A Hopeless Romantic (54 page)

“Are you cold, Laura dear?” said Annabel, her voice quiet and hoarse. “Perhaps we should stop here and get some coffee.”

“No, no,” said Laura, feeling a wave of panic at the suggestion. “No, please, Aunt Annabel, please—just keep driving.”

“Of course,” said Annabel. She flicked a look at her niece, very briefly. “Darling. You mustn’t get too upset, you know.”

Don’t say it, thought Laura. I’ll be fine if you don’t say it.

“She’s eighty-five, you know. She’s had a good life. A very good life.”

“Shut up,” said Laura quietly, ferociously. “Don’t, Aunt Annabel. I mean it, don’t.”

“Laura!” said Aunt Annabel, but her voice was still soft. “Listen to me. It’s not a cliché with your grandmother, you know. She has had a good life. One of the best. Wonderful times she had with—with Xan, and everyone. She’s been everywhere. She knows everyone. She hasn’t had a moment’s illness.”

“That’s not the point!” Laura cried. “She wasn’t ready! It’s not her time, it’s not. Why couldn’t she—”

“Laura, Laura,” said Annabel. She reached across blindly for Laura’s hand, took it with her own, and squeezed it. “Do you really think that’s true? That she wasn’t ready to go? Because I don’t.”

“How can you…” Laura began, and her voice trailed away as she remembered Mary only that day, wincing with pain and then her face clearing, as if she wasn’t in pain anymore.

“I love your grandmother very much,” said Annabel. “She’s like my mother. I don’t remember my mother at all. So Mary brought me up when she married my father.” She spoke as if she were talking to herself. “She was so in love with Xan. Always. He was the love of her life. When he died, she wasn’t the same. Of course, she’s been fine these last few years. But she misses him. And lately—oh, I don’t know…” She shook her head, arched her back, as if trying to stretch herself, shake herself out in the confined space. “I think lately, the last couple of months, she’s—changed. Well, we know she has. She’s wanted to go. I think she knew it was time.”

“Time?” said Laura, not believing her. “How can she have known it was time? How can she have given herself a heart attack, Aunt Annabel? It’s not possible.”

“It is, if you just give up,” said Annabel, “and, darling—I think it’s time you called me Annabel, you know. You’re not fourteen anymore.”

Not knowing what to say to the twin points of this last sentence, Laura lapsed into silence, counting the miles again, willing the journey away. And then she remembered saying goodbye to Mary—was it only a few hours ago, in the hallway of her flat?—and she knew that her grandmother had known it was the last time, and the blood in her veins froze.

It was around four in the morning when they reached the hospital. Neither of them said anything, but jumped out of the car, hurrying, almost running, trying to find their family, looking for the signs to lead them through the glass and concrete building. The wards were deserted. Laura and Annabel raced in step, following the directions they’d been given.

“Here,” said Annabel, clutching Laura’s arm in a viselike grip. “It’s this one. They said, down this one. At the end.”

There was Angela, walking down the corridor toward them, Laura could see her, was nearly there; she could see her mother’s face, the tears running down it. Angela was holding something in her hand, and she was shaking her head, shaking her head and crying out loud.

“Laura, oh, Laura,” she said, as Laura reached her and enfolded her in her arms, surprised to find that her mother was smaller than she, shocked at how vulnerable she felt.

“Is she—” Laura said, not able to finish the question.

“Yes,” said Angela, sobbing into her shoulder. “She’s down there. Just a while ago. Too late, you’re too late. And she—oh…”

She buried her head even deeper into her daughter’s neck and made a sound almost like a howl, while Laura stroked her hair, not knowing what to do. Suddenly, holding her mother tight, Laura felt closer to her than she ever had, and it was as powerful a feeling as anything she’d ever known. There was a brief moment’s calm, and Laura breathed out, not knowing what to say, as her mother blinked into Laura’s jacket, and stepped back. She wasn’t looking at Laura, though. She was looking past her. At Annabel, standing behind them.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Angela said.

“What?” said Annabel.

“You knew she was ready to go.”

“Yes,” said Annabel briefly. “Angela. I’m so sorry, darling.”

Laura had never heard them talk to each other like this. Like they were sisters, rather than polite acquaintances in the same book group, which was how they usually addressed each other. She looked down the corridor, all the way down. She could just see some figures standing there; they were men. Simon was one, she was sure. Dad and Uncle Robert. They were facing them, watching. She couldn’t see their expressions. Annabel stood there, turning her car keys over and over in her hand. Again, Laura didn’t recognize her. She looked like a little girl. Annabel reached out and patted her stepsister’s hand, awkwardly.

