Page 69

Prologue

Marianne Hockney

‘We’re late! You’re not going to make it, Marianne.’

Mum’s voice is tinged with worry, and criticism, as we scan the destination board on the busy concourse at Euston station.

A woman streaks past, pulling a large bulky suitcase.

I swing Julia out of the way to avoid a collision, but she deliberately makes her knees jelly like and won’t stand when I try to put her down. I scoop her up and plant her on my hip.

‘Is there a later train you can catch?’ Mum asks.

‘No! I’ve told you already – I’ve booked the tickets and they’re non-refundable.’

‘Oh dear. You should have set off earlier.’

I stifle a sigh. Mum’s rising anxiety – together with her talent for always stating the bloody obvious – isn’t helping my own nerves.

I’d slept through my alarm clock after yet another disturbed night, punctuated by terrifying dreams. Julia catches hold of a lock of my hair and plays with it, the way she did when she was tiny.

She’s been clingy ever since I told her I was going away.

Mum squints at the board. ‘Glasgow Central is platform one! I don’t think you have enough time. The train’s already boarding.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘Perhaps you should ring and say you can’t make it, love? It’s not the best timing with everything that’s going on.’

‘No, Mum! I can’t let everyone down at the last minute.’

I need this catering gig. It’s cash in hand and could lead to more work at other music festivals and events across the country.

A tiny part of me is also desperate to get away.

I’m dying to let my hair down and have some fun.

I feel like I turned forty-five two months ago, not twenty-five.

I’m still processing everything Mum told me; it’s a hell of a lot to take in.

I should probably book another appointment with the psychiatrist to help get my head straight, as well as the sleep specialist. Maybe persuade my GP to refer me for another brain scan; the hospital may have missed a tumour during that battery of tests.

I’ve never felt so unwell. But for the next couple of days, I can forget it all – a music festival on a remote site, miles from civilisation, in the southern uplands of Scotland, where no one knows me, has never sounded more appealing.

I feel a small twinge of guilt at leaving Julia, but she’ll be happy with Mum.

‘I can make it if I run. The ticket barrier’s only over there.’ I point in the direction of the turnstile, which is blocked by dozens of commuters and tourists.

Mum bites her lip. ‘We’ll only hold you up. Go ahead, and we’ll follow.’

I try to put Julia down again, but she plunges her hands deeper into my hair and holds on tightly.

‘Can you let go, Pickle? Pretty please?’

‘No!’

‘Julia!’ Mum tries to prise her fingers free from my tangles. ‘Mummy can’t miss her train.’

She buries her head into my chest. I pat my necklace, checking she hasn’t accidentally pulled it off.

‘It’s okay. I can carry her if you take the suitcase?’

Mum nods, grabbing the handle. I lead the way through the crowd, my arm aching beneath Julia’s weight – she turned five last week and is growing up fast. It feels like only yesterday when I could tuck her into the sling and take her everywhere with me.

I jiggle her onto my other hip so I can grab the ticket from my pocket.

‘I guess, this is where we’ll have to leave you,’ Mum says flatly as we reach the gate.

I feel Julia tense beneath my fingertips. I glance at the attendant standing on the opposite side of the barrier.

‘Please can they come onto the platform to see me off?’

The fifty-something woman smiles and swipes them through.

We lurch towards the platform. The train is only fifty metres away, but it may as well be miles.

I’m exhausted despite nodding off twice at the breakfast table and again on the tube here.

Luckily, Mum scooped Julia onto her lap; I was out of it for twenty minutes.

I’ll need another nap on this train. Shortly before my birthday, Mum had explained that the sleep attacks were a genetic condition and they would worsen, but I didn’t think they would be this bad.

We’re both out of breath by the time we reach the correct carriage. Most of the seats are taken; thank God I booked one, otherwise I’d be napping outside the toilet cubicle.

‘It’s time, Julia,’ Mum says, gently. ‘ Now, you have to let your mummy go.’

She sighs deeply and slithers down my long, turquoise dress. I’m tempted to snatch her up, turn around and go home with Mum. But haven’t I earned some ‘me’ time?

