Chapter Ten
The headache was there when I woke up. A tiny man with a very small hammer had set up shop somewhere at the back of my head and was determined to ruin the first free Saturday morning I’d had in ages.
My bathroom cabinet was well stocked with practically every over-the-counter remedy you could wish for, apart from the painkillers I was looking for.
As I rummaged among the packets, my thoughts went back to the large bag of medication on the rear seat of Rhys’s car, which I now knew must be for Tasha’s asthma.
I knew very little about the condition, but I remembered a boy in my primary class being taken to hospital in an ambulance after a severe flare-up in the school playground.
I hoped Tasha wasn’t as badly affected, although the size of the bag seemed to suggest otherwise.
I eventually found the paracetamols on the top shelf of the cabinet.
As I stood on tiptoe to reach them, another box tumbled out, landing face-up on the fluffy bathmat beside me.
I stooped to pick it up, a frown already forming.
I stared at the packet curiously, willing to swear I’d never seen it before in my life.
The medication was for travel sickness, and I was surprised to discover half of the pills inside it were gone.
I wasn’t always a good traveller. Cars and trains didn’t affect me, but flying wasn’t great.
And as for water . . . I used to joke that even looking at pictures of the sea made me queasy.
I’d actually broken it off with a guy I’d been seeing a while ago because his waterbed made me nauseous.
Or maybe that had just been a handy excuse.
I’d never needed much of a reason to call it a day once the initial spark of interest had flickered out.
Rhys’s face suddenly pushed all other thoughts out of my head.
Would it be that way between us if he were free?
If he wasn’t caught halfway between giving his relationship with his child’s mother one last chance or walking away.
Was I unnecessarily complicating things for him, or was the undeniable attraction mostly coming from my side?
I sprang two paracetamols from their foil sheet to swallow with my morning orange juice, but for some reason I didn’t return the travel pills to the cabinet.
Instead, I dropped them into the deep pocket of my towelling robe.
They were yet another mystery that was silently pecking away at my consciousness.
The other being: why was my mother avoiding my calls?
Was she screening them? The thought made me pause halfway through buttering a slice of toast. Had our last squabble been so severe we were no longer speaking at all?
The frustration of not knowing was making me jittery.
I pulled the travel pills from one pocket and my mobile phone from the other.
There was a connection here, but I just couldn’t work out what it was.
I glanced at the clock. It was very early.
I never phoned her at this hour – at least I didn’t think I did, but with a memory as unreliable as mine, who was to say?
I felt sneaky hiding my number so that it wouldn’t flash up on her caller ID. Who does that when phoning their own mother?
I poured myself another mug of coffee and sat back down on the breakfast stool, absently toying with the knife on my plate as I waited for the call to connect. I hummed along to the radio, blissfully unaware that in less than ten seconds my whole world was going to be blown apart.
The phone rang, and not just in my ear. I drew it away to check it wasn’t on speaker.
It wasn’t. So why could I still hear it ringing?
I looked all around, trying to work out where the sound was coming from.
There was something vaguely sinister about the overly cheery default ringtone.
I slid off the stool and followed the sound.
It was coming from beyond the kitchen. Was my mother here, in my flat?
How could she have let herself in without me knowing? She had no key to my home.
Once in the hallway, it was easier to determine where the ringing was coming from. My footsteps were hesitant as I walked towards my bedroom. This had all the makings of a great jump scare scene in a film, and it was far too early in the morning for that kind of fright.
The room was empty, just as I’d left it. The duvet was thrown back, the shutters were opened, and there was no parent standing in a room she’d not set foot in for years. And yet the phone continued to ring.
My eyes scoured the bedroom, trying to pinpoint where the sound was coming from. They settled on the large oak chest of drawers beside the window. I swallowed several times, my palms so sweaty I almost dropped my own phone as I crossed the room.
I pulled open the top drawer of the dresser with unnecessary force, as though trying to derail this particularly unpleasant practical joke.
Because that was what it was, wasn’t it?
Someone was playing a trick on me. And it must have been an incredibly cruel one, because why else would there be tears coursing down my cheeks as I reached for my mother’s phone from the place where it had been stored at the back of the drawer.
‘I forgot. How is that even possible?’
A warm breeze ruffled my hair. Had I brushed it before leaving the flat? It seemed unlikely. I could scarcely even remember pulling on whatever clothes my scrabbling hands had fallen upon and plucking up my car keys.
