Chapter 54
FIFTY-FOUR
ORLA
It is early morning on Christmas Eve, and I am sitting here alone in my kitchen with the cats.
The sun will not be up for another half an hour, and Damask Square is dark and silent.
When I opened the front door earlier to put food out for the birds, I stood there for a moment in the stillness of a winter wonderland, frost glinting on the railings of the square and the branches of the trees, a few lights twinkling bravely in the darkness, the distant sound of traffic on the main road still barely a hum.
Then a robin trilled its first, urgent call and the day had begun.
Last night, Anna held the pre-Christmas drinks party that has been hosted at number eight for the past fifteen years.
The house was as full of people as ever: our neighbours, Anna’s sisters and their families, friends of Anna’s and of Gray’s – all the faces I have seen there over the years, all gathered there to give the Graham family their love and support.
It was brave of her, without Gray – I know she and the children will be feeling his absence more keenly than ever at this time of year, when we are constantly reminded of what families are and what they mean.
But she and the children seem to be finding their way in their new unit of three.
Barney showed me the piano his mother had bought him for an early Christmas present, in pride of place at the centre of the room, Augustus the cat asleep on its lid.
Lulu was passing round the sausage rolls she’d made using her father’s recipe.
Anna offered me a taste of her cranberry mocktail.
It’s not so bad, she said with a half-laugh. Fifty-nine days off the booze and I’m getting used to it now.
I had arrived with Laurel, who told me she was shy about turning up on her own.
She said to Anna, Actually, I’d love one of those. I’m not drinking either.
We looked at her, Anna and I, with curiosity and then dawning understanding.
I know. She laughed nervously. It’s mad. I’m forty-three.
And it all came spilling out. She hasn’t told him yet – Joel Chamberlain, the man she would never have met were it not for her relationship with Gray and his death.
The man with the genetic condition that necessitated a kidney transplant; the condition which if Laurel has a son he will be safe from, and if she has a daughter she will carry.
I don’t know what Joel’s going to say, Laurel told us. The excitement shone out of her and I feel optimistic for her. Laurel is a resilient woman – alone or in a partnership with this man I hope will fall in love with her as she is falling in love with him, she will make the best of it.
The way she feels, the way I can see Anna feels – resolutely carrying on, greeting each day without the man they loved, coming to terms with his flaws and his secrets and his death – fills me with awe at the strength of women.
I feel confident too that when Anna introduces Gray’s mother to the family, her own strength will add to Anna’s and help her and her children understand what made Gray the man he was.
I am filled with hope as I meet this new day, thinking of Gray’s reinvention of himself and the family it allowed him to create, of the grandmother Barney and Lulu will soon meet, of Laurel’s excitement as she moves into a new and unknown phase of her life, of my own daughter, Beatrice, who will be arriving here later today – even of that robin singing its heart out in the darkness of Damask Square.
There was singing last night too. Barney took his seat at the piano, glowing with pride, and Lulu stood by his side. The room fell silent as his hands alighted on the keys and he began to play.
Gray used to sing this to them when they were babies, Laurel whispered to me. Joel sent me an English translation of the lyrics. It’s a lullaby and a funeral song, but also a Christmas song.
Every star in heaven is singing
All through the night,
Hear the glorious music ringing
All through the night.
Barney’s voice was pure and true, Lulu’s less so, but she did her best.
Look, my love, the stars are smiling
All through the night.