‘You’ve got everything?’ Mum asks briskly. ‘You didn’t forget to pack your stimulants and other medication in the rush to get here?’

‘Of course I didn’t!’

She flinches.

‘Sorry, Mum,’ I say, softening my tone. ‘Please don’t worry about me. I just need... this. ’

She nods. ‘I can’t help worrying. You and Julia are all I have now.’ Her eyes moisten as she adjusts the belt on her favourite camel coat.

I feel another stab of guilt – Dad’s death from cancer three years ago was bad enough, but her only sibling, Rose, was killed in a car crash last November, devastating her further. The pressure that comes with being an only child has never felt so intense.

‘Let’s talk more when you get back,’ Mum continues. ‘But please remember what I said and don’t do anything silly. You need to look after your health.’

I’m about to hit back with a snarky remark when the announcer says the train is ready to leave. I heave my suitcase into the carriage and turn around.

‘Time to go.’ I pull Julia towards me, but she resists. ‘Do you promise to be a good girl for Grandma?’

‘No!’ She folds her arms, glowering. She’s still furious I’m not letting her come.

‘Can I get a goodbye kiss?’

She shakes her head.

I bend down and point to my chest. ‘What if I let you play with my necklace as an extra special treat?’

Julia’s eyes light up.

‘For goodness’ sake, Marianne!’ Mum looks daggers at me.

‘What’s the problem?’ I say, glaring back. ‘It’s just a lullaby and she loves it.’

I ignore her and sing: ‘ Spin the stone and make a change. Transform the world and rearrange. ’

Mum harrumphs disapprovingly as Julia reaches out and taps the gem, making it twirl around, gleaming red and black.

‘See? You changed the stone’s colour. You’re making everyone in the world happy. Can I get a kiss now?’

She darts behind Mum and clings to her skirt.

‘Never mind. Bye, Pickle. I love you.’

My heart shrinks a little when she doesn’t reply. No doubt Mum will tell me I deserve that snub. Instead, she envelops me in her arms.

‘Take no notice. You know she loves you more than anything in the world. Me too.’

I inhale her familiar rose scent. Tears prick my eyes; this is the closest I’ve felt to her in months after all our heated arguments.

‘I love you, Mum.’

‘Promise me, you won’t keep running away. And you won’t stay too long. You’ll come back.’

I let go of her abruptly. ‘Of course I’ll come back. It’s only a week!’

I manage to swallow the ‘for fuck’s sake’ I’m longing to add and climb inside, shifting my suitcase further along.

‘Remember, Marianne—’

I slam the door shut, cutting off Mum mid-lecture.

It feels like a small victory until I attempt to pull down the window and it jams. I can’t remind my daughter I love her.

Mum puts her arms around Julia and pulls her closer.

Away from me. They smile warmly at each other.

We’re separated by glass and something far, far bigger than I can ever begin to describe.

The barrier feels solid, permanent, preventing me from reaching them.

I grab the handrail to steady myself as I’m hit by a wall of tiredness.

My vision shifts and softens. Mum and Julia are blurry like ghosts, but maybe it’s me that doesn’t exist anymore. I blink. My eyes fill with tears, obliterating them completely.

Who am I? What kind of mother and daughter can I ever be?

A rubbish one! I’m cracking up and failing them both.

I touch my pendant. I don’t want it; I don’t want any of this . I whip it off and immediately feel lighter, as though a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I yank hard at the window, pulling it down far enough to dangle out the chain.

‘Take it!’

Mum’s face brightens as she springs forward. I drop the necklace into her cupped palms.

‘Thank you!’ she says, sighing with relief. She stuffs it into her pocket. ‘Ring me as soon as you arrive, otherwise I’ll worry.’

I nod. That’s a given – I’ll never hear the end of it if I don’t call.

‘Love you!’ I mouth at Julia, but she’s deliberately staring further down the platform.

I wave as the train pulls away. Suddenly, Julia breaks free from Mum and runs alongside the glass.

‘Stop! I want to kiss you goodbye.’

Tiny daggers puncture my heart.

‘Come back, Mummy!’

It’s too late. Julia’s cries become fainter.

Then she disappears.