Belief Chapter 5

Mum's sister arrived and gave me the opportunity to return to my home.  Even though I had only been away for a night, it felt like returning from holiday, or a job interview where I didn't get the job.  I picked up my post. I picked up my shoes. I moved my bag. I did the washing up I had left. All the things I had left to do, assuming that they would be done that evening. I had assumed that I would come home and pick up exactly where I left off.  I felt unable to remember that person that I was and found it very difficult to find the motivation to tidy the house.  I switched on the television and the coffee machine.  I sat down and pressed the channel button over and over again.  It all seemed so trivial and meaningless; silly people pretending to be silly other people. People worried about their sex life, their career, their skin - I switched off the television.

I didn't feel like cooking anything and the fridge was not inspiring. I didn't want to leave the house again and so I ordered a takeaway. It occurred to me that people had takeaway menus in their house usually.  Perhaps I had some somewhere, but I couldn't think where I may have put them so I had to find somewhere on my phone. It was almost impossible for me to think of the names of any dishes so I accidentally ordered egg fried rice and plain chow mein.  It was an odd combination and half of it ended up in the fridge.  I put a lot of milk in my coffee and sat back down on the sofa. I found an Agatha Christie on tv and lay down to watch it. I had started watching crime drama more and more as I got older. There was something pleasing and satisfying about the completion of each episode. I had lost all patience for long run dramas and shows with long seasons that continued and were always too numerous to catch up on. I needed the short term resolution of crime drama - punishing the offender and resolving the crimes all in an hour. 

At three o clock, I woke, still fully dressed and on the sofa.  My skin was cold to the touch and the room was dark.  I staggered up to bed and slept the rest of the night in my clothes. 

My sister phoned me at 7:45 to ask if I was ok.  I couldn't get back to sleep afterwards and lay in bed watching the room turn grey in the light.  I was sort of aware that it was Saturday and I needed to go shopping. I always went shopping on Saturday and even though I wasn't expecting to be at work on Monday, I felt obliged to go. 

I walked to the supermarket. There was a Tesco up the hill, near the swimming baths where I often went on Saturday morning early, but I knew I could only manage the Asda down the road. It wasn't as big.  The small trolleys were almost all gone, it was packed.  I hadn't made a list, instead I wandered up and down the aisles and kept having to retrace my steps as I changed my mind.  I got milk and broccolli, Pepsi and Ribena.I needed butter. I chose a loaf of white bread and a tin of tomato soup.  At the checkout, I scanned and packed and carried three bags out of the store.  It was then I remembered that I had walked to the supermarket and not driven.  I had milk, Pepsi and Ribena.  My bags were quite heavy. For some unfathomable reason, that tipped me over the edge and I sat down on the wall and started to cry.  My sobs came suddenly, silently, but the tears that filled my eyes were hot and huge and heavy and splashed on my top that I had worn for three days. 

Remarkably, no one seemed to notice. Or perhaps a sobbing woman on the wall next to Asda car park was a usual occurrence. 
"Claire?" I looked up to see Anna in front of me. She is a friend, but not the sort of friend I cry to.  More the sort of friend I talk to and watch films with.  "I'm so sorry about your dad."  I couldn't seem to answer.  She turned away for a moment but stayed close to me. She must have been getting her husband to put her twins in the car and take them home. The next thing I knew, she was taking me by the hand, picking up one of my shopping bags, the heavy one, and walking me home. 
"I forgot I didn't drive." I managed to say, even at the time conscious that that statement made me sound like the sort of person who had forgotten they ever learned.

Anna, like the good mother she was, rather like my sister, took me to the kitchen, put the milk away - something I would not normally have done for another 2 hours and switched on the coffee pot from last night.  We sat at the kitchen table and I wiped my nose with kitchen roll. For the first time in  my life I felt as if I understood what it meant to pull myself together.  I felt I could see the parts of me sagging to the sides, like a peeled banana. Somehow I stretched out my arms and gathered the weak and painfully loose edges of myself into some semblance of the person I was two days' ago and zipped myself back together, squeezing those parts in. 

