Chapter 3 #3
An idea struck. ‘Maybe we should go somewhere for half-term, just the three of us?’ Her tone brightened a little as the notion grew in her mind.
‘It might do us all good to get away. How about Italy? We could find a nice hotel in Tuscany, eat good food, walk in the sunshine?’ She looked at their less than eager faces.
‘I know it will be strange without Dad, but there will be a lot of firsts without him and once we have done them, we won’t fear them any more.
This could be our first holiday. What do you think? ’
Connor stared at the bagel and egg on his plate, ‘If I’m going to make the A team next year, then I need to be around for training and I don’t really want to go away, Mum.’ He spoke softly, as if to counter her disappointment.
‘I don’t want to go anywhere without Dad,’ Declan confessed.
Nina turned her attention to the making of tea.
She didn’t want to do anything without Finn either, nothing at all.
All she did want to do was take to her bed, hide under the duvet and sleep and cry .
. . but carrying on was what was required for all those who got left behind.
No matter how hard it got. ‘That’s okay, boys. We shall stay here.’
‘I also need to finalise my subject options for next year,’ Connor said, as if further justification were needed. ‘Dad was going through it all with me and we had a vague plan.’
‘I can help you with that if you like,’ she offered.
‘Sure,’ he said unenthusiastically. ‘Ms Rabieno says I should take Biology and Chemistry, and I really want to do History too because I love it. But apparently top unis want subjects in matching clusters of topics – nothing too broad. So maybe I should choose Physics, even though I don’t really like it. ’
‘I think to study at the level required for university, and to do it justice, you have to love the subject matter or you won’t get the best out of it and it won’t get the best out of you.’
‘Thanks for that insight,’ Connor muttered, and turned his attention to his phone. ‘I’ll talk to Ms Rabieno.’
It made her feel like her opinion was worthless, but he was probably right. What did she know? She never went to university. She felt her stomach cave with a sinking feeling of inadequacy.
After breakfast the three of them made their way to the car. It was a bitingly cold winter’s day. They drove the few minutes to the boys’ school in silence.
‘Are you okay, Connor?’ she asked, looking at his profile.
‘Yep. I’ll speak to the coach today.’
‘I meant more, how are you feeling in general, not just today?’
He took a deep breath. ‘In general? I feel sad, Mum. Sadder than I knew was possible.’ He stared out the window at the solid pale villas that lined the route to school.
‘And I feel angry, at how unfair it is. Some of the guys at school tell me how their dads treat them, hassling them about grades, punishing them even, you know?’ He shrugged.
‘But Dad was’ – he swallowed – ‘Dad was the best, and it makes me mad because he’s the one that died. I thought I had more time.’
Nina nodded and struggled to find words that might help. ‘Me too. I thought we had all the time in the world.’
The heart-wrenching sound of Declan’s sobbing filled the car. She reached back and patted his arm. ‘Don’t cry, my darling.’
‘I . . . I can’t . . . help it,’ he managed.
It was a stark reminder that they were always only a heartbeat, a phrase, a mention and a reminder away from this raw distress that they all tried so hard to keep at bay, and it was exhausting.
She neared the traffic lights and was greeted by a green light: a good omen for a good day.
Mr Monroe’s offices were in the centre of Bath, entered via a small, unobtrusive door next to the rear entrances of the shops, and at the top of a winding staircase, high above Milsom Street.
They offered a glorious view over the shoppers and tourists ambling around the Georgian city.
That was if you were tall enough to see out of the apex window.
The room was cluttered with boxes and files and smelled of old books.
The aroma wasn’t wholly unpleasant but, rather, evocative of libraries and real fires and winter nights and the escape of stories.
This in turn made Nina think of her mamma and those early, early years in Frederiksberg, and the cold winter nights when darkness drew its blind on the day.
She didn’t remember too much about that time, but the odd memory stood out clear and distinct.
She could picture herself with Tiggy huddled under a fur blanket, in the small, slate-floored room, happy and content, with a log fire crackling in the grate, and lamplight casting gentle shadows on the wall, and listening to the rustle of crisp pages turning, with her mum’s beautiful, soft voice reading to them the story of Thumbelina.
Her tears pooled; it was as if Finn’s death had made her miss her mamma more, too. Nina coughed, doing her best to defeat the nerves that threatened to swamp her.
‘Ah, Mrs McCarrick, here you are. Please sit down.’ Mr Monroe extended his hand. He was as wide as he was tall and had a certain awkwardness about his manner, as if apologising in advance for his cumbersome demeanour. He pulled a chair away from the desk and awkwardly wedged himself in.
‘Thank you. And I’m sorry not to have returned your calls. I’ve had my head in the sand a bit.’
‘Not at all, it’s perfectly understandable, and believe me, I hated disturbing you.
But as I mentioned on the phone, I have been very keen to talk to you.
’ Mr Monroe gave a tight smile and held his suit jacket closed over his shirtfront.
He was far too big a man to be holed up in such a small office; she was sure that with one deep breath he might take all the air from the room.
She placed her handbag on her lap and sat up straight.
‘I really don’t know what’s going on,’ she said.
‘I had a call from school about fees, and I called the bank to try to see what had happened to the standing order to try to sort the situation, but I could only get through to an automated system that asked for numeric codes and passwords. The trouble is they have all been set up by Finn, and I have no idea what they are.’ She shook her head at the absurdity of the situation.
‘And when I eventually got through to an actual human, they said that as I had failed their security measures, they could only talk to the primary account holder – who is Finn.’ She bit her lip, remembering the utter desolation at having to explain to the uninterested call handler that her husband had passed away and being told her best chance of success was to write a letter .
. . ‘Apparently we are behind on school fees, which I find hard to believe, as Finn has always been such a stickler for paying punctually. I need that sorted today, without question. It’s become quite urgent. ’ She swallowed.
Mr Monroe sat forward and formed his fingers into a pyramid that hovered at his chest. She stared at his thick moustache, thinking it must be strange to have more hair on your face than your head as his bald pate shone under the lights.
‘You have had nothing to do with your accounts?’ he asked.
Nina shook her head, embarrassment heating her neck and chest. ‘Not really. Finn always took care of the financial side of things. I haven’t worked outside of the home.
’ She felt the blush on her cheeks, as if she needed to justify her position.
She wanted to explain that looking after the big house, and Hampy when he lived with them, nursing him until he died, and childcare, running errands – all of it was work in itself.
Not that she needed to explain her life to anyone; it had worked for her and Finn, and that was all that mattered.
‘You’ve had to worry about money your whole life, but not any more.
I will take care of you. Take care of us .
. .’ Nina bit her lip, remembering how his words had filled her with peace, reassurance.
She had felt any worry over her financial future slip from her bones, warmed by the fact her kids would never know what it felt like to try to squeeze their feet into last year’s shoes, which she knew from experience made you feel as if you yourself didn’t quite fit.
She looked across the desk at Mr Monroe.
‘I had a bankcard and a couple of credit cards, and there is always cash in the house.’ She felt the weight of the man’s stare.
‘The money, our money, is all tied up with the business, so it always felt more like Finn’s responsibility than mine.
’ She closed her mouth, aware that she was gabbling, in part to hide her discomfort.
His stare made her feel he was judging her.
How could she begin to explain that the idea of looking after the accounts had never occurred to her, that it was just how it was?
‘And your husband didn’t discuss your current financial situation with you? Didn’t say anything before he passed away?’ He tapped his fingertips together, and she noticed that his fingernails were a little grubby, with half-moons of dirt sitting underneath the tips.