‘I know that!’
‘So let go of France for a bit. Come back, see me. Get to know your nephew a bit more.’
Now it was Bella’s turn to be silent. Then, ‘I can’t,’ she said, her voice small, reluctant.
‘But what will you do?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve applied for – I don’t know – a thousand jobs? One of them has to come up, surely.’
‘But you can get a job here, there’s loads of temping work around at the moment and…’
‘I can’t do it, Kitty. At least not yet. Because if I do, then Pete’s taken everything. Don’t you see that? He took my marriage, and my home. But I’ve had this dream of living in France for as long as I can remember. He can’t take that part of me too.’
‘He won’t. You’ll still be you.’
‘Look, maybe Iwillgo back to England one day. But if I do, I want it to be onmyterms.’ She sniffed loudly.
Kitty was silent. ‘OK,’ she finally said.
‘OK?’
‘I understand. But if that is the case, then you have to stop making cupcakes and start actually being practical.’
Bella looked around the kitchen – at the mixing bowls piled by the sink, the plates of pink-iced cupcakes, chocolate swirls. ‘What makes you think I’m baking?’
‘Bella?’
‘What?’
‘Bella…?’
She sighed. ‘OK, yes. I’m baking.’
‘And?’
‘And I’ll stop once this batch is finished. I’ll get back online and find something if it kills me.’
‘Atta girl.’
6
2006, ENGLAND
Her tights itched. Mum would never have bought cheap tights from the local shop. But Dad didn’t know anything about tights. These were thinner than her usual ones too; already they had a small ladder on the right ankle.
She didn’t understand why everyone had to wear black, either. Kitty and her, obviously. And Dad of course. But there were people there at Mum’s funeral whom she’d never met. Some of them were crying. It didn’t seem right that these people were here to mourn her mum when she’d belonged to Bella and Kitty and their father and no one else. Not really.
And why had Dad decided to have the ceremony in a church? Mum hated churches – said they gave her the creeps. She’d hate to know that she was in a coffin in front of the pews (although a part of Bella still didn’t believe that Mum was in that thing in front of the altar). Mum had liked outdoors and sunlight and happy places.
But Mum was dead.
The word ‘dead’ seemed to flit across her mind every few minutes. It was such an odd word. Such a flat, final word. It didn’t seem to fit the lively, loving mum who lived in her memory. She thought again of the last time she’d seen her, her back to Bella as she rinsed out her coffee cup at the kitchen sink.
‘Bye, then,’ Bella had said, bag over her shoulder, annoyed that she had to go to school.
‘See you, love!’ Mum had called.
And she’d left.
