthattherewasn’tanythingattractiveaboutEamonandthushurthisfeelings,butlatelyIamlessconcernedabouthisego.AsforBella,Iexpecthertofumble,tobeshy,butshejustreachesacrossthetableandtakeshishand,smilingunabashedly.‘Beforehim,I’donlybeenwithboys.Eamonisaman.’
OllieandIexchangeaglance.Itrynottovomit.
‘It’satoughjob,’Eamonsays,stretchinghisarmsout,‘butsomeonehastodoit.’
‘Allrightythen,’Olliesays,clearlyasappalledasIam.Itakeamomenttobaskinthesimplicityofmymostlynormalhusband.
‘Yourturn,buddy,’EamonsaystoOllie.‘Truthordare?’
‘Dare,’hesays,whichisasurprisebecausewho,abovetheageoftwelve,saysdare?Itellmyselfhe’sjustansweringquicklytomovethingsalong.Iamtryingtothinkofsomething,mymindgoingtoideasofknockingontheneighbours’doorsandrunningaway,whenEamonputsdownhisglass.
‘Idareyoutoborrowamillionbucksfromyourdad!’hesays.‘Hisdad’sminted,’heexplainstoBella.‘He’dprobablyhaveamillionbucksinpocketchange.’
Helaughsloudly,andI’mremindedofJeffreyGreenan,Tom’sfriend.Sameawfullaugh,samechauvinisticmanner.ThoughatleastJeffreyhadaverynicewife.
‘Unfortunately,’Olliewipesthecornersofhismouthwithapaperserviette.FromhisbodylanguageIgetthefeelingthisisn’tthefirsttimethishascomeup.‘There’smymumtodealwith.’
‘Hismum’stight,’EamonexplainstoBella,andOlliebristles.Eamon’streadingonrockyterrainhere.EvenI’malwayscarefulaboutwhatIsayaboutDiana.Ollieunderstandsthatshe’sdifficult,butsheis,afterall,hismother.
‘Yourturn,Eamon,’Isayquickly,becausethesoonerthisgameisoverthebetter.‘Truthordare?’
‘Truth,’hesays.
‘Letmedothisone,’Bellasays,andshetakesapainfullylongtimetocomeupwithsomething,hummingandhuffingandpressingaforefingerdramaticallytoherlips.
‘What’stheworstthingthat’severhappenedtoyou?’shesaysfinally.
Eamonisclearlysurprised,andIgetthefeelinghewasexpectingsomethingalongthelinesof‘Haveyoueverhadathreesome?’.IhavetohandittoBella,it’snotabadquestion.
‘Well,divorcehasn’tbeenpretty,’hesays,afteraslightpause.‘Thefinancialruinofit,Imean,’hesaysquicklytoBella.‘Ilostmyhouseandafairchunkofmysavings.ButIlearnedfromittoo.’
Hepressesaforkfulofsausageintohismouthandchewsslowly.
‘Whathaveyoulearned?’Iask.
‘Youknow.’Heshrugs.‘Toputsafeguardsinplace.Thatkindofthing.’
‘Safeguardsagainstwhat?’Iask,withalaugh.‘Divorce?’
‘Safeguardsagainsteverything,’Eamonsays,asifit’sobvious.
EvenBellaislookingperplexednow.Itwarmshertomealittle.‘There’snosafeguardagainsteverything,’shesays.
Eamonswillshischampagne,andwinksrevoltingly.‘Money,’hesays,‘isasafeguardagainsteverything.’
24
LUCY
Thepresent…
Thenextdaywegotothelawyer’soffice.Itrytogetoutofit,butGerard,Diana’slawyer,toldOllieitwouldbeagoodideaforusalltoattend,soeventhoughDiana’sfuneralistomorrowandIhaveseveralhundredbookletstofold,readingstochooseandcateringtoconfirm,Igo.Butaswesitinthewaitingroom,mymindisaNewton’scradle,flickingbackandforthovereverythingIknow.Dianawasfounddeadwithanemptybottleofpoisonbyherbody…buttherewasnosignofpoisoninhersystem.Thereisamissingcushionandevidenceofsmothering.EvenIcanseethatit’sstartingtolooklikesomeonestagedDiana’sdeathtolooklikeasuicide.But,ifthatwasthecase,whywouldtheyhidetheletterawayinadrawerinsteadofleavingitinplainsight?
Noneofitmakesanysense
WhenGerardappearsinthefoyerofhisoffice,Ollie,Nettie,PatrickandIareinoppositecornersoftheroom.ThearrivalofGerard,however,bringsawelcomefocalpointandweshuffletogether.
‘Mycondolences,’hesays.
‘Thankyou,’wemutter.
GerardwenttoschoolwithTom,buttheywereprobablymoreacquaintancesthanfriends.OllieandNettiehavemethimmanytimes,andI’vemethimbrieflyonceortwice.He’salwaysseemedharmlessifalittledull.IhaveavaguememoryofTomoncetellingDianathathe’dinvitedGerardoverforaChristmasdrinkandDianagroaning.ClearlyshethoughtGerardwasdulltoo.
Gerardushersusintohisofficeandthen,noticingwearetwoseatsshort,popsoutintothehallwayagain.Ollie,Nettie,PatrickandIremainintheroominexcruciatingsilence,lookingeverywherebutateachother.Nettie,Inotice,doesn’tevenlookatPatrick
‘Rightthen,’Gerardsays,returningpushingawheeliechair,‘thankyouforcomingin.Usuallywemailoutletterstoourclientslettingthemknowtheyarethebeneficiariesofanestate,butIwantedyoutocomeintotheofficebecausethisestateisalittlemore…Yes,inhere,Sherry,’hesaystotheflusteredmiddle-agedreceptionistwhoappearspushingasecondwheeliechair.ShestopsitinfrontofOllieandscurriesoutagain.‘Thanks,Sherry.Sorry,asIwassaying,yourparents’estateisalittlemorecomplicatedthanmost.’
Wenod.Thisisn’tnewstous.AnestateaslargeasTomandDiana’sisboundtobecomplicated.It’sthereason,Iassume,thatTomhadGerardactasanexecutor,ratherthanOllieorNettie.
‘Whydon’tyougoaheadandsit?’hesaystoOllie,whoisstillstandingdespitethechairinfrontofhim.
‘I’mgoodhere,’Olliereplies.
‘Asyoulike.Anyway,asyouknow,TomandDianahaveasizableestate.Therearetheproperties,thecars,theboat.There’stheshareportfolio,thefurniture,homedécor,jewelleryandpersonaleffects.Andthereisanotinsignificantamountofcash.’
‘Tommentionedthisonceortwice,’Patricksayswithachuckle.
Gerardfoldshishandsinfrontofhimandsitsforward,asifsteelinghimself.‘Yes,well…asitturnsout,Tom’swillnamedDianaassolebeneficiaryofhisestate.Intheeventofherdeath,theestatewastobedividedequallybetweenOllieandAntoinette.However…afewweeksago,Dianacametoseemeaboutmakingsomechanges.’Gerardrubshisbrow,hisfacebecomingpinchedforasecond,asthoughhehasamigraine.Hiseyesremainlowered.‘Duringthatmeeting,Dianarequestedtonamehercharitythesolebeneficiaryoftheestate.’
TheroombecomessoquietIcanhearthetrafficoutside,theclockticking,eventhereceptionistscratchingaroundherdeskoutside,filing,stapling,typing.
‘Dianadidsayshewasgoingtocommunicatethechangetoyou,butitwasmadesorecently,sheobviouslydidn’thavethechance.’
IfeelOllieshiftbehindmeandIspintofacehim.
‘Hangon.Diana’scharityisthebeneficiaryof…’hestarts.
‘Allofit.’Gerardglancesup,lockingeyeswitheachofusunderhisthickgreyeyebrows.Itisalookthattellsmethereisnojoke,nomisunderstanding,noconfusion.‘Thehouses,thecars,theshareportfolio,thecash.’
Nettieinhalessharply.Patrickrisestohisfeet.Ollie’sheadiscockedandheissquintingalittle,thewayhedoeswhenEdieistryingtotellhimsomethingandhejustcan’tunderstandher.Wealllookaroundtheroomand,forthefirsttimesincearriving,everyonemeetseachother’sgaze.Severalsecondspass.Butnoonespeaks.
25
LUCY
Thepast…
Ihavetwokidsstrappedintothebackofthecar,oneofthemwailing(Harriet),theother(Archie)tryingtostickagrapeuphisnose.We’restoppedatabusyroundaboutwhilethewomanintheblackSUVinfrontofushandsatennisracketthroughthewindowtohersullen-lookingteenagesonandthenproceedstostartaconversationwithhimwithnoregardforthegrowinglineofcarsbehindher
Harrietletsoutanotherwail.
ThiskindofthingisrifeinDiana’sneighbourhood.We’reheadedtoDiana’snow—onTuesdaysIdrivethemtoherhouseat10am,wheretheystayuntil2pmwhenIpickthemupagain.We’vemovedoutofourworkerscottagetoabiggerrentalhouseinHamptonformorespace,andoneoftheupsidesisthatit’sjustashortdrivetoTomandDiana’splace.Harrietissixmonthsoldnow,andwhileIloathetheprocessofstrappingbothkidsintothecar,drivingthemthereanddoingthereversejourneyagainafewhourslater,Iamnotsopig-headedastorefusefreechildcare.Evenfrommyimpossiblemother-in-law.
‘Archie,canyouputHarriet’sdummyin?’Isay,glancingintherear-viewmirror.Thedummyisinhismouthandthegrapeisnowheretobeseen.‘Whathappenedtothegrape?’
‘Iateit,’hesays,takingthedummyfromhismouthandpushingitrightintoHarriet’smouth.ItrynottothinkaboutthestreamingcoldhehasnowalmostcertainlypassedontoHarriet.It’ssomeconsolationthatshestopscryingimmediately.
‘AreweatDido’shouseyet?’
‘Nearly,’Isay,andhesettlesdown.Asirritatingasitis,heloveshisgrandmother.She’sgoodwithhiminherownDianasortofway.Shedoesn’tmarveloverhisartworkorbegforcuddles,butshedoesotherthingsthatseemtorankhighlywithkids…likelookinghimdirectlyintheeye,challenginghim,turningthetelevisionoffandplayingwithhim.And,ofcourse,there’sthepacketofTimTamsonherkitchencounterthatisalwaysfullwhenhearrivesandemptywhenheleaves.
It’safewminutestotenwhenIpullintoDianaandTom’spebblestonedriveway(whichIhatebecauseArchiestuffsthepebblesintohispocketsandtheyendupallovermyhouse).There’sabatteredyellowVolvoparkedbythefrontdoor.Oneofthecleaners,Idecide.IparkbehinditandhoistHarriet’sbabyseatoutofthecar.Archieunclickshimselfandlaunchesoutofthecar,immediatelygrabbingafistfulofpebbles.Iwalkupthestepsandsetthebabycarrierdownonthelanding.Thefrontdoorisajarandanunfamiliarmalevoicecomesfromsomewherenearby.
‘WehaveanexpressioninAfghanistan:“Inanantcolony,dewisaflood.”Itmeans…asmallmisfortuneisnotsmallforoneinneed.Iappliedformanyjobs,eachtimenotevenaresponse.Sowhatyoudid,thisisnotnothing.Thisissomething.’
‘Tomsaysyou’redoingagreatjob.’It’sDiana’svoicenow.
‘Tomisverykind.AndIamnotaskind.Iwasrudetoyou.Forgiveme.’
Iedgeforwardacoupleofsteps.
‘There’snothingtoforgive,’IhearDianasay.‘Justgoandtakecareofyourfamily.Iknowyouwilldothat,Hakem.’
‘Iwill.’
Thereismovement,andIliftmyhandtoknock,likeI’mjustarriving.ArchieisthrowingrocksatDiana’sLandRover.‘Stopthat,’Iwhisper,asDianaappearsinthefoyer.
‘Lucy.’Dianafrowns.Hergazeispanoramic,sweepingthefrontyard,stoppingbrieflyatArchiewhohasfrozeninaguiltystance.Shegiveshimasternlookand,onebyone,heletstherocksdropbackontothedriveway.
‘Wejustarrived!’Isaybrightly.
‘Iseethat.’Sheturnsawayfromme,tofacethemanwhohasjoinedherinthefoyer.‘Thankyouforcomingby,Hakem.’
‘Thankyouforseeingme.Iwillnotforgetyourkindness.’
WewatchthemangetintohisVolvoandroaraway.ThenIgrabArchie’shandandyankhimoffthepebblestones.DianapicksupHarriet,whohaswokenupandiswatchingusintentlywithbluestartledeyes.Harriet,Irealisenow,doesn’tcryanymorewhenDianaholdsher.
‘Whowasthat?’Iask,guidingArchieupthefrontsteps.
‘HakemisanengineerwhoworksforTom.’
‘Heseemedverygratefultoyou.’
‘Didhe?’
‘Diana.Obviouslyyoudidsomethingforhim.’I’mventuringintopushyterritory,butit’snotlikeIhaveawonderfulrelationshipwithDianathatIcouldpotentiallydestroy.Havingnothingtolosehasitsupsides.‘Tellme.’
Dianarollshereyes.It’sasifI’mapestthatshedoesn’twanttoencourage.‘Hewashavingtroublegettingajob,that’sall.Hewasn’tbeinggivenachance.Ijustmadesurehewasgivenone.’
‘That’swonderfulofyou.’
Dianasighs.‘Yes,well.Youprobablydon’tthinkI’mespeciallywonderful.ButIdofeelstronglythateveryoneshouldbegivenanequalchance.Hakemwasnotgivenone.Mychildren,ontheotherhand,havebeengiveneverychance.Nowit’stimeformetostayoutofthewayandseewhattheymakeoftheopportunitiesthey’vebeengiven.’
It’stheclosestI’veevercometoaproperconversationwithDianaandforasecond,Igetaglimpseofwhosheis.
‘Whatagoodphilosophy,’Isay.
WelookeachotherstraightintheeyeforasecondortwoandIthinksomethinglikemutualrespectpassesbetweenus.
‘I’mgladyouthinkso,’shesaysandshetakesmychildrenandbustlesintothehouse.
26
LUCY
Thepast…
‘Higher,’Archieshouts.‘Higher!Makeitgoweelyhigh.’
He’salreadysoaringsohighhelookslikehemightgoloop-the-loop.
‘Okay,’Nettiesays.‘Herewego!’
Nettiehastakenthedayoffworktohelpmewiththekids.She’sdonethisahandfuloftimessinceHarrietwasbornandeachtime,afterward,IfeellikeIhaveanewleaseonlife.RightnowNettiehasHarrietstrappedtoherchestwhileshepushesArchieontheswing.Allmorningshe’sbeentossingaballtoArchie,climbingtreesandplayinghideandseek.She’snothingifnotadevotedaunt.
UnlikeDiana,Nettiecomestomyplacebecause‘youdon’twanttobestrappingallthosekidsinthecartocometomyplace’.(Hallelujah.)Shenearlyalwaysarriveswithtreatsforthekids(andasksmeifit’sokaybeforehandingthemover),coffeeformeandaready-to-eatdinnerforOllieandmetoeatthatevening.Sometimesshetakesthekidsouttogivemeabreak;otherdays,liketoday,weamblearoundtogether,doingerrandsandvisitingthepark.Usuallywhenshe’saroundshe’salwaysupbeat,radiatinghappyenergy,buttodaysheseemsoffhergame.Herhairisunwashed.She’swearingleggings,alongcardiganandtrainerswhich,whileperfectlyappropriateforadayinthepark,areagoodstepdownfromhernormalstylishattire.Andwhileshe’sbeentalkativeenoughwithArchie,she’sbarelysaidawordtomeallmorning.
‘Areyouallright,Nettie?You’vebeenquietthismorning.’
Hergazecreepssideward.‘HaveI?’
Infairness,Nettieisn’tusuallyabigtalker,especiallyaboutherself.Sheplayshercardsclosetoherchest,preferringtoaskquestionsthantogiveinformation.ButIseeaninternalstruggleinhereyesnow,anditoccurstomethatmaybeshedoeswanttotalkabouther.
‘What’sgoingon?’Iask.
Shestealsanotherlookatmeandthenexhales.‘Okay.Thetruthis…Ihadamiscarriageafewdaysago.That’swhyI’moffworkthisweek.’
‘OhNettie,I’msosorry.’
Sheremainsfocusedonpushingtheswing,shrugsalittle.‘It’sfine.It’snotmyfirst,actually.PatrickandIhavebeentryingtohaveababyforthreeyears.We’velostthreeothers,allearly,duringthefirsttrimester.’
‘You’vehadfourmiscarriages?’MymindreelsbackoverallthetimesshemighthavebeenpregnantormiscarryingandIhadnoidea.Ithinkinhorrorofalltheoff-the-cuffcommentsImusthavemade.
‘YoucanhavethispramwhenI’mfinishedwithit…’
‘Justwaituntilit’syourturn—’
‘I’llrepayyouwhenyouhaveyourkids.’
Narcissistically,I’dthoughtNettiewouldtellmeaboutsomethinglikethis.Foolishly,IthoughtI’dknow.
‘Iassumedyouwerefocusingonyourcareer,’Isayweakly.
Nettieshakesherhead,laughsblackly.‘Icouldn’tcarelessaboutmycareer.Iwantafamily.IhavePCOS,soIknewitwouldn’tbeeasy,butIneverthoughtitwouldbethishard.’
‘Haveyouseenafertilityspecialist?’
‘Two.We’vetriedClomidandIUI.I’veinjectedmybellywithhormonesformonthsonend.ThenextstepisIVF.’
‘WellIknowdozensofpeoplewhohavehadbabiesusingIVF.Halfthekidsinmymother’sgroupwereIVFbabies,’Isayeagerly.
‘Iknow,butit’snotcheap.Withthemortgageandallthisfertilitystuff,I’vegotnothingleftover.AndPatrick’sbusiness,well,it’snotexactlythriving.’
‘Surelyyourparentswillhelpyou?’
‘OfcourseIhadtogothroughthathideousformalprocessofaskingthem.ThenMumsaidno.’
Myjawdrops.IknowDiana’sruleongivingmoney,butIcan’tfathomthatthiswouldextendtoNettie’sIVF.
‘Dad’sgivenmemoneyinthepast,fortheIUIandsomeofthetesting.ButMumdoesn’tknow,andDadhateslyingtoher.So…Iguesswe’reonourownfortheIVF.’
‘SometimesIreallyhateher,’IsaybeforeIcanstopmyself.ImmediatelyIwanttotakeitback.DianaisNettie’smother.Nomatterwhatshedoes,Nettiewillbeloyaltoher.‘Nettie,I’msorryI—’
‘SometimesIdotoo,’Nettiesays,andwiththat,wedriftintosilence,pushingroboticallyastheswingchainssqueakinthecoldmorningair.
27
LUCY
Thepast…
‘IwanttopopacrackerwithHarriet,’Archiesays,sidlinguptomeinthekitchen.
He’salreadywearinganorangepaperChristmashatonhisheadandhasagreenplasticwhistlearoundhisneck,whichtellsmeitwouldn’tbehisfirstcrackeroftheday.MydadandtheentireGoodwinfamilyarejammedaroundourdiningtable,dippingprawnsintothousand-islanddressing.Thetableislinedwithfestiveserviettes,paperplatesanddecorationsmadelovinglybyArchieatdaycare
‘Popitwithme,champ,’Olliesays.
‘ButIpromisedHarriet!’
‘Idon’tthinkHarrietwillmind,Arch,’IsayandwebothlookatherinNettie’slap,blinkinguselessly.
OurHamptonrentalisn’tassmallasourSouthMelbourneworkerscottagebutitisn’thugebyanystretch,particularlywiththeChristmastreetakinguphalfthelivingroom.Weareshorttwochairs,soPatrickandOlliesitonbarstoolsatoneend,loomingovertherestofus.Tomlookspolitelybefuddledbythewholething,andNettiehassaidhowgreatitallisenoughtimestomakemewonderwhosheistryingtoconvince.Inthepast,ChristmashaseitherbeenatDad’sorwiththeGoodwinsattheirBrightonhome,andthisyearwassetforthesame,untilIintervened.Itfelttomeliketimetotakesomecontrolback.
Olliewassurprisinglyenthusiastic.(‘DoingourownChristmas,’hesaid.‘Beingthegrown-ups,settingnewtraditions.Ilikeit.’)Itwassweet,evenifhe’sbeenlessthanuselesswhenitcomestopreparations.
‘Ollie,canyougivemeahandinhere,please?’Iaskfromthekitchen.Myfaceisunbearablyhotand,I’mguessing,beet-red.Iunderestimatedtheeffortittakestocookaturkeyforsevenadultsandtwokids,plusvegetablesandgravyandplumpuddingandaseafoodstarter.Likeafool,IrefusedwhenDianaandNettieofferedtobringsomething,saying,asI’vealwaysyearnedto,‘Justbringyourselves’(italwayssoundssogenerousandcarefreewhenotherpeoplesaythat).Unfortunately,italsomeantI’vehadtospendthemorninginasweat-drenchedsundress,cookingupadinnerthatwasneverdesignedtobeeatenatahotAustralianChristmasinahousewithoutairconditioning.
‘Well,MerryChristmas,’Tomsays,raisinghisbeertoknockagainstDiana’swineglass.Heseemsamused,thoughnotdisappointed,withhisbottleofVictoriaBitter,andDianaisuncomplainingaboutherglassoflukewarmchardonnay;infact,she’shadmorethanoneglass.It’soneareawhereI’dliketogivehercredit—especiallysincelastChristmaswegotthroughseveralbottlesofBollingeratherplace—butafterhearingNettie’sconfessionthatDianarefusedtohelpherpayforIVF,I’mnotfeelinglikegivingDianaanycreditwhatsoever.
‘MerryChristmas,’Nettiesays,chinkingherwineglasswithherdad’sbeerbottle.Shearrivedwithtwobottlesofwineandhasalreadypolishedoffoneofthem.Ican’tsayIblameher.She’ssavedupandbeenthroughoneroundofIVF,whichyieldedtwoembryosbutneitherhadtransferredsuccessfully.Now,atthirty-nine,sheisgoingtohavetostartsavingforanotherround,bywhichpointshewillbenearlyfortyandherchancesofbecomingpregnantwillhavedecreasedevenfurther.Allthewhileherparentshavemoremoneythantheycouldeverpossiblyspend.Whereisthelogicinthat?ItoldDianaIlikedherphilosophyonce,butthereisnothingIlikeaboutthis.
NettiehasheldHarrietonherlapformostoftheday,refusingtoputherdown,evenasweateourseafoodstarters.Nowthatsheisshowingsignsofbeingalittlesloshed,IwonderifIshouldtakeHarrietaway.ButPatrickseemstobekeepingacloseeyeonher,andhe’sonlyonhisfirstbeer,soIdecidetoleaveherbe.
‘Reportingforduty,’Olliesays,joiningmeinthekitchen.Ihandhimapairofovenmittsandheslidesthemonanddisappearsintotheoven.‘Maybe,bynextChristmas,’hecalls,reachingfortheturkey,‘there’llbeanotherbabyaroundthetable,huh,Nets?’
Everyonepauses,theirmouthsfullofprawnsandThousandIslanddressing.
‘Sowhat’stheplan?’Olliecontinues,oblivious,settingtheturkeyonthecounter.‘AreyougoingtobeoneofthosetypeswhohasthebabywhileansweringemailsonheriPhone,thenheadsfromthehospitalstraightbacktotheoffice?’
Isendhimadeathstare,butit’swastedbecausehe’shappilybasting.
‘Actually,’Nettiesays,‘ifIwasluckyenoughtohaveababy,I’dquitmyjobinaheartbeat.Takeafewyearsoutoftherat-raceandstayhomewithmykids,likeLucyhasdone.Ireallyrespectwhatyou’vedone,Luce,andIthinkyou’reawonderfulmother.’
Ismile,butI’mfeelingnervous.
‘But,’shecontinues,‘it’sallprettymootsinceI’mnotpregnantandIcan’tevenstartanotherIVFcycleuntilwe’vesavedupfivethousanddollarsandI’mthirty-nineandgrowingoldereverysecond.’
NettieisdrunkerthanIthought,slurringontheword‘second’soitsoundsmorelike‘shecond’.HarrietisbalancedprecariouslyonherlapandTom,asifreadingmymind,takesHarrietfromher.Olliehasfinallystoppedbastingtheturkeyandispayingattention.Heshootsmeapanickedlook.MeanwhileDianatakesacarefulsipofwinethenreplacesherglassonthetable.‘SoyouwanttobelikeLucy,doyou?’
‘Yes,’Nettiesays.There’satraceofdefianceinhervoicethathasmesteelingmyself.
‘Isee.’Diana’svoiceiscalmandcontrolledandthere’ssomethingsinisteraboutit.Itputsmeonedge.‘AndwhatdoyouthinkwouldhappentoLucyifOlliedied?’
Iopenmymouth,butNettiedoesn’tmissabeat.
‘IimaginethatOlliehaslifeinsurance.’
‘EnoughthatLucywouldn’thavetowork?’Dianalaughs.‘Idoubtit.Shehastwochildrentofeed,clothe,educate.Andwhatkindofjobwillshebeabletogetaftertakingalltheseyearsoutoftheworkforce?’
‘Mum!’Olliesays.
‘What?’Dianalooksaroundtheroom.‘Youalllookhorrified,buttellme,whatwouldyoudo,Lucy?’
‘Mum,that’senough!’Olliesays.
‘Lucyhasn’teventhoughtaboutit,’Dianasays,turningawayfromallofustolookatNettie.‘Isthatthekindofmotheryouwanttobe?’
NettieandIrisetoourfeetandTomandOlliestruggletoinsertthemselvesbetweenusandDiana.
‘YouwanttoknowwhatkindofmotherI’dliketobe?’Nettiescreams.‘Thekindthathelpsherchildrenwhentheycometoherforhelp.Thekindthatmakesthemfeelgoodaboutthemselves,insteadoflikelazy,worthlessspongers.’
‘Soyou’llgiveyourchildrenanythingtheywant?’Dianasays.HerpitchrisesslightlyandIcanseesheisstartingtogetflustered.‘Teachthemtheycanhavesomethingfornothingandnothavetoworkforanything?’
‘YouthinkIhaven’tworkedforachild?’Nettie’svoiceisragged,herfacered.‘I’vebeentryingforthreeyears.I’vebeenoneveryfertilitydrugknowntoman.I’vedonetwofailedroundsofIVF.I’vehadfourmiscarriages.’
Dianashakesherhead,lookingaway.Butasshefoldsherhandsinherlap,Inoticethey’reshaking.‘HelpingistheworstthingIcoulddoforyou,Nettie.’
‘Inthatcase,you’vebeenfantastic,’Patricksaysfromhisbarstoolattheendofthetable.Heraiseshisbeer,a‘cheers’totheroom.‘MerryChristmastous,eh?’
28
LUCY
Thepresent…
Patrickthrowshisheadbackandletsoutalong,loud,wronglaugh.GerardandNettieandOllielookawayuncomfortably,butIcan’tstoplookingatPatrick.Helooks…different.Hislipsmoveinjerky,twitchymovements,asiftheycan’tdecidewhethertocurveupordown.‘AreyousayingDianahasn’tleftherchildrenanything?’Hepressesthethumbandforefingerofhisrighthandtoeachtempleandshakeshishead.
Gerardlooksdownatthedocumentsinfrontofhim.‘Justsomepersonaleffects.’Heliftsapageandplaceshisglassesonhisnose.‘Photoalbums,furniturefromyourchildhoodbedroomstoberetrievedatyourconvenience.NettiehasbeenleftDiana’sengagementringandOlliehasbeengivenhisfather’scigarcollection.Lucyhasbeenleftanecklace—’
Patrickreleasesaspasmofairthatmightbealaughorpossiblyagasp.‘Andthecash?Theproperties?’
‘Diana’scharitywillcontinueoperatingandaboardwillbeappointedtooverseetherunningofit.Thecashwillsupporttherunningofthebusiness,aswellasanyotherventuresdeemedbytheboardtobeintheinterestsofthecharity.Thepropertieswillbesoldandtheproceedswillalsogotothe—’
‘I’msorry,’Ollieinterruptsthistime,holdingupahand.‘Canwebackupasecond?Wedon’tgetanythingasidefrompersonaleffects?No.Thismustbesomekindofmistake.’
Gerardlookssombre.‘Icanassureyou,thereisnomistake.Dianamadeherwishesveryclear.’
Heblinks,pauses.‘Canwecontestit?’
‘Youcan,’Gerardsays,clearlyexpectingthis.‘Butitwouldn’tbeaquickprocess.’
‘Wouldwewin?’
‘Youmight.’Hehesitates.‘Ican’tbetheonetoadviseyouonthis,astheexecutor,butIsuggestyougetadviceonceyou’vehadachancetothinkitover.’
‘Wedon’tneedtothinkaboutit,’Olliesays.‘We’llbecontestingit.’
‘I…agree,’Nettiesays.
‘SodoI,’Patricksays.
‘Lucy?’Gerardsays.‘Whatdoyouthink?’
IswivelinmychairandlookfromPatricktoNettietoOllie.Theirfacesareetchedwithhurtandbewilderment.There’ssomethingelseintheirfacestoo,somethingugly.Sougly,infact,thatIhavetoswivelmychairbackagain.
‘Ithasnothingtodowithme,’ItellGerard.‘Nothingatall.’
29
DIANA
Thepast…
Apparentlyourhousehasoverthirtyrooms.Istillfindthathardtofathom.ThefirsttimeTombroughtmetolookatit,Ipointblankrefusedtolivehere.Ispendmydayswithwomenwholiveinhomesthesizeofacarparkingspace,whyshouldIliveinapalace?ButTom,asusual,talkedmeintoit.It’sfunnyhowquicklythingsbecomenormal.Funnyhowmoralscanbend.
Tonight,TomandIareintheden.I’mdownoneendoftheChesterfieldandTomisdowntheother.HistrousersarepusheduptothekneesandIammassaginghiscalves.Hislegshavebeengivinghimsometroublelately.(‘It’stheoldage,’healwayssayswhenItellhimtogotothedoctor.)AtnightIoftenfindhimpacingaroundthebedroom,walkingoffcramps.
‘Mmm,’hemuttersnowfrombehindhisnewspaper.‘That’sbetter.’
It’sbeentwoweekssincewhatTomiscalling‘Christmasgate’withasmile.Hecansmile,becausethechildrenarestillspeakingtohim.It’sirritating.It’seasytobepopularifallyousayisyes.Infact,he’sthereasonIhavetobethewayIam.Heavenforbidtherewasnobadcop.IftheyhadtwoparentslikeTomGoodwin,whatkindofentitledbratswouldtheybe?
Ihaven’ttoldTomwhatgotmehotunderthecollaratChristmaslunch.Intruth,I’vehardlybeenabletoprocessitmyself.ItwasafewdaysbeforeChristmaswhenKathycalledmeoutoftheblueandsuggestedwemeetupforacoffee.
‘Notwiththegirls,’shesaid.‘Justthetwoofus.’
IthoughtitwasgoingtobeaboutKathy’shealth—perhapsshe’dfoundalumporhadabadtestresult.That’swhat‘news’isaboutwhenpeopleareourage.But,asitturnedout,itwasnothingtodowithKathyatall.