"I didn't know he was ill," Anna began gently.
"He wasn't...it was a car accident, he was with my mum..." I pause but Anna goes to ask something else so I add quickly "She's fine."
"And when's the funeral? And what are you doing today? Do you want me to stay?"
"No. And Tuesday. And no thanks. I am ok. I didn't seem like it. Sorry."
"Don't bloody apologise. We do too much of that as it is. "

She went after another coffee and promised to call me.  I cut a thick slice of bread and ate it in front of "Ben and Holly". I mus have slept again and by 4 o clock it was starting to get dark again.  I thought I could smell myself and somehow managed to shake myself into running a bath.  The water was too hot and I couldn't lie down for a few minutes. It seemed to be cathartic.  I wept again, but not uncontrollably. It hurt, but just a bit. 

Out of the bath, there were three missed calls on my phone.  My sister, wanting me to ring my mum.  So I did. Normally when I phone my mum I empty the dishwasher and perform useful tasks. But today I saved those things to keep me busy when I had finished on the phone. 

"Hi mum."
"Hello darling, what have you done today?"
"Nothing much...saw a friend." I felt a bit like I was lying but it didn't seem right to have any grief. My mum was the sad one, not me, I forced my voice to be a little bit higher and brighter. 
"I chose some music." My mum said. I realised she meant the funeral. "What do you think of Bob Dylan?"
"Well, all sorts, but for dad?  Maybe Miles Davis?"
"Oh... I'll ask your sister."
I realised my helpful suggestion had been taken as a criticism.  I wished I'd been quiet.

Belief Chapter 4

At 3:30 I had read three chapters of three different books, updated my games, read people's comments on my status and private messaged anybody who really cared.  Everyone seemed to have made the assumption that my dad had died of some sort of condition related to old age.  Irrationally, this was annoying me.  He was healthy and rational, clever and engaging.  He was not at death's door, he was fine up until the moment my mother pulled out at the roundabout.  Somehow I could feel myself directing my anger at those people who didn't know him well enough to know that he wasn't unwell.
There was a knock at the door. I stood up to answer and was almost knocked out of the way by my sister running to answer the door. She flung the door open, leaving me standing awkwardly in the hall. Ali showed in a man, moved him to the sitting room and sat him at the end of the sofa where I had been a moment ago.  It was a man in a blue shirt with a dog collar and jacket. He was wearing jeans and suede boots.
"This is Bryn, from church." my sister said unnecessarily. He stood to shake my hand, but as he did, my mother walked into the room and he moved to embrace her, her grief superseding my own.  He obviously knew her and she seemed pleased to see him.  He sat back down as she did and he encouraged her to talk. My sister reappeared with coffee cups and cake and sat on the sofa opposite Bryn.
"I'm so sorry Carol." he spoke warmly with a deep Welsh accent. "This must be a very difficult day."
He was very attentive as my mother spoke about Dad, and although she finally described a father I recognised, the vicar seemed to know a funny, old man who sang loudly and knew everyone at church.  He started to talk about the service, the hymns, whether or not I wanted to read.  I didn't know what he was doing here. He was charming, intense and perfectly pleasant, but my father and I had had many conversations about the Church, faith and religion. I thought we were singing from the same hymn sheet.
"It's like organising a wedding, but in only two days..." Bryn was saying sympathetically, that must have been where Ali got that phrase from;  "As you know." He did a sweeping gesture with his arms to encompass my mum and Alison, then with his eyes, included me in the gesture, just in case he'd got me wrong and I wasn't the unmarried sister, but actually the previously married / divorced sister. I held his gaze for a few seconds, but he didn't look away. He obviously had an inner confidence that didn't put him off.  Of course. That must be what faith does for you.  He had pale blue eyes and a white and black beard. His hair was almost grey.  He was very handsome, and tall, and looked toned and slender; the kind of middle-aged man who has cycled a lot.  I continued to look at him, dispassionately, curiously, feeling protected by my lack of belief and his intensity of belief.  A man who knew he could not be desired.  He had on a wedding ring, so I assumed he had four children under 15 like other vicars I had met.

