Page 42 of Life After Me

David

Every so often Lottie does something that reminds me so much of her mother, that it’s all I can do not to cry. She turned up today with a bulky parcel balanced against her hip. ‘It’s a present.’

‘But it’s not my birthday or anything. What’s it for?’

‘Do I really need a reason to give you something?’ She perched nervously on the edge of a chair. ‘Are you going to open it?’

I tugged at the string that held the brown paper closed, and a brightly coloured roll of fabric tumbled out.

I shook it out and the colours blurred in front of my eyes.

It was a patchwork quilt. I let my fingers wander across the different coloured patches until I found a coppery-gold silken square that triggered a memory.

‘Didn’t your mum used to have a scarf this colour? ’

Lottie nodded slowly.

‘And a blouse this colour.’ I picked another square. ‘I bought it for her years ago, because it brought out the colour in her eyes. I’m sure it was just like this. Didn’t she have one like this?’

‘She did.’ Lottie fingered another square, this time blue and yellow check. ‘And a tablecloth made of this. And a skirt from this.’

‘This is what you wanted all Jenn’s clothes for.

’ It wasn’t a question, but Lottie nodded anyway.

I stroked another square, and the image of Jenn on a summer evening, in a garden with a glass of wine, flashed into my mind.

She’d loved that skirt. I found myself smiling as I recognised more and more of the patches.

Jenn’s weekend dressing gown, favourite evening jacket, jeans, her apron, the dress she’d worn on our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary when all our friends and family had crowded into our garden to celebrate with us.

They were all here, with hundreds of memories woven into the fabrics.

‘Do you like it?’ Lottie’s fingers were twisting the edge of the quilt nervously.

I looked up at my daughter and my voice caught in my throat. The gesture was so thoughtful, and so like something Jenn would have done, that I didn’t know whether to hug her or cry. ‘It’s amazing. A patchwork of memories. Thank you so much.’

Lottie sighed in relief. ‘I’m so glad. I was worried it might not be the right thing to do. I didn’t like the thought of her things being cut up.’

‘No, you were right. It’s perfect. It’s the type of thing your mum would have done.’ I tried to keep the emotion out of my voice as I looked at my baby girl, all grown up and so incredibly kind and thoughtful.

‘Do you really think so?’ Lottie smiled as I nodded. ‘I had one made for myself too, and one for Matty.’

‘That’s incredibly thoughtful. Where did you get them done?’

‘Just a friend of a friend type of thing. She makes these in her spare time. So, you really like it?’

‘Yes, I do. I think it’s brilliant. And you’re brilliant for coming up with it.’ I planted a kiss on her cheek and she shoved me away playfully.

She folded the quilt carefully and glanced up at me slyly. ‘So, how’s Ruth? Have you seen much of her lately?’

* * *

By the time Lottie left, my stomach was growling. I threw a random packet meal in the microwave and was punching the buttons when the phone rang.

‘So I’m at the supermarket and feeling bored and sorry for myself.’ I was starting to like how Ruth rarely bothered to say hello anymore, instead just launching into a conversation. ‘And I thought to myself “who else would be at home and bored on a Friday night?” and came up with you.’

‘I’m thrilled.’ I kept my tone deadpan, not wanting her to hear the truth in the words.

‘Oh hush your nonsense.’ I could hear the smile in her voice. ‘I just wanted someone to talk to. If you’re against the idea of it being you...’

‘No, no. It’s fine.’ I settled back against the work surface, feeling a lot brighter. ‘You’re right. I am at home and fairly bored. So why are you feeling sorry for yourself?’

‘Because it’s Friday night and I’m at the supermarket by myself. Don’t think I’m too mad, but I really hate supermarkets now.’

‘Because they’re overpriced and seem to hate their customers?

Because every time you learn where the coffee is, they go and move it again?

Because all the best dates are always at the back, so you have to rummage around the fridges until your hands are freezing to make sure your packet of yogurts will last the week?

And because everything is sold in packs big enough to serve a whole dinner party? ’

Ruth’s laughter echoed back down the phone. ‘Now I think about it, yeah. Everything except the moving stuff around thing. I actually like that because it makes me concentrate instead of just blindly throwing things into the trolley.’

‘So what was it before I added more to your list of reasons to hate supermarkets?’ I’d given her my list of pet peeves, and was curious to find out what I’d missed.

‘It doesn’t matter, it’s silly.’

