After You (34 page)

My mother took a nervous step forward and stooped, sliding her fingers up my father’s shin. She patted her hand around it.

‘You said you’d take me seriously if I had my legs waxed. Well, there you are. I’ve done it.’

My mother stared at him in disbelief. ‘You got your
legs
waxed?’

‘I did. And if I’d had any idea you were going through pain like that, love, I would have kept my stupid mouth shut. What fecking torture is that? Who the hell thinks
that
is a good idea?’

‘Bernard –’

‘I don’t care. I’ve been through hell, Josie. But I’d do it again if it means we can get things back on track. I miss you.
So much
. I don’t care if you want to do a hundred college courses – feminist politics, Middle Eastern studies, macramé for dogs, whatever – as long as we’re together. And to prove to you exactly how far I’d go for you, I’ve booked myself in again next week, for a back, sack and – What is it?’

‘Crack,’ said my sister, unhappily.

‘Oh, God.’ My mother’s hand flew to her neck.

Beside me Sam had started to shake silently. ‘Stop them,’ he murmured. ‘I’m going to bust my stitches.’

‘I’ll do the lot. I’ll go the full-plucked ruddy chicken if it shows you what you mean to me.’

‘Oh, my days, Bernard.’

‘I mean it, Josie. That’s how desperate I am.’

‘And this is why our family doesn’t do romance,’ muttered Treena.

‘What’s a crack, back and wax?’ asked Thomas.

‘Oh, love, I’ve missed the bones of you.’ My mother put her arms around my father’s neck and kissed him. The relief on his face was almost palpable. He buried his head in her shoulder and then he kissed her again, her ear, her hair, holding her hands, like a small boy.

‘Gross,’ said Thomas.

‘So I don’t have to do the –’

My mother stroked my father’s cheek. ‘We’ll cancel your appointment first thing.’

My father visibly relaxed.

‘Well,’ I said, when the commotion had died down, and it was clear from Camilla Traynor’s blanched complexion that Lily had just explained to her exactly what my father had planned to endure in the name of love, ‘I think we should do one last check of everyone’s glasses, and then maybe … we should start?’

What with the merriment over Dad’s grand gesture, Baby Traynor’s explosive nappy change, and the revelation that Thomas had been dropping egg sandwiches onto Mr Antony Gardiner’s balcony (and his brand-new replacement Conran wicker-effect sun chair) below, it was another twenty minutes
before the rooftop grew silent. Amid some surreptitious scanning of notes and clearing of throats, Marc stepped into the middle. He was taller than I’d thought – I had only ever seen him sitting down.

‘Welcome, everyone. First, I’d like to thank Louisa for offering us this lovely space for our end-of-term ceremony. There’s something rather appropriate about being this much closer to the heavens …’ He paused for laughter. ‘This is an unusual final ceremony for us – for the first time we have some faces here who aren’t part of the group – but I think it’s a rather lovely idea to open up and celebrate among friends. Everyone here knows what it’s like to have loved and lost. So we’re all honorary members of the group today.’

Jake stood beside his father, a freckle-faced, sandy-haired man, who, unfortunately, I couldn’t look at without picturing him weeping after coitus. Now he reached out and gently pulled his son to him. Jake caught my eye and rolled his. But he smiled.

‘I like to say that although we’re called the Moving On Circle, none of us moves on without a backward look. We move on always carrying with us those we have lost. What we aim to do in our little group is ensure that carrying them is not a burden that feels impossible to bear, a weight keeping us stuck in the same place. We want their presence to feel like a gift.

‘And what we learn through sharing our memories and our sadnesses and our little victories with each other is that it’s okay to feel sad. Or lost. Or angry. It’s okay to feel a whole host of things that other people might not understand, and often for a long time. Everyone has his or her own journey. We don’t judge.’

‘Except the biscuits,’ muttered Fred. ‘I judge those Rich Teas. They were shocking.’

