One Moment, One Morning

  ‘I’m off,’ Anna tells Steve, keen to get out of the house before she explodes at him.

  ‘Oh, right.’ He is surprised. ‘I thought the funeral wasn’t till half eleven.’

  ‘It’s not. I fancy a walk. But you need to hurry up, or you’ll be late for Karen.’

  ‘Sure, sure.’

  ‘In fact, you ought to ring her, check when she’s leaving, in case she needs to put the keys somewhere for you.’ Here she goes again, sorting out his mess: if he had not got drunk the night before, he wouldn’t have overslept, wouldn’t be so slow and bleary now.

  It is bad enough that is he not coming to the funeral with her – she is privately very hurt about that; but if he lets Karen down too, she won’t be able to control her fury, and it’s not the moment to lose her temper.

  Steve says cautiously, ‘I haven’t got her number.’

  ‘Christ!’ Anna snatches her mobile from her bag. ‘I’ll ring her. You’re useless.’ She marches to the front door, yanks it open.

  ‘Where are you going to tell her to leave the keys?’ he cowers.

  ‘I don’t pissing know. Under a pot or something. Look for them!’ She stops herself: it’s actually important to Karen that Steve is able to fulfil his pledge to take care of the food. She presses speed dial and while she waits for Karen to answer, says, ‘Sorting keys for you is the last thing she needs an hour before her husband’s funeral.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘No, you’re not!’ she snaps. ‘If you were really sorry, you’d stop getting drunk the whole fucking time!’

  ‘I can’t stop,’ he says, quietly.

  * * *

  ‘I suppose we’d better get going shortly,’ says Vic.

  ‘So soon?’ asks Lou, disappointed: she doesn’t have to leave for over an hour to get to her mother’s.

  ‘I’ve heaps to do,’ Vic sighs. ‘It’s not just that the flat is a tip; I need to get booze in, and food.’

  ‘Right.’ Lou can’t help but feel a little miffed that Vic’s disorganization will curtail her time with Sofia. She’s also conscious of Vic’s presence. How can she and Sofia arrange to see one another again, or even swap numbers, with Vic sitting there? Vic is her oldest friend, but nevertheless Lou is shy about it.

  Just then, Vic demonstrates genuine sensitivity. ‘I’m going onto the roof terrace, I need to make a couple of phone calls before we go,’ she says.

  Lou wants to hug her. That’s why she is my friend, she reminds herself. For all her bluster, self-centredness and lack of tact, Vic has Lou’s best interests, and happiness, at heart.

  * * *

  Jesus, who’s ringing me now? thinks Karen, snatching up the phone. Oh, it’s Anna.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Anna opens without preamble. ‘It’s just I suddenly thought – you’re probably about to go, so Steve will need you to leave keys.’

  ‘OK . . .’ says Karen, catching up. She had not thought about that one – she’d assumed he’d be round any minute. Stupid of me, she thinks. Since when has Steve ever been reliable?

  There’s no time to make her exasperation explicit, however, and anyway, this is not top of her concerns. She’s finding it hard to keep Molly and Luke focused – they are both restless and need to go and do something, not sit and watch telly, which is how she is trying to occupy them. And her mother is due any minute – she’s called to say she has made good time through customs, and will come to the house to drop off her case first.

  ‘I’ll put them under the box tree pot by the door,’ she says.

  ‘Great, thanks.’ There is a moment’s pause. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Frantic.’

  ‘Do you need me to do anything?’

  Karen considers for a second. At once she feels a surge of gratitude. She would not have got through the last week without her friend, yet she has barely given a thought to the fact that Anna has lost someone dear to her too. Steve won’t have been much support, either; she could place a bet on that. Anna will be largely shouldering her grief alone. Karen’s voice softens. ‘No, no. I don’t. We’ll see you at the church. But thank you so much for asking.’

  * * *

  Vic has no sooner pulled the door to the roof terrace to behind her when Sofia says, ‘Do you have a busy week next week?’

  ‘Quite. Though I think I’m free a couple of evenings. Why?’

  Sofia plunges straight in. ‘Would you like to go out, then?’

