A Thousand Tiny Disappointments, page 19
34
‘Right, the details are going up on the website tomorrow, and they want to stick up a board. I don’t have a problem with that, but if you can’t get down there, we may need to get a clearance company in?’
Martha was at work and, when her mobile rang, she’d been in the middle of writing an email about an outstanding payment to one of the suppliers. Her mind was miles away.
‘Martha, are you there? Talk to me, for God’s sake, I haven’t got much time this morning. Going into an acquisitions meeting in ten minutes.’
It was six days since the funeral and that horrendous afternoon in The Hamilton Hotel, when everyone had ended up screaming at each other. Six long days – and this was the first time she’d heard from her brother. She hadn’t expected an apology, but she had hoped he might make contact. Even the usual brief, impersonal text would have been welcome, because she couldn’t believe they would just leave things like this, with so much anger simmering between them. Whatever their differences, she and Patrick were siblings, and she’d always believed the blood ties which bound them together were stronger than the personal differences which threatened to tear them apart. But, during the days after the funeral, her phone had remained silent, and it was clear Patrick wasn’t going to be the one to end the stand-off.
‘I think I ought to call him,’ she’d said to Simon. ‘We need to get past this because there will be so much to sort out – selling the house, getting rid of Mum’s possessions. I don’t want to do all that on my own.’
‘Don’t call him,’ Simon had said. ‘You shouldn’t be the one to make the first move. Patrick and Helen behaved like total shits. The things they said were unforgivable. Have you forgotten how upset you were afterwards?’
‘No, of course not. But he’s my brother! We need to be on speaking terms.’
‘They treated you really badly, so wait for him to call you,’ said Simon. ‘And when he does, don’t apologise for something that isn’t your fault.’
‘You’re making it sound so calculating,’ said Martha. ‘As if we’re playing games with each other. But what’s the point?’
‘The point is, you need to show some self-respect and not let him treat you like that,’ said Simon. ‘He’ll be in touch. When he needs to be.’
He was right: here was Patrick, on the other end of the phone. Finally. Although he clearly hadn’t called to apologise, or even to ask how she was.
Martha hadn’t got a clue what he was talking about. ‘Sorry, Patrick – what do you mean a clearance company? I don’t understand?’
He sighed heavily. ‘To get rid of all the stuff in the bungalow of course. If the agents are going to start showing it to people, we need it to look a hell of a lot better than it does. I’ve sent in the probate form, so that’s all underway, but you’ll have to sort out the house.’
Martha slumped back in her chair and put one hand up to her face, closing her eyes and rubbing her forehead. ‘Patrick, it’s a big job. I was there last Saturday and I sorted through some of her clothes, but it’ll take me a while…’
‘You’d better crack on with it then, hadn’t you?’ he said. ‘We need to get as much as we can for that place.’
Martha stared out of the window in front of her, watching the clouds race across the sky, morphing into each other as they moved. Had Patrick thought about their mother at all, over the last few days? In between the phone calls, meetings and machinations of his busy working life, had he found a couple of minutes every now and then to think about her, remember her – maybe even miss her? Probably not. As far as Patrick was concerned, Judith was dead, and there were now practicalities to be addressed. He had moved on – and would doubtless tell her she ought to be doing the same. God, if only it were that easy. Martha had been hoping the funeral would bring some kind of closure – wasn’t that partly what these things were for? Her grief wouldn’t suddenly come to an end once the curtains slid across the coffin in the crematorium, but she had subconsciously hoped that, having organised a ceremony to say goodbye to her mother, she’d be able to start the healing process. It hadn’t turned out that way. Maybe it would have happened, had Judith’s funeral been a normal one, with her grieving relatives gathered together to love and support each other.
‘I’ve got to get into this meeting, so I’ll leave that with you,’ Patrick was saying.