It was then I noticed Alison. She wasn't staring at him, but seemed to be aware of his every word, laughing a little too loud and sitting far forward on the edge of her seat.  She's got a crush on the vicar I thought.  The absurdity of the situation made me inhale quickly, trying not laugh and every one stared at me. Fortunately, I appeared to have picked an opportune moment as they seemed to think I was stifling a sob and all three tipped their heads to one side in a gesture of sympathy which made me want to giggle more than ever. I wasn't happy, I must have been overwhelmed.  I sipped my coffee to cover my mouth and inadvertently tipped the cup too much making me dribble coffee all over my front.  I brought my arm up to my chin to cover my t shirt. 

Alison, momentarily distracted from her man shot me a glance which conveyed her suspicion, but I had composed myself by then and she turned back to Bryn, who by then was in conversation with Mum.

I didn't think that a good looking vicar was the reason for my sister's newly found interest in the Church. She was not that shallow, but neither was my father, and I found it very hard to reconcile the man I knew with one who enjoyed an active life in the community of faith.

Then Bryn was standing to leave and asking if he could pray with us.  I smiled and moved away, collecting cups and plates as if this had nothing to do with me.  I was not in the right mood for forgiveness yet.

Belief Chapter 3

I hadn't switched the alarm off on my phone, so at 6:15 I was woken up.  For a few moments I was stuck in lethe. I was not happy. I was not sad. I didn't know what had happened. I am zen. I am in the moment.  I feel the uncomfortable mattress that has been on this, my childhood bed, for the last 25 years, I hear a few cars on the road outside, a dog barking in the distance, I see a pattern on my ceiling, created by artex that used to remind me of a mountain range, I can smell a slight damp smell of clean bedding, but no fabric conditioner.  I forced the covers back from my legs, the layers of blankets and sheets pressing down too hard and felt the chill from the unused room which had probably had the radiator turned off. Then suddenly memory hit me and my shoulders sagged and I didn't think I could stand up. My father was dead. Killed in a traffic accident in which my mother was driving. I was staying in the house to take care of my mother following a late night, whispered semi-row with my sister in which she insisted she had to go to look after the boys. I whispered back that surely that was the point of marrying the damn father. She rolled her eyes to indicate that despite her unerring love for her husband she did not trust him with delicate matters such as getting two teenaged boys to school on time, with bus fare and lunch.  I widened my eyes in a gesture designed to indicate that although she was a mother, she was also a daughter and perhaps that role took precedent tonight.

I had lost the row. I took a deep breath and put my clothes from yesterday back on.  I thought I ought to ring work.  I picked up my phone which had run out of battery and had been charging over night.  When I switched it on, it was silent for a minute, then pinged several times.  I had never had so many text messages. I opened the list but couldn't bear to read any. They all started "So sorry...".  I scrolled down until I found Alice; a colleague I liked but who wasn't too nosy.  "Not coming in today. Please msg." After pressing send,  I texted again. "Not for rest of week. x"

I looked in the mirror, but I didn't have any make up with me, or a hair brush. I walked down stairs and went in to the kitchen, savouring the few moments by myself.  All the washing up had been done and the kitchen was immaculate. Mum must have done it after I had gone to bed. I boiled a kettle. There was instant coffee in the cupboard. Supermarket own brand. I told myself I wasn't a coffee snob and made filter coffee.  I went to warm the tea pot for Mum and Dad and then stopped and placed a single tea bag in a white mug for Mum.

Mum shuffled in from the lounge. I jumped. She was fully clothed and asking me to help her with the collar the hospital had supplied.
"I couldn't sleep upstairs," she apologised. "Can't sleep without your dad." Her eyes filled but she blinked back tears and took the proffered tea. She sat down at the kitchen table, but I stood up, feeling uncomfortable at her proximity. I put the collar on and smelt her familiar smell, the perfume, the smell of Mum, and stood behind her to do it, not feeling as if I could look her straight in the eye again.
"Do you want breakfast?" She asked, making no move.
"No, I'll have fruit, what can I get you?"
"Toast, or something...nothing thanks."

