The Story of You (23 page)

Oh, God, I don’t think I’ll ever stop crying and I’ve hurt Joe so much. This morning, he asked me to marry him!! We were planting your tree in the woods – because today is the day you were due. And now, not only do I not have you, but I don’t have Joe, either.

The tree is a lovely oak tree that we can both visit whenever we want to remember you. We planted it, then Joe said he had something to ask me. He got down on one knee and he said that in spite of, and because of, what we’d been through, he still loved me. In fact, he loved me even more because he could see how strong I was and, even though we were still a bit young to get married, he wanted to get engaged and make a commitment. He said, we could have more babies, we could have a family together, later on.

I love him so much. The most awful thing is that if none of this had happened, I would have said yes in a heartbeat. I can’t imagine wanting children with anyone but Joe, but how could I marry him, knowing what I know? If I married him, I’d have to tell him everything, and how can I tell him that all the pain he has been through during the last few months might have been for nothing, because you might not even have been his? How can I tell him that I am not the strong person he thinks I am, that for the first few months, I desperately wished I wasn’t pregnant?!

Is that why you died? Why the universe decided I didn’t deserve you? Because I might not have wanted you for the first few weeks but when I felt you move and saw your face on the scan, you were MY baby then, and I wanted you so much. You were the light keeping me going.

One Monday evening, Joe called earlier than usual, around 6 p.m. I was in the car, just coming back from assessing a patient up at the hospital. He told me to call him when I got home. He hated me talking while I was driving. He never actually said that, but I knew.

I called him back. He was checking in on the AA list, in particular about progress with the ashes. I was grateful for the kick up the bum, to be honest. I’d made such a fuss about the ashes when I was in Kilterdale, but so much had happened since then, I couldn’t face bringing it up again with Dad and Denise. Denise would feel attacked and victimized. I’d feel guilty and resentful (and also a little bit attacked and victimized). Also, if I called them about the ashes, I’d have to tell them about the baby, and I wasn’t ready for that yet. Turned out I didn’t have to anyway, because Joe being Joe had gone over to Dad’s that morning, around 11 a.m., and asked about the ashes anyway. What he told me next, floored me.

‘I’m afraid they definitely don’t have them.’

‘What? What do you mean, they don’t have them?’

Worst-case scenario was now playing in my head: we’d never find them, we’d have lost all that’s left of Mum; mine and Denise’s relationship would be over forever, which means mine and Dad’s relationship would be over forever. It’s fragile, anyway. I couldn’t bear that.

‘Your dad looked really worried,’ said Joe. ‘I think he genuinely doesn’t know.’

How could he
not KNOW?

‘But that’s my mother we’re talking about. Dad’s wife, the woman he loved and adored, once.’ I leaned against the sink and actually started to cry a bit then. ‘I
bet
Denise has moved them. Or, Jesus, what if they’ve been nicked?’

‘Robyn, listen to me, calm down …’ Joe had started to do this every time I got stressy. He didn’t want my pulse to go above resting, in case it was bad for the baby (he’d never admit this but I knew that was what he was thinking). ‘We’ll find them. If I have to go over there and gag and bind Denise till she surrenders, we’ll get them.’ He paused, cleared his throat. ‘Also, I told them you were pregnant.’

‘
What?
’

‘I can explain.’

‘
Joe!
’

I wasn’t ready for them to know yet. It was different now I was solvent and out of my teens, but it would still come as shock, and it would be telling them all over again, like last time, and I wasn’t ready to remember all that, too; all the tears and the heartache and Dad being so disappointed.

‘What about your education?’ was all he’d kept saying. ‘Such a waste, Robyn. Your mother would have been so disappointed.’

That had cut like a knife.

‘She’d have handled it better than you! You would have thought life would be precious to you after losing Mum!’ I’d yelled, but really I was yelling at myself, trying to convince myself that life was precious, however it had come about. Now I just feel sorry I had to put him through that; he’d just lost his wife and then his teenage daughter was knocked up. It’s a miracle he didn’t drop down dead, too, of a heart attack.

On the other end of the line, Joe started rambling, nervously.

‘Rob, I’m sorry, but I wanted them to know how important it was that we got the ashes, that it was making you anxious. Also, it was on the list and I thought it might help with you focusing, you know, small achievements and all that, things going right for a change …’ His voice trailed off as he realized he might have overstepped the mark. Impulsiveness may be Joe’s worst trait. ‘Are you angry with me?’ he said, finally.