‘I can’t just drop everything and go back to Surrey,’ said Martha. ‘I’m supposed to be working…’
‘Me too, Martha,’ he snapped. ‘I’ve got a lot on my plate at the moment. It’s a really busy time of year for me. But this is important, and we both need to compromise and make an effort to get things underway. I’m doing most of the legwork here, so the least you can do is be a little supportive.’
When he’d ended the call, she sat back in her chair and tapped a pen angrily against the edge of her desk. His arrogance was incredible. He clearly didn’t feel that the way he and Helen had spoken to her after the funeral required any kind of apology. Or maybe he just didn’t remember it: the pair of them had been drunk enough to have horrendous hangovers the next day. Even that thought didn’t cheer her up.
‘Coffee?’ asked Janey, getting up and reaching across to pick up Martha’s mug. ‘It’s 11.15; we’re later than usual for our second one!’
‘Please.’ Martha tried to smile, but it felt awkward.
Eleven-fifteen. Right now, Dan and Johnny would be sitting in the hall, trying to get to grips with ‘Five Little Speckled Frogs’. Having had to miss so much time at work, she’d offered to change Joe’s nursery days and come in today without thinking what that meant. It was only afterwards, she realised it was a Wednesday, so she’d have to miss music therapy. A few weeks ago, she would have been delighted to have an excuse not to sit on those uncomfortable chairs, pretending to enjoy herself as she mimed along. But right now, she would give anything to be there. Who would Dan be sitting next to? Would he strike up a conversation with any of the other parents, in her absence? Possibly Chloe’s mother, the one who laughed a lot. She was younger than Martha, and always friendly. Pretty too. Martha suddenly wanted to cry.
35
Simon had been a different person since the postman delivered the letter yesterday. He was communicating with her again, for one thing, sitting down and having proper conversations, meeting her eye, engaging with her. But he was also cheerful and full of energy, helping around the house. He’d wiped down the worktop after she’d cooked supper last night, then taken the bins out, without being asked. It was as if this man – who seemed to have the weight of the world on his shoulders just days ago – had been told he’d won a fortune on EuroMillions.
‘Sunday’s the best day to go down,’ he was saying now, as he poured himself a coffee. ‘Less traffic probably, and we can get an early start. We won’t have to spend long there, I’m guessing they’ll want us to drop him off, then head home again as soon as possible. Are you okay to sort out the packing? I can help, obviously, but you’ll probably have a better idea of what he’ll need.’
Martha didn’t trust herself to do anything more than nod. When the envelope arrived, her heart had flipped as she saw the crested insignia on the front. Her hands were shaking as she ripped it open and her eyes scanned the sentences twice, three times, before she really took them in. Bile had risen in her throat and she rushed to the downstairs loo, feeling she might be sick. But there was nothing in her stomach. She’d put her hands on the basin and leant forward, studying herself in the mirror, noticing the wrinkles running down either side of her nose towards her mouth, the puffy bags under her eyes, the odd grey hair springing out at her hairline. She’d screwed her eyes shut to stop the tears welling up behind them.
A small part of her had secretly been hoping Greenways would turn Joe down; that they’d get in touch after his taster day to say they couldn’t offer him what he needed. She wouldn’t have been able to admit this to anyone, because it was such a selfish, senseless way to think. This specialist school was so important for her son: it offered him so much more than he could ever hope to get elsewhere. She should have been ecstatic about him being offered a place there, as excited and enthusiastic as Simon. For Joe, this was the start of something wonderful, hopefully the beginning of a new life.
But for her, it felt like the end.
The letter hadn’t specified a start date. It just confirmed Joe could take up the place as soon as they could make arrangements to take him there. It was Simon who was keen to get things underway.
‘No point hanging around,’ he’d said, pinning the letter to the front of the fridge with one of the many primary-coloured magnets scattered across the door. ‘I’ll phone the nursery and give them notice. We might have to put it in writing, but that’s not a problem – it’s perfect timing because we’ve paid up until the end of the month. That’s only next Wednesday, so it’s no big deal if we lose three days’ worth of fees – although they may refund it, if we ask nicely.’ He’d stepped back and smiled at her. ‘God, this is great news. It’s going to make such a difference, Martha. Joe will thrive there, I’m absolutely certain of that. It’s going to be fantastic for his development, and good for us too – so much less stressful, for you in particular. When he comes home at weekends, we’ll have more energy to deal with him, and we’ll be able to spend quality time together.’
