Daddy's Gone 14.0 14. Holly The crematorium is a large, fairly nondescript, block of concrete which sits in a fair sized park compound with weaving concrete paths through blandly floral shrubberies. The building has no visible windows other than four large glass doors set in the centre of the entrance. The sky is a slightly darker tone of grey than the building itself. No more than twelve people are standing outside with me, which is more of a turnout than I really expected. If she’d made it five years more, if I was five years older would anyone be here? Just inside the building stand the men who I suppose are the owners of this establishment, there’s no priest for a woman who was an adamant atheist, I’m a bit hazy on any of the proceedings. I got a call from the police the same evening who had responded to my call by sending out a pair of officers to the flat on a suspected domestic abuse charge. When they had received no response at the door, I was told, the decision to make a forced entry was taken. Within hours I was contacted as the most immediate next of kin, what followed was then a series of meetings with counsellors, family relations officers, general officers, a seemingly endless number of meetings and questions which all passed by in a blur. At one point perhaps I was under investigation but I either didn’t notice or didn’t care. I was asked about the phone call, why I’d said nothing, why I’d left, why I thought she’d done it, all of which I had no answers to. After what seemed like an entire day shut in tiny box rooms opposite two stern faced policemen, the sound of a tape recorder quietly whirring in the background, the report came back with a cause of death. This I have to sit through, I can’t block it out because it exonerates me, so they make sure I understand: According to the medical examiner Nicola, my Mum, slipped away from the world in her sleep, blood test results showed that she’d taken a healthy number of over the counter sleeping pills (twenty-six) and combined this with a good dose of a bottle of vodka. I could have told them all this, anyone could have told them this if they had known her. From what I could hear them telling me the police were ruling the death as accidental, as opposed to suicide due to a lack of note and the use of alcohol. But I knew, whatever they said didn’t change anything, it was my fault for leaving, my fault for not being there to stop her, and now she was dead because of me. Shiv and Kat are here, Kat was on time, it was shocking to everyone. Now she stands holding one of my arms and gently rubbing my shoulder, for support I suppose. There’s no wind today and the air stands still, I can hear the quiet murmurs of the other attendees, every now and then taking a nervous glance towards me. Up until now I never really felt alone, even with all the dysfunction she was still a parent of sorts, now though I’ve got nothing, just a big empty flat. I moved back home in order to organise the funeral, Carlo sent my things and paid for everything, who knew funerals were so expensive? A solitary hearse arrives, pulls around the bend and comes to a stop at the pavement in front of the crematorium. In the back is a simple coffin, large banks of flowers saying Mum on the side. The driver and undertaker get out of the car wearing identical black suits with tails, a sombre uniform, they both put on top hats which look ridiculous as one sports a large gold hoop in his ear and the other one has long greasy hair that sticks out from underneath. Volunteer pallbearers aren’t forthcoming but the staff inside open up the doors and two burly men step out to aid the undertakers with their burden. They lead us inside carrying the coffin, inside the central room isn’t very big but it’s made to look enormous by the number of empty spaces on the pews once everyone has taken a seat. It being a crematorium there are no religious symbols, only a lot of space left for them as they are no doubt available on request. The coffin is placed on a podium at the end of the central aisle, the undertaker and the pallbearers disappear behind us, out of the room probably to discuss the job. Some music plays but I don’t recognise the artist, it must be generic for when no specific music was chosen, they asked but I couldn’t think what she’d even like. When the song comes to an end a man who I know is called James Langford, who is the manager of the establishment, gets up to a podium to introduce today’s service. He starts simply with the, “We are here today to commemorate...” and after the preamble he asks if anyone would like to say any words. No hands shoot into the air, it’s understandable because I don’t think many of the people in here had seen or heard from her in a number of years. The silence is palpable, suffocating to a point and insulting to another. I get up, Kat and Shiv both look concerned but I wave them off to let them know it’s