‘Sillier than rummaging around a fridge looking for the perfect pack of ham?’

‘Well maybe not. It’s just that I always feel really lonely here.

It’s like this bloody supermarket sets out to make me feel more lonely than ever.

People always seem to do their shopping together.

No one shops alone anymore, and even when they do you can tell from what’s in their basket that they’re rushing home to meet someone.

Half the time Lisa doesn’t eat at home, so I’m left with a sad-looking basket that screams at the world how miserable and alone I am.

’ She took a deep breath. ‘I told you it was stupid.’

‘The first time I went shopping after Jenn died, I had some sort of mental breakdown,’ I confessed.

‘Really?’ Ruth sounded disbelieving.

‘Honestly. First time I went shopping just for myself it started in the fresh meat aisle when I couldn’t find a packet of sausages or pork chops small enough to just feed me, and ended by the cream-cake chiller.

’ It felt good to share the experience with someone who I knew would understand.

‘I stood there for nearly half an hour.’

‘You’re winding me up.’ I could hear Ruth trying not to laugh.

‘Scout’s honour.’ I laughed with her. Now, it did seem ridiculously funny. ‘I wanted a custard tart, but I couldn’t buy just one. So rather than get something else, I stood and tried to stare them all down.’

‘You’re a nutter. Why didn’t you just go to the baker’s and ask for a single?’

‘I don’t know.’ I was laughing so hard I struggled to catch my breath. Trust Ruth to manage to make me laugh over something I’d never thought I’d get over. She was good at doing that.

‘So what are you up to? I’m not disturbing you, am I?’

‘Nope, just cooking dinner.’

‘I’m out trying to buy some. What are you having?’

‘I don’t know. Some radioactive pasta, curry, cheesy something or other.’

‘Are you that bad a cook?’

‘Nope. Just didn’t look very closely at the packet before feeding it to the microwave.’ I peered through the glass door at the slowly twirling plate. ‘It’s bright yellow, so I’m hoping something cheesy and pasta related.’

‘ Ewww . I think I just lost my appetite. Right in time to pass the dreaded doughnuts. Did you know they have a Krispy Kreme cabinet here?’

‘Sounds lethal,’ I sympathised.

‘Not as lethal as your dinner. Please tell me this is just a lazy Friday dinner before you put the telly on, and not your usual cuisine.’

‘Umm . . .’

‘Do you have any idea how much salt, fat, sugar and additives are in those things?’

‘I’m guessing a lot, based on your tone of voice.’ I’d never even thought about it before. ‘They’re easy. I can’t really be bothered to cook properly when it’s just me.’

‘I know what you mean. I’ll make a deal with you. You throw the glow-in-the-dark-possibly-pasta thing in the bin, put a bottle of something half-decent in the freezer to chill quickly, and I’ll bring round something for dinner.’

‘Are you sure? I thought you were busy.’ I peered in the microwave again. The maybe cheese thing was bubbling unpleasantly and the black plastic pot was starting to sag dangerously. The thought of good food and better company was appealing, but I didn’t want to put Ruth out.

‘Are you serious? My night just went from ice cream and old movies to actual human contact and possible laughter. See you in a bit.’ The line clicked off before I could reply.

I grinned to myself. I hadn’t expected to see Ruth tonight, so it was a nice surprise.

It was so easy to be around her — she’s always so relaxed and chilled out.

I looked around the kitchen. Damn. I really needed to wash up.

I didn’t think even Ruth was chilled out enough to ignore the leaning tower of dishes.

By the time the doorbell rang, the kitchen was vaguely respectable. Not as clean as I would have made it with more notice, but at least it didn’t look like a bachelor pad, although I suppose that’s what it is now.

I shook the thought aside and opened the door with a smile.

‘Here, take this.’ Ruth shoved a supermarket bag at me.

‘I thought you were getting a takeaway?’ I peered into the bag.

‘Oi, nosey.’ Ruth tutted at me before kicking off her shoes. ‘I was already in the supermarket, so thought I’d cook us something half-decent. How’s bacon and mushroom tagliatelle sound?’

‘Better than neon-could-be-cheese-and-melted-plastic pot. Do you need a hand?’

‘Just show me where everything is and open the wine.’

‘All right.’ She followed me through to the kitchen and rattled off a list of stuff she needed. I found everything except the garlic press, whatever that is, but she just shrugged and said she could chop it.