‘IwasawayinDaylesfordfortheweekend,’shesaid.‘AndIsawsomething.Ireallyshouldn’tbesayinganythingbecauseI’mnotahundredpercentcertainbut…’
Shewasquicktopointoutthatitmayhavebeenamisunderstanding,butshewould’vebetherlifethatitwasPatrickcomingoutofarestaurantwithawoman.Awomanshecould’veswornwasn’tNettie.Hisarmwasaroundher.Itdidn’tlookplatonic.
Idecidednottogetinvolved.Afterall,Kathywasn’tsureaboutwhatshe’dseenanditwasnoneofmybusiness.Butthen,atChristmas,NettiestartedtalkingaboutIVFagainandIpanicked.Ididn’tmeantoupsetanyoneorinsultLucy.AllIwantedwastomakeNettiethinktwicebeforetryingtohaveababywithamanwhomaynotbefaithful.
InsteadIactedhastilyandalienatedthemall.
ThequietsinceChristmashasbeensurprisinglyloud.Assomeonewhoknowsalotofwomenwhohaveverylittletodo(Jan,LizandKathy),I’vealwaysbeenalittlesmugaboutmyfulllife—mycharity,mychores,drinkswiththegirls,thechildren,thegrandchildren.Whenpeopletalkabouttheelderlybeinglonely,Ialwaysthink:Thatwon’tbeme.Iamsurroundedbypeople.Peoplelikemewishforloneliness.Butit’sbeentwoweekssinceChristmasandI’mstartingtofeel,well,lonely.
‘InoticedOllieandEamonwereheretoday,’IsaytoTom.
Tomlowershisnewspaper,revealingaguiltyface.
‘Howmuchdidyougivethem?’
I’djustdrivenFaizahhomefromthehospitalwithherbabywhenIreturnedhometofindEamon’sridiculoussportscarinthedriveway.Itdidn’ttakeageniustofigureoutwhattheyweredoinghere.
‘It’saninvestment,’Tomsays.‘Intheirbusiness.’
ItakeTom’ssock-cladtoesandbendthembacktowardhisknee,stretchingoutthecalfmuscle.Hegroans.
‘Areyouupsetwithme?’hesays.
‘No,I’mnotupset,I’mtired.’
Thefactis,sometimesbeingamotherisimpossible.Fromthetimeyourchildrenarelittle,you’rethinkingnotonlyaboutwhetheryoushouldletthemhavechocolateforbreakfast‘juuuuustthisonce’,you’realsowonderingifitwillrottheirteeth,setthemupforalifetimeofbadhabitsandcontributetothechildhoodobesityepidemic.Whenthey’readults,it’sworse.IworryaboutNettienotbeingabletogetpregnant,Ialsoworrythatshemighthaveababywithamanwhoisunfaithful.IworryaboutOllie’sbusinessgoingunder.Iworryaboutmychildrenexpectingtheirparentstoprovideforthemwhentheyareadults.
Tomputsthenewspaperdown.‘WhatwouldyousayifIsaidI’dgivenmoneytoNettietoo?ForIVF.’
Isigh.‘I’dsayI’mnotsurprised.’
‘Butyoudon’tendorseit?’
Iclosemyeyes.‘No.Idon’t.’
IfeelTom’shandonmyleg.‘Comeon,Di.Thinkaboutwhatyourlifewouldhavebeenlikeifyourparentshadsupportedyourdesiretohaveyourbabyratherthansentyouaway.’
Ishakemyhead.‘It’sdifferent.’
‘Itisn’t,’hesays.‘It’sallaboutsupport.Whetheryouwanttogiveitornot.’
Iopenmyeyes.‘Actually,it’saboutwhethertogivemoneyornot.Andthat’snotthesamething.’
Onthefourteenthday,Nettieextendstheolivebranch.IfindheronabarstoolinthekitchenwhenIreturnfromrunningerrands.She’sdressedintailoredpantsandawhiteshirt,butshe’stakenoffherslingbacksandisleaningoverthecounteronherelbows.Itremindsmeofwhenshewasateenager,lollingalloverthebenchafterschool,scavengingforsomethingtoeat.
‘Nettie.’
Sheglancesoverhershoulder,thenspinsonherstoolsosheisfacingme.She’slostweight.Hereyeslookmoreprominentinherface.Andherhairhasadulllook,likeithasn’tbeenwashedinawhile.‘Hi,Mum.’
‘Thisisasurprise.’
IcontinueintothekitchenandNettieswivelsherstool,followingme.‘Iwantedtocheckwewereokay.’
Isetmyhandbagonthekitchencounterandclimbontothestoolnexttohers.‘Ihopeweare.’
‘Ihopesotoo.’
Inod.‘Listen,I’msorryaboutChristmas.Ishouldn’thavesaidwhatIsaid.Iknowhowmuchyouwantababy,darling.’
Hereyesfillupwithtears.‘Itfeelslikewe’vebeentryingforever.AndI’mnearlyforty,Mum.Ourtimeisrunningout,atleastmineis.Patrickhasallthetimeintheworld.It’snotfair.’
Iputahandonherbackandpatgently.‘HowiseverythingwithPatrick?’Iaskcasually.
Shesniffs.‘Fine.’
Iwonder,yetagain,ifIshouldtellherwhatIknowaboutPatrick.Or,atleast,whatI’veheardaboutPatrick.Icantellhertodoherowninvestigationsandseeifthereisanytruthtoit.Icanjustbethemessenger,andstandtruetothefactthatit’snoneofmybusiness.Icantellherthatwhatevershedecidestodoaboutitisfinebyme.ButIdon’t.Perhapsit’sthefactthatIknowifItellNettiewhatI’veheard…I’llloseher.Sheisproud,mydaughter.I’vealreadylostalotofher—toadulthood,toPatrick.IwanttoholdontothelittlebitIhaveleft.
‘Haveyoueverhadamiscarriage,Mum?’sheasksme.
‘No,’Iadmit.‘Ineverhave.ButIunderstandthatitmustbe—’
Nettiepressesherhandsintoherfaceandletsoutasob.‘Noyoudon’tunderstand.Youhavenoideawhatit’sliketohaveababyinsideyou,toprayandbegandbargainthatonedayyouwillgettoholditandloveitandraiseitandbeitsmother.’
It’sfunnywhattheyoungergenerationassumeswedon’tknow.Theyassumewecan’tpossiblyunderstandtheagonyofheartbreak,orthepressureofbuyingahouse.Wecan’tunderstandinfertilityordepressionorthefightforequality.Ifwehaveexperiencedanyofthesethings,theyaremilder,softerversions,playedoutinsepia,notexperiencesthatcancomparetotheirs.YouhavenoideawhatIknow,Iwanttotellher.InsteadIopenmyarmsandletherlieagainstmyshoulderandcry.
30
DIANA
Thepast…
‘DoyoumindifIaskyousomething?’Ghezalaasksme.She’snursingherbabygirlwhileherseriouslittleboyAarashwandersaroundmyhouse,lookingateverythingwithwondermentbuttouchingnothing.Ghezalapopsbyfromtimetotimenow,withkahwaorbiscuitsorcakes,andIenjoyhervisitsimmensely.
‘Goahead,’Isay.
‘Whydoyouhelppregnantwomen?Iseethatyoudonotneedtowork.’
UsuallywhensomeoneasksmethisItellthemIdoittokeepmyselfbusy,orthatIliketogivesomethingbacktothecommunity.ButGhezalaandIhavebeenthroughtoomuchformetogiveherthestandardresponse.Thefunnythingis,sometimesIfindmyselftellingherthingsthatIdon’ttellanyone…myfriends,Nettie,evenTom.
‘BecauseIwasyoungandpregnantonce,withnomoneyandnoonetohelpme.Iwastwentyyearsold,unmarried.Myparentssentmeaway.’
‘Iamsorry.’Ghezalasitsforwardandplacesherhandovermyown.‘Wheredidtheysendyou?’
Ishakemyhead.‘Oh,itwasn’tthatfaraway,evenifitdidfeellikeanotherplanet.Iwenttoahomeforunmarriedpregnantgirls,whereyouwenttoliveuntilyourbabywasborn.’
Ghezalakeepsherhandonmine.Understandingcomestohereyes.‘Andwhathappenedtoyourbabyafteritwasborn?’
I’mnotsurewhy,butIdecidetotellherthetruth.
1970…
WhenIturneduponmyfather’scousin’sdoorstepafterescapingfromOrchardHouse,shewasn’toverjoyedtoseeme.IstillrememberMeredithgivingmetheonce-overfromthedoorway.Hergazelingeredforalongtimeonmybelly.
‘So,’shesaidfinally,‘you’vebeenexiledtoo.’
Ialmostdidn’trecogniseher.Inapreviouslife,wheneverI’dseenMeredith,hershoulder-lengthhairwasteasedandfull,herclothesfreshlypressed.Nowherhairwascutstylelesslyshortandherclotheswererumpled,shapelessandpractical.
‘Well,’shesaidafteraworld-wearysigh.‘Isupposeyou’dbettercomein.’
Asitturnedout,Meredithdidn’tjustlookdifferent,shewasdifferent.AsIwatchedherwhizzaboutthetinyhouse—makingmeafriedeggontoast,gettingouttowelsandsheets—Iwonderedifshewasthesamewoman.TheMeredithIknewwaseasilyoverwhelmedbyguestswhenshelivedathermagnificenthomeinHawthorn,andIrecallMothersayingsheoftenhadtotaketoherbedtorecoverfromevenasmallafternoonteaatherhouse.Incontrast,nowsheseemedmorethancapable.Shemademeupabedinwhatamountedtoashedinthebackyardofherrental.Themainhousewasn’tmuchmorethanasheditself:fourrooms—abedroom,bathroom,kitchenandlivingroom.
‘Youcanstayuntilyou’vehadthebabyandyou’rebackonyourfeet,’shesaid.‘Afterthat,you’llhavetobeonyourway,I’mafraid.Ican’taffordtofeedtwomoremouths.’
IspentthenexttwoweeksdoingwhatIcouldtoearnmykeep—scrubbingMeredith’sfloors,fetchinggroceriesfromthestore,doingthelaundry.ImademywaythroughalargepileofMeredith’sclothesthatneededmending,sewingonbuttonsorfixinghems.Iorganisedherpantry,Imowedthelawn.IfMeredithnoticedanyofit,shenevercommented.Butatleastitkeptmebusyandkeptmymindoffwhatwascoming.
Istillhadnoideawhattoexpectintermsofthebirth,althoughthemoansI’dheardinthehallwaysofOrchardHousefromgirlsinearlylabourdidnothingtoreassureme.Inanotherlife,alifeinwhichIwasmarriedandhadfriendswhoweremarried,Icouldhaveaskedmyfriendsaboutit.AlotofthefriendswhohadbeenawaywouldbereturningfromEuropearoundnow,perhapswonderingwhereIwas.Iimaginedgettingintouchwiththem,butIdidn’tneedanyonetotellmethatwouldn’tendwell.EvenCynthia,mydearestfriend,wouldnothavebeenabletofindaplaceformeinherlifeunderthesecircumstances.Wecamefromatight-knitCatholicneighbourhood.Itwasproblematictogiveupyourbabyandreturntoyouroldlife,buttoreturntoitwithyourbabywasn’tanoption.
I’dwrittentoMotherafterarrivingatMeredith’stotellherthedecisionIhadmade,andwhereIwasliving.FordaysaftersendingitI’dbeenonguard,half-expectinghertoturnuponMeredith’sdoorstepandphysicallydragmebacktoOrchardHouse,butshe’dneverevenwrittenback,letaloneshowedup.Iknewwhatthesilencemeant.IrememberseeingthelettersfromMeredithinthegarbageathome,unopened.‘There’snopointkeepingupcorrespondencewithsomeonewhoisn’tinourlivesanymore,’she’dsaycrisplyifanyonereferredtotheunopenedenvelopes.
NowI,clearly,wasnolongerinherlife.
TwoweeksafterarrivingatMeredith’s,Iwoketothefeelingofsomethingpoppingdeepinside.Itwasacoldnight,andmoonlightstreamedinthecrackofthesheddoor,illuminatingmysinglebed.Betweenmylegsthemattresswaswet.Igrippedthecoldwalltohelpmepushmyselfupright.MorewatercamewhenIstood;andwhenIwalked,morestill.Istuffedmyfeetintoslippersandpulledmyrobearoundmeandmademywaytothetoiletthatabuttedthehouse.Therewasnopainyet,andIdidn’tseethepointinwakingMeredithifitwasafalsealarm.
Idroppedmyknickersandsatdown.Therewasblood,alittleofit,andalotofclearodourlessliquid.AsIstaredatit,myabdomenpulledtightandfirm.Thiswasit.
Tomyextraordinarysurprise,Iwasn’tscared.
WhenIreturnedtoMeredith’shousetendayslater,therewasasecond-handbassinettesetupintheshed.Nexttoit,neatlyfoldedonmysinglebed,wasapileofclothnappies,twoknittedjackets,knittedpantsandawoollenhat.Itwasn’tthesceneI’dalwayspicturedwhenIimaginedbringingmyfirstbabyhome,andyetitbroughtateartomyeye.Whenyouhadnothing,I’dbeguntorealise,youappreciatedeverything.
‘It’sthebareminimum,’Meredithsaid,‘whichwillhavetodo.’
Meredithdidn’tengagemuchwithOllieinthefirstfewweeks,whichsurprisedmeasshewasobviouslytakenwithhim.Ioftencaughtherpeekingintohisbassinetteandsmiling(anditwasrarethatMeredithsmiled).
‘Youcanholdhim,’Isaidtoheronce,butsheimmediatelyshookherhead.
‘It’snotmyjobtoholdhim.’
Meredithwasquiteparticularaboutmyjobs.LookingafterOlliewasoneofthem,obviously,buttherewereotherstoo.Whenthetyreonhercarwentflat,itwasmeusingthejack.Whenthelightbulbsneededchanging,orerrandsneededrunning,Ididit.Icleanedthehouse,tookcareofthelaundry.Ididthegroceryshopping,carryingOlliedowntotheshoppingcentreinmyarmsbecausewedidn’thavemoneyforapram.
MeredithneverthankedmeforanythingIdid,notonce,buttherewassomethingaboutthewaysheaskedmetodothings.Istartedtolookforwardtotherequests.(‘Youcanfixthatleakysink,you’regoodatfiguringthingsout.’‘Comeonuptotheroofandseeifyoucan’tdoanythingaboutthebrokentile.’‘Findthecheapestplaceyoucantorepairtheseshoes,Iknowyouwon’tletanyoneripusoff.’)Icametorealiseshewasright—Iwasgoodatfiguringthingsout,Icouldrepairmostthings,andIdidn’tletpeopleripusoff.Acoupleofmonthsintoourlivingarrangements,Ifoundshehardlyhadtotellmewhattodoatall.
OnemorningwhenOlliewasabouttwomonthsold,IfellasleepinthearmchairwhenIshouldhavebeengoingtotheshoppingcentre.ThestoreclosedatnoononaSaturdayandI’dtoldMeredithI’dmakeroastchickenfordinner.ButOlliehadbeenawakeforhoursduringthenightandIdecidedIcouldcatchafewminutessleepwhilehenappedonmychest.
WhenIwoke,itwaswithastart,justbeforenoon.
I’dleapedoutofmyseat,transferringOllietomyothershoulder,searchingaroundformypurse.That’swhenI’dnoticedMeredithsittingatthekitchentable.Shegesturedtotherawchickeninfrontofher.
‘Youlookedlikeyoucouldusethesleep,’shesaid.
Sometimes,intheevenings,MeredithandIchattedalittle.Iaskedherwhatitwasliketoloseherhusbandandheraffluentlifestyle.
‘Itwastheworsttimeofmylife,’shesaid.‘Myfriendswouldn’tspeaktome,myparentsdisownedme.BillmarriedCindywithintheyearandmovedherintoourhomewhileIwasworkinginafactorysixdaysaweek.’
‘It’snotfair,’Itoldher.
‘Youhaven’tevengotmestartedonthefactthatIamonlypaidtwo-thirdsofaman’swagefortheverysamejob.Anddoyouknowwhy?Becausetheyassumeawifehasahusbandathometotakecareofher!’Shelaughed—arare,wonderfultreat.‘Buttherearesilverlinings.Ihadsomuchtolosebackthen.NoweverythingIhavebelongstome.That’sworthmorethanyou’dthink.’
Iwasbeginningtounderstandwhatshemeant.
WhenOlliewasthreemonthsold,Meredithtoldmetogetajob.
‘ButwhatjobcouldIdowithababy?’Iasked.
‘Ifthere’sanyonewhocanfigureitout,it’syou,Diana.’
‘MaybeIcouldworkatnight,’Isaid,aftertossingandturningforthreenights,tryingtocomeupwithsomething.IhadbecomeattachedMeredith’scommentsaboutmyingenuityandIwasdeterminednottoletherdown.‘Ortheweekends?’
‘But…whatwillyoudowithOllie?’sheasked,lookingperplexed.
‘Oh,’Istarted,feelingfoolish,‘Ithought…youwouldhelpme.’
‘Darling,’shesaid,‘helpingistheworstthingIcoulddoforyou.’
AfterIfinishtellingGhezalamystory,nothingisoffthetable.ItellherhowIwrotetoMothertotellhershehadagrandsonandstillshedidn’treply.ItellherhowIsentherpicturesofOllieeveryyear.HowonedayIcaughtthetraintomychildhoodhomeandsawmyfather’soldcarparkedinthedriveway,andMotherinthegardenpullingweeds.ItellherhowMotherlookedrightatmethenloweredherstrawhatsoitcoveredherfaceandwentbacktoweeding.ItellherhowthatwasthelasttimeIsawMotherbeforeshedied,fouryearslater.That,afterherfuneral,Ineversawmyfatheragain.
‘I’msorry,’Ghezalasays.
‘Itiswhatitis.Imovedforwardwithmylifeandstartedanewfamily.IhaveTomandthechildrennow.’
‘Butyourchildrenareunhappywithyou?’
Isigh.‘Becauseofmoney.It’salwaysaboutmoney.’
‘Yourchildrenwantyourmoney?’
‘Naturally.’
‘Andyoudon’twanttogiveit?’
Ismile.There’ssomethingsodelightfullysimpleaboutthewayGhezalaspeaks.There’snoambiguity,nojudgment.Itfreesmetospeakequallysimply.
‘BeingpoorandhavingtosurvivewithoutmyparentswasthesinglemostdefiningthingI’veeverdone.ItshowedmewhatIamcapableof.Asamother,Ithinkthisisthemostimportantgiftyoucangivetoyourchildren.Unlikemoney,itcan’tbetakenawayorlost.’
‘Itsoundslikeyouhaveyouranswer,’Ghezalasays.
‘Butit’smorecomplicatedthanthat.Nettiewantstohaveababyandshe’shavingtroublegettingpregnant.IVFisveryexpensiveandshewantsustohelpherwiththecost.Theclockistickingtoo,asshe’sfortynow.Andthat’snoteventhewholepicture.Ihavereasontobelievethatherhusbandisunfaithful.’
Ghezala’sbrowneyeswiden.‘Doessheknow?’
‘I’mnotsure.Thefunnythingis…I’mnotsureshe’llwanttoknow.Thisbabythinghassentherquitemad.She’sgothereyeontheprize—ababy—andshe’sunabletoseeanythingelse.’
‘So…insteadoftalkingtoheraboutit,you’re…ensuringshewon’tgetpregnant,bywithholdingmoney?’
‘AsI’vesaid,Ihavemanyreasonsnottogiveherthemoney.Buttobehonest,yes,I’drathernothelphershackleherselftoamanwhoisunfaithful.She’salreadystruggling.Icouldn’tbearforhertobecomepregnant,giveupherlivelihoodandhercareer,onlytohaveitthrownbackinherfacewhenheleavesherforanotherwoman.’
IlookatGhezala,waitingforsomewordsofwisdomorcommentorevenaquestion.ButGhezaladoesn’tsayanythingatall,which,Irealise,isamuchmorepowerfulresponse.
31
LUCY
Thepresent…
‘NoiPads,’Itellthekids,toachorusofmoans.Theyhavejustgothomefromschoolandkindergartenandmyfronthallisfullofbags,mysinkisfulloflunchboxesandmycouchisfullofchildren.‘Goplayagameorreadabook.’
TheyproceedtogoballisticandIaskmyself,whyamIdoingthis?WhocaresiftheywatchtheiPadfortwenty-fourhoursstraight?Theireyeballswon’tbleedorturnsquare,theirbrainswon’trot.Itdoesn’tmatterasinglejot.AndyetIcontinuemymotheringonautopilot,asnaturaltomethesedaysasbreathing,inspiteofeverythingthat’sgoingon.
Olliecamehomefromthewillreadingandimmediatelyshuthimselfupinthehomeoffice.Hedidn’tsaymuchinthecar,otherthanthathewasstillinshockandneededsometimetothink.
Hehasn’tbeenbacktoworkyetsinceDianadied,andI’mstartingtoworryaboutthat.Forthepastyearit’sbeensohardtokeephimawayfromtheplace—heregularlyworkedweekendsandwellintoeachevening.Ihopedthatbythispoint,fouryearsintothebusiness,he’dhavebeenabletobackoffalittleandenjoywhatthey’dbuilt,buttheyalwaysseemedtobehurtlingtowardthenexttarget.(‘Whenwesignthisclient,we’llbeabletotakethekidstoDisneyland.’‘Whenwelandthiscontract,champagneforeveryone.’)ButtheykeepsigningclientsandlandingcontractsandOlliekeepsplacingcandidates,yetprofitsstillseemtobethin.
AyearagoIsuggestedOllieandEamongetsomeonetolookatthebooks,todoaninventoryofincomingsandoutgoings.OllielikedthatideaandcamehomeandreportedthatEamonhadhiredanaccountantheknewtodoexactlythat.ButtheaccountantcamebackwiththesameadvicethatEamonhadbeengiving.‘Moreclients=moremoney.’Agoodphilosophy,butwithOllieastheonlyrecruiter,andnomoneytohireanyoneelse,ithastakenitstollonhim.Now,tohearthathismotherhaddisinheritedhim,it’sgottofeellikethefinalstrawinwhathasbeenastressfulcoupleofyears.
FromthelivingroomIhearOllie’sphoneringandthenquicklystop.He’sscreeningthecall,probably,he’sbeendoingthatallday.Iimaginehiminhisswivelchair,hisforeheadrestingagainstthedesk.OllieandInevertalkedexplicitlyaboutthefactthatwewouldonedaycomeintomoney—italwaysseemedtobeinpoortaste,tome—butevenIcanadmitthatIthoughtaboutitfromtimetotime,anditalwaysmademefeelsecuretoknowthatevenifwewerepoornow,ourretirementwouldbetakencareof.TheideathatDianawouldcutherchildrenoutofherwillhadneveroccurredtomeandclearlyithadneveroccurredtoOllieeither.
Thereisasharpbangbangatthedoor.Mystomachconstricts.Lately,abangatthedoorhascometosignalbadnews,andgiventheamountofforcethispersonisusing,itseemsunlikelythatthistimeshouldbeanydifferent.
Itreadslowlydownthehall.ThroughthewindowatthesideofthedoorInoticethedistinctiveroyalblueofEamon’ssuitjacket.WhenItossopenthedoor,hestraightenshisspine,bendinghislipsupwardinwhatIthinkissupposedtobeasmile.‘Hi,Luce.’
‘Eamon,’Isay.‘Iseverythingallright?’
Hisexpressionistightandhehasaslighttwitchinessabouthimthatisunnerving.‘Sure,sure.Everything’sgreat.Fantastic.’
Fantastic.Olliehasstartedusingthatwordtoo,sincebeinginpartnershipwithEamon,mostlyonthephone.(‘Everythingisfantastic,howarethingswithyou,Steve?Fantastic!’Someonemusthavetoldtheminanetworkingcoursethatitishighlyimportanttobefantasticatalltimes.)
‘Olliehome?’hesays.
Ollieisalreadybehindme,IfeelhimthereevenbeforeIturnandseehim.Itakeastepbackandwatchthemenregardeachother,squaringupagainstoneanotherlikecatsinthestreet.
‘G’day,mate,’Olliesays,unsmiling.
‘G’day,’Eamonrepliesequallycoolly.‘Sorrytointrude.Justwantedaquickword.’
Ollieturnsandwalksbackdownthehall,andsilentlyEamonfollows.Ifindmyselfovercomebyanurgetogoafterthem,todemandtoknowwhatonearthisgoingon.ButOllieclosesthedoor.
‘Muuuuum?’
Istartle.It’sHarriet.Sheappearsbeforemelookingutterlyappalled.‘What?’
‘ArchieiswatchingtheiPad!’
‘Oh.’Iwalkintothelivingroom.EdiehasmanagedtoturnonthetelevisionandisstaringatPlaySchool,open-mouthed.‘Whereishe?’
‘He’sinhisbedhiding!’Harrietwails.‘It’snotfair.Muuum!’
IfollowHarriettoArchie’sroomwhereshepointsanaccusingfingeratthesuspiciousmoundinthecentreofthebed.ItugofftheblanketsandArchielooksupguiltily.
‘IsaidnoiPad,’Isaywithoutmuchforce.ActuallyI’mreconsideringthiswholenoiPadthing.Icouldreallyusethetimetotrytounpackmythoughts,nottomentiontoeavesdropontheconversationhappeningbetweenOllieandEamon.
‘NowIgetitfortherestoftheday!’Harrietsays,lungingfortheiPad.
‘Noyoudon’t!’Archiecries.
IgrabtheiPadandexittheroom,andArchieandHarriettailgatemedownthehall,aswishingappendageoffury.IpauseoutsideOllie’sofficedoor.ThevolumehasrisensoIdon’thavetostraintohearthesoundofafisthittingsomething,thewall?Thedesk?ThenIhearOllie’svoice.
‘HowthefuckwasIsupposedtoknow?’
Thekidsfreeze.Harriet’smouthformsaperfectcircle.IconcentrateonkeepingmyfaceneutralasIcirclearoundthekidsandstartpushingthemtowardthefamilyroom.
‘Thisisbullshit,’Eamoncries.‘Thisisfuckingbullshit.’
‘Howdareyou!’
Thereisaterrificcrash,andthekidsandIpullupshortatthesametimeasthedoorfliesopenandEamoncomescrashingout.Ollie’shandsarewrappedtightaroundhisthroat.
32
LUCY
Thepast…
Thereistrulynothingworsethanhavingtoaskforafavourwhenyou’retryingtoholdthemoralhighground.It’sbeenthreemonthssinceChristmasandwe’reinthesweaty,‘summerisnevergoingtoend’periodwherepeoplehangoutatthesupermarketinbathersandthongs,buyingwatermelonandhamandbreadrollsandsunscreen.I’dliketobehangingoutatthesupermarkettoo(sinceit’sairconditioned),butI’mtooilleventoliftmyheadoffthecouch.BecauseIam,unexpectedly,eightweekspregnant.
Ifitwasn’tforHarriet,Icouldhavecoped.ArchiecouldhavewatchedTheWigglesonrepeatandwouldn’thavebotheredmefordays(exceptmaybeforfood),butHarriet,attenmonths,hasnotyetmasteredtheartofsolid,uninterruptedscreentime.Olliehasafulldayofinterviewsatwork,buthehaspromisedtocomehomeassoonashecan,andmyDadisdownatPortarlingtonfortheweek.Ithinkabouthiringanagencynanny,butmyeyeswateratthecostandOlliehasbeenwatchingthepennieslately.Finally,Irealisethere’snothingelseforitandIringDiana.
‘Hello?’Asalways,sheanswersthephonesoundingmildlyinconvenienced.
I’mflatonmybackonthefloorwithArchieonmylapandHarrietbangingatoyrepeatedlyagainstmyhead.’‘Hello,Diana,’Isay.‘Howareyou?’
‘Lucy?’There’sashortpause.‘Areyouill?’
LeaveittoDianatocuttothechase.
‘Actuallyyes.That’swhyI’mcalling.IthinkImighthavethefluandI’m…well,I’mfeelingquiteshocking.’
I’vedecidednottotellDianaIampregnantuntilIreachthethree-monthmark.WithmyprevioustwopregnanciesIcouldn’twaittotellher,thinkingshe’denjoybeinginontheearlysecret,butbothtimesshemerelysmiledandassuredmeshe’dkeepittoherselfuntilwewereoutofthedangerperiod.Therewerenocongratulations.Nohug.(Shedid,bizarrely,dropoffbagsofgrapesperiodically,withbothpregnancies.)SothistimeIhavedecidedshecanfindoutatthethree-monthmarklikeeveryoneelse.
‘Andyouneedhelpwiththekids.’
It’snotaquestion,norisitanoffer,thoughIhavetorespectthewayshedoesn’twasteanyone’stime.‘Yes.’
Ihearshufflinginthebackground,Dianaflickingthroughherdiaryperhaps.She’llhaveafullcalendar,nodoubt,butI’mholdingouthopethatshe’llfindahalf-hourslotsomewhere(‘between2.30pmand3pm,butithastobea3pmsharppick-upbecauseIhavetotakeapramacrosstownandI’dliketogetbackbeforetherush-hourtraffic’).Factis,I’mnottooproudtotakethathalfanhour.I’lltakeanythingIcanget.
‘I’mfree,’shesaysafteramoment.‘I’llcomeandpickthemuprightaway.’
Iblink.‘You’ll…pickthemup?’
‘Ijusthavetorescheduleadrop-off,butthatwon’ttakelong.I’llbetherewithinthehour.’
WhenDianaknocksonmydoorI’mstillhorizontalbutI’vemovedtothecouch.ArchieisgluedtotheiPadandHarrietissittingonmystomach,whiningforattention.Thefloorislitteredwithcushions,thecoffeetablewithtoastcrumbs,plates,mugsand,oddly,oneofmyweddingshoes(kids!).Idon’ttrytoconcealanyofthemess.It’sallIcandotoanswerthedoor.
Dianahaspharmacybags.‘Istoppedatthechemist.IhaveLemsip,apparentlyit’snothingmorethanPanadolbutIalwaysfinditcomfortingwhenI’msick.Ialsohavecoldandflutablets,thegoodoneswiththepseudoephedrine.Taketwonight-timeonesrightafterweleaveandgetsomesleep.’DianatakesHarriet.‘Right,I’llpackabagforthekids.’
Dianaswishesabouttheplace,findingaweekendbagandstuffingitfullofthekids’clothes.Shefindsbottlesandformulaandacoupleofjarsofbabyfood,whichsheefficientlyloadsintothenappybag,alongwithsomenappiesandwipesanddummies.I’mhelplesstodoanythingbutliehereandwatch.
‘Allright,kids,’shesayswhenshe’sfilledtwobags.‘You’recomingforasleepoveratDido’s.’
ThisisexcitingenoughtotearArchiefromhisscreen.Asleepover?Dianahasneverhadthekidsforasleepoverbefore.NotevenArchie.SleepoversatDido’sweresomethingthatonlyeverhappenedinmydreams.Also,evidently,inArchie’sdreams,judgingbythewayherunsaroundincirclesnow.ArchieadoresTomandDiana’shouse.Thegamesofhideandseekareepic,andheisremarkablyunfazedbyDiana’sunceasingmonologueabouthowheisn’ttotouchorbreakanything.Idoworryaboutthestairs—marble,ofcourse—andHarriet,whoisjuststartingtocrawl,butrightnowIdecideit’sworththerisk.
‘BecarefulwithHarrietonthestairs,’IsaytoDianaasshegathersupthekids.SuddenlyIrealiseIhaven’tthankedherforanything.Iopenmymouthtodothat,butbeforeIdo,anotherthoughtjumpsintobrain.‘Anddon’tletthemnearthepool!’