  Lou nods. ‘That would be nice. I work Monday to Thursday in town, if you’d prefer to meet up there.’

  ‘How about Thursday? Then you won’t have to worry about getting up the next day.’

  Well I never, thinks Lou. Either she is being very considerate, or she is planning on us having a late night. Either is good, though she would prefer the latter. The very idea makes her flustered and excited. She can’t believe how swiftly this is falling into place.

  ‘How about coming round for supper?’ says Sofia, as if she has sensed Lou’s desire to be somewhere seduction will be easy. ‘I’ll cook for you.’

  ‘That would be lovely,’ says Lou. Inside she’s turning somersaults and cartwheels and head-over-heels all at once.

  ‘Do you have email? I’ll send you directions.’

  ‘Of course. Hang on a minute – let me give you my card.’ This is good too: maybe they can chat more online between now and Thursday.

  She is hunting for her purse when Vic comes back into the room. ‘That’s me sorted. Well then, Sofia, I guess we’d better get on our way.’

  Five minutes later, Lou wishes Vic a happy birthday for the next day, then they are gone. Initially Lou is in something of a daze, she is so affected by Sofia. She allows herself to enjoy it for a while. Then she remembers, with a sudden pang of guilt: Anna. Perhaps now would be a good time to call.

  ‘Hi,’ Anna answers. ‘Thanks for ringing me.’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Sorry for texting so late last night. I hope I didn’t disturb you.’

  ‘No, I was in the pub, I didn’t hear it. Is everything OK?’

  ‘Well—’ Anna snorts. ‘Hardly. I’m on my way to Simon’s funeral.’

  ‘God, I’m sorry.’ Lou comes back to earth with a thump – how could she have forgotten? ‘Do you want me to call you later?’

  ‘Actually, it’s not a bad moment to talk. I’ve a bit of a walk to the church and I’m ahead of schedule. Otherwise I won’t get to speak to you till tomorrow at the earliest, and I was kind of wanting your advice – um – quite soon.’

  ‘Of course. How can I help?’

  Anna takes a deep breath. ‘It’s – er – my boyfriend, Steve.’

  Lou suspected as much: she’s had such a strong sense of Anna holding something back that it had to involve someone major in her life. ‘Oh?’

  ‘He’s drinking too much.’

  Lou waits.

  ‘Actually, more than too much. I think he’s an alcoholic.’

  ‘Ah.’ Lou’s heart reaches out to her. If ever she has experienced an almost insurmountable issue in her line of work, addiction to alcohol seems to be it. Haven’t events with Jim tragically underlined that? And the repercussions on the nearest and dearest tend to be profound – they invariably get the brunt of it. But telling Anna this won’t help her at this point, so instead Lou asks, ‘Is he not with you now?’

  ‘No. He offered to help with the food, so he’s going to Karen’s. He’s missing the funeral.’

  Sounds like emotional evasion, thinks Lou, that’s typical addictive behaviour. But she keeps her opinion to herself.

  * * *

  The doorbell rings. Karen runs to answer it.

  ‘Darling,’ says her mother, holding out her arms. ‘My poor darling.’

  ‘Hi, Mum.’ Karen returns the hug swiftly, then breaks free, remembering. ‘Hang on—’ She reaches for the spare keys on the hall table and slides them under the pot by the door. ‘Sorry, just worried I might forget.’

  ‘It’s OK. Now,??
? – her mother grasps one of her hands – ‘stop.’ She stands away to look at her.

  Karen exhales, closes her eyes with exhaustion, leans against the wall for support.

  ‘Come here again,’ her mother orders, and pulls Karen to her. Just as when Steve hugged her, the physical contact makes Karen cry. Yet her mother’s embrace feels different; far from reminding her of Simon, it reverberates back decades. She inhales her mother’s familiar scent – the Rive Gauche she has worn since Karen was a girl – and clutches her mother’s lambswool cardigan tight in her palms. It is soft and comforting. Their relationship might have changed in recent years; her mother needs caring for more now, she moves more slowly than she did, she has shrunk a little, too – yet she is still Karen’s mother, her rock.

  For the first time since Simon died, Karen feels safe.

