8
The Daughter-in-Law
‘Leo, will you stop running about and put your socks on please?’
I breathe a sigh as Leo crashes into the end of his bed and tumbles to the floor, expecting tears, but he picks himself up and runs back out of the room. I hear Felix cry ‘Oi!’ as Leo no doubt gets under his feet. He comes out of our bedroom, his tie half done.
‘Can you control your bloody child?’ he says, his face pinched, and my mouth opens to protest that Leo isn’t just my child, but I stop myself in time. It’s the day of his father’s funeral, and his temper is even shorter than usual. Best not to get into it.
I get up from my place on the floor, shaking out the trousers I was turning up for my child, and go to find him. He’s in the bathroom, calmly brushing his teeth as if he hadn’t just been zipping around the house like a wild thing. I place a hand on his head, relishing the feel of his soft curls beneath my fingertips, and smile. He’s so young, too young to go to a funeral, but Felix has insisted. I can only hope he’s tired himself out enough this morning so he behaves later.
Back in his bedroom, I get Leo dressed and leave him playing with some cars. Felix is still struggling with his tie as I step up behind him.
‘Here,’ I say, holding out my hands, and he turns to let me do it. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘How do you think?’ he snaps, before blowing out a breath. ‘I hate funerals.’
‘It’ll be over before you know it,’ I murmur, gently tightening his tie. ‘And then we can move on.’
I take a step back and smile, glancing up at his face. He’s looking at me strangely, as if I’ve grown another head.
‘You really didn’t like him, did you?’ he says, his voice full of something I can’t quite identify. But I suppose he wouldn’t understand. He doesn’t know what went on between his father and me. Nobody does.
I get dressed quickly, wriggling into a pair of black leggings and pulling a plain black dress over the top. I don’t have many dark clothes, preferring to dress in bright but smart office attire, but I’ve had this dress for years. It’s a bit tight, but it’ll do. I try not to remember the last time I wore it as I slip into black flats and turn to the mirror to brush out my hair and run the straightener over it again before I catch myself. I should leave it curly, stop trying to tame my hair. Stop trying to tame myself.
Leo comes in as I’m applying mascara and knocks into my elbow, so it smudges against the side of my nose.
‘Whoops!’ I say, reaching for a tissue, and Leo giggles. He throws himself onto my bed and pretends to be a starfish.
‘Mummy,’ he says as I pick up a light pink lipstick, the only splash of colour I’m allowed today. Of course Richard would insist on black tie for his funeral. Even in death, he’s still a pretentious, controlling git.
‘Yes, sweetie?’ I murmur, blotting my lips with tissue.
‘Where will Grandad go?’
I look at my son in the mirror, taking in his screwed-up face as he stares up at the ceiling, his arms and legs still flung out.
‘What do you mean?’
‘After.’
Oh. We haven’t had the death conversation yet. He’s not even four, and the only dead things he’s seen are on the beach. I apply another coat of lipstick to my bottom lip and press them together, trying to gather my thoughts. Fiona would want me to tell him about God, some nonsense about how his grandfather is in heaven with the angels. But I won’t lie to him. That’s one thing I promised myself when I found out I was pregnant; I will never lie to my child, about anything. Except his other grandfather, the shadow side of his family that he will never know. For that I am making an exception, for now anyway.
‘Well,’ I say, twisting round to face him. ‘I don’t know, sweetie. No one does, not really. Some people believe that you go to another place when you die, called heaven.’ I consider bringing in hell, then decide against it. Too complicated. ‘And others believe that you don’t go anywhere.’
‘What do you believe?’
‘I’m not sure,’ I say carefully. ‘I think I believe that part of a person stays when they die, that they’re always with us, in one way or another.’ I mentally grimace at my words, hoping that no part of Richard is with us any longer.
Leo’s little face is so earnest as he considers my answer that it makes my heart ache. ‘But Mummy,’ he says after a moment, ‘I don’t want Grandad to still be here.’
My heartbeat pulses in my ears as his words echo my own thoughts. ‘Why not?’
‘Nanny said bad people go to hell,’ he says, sitting up and fixing me with his gaze. ‘And Grandad was bad, wasn’t he?’
‘Lexi!’ Fiona’s voice calling up the stairs makes me jump. ‘Time to go!’
Leo leaps off the bed and takes off down the hall while I try to calm my thudding heart. Grandad was bad. Was he? Had Richard mistreated my son in some way? Anger pulses through me and I try to push it down, taking a deep breath in through my nose. This isn’t the time, and Leo is just a child. Children say all kinds of things. But of all people, I knew what Richard was capable of, and I feel something smouldering inside me as I finish getting ready.
Gravel crunches outside and I turn to see the funeral cars pulling into the drive. Wreaths that spell out DAD and RICHARD sit in the windows of the hearse, his body laid between them in his overpriced coffin. Picking up my jacket, I leave the bedroom and make my way down the stairs, where Felix is wrestling Leo into his smart shoes.
‘They pinch!’ he protests, but his father ignores him.
‘It’s only for a little while,’ I say, running one of his curls through my fingers. ‘I’ll bring your trainers for later, all right?’
He nods, his face relaxing, and he lets Felix finish putting his shoes on for him, the laces too tight on his little feet.
Felix steps back and looks at me, nodding once in a way that says you’ll do, before turning to grab his coat. Fiona glides out of the kitchen on three-inch heels, a fascinator with a black veil half-covering her eyes. Her lips are red, as are her nails, and she clutches a small black bag that I know cost more than a month’s wage for many. She looks every inch the grieving widow. It suits her. This was the role she was always supposed to play.
‘Ready?’ Felix asks her, holding out an arm. His mother wordlessly slips a hand through the crook of his elbow, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulders, as I reach out to take Leo’s hand. ‘Let’s go then.’ Felix squares his shoulders and opens the front door, and we step out into the wintry sunshine.
9
The Daughter
I wake to weak sunlight filtering through the crooked blinds, and the smell of coffee coming from the living area. Fleur pads into the bedroom, her toes flashing pink against the pale floorboards, two steaming mugs in her hands.
‘What time is it?’ I ask, pulling myself up and sitting against the headboard. I slept poorly last night; the tiny cottage was too cold, a thermostat nowhere in sight, and the pizza we ate for dinner sat heavily in my stomach as I tossed and turned. I gave up eventually, sitting up in an armchair for a while, trying and failing to read my book, my mind constantly returning to my father, to the memories I have tried to run from.