Martha almost laughed out loud. She’d been begging Simon to spend quality time with his son for months, but there was always something more important that needed his attention. Now that Joe was going away, his father was suddenly looking forward to something which they could, and should, have already been doing.
Simon walked across to the sofa, where Joe was lying on his side, his eyes fixed on the television screen nearby, watching the brightly coloured cartoon play out.
‘You’re going to love this new school, Joey,’ he said, leaning down and ruffling his son’s fringe. ‘Really love it. Right, I must get in the shower – going to be late for work at this rate.’
He walked out of the room, and Martha heard him whistling, taking the stairs two at a time. He hadn’t called him that in years: Joey. It was what they’d called their boy when he was just a tiny baby, the name Martha used to joke that he’d hate when he grew up. She still used it every now and then, but it had been a long time since she’d heard Simon do the same.
She got up from the table and collected bowls and mugs, putting them into the dishwasher before wrapping up the bread and sliding it back into the bread bin, and closing the open box of cereal. All normal, everyday actions. Every one of them so hard to do right now.
But maybe the only way to get through this was to go through the motions and carry on as usual. If she did that, just putting one foot in front of the other, everything might start to feel a little easier. Of course Joe had to go to Greenways – the staff there could offer him so much. Simon was right: it would also make their own lives less stressful. But there was such a high price to pay. Right now, she was overwhelmed by the prospect of delivering him to the school, unpacking his things, adding small touches to a new bedroom to make it – for her at least – feel like home. She couldn’t imagine how she would get back in the car afterwards and let Simon drive her away again, returning to this big, empty house. Just the two of them.
‘I can’t find my blue shirt,’ Simon called down the stairs. ‘The one with the thin stripe. Have you seen it anywhere?’
‘In the airing cupboard,’ she called back.
‘Great, thanks!’ He was whistling again, as he walked across the landing. She ought to be glad. Simon had been bloody hard to live with over the last few weeks; so hard that she’d begun to wonder where they could go from here. Whether they would be going anywhere. But the sullen, heavy-browed, snappy Simon had been replaced by an altogether different model now – one who reminded her of the man she’d first met, who’d had such a positive attitude towards life and a great sense of humour. The man whose eyes had sparkled when he talked, whose enthusiasm for everything always outweighed everyone else’s. She should feel relieved – happy even – to see that familiar Simon re-emerge.
But she was furious. She wanted to slap him around the face, punch him in the belly, claw at his chest with her fingernails. She wanted him to feel the immense pain that had engulfed her, now Joe would be going away – a physical ache so intense it made every muscle in her body throb, as if she was coming down with a virus. Why did he not feel like that? Why had the news that their boy was going away been the one thing to lift him out of his misery and turn him back into the man she’d fallen in love with, all those years ago?
Joe had rolled onto his back, losing interest in the cartoons. She went across and pulled him up into a sitting position, tucking her arm around his waist and kissing his cheek as he squirmed away from her.
‘God, I’m going to miss you,’ she said.
36
There was a squawk of laughter from the sitting room, and the sound of glasses being clinked together. ‘Happy days!’ called out Claudia. Martha flinched as she pulled another bottle of wine from the fridge. If they didn’t keep the noise down, they were going to wake Joe. She grabbed a bowl of olives from the worktop and hurried back along the hall.
‘Then, she told him she wanted a full refund!’ said Selina, who was lying along one side of the L-shaped sofa, waving her glass in the air as she talked. ‘She threatened to put his photo up on Facebook, with a message about what had happened. You should have seen his face, he looked like he was going to have a heart attack!’
