Wildest of All Read online

  ‘Ah, excuse me. Busy, busy,’ she smiled, and turned away. For the briefest moment she appeared to hesitate, but then she nodded her head once, and walked determinedly away.

  It was after midnight and the hotel was quiet. The last of the party-goers had malingered around the bar until they’d been asked to leave. It was always the same, no matter if it was a funeral, wedding or as in this case, a christening – there was always someone who wanted that extra drink.

  Jude could have been home hours ago. Normally, she would be. She didn’t understand the need to hang around for this one, or why, even now when everyone had left, she was still behind her desk, shuffling papers. In fact, she could have taken the whole day off and avoided Aleks altogether – someone else could have stepped in adequately enough – but she was curious, she supposed, to see The Happy Man, as she’d come to think of him. Also, there were other venues he could have used. He was making a point. Look at me, he was saying. See how happy I am without you.

  To accept his punishment was the least she could do.

  Also, she really, really wanted to see him.

  At last she understood why she’d stayed late. If she was at home she would be having a drink right now. No matter how many bottles were in the hotel, she would never touch them while at work. At home, she allowed herself an occasional glass of wine, but only if she was sure there was no part of her that needed it. Anne’s watchful presence normally helped in that regard, but now she was in hospital it was all up to Jude. The constant second-guessing of herself was exhausting.

  Inside her desk was a little brown box with a rosary set Anne had given her. A lifeline to the Holy Mother, she’d called it. Use it to pull yourself closer to the Holy Mother of God, Mother of Christ, Mother most pure, the Queen of Families. She took it out and began to thread the beads through her fingers.

  A knock on the door. Hurriedly, she put the beads back in their box, knowing even as she did so that it was probably a sin to be embarrassed about them.

  Cam’s head appeared around the door. ‘Hi, Jude.’

  Surprised to see him, she called him in. ‘You’re not night shift, are you?’ she said, turning to check the rota on the wall beside her.

  ‘No, I… I’ve been waiting to speak to you but I… I didn’t know if I should or not. I’ve been hanging around a bit. Trying to decide.’

  Cam had such a hard front, when he let it down everyone paid attention. Immediately concerned, Jude began moving files to the floor and told him to sit. A tidy desk was akin to laying a red carpet. ‘Is everything all right?’

  He nodded, though his ashen face suggested otherwise.

  She wasn’t scared or made nervous by whatever he was about to impart. Though she was fond of him, there was enough distance between them to insulate her from damage. His news could only have minimum impact on her life, unless he were to quit. That would be a pain, but not insurmountable.

  He breathed in and brought his hands together at the same time.

  ‘I saw Sissy,’ he said on the out-breath, laying his hands on the desk. He’d done it. It was out there now, no going back. She could do what she wanted with it.

  Jude didn’t know what to do with the information. She felt pinned to her chair, trapped by the weight of the ball he’d just passed her. When she spoke, her voice was distant and strangled sounding.

  ‘She’s in Glasgow?’

  He nodded. ‘I saw her today.’

  She pushed her chair away and stood up.

  ‘I don’t know where she lives,’ Cam said, quickly. ‘I mean, she said she’s sharing a flat on the south side somewhere but…’

  Jude landed back in her chair with a thud.

  ‘She lives here?’

  He nodded again.

  ‘She lives here and she hasn’t told me?’ Jude said, incredulous. Somehow London was an understandable distraction, but to be on her doorstep and not tell her was truly insulting. Any relief at learning her daughter was safe was quickly quashed by anger.

  Cam ran his hands down his thighs and gripped his knees. ‘I thought you’d be happy,’ he said.

  ‘Happy?’ Jude exclaimed. ‘What’s happy?’

  She stood and grabbed her coat from the stand in the corner, desperate to be out of the room. This was more than she could cope with, and actually, there was nothing to be done about it anyway. So Sissy was in Glasgow. She still didn’t need her mother. Nothing had changed. He shouldn’t have told her. Everything had been just fine until he’d walked into the room.

  ‘Did she say where in the south side?’ she asked, before she left.

  ‘Somewhere near Shawlands.’

  She cruised the streets, wondering which closed door led to her daughter, searching windows for a sign of her. The roads were deserted, as she’d known they would be. At last, when the futility of the operation was clear, she turned the car home.

  The house was in darkness apart from the electric candle Anne liked to keep running beside the Virgin Mary. Jude collapsed onto the sofa, one hand covering her eyes. The coffee table was strewn with medicine she’d recovered from Anne’s bedside drawer – painkillers, digestive aids, laxatives, herbal tinctures – and she couldn’t look at any of it without being reminded of how much she’d failed Anne in recent months. How much she’d failed everyone.

  The bottles called to her from the kitchen. She had never seen the point in throwing them out, because she didn’t have an actual problem, she just needed to exercise a little more self-control, but now she strode through and took them down. One by one she emptied them into the sink, and as the last of it drained away she felt the beginnings of a strange kind of peace settle within her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  The Difference

  Cam felt bad. Sissy had asked him not to tell Jude she was back. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see her – it was more that she wanted to see her when the time was right.