Clearly, I shouldn’t have driven here. No one that distraught should ever get behind the wheel of a car.
Luckily it was the weekend, and the roads had been quiet at the early hour.
The car park had even been empty, apart from one other vehicle.
Maybe it was always empty, who was to say?
It wasn’t as if all the missing pieces had miraculously fallen into place.
Just the major ones; the ones so devastating I was still reeling from the shock.
‘I forgot,’ I said again, my voice sadder now. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I added in a whisper. ‘How could I?’
I was still shaking; I had been from the moment I’d plucked my mother’s phone from the drawer and immediately staggered backwards as the memories cannoned into me, one after the other.
I still felt dizzy and disorientated, and my knees finally gave up the impossible task of keeping me upright. I sank down onto them, feeling the dew-covered grass immediately seep into the denim of my jeans.
Reaching out, I tentatively touched the black granite headstone with its gold-etched writing.
I read the inscription as though I was seeing it for the very first time, which in a way I was.
My lower lip began to tremble as I read her name, Elizabeth Louise Harker.
But it was the dates beneath it – especially the second one – that wrenched a sob from me.
It was six months in the past. My mother had died over half a year ago, and yet for me it was breaking news that I couldn’t take in.
She’d been so healthy. So fit. I cast my mind back and couldn’t remember a single day she’d ever been off work sick.
For most of my childhood, she’d held down at least two jobs, sometimes three.
If anyone ever wondered where my fierce independence or unwavering work ethic had come from, they didn’t need to look far.
This apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree.
‘What happened, Mum?’ It was the voice of the child I hadn’t been for a very long time.
More memories found cracks in the wall the lightning had created.
And none of them were good. It had been cancer.
I remembered that now. It had been horribly and cruelly quick.
But she would have welcomed that. She’d never been one for long-drawn-out goodbyes.
Had we said ours properly? Had we made peace with all the petty disagreements of the past?
I shook my head sadly. Those memories were still locked away from me.
There were flowers on her grave that were borderline past their best. I assumed they must have come from me, because we had no other family.
It had always been just her and me. Mum made acquaintances easily, but friends .
. . not so much. Those she did have lived far from here.
I touched the wilting roses, and a wave of sadness shuddered through me.
I leant forward until my forehead was resting on the cool smooth stone of her marker. It felt familiar, as though I might have done this before. I really hoped that wasn’t just my imagination filling in the gaps that still existed.
When had I last visited her in this place? I hoped it hadn’t been too long ago. ‘Because it looks kind of lonely here,’ I said, my voice cracking on the words.
Mum had a solitary plot in a row of doubles, which felt both sad and symbolic.
Not that she’d have wanted it any other way.
She’d never wanted nor needed anyone beside her in life, so why would she in death?
As far as I knew she’d never dated again – not even once – after my father had walked out of our life.
‘You can’t miss what you never had’ was a phrase I grew up hearing.
‘Besides, I’m too busy for all that nonsense,’ she’d always maintained.
Had she thought it through properly, I wondered? I looked down at the empty space on the grass beside her and ran my fingers through the cool, damp blades. Was spending eternity alone really what she’d wanted, or was it just the hand that life had dealt her?
A bird cawed overhead, and it sounded exactly like the dismissive sound my mother would have made if she knew the direction my thoughts had taken.
I got to my feet and glanced over my shoulder towards an empty bench not far from my mother’s plot.
Currently its only occupant was a curious robin, who was hopping from seat to armrest. He disappeared into the trees in a flurry of flapping wings when I sat down, only to return moments later as soon as I settled.
I wondered if he was a frequent visitor to this spot.
I hoped so. It would be nice if Mum had some company.
I sat on the bench until the sun had climbed as high as it could go above the trees and the cemetery began to grow busier. By the time I got to my feet, there were others walking along the footpaths, some carrying flowers, and a young couple carrying a teddy bear.
I spoke to no one as I made my way towards the exit, walking with my head down and studying my feet, which I only now noticed were in mismatched socks.
The only interaction I had was when a distinguished-looking older gentleman with sad eyes and a kindly smile nodded my way in unspoken acknowledgement as I passed him at the wrought-iron gates.
He looked vaguely familiar, and I wondered if our paths had crossed on one of my previous visits.
I had no idea, but then he swept past me without a word, so perhaps we’d never met at all.
Feeling exhausted, I walked slowly back to my car.