CallmecrazybutIhaveaterrorofkidsandpools.TomandDianahaveanindoorswimmingpool(obviously)andtheyhavemanagedtogetaroundthemandatorypool-fencinglawsbyhavinghighdoorhandlesandauto-closingdoors.It’sallwellandgoodexceptthatArchielovesgoingintothepoolareatolookatthegiantfishtanktheyhaveinstalled(ofcourse),andifDianagetsdistractedbyHarriet,Idon’twanttothinkaboutwhatcouldhappen.
‘Nooneinthepoolarea,’Dianaagrees,andshedisappearsoutthedoorwithmychildren.
That’swhenIrealiseIneverdidsaythankyou.
Isleep.Anunfathomableall-consumingorgasmofsleep.Pregnancywilldothattoyou.
Ihaven’tsleptlikethisinyears.Mydreamsareoddandever-changing,andIrouseeveryfewhours,onlytorealisethatmychildrenaren’thereandIcangobacktosleepindefinitely.It’sunthinkablyluxurious.Ifindmyselfwantingtosavoureverysecond.
Around5pm,whenIrouseagain,thephoneisringing.Isnatchitfromthebedsidetableandpressittomyear,eyesstillclosed.
‘Hello?’Itsoundsmorelike‘nnmmo’.
‘Lucy?’
Iopenmyeyes.It’sDiana,Icantellrightaway,eventhoughherpitchsoundsdifferent,anoteortwohigherthanusual.‘…Yes?’
Iheartalkinginthebackground,unfamiliarvoicesspeakingurgently.Ifeelachillslipdownmyspine,asluiceoficewater.Irisetomyelbows.
‘Whatisit,Diana?What’shappened?’
‘We’reonourwaytothehospital,Lucy,’shesays.Hervoiceisthreadedthroughwithfear.‘Youneedtomeetusthere.’
33
LUCY
Thepresent…
Eamonisgone.ThankfullyIdidn’tneedtobreakupthefight—assoonasOlliesawuswatching,hereleasedEamon,whobrushedhimselfoffandstalkedoutthefrontdoor.Olliealsobrushedhimselfoff,andthenturnedandwalkedbackintohisofficewithoutaword.Ilefthimaloneonlylongenoughtogetthechildrensortedinfrontoftheirscreens,andnowIknockonthedoorfirmly.
‘Comein,’hesays.
WhenIopenthedoor,Ollieissittinginhischair,hiselbowsonhisknees,hisheadinhishands.Hedoesn’tlookup.
‘What’sgoingon?’Iask.
Hekeepshisheaddown,whichdoesnothingtoeasemyanxiety.IthinkaboutallthethingsIknowabouthim—thewayheeatshisbreakfastcerealdry,nomilk;thefactthathesleepsnakedallyeararound;hisferocioushatredofcelery,sostrongthathecantellthemomenthewalksinthedoorifit’sbeeninthehouse.Butclearly,therearealotofthingsIdon’tknowabouthim.
‘I’msorry,’hewhispers.
‘Whyareyousorry?’
Finallyhelooksup.Hisfaceistear-stained.Mymindgoestotheveryworstplaces.Actuallyitgoestooneparticularplace,veryquickly.AnimageofOllieappearsinmymind,pressingagold-threadedcushionintohismother’sface.
Wasitpossible?Certainly,DianamademedothingsIneverthoughtpossible.
Ollietakesabreath.‘I’msorrybecausewe’reruinedfinancially.’
Ittakesamomentfortherelieftocome,butwhenitdoes,itisaflood.Idroptomykneesinfrontofhimandtakehishandsinmyown.They’resweatyandwarmandIkissthem.‘Oh,Ollie!Nowe’renot.Sure,wedon’thavemillionsuponmillionsofdollarscomingourway,butwe’renotruined.We’vesurvivedsofar,haven’twe?Andwedon’tneedmuch!’Abeatofsilencepasses.Olliekeepshiseyesonthefloor.‘What?’
‘Thisisn’tabouttheinheritance.Well…I’dhopedtheinheritancewouldsaveus.But…’Hedriftsoff.
Mymindreelsback,suddenlystickingonthebankstatementIopenedafewdaysago.Thehugenumber,thedebt,atthebottom.Apanickyfeelingstartsinmychest.
‘Thebusiness?’
Ollienods.
‘Howbadisit?’
‘It’sbad,’Olliesays.‘Wesunksomuchintoitthefirstyear,settingitallup.Iactuallyhavenoideahowwespentsomuch,themoneyjustseemedtoflyoutoftheaccount.’
Isitbackonmyhaunches.
‘WekeptgettingnewcontractsandIwasworkingmyassoff.Andweweremakingmoney.Butnotenough,itseems.Ishouldhavekeptaclosereyeontheoutgoings,butIthoughtEamonhaditinhand.’Hedragsahandthroughhishair.‘WhenMumdied,Ithoughtwecouldpayoffourdebtsandleavethebusinessbehindonceandforall.Butnow…’
‘…nowwehavenothing.’
‘Exactly.’
Silenceenvelopesus.Iliftmyhandtomytemple.Now,notonlyarewenotinheritingmillionsuponmillionsofdollars,we’realsoinextraordinarydebt.
‘AndEamondoesn’thaveanymoneyhecan…invest?’Iask.
‘Eamonwascountingonthemoneytoo.I’dtalkedaboutclearingthedebtsohecouldkeepthebusinessoperating.’
Iclosemyeyes.IhearthefaintsoundsofSesameStreetandtheirritatingmelodictuneofoneofArchie’sgamesontheiPad.‘Andoursavings—’
‘Oursavingsarelonggone.’Olliebeginstocry—real,rollingtears.‘Weareinahugeamountofdebt.Dad’sdead.Mum’sdead.Thereisnoonetohelpus.’
I’mfuriouswithOlliebutIcrawltohimandputmyarmsaroundhisneck.He’sright,there’snoonetohelpusnow.Thefunnythingis,Irealise,thisiswhatDianawantedallalong.
34
DIANA
Thepast…
Thetruthis,I’dalwaysintendedtoletArchieswim.IknewwhatLucyhadsaid,butIdidn’tseehowitcouldhurt.Afterall,Iwasgoingtowatchhim.BeforeArchiecouldtalkanddobmein,IusedtodoevenmorethingsIknewLucywouldn’tlike.Iwasn’tdoingittospiteher.Itwasjustthatsheworriedaboutalotofthingsthatdidn’tmatter.
‘Makesurehewearshiscoat,’she’dalwayssayasIdisappearedoutofthehousewithArchie.I’dnodandagree,butwhenArchieflungoffhiscoatatthepark,Iwasn’tgoingtochaseafterhimtoputitbackon.Naturalconsequencesarebetter.Ifthechildwascold,he’dputthecoaton.
‘Didhenapfortwohoursat1pm?’she’ddemand.
‘Thatsoundsaboutright,’I’dsay.Allthisfussaboutnaps.
‘Nojunk,’she’dsaywhenIwastakingArchietothemovies,butwhatchilddidn’thavepopcornandachoc-topwhentheywenttoafilmwiththeirgrandmother?
Butclearly,she’dhadapoint.AndIshouldhavelistenedtoher.
Archiehadbeenbeggingtogointhepoolallday.Andwhynot?IenjoyedaswimmyselfandtherewasnoquestionIwouldn’tsupervisehim.I’dshowerhimafterwardandhe’dfallofftosleep,exhausted,andLucywouldbenonethewiser.That’swhatIfigured.Andnow,hereweare.Onthewaytohospital.
IthoughtI’ddoneeverythingright.IwaitedforTomtogethome.Harrietwastooyoungtoswim,andbesides,Iwouldn’thavetrustedmyselfwithbothkidsinthepoolatonce.
‘Tom,’Isaidwhenhewalkedinthedoor,‘canyouholdHarrietformesoIcanswimwithArchie?’
Forsomeonewhoissofondofholdinghisgrandchildren,Tomwassurprisinglyreluctant.‘Oh.Can’tyoujustputherinthepram?’
‘Ithinkshe’dpreferacuddlefromhergrandfather.’
Archiewasalreadynaked,runningforthepool,leavingatrailofclothinginhiswake.‘Archie,don’trun!’Icalledafterhim.Thefloorislimestoneandslipperywhenwet.Atoneendisagiantfishtank,whichIthinkisoverthetop,butTominsistedandthechildrenloveit.
‘TakeHarrietupthatendandletherlookatthefish,’Isaid.
Tomdid,reluctantly.Hewasinastrangemood;Ididn’tknowwhatwasbotheringhim.IslidinflatablearmbandsontoArchieandhedive-bombedintothepoolwhileIgotinslowlyviathesteps.TomcarriedHarrietovertolookatthefish.Sheisapudgybaby,shorterandmuchfatterthanArchiewas.Iwatchedherchunkylegskickinsistentlyasshewatchedthefishswimpast.
‘Watchthis,Dido,’Archiesaid,andIwatchedhimpretendtowalkdownthestreetandthenaccidentallyfallintothepool.Funnylittlefellow.
IglancedatTomandnoticedhewasholdingHarrietstrangely,sortofusinghisforearmstopressheragainsthim.BythetimeIrealisedshewasslipping,itwastoolate.IpulledmyselfupandoutofthepoolbutIwasstillseveralmetresawaywhenHarrietslidfromhisgripandherheadhitthelimestonetileswithacrack.
Intheambulance,Ising‘OldMacDonald’.
‘OldMacDonaldhadafarm.Eeiieeiioo.’
Thereisblood.Alotofblood.Headsbleedalot,Iremembersomeonesayingthatonce.Lotsofbloodvesselsclosetothesurfaceoftheskinorsomething.
‘Withaquackquackhere,andaquackquackthere…’
Harrietisawake,whichisagoodsign,butshe’sverydistressed,hasvomitedtwiceandasizablebruiseisalreadycominguponthesideofherhead.Sheseemsdrowsy,butitishernaptime.Myjob,theparamedicsaid,istokeepherawake.Andso,Ising.
‘…hereaquack,thereaquack,everywhereaquackquack…’
It’sfunny,theplacesthemindgoes.MyminddriftsfromtheideathatImayhavepermanentlyinjuredmygrandchild,tothequestionofwhyTomdroppedheratall.MostlymymindsticksonwhatI’mgoingtosaytoLucy.Iknowwhatit’slikebeingtoldthatyoumightnotgettokeepyourbaby.Irememberthatfeelingasifitwereyesterday.IcannotbethereasonthatLucyhastohearthesewords.
IrunmyfingersthroughHarriet’ssoft,babyhair.
‘Eeiieeiioo.’
LucyandOlliearriveatthehospitalinaflurry.Ollieisinhisworkclothes,minusthesuitjacket—hemusthavecomeinsuchahurryhedidn’tstoptoputiton.LucyisstilldressedinthetracksuitsheworewhenIpickedupthekidsthismorning.
Thismorningfeelslikealifetimeago.
‘Lucy,’Istart,butsheignoresme,rushingtoHarriet’sside.Icringe.Harrietlooksterrible.Herheadisbandagedbutbloodsoaksthroughthegauze.Lucyrearsbackinhorror.
‘Isshe…unconscious?’
AtfirstIthinkLucyistalkingtomebutthenIrealisethereisatired-lookingdoctorinthedoorway.She’sdressedinscrubsandglassesdanglearoundherneckonachain.
‘YourdaughterhasbeensedatedforanMRI,’thedoctorsays.‘Wedothatwithyoungchildren,tomakesurethey’llliestill.Trynottoworry.’
‘WhydoessheneedanMRI?’
‘It’sjustaprecaution.Shehasadepressedskullfracture,whichmayrequiresurgerytoliftthebonetopreventitpressingagainstthebrain.Wealsoneedtocheckforcerebrallacerationsandcontusions,whicharetearsandbruisestothesurfaceofthebrain,’thedoctorsays.‘Thiscanhappenwhentheskullisfractured.Yourdaughterwasvomitingintheambulance,sowewanttomakesurewedon’tmissanything.Chancesare,she’llbefine,butwecan’tbetoocarefulwithheadinjuries.’Thereismovementinthedoorway—anursegesturingtothedoctor.Shenods,thenlooksbackatLucy.‘I’mjustgoingtocheckthatwehaveeverythingreadyhere,andthenwewillbebacktogetHarriet.’
LucyturnsbacktoHarriet.Olliecomestostandbesideherandshereachesouttogriphisforearm.
‘Lucy,’Istart,butsheholdsupahand,silencingme.
‘Whywereyouinthepool?’Shedoesn’tevenfacemetoaskthis.
‘I’msorry.Iknowyousaidnoswimming,Ijustthought…’
‘…thatyouknewbetter?’Shewhirlsaround.Hereyesflashwild.‘Thatyouwereentitledtooverridemeindecisionsaboutmychildren?’
‘YouhavenoideahowsorryIam,Lucy.Honestly,Iam.Butit’sdonenowandIthinkitwouldbebetterifwecouldjust—’
‘What?’ArushofairexpelsfromLucy—almostalaugh,notquite.‘Putitbehindus?’
‘Well…’
‘Didyouhearwhatthedoctorsaid?HarrietneedsanMRI.Mydaughtercouldhavediedbecauseyouthoughtyouknewbetterthanme.’Shetakesasteptowardme.Lucyisusuallyhardtopindown—likeachildsheisinastateofperpetualmovement—butrightnowshe’seerilycalmandstill.Ifindmyselftakingastepback.‘Iknowwe’veneverbeenclose,Diana.Firsttherewasmyweddingday.Ithoughtwe’dsharedamomentwhenyougavemethatnecklace.ThenyoufelttheneedtoremindmethatIhadtogiveitback,whichIknew,bytheway,butpointingitoutlikeIwasplanningtostealitwasn’tthebestwaytoingratiateyourselftome.’Shetakesanothersteptowardme.‘Youmademefeellikeagold-diggerwhenweaskedforamoneytobuyatinyworkerscottage.Youknowwhat?Ididn’tevenwantyourmoney.ItwasOllie’sidea.’Lucy’sentirebodypulses.‘YoubroughtmearawchickenwhenIhadanewborn.Arawchicken!’IcanactuallyseethesparksinLucy’sbrain,metalonmetal,memoryonmemory.‘YouturnedoffArchie’smonitorsoIcouldn’thearhimcry,andeversinceyou’vemadeitabundantlyclearthatIdon’tmeasureuptoyouinthemotheringstakes.Evenso,wemighthavebeenabletoputallthatbehindus.Butmybabymighthavebraindamagebecauseofyou.Wecannoteverputthatbehindus.’Shetakesanotherstep.
‘Lucy…’Olliesays.I’vealmostforgottenhewashere.InthebackofmythoughtsitoccurstomethatOllieisthefruitofmywomb,yetatsomepointhe’sbecomealmostinsignificant.HeandTomandPatrickarethecogsandspokes,butLucyandNettieandI,wearethewheels.‘Youneedtocalmdown.’
Lucytakesanotherstep.
Anurseappearsinthedoorway.‘Iseverythingallrightinhere?’
‘Lucy,’Isay,holdingupmyhands,‘justtakeabreath—’
ButLucythrustsapalmout,flatlikeastopsign.ItconnectswithmyownhandsandIstaggerbackward.IfeelasharppaininmyankleandthenI’mfalling.Thereisasolidthwackingsound.Theroomswims.
‘Weneedsecurityinhere,’Ihearsomeonecall.
LucydisappearsandpeopleIdon’trecogniseappearrightupclose.
‘Ma’am,areyouallright?’
‘Ineedadoctorinhere!’
‘Areyouallright,Mum?’
‘Don’ttrytomoveher.’
They’remakingabigfussaboutnothing.I’mfine.I’monthefloornow,Ibelieve.Colourdancesinfrontofmyeyes.Andthenit’sjust…black.
35
LUCY
Thepresent…
IwearDiana’snecklacetothefuneral,theoneshelentmeonmyweddingday.Sheleftittomeinherwill.WhenItippeditoutofitsenvelopethismorning,therewasalittlenoteattached:Atleastthistime,youdon’thavetogiveitback
I’dplannedtowearthenecklacewithmyhot-pinkwrapdress,butinsteadI’vegoneforasimpleblackshift.Thereissomethingtobesaidforblackatfunerals,andIdidaddapairofhot-pinkwedges.
OutsidethefuneralhomearedozensofpeoplewhoknowmynameandwhotalkabouthowwemetdownatSorrentooratTom’ssixtiethbirthdaypartyorsomeothersuchevent.Inodandsmileandaskaftertheirfamiliesbutthesmalltalkisachinglylimited.Allofthenormalday-to-daytopicsareoffthetable,beingdeemedtootrivialfortheoccasion,exceptoddly,theweather,whichisfreelydiscussedatfunerals,andindeedoneofthefewsafetopicsofdiscussions.ThesunisshiningdownonDiana,today.OrevenTheskyiscryingtoo.(Interestinglythough,thesunisnotshiningandtheskyisnotcrying,itismerelyadullgreyday.Iwonder,idly,whatthisissupposedtosayaboutmymother-in-law.)
Nettieisinquiteafragilestate.Shehasdressedupatleast,inacreamdressandbrownleatherwedges,butshelooksdrawnandtired.ShedissolvesintofreshtearsperiodicallyandIwishIcouldconsoleher.Butshewon’tevenacceptsupportfromPatrick,whostandsbesideheruselessly,smilingpolitelyatpeoplewhooffercondolences.
Thechildrenmillaboutatmyheels,boredandexcitable,pinchingandpushingeachother,buttheyquietdownwhenIhandthemafistfulofgummybearsfromthestashinmybag.Inside,thecrowdistypicaluppermiddle-classfolk,apartfromthesmatteringofdark-skinnedfaces,rareenoughamongthesepartstoassumetheymustbetherefugeewomenDianaworkedwith.IalsonoticeEamonaswemakeourwaytotheseatsatthefront.There’snophysicalsignofhisfightwithOllie,otherthanperhapstheexpressionofmilddefianceonhisface.IwouldwonderwhyhebotheredcomingatallifIdidn’tknowhowintoappearancesheis.JonesandHousseiniareheretoo,whichisasurprise.Theywearblacksuits,andassuchshouldlooklikeanyothermourners,butthere’ssomethingaboutthemthatscreamscop.Perhapsit’sthatIcanfeeltheirpresence,likeantscrawlingupmyback.
Theserviceisslowanddull,inlargepartbecauseofthelackofhymns.Olliegivesaeulogythatisasheartfeltasitcanpossiblybe,whichistosayfairlygeneric.Lotsof‘Iloveyou’s,lotsofstoriesaboutDiana’scharitablework.AsIlistenIcan’thelpbutthinkoftheeulogyOlliegaveatTom’sfuneral.Therewasn’tadryeyeinthehouse.OlliehimselfbecamesochokedupthatIendedupstandingbehindhimformostofit,withmyhandonhisshoulder.Buttodayhedoesn’tmanagesomuchasamistyeye.
ItrytoimaginetheeulogyIwouldhavegivenDianahadIbeentheonetospeak.Iglanceupattheframedphotoofheronhercoffin.Herchinisraised,hereyesguarded,herlipscurvedintothebarestsmile.ItisjustsoDianathatIcan’thelpbutfeelsomething.It’shardtobelievethatIwon’tseethatguardedsmileagain.It’sequallyhardtobelievethatshemighthaveexitedthisworldonanythingotherthanherownterms.
Ibecomeawareofaflutterinmybody,aniggleatfirstbutslowlyitfillsmychestlikeascream.Iputahandgentlytomylipsbutasobescapes,excruciatinglyloud.Thechildrenlookatmecuriously.EvenOlliepausesinhiseulogyandfrowns.Iwanttogetittogether,butit’slikeatrain.Idoubleover,allatonceconsumedbyit.Thestarkemotion.Theutter,inexplicableloss.
OllieandPatrickarepallbearers,alongwithtwofriendsofTom’s.Theothertwopositions—apparentlythereisarequirementforsix—aregiventothefuneralstaff.IthinkbrieflythatperhapsthoserolesshouldhavebeenofferedtoNettieandmyself,butnooneaskedmeandIassumenooneaskedNettieeither.AndsoDianaistakenoutandplacedinthehearse,andweareforcedtoenduresmalltalkforanotherforty-fiveminutesasmychildrenteararoundthelawnlikethey’reatagardenparty.HarriethasclimbedatreeandissittingonabranchwithachildIsawinthevenue,agrandchildofoneofDiana’sfriends,perhaps.Thehemsoftheirdressesaregrubbywithdirt.
Peopledisappearindribbles,mostheadingtothefunctionroomattheHalf-MoonHotel,whereweareputtingonsandwichesanddrinksthisafternoon.Butafewpeoplewhoaren’theadingtothewakehangaroundtogivetheircondolences.Condolenceaftercondolence,intheabsenceofalcohol,isquitefranklyexhausting.Ollieobviouslythinksso,judgingbyhisdrawnexpression,soItellhimtoheadoffandleavemetofarewellthefinalfewmourners.
‘Whataboutthekids?’hesays.
‘I’llhandlethekids.Go.’
Finallyhedoes,catchingaridewithanoldfriendofTom’s.
Iamstandingthere,withEdiehangingoffoneleg,whenanothermournerapproachesme.She’syoung,perhapsfiveortenyearsyoungerthanme.Themanbesideherlooksvaguelyfamiliar.
‘YouareLucy,’thewomansays.
‘Yes,’Isay.Mygazemovesbacktothewoman.Idon’tthinkI’vemetherbefore,butthenagain,therehavebeenalotofpeopleheretodaythatIhaven’trecognised.‘Havewemet?’
Shesmiles.‘IhaveseenyourpictureatDiana’shouse.’She’swearingablacklong-sleeveddressandblackboots,withanemeraldgreenheadscarf.‘IamGhezala.Thisismyhusband,Hakem.’
‘It’snicetomeetyouboth.HowdidyouknowDiana?’
‘IwaspregnantwhenIcametoAustralia,’Ghezalasays.‘Dianawaswonderfultome.ShewastherewhenIgavebirthtomysonAarashonmykitchenfloor.’
‘Thatwasyou?’Iexclaim.‘Irememberhearingaboutthat.’It’shardtoforgettheimageofDianaonthefloor,letalonedeliveringababy.
Ghezalasmiles.‘Shewasaverygoodwoman.’
‘Andwhatdoyoudo,Lucy?’Hakemasks.
‘I’mastay-at-homemumatpresent,’Itellhim.I’vebeenaskedthisalottoday.(‘Whatareyouuptothesedays,Lucy?Whatareyoudoingwithyourselfnowthatyou’vefinishedhavingbabies?’)UsuallyIdon’tcarewhatotherpeoplethinkofme,butgiventheextentofourdebt,Ican’thelpbutwonder,whatamIdoingwithmyself?I’vebeensodeterminedtobeastay-at-homemum,sokeentodoasmyownmotherdid,thatI’veneverquestionedit.Now,suddenly,Iamquestioningit.
‘Iwasarecruiterinapastlife—’Istart,butHakemcutsmeoff.
‘Itmustruninthefamily,’hesays.‘Dianafoundmemyjob,severalyearsagowhenIcouldn’tgetaninterviewinthiscountry.NowIamanengineeragainbecauseofDiana.’
That’swhenIrealisewhereIknowhimfrom.Thatday,atDiana’shouse.Irememberthewayhethankedher,theextentofhisgratitude.IrememberthewayDianabrusheditofflikeitwasnobigdeal.
‘Actually,justyesterdayHakemandIwereinvitedtotakeseatsontheboardofDiana’scharity,’Ghezalasays.‘Itwasherwishthattheboardhaverepresentationfromrefugees.’
‘Thatdoesn’tsurpriseme,’Isay.‘Dianawaspassionateaboutthatcharity.’
‘Wewillmakesureherlegacyiscarriedon.Wewillmakeherproud.’
Ipause,thinkingabouthowthatwasallIhadwantedforthelongesttime,tomakeDianaproud.
Ghezalatakesmyhand.‘Dianawasinthebusinessofgivingpeoplechances,’shesays.‘Butsometimesyoucanbesobusylookingattheproblemsintheworld,youforgettogivechancestothoserightunderyournose.’
Ismile.
‘Ithinkshemightdothingsdifferently,giventhechance,’Ghezalasays,andthefunnythingis,Ithinkshemighttoo.
36
DIANA
Thepast…
‘Areyousureyou’reallright?’TomsaystomeasIslideoutofmyhospitalgown.
‘I’mfine.Itwasasmallknocktothehead.Itwasalotoffussingaboutnothing.ThehospitalonlykeptmeovernightincaseIsuedthemforaslipperyfloororsomething.’IstepintothetrousersTomhasbroughtforme.
‘Istillcan’tbelieveLucypushedyou.’
‘ShewasworriedaboutHarriet,Tom.Asweallare.Thatshouldbeourfocusrightnow,notthissillybumptomyhead.’
Isliponmyblouseandstartmatchingupthebuttons.
‘ArewegoingtopopuptothewardtoseeHarrietbeforewego?’Tomasks.
Ihesitate.‘Idon’tthinkIshould.’
‘Nonsense.You’rehergrandmother.’
‘Lucymadeitveryclear—’
‘Lucywasemotional.She’llprobablyapologisewhensheseesyou.’
TomistheeternaloptimistandIdon’tsharehisconfidence.Hedidn’theartheemotionbehindLucy’swords.Sinceyesterday,theonlynewsI’vehadwasatextfromOllie,saying:Harrietawake.MRIlookedgood.I’veheardnothingatallfromLucy,despitecallingthreetimes.‘I’mnotsureaboutthat,Tom.’
‘We’llstopbyonourwaytothecar,’hesaysfirmly.‘Itwillallbefine,you’llsee.’
WhenwearriveatHarriet’sroom,LucyissittingonachairthathasbeenpusheduptoHarriet’sbedside.Herbackistous.FromthedoorwayIcanhearherhumming‘Twinkle,Twinkle,LittleStar’eventhoughHarrietappearstobesoundasleep.Inexplicably,myeyesfillwithtears.
She’sagoodmother,Ihavetoadmit.ItoccurstomethatI’venevertoldherthisbefore.It’sfunnyhowallyourmistakescancrystalliseinaninstant.AllatonceIseehowI’vealienatedher.
Tomliftshishandtoknockonthedoor,butIgrabitbeforeitconnects.‘Ijustwanttowatchthem,’Iwhisper.‘Let’sjustwatchforamoment.’
Andso,wewatch.Andforthefirsttime,IreallyseeLucy.Notagirlwhowashandedeverything.Agirlwhoknewwhatshewanted.Afamily.Awomanwhohasstoodbymysonandherchildren,andevenme,inspiteofhardship.AgirlalottougherthanIgavehercreditfor.
IthinkaboutallmyconversationswithJanandLizandKathyaboutdaughters-in-law.We’dalwaysfocusedonhowdifferenttheyarefromus,howtheirmotheringisdifferent,theirattitudesaredifferent.We’veneveroncefocusedonoursimilarities.Aswomen.Aswives.Asmothers.Itoccurstomesuddenlythattherearealotmoreofthem.
‘Let’sgo,’IsaytoTom.
Helooksasthoughhe’sgoingtoprotest,butIpullhimoutofthedoorwaybeforehecan.Lucywon’twantusheretoday.Andtoday,I’mthinkingabouther.
TomandIdrivehomeinsilence.IassumethequietistoallowmetoprocessmythoughtsaboutwhathappenedwithLucy,butwhenwepullupinfrontofthehouseandTomdoesn’tgetoutofthecarstraightaway,IrealiseI’veassumedwrong.
‘Thiswasallmyfault,’hesays.‘I’mtheonewhodroppedHarriet.’
‘Nonsense.’Ireleasemyseatbeltandpivotinmyseat.‘Itwasanaccident.’
‘Accidentshavebeenhappeningforawhile,’hesays.‘Mygripstrengthhasbeengettingworseandworse.’
Irollmyeyes.‘We’regettingolder,Tom.Nothingworksaswellasitusedto.’
‘Iwenttothedoctoraboutit,acoupleofmonthsago.’
Ipause.‘Youdid?’
‘DrPaisleyorderedsometestsandtoldmeIshouldmakeanappointmentwithaspecialist.Aneurologist.SoIdid.’
‘Youdidwhat?Sawaspecialist?’I’mstunned.Howcouldthishavebeengoingonwithoutmyknowing?Tomdoesn’thavesecrets.(Once,whenthekidswerelittle,hetoldthemonChristmasEvethatSantahadtoldhimhewasgoingtobringthembikesthenextday.‘Ijustcouldn’twaittoseetheirlittlefaces,’hesaid.)
Tomstaresstraightahead,hishandsonthewheelattenandtwo.‘Ihaven’tseenthespecialistyet.ButIhaveanappointmenttomorrow.It’swithaguywhospecialisesinmotorneurondisease.’
Istareathim.
‘Ididn’twanttotellyouuntilIhadmoreinformation,but…afterwhathappened…it’smyfaultwhathappenedtoHarriet.Ishouldneverhaveagreedtoholdher.’
Mythroatisdry.Itrytoswallowbutthere’snothingthere.IstareatthesideofTom’sface.Hislarge,craggyface.
‘I’dlikeyoutocomewithmetomyappointmenttomorrow.’
‘OfcourseI’llcome.IwishIhadbeenthereforallyourappointments.’
‘Iknowyoudo,’hesaysandheletsgoofthesteeringwheelandlaysonehand,palmup,inmylap.Wesitlikethatinthecarfornearlyanhour,staringatthewindscreen.
ThenextdayTomandIgototheneurologist’srooms.Weenterthewaitingroom,announceourarrivalandtakeourseats.Inthespacebesideme,amansitsinawheelchair,headlolling,hischinsupportedbyawhitepad,andapurpletravelpillowhorseshoeinghisneck.Heis,ataglance,atleasttenyearsyoungerthanTom.Thewomanbesidehim,hiswifepresumably,flicksthroughamagazine,glancingupathimeverysooftenandsmiling,orleaningforwardwithatissuetowipethecornerofhismouth.Evenaftertheladyseesmelooking,I’munabletolookaway.
‘TomGoodwin?’saysthedoctor.
‘Yes,’Tomsays.
Ikeeplookingatthewoman.ShegivesmeaslightfrownbutthenhergazeslitherstoTomandunderstandingdawns.Shegivesmeasmall,almostindistinctnod.
‘Diana?Areyoucoming?’
‘Oh…yes.’IbreakmygazewiththewomanandTomandIwalkintotheroom.
Idrivehome.ItisoneofonlyahandfuloftimesI’vedrivenwhileTomisinthecar.Mosttimeshavebeenwhenhehashadtoomuchtodrink,buttherehavebeenacoupleofothertimes.Once,whenwewerenewlymarriedandonaroadtriptovisitTom’scousininBrightintheVictoriancountryside.Olliewasinthebackseatofthecar,justatoddler,andTomwasdrivingfartoofastformylikingsoIdemandedheslowdown.Finallyhepulledoverontothedustysideoftheroad,wrenchedupthehandbrakeandsaid:‘Fine.Ifyouneverwanttogetthere,youdrive.’Hecouldbedreadfullyhot-headed,Tom.Itookthewheel,anddespiteTom’slackoffaith,wedidmakeitthereandingoodtime.Hemutteredandmoanedaboutitforanhourorso,thencalmeddownlikehealwaysdoes.Bythetimewearrivedwewerechucklingaboutit.Iwonderif,soon,therestofmymemoriesofTomwillbecataloguedlikethis.Memoriesofhimasafather,memoriesofhimasagrandfather.Memoriesoffights,memoriesofjoy.Allofthemmemories,becauseheisgone.
