14

Oscar, 9th February.

Since my hypnotherapy session, I look at this note on my phone a lot. Who are you, Oscar? Is that the day we met? Is it his birthday? Did we have a good date? It must have been for me to have associated him with such happiness. Some romantic version of myself wonders if it’s a date when I’m supposed to return to a certain place to meet him. 9th February next year – maybe that’s when we had planned to meet on the concourse of a train station. Under a clock. In my mind, Oscar looks like young Sean Bean. He’s sturdy stock with dimples and good forearms. He’d grab me at that train station and say something a bit filthy before a dip, a grope of the arse and the steamiest of kisses.

Beth looks over at me now. ‘I went through two hundred and fifty Oscars on Facebook the other night, nothing.’

The sisters and I still dig through this mystery. It gives us something to do when there’s nothing on the telly. After I said his name randomly, I didn’t recall anything else about him in that session. I was trying too hard to look for him apparently. That said, I’ll be back to see Cosmo next week because hypnotherapy randomly helped me remember the PIN number for my credit cards.

I prop myself up on Beth’s shoulder as baby Jude sleeps soundly in a sling to her chest. ‘In my head, Oscar is the love of my life. The date is marked down as the day I met him.’

‘Or, it’s most likely the date a debt collector has to be paid. He could just be a window cleaner. A window cleaner you’ve most likely shagged.’

‘Can you say “shagged” in front of a baby?’

‘You used to say it all the time in front of Joe. It was a wonder his first word wasn’t “jizz”.’

She laughs and an old lady sitting opposite us on this train gives us both looks in judgement. All right, Grandma, wind your neck in. Her glances shift between the both of us trying to work out the relationship. Beth and I have never really looked alike so we could be lesbians for all she knows, raising this little baby together. You can tell this doesn’t sit well with her so I lean over and give Beth a kiss on the cheek to make her muscles tighten even further.

‘Love you, B.’

‘Love you too. Stop winding up that old woman.’

‘How did you know?’

‘Because I know what you’re like.’

‘She’s got issues with just a kiss. It’s not like we’re scissoring on the train. Sorry, Jude.’

‘I love how you’re apologising to my baby. You were once holding Joe and told us about a bloke you shagged who had a dick as wide as a beer can.’

‘Who was this man?’ I enquire, my nostrils flared.

‘Lord knows. I didn’t keep tabs on names. In fact we used to have nicknames for a lot of them because that helped us pass the time.’

‘Like?’

‘Jetwash was the one who ejaculated in ludicrous amounts, with some propulsion apparently, you said you nearly drowned. My personal favourite was Sir Lancelot.’

‘He sounds polite, well-presented and regal.’

‘He was into medieval re-enactment. He referred to his knob as a lance, he wore chainmail and called you his wench. I shall penetrate your fortress…’ she says, in knightly tones.

I double over in laughter as Beth makes googly eyes at her little infant son. God, this girl I used to be. She really had no limits, did she? There was no line. I am duly in awe of her but intimidated in equal measure. Chainmail sounds like there’d be chafing though.

‘Did you ever think it was too much, B? You know, all the sex. Sometimes I hear all these stories back and I’m just sat here in shock.’

Beth shrugs. ‘You are too much. But it was kinda the beauty of you too. You always said when fellas do the same, it’s labelled differently and you were right to some degree.’

‘So I was a feminist too…?’

‘You were something else. You had this very strong sense of justice. There was fire in those bones. There still is. You get that from Mum.’

I smile as she says that. Despite Meg and Mum not really seeing eye to eye at all, it’s because they’re perhaps too similar and I think I’m an offshoot of that. I like Meg’s style, how she challenges the status quo. Ems, Beth and Grace have shades of Dad. It is quieter but fully invested in everything, they feel it all, they love others so very hard. It makes me wonder what will become of Jude here. How much of all our family filters into these little people? I hear footsteps thunder down the train carriage. This little one doing the thundering has shades of me in him and I like that very much.

‘LUCY!’ he squeals, running into my arms. Joe. He’s Beth’s eldest, my other nephew. The lad is a force of nature, a super cute one at that but I’m biased. My sisters have introduced me to all these kids and they are truly works of magic. I have formed an immediate love affair with all of them. Behind him is dad, Will, carrying what looks like a camping rucksack.

