That Girl From Nowhere (30 page)

‘I’m not sure what you mean,’ she replies.

‘I mean, did he worry about being a burden on us? You, mainly, obviously?’

Mum’s eyes glaze over; she gazes into the recent past, suddenly lost and floating in the sea of yesterday. ‘Yes,’ she says quietly. ‘It was his biggest worry. Which upset me more than a lot of the other things that happened. He shouldn’t have worried about that. It wasn’t important.’

‘But to him it was, I suppose?’ I say.

‘Yes. I loved him. For better or worse.’

‘Did he ever feel it was too much and want it to end?’

‘Did he tell you that?’ Anger simmers beneath her words, in the way her face sits. ‘Did he say something about that to you?’

‘No,’ I reply. This wound has clearly not healed for Mum and I have unintentionally busted it open.

‘Don’t lie to me, Clemency. He asked you, too, didn’t he?’

‘No, Mum, I am not lying. The only thing he ever asked of me was to go to see that woman from Doncaster about her wedding jewellery. I didn’t want to go but he asked me to so I did.’

Mum’s eyes rake over me, scrutinising me for any hint that I am keeping things from her. ‘You’re sure?’

‘What is this? He didn’t … Why, what did he ask you?’

‘Only the most selfish thing a person could ask of another,’ she practically snarls. She’s never like that about Dad, not ever. Then she catches herself, realises who she’s talking to. She leans forward, grabs her teacup and sips at it.

‘Did Dad ask you to help him die?’ I ask Mum.

She sips her tea, ignores me. She is not going to discuss this with me, and me asking isn’t going to do any good. She is resolute, her face set and determined, then she changes her mind. She swivels in her seat until she is fully facing me. ‘Yes, he did. He asked me because he was in so much pain. He was in a type of agony I hope never to experience and he wanted it to be over. He’d had enough and I didn’t blame him. It was too much in that moment, but as soon as he asked he took it back. It was only at that moment. He knew how selfish it was.’

‘He didn’t ask me,’ I reassure Mum. ‘Like you say, it was a selfish thing to ask and Dad would never do that to me.’

‘Why are you asking?’

‘I’m missing him. Thinking about him. I didn’t want him to think we ever thought that about him. That he was a burden. Because he wasn’t.’

Mum places her cup back on its saucer, it rattles enough for her to need to steady it with her other hand. ‘I think it is time for me to go home. Nancy and Sienna will be back from exploring now. Are you coming?’ she asks. She doesn’t acknowledge what I have said, doesn’t even seem to notice that I have spoken. This is too much for her today. I didn’t realise it, but today is probably not a good day and she has been hiding that with her snippy attitude.

I shake my head. ‘I’m going to finish my coffee and then go on to work. I have some stuff to do before Monday.’

She looks across the busy room at Tyler and then back at me. ‘Fine,’ she says. ‘I’ll see you at home later.’

‘Bye, Mum,’ I say.

She nods at Tyler, a brief acknowledgement that he has served her well, and then leaves without looking back.

Mum had that face on her. Most of the time she looked like a normal woman with her blonde-brown, grey-streaked hair wound back into a bun, and soft features, and pink lips. Right now, though, she had that face on her.

‘It’s one song, Mum,’ I told her. ‘One song. He wanted it played.’

We were both wearing black, had done for the last week or so. It wasn’t intentional for me, simply what my hand went to whenever I opened the wardrobe or drawer. I felt like covering myself in black, it was comforting and gentle, the sombreness from inside me creeping outside. I closed my eyes and I saw Dad. If there was a lull in the day, a moment when I could be still, I would think I could sense him nearby. Mum was never still, calm, inert. She was always on her feet, cleaning, cooking, sorting. She wrote letters. She made arrangements. She had planned the funeral all by herself. She had done everything, organised everything, except for this one song.

‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s not right. Not decent.’

‘Mum, it’s what Dad wanted. He wrote it in his last letter. He told you about it more than once.’

‘He wasn’t himself towards … At that point he didn’t know what he was saying.’

‘He’s always said it. So many times. Even before he was ill. In fact, he said it right from when he first heard it with me.’

‘It’s not decent.’

