Congratulations on your new home! We hope you’re both really happy there.
Love Mum and Dad xxx
8
It takes me another two days to ring my mum.
‘Did the parcel arrive?’ she asks, screeching panic.
‘It did. Thanks Mum.’
‘I’m not cramping your style, am I?’
‘No, Mum. I’m not fourteen.’
I’m waiting for the bus home from school after staying behind with Si to compare audition notes from Monday. A handful of pupils meander to the bus stop, either from detention or athletics training. Traffic is bumper-to-bumper on this road, horns honking up by the William Hill. It’s either a seven-minute bus ride (without traffic) or a twenty-five-minute walk. I know, I got lucky landing a job in Lewisham so close to Jack’s flat, relieving me of the dreaded commute.
Lucky.
I think I’ll walk.
‘Been busy then? How’s the new job going?’
‘Yeah, it’s okay.’
‘You don’t like it, do you?’
‘It’s fine.’
‘I’ve never liked my job, Chloe. But that’s life. You just get on with it.’
She works for the Inland Revenue and loves it. Always taking charge of the collection for office birthdays.
‘Chloe, I just saw Pam Gillespie in Matalan. She hasn’t half aged, my God. Told me about how her Jason’s living in Canada now. Remember him? From school? Wouldn’t say boo to a goose, would he? And now he’s living in Canada. God knows what he’s doing there – I didn’t pry. Told her you’re a fully qualified teacher and she thinks that’s marvellous. Told her how you’re living down in London now and she said, “Oh isn’t that fantastic!” She wondered if you’ve been to see The Lion King yet? I told her I wasn’t sure. Have you?’
I take a short cut through a residential street, although it’s not quiet. A woman pushing a pram is dragging a screaming toddler along and a group of workmen are taking a raucous cigarette break outside a grand terraced house top-to-toe in scaffolding.
‘Mum, I need to tell you something,’ I say. ‘Something … sad.’
‘Oh no,’ she starts, and I know she’s taken the landline phone in her hands to sit down on the bottom stair, bracing herself. ‘Oh, God. Please, don’t tell me. Oh no. What is it?’
‘Jack.’ I clear my throat. ‘Died.’
‘What?’ she asks, as if she’s part deaf.
‘Don’t make me say it again, Mum.’
‘He died?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Ah,’ she sighs. Then she repeats this sound in various tones and pitches.
‘Mum? Are you okay?’
‘Ah, love. Ah, I can’t believe it. I’m shocked, I’m really, really shocked. I mean, I thought you were going to say that he left you, or that you had cancer or something. I never expected this, Chloe love. Ah. What was it? Was it suicide?’
‘No, Mum – I’d rather not discuss the det—’
‘Drink driving? Did he have a problem that you weren’t aware of, you know, because let’s face it, you hardly knew the lad, did you?’
‘Mum!’
‘Or was he ill? Oh, God. Had he been ill this whole time and not told you?’
‘Mum, it was an accident. Simple as that.’
‘Oh, love. Oh, Chloe love. My heart breaks for you, it does. It really does.’ She sounds like she’s in pain, her voice thin, sliding along ice. ‘Just devastating, isn’t it? His poor mother, oh she must be in pieces. And you thought this was it, didn’t you? Our Kit said as much, said you thought you’d found The One. And after all these years, there’s me thinking you never believed in The One—’
‘Mum, please don’t cry.’
‘We never even met him, Chloe.’
‘I know.’
‘Oh, my God, who will you bring to our Kit’s wedding now? You can’t come on your own.’
‘Yeah. God forbid.’
‘I mean, you’re thirty-six, Chloe. I thought you’d—’
‘Mum, I know what you thought.’
‘Don’t snap at me, love. I’m very upset for you, I am. I really am.’
‘I’m gonna be fine,’ I say, convincingly, although not at all convinced.
She sighs loudly down the phone. I come to the end of the residential street and walk along the main road, passing a pub, a pharmacy, a florist, another pub. She’s still sighing, I think; a fire engine’s siren is drowning her out.
Once it passes, I realise she’s talking to someone, not me, relaying this new information about Jack in a loud whisper, as if I can’t hear her.
‘Is Dad home from work?’ I ask.
‘What’s that, Chloe love?’
‘I can hear you talking to Dad.’
‘Oh, no. Your dad’s still out; had to take someone all the way to Manchester today. Carol’s here. Her daughter’s pregnant again, you know. What’s that, Carol? Oh, a girl? She’s having a girl, is she? Ah, one of each. Oh, isn’t that just perfect. I bet you’re over the moon, Carol. Did you hear that, Chloe?’
‘That’s nice, Mum.’
‘Yeah. It’s nice to hear nice things at a time like this …’
I can picture her sitting on the stairs, catching a glimpse of herself in the hall mirror and using her fingertips to create a temporary facelift.
‘You sure you’re alright, Mum?’
‘I’m fine, love. I am. I just thank God that you barely knew the lad. Thank. God. He really does work in mysterious ways, doesn’t He?’
‘This wasn’t an act of God, Mum.’
‘Oh, Chloe. Imagine if you’d been with Jack for years. Imagine if you were married, had children. This would be an absolute tragedy. Christmas doesn’t seem like five minutes ago and you didn’t even know he was walking on God’s green earth. You were still knocking about with that fella you went to youth theatre with.’
‘Mum, this is a tragedy.’
‘Yes. I know. It is for all who knew him, but Chloe my love, you didn’t. I mean, you never really know someone until you’ve lived with them.’
‘I DO live with Jack. DID live with him.’
‘Oh, love. Your suitcase isn’t even unpacked yet.’
‘How do you know?!’
‘Because I know you!’
I want to hang up, but I know better than to hang up on my mum. I did that once. Twenty years ago, from a phone box outside Central Station in Liverpool. I can’t even begin to explain the guilt ingrained within me that’s lingered ever since, all stemming from her deep hurt at being hung up on by her own flesh and blood. For a whole week, she laid the table for three instead of four, refusing to feed me. My dad took pity once and saved me half of his cottage pie, but I survived the rest of the week on cereal, going to the chippy on my way home from sixth form or eating at Beth’s, although her family was experimenting with vegetarianism in the nineties. My taste buds weren’t accustomed to couscous and hummus back then.
‘Hold on a sec, Chloe … What was that, Carol?’