The Mummyfesto (44 page)

Sam was lying next to him. Her red curls lacking their usual bounce, the dark shadows under her eyes telling a different story to the smile she managed. She got up slowly and came over to us. I held out my arms and hugged her, feeling her chest expanding and contracting. Anna put her arm around her shoulder, rubbing her hand up and down her arm.

‘Why don’t I lie with Oscar for a bit while you catch up with your friends?’ the woman who had shown us in suggested.

Sam nodded. ‘He’s due the cough machine and suctioning in about fifteen minutes,’ she said.

‘It’s OK,’ the woman replied with a smile. ‘We won’t forget.’

Sam turned back to us. ‘Can we go outside? I haven’t been outside for a while.’

‘We can go anywhere you want,’ I said. ‘Only we’re providing the refreshments.’ I opened my bag to show her the stash of chocolate I had brought with me.

‘I’ll get the coffees in,’ said Anna.

I followed Sam back down the corridor to a glass door which led to a small outside courtyard with several bench seats. It was a nice evening, unusually mild for a Yorkshire April. I watched her look up at the sky, drinking in the sunshine as if she were solar-powered and needed its energy to keep going. She sat herself down on the bench. I sat
one side of her, Anna followed us out with the coffees and sat down on the other side.

‘You were right,’ I said to Sam. ‘About this place, I mean.’

Sam nodded. ‘I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else right now. They know exactly what to do, what to say. I knew they would. I’ve seen them do it so many times with other people. Although I guess it’s only when it’s you that you really appreciate and understand what a difference it makes.’

‘How’s Zach?’ I asked.

‘Better than I thought he’d be. They’re taking such good care of him. He’s been getting counselling and everything. But not in an obvious way that would scare him off. They do everything they can to prepare them.’

‘How’s Rob bearing up?’ asked Anna.

‘Difficult to say. He’s got so much ground to make up. All those years he wouldn’t really accept what had happened. What the future might hold.’

‘They’ll help him here, though, won’t they?’ said Anna.

‘Yeah,’ she replied. ‘He has at least admitted to me that I was right – that this is the best place to be.’

‘And what about you?’ I asked. ‘How are you doing?’

Sam looked up at the sky again. Her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

‘I’m mad as hell,’ she said, ‘because there is so much I wanted Oscar to do. So many places I wanted to take him. So many things I wanted him to experience. I used to think it was a bit weird, you know when we had families with children with life-limiting illnesses who traipsed
halfway around the world so they could say their kid had been to Disneyland. But I understand now. Not about Disneyland, maybe, but about that need to show them new things before they go. Oscar’s never been to Scotland. I wanted to take him on the ferry over to Mull. To the place where
Balamory
was filmed. He would have loved that. Or to Cornwall. He’s never even seen a bloody lighthouse. How can you die without seeing a lighthouse? That’s not right, is it? It can’t be right.’

I pulled her in towards me, but she wasn’t ready to cry just yet.

‘And the other thing,’ she went on. ‘The other thing which really pisses me off is these God bods who go around saying that everything happens for a reason. That God has chosen him for an angel and all that crap. He’s going to die because he has an incurable disease that means he can’t fight pneumonia. Not because God’s one short on the nativity play for fuck’s sake. And if anyone so much as suggests putting angel wings on his obituary notice I’m going to hit them. I really am.’

The tears came this time. Fast and furious. Anna and I sandwiched her between us, supporting her body as it shook and heaved, taking it in turns to stroke back the damp hair from her face.

‘Sorry,’ sniffed Sam finally.

‘Don’t be daft,’ said Anna. ‘This is good, you know. Letting it all out. This is exactly why we came.’

Sam looked up at us, her eyes rimmed with red. ‘I can’t stop wanting to fight it. That’s what I do. I fight things I
don’t agree with, things that I think are wrong. And yet somehow I’m supposed to accept this. And accept that there is absolutely nothing I can do about it.’

