Sweet Temptation (24 page)

I took the pot of ashes from my bag and carefully unscrewed the lid. ‘Who wants a bit of her, then?’ I asked.

Ben and Emma were wide-eyed as they peered in at the ashes. ‘What do we do with it?’ Ben asked uncertainly.

‘This,’ I said, and scooped out a handful of the powdery dust. I threw it into the air and watched as it was carried away by the wind. ‘Goodbye, Mum,’ I said under my breath.

‘May I?’ Gerald said, eyes moist. He reached into the pot for a handful, then let the wind blow the ashes from his palm. ‘Farewell, beautiful Anna, rest in peace,’ he said throatily, gazing heavenwards.

Emma didn’t look at all sure about it but took some of the ashes and sprinkled them into the air. ‘Bye-bye, Granny,’ I heard her whisper. ‘I really loved you. I miss you.’

Ben plunged his hand in next and twirled around and around, sending the ashes flying out in all directions. ‘Goodbye, Granny, I hope you’re bossing Jesus around,’ he shouted.

Paul looked horrified, but the idea made me laugh. I set the pot down on the ground, then took more of the ashes and ran across the top of the hill, throwing them wildly above my head. ‘Thank you, Mum,’ I called into the wind. ‘Thank you for everything.’

I put off going round to Mum’s house for a few days. Emma was starting big school – I really had to stop calling it that – and I felt almost as keenly anxious about this as she did. Work had given me two weeks’ compassionate leave and sent a lovely card, which made me cry, and I had so far managed to fill my time with all the pre-term faff – buying new PE kit and uniform, sewing on about a million name tags, queuing for ages to get both kids new shoes in Clarks, and locating book bags, water bottles and lunch boxes after six weeks of not needing them.

However, when I returned from the school run on Monday morning, the house felt empty and silent, and I was suddenly consumed by the urge to go to Mum’s just in case I could still breathe in the scent of her anywhere. I drove round and let myself in calmly enough, but when it came to actually being in her hall, surrounded by all her things, with the terrible knowledge that she’d never be there again, I fell to my knees on the floor and wailed like a child.

There was her coat rack before me, and my eyes fell on the gorgeous Chanel coat with the four front pockets she’d adored, and I wept even more. She’d never wear it again now. And there was her fuchsia Hobbs jacket with the beautiful lining, the cream-coloured belted mac she loved from good old Marks & Spencer, oh, and the hats, too, of course – the black beret I’d always teased her about, the chunky blue woollen one she wore for gardening . . .

I got to my feet and pressed myself against the coats, gathering them into my arms, sobbing as I caught the unmistakable smell of her perfume, Rive Gauche. Oh God. How was I ever going to be able to sort through her belongings, bag up things for the charity shop, box up the most precious items to keep, clear the house and sell it . . . It seemed absolutely unthinkable. I wanted to leave everything just as it was, to preserve the building like a museum and keep it as my refuge, a place to come and mourn her, feel close to her.

I went upstairs to her bedroom and buried myself in her bedclothes, curling up there as I had done many evenings as a teenager if I couldn’t sleep or had something on my mind. This time, though, she wouldn’t come and comfort me or cuddle me to sleep. This time, it was just me under the covers, clutching her pillows and crying as if my heart was for ever broken.

Once again, the gym was a place of comfort. I had missed a few sessions, feeling too strung out and light-headed to do very much more than survive each day, and Mike had been quick to get on the phone.

‘Come on, Maddie, put those trainers on again, girl,’ he said. ‘We can take it nice and easy if you’re a bit fragile. I promise you’ll feel so much better afterwards . . .’

Mike was a hard person to say no to, I was discovering – he was very persuasive and knew which buttons to push with me. Which was why I found myself back in my gym kit, feeling bleary-eyed and lethargic, as I turned up for a session that afternoon.

He took one look at me and gave me a hug. ‘I was so sorry to hear the news, Maddie,’ he said, his muscular arms tight around me.

It gave me a jolt for a second, that hug. A peculiar feeling rushed through me as we stood there near the weights rack. Another man was holding me and it felt nice. Comforting. Safe. Also kind of . . .
interesting
. . .

I stepped out of his embrace, suddenly embarrassed. It had probably been like hugging a hot air balloon for him, I told myself. I was surprised he’d even been able to get his arms around my bulk. ‘Thanks,’ I said, not looking him in the eye. Then I was ashamed of myself. Ashamed that my thoughts had strayed from our usual gym manager-and-client relationship to a man-and-woman relationship.
Stupid cow
, I chastised myself. I was emotionally exhausted from grief and lack of sleep, and I was starting to think mad things.

