Never Close Your Eyes (64 page)

It was the weekend and Becca wandered around Newcastle city centre in a daze. So much had changed. She hardly recognised the old riverside, now connected to Gateshead quayside by the flashy Millennium Bridge. And she found it hard to take in all the smart new shops and wine bars.

As well as wonder, she felt a keen sense of loss. It didn't feel like
her
city, the one that she'd once known and loved. It's true that as a child she'd thought her shoe box on the council estate a dump; she couldn't wait to get out. But the city centre she'd always found beautiful and majestic, magical almost.

Now, however, it was an entirely different place, full of smart-looking cosmopolitan types in suits and shiny shoes bustling to and from their posh offices. The place didn't feel cold or bleak any more. She realised, with surprise, that she missed the
grimness
.

They climbed the steps of Castle Keep, built by Henry II, in the oldest, most historic part of the city and looked out over the River Tyne, the cathedral and Newcastle Central Station. They took the children to Blackfriars, the remains of a thirteenth-century priory, and wandered down the Bigg Market.

Becca was relieved that although the shops had changed, this street at least still felt the same. She half expected to see Jude walk by with a gang of raucous girls, wearing nothing but a tiny dress and high heels even in the depths of winter. Jude used to go there most Friday nights, but not Becca. She was too young. She wouldn't have got served.

When they reached Eldon Square, she realised that Alice was tugging on her sleeve: ‘I'm hungry.'

Becca's skin pricked with irritation. Was that all Alice could think about: her stomach? She checked herself. Alice had no idea how important this trip was for her mother. Why would she? Becca and Tom had told both children very little.

‘We'll have lunch soon,' she promised. ‘What do you fancy eating?'

‘Pizza!' Alice and James chorused.

‘All right,' Becca said, ‘why don't you look out for a Pizza Express? There's bound to be one here somewhere.'

After lunch, they headed back to the car park. Becca's heart had started to thump. Funnily enough she could remember the exact address of Gary's mother, June – she knew that she hadn't moved because Gary had told her. But Becca had no idea how to get there any more, so she'd bought a map.

She didn't know if Gary had mentioned to June that he'd seen her, but she had a feeling that he wouldn't have. Becca planned to make up a story about being the daughter of a friend of her mother's family and try to get her own mother's address that way.

There was every chance that June would work out who she was – and then, of course, there was the possibility that she might go to the press. But it was a risk that Becca was prepared to take. Her mother could be anywhere in the country; the quickest way of tracking her down was through June. She needed to find Mam and speak to her. She knew now that it was the only way she could ever find peace.

‘I'd like to go to the cemetery first,' Becca said once they were in the car. She found West Road on the map.

‘Ooh,' said Alice, ‘will there be ghosts?'

Becca turned around and looked in the back. Alice's blond wavy hair was loose and her big blue eyes were very wide.

James made a scary face. ‘Wooo, wooo!'

Alice started to cry.

‘Stop it, James,' Becca scolded. She looked at Alice. ‘No, darling, there won't be any ghosts, just gravestones. And you can put a little bunch of flowers there for my sister – your aunt.'

‘How did she die again?' James asked.

Becca swallowed. ‘I told you, it was a tragic accident. I'll explain more when you're older.'

She turned back to the front, relieved that he seemed to have accepted her explanation – for the time being at least. He was too young to hear the truth. They were right by the car-park exit now. Tom put the ticket in the slot and the metal barrier swung open.

‘Left here,' she commanded. ‘Then we need to go right at the roundabout. It shouldn't take long.'

There was plenty of parking space at the crematorium.

Tom looked at Becca carefully. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?'

She nodded. She was quite surprised by how easily they found the gravestone. Alice and James thought that it was great fun to dodge among the little paths, looking for the name. ‘What did you say she was called?' ‘How do you spell it again?'

