Chapter 42 #2
‘Because we’ve not been back here for so long. Because I thought you’d all … I don’t know, think we were cows for not seeing enough of our mum.’
Tasmin puffs out a long, befuddled breath, giving Poppy a little wave as she finally starts to make her way back towards us.
‘Don’t be daft. Life gets complicated, we all know that. Your mum was happy here, and she never had a bad word to say about either of you. She was always full of her weekends away and her trips to see you, honest.’
I know she’s trying to be kind, but I can’t help being struck by the sadness of that – the thought of my mum sitting here, telling stories about her wonderful daughters and how well they looked after her, when the reality was so different.
Maybe she was trying to fool them, or maybe she was trying to fool herself, who knows?
But the truth of the matter is that we broke her heart, no matter how many spa breaks Poppy took her on or how many roast dinners I cooked for her in Liverpool.
She was forced to lead two lives – three in fact: one for me, one for Poppy, and one for herself – because of our stubborn refusal to put the past behind us.
It is unbelievably sad, and I am feeling less like doing karaoke than ever.
I look around and see all the familiar faces from my childhood, laughing and chatting in The Pub That Time Forgot, and know that this was a big part of Mum’s life – and I chose not to share it with her. All that time, wasted.
Poppy places the drinks down on the table, and makes mindless small talk with Tasmin until she leaves, making me promise to stay in touch.
‘I’m BigTas99 on Instagram,’ she says, waggling her eyebrows at me. ‘Don’t be a stranger.’
Poppy has finished half her wine while she was at the bar cradle-snatching, and has also managed to get hold of a karaoke book that lists all the songs.
She pores over it, apparently oblivious to everything around us that is making me feel so bad.
Which I suppose is a good thing – life will be easier if we can alternate our nervous breakdowns.
‘That was Tasmin’s son you were chatting up,’ I say, gulping my Diet Coke and wishing it had Jack Daniel’s in it. ‘He’s only twenty-seven.’
She looks up at me, frowning.
‘Well, that’s a perfectly respectable age then, isn’t it? He’s nice. Got some good ideas about marketing this place, and he was also annoyed about the apostrophe issue. Plus he’s fit as fuck. What are you going to sing?’
‘“Big Spender”,’ I say, without even thinking about it.
‘Cool. I can see that. Give it loads. I think I’m going to go for a bit of Girls Aloud. I love that “Sound of the Underground” song. You okay? You look a bit … soggy.’
I use Tasmin’s boob tissue to wipe my cheeks, and try to pull myself together.
‘Is it messing with your head, being here?’ Poppy asks, closing the karaoke book and giving me her full attention.
I nod, not really wanting to get into it with her.
We’re in this incredibly strange position where only the two of us know what the other is going through, but neither of us is quite able to offer comfort or consolation.
We’re still like prickly cacti, trying our best but constantly spiking each other by accident.
‘I get that,’ she replies, reaching out to touch my hand but thinking better of it at the last minute and snatching it away. ‘It’s hard. Being in all the places she’s been, seeing her friends, finally being part of her life but doing it too late.
‘It’s like we’re retreading her footsteps and she could appear at any moment, isn’t it?
I feel the same way – as soon as I walked in here, I remembered that New Year’s Eve we had together …
anyway. I can’t deal with all of that right now.
I need to switch off for a bit, if that makes sense, or I might spontaneously combust. I’m just planning on drinking and flirting my way through it tonight. ’
I’m jealous of her ability to do either of those things, but am saved from further conversation by the arrival of Lewis, looming above us in all his bulk. He really is enormous, and still dressed in a suit and waistcoat, even in the pub on a Friday night.
‘Ladies,’ he says, nodding in greeting. ‘It’s nice to see you again. I’m delighted that you made it to K at least. I trust you’re both keeping well?’
‘If by “well” you mean “nervous wrecks”, then yes, thank you Lewis, we’re doing fine,’ replies Poppy, raising her eyebrows at him, her tone slightly snippy. I still don’t think she’s forgiven him for giving me the keys to the cottage.
‘Yes, thanks Lewis,’ I add, hastily. ‘Thanks for everything – for looking after our mother like you did. We really appreciate it.’
‘There’s nothing to thank me for,’ he says, smiling. ‘Every moment I spent in your mother’s company was a privilege. I look forward to seeing your performances later.’
With a polite nod he ambles off, making his way through the crowds to sit in the far corner. The corner where Mum always used to sit. I’m probably imagining it, but I think he looks so sad, so lonely, sitting there on his own – as though the other half of him is missing.
‘Right. I’m going to chat Jake up a bit more, get another drink, and start on the karaoke. Are you with me?’ says Poppy, standing up and looking determined.
‘No,’ I say simply, ‘but knock yourself out.’
She shrugs, and I look on as she shimmies through the pub, attracting admiring glances as she goes. Still gorgeous, like she was as a teenager – but these days, she knows it.
I sit mainly alone for the rest of the night, chatting to a few passing people who stop and express their sympathies, to Tasmin again, and to Gloria Lubbock, our old head teacher, who seems unbearably disappointed that I never gained my PhD. She was hoping for her first doctor, she says.
Poppy sings the Girls Aloud track, which brings the house down, and Tasmin does ‘Like A Virgin’, and even Lewis gets in on the act, doing a splendidly dignified version of ‘My Way’.
I manage to get through ‘Big Spender’ purely on adrenalin, acting it the way I thought my mother would act it, pretending I’m not me, but someone far sexier – someone farmers would like to watch waggling her huge hips.
It goes surprisingly well, and someone yells ‘eat your heart out Shirley Bassey!’ as I stagger back to my seat.
Nobody has been hostile at all, everyone has in fact been incredibly kind, and somehow that is making me feel worse – like I don’t deserve their kindness.
Perhaps I’d feel better if they chased me on to the village green and whipped me with sticks.
After a couple of hours, I am desperate to go back to the cottage and pull the duvet over my head, but Poppy is feeling extremely merry and shows no inclination to end the evening at all. It seems to have become an unwritten rule of the A–Z that at least one of us must be drunk at all times.
‘Can we go soon?’ I ask, as she brings me yet another glass of Coke.
‘Not yet, Rose … please? I’ve put us down for one more song. After that, I promise I’ll come. Or you can go, at least, and I’ll make my own way back.’
‘By make your own way back, do you mean spend the night with Tasmin Hughes’s son and do the walk of shame through the village in the morning?’
‘Maybe I do, and maybe I do …’ she replies, grinning. She looks happy and, much as I want to resent her for it, I don’t seem to have it in me. Progress of sorts, I suppose.
‘One more song,’ I say, like a stern mum relenting on one battle in a long war.
‘One more,’ she says, ‘for Mum. We’ll do “Summer Nights” – bagsy being Danny …’