Crappily Ever After (33 page)

‘Mum and I thought we’d take you out to the Brewhouse for tea. You fancy that?’

‘Sure,’ I attempt a smile. ‘Thanks Bert, I really appreciate you taking me in like this. I mean, I’m not even your daughter, just some stray.’

‘Don’t talk nonsense!’  He tuts. ‘Always wanted girls, you know. And now I have two, with the added bonus of Joshy and Jessie.’ I smile warmly at Bert. He’s a good man. I’ve never seen Mum so happy. Well, she’s not with me at the moment. I’m aware my weight has plummeted, but it’s to be expected, so the doctor said. It’ll come back on when I’m ready. Bert wanders downstairs and I hear him talk to Mum in hushed tones.                

I sit for a moment, looking out of the window and watch a wisp of smoke curl out from a chimney, then reluctantly walk over to my laptop and open it up. Poopsy wanders over too and jumps onto my knees. She hasn’t left me alone since I came home. Cats are intuitive that way, knowing when you need comfort. I click onto the restaurant’s website. Best get this over with and tell our lovely past customers the sad news. They email regularly to say they view our blog and up-coming events. I’ve had a few emails asking what is going on. No updates for six weeks, we must be doing really well not to have found time to add new gossip. If only they knew. I click the familiar keys to add a new post. Taking a deep breath, I begin.

Hi all,

Sorry for the long hiatus. But at present I am back home in Scotland. I know you all regularly read our blog and I appreciate all the emails you send. It really is so good to hear how you’re all getting on.

 I’m so sad to be the bearer of bad news. I have come home to Scotland, because five weeks ago we sadly and very suddenly lost our wonderful friend…

‘Lucy, are you nearly ready, sweetheart?’ Mum shouts from the bottom of the stairs.

‘OK, just a tick,’ I reply, snapping closed the lid of my laptop. I’ll have to finish it later. Another couple of hours won’t fix anything that’s happened. I slap on a bit of lip-gloss, Mum will only worry that I’m depressed otherwise. She watches me like a hawk for signs of not coping well. Be it, not eating, not showering or not applying make-up. It’s a full-time job trying to appear like nothing is wrong.    

We go for a quick drink on the way to the restaurant. Mum and Bert exchange anxious looks. Mum keeps looking at her watch too. Maybe they’ve decided to invite the whole family along. I could do with a good lot of noise and laughter. Eventually, Bert takes out his mobile and calls Betty. How long will she be? Oh great, they are getting them all along. I did tell Mum from the start not to tell them to stay away. She said I’d suffered such a massive shock that everyone agreed that I needed time to recuperate. She had wanted to fly over with Bert to collect me, so I didn’t have to fly alone, but it seemed like such a horrendous waste of money to do that. As well as putting yet another two people I care about at risk, as I’m still not over the fear of flying. If anything, it’s possibly a bit worse now. I see how someone can be laughing and joking, living and breathing one minute, then cruelly snatched away from you the next. And, of course, they were all right. For the first couple of weeks, I probably did need to have some space. I insisted on staying in Tenerife for a week after the horrible, heinous incident. I felt it was my duty to all concerned – and to see that my one remaining friend from our team was going to be all right. That done, I finally let the shock sink in. After the awful task of identification was over – and yet again throwing up in the nearest bin – I kicked into organising mode. I know it’s common after bereavements – it’s a distraction, I’m sure. Many people seem to cope perfectly well until after the funeral, then dissolve into helplessness.

I’m keen to get moving onto the Brewhouse. Drinking too much on an empty stomach is not a good idea. I haven’t had a drink for five weeks; I’ve been too scared to. I can keep it together sober, but drunk, I think the grief would overwhelm me. That, and not eating, my weight has plummeted to unattractively skinny. A size zero, and not looking good. I’m weak as a kitten and feel breathless and panicky most of the time. I know I have to keep my strength up. So, tonight my family has decided it’s time to move on. I like that, it gives me a sense of closure and peace. Much as they love to tease each other, not one of us would see a hair hurt on another’s head. Fiercely tight knit, us lot. The door opens and in struts my sister’s crew. Little Jess bounding as she walks up to me, hands behind her back. With a flourish, she produces a bunch of flowers

with an Esso garage sticker on them. My sister rolls her eyes apologetically,

‘Sorry, it was the only place open when she decided she wanted to buy you some.’

‘Jess, these are beautiful! Thank you, sweetie.’ I take the drooping carnations from her. Some of the heads are missing; I can see them on the floor in the corner of the pub. She obviously caught them in the door on her way in. It endears her gesture all the more. I kiss her little brown head, which smells of Barbie perfume. Joshy’s turn; he steps forward, chocolates this time.

‘Cos Mum said you were too skinny and you’re not allowed to be skinnier than her.’

Everyone laughs. I pull him onto my knee and give him a squeeze.

