Page 35 of Life After Me

More than I can count. I smiled as I remembered Lottie perched on the worktop as a little girl, covered in flour and happily thumping away at whatever dough I was making.

Even when she’d been older she’d often joined me in the kitchen, taking her frustrations out on the dough while telling me all the things that were bothering her.

So many of our deepest conversations involved being covered in flour.

Problems at school, with boys. She’d first asked me about sex halfway through a batch of shortbread.

That batch had come out of the oven rock-hard, but we’d been stronger for it.

It was usually that way. The tougher the bread or whatever else we’d been making, the stronger our relationship had been.

I’d even come to like the rock-hard scones and bread that had to be choked down with huge mugs of tea.

So what are you up to? I tried to ask her the question, but struggled to get the words out.

It’s easier to communicate now that I can move more things, but I still can’t talk to Lottie or Matty as clearly as I can their dad.

I guess maybe that’s just how these things work.

I tugged at the apron between my daughter’s fingers.

‘I guess you’re wondering what I’m doing with all this stuff.’

Who needs words when they’re blessed with a daughter this smart and perceptive?

She folded the apron carefully and dropped it back into the box.

‘Well I’m not telling you. If it works, it’s going to be a lovely surprise, and if it doesn’t, well no one will be disappointed if they never knew about it in the first place.

’ She smiled as she pulled out a red gypsy skirt, swirling with paisley patterns.

‘Some of my favourite photos I took of you were when you were wearing this skirt. That Easter, when you came to stay with me at uni. Do you remember?’

Of course I did. I looked around the heaps of my old things, and realised what they represented.

Here was the grey stripy cardigan I used to wear in the evenings when marking work, and there was the snuggly green dressing gown I wore for half of most Sundays, cooking breakfast and then reading the papers lazily.

It was old-school and the kids often teased us about it when most of their news came from screens and social media, but it had suited me to read an actual paper.

The bundle of blue and yellow was the tablecloth we’d used on birthdays, and Christmas, and any other time we’d got together, just to make it a bit more special and cheerful.

It was the same one that had recently always had a vase of flowers on, to hide the stain in the middle from melted birthday cake candles.

She’d hoarded my embroidered denim jacket, seven or eight scarves, my favourite velvet evening jacket, and the grey suit I’d always worn when I needed to feel smart and business-like.

There were other skirts and tops, the green lace dress I must have worn to half a dozen weddings and family events in the last few years, and the dip-dyed sarong I’d bought on our last family holiday together.

I hadn’t even realised I still owned that.

I definitely didn’t own the swimsuit I’d worn with it.

That had long ago been thrown in the bin with a pile of other age-inappropriate clothes.

Lottie hadn’t picked randomly. Every item she had spread out across the floor carried its own special memories and emotions. I wondered what she had planned for them all.

The evening got even odder when her phone beeped at around eleven. I peered over her shoulder as her fingers clicked over the glowing screen, typing out her address.

Ten minutes later there was a quiet knock at the door, and Lottie opened it to reveal a petite, pretty blonde girl. She offered a grin and her hand. ‘You must be Lottie. Stu’s told me a lot about you.’

‘Ditto.’ Lottie shook her hand easily. ‘Do you want to come in for a drink?’

‘Thanks, but no. Last train goes in half an hour. If I’m not on that I’ll be sofa surfing tonight, and I could really use my own bed. It’s been a long week.’

‘They all seem to be lately.’ Lottie smiled sympathetically. ‘But I’d rather be busy and tired than bored and broke. I’ve got everything ready.’ She beckoned the girl into the living room. ‘Do you think you’ve got enough?’

The girl bent down and ran her fingers through the pile of things Lottie had folded neatly into the box. I wanted to scream at her to stop touching my stuff. ‘Yeah, should be.’ She shivered slightly. ‘It’s cold tonight.’

Lottie ignored the comment, but I saw her jaw clench slightly. Handing over my things to this stranger seemed to hurt her too.

‘There are a few more bits in this bag, but the stuff in the box is the most important.’ She paused. ‘It’s a hundred and fifty each, right?’

‘Yup.’ The girl squeezed Lottie’s fingers briefly. ‘It might take a while. Maybe even a couple of months. I really only do these in my free time at the moment, but I promise I’ll make them good.’

‘I know.’ Lottie nodded, handing over the bag and box and walking the girl to the door.

‘Tell Stu I’m sorry I missed him, and I’ll give him a call soon.’

‘Will do. Talk to you in a few weeks.’ Lottie shut the door tightly behind the girl, and locked up for the night. ‘Don’t be annoyed with me, Mum.’ She leaned her head against the wall and whispered the words to me. ‘I’ve done this for a reason. I just hope they come out well.’