Prologue
Torquay, England, March 2008
Yasmin picked me up from the hospice today. She helped me into the passenger seat of the car, and we drove down to the bay. There was a chill wind at the seafront, and we stayed in our seats, looking out. The water was vast and grey, restrained with quiet, slow waves. Yasmin held my hand.
Does it upset you that I’m driving your car, Mummy? Not in the least darling, I’m glad it’s being used rather than gathering rust on the road.
Gathering dust, not rust. And it’s a car, Mum, not a horse, it doesn’t need to be exercised.
We laughed a while and were quiet.
On the beach, two women left their clothes in neat piles and walked into the sea. Yasmin talked about the children she works with at school, about wanting to train as a teacher. I’m so proud of you, darling, I said, and thought of Queenie. Beautiful, vibrant Queenie, not yet thirty years old and a student at the Teachers Seminar when she died all those years ago. Queenie, who was too young to be our mother but loved and looked after us as a mother should.
I told Yasmin teaching was wonderful, a noble profession, but tears were in my voice. She said, Mum, what are you crying for, we’re talking about something good. We sipped milky tea from a flask as the two swimmers made their way along the coast, leaving faint foamy trails.
I said, I’d like to go in the sea one more time.My words were steady without pain, but Yasmin cried,Oh Mummy, and squeezed my hand. So I hastened to add, But I’m too soft now for the open water with all the hot baths they give us.
Don’t make light of it Mum, you miss it, it’s okay to be sad. And I wondered, where did she learn such kindness. Not from me. After a while she said, I used to love your stories about swimming, about the Jordan. Ah. I sighed.The Jordan, yes, there was not much else one could do in the heat in those days. Remember that tortoise you found on the riverbank? Oh yes, I wrote about it, it’s in one of the diaries.
Tell me again.
I will darling, another time, I’m tired now. In the afternoon Ivanka pushed my wheelchair to a sunny bench in the garden. Shall I stay with you a while, Abbie, she asked, but I dismissed her, Go on now, back inside, you’ve better things to do than hang around here. Sitting among bees and dragonflies, primroses and bluebells. I look over the bay and wait for Queenie to arrive, to sit by my side.
Do you remember the story I wrote, about the tortoise? I think so, though you never did let me read it. I was going to but then you died.
Ah, yes. Did the tortoise run away?
It did. I was upset and Ester called me a baby. She shouldn’t have done that, it’s okay to cry. I know that now. Doesn’t the sea look peaceful? Beautiful.
Oh the gladness of seeing my Queenie once more, and talking about the days.