The figures were advancing toward them. Simon was first, his hair standing on end, his face hollow. As he approached, he opened his eyes wide, as if he didn’t know what to do. He hugged Laura, and George, behind him, threw his arms around them both.

“Hello, love,” he said, and kissed his daughter’s ear. “Glad you’re here. Glad you’re here.” He went up to his wife and put his arm around her, as Laura turned to Simon.

“When did it happen?” she asked him.

“About an hour ago.” Simon spoke quietly. “Her breathing was shallow, they knew it was going to happen.” He pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose and breathed in, a hissing sound, and then went on, “Yeah. It was another heart attack, Laura. After it happened, she wouldn’t have felt anything. She just—slipped away.”

“Did you see her? Did you—talk to her?”

“Yes, but she couldn’t say much,” said Simon, and his lip curled in on itself, like he was trying not to cry. “When Cedric found her, she was…pretty much gone anyway.” He wiped his face on his sleeve, and pulled Laura toward him.

“Let’s go home,” said Laura. She touched Robert’s arm briefly; he was on the outskirts, mutely watching the scene before him. “Robert, I think you should take Annabel home,” she said. “She’s been driving for hours, she must be exhausted.”

Annabel, who had been looking quietly at Angela, turned at this. “Fine,” she said blankly. “Fine. Where’s Fran?”

“On the phone to Lulu, outside. Come on,” said Simon, taking his cue. “Mum—Dad? We’re going home.”

“We can’t just—leave her,” Angela said.

“Yes, we can,” said Simon. “The doctor said so herself. You can come back tomorrow to arrange everything then. Cedric and Jasper are still here, they’re going to stay.” He looked at Laura. “Do you want to see her?”

“Yes,” said Laura quietly. “Just a minute, Mum. Annabel—you coming too?”

She walked to the end of the corridor. Jasper and Cedric were sitting there, even more incongruous in this setting than any of the rest of them. They stood up, rather creakily, as Laura and Annabel approached.

“Dear girl,” Cedric whispered. He kissed her. “She’s just in there. Wouldn’t have felt a thing. Smile on her face when I found her, you know.”

Laura only half heard him. She was opening the door to the tiny room, not at all afraid of what she might see. She knew it was her grandmother; she knew she had been ready to go; and Laura knew she had to see her again, that death was not frightening when it looked like this. Mary was lying under the sheet, one ringed hand resting on her chest. Her eyes, so full of life, were closed. Without its usual animation, her face was solemn in repose. She was not there anymore. Laura kissed her forehead. Mary’s skin was cool and smooth, sweet-smelling as always, that old-fashioned powder she used; and Laura turned away feeling as if her heart was breaking. A tear dropped onto the sheet, onto Mary’s hand. This was the last time she would see her. But she was not there anymore; Laura had to keep remembering that.

Her parents were waiting for her in the doorway. George put his arm around his daughter. “Let’s go home, love,” he said. “Time for bed.”

chapter fifty

O
f course I’m coming tomorrow,” said Yorky.

“But, Yorky—it’s a Thursday. How will you get the time off?”

“I’ve cleared it with my head of department,” said Yorky, standing up rather straight. “I explained it to them. Said I had to go to a funeral. They’re going to have my classes covered. It’s only the afternoon, isn’t it. No problem.”

They were in their kitchen. It was Wednesday, the day before Mary’s funeral. Laura had just got off the phone to her mum, and was drying plates in a rather desultory way, staring out the window. Yorky put his arm round her and squeezed her. “Want to be there, to make sure you and Simon are okay,” he said rather stiffly.

Laura buried her head in his armpit gratefully, trying not to let him see how very touched she was. She and Yorky didn’t do excessive displays of emotion. “Right,” she said. “Oh, Yorks. Thanks a lot.”

“Not at all,” said Yorky. “Jo’s coming, she’s got the afternoon off, too. She’s coming here, she’ll drive me.”

“Wow,” said Laura. “I didn’t know that.” You know times are serious when your friends are making arrangements about you without telling you about it, she thought. She put down the tea towel and turned around.

“Thanks,” she said, taking the glass Yorky proffered.

