Chapter 53
FIFTY-THREE
ANNA
‘This one’s string’s broken, Mum.’ Barney held out a sparkly gold bauble for me to inspect.
It was one of the cheap ones that Gray and I had bought at Woolworths the first year we were in the house, when it was a building site and we had no money, but we were so happy and in love we were determined to make Christmas magical in spite of those things.
Alongside the decorations we had accumulated since – the fancy glass ones, the artisan ones bought on various holidays abroad, even the ones hand-crafted by the children – it looked mass-produced and shabby.
But it was part of our history, and it deserved its place on the magnificent Norwegian spruce tree that Barney had carried from the market and wrestled down the stairs, which was already in its place by the window, festooned with lights and laden with the contents of the boxes Lulu had brought down from the loft.
‘There’s some ribbon in my sewing kit,’ I told him. ‘We’ll tie a bit on. It’ll be fine. Run and fetch it.’
‘Okay.’ He headed for the stairs, then stopped halfway up. ‘Where’s your sewing kit?’
‘Honestly.’ I rolled my eyes in mock exasperation. ‘Sometimes you behave like a weekend guest who arrived two hours ago, not someone who’s lived in this house for thirteen years. It’s in the bottom of the chest of drawers in my bedroom.’
‘Sorry, Mum. I just wasn’t sure…’
I smiled. ‘Don’t worry, darling. I understand.’
And I did. In the past year, the bedroom had been transformed into a hospital room and back again to a bedroom.
For a while, ‘my bedroom’ hadn’t been the room I’d shared with Gray but the spare room down the landing.
And just recently, half of the things that had lived in the drawers and wardrobes had been sorted through and removed.
Where Gray’s stuff had been before, there was now empty space.
When I’d told Orla that it was about time I tackled the task, she offered to come and help.
‘In case you need a hand. Or just some moral support. It won’t be easy.’
I accepted gratefully. ‘And I thought… This might sound weird, but I thought I might ask Laurel if she wants to come too. Just in case there’s anything of Gray’s she’d like to keep for herself.’
‘I think that would be a kind thing to do.’ Orla smiled approvingly.
So, on a Saturday morning when Lulu was at cheerleading and Barney was at football, the three of us had gone into the bedroom and tackled the job.
The first part had been easy – there were rows of shirts from what Gray had called his ‘fat period’, which he’d kept as a kind of insurance policy, together with suits and jeans in the same sizes, and those went straight into a pile for the charity shop.
‘It’s so weird to think of Gray wearing these,’ Laurel had said, holding up a shirt with a size-eighteen collar. ‘I only ever knew him as… well, you know.’
She’d trailed off, as if worried that she had overstepped.
‘Hey, it’s okay.’ I touched her arm. ‘There are things here from before I knew him too. Like this.’
I pulled a tie out from the extensive collection Gray had amassed over the years – even though it was ages since he’d needed to wear one regularly.
This wasn’t silk like most of the others, but polyester, with wide maroon and narrow gold stripes against a navy-blue background.
I’d never noticed it before – and certainly never seen him wear it.
I peered at it more closely. On the wide end was a crest I recognised.
‘Oh my God,’ I said. ‘It’s his old school tie. From St Gwbert’s.’
Laurel leaned in to look. ‘I wonder if Joel still has his too.’
‘He must have had some happy memories of that place.’ I ran the tie through my fingers. ‘Or he wouldn’t have kept it.’
‘The rest of them can go to charity, can’t they?’ Orla said. ‘They’re in perfect condition. Someone might want to buy the lot for an upcycling project – a cushion, or even a woman’s skirt.’
I handed her the heavy bundle of rainbow-coloured silk, then sat down on the bed, still holding the old, cheap tie.
‘I should send it to Louisa,’ I decided. ‘But I feel… I’d feel almost like I was fobbing her off, when I still haven’t decided what to do about introducing her to the kids.’
‘It’s a big decision.’ Laurel sat down next to me.
After our separate visits to Wales – she to see Joel, I to meet Louisa – we’d had a debrief over coffee.
I’d told her about the letters Gray had written to his mother, all the cards and notes sent over the years, as well as the final one, which Orla had admitted posting after Gray’s death as he’d asked.
Laurel had told me about cycling on the Taff Trail with Joel, and said how much Gray would have loved it – but I sensed that there might be something else about that visit that she wasn’t ready to confide in me.
I nodded. ‘I think, if Gray was able to make the choice now, he’d probably want her to be in their lives somehow. They’re older now and she lives far away. And her mental health is quite stable now. She won’t damage them like she damaged Gray. And that wasn’t even her fault, really. Poor woman.’
‘Have you told them about her?’ Laurel asked. ‘I mean – that she wasn’t dead after all?’
‘I haven’t. I know that if I did, they’d want to meet her – of course they would. She’s their grandmother. They’d be curious, apart from anything else, and – well, it’s a link to their father. It’s an important thing.’
‘Family and identity.’ Orla removed a stack of suits from the wardrobe. ‘Would you want to keep one of these for Barney, Anna? He’ll grow into it in a couple of years.’