Mum got up and picked up my spoon from the worktop, washed it, dried it and put it away.  I took my phone into the living room and put on daytime television while Mum tried to find dust to clean.  At half past ten the front door opened and my sister came in calling.  She was carrying bags of food and started to put it away in Mum's fridge. I could see my mum hovering nervously around the fridge, waiting for Ali to drop something or knock on to the floor the carefully balanced jars of pickles that went out of date in 2014.  There was no space in the fridge or freezer, Mum and Dad had only just been shopping.
"So..." Ali began, starting a sentence in my least favourite way, sitting us down with tea and coffee and dirtying more cups. "The pastor will be here this afternoon at about two-thirty to discuss the service and Aunty Val is coming this evening to stay Mum if that's ok."
Mum barely responded, but I frowned. "The pastor? What pastor? What service?"  Ali silently appealed to me, please not now.
"Mum and I talked about it last night." she said, glancing at Mum. "And Dad and I had been talking about it for a while."
"Talking about what?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. When had they had this conversation? These conversations? What had my younger sister talked to my dad about that he hadn't spoken to me about. "He doesn't go to your church."
"No, but he had been, Bryn knows him, it's better than someone who's never met him conducting the service. " My sister's tone felt patronising, as if she'd had all these conversations before, which she may have done, but not with me.
"It's fine." my Mum said, briefly reverting to herself from when we were fourteen and twelve and bickering over the tv controller. We were quiet.

Alison made lunch from the party food that she had bought for the wake that wouldn't fit in the freezer. She didn't ask what Mum wanted, just fed her, like she sometimes buttered bread for us, or put sugar in our tea.  I liked it a bit.  It seemed to demonstrate that she was what she had always been, even before she had children, a mother.

"At least it's nearly Christmas." she said pointlessly, and perhaps poignantly. "Lots of food in the shops.  It's like organising  a wedding... but in a couple of days. "
"I enjoyed organising your wedding." My Mum said. And any other time I would have chosen to see that as a dig at me.

Belief Chapter 2

At ten o clock we were sitting in Mum and Dad's front room and Ali was trying to get her to go to bed.
"What about Maggie?"  Mum was saying.
"Done mum, or I'll do tomorrow." Ali said. "I can't phone everyone tonight, it's late now."
"They'll worry..."
"They won't worry Mum, they don't know anything was wrong with Dad,  I'll tell them.."
Ali's voice was starting to crack and I could see her staring at me, desperate for me to do something but I couldn't speak. I didn't like seeing my mother looking weak. I didn't like the living room without Dad.  I wanted to go home.
"I'll go and wash these cups." my mum said pointlessly and took our cups to the kitchen.  Mine was still half full and tea slopped onto the table but no one noticed.
Ali half smiled at me. "Ok?" she asked, putting her hand on my arm. I went to brush her hand away but instead I held her fingers, removed my arm and rested her hand on the arm of the chair. "Can you do the cousins tomorrow?"  she asks. I nod.

After a good ten minutes of consideration I had changed my profile picture to a nice, recent one of Dad smiling and written something unambiguous and nice.  My phone had buzzed many times already. I would still make the phone calls the next day like my sister wanted but the cousins would already know and would tell their parents tonight. The parents would start ringing as soon as was decent in the morning to find out what had happened.

What had happened.  Already social media stalkers had tried to tell me he was a good age,  those that didn't know he was healthy.

"I'll go and put your electric blanket on." Mum said to me, heading upstairs to do me that small service as she always did.
"I'll go home, Mum." I said quickly but she didn't seem to hear. Ali glared.
"Claire, no, one of us needs to stay!" she whisper-whined in shock. "I've got to get back."
I opened my mouth to protest,  but I knew I'd lose that. I knew what she'd say,  she needed to get home and see the boys. She didn't trust James to talk to them. She'd say they needed their mother.  I wanted to say; but you're also a daughter and your mother needs you. But I knew that applied to me too.
"She thinks it's her fault."  Ali mouthed and did a sad face at the end.
It is her fault though, I wanted to say.  It's her fault Dad's dead.

Belief Chapter 1

I am not supposed to drive home from work.  We are supposed to be lift sharing or getting the bus or the train. Or perhaps the park and ride.  Unfortunately, the park and ride hasn't actually been set up yet and if I want to get a bus I can either arrive half an hour early or half an hour late.  So when my phone rings as I release the handbrake and start to navigate my way out of the supermarket car park I feel rather as if I am breaking quite enough rules and regulations at the moment, thank you and let it ring.