It was James who spotted it. ‘Here it is!' he called delightedly. Becca felt her heart start to race. She ran to his side and read the name quickly: Judith Jane Mackey. It was her all right. She felt giddy, unstable, and widened her legs to steady herself.

Tom approached and gently pulled Alice and James back: ‘Let Mummy look first.' He knew that Becca needed a few moments to herself.

She knelt down and examined the stone first, before the writing. The plaque was quite small and square, made of black granite, and looked surprisingly new. There was a built-in vase for flowers on the side but it was empty. Becca had a little bunch of red roses in her hand – they'd stopped at a florist on the way – but she wouldn't put them in just yet.

She read the inscription slowly, reverentially, silently mouthing the words:

Treasured Memories of Judith Jane Mackey.

Died 18th May 1978 aged 15 years.

For ever in our hearts.

At the bottom of the tablet was a short poem:

Memory is a golden chain

That binds us till we meet again.

Becca felt a painful tugging in her chest. Had Mam chosen the poem, corny as it was, out of hundreds of possible verses because it offered a crumb of hope? Or perhaps she was too shocked and grief-stricken to be able to think straight.

Maybe friends and neighbours had done it for her. She wasn't a religious woman, so it was surprising in a way that she'd wanted something that suggested an afterlife. There again, didn't most people turn to God – whether they believed in Him or not – in times of misery? Becca laid the flowers at her feet and put her hands over her eyes.

‘Why is Mummy crying?' she heard Alice ask, but the words only half registered. Tom whispered something that she couldn't understand.

She squatted there for several minutes, listening to the silence, before opening her eyes.

‘I'm sorry, Jude,' she murmured. ‘Really I am. I wish I could turn back the clock. I wish I hadn't been so angry, so full of hate. I wish I was the one that died, not you. I hope you're at peace, now, wherever you are.'

A little gust of warm wind brushed against her face, like a sigh. She laid the back of her hand against her cheek. She kissed the roses and arranged them in the vase, which was half-filled with rainwater. Then she got up.

She turned and smiled. ‘Your turn now, James and Alice. You can put your flowers in the vase with mine if you like.'

James stepped forward. ‘I'd rather put them by the stone,' he said firmly. ‘I think yours should be the only ones in the vase.'

‘Me too,' Alice copied, coming out from behind her father's leg.

They laid their posies side by side on the grass in front of the plaque.

Becca turned to Tom. ‘We can go now.'

‘Are you sure?' He started: ‘Look!'

At first she didn't know what he meant. He was pointing. She turned around and followed his finger with her eyes. When they fell on the place where he wanted her to look, she gasped: ‘No!'

How had she missed it? There, right beside Jude's grave, on another stone in big bold letters was the truth:

Maureen Elizabeth Mackey

Born 4th February 1938

Died 11th April 1989

Rest in Peace

Becca stared. She couldn't take it in. Mam was dead. She'd been dead for twenty years.

All this time Becca had been wondering what she felt, whether to try to get in touch, fretting about what she'd say if she did. But it had been pointless, wasted emotion, because Mam had no feelings at all, she didn't care. She was just dust and ashes.

Becca thought back: she would have left university and started her first job when it happened. Why did no one tell her? Not the probation officers, not anyone? She wondered how Mam had died, whether she'd thought of Becca in her last moments. Had she cried out for her – or just for Jude? Becca felt a fool for never considering even for a second that she might be gone.

Grief washed over her, threatening to break her body into little pieces. She felt herself stagger; the world started to spin and the ground seemed to crumble beneath her.

‘Becca!' Tom caught her as she fell. ‘Sit down . . . put your head between your knees . . . you'll be all right.'

She heard his words but he seemed to be speaking another language. What did it all mean? He was forcing her head between her knees, pushing down firmly. She heard Alice crying.

‘I'm OK,' Becca kept repeating, ‘I'm OK.' But she didn't mean it. She'd never see Mam again, speak to her again. She'd never get the chance to prove to her that she was different now, that she'd changed, made something of herself. She'd never be able to make her proud.

