Page 51 of All the Things We Never Knew

Now I wasn’t lying – or hardly at all. ‘Nothing. He never mentioned her apart from that one time.’

I know about mothers, he’d said. I had a shit one. That was all. I hadn’t asked him about it at the time – it hadn’t seemed important. But perhaps it was.

‘He owed me everything, you know.’ Anna’s anger didn’t seem to be directed at me any longer, but elsewhere. ‘This house, our family, everything he wanted. And he could have thrown it all away, because of you.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘Sorry for what I did. What me and Gray did.’

Abruptly, the fire went out of her, and she lay back down on the pillow.

‘I’ll tell you one thing, Laurel,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t think I ever really understood him at all.’

TWENTY-EIGHT

ANNA

I didn’t speak to Orla for a week after Gray’s funeral. I didn’t speak to anyone, really, apart from the children and my sisters, who rang every day to make sure I was okay. The melting-away of well-wishers that I’d been warned might take place once the funeral was over had indeed happened, and I welcomed it. I didn’t want to see anyone.

The truth is, I was embarrassed. I had done that unforgivable thing and Made a Scene. Possibly even worse than that – Made an Exhibition of Myself. I was embarrassed by what had happened. I still couldn’t quite piece it together – I’d fainted, or collapsed, or passed out, I wasn’t sure which. If it hadn’t been for that, I’d have been able to hold it together, I was sure. I’d had a few drinks, but I’d been fine.

But collapse I had, and – the details were hazy, but not hazy enough – Orla and Laurel, of all people, had come to my rescue, got me in a taxi and put me to bed. When eventually I’d come round, finding myself with a filthy headache and my underwear still on but my dress and shoes removed, I’d been too mortified to get myself up and show my face at the pub for Gray’s wake.

I’d found Orla downstairs, drinking tea in the kitchen, and thanked her for her help but assured her that I was fine, that one of my sisters would drop the kids round and probably stay the night so there was no need for her to wait. Laurel, to my relief, had already left.

Two days later, I slipped a card through Orla’s letterbox thanking her for her help and apologising for my behaviour, but I didn’t knock on the door: I was still deep in the Fear, dreading to know what she thought of me.

But when someone lives three doors away, you can’t avoid them forever. The kids’ school had broken up for the summer holidays. Lulu had taken herself off to a cheerleading taster camp with her friend Aisha, but Barney had a day-long cricket coaching session and needed to be dropped off.

I was parking the car against the railings of Damask Square on my return when Orla’s door opened and she stepped out of her house.

‘Good morning.’ Smiling warily, I climbed out of the car.

‘Anna.’ Orla reached out her arms to me and I found myself stepping into her warm, fragrant embrace. ‘Thank you for the card. You didn’t have to. I’ve been thinking about you, but I thought you might need some space.’

It was typical of her to have guessed that space was exactly what I had needed.

‘Would you like to come in?’ she asked gently.

‘I…’ Suddenly, the prospect of the morning on my own, with nothing to do but wait for Cathy or Sarah’s call, felt unthinkably bleak. ‘Yes, please.’

‘I bought some pastries from the new Turkish place that opened next to Imran’s shop,’ Orla continued, leading the way into her kitchen. ‘They’re really rather good. Have you had breakfast?’

I hadn’t, so I found myself seated at Orla’s kitchen table – which was littered as usual with recipe books, sketch pads, packets of seeds for the garden and two drowsy cats – accepting a coffee and a börek.

‘How have you been?’ she asked. ‘The days after the funeral’s over… it must be hard. Lonely.’

A lump coming to my throat, I nodded. ‘I’m all right. My sisters are looking out for me, and the kids keep me busy, and Mum’s coming down again this weekend. And there’s all the stuff – you know, the admin stuff. Insurance and making sure all the direct debits are going through and things like that. I’m keeping busy.’

Too busy to be hitting the gin at eight in the morning. But I didn’t say that, and Orla didn’t ask.

‘There was something, Anna…’ she began uncertainly. ‘I wanted to ask – but there didn’t seem a right time, with Gray’s death being so sudden in the end.’

‘It was sudden.’ I sighed. ‘Only five days after he went into the hospice. I still wonder if that was the right decision, but I couldn’t…’

‘I doubt it would have made much difference,’ Orla said. ‘Surely not? And better quick than the alternative. But still – a shock.’

I nodded. Already, those days were a blur – a blur of pain and panic and avoiding Laurel and feeling utterly helpless in the face of what was happening.

‘What was it you wanted to ask?’ I sipped the last of my coffee, turning the cup round on its saucer as if I was trying to read my fortune in the few grounds that drifted across its base.