‘You’ve said that, Mum, and saying the same thing over and over isn’t going to change the fact that it was what he wanted. You can have all of your other hymns and readings, but this is what Dad wanted. You have to honour that.’

Back to that face.

You can have that face all you want, but it’s still happening
, I thought.

‘There’s no way the priest will allow it,’ Mum said.

‘We’ll see,’ I replied.

We had readings that brought tears and hymns that spread comfort. And as the chosen four rose to their feet, took their places to carry him out, the opening chords of the song he’d wanted since 1987 rose up from the speakers placed around the church.

The priest had been no trouble – he wouldn’t deny a deceased man’s request.

I watched the people around me react: frowns of confusion and recognition, wondering if they were really hearing this tune filling the church. Seth, who stood at the front of Dad’s coffin, hitched an eyebrow at me. He couldn’t believe I’d managed it, that I’d got Mum to let me play Dad’s song.

When Dad took me to see
Dirty Dancing
because I had no friends to go with, he said he wanted that song played at his funeral. ‘The words are so true. You and your mother, this is what life is about. Promise me,
quine
, you’ll play it at my funeral.’

‘Promise,’ I said without a second thought. Because I was nine, and that day was never going to come. I never thought I’d have to convince Mum to let me play ‘I’ve Had the Time of My Life’ by Bill Medley at Dad’s funeral because Dad was a big man with a huge laugh and he was never going to have a funeral, so I could promise him anything he wanted.

Tyler leaves it at least ten minutes after my mother has gone before he comes near my table. ‘Now that I’ve met your mother,’ he says, ‘I think it’s fair to ask you what I’ve been wondering since you first walked into my café.’

‘What’s that then?’

‘I’ve been trying to work it out by very subtle means, and now I’m just going to ask you outright: are you seeing anyone?’

As if on cue, as if he knows that something has made me think of him, Seth’s text tone sounds in my pocket. It’ll be one of those texts where he simply asks how my day has been, how I’m feeling, reminding me he loves me. And it’ll make me question the wisdom of what I’ve done, whether I should have stayed with someone who lied to me more than once. Not even a lie of omission, an outright lie. He’s backed off recently, no asking me to talk to him, just asking how I am. An easy way to get me to think about him even if I won’t return his calls or texts.

‘No,’ I say to Tyler.
Because I am not. No matter what his texts say, no matter how much I want to be, I am not with Seth any longer. We are over. We have to be over.
‘I’m not. I’m flattered that you’re interested, though.’

‘I’m flattered that you’re flattered. Does that mean if I ask you out sometime you’re likely to say “yes”?’

‘It does.’

‘Good to know,’ he says. He wanders off to the counter with his checked tea towel slung over his shoulder and my mother’s empty teacup and saucer in his hand.

Seconds later he returns without the tea towel, apron and sous-chef hat he wears. ‘ “Sometime” didn’t involve an apron, tea towel or hat,’ he says. Another grin. ‘Have you ever been roller-skating along the promenade?’ he asks.

I shake my head. I always wanted roller skates. Lots of the girls in my school had them. Hillary Senton had pink ones with pink wheels and she brought them in one time and all of us wanted to touch them, to have a go. But she wouldn’t even let us stand too close to them. I wanted pink ones like hers, but even if they weren’t pink I would have loved to have a pair, to be like the other girls. But we couldn’t afford them, Mum and Dad said. We could hardly ever afford things that other children had. I don’t remember feeling resentful about it, more sad. I used to stare at the ceiling at night dreaming that when I grew up I’d have a lot of money and I’d be able to buy whatever I wanted. Funny how as an adult that never translated into buying roller skates, a pink bike or the latest, most up-to-date
Girl’s World
.

‘Would you like to come roller-skating with me along the promenade? I can make us a bite to eat here after the café has closed and then we can head out on the skates. See how far we get.’

I am being asked out by the man I have a crush on. I am being remarkably calm about that. ‘Sounds good. When?’

‘This coming week I’ve got events here every night so the café’s going to be open later than usual. But next week, I’m all yours. Potentially.’ He scrunches up his face, closes his eyes in a grimace. One eye cracks open a fraction. ‘That sounded so wrong. Did you understand what I meant in the broader sense?’

I nod.

