Chapters (203)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Praise for Amanda Robson
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- 8
- 9
- 10
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- 12
- 13
- 14
- 15
- 16
- 17
- 18
- 19
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- 25
- 26
- 27
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- 29
- 30
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- 36
- 37
- 38
- 39
- 40
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- 99
- 100
- 101
- 102
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- 109
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- 129
- 130
- 131
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- 139
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- 142
- 143
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- 149
- 150
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- 159
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- 182
- 183
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- 185
- 186
- 187
- 188
- 189
- ONE YEAR LATER
- 190
- 191
- 192
- 193
- 194
- Acknowledgements
- Keep Reading …
- About the Author
- Also by Amanda Robson
- About the Publisher
She nods. ‘Yes, that is the right address, Wellbeck House, Lexington Drive, Esher. Thank you,’ she says crisply and ends the call. She stands up and walks towards us. ‘A doctor will be here in about half an hour to examine the body.’
Your hand trembles in mine. The doorbell rings. Feeling surreal, as if I am moving inside a plastic bubble, I move away from you and step to answer it. I open the door. Aiden stands on the doorstep, in front of me. His familiarity confronts me and brings the reality of Mother’s death a step closer. We have spent so much time together with her. As soon as I see him I burst into tears. He puts his arms around me and holds me.
‘Where is she?’ he asks.
‘Upstairs. Still in her bedroom,’ I reply.
‘Let’s go and say goodbye to her together,’ he says. His voice is bombastic. It sounds more like a command than a suggestion.
I step away from him, shaking my head. ‘I’m not sure I can bear to.’
‘It’s the best thing. It means you will have closure.’
‘I don’t want closure. I want her to be alive.’
‘Brother, we all know that isn’t possible.’ He holds my hand and starts to lead me through the house, as if I am a child. ‘It’s not what you want; it’s what you need.’
I brace myself to comply. My legs are like lead as I force myself to climb the stairs, as I force myself to step into her bedroom, behind my younger brother. I have never hidden behind him in my life before. We step around the tray debris that Hayley couldn’t face entering the bedroom again to clear up. We hold hands and stand looking at Mother. Mother but not Mother, a strange stiff contortion of what our mother once was. Lying on her back, staring at the ceiling, eyes open. Feet together. Arms by her sides. A sarcophagus of skin and clothing covering what was once our mother’s warm body. I can’t bear to look anymore. I release Aiden’s hand and walk away. Back downstairs.
Not half an hour, as promised, but hours later, my mother’s GP Dr Pettyfour arrives.
‘Sorry for your loss. Your mother was a special woman. And I’m sorry I’ve been so long. I was busy with an emergency.’