‘
No
,’ I said. Was I? I wasn’t sure. Mainly, I was incredulous my life had become this ridiculous in a matter of weeks, but I wasn’t angry, I was relieved. ‘How was it? I mean, what did they say?’ Yes, that was it. I was actually relieved.

Joe gave a little laugh, relaxed now I’d softened. ‘Well, it was hilarious, because Bruce answered the door and just said “Jo-seph,” like that, in a very stern voice, without looking at me, and then just stood aside to let me know it was okay to cross the threshold. Clearly, he still hadn’t forgiven me.’

I pictured the scene: Dad with chest puffed out like a partridge. Joe towering over him. Dad doing something ridiculous because he was nervous, like …

‘He lit up a cigar and offered me one. Then he offered me a whisky.’

‘Oh, God,’ I said. ‘Who does that at 11 a.m.?’

‘S’alright, I had one.’

‘What? You did not.’

‘I’m not passing up a cigar and a drink – plus, it served as a good ice-breaker because then I said, “Hey, Bruce, you know how I got your daughter pregnant at sixteen and you were
delighted
? Well, it’s happened again! Turns out, we only have to look at one another.”’

‘Oh, my God, tell me you didn’t.’

‘No, I didn’t! Wow, you really don’t know me any more, do you? Of course I bloody didn’t. I was very much the gent – I said it was unexpected but that, whatever happened …’

I wondered what this meant. ‘Whatever happened?’

‘Well, whether we were together or we weren’t,’ he said, ‘I’d step up, I’d be there. “I won’t shirk my responsibilities, Bruce,” I said.’ I stood in my kitchen and smiled down the phone then, because I was imagining us together. I was thinking,
Maybe?
I was trying to believe.

I was relieved the actual ‘telling my dad’ bit had been taken out of my hands, but there was still the very pressing issue of the ashes – all that remained of our mother, lost! I had to confront Denise. I had to ring her. She had to know what had happened to them. I was
suddenly terrified by the possibility that she hadn’t just hidden them, but lost them, or accidentally knocked them over while on one of her dusting odysseys and then hoovered them up in a panic. I’d never forgive her. I’d hate her. And I didn’t want to hate her, I didn’t have the energy.

Literally, just as I was about to pick up the phone, however, it rang.

‘Hello, Robyn, it’s Denise here. I’m calling about the ashes.’

It was so odd, it was like Mum made it happen.

‘Oh, right. Okay.’ The rant I’d planned went straight out of the window with the fear that she really was calling to confess, that this was the moment I learned our mother’s remains were in the Henry Hoover.

‘I think Leah has them,’ she said.

‘
Leah?
Why on earth would Leah have them?’ And then the penny dropped. Leah had gone up to Kilterdale before me – something that hardly ever happened, due to the longstanding tensions between her and Dad and Denise. She knew they were moving; she’d been strange on the phone when I’d asked her about them. She’d been avoiding my calls ever since. Of course Leah had them!

Denise gave a little cough. ‘You know I’m not Leah’s favourite person at the best of times, and we’d had a row that afternoon. Or rather, Leah had been quite rude to me.’

I didn’t say anything, I wanted to Denise to talk. Trying to get anything out of Dad or Leah was impossible, and any insight was good.

‘The usual sniping about how I’d railroaded your father into this …’

‘This?’

‘Oh, us being together.’

‘Oh, God.’ Was she really still going on about that, sixteen years later? Denise wasn’t exactly my favourite person either, but surely there came a time when you had to let it lie?

Denise said, ‘I think, I
know
, she took them because she didn’t want us to take them to our new house, she wanted her mum with her.’ I pictured Denise: all big hair and tight jeans and spidery lashes, speaking through pursed lips ‘And I understand that, Robyn.’

‘Ok
aay
,’ I said, tentatively.

‘Despite general opinion to the contrary, I’m not actually some kind of witch, you know?’

I was frozen in the middle of my kitchen. I had never in my life had this sort of conversation with my stepmother.

‘I know,’ I said. I didn’t have the foggiest what else to say. ‘Thank you for telling me about the ashes, Denise, it was thoughtful of you.’