‘WhenwegethomeI’llmakeenquiriesaboutasecondopinion,’Isay,myvoicefullofauthority.AndIwillgetasecondopinion,athirdonetoo.We’llgothroughtheprocessandexhaustalltheavenues.Butintheend,Tomwilldie,somehowIknowthis.Hewon’tbeinhisnineties,hewon’tevenbeinhisseventies.HewilldieandIwillhavetolive.
‘Whenwegethome,’Tomreplies,‘Iwanttogotobed.’
WepulltoastopataredtrafficlightandIturntolookathimproperly.Hiseyesareshiny,thebottomlidheavy,threateningtospill.‘Okay,’Isay.‘We’llgotobed.’
ThetearsspillasIpulloutoftheintersection.Ileavehimtoit,hisownpersonalgrievingprocess.Hedoesn’tneedmetellinghimeverythingwillbeokaywhenwebothknowitwon’t.InsteadIgivehishandafirmsqueeze.Myroleiscleartomenow.Iwillbethestrongone.I’llbegoodatthis.Iamawareofmylimitations.I’mnotwarm,I’mnotespeciallykind.ButIcanbestrong.IcanallowTomtoslipawayknowingIwillbeallright.This,Icangivehim.
Athome,Tomgoesrightupstairs.Idotoo,butwhileheheadsforthebedroom,ItellhimIneedaquickshower.InthebathroomIsettheshowerrunningandIstripoffmyclothesandIstandunderthestreamofwaterandcry.IcryuntilIdon’tknowwhichiswaterandwhichistears.
IcryuntilI’mdry.
BythetimeIgetoutoftheshower,Tomisinbed.AtfirstIthinkheisasleep,butassoonasIcrawlinbesidehim,hiseyesopen.
‘Howareyougoingtolivewithoutme?’hesays.
Webothchuckle,evenasatearslidesfromthecornerofTom’seye.
‘Iwon’t,’Isay.
‘Youmighthaveto,Di.’
‘That’swhatyouthink,’Isay,andthenhereachesformeandwedon’ttalkanymore.
1971…
WhenOlliewasfourmonthsold,IgotajobattheStarTheatreinYarraville.TheStarwasunusuallyopulentfortheareaandwaspackedeverySaturdaynight.Uniquetothecinemawasthepramroom,wherebabiesintheirpramswerelinedupandgivenanumber;ifababystartedcrying,itsnumberwasflashedonthescreenanditsmotherwouldcomeandcollectit.Olliewasoneofthosebabies.
LikeMeredithsaid,IfiguredouthowtogetajobandlookafterOllieatthesametime.Iwassurprisedhowgooditfelttobeabletodothat.Iwasn’tcompletelyself-sufficient—Ididn’tpayrentatMeredith’sandIstillsleptinhershed—butIstartedtocontributetowardbillsandfood.IworkedTuesdayandSaturdaynightstobeginwith.TuesdayswerebusybutSaturdayswerenearlyalwaysfullybooked,allonethousandseats.Iroamedbetweentheticketboxandthecandybarasthefoyerswelledwithpeople.I’dbeentotheStarbefore,asanattendee,buttherewasadifferentbuzztoworkingthere.Ilikeditbetter.IfeltlikeIwasbehindthescenesofashow,orhadabackstagepasstoaconcert.IsawpeopleIknewfromtimetotime,buttheyneversawme.Iexistedinadifferentworldtothem.Sometimestheylookeddirectlyatme,buttheyneversawme.
Iracedaroundthebusytheatre,directingpeopleinwithaflashlight,servingpopcorn.Onceeveryonewasseatedinside,I’doftengotothepramareaandlookatthebabies,alllinedup.Seeingthem,itwashardnottothinkaboutthebabiesofthegirlsatOrchardHouse.Theywouldhavebeenlineduplikethisinthehospitalnurserybeforetheyweretakenhomebysomeoneelse.Noneofthegirlsthoughttheyhadachoice.IwishedIcouldgobackandtellthemtheydid.
Duringthemovie,ifIheardababycry,I’dtrytosettlethemforafewminutesbeforeI’druntheirnumberuptothescreeningroomtoflashoverthescreen.Ninetimesoutoften,Ididsettlethem.Olliealwaysslept,eventhenmysimple,contentboy.
Iwaswatchingoverthebabiesonenightwhenayoungmancameoutofthecinematwentyminutesafterthefilmstarted.Imademywaytothecandybarwherehewasheaded.
‘Justapopcorn,please,’hesaid.
‘Small,mediumorlarge?’
Theyoungmanblinkedatme,lookingmefullintheface.IttookmeamomenttoplacehimasTomGoodwin,theplumberwhohadvisitedmyparents’houseacoupleoftimes.Accordingtomyfatherhewas‘agoodworker’.Hewasn’thandsome,buthehadclearblueeyes,agoodcropofhair,agreatsmile.Hewasontheshorterside,andhedidnothingtoconcealhisintrigueatfindingmeworkinginacinemacandybarinYarraville.
‘Iknowyou,’hesaid.
‘AndIknowyou.Tom,right?’
Hecockedhishead.Icouldactuallyseethecogsturning.
‘Whatareyoudoinghere?’
‘Whatdoesitlooklike?’
‘Ihaven’tseenyouaroundforawhile,’hesaideventually.Irecogniseditforwhatitwas:aquestion.Forthatexactreason,myfirstinstinctwastobevagueinmyresponse.I’vebeenbusysprangtomylipsasdidIwasoverinEuropeforawhile.ButIforcedthosewordsaway.SuddenlyIunderstoodwhatMeredithhadsaidaboutthefreedomofhavingnothingtolose.
‘Iwentawaytohaveababy.’
IlovedthewayTomdidn’ttrytoconcealhissurprise.Heblinked,longandslow,andthenblinkedagain.Heactuallytookastepback.Itwas,Iamcertain,thefactIadmitteditratherthanthefactithappenedthatcausedhisastonishment.
‘Aboy,’Isaid.‘Oliver.He’soverthereinthatbasket.’
‘He’s…here?’Tomysurprise,TomwalkedovertothepramareaandpeeredintoOllie’sbasket.‘Thislittlefella?’Hegazeddownathimandhisfacesoftened.‘And…yourfamily—’
‘They’rethrilled.’
Ilaughed,andTomsurprisedmebylaughingback.Hehadagreatlaugh.Afull-bodied,heartylaughthatcamefromthewellofhisstomach.
‘Sohowareyousupportingyourselfthen?’
‘IliveinashedinSpotswood,inthebackyardofmyfather’sdisgracedcousin.Icookandcleanforher.AndI’mworkinghereformoney.’
Hissmileslippedaway.‘You’rekidding?’
‘Afraidnot.Butdon’tworryaboutme,I’mdoingjustfine.Verywell,actually.’
Iglancedattheclock.I’dbeentalkingtoolong.Ihadtogetthingscleanedupandorganisedbeforeintermission.IgrabbedapopcorncontainerandmadeTomalargeoneandhandedittohim.‘That’llbeonedollar,’Isaid.
Hereachedintohispocketandpulledoutafistfulofcrumplednotes,handingthelottomewithoutevenglancingatthem.
‘You’dbettergetbackinthere.You’regoingtomissthemovie.’
Hejerkedslightly,lookingoverhisshoulderasifhe’dforgottenwherehewas.ThenhelookedbackatmeandgavemethebestsmileI’deverseen.‘ButwhatifImisswhat’shappeningouthere?’
37
LUCY
Thepresent…
Wakesarealwaysinterestingaffairs.Anythingthatmixesfamilyandalcoholusuallyis.WhenIarriveattheHalf-MoonafterDiana’sfuneral,Ollieislookingmorerelaxedwithabeerinhand,occasionallyevenchucklingatsomethingsomeonehassaid.Thefootballisonthetelevisioninthebackground,whichalsoprovidessomenormalitytotheabnormaloccasion.
Nettie,too,seemsmoretogetherthanatthefuneral.Ediefindsherimmediatelyandtakesprideofplaceinherlap,commandeeringNettie’spinklemonade.I’mgladtoseeherissueswithushaven’textendedtoourchildren.SaywhatyouwantaboutNettie,butshe’salovingaunt.Ihavetoloveherforthat.
Patrickhassunkatleasthalf-a-dozenbeerssinceIarrived,agoodhouraftereveryoneelse,andithastobesaid,he’slookingabitworseforwear.IsupposeIcan’tblamehim.I’dliketothrowbackafewtoo,butbetweenchasingthekidsaroundandorderingthemtogetupfromunderthetables,thereisn’talotoftime.HarrietandArchiehavekickedtheirshoesoffandarescamperingaroundonthefloors,wherethedirtisformingapastewiththespilleddrinks.Soonsomeonewillbreakaglass,oneofthekidswillsteponit,andwe’llbeallheadedtothehospital.Actually,itwouldbearelieftogetoutofhere.
‘Hey,’Isay,findingOllieatthebar.Hehastheglassinessofamanafewbeersin,andheseemssombre,butthenhehasjustattendedhismother’sfuneral.‘Areyouokay?’
Apartfromthefactthatit’syourmum’sfuneral,yourbusinessisfailingandthefactthatwe’refinanciallyruined?
‘Actually,’hesays,‘Iwasjustthinkingabouthowbadmyeulogywas.’
‘Itwasn’tbad.’
Hecockshishead.‘Comeon.’
Iputmyarmsaroundhiswaist.‘Listen.It’snotasifshewastheretocritiqueit.Justletitgo.Itwasfine.’
Heopenshismouthtorespondbutweareinterruptedbyanelderlycouplecomingtosaytheirgoodbyes.Atthesametime,Harrietcomestotellmethat‘EdiewetherpantsandAuntieNettiewantstoknowifshehasspareundies’.
‘I’lldealwiththeundies,’IsaytoOllie.
IfollowHarrietthroughthethrong,turningsidewaystosqueezepastpeople.HarrietandIcometoaclearingonthedeckoutsidewhereEdiestandsnakedapartfromapairofgoldsandals.Tipsyadultssmile.Sweet.Nettiesquatsnexttoher,dryingherlegswithawadofpapertowels.There’ssomethingsomaternalaboutit,itstopsmeshort.IhavetoremindmyselfthatEdieismydaughter,thatI’mhermother.
Achinkofspoonagainstglassstealseveryone’sattention,andwhenIturnaroundIseeOllieisstandingonachair.IleaveEdiewithNettieanddashback.Whatonearth?
‘CanIhaveeveryone’sattentionplease?’heissaying,asIslipthroughthedoor.
AhushgoesaroundtheroomandIfeelmyinsidessqueezetight.Thissmacksofadrunkidea.Ollieisn’tthetypetogiveimpromptuspeeches,heisaplanner,apractiser,areaderofindexcards.Iglancearoundforsupport,butthereisonlyNettie,whoisstilloutsidedealingwithEdie.Patrickisoverbythebar
‘Sorrytostealyouawayfromyourdrinksandconversations.IjustfeelthatIdidn’tquitesayeverythingIwantedtoaboutMumtoday.’
Onebyone,peoplewhisperhushedendingstotheirconversationandgiveOllietheirfullattention.Igrabaglassofchampagnefromacirclingwaiterandthrowitback.
‘Thefactis,Mumwasn’tthewarmandfuzziestofpeople.Actually,shewasaprettyhardtaskmaster.Iftherewaseveraspiderorrodenttokill,guesswhowewentto?I’llgiveyouahint,itwasn’tDad.’
Agentlechorusoflaughterringsthroughtheroom.Itreassuresme.
‘Askids,wheneverwesatdown,Mumwouldalwayshandusabagofdonatedbabyclothesandmakeussortthemintosizes.We’dcomplainusually,andshe’dtellusthatshe’dbemorethanhappytotakeawayourclothesandmakeusacceptdonationsandthenseeifthatchangedourtune.’
AtthisOllie’svoicestartstowobble.
‘Irememberfoldingupatinywhiteknittedjacketonceandputtingitonthetopofapileofnewbornclothes.Mumnoticeditandyankeditoutofthepile,sayingitwasstained.Itoldherthey’dprobablystillacceptitandshesaid:“It’snotmyjobtogivethemwhattheywouldaccept.”’Olliedoesapitch-perfectDianaimpression.‘“It’smyjobtogivethemwhattheydeserve.”’
Heglancesatme,andInod.Perfect.
‘Mumcouldbedifficult,butthatwaspartofwhatmadehergreat.Andthat’swhatmadeheralifelineforsomepeople.’
‘Comeon!Givemeabreak!’
Thevoice,comingfromthebackoftheroom,overbythebar,isboomingandunapologetic.Headswhiparound.Itisn’thardtofindPatrick,afullheadandshouldersabovethecrowd.
‘Dianawasn’ta“lifeline”,’hesays,‘shewasalife-sucker.’
Ollielooksstartled.Likemostpeople,he’sbeensocaughtupinhislovelytributehedidn’tseeitcoming.I,too,amstartled.ThecrowdshiftstolookatPatrick.Istarttowardhim,buttheroomisfullanditislikewalkingthroughsludge.
‘Ifwe’rehonest,we’lladmitthatnooneisupsetthatshe’sdead,we’vejustcomeforthefreefoodandbooze.Andwhynot?’Patrickspotsmechargingtowardhimthroughthecrowd.‘Saveyourselfthetrouble,Lucy,I’mdone.’Heraiseshisglasstothecrowd.‘ToDiana.Maysherotquickly.’
Hetipshisglasstohismouthandswallowsthedrinkinonemouthful.Thenheplantsitonthebarandstaresbackatthecrowd,defiant.IglancearoundforNettieandfindherstandinginthecorneroftheroom.Asingletearrunsdownhercheek.
38
LUCY
Thepast…
IsnapaphotoofHarriet,asleepinherhospitalcot.ThemorninglightdapplesonherandIfeelhyper-awareofthepreciousnessofit.Ifthingshadgonedifferentlyafewdaysago,shemightnotbehere,andIdon’ttakethissecondchanceforgranted.
‘Howisourlittleangel?’Ingridasksfromthedoorway.
IngridhasbeentheprimarynursetendingtoHarriet.Agrandmother,sheproudlytoldmeafewdaysago,toalittleboynamedFelixwhoisaboutHarriet’sage.Itis,perhaps,thereasonshe’sgoneaboveandbeyondforus—evenpickingmeupalattefromherlocalcoffeestoreonthewayinafterhearingmetellOllieIcouldn’tstandthehospitalcoffee.Thenagain,Ingridseemsthetypetogoaboveandbeyondwitheveryone.
Iputmyphonedown.‘She’sfine.Sleeping.’
‘Doyouwantmetogetaphotoofthetwoofyou?’
Ithinkaboutthatforasecond.‘Actually,Iwouldlovethat.’
IscootchdownbesidemysleepingdaughterandplacemyheadnexttoherswhileIngridsnapsapicture.ThepictureisfilledwithchinsandyoucanseerightupmynoseandIwillcherishitforever.
‘Yourmother-in-lawphonedamomentago,’Ingridsayslightly.
Dianahasphonedeveryday,twiceaday.WhenIdidn’tanswershestartedcallingthehospitalandcheckinginwiththenurses’station.SheknowsHarrietisgoingtobeokay,ImadeOllietextherassoonasweknew.I’mstillangrywithher,butasfarasI’mconcernednoonedeservestoworryaboutachildforasecondlongerthantheyhaveto.
IfeelIngrid’seyesonmeandIsigh.Ingridknows,ofcourse,whatIdidtoDiana—everyoneintheentirehospitalknowsabouttheassault.That’swhatthenursewhodiscovereduscalledit.Anassault.Actually,itisprobablyanaccuratedescription,thoughDianawasquicktorefuteit,insisting,evenaftershewastakentoemergencyonastretcher,thatitwasaprivatefamilymatter.Ihavetohandittoher,DianaGoodwinwillgotoanylengthstoavoidmakingascene.
‘You’reabitofaheroaroundhere,youknow,’Ingridsays,openingHarriet’schart.‘Everyone’swantedtogivetheirmother-in-lawaheadinjuryatleastonceintheirlife.’
‘Evenyou,Ingrid?’
‘Especiallyme!Andmydaughter-in-lawwantstogivemeoneoccasionally,I’msureofit.’
‘Idoubtthat,’Isay.‘IfIhadamother-in-lawlikeyou,Ingrid,I’dbeoverthemoon.’
‘Ah,youthinkthatnow.’Shesmiles.‘ButI’dgetonyournervesafterawhile.Everyone,givenenoughtime,willgetonyournervesiftheyjoinyourfamily.’
‘Whyisitthatmothers-in-lawanddaughters-in-lawalwaysseemtohaveissues,andneversons-in-lawandfathers-in-law?’
Ingridscribblessomethingonthechart.‘Sons-in-lawandfathers-in-lawdon’tcareenoughtohaveissues.’
‘Sowehaveissuesbecausewecare?’Iask.
‘Wehaveissuesbecausecaretoomuch.’Ingridglancesatherwatch,thenmakesanothernoteonherchart.ThenshereplacesthechartontheendofHarriet’scot.She’sinthedoorway,abouttoleave,whenshepauses.
‘Yourmother-in-lawhasbeencallingalot,youknow.’
‘Sheloveshergranddaughter,’Isay.‘I’llgiveherthat.’
‘Perhaps,’Ingridsays.‘ButyoushouldknowthateachtimeI’veansweredthephonetoher,thefirstpersonshe’saskedaboutisyou.’
WhenOlliearrivesatthehospitalhalfanhourlater,ItellhimIhavetogo.Hedoesn’taskwhere,andI’msureheassumesIwanttogohomeandshower,orchangemyclothes,orgetsomethingforHarriet—wehavebeentag-teaminginthiswayforaweek.Ilethimassumethat.
AsIdrive,IamthinkingaboutwhatIngridsaid.Wecaretoomuch.Iwonderifit’strue.IfIdidn’tcare,Icouldgoonwithmyownlife,acceptingthemother-in-lawIhave.LikePatrickhas.Hedoesn’tlikeDianaparticularly,butunlessshehasdonesomethingtoirritatehiminthatparticularmoment,heispositivelyundisturbedbythisdislike.Hedoesn’tpretendtogetalongwithher,orgetupsetaboutit.Itdoesn’tseemtoaffecthimatall.AndsoI’mgoingtoforgiveDiana.NotbecauseIlikeherorbecauseIthinkwhatshedidwasforgivable.I’mgoingtoforgivehertoreleasemyself.I’mgoingtogiveupcaringsomuch.
IpullupinfrontofTomandDiana’shouse,behindTom’scarwhichisparkedinthedrive—unusual,foraworkday.Iringthebellbutnoonecomes.Afterawhile,Ipressitagain.
IttakesalongtimeforDianatocometothedoor,butfinallyIseeherthroughtheglass.
‘Lucy,’shesays.
Iblink.ItmightbethefirsttimeI’veseenDianawithoutmakeup.Herhairiswetandcombedstraightbackoverhersmall,ovalhead,andherentireface—skin,eyelashes,lips—appearstobethesamewashed-outbeigecolour.Sheputsahandtoherchest.‘Ohno.Is…itHarriet?’
‘No,Harriet’sfine.’
ButDianaisshaking.Allofher,trembling.Ireachoutandsteadyher.
‘Diana,Harrietisfine,’Isayagain.
Butshecontinuestoshake.Igrasphershoulderandbringherintothehouse.Somethingisn’tright.Shestaresatme,hereyeswideandvulnerable.Itakeherothershoulder,abouttoaskherwhat’swrong,whenherkneesgiveway.Icatchherandlowerhertothefloor.
‘Tom?’Icall.‘Tom?Areyouhere?’
‘I’msorry,’shesays,startingtosob.‘I’msorry,Lucy…It’sTom.It’smydarling,Tom.’
‘TomhasMND,’Dianasays.‘Motorneurondisease.It’s—’
‘Iknowwhatitis,’Isay.Iremembertheice-bucketchallengesafewyearsback,peopledumpingicewaterovertheirheadstoraisemoneyandawarenessforMND.Clearlyitwassuccessful,asbeforethatI’dneverheardofit.
‘Tomhassuspectedsomethingwasn’trightforawhile,buthekeptittohimself.It’sallcrystalclearinhindsight.Hismusclecramps.Weakness.HishandwritingisworsethanArchie’s.Hisdrooling.’Atearslidesdownhercheek,butotherthanthat,she’sregainedhercomposure.‘Ialwaysfounditsoadorablewhenhedrooled.Littledidweknow…’
DianaandIaresittinginthegoodroom.Dianaholdsacushioninherlapandfiddleswiththelittlebitsofgoldthreadwoventhroughit.‘TheMNDwon’taffecthisintellect,butitwillstriphisphysicalityfromhimuntilheisnolongerabletoexpresshisintellect.Untilpeoplearespeakingtohimlikehe’sachildandhe’spowerlesstotellthemthathe’snotdeaf.’Anothertearslipsdownhercheek.‘ButI’mnotgoingtoletthemdothat.Noonewillspeaktohimlikehe’sanimbecile.Hewillhaveme.’
Dianabrushesthetearfromhercheekandgivesalittlenod,asifthisfactpleasesher.Andlikelyitdoes.ShemaynothaveanycontroloverTom’sillness,butshehascontroloverhowheistreatedandshe’sgoingtomakesurehe’streatedwell.Dianaissomeoneyouwantonyourside.Perhapsthat’stheproblem.I’veneverfeltlikeshehasbeenonmine.
‘WhatcanIdo?’Iask.
Dianagivesahopelesslittleshrug,thesaddestshrugI’veeverseen.Sheblinksslowly,huggingthecushiontoherbody.ShelookssofragileIwanttograbathrowrugandwrapitaroundhershoulders.I’veneverwantedtodothistoDianabefore.
‘Diana—’Istartasmyphonebeginstoring.It’sOllie.‘Sorry,I’dbettergetthis.ItmightbeaboutHarriet.’
‘Don’ttellhim,Lucy.Pleasedon’ttellhim.’
Dianalooksatmeandit’sasthoughhersoulhasreturnedtoherbody,thesharpnesshasreturnedtohereyes.She’son.Itmakesmefeelsadandalsostrangelyprivilegedthatsheletherguarddownwithme,evenjustforafewseconds.
‘Okay,’Isay.
Sheturnsherheadawayasiftogiveussomeprivacy.
‘Ollie?’
‘Harriet’sawake,’Olliesays.Ihearherbabblinginthebackgroundandmaybeit’sthenewsofTom’sillnessbutmyneedtohavemydaughterinmyarmsissofierceittakesmybreathaway.‘Ithoughtyou’dwanttocome.’
‘Ido,’Isay.‘Idowanttocome.I’llberightthere.’
‘Thankyou,’DianasaysasIputthephoneinmypurse.‘Tomreallywantstobetheonetotellthekids.’
It’sfunnyhearinghercallOllieandNettie‘kids’.Butperhapsthat’showamotheralwaysthinksofheroffspring.Iwonderforamomentwhetherthat’sattherootofallourproblems.
IsitinDianaandTom’sgoodroom,butthistimeI’minonthesecret.NettieandPatricksitnexttoeachotherontheoverstuffedcouch,upright,toattention.OllieandIsitinthearmchairs,facingeachother,andDianaandTomsitsidebysideoppositePatrickandNettie.
‘CanIgetanyoneadrink?’Dianaasksandweallshakeourheads,eagertogettothepointoftonight’sfamilymeeting.IknowOllieassumesit’saboutwhathappenedtoHarriet.Ihaven’tbeenabletotellhimotherwisewithoutadmittingwhatDianatoldmeaboutTom,andIdon’twanttodothat.Foronething,Ithinkit’sTom’srighttotellhischildrenthis.Foranother,it’sthefirsttimeI’vehadDiana’sconfidenceandI’mdeterminedtoprovethatIcankeepit.
IwatchTom,inthearmchair,lookingforsymptomsofhisMND.AsfarasIcansee,heishealthy.Asforhisgentleslur,it’ssomethingI’vebecomefondof,andalwaysattributedtothefactthatheisusuallyonascalebetweentipsyanddrunk.
‘AllrightIwon’tmincewords,’hesays.‘WeallknowI’mheretotellyousomething,andyou’reprobablyfeelinglikeit’ssomethingbad…whichI’msorrytosay,itis.I’vebeendiagnosedwithmotorneurondisease,whichyou’veprobablyheardof.It’sthediseaseeveryonewasdoingthatice-bucketnonsenseforafewyearsback.It’sotherwiseknownasALSorLouGehrig’sdisease.Anyway,it’sadegenerativediseaseaffectingthenervesinthebrainandspinalcordthattellyourmuscleswhattodo.Eventuallythediseasewillprogresstothepointthatmymuscleswillweaken,stiffenandwaste.Iwon’twalkortalkproperly,Iwon’tbeabletoeatordrinkverywell,evenbreathingwillbedifficult.’
Tomspeaksquicklyandhesoundsmildlyirritated,butIknowit’sjustbecausehefeelsoff-kilter.He’salwaystheoneinthefamilythatsmoothsthingsover,makesproblemsgoaway.Itwouldbekillinghimtobetheonecreatingproblemsthistime.
‘Anyway,itiswhatitis,andI’llmakethebestofit,’hesays.Andthenhedoesn’tsayanything.
Nettie’sandOllie’sreactionssurprisemeinthattheyhavepreciselynoreactionatall.Nomovement,nosharpintakeofbreath,justarhythmicblink,asecondortwooutofsequence.Patrickbringsahandtohismouth,restshischinonhisthumb.
‘Willyoudie?’Nettieasksfinally.
‘Iwilldie,yes.Aswillyou,yourbrother,yourmother,LucyandPatrick…allofuswilldie.ButIwilllikelybethefirstonetogo.Probablyinthenextfiveyears.Maybeeveninthenextyear.’
DianareachesforTom’shand.
‘Noonelivesforever,’Tomsays,‘soI’dliketomakewhat’sleftcount.Formethatmeanslotsoftimewithfamily.Mywife,mychildrenandtheirspouses,’hisgazefindsmine,‘andmygrandchildren,ifyou’llallowit,Lucy.IamresponsibleforwhathappenedtoHarriet.Ifshehadn’trecovered,I’dneverhaveforgivenmyself.’
‘Ofcourseyoucanseethekids,Tom.Asmuchasyou’dlike.’
‘Dad,I…’Olliesitsforward.Heappearstowrestlewithsomething,butfinallycontinues.‘Iknowthisisearlydays,butyou’llwanttogetyouraffairsinorder.Yourpowerofattorney,yourmedicalinstructions.You’llwanttolookatsuccessionplanningforthebusiness,andasaletoapartnerifyouwanttogothatway.’
Idly,IwonderhowOllieknowsthis.Itrollsoffthetongue,asthoughhewereawillsandestateslawyerratherthanarecruiter.Then,suddenly,helooksawkward.
‘Also,you’llwanttomakesureyourwillisuptodate.’
‘Oh,Ithinkitistooearlytostartdiscussingthat,hon,’Isay.
‘Everythingisinorder,’Tomsays.
Ollienods.‘CanIaskwhatitstates?’
‘Ollie!’DianaandIexclaimtogether.Iunderstandbadnewscanbringoutunusualreactions,butOllieisbeingextraordinarilyinsensitive.
‘There’snosecretstobehadhere,’Tomsays.‘Intheeventofmydeath,everythinggoestoDiana.Ifwebothgoatonce,everythinggoestoyoukidsandyourpartners,anevensplit.’
IglanceatOllie.Heseemsappeased.
‘Youneverexpecttohavetodiscussthesethingswithyourfamily,’Tomcontinues.‘Deepdown,weallthinkwe’regoingtoliveforever.Thisis,I’lladmit,abitofarudeawakening.’Hetriesforalaugh,buthisvoicecracks.
‘Oh,Dad.’OlliegoestoTom’ssideandputshisarmsaroundhim.‘I’msorry.I’mso,sosorry.’
TomleansintoOllieandhiseyesclosebriefly.It’sabeautifulmoment.
Ionlywishithadhappenedbeforethey’ddiscussedthecontentsofthewill.
39
LUCY
Thepresent…
It’sstrange,beingbackatTomandDiana’s.Gerardgaveusstrictinstructionsthatwewerenotpermittedtoremoveanythingotherthansentimentalitems,butNettieandPatrickwerehereyesterdayandthingshavevanishedsincethen.Avasethatwasondisplayinthegoodroom,foronething.Ican’treallysayIblamethem.Withthefinancialhardshipwearein,Icouldbetemptedtopickupavaseortwomyself.I’mrelieved,though,thatOlliehasn’tsuggestedit.Hisbehaviourhasbeensostrangelately,I’mgladtoseeheisstillthemanofintegritythatImarried.
InthelibraryIwatchhimopenaphotoalbum,flickafewpages,thenputitdownagainwithoutlookingatit.
‘Wedon’thavetodothisalltoday,youknow.’
‘Wehavetodoitsometime,’hesays.‘Mightaswellbenow.’
Itakehimbythehand,walkhimovertothecouchandsitbesidehim.‘Ollie.Talktome.’
Hecloseshiseyes,massaginghisforeheadwiththumbandforefinger.‘It’sjustbeinghereinthishouse…It’sweird,right?Ican’tbelievesheisgone.’
‘Ican’teither.’
Heopenshiseyes,staresrightahead.‘Ihavenoparents.Thatshouldn’tfreakmeout,inmymid-forties,butitdoes.Ontopofthat,mysisterdoesn’twantanythingtodowithme.’Heblinksseveraltimesasifprocessingthis.‘You’reallI’vegot,Lucy.Youandthekids.’
‘We’renotgoinganywhere.’
Helooksatme.Nodsslowly.
Itrytopicturewhatourlifewillbelikenowthatwearefinanciallyruined.I’llhavetogetajob.ArchieandHarrietwillhavetogotobefore-andafter-schoolcareandEdiewillhavetogotofull-timedaycare.Itwillbedifferent,that’sforsure.Butwe’renotgoinganywhere.
‘Youlookdifferent,lately,’Olliesays.‘Yourclothesaren’tso…wild.’
Ilookdownatmyself,atmyblackjeans,greyT-shirtandnudeballetflats.TheshirthasabedazzledpictureoftheEiffelToweronthefront,butit’sarelativelyplainoutfitbymystandards.Idon’tevenhaveanyhairaccessoriesoradornmentsin.TheonlyjewelleryI’mwearing,infact,isthenecklaceDianalefttome.
‘Mystyleis…evolving,’Iadmit.
Olliesmiles.‘ThisoutfitactuallyremindsmeofsomethingMumwouldwear.’
Ismileback.Idon’ttellhimDianadidn’townapairofjeans,andshewouldrolloverinhergraveifsheheardanyonesuggestthatshemightwearabedazzledT-shirt.Hispoint,thatI’mfavouringplainer,morepracticaloutfitslately,isavalidone.Oddasitsounds,Dianamighthaveplayedaroleinthat.
Wegothroughafewmoreitemsbeforewedecidetocallitaday.Then,asweareabouttogetintothecar,Iheargravelcrunchingonthedriveway.
‘Lucy!Ollie!’
Weturninunison.HousseiniandJonesarecomingdownthedrivewaytowardus.ImmediatelyIgoonhigh-alert.
‘Hello,’Isayuncertainly.
Theycontinuewalkingtowardus.They’renotalone.BesideHousseiniisawomaninworkoutgearwhosefaceisfarfromfriendly.Sheplantsherfeet,severalmetresbackfromus.
‘Itwashim,’shesaysquietlytoHousseini.‘Him.Definitely.’
Housseiniremainsbesidethewoman,andJonescontinuesafewpacesfurtherupthedriveway,stoppinginfrontofus.
