I’d laughed, watching you grab the torch then stomp outside in the dark and carefully make a hole on one side. Then the torchlight bobbing up and down as you trudged across to the other side of the garden to make one in that fence too.
But maybe that hadn’t happened in that final week of normality. Perhaps it was the week before. The more I tried to be certain, the more ambivalent I became.
Friday morning dawned bright and cold. You seemed reflected back at me in each twinkle of frost, then you hung in the air with the mist as it melted, enveloping me. Daffodils nodded their heads in the gentle breeze, reminding me of your golden hair. I would never see you again.
I clutched my stomach and ran to the loo, only just making it before the breakfast Jacob had cajoled me to eat made a return visit. Ever since your death, I had barely been able to keep anything down. You might think I had turned to booze again, but the smell of it was enough to put me off.
Wiggins, Jacob and I went for a long walk. We passed the Seagull’s Outlook and the Picky Person’s Pop In, which were both closed and looked forlorn. On the marsh, even the wind seemed quieted in grief, and the huge sky wept light tears for you in a constant patter. But I didn’t feel you, Beth. Not in the shifting of the tide. Not in the susurration of the long grasses, or the splash of water, or even in the haunting cry of a lone seagull wheeling above. We walked around the creeks I knew off by heart; the ones that stayed permanent, and the ones that shifted subtly day by day. There was no sign of you.
Please don’t leave me, Beth.
When we got home from the walk, we started to arrange your funeral. The numbing pain lifted for a while then, because I got angry. I welcomed it back like an old friend. No parent should ever have to arrange their child’s funeral.
And it was another child’s fault. It didn’t seem possible. I wanted to hurt Chloe, or steal her away from her mother so that Ursula would know exactly how I felt. Instead, I chose a coffin and music and what you should wear.
‘I’d like Beth to be buried with this. What do you think?’ Jacob asked, hesitant. He held the wooden egret he had carved for your birthday; the one you’d never seen.
It took a couple of deep breaths before I trusted myself to speak. ‘Perfect.’ A little bit of nature to fly with you on your journey.
‘Oh, darling.’ Jacob’s mum enveloped him in a hug. My mum did the same with me. It felt good, comforting.
‘That Chloe should burn in hell for what she’s done,’ Mum sobbed.
In his mother’s arms, Jacob stiffened but said nothing. He and my parents had already agreed to disagree on this subject. A knock at the door saved reopening that can of worms.
‘I’ll get it,’ sighed Jacob.
‘Another person come to give their condolences,’ Mum said.
There was a hint of pride in her voice that your tragically short life had touched so many people. Despite the steady stream of cards and flowers, Jacob and I had already agreed that we wanted family only at your funeral. No one else in the village could be trusted. So many people must have known about that rave. Parents covering for their children, teenagers covering their own backs, the DJ, the bouncers, innumerable liars and hypocrites. The Daughtrey-Drews had already sent a huge bouquet of flowers and offered to write a cheque to Beth’s favourite charity. I wouldn’t be bothering to reply to that.
Jacob traipsed back into the room. ‘It’s for you, Mel.’
‘Who is it?’
Jacob’s face clearly wasn’t keen, but he looked resigned to his fate.
‘Glenn.’
Ah; that one name explained everything.
My friend waited outside, dancing from one foot to the other as if to keep warm, even though the day was relatively mild now beneath the bleak blanket of clouds. He glanced at me shyly.
‘I didn’t know whether to come or not. I’m so sorry.’
‘You can come in, if you want.’ I held the door wider, gestured.
He shook his head.
‘I don’t want to intrude; I just wanted you to know I’m thinking of you – of you all. If there’s anything I can do…’
Bone-weariness robbed me of the strength to speak. But for him I made the effort.
‘Thank you. And Glenn, I’m so, so grateful for all you’ve done to support me and help me. I couldn’t have got through this without you.’
He held his hands up. ‘Happy to help. Least I could do. So… bloody stupid question, I know, but how are you feeling?’
I heaved a sigh as I tried to describe my emotions.
‘You know, after Beth died I stood outside the hospital for some fresh air before going back to sign paperwork. So much paperwork. There was a woman visiting her elderly mother, and I simply let her words wash over me. It was comforting not to have to think for a while, you know? To pretend that I was a normal woman, chatting.’
Glenn nodded. Settled against the door frame to listen closer.
‘So we did the usual getting-to-know-you questions: where do you live, what do you do, are you married… do you have children? When she asked that I just stood there, opening and closing my mouth like a goldfish, no idea what to say.
‘I ran the whole future conversation in my head. If I said yes, she was bound to ask details: what’s Beth’s name, how old, where is she tonight? You know the kind of thing. My options were to spare her feelings and lie; pretend everything was fine with Beth, that she was at home, practising the guitar or learning about animals. Or say that my daughter was fourteen, and would stay that age forever because she was dead. Or say, no, I don’t have children. Because that’s technically the truth now – but saying no simply isn’t an option.’
‘No matter what you say, it’s wrong,’ muttered Glenn. ‘I’m so, so sorry for your loss. God knows how you’re feeling right now. I mean, I miss Katie like crazy, but at least I know that she’s out there somewhere, enjoying life.’
That again. His fake daughter. I looked at Glenn; really looked at him. And even though I knew he was lying, I still couldn’t see any hint of it. Not in his steady gaze, not in his confident posture, leaning against the door frame. His round face appeared as open as ever, only a frown of concern marring it.
Confusion pierced my grief. Who was this person I’d allowed to become so intimate with my life? All in the space of less than a fortnight? Yes, I had known him as a kid, but we hadn’t been friends. He hadn’t truly been friends with anyone.
I rubbed my face, sighing deeply. I couldn’t be bothered with any more lies, no matter how well intentioned. I could have called him out, told him that I knew there was no daughter. In gratitude for all he had done for me, I spared him the embarrassment. But I was done with liars.