Chapter 3 #2
‘I miss the person she was,’ I murmured, accepting a tissue.
‘And I’m grieving the loss of the things I was looking forward to for her.
Like getting her first home, telling me she’d met “the one” – which might even have turned out to be Harry.
’ I paused, sparing a thought for Bronte’s poor boyfriend, wondering how he was.
The injuries to his ribs and arm would have healed, but the mental scars would never leave him.
Was he thinking of the gap year too, or had he moved on, met someone else?
I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. And, I wasn’t convinced he’d want me to.
His parents had updated me with his progress in hospital after the accident, I’d asked them if he wanted me to visit, but was told he didn’t want to see me.
I’d been relieved; seeing him alive in a hospital bed after only being able to see Bronte long enough to identify her body would have been more than I could have borne.
We’d sent each other a few messages since the funeral, nothing more.
Probably for the best; the only thing we had in common was loss.
‘It’s natural to grieve those things.’ Kat soothed, kissing the top of my head.
‘I miss my daughter and I miss the family I’ll never have,’ I went on. ‘I even miss hearing about her adventures on that bloody gap year.’ I sat up and scrubbed at my tears. ‘I’m sorry, you must be fed up of me going on about her.’
‘Magnolia Jones,’ said Kat sternly. ‘I will never be fed up. Ever. And I know it’s nowhere near the same thing, but you are my family, and you’ll always have us. Okay?’
I managed a watery smile. ‘Was I a good mum?’
‘Oh Mags.’ Kat blinked away tears. ‘Bronte idolised you. She used to come round to my house before your birthday and at Christmas and ask for help choosing a gift for you. Last year, she bought you that sundress, do you remember?’
I nodded. It was a pretty white kaftan. I hadn’t worn it yet. Last year I’d only ventured as far as Edinburgh which, although beautiful, had not been the place for floaty cotton.
‘She wrapped it up at my house. I can even recall what she said. Mum’s such a brilliant role model, I hope I can make her as proud as I am of her. I can see her wearing this on a beach looking glamorous. Maybe she might even join me when I …’ Kat stopped and made a choking sound.
‘When I …?’ I prompted, sensing she was about to say something important. ‘Kat, when I what?’
She bit her lip before answering. ‘Go travelling next year.’
I stared at her as the words sank in.
‘You knew? She told you before she told me?’
Kat swallowed. ‘I didn’t know the details, only that it was something she was planning.’
‘I see.’ I was stung that Bronte had gone to her aunt before telling her own mother. Had she been nervous to tell me?
I felt a churning of self-loathing in the pit of my stomach. Clearly she had been, and with good reason, as it turned out.
‘Don’t take it personally, Mags. She’d said that she was working on her itinerary and that as soon as it was finished, she was going to give you a presentation. It was you she wanted to talk to properly about it.’
I pictured her that night she came over with sushi, her eyes bright with news.
‘And when she tried, I refused to listen, I wouldn’t even look at her notebook.
’ I stared at the twisted tissue in my hands.
‘I still can’t bring myself to look at it.
There’s all sorts of stuff I haven’t been through yet.
Her uni work, letters, drawers full of mementos, all sorts. They’re all up in her room.’
Her housemates had brought her belongings back when they moved out.
The girls had been so good, insisting on packing up Bronte’s room for me.
I’d shut the door to her bedroom after they’d gone and had never been in there since.
One day I’d have to deal with her things, I knew that. But that day was not today.
‘Do you think you should?’ Kat asked. ‘There could be something important in amongst her things.’
I shook my head. ‘I’ve sorted the main stuff, closed her bank accounts. She was a saver; I’d drummed that into her. She had quite a nest egg.’
‘Which I suppose is yours now. What are you going to do with it?’
I shrugged. ‘Save it, I suppose.’
‘What for? Beige cardigans and sensible shoes for when you’re in your dotage?’ she chided. ‘Come on, let’s think. Why don’t you do something spontaneous with it, something Bronte would love?’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know, a holiday somewhere sunny. You’ve got time, and it would do you good to get away.’
The thought of leaving England right now, while the weather was cold and the days were long and dark, did appeal.
‘Maybe. But where?’ I didn’t have a special place like other people that I returned to summer after summer.
‘Think about where you’ve always wanted to go.’ Kat tipped the bottle over my glass, but there was no wine left. She got up and headed to the kitchen. ‘Hold that thought.’