‘Canwehelpyou?’Olliesays.
‘We’vejustbeentalkingwiththeneighboursagain,’Jonessays,‘tryingtoascertainwhowasthelastpersontoseeyourmotherbeforeshedied.’Sheglancesbackoverhershoulderatthewomanintheactivewear,thewomanwhoislookingatOlliebutslightlysouthofhisface,asthoughshe’snervoustolookhimintheeye.NervoustolookatOllie
‘Itwashim,’shesaysagain,loudernow.
‘Whatwashim?’Iaskher.
‘Iliveacrosstheroad,’shesays.Sheseemshappyenoughtolookmeintheface.‘Iwasheadedoutforarunlastweek,thesamedayDianawaskilled,andIsawhim,’shejabsathumbatOllie,‘walkthroughthegates.’
‘Wereyouhere,Ollie?’Jonesasks.‘Theafternoonyourmotherwaskilled?’
Ollieshakeshishead,baffled-looking.‘No.’
‘Youwere.Youwerewearingnavytrousers.Andacheckedshirt.’Thewomannodsdeeply,asifbecomingmoreconvincedherself.‘Blueandwhite!’
‘Youmustbegettinghimmixedupwithsomeoneelse,’Isay.‘Ormaybeyousawhimhereanotherday.’
Botharereasonableexplanations.Besides,Ollie’snotparticularlydistinctivelooking.Tall,mediumbuild,brownhair.Itwouldbeeasytodiscountthiswoman’saccountofthings,andthat’sexactlywhatIdo.Untilamemoryflashesintomymind.It’sOllie,arrivinghomefromworkthedayDianadied.
He’swearingnavytrousersandablueandwhitecheckedshirt.
40
LUCY
Thepast…
‘Shhh,’IsaytothekidsasweenterDianaandTom’shouse.Ofcourseitdoesn’tmaketheblindestbitofdifference.It’simpossibletosilencekids’plasticshoesagainstmarble,andArchieandHarrietscamperloudlythroughtheplace,feetslappingastheygo.
Weletourselvesintothehousethesedays.IgetthefeelingDianaisn’tdelightedaboutthis,butherlifeisaboutpracticalmattersnowthatsheiscaringforTomaroundtheclock,andit’snotpracticalforhertobeansweringthedoorallthetime.
Ifollowthekids,haulingbabyEdieinhercarseatthroughthemainfloor.EverythinghasbeenmovedontothislevelsinceTomhasbeeninhiswheelchair.Ilikethehousemorelikethisactually.Withtheextrafurnituredownhere,thehouseisfilledoutnicelyandhasacosyfeelitdidn’thavebefore.Also,everythingisclosertogether.Youcancalloutandprettymuchanyoneinthehousecanhearyou.
‘It’sus,’Isayasweenterthebackroom.
Tom’swheelchairispusheduptothetable.Dianaisbesidehim,readingthenewspaperaloud,butshepausestohugArchieandHarriet,whothrowthemselvesatherwithabandon.
‘GivePapaahug,’sheinstructsthem.
Theylookatheruncertainlyandshenods.Goon.They’realittlefrightenedofhimnow.Hishandsaregnarledandhisheadisbent.Hecanbedifficulttounderstand,butheisdeterminedtokeeptalking.Ithinkthisiswonderfulbutthekidsgetfrustratedbyitorloseinterest,orworse,saysomethingrude.
‘Papa’sspitting,’Harrietsays.Or‘WhyisPapa’sheadlikethat?’
‘Papacanhearyou,’Isayinafalsejovialvoice.
ButDianadoesn’tglossoveritlikeIdo.Acoupleofweeksago,sheaskedArchieandHarriettoimaginehowfrustratingitwouldbetowanttosaysomethingtopeoplewhennoonewouldlisten.ArchiecametomeafewminuteslaterandtoldmehewouldalwayslistentoPapa,andtohiscredit,he’sbeenverypatienteversince.Harriethasn’tbeenquitesoempathetic,tellingmeshedoesn’tunderstandwhyhedoesn’tjustwatchTVandnotbothertalkingtoanyone.Ivacillatebetweenacceptingthatshe’sjustachildandfeelingresponsibleforthefactthatonedayHarrietwillbeoutthereintheworld,inflictingherselfonanyonewho’lllisten.
Itwon’tbelongnow.Tomhasbeeninandoutofhospitalformonths,withupperrespiratorytractinfections,breathingdifficulties,painanddiscomfort.Dianaisconstantlyinmotion,feedingTom,shiftinghiminhisseat,givinghimmedication.Shephonesdoctorsandnurses,givesinstructions,makesarrangements.Itisasthoughshe’sbecomeanextensionofhim—hejusthastolookatherandshe’soutofherchair,tendingtohim.
Tom’sillnesshasputatemporaryhaltonthefamilyconflict.We’veallbeenworkingwellasateam,takinghimtoappointments,droppingoffmeals,drivingacrosstowntopickupvariouspiecesofequipmentdesignedtomakehimalittlemorecomfortable.Buteveryoneisbroken-hearted.Iambroken-hearted.Ican’tfathomthisfamilywithouthim.
IwatchDiana,intermittentlywipingthecornersofhismouth.Shesayssomethingtohimandhiseyescrinkleupandhislipstwist,andIknowhe’stryingtosmile.Therestofus,we’llbebroken-heartedafterTomdies,butitwillbemuchworseforDiana.I’mnotsurewhatwillhappentoher.Idon’tknowhowshe’llgoon.
41
LUCY
Thepresent…
‘IsOllieunderarrest?’Nettieasksme.
She’sonmylivingroomfloorsurroundedbyLego,whilePatrickengagesthekidsinanepicgameoftiggythatinvolvespoolsoflavaandcushionsyouhavetostandontostopyourfeetfromgettingburned.WhentheladyinactivewearidentifiedOllieasbeingatDiana’shousethedayshedied,andJonessaidshewantedtotalktoOlliebackatheadquarters,IcalledNettietoseeifshecouldhelpwiththekids.(Ineverwouldhaveaskedherafavourformyself,butIknowNettiewouldbethereforthekidsandIcertainlyneedherhelp.)
‘No,he’sjustansweringsomequestions.He’llbebackinalittlewhile.’
But,infact,Ihavenoideaifthisistrue.Olliewasn’tunderarrestwhenheleftwithJonesandHousseini,butforallIknowhecouldbenow.AndIdon’tknowifhe’llbebackinfiveminutesorfivehours.AllIdoknowisthathewaswearingablueandwhitecheckedshirtthedayDianadiedandthathecamehomesickfromworkearlyeventhoughhewasn’tunwell.
Now,I’mwonderingwhy.
Nettie’sfaceisdrawnandworried.Nettieistheyoungersister,youngerbyfiveyears,butshehasalwaysseemedolder.Anddespiteourissues,Iknowshelovesherbrother.
‘Areyouokay?’Iaskher,andhereyesimmediatelybegintowell.IsweeptheLegotothesideandkneelonthefloorbesideher.
‘I’msorry.’Sheproducesatissuefromhershirtsleeveanddabsathereyes.‘Idon’tknowwhat’swrongwithme…there’sjustalotgoingon.’
Ihoverawkwardlybesideher.OnceIwouldhavehuggedNettie,butaswearenolongerinthatplace,Iputareassuringhandonhershoulderinstead.I’mcaughtoffguardwhenshethrowsherarmsaroundmyneckinresponse.
‘Shhh,’Isay.‘It’sallright.’
Butit’snotallright.Noneofitis.MyheartbleedsforNettie.Evenwithouteverythingelsegoingon,Istillremembertherawnessoflosingmymotherlikeitwasyesterday.ItoccurstomethatNettieandIhavethisincommonnow.SheisolderthanIwaswhenMumdied,obviously,butthelossofyourmotherisprofoundatanyage.
‘Sorry.’Nettiesays,sittingbackandwipingherface.
‘Please.Don’tapologise.’
‘It’sjust…beinghere.Thekids.Thetoys…it’sjusthard,youknow.Itremindsmeof…whatI’mnotgoingtohave.’
‘Whatyou’renotgoingto…?’Ittakesmeamomenttounderstand.She’snotupsetabouthermother.She’snotevenupsetaboutOllie.She’supsetaboutherfertility.
Ishiftawayfromher.
‘Ithoughtyouwereupsetaboutyourmother.AboutOlliebeingcalledinforquestioning.’
‘Oh,everyone’sbeencalledin!’Nettiewavesherhanddismissively.‘It’snobigdeal.’
‘Nobigdeal?Didn’tthepolicetellyouaboutthecushion?Didn’ttheytellyoutheythinksomeonemighthavesmotheredDiana?’
NettiestartspickingupLegopieces,puttingthemintothebasketabsently.‘AtthestageoflifeI’min,’shesays,hervoicecracking,‘Ithoughtthere’dbeLegoallovermyfloor.Scribbleonthewalls.IthoughtI’dbespendingmyweekendsatschoolcarnivalsandballetlessons.YouhaveeverythingIwant,Lucy.’
Ilookather.Reallylook.Physically,she’srightinfrontofme,butemotionallysheissomewhereelse.Itoccurstomethatshe’sbeensomewhereelseforawhilenow.
‘Ireallythoughtyou’dhelpme,’shesays,thendissolvesintotears.
IsensemovementinthecorneroftheroomandPatrickstepsforward.Somethinggivesmetheimpressionhe’sbeenstandingthereawhile.‘IthinkIshouldtakeNettiehome.’
PatrickgathersupNettie’sbagandhercoatandforthefirsttimeIwonderhowitmustbeforhim,livingwithNettie’sbabyobsession.Thatkindofthinghastotakeitstollonaperson.
‘Whydon’tyoubothstayhereawhile?’Isay.‘Icouldmake…sometea?’
Nettiegetstoherfeet,hergazemilesaway.
‘Patrick’sright,’shesaysrobotically.‘Weshouldgo.’
42
LUCY
Thepast…
‘Headoninside,’Isay.‘Therearerefreshmentsinthebackroom.’
IstandatthegranddoubledoorsofTomandDiana’shome,ferryingmournersinsideinsmallgroups.Tom’sfuneralwasatStJoanofArc,thechurchonthecorner,somostoftheguestsdecidedtowalkdowntothehouse,evensomeoftheelderlyones.Thedayiscrispandbright,withbeatingsunshinethateveryonesuggestsisTom’sdoing,andmaybeitis.Ifthereisanafterlife,Olliesaidinhiseulogy,Tomwouldhavecertainlymadeanentrance,demandingthebestofeverything,includingthesunshine.
Tomdiedofanupperrespiratoryinfection.He’dwantedtobeathome,andDianahadfoughthardforhimtohavehiswish,butintheendthey’dbothhadtoacceptthatitwasn’ttobe.Hisdiseasehadprogressedquickly,fasterthananyoneexpected,andforthelastfewmonthshe’dbeenunabletobreathewithoutassistanceordoanythingforhimself.ThankfullyhehadDianatodoitallforhim.
EdiehasbeenonNettie’shipmostoftheday,andtheolderkidsteararoundthehouseasthoughit’sabirthdaypartyratherthanawake.EvenArchie,whowasquiteovercomewithemotioninthechurch,seemsmorerelaxednow.He’sremovedhistie,whichherequestedtowearandborrowedfromOllie,andnowheischasingHarrietbetweenthelegsoftheguests.
‘Archie!’Ishout-whisper.‘Whydon’tyougoplayupstairs?Youcaneventurnonthetelevisionifyou’dlike.’
Withinseconds,bothofthemaregone.
Insidethehouse,waiterscirculatewithplattersoffood.Alongonewall,alongtablehasbeensetupwithsandwichesandsoftdrinks,cakesandwine.SomehowDianahasmanagedtogetthedetailsexactlyright,soitiswelcomingbutnotfestive,sombrebutnotdepressing.Tomwouldhavebeenpleased.
Myrole,ashandedtomebyDiana,istowelcomeguestsastheyarrive.There’snotalottoit.Peoplecomein,sayitwasalovelyserviceandthatthey’resorry.Iwelcomethemandpointoutwheretheycanfindthemselvesadrinkandachickensandwich.AyearagoI’dhaveassumedthatDianahadgivenmethisroletokeepmeoutofherhair,orbecauseIwasn’tcapableofmuchmore.Buttoday,knowingshespecificallygavemethisjob,Ifeelastrongsenseofcommitmenttoit.
Frommypostatthedoor,IcatchglimpsesofDianaeverysooften,standingontheedgesofcircles,acceptingpeople’scondolences.Shedoessowiththeutmostcomposureandgrace.Dianamanagedthefuneraldetailssingle-handedly,withtheexceptionoftheeulogy,whichshedelegatedtoOllie,whodidawonderfuljobofit.IlookedoveratDianaduringthefuneralandfoundhersittingverystillandIhadasuddenurgetoslideovertoherandplacemyhandoverhers.NowIregretthatIdidn’t.
‘Comein,’Isayasanewgaggleofmournersstepthroughthegate.Itakethearmofawomanwhomustbeinherninetiesandsupportherweightassheclimbsthethreestepstothehouse.Shesmilesatmeandsays:‘Thankyou,dear.’
Itmakesmethinkofmymother.Lucy,dear.Dinner’sready.Ithasbeenalongtimesincesomeonecalledmedear.I’veforgottenhowniceitfeelstobedeartosomeone.
‘Excuseme,ma’am.’
WhenIturn,awaiterinagreyjacketisstandingbeforeme.
‘Ican’tseemtofindMrsGoodwin.’
Iglancearound.Theroomhasfilled.Thehumofchatterhasrisenandtherearesmallplatesofhalf-eatencanapésontablesandmantels.Dianaisnowheretobeseen.‘Oh…well,whatisityouneed?’
‘I’dliketocheckifweshouldstartservingcoffeeandtea.’
‘Idon’tseewhynot.’Iglanceatthefrontpathanddecideit’ssafetoleavemystation.‘I’llseeifIcanfindDiana.’
Isearchthegroundfloorofthehouse.IfindNettieonthebackpatio,Ediestillclampedtoherhip.
‘Lucy,whereisthenappybag?EdieisreadyforanapandIneedtofindDummyandLambie.’
‘It’sinthebedroomatthetopofthestairs,’Isay.‘Theportacotisalreadysetupinthere.Haveyouseenyourmum?’
Nettieshakesherhead.‘ButUncleDaveislookingforher—heandAuntieRoseareleaving,theywanttosaygoodbye.’
NettietakesEdieupthestairsandIkeeppushingthroughthecrowd,scanningthefaces.Ollieisinthefrontroom,listeningtohiscousinPetere-enactastorythatappearstoinvolveadonkey.‘Lucy!’hecallsout.‘Where’sMum?Everyoneisasking.’
‘Onit.’
Itakethestairstothesecondfloorwithoutmuchhope—DianaandTomhaven’tusedthisfloorforayear.Thedoortothefirstbedroom—theonewhereIsetupthecotforEdie—isclosedsoIcreeppast.IpeerintothenextroomwhereHarrietandArchiearespreadoutonthebed,watchingthescreen,theireyesandmouthswideopen.Thedoortothenextbedroom,TomandDiana’soldbedroom,isclosedtoo.Ihesitateinfrontofit,thentaplightly.
‘Diana?’
Whenthere’snoresponse,Iwalkinside.Ihaven’tbeeninsidethisroombeforeanditis,quitefrankly,ridiculous.There’sahallway,asittingroom,theactualbedroom(thoughTomandDianahavebeensleepingdownstairsforoverayearnow)andabathroomthesizeofouroldworkerscottage.Finally,behindthelastdoorisawalk-inclosetthatwouldmakeCarrieBradshawweep,completewithshakercabinetryandaladderonapulleythatslidesfromwalltowall.Anottomanisinthecentreoftheroom,andDianaissittingonit,herheadinherhands.
‘Diana?’
Shelooksup.She’scrying,butherfacehasnotswelledorbecomered.Noeyemakeuphassmudged.Dianaevencrieswithcomposure.
‘Areyouallright?’Iask.
There’ssomethingaboutherlikethis,sototallyvulnerable.Shegivesmeapatheticexcuseforashrug,asifhershouldersaresimplytooheavytolift.Thenshesighs.‘Therearesomanytimesyoucansaythesamething.Yes,itwasalovelyservice.Yes,thesunisbeautiful.Yes,Tomwouldhavelovedthis.IreachedmyquotasoIcameinhere,tohide.’
Inod.
Shelooksaroundthespace.‘It’snonsensical,allofthis,isn’tit?ThisroomwasTom’sidea,obviously.Ibarelyhaveenoughclothestofillthatcabinet.’Shepointstooneofthedozencabinetsinthespace.‘Tomwasalwayssoexcessive.Moreismore.It’sbizarrethatIdidn’thatehim,isn’tit?’Shelaughs,notwaitingformetorespond.‘Ishouldprobablymovetoasmallerplacenow.Itmakesnosense,mestayingherealone.Butnowthathe’sgone,I’mnotsureIcanleave.He’spartofthishouse.Ifeelhimhere.’
‘Ifeelhimheretoo,’Isay.
Dianalooksatmeproperly.HerlipspresstogetherandforanexcruciatingmomentIthinkshe’sgoingtoloseit.Herlipsbendattheedges,herchinpuckers.Butattheeleventhhour,sheregainscontrol.‘Everyoneislookingforme,Isuppose,’shesaysinafreakishlynormalvoice.‘Isthatwhyyoucameuphere?Togetme?’
Shedoesn’tmoveyet,butIcanseeshe’sreadyingherself.She’llwipeherfaceandstraightenherblouseandshe’llgodownthereanddowhatsheneedstodo.That,afterall,iswhatDianadoes.Butsheshouldn’thaveto,nottoday.AndsoIshakemyhead.
‘Noone’sevennoticedyouaren’tthere,’Isay.‘Everythingisundercontrol.Youstayuphereforaslongasyouneed.’
IspendtheafternoontalkingtopeopleI’venevermet,takingdonationsformotorneurondiseaseresearch.Dianarequestedpeoplegivedonationsinlieuofflowers,andwhileIdon’tthinkshemeantincash,Iendupwithanenvelopestuffedwithenormousamountsofmoney.Imakeamentalnotetofigureouthowtodonateitlater.
Isignforthecatererandopenthebackgateswhenit’stimeforthemtoleave,andthenIstandatthedrinksareaandactasabarmaidmyself.Olliemillsaroundspeakingtorelatives.PatrickandNettiehavehadfartoomuchtodrink,andwhenNettiecomesbackforanotherwine,Imakeheracupofteainstead,thoughIdoubtshe’lldrinkit.
By7pmthekidsareallasleepupstairs.
By8pmpeoplearehungryagainandIorderpizzas.
Dianaisstillinthewalk-incloset,asfarasIknow.I’vetoldeveryonethatshe’snotfeelingwellandhasheadedofftobedearly,andwhileIdidhopepeoplewouldtakethisasahinttoleave,theydon’tseemtobegettingit.
At10pmImakeatrayofsandwichesandsendthemaround.Nettieisflat-outdrunkandPatrickisinasimilarstate.Ollieiscomparativelysober,andoncePeteandtherestofhiscousinsleave,hecomestogivemeahandwithNettie.
‘Haveasandwich,Nettie,’Itellher.‘AndshallImakeyouanothercupoftea?’
Sheshakesherheadsullenly.‘Iwantwine.’
‘Ithinkyou’vehadenough,Nets,’Olliesays.‘Anyway,we’realloutofwine.’
‘TrustMumtocheapoutondrinksatherownhusband’sfuneral,’sheslurs.Itryagaintogiveherasandwich—roastbeefandhorseradish—butshepushesitaway.‘She’snotevendownheretalkingtopeople!You’dthinkshe’dbealittlemorerespectfulofDad’smemory.She’llsellthehousenext,justyouwait.ThenitwillbelikeDadwasneverhere.’
‘Idon’tthinkshewill,’Itry.
‘Shewill,’Nettiesays.‘Iknowmymother.She’llprobablyleaveherentireestatetotheLostDogs’Home.’
Iwalkawayfromthem,towardthekitchen.IneedtounloadthedishwasherandNettieisinnostatetotalkanyway.IthinkofDianaupthereinthathugeroom.Iwonderifshe’smovedsinceIlefther.Imakeheraplateofsandwichesandacupoftea,andthenIheaduptoherroom,letmyselfin.She’sinthebednow,buthereyesareopen.Shestaresatthewall.
‘Mostpeoplehaveleft,’Isay,restingtheplateandmugonhersidetable.‘PatrickandNettiearestillhere,butI’llorderthemanUber.Thehouseistidy,moreorless,butI’llcomebackandhelpyouvacuumandmoptomorrow.’Dianastaresatme,staresthroughme.Iwonderifshe’sheardawordI’vesaid.‘There’sasandwichandacupofteahere,incaseyoufeellikeit.’
Iwait,butshedoesn’trespond,soIturnandwalkbackdownthehallway.I’mjustlettingmyselfoutwhenIhearthefaintwords:‘Thankyou,dear.’
43
DIANA
Thepast…
ItwasTomwhoinsistedthatOllieneverknowhewasn’thisfather.Initially,Idisagreedwithhim,butTomhadbeenadamant.
‘Idon’tthinkweshouldlietohim,Tom.Youshouldn’tlietochildren.’
ButTomshookhishead.‘Peoplealwayssaythat.Butwhyshoulditbeablanketrule?Surelyitshouldbemoreofarisk-benefitanalysis?BynottellingOllie,we’dberiskinghimfindingoutlaterandblamingusforhismissingoutonarelationshipwithhisbiologicalfatherwho,mayIadd,neverwantedhiminthefirstplace.Butwhataboutthebenefitsofnottellinghim?Olliewouldbelievehewasbornintoafamilywithtwoparentswholoveeachotherandwantedhim.He’dbelievehehadafullbiologicalsister.He’dhaveallthatstabilitythatchildrenfromtwo-parentfamilieshave.Whyshouldwedenyhimthat,justontheoff-chancehe’llfindoutandblameuslater?Afterall,whatareparentsforifnottoblameforyourlife’stroubles?’
TomwassoimmovablethatultimatelyI’dgonealongwithhiswishes.Hislogicmaynothaveaddedup,butifhewaswillingtocarrythesecrettohisdeathbedforthesakeofmyson’sstability,Ididn’tseehowIwasinapositiontoargue.Itwasthedecisionafatherwouldmake,Ifigured.
SoIlethimmakeit.
Tom’snothere
I’vespentsolongtryingnottobeweakthatI’veforgottenhowwonderfulitfeels.ForaslongasIcanremember,I’vehadtobestrongformyfamily.Andbeingstronghasitspayoffs.Itmakesyoufeelpowerful,likeyoucanfaceanythingandsurvive.It’sthereasonI’velivedmylifethewayIhave,workinghard,notwallowing,notacceptingweakness.Butpowerisoverrated.Andbeingweak—andwallowing—issurprisinglylovely.
Tom’snothere
Ilieonthedownstairssofaandstareintotheunlitfireplace.ThecleanercomesandclearsitoutonTuesdaysandThursdays,andtodayisaWednesday,whichisarelief.Ineverwantedacleaner,butOllieandNettieinsistedIgetonewhenTombegantodegenerate.Idon’tneedheranymore,obviously.MaybeI’llcancelthecleaner.
‘Don’tberidiculous!’Tomsaysinmymind.Butit’snotridiculous.I’vealwaysfoundthecleanerstobemoreofahindrancethanahelp,tobehonest.Tome,cleanerdayalwaysmeansafuriouswhip-aroundtoensureIwon’tbedeemedapig,followedbytheneedtomakemyselfscarcebecausebeinghome,twiddlingmythumbs,whilesome(invariably)foreigngirlworksupasweatscrubbingunspeakablethingsfrommyhusband’sensuitetoiletisjusttooawfultobear.Tomdidn’tsharemyworriesaboutcleaners.Ifhewashome,he’dhavelanguishedonthecouch,newspaperandcoffeeinhand.Once,Irecallwatchinghimliftonefoot,thentheother,asthegirlvacuumedunderhisboots.Hewinkedatherandshechuckled.OnlyTomcouldgetawaywiththat.
Tom’snothere
I’mnotlonely.TherearepeopleIcouldcalltokeepmecompany.Olliewouldcome,Iknowthat.He’dleavetheofficeinaheartbeatandcomestraightover,delightingintheopportunitytodoagooddeedforhisoldmum.Thisisprobablythereasonhisbusinessisfailing—hisprioritiesareoutofwhack.Heneedstostayatworkandmakealivingtosupporthiswifeandfamily.
NettiemightcomeifIasked—unlessshewasdoingsomethingrelatedtomakingababy.Mypositioninherfoodchainishigh,butnothighest,whichisexactlyasitshouldbe.Besides,Ihavethefeelingshehasherownissues.SincethesightingofPatrickinDaylesford,I’veheardmorewhispers.SomeonespottedhiminBright,someoneelseinAlbury.Patrick,asitturnsout,isabusyman.Once,I’dhaveconfrontedhim,askedhimwhathehadtosayforhimself.NowIcanbarelyfindthewilltogetoutofbed.
IcouldcallKathyorLizorJan.They’veallbeencallingandtexting,offeringtodropoffmealsortakemeout.LizdidmanagetoconvincemetocometotheBathsfordrinksacoupleofdaysago,butIstillhaven’tquiterecovered.ThenormalcyofitwassimplytoomuchandIamnotreadyfornormalyet.Tomisdead.Idon’tcareaboutyourdaughter-in-laworyourfightwithyourhusbandorthefunnystoryaboutyourbladdercontrolissuesandthedogpark.Idon’tcareaboutanyofit.
BecauseTom’snothere
Imissthefeelofhim.Evenaweekago,whenTomwasbarelyalive,Icouldstillreachoutandtouchhim.Hewasalwaysphysicallywarmaswellasemotionally.Hiswarmthwashissuperpower.Peoplewantedhimtoleadthem.Friendswantedtobearoundhim.Ourchildrenlovedhimbest.Ilovedhimbest.
Mothersaren’tsupposedtosaythat.Butitisthetruth.IwasborntoloveTomGoodwin.
Thedoorbellrings.Iignoreit.Thiscouchfeelslikealiferaft;theoutsideworldisshark-infestedwater.Igrabthethrowrugandpullitaroundmyshoulders,hopingthatsleepcomesandcarriesmethroughuntilevening,whenIwillfinallychangeintomypyjamasandslideintothecomfortingblacknessofevening.Imighthavesometoastandacupoftea,andputsomethingonthetelevisiontotaketheedgeoffthesilenceasIrattleaboutinthisbigoldplace.Sometimes,atnight,IpretendthatTomisstillhere.IpretendthatI’mupandabout,readytostretchoutanothercramp,orgivehimanothersipofwater.Thosemomentswesharedintheweehoursofthemorningfeelsounimaginablyluxuriousnow,thosestolenmoments,bothofusagainsttheworld.
‘I’llberightthere,mylove,’Iwhisperintotheemptyhouse.‘You’llfeelbetterinamoment.’
Thedoorbellringsagain.
‘Yougetit,Tom,’Iwhisper,andclosemyeyes.
44
LUCY
Thepresent…
It’sdarkwhenIhearthekeyinthelock.NettieandPatrickhaveleft,thekidsareasleepandI’monthecouch,staringatnothing.
‘Ollie?Isthatyou?’
Ihearkeysdropintothebowlandthenheappearsinthelivingroom.Heflopsontothesofa,restshisheadbackontothecushionandcloseshiseyes.
‘Whathappened?’Iask.
Hekeepshiseyesclosed.‘Theyquestionedme.’
‘Aboutwhat?’
‘Everything.’
‘Ollie—’
Heopenshiseyes.‘Honestly,theyquestionedmeabouteverything.WhatIwasdoingthedayMumdied,myrelationshipwithher.TheyaskedaboutmyrelationshipwithNettie,myrelationshipwithyou.Mybusiness—’
Ifrown.‘Yourbusiness?Whydotheycareaboutthat?’
Heopenshiseyes.‘Well,clearlytheyknowthingsaren’tgoingsowell.Theyhadallourprofitandlossstatements.Debtisaprettybigmotivationtokillsomeone.’
‘Butyoudidn’tprofitfromherdeath!’
‘ButIdidn’tknowIwouldn’tprofit…thisissomethingJoneskindlypointedout.’
‘Shewasgoingtotellyou.’
Helooksoveratme.‘What?’
‘Imean…shemusthavebeen.SurelyDianawouldtellyousomethinglikethat.’
Ollieshrugs.‘Ihonestlyhavenoidea.’Afrowntoucheshisforehead.‘IsawEamonwhileIwasthere.Hewasbeingquestionedtoo.’
‘Aboutyourmother’sdeath?’
‘Iguessso.Whobloodyknows?’Olliesinksbackagainstthecouch,defeated.
‘Lucy,canIaskyousomething?’
‘Yes.’
‘DoyouthinkIkilledMum?’
Ilookathim,everypartofhimsoachinglyfamiliar—theanglesofhisface,hisdevotedbrowneyes,thecurveofhischest.‘No.ButIdothinkyouarelyingaboutsomething.AndIwantyoutotellmewhatitis.’
45
LUCY
Thepast…
I‘veneverbeenonetobelieveinfate,or‘havingafeeling’,butasIdrivealongBeachRoadIhaveasuddenurgetocallinonDiana.Infact,ImakethedecisionsoquicklyInearlytakeoutacyclistontheinsidelaneandendupwavingprofuselyasheshakeshisfistatme.
‘Sorry,’Imouth,andhegivesmethefinger.
IturnintoDiana’sdriveway.Shewon’tlikemeturningupunannouncedlikethis,buteversinceTom’sfuneralIcan’tseemtostopthinkingabouther.Shemustbelonelyinthisbighouse,allbyherself.IaskedOllietocallheracoupleoftimesandhedid.‘Shesoundedallright,’hereportedeachtime.‘Abitflatmaybe,butthat’stobeexpected.’
Anditwastobeexpected.Thatdidn’tmeanshecouldn’tuseafriend.Ifthat’sevenwhatIam.
Ipressthedoorbell.Whenthere’snomovementinsideItrythedoorandfinditopen.‘Hello?’Icallout.‘Diana?It’sLucy.’
Ifindherintheden,horizontalonthecouch.
‘Diana?’Isay,butshedoesn’tsomuchasliftherheadfromthepillow.
Andthat’swhenIrealise.Somethingisvery,verywrong.
Dianastaresoutthepassengerwindowofmycar,trance-like.She’swearinghernormal‘uniform’—navyslacks,whiteblouse,pearls—butherclotheslookrumpled,likesheworethemyesterdayanddroppedthemonthefloorbeforeputtingthemonagain.She’salsowearingblackrunnersinsteadofnudepumpsorballetflats,andherhairisflatononeside(presumablythesidesheslepton)andshehasn’tbotheredtofluffitup.Shehasn’tsaidawordsinceshegotin,noteventocommentonthebiscuitcrumbsIwipedofftheseatbeforeshesatdown.
‘Areyouokay,Diana?’Iaskwhenwestopatthetrafficlights.She’sstaringatthebeach-sideoftheroad,atthekitesurferszippingalongthehorizon,butIgetthefeelingsheisn’tseeinganyofit.
‘I’mfine,’shesayswhenenoughtimehaspassedthatI’mabouttorepeatmyself.IofferedtocallOllie(‘No,he’llbetoobusyatwork’)andNettie(‘Allshe’sworriedaboutlatelyisbabies!’),butitappearsshe’shappyenoughformetobearound.Shesaysshe’snotill,butshe’sclearlynotwell.AndsoI’mtakinghertoseeherfamilydoctor.
