Perfect Daughter (31 page)

‘You warm enough, Mum?’ Jacks bent forward and retucked the blanket over Ida’s arms. They carried on, past the funfair, where she caught sight of Richard Frost at work with a spanner on one of the machines. She chortled to herself.

She parked Ida’s chair next to a bench and sat looking out over the vast expanse of water, breathing deeply and enjoying the peace and quiet, which was broken only by the shrill screech of scrounging seagulls.

‘This is where you used to come with Dad, isn’t it? After dancing the night away at the Grand Atlantic all those years ago. I used to love looking at the pictures of you both all done up, you in your red lipstick, looking like a proper film star! And Dad in a bow tie.’ Jacks tutted. ‘Those were the days, eh? I bet you miss him. I know you must. I do, still, every day.’

Jacks looked over at her mum. She thought they might do exactly as Lynne Gilgeddy had suggested: have a nice cup of tea and split a tea cake.

Ida’s head was resting on her chest. ‘You okay, Mum? You don’t look too comfy.’

Jacks reached out to touch her mother’s cheek, worried that if she slept in that position, she’d wake with a crick in her neck. She pulled her hand back and yelped. Ida’s skin was cool to the touch and her face no longer wore a frown or the contortion of fear; instead, it seemed smooth, younger, rested. Her mum looked calm, peaceful, even happy, as though she had been set free.

‘Oh, Mum! Oh no!’ Jacks sank down on to her knees at the end of the Grand Pier and placed her head on Ida’s lap, gripping the soft blanket between her fists. ‘Don’t you leave me too, Mum. There’s so much we need to say to each other. Please, Mum, don’t leave me! I love you. I really do.’

For the next five days, Jacks felt like she was wading uphill through treacle. She was exhausted, every action stalled by her grief, meaning she got nowhere fast.

The house was eerily quiet. She trod the stairs and put the clean laundry on the kids’ beds, then stood outside her mum’s bedroom. She hesitated as she turned the handle. The room needed airing; it still smelt of her mum and all her old-lady ailments.

Jacks flung open the window and studied the framed photos on the windowsill, snapshots of a life now done. Sinking down on to the candlewick bedspread, she ran her fingers over the undulating lines of the pattern, stumbling across the bald patch where her childhood fingers had plucked the cotton bare. Fresh tears sprang as another mouthful of guilt slipped down her throat. The times she had snapped in frustration at her mum were at the front of her mind, along with the look of fear on Ida’s face as she had wheeled her to the edge of Avon Gorge.

‘Oh, Mum, I am so sorry. I was just tired.’ She ran her hand over her eyes, removing it to stare at the stack of nappies and baby wipes that were piled on top of the dresser. She considered the fact that she’d never again have to carry another one of those soiled nappies down the stairs or have to shower her mum in the early hours. Her shoulders sagged with relief, which fuelled the next mouthful of guilt.

Pete knocked on the door as he entered. ‘Can I come in?’

‘You’re already in,’ Jacks mumbled from her mum’s bed, where she now lay face down, her face buried in the pillow.

‘Cooksleys just called to see if you’d had any more thoughts about the music.’

‘Anything’ll do – it doesn’t really matter.’

‘It can’t be
anything
, Jacks. Let’s have a think about what your mum would have wanted, songs that meant something to her. What’s that one she liked…?’ He snapped his fingers. ‘You know the one – she used to smile when it came on.’ Pete tapped the doorframe, as though the annoying rhythm might help his thought process. ‘I can’t think what it’s called. It’d come on the radio and she’d smile and nod a bit.’

Jacks lifted her head and stared at her husband. ‘You mean “Happy”, the Pharrell Williams song?’

‘Is that what it’s called?’ He hummed the tune.

Jacks sat up. ‘You want them to play Pharrell Williams’ “Happy” at my mother’s funeral?’

‘Well, I can tell by your tone that it’s a no, but at least we’re talking about it.’ He smiled.

Jacks felt a small smile form on her lips too, more out of habit than any real cheeriness. ‘I don’t want to leave this room and I don’t want to see anyone. I just want to stay here, where she was.’

‘That’s okay, love, you don’t have to. The kids are fine. There’s nothing that needs doing. You can sit up here for as long as you like.’

‘Are you sure Jonty’s all right?’

‘Yes, he’s fine. After more cuddles than usual, but that’s to be expected.’