‘Maybe the grey one. That was his favourite. What were you going to say – about family and identity?’
Orla sighed, laying the suits on the bed and turning back to the wardrobe.
‘Just that they’re important. And they’re tied so closely to each other – especially for teenagers, who are just figuring out who they are.
It was around then that Beatrice became so determined to track down her birth mother – me.
If people don’t know the full truth about their background, it makes it harder for them to grow into themselves. And secrets are harmful.’
Her back was to me, but I saw her shoulders rise and fall in another long sigh. I knew that she was thinking not only about Barney and Lulu and the secret I was considering keeping from them, but also about something else – something closer to her own heart.
‘Which of these need doing?’ Laurel moved over to the chest of drawers and opened the top one – the one where Gray’s socks lived.
I remembered with a flash of sadness how I had found the earrings Gray bought for her in there, all those months ago.
I would never tell her how that had made me feel – although I was fairly sure she could guess.
‘They wouldn’t have to meet her if they didn’t want to,’ she went on. ‘Or if they met and didn’t get on, it could kind of run its natural course, if you know what I mean.’
‘You’re right.’ I pulled out a bundle of socks and pants. ‘These may as well all go straight into the textile recycling. After all, older kids don’t see their grandparents that often. They only spend a few days a year with my mum and dad.’
‘It’s not really about what Gray would have wanted any more,’ Orla pointed out, turning back to the wardrobe and lifting out a sheaf of casual shirts on their hangers.
‘He made his choice. And from what you’ve said, he regretted it – but he couldn’t go back on it until it was too late.
It’s about what you want, Anna, and what you think is best for those children. ’
I removed a pale pink linen shirt from her arms. ‘I’ll keep this for Lulu. She used to nick it and wear it as a beach cover-up when we were on holiday. It’s – for me, anyway, being in touch with Louisa is also about having another part of Gray in my life. I know it sounds selfish, but—’
‘It’s not selfish at all, Anna,’ Laurel assured me.
‘And speaking of which,’ I said, ‘you’re not just here to work. If there’s anything of his you’d like to keep, you must say.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. Thanks, Anna. I’m so grateful you asked. Except, maybe…’
While she was speaking, I’d opened the next drawer down, which held Gray’s cycling clothes – the endless pairs of padded-seat leggings and Lycra jumpers that always used to make the kids say, ‘Oh look, it’s Bradley Wiggins,’ when Gray came downstairs dressed for a ride.
‘Maybe what?’ I asked.
Tentatively, she reached out and took one of the cycling tops from the pile. It wasn’t even a particularly nice one – just a regular long-sleeved red jersey in technical fabric, with a half-zip down the front.
‘Maybe this?’
I looked doubtfully at the top, then at Laurel’s narrow shoulders and slim waist. It had been tight on Gray, but it would be ridiculously baggy on her.
‘Are you sure? Of course, you’re welcome to it. But isn’t there something else you’d like? A watch or something?’
She shook her head. ‘It wouldn’t actually be for me. It would be for Joel.’
Understanding dawning, I’d handed over the top, and Laurel had blushed like a teenager.
‘Mum,’ Lulu said now. ‘Come on. Are we going to finish decorating this tree or are you going to stand there staring into space?’
‘Sorry, darling. I was miles away.’
I heard the thump of Barney’s trainers on the stairs as he returned with a scrap of ribbon, which I secured to the bauble.
‘Just the star now,’ I said. ‘Which of you wants to do that?’
They looked at each other. When the kids were small, Gray used to lift one of them up – first Lulu, then each in turn for a few years, then Barney when Lulu got too big – and hold them up high while they secured the sparkling gold star to the top of the tree.
Then they’d both got too big for that, and Gray had done it himself.
‘I reckon this’ll be the last year I’m taller than you,’ Lulu said.
‘You go for it, then.’ Barney grinned. ‘Just don’t mess it up.’
Lulu didn’t. She stood on a chair and reached up high and secured the star to the topmost branch of the tree, and then we switched on the lights.
‘Good job.’ I pulled them both close to me and held them for as long as they’d let me, the lights flickering softly on their faces.
Then Barney pulled away from me and said, ‘Mum.’
‘What is it, sweetheart?’
‘Are we still going to leave a mince pie and a glass of sherry out for Santa on Christmas Eve?’
I thought for a moment. That had been another of Gray’s tasks – last thing before the children went to bed, the plate and glass would be carefully arranged on the kitchen table. They hadn’t believed properly in Father Christmas for years now, but the ritual had continued.
‘Of course we are,’ I told them. ‘Last thing we want is a pissed-off Santa, right? We’ll do it together.’
They both laughed, hiding their relief that this memory of their father would be kept alive for as long as they needed it.
Then I said, ‘Come on, let’s put the kettle on and make some hot chocolate. There’s something I want to talk to you both about.’
‘Is it about Dad?’ Lulu asked doubtfully, at the same time as her brother asked, ‘Can we have marshmallows?’
‘Of course we can. And yes, it’s kind of about your dad. But mostly it’s about your grandmother – your dad’s mam.’