‘Are we having fun, Daddy?’ Beth asks.

‘There are no toilets so I am going to hope he just did an extraordinary fart and wait until we get off the train,’ he explains, kissing Beth on the forehead. Will is new to me but he seems to love Beth and these boys completely and this warms me. She deserves nothing less.

‘FART,’ Joe announces to the carriage. This boy is great, I like this one.

We’re on the train today to go and meet the others at Kew Gardens for a final summer fling with the family but also to celebrate my birthday. I am thirty today. And I should be singing and dancing into my next decade but I’ve opted out. I just want to spend quality time with my nearest and dearest. Next week, schools go back so Grace must return to Bristol, Meg’s kids drive back up North and Emma is going to move back to hers to settle her daughters back into routine. They’ve done all they can to remedy my amnesia. We’ve all shared a bathroom, eaten meals together and danced in the front room so hard and with so much passion that Meg pulled something and is now having to use Deep Heat daily. And I’ve lain there at night, in the grey of our old house, not knowing whether to laugh or cry at the fact my memory is so shockingly absent. Listening to Emma, who still sleep-talks, this warm feeling of a full house in a deep embrace, but none of it works. Ideally, I’d have them just stay here forever but they all grew in the last twelve years, out of that house, expanding the family wings, and it’d be selfish of me to make them stay any longer for my benefit, watching old nineties teen dramas in our jammies.

‘Train go brooooom…’ Joe tells me, scrunching his face at me.

‘It also go choo-choo!’ I say, maybe a little too loudly as I seem to wake a man who was asleep in the left corner of the carriage. The sound of Joe’s chuckle makes me want to eat him up. Over the way, I notice the old lady staring and I glare back at her as she continues to suss out the arrangement here. Beth and I could still be lesbians. Maybe this is our manny. Maybe we’re in one of these new modern three-way relationships. Instead she waves at Joe, who looks back at her with a furrowed brow and sticks out his tongue. Yes, you are now my favourite.

Kew Gardens is around the corner from our house so when we were little it was a go-to day out with five girls because parts of it were free and occasionally Mum said it was important we were aired. There is a very stately magic about it, like any park in London to be fair, and it seems the perfect place to picnic and bring this huge gaggle of children that we’ve amassed. There are nine cousins altogether: Tess, Eve and Polly belong to Meg, Iris and Violet are Emma’s and Grace’s girls are Maya and Cleo. Beth broke the cycle with her boys, Joe and Jude.

This is the thing that annoys me the most: that in all of this amnesia drama, I missed out on my sisters becoming mothers. I did see Meg with Tess and it was just such a pivotal moment for her and us as a family: the first niece, grandchild and mother. We all sobbed when we met her, it was phenomenal, heartbreaking, bloody fantastic. But then it happened for all of them and I missed all of it, the birth stories, the cuddles with freshly popped-out bubbas and, most importantly, Grace’s story, as her girls are adopted and they found each other in the most beautiful and serendipitous ways. Hell, if I can’t remember any of those initial encounters then maybe all I can do now is pick up where I left off, I can still be this wild and crazy aunt that they remember, everyone’s favourite. I can give them sugar when I’m not supposed to and inappropriate life advice.

As we walk through the turnstile, it’s Maya I see first as she runs towards me with open arms, weighed down by quite a large rucksack and, knowing Grace, a fair bit of sun cream. I bend down to receive the tightest of hugs and a kiss on the cheek for good measure.

‘Happy birthday, Aunty Lucy. Your hair is growing back!’ she calls out.

‘So I don’t look like a pumpkin head any more…’ I remark. She giggles and I’m bombarded by tiny people who come over to say their hellos. Look all these little faces, just shining bright and gorgeous. They all get gradually bigger and the last one to say hello is Tess. She’s almost as tall as me and the hug is ganglier but sincere. Christ, I have a niece with boobs. I hope your mum bought you some nice bras because being the youngest I didn’t have that luxury and it’s a wonder my breasts survived the trauma of wearing your mother’s old crop tops.

