Chapter 23

‘I’ve been thinking about Thomas Hardy, dear,’ confessed Granny, rootling in the sleeve of her cardigan for her hankie. ‘You know, how he asked for his heart to be removed. I wish I’d had Grandpa’s taken out. So I could keep a little bit of him once the ashes had gone.’

Jess imagined what it would be like if all she had left of Fred was a few ashes in an urn. The thought was so horrid that she burst into tears, too, and a ghastly bubble billowed out of her nose. Jess didn’t have a hankie so she wiped her nose on her sleeve. It was clear that her feelings for Fred were as strong as ever, even if he had run off with Flora, the faithless swine.

‘Don’t be upset, dear,’ snivelled Granny. ‘I’ve set you off. I’m sorry!’

This was awful. Instead of cheering Granny up and offering her support, Jess felt she was making things much worse. Instinctively, she reached inside herself again for Grandpa’s gruff, deep voice.

‘For crying out loud, Valerie, stop that bloomin’ caterwauling!’ she boomed. Granny laughed through her tears. ‘Get a grip, woman! Don’t even think about meddling with my vital organs. Wanting to carry me heart around with you, the very idea! Knowing you, you’d leave it on a park bench and it’d be gobbled up by a passing dog!’

Granny started uncontrollably, hysterically laughing. Jess was afraid she might have gone a bit too far, but Granny begged for more.

‘Do it again, Jess, do it again!’

‘I’m not saying any more to you, Valerie, until you’ve stopped that blooming snivelling and powdered your blinking nose,’ boomed Jess in Grandpa’s voice.

Hastily Granny got her powder compact out and repaired the damage. She had stopped crying now.

‘So where exactly do you want your ashes put, John?’ Granny asked, for all the world as if he were sitting right next to her.

‘I want to be chucked on the football pitch of Manchester United, of course, woman,’ said Grandpa – via Jess.

Granny stared at Jess in consternation. ‘I never thought of that!’ she whispered, in panic.

‘Don’t worry, Granny,’ said Jess. ‘I only made that up because he was such a football fan. You wanted to throw the ashes into the sea, and if that’s what you want, go for it.’

Granny looked out across the harbour wall, and shook her head slowly.

‘I’m beginning to think this isn’t such a good idea,’ she said. ‘I mean, look, love: the tide’s out. We can’t get anywhere near it. And if we came back when the tide was in, and tried to do it then, what if there was somebody watching? It wouldn’t be private enough. And what if there was a sudden puff of wind? I wouldn’t want Grandpa to be plastered all over the harbour.’

‘Well, that’s fine, Granny,’ said Jess. ‘You must do what you want. If you need more time to think about it, take more time. And you don’t have to part with the ashes at all if you don’t want to.’

‘Oh, don’t I?’ said Granny, and relief broke out all over her face.

‘Course you don’t, you daft lass,’ boomed Jess in Grandpa’s voice.

‘Well, perhaps I won’t part with him at all, then, ever,’ said Granny in a determined voice. She sounded much less wobbly now. Jess gave a great sigh of relief. She felt shattered. It was exhausting, bringing people back from the verge of despair. However did professional counsellors do it? And when was somebody going to do the same for her?

Mum arrived, carrying the urn and looking rather frazzled.

‘I had to park almost in the next village,’ she moaned. ‘And even then I got some dirty looks.’

‘Never mind, dear,’ said Granny serenely.

‘Shall we get on with it, then?’ asked Mum. ‘This urn’s heavy. Where’s the sea gone?’

‘The tide’s out,’ said Granny. ‘And I’ve decided not to throw Grandpa’s ashes in the sea today.’

‘What?’ said Jess’s mum. ‘But I’ve got my poem ready and everything. This is the moment we’ve been preparing for.’

‘No it isn’t, dear,’ said Granny firmly. ‘Now let’s find a cafe. I’m gasping for a cup of tea and I could murder a cake or two.’

After the tea break, they walked around Mousehole. Jess and her mum took turns carrying the urn. It was a bit odd, taking your dead grandfather for walkies. But on the other hand, it would have tickled Grandpa to bits. Jess could almost hear his voice in her head, saying, ‘For goodness’ sake, Jessica, let’s be getting back. The football starts at half-past two!’

The tiny little back streets of Mousehole were like a maze. The houses seemed ancient, and right in the middle of the village was somebody’s garden behind a high wall, with some banana plants poking their great big tropical leaves up towards the sky.

‘Banana plants! How exotic!’ said Jess’s mum. ‘Like Tangiers or somewhere, I imagine.’

Jess didn’t ask where Tangiers was. She’d had quite enough education already for one morning. It was odd how her mum could cheer up at the sight of a plant or two. Jess was glad she was looking happier, because she was planning to cry on Mum’s shoulder at the first opportunity. And it wouldn’t be fair to cry on somebody’s shoulder if they were already depressed.

Obviously, she wouldn’t mention Fred. But she was fairly confident that Mum would give her a cuddle and a bit of comfort. Jess would just say she was feeling sad. She wouldn’t have to go into details. What with the Grandpa’s ashes fiasco, there was plenty to be upset about without mentioning lurve.

They stayed for lunch in Mousehole – delicious fish and chips – and got back to Penzance in the middle of the afternoon. Granny went off for a little siesta, and Mum said she was going to have a look at a nearby park.

‘Do you want to come, Jess?’ she asked, expecting Jess to say no. Jess was too old for swings, and too young for plants.

‘Yes, I think I will, actually, Mum!’ said Jess.

Her mum looked startled, but accepted Jess’s company, and they strolled arm in arm to the park, which was only a couple of minutes away from the B&B.

Flowering shrubs and palms grew everywhere, and Jess could feel her mum relaxing at the sight of so much botany. They sat down on a bench in the shade.

Now’s my chance, thought Jess. She was just about to tell her mum how low she was feeling, and place her head tragically on her mum’s shoulder, when Mum got in first.

‘I’ve been thinking about what you said,’ she murmured, holding on more and more tightly to Jess’s hand, until it seemed that the blood would never again be able to reach Jess’s fingers. ‘It hasn’t been fair at all of me not to tell you what went wrong between me and Dad. I suppose I’ve always felt a bit embarrassed about it.’

‘There’s no need to tell me now, Mum,’ said Jess hastily. She wasn’t sure if she could bear any more tragic stuff today.

‘No, it’s all right. You’ve been pestering me to tell you about it for ages,’ said Mum. ‘The fact is, we were only married for a couple of years. He just – well, he made it clear he didn’t really want to be married to me. He just went sort of cold and distant, and a few months after you were born, he moved out. I assume . . .’

She hesitated for a moment, and to Jess’s horror, she realised her mum was fighting off tears. Oh no! Not again!