Chapter One
‘Whatever have you done to your hair?’
Those were Laura’s mother’s last words to her.
Neither of them had known it at the time, of course. Although Laura couldn’t shake off the feeling that if her mother had known, she wouldn’t have changed a thing.
‘If you could get here as quickly as you can,’ the nurse from the hospice had said.
But Laura couldn’t get there very quickly at all. Jon was missing in action with his mobile going to voicemail which meant that, at the time Laura was supposed to be clutching her mother’s tiny, emaciated hand and righting thirty-seven years of wrongs, she was actually trying to persuade Billy that he did like fish fingers and he wasn’t going to watch Trolls unless he had at least three mouthfuls of peas.
Laura sat in the back of the cab pulling at a particularly rambunctious curl. You might have thought that a woman high on a cocktail of opioids and staring down the barrel of death wouldn’t have noticed that you’d had a disastrous haircut but her mother wasn’t one to miss something like that. ‘I went to a new hairdresser,’ Laura had explained, remembering how, when she’d first sat in the chair, Mario had stood behind her clutching random handfuls of her hair with a pained expression on his face before saying, ‘What are we going to do with this?’
‘Whatever you think best,’ Laura had said, flushing with shame. Which were pretty much the only words she’d said until she told him the final result was ‘wonderful’ before tipping him extravagantly and then leaving the salon to cry even more extravagantly.
The traffic on the South Circular was horrendous and despite the fact that it was a freezing January night, Laura could feel the sweat start to bead under her armpits. Although she had no idea why she was stressed about the time now; it was like killing yourself to get to the theatre when you knew you’d already missed the start of the play.
She fished a bottle of Gaviscon out of her handbag and took a swig.
‘They make tablets, you know,’ her mother had said to her reprovingly.
‘The liquid works quicker,’ Laura had replied. And yet the next time she was in Boots, she’d found herself picking up a packet of the tablets.
The driver scowled in the rearview mirror. He was obviously disgusted by her swigging too. She shrank back in her seat. Perhaps she should tell him? He wouldn’t be scowling then. But then she would be faced with unadulterated stranger sympathy, which would surely be even worse.
Jess had arrived at the hospice within twenty minutes of getting the call from the nurse, of course. No question that her perfect elder sister would be there on time.
Her mum’s death shouldn’t have come as a shock, really. They had known this was coming. But it was still weird to think that three hours ago Laura had been at work talking to her editor about whether she should pursue a story about a woman addicted to eating washing-up sponges (sometimes it occurred to Laura that her journalism wasn’t quite of the ‘Changing the World’ variety she’d once imagined). ‘I’ve got to shoot,’ Dani had said. ‘Let’s pick this up again tomorrow.’
Little did either of them know that Laura wouldn’t be in tomorrow. Because presumably you didn’t go into work the day after your mother had died? Even if the two of you hadn’t been that close.
Tears bubbled in Laura’s throat. Now there would never be a chance to be like other mothers and daughters. She’d tried so hard since her mother’s diagnosis. But somehow, however well-intentioned you were on the journey there, however much you thought you’d be the kind and solicitous daughter, my God, the reality was hard. Was Laura trying to choke her, holding the beaker like that? No, not that blanket! Why had she brought Billy with her? Did Laura really think she wanted a five-year-old behaving like a wild animal?
‘It’s the drugs making her cranky,’ Aileen, the kind red-headed nurse had said, putting her hand on Laura’s arm.
No, it isn’t.
It had taken five missed calls and two voicemail messages before Jon had finally called her back this evening, and even then, she could barely hear him over the sounds of a noisy pub. ‘What’s up?’
‘It’s my mum,’ Laura had said, choking on the words and staring at last night’s Chinese takeaway containers, which were still littered across the kitchen worktops. Splatters of Kung Po sauce looked like blood.
Jon had been home less than twenty minutes later, smelling of beer and an outside world that didn’t know or care that Laura was running out of time. He’d pulled her into a hug and told her to get a cab. Billy, naked apart from his Spider-Man socks, was jumping up and down on the sofa. ‘Does he know anything?’ Jon asked. Laura had shook her head and said there was nothing to know yet.
And right on cue, her sister rang. ‘We’ve lost her.’
Lost her. Like they’d all been ambling around M&S and their mother had last been seen by the frozen foods.
The cab had arrived minutes later. Jon told Billy to wait inside while he put Mummy in the car. He did up her seatbelt for her, squeezed her hand. ‘I’m sorry, babe.’
Laura was an orphan now. She felt faintly ridiculous at the thought. After all she didn’t have a flat cap or a grubby face or go around begging for more. Plus, she was thirty-seven years old. Two dead parents still made you an orphan though.
The cab pulled up outside the hospice.
Laura took a deep breath. Here I am, Mum. Better late than never.
Chapter Two
Laura raced down the road, sweaty and agitated.
She could not believe she was late for the appointment at the funeral director’s. And, if being late to the hospice hadn’t been her fault, well, this time it was definitely on her. It was just … nothing had gone right this morning. Billy couldn’t find Captain America, she couldn’t find that pile of clean T shirts she’d folded the other day – she really had to tidy up this flat. Then Billy had knocked over a whole bottle of milk just as she was trying to get some breakfast into him. She must have shouted ‘Billy!’ much louder than she meant to because Jon appeared in the kitchen doorway, rubbing his eyes.
‘I knocked over the milk,’ Billy said. ‘And Mummy shouted at me.’ His lower lip wobbled.
Jon kissed the top of his head. ‘Mummy didn’t really shout. Now eat your Cheerios while I clear up the mess.’
‘I don’t like Cheerios!’
‘They’re a superhero’s favourite cereal.’
Billy looked unconvinced but started eating.
Laura had stood at the kitchen sink with her back to them, taking a long, deep breath as tears welled in her eyes. Jon stepped over the river of milk and put his arms around her. ‘Sssh, no use crying over spilt milk.’
Twenty minutes later, Laura was shivering and pulling her coat tighter as she stepped out of the house. It was one of those grim January days where it seemed as if it would never be warm again, that maybe the sun had just forgotten how to shine. She glanced at her watch, noting that she just might still make it to the funeral director’s in time if everything went like clockwork. And as luck would have it, she could see her bus arriving as she got near to the bus stop. She broke into a run.
A large man going in the opposite direction barrelled into her, elbowing her hard in the chest just as the bus pulled away.