‘How are you feeling?’ she asks me tentatively. There’s a feeling that when I first woke up I traumatised this one a little by declaring her some fake imposter of a niece so she seems cautious with me.

‘Stronger. Don’t tell Aunty Ems but the physio’s been working even if the physio is really really not very good-looking at all.’

She laughs and hooks an arm around mine and I don’t refuse it as older sisters at the front of the group take charge and start walking to a green space where we can all sit down and eat the many sandwiches Mum seems to have made. A pair of arms appear around my midriff. Eve. Eve is another mini Meg but this one seems to have more of a gob and I like that plenty. They all have these Northern twangs to their accents too, which are bloody adorable.

‘Have you remembered anything yet?’ Eve asks. Tess glares at her.

‘I haven’t. Remind me of your name again? Is it Fanny?’

The smiles that response produces are everything. ‘Yes, Fanny. That’s my name. It’s short for Fanjita.’

She’s only inherited the best parts of my sister.

‘That is a beautiful name. And what is your name again?’ I ask Tess.

‘Mum named me after the place I was conceived so my full name is Shepherd’s Bush but they call me Bushy for short.’

‘Bushy and Fanny. She did so well there with the names.’

‘And she couldn’t think of anything for the youngest so just called her Dave,’ Eve says.

I nod and we all giggle, arms linked. The youngest is actually Polly and she sits on her dad’s shoulders, blonde curls trailing down her back like mine used to.

‘But no, Fanny. I still don’t remember a thing. Go on… fill me in. Tell me your best Aunty Lucy story…’

‘You came to visit us one summer. We went scrambling and found a lake and you stripped off completely naked and went for a swim. You told Mum to come in and she refused and then you pretended a giant fish was attacking you so she had to go in to save you but it turned out you were faking just to get her in the water,’ Eve explains.

‘Did you girls come in too?’

‘Yes, it’s now an annual thing. The girly skinny-dip. Dad isn’t allowed to come,’ she continues.

‘Well, that is a brilliant thing for me to have initiated. The female form is a marvellous thing. You should embrace it.’

Tess studies my face. ‘Do you remember I came down to visit you recently? You showed me around some theatres one weekend.’

There seems to be pain in her eyes that I don’t remember that weekend; obviously it was special in some capacity.

‘I don’t. I’m so sorry, lovely. Tell me about it though. I want to know what we did.’

‘Well, I live in the Lakes and it’s pretty quiet so you showed me all the fun side of London. We saw a couple of theatres where your mates worked and we went to Camden and Borough Market and we ate ramen in Soho. It was really cool,’ she says. She gets her phone out and shows me photos. I’m not discreet in any of them. My midriff is out, the jeans are tight and, amidst all that fun, we spent a lot of time taking selfies where I’m either pouting, sticking out my tongue or throwing up peace signs. There’s joy in those photos and, from the way I have her in a headlock, a complete love for this girl. Well done, me.

‘Did we stay up way past your bedtime?’ I ask.

Tess nods. ‘You tried to get me in a club, for dancing, not drinking, but apparently that’s a secret I need to take to my grave.’

‘Well, that’s what aunties are supposed to do, no?’

‘That’s what Aunty Lucy does. Aunty Emma buys us personalised journals and gift cards,’ Eve whispers. ‘I’m waiting for my weekend. I want to book that in now.’

I laugh, my gaze looking over at all these nieces. God, I want to have mountains of fun with all of you. Line you all up and teach you how to dance to TLC. I need to get to know all of you again, immediately.

‘Well, little Fanny… we will book that in when I’m better.’

Both their faces pause for a moment when I say that. I guess, on the outside, I’m nearly there bar my dodgy hair regrowth. I am walking, talking and breathing but there’s a look of fear that I will never get better, that they may have lost me if I can’t get my mind back, and this angers me more than anything, to be letting these girls down, to have them think they need to mourn me. Goddamn, I can remember how to be fun again. Teach me how to be fun again.

‘So you girls need to fill me in on stuff because my sisters are very diplomatic. Tell me about Jag. Good uncle?’

‘Better than that melon, Simon,’ Eve says quite directly. ‘He wears Jordans so he’s super cool. Have you met Max yet? He’s all right too and you’ll like him because he’s covered in tattoos. Maya and Cleo have said he’s nice.’