‘And that, impossible as it may feel at first, we will each get
to a point where we can rejoice in the fact that every person we have discussed and mourned and grieved over was here, walking among us – and whether they were taken after six months or sixty years, we were lucky to have them.’ He nodded. ‘We were lucky to have them.’

I looked around the faces I had grown fond of, rapt with attention, and I thought of Will. I closed my eyes and recalled his face, his smile and his laugh, and thought of what loving him had cost me, but mostly of what he had given me.

Marc looked at our little group. Daphne dabbed surreptitiously at the corner of her eye. ‘So … what we usually do now is just say a few words acknowledging where we are. It doesn’t have to be much. It’s just a closing of a door on this little bit of your journey. And nobody has to do it, but if you do, it can be a nice thing.’

The group exchanged embarrassed smiles and, briefly, it seemed that nobody would say anything at all. Then Fred stepped up. He adjusted his handkerchief in his blazer pocket and straightened a little. ‘I’d just like to say thank you, Jilly. You were a smashing wife and I was a lucky man for thirty-eight years. I will miss you every day, sweetheart.’

He stepped back, a little awkwardly, and Daphne mouthed, ‘Very nice, Fred,’ to him. She adjusted her silk scarf, and then she stepped forwards too. ‘I just wanted to say … I’m sorry. To Alan. You were such a kind man, and I wish we’d been able to be honest about everything. I wish I’d been able to help you. I wish – well, I hope you’re okay, and that – that you’ve got a nice friend, wherever you are.’

Fred patted Daphne’s arm.

Jake rubbed the back of his neck, then stepped forward, blushing, and faced his father. ‘We both miss you, Mum. But we’re getting there. I don’t want you to worry or anything.’ When he finished his father hugged him, kissing the top of
his head, and blinked hard. He and Sam exchanged small smiles of understanding.

Leanne and Sunil followed, each saying a few words, fixing their eyes on the sky to hide awkward tears or nodding silent encouragement at each other.

William stepped forward and silently placed a white rose at his feet. Unusually short of words, he gazed down at it briefly, his face impassive, then stepped back. Natasha gave him a little hug and he swallowed suddenly, audibly, then folded his arms across his chest.

Marc looked at me, and I felt Sam’s hand close around mine. I smiled at him and shook my head. ‘Not me. But Lily would like to say a few words, if that’s okay.’

Lily was chewing her lip as she stepped into the middle. She glanced down at a bit of paper she had written on, then appeared to change her mind and screwed it into a ball. ‘Um, I asked Louisa if I could do this even though, you know, I’m not a member of your group. I didn’t know my dad in person and I never got to say goodbye to him at his funeral and I thought it would be nice to say a few words now that I sort of feel I know him a bit better.’ She gave a nervous smile, and pushed a strand of hair from her face. ‘So. Will … Dad. When I first found out you were my real father, I’ll be honest, I was a bit freaked out. I’d hoped my real dad was going to be this wise, handsome man, who would want to teach me stuff and protect me and take me on trips to show me amazing places that he loved. And what I actually got was an angry man in a wheelchair who just, you know, killed himself. But because of Lou, and your family, over the last few months I’ve come to understand you a bit better.

‘I’ll always be sad and maybe even a bit angry that I never got to meet you, but now I want to say thank you too. You gave me a lot, without knowing it. I think I’m like you in good
ways – and probably a few not-so-good ways. You gave me blue eyes and my hair colour and the fact that I think Marmite is revolting and the ability to do black ski runs and … Well, apparently you also gave me a certain amount of mood iness – that’s other people’s opinion, by the way. Not mine.’

There was a little ripple of laughter.

‘But mostly you gave me a family I didn’t know I had. And that’s cool. Because, to be honest, it wasn’t going
that
well before they all turned up.’ Her smile wavered.

‘We’re very happy
you
turned up,’ Georgina called out.

