ample body over the enamel bath and twisting the hot tap on full. She tipped in a generous amount of Rita’s pink salts, dissolving them with her hand.
“Now, Rose. Rita wouldn’t like to see you moping like this. You need to sort yourself out. I want you to have a bath and get dressed. Quickly, mind. We can’t be late.”
“Late for what?”
“What do you think? It’s Saturday.” And that, of course, explained everything. I knew I had no choice so I got clean and clothed and followed her out of the house to the church hall.
The meeting hadn’t started yet, and the huddle of women turned to greet Annie. When they saw I was standing behind her they hugged and soothed me, sympathising with my loss. But there was an excitement in the room, like before a party, and one of the women squeezed my elbow. “I hope she comes,” she whispered, and Annie smiled back at her.
Soon, Maureen went to her place on the stage and everyone took their seats. I felt the hope and expectation in the bodies around me. And that night I understood the comfort of it.
Rita didn’t come, and neither did Mum, but Annie had a message from her dead husband. I found out why she hated hospitals; he’d gone in for a hip replacement, but caught a virus there and never came home. She’d vowed never to set foot in a hospital again. But those sessions gave her comfort. She laughed when he told her she’d gambled too much on the dog race that Saturday. Another woman was asked not to forget her sister’s birthday and that she wanted yellow flowers on her grave. Another had her new haircut complimented by a lover. Even the ones who didn’t get a message weren’t crestfallen; there was always next week. And what they’d witnessed reassured them that the dead are with us always.
Later, when the messages started coming from Rita and occasionally from Mum, I knew that I wasn’t really alone. I also learned not to fear death. Rita could now smoke to her heart’s content and she’d never cough again.
One Saturday Annie was chatty as usual, taking my arm as we walked. “Now Rose, I’ve done a bit of checking around and there’s a job going at The Grand.”
“The hotel on the seafront?”
“That’s it. It includes a room and I think you should go and see about it. You need to look forward now, duck.”
Annie helped me a lot after that, and she never forgot to call for me on Saturday evenings. I took the job at The Grand and forgot my dreams of going to university. The pay was poor, but included board and lodging. They started me as a waitress but after customers complained that I didn’t smile, they switched me to being a chambermaid.
I’m so grateful for that time now, for all I learnt. Everything was new. I even had a new home in the staff quarters, a room filled with Rita’s furniture and my most prized possession: the birds nest, carefully stored in a drawer.
I sometimes think back to the faded grandeur of The Grand: the Edwardian brickwork, the large staircase that swooped down into reception, the steel kitchen with its pots and pans hanging overhead. The fizz of water boiling over, the sizzle of chips in oil, the reek of kippers each morning. And I think of you, Jason. How you smiled like you’d just woken, the graceful movements of your long, lean body. How your hair was always tied back, golden-red curls escaping.
You came into my life and changed everything.
16
Survivors recognise damaged people and the first time I saw your face I knew you were hurting.
My heart was beginning to mend. Mum’s death was still very sore, as was the loss of Rita, but I comforted myself with the thought that they were with me always. Sometimes I forgot that they were spirits, and set out extra plates or two coffee mugs. Death didn’t stop me talking to them; in fact, I was closer to Rita and Mum in the spirit world than I was to my father and brother who lived just an hour up the coast. I’d never returned to Lowestoft, but I knew that
“Now, Rose. Rita wouldn’t like to see you moping like this. You need to sort yourself out. I want you to have a bath and get dressed. Quickly, mind. We can’t be late.”
“Late for what?”
“What do you think? It’s Saturday.” And that, of course, explained everything. I knew I had no choice so I got clean and clothed and followed her out of the house to the church hall.
The meeting hadn’t started yet, and the huddle of women turned to greet Annie. When they saw I was standing behind her they hugged and soothed me, sympathising with my loss. But there was an excitement in the room, like before a party, and one of the women squeezed my elbow. “I hope she comes,” she whispered, and Annie smiled back at her.
Soon, Maureen went to her place on the stage and everyone took their seats. I felt the hope and expectation in the bodies around me. And that night I understood the comfort of it.
Rita didn’t come, and neither did Mum, but Annie had a message from her dead husband. I found out why she hated hospitals; he’d gone in for a hip replacement, but caught a virus there and never came home. She’d vowed never to set foot in a hospital again. But those sessions gave her comfort. She laughed when he told her she’d gambled too much on the dog race that Saturday. Another woman was asked not to forget her sister’s birthday and that she wanted yellow flowers on her grave. Another had her new haircut complimented by a lover. Even the ones who didn’t get a message weren’t crestfallen; there was always next week. And what they’d witnessed reassured them that the dead are with us always.
Later, when the messages started coming from Rita and occasionally from Mum, I knew that I wasn’t really alone. I also learned not to fear death. Rita could now smoke to her heart’s content and she’d never cough again.
One Saturday Annie was chatty as usual, taking my arm as we walked. “Now Rose, I’ve done a bit of checking around and there’s a job going at The Grand.”
“The hotel on the seafront?”
“That’s it. It includes a room and I think you should go and see about it. You need to look forward now, duck.”
Annie helped me a lot after that, and she never forgot to call for me on Saturday evenings. I took the job at The Grand and forgot my dreams of going to university. The pay was poor, but included board and lodging. They started me as a waitress but after customers complained that I didn’t smile, they switched me to being a chambermaid.
I’m so grateful for that time now, for all I learnt. Everything was new. I even had a new home in the staff quarters, a room filled with Rita’s furniture and my most prized possession: the birds nest, carefully stored in a drawer.
I sometimes think back to the faded grandeur of The Grand: the Edwardian brickwork, the large staircase that swooped down into reception, the steel kitchen with its pots and pans hanging overhead. The fizz of water boiling over, the sizzle of chips in oil, the reek of kippers each morning. And I think of you, Jason. How you smiled like you’d just woken, the graceful movements of your long, lean body. How your hair was always tied back, golden-red curls escaping.
You came into my life and changed everything.
16
Survivors recognise damaged people and the first time I saw your face I knew you were hurting.
My heart was beginning to mend. Mum’s death was still very sore, as was the loss of Rita, but I comforted myself with the thought that they were with me always. Sometimes I forgot that they were spirits, and set out extra plates or two coffee mugs. Death didn’t stop me talking to them; in fact, I was closer to Rita and Mum in the spirit world than I was to my father and brother who lived just an hour up the coast. I’d never returned to Lowestoft, but I knew that
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