  * * *

  ‘I don’t know what to do,’ confesses Anna. ‘I’ve tried everything.’

  ‘It’s not up to you to do anything,’ Lou points out gently.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It’s his problem, not yours, if he’s drinking too much.’

  ‘I know, but—’

  Lou cuts her short. ‘I hope you don’t mind my being honest, but I’ve worked with quite a few addicts, so I have some idea of what you may be going through.’

  ‘I thought you might have, that’s why I wanted to talk to you.’

  ‘The temptation can be to think you can cure him.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But I’m afraid you can’t.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘He has to do it for himself.’

  Anna is silent. Her head feels so full she can barely see straight. Simon’s funeral is in less than an hour, and although she’s said it’s a good time, now she and Lou are talking, the subject is more than she can cope with. She can feel her mind shutting down, blocking things off. Even the motion of walking seems separated from her, her feet miles below her. It is as if she is heading through mist, everything looks so foggy. ‘No, you’re probably right,’ she says, but her voice sounds distant; it could be someone else who is speaking. Then, suddenly – ‘Oh, I’m sorry, hang on—’ she rushes for the gutter.

  She is violently sick.

  It is mainly coffee; she has barely eaten. She is hot and clammy, shaking all over.

  A few seconds later she hears a muffled voice. ‘Anna? Anna?’ It is Lou, still on the phone.

  Anna picks her mobile up from the pavement where it has fallen, her hands trembling. ‘Yes, yes, I’m sorry.’

  ‘I think you should find somewhere to sit down.’

  ‘Right, yes.’ Anna sways over to a low garden wall nearby. ‘Found somewhere.’

  ‘You OK?’

  She laughs at herself. ‘Um, I think so.’

  ‘Were you just sick?’

  ‘Mm.’

  ‘That’s not good,’ says Lou. ‘Do you want me to come and meet you?’

  ‘Oh, no, don’t worry.’

  ‘It’s fine – I could do. I’m going to my mother’s but I could be a bit late. And I wouldn’t stay, I could just see you were all right—’

  ‘Honestly, no, I couldn’t ask that of you.’

  ‘Yes, you could.’ Lou doesn’t pause for her to argue, ‘I’m going to. In fact, I’ll come with you to the funeral. I think you could do with some support.’

  ‘No, no – you can’t do that.’

  ‘I can. You’ve no one to look after you. You need it. Give me a few minutes. I’ve just got to gather my stuff. Then I’ll jump in a cab and come to you. I can head off to Hertfordshire from there. Really, it’s fine. Um . . .’ Anna senses she is considering. ‘In fact, I’d quite like to come to the funeral anyway. Pay my respects. In a funny way, I feel I sort of knew Simon a bit, too.’

  Anna feels a bit better on hearing this: maybe she won’t be putting Lou out so much. ‘If you’re sure . . .’

  Lou has evidently decided. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘On a wall.’ Anna looks around her, helpless. The street is lined with trees, detached 1930s houses are set back from the pavement by generous front gardens; she is outside one such property now. She can’t see a sign anywhere. She feels just like she did when she was small and got separated from her parents at the village fete once: panic, fear and helplessness mingle. Her voice trembles. ‘I don’t know the name of the road.’

  ‘OK . . . Don’t move, but see if you can find a landmark.’

  Anna spies trees on the opposite side of the street ahead of her. ‘Ah yes, I’m by the park between the Dials and the beach. I can see a bench. I could meet you there.’

  ‘I know where you mean. And where’s the funeral, and what time?’

  ‘At a church round the corner from here, at half eleven.’

  ‘That’s good, we’ve nearly three-quarters of an hour. What on earth were you doing leaving so early? It’s not that far from you, surely?’

  ‘I wanted to get away from Steve.’

  ‘I see. Well, it’s better, actually – it means you don’t have to rush. Take it slow.’

  ‘Thanks,’ says Anna. The fog is lifting: not fully, but slightly, so she can function. Having given in to being rescued, she is extremely grateful. Through the haze, she can see why Lou is such a good counsellor. ‘I’m going over to the gardens now.’

  ‘Stay talking to me. I don’t want you keeling over. What shall we chat about?’ Lou’s tone is light.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Anna doesn’t feel she can initiate anything.