‘I feel empty,’ she whispered. ‘Like I’m hungry. But not just that, like I’ve been hollowed out.’

‘You’re in shock. It will get easier, I promise.’

She looked at her husband. ‘After Dad died, I concentrated on looking after Mum. It took up all my time. I was so busy that I didn’t have time to really think about losing him. But also, while she was here, it was as if he was too, in a way. One half of my mum and dad – does that make sense?’

Pete nodded and sat on the side of the bed. ‘Yes, it does.’

‘And now they’ve both gone and I feel lost. I’m an orphan, Pete, and even though I’m grown up, that thought makes me so sad.’

‘You’re not alone, Jacks. You’ve got us and we’re not going anywhere. And you’re right, you did give your mum all your time, but now we can have some time together, like we used to. And not only will we have more time, but you’ll be less tired, so the time we do get together will be better.’

‘I suppose so.’ She nodded.

‘I was happy to have Ida here, you know that, and you made things the best they could be, but she didn’t really have a life. It can’t have been great for her. She didn’t know what was going on most of the time.’

‘I know that, but what about me? What about my life? I miss her! I wanted my mum and dad around me for as long as possible.’

Pete gave a short laugh. ‘I know, but that’s not how it works, is it?’

‘No. It’s not.’ Jacks sank back down on the pillow.

The two sat in silence for some minutes.

‘What about the song she and your dad danced to at our wedding? Your dad brought it along, the old smoothie – what was that one?’

Jacks smiled and pictured her parents waltzing cheek to cheek. ‘It was Nat King Cole, “Unforgettable”. He loved it.’

‘How about I tell them to play that?’ Pete coaxed. The funeral parlour needed an answer.

Jacks nodded and slipped further down the mattress, burying her head and closing her eyes.

30

Thirteen Years Earlier

Jacks switched on the radio and hummed along to Kylie’s ‘Can’t Get You Out of My Head’ as she wiped the work surface for the fourth time and refilled and boiled the kettle. She put her hair into a ponytail and took it down again, irritated.

‘What time did you get up, missus?’ Pete asked from the hallway.

‘Five.’ Jacks wrinkled her nose.

‘What are you like? It’s going to be fine. Don’t forget, if she sees you in a tizz, she’ll know something is up and she’ll get jittery. We have to keep calm, remember?’

‘I do remember, but I can’t say I’m finding it easy.’

‘I’ll take her. I’ve told the lads I’ll be in late. You’ll only blub and it will throw her off balance. I can keep my cool and make it a great adventure, okay?’

‘Well, let’s both go, but I’ll stay in the car. Deal?’ She wasn’t about to miss out on this monumental moment.

‘Deal.’

Pete walked over and took his wife into his arms, holding her tightly and kissing her forehead then her nose before progressing to her mouth. She kissed him back eagerly, enjoying the flood of desire that raced through her veins. Pulling away suddenly, she giggled. ‘This is not the time or the place, Pete! We’ve got too much going on this morning.’

He growled at his wife as he reached for her waist. ‘I only need five minutes. Four, even…’

She slapped his hand away and tutted playfully. ‘Make yourself useful and get her shoes and bag ready.’

‘I hope it doesn’t rain today. Wouldn’t it be terrible if I got sent home and had to spend the afternoon holed up in here with you, under the duvet.’

‘What’s got into you?’ She laughed as she handed him a mug of tea. ‘One spoonful of bromide or two, sir?’

‘For God’s sake, don’t call me sir, you’re making it worse!’

‘Perv.’ She threw the tea towel at him.

They heard their daughter tread the stairs and both stopped to stare at her as she stood in the doorway, her long hair mussed and her Little Mermaid pyjamas all crumpled. Jacks felt her bottom lip tremble and turned her attention to making the porridge.

An hour later, Pete pulled the van into the lay-by and cut the engine. Martha sat up front between her parents, her little legs swinging back and forth in her new shoes and her hair pulled into two neat bunches. Her royal-blue cardigan was too big and it was the first time she had worn a tie.

‘You look so grown-up, baby. I’m so proud of you!’ Jacks kissed her face. ‘Have a great day and don’t forget to remember every detail and tell me all about it! See you later!’

She reached over, lifted her daughter down to the pavement and handed her to Pete, who was in position on the kerb. She watched him walk Martha to the school’s front gate, then slid down, making sure she was out of sight, and felt in her bag for a tissue.

Martha gripped her dad’s hand. ‘I’m scared, Daddy,’ she whispered.