Annoyingly, the person does not leave a message and I can see the missed call icon appear at the top of my screen.  My phone is set to sat nav, I do know how to get home, but the sat nav may help me avoid a ten minute queue through the town centre.  After a moment or two, my phone rings again and I catch sight of the number but it is a local landline number and not one I recognise.  A moment later a messenger pings onto my screen, it is my sister, but it wasn't her number.

Before I have even left the side road from the car park and joined the main road, yet another message from somewhere else has temporarily silenced the sat nav. I miss the instruction and turn the wrong way on the main road and almost straight into a queue at the roundabout towards the hospital.  The electronic signs are flashing orange warnings about a closed lane.  I feel incredibly cross with myself as I didn't have to come this way, I could have gone the other way.

Driving around the roundabout to get back on to my route, my phone rings again.  I am no longer curious and merely cross, so I swear unnecessarily at the car in front who is pulling too slowly away from the roundabout and onto the main road out of town.  The cars in front and I inch slowly forward in fits and starts until the queue narrows to a left turning lane and the rest of the traffic explodes in a stream of relief as we finally achieve the dizzy heights of the 30mph speed limit.

After twenty minutes I am pulling into my road and there is space to park outside of my house. This must be a good day. I execute a perfect reverse parallel park and unlock the front door.  I have barely stepped into the hallway when the echoing alarm is competing with the house phone and I am reminded of the messages on my phone.  I cannot find the phone before it stops ringing as I am juggling handbag, mobile phone, coat and keys.  However, I can hear a voice leaving a message. I don't recognise the voice immediately, but the tone is clear. It is urgent. It is concerned. It is pleading with me.

Abandoning my bags to the floor, I scan through the messages on my phone.  It is my sister. All the calls. All the messages. "Call me." So I call her.

My heart rate has leapt and my hands are shaking. I had started to take my shoes off but I have stopped mid way while I make my phone call and I am now pacing the hallway and living room unevenly as I try to unzip my other boot. The call takes ages to connect. There are too many rings, I don't understand why she does not answer straight away if it is urgent.

"Ali?" I ask as finally the call is answered.
"Claire? Where have you been? I've phoned you."
"In the car, what's wrong?"
"I was trying to get you before you left work, I need you here."
"Ali, what is it, what's wrong?"  My sister seems to be focusing on all the wrong details.
"It's Dad, Claire, there's been an accident, come to the hospital. I've texted..."
"What's happened? Ok. "
"Come now. Claire. Come now."
I don't say goodbye and I don't really notice as I put my trainers on instead of my boots and get my bag and phone, I forget my coat and I don't have my purse with me, but I am only dimly aware of these things.

On my journey back into town I forget about the closed lane near the roundabout and end up in a traffic jam all along the road towards the hospital.  My chest feels tight and I can feel all the muscles in my jaw aching with tension. I feel like I want to cry, but it seems so utterly futile I can't. The lane is closed because there are three or four cars pulled up along the side of the road and there are flashing lights everywhere.  The car park is packed as always and I have to wait for a parking space. An elderly woman edges in and out of a parking space at least 8 times and does not even seem to consider thanking me for waiting for her.  I try to pull in forwards, then realise I'm not going to make it, I pull forward, but before I start to reverse in, the person behind me goes to pull into the space and I have to wait for him to reverse and the three cars behind him to let him go back. I reverse into the space and discover that I don't have my purse with me.  I stand next to the machine staring at the empty bag as if the purse will appear. With no choice I make my way towards the hospital entrance but I cannot read the map or follow the signs.  When a woman stops to help me all I seem to be able to do is hold out the phone with my sister's message and she points towards a corridor, on the wall of which is a word that seems to resemble the words on the message.

I walk down the corridor but I am seized with a sense of urgency that makes me feel as if my stomach is floating away and my feet are glued to the floor; my trousers are too long with my trainers on and at every step, they catch at the back.  I see someone coming out of a room a few metres away, she looks towards me, it is my sister. I reach out to her but she doesn't move or raise her arms.
"Ali..." I don't know what I am going to say, I think I was going to apologise for being late.
"Claire" she says "You're too late. "