  ‘Then I’m just going to talk to you. It won’t be scintillating, because you’re going to have to listen to me while I tell you what I’m going to pack, so I remember everything, but you’ll have to put up with me.’ She begins, ‘Toothbrush, toothpaste, shower gel, comb . . .’

  And although she isn’t really taking in what Lou is saying – there is no room for further information in her brain – the very ordinariness of the items she is listing calms Anna, giving her a distinct sense of solace.

  How tough to have a boyfriend who sounds such hard work, thinks Lou, as the taxi crawls through the traffic of central Brighton.

  Beside her is a hastily packed overnight bag. She checks her hair in the driver’s mirror; she looks a bit rumpled, but it could be worse, considering the time she got to bed and the rush just now. Right: next. She had best let her mother know her plans have changed.

  ‘Hi, Mum.’ She tries to keep her voice positive.

  ‘Hello, darling. You just setting off?’

  ‘Kind of. I’m really sorry, but I’m afraid I’m going to be a bit later than I said.’

  ‘Oh.’

  That pause laden with meaning, again: her mother is peeved. Yet Lou is damned if she’s going to be made to feel guilty: Anna’s is a genuine need, surely her mother will understand that. But as often happens, her mother’s aggrieved tone makes her defensive, less inclined to soften her words, or explain herself fully. ‘I’m going to a funeral,’ she says bluntly.

  ‘A funeral?’

  ‘It’s a long story, I’ll tell you when I see you.’

  ‘Who’s died?’

  ‘It’s no one I knew very well, a guy I met on the train.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Mum, I really can’t go into it now. It’s something that happened earlier this week.’

  ‘Ri-ight.’ She can detect confusion – and, she suspects, scepticism – in her mother’s voice. How dare she! Lou seethes. Why can’t she just trust my judgement? Realize I wouldn’t be doing this without a very good reason?

  ‘Look. I’m sorry. I know it’s important to you that I am there. I’ll be with you as soon as I can. The funeral’s in half an hour, I’m just staying for that, then getting a train. I’m not going to be very late, I promise. I should be there just a couple of hours after I said. That’s all. OK?’

  ‘Er, yes,’ says her mother. Lou can tell she is reeling from trying to keep up, but she doesn’t care.

  ‘Good. I’ll see
you then.’ And to make the point that she is annoyed, Lou cuts the connection without bidding her farewell.

  * * *

  Anna takes a seat and curls her legs up under her to try to relax.

  It is quite mild, for February, and the mist seems to be clearing – whether it is real or imaginary, she can’t tell. She is surrounded by crocuses: swathes of yellow and mauve adorn the patchy grass, their trumpet heads pointing optimistically upwards to the sky. They give off a faint smell too; she didn’t think they did, but in such hundreds she is aware of it: sweet, honeyed, and – what else? That’s it: saffron.

  Spring is here. In the few days that have passed since Simon’s death, the season has turned over.

  And here comes a taxi, edging slowly down the road; the driver must be looking for her.

  She gets to her feet, waves.

  ‘Sit down,’ Lou orders, the moment she has paid. She fishes in her rucksack. ‘I brought you some water.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  They sit without speaking on the bench, taking it in turns to sip. Their silence makes way for the sounds of recreation to be heard: children shouting, birds singing, dogs barking, owners calling them.

  ‘It’s beautiful here,’ says Lou, after a while. ‘I don’t really know this park. It’s quite a way from Kemptown so I’ve never had reason to come.’

  ‘It’s my favourite,’ says Anna. ‘It’s got so many different bits. There’s a rose garden there’ – she gestures one way – ‘with a big stretch of lawn that’s perfect for sunbathing. Up that hill, it’s woody, and people come with their dogs. All those leaves to tear through and squirrels to chase . . . And tucked behind is a magical enclosed garden, with a dovecote and giant tree; they do yoga classes in its shade in summer. And over there, you can see, it’s rather a good playground. Karen and Simon bring Molly and Luke a lot.’ She flinches. ‘Used to, I mean.’ She sighs. ‘Well, I’m sure Karen will still bring them, but—’