‘I’m sorry your friend got shooted,’ he says in a small voice, his big brown eyes full of concern. I kiss his soft cheek.

‘Me too, Josh,’ I whisper.

Bert’s mobile rings, he smiles and answers.

‘Yes, affirmative,’ he says cryptically, and snaps it shut. ‘Right you ugly bunch, drink up, our table’s ready.’

The salty air is warm and balmy, with just the smallest hint of a sea breeze. It reminds me of happy childhood summer days, tearing along the sea front, Mary and I.  Passing the paddling pool… passing the little train…passing the swings, leaving Mum and Gran dawdling and chatting behind.  Feeling sick from running on a tummy full of ice cream but everything that’s been bothering my young mind would disappear with the pound of plimsolls on tarmac. I feel that way tonight, but not sick, just excited. Like it’s the start of something positive.

We walk into the restaurant and there they all are. Beaming, familiar faces, all talking at once, wandering towards me for a hug and a kiss. I’m handed a large glass of Pinot Grigio and ushered towards the table.

And it’s then that I see him, crutches by his side, and the same old lopsided grin on his face – clouded by the occasional wince of pain – and tufty brown head that I know so well.

 ‘Mike!’

 I run towards him.

‘No! Don’t stand, I’ll come to you.’ I give him the biggest hug ever, and kiss his stubbly cheek. ‘When did you get back? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home?’

‘Sorry Luce, I wanted it to be a surprise. I flew back with Mum and Dad last night when the hospital finally let me go.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I smile apologetically. ‘Your Mum and Dad sent me home, said I shouldn’t be there on my own in case those idiots came back. I knew they were right. I wanted to stay to see you were OK though, and to stay with Rosa and the kids for a few days. And well, of course, to go to Pablo’s funeral. Roberto said that he’ll put some of his staff in to cover for us. He said he understands if we don’t go back and not to worry about the lease.’

‘Poor Pablo, he never did get his trip to Scotland,’ Mike sighs, ‘but Rosa brought the kids into hospital see me. She’s so sad the new baby will never meet his father.’ I glance over at Mary.

‘It’s sad when that happens, but I’m sure the older kids will have plenty of stories to tell, even if they are second hand from Rosa.’ Mary smiles and nods knowingly.

Mike stays on in Arbroath for a few more days. Bert puts him up in the spare room. He’s been so lucky. The doctor said it was amazing there wasn’t more damage. A few inches up, and it could have been his spinal column; a few inches lower, his femoral artery. Mike said he’d never thought he’d be so glad to be shot in the arse. Pablo had apparently seen it coming, recognized

the builders from his house and threw himself over Mike like a human shield. I felt awful for weeks. If we hadn’t paid him so well, he wouldn’t have been able to afford a bigger house; if he hadn’t moved into the bigger house and had it renovated, he wouldn’t have known the builders; if he hadn’t met the builders, he wouldn’t have threatened them and he wouldn’t be dead now. Mike says I’ll drive myself crazy like that. Rosa said the times with us were the happiest of all Pablo’s working days. He was so proud to able to provide for his family. She certainly didn’t blame us. How could we know? How strange that what you feel is the right path – the one that you think protects you most – may actually be the one to cause you harm. It’s a lottery, a game of Russian roulette. Maybe it’s best just to do what you want, when you want, so long as it doesn’t hurt anyone. And don’t be scared to love, to feel. Probably about time I take my own advice then.

Hi all,

Sorry for the long hiatus. But at present we are back home in Scotland. I know you all regularly read our blog and we appreciate all the emails you send. It really is so good to hear how you’re all getting on.

I’m so sad to be the bearer of bad news. We have come home to Scotland because five weeks ago we sadly and very suddenly lost our wonderful friend Pablo in an unfortunate shooting incident. He was a loving and kind man, witty and a great friend to us. He is survived by his wife Rosa and their four gorgeous children – Marco, Marina, Sophia and new baby boy, Pablo junior. He will be always loved and sadly missed by all who knew him.

RIP our lovely Pablo.

We would like to give you some good news too. And for all the emails that will no doubt arrive after this – that’s you, Wilma and John of Southall, Jean and Phil from Stockton and, actually, too many people to mention if we’re being honest – let’s hear one big chorus of:

“I told you so!”

Mike has decided that he’s fed up of me being the Fairy Tale Princess destined to live Crappily ever after (a title for me which he pinched from my Uncle Robert on account of my unsuccessful love life). So anyway, I’ll cut a long story short. Mike has asked me to marry him – and I’ve said yes. We hope to see you all next summer (plenty of time to save up, so no excuses!) for our wedding. We will be back in Tenerife as soon as old ‘Hop-Along’ sitting here can walk properly again. I decided to stop pushing Mike away – he only keeps coming back. May as well marry the poor bugger and save his pride. Anyway, I’ve rambled long enough. Life is for living, enjoy.

Because I think I may finally be ready to embrace the possibility of living Happily Ever After!

Love, Lucy.