I felt Sam’s fingers squeeze mine. He wasn’t meant to be standing so long but, typically, he refused to sit down.
I’m not a bloody invalid.
I let my head rest against him, fighting the lump that had risen to my throat.

‘Thanks, G. So, um, Will …
Dad
, I’m not going to go on and on because speeches are boring and also that baby is going to start wailing any minute, which will totally harsh the mood. But I just wanted to say thank you, from your daughter, and that I … love you and I’ll always miss you, and I hope if you’re looking down, and you can see me, you’re glad. That I exist. Because me being here sort of means
you
’re still here, doesn’t it?’ Lily’s voice cracked and her eyes filled with tears. Her gaze slid towards Camilla, who gave a small nod. Lily sniffed, and lifted her chin.

‘I thought maybe now would be a good time for everyone to release their balloons?’

There was a barely perceptible release of breath, a few shuffled steps. Behind me the handful of members of the Moving On Circle murmured among themselves, reaching into the gently bobbing bundle for a string.

Lily was the first to step forward, holding her white helium balloon. She lifted her arm, then, as an afterthought, picked a tiny blue cornflower from one of her pots, and tied it carefully
to the string. Then she raised her hand and, after the briefest hesitation, released the balloon.

I watched as Steven Traynor followed, saw Della’s gentle squeeze of his arm. Camilla released hers, then Fred, Sunil, then Georgina, her arm linked with her mother’s. My mother, Treena, Dad, blowing his nose noisily into his handkerchief, and Sam. We stood in silence on the roof and watched them sail upwards, one by one into the clear blue sky, growing smaller and smaller until they were somewhere infinite, unseen.

I let mine go.

The man in the salmon-coloured shirt was on his fourth Danish pastry, wedging great iced wads of it into his open mouth with chubby fingers, and sluicing periodically sluicing it down with a pint of cold lager. ‘Breakfast of champions,’ muttered Vera, as she walked past me with a tray of glasses and made a fake gagging noise. I felt a fleeting, reflexive gratitude that I was no longer in charge of the Gents.

‘So, Lou! What does a man have to do to get some service around here?’ A short distance away, Dad had perched himself on a stool and was leaning over the bar, examining the various beers. ‘Do I need to show a boarding card to buy a drink?’

‘Dad –’

‘Quick trip to Alicante? What do you think, Josie? Fancy it?’

My mother nudged him. ‘We should look into it this year. We really should.’

‘You know, it’s not a bad aul’ place this. Once you get past the daft idea of actual kids being allowed in an actual pub.’ Dad shuddered and glanced behind him to where a young family, their flight evidently delayed, had spread a mixture of Lego and raisins all over the table while they eked out two coffees. ‘So what do you recommend, sweetheart, eh? What’s good on the old pumps?’

I eyed Richard, who was approaching with his clipboard. ‘It’s all good, Dad.’

‘Apart from those outfits,’ said Mum, eyeing Vera’s too-short green Lurex skirt.

‘Head Office,’ said Richard, who had already endured two conversations with my mother about the objectification of women in the workplace. ‘Nothing to do with me.’

‘You got any stout there, Richard?’

‘We have Murphy’s, Mr Clark. It’s a lot like Guinness, although I wouldn’t say as much to a purist.’

‘I’m no purist, son. If it’s wet and it says “beer” on the label it’ll do for me.’

Dad smacked his lips in approval and the glass was set down in front of him. My mother accepted a coffee with her ‘social’ voice. She used it almost everywhere in London now, like a visiting dignitary being shown around a production line:
So that’s a lah-tay, is it? Well, that looks simply lovely. And what a clever machine
.

My father patted the bar stool beside her. ‘Come and sit down, Lou. Come on. Let me buy my daughter a drink.’