I’d negotiated a paid leave of absence with Anna, so financially I’d be fine.
Plus, I’d been putting money aside for years to help Bronte get onto the property ladder.
I could afford to go anywhere I wanted, but did I really want to go on my own?
I’d had Bronte with me on every holiday for the last twenty-three years.
I couldn’t imagine going away without her.
There was a loud pop from the kitchen and Kat returned with the bottle of sparkling wine I’d had chilling in the fridge for months.
‘Kat! That’s expensive, I was saving that!’
‘Of course you were,’ she said with a smirk. ‘But in the spirit of being spontaneous, what the hell.’
I laughed. ‘True. Besides, it’s not often I get given three months off.’
It would be the longest time I’d ever spent away from the workplace. In twelve weeks I could circumnavigate the globe if I wanted to. I could almost hear Bronte’s voice cheering me on, telling me to have an adventure.
‘That’s the spirit.’ She poured me another drink with a flourish.
‘Kat.’ I straightened up as an impulse overtook me. Perhaps it was time to do something I’d been putting off. Maybe now was the right time to hear from my daughter again. ‘Will you do something for me?’
‘Anything.’
‘Would you fetch Bronte’s gap-year book? It’s in her room, on the desk.’
Kat took a sip of her fizz. ‘Are you sure?’
My heart rate stepped up a notch. The book was a physical reminder of my failings that night. I’d never even been tempted to look between the covers. But six months had passed since I lost my girl. If she were alive, she’d be on that trip and I’d know all about it.
I nodded. ‘It’s time. I can’t change the past, but I can show an interest now, see what she’d planned to do.’
Without another word, Kat set down her glass and left the room.
I listened to her footsteps on the stairs, the creak of the floorboards overhead as she entered Bronte’s bedroom.
Sounds I’d heard a thousand times in so many forms over the years: the hesitant tread of a toddler, the skip of a little girl, the stomp of a frustrated teenager, through to the tiptoe of a young woman returning in the early hours from a night out, doing her best not to wake me. Footsteps that I’d never hear again.
Two minutes later, my sister was back, and I pulled myself from the depths of my memories. As she put the book on the coffee table in front of me, a piece of paper fluttered down to the floor.
‘Whoops.’ She retrieved it and handed it to me. ‘Must have been stuck to the back.’
‘It’s a letter from Saatchi,’ I said, scanning the letterhead. It was dated the day after our sushi night. I hadn’t seen it before. ‘She’d asked to delay the start of her job so she could have a gap year. This must be the reply. I wonder what they said.’
Kat leaned across and we read it together.
Dear Bronte,
I’m writing in response to your request to defer the start of your employment.
Your trip sounds amazing. You’ve certainly picked out some great locations.
With my employer’s head on, this is disappointing, as there’s a project I’d scheduled for you to work on.
But with my old hippie-at-heart head on, I applaud you.
Travelling gives us a chance to discover the world, experience different cultures, and learn who we are with no one to impress but ourselves.
So I will approve your deferral. And I will look forward to hearing how travel has changed you and try not to be too envious.
Bon voyage,
Neville Mortimer
I read it twice, my eyes lingering on the line about learning who you were. Neville might have been writing it for me. Without Bronte to mother, without my team to manage, who was Magnolia Jones, who did she want to be?
I shook my head, ashamed. ‘Even her new boss was more supportive than I was.’
Kat flapped a hand. ‘It was easy for him to say that – it wasn’t his kid. Nice guy though.’
‘She thought they’d approve of her plans,’ I said, remembering how she’d countered my worries with her positive outlook.
‘I’m glad she got to read that letter before she died.
Good for her. No doubt she’d have told me all about it the next time we met.
So she could have had it all: the time to travel and the job she’d wanted. She was a smart cookie.’
‘A gap year.’ Kat sighed with longing. ‘Can you imagine? Complete freedom, a few clothes stuffed in a backpack, no responsibilities, no one needing you. Why do kids have all the fun? I think mums should get a chance to go. Why isn’t mum’s gap year a thing?’
‘Because I imagine most families would come apart at the seams without Mum there to organise everything. Women are the engine room of the family machine. Usually,’ I added as Kat gave a soft snort.
Our mum hadn’t been like that. It had been up to me to steer us to safety when she landed us in deep water. An event which happened all too often.
‘True,’ she said. ‘Talking of Mum—’
I cut her off immediately. ‘We aren’t.’