What Goes Around

chapter THIRTY THREE

Gloria

I get some flowers, which is a bit of chore, because there are all these adverts about not leaving kids in the car, so I can’t even nip into the shop – no, I have to haul out her pushchair.

It’s one of those jogging ones.

Noel bought it for Eleanor when she told him that she was pregnant.

Me, with a jogging pushchair!

It’s embarrassing.

Still, once I've strapped her in and bought the flowers, it's easier to walk to the cemetery than to get back in the car. Beryl says I should walk more and I know that I haven't done enough exercise this week.

We walk up the hill. Daisy's asleep and I think of all the chocolate I’m earning but it shouldn't be like that should it? I should be thinking of him instead of food.

Why do I always think about food?

Why, when I'm walking to the cemetery to visit my late ex-husband, instead of thinking about our marriage, our kids, about heaven and God, instead I'm thinking about a Walnut Whip.

Instead of thinking about God and an afterlife, and this great plan that we are not privy to, and the ground that he lies decomposing in, I can see myself biting the head off that Walnut Whip and getting to the goo in the middle.

There's a shop on the corner and surely after puffing up that hill I've earned one?

Maybe it's the pushchair, because I'm almost jogging. I can taste that sickly fondant and it’s so much sweeter than my thoughts. I don't want to think about him dead in the ground, I don't want to think that all it comes to is that.

I look down and Daisy’s awake now but she’s quiet, enjoying the motion. She's just lying quietly, her little rosebud mouth smiling and I don't want to disturb her, I don't want the movement to stop, so I push past the shop and the Walnut Whip and I’m running up that hill and I’m crying.

I don't know why.

He’s not my husband to mourn.

I’ve been a single parent for years, so why am I so scared of being one now?

Because I really am the only one there for them.

What will happen if I'm gone?

I hate the cemetery.

I slow down to a walk but I still want to run.

I hate walking past the plaques and the stones with the names and dates. To get to his, you have to walk past the baby bit and I just want to close my eyes but I look at Daisy instead. She's blowing bubbles and smiling and waving a hand in front of her face. She’s so innocent and happy and oblivious to the pain that inevitably comes.

Her hair’s really growing. Rose is coming over this afternoon to show me how to look after it but it should be Eleanor doing this.

Bloody Eleanor.

Why won’t she grow up and take charge of her life?

Yes, she’s on tablets now. Yes, she’s getting on better with Noel.

But what about Daisy?

I'm really crying now.

I was stupid to come, I’ve gone and upset myself. I’m just going to quickly put these flowers on his grave and then turn around and go home and I’m going to have my Walnut Whip on the walk back…

Then I see something I shouldn't.

Something private.

Something she wouldn't want me to see.

For the first time I don't want to kill her.

Lucy must have put on two stone (I’m quite good at gauging these things now since I joined my slimming club) and she's certainly not the natural blonde that she would have us believe that she is, because she's got inches of roots.

Maybe she’s just been riding, because she’s wearing boots and she’s filthy.

Her face is brick red and she's all bloated and she's crying, though not like I was crying just before. She's crying in a way I haven't for a long time. She’s crying like I did in those dark months after he left, when the kids were all out, when I had the place to myself…

Remember at the hospital, when I saw Charlotte?

Remember how I wanted to wrap my arms around her and take away the pain?

How I felt as if she were mine, that she was a part of me?

That's how I feel this moment. I want to take Lucy home and look after her. I want to tell her that it gets better, that she shall get through this.

I know her pain.

I recognise it.

I’ve felt it.

But I don't understand this surge of compassion.

She stole my husband I remind myself, as I turn the pushchair around. She caused my babies so much pain. I look down at Daisy who is starting to cry and I remember that that bitch screwed her father as well; she f*cked with my daughter’s marriage too.

Daisy’s really crying as we go down the hill. It’s rare for Daisy – she’s such a happy natured baby.

She's crying though and carrying on so much that I don't even stop and get my Walnut Whip.

I get home and sort out Daisy and then I put the flowers in a vase to brighten up the living room but they don’t make me feel any better. It’s there, it’s still there rising up in my chest - the loathing and anger is still there. I want to pour cool water, I want to be a better person, to be forgiving and calm and to care.

Except, I don’t want to care about Lucy.

I pick up the flowers and I take them outside and I bin them.

F*ck you, Lucy!