‘So, next week?’

Two buzzes and a bleep sound in my pocket, a reminder that my life isn’t uncomplicated. Not that I’d forgotten. About Seth. About my biological family. Nor about what my grandmother has asked me to do. Having something else to think about, to look forward to, feels like a chance to be an uncomplicated person for a few hours. I’ve forgotten what it’s actually like, to not have anything to worry about.

‘Next week, definitely.’

‘What are your plans for today?’ my cousin Nancy asks me when I come into the kitchen. She and Sienna have been up for an hour or so, I heard them and I’d been itching to go in and join them, but I couldn’t face this part of that scenario – speaking to Nancy. They’ve been here six days and I have managed to avoid speaking to her as much as possible. Unless she asks me a direct question in front of Sienna or Mum, I don’t reply, I don’t acknowledge her. I’ve spent a lot of time at work to avoid speaking to her. If I told Mum what Nancy had done it would upset her (not the Seth part, Mum would blame that on Seth, anyway) but it would devastate me if Mum did what she always did and tried to find a way to excuse Nancy for this latest treachery.

‘I’m working,’ I say. I only reply because Sienna is sitting beside her mother, trying to stack cornflakes on top of each other as they float in her cereal bowl of milk.

‘Oh. You work too hard, you know that?’ Nancy says. ‘You’re too young to be this stressed about work. You need to take care of yourself.’ I wish she would come right out and say whatever it is that she wants because I find the faux-friendliness unpalatable.

She has her hair piled up on top of her head, tendrils of it tumbling around her face. She wears shorts and vest-top to sleep in. It’s been unfortunate for her that she didn’t manage to convince Mum to convince me to let her have the big room. She tried, but I’d avoided being around long enough for Mum to ask. And I locked my room during the day so Nancy wasn’t tempted to move in while I was out. I don’t move from my current place near the kitchen door because Nancy is going to say something else. I was supposed to reply to what she said but as it wasn’t a direct question, I didn’t bother.

‘Would you mind taking Sienna today?’ she asks. ‘You’d like a day with your auntie Clem, wouldn’t you?’

‘Yeah!’ Sienna says.

‘I just need a little “me” time to catch up on some work, return a few calls, you know?’ Nancy asks. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ The way she says that, the intonation of the question, makes it sound like I am Sienna’s other parent and I’ve been slacking off in my duties.

More than anything I wish that Nancy would admit that she struggles with being a lone parent, that it’s hard work and she resents Dylan for not being involved. (Seth is always on Dylan’s case about not being part of Sienna’s life. Dylan’s stock reply is: ‘Being involved with her means being involved with Nancy, and that is not an option.’ And Seth always says, ‘Yeah, tell that to your daughter when she grows up realising you’re the feckless fool that you are.’) I wish Nancy would be honest with herself, with the world in general. There are so many people who would be comforted to know that even she, Super Feminine Woman, finds it hard to be everything all the time to her daughter. That would be far too honest, though. Far too risky. She might be seen as normal, she might not be seen as perfect. Instead, she puts posts up on the internet giving tips on being feminine
and
a mother while she can barely get dressed at weekends, she pretends she has important work to do to guilt-trip people into babysitting for her, and she shows up with a two-year-old Sienna at mine and Seth’s flat and leaves Sienna to get something from the shop and doesn’t return for three months, claiming that she needed time to find herself.

I would respect Nancy a whole lot more if she had just come out and asked me to look after Sienna today. It’s not as if I would say no. I never do when it comes to Sienna.

‘You fancy a day with me?’ I ask Sienna.

‘Uh-huh,’ she replies. ‘Mum said we’d go to the pier today but I don’t think she wants to any more. Do you want to go to the pier with me?’

‘I think we can do much better than that,’ I tell her. ‘Why don’t we go and look for some more shells and unusual pebbles so I can make more jewellery?’

‘Yeah!’ She wriggles off her seat until she is under the table and scoots across the floor on her hands and knees. She dashes out of the door, ready to wake Mum up so she can help her get dressed.

‘Thanks, Clem. This is really helpful. I need to get on top of work. There’s so much piling up and—’

I have to leave the room while Nancy is still talking. I can’t engage with her, I just can’t.