Page 28 of Good Sisters

He put on his coat. ‘I do miss her. I even miss her nagging.’

I smiled at him. ‘Me too. I keep expecting her to call in and give out to me because the house is a mess or I’m in a baggy tracksuit or the garden needs weeding.’

‘It’s mad the things you miss.’ Dad smiled sadly.

I gave him a hug and opened the front door. His phonepinged. It was a text message. Dad’s eyes were bad, so his text size was huge – you could read his messages from space.

I’ve a hot whiskey waiting for you, D xx

D? Oh, my God, was that Dolores? And two kisses? What the hell?

‘Is that Dolores? Are you leaving my dinner early to meet up with her?’

Dad looked sheepish. ‘No, that is … She just said to pop in on my way home, for a casual drink.’

‘Are you seeing her regularly?’

‘No, we’re just friends. The days are long, Julie, and you’re all so busy with your own lives. She’s a nice woman and I enjoy her company, that’s all.’

Rage rose inside me. What about Mum? I wanted to shout. Yes, we were all busy, but right now I was bloody well feeding him his dinner and he was leaving early to meet another woman. It was so soon. I mean, Christ, it was way too soon. And I had been the one who had defended him, told my sisters it was just a little company, no harm done. What a fool I’d been. What was he doing, replacing our mother already? Had he lost his mind? I could feel the blood pulsing through my head and I felt physically ill.

‘Well, don’t let me keep you from yourdate, Dad.’ I slammed the door behind him.

8. Louise

Clara was wearing her soft gloves with no seams, so I was allowed to hold her hand. I loved holding her hand and her hugs. I wondered how long they would last. Would she push me away during puberty, like most kids? There were no rules with kids, each one was different, and it was the same with children who had autism spectrum disorder. It made me think about Colin because that was the first thing he had taught me when I went to see him about Clara: every child is different. He was the best child psychologist in the country and had been hugely helpful to me and Clara.

Falling for him had not been part of my plan, but I had. We’d had three wonderful years together, but then he got an offer he couldn’t refuse to do a PhD at Harvard. He was hesitant to go, but I made him. I would never stop someone taking up a dream opportunity. The long-distance thing just didn’t work, as I knew it wouldn’t, no matter what he said. We fizzled out. No drama, no histrionics, it just slowly fizzled. He had since met someone and seemed happy. We remained friends and I knew I could call him anytime for advice about Clara, which was a pretty good outcome.

I had always been practical about relationships, I’d never believed I’d fall madly in love and spend the rest of my life with someone. It wasn’t what I wanted. I liked my own company. I liked my own space. I liked having control over my life. Sure, I liked having someone to have sex with, go to the theatre with, walks, drinks, dinner … but I didn’t need it. Julie could never be on her own and Sophie, although shehad been alone for a few years, had hated it. They needed love and partnership – Mum had been the same – but I didn’t. Even after two years of dating I had said no when Colin had suggested moving in together. It would be far too messy if we broke up and I didn’t want Clara getting used to someone, only for them one day to leave. As it turned out, I had made the right decision.

‘Mummy?’

‘Yes, sweetheart.’

‘Why do people say that dead people go to Heaven and live on clouds and become angels and all that when it’s not true?’

‘I think they just want to think happy thoughts about the people who have died.’

‘But why don’t they just say the truth? I saw the coffin go into the ground, so I know that’s where Granny is.’

She had a point. The whole Heaven, afterlife, angel thing was just to make us, the left behind, feel better. But the cold fact that my mother was lying in a coffin underground was hard to think about.

‘Yes, Clara, you’re right. That is where Granny is. Do you miss her?’

Clara hadn’t talked much about Mum and I was worried she was internalizing her grief. She barely mentioned her and hadn’t cried, which I knew was not unusual for a child with her disorder. But she’d had a few momentous meltdowns that I knew were related to her trying to cope with the loss. I wanted to try to get her to talk about how she was feeling.

Clara said nothing and we walked on.

‘I liked watching movies with her. I liked reading my bird books with her. I liked her egg-and-soldiers teas. I liked her hugs. I liked her laugh. I liked her being around.’

I squeezed her hand gently. ‘Me too. Mum did the best egg-and-soldiers.’

Clara pulled her hand away and tucked it into her cardigan pocket.

‘What happens if you die?’ she asked. ‘Who will mind me?’

I stopped walking. ‘Oh, Clara, I’m not going to die.’

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