‘So,’ he went on, looking slightly awkward himself now and shuffling one of his battered trainers around. I wondered if he felt he’d overstepped a line. ‘I was thinking we could try going for a brisk walk today instead of the usual routine. Get out in the fresh air and stride around the park together for a change. What do you reckon?’

I eyeballed him disbelievingly. ‘Just walking? You’re not going to try and make me do anything horrible like jogging, are you?’

He held up his hands, pretending to be shocked at my question. ‘Maddie Lawson! I never knew you could be so suspicious! What are you like?’

‘You’re not denying it,’ I pointed out, hands on my hips.

He laughed. ‘Come on, you,’ he said, hoicking a thumb towards the exit. ‘Let’s go.’

It was good to get outside, he was right. It was a lukewarm sort of day, cloudy with a slight breeze – perfect for a walk. We went out of the gym and along a quiet residential street. Birds sang. The occasional car purred by. Cats basked in warm front gardens and watched us through sleepy slit eyes. I was a bit too breathless for a long, in-depth conversation as we strode along, but we managed to exchange chit-chat about the weather, the new series of
The X Factor
, that sort of thing. Nothing too deep and meaningful, just banal stuff. Exactly what I needed – and all I was capable of, more to the point.

We’d walked for . . . ooh, at
least
five minutes before he clapped his hands together and grinned. ‘Right – now we’re warmed up, let’s get started on the workout,’ he said.

I pulled a face. ‘I thought this
was
the workout?’

He laughed. ‘Nice try, Maddie,’ he said. ‘Let’s go just a little bit faster. Halfway between a walk and a run. Like this.’

He broke into a jog and I felt my good mood collapse as his feet slapped the pavement. ‘That’s jogging!’ I shouted petulantly after him. I felt as if he’d cheated me somehow, tricked me into this.

‘Come on,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Keep up.’

He was so bossy. So infuriatingly bossy. It reminded me of . . . Oh, no. Now I’d ruined everything by thinking of Mum and how she’d always bossed me around like this. And then – oh, the embarrassment! – I was crying, right there in the middle of the street, tears streaming out of me as if they’d just been waiting for the chance to escape.

Mike jogged back to me and put a hand tentatively on my shoulder. ‘Oh, Maddie,’ he said, his voice thick with concern. ‘Oh, Maddie, I’m sorry, love. I shouldn’t have pushed you. Not so soon.’

I couldn’t manage a reply. I was incoherent with the missing-her feeling that had swamped me once more. And then his arms were around me as I stood there sobbing, overwhelmed by my grief. He held me and stroked my hair and made little shush-shush noises of comfort. ‘Let it all out,’ he said. ‘Let it go.’

Let it all out? We would be there until next week, I felt like wailing. There was so much sadness banked up inside me that I couldn’t see it ever fully making its way out.

Still, life had to go on, eh? That’s what people kept saying, that was the message I kept getting. Down at the primary school, the mums had all been lovely and kind, with even bitchy Vanessa Gray managing a respectful nod of sympathy in my direction, but after a week I was old news, usurped by Caroline Thompson’s fifth pregnancy and Lisa Jackson’s marriage split. I was chip papers now, yesterday’s headline story.

It was the same with work. The first day I went back in, the rest of the team treated me as if I were made of bone china, as if I might shatter if they so much as looked at me the wrong way, but by the third day I was expected to do my job properly, muck in and pull my weight as ever. ‘Have you updated your diet blog yet?’ Andy wanted to know. ‘We’ve had lots of people enquiring after you.’

‘Can we have a brainstorming meeting later?’ Becky asked, looking tired. ‘We’re running thin on ideas this week.’

COFFEE PLS, AM PARCHED IN HERE
, Collette emailed. At least I got a ‘please’ for once, I thought, rising miserably from my seat to tend to Her Majesty’s requirements.

Even Paul and the kids seemed to want me to snap out of my mourning period as soon as possible. They were back to their usual selves, Paul singing cheerfully in the shower again, the kids playing loud bouncy pop music in their bedrooms as if they hadn’t a care in the world. I felt I was dragging them down with my sadness, tarnishing them with it as if it were infectious, and tried my hardest to behave normally, putting tea on the table, asking about everyone’s day, helping with homework and ironing shirts. It felt as if I were acting the whole time, though, pretending to be a wife and a mum. My heart wasn’t really in it.