“How’s your mum?” said Yorky.

“She’s fine.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” said Laura. “You know, she really is. We all are.”

That evening, Laura went to her parents’ for supper. When she arrived, her mother was on the phone to Annabel in the hallway. She raised her eyes at Laura and blew her a kiss.

“How’re you?” Laura said to her brother, as they were making drinks in the kitchen.

“I’m okay.” Simon was slicing a lemon; he didn’t look up. “How about you?”

“I’m okay.” Laura flicked through the stately homes calendar on the kitchen counter, and looked round the kitchen, cozy and warm in the chill October evening.

“Wish tomorrow was over,” said Simon. “I hate funerals.”

“No, really?” said Laura. “Actually, though, you know, I’m almost looking forward to it.”

“Really?” Simon handed her a drink. “Why?”

“You know, it’s Gran. It’ll be great. You know everyone loved her. Everyone thought she was the greatest person in the room.”

“True,” said Simon. “Still…” He looked sadly at the photo on the fridge of Mary sitting in her deck chair at Seavale. “Wish she was here instead.”

Laura shook her head, her eyes filling with tears, because of course that was what she wished, too, more than anything else; but she felt this very strong feeling of calm about her grandmother, and kept remembering what Annabel had said.

“Burr,” she said, sniffing. “Stupid.”

Simon hugged her. “Ah, sis. Don’t cry.”

“’Mnot.’ Laura wiped her eyes.

“So—what happened, then?” Simon shoveled some crisps into his mouth. “You went back up to that bloke’s house, didn’t you?”

Laura nodded. “Yes. Well. No. Yes, I did, I—actually? Let’s forget it.”

“No, tell me,” said Simon. “What’s going on? You like him, I mean you really like him. I can tell.” He ate some more crisps, but looked at her sideways.

“You know what?” said Laura frankly. “I actually have no idea what’s going on. But I think he needs to sort himself out a bit. And so do I.”

“Right.”

“And till then, let’s forget it. Tell me what’s going on with you and Jorgia. How is she?”

Simon said casually, “I’ve got a job, you know.”

“What?” said Laura, peering down the corridor to where Angela was nodding silently, still on the phone to Annabel. “What can they still be talking about? What? You’ve got a
job
? Doing what?”

Simon shrugged. “Working in a garden center.”

“What?” said Laura, not quite able to process the information her brother was giving her. She stared. “A garden center? Why?”

“I love gardening,” said Simon. “I want to be a gardener.”

“No, you don’t,” said Laura, bewildered. “Who are you? What are you talking about? What about Jorgia, about going back to Peru?”

“I do want to be a gardener,” said Simon stubbornly. “I love gardening, you know I do.”

It was true—Simon did love gardening, always had done.

“Where?” said Laura, trying to get a grasp of it all.

“Out toward Windsor, quite near here, actually. It’s that house, Myddleton Manor. You remember, Mum and Dad used to take us when we were little. It’s got the boating lake, and the ponies. Just off the M4 motorway.”

“Oh, my God, yes!” said Laura.

Simon said, “It’s what I want to do, you know.”

Laura was confused; lots of things were going through her head. “I know you do, but—Simon, what about Jorgia, what’s happened?”

Simon said, “It’s over with me and Jorgia.”

“Oh,” said Laura, looking at him in distress. His face was impassive. “Why? Oh, I’m sorry.”

Simon said, “We were too different, Laura. She—well. It’s not going to happen. We had a big argument last week. And we talked yesterday—we both kind of agreed. You know? So. Yeah.” He shrugged, a completely boyish gesture. It said, “I’m not fussed.” It meant, “I’m really upset but I’m a man, so no chance I’m going to talk about it.”

“Oh, Simon.” Laura looked at her brother.

“It’s weird,” Simon said. “I really thought we’d make it work, you know?”

“I know,” said Laura. “I’m so sorry.”

Simon coughed. “I’m okay, honestly. Well, kind of. It’s weird, though. I was talking to Jo the other day, and we were saying how different our lives are, all of that. And I looked at her and thought, Yes, but I still know you. I
know
you. Who you are and all of that. What kind of person you are. I don’t really know that with Jorgia. I loved her. She’s beautiful. I loved her family, their lifestyle. But I didn’t really know her.”

“But you would have done, with time,” said Laura, feeling panicked all of a sudden. “It’s not important, that stuff. You’d have worked it all out. Don’t you think?”