I love the camaraderie between all these girls. I can’t but wonder where they learnt that from.

‘And how’s school for you two? Any boyfriends?’ I ask, digging for goss like a good aunt.

‘Tess likes a boy called Callum, he always waves at her on his paper round,’ Eve tells me, retching slightly at this revelation. Tess has no hesitation in hitting her around the head.

‘He’s at my school. He’s friendly.’

‘But is he cute?’ I say matter-of-factly. ‘Do you want to snog the braces off him?’

Tess’s face rises to a blush. ‘Well… look, don’t tell Dad because I think this will freak him out. When people talk about his girls going out with boys he always talks about buying a gun.’

‘That’s what dads do. But you won’t have to worry about your dad if I’m around because if this Callum treats you badly, I will jump on a train and kick his face in, yes?’

They both smile. This feels more like the aunt they know and it’s good to see that parts of me never left the building. From the rear, Joe suddenly appears and scuttles past us at demonic speed and Eve chases him down to help Will, who is still weighed down by his rucksack. She catches him and throws him up in the air.

‘What are you two gossiping about?’ Meg suddenly says, appearing at my shoulder.

‘Your daughter’s first tattoo. Has she not shown you?’

Meg’s face blanches even if she knows that to be a complete lie.

‘It’s on my back,’ Tess teases and skips away to find Maya and hold her hand.

‘Meggsy, they’re kinda awesome, eh?’ I say, my gaze drawn to the way Eve walks, just like her mum.

‘They are. Good gene pool.’

‘The best.’

‘If she gets a tattoo though, I will kill you. Actually maim you with a brick.’

‘I love you too, sis.’

‘Here… We got you a gift,’ Meg tells me, handing me something wrapped in tissue paper. I rip it open to find a shiny gold badge with the words ‘Birthday Bitch’ on it.

‘I love it.’

She waits for me to remember something, her expression hopeful. ‘Thought you might…’

Mum did make a shitload of sandwiches, eaten mainly by Joe, who it seems likes jam so I look forward to train farts later when there may be more a fruity tang wafting around the carriage. I’ve had a jam sandwich too, a pre-mixed cocktail in a tin and about twenty mini sausage rolls, and I couldn’t be happier. Afternoons like this warm the soul – just picnicking on the grass, meandering along the paths and trees, soaking in the sun of a late summer’s day. Less cool for Beth perhaps, trying to shield her sweaty boobs as she breastfeeds, and Grace, whose little Cleo gets a little dramatic in the heat. But for me, to have this noise and volume of people around me is the absolute best. I adore them all, even some of these random men I don’t quite know.

And Mum even brought a birthday cake that got slightly squished in transit and the whole group sang to me while I stood barefoot on the grass, in a playsuit and straw hat. I blew out all those candles and I wished. I wished so fucking hard to remember them all before running my fingers along the frosting and getting told off by Mum. To cap off the day, we’ve now stopped at what looks like a mini funfair and, because I’m the best aunty there is, I’ve bought all the little people ice cream, using Dad’s wallet of course, and going for extra dayglo sauce on mine like the seventeen-year-old person I am on the inside. It’s a sedate funfair because it’s Kew and posh so there are old-fashioned carousels with weathered-looking ponies, vintage toy cars and an inflatable slide that looks like a castle. I’d like to say they bring back fond memories of my youth but my mum banned us from these places when we were younger because fairs were where young girls went to smoke crack cocaine and get impregnated by wrong ’uns. She may have a point, I think I snogged a lot of boys next to the bumper cars and maybe let a few touch my boobs, but there’s much less chance of that here given the music is mainly coming out of an accordion, and there’s a man in a straw boater and white trousers so see-through you can see the colour and fit of his undercrackers.

‘Right, I’ve bought a load of tokens so you girls go mad. Look after the little ones,’ Meg’s husband Danny announces, handing over a load of gold coins to the older girls. There’s a mixture of screaming, joy and wonder as they disperse and the rest of us perch on benches to take some respite from the heat and wander away on walks for coffees and to calm down restless babies.

‘Should one of us supervise?’ Mum says worriedly, eyes darting everywhere.

