Stuart felt he needed closure before he could put his past behind him, perceived or otherwise. He wanted to find someone who had known Lauren and would be able to help him understand who she was and how she compared to his memories of her. He tried friends but the people he thought were friends either did not exist or had no recollection of her, or of him for that matter. It was hard for him to face people he thought he knew but showed no sign of recognition toward him. Having no success with friends he decided to try Lauren’s mother, Margaret. He managed to trace her to a retirement home in Brighton. Thanks to the internet it had been easy. He simply Googled her name and as luck would have it she had recently been involved in a protest march and was featured in a local newspaper article under the headline, ‘Pensioners March For Energy Bill Cuts’. The feature praised the marchers whose ages ranged from sixty-six to eighty-one years old, the latter being the age of one Margaret Bell resident of the Marina Heights Retirement home. Stuart recognised the photo straight away. A number of questions and doubts immediately filled his mind. Chiefly, how did he know this woman if he had never been involved with Lauren in reality? He pushed the thoughts aside and stayed focused on the purpose of finding Lauren’s final resting place.
The retirement home was not what he had imagined at all. The residents were housed in a series of bungalows forming a curve in line with the coast. The bungalows overlooked the English Channel to the front while a passage at the back led to a large community building were all the daily social activities were carried out for anyone wishing to participate. Stuart approached the reception to find out which bungalow Margaret was in. He told the receptionist he was an old family friend. The woman suggested he ask Margaret himself and pointed to a lady stood in front of a big screen TV in a room opposite the reception.
Margaret Bell was dressed in a beige, velour tracksuit with white stripes down the sleeves and trouser legs. She had gleaming white trainers on her feet and her grey, frizzy hair was bunched up on top of her head, held in place by a large wooden clip. Just as Stuart entered the room music began booming out of the TV speakers and Ms Bell began moving rhythmically, imitating the animated dancers on the screen in front of her. Stuart watched in amazement as the eighty-one-year-old stepped and twisted with the agility of a much younger woman. Stuart recalled his perceived memory of the last time he had seen her. It would have been around three months ago for her eighty-first birthday. He and Lauren had gone to pick her up from her home in Croydon to take her for a meal. At her request, they had gone to a local carvery, one of Margaret’s favourite eating places. The afternoon was not a great success and Stuart was glad when the old lady had requested to be taken home as she was feeling tired. His recollection of her was of a much frailer woman than the one he saw dancing in front of him now. The sudden silence as the music ended snapped him out of his thoughts and he looked up to find the woman staring at him. “Can I help you, young man?” Margaret asked barely out of breath. Her cheeks were red from the exercise but she looked much younger than her years as she stood bolt upright with her hands on her hips and her head tilted to one side, in anticipation of an explanation. “Hi, my name is Stuart Milton. I used to know your daughter Lauren several years ago and I’ve only just found out what happened.”
It felt odd for Stuart introducing himself like a stranger to a woman who he thought he had known for almost seven years. A woman whom he had asked for the hand of her daughter in marriage. The woman visibly relaxed in response to this information. She took Stuart by the hand and led him over to a couple of armchairs in the corner of the room. “Ok Stuart, come and tell me how you knew my girl and I’ll tell you what happened to her.
They talked for about an hour. Stuart said he had once met Lauren at a party and they had kept in touch for a while by letter. He explained that like Lauren he too was interested in large cats. He found himself telling her he was now an education officer at a zoo. It was strange how the supposed truth felt like a lie. She in return talked about how excited Lauren was when she got the chance to go to Africa to study lions. How proud she herself had been that her daughter had achieved so much academically. For the most part she was upbeat but when it came to the point of explaining how Lauren had died she became more solemn, despite her obvious efforts not to. “We lost Lauren’s dad when she was still a little girl. Lauren adored her daddy and I thought she would never get over it. But children are resilient little things and as the months went by she became my support.” Margaret paused for reflection before continuing.
“That is when I was able to grieve, once I knew she was going to be ok. We grew closer and closer as she grew up. Not just like mother and daughter but like friends. I know that might not sound so surprising but you have to realise I was fifty by then, having had Lauren when I was forty-three. I missed her greatly when she went off to university but she was never off the phone and I saw her most weekends. By the time she started her PhD there was email as well so I was dragged kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century.” She paused again in preparation for what was about to follow.
“Then she died Stuart, and I felt like I had died too. I used to keep my eyes closed for as long as possible because that way I could still see her alive. When I opened them all I saw were reminders that she was dead. Her photos, her clothes, her stuffed toys, her school books, her toiletries still in the bathroom, her hair in the plug hole. That was all still there but she was gone forever. Sometimes, before she died, I used to imagine being on my deathbed and saying goodbye to Lauren. Telling her what a wonderful life I have had and thanking her for making it wonderful. I felt robbed of that and some dark months followed. Despite counselling from friends and well-meaning organisations I did not think I was going to get through it. Then one day something arrived through the post that gave me the will to live. It was the first few chapters Lauren had drafted for her thesis. It only took me a couple of hours to read but it set me up for the rest of my life. The passion with which my little girl described all that she observed made me realise that if I didn’t make the most of every single moment I had left, I would be betraying her.” She sat up proudly, smiling despite the tears welling in her eyes. Stuart fought back his own tears and smiled back admiringly. “You’re a very brave woman Margaret. Not many people could pick themselves up having experienced what you have. I came to see you to try and make sense of what happened and also to say goodbye to Lauren. You’ve helped me understand something that’s been troubling me. How someone I only knew for a short time could have had such a profound effect on my life. Your daughter was a wonderful human being and I am extremely privileged to have known her.”
Stuart stood up in readiness to leave but Margaret said something that stopped him in his tracks and he had to sit down again. “Lauren was cremated at a crematorium just off the A3 between here and Croydon. There’s a small memorial stone there but it holds no memories for me so I don’t bother going anymore. If you want to say goodbye to her say it to the moon. She always loved the moon. I used to catch her talking to it from her bedroom window, so that’s how I talk to her now.”