Kitabı oku: «The A–Z of Everything: A gorgeously emotional and uplifting book that will make you laugh and cry», sayfa 2
Chapter 1
1984 – Farewell to Templeton Peck
Dead goldfish are pretty revolting items, thinks Andrea, as she lovingly wraps up the body of the late, great pet known as Faceman. Once a delightful creature dashing through his fake coral reef and pirate castle, he’s now slippy and cold and far too reminiscent of three-day-old Chinese food that’s starting to disintegrate.
Once he’s enveloped in tissue paper, he is placed in a shoebox, which the girls have decorated in the style of the little Corvette that The A-Team character drives around in. It’s a masterwork of red felt-tip pen and blobby white paint that is barely dry, so some of it has smudged pink.
Patch, their cross-eyed Jack Russell terrier, is yipping and snapping at her ankles, desperate to get at the box. It’s just food to him, and Andrea shoos him away. He disappears to the side of the garden, and starts digging a hole in the flowerbeds.
Poppy is sobbing uncontrollably, her wild dark hair plastered to the tears running down the sides of her cheeks. Seven years old and already a drama queen. Rose is hugging her, making soothing noises to try and calm her down. They’re both barefoot, still in their nighties, and look impossibly small and forlorn as they traipse through the dew-soaked grass of the cottage garden.
It’s easier for Rose to be calm, of course. Her fish, B. A. Baracus, is still happily swimming around in the bowl, calling people ‘fool’ and looking tough. Poor Faceman has lasted less than three months. This is their first encounter with death, and emotions are running high, in the way that they do when little girls are involved.
There is a small hole, which Andrea dug earlier that morning, and a cassette player next to it, running on batteries. Andrea hands the shoebox to Poppy, who drags herself out of her hysteria long enough to accept it with tiny, shaking hands. Andrea reaches out and strokes her face clear of tears. Her skin is clammy and pale and moist, and although at least some of the performance is for effect, Andrea knows her baby girl is genuinely devastated.
Next time, she thinks, I’ll get them a pet with a longer shelf life. Like one of those tortoises that live for a hundred years.
‘Go on, Popcorn,’ she says gently, gesturing to the hole. ‘We need to say goodbye to Faceman now. Would you like to say a little prayer for him?’
‘I c-c-c-an’t!’ she stutters, trembling so much the box starts to shake as well. Andrea has visions of the goldfish making a bid for freedom, flying through the sky and landing on the head of one of their garden gnomes. This, for some reason, amuses her, and she fights to keep her face straight. She can’t laugh. Not now. This is a big, serious thing. The way she plays this will affect their outlook on the Grim Reaper for the rest of their lives. She has to at least try and get it right.
‘I’ll do it,’ says Rose, who is two years older and already displaying the kind of alarming maternal instincts that make Andrea think she might end up as a grandma by the time she’s 40. She’ll have to lock her in the broom cupboard before long, or make her take a bite from an enchanted apple.
Poppy nods, and leans down to place the box in the ground. It tilts as she does it, but luckily no goldfish corpses slosh out and scare them all. Patch is watching them from the hole he’s now sitting in, and Andrea silently says her own prayer: please do not let that stinky little dog gallop over here and run off with the dead fish’s body.
They stand back respectfully, and place their hands together in the prayer position they’ve been taught at school. Andrea’s not at all sure she believes in God, or the afterlife, but it’s certainly useful where small children are concerned. Much more comforting than the alternative.
‘Dear Jesus,’ says Rose, bowing her head so her brown curls swing around her chubby face, ‘please take this wonderful fish, Faceman, into heaven. He was a good fish and we all loved him. Please give him a nice bowl to swim in, and lots of other fish to play with, and let him know that we will never forget him. Amen.’
It is a lovely prayer, simple and heartfelt and innocent, and Andrea feels tears filling her eyes. They are so precious, these two beauties. These two grubby angels who have enriched her life beyond belief. In moments like these, she can forget all her worries: the bills, her lacklustre acting career, the sheer exhaustion of being a single mum in a world built for couples. She can ignore it all, and focus on what matters – her Rosehip and her Popcorn. Best girls in the world.
Poppy looks up at her big sister, and offers a small, tremulous smile.
‘It’ll be all right, Pop,’ says Rose, reaching out and holding her hand. ‘Heaven is a beautiful and perfect place, and Faceman will be happy there.’
Poppy frowns, and Andrea recognises her Thinking Face. It’s the look that usually goes before a very tricky question – like Where Do Babies Come From? (said very loudly in the park after seeing a lady with a pram), or Why Is That Man Bald? (said very loudly on the bus behind the town’s answer to Kojak), or her particular favourite, Why Don’t I Have A Dad? (said very loudly at Parents’ Evening).
‘Mummy,’ she says, with a voice far firmer than her tearful expression, ‘how does Faceman get to heaven? If he’s buried in a box in a garden? And is there a different part of heaven for everything – you know, like a Sheep Heaven and a People Heaven and a Goldfish Heaven, all in separate bits? Because sheep would need grass, and fish would need water, and people would need the pub …’
Again, Andrea bites down on her lip to stop herself from laughing. The pub? That’s what she thinks people heaven would be like? She’s clearly been on one too many trips to the Farmer’s Arms …
‘Well it’s all a bit of a mystery, my love,’ Andrea replies. ‘Nobody has ever come back from heaven to tell us about it – because they’re just too happy there. Personally I think that angels will come down and fly Faceman up with them tonight, while we’re asleep.’
As she says this, she sees Rose’s face also screw up into a thoughtful frown. Oh no, she thinks. They’re too old for such an outrageous fib. They don’t believe me, and now they’ll want to dig up the bloody box again tomorrow and check if he’s gone. That’s my night sorted – a glass of red wine and an impromptu goldfish exhumation.
‘But do they always fly to heaven?’ asks Rose, her gaze flicking back to the house. ‘Because B. A. Baracus hates to fly, you know that, don’t you?’
It’s actually an easier question than she’d anticipated, which is a relief. This whole thing is a minefield.
‘Well, when B. A.’s time has come, we’ll … flush him down the toilet? And then he can swim to heaven.’
‘Goldfish heaven?’ asks Poppy again, obviously not letting go of her idea of a compartmentalised afterlife.
‘Exactly. Now,’ says Andrea decisively, keen to avoid any more of the Junior Tag Team Spanish Inquisition. ‘Shall we play the music?’
Both girls nod, and their mum presses the button on the cassette player. The A-Team theme music blares out, echoing around the garden and drowning out the birdsong and the sound of a lawnmower in the distance and the faint rumble of traffic heading into the village. They all stand to attention, singing along and doing the ‘duh-duh-duh-duh’ noises at the right places. It’s their favourite TV show, and is a fittingly rousing end to Faceman’s short, soggy life.
With the final ritual completed, Andrea reaches out for both their hands, hoping that they’ll be happy and not too confused by all of this mortality nonsense. The three of them walk together towards the cottage, winding their way through the maze of potted lavender and garden gnomes and buzzing bees.
Just as they’re about to go back inside and hopefully settle down for their usual Saturday morning cartoons, Poppy pulls on Andrea’s hand, and comes to a halt.
‘Mum,’ she says, in a tone that means business. ‘What will happen to us when you go to heaven?’
Andrea kneels down on the cracked crazy paving, and takes both girls into her arms. She feels small hands and skinny limbs wrap around her, and squeezes them as hard as she possibly can without popping their ribs. Like she never, ever wants to let them go.