‘We can see them, Mum,’ Emma says. ‘The older girls are pretty sensible.’

Meg nods in agreement but she still sits there, perched, ready to run at the slightest sign of trouble.

‘Well, seeing as we have a moment,’ I announce, trying to distract her. ‘I just wanted to say thank you to everyone while we’re here, gathered in my honour.’

Jag laughs and that smile makes me see what Emma fell for.

‘You’ve all uprooted your lives for a bit, for me. And it’s not gone unnoticed. I’m sorry I was such a spoon and fell off that bike and worried you all but I’m so grateful for the way you’ve all shown up. You’ve been at the hospital, by my bedside, you’ve accompanied me to appointments and even to our old school. So, thank you.’

Everyone is silent for a bit and I can’t quite tell if it’s the emotion of the moment or the heat but Emma and Meg shift looks at each other before laughing, quite offensively.

‘What?’ I ask. ‘Don’t laugh at me.’ Grace and Beth both do their best to stifle their giggles too.

‘It’s just, we’re not used to earnest, pensive Lucy. It’s new,’ Meg says.

‘And I don’t think I like it,’ Beth adds.

Even my parents sit there, smirking.

‘Oh, then piss off the lot of you. I was trying to be nice.’

‘You are nice. You just show it in different ways,’ Grace mentions. ‘I mean, I like sensitive, well-meaning Lucy.’

‘I don’t,’ Emma contributes. ‘It’s freaking me out. Please make a joke about sex now.’

‘Or not,’ my mother interjects.

‘But you would have done the same for us. You have done the same for us on many occasions so shush,’ Beth says, more sincerely this time.

‘It’s been interesting, in any case…’ Meg says. ‘We all know Emma still talks in her sleep and someone in this family doesn’t think they need to flush after every wee.’

‘It’s an environmental thing,’ Beth says. ‘I am saving the planet.’

‘But it smells and it’s gross.’

‘But hasn’t it been fun too?’ I add. ‘When was the last time we all painted each other’s nails and shared clothes and had one of Mum’s greasy lasagnes?’

‘My lasagnes are greasy?’ Mum asks, offended.

‘The meat is swimming in something. You like that sauce in a jar too, it’s not good…’ Meg says jokingly.

None of the sisters will admit to this much but there’s a moment as we sit here and take stock of the fact we won’t be together like this for a while, not until Christmas at least. When do the opportunities otherwise present themselves? Births, funerals and weddings, no? Maybe I was the one thing that brought us together for this short while. I’m taking credit for it.

‘Mummy, Mummy… you’ve got to… quickly…’

The moment is suddenly interrupted by a young Violet, who runs over breathless. Our looks scatter to all corners of the park.

‘Vee, is someone hurt?’ Emma says, rising from her bench.

But then we hear it, it’s Eve fighting with someone. Another adult? ‘I don’t care if you’re a grown-up. I don’t know you. Why do I have to respect you when you’re being so rude?’

Meg rolls her eyes to hear her daughter’s tones and rises from her bench but, as we look over, we see Joe sobbing at the top of a giant inflatable slide, his other cousins doing their best to pacify him. Beth dashes over.

‘I don’t care if there’s a queue. He’s a baby and he’s scared,’ shouts Tess, getting stuck in.

Meg smiles as the woman her daughters seem to be harassing rolls her eyes, looking around to find out who these little firecrackers belong to. Joe is sitting in an older cousin’s lap, his arms gripped tightly around her as he bounces down, a big mass of limbs and giggles right into Beth’s arms and she wipes his panic-stricken face down.

‘Are these your daughters?’ asks the angered lady in the queue, arching towards Beth, gunning for this fight. She really wants to do this? Meg and I know exactly what we need to do and we head over leaving Emma and my mother sitting there, wondering what sort of event will have us barred from Kew for life.

‘They’re my daughters,’ Meg announces, walking over.

‘Then you need to teach them some manners.’

Tess’s face goes a bright puce colour. ‘Mum, she was being awful. Joe went up there and freaked out and she told her kids at the top to just push him down. Who does that? He’s literally a baby.’

Her kids run in circles beside her. They’re not in the near vicinity of quality as my nieces and nephews. ‘Everyone was waiting to use the slide. Maybe if he was supervised properly by adults then we wouldn’t have this problem.’