ButwhenIpullintotheparkinglot,Dianastilldoesn’tmove.
‘Allright,’Isayinafauxjovialvoicethatmakesmecringeatmyself.‘Hereweare.’
Finallyshemoves,butslowly,likeamucholderwoman.Shegoesstraighttothewaitingroomandsitsdown,leavingmetoreporttothedesk.ThisisnottheDianaIknow.She’sbeensadsinceTomdied,buttodaysheseemsalmostchildlike.She’smucheasiertodealwiththisway,admittedly.ButIdon’twantto‘deal’withher.It’sashockseeingsomeonesoincontrolbecomeso…helpless.
IreporttothedeskandthenIsitbesideherandwait.DianatakesthemagazineIofferherbutdoesn’topenit.Idon’topenmineeither.Whenhernameiscalledafewminuteslater,Iturntoher.‘Wouldyoulikemetocomeinwithyou?’
Sheshrugs,whichItakeasayes.
DrPaisleyappearstobeinhermid-fifties,plumpandsmiley,dressedinabrightlycolouredkaftan.ApparentlyDianahasbeenseeingherforyears.
‘Hello,’shesays,sittingatherdesk.Sheswivelsherseattofaceusandstretchesherhandouttome.‘I’mRosie.Nicetomeetyou.’ShelooksbackatDiana.‘IheardaboutTom,Diana.I’msosorryforyourloss.’
‘Thankyou.’
‘WhatcanIdoforyoutoday?’
IlookatDianawholooksatme.Finallyshesighs.‘Well,Ihaven’tbeenfeelingmyselfsinceTomdied.WhichIimagineistobeexpected.ButLucywantedmetocomeandseeyou.’
DrPaisley’seyestouchmineforasecond.‘You’reright,noonefeelsthemselvesforawhileafterlosingapartner.Sometimesalongwhile.Butweneedtobekeepinganeyeonyourhealththroughthisperiod,soLucywasrighttobringyouin.’
Dianashrugs.‘Goodthen.’
‘Howhasyoursleepbeen?’
‘Broken.’
‘Haveyoubeendoingthingsyounormallydo?Catchingupwithfriends,seeingyourgrandchildren?’
‘IhaddrinkswiththegirlsattheBathslastweek.’
‘Andhowwasthat?’
Dianalooksoutthewindow.‘Itwasallright,Isuppose.’
Aswechat,RosiewrapsabloodpressurestraparoundDiana’sarmandthemachinestartspumpingitup.Dianabarelynotices.
‘Hasyourmoodbeenlowingeneral?’DrPaisleyasksher.
‘Youcouldsaythat.’
‘Anyissueswithmemory?’
‘Idon’tremember,’Dianasays,deadpan,andIchuckle.
Rosieasksafewmorequestions,noddingateachanswerasthoughitmakesperfectsense.
‘Well,’shesaysfinally,‘Ithinkitmightbeagoodideatodosomebloodtests.’
Dianaraisesaneyebrow.‘Bloodtestsforwhat?’
‘Severalthings.Anaemia.Thyroid.Plustheusualstandardthings.’Shetypesintohercomputerandabluereferralpaperspitsoutofherprinter.‘Butfromwhatyou’vesaid,Diana,there’snoquestioninmymindthatyou’resufferingfromdepression.Andso,Ihavetoask…haveyouhadanythoughtsaboutsuicide?’
Dianadoesn’tanswer.Afteramoment,DrPaisley’seyesmovetome.
‘Wouldyoupreferifwetalkedwithoutyourdaughterintheroom,Diana?Sometimesit’seasiertobefrankif—’
‘Idon’tneedtospeakprivately,’Dianasaid.‘No,Ihaven’tthoughtaboutkillingmyself.’
‘Good.Good.’
DrPaisleyprintsoutareferralforagoodpsychologistandprescribessomeantidepressantmedication,andwemakeanappointmenttocomebackinaweek.It’snotuntilwegetoutoftherethatitoccurstomethatthedoctorcalledmeDiana’sdaughter.AndDianadidn’tcorrecther.
46
LUCY
Thepresent…
‘Ollie,’Isayasthelandlinestartsringing.‘Thedayyourmotherdied.Wereyouatherhouse?’
Hesitsforward,restinghishandsonhisknees,andtakesadeepbreath.‘Iwas.’
‘Why?’Isay,amomentbeforethemoreimportantquestioncomes.‘Andwhydidn’tyoutellme?’
‘Iwantedto.’
‘Thenwhydidn’tyou?’
Thephonekeepsringing,aloud,shrillinterruption.Iwanttopullthedamnthingoutofthewall.
‘I’lljustanswerit,’Olliesays,walkingovertothephone.
‘Ollie,no!Justleave—’
Buthe’salreadysnatchingupthereceiver.‘Hello?’
Iswearundermybreath.
‘It’sOliver,’hesaysintothephone,thenhe’squietforamoment.Hiseyesfindmine.‘Yes.Justaminute.’Heholdsthephoneouttome.‘It’sJones.’
‘Forme?’IfeelapinchofworryasItakethephone.‘Lucyspeaking?’
‘Lucy,it’sDetectiveJones.HousseiniandIneedtospeaktoyouasamatterofurgency.’Jones’svoicesoundsclipped.‘Doyouthinkyoucouldcomedowntothestation?’
‘Whatfor?’Isay.IwanttosayI’vehadenoughofthepolicecallingatridiculoushoursofthenight,haulingmeorOlliedowntothestation.IwanttotellJonesthatwehavelittlechildrenwhoareasleep,andthatunlessI’munderarrest,she’llhavetowaituntilthemorning.ButIdon’tsayanyofthis.BecauseIhaveafeelingmyabilitytobeoutragedmayjusthavebeencompromised.
‘WewanttotalktoyouaboutanorganisationcalledVEI.VoluntaryEuthanasiaInternational.We’vereceivedinformationthatindicatesyourmother-in-lawwasamemberofthisorganisation…andwehavereasontobelievethatyouhaveknowledgeofthis.’
ItellherI’llbethereassoonasIcan.
47
LUCY
Thepast…
WhenIarrivehomeafterDiana’sdoctor’sappointment,PatrickandNettiearepullingupoutthefront.
‘Hi,’Isay,emergingfromthecar.‘Thisisasurprise.’
‘WecalledOllie,’Nettiesays.‘Hesaidwecouldcomeonover.’
‘Oh.Well,good.I’mgladyou’rehereactually.’
‘Ustoo,’Nettiesays,oddlychipper.Patrick,incontrast,seemsalittledown.Hetakeshistimelockingupthecar,thenslopesupthepathafewpacesbehindus.
‘Howhasyourdaybeen?’Nettieasks.
Ilettheminwithmykey.‘Actually,it’sbeenalittlestrange.WhichiswhyI’mgladyou’rehere.IneedtotalktoyouaboutDiana.’
WewalkintothekitchenwhereOllieisstandingatthefridgecrackingabeer.‘G’day,everyone,’hesays.‘Beer,Patrick?’
‘Mum?’Nettiesaystome.‘Whatabouther?’
‘Yes,whataboutMum?’Olliesays.
Thekids,infrontoftheTVintheirPJs,lookup,thenquicklybackatthescreen.
‘Havetheybeenfed?’IaskOllie.
‘Chickennuggets,peasandcorn,’hesaysproudly.‘Wineforyou,ladies?’
‘Sure,’Isay.
‘I’mfine,’Nettiesays.
OllieholdsoutabeertoPatrick,whoacceptsanddownsitinrecordtime.Iwonderifeverythingisokaywithhim,butI’mtoopreoccupiedwithDianatospendtoomuchtimethinkingaboutit.
‘Whydon’twegooutsidetogetawayfromlittleears?’Isuggest.‘AndI’lltellyouwhat’sgoingonwithDiana.’
AsIcleartheclutterfromtheoutdoortable,InoticeNettiegivingPatrickalook—somewherebetweenasmileandawince.Ifeelalittledanceinside.She’spregnant,Irealise.Shemustbepregnant.
‘So…doyouguyshaveanythingtotellus?’Iask,whenwe’reallsitting.Nettie’ssmileindicatesthatshedoes,butsheshakesherhead.
‘No,no,youfirst.TellusaboutMum.’
‘Okay,’Isay.‘ActuallyIdroppedintovisithertoday.’
There’sashort,loadedsilence.EvenPatrickstaresatmelikeIhavetwoheads.
‘YoudroppedintovisitMum?’Olliesays.
AdmittedlyitisnotthekindofthingIusuallydo.StillI’mtakenabackbyeveryone’slevelofshock.
‘Well,we’vehardlyseenhersinceTomdied,we’vebarelyevenheardfromher.Iwasworried.Anditturnsout,Iwasrighttobe.Shelookslikeshe’sbeensleepinginherclothes,noteatingproperly.Itookhertothedoctor,justtogetherlookedat.’
Ollieputsdownhisbeer.‘Whatdidthedoctorsay?’
‘She’shadsomebloodtests,butshe’smostlikelydepressed.Shewasgivenaprescriptionforantidepressants.Thedoctoralsorecommendedexerciseandkeepingsomesortofroutine.AndIthoughtwecouldalltaketurnstakingherout,bringingherfood,thatkindofthing.’
‘Goodidea,’Olliesays.
‘Sure,’Nettiesays.‘Yes,whynot.’
ButNettieseemsdistracted.Jittery.Hereyesbouncearoundthewaythekids’eyesdowhentheyarriveatsomeone’shouseforaplaydateandtheycan’tdecidewhichtoytoplaywithfirst.
‘Iseverythingallright,Nettie?’
‘Well,actually…PatrickandIdohavesomethingwe’dliketodiscusswithyou.’ShebeamsatPatrick,whosmilesbackalittlelessenthusiastically.
‘You’repregnant!’Ollieexclaims.
Nettie’sbeamdimsalittle.‘Well,no.Notyet.Butthatiswhatwewantedtodiscusswithyou.Thethingis,myfertilityissuesaremultilevel.It’snotjustthePCOS,it’salsomyovumandmyuterus.Givemeafertilityproblem,andIhaveit.’Herlaughisathin,emptytitter.‘Ourdoctortoldusthisweekthatourbestchanceforconceivingachildisusingadonoreggandasurrogate.’
Itakeasipofmywine,dropmygaze.
‘It’snothowweimaginedbecomingparents,obviously.Thebabywouldn’tbebiologicallyrelatedtome,butitwouldberelatedtoPatrickanditwouldhavebeenconceivedtobeours.Ithinkthisisourbestchanceathavingababy.’
‘Wow,’Olliesays.Hisexpressionsayshedoesn’tknowifthisgoodnewsornot.I,ontheotherhand,amfairlycertainitisnot.‘Soyouguysaregoingtodoit?Useaneggdonorandsurrogate?’
‘Wellthat’swhereitgetscomplicated.’Nettiewincesslightly.‘We’dliketobuteggdonationandsurrogacyareonlyallowedinAustraliaforaltruisticreasons,sowecan’tpayanyone.Someonewouldhavetovolunteertodoit—’
‘Can’tyougooverseas?’Ollieinterrupts.‘IsawadocumentaryaboutpeoplegoingtoIndiatodothis.OrtheUnitedStates?’
‘That’sanoption,’Nettiesays.‘Butitwouldbeveryexpensive.Moreimportantly,thebabywouldbesofarawayfromuswhileitwasinutero.Wewouldn’tbeabletogotoanyscans,orcheckonthemother’shealth,maybenotevenbethereforthebirth,ifthemotherwentintolabourearly.Also,wedon’tunderstandthehealthsystemoverthere.Howdoweknowtheirsystemsarereliable?’
Patrickstillhasn’tsaidaword.Admittedly,itwouldbehardtowhenNettieissayingsomanywords.
‘Sowhatareyougoingtodo?’Ollieasks.
Olliestillhasnoidea.Hemustbetheonlyone.Itakeanotherverylargesipofmywineandforcemyselftoswallow.
‘Shewantsmetodoit,’Isay.
Nettielooksatme.She’scautiouslyexcitedbuttryingtokeepalidonit.‘Ihavesomeinformationhere,’shesays,producingaclearplasticbagthathadbeensittingonherlap.IseethewordsBecomingaSurrogateprintedonthefrontofapurplebrochure,nexttoapictureofaheadlesspregnantbody.‘It’sactuallyaprettystraightforwardprocess.’
OllielooksatNettie,blinkingwildly;adeerintheheadlights.‘YouwantLucytodonateanegg?Tobeyoursurrogate?’
Nettiekeepshergazeonme.‘IknowIhavenorighttoask.’
‘Youdohavetherighttoask…’Isay.‘But—’
Nettiesitsforwardinherchair,herhandsfoldedonthetableinalmostabusinesslikefashion.IgetthefeelingsheispreppedandreadytorefuteanyargumentImighthave.Ifeelsweatbloomundermyarms.
‘Wait,’Olliesays.‘YoudowantLucytodonateanegg?Andcarrythebaby?SoitwouldbeLucy’schildand…Patrick’s?’
‘No,’Nettiesays.Hernervousenergyseemstohaveabatednowandsheisoddlycalm.‘ItwouldbemineandPatrick’s.’
‘But,’Ollieisstuckonthispoint,andIagreewithhim,‘biologically,itwouldbeLucy’s?’
‘Yes,’Nettieadmits,lookingatme.‘Idon’twanttoputyouonthespot,Lucy,but…canyoutellmewhatyouthinkaboutthisidea?’
Ipushbackinmychair.‘Imean…it’salittleoutoftheblue,Nettie.ObviouslyI’dneedtothinkaboutit.’
‘Ofcourse,’Nettiesaysnodding.‘Ofcourseyoudo.But…maybeyoucouldshareyourinitialreaction?’
‘Shesaidsheneedstothinkaboutit!’Patricksays,uncharacteristicallygruff.‘Givethewomanabreak!’
IncontrasttoNettie’sbusinesslikebodylanguage,Patrickisalmostsullen-looking.Hesitsbackinhischair.Hisarmsarecrossedandhischinislowered,almosttohischest.
‘Nettie,myinitialreactionisshock,’Itellher.‘There’salottothinkabout.OllieandIwouldhavetotalkaboutit—’
‘Soitisapossibility?Itissomethingyouwouldconsider?’Nettieshutshereyestightandsqueezesherfistsasifmakingawish.
‘Honestly?’Isay.‘Idon’tthinkitis.’
Nettie’seyesopen,buthergazeremainslowered.
‘I’msorry.I’vethoughtaboutthisbefore,inaphilosophicalway,and…Ijustcouldn’tdoit.Afterall,itwouldbemychild—’
‘Halfyourchild,’shecorrects.
‘Butthere’snosuchthingashalf-children,isthere?ItwouldbemineasmuchasArchieandHarrietandEdiearemine.I’msorry,butIcouldn’tconceiveachild,carryittotermandthengiveitaway.Ijustcouldn’t.Evenforyou.’
‘Youwon’teventhinkaboutit?Forafewdays?Sleeponit?’
‘Icould,’Isay.‘Butmyanswerwouldbethesame.’
Nettierisestoherfeet,pushingherchairbackhardenoughtohittherailofthedeck.‘Nettie,’Isay,‘I’msorry.’
Patrickputsahandtohisface,smoothingitacrosshisforehead.Ican’ttellifit’sagestureofsadnessorrelief.IcantellwhattheexpressiononNettie’sfaceisthough,withoutashadowofadoubt.
Hatred.
48
DIANA
Thepast…
Endingyourownlife,peacefullyandpainlessly
ItypethewordsintotheGooglebrowserandhit‘enter’.Ican’trememberthelasttimeIusedthisdarncomputer,butitmusthavebeenawhileagobecausethemousehasrunoutofbatteries.NowIhavetousethedarnpadonthelaptopandit’shighlyirritating.Ifinallymanagetogetthecursortohoveroverthefirstlink,awebsitecalledLifelineAustralia,asuicidepreventionorganisation.It’snotwhatI’mlookingfor,butIsupposeit’squiteprudent.MostpeopledoingthesamekindofGooglesearchasmeneedtofindLifelineandcallthenumber.Butnotme.Iamanoldlady.I’velivedagoodlife,beenmarried,hadmychildren.
Ineedhelptodie,nothelptolive.
Ifiddlewiththemouseagainandrefinemysearch.Voluntaryeuthanasia,Australia.GoogletellsmesomethingsthatIknow,suchasthefactthateuthanasiaisillegalinAustraliaeventhoughithappensroutinelyinhospitalsfortheterminallyillintheirfinaldays.GooglealsotellsmethingsIdon’tknow,suchasthefactthatit’sincrediblydifficulttopurchasethedrugsorequipmenttoeuthaniseyourselfinahumanefashion.Iwon’tqualifytogotoDignitasinSwitzerlandwithoutbeingterminallyill,andthemedicalevidencetheyrequireisexhaustiveandimpossibletofake.Whichleavesme,asfarasIcansee,withtheinternet.
I’vebeentakingtheantidepressantmedicationthatDrPaisleyprescribedfornearlysixmonthsnowandIthinkit’sbeeneffective.Mysleephasbeenbetter.I’mgettingmoreenjoymentoutofthings.I’mmanagingtogetdressed,feedmyselfanddoabitofwork.ButTom’sstilldead.Thereisn’tapillthatwillchangethat.
IfindalinktoanorganisationcalledVoluntaryEuthanasiaInternational(VEI).TheprintthatpopsupunderthelinksaysVEIPHILOSOPHY:Thatalladultsofsoundmindshouldhavetherighttoendtheirlifeinamannerthatisreliable,peacefulandatatimeoftheirchoosing.VEIbelievescontroloverone’slife&deathtobeafundamentalcivilrightfromwhichnooneofsoundmindshouldbeexcluded.VEIMISSION:Toinformmembers&supportthemintheirend-of-lifedecision-making
Iclickonthelink.Andkeepreading.
49
LUCY
Thepresent…
Idrivemyselftothepolicestation.Ollieofferedtocomewithme,butItoldhimnottobesilly,thatsomeonehastostaywiththekids.Ididn’ttellhimtherealreasonIdon’twanthimtocome.ThatIcan’tbeartoseehisfacewhenhefindsoutwhatI’vedone.
Igotothedesktoannouncemyarrival,butbeforeI’veevenhadachancetosaymyname,Jonesappears.
‘Lucy.Comeonup.’
Intheelevatorsheapologisesforcallingmethislate,andItellherit’sfine,noproblem,happytohelp,butmyvoicesoundsfunnybecauseI’mabuzzwithnerves.Olliemusthavebeeninthiselevatornotmorethananhourago.NettieandPatrickhavebeeninhere.Eamontoo,apparently.Ajokecomestomind.Howmanypeopledoesittaketokillaricholdlady?
IonlywishIknew.
Weshuffledownthehallwayandintoadifferentinterviewroomthatsmellsofcheapperfumeandcigarettes.ItakeaseatandsodoesJones.Severalbeatspassandshedoesn’tspeak.
‘Youhadsome…questions?’Iaskfinally.
‘We’rejustwaitingforHousseini.’
‘HereIam,’hesaysatpreciselythatmoment,appearinginthedoorway.It’sasmallroom,anditfeelsevensmallerwiththreeofusinhere.Itmakesmemorenervous.Thevideorecorderisinthecorner,andtheygothroughthespielagain,explainingthatwearebeingrecorded.Finally,wegetdowntobusiness.
‘AsIsaidonthephone,’Jonessays,‘thereasonwecalledyouiniswehavebecomeawarethatyourmother-in-lawwasamemberofagroupofproponentsforvoluntaryeuthanasia.Thisorganisationholdsmeetingswheretheyprovideinformationonhowapersoncanhumanelyendtheirownlife.’
Ikeepmyfacialexpressioncarefullyblank.‘Oh?’
‘Wehaveinformationthatyourmother-in-lawattendedoneofthesemeetingsandsigneduptobecomeamember.’
‘Shedid?’
Jonesregardsmehead-on.‘Shedid.’
‘So…youthinkshedidkillherself?’
‘Wethinkshewasthinkingaboutit.Itdoesn’texplainherdeath,becauseshewasn’tfoundwithanypoisoninhersystem…butitisaninterestingdevelopment.’
Idon’tknowwhattosaytothis,soIsaynothing.
‘Canyoutellmeaboutyourprofessionalbackground,Lucy?’Jonessaysafternearlyaminute’ssilence.
Ifindahangnailandpickatit.‘I’mastay-at-homemother.’
‘Andbeforethat?’
‘Iwasarecruiter.’
‘Arecruiter?’JonesglancesatHousseinianddoesn’ttrytoconcealhersmirk.‘Inwhichindustry?’
Ihesitate.‘Informationtechnology.’
‘AndyouruniversitydegreewasinITanddataanalytics,isthatcorrect?’
‘Itis.’
‘Soifsomeoneaskedyouhowtoencryptemailaddresses,you’dknowhowtodoit?’It’saquestion,ostensibly,butJonesmakesitclearthatit’sactuallyastatement.
‘I…’
‘Youcouldfigureitout?’Jonessuggests.
‘Probably,’Iadmit.
‘Doyouknowwhatbitcoinsare?’Jones’squestionsarecomingfasterandIwonderifit’satechniquetodiscombobulateme.Ifso,it’sworking.
‘Yes.I…thinkso…why?’
Theystareatme,aknowinglookintheireyes.
‘AmIunderarrest?’Iask,flustered.‘Becauseit’slate.Ireallyneedtogethometomykids.’
‘Justonemorequestion,Lucy,’Jonessays,‘andthenyoucangohome.ButIwantyoutothinkaboutthisonebeforeanswering,okay?Reallythinkaboutit.’
‘Okay,’Isay.
‘DoyouknowthatassistingsomeonetocommitsuicideisatpresentacrimeinAustralia?Punishablewithuptotwenty-fiveyearsinprison.’
50
DIANA
Thepast…
Thereareprotestersoutthefrontofthelibrary,whichIhadn’texpected.Theyarenotthesilenttypes.TheyhaveplacardsandcrucifixesandarechantingaboutGodbeingtheonlyonewhocanchoosewhenapersoncandie.Clearlynot,Ithinktomyself,orthey’dhavenothingtoprotestabout.
IwishI’dbroughtabookalong.ThenIcouldholditupandthey’dleavemealone.Justreturningabook,I’dsay.Instead,someonecarryingafluorescentyellowsignwiththewordsSuicideisacryforhelp,notarequesttodiecomesuptomewithanoffertoprayformysoul.Idecline,andscurryon.AmotherwithapramandacoupleofyoungAsianstudentswithlaptopsenteratthesametimeasmeandarenotapproached.
Itwasrelativelyeasytobookaticket.Theguidelinessaidyouhavetobeoverfiftyorseriouslyill,withdocumentationtoproveit,andIquiteplainlymeetthefirstcriteria.I’mnotsurewhatIexpected.Somesortofsecrethandshakeandadingybackroomperhaps.ButthemeetingistakingplaceinToorak,ofallplaces—oneof,ifnotthemostaffluentareaofMelbourne.Leaveittotheaffluenttowanttodictatethecircumstancesoftheirowndeath.
Themeetingisinalargeroominthebasementofthelibrary.Amanandawomanstandatthedoor.Thewomanholdsaclipboard;theman,judgingbyhissizeandthefactthatheappearstobeservingnospecificpurpose,isasecurityguard.Ihaven’tbeentotheTooraklibrarybeforebutitseemsunusuallybusyforaThursdayafternoon.Iwonderifthismeetingisresponsibleforallthebustle
Iapproachthewomanwiththeclipboard.‘MynameisDianaGoodwin.Ibookedaticketonline.’Iproducemyfoldedticket,whichIprintedoffthismorning,andthewomanchecksitagainstherlist.Onlineitsaidthatattendeesmayberequiredtopresentidentification,andIhavemineready,butaftergivingmealonglook,shedoesn’task.Still,sheisthorough.Asshepeersatme,I’mremindedofstandingatimmigrationattheairport,beingsurveyed,questioned,requiredtobeaconvincingversionofmyself.EventuallyIpassthetestandI’mallowedin.
Theroomisunderwhelming—mottledblue-greycarpet,blacksteelchairswithburgundyfabricseatsarrangedinrows—twentyrowsataguess—sixandsixwithanaisleinbetween.There’sawhiteboardatthefrontwithmarkers.Isitinthesecondrowfromtheback,tryingtomakemyselfinvisible.Afewseatsdownfrommeanotherwoman,aroundmyvintage,isclearlytryingtodothesame.Infrontofussitsawomanagooddealyoungerthanfifty,alongsideanelderlywheelchair-boundman,herfatherperhaps.Heishookedtoaplethoraoftubesthatmeetuptoanoxygentankthatsitsonthebackofhischairlikegolfclubsonabuggy,andIcan’thelpthinkingofmydearTom.Therestofthepeopleintheroomareinvaryinglevelsofhealth—twowearingoxygenmasks,threesuspiciouslybald.Aseventyishmanholdsthehandofhiswifewhoisclearlysufferingsomesortofmentalconditionandismutteringconstantlyunderherbreath,andIhearherutterafewoftheveryworstcurses.Onlyacoupleofpeoplesitboldlyatthefront—theylooktobehusbandandwife,silver-hairedbutstraight-backed.Proud,paid-upmembersofVEIifeverIsawthem.Themanwearsashirtwithhiscollarpoppedupunderanavywoollenjumperandhesitsbackwithhisarmsfoldedandananklebalancedontheoppositefoot.Thewomanwearsawhiteblouse,aforestgreenjumperandastringofpearls,andsheishalf-turnedaround,talkingtoanotherwoman,bizarrely,aboutherbgardensandthedifficultytheotherwomanishavingwithherbasil.Thewomaningreenseemstoknowalotaboutgrowingbasil.Ifeelapangofsomethinglookingather,andIsuspectitistodowiththeproximityofherhusbandbesideher.Tothecasualobserverheappearstobeinfinehealth,butthecasualeyedoesn’tseeeverything:ofthisIamalltooaware.
Afterfiveorsominutes,thedoorclosesandtheladywiththeclipboardcomestothefrontoftheroom,leavingthelargemanstationedoutsidethedoor.
‘Goodafternoon,’shesays.‘Thankyouallforbeinghere.IseesomefamiliarfacesandIseesomenewones.MynameisDrHannahFischer.’
DrFischeriswarm,bright,andefficient,anddeliversatalksheisclearlyfamiliarwith.Indeed,shehasdedicatedherlife’sworktothistalkandherbeliefinassistedsuicideandvoluntaryeuthanasia.Shetalksgenerallyaboutthehistoryofeuthanasia,thecurrentlegalitiesofwhatwecanandcannotdo,andpreparingalastwillandtestament.Shetalksabouttheimportanceofbeingclearaboutourintentions.‘Ifyouaregoingtotakeyourownlife,’shesays,‘youneedtobeclearthatthiswasyourintention.Itisimportanttobeasclearaspossibletoavoidanyofyourlovedonesbeingheldresponsibleandsenttojail.Werecommendwritingalettermakingyourintentionsclearandleavingitinaprominentplace.Inthepastwehaveseenchargesbroughtagainstfamilymembers.Ifyouhavealargeestate,itmightbeworthdonatingittocharitytoavoidyourlovedonesbeingseentohaveamotivationtoassistyouwithyourdeath.’
Ithinkofmyestate.Thereisnodoubtitislarge.IimagineOllieandNettie’sfacesiftheyweretofindoutthey’dbeendisinherited.Itwouldbeslightlylesshorrifying,Idecide,thanbeingfoundtohaveapossiblemotivationformymurder.
WearegivenahandbookcalledTheSereneEnd,whichsetsoutspecificapproachestoeuthanasia,includinghowtoobtaintherequiredmaterialsthroughtheinternet.‘HowdoIpurchasethedrugyouhaverecommended?The…Latuben?’asksthewomansittingnexttothemaninthewheelchair.
‘We’regoingtotalkaboutthatinamoment,’DrFischersays.‘Andyou’dbetterhaveyournotepadsready.Icantellyouaneffectivewaytoendyourlife,butgettingyourhandsonthisdrugisgoingtotakesomeeffortandcommitmentfromyou.’
Isitforward,mynotepadandpenready.Finally,theinformationIcamefor.
51
DIANA
Thepast…
‘Aarash!Putthatdown.’
Thelittleboyturnsaround,holdingmyblueandwhitevaseinhisstickyhands.TompurchasedthevaseinParisseveralyearsback.Eventhen,itcostovertenthousandeuros.Aridiculousamountofmoney,thoughI’vealwaysbeenfondofthevase.
‘Justleavehim,Ghezala,’Isay.‘Itdoesn’tmatter.’
I’mactuallyratherpleasedtoseeAarashwanderingaroundmyhouselikeheownstheplace.Hissister,Aziza,looksjustascomfortablehere.Theyremindmeverymuchofmyowngrandchildren,burrowingunderfurnitureandfindinglittlecranniestohideinandfragilethingstotouch.Andwhynot?What’sitallforifnotforchildrentoplaywith?That’swhatTomwouldhavesaidanyway.
‘HowisHakem?’Iask.
‘Workinghard,’Ghezalasays.‘He’sjustemployedtwomorepeopleforhisproject.OneofthemfromAfghanistan,onefromSudan.’
‘That’swonderful.’Itryforasmile.I’mmorecomfortablewithGhezalathanmanyotherpeople,butstill,smilesdon’tcomeeasilythesedays.
‘WehavemanyfriendsfromAfghanistanherenow.Hakem’ssisterandherhusbandarehere.’
‘I’msogladtohearthat,’Isay,andnowasmiledoescome,arealone.‘Aretheyworking?’
‘They’relooking.Butthey’vebeenlookingawhile.’
‘Whatkindofworkdidtheydobackhome?’
‘Differentthings.Somesales,someIT.Aarash,putthatdown!’
Aarashisholdingthevaseagain,peeringintotheholeatthetopasifit’satelescope.Buthearinghismother’svoice,hesetsitdownhardonthefloor.Itdoesn’tbreakbutGhezalaputsherhandtoherheartandcloseshereyes.
‘Pickitup,’Itellhim.‘It’sfine.Playwithit.’
Ican’tfindjobsforallofGhezala’sfriends,unfortunately.EvenifTomwasalive,Icouldn’t.Ican,however,letAarashandhissisterplaywithmypricelessvase.Icanletthemholditorbreakitoruseitasatelescope.Andso,Iwillletthem.
‘WhereareHakem’ssisterandherhusbandliving?’Iask.
‘Inanapartmentnearus,’shesays.‘Theyknowtheyarelucky.They’rejustnotasluckyasus.Noteveryonehassomeonelikeyou,Diana,totakethemundertheirwing—’WehearasharpcrackandGhezala’shandsformatentoverhermouth.‘Aarash!Ohno.’
Thevaseisbrokenintothreelargepiecesontheparquetryflooring.Thechildrenstareatit,stunnedandterrified.
Ijustlaughandlaugh.
52
DIANA
Thepast…
‘Ihavesomethingtotellyou,’IsaytoLucy,theweekaftermymeetingatVEI.Sheisstandingatmysink,washingdishes.EdieisatherfeetplayingwithTupperwarecontainersandlids.IwanttotellLucytoleavethedishes,thatIcandothemmyself,butI’mnotsureIcan.Ifeelbone-tired,weigheddown,likeIcouldlaymyheadonthekitchencounterandneverliftitupagain.Besidesthat,thefactisI’menjoyingbeinglookedafter.Itdoesn’tcomeclosetofillingthegapthatTomleft.Butitfillsitalittle.
‘Whatisit?’Lucyasks.
‘IsawDrPaisleylastweek.’
Lucywipesahairoutofherfacewithaglovedhand.‘Ididn’tknowyouhadadoctor’sappointment.’
