Page 38 of Waiting for a Bright New Future

“It’s not politics.”

“You’ve found some other way that you want to change me! You know the rules: I only bend in your direction, if you bend in mine. We find a happy place in the middle. Singing is my next challenge to you. We could practise a bit with a nursery rhyme. Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water.” Her voice changed to a half-singing, half-chanting lilt.

When he didn’t join in, she stopped abruptly and grabbed both his hands. “Something’s wrong. It’s the children, isn’t it?”

“It’s Shirley.” Stuart tried to speak slowly and keep his tone calm. He had to be the strong one. “She’s passed away. They think it’s a drug overdose.”

“Is this true?” The tips of her fingers were digging painfully into the backs of his hands, as though she was torturing him to get at the truth.

“Yes, it’s true.”

Florence dropped his hands, emitted a feral yowl and bent over clutching her stomach. “My baby. My beautiful baby.” She rocked from side to side on the sofa, her shoulders heaving.

The pain of watching her distress was acute. Stuart put a hand on her back and stroked her but she was too far inside herself to notice. He wrapped his arms around her and tried to hold her but she shrugged him off and continued to rock in a dark place. He wondered if he should call a doctor and get something to calm her.

“Florence?”

She paused and raised her head slightly. The heavy stage makeup was streaked down her face. Stuart fetched the kitchen roll for her to blow her nose. “The tea will make things more manageable. There’s plenty of sugar in it. Don’t let it go cold.” He picked up a mug to pass to her.

Florence wheeled her arms around like a windmill. “I don’t want fucking tea! I want my daughter back!”

There was a crash as her flailing arms hit the drink that Stuart was offering. The cup caught the edge of the coffee table and smashed. A dark wet patch erupted on the brown carpet. Florence went back to rocking and Stuart watched the stain creep outwards. It was like watching the slow spread of misery from Shirley’s sad death. So many ruined lives. So many affected by the ripples. Like him, like Jacob’s new partner. Like the people Eunice and Shayne would meet as they travelled through life — the emotional baggage of losing their mum, however poor her maternal skills, would never leave them. Stuart could vouch for that.

He drank his tea, barely registering that it was now cold. He tried to hold Florence again. This time she didn’t pull away. As the minutes crept by, she rocked less and eventually rested against him without moving. He passed her more kitchen roll.

“Thanks,” she muttered. “I never asked about Eunice and Shayne. Who’s looking after them?”

“They’re with Jacob. Fast asleep.”

“Did he find her or what?”

Stuart tried to move her hair back from her face so that he could read her expression better. The lines across her forehead and around her mouth and eyes were deeply etched and emphasised by her anguish, exhaustion and spoiled makeup.

“Jacob said you could call him anytime tonight. They found her when he took the children back and he’ll fill you in on the details.” He handed her the cordless landline. “Do you want to talk in private?”

“No. Stay, please. I need someone to hold my hand.”

Florence spoke to Jacob for fifteen minutes. Stuart tried not to overtly listen but it was hard to do anything else. Florence’s hand gripped his. At times it was painful. He said nothing and wondered if the imprints of her fingertips would still be visible on his skin the next day. Eventually Florence ended the call and he waited for her to speak.

“We decided to sleep on it and talk again in the morning.”

Stuart nodded. “Can I get you anything now? Fresh tea?”

“Yes, please. And then I’m going to take my makeup off and have a shower. I can’t get into bed like this.” She gave a wan grin and pointed to the ruin of her face.

A few minutes later Stuart took fresh tea into her bedroom. She was in the pink fluffy robe dabbing at her face with cotton wool. The night after his mother died, Stuart had been lonely in bed. Everyone had urged him to be a brave, big boy and he’d lacked the courage to object and ask if he could sleep in the warmth of his father’s bed. He also didn’t have the guts to ask Florence if she’d like the comfort of someone beside her as she tried to sleep.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said.

Chapter Twenty-One

Florence was already dressed and in the kitchen when Stuart went down at six thirty. He’d been hoping she’d sleep late so he could give her his full attention when he got back from William. There were dark shadows beneath her eyes.

“Jacob said he’ll phone me when the children are otherwise occupied. I wanted to be ready for the call.”

“I’m supposed to visit William . . .” The sentence tailed off. He remembered the anguish caused to Jayne when she perceived him as putting the old man before her. But there was nothing between him and Florence. No unspoken promise of commitment. He braced himself regardless. He was learning that women were nothing if not unpredictable.

“You get off.” Florence blew her nose but didn’t seem to be reproaching him. “You were brilliant last night. But the world doesn’t stop, does it? I don’t want that old man to suffer on my account.”

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