  ‘I messed up everything, Cam. Threw everything away. And my cousins are doing so well! I can’t bear the thought of going back like this. My tail between my legs. I need to have something to show for it. To make up for everything. I want her to be proud. You understand that, don’t you?’

  So he’d promised. And then he’d broken that promise. And now Jude was mad.

  He felt more than bad.

  He felt frightened.

  It wasn’t his intention to stir up trouble, but he didn’t see how he could work with Jude, knowing as he did how worried she was about Sissy, and not tell her where she was.

  But he hadn’t expected it to go down the way it had.

  He kept it from Sissy. After everything they’d been through, their friendship was climbing back onto solid ground. He couldn’t bear to wreck it.

  So they continued to meet up, she continued sharing anecdotes from work (she was getting such great feedback from the customers!), and her excitement about the future she was planning. He in return continued to lie about where he worked.

  In this way, they grew to love each other again.

  He told Jude he hadn’t seen or heard from Sissy since that first day, and was surprised by how readily she’d accepted it. She never asked. Meanwhile, he grew increasingly anxious that Sissy’s grandmother may die before she even discovered she was ill. He resolved to tell her everything, but the right moment was never at hand. He longed for the little bubble he’d created to never pop.

  One day, Sissy confessed she had been fired from her job.

  ‘Who the hell gets fired from their job for being too nice?’

  ‘I do, apparently,’ Sissy shrugged.

  Cam hooted. They were in Sissy’s room surrounded by books and application forms.

  ‘It’s not funny, Cam. If you think about it, it’s really fucking worrying. What does it say about the world we live in? Where are we headed? I mean, as a species? Seriously, we’re fucked. It was only vouchers and a few quid. They can well afford it. They just don’t care if their customers get good service or not.’


  ‘You should go to the papers.’

  Sissy shook her head. ‘I’m done with it. Look, I’ve decided which course to do.’

  She passed a University of Glasgow prospectus to him.

  ‘Social work?’ said Cam, trying and failing to keep the surprise from his voice.

  ‘Yeah, so? I want to help people.’

  ‘I know, but do you want to help those people? Trust me, I know what I’m talking about. You’ll get no thanks.’

  She stretched and helped herself to another biscuit.

  ‘You’ll get no thanks if you don’t shut up, Mr Negative. Anyway, I need to do college first. And I need another job, so if you hear of anything, let me know.’

  Cam almost told her they needed help at the hotel while Jude looked after Sissy’s gran.

  ‘I really think you should see your mum, you know,’ he said.

  Sissy’s face paled. ‘We talked about this already.’

  ‘I know,’ he struggled to assemble his argument. ‘It’s just… what if something goes wrong. You know? What if there’s no time to fix things?’

  She nibbled the biscuit. Her appetite had disappeared and now she just felt queasy.

  ‘What if things can’t be fixed?’ she said, after a moment.

  ‘Don’t be daft! She’s your mum, for God’s sake. She loves you.’

  ‘Like your mum loves you?’ She instantly regretted it. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a bitch.’

  ‘No, no,’ Cam said, holding his hands in the air. ‘It’s fine, really.’

  He picked up the prospectus and hurled it onto the bed.

  ‘You know what?’ he said, eyes blazing. ‘It’s not fine. Not fucking fine, at all. No, my mother might not be the best woman in the world, and neither might yours. Do you know what the difference is?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘The difference is my mum never gave a shit for anyone but herself and that dick of a boyfriend. Whereas you? You had it all, Sissy. I don’t get why you can’t see that. Yeah sure, your dad died and it was awful and it all went off the rails a bit, but – she’s been trying to get in touch with you, hasn’t she? You told me that yourself. All the way down to London for you and all for nothing. And now you’re in Glasgow, in Glasgow for fuck’s sake! The same fucking city! And you still haven’t contacted her! Jesus. Give the woman a break, will you? She lost her husband when you lost your dad, you know?’

  Sissy blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of Cam’s assault. The only response she could think of was, ‘They weren’t married.’

  Cam stood up. ‘Oh for fuck’s sake.’ He picked up his jacket. ‘Grow the fuck up, Sissy.’

  He slammed the door behind him, causing the papers on the floor to skit across the room.

  She immediately followed him, but instead of calling after him down the stairs, she ran to the bathroom and vomited.

  Five tests in a McDonald’s toilet confirmed it. She banged her fist against the wall. Damn, damn, damn.

  ‘Are you okay in there?’ a voice asked.

  ‘I’m okay, sorry. I’m just pregnant.’

  ‘Oh!’ The voice was happy with that news. ‘Congratulations, hen!’

  She’d known, of course, but instead of facing up to it like an adult, she’d buried herself like an idiot in her work, chucking vouchers and pounds at people like she was God. Like if she was good enough, someone would come and take all her problems away.