He bent low until their faces were level. ‘What? Are you kidding me? My girl, who jumps in the deep end without armbands, who has got rid of her stabilisers? What could you possibly be scared of?’ He kissed her little nose.

‘I’m scared I won’t know where to go.’ She looked down at her shiny new shoes.

‘Then you just ask someone. And you won’t be on your own, there are lots of people starting school today.’ He swallowed the lump in his throat.

‘My tummy’s a bit flippy.’ Her voice was small.

‘So’s mine,’ he confessed.

‘Will you miss me today?’ She gazed up at him forlornly.

Pete took a deep breath as the tears rolled down his cheeks. He struggled to get his words out. ‘I… I miss you every minute that I’m not with you, Miss Martha. Every minute, every d… day.’ He felt a reassuring hand on his shoulder and turned to see Jacks smiling at him.

Martha looked up at her mum. ‘Look after my daddy today. He’s going to miss me!’

She leant forward on tiptoes and kissed his cheek, before turning and skipping across the playground and into school, as if she had done it a million times before.

Pete stood and fought to regain his composure as his wife rubbed his back and walked him back to the van. ‘There, there,’ she cooed. ‘It’ll soon be home time.’

31

A fine rain fell on the June day as Gina stood with Jacks’ cousin under the covered walkway by the door to the crematorium and ushered people inside. Jacks was at that moment standing outside the house on Sunnyside Road admiring the shiny black hearse that would take Ida on her final journey. She looked at the beautiful flowers that graced the top of her mum’s coffin and the wreaths and bouquets that sat around it. It was a riot of colour – Ida would have been very chuffed. Many of the neighbours had drawn their curtains as a mark of respect for the family that had lived on Sunnyside for the last nineteen years.

Pete came out and stood in front of his wife. ‘How you feeling?’

Jacks shrugged as she buttoned the black mackintosh up to her neck and adjusted the black-and-white chiffon scarf that she had tied in a bow at her throat. ‘Bit numb really. My head’s too messed up for me to feel sad – does that make sense?’

‘Yep.’

‘I haven’t even cried, Pete, not really. I mean the odd tear yes, but not proper crying, because it doesn’t feel real.’

‘I know, love.’

‘It was different when Dad died. Because he was ill, I knew it was going to happen. I was waiting for it almost. But I didn’t think my mum would die. I know that sounds stupid, but I just didn’t consider it, I thought she’d get ill or just gradually go downhill, but I thought it would be slow and not for ages. I didn’t think she would go just like that.’ She shook her head and looked once again at the coffin.

‘We’ll just get through the service and then the wake,’ Pete said. ‘And then we’ll come back and hunker down. We’ll shut the world out and you can sleep and rest without interruption, okay?’

Jacks nodded.
Okay.

‘So sorry, Jackie, really am.’ Mrs Dodds, their old neighbour from Addicott Road, hovered in front of her.

‘Thank you.’ Jacks nodded. She looked around the small crowd that had gathered in the front bar of the Grand Atlantic and searched for Pete. He was bending down, chatting to Jonty, who looked a little lost but otherwise fine.

‘She was a good age, mind,’ Mrs Dodds continued, through the mouthful of crisps she had grabbed from one of the plates of food that had been laid out on the bar.

‘Yes, she was.’ Jacks nodded again, as though on automatic pilot. There were only so many different words she could summon to respond to the same regrets and condolences offered in muted tones as distant relatives, friends and neighbours showered her with puff-pastry crumbs from the sausage rolls or breathed sherry fumes in her direction.

The door of the bar opened and in walked Martha, with Gideon by her side. Jacks noted the swivel-eyed stares of the mourners, all of them looking at her and Martha and wondering for a heartbeat whether there would be any more dramas in the Davies clan.

Jacks reached out and pulled her daughter towards her. They stood in a hug. Finally Martha pulled away. ‘I brought Gideon.’

‘So I see.’ Jacks glanced at the boy over her shoulder. He had clearly made an effort. He’d put his long hair into a ponytail and was wearing a white shirt and black tie with his jeans.

‘Sorry about your mum.’

‘Thank you, Gideon.’ Her tone was formal; it was almost automatic when she addressed him.

‘When my nan died, it didn’t feel real. Not for years. She practically brought me up after my mum and dad split up and I kept going to call her. I really wanted to see her, every day. It was horrible. Still is, really.’