‘Although I am, excuse my French, completely pissed off at being dragged away from life while only in my sixties, it has been a good life. Full and rich and never, ever boring. You two have been both the highlights and the low points, and I’m hoping that the low points will soon be specks of dust on the horizon.
‘At the moment, as I record this, I’m not afraid. I’m not afraid of dying, or what comes next, even if I accidentally end up in Goldfish Heaven – I’m only afraid for you two, and what will become of you once I’m gone.
‘I know that when my own mum died, I was suddenly swamped with questions that only she could answer. About my childhood, about her life, about the best way to make a steak-and-kidney pie, about everything.
‘Your mum is the person you most take for granted in your life and, right now, you’ll both be willing to give up your right hand to have one more conversation with me. To be able to pick up the phone one more time. To be able to sit and chat about mindless things, or not-so-mindless things – you will have questions, and that won’t stop.
‘As you get older, and your lives change, and you face new challenges, there will always be part of you that wants to call your mum and ask her what she thinks. Or to see her, and get a special mummy hug, one of those that makes you feel like everything will be all right in the end – the kind only mums can give, no matter how grown up you are.
‘I know that’s how I felt, at least. I still do, right now, at this very minute. I still wish she was here, all these years later. Losing your mother leaves a hole that is simply never filled. The pain of not being able to make that phone call, or get that hug, will always be with you, right up until it is your turn to walk in my shoes. It’s the cycle of life, just like inThe Lion King, but without the lovable warthog.
‘I’m so sad, for you, that I won’t be here to answer your questions, or give you advice – at least in person. I won’t be picking up the phone, or just down the motorway, or trying and failing to use Skype, not any more. Believe me, if I could live forever and always be around for you, I would.
‘Instead, I am offering you a gift. It’s a strange gift, and it comes in many forms. There are videos, and diaries, and letters, and photographs. There are words of wisdom, and words that are undoubtedly lacking in wisdom, and there are small tasks for you to carry out. You know I always liked a good project – and this, my darlings, is my most ambitious yet.
‘I’ve been calling it the A–Z of Everything as a working title, always convinced that I’d come up with something better – but time seems to be running out on me, so I suppose that will have to do. And, truth be told, it’s accurate at least.
‘There are things in there that will surprise you. Shock you, even. Secrets to be told, mysteries to be shared, stories to be recounted. Don’t expect it to be easy – nothing worthwhile ever is, is it?
‘I’ve poured my heart and soul and most of the contents of my attic into this A–Z, girls, so I beg you to take it seriously, and treat it with respect. Lewis has it all for you, and I also beg you to accept this gift in the spirit with which it is given – in love, and in hope. The funeral is all sorted – sorry to deprive you of the chance to plan it all, Poppy – and there is very little for you two to do, other than show up, sit down, listen, and learn.
‘This is a project that you need to complete together. I realise that very thought is probably making you both shudder, and that even in this time of shock and grief, you’re thinking it’s impossible. That you need to find a way out. Maybe even that it doesn’t matter – that I’m gone, so what difference does it make?
‘Well, I can’t control what you do next. All I can do is ask – as your mother. Your dying mother, not to put too fine a point on it. Come to the funeral. See Lewis. Embrace the A–Z of Everything in the way you’d undoubtedly like to embrace me right now. Think of it as one last hug, and humour me.
‘I like to think it’s not that much to ask, as I’m at the end of the line here. To borrow a line from Frank, it’s time to face my final curtain. But, believe me, if you pull this off – if you see this one last mission through – I’ll be somewhere, up there, watching; giving you a standing ovation and clapping until my hands are raw.
‘But before then, I have a few final comments, and a task to start you off. First of all, let me say two very simple things – I love you, and I know that you love me. That sounds so simple, but grief has a sneaky way of obscuring those simple truths, hiding them beneath rainclouds of doubt.
‘When that happens, when the “I wonders …” start to kick in, then kick them straight back out again. I love you, and I know that you love me. Repeat as often as necessary, until it becomes so real you don’t ever question it. If you take nothing else with you from all of this, then at least take that.
‘Now, the teensy-weensy task I mentioned. I’d like you both to make a list. Poppy, I know you will relish this one, and you probably have some kind of app you can whip out on your incredibly clever phone, but please don’t. Do it the old-fashioned way. Rose, it’ll take you a while to find a paper and pen – try that little drawer by the telephone table you never use.
‘Once you’re ready, I want you both to make a list of the things you feel guilty about. Guilt is a terrible emotion. While it serves a purpose – it’s our conscience’s way of telling us we’ve done something wrong, and hopefully avoiding a repeat performance – it can also eat away at you like a disease. It sours every drink, poisons every meal, casts a shadow over every joyous occasion. I am not, as you might be able to tell, a big fan of guilt.
‘But we all have it. Everyone has regrets, and that nagging sense of self-loathing that comes out to poke at you in bed at night. So, take control of it, my dears – and make that list. Be entirely honest, because nobody will ever see it but you – rest assured that my next instructions are not to post it on Facebook, or whatever you young people are using these days. When you’ve made it, keep it safe.
‘As well as that, I need you both to think about the way things have gone wrong between you. And, just as importantly, the way things used to be right between you. When exactly did everything start to go wrong? And why was the wrong so much stronger than the right?
‘I imagine you sitting at home in Liverpool, Rose, pulling a face right now and thinking “Well, that’s bloody obvious, isn’t it?” And to some extent, yes, it is.
‘But if we’re honest, the obvious thing that went wrong was only part of it. Nothing could be shattered as thoroughly as your relationship was without there being some cracks already in place. So, I’m asking you, please – much as it might hurt, think about it.
‘And now, darlings, I’m going to sign off. I have a date with some excellent drugs, and a nurse is bound to pop in soon to see if I want any jelly … plus poor old Lewis looks like he badly needs a hug.
‘Remember, I love you both, so very, very much … and I know that you loved me.’
Chapter 14
Rose is splayed across the sofa, her tear-stained face hidden by a cloud of frizzy hair. She is in pain, everywhere. Her neck is sore and her stomach is screaming and her swollen ankles are tender. Everything hurts, and she has no idea how to make it stop.
She’d quite like to make everything stop, especially the one thought that keeps going round and round in her exhausted brain: She’d broken her mother’s heart.
No matter how much love there was in that video, how much pride, and hope, and humour, this was what had stayed with her:she’d broken her mother’s heart.
Her wonderful, vivacious, ever-bright mother. Gone. How could it even be true?
Part of her is still refusing to accept it. As pranks go, it would be cruel – but she’d take cruelty over the alternative any day. She’d give anything right now for the phone to ring again, and to hear Andrea’s voice.