I glanced over at Richard. ‘I’ll have a coffee, Dad,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’

We sat at the bar in silence, as Richard served us, and my father made himself at home, as he did in every bar he ever sat in, nodding a greeting to fellow bar dwellers, settling on his stool as if it were his favourite easy chair. It was as if the presence of a row of optics and a hard surface on which to rest his elbows created an instant spiritual home. And at all times he kept within inches of my mother, patting her leg appreciatively or holding her hand. They barely left each other alone, these days, heads pressed together, giggling like teenagers. It was utterly revolting, according to my sister. She told me before she set off for work that she had almost preferred it when they weren’t talking. ‘I had to sleep with earplugs last Saturday. Can you imagine the horror? Granddad looked quite white over breakfast.’

Outside, a small passenger plane slowed on the runway
and taxied towards the terminal, a man in a reflective jacket waving paddles to guide it in. Mum sat, handbag balanced on her lap, and gazed at it. ‘Thom would love this,’ she said. ‘Wouldn’t he love this, Bernard? I reckon he’d stand at that window all day.’

‘Well, he can come now, can’t he, now he’s just up the road? Treena could bring him here at the weekend. I might come too if the beer’s any good.’

‘It’s lovely what you’ve done, letting them come and stay in your flat.’ Mum watched the plane disappear from view. ‘You know this will make all the difference to Treena, with her starting salary and all.’

‘Well. It made sense.’

‘Much as we’ll miss them, we know she can’t live with us for ever. I know she appreciates it, love. Even if she doesn’t always show it.’

I didn’t really care that she didn’t show it. I had realized something the moment she and Thom walked through my front door with their cases of belongings and posters, Dad behind them bearing the plastic crate of Thom’s favourite Predacons and Autobots. It was at that exact point that I finally felt okay about the flat Will’s money had paid for.

‘Did Louisa mention that her sister is moving down here, Richard?’ My mother now operated on the basis that pretty much everyone she met in London was her friend, and therefore keen to hear all developments in the Clark household. She had spent ten minutes this morning advising Richard on his wife’s mastitis, and couldn’t see any reason why she shouldn’t pop along and see his baby. Then again, Maria from the hotel toilets was actually coming for tea in Stortfold in two weeks’ time, with her daughter, so she wasn’t entirely wrong. ‘Our Katrina’s a great girl. Smart as a whip. If you ever need any help with your accounts, she’s your woman.’

‘I’ll bear it in mind.’ Richard’s gaze met mine and slid away.

I glanced up at the clock. A quarter to twelve. Something inside me fluttered.

‘You all right, love?’

You had to hand it to her. My mother never missed a thing.

‘I’m fine, Mum.’

She squeezed my hand. ‘I’m so proud of you. You know that, don’t you? Everything you’ve achieved these past few months. I know it hasn’t been easy.’ And then she pointed. ‘Oh, look! I knew he’d come. There you go, sweetheart. This is it!’

And there he was. A head taller than everyone else, and walking a little tentatively through the crowd, his arm braced slightly in front of him, as if he were wary even now that someone would bump into him. I saw him before he saw me, and my face broke into a spontaneous smile. I waved vigorously, and he saw me, and gave a nod.

When I turned back to my mother she was watching me, a small smile playing around her lips. ‘He’s a good one, that one.’

‘I know.’

She gazed at me for the longest time, her face a mixture of pride and something a little more complicated. She patted my hand. ‘Right,’ she said, climbing off her bar stool. ‘Time to have your adventures.’

I left my parents at the bar. It was better that way. It was hard to get emotional in front of a man who liked to quote sections of the managerial handbook for LOLs. Sam had a brief chat with my parents – my father kept breaking in with occasional
nee-naw
noises – and Richard asked after Sam’s injuries and laughed nervously when Dad mentioned that at least he’d done better than my last boyfriend. It took three goes for Dad to convince Richard that, no, he wasn’t joking about
Dignitas, and a terribly sad business it had all been. That might have been the point at which Richard decided he was actually quite glad I was leaving.