‘That’s okay,’ she said. ‘Just, will you do me a favour? Don’t tell your dad I told you. Things are tense enough as it is between your sister, your dad and me, and I don’t want to look like I’m dobbing anyone in, or stirring things up. I told you because I knew not knowing where they were would be stressing you out, and I didn’t want you to be stressed in your condition.’ She paused. ‘When you’re pregnant.’

It was the first time she’d said the word and I started.

‘Thank you,’ I said.

‘Your father’s going to call you. He was upset you didn’t feel you could tell him yourself.’

I winced. Bloody Joe. I would have got round to it.

‘He’s very happy for you – concerned, but happy.’

There was a pause, while I tried to take all this in. ‘Really?’

‘Yes. He’s no ogre, either, you know?’ She laughed. ‘I don’t know sometimes, what you have him down as.’

Nor did I any more. Sometimes I felt like he’d sailed away from me the moment I got pregnant the first time around, because he just couldn’t handle it, like a boat floating away from the quayside.

Something went
ding
in the background.

‘Right, that’ll be my dishcloths boiled, I’d better go.’

The woman was certifiable but perhaps, no, not a witch.

‘Bye Denise,’ I managed.

I was about to hang up when she took a little breath, as if to say something. ‘Perhaps,’ she said, ‘if you could send us a picture of your scan?’

‘Definitely.’

‘Also, Robyn …?’ She hesitated.

‘It is going to be okay, you know. This time. It’s going to be fine.’

Dear Lily

I thought today might be hard, but I don’t think I had any idea how hard. It started out well – Beth totally lived up to her best friend status and had a whole day of distraction laid on for me. She never said – I think she’s worried about upsetting me – but she definitely knows what day it is today.

She booked for us to have our nails done this morning, then she treated me to lunch. We had to go into the pharmacy for something afterwards. I haven’t seen the woman who works in the pharmacy since I was pregnant, and she asked how old you were now and how you were doing. I wasn’t prepared at all, and just said, ‘She died,’ because I knew if I carried on talking, I’d start crying. But now I’m thinking it might have been better if I had, because the silence was awful and she was so mortified that I was the one who ended up feeling bad.

After that, we went back to the pub, for that fatal ‘one pint’. Perhaps if I’d gone home then, to sober up, I’d have been okay (I’m so mad at myself for not doing that, for not coming home and spending some time thinking about you rather than writing this letter now, which probably makes no sense because I’m pissed). Anyway, we stayed in the pub till 6 p.m., which meant that by the time we went to the rugby club for my cousin Nathan’s 21st, I was drunk AND emotional. The last time I saw Nathan was at Mum’s funeral, when I was also emotional. He must think I spend my life crying. All my family were there – Dad propping up the bar, in his new sheepskin, buying Denise an endless stream of Campari. I kept out of their way, until Dad came over and saw that I looked upset. It was then that I had to remind Dad what day it was. We had a chat and we cuddled. He was pissed but it was lovely, it was better than nothing. I’d forgotten that Nathan was friends with some of the Townies so Saul Butler was there. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since that night last year and not ideal, to say the least – but I was handling it. I was no way going to leave for him. But then Joe turned up, with a girl, and I haven’t been able to stop crying since.

I didn’t dare look at the girl and was just going to leave, but then Joe cornered me as I was queuing for the loo. He looked so handsome – which only made things worse – and then he was telling me he still loved me and that he missed me and he was trying to cuddle me, and wanting to talk, because of what day it was and everything. So then he was crying and I was crying and I could see this girl he’d come with out of the corner of my eye – she MUST have been able to see us. I just left.

When I got home, just now, there was a letter for me, which must have come in the post after I left this morning. It was a photograph of your tree and a note from Joe that said: Thinking of you both, especially today. Maybe one day, when you’re ready, we could meet here …

Denise reassuring me it was all going to be fine was probably the nicest thing she’d ever said to me in her life, and I wished I believed her but I didn’t. I was split in two: the sane me, who was excited about this new life growing inside me, who remembered what Mum had said in her letter, ‘You know how to enjoy life, Robyn, how to live with your cup half full …’; and the other, secret me, the evil twin, who believed that I didn’t deserve to be a mum, that it was my fault Lily had died, that the baby or I were fundamentally unviable. That it was going to happen again. The panic attacks were getting worse and I missed Mum like nothing else: I missed not being able to talk to her about the baby; I missed the future grandmother she’d never get to be. If I couldn’t give her that, then I needed to give her something, and it dawned on me that scattering her ashes was it. I needed to set her free.