‘Itwasafollow-upappointment.Togetsometestresults.’
Shegivesmeafunnylook.‘Testresultsforwhat?’
‘Mammogramandultrasound.Myregulartwo-yearlyappointments.’
‘Oh.’Lucypicksupateatowel.‘Youshouldhavetoldme,Iwouldhavedrivenyou.’
‘I’mnotaninvalid,Icandrivemyself.’
Lucylookshurt.‘Ididn’tsayyouwereaninvalid.’
‘I’msorry,’Isayquickly.‘Thatwasrude.You’vebeenagreathelptomethesepastfewmonths.’
Nowshelookstouched.Howeasilywordscanaffectthisone.ItalmostmakesmeregretwhatI’mabouttosay.
‘Ihavebreastcancer,Lucy.Quiteadvanced.’
Shefreezes,aplateinherhand.Dishwaterdripsfromherfingertipsdownontothefloor.‘Diana,no.’
‘Ihaven’ttoldthechildrenyet.Iwill,ofcourse.ButIwantedtotellyoufirst.Actually,Iwashopingyoucouldhelpme.’
‘OfcourseIwillhelpyou.’Lucyputstheplatedown.‘Icanbeherewhenyoutellthem.Iwillhelpsupportthem…andyou—’
‘No,’Iinterrupt.‘That’snotwhatImeant.’IsearcharoundforthewordsI’dplanned,buttheydon’tcometome.AllofthisisharderthanIthought.‘Ineedhelpwith…somethingelse.’
Lucyremoveshergloves.‘Whatdoyouneedhelpwith?’
‘Ineedtobuysomethings.Online.But,yousee…Ineedanencryptedemailaddressandbitcoins.Ithoughtyoumightknowhowtogetthese.’
Lucyblinks.Atfirstsheisconfused,butslowlyIseeitmorphintosuspicion.
‘Haveyoubeentakingyourmedication,Diana?’
‘Yes.’
‘Andyou’refeelingbetter?’
Ishrug.‘Tom’sstilldead.Nodrugisgoingtochangethat.’
Wedriftintosilence,apartfromEdieplayinghappilyonthefloor.IwatchasunderstandingcomestoLucy’sface.
‘Andnow,’shesaysslowly,‘you’vediscoveredyou’resickandyouwanttobuysomethingonlinethatrequiresanencryptedemailaddressandbitcoins?’
‘Yes.’
It’sfunny.ForsolongI’vefeltatsuchadisconnectwithher.Andyetit’samazingwhatI’vebeenabletocommunicatewithherwithsofewwords.
‘Diana—’
‘IfItellyouanymore,Lucy,Iwillbeexposingyoutotroublesopleasedon’task.I’mgoingtowritealetterwhichwillmakemyintentionsclear.Noonewilleverknowyouwereinvolved.NotOllie.Notanyone.’
Shecloseshereyes.‘Diana—’
‘Dothisforme,Lucy.Please.You’retheonlyoneIcanask.’
It’sthetruth.OllieandNettiewouldneverhelpme.I’mtheirmother,whichmeansinourrelationshiptheywillalwaysbechildrenandwillonlyseethingsfromtheirownperspectives.Theywon’twantmetodie,andthatwillbetheendofthat.ButLucyseesmedifferently.Likeamother-in-law,yes.Butalsoasawoman.
Whichmeans,forthis,adaughter-in-lawisperfect.
‘Pleasedon’taskthisofme,Diana,’shesays,andthenwestandthereinsilencewhiledirtydishwaterdripsontomykitchenfloor.
53
LUCY
Thepresent…
Itakethelongwayhomefromthepoliceheadquarters.AsIdrive,questionscircleinmyhead.Isthiswhatyouwanted,Diana?Formetogotojail?Wasinvolvingmeallpartofyourelaborateplan?Ordidyourplangohorriblywrongsomewherealongtheline?MymindswirlswithallthepossibilitiesandtheworstpartisthatIcan’tsimplyaskher.
Ileftthepolicestationafterclaimingnoknowledge.NowIamgoingtohavetogetintouchwithalawyer.NotGerard,wecan’taffordhim.Actually,wecan’taffordanyone.We’regoingtohavetodeclarebankruptcy,wehavenoinheritancecomingourway.I’llprobablyhavetofindsomeonefromLegalAid.
Ilookatallthepiecesofmylifethathavefallenapartinrecentweeks.Myhusband’sbusinesshasfailed.We’rebankrupt.Myformerlypleasantrelationshipwithmysister-in-lawhassoured.Andmymother-in-lawisdead.Thefunnythingis,untilrecently,newsofmymother-in-law’sdeathwouldn’thavebeendevastating(beyondtheobviousfeelingsofsympathyformyhusbandandchildren).Butnowthelosscutsdeep.
It’squietwhenIletmyselfintothehouse.ThenIhearOllie.
‘Lucy?’hewhispers.
Idropthekeysintothebowlandfollowhisvoicetothebedroom.ThebedsidelampisonandOllieissittingontheedgeofthebedinhisboxershorts.
‘Areyouokay?’Iask.
‘Notreally,’hesays.‘IwanttoexplainwhyIwasatMum’sthedayshedied.’
WhyIwasatMum’sthedayshedied.Ittakesmeaminutetounderstandwhatheistalkingabout,butthenIremember.BeforeIwenttothepolicestation,OlliehadadmittedhewasatDiana’shousethedayshedied.Thatconversationseemslikeamillionyearsago.
‘Okay.’Isitbesidehimonthebedandflickonthebedsidelamp.‘Explain.’
‘Idroppedinforavisit,’hesays.‘Iwantedtotellheraboutmybusinesstroubles.’
‘But…whydidn’tyoutellmethat?’Iask,frustrated.‘I’veknownforaweekaboutyourbusinesstroubles.’
OllielooksdownandsuddenlyI’mafraidofhisanswer.Idon’tthinkOllieiscapableofhurtinghismother,butobviouslysomethinghappenedduringthatmeeting.Somethinghedidn’twantmetoknow.Idon’tthinkIcantakeanothershock,anotherbetrayal.ButjudgingbythelookofdeterminationinOllie’sface,itlookslikeI’mnotgoingtohaveachoice.
‘Becausealongtimeago,’hesays,droppinghisheadintohishands,‘youmademepromiseI’dneveraskMumformoneyagain.’
54
DIANA
Thepast…
ImeetNettieatacafé,athersuggestion.NettieandIdon’tusuallymeetatcafés,butnothingisnormallately.
ItoldthechildrenthatIhavebreastcanceracoupleofweeksago.Olliewentthroughthemotionsofshockandsadness,whichIexpected.Nettie’sreactionwaslessexpected.Ithoughtshe’dhaveacontrolledbutconcernedreaction—askingforinformation,statistics,namesofdoctors.Butshehadn’taskedasinglequestion.Hermindhadbeenelsewhere,eventhen.
SinceTomdied,I’venoticedherbehaviourhasbecomeincreasinglyodd.Everysooftenshe’llcometothehouse,butratherthanspeaktome,she’lljustwanderaboutsearchingforTominthefoldsofthecurtainsandthecreasesofthesofa.Sheneversaysthatiswhatsheisdoing,butIknowbecauseIdoittoo.Once,justafewweeksafterTom’sdeath,Icamehomeandfoundhercurleduponhissideofthebed.Ileftherthereandsnuckaway.Sometimesweneedtogrievetogether,andsometimesweneedtogrievealone.
AsIapproachthecafé,Inoticethere’saplaygroundacrosstheroadfullofmothersbundledinpufferjacketspushingbabiesinstrollersorshoutingupatolderkidswhohaveclimbedtothetopofaclimbingframetocomedownformorningtea.IamwonderingifIshouldfindusatableinside,awayfromitall—afterall,whymakeitworseforNettie?—whenIseehersittingatatableoutthefront.
‘Mum!’
Inearlydon’trecogniseher.She’sthinnerthanshe’severbeenandherskinissallowandpale,andyetatthesametimeshelooksslightlymorealivethanthelasttimeIsawher.Theideaflickersthroughmymindthatshemightbepregnant.Ican’tdecideifthatwouldbegoodnewsornot.
‘Hello,darling.’Ikisshercheekandsitoppositeheronacoldmetalchair.Therearemushroomheatersdottedaboutandwoollenblanketsonthebacksofthechairs,butitdoesn’treplacetheshelteroffourwalls,inmyopinion.‘Isn’titalittlecoldouthere?’
‘I’mfine.’Nettiesmiles.
Nettiecomesacross,I’massuredbymostpeopleIknow,asahappy,cheerypersonwhoneverhasabadwordtosayaboutanyone.Andsheis,indeed,smiley—atleastsheusedtobe.Buttherearesomethingsonlyamothercantell.Thissmile,forinstance,isnotindicativeofhappiness.Itisasmileofstrategy;asmileofdiggingherheelsin.It’sasmilethatsays:We’resittingoutside.Ifyoudon’twantto,you’regoingtohavetobetheonetorocktheboat.EveryoneofNettie’ssmilesmeanssomething.
‘Ifyou’refine,’Isaywithasmileofmyown,‘we’llstay.’
ItoccurstomethatIshouldbetakingeveryopportunitytobeoutside.Ishouldbebreathinginfreshair,walkinginthemountainsandworkingmywaythroughmybucketlist.Butmybucketlistisfairlyshort,fairlyuninspiring.Infact,theonlythingonmybucketlististospendtimewithmyfamily,andtomakesuretheyaregoingtobeokayafterIleavethembehind.
‘Thewebsiteyouneedfortheemailaddressishere,’Lucysaidacoupleofweeksago,thrustingapieceofpaperatme.Shearrivedatmyhouseunannouncedagain,andstartedtalkingdouble-time,asifshe’dchickenoutifshedidn’t.‘Regardingbitcoins,thefirstthingyouneedtodoisgetabitcoinwallet.There’sanappyoucandownloadtoyourphone.Thenyouneedtobuysomebitcoins.Youshouldbeabletodothisdirectfromtheapp.’
Istaredather.ShemightaswellhavebeenspeakingChinese.She’dwatchedmeforasecond,thensighedandreachedformyphone.
NowIhavetwobottlesofthedrug,Latuben,inmyfridgedoor,readytodrink.(Itistasteless,apparently,andshouldbedrunkbyitself,thoughyoucanfollowitwithaglassofwineifyouwish.)I’vewrittentheletter.IneedtoseeGerardaboutthewill—Iwillleaveeverycenttothecharitytoensurethatnoneofmyfamilycanbeseentobenefitfrommydeath.I’llletthechildrenknowwhatI’vedone.AndthenI’llgoandseeTom,whereverheis.
ThewaitressarrivesandNettieandIbothordertea.
‘Howareyou?’IaskNettiewhenthewaitressisgone.
‘I’mgood,’shesays,andthenthereareafewbeatsofsilence.‘Imean,I’mnotpregnant,ifthat’swhatyou’reasking.’
‘Ididwonder.I’msorry,darling.’
‘Yes,wellit’swhatIwantedtotalktoyouabout.AtthelastIVFappointmentDrSheldonsaidthereweretwoproblems,myeggsandmyuterus.Shesaidmybestchancewouldbetouseadonoreggandasurrogate.’
Thewaitressreturnswithourdrinksandplacesthemonthetablebeforeus.
‘Iknowwhatyou’rethinking,’shesays.
Iliftthecuptomymouth.‘Really?Idon’tevenknowwhatI’mthinking.’
‘Listen,Igetit.Ittookmeawhiletoprocessittoo.Imean,itwouldn’tbebiologicallymychild,Iwouldn’tcarryitinmybody.AtfirstIwasn’treallyonboard.ThenIstartedthinking…itwouldbeachildcreatedbyus,forus.Iwouldbeabletobepartofthepregnancy,Iwouldbethereatthebirth.Iwouldstillbeamother.AndMum,thatisthemostimportantthingtome.’
‘Whataboutadoption?’Iask,andNettie’sfacefalls.IrealisethatthisiswhenIamsupposedtogetsweptupinexcitement,andI’vefailedher.
‘DoyouknowhowmanyadoptionstookplaceinVictorialastyear?’shesays.‘Six.Six!Fourofwhichwereinter-family.AdoptingisnearlyimpossibleinAustralia.’
‘Andsurrogacy?That’spossibleinAustralia?’
‘Thereisaltruisticsurrogacyhere.Whereafriendorfamilymemberofferstodoit.IaskedLucy,butshewasn’topentotheidea.’Nettieisspeakingquickly;shesoundsalmostmanic.Herhands,Inotice,areshaking.‘Andit’sillegaltobeasurrogateforfinancialgain.Themostcommonway,andtherouteourdoctorsuggested,istosourceadonoreggfromIndiaandpayasurrogateintheUSA.Thethingis…it’snotcheap.Theprocess,includingtheeggs,theinsemination,thesurrogate’smedicalexpensesandfees,ourtravel…itwillallcometowelloverahundredthousand.’
Shefinallypauses,takesabreath.Hereyeslockonmine.
‘Ahundredthousanddollars?’Istareather.‘Canyouaffordthat?’
Nettieholdsmygaze.‘No.Butyoucan.’
Iputmyteacupbackinitssaucer.SuddenlyIunderstandthepurposeofthevisit.Ifeelalittlefoolishthatit’stakenmethislong.
‘Youwouldn’tevenmissthemoney,’shesays,alreadycounteringmyyet-to-vocalisearguments.‘Anditwouldbeagrandchild!’
‘Butwhatifitdidn’twork?’Isay,turningitoverinmymind.‘Whatifwefoundasurrogateandyouimplantedanembryoanditdidn’t…take?Whatthen?’
‘We’lltryagain.’
‘Howmanytimes,Nettie?Atahundredthousanddollarspergo?’
Sheshrugsasifit’saminordetail,somethingthatcanbeironedoutlater.‘Asmanyasittakes,Iguess.’
HowhaveInotseenthis?Iknewshewasdesperatetohaveababy,Isuspectedshemightevenbedepressedbecauseofit.ButtodayIwonderifit’smorethanthat.Ifit’sthebeginning—ormiddle—ofadescentintomadness.
‘Sowhatyou’rereallyaskingmefor,’Isaycarefully,‘isaccesstounlimitedfunds.’
‘Thisismylastchance.Ineedyou,Mum.’
AllatonceI’mbackatOrchardHouse,sittingoppositemymother,begging.Beggingformybaby.Iclosemyeyes,takeabreath
‘I’llthinkaboutit,okay?’
55
DIANA
Thepast…
I’mstandinginthediningroomsortingthroughdonationsofbabyclotheswhenIhearthedistinctsoundoffootstepsontheparquetryfloor.Igoverystill.ThefootstepsareheavierthanNettie’s,lesspreciseandcareful.ItisinmomentslikethesethatIseemyvulnerability—anolderwomanaloneinacavernoushouse—anditfeelslikeashock.Icreepafewstepstowardthedoubledoorsandcatchaglimpseofahuge,lumberingshadow.
‘Oh.’Ifindmyheart.‘Patrick,it’syou.’
‘Sorrytosneakuponyou,’hesays.‘Thedoorwasunlocked.’
Patrickdoesn’toftendropbyforavisit.I’mnotsureheeverhaswithoutNettie.
‘IneedtotalktoyouaboutNettie,’hesays.
Hepullsoutthechairclosesttomeandsits.Iremainstanding.
‘What’swrongwithNettie?’Iask.
Patrickraisesaneyebrow.‘AreyouseriouslyaskingwhatiswrongwithNettie?’
AsIrecoverfrommysurprise,irritationkicksin.Patrickhasanervecominghere,speakingtomelikethis,wheneveryoneintheworldknowshe’smessingaroundonmydaughter.‘Thisisaboutthesurrogacy?’Iupendanewbagofbabyclothesontothetable.
‘Whatelse?’Absently,Patrickpicksupatinyknittedjacket.‘I’massumingNettiehasherwirescrossedbecauseshesaysyou’rethinkingaboutpayingforit.’
Ifoldaonesieandputitintothenewbornpile.‘Andyou’vecometopleadyourcase?’
‘ActuallyI’vecometopleadtheopposite.’
IadmitI’mlost.InthemanyvisitsI’vehadfrommychildrenandtheirspouses,neverhasanyoneaskedmenottogivemoney.
‘NettiewouldkillmeifsheknewIwashere,obviously.’Patricklooksoutthewindow,ontothegarden.‘She’sonamissionforababy.She’sobsessedbyit.’
‘YouthinkIdon’tknowthat?’
‘Youdon’tknowanything.’Heraiseshisvoice,cuttingthroughanypretenceofdecorumbetweenus.‘It’slikeshe’spossessed.SomedaysI’llbetalkingtoherandit’slikeshe’snoteventhere!Herlegsandstomacharecoveredinbruisesfrominjectingherselfwithhormones.Shespendsherentirelifeontheinternetreadingstoriesfrompeoplewhomanagedtoconceiveafteryearsoftrying.ShetrawlsthroughforumsofpeoplewhohavedoneIUIorIVFor,lately,surrogacy.Shedoesn’ttalkaboutanythingelse.Nothingelse.’Hetossesthelittlejacketbackontothetable.
ForamomentI’mtakenaback.Onlyamoment.‘Thatmusthavebeenawfulforyou.Nowonderyouhadtofindmultiplegirlfriendstoeaseyourburden.’
Patrick’seyescreepuptomeetmine.
‘You’llneedtogoalittlefurtherawaythancountryVictoriaifyouwanttokeepasecretaroundhere,Patrick.’
Patrickhasthedecencytolookashamed,whichissomething,Isuppose.
Istudyhim.‘So…youdon’twantababy,isthatit?Youdon’twanttobeshackledtoNettie?’
‘No,that’snotit.Idowantababy.AtleastIdid.ButIaccepteditwasn’tgoingtohappenafewyearsback.Nettiedidn’t.Andnow…Idon’tknowhowtohelpher.She’seitherawalkingzombieorshe’stotallymanicfromherlatestfertilityidea.She’snotthesamepersonImarried.’
HelookssosadIreininmyanger.
‘Sowhatdoyouwantfromme,Patrick?’
‘Idon’twantanything.That’sexactlymypoint.’
‘Actuallyyoudowantsomething.Youwantmetowithholdmoneyfrommydaughtersoyoucanavoidhavingaconversationwithherthatyouneedtohave.’
PatrickopenshismouthbutIgetinfirst.
‘Andwhathappensnext?OnceNettiegivesuponherbabydream?Yougiveupyourgirlfriendsandyoubothlivehappilyeverafter?’
Heexhales.‘Idon’tknow,okay?’
Buthedoesknow.AndsuddenlyIdotoo.ThereareagerestrictionsaroundsurrogacyinAustralia,evenforintendedparents.Inafewyears,NettieandPatrickwillbetoooldtobecomeparents.WhichmeansthatPatrickjusthastorideoutNettie’scrazinessforanotheryearortwo.Andwithmyrecent‘cancer’diagnosis,intwoorthreeyearshe’llbeabletoenjoyacomfortable,childlesslife.Alifewithallthelittleextrashe’senjoyedwithusovertheyears.Whisky,cigars,homesbythebeach.Nowthatit’swithinhisreach,he’snotgoingtogiveitup.
‘Well,’Isay,‘regardlessofwhetherIgiveNettiethismoneyforthesurrogacy,youneedtotalktoher.Youneedtotellherabouttheotherwomen,andyouneedtotellheryounolongerwantababy.’
Patrickshakeshishead.Thishasnotgonethewayhewanted.Hethoughthecouldcomehereandformsomealliancewithme,Irealise.Himandmeagainstmydaughter.Theideamakesmesicktomystomach.
‘Diana,Ireallydon’tthink—’
‘Ifyoudon’t,Patrick,Iwill.’
Patrick’seyesflashasherisestohisfeet.Hesmiles,ahorriblemeansmile.‘Lookatyou,actingallconcernedaboutyourdaughter.Nettie’sspentherwholelifevyingforyourattention,andyou’venevergivenherthetimeofday.You’vespentmoretimeworryingaboutyourrefugeewomenthanyourownchildren.Andnowyou’reactingholier-than-thou.Whodoyouthinkyouare?’
‘IthinkI’mhermother.’
‘Somemother.’
Hesquaresupagainstme,butI’mnotscared.IfPatrickwantsmetochangemymind,he’sgoingtohavetokillme.
56
DIANA
Thepast…
Afterhispatheticattemptattryingtointimidateme,Patrickfinallyleaves.Ifinishsortingthebabyclothesandthengointothestudy.IsitinTom’soldchair,runningmyfingersoverthesurfaceofthedesk,pickinguppensandnotepads,touchingthethingsthathetouched.It’sbeenayearsincehediedandhe’sstartedtodisappearfromtheotherrooms,whichhavebeencleanednumeroustimes,butIstillfeelhiminhere.
Irememberthatconversationwehadafewyearsback,aboutthekidsandmoney.It’saboutsupport,Tomsaid.Whethertogiveitornot.Patrickdoesn’twantmetogivethemmoneyforthesurrogacy.Nettiedoes.Onewayoranother,Nettiehasaroughtimeaheadofherandshe’llneedsomeonetosupporther.
IhearakeyinthedoorandamomentlaterIhearLucy’svoice.‘Diana?Areyouhome?’
It’sLucy’svoice.
Isitupstraight.Lucyhasn’tbeenheresincethenightshecametoencryptmyemailaddressandshowmehowtousebitcoins.Ididn’tknowifIwouldseeheragainafterthat.Butheresheisroundingthecorner,dressedinjeansandawhiteT-shirtandhot-pinkballetflatsandazebrascarfaroundherneck.Stillfashionable,butalittlemoresubtlethesedays.It’sasthoughshe’smaturing,comingintoherself,figuringoutwhoshereallyis.
‘I’msorryIhaven’tbeenby,’shesays.
‘Don’tapologise.Iunderstand.’
Idounderstand.It’satallordervisitingsomeoneafteryouhavehelpedthemprocuredrugsillegallytoendtheirlife?Whatwouldwetalkabout?Thefutureisofflimits,obviously,asareplansforChristmas,orupcomingholidays.Thereissimplynothinglefttodiscuss.Still,Ican’tdenythefactthatIfeel…happytoseeLucy.OverthepastfewmonthsI’vebecomeaccustomedtohavingheraround,makingfoodordoingthedishesorbookingmyappointments.Ithasmadeitfeelallthemorequietwhensheisn’there.I’vebeensurprised,evenhumbled,byherdevotion.Perhapsthebiggestsurpriseisthat,whileIknowshedoesn’twantmetotakemyownlife,she’snever,notonce,triedtotalkmeoutofit.ItremindsmeofthewayshesupportsOllie.SuddenlyIseeitforwhatitis:agift.
‘Whatareyoudoinghereinthestudy?’sheasks.
Ilookaroundtheroom.Itfeelsempty,evenfilledwithfurniture.‘LookingforTom,’Iadmitwithasmile.
Asoftsmilecrossesherface.‘It’slovely,thewayyoulovehim.’
‘Funny,IwasjustthinkingthesameaboutthewayyouloveOllie.’
Thethingaboutdeathisthatitputsthingsintoperspective.IknowwhatIcareaboutnow.Icareaboutmychildrenandmygrandchildren.Icareaboutmycharitycontinuingtooperate.Icareaboutpeoplegettingafairgo.
AndIcareaboutLucy.
Lucypressesherlipstogether,swallows.‘You…you’veneversaidthattomebefore.’
‘No.ButIshouldhave.I’msorryIdidn’t.’
Shecrossestheroomandputsherarmsaroundme.‘I’mgoingtomissyou,’shesays.Shebeginstosobinmyarms,keening.
‘Shhh.’Ipatherback.‘It’sallright,dear.’
Holdingher,Ifeelmyselfsoften.Ican’trememberholdinganyonelikethissinceTom.Itbringstearstomyowneyes.
‘I’mnotgoingtodoit,Lucy.’
Lucystills,butremainswheresheisforamoment.WhenshefinallyliftsherheadIfeelasurprisingsenseofloss,acoldnesswhereherwarmheadhasjustbeen.
‘Really?’
‘Ican’tleaveNettiewitheverythingthat’sgoingonrightnow,’Isay.‘Ican’tleaveOllieandmygrandchildren.Ican’tleavemycharity.’Lucy’shairhasgoneallstatic,fanningaroundherfacelikeamane.Ipatitdown,tuckitbehindherears.‘AndIcan’tleaveyou,—’
‘Iloveyou,Diana,’shesays,andshethrowsherarmsaroundmeagainwithsuchforcethatittakesmybreathaway.Ireturnthehugwithasmuchvigour.
‘Iloveyoutoo,dear,’Isay,andthenwestandthereinthecentreoftheroom,holdingeachotherandcrying.
57
DIANA
Thepast…
There’sasayingaboutlittleboysadoringtheirmothers,andIthinkthereissomethingtoit.Littlegirlslovetheirmothers,too,ofcourse,butalittleboy’sloveforhismotherispure,untainted.Boysseetheirmothersinthemostprimalway:aprotector,devotee,adisciple.Sonsbaskintheirmothers’loveratherthanquestionitortestit.
WhatIlikebestaboutthemother-sonrelationshipisthesimplicity.WhenOlliewasatoddler,whentimeswerereallytight,IhadfleetingpangsofguiltthatIwasn’tabletogivehimthings.Irememberaskinghimwhathewantedforhisbirthdayandhereplied,‘I’dliketogotothebeachandtheneatVegemitesandwichesfordinner.’Itwas,perhaps,theonlythingwecouldafford.ForamomentIthoughtthatwaswhyhe’dsaidit,butthenIrealisedhewastooyoungforthat.Sandwichesatthebeachwassimplyhisideaofaperfectday.
Sotoday,whenOlliecallstosuggestavisit,Idon’treadintoit.Iexpectthat’sallhewants,avisit.OllieiscommittedtoLucy,andhisfamilycomesfirst,butIliketothinkthere’sstillapartofhisheartthatisreservedforhisdearoldmum.Whenheappearsatthedoor,though,itisimmediatelyapparentthatheisnot,infact,hereforavisit.Helooksupsetandhedoesn’ttrytohideit—heisinhisworkclothes,butscruffy,asifhe’ssleptattheoffice.
‘Whatisit,darling?’Iaskhim.
Hecloseshiseyes,shakeshishead.‘Canwetalkinside?’
WegointothedenandOlliedeclinesmyofferofteaorcoffee.Insteadhedropsontothesofa.Isitoppositehimandherestshisheadinmylap.Iputahandintothethickdarkhairhedidn’tgetfrommeorTom,andrunmyfingersthroughitlikeIusedtowhenhewasalittleboy.Nowheisaforty-eight-year-oldlittleboy.
‘Whatisit?’Irepeat.
‘Mybusinessisgoingunder.We’renotgoingtomakeourloanrepayment,’hesays.‘Andthebankiscallinginourdebt.’
Myhandfreezesinhishair.‘Ohno.Ollie…Ihadnoidea.’
‘Honestly,neitherdidI.I’vebeenworkingmygutsoutforthisbusinessforyears,andIcan’tseemtomakeanyheadway.Ihonestlydon’tknowwherethemoneygoes.’
‘ProbablyintoEamon’spocket,’Imutter.I’veneverthoughtofitbefore,butsuddenlyitseemsliketheobviousanswer.
Olliepauses,blinkingintothemiddledistance.‘No.Eamonwouldn’t—’
‘Wouldn’twhat?Gotoanylengthtolinehispockets?’
Ollieshakeshishead.‘God,Idon’tknow.Ihaven’tevenspokentohimproperlyinmonths.’
‘Haveyoutried?’
‘OfcourseIhave.Hesayseverythingisfineandwecantalklater.’
‘Youneedtoinsist.’
Helaughsblackly.‘EvenifIdid,Mum,there’snothingtotalkaboutnow.It’sover.Thebusinessisworthless.’
Hepresseshisfingersintohiseyesockets.I’veneverseenhimlookmorebroken.
‘Notifyoumakeyourloanpayment,’Isay,afteramomentortwo.
Olliefrowns.‘ButhowwouldIdothat?’
‘Imightbeabletocomeonboardasasilentpartner.Atleast,ImightconsideritifEamonhasnothingtodowithit.Asamatteroffact,Ihaveanideaforyourbusiness.Itwouldbeabitofadeparturefromwhatyou’redoingnow.’
‘Whatkindof…departure?’
WhenItellOlliemyidea,helookssosurprisedandimpressedIhavetotryhardnottobeoffended.That’sright,Iwanttosay.Yourfatherwasn’ttheonlyonewithbusinessideas.Herestshischininhishand,takingitallin,andheremindsmesomuchofTom,Ifinditimpossibletobelievetheyweren’tbiologicallyrelated.Weliveon,Irealise.Weliveonthroughourchildren.
‘Youknowwhat?’hesaysfinally.‘ThatisabusinessIcouldreallythrowmyselfinto.’
58
LUCY
Thepresent…
Thephoneisringinginthebackgroundagain.Thedamnthingwon’tstop.ButneitherOllienorIlookatitorevenacknowledgeit.
‘YouaskedDianaformoney?Foryourbusiness?’
‘Yes.’
‘Whydidn’tyoutellme?’
Olliepinchesthetopofhisnosebetweenhisthumbandforefinger.‘Yousaiditwasadealbreaker.’
Iblinkathim.‘What?’
‘Adealbreaker.Yousaidthat.IfIeveraskedMumformoney.Icouldn’tloseyouontopofeverythingelse.’
Isigh.‘Jesus,Ollie.You’renotgoingtoloseme.’Iclosemyeyes.
‘Theweirdestthingwasthatsheagreed.Ineverexpectedherto.’
‘Thenwhydidyouask?’
‘Idon’tknow.MaybeI…justwantedtotalktomymum.Youprobablywon’tbelievethis,butshecouldbe…verywise.’
Ichuckle.‘Actually,Idobelievethat.’
Thelandlinestopsringingandforamomentwearesurroundedbypuresilence.ButitlastsonlyasecondbeforeOllie’smobilestartsup.Iopenmyeyes.Iwanttothrowitagainstthewall.
‘Shewasdifferent,’Olliesays,frowningasherecallsit.‘Shedidn’ttellmetomakemyownway,ortofigureitoutmyself.Shetoldmeshehadmyback.Shesaidwe’dpayoffEamonandgointobusinesstogether.’
‘Shewantedtogointobusinesswithyou?’
‘Shehadareallyinterestingideaactually.Arecruitmentagencyforhighlyskilledrefugees.Engineers,doctors,ITprofessionals.Afullserviceagencythatwouldhelptogetcandidates’qualificationsrecognisedinAustraliaandgivethemallthetoolstheyneedtotransitionintogoodjobs,acrossallfields.Itwasareallygoodidea.Shethoughtyoumightwanttobeinvolvedtoo.’
‘Shedid?’
‘Yes.Afamilybusiness,shesaid.’Ollie’schinpuckers.‘Butthenshekilledherself.Whywouldshesayallofthat…andthenkillherselflessthananhourlater?’
ObviouslyIhavenoidea.WhenDianatoldmeshe’dchangedhermindaboutkillingherself,Ibelievedher.Whywouldshehavesaidthatifitwasn’ttrue?Andevenifshedidchangehermindbackagain,itdidn’texplaintheletterinthedrawer,orthethreadinherhands.Itdidn’texplainthemissingpillow.
‘There’sonlyoneexplanationIcanthinkof,’IsaytoOllie.‘Someonemusthavegotthereafteryouleft.’
59
DIANA
Thepast…
AfterOllieleaves,IgotoTom’sstudyandpulloutmyletter.Ilookdownatit.