‘But you are doing something,’ said Anna. ‘You’re making things the best they can possibly be for your family in the circumstances. You’ve brought them here, surrounded by everything they need and you’re going to be there for them all through this whole horrible time.’

‘It’s not enough, though,’ said Sam. ‘I want to do so much more. A couple of weeks ago we were planning a revolution. We were going to make life better for millions of families. Now I can’t even make my own son better. The best I can do is to sit next to him and hold his hand while he dies. I feel so weak, so pathetic. So utterly helpless.’

We held her some more. Cried some more. Tried but probably failed to say the right things. All the time knowing that we were getting nearer and nearer to the point we were dreading. The point where we were going to have to say goodbye to Oscar.

Sam came in with us. I told her not to. I didn’t want her to have to witness it, but she insisted. She lay back down on the water bed next to Oscar. I took his hand in mine, already feeling the tugging and tearing inside me.

‘I love you little boy,’ I whispered to him. ‘You are the funniest, most gorgeous, cheekiest little chap I’ve ever known. And Alice thinks so too. We all do. And you’ve got the most brilliant mummy in the world too. But you already know that, don’t you?’

I let go of his hand after one final squeeze and turned
so he wouldn’t see my tears. Sam saw them, though. I wiped my eyes, annoyed with myself for not being stronger. Because whatever it was I was feeling was only a tiny fraction of the pain she must be going through. I kissed her on the cheek and gave her a huge hug.

‘If you need to talk,’ I said, ‘any time, day or night, just call me, OK?’

She nodded. I walked from the room without daring to look back.

I waited for Anna outside the hospice. It was a long time before she came. When she did do, her face was ashen. Her gait a little unsteady. We walked silently to her car and got in.

‘Have you withdrawn yet?’ I asked her. ‘From the election.’

She looked at me and shook her head.

‘Good,’ I said. ‘Neither have I.’

‘When can I go to Daddy’s new flat?’ asked Esme, for the hundredth time as she bounced up and down in the kitchen. It was ironic really. All that time I’d stayed with David for the sake of the children and when we did finally split up, far from being bothered about him leaving she seemed to be positively fizzing at the idea of there being another home for her to wreck.

‘Just a few minutes now and he’ll be here.’

David had got a room in a large three-storey town house five minutes walk from where we were. He’d emailed me with the details the day after he left. He was very efficient like that. Always had been. In a bizarre way I thought he’d probably be a much better ex-husband than he had been a husband. He was punctual, responsible, good at practical arrangements. He wouldn’t be the sort of ex who was forever cancelling plans and letting me down.

‘Why aren’t Charlotte and Will coming?’ asked Esme.

‘I told you, love, Charlotte’s busy with her homework and Will’s going to come and help me with the election campaign.’ I wasn’t lying to her. I was simply being economical with the truth about the fact that had they not been otherwise engaged they still wouldn’t have wanted to see him. Charlotte had sat quietly while I’d told her. She didn’t do angry or outspoken like Will, but in her own quiet, thoughtful way she’d clearly been appalled. She’d also made it very clear that she did not want to see her father. She’d come round. I was sure of that. She had my reasonable genes and was not one to bear a grudge. But she’d do it in her own time and when she did that would be fine by me. Will, on the other hand, was extremely unlikely to forgive and forget. I knew David was aware of that. Maybe that was why he’d left. Because he’d known Will would be capable of making his life a misery even if I wasn’t.

The doorbell rang. Esme shot out to the hall.

‘Daddy,’ she cried when I opened the door. David’s face went up two notches on the brightness control, no doubt relieved that at least one person in this house was still pleased to see him.

Our eyes met for a split second. He was the one who cracked and averted his gaze. I didn’t get any satisfaction out of his guilt. None whatsoever.

‘Best behaviour, remember,’ I said to Esme, kissing the top of her head. ‘She’s had her tea. If you could have her back by 7.45, please. Eight at the latest.’ David nodded.

‘Mummy’s going campaigning with Will,’ said Esme. David looked at me questioningly.

