One Day in December(78)

They don’t, so I fling my arm out of bed and grope around on the floor for my mobile. People know full well I work nights, they can bloody hear me on the radio, so God only knows why someone is insisting on calling me before lunchtime. My fingers close round my phone just as it stops; typical. I bring it up close to my face and squint at it, my head already back on the pillow. Missed call from Laurie. Shit. I eye Amanda’s straight, naked back turned towards me and weigh up whether it’s crass to call Laurie back while my girlfriend sleeps beside me. On balance, I think it probably is, so I click it off. It can’t be that urgent.

‘Who was it?’

Amanda turns to me, all honey skin and blue eyes and stiff nipples. We’re still in the ‘shag like rabbits’ stage of our relationship, and the sight of her no-tan-lines body does freaky things to my brain.

‘Cold call.’

I lean in and close my lips over one of her nipples, and behind me on the bedside table my phone rattles loudly to indicate a new message. Laurie doesn’t call very often. We mostly email or chat on Facebook every now and then like civilized adults these days. If she’s left a message, she must want something particular.

‘Fuck, sorry.’ I roll away and pick my phone up. ‘I better just check it. Hold that thought.’

She watches me idly as I click to listen, and as the automated voice tells me I have one new message, she slides her hand under the sheet and down my stomach. Christ, she’s good. I close my eyes, breathless as the message begins. I’ve pretty much forgotten who’s called me.

‘Hey, Jack. It’s me. Laurie.’ I want to tell Amanda to stop, because it suddenly feels all kinds of wrong listening to Laurie’s quiet voice with another woman’s hand wrapped round my cock. ‘I wanted to talk to you. Hear your voice.’ Christ, I feel as if I’m hallucinating. Even now I sometimes still dream about Laurie, and often the dreams go pretty much like this. She calls me, she wants me, she needs me. I’m rock hard.

‘I’m sorry for calling when you’re probably sleeping. It’s just that my dad died yesterday. I thought you might be around.’

Somewhere in the middle of listening to that sentence I realized she was crying and pushed Amanda away. I sit bolt upright in bed. Laurie’s dad’s died. Fucking hell, hang on, Lu. I stumble out of bed, dragging my jeans on as I stab the buttons on my mobile and mumble an apology at Amanda. I lock myself in the bathroom and sit on the closed loo so I can speak to Laurie without being overheard. She answers on the third ring.

‘Lu, I just got your message.’

‘Jack.’

She doesn’t get beyond my name before she’s sobbing too hard to get her words out, so I do the talking instead.

‘Hey, hey, hey.’ I speak as softly as I can. ‘I know, sweetie, I know.’ I wish with all of my heart that I could hold her. ‘It’s okay, Laurie, it’s all right, sweetheart.’ I close my eyes, because her grief is so raw it hurts me to hear it. ‘I wish I was where you are,’ I whisper. ‘I’m wrapping my arms tight round you. Can you feel me, Lu?’ The sound of Laurie crying is the worst thing in the world. ‘I’m stroking your hair, and I’m holding you, and I’m telling you everything’s going to be okay,’ I say, quiet words as her sobs slow. ‘I’m telling you that I’ve got you, and I’m here.’

‘I wish you were,’ she says after a while, ragged words.

‘I could be. I’ll get the next train.’

She sighs, her voice steadier at last. ‘No, I’m okay, honestly I am. Daryl’s here, and Mum, of course, and Oscar should be here tomorrow night.’

Oscar should be there right now, I think but don’t say.

‘I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,’ she says. ‘I don’t know what to do, Jack.’

‘Lu, there isn’t anything you can do. Believe me, I know.’

‘I know you do,’ she says softly.

‘You don’t need to rush or do anything at all today,’ I tell her, because I remember those dark, difficult days all too well. ‘It’s going to be confusing, just do whatever you feel is right – don’t beat yourself up for crying too much or for not crying when you think you should or for not knowing how to help your mum. Just be, Laurie. It’s all you can do right now. Hang in there, okay? Wait for Oscar to come to do the official things, let him get in touch with the right people for you. Trust me, he’ll be glad of a practical way to help.’

‘Okay.’ She sounds relieved, as if she just needs someone to walk through this with her. How I wish it could be me.





27 October


Laurie


‘Alice at number three asked me to bring this in. Said she’ll be at the church later.’

Aunt Susan, my mum’s sister, hands me a large Victoria sponge. She’s been staying for the last few days and has been an absolute rock; having her here has helped Mum get through the emotional meeting with the celebrant to talk about the funeral, to plan what she’s going to wear and to realize that the world still has to keep turning without my dad in it. Aunt Susan lost her own husband, my uncle Bob, four years ago; she can empathize with Mum in a way that neither Daryl nor I am able to. We’ve lost our dad, but she’s lost her soulmate, and today she has to face up to that fact at his funeral.