Fox and I looked at each other. This couldn’t be it. This couldn’t be how it ended.
Part Five
Positivity
A positive mama is an unstoppable force. By leading with love and emanating peace and happiness, we not only uplift ourselves but our entire family. The energy we give out multiplies and turns our homes into havens of harmony and grace. When we fill our own cups with light, gratitude, and essential oils, we overflow into our children’s lives with radiant joy.
—Bells Brightley, parenting blogger (@MindfulMamaBells) and bestselling author ofHow to Be the Best Mom You Can Be: Helping You to Help Them
Being a positive parent? You mean finding the good in this shitshow? Okay. Sure. Kids might blow up your life, tear it apart to the point where you barely recognize yourself, but fuck it, it’s worth it. You’d die for them. Kill for them. That is family. People you love no matter what. Until your last breath, they’re the ones that matter, no matter how much they drive you fucking nuts. You’re stuck with them, and they’re stuck with you. The beautiful, inescapable, suffocating bond of unconditional love. That positive enough for you?
—Hazel Matthews, mother
Chapter Seventy
Ten days later
Jenny
I stood up and triedto ignore my legs shaking. The church was cold. I straightened my shoulders and walked toward the lectern. I was glad I was wearing loafers. I didn’t know why I’d even considered heels. I could hear Haze’s voice in my head: “Because you need to try and elevate that god-awful trouser suit that does nothing for you.”
I bit my lip.
Talking in front of people was easy when it was my colleagues in an incident room and I was barking orders. There, I could find my voice with no problem. I knew what had to be done. This was new territory. But this was how we honored our dead, and I was going to do my job. I was going to hold it together.
Bibi was in the front pew in a pretty navy dress. Felix sat next to her in his school uniform shirt and trousers, the smartest clothes he owned. They’d insisted on sitting together. “I want to help, not be sad.” At the age of four, it was already clear how important it was to be there for your friends.
I looked out at the people filling the pews of this old church. Reggie was in a pram, being rocked by my mother’s constantly moving foot.
I placed the cue cards on the lectern. I knew what I wanted tosay by heart, but they were there if I stumbled. I looked out at all the faces staring back at me.
I would channel Haze and Fox, take inspiration from them and their bravery. Say everything I needed to say without crumbling.
I took a deep breath, and then the church doors creaked open. Bright light filtered in. I squinted at the two figures who stood framed in the doorway. Everyone turned to look.
Haze and Fox, backlit by the sunlight behind them.
Both in black suits. Both wearing sunglasses. Haze had red lipstick on. Her bandaged hand was the only hint of the trouble they had managed to stumble away from.
They gently closed the door behind them and slipped into a pew at the back. They kept their sunglasses on. To the many members of the congregation still staring, it would’ve looked like they were famous. I gave everyone another minute to settle. To try and turn back to me. To the main event. I wasn’t upset. I understood it. Haze and Fox were the bright, glossy peacocks in a sea of pensioners’ M&S knitted cardigans and orthopedic shoes.
People looked at them and didn’t realize that their beauty and money didn’t protect them from the ups and downs of parenting, from the mind-numbing frustrations of mundane daily life. They were just like us—they just had a special glow that drew your attention. Even now, I couldn’t shake it off. Whenever we were out together, I still felt it—that I was lucky to be sitting at their table. They needed me, but I needed them more. I had been destined for a sad, quiet, beige life until Haze had steamrollered her way into it. They had shown me how different life could be when you dared to really live it. Don’t coast—soar.
Dad had understood it. I had told him everything. He had shaken his head and chuckled, asking if what he was hearing was really true, or if the morphine was messing with him.
Then his sharp eyes had become clear for a final time. “Sounds like those men all deserved it.” He’d clasped my hand. “You make me proud. Everything you do.” He’d told me how much it had hurt him to see me with Bill, knowing he wasn’t a good man.He’d always known I hadn’t told him the truth about what had happened to Bill, but he’d wanted to wait for me to tell him the real story when I was ready. He told me how strong I was, and how glad he was that I was happy and safe. He could go easy now, knowing I could face anything life threw at me.
It was everything I could’ve hoped for.
We’d broken through that English reserve that so often keeps our tongues from saying what the heart really feels.
Home had always been my favorite place. My parents made me feel safe and loved, and it was everything I’d ever needed. Moving back in with them with Felix when my life had hit rock bottom was not how I’d meant for things to be, but they’d never judged me. They’d looked after me, like they always did. Made sure I was eating right. Fussed over me. There, I got to be a kid again: just turning up for mealtimes, getting my laundry done, having them checking what time I’d be home.
And then, sometime over the last few months, it had changed. Their home had stopped being a place I went to be looked after; it was somewhere I went to look after them. I was checking their fridge, making sure they had enough food, fixing things they’d let slide. Dad was getting sicker, and Mum was worrying about him, not remembering things like she used to. It broke my heart. But I was grateful that I could be there, that I could show them my love through my actions, like they’d always done for me.
Dad had slipped away with Mum and I sitting by his bedside. He was ready, and I wasn’t.
Last week, I was standing in Tesco, crying at a box of chicken Kievs. They were the same brand we used to buy on the first night of every holiday we took to Cornwall in my childhood. An easy dinner after a long drive. I was crying because it was a happy memory I’d never realized was happy. It was so mundane. Chucking a box in the trolley. Eating them and laughing at our garlic breath. My phone had rung then, and when I’d answered it, mid-sob, a voice had told me that I’d been matched to a little baby girl. It was the call I’d been waiting for.