The FatBuster girls, Lauren and Jess, were lovely to me. Jess had come to the funeral and sought me out for a hug, and Lauren had sent me a really nice card via the radio station. I was still plugging away with the diet, crunching away on celery sticks and carrots like Bugs Bunny and cooking my low-fat dinners. To my amazement, I’d lost another half-stone by mid-September, though I was convinced that most of that was dehydration due to constant crying. Still, it meant I could buy myself another charm for my bracelet – I wasn’t about to argue the toss over
that.
I’d choose an extra beautiful one, I vowed, to remind me of Mum.

When I’d been back at work for a whole week, it was time for the Make Birmingham Beautiful campaign roundup.

‘Remember, girls, keep it professional,’ Collette said as Becky and I went into the studio. ‘Let’s keep it short, sweet and to the point. Okay? Let’s do it. Welcome back, everyone,’ she said as the Leona Lewis track ended, skipping smoothly into presenter mode. ‘I know you’ve all been waiting for this – it’s time for the latest instalment of our Make Birmingham Beautiful campaign! Now, this is the final week of our campaign, so let’s just see how far we’ve come, shall we? Thousands of you have emailed or phoned us with your own self-improvements, and I’ve got to say that, when I walked around town last Saturday, I was convinced that you Brummies were all looking even more gorgeous than ever.’ She chuckled huskily, without her expression actually changing. She was such a faker. ‘And while I’d like to take some of the credit for that, I think you guys out there listening deserve all the praise.’

I glanced at Becky, who did a tiny eye-roll. Collette didn’t half make a meal of her intros.

‘We’ve had people start healthy eating plans, and loads of you are taking up new sports around the city, including a whole posse of listeners who are training for the half-marathon next month,’ she went on. ‘We’re fitter, we’re happier, we’re healthier . . . and that’s just the Brum FM staff! So if you haven’t already written in with your beautifying story, do drop us a line and let us know. In the meantime, let’s hear from the Brum FM team – our very own Becky, Andy and Maddie. This time around, Becky and I tried out a fabulous new day spa in town, Andy’s been training with the Villa boys over at Bodymoor Heath, and Maddie . . . well, good old Maddie has been fat-busting away and is looking fabulous as a result.’ She winked at me, but I felt numb.
Whatever
, I thought. I couldn’t help feeling miffed that I’d been left out of the spa experience, just when I could do with some pampering as well. They probably didn’t want Maddie the misery along, I thought glumly as Becky started talking about her seaweed wrap and rejuvenating facial.

Andy was next with a funny report about how he’d barely been able to get out of bed the morning after his day’s football training, and how he was regretfully going to have to knock his Wembley dreams on the head now, at the ripe old age of forty-six.

Then it was my turn. I didn’t feel remotely prepared, even though I’d assured Becky earlier that morning that, yes, I would be fine to talk on air.

‘And finally, Maddie,’ Collette said warily, as if remembering my outburst last time. ‘How’s the fat-busting been going?’

I took a deep breath. Calm, professional and factual. That was what I wanted to be. ‘The fat-busting is going brilliantly,’ I managed to say. ‘I’m keeping up with my gym attendance and I’ve stuck to my diet. I’ve lost one and a half stone so far, and feel really proud of myself.’

Collette opened her mouth as if she was about to cut me off, but I didn’t give her the chance. ‘My mum died a few weeks ago,’ I went on baldly, avoiding Collette’s gaze. ‘I can’t tell you how hard it’s been – how hard it still is. But one good thing that has come out of her pain and my grief is the motivation to get as healthy and fit as I can. I don’t want my own children to lose me any earlier than they have to.’

I could see Collette gesturing something or other, but I ignored her. ‘I used to have really low self-esteem, you know,’ I said, getting into my stride now. ‘I used to feel bad about myself, think I wasn’t worth very much. But getting fitter is changing all that for the better. Sure, I’m not a catwalk model or a pin-up girl and I never will be. I’m still not confident enough to go around in a cropped top, and I doubt they make skinny jeans in a size eighteen. But that’s not the point. The point is that, despite all the sadness I feel about my mum and the huge gap she’s left in my life . . .’ My voice started to crack and I needed another deep breath to keep myself on track. ‘Despite all that sorrow, for the first time since I can remember, I can honestly say I feel good about myself inside. And that, people, is worth every bit of hard work in the gym, I can tell you.’