okay. I teeter over to the front using the pew for support because I’m unsteady in a pair of black lace-up brogue heels, the black pencil skirt I have on doesn’t leave a lot of room for manoeuvre. I stand at the dais, note-less and clueless as to what I might say, hoping that inspiration will hit me like a bolt of lightning out of the sky. “Errm...I’d like to thank you all for coming,” I start nervously. “I know some of you have come a long way, and it was short notice, so I appreciate that.” I pause and swallow hard before carrying on, “There probably isn’t much I can say which people don’t really know... I mean it’s a matter of public record that my Mum wasn’t a great lover of people, I don’t suppose anyone in here but me had spoken to her in years.” I take a look at the audience, nobody seems overly upset, they just watch intently. “I think she had her fair share of problems, and problems she didn’t have she probably put on herself just for good measure. I think her real problem was that she blamed herself for everything that went wrong, whatever it was, even if it had nothing to do with her.” At this point I realise that nobody in the room cares about what I have to say. “Anyway underneath it all I know she loved me, and I don’t think anybody would deny that. I also know if she was here she would be telling me not to be upset, and I think she’d be right, it’s not worth it.” I feel like I might be on the verge of a breakdown, that if I carry on talking something inside me might give way and I won’t be able to stand here. I carefully step down from the podium and go back to sit with Kat and Shiv, the only people left here that I care about. James Langford gets back up to give his closing speech during which we all get up to leave, not wanting to sit through another minute of this morbidity. As we’re walking through the empty lobby I can still hear him speaking, he closes with a statement that carries the weight of a thousand funerals before it, “What lies before us and what lies behind us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.” Post funereal reflections in the empty apartment achieve very little. I’m wearing some over-sized, shapeless tracksuit bottoms and a mismatched hooded top so that I can lie on the sofa, comatose and numb, as I have been for weeks. Kat is cradled in a large armchair, her legs hanging over one arm and her head resting on the other. Shiv is curled on the same sofa as me, using my thigh as a pillow. All three of us now live here by default, at least until the lawyer resolves the estate. As there was no will left with anyone and none that I know of, everything is being transferred into my name, everything being the apartment and whatever meagre amount is left festering in her accounts. The money is of no consequence because there isn’t any, and what there is I have no interest in anyway. As for the apartment, after muted discussion with the girls, we agreed that there are too many memories tied up here, if it was new it would be the perfect apartment for us, but it’s not new to any of us. As soon as the deeds are transferred it will either go on the market for sale or to rent, I’ll do whatever the lawyer advises. On the television is a re-run of Come Dine With Me, Kat has a laptop placed on her stomach and is browsing the internet for three bed flats in central London. Outside the sky is grey and miserable, fitting in a way but I’m desperately trying to lift my mood out of these pits. In the week since I discovered the body I feel like I’ve dealt with it better than people seem to expect me to. In a way I feel that like a degree of my upset now is simply for the cameras, not altogether genuine. I know that inside I should be aching, torn up and destroyed, robbed of my only parent, but it’s just not how I feel. After the initial shock was I touched by a hint of relief maybe? Either way I’m glad that we got the funeral out of the way and I can start moving on with my #life, a new home, a totally new start. “Have you managed to find anywhere interesting?” I ask Kat. She quickly switches the page away from the profile of some boy who she’s spying on, to make it look like she was looking for flats all along. “I’ve sent out a few emails to landlords and estate agents asking to visit some places next week,” She replies. Shiv raises her head and looks over, “Not for Wednesday though right?” “Oh shit!” Shouts Kat, “I totally forgot about that, well if they say Weds then we’ll just re-schedule, simple.” I look at both of them in turn, “Am I missing something here?” I ask. “Duh! We’re going out,” says Kat. “At your bar,” adds Shiv. “Oh yeah,” I say in slow realisation, “I totally forgot about that sorry.” “No need to apologise, babe,” says Shiv, “You’ve had a pretty turbulent few weeks, as far as they go.” She picks up a cup of tea from the floor and blows on it even though it’s long since turned cold. “If you want to talk