She looked up. Alice was right beside her, a look of confusion on her face. ‘What's the matter, Mummy?'

Becca tried to sit up. She felt peculiar and shaky but she must be strong – for Alice, for them all. ‘I've just found out that my mummy's dead,' she tried to explain. ‘I didn't know. It's made me very sad.'

Alice plonked herself firmly on Becca's lap and put her arms around her neck. ‘Don't worry,' she said. She sounded like a wise old woman, a hundred years old. ‘You've got us – me and James and Daddy. We'll look after you.'

Becca hugged her daughter tight, burying her tear-stained face in Alice's baby-soft hair. ‘I know, darling,' she said, ‘I've got you and I'm so, so lucky.'

Tom and Becca held a child's hand each as they walked slowly back to the car park. The sky had clouded over and it was starting to feel chilly.

Tom stopped by the car and looked at Becca. ‘You can't go on beating yourself up,' he said steadily. ‘You've said you're sorry. There's nothing more you can do except live your life as well as you can. Raise your children to the best of your ability. Be kind.

‘Your mother could have got in touch before she died but she didn't. That was her choice. It's between her and her maker now. I couldn't imagine either of us behaving like that with Alice or James, but I guess she came from a harder, less forgiving era.'

He was right. Becca could picture Mam now: her tough, careworn expression; the deep lines carved into her face by years of boozing, chain-smoking, being slapped about by various boyfriends; the cheap clothes; the hands rough and calloused from being constantly in and out of water, cleaning other people's houses – rich women's houses.

She'd had no one to support her, no therapists to help her come to terms with what had happened, no decent education to broaden her mind, no Mr Carr to teach her the power of reasoning and to enable her to see things in the round.

Mam had viewed the world in black and white; there were no shades of grey. Becca's dad had walked out on them just after Becca was born, so he was bad; Becca had killed Jude, so Becca was wicked, never mind the circumstances, the excuses. She'd ruined Mam's life and that was that.

In truth, Mam had never had much time for Becca anyway; she'd not had a lot of love to give. They'd all been surrounded by violence but the difference was, Becca had got out. Maybe Mam blamed her for the fact that her dad had walked. Jude's dad – who was a different man – had also scarpered, but maybe Mam preferred him, ergo she preferred Jude. Who knew, now, how her brain had worked?

‘Let's go home now,' Tom said, ‘to London.'

Becca was surprised. ‘What, now? What about our bags? And it'll be so late by the time we arrive.'

‘It doesn't matter,' Tom replied firmly. ‘We'll grab our bags from the hotel, settle the bill and head off straightaway. We've seen all we need to.'

The children were virtually silent as they pounded along the motorway, heading south. Alice fell asleep for a couple of hours but James just sat there, listening to the radio and staring out of the window. Becca didn't think she'd ever known Tom drive so fast, but he was steady and focused. She wasn't afraid.

At last, when they were just outside London, James spoke. ‘Mum? Do you miss your sister?'

‘Yes.'

‘Were you very sad when she died?'

‘Yes.'

‘Did you like her – when you were a little girl, I mean?'

Becca paused while she thought about this. ‘I loved her,' she said at last, ‘but I'm afraid that I didn't like her. We were very different.'

‘You didn't like your own sister?' He'd never heard such a thing. He was astounded. Becca was glad.

‘It happens sometimes,' she said quietly. ‘But thank goodness you and Alice are good friends. I think that'll be my greatest achievement' – she said this more to herself than to him – ‘if you and Alice grow up to be good friends.'

James pondered for a moment – Becca knew quite well what he was up to – but in the end he decided not to make a facet-ious remark.

‘Will you go to her grave again?' he piped up.

‘I think so,' said Becca. So many questions.

‘Did it make you feel better – going, I mean?'

Becca wiped away a tear and blew her nose. She turned to look at James in the back. It was dark outside but she could still make out his familiar features.