‘I’m not surprised, that could ruin his business,’ Claudia said. ‘She’s got about 800 friends on Facebook!’
‘Oh goodie, more wine,’ said Anna, holding out her glass.
Martha stepped forward and topped up her glass, forcing herself to smile. She was furious Claudia had invited Anna tonight. She was still smarting from the remarks she’d made at that dinner party a few weeks ago.
‘She didn’t mean anything by it,’ Claudia had insisted. ‘She was just a bit drunk. She’s a honey when you get to know her.’
Martha didn’t think there was anything vaguely ‘honey’ about this woman; what the hell did Claudia find to like about her? But, although she was the host, Martha hadn’t had any input with tonight’s guest list.
‘I know Simon’s out at football on Friday nights,’ Claudia had said, when she called yesterday. ‘Which means that if you’re going to come for a drink with the girls – which you really need to do – you’d have to get a sitter. So how about we all come to yours? We’ll bring wine, and I’ve got some canapé things in the freezer. You won’t have to do anything, except relax and let your hair down.’
It hadn’t quite turned out like that. The three women had turned up with two bottles of wine between them – which had disappeared in the first half hour – and Claudia had forgotten the canapés.
‘If she really wanted to, she could make sure he never works as a personal trainer around here again,’ Selina was saying. ‘I mean, 800 Facebook friends! That’s so impressive. She must know everyone.’
‘Did you see that post she put up about the cat drinking from a champagne glass?’ said Anna. ‘That was hysterical. So clever.’
‘God, yes,’ said Claudia. ‘Brilliant. Did you see it, Martha?’
‘Nope,’ she said. ‘I don’t really do Facebook.’ She took a sip of her wine, her fingers tightening around the stem of the glass. Claudia knew that, so why was she even asking?
As they finished another bottle, Martha went into the kitchen for more. Simon would be furious: there was hardly anything left on the wine rack. This lot were getting through more in one evening than the pair of them drank in a fortnight.
The noise levels had risen again and Martha paused at the bottom of the stairs, listening anxiously for signs that Joe was waking up.
‘Truth or dare!’ yelled Selina. ‘Come on, let’s do it. Claudia, you go first.’
‘Truth!’ giggled Claudia, who was now sitting on the floor, her back against the sofa, both feet resting up on the glass coffee table in front of her.
‘Do you still enjoy sex with Adam?’ shrieked Anna.
Claudia snorted with laughter. ‘Yes, of course I do! Well, most of the time. When he’s not being a total moron. Although we don’t have it very often, to be honest. Too bloody knackered all the time! Your turn, Selina – truth or dare?’
‘Dare!’ screamed the woman, who was now lying on her back on the sofa. Martha could see dark patches on the cushions, where wine had splashed from her glass. Thank God they were only drinking white.
‘Spoilsport!’ said Anna. ‘Okay, I’ve got one. Run around Martha’s garden, singing something by Rihanna!’
‘Oh no, please…’ said Martha. But they were already falling off the sofas and staggering through into the kitchen. Claudia pulled back the sliding glass door and the outside sensor light clicked on as Selina stumbled across the patio and onto the grass.
‘Shine bright like a diamond!’ she shrieked, disappearing towards the fence at the far end. ‘We’re like diamonds in the sky!’
Martha went into the downstairs loo, splashing cold water on her face and grimacing at herself in the mirror as she heard them come back into the house. This was a bloody stupid idea. She should have told Claudia she wasn’t in the mood. She thought of the piles of folded clothes on the spare bed upstairs, the open suitcase which already contained some of Joe’s shoes and linen for his new bed. She’d picked the Thomas the Tank Engine duvet cover: it was so bright and cheerful – she was sure it must be one of his favourites. She didn’t want to spend too much time tomorrow packing – it was their last day together. But she needed to do a final load of washing, and she had to get Joe some new pyjamas. If Simon wasn’t nursing too much of a football hangover, he might not mind if she sent him out to buy those.