‘For Sam,’ I said. ‘We’re carrying on for Sam. Oscar’s at the hospice.’

‘Oh,’ said David, lowering his eyes.

‘They’ve got a lights-and-bubbles room there,’ said Esme. ‘I’d like to go sometime.’ I smiled and stroked her hair, not having the heart to tell her that it wasn’t somewhere you could pay £3.50 for the pleasure of being able to dive into a ballpond.

I waved goodbye and shut the door behind them. I stood with my back against it for a few moments trying to gather my thoughts. It was only then that I noticed Will looking down from the landing.

‘Has he gone?’ he asked.

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘He has.’

It felt strange being back on the campaign trail. So much had changed since the last time I’d been out electioneering. I was a different person. We all were. But as I walked down the road, gazing at the number of purple Lollipop Party posters in the window, the one thing which I did know was that I was glad to be back.

‘I can’t believe how many there still are,’ I said to Will.

‘Well they didn’t know you were going to pull out, did they?’

‘No, but I thought the whole thing at the hustings might have put people off.’

Will started laughing.

‘What?’ I said.

‘Mum, this is Hebden Bridge. People are hardly gonna decide not to vote for you because you rolled a few joints at uni, are they? Not when some of them have got cannabis plantations in their backyards. It’s probably boosted your popularity, given you a bit of street cred.’

I smiled. Every politician should have a teenage boy as a special adviser. They were very skilled at cutting through the crap.

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘You are officially my campaign manager. Although I’m not sure I should be pleased at getting a popularity boost through revelations about my drug-taking.’

‘And mine,’ he said. ‘That probably got the youth vote out for you.’

‘Will!’

‘Only joking,’ he said. ‘Anyway. I haven’t touched the stuff since. Just so you know. I haven’t even been to the park.’

‘Good.’

‘Actually, I’m going round Sol’s place tomorrow, after school.’

‘Are you? That’s great, love. I’m really pleased.’

‘His parents have told him to cool it with Katie a bit, until the exams are over, like.’

‘So he’s going to muck about with you instead?’ I said smiling. ‘I don’t suppose that’s exactly what his parents had in mind.’

‘We won’t be mucking about. We’re working on the duologue thing for our drama exam.’

‘Oh,’ I said, not wanting to make my surprise too obvious, ‘that’s great. Good for you. Jackie told me how brilliant your performance was, by the way. In the bullying thing. Thank you. I know it meant a lot to Charlotte. It meant a lot to me, too.’

Will shrugged. ‘Jackie reckons if I knuckle down to it I could get As. And if I want to get into drama college, that’s what they’re going to be looking for.’

‘Right,’ I said. He had never mentioned drama college before. I suspected Jackie had been chipping away at him. ‘Well it sounds like a good plan to me.’

Will stopped walking for a moment. ‘Look, I know I screwed up. But I also know that if that photo hadn’t been published I would probably have screwed up even worse. In a weird way, they did me a favour.’

‘In the old days,’ I said, ‘it was called a kick up the arse.’

Will grinned. ‘Yeah. Something like that, I guess. Anyway, we’d better get these leaflets out. If you want to kick some ass, that is.’

I smiled as Will took a pile of leaflets from his rucksack.

He looked at me. ‘You never really wanted to pull out, did you?’ he asked.

‘No,’ I replied. ‘I didn’t. I was just trying to keep everyone happy.’

‘Trying to keep Dad happy, you mean.’

‘Not just that. I was worried about the media, about
what they could do to you and Charlotte and Esme. I still am, to be honest.’

Will shrugged. ‘I guess it’s down to us not to do stupid stuff. If we don’t do stupid stuff they can’t have a go at you.’

I shook my head. ‘So some day I’m going to have to credit the tabloid press with keeping my children on the straight and narrow.’

Will smiled. He put a leaflet through the next letterbox and looked at me. ‘I’m glad you’re not pulling out,’ he said. ‘I’m dead proud of you. We all are.’