Chapter 1 Emma January 2019
Emma
Emma’s phone rang as she was peeling potatoes for mash. She glanced at the screen but didn’t recognise the number so ignored it, cutting the peeled potato in half before adding it to the pan.
Her son James wandered into the kitchen, headphones clamped to his ears. He grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge and lifted it to his lips.
‘James! Use a glass,’ she said, nodding towards the cupboard.
He rolled his eyes but poured the milk into a glass and sat down at the kitchen table. ‘How long till dinner?’
‘Thirty minutes,’ she said. ‘How was college?’
James shrugged and looked at his phone. ‘Same, same.’
‘Best bit of the day?’ coaxed Emma. She remembered asking the same question when she used to pick him and his sister Libby up from primary school.
Best bit of the day? Worst bit of the day?
What did you have for lunch? She learned that after receiving a standard response of ‘fine’, they would compete on who could describe the most outlandish things that had happened.
Now they were both teenagers she was lucky if they answered at all.
James didn’t look up. ‘I scored a couple of baskets in practice and coach asked me to join the first team.’
‘James, that’s amazing.’ Emma smiled and rested her hand on his shoulder. A faint blush crept up his neck. ‘You must tell Dad when he gets in.’
James nodded and focused back on his phone.
‘How many sausages do you want?’ Emma asked, slipping them out of the packet on to the grill tray.
‘Six?’ he said hopefully.
Emma laughed and got a second packet out of the fridge. ‘D’you want any help with revision later? I could go through those index cards with you, ask you some random questions?’
‘Yeah, okay,’ he said.
Really she should try to finish off the survey for the new development.
She’d only got halfway through before she’d had to leave to pick up Libby and take her to street dance.
That was always the challenge – trying to fit what was a full-time job into part-time hours.
But Emma loved her afternoons off. Since James started school, she’d only worked from nine to three, meaning she could pick him and Libby up every day and spend the rest of the afternoon with them.
Even now they both tended to do their own thing – James at basketball or out with friends, Libby hanging around in town – she still liked being at home when they arrived and they knew she was there if they wanted her.
She could finish the survey after she’d helped out with the revision.
Libby came in and sat at the table. ‘I saw you with that girl at lunch,’ she said to James.
James narrowed his eyes and mouthed, ‘Fuck off.’
‘I saw that,’ said Emma. ‘It still counts as swearing even if you don’t say it.’
James rolled his eyes again slightly and looked back at his sister mouthing something Emma couldn’t interpret.
Her phone rang again and she glanced at the number. It was the same one as earlier and she still didn’t recognise it. She was about to answer when Nick came through the door.
‘Hi, gang,’ he said. ‘Nice to see everyone here rather than hiding in your rooms.’
‘The draw of dinner rather than my company, I think,’ laughed Emma as he pulled her into a hug. ‘How was your day?’
‘So, so.’ He screwed up his face. ‘Client meeting was a compete fiasco. I spent most of the rest of the day trying to sort out the mess.’
‘Oh, darling, I’m sorry. Why don’t you change? Then dinner will be ready.’
‘Fab, I’m starving.’
‘Libby, James, could you lay the table, please, while I serve up?’
There was a general grunt of disapproval but they both slowly got up and reached for plates and cutlery as Emma started putting pans of steaming mash, peas and beans on the table.
Nick joined them and Emma dished up, making sure to put plenty on Libby’s plate. She had been looking too thin recently.
They were halfway through dinner when Emma’s phone rang again. She put her fork down. ‘I know we say no phones at the table, but I just want to check it’s not that number again. Someone keeps calling me.’
‘One rule for us . . .’ said Libby.
‘Libby,’ said Nick. ‘Enough.’
It was the same number. Emma clicked ‘Accept’ and said ‘Hello?’ as she walked out of the kitchen, closing the door behind her.
‘Hello, is that Emma Bowen?’
There was something official about the man’s tone of voice that made her heart beat slightly faster. ‘Speaking.’
‘My name is Mr Eals. I’m calling about Margaret Chapman – your mother, I believe?’
‘Yes?’ Had she had a change of heart?
‘I’m sorry to inform you that Margaret died earlier today. It was very peaceful.’ The voice was soft.
Emma felt her throat constrict. She held the phone against her chest, unable to speak.
Almost immediately tears spilled down her face.
Mum was dead. She’d always thought they might reconcile.
She’d rushed to her mother’s bedside several times over the past twenty years of her illness, as she had gone in and then out of remission.
She’d become so used to her recovering that she thought they’d always have time to make things up.
She swallowed with difficulty and raised the phone to her ear. ‘Hello?’ she said.
‘Hello, Mrs Bowen.’ The voice was quiet, understanding.
Someone who was used to delivering bad news.
‘I realise this will be something of a shock for you. May I suggest we talk tomorrow morning, once you’ve had time to digest the news.
We can then talk about the official arrangements. Is there a good time for us to speak?’
‘Any time,’ Emma managed. ‘Thank you, Mr Eals.’ Emma ended the call. She opened the kitchen door again and looked at Nick and the children around the kitchen table. They were laughing. Three faces turned towards her.
‘All okay?’ said Nick.
‘It’s Mum,’ said Emma, her voice broke. ‘She died earlier today.’
‘Oh, Em.’ Nick was on his feet, holding her as her knees started to give way. He guided her back to the table. ‘What a shock.’
Both James and Libby stopped eating. Libby got up and put her arms around her mother from behind. ‘Sorry, Mum. We love you.’
‘Thanks, Libs,’ said Emma, wiping her eyes.
‘I’m sorry too, Mum,’ said James, frowning at her.
‘I think I’m going to go upstairs for a while,’ said Emma, getting to her feet. ‘Leave you to finish off here.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Nick.
‘I just need a moment on my own,’ said Emma.
‘I understand,’ he said, giving her another hug.
Lying on her bed, she let the tears come.
But what was she crying for? She and Mum had never got on.
She felt guilty that she hadn’t been there at the end though – especially when she’d dashed up to be with her the other times they’d thought she was near the end.
Had she died alone? No, Mr Eals had said it was peaceful so there must have been someone with her.
As her only child, it should have been me, Emma thought, crying harder.
But their relationship had always been strained. Even as a young child. There was a feeling of slight relief that it was at an end, and it made Emma feel even more guilty.
Later, when Nick came up, she sobbed into his chest. ‘I don’t know why I’m crying so much. I didn’t cry like this when Dad died and we were always so close.’
Nick stroked the back of her head. ‘I think it’s because you’re mourning the relationship you never had.’
And that was it exactly, Emma thought.