I extricated myself from Mum’s embrace, and we walked across the concourse in silence, my arm linked in Sam’s, trying to ignore the fact that my heart was thumping and that my parents were probably still watching me. I turned to Sam, faintly panicked. I’d thought we would have more time.

He looked at his watch and up at the departures board. ‘They’re playing your tune.’ He handed over my little wheeled case. I took it and tried to raise a smile.

‘Nice travelling threads.’

I looked down at my leopard-print shirt, and the Jackie O sunglasses I had tucked into my top pocket. ‘I was going for a 1970s jet-set vibe.’

‘It’s a good look. For a jet-setter.’

‘So,’ I said. ‘I’ll see you in four weeks … It’s meant to be nice in New York in the autumn.’

‘It’ll be nice whatever.’ He shook his head. ‘Jesus. “Nice”. I hate the word “nice”.’

I looked down at our hands, which were entwined. I found myself staring at them, as if I had to memorize how his felt against mine, as if I had failed to revise for some vital exam that had come too soon. A strange panic was welling inside me, and I think he felt it because he squeezed my fingers.

‘Got everything?’ He nodded towards my other hand. ‘Passport? Boarding pass? Address of where you’re going?’

‘Nathan is meeting me at JFK.’

I didn’t want to let him go. I felt like a magnet gone awry, being pulled between two poles. I stood aside as other couples stepped towards Departures together, towards their adventures, or extracted themselves tearfully from each other’s arms.

He was watching them too. He stepped back from me gently,
and kissed my fingers before releasing my hand. ‘Time to go,’ he said.

I had a million things to say and none I knew how. I stepped forward and kissed him, like people kiss at airports, full of love and desperate longing, kisses that must imprint themselves on their recipient for the journey, the weeks, the months ahead. With that kiss, I tried to tell him the enormity of what he meant to me. I tried to show him that he was the answer to a question I hadn’t even known I had been asking. I tried to thank him for wanting me to be me, more than he wanted to make me stay. In truth I probably just told him I’d drunk two large coffees without brushing my teeth.

‘You take care,’ I said. ‘Don’t rush back to work. And don’t do any building stuff.’

‘My brother’s coming to take over the brickwork tomorrow.’

‘And if you do go back, don’t get hurt. You are totally crap on the not-getting-shot thing.’

‘Lou. I’m going to be fine.’

‘I mean it. I’m going to email Donna when I get to New York and tell her I’ll hold her personally responsible if anything else happens to you. Or maybe I’ll just tell your boss to put you on desk duty. Or send you to some really sleepy station in north Norfolk. Or maybe make you wear bulletproof vests. Have they thought of issuing bulletproof vests? I bet I could buy a good one in New York if –’

‘Louisa.’ He pushed a lock of hair back from my eyes. And I felt my face crumple. I placed it against his and clenched my jaw and breathed in the scent of him, trying to embed some of that solidity into myself. And then, before I could change my mind, I let out a strangled ‘Bye’ that might have been a sob or a cough or a stupid half-laugh, I’m not sure even I could tell. And I turned and walked briskly
towards security, pulling my case behind me, before I could change my mind.

I flashed the new passport, the ESTA that was my key to my future at a uniformed official, whose face I could barely make out through my tears. And then as I was waved through, almost on impulse, I spun on my heel. There he was, standing against the barrier, still watching. We locked eyes, and he lifted a hand, his palm open, and I lifted mine slowly in return. I fixed that image of him in my imagination – the way he tilted forward, the light on his hair, the steady way he always looked at me – somewhere where I could draw it up on lonely days. Because there would be lonely days. And bad days. And days when I wondered what the hell I had just agreed to be part of. Because that was all part of the adventure too.

I love you
, I mouthed, not sure if he could even see the words from here.

And then, holding my passport tight in my hand, I turned away.

He would be there, watching as my plane gathered speed and lifted into the great blue sky beyond. And, with luck, he would be there, waiting, when I came home again.