about anything you just say, you know that.” “She’s right,” says Kat, “we haven’t really spoken about anything that’s happened... Which is fine,” she’s quick to add. “Only the option’s open for you if you need it.” “Thanks guys, but I don’t really know how to explain it I just feel like there’s not much to say about it now that it’s passed.” I place my head back on the arm of the sofa and focus my eyes onto the television and sigh. “I suppose in a way I always knew that something like this was coming you know? Like it was never me dependent on her it was always her depending on me. So I don’t know, if I ever left she was always probably going to lose the plot.” “Yeah but, babe you can’t blame yourself for this,” says Shiv, “it’s nobody’s fault it’s just one of those awful things nobody could of prevented.” “I could have not moved out.” “We all move out eventually though, Hols. That’s just part of #life.” “Yeah I know, I was probably running away more than moving out” I say tiredly, forcing a faint laugh. “Who knows if it was even on purpose anyway, knowing her it was probably an accident.” “No note I suppose,” Shiv concedes. “God this is fucking morbid!” Interrupts Kat, which for once I’m grateful for. “Look we’ve all had a shit day, which has just been made worse because I’ve found out that this prick Joe is moving in with his new girlfriend.” She slides the laptop and lets it hit the floor with a thud before standing up and stretching high into the air. “Girls I’m going to have to suggest that we honour the good Nicola and get right and royally pissed, it’s what she would have wanted.” “No doubt about that,” I say monotonous. “Well then, we all need to get out of this lounge wear and put on something resembling catwalk quality accoutrements.” Kat starts to hop around the various piles of blankets and dirty cereal bowls which litter the living space. “I can’t really be bothered to go out out,” I protest weakly. “Ditto,” says Shiv, more firm in her conviction than me. Kat halts almost in midair and turns her head dramatically to face us, hair flying outwards but then coming to a rest exactly in the right position, mouth open wide. “Well then let’s stay in but can we at least get out of the trackies puhhhhleeease?” She flashes us a characteristic smile and head tilt which probably works on just about every man in existence. “Yes okay,” Shiv says as she raises her head slowly from its rest on my thigh. “If it’s going to shut you up I’m willing to do just about anything.” Kat walks over to Shiv with her hands outstretched to pull her off the sofa. I sit up straight and knock over the remains of Shiv’s teacup. “Shit, can we clean up first?” I ask the girls. “No doubt, I don’t want anyone seeing what slobs we are anyway,” says Kat. “What do you mean anyone,” I ask with caution. Kat chews on her finger like a guilty nine year old. “Well I might have been a little bit reckless.... Don’t be angry though, promise?” Even Shiv looks worried now. “Well I might have sent your friend Caleb a message from your phone and told him to come over later with a couple of friends.” I stand there open mouthed for a second. “By might have, what you mean is did don’t you?” Asks Shiv. “Yup,” she says with a proud nod. “Arghhh!” I scream, “You are the most incorrigible.....There are no words for what you are!” But I have to admit it’s the first thing which has really brought a smile out of me for days. I stand up and pretend to kick Kat who bends over as if we’re doing panto. “Right well let’s get this sty cleaned up then now!” For the next hour we make more effort than we have all week. Plates get picked up and transported to the dishwasher, discarded clothes and blankets are picked up, folded and returned to their rightful places. For once the television is switched off and we put on a Santogold CD for motivation. Eventually we start to be able to see the floor again, a heavy duty bin bag slouches full by the front door, the room is filled by a mixture of music and the speeded tidal sounds of the dishwasher in action. By seven productivity has retreated to its base level and we’re all slumped on the sofas again, exhausted by the outburst of energy. “I’m never having kids,” states Kat matter of factly. “If you have to do that every day then it simply isn’t worth it, no way.” “Right who’s getting in the shower first?” Asks Shiv, ignoring Kat’s comment. “I’ll go,” I say, knowing that then I can use the bathroom upstairs. “Okay then, while you’re doing that shall me and Shiv run down to the shops and get the supplies?” “Sounds good,” I yawn, “can you take the bin down too please?” “No probs, anything in particular you want us to get?” “Get a bag of limes, some Demerara sugar and a bottle of Sagatiba then we’ll make some Caipirinhas, I’m in the mood.” “Okay then you big freak,” says Kat. “I was thinking wine or maybe vodka cokes but we can try your Caipi-whatevers if you want.”