Victoria jumped, in the way you might when you fall in a dream and are about to hit the floor or when you think there is one more step then there actually is. This, coupled with the fact that recognising the kind lady had taken a fraction of a second longer than it should. Her brain, fogged with shock, had quite forgotten where she was and why.
‘Nothing, thank you. I’m okay,’ she lied, sitting upright in the chair and looking at the rounded cream leather sofa where Daksha’s brothers and sister sat neatly in a row, all watching her as if she were some kind of spectacle.
‘You don’t look okay. You have had a very big shock, darling. Can I get you a cup of tea?’ the woman coaxed. Victoria realised it was easier to accept and put a stop to the questioning, which irritated, no matter how well intentioned.
Victoria nodded. ‘Thank you.’
‘You must stay here tonight, love. You must stay here for as long as you need. Don’t worry about a thing. Not a thing. Daksha’s dad is sorting everything out at the house and you can just stay here and try and get some sleep.’
Sorting what out? What happens now? Where is she? I feel like I should be with her . . .
‘I . . . I think I’d rather go home,’ she whispered, unable to bear the thought of Prim, or indeed Rosebank, abandoned. This thought was immediately followed by the sinking feeling that there was only her now to protect it and that she would live there alone.
I can’t do it! I can’t! I don’t want to!
Mrs Joshi shook her head, ‘No, no, not tonight. Tomorrow maybe, but tonight you need to be here with us, not alone. Let us look after you.’
The woman walked forward and kissed her fingertips, before placing them on Victoria’s cheek, something alien to her, not that she cared. She didn’t care about much. Numb. Cold. Confused, and only able to see the image of Prim’s face, her head tilted to one side, eyes staring . . .
‘Shall we go upstairs? You can sleep in with me.’ Daksha spoke softly.
Victoria stood and felt the three pairs of eyes follow her progress from the room as she silently trailed behind Daksha up the staircase of the pristine, modern house where ornaments were minimal, gadgetry excessive, art small and all surfaces painted white. It was a lovely family space and yet so very different to the homely clutter of Rosebank. She sat on the edge of the bed while Daksha pulled open a drawer and handed her a pair of pale pink cotton pyjamas. It was then that Victoria realised how cold she was; her teeth chattered and her skin goosebumped, despite the warmth of the summer night.
‘It’ll be okay, Vic. I promise.’ Daksha palmed circles on her back as she put the pyjamas on.
‘I don’t think it will.’ Her voice carried the croak of fatigue and sadness. ‘I really don’t think it will. Prim was all I had. She was . . . she was my whole family.’
Victoria saw a montage of images in her head, all of them placing her by Prim’s side: in the garden planting or in the kitchen cooking supper, nattering as they seasoned a sauce or pausing to listen to something of interest on the radio. ‘I love her. I love her so much. I have never had a day in my whole life that I haven’t seen her. I can’t imagine what that will be like.’
‘She was wonderful, your gran. One in a million, but she was old and—’
Victoria fired a look at her friend that stopped her mid-speech.
‘Don’t tell me how it was to be expected or that she had a good innings. Please don’t do that.’
Daksha nodded and pulled back the duvet, guiding her friend between the clean, crisp bed linen as if it were her who was elderly or infirm.
Victoria laid her head on the unfamiliar pillow and took comfort from the feel of her best friend, who spooned in behind her. Grateful for the silence, this was all she needed, the physical closeness, the feel of a heartbeat reassuring her that she was not alone even if she felt it. Even Daksha, who was trying her best, she knew, had no concept of what it might be like to be truly alone. For her friend to find herself in the same situation: six of her immediate family members would have to die, as well as countless cousins, aunts, uncles . . . and that was before she got to great-aunts, great-uncles and second and third cousins. Victoria had only had Prim and Grandpa, and then just Prim and now no one. It was a thought that left her feeling both hollow and afraid.
I don’t know what to do . . . I don’t know what to think . . . I didn’t think about this day, not really . . . I knew it would come, but I didn’t expect it, not yet . . .
Without the energy or inclination to engage, it seemed easier to feign sleep than to acknowledge Mrs Joshi, who crept into the room bearing the cup of tea Victoria had no intention of drinking. She listened, as Daksha began to softly cry.
‘Mummy! It’s so sad!’
‘Shh, don’t cry, baby. It is sad, but don’t cry.’
Victoria felt the mattress sag under Mrs Joshi’s weight as she sat by their feet.
‘I only saw her this afternoon.’ Daksha sniffed. ‘And she was the usual Prim: funny and absolutely fine. I can’t believe it.’
‘I know. I know. And one day, Victoria will take peace from the fact that this was her grandma’s end. How wonderful to live a long and happy life without the pain of illness or the slow erosion of disease. How many people would, if they could, choose to sit in their favourite chair on a sunny day and simply go to sleep? I shall tell you, lots of people, everyone!’
‘I guess, but she’s all the family Vic had. She was everything. She’s all alone now.’
‘Well, she is not alone. She has you and she has us. And she is strong and smart. She will be fine. Of course she will.’
Victoria closed her eyes tightly as Mrs Joshi left the room. Her words, no matter how well meant and assuredly spoken, provided scant comfort right now. She pictured her wedding day, with no one in the church from her side of the family, and she thought about who might now be her next of kin in an emergency – there was no one, no one. Who would help her make decisions about the future, fill out her new passport form and help pack for her travels? Who would she eat with at Christmas? Who would she call with good news or bad? And the very worst thing, who could she ask about her mum or Marcus? There was no one.
Prim! Her heart broke as again she pictured her slumped in the chair in the garden room. It was hard to feel anything, let alone gratitude for a life well lived. And she certainly didn’t feel strong or smart; in fact, she felt weak and stupid. How could she justify the fact that she had taken her time, sauntering home at her leisure and trying to catch the eye of some stupid boy while Prim . . . She again pictured her gran’s face, the subtle lilt to her spine and her hands dangling, fingers limp. Why had she not jumped in the car when a lift was offered? She would have been home in less than half the time and then there was the chance that Prim would not have had to face her final moments alone. It also might have given her the opportunity to tell her gran exactly what she meant to her. But instead she had been hovering outside a sports shop talking rubbish! Trying to make Flynn McNamara notice her. And it was this hard fact that sat at the back of her throat like a sharp stick. Daksha continued to cry quietly, and Victoria thought it odd how her own tears were strangely lacking.
Victoria wished she could cry, even screwing her eyes up in a crying pose to see if that might prompt tears. It was as if she knew how she was expected to mourn but was too stunned by the situation to let her emotions flow. This, and the fact that a small part of her ridiculously kept repeating that it didn’t seem real and therefore might not be true, there could have been a mistake . . . She was almost unable to think that she would never see her gran again. The facts, no matter what her eyes had witnessed, just would not gel.