Icouldhavewrittenmore,butintheend,there’sreallyonlytwopiecesofwisdomworthleavingbehind.IworkedhardforeverythingIevercaredabout.AndnothingIevercaredaboutcostasinglecent
Mum
I’veneverbeenawomanofmanywords.IcouldhavecraftedalettertomychildrenexplainingwhyI’dchosentoendmylife,orabouthowmuchIlovedthem,butthat’snotmystyle.Besides,howwouldthathelpthem?Sentimenthasawayofdilutingtruth,andifIwasgoingtoleavealastfewwordsofwisdombehindformychildren,Iwantedthemtobeclear.
Now,ofcourse,Iwon’tbeneedingthisletter.AtfirstIthinkaboutburningit.ThenIwonderifIshouldkeepitasareminderofhowIhavefeltthispastyear.Perhapsit’sagoodthing,toremember.ItucktheletterintotheofficedrawerandheaddownthestairsandamjustwalkingpastthefrontroomwhenNettieletsherselfin.
‘Hi,Mum,’shesays.‘Canwetalk?’
Nettiewalksintothesmallfrontroomandsitsonthelittlecouch.Ifollowher,sitbesideher.Shepicksuponeofthecushionsandbeginsfiddlingwiththegoldtassels.‘I’mhereaboutthemoney,obviously,’shesays,notwastinganytimeonsmalltalk.‘Forthesurrogacy.I’vebeentalkingtotheagency,andI’mgoingtoneedtopaythedepositsoon.I’msorrytopressureyou,butthisismy…’
‘…lastchance.’
‘Yes.’
MyminddriftstoPatrick.Hisflashingeyes.She’sonamissionforababy.She’sobsessedbyit
It’slikeshe’spossessed
‘AndPatrickis…onboard?Aboutthesurrogacy?’
‘Ofcourseheis.’Sheavoidsmygaze,thewayshedidwhenshewaslittleanddidn’twanttotalkaboutsomething.‘Ofcourseheis.’
‘HowarethingswithPatrick,Nettie?’Iask.‘Isyourrelationship…solid?’
Sheshrugs.‘Sureitis.’
‘Really?’
Nettielooksup,takesinmyscepticalexpressionandbecomesguarded.‘What?’Shesoundsalmostangry.
‘YouknowPatrickhasbeenunfaithful,don’tyou?’Isay.‘Youmustknow,Antoinette.’
TheexpressiononNettie’sface—akindofbewilderedrage—issojarringthatforamomentIwonderifit’spossiblethatshedoesn’tknow.Thenshelaughs.‘OfcourseIknow.Everyoneknows.’
Ihesitateamoment,thrownbythebizarrelaugh,butdecidetoploughon.IfI’mgoingtohelpmydaughter,Ineedtounderstandher,seehersideofthings.‘Thenwhywouldyouwanttobringababyintoarelationshiplikethat?Tellme,darling.’
Sherollshereyes.‘It’snotaboutPatrick,don’tyouseethat?It’saboutme.’
Nettiestandsup,startspacing.Shegoesbackandforth,severaltimes.
‘Nettie,I’mworriedaboutyou,’Isay.‘You’renotinafitstatetogointosurrogacyrightnow.Ithinkyoushouldseesomeone,getsomeprofessionalhelp.’
Herpacingstopsabruptly.Hereyeslockonmine.‘Doesthismeanyouwon’thelpme?’
‘Itdependswhatyoumeanbyhelp.I’llhelpyoufindapsychologisttospeakto.I’llhelpsupportyouifyoudecidetoleavePatrick,andI’llhelpsupportyouifyoudecidetostaywithhim.ButIwon’tbefundingyoureggdonorandsurrogatepregnancy,no.Notrightnow.’
Nettiehoversoverme,herhandsshakingwithrage.Sheshiftsfromfoottofootinfrontofme.Iremainstill,asiftryingnottospookafrightenedanimal.
‘Doyouhaveanyideawhatit’sliketohavetheonethingyouwanttakenawayfromyou?’Hervoicegrowsinvolumeandintensityasshespeaks.
‘Yes.Tomwastakenawayfromme.’
‘Diditmakeyouquestionyourownlife?Yourpurpose?’
‘Itdid.’
‘Idon’tbelieveyou.IfyouknewwhatIwastalkingabout,youwouldneverdothistome.’
‘Believeme,Nettie,Iknow,’Isay.‘Iunderstandwhatit’sliketofeelthatyourentirepurposeiswrappedupinonething,oneperson.’Ihadn’tintendedtotellNettieaboutmyplannedsuicide,butsuddenlyitfeelsliketheonethingthatmightbringhertohersenses.‘Afteryourfatherdied,Icontemplatedsuicide.Iresearchedit,Iboughtpoisononline—it’sstillinthedoorofthedarnfridge!Butitwasmadness,thewholething.IlovedTom,buthewasn’tmyentirelife.IhaveyouandOllieandLucy.Ihavemygrandchildren.Myfriends.Mycharity.AndNettie,youmaynotseeitnow,butyourlifeisn’tabouthavingababy.’Istandsoweareeyetoeye.‘Forgetaboutbabies.Takeyourlifeinadifferentdirection.Youcoulddoanythingyouwant!’
‘Soyouwon’tgivemethemoney?’shesays,whenI’mfinished.
‘Nettie!HaveyouheardanythingI’vesaid?’
Nettieturnsherbacktomeandforamoment,thereistotalsilence.Butafterafewsecondsacuriousnoisebegins,thinandreedy,liketheraggededgeofatincan.IttakesmeamomenttorealisethenoiseiscomingfromNettie.IreachforhershoulderbutbeforeIgraspit,shespinsaroundandlungesatmelikeaforce.HerelbowcatchesmynoseandIcareenbackward,landinghardonmytailbone.AsIcryout,Nettieappearsoverme,grippingthecushionsotighttheveinsinherhandspopout.
‘Nettie.Darli…’
Ifallsilent.Theexpressiononherfaceispureandunadulteratedhate.IthinkofOllie’svisitafewminutesagoandIseethejuxtaposition,suddenly,ofsonsanddaughters.Sonsseethebestpartsofyou,butdaughtersreallyseeyou.Theyseeyourflawsandyourweaknesses.Theyseeeverythingtheydon’twanttobe.Theyseeyouforexactlywhoyouare…andtheyhateyouforit.
‘Thisisover,Mum,’Nettiesays,andI’mnotsurewhatshemeansuntilshepressesthecushionintomyfaceandholdsittherewitharesolvethattellsmesheisnotlettinggo.Ifeelherweightonmychest.Igrabholdofherwristsandsqueezehard,butshejustpushesthecushionharderintomyface.Ican’ttakeabreath.Mylungsburn.AndastheedgesfadetoblackIthinktomyself…shegotthatresolvefromme.
60
NETTIE
Thepast…
Mum’slegsstoppedmovingfirst.Shedidn’tgodownwithoutafight,butthatwasclassicMum.Anditworkedinmyfavour,eachkickhadonlyservedtotireheroutfaster.NowIsitastrideherchest,thesamewayOllieusedtositonmewhenIwasakidandhewantedtointerrogatemeforsnoopinginhisbedroom.Slowlyhervice-likegriponmywristsweakensuntilsheletsgoentirely,butIkeepholdingthepillowdownuntilshe’sbeenstillforseveralminutes.FinallyIstand,leavingthecushionoverherface.
Mumisdead.Herlegshavefallentothesidessohershoespointinoppositedirections.Lookingatthem,I’mremindedoftheWickedWitchoftheEastwhenDorothy’shousefallsonher.MumtookmetoseeTheWizardofOzattheGrandTheatreformyninthbirthdayandevengavemeapairofsparklyrubyslipperstowearasapresent.ImissedmostoftheshowbecauseIwasadmiringthewaymyfootwearsparkledinthetheatrelights.IworethoseslipperseverydayafteruntilthesoleswerethinaspaperandIcouldfeeltherocksanddirtundermyfeet.ItwasoneofonlyahandfuloftimesthatMumgotitrightwithme.
MybrainwadesthroughalltheinformationathandasItrytofigureoutwhattodonext.Mum’sleftarmisbentupoverherhead.Hernailsarepaintedanawfulflesh-colouredpink,andonherringfingerisherclusterofrings,allmodestyellowgold.I’dneverseenherwithoutthoserings,notinmyentirelife.Theyarelikeabizarreknuckle,alivingpartofher.Or,now,adeadpartofher.
I’mslowlybecomingawareofthetroubleI’min.Ikilledmymother.Killedher,astheysayinthemovies,withmybarehands.Andyet,asIlookdownather,sostillandquiet,allIfeelispeace.Nottheuntethered,freefallingterrorIfeltwhenDaddied.Peace.It’sfunny,intheory,amotherandafatherdothesamething.Theynurtureyou,protectyou,trytoformyouintoareasonablehumanbeing.Iftheydoitright,theywillkeepyourfeetontheground.Iftheydoitwrong,they’llstopyoufromflying.Thedifferenceissubtle,yetvast.
Dad.HisnamepopsintomymouthandIbreatheitout.It’sthefirsttimeI’vehadaproblem,arealproblem,andhehasn’tbeenhereforme.
Itisjustaproblem,Antoinette,hewouldprobablyhavesaid,andaproblemisonlyaproblemuntilyousolveit
Imassagemyrightwristgently,thenmyleft.Forsomeonesoskinny,Mumwassurprisinglystrong.Anddetermined.
Afteryourfatherdied,Icontemplatedsuicide.Iresearchedit,Iboughtpoisononline—it’sstillinthedoorofthedarnfridge!
Shehadsaidthat,hadn’tshe?OrhaveIimaginedit?
Iwalktothekitchenandholdthefridgedooropenwithmyhip.Ahalf-emptycartonofmilkiswedgedinbesideanunopenedbottleoftonicwaterandtwobrownglassbottleswithwhitelabelscoveredwithmedicalgibberish.Isquatdowntoexaminethelabels.InsquaregreenandredlettersthenameLATUBENisspelledout.
Anideastartstoforminmymind.
Islidemyhandsintoapairofwashing-upglovesandcarrybothbottlesbackintothefrontroom.WhenIremovethepillowfromMum’sface,Ionlylookatherlongenoughtoseethatshedoesn’tlookserene.Herfaceisfrozeninahauntinggrimace,anangrybittercry.Iputdownoneofthebottlesandremovethelidoftheother,andIfocusontippingthecontentsintohermouth.Mostofitspillsdownhercheeksandcollectsinhermouth,soItipthelastofitintothefireplaceandleavetheemptybottlebesideherlimphand.Theredoesn’tseemtobealotofpointinusingtheother,soIshoveitintomyhandbag.It’snotagreatplan,butit’sallI’vegot.
AsIturntoleave,Irubmywrists.They’regoingtobebruisedtomorrow.
61
LUCY
Thepresent…
Ollie’sphonestopsringing,finally.Butwhenmyphonestartstoringimmediatelyafterward,itsendsanoddalertthroughme.
‘Weshouldanswerthat,’Isay.
Ollienodsasifhe’sjustrealisedthesamething.Myphoneisnexttohimonthecouchandhepressesittohisear.
‘Hello?Yes?’Hiseyesfindmine.‘Whatdoyoumean?’Hiseyebrowsshootskyward.‘No.’
‘Whatisit?’Iask,butOllieholdsapalmup.
‘Areyousure?’hesaysintothephoneandthenheissilentforthelongesttime.Ican’ttellifhe’slistening,orprocessing.Hiseyesclose,hard,hisfacecrumples.Idon’tdarespeak.Ihardlydaretobreathe.
‘Yes,’hesaysafteraneternity.‘Okay.We’llberightthere.’
‘Whatisit?’Iaskwhenhehangsupthephone.
‘It’sNettie,’hesays.‘She’sdead.’
62
NETTIE
Thepast…
Whoareweafterwe’regone?Iwonder.It’sagoodquestiontoponder.Mostpeoplecan’tcomeupwithananswerrightaway.Theyfrown,consideritforaminute.Maybeevensleeponit.Thentheanswersstarttocome.We’reourchildren,ofcourse.Ourgrandchildren.Ourgreat-grandchildren.We’reallthepeoplewhowillgoontolivebecausewelived.Weareourwisdom,ourintellect,ourbeautyfilteredthroughgenerations,continuingtospillintotheworldandmakeadifference.
Peoplemaynotarticulateitexactlylikethis,butultimatelytheywillendupwithsomeversionofit.Thentheycanrestsecureintheircontribution,certainthattheirliveswillnotbevoidofmeaning.Butnotme.I’llgotomydeathwithnoideaifmylifehadmeaning.Toanyone.
Thefunnythingis,therearesomanyifsthatcouldhavechangedthisstory.
IfI’dbeenfertile.
IfMumhadgivenmemoneyforsurrogacy.
Ifwe’dinheritedtheestate.
Iftheyweren’tgoingtoblamemybrotherforit.
Mybrotherwasalotofthings,butIwasn’tgoingtolethimgotojailforacrimehedidn’tcommit.Andso,withthetiniesthintofirony,I’mtakingthepathmymotherwasgoingtotake.
Theproblemis,Patrickcomeshomeatexactlythewrongtime.Iamsittingupinbed,inmypyjamas.AfterextensivegooglingtoensurethatonebottleofLatubenwillbeenoughtokillme,Ihavepoureditintoacoffeemug.Itissittingonmybedsidetable.AccordingtoGoogle,I’llbeunconsciouswithinthirtysecondsanddeadwithinninety.Onmylapisanotepadandapen.IhavejustputpentopaperwhenIhearPatrick’scarpullintothedriveway.
Iplannedtowriteanote,explainingeverythingtoPatrick,absolvinghimofblameandguiltandresponsibility.Iwantedtogivehimthat.Evenafterallthat’shappened,IhaveaffectionforPatrick.Hetriedhisbest.IfIhadonlybecomepregnanteasily,PatrickandIwouldprobablystillbehappy.Peopleunderestimatetherolefateplaysinourlives.Sillythem.
Andso,whenIseehiscar,Iliftthemugtomylipsanddrinkitdowninonealmightygulp.ThenIliebackandclosemyeyes.
I’mout.
63
LUCY
Thepresent…
DadarrivesearlyonthemorningofNettie’sfuneralwithabagofdonutsforthekids.HestaystohelpOllieandmeaswerollaboutthehouselikemarbles,searchingformissingsocksandneckties(forArchie,whonow,hetellsus,hasafuneraluniform).Thephotographersareoutsideagaintoday.TheyarrivedtwodaysafterNettie’sdeath,whenthewholetwistedstoryhadhitthepress.MONEY,GREEDANDFAMILY:INSIDETHESOCIETYFAMILYMURDER-SUICIDE.Thearticledidn’thavemuchinthewayoffacts,butthepolicehavewarnedusthatmorewouldlikelycomeout.Thereissomethingabouttheuber-wealthyfallingfromgrace—peopleareinsatiableforinformation,andthemoresordid,thebetter.Thepolicealsowarnedusthemediawillalmostcertainlybeoutsidethefuneral,tryingtogetashotofuscrying.(YesterdayHarrietgavethephotographerthepeacesignandtrout-poutlipsasshehoofedherwayouttothecar.Itisprobablytoday’scoverstory,butIdon’thavethehearttolook.)
‘Howareyouholdingup?’Dadasksme.IamironingEdie’sonlycleandress.ShewillhavetowearitwithoddsocksbecauseIcan’tfindapairthatmatch.Inlightofeverythingelsethat’shappened,Ican’tfindareasontocare.
‘Honestly?Ifeellikenothingwilleverbethesame.’
‘Itdoesn’tlastforever,honey.’
Ilookupfromtheironingboard,blinkingbackthetearsthatcometomyeyeswithsucheasethesedays.‘Howdoyouknow?’Iask,achildishquestion,butthenagain,heismyDad.
‘Iknowbecause…I’vebeenthere.’
Evenasanadult,it’seasytoforgetthatyourparentsarepeople.Now,itoccurstomethatofcoursehe’sbeenthere.Mymother’sdeathhadcomerightontheheelsofDad’smother,mynana.It’snotsomethingI’dthoughtmuchaboutbackthen,afterall,mydadhadbeenagrown-upandIwasjustakid.AndNana,asfarasIwasconcerned,hadbeenold(sixty-one).Butitwasonlyayearlater,almosttotheday,whenPapa,Dad’sdad,droppeddeadofaheartattack.Hehadbeensixty-seven.
Itwasalotofpeopletoloseinjustoverayear.
Iputdowntheiron.‘Howlongdoesitlast?’
Heoffersmeasadsmile.‘Itlasts…awhile.’
‘Muuuuuuuuuuum,’Harrietcalls.‘Archie’swatchingtheiPad!’
‘I’llgo,’Dadsays.
ThekidsaresadaboutNettie’sdeath.Allofthemhavecried,multipletimes,evenEdie,buttheirgriefiswonderfullyfickle—hereonemoment,gonethenext.Thistoo,I’mbecomingfamiliarwith.
‘HowdoIlook?’Olliesays.
HestandsinthedoorwayofthelaundryinwhatIthinkofashis‘Eamonsuit’.It’stight-fitting,navyblue.Arecruitmentsuit.Helookshandsomeinit.Itellhimso.
‘I’mgoingtosellittomorrow,’hesays.‘OneBay.’
There’snopointintellinghimnottoworryaboutitnow,orthatwecantalkaboutitinaweekortwo.EversinceNettie’sdeathaweekago,Olliehasbeenonamissiontodoanythinghecantomakemoney,savemoneyorreclaimmoney.We’vesoldourwatches,allofmyjewellery,ahandfulofotheritemsthathavevalue.It’sgotafrenziedavoidance-of-grieffeeltoit,butatthesametimeIfindmyselfcomfortedbyit.Asthoughhe’srecommittingtohisroleinthefamily,showingusthekindofpersonhewantstobe.
‘Actuallythere’saFacebookpageforpeoplewhowanttobuysecond-handHugoBosssuits,’Isay.‘You’dprobablygetabetterpriceforit.Icanpostitonthereifyoulike.’
‘Thatwouldbegreat,’hesays.‘OrjustsendmethelinkandI’lldoit.’
Iwouldbehard-pressedtofindanupsidetothewholetragedyofDiana’sandNettie’sdeaths,butifIwasreallytrying,I’dsayitwasthenewharmonybetweenmeandOllie.Somehowwe’vefoundourselvesperfectlyalignedonthegoalsofourfamilyandweareequalpartners.ItneversuitedOlliebeingthefull-timebreadwinnerand,thefunnythingis,I’vealwaysknownthat.Now,workingasateam,Irealiseweareplayingtoourstrengthsagain.Idon’tknowwhatisgoingtohappentomorrowafterthisfuneral.Idon’tknowifwecanaffordtokeeprentingourhouse.Ihavenoideawhat’saheadforus.Iknowit’slikelytobebadforawhile.ButI’mhopingitwon’tbebadforever.
‘It’snearlytimetogo,’Isay.
IturnofftheironandpeelEdie’sdressofftheironingboard.Ollieappearsrightbesidemeandgentlytugsatmynecklace.‘ThatwasMum’s,wasn’tit?’
Inod.I’vebeenwearingiteverydaysinceDianadied.Ollieturnsitoverinhisfingers.‘IrememberseeingitaroundMum’sneckwhenIwaslittle.Shesaiditsymbolisedstrength.’
Webothlookdownatit.‘It’sashameshedidn’tgiveittoNettie.’
We’requietforamoment,staringdownatthenecklace.ThenOllieletsitfallbacktomychest.‘MaybesheknewNettiewasn’tstrongenoughtowearit.’
64
LUCY
Tenyearslater…
‘Lucy?AbdulJavidishereforhisinterview.IsOlliehere?’
Iglanceatmywatch.‘Hemustberunninglate,Ghezala.I’llcomeout.’
‘Okay.I’mgoinghomenow.Haveagoodevening.’
Ihangupthephoneandpullonmysuitjacket.WhenIdon’thaveinterviewsonIoftenwearleggingsandaT-shirtaroundtheoffice—oneoftheperksofrunningyourownbusiness—buttodayOllieandIhavehadback-to-backinterviews.Ourofficeisashortdrivefromourhome,inarundownoldtownhousenotfarawayfromwhereGhezalausedtolive.Alotofnewrefugeessettleinthisarea,whichmakesitconvenientforthemandcheapforus.OllieandIeachhaveanoffice(formerlybedrooms)andGhezala’sofficeisintheoldlivingroom.OnthedaysGhezalacomesin,shebringsinfoodforustoshareinthelivingroom.Shehasaplaypensetupaswell,forthosedaysheryoungestisn’tindaycare.
Ghezalahasfivechildrennow.Hakemismakingenoughmoneythatshedoesn’tneedtoworkanymore,butshecomesintohelpusallthetime—translating,makingthecandidatescomfortable,helpingexplainculturaldifferences.AsamemberoftheboardofDiana’scharity,shewastheonewhoapproachedusafewmonthsafterDiana’sdeath.She’dheardaboutthebusinesswewantedtostartandletusknowaboutasizeablepoolofmoneyDianahadbequeathedthatwasdesignatedfor‘venturesdeemedbytheboardtobeintheinterestsofthecharity’.
Ourbusinessfitsthiscriteria.
Istepintothehallwayandshakethehandofaverytallman,hisskinasblackasburntwood.
‘MrJavid?’Isay.
‘MrsGoodwin?’
‘Please.CallmeLucy.’
‘ThenyoumustcallmeAbdul.’
Abdulsmilesabrilliantwhitesmile.Apartfromthetrouserlegsofhissuit,whichareseveralinchestooshort,heisverypresentable.AbdulwasaprojectmanagerforamajorconstructiongroupinAfghanistan.HearrivedinAustraliafourmonthsagoandhasbeenworkingasanightcleaneratthelocalhospitalwhiletryingtofindworkmoreappropriatetohisskills.
‘Comein,Abdul.Ollie,mypartner,willjoinusinamoment.’
‘Didsomeonesaymyname?’
Ollieclambersthroughthebackdoor,dressedinashirtwithjeans.Thedaysofhisshinytightsuitsarelonggone.NowOlliedoesalotofhisinterviewsviaSkype,sohecanbefounddressedsmartlyfromthewaistupandwearingGodknowswhatfromthewaistdown.Heworkshard,hardereventhanhedidwithEamon.Heisalwaysrunninglate,hispaperworkisneverdone,buthe’salsomorealivethanI’veeverseenhim.Hespendshourswiththecandidates,doingwhateverittakestogetthemreadyforaninterview.
Idomostoftheworkwithourorganisations,findingjobswheretherearen’tanyandopeningthemindsofdecision-makerswhomaynotpicturearefugeeastheiridealcandidate.‘Justgivethemaninterview,’hasbecomemycatchcry.‘Oneinterview.’
Moreoftenthannot,thatinterviewgetsourclientthejob.LikeOllie,Iliveforthatnow.Asateam,we’vebecomepassionateaboutmakingsureeveryonegetsago.IliketothinkwegetthatfromDiana,andthatshewouldbeveryproudofus.
OllieandEamon’sbusinessdeclaredbankruptcyshortlyafterDiana’sdeath.Eamonwasinvestigatedformisappropriatingcompanyfundsandfoundguiltyoffraud.OllieneverregainedanyofthemoneyEamonstolefromhimbuthetooksomesatisfactionfromthefactthatEamonspentsixmonthsinprison(andthatEamon’syounggirlfriendBellahadlefthimforanIronMan.LastweheardBellaandtheIronManwerewritingaPaleocookbooktogether).
WetakeaseatattheroundtableandAbdultellsusabouthistimeinAustralia.Heexplainsthedifficultieshe’shadfindingwork.SomehavetodowithhisEnglish,heexplains.
‘Wecanhelpyouwiththat,’Olliesays.‘Englishlessons,interculturalrelations,mentoring.’
AfterNettie’sdeath,OlliethrewhimselfintothebusinesswithsuchvigourIwonderedifitwashealthy.He’dlosthisparentsandhissisterwithinayearandheneededtoheal.Ittookmeawhiletoseehowhealingthisbusinessactuallyisforhim.Heistryingtoconnectwithhismother.Andinafunnyway,eventhoughshe’sgone,it’sworking.
Wedon’tseePatrickanymore.WesentChristmascardsforthefirstcoupleofyears,butonceheremarried(apparentlytoawomanwhoistheheiresstoaverynicefortunestemmingfromherlatefather’spackagingbusiness)andbecamethefatheroftwinboys,weletthecontactdrop.Olliestillfindsthatespeciallydifficult.
‘It’snotfair.AllNettiewantedwastobeamother.Ifshehadn’thadfertilityissues,she—andMum—wouldstillbealive.’
Maybethatistrue,butitdoesn’tmakealotofdifferencenow.Nettieisgone.DianaandTomaregone.It’sme,Ollieandthekids,andwe’redoingsurprisinglyokay.
‘Okay,’IsaytoAbdul.‘Whydon’tyoutellusalittleaboutyourself?’
Theagencyhasbeenahugesuccessintermsofthecandidateswe’vebeenabletoplace,particularlywithorganisationsthatformerlywouldneverhavelookedatanyonewithoutAustralianexperience.Andyetwemayneveragainownahouse.Weliveinarentalnotfarfromouroffice,neartheindustrialpartoftown.Thekids’schoolisrough,diverseandwonderful,withpeoplefromallwalksoflife.EverydayafterschoolthekidsarehereattheofficedoingtheirhomeworkorplayingwithGhezala’skids.OftenIthinkabouthowDianawouldhavelovedeverybitofit(andhowTomwouldhavebeenhappilybefuddled).IthinkthatiswhatfuelsOllie’sdriveforthewholething.Everyone,nomatterhowoldtheyare,wantstheirmother’sapproval.Andeveryone,nomatterwhotheyare,wantstheirmother-in-law’s.
IglanceupatDiana’sfinalletter.OncetheinvestigationintoDiana’sdeathwasover,thepolicehadhandeditovertous.Nowitisframedonthewallofmyoffice,oneofmymostcherishedpossessions.
Icouldhavewrittenmore,butintheend,there’sreallyonlytwopiecesofwisdomworthleavingbehind.IworkedhardforeverythingIevercaredabout.AndnothingIevercaredaboutcostasinglecent
Mum
Suchlessonsarehard-learned.Butnowwe’velearnedthem.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Hereweareagain,anothersetofacknowledgements—myfifthtodate.Fifth!Ican’tquitebelieveit.
I’dliketostartbypointingoutthatwhileIhavehadfleetingmurderousthoughtsaboutmanypeopleinmylife(youknowwhoyouare!),Ihaveneveroncefantasisedaboutmurderingmymother-in-law.IsuspectthisisthereasonIwasabletowritethisbookwithoutblowingtheentireHepworthfamilyapart.Sothankyou,Anne,forbeingastoundinglygood-humouredthroughoutthiswholeprocess.I’mnotsureallmothers-in-lawwouldhavebeenasgraciousuponhearingthetitleofherdaughter-in-law’supcomingbook.
Tomyamazingcrewofpolicewhoassistedwithmyproceduralqueries—MeganMacInnes,AndriaRichardsonandKerrynMerrett—thankyouforansweringmyemails,readingthemanuscript,andevenhelpingmebrainstormmurdertechniques(andremindingmethatifmymother-in-lawwastosuddenlydieofunknowncauses,itwouldallbeontherecord).Iamforeverinyourdebt.
AndwherewouldIbewithoutmyincredibleeditor,JenniferEnderlin?ThankyoufortrustingmyinstinctsandhelpingmeregaincontrolofmymanuscriptwhenIstoptrustingthem.ThankyoualsototheteamatSt.Martin’s,manyofwhomIhadthepleasureofmeetinginNewYorklastyear.Ilookforwardtomanymoremeetings.
I’dalsoliketoextendmythankstomypublishersaroundtheworld.SpecialthankstoCatePatersonandAlexLloydatPanMacmillanAustraliaforyourkeeneditorialeye,overallgenius…andfortakingmeoutforlunchoccasionally.Ilovelunch.
Tomypublicists–theirreplaceableKatieBasselandtheincredibleLucyInglis–ifIcouldbottlethetwoofyou,Iwould.Ifanyoneknowsawaytodothis,pleaseletmeknow.
TomygorgeousRobWeisbach.HowdidIgetsolucky?Youarethebestinthebusinessandatruegentlemantoboot.I’msogratefulforallthatyoudo.(Alsothankyouforstartingtouseemojis–youknowhowIlovethem.)
Tomywritingsquada.k.a.books:it’sTheBellottaGirls(ithasaniceringtoit,doesn’tit?),thankyouforsharingthejoysandindignitiesofbeingapublishedauthorwithme.AsfarasIknowI’mstilltheonlyonewhohashadabookshopliftedduringasigning,andI’llwearthatbadgewithpride.SpecialthankstoJaneCockramandLisaIrelandforreadingthisbookindraftformandgivingmefeedback.AlsospecialthankstoMeredithJaeger,mycritiquepartnerandfriend.
Tomyfamilyandfriendswholiveinterrorofbeingcastasavillaininoneofmybooks:it’savalidfear.Benicetome.
Andfinally,tomyreaders–thankyouforallowingmetosharethesecharacterswithyou.Ihopetheytouchyou,moveyouorentertainyouinsomeway.Iftheydo,myjobhereisdone.
AboutSallyHepworth
SallyHepworthhaslivedaroundtheworld,spendingextendedperiodsinSingapore,theUKandCanada,wheresheworkedineventmanagementandhumanresources.SheistheauthorofTheSecretsofMidwives,TheThingsWeKeep,TheMother’sPromiseandTheFamilyNextDoor
SallylivesinMelbourne,withherhusbandandthreechildren.
AlsobySallyHepworth
TheSecretsofMidwives
TheThingsWeKeep
TheMother’sPromise
TheFamilyNextDoor
Firstpublished2019inMacmillanbyPanMacmillanAustraliaPtyLtd1MarketStreet,Sydney,NewSouthWales,Australia,2000
Copyright?SallyHepworth2019
Themoralrightoftheauthortobeidentifiedastheauthorofthisworkhasbeenasserted
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Thisebookmaynotincludeillustrationsand/orphotographsthatmayhavebeenintheprintedition.
Theauthorandthepublisherhavemadeeveryefforttocontactcopyrightholdersformaterialusedinthisbook.Anypersonororganisationthatmayhavebeenoverlookedshouldcontactthepublisher.
Cataloguing-in-PublicationentryisavailablefromtheNationalLibraryofAustraliahttp://catalogue.nla.gov.au
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TableofContents
Cover
AboutTheMother-in-Law
TitlePage
Contents
Dedication
Chapter1
Chapter2
Chapter3
Chapter4
Chapter5
Chapter6
Chapter7
Chapter8
Chapter9
Chapter10
Chapter11
Chapter12
Chapter13
Chapter14
Chapter15
Chapter16
Chapter17
Chapter18
Chapter19
Chapter20
Chapter21
Chapter22
Chapter23
Chapter24
Chapter25
Chapter26
Chapter27
Chapter28
Chapter29
Chapter30
Chapter31
Chapter32
Chapter33
Chapter34
Chapter35
Chapter36
Chapter37
Chapter38
Chapter39
Chapter40
Chapter41
Chapter42
Chapter43
Chapter44
Chapter45
Chapter46
Chapter47
Chapter48
Chapter49
Chapter50
Chapter51
Chapter52
Chapter53
Chapter54
Chapter55
Chapter56
Chapter57
Chapter58
Chapter59
Chapter60
Chapter61
Chapter62
Chapter63
Chapter64
Acknowledgements
AboutSallyHepworth
AlsobySallyHepworth
Copyright