Meg and I look at each other and laugh.

‘I don’t understand what’s so funny. Your girls need to learn some respect. They’re very rude.’

Meg is on a light simmer. She never blows over completely. It’s a frothy mix of complete disdain and the storm is brewing. It’s going to be quick, sharp but very very painful.

‘Girls, where are your manners? I taught you better.’

Eve looks like she might break things. ‘I’m not saying sorry.’

‘No, thank me for giving you the tools to deal with witchy bitchies like this. You are so welcome and I am so very proud.’

Her girls beam. The woman immediately looks horrified. I may laugh a bit louder.

‘This is a children’s play area. I’m going to report you.’

‘To who?’ Eve asks. ‘The Kew Gardens police?’

The young girl makes a very good point but, gosh, look at you. I adore you. The queue assembled for said slide doesn’t even move, I think they feel this is far better entertainment.

‘Well, the slide is free now. Why don’t you trot on up there? I’ll take a great pleasure in pushing you down,’ I contribute.

‘Are you threatening me?’ she shrieks.

I place my upturned palms into the air and shrug. ‘I believe you just told your children to do that to my three-year-old nephew. And I wouldn’t push, love. I’d kick you so hard you’d launch like a space shuttle.’

Meg closes her eyes. Whilst she stepped over the line and gave her a firm what-for, I’ve barged my way through. The line is very far behind me, faint and in the distance.

‘That is a threat. Did people hear that?’ She takes out her phone, pointing it in my direction. A hand appears to block the lens. Meg. That’s some reflexes, like a bloody cat. She points the camera at Tess instead.

‘Get that phone away from my daughter,’ Meg warns her.

‘I’ll do what I like…’

And that is when it kicks off, true Callaghan style. These incidents happen once in a blue moon. I hear it went down like this when Emma had finally had enough of her cheating husband, Simon, and we all confronted him one Christmas. Mum broke his nose. And a memory suddenly bubbles up of all my girls standing around me, the lights are purple for some reason, I’m in a bandeau top, there’s a song I know in my head like lift music. I know this song. But Meg’s voice is louder, tearing me away from my memory. Beth is trying to level it all out and failing. A boy has just said something to Eve. And there’s a left hook. Good arm, girl. Did Maya just bite someone? It’s a big mess of voices and insults. Where do I fit into all of this? I turn and Emma and Mum are sitting there shaking their heads at all of us. The line behind us disperses. The man with the straw hat and the boater has his phone out filming it all. Professional. We’re going to be banned from this place. And I don’t know how and why I do this but it feels right, to soak up the last of the sun, and I grab Joe and Maya.

‘Come with me,’ I whisper. We run over to the slide and we climb the dodgy ladder to the top. Joe’s eyes search for me. This wasn’t a good idea the first time round and it’s high, Aunty Lucy. But look at the view, little Joe. Look how we can see all the trees and all the buildings and all the sky. Don’t look down. I wrap my arms tightly around his tense little body. Why is that man waving his cane at me?

‘LET’S GO DOWN TOGETHER!’ Maya shrieks.

And that we do. I may scream. People look up from below to see what that sound may be. Mum looks very alarmed from down there. I won’t drop the baby. Have more faith. The rush of air between my ears, the thrill, the speed, you forget the joy of a slide, the static on Maya’s hair. This is bloody brilliant. But as I get to the bottom, there’s a strange sound. Almost like an explosion. People inhale deeply with shock. That man with the cane stands there over us as I sink slowly into the ground.

‘How old are you?’ he says in a voice not befitting his posh outfit.

Seventeen in my head, actually thirty today since you’re asking. Did you not get me a gift?

‘Not for ages twelve or over, you’ve burst my sodding slide.’ I know because I’m no longer on a cushiony soft surface but have hard ground under my back. He then looks down at my chest. Perv. Oh. It’s more than that, I’ve landed quite awkwardly and had a bit of a nip slip situation. Maya cups her hands around her mouth and giggles.

‘BOOB!’ Joe shouts loudly, smiling.

I didn’t drop the baby though, that’s because I’m a bloody excellent aunt.