  Three months late. It could only be Pascal or Fame’s. Most likely Fame’s, but there was no way to be sure. Normally they used condoms but sometimes she’d been so wasted she only become aware afterwards that they hadn’t. Anyway, she was damned if she was telling either of them.

  She went to the doctor who arranged for her to see a midwife who asked her a range of questions, including: Have you ever used illegal drugs?

  Sissy opened her mouth to lie, found she couldn’t, and broke down in tears instead.

  ‘Have I damaged it?’

  The midwife handed her a tissue and waited for her to calm down.

  ‘It’s generally ongoing substance abuse that we worry about, Sissy. A few mad nights before you find out isn’t going to do anything.’ She returned to her questionnaire. ‘Now, unless you tell me you’re planning on partying like that throughout your pregnancy, I’m just going to tick the box here that says No to that question, all right? Don’t want some judgemental jobsworth giving you a hard time about it further down the road.’

  The woman’s unqualified kindness was so overwhelming, she almost didn’t say that she might not want to keep it.

  ‘Well, that’s all right too. You’ve got time to decide, but in the meantime I think we need these tests done, don’t you?’

  Sissy nodded and accepted another tissue .

  ‘I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid,’ she said, in a small voice. ‘I’m not like that, honestly.’

  ‘Nobody’s like that, Sissy. Whatever that means. Nobody’s like that at all, so don’t beat yourself up.’

  She ran to the Internet and googled sexually transmitted diseases. For days her mind buzzed with worst-case scenarios. Sometimes she stood before the mirror, sticking her tummy out to see what she would look like if she went ahead. The midwife had said it was only the size of a sprout, but already she could see the change. What she’d thought was weight gain due to not clubbing any more was actually her body preparing to be a mother. She was softening, expanding, accommodating – doing everything a mother should do. It was happening with or without her.

  The same midwife called a few days later. Everything was clear, she was healthy. Sissy felt this woman to be something of a guardian angel.

  ‘Don’t thank me,’ her voice came down the line. ‘Just look after yourself, okay?’

  All she had to do now was decide. She thought of the mothers she knew: her own, obviously, her grandmother and Aunt Susan. There was Lauren too, of course, but she was a distant figure, polluted by the opinions of others.

  None of them were what you’d call adverts for parenthood, not that they’d made a giant mess out of it, but, she realised with a pang, none of them were happy. Weren’t children supposed to make you happy?

  She thought of Rik’s mum, Mrs Sutton, who had always been subject to everyone’s derogatory opinions. Too quiet, so indulgent, such a mollycoddler. But Rik still called home and gladly went back for Christmas.

  So it could be done.

  However, it was clear she could never go back like this: pregnant, a single mother, unsure of who the father even was.

  She eyed the prospectuses and application forms which she’d tidied away into a corner of her bedroom.

  It had to be one thing, or another, and time was running out.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Tightly-bound Roses

  She hadn’t been to the cemetery since the day of the funeral. It had grown so much it almost appeared to be a different place entirely. Of course people continued to die. Why hadn’t she realised?

  She headed in what she thought was the right general direction, using the giant crucifix at the top of the central path as a marker.

  She wandered among the graves, clutching the photo of the gravestone that had been sent through the post by her grandmother. It had been a strange thing to receive, but impossible to throw away. She hadn’t anticipated ever being grateful to have it.

  A weathered-looking man on a quad bike stopped close by.

  ‘Who you looking for?’ he asked, in a matter-of-fact way.

  ‘Peter Donnelly?’ she said, almost laughing at the idea this man could know where, among the legions of dead, her father was. She showed him the photograph.

  He nodded and got off the bike, beckoning her to follow. He pointed to a section of high-up ground.

  ‘On the left,’ he said, king of his domain, and headed back to his bike.

  Gravel crunched beneath her feet as she walked slowly up the hill towards one stone which was taller than all the others. Petty though
ts accompanied her, swooping into her head swiftly, automatically. Imagine making status a priority even in death, she thought. Typical Donnelly behaviour. But she was grateful too, she noticed. Her dad should have something special. As she got closer, she was relieved to see it wasn’t ostentatious. It was dignified. A Celtic cross hewn from grey marble. It had been chosen well.

  She stepped onto the grass, maintaining what she hoped was a respectful distance from the stone. Having thought about this visit for some time, she now found herself wondering why she’d come at all. Then she remembered the letter.

  Through the gaps between graves, she saw an old man a few rows ahead of her, sitting alone on a bench, talking away to invisible company. Far on her left was a couple in their twenties, tidying a patch of ground brightly decorated with windmills and teddy bears. Her father’s gravestone had a hole for flowers, but the hole was empty. Something else to be angry with Jude about.

  ‘Will you stop it!’ she cried, catching herself and those nearby by surprise. These negative thoughts trickled in regularly. She wanted to move on, not remain trapped in her past. Strange that moving on had necessitated a return home. A few months ago, she couldn’t have guessed it.

  The roses she’d brought from the supermarket didn’t want to come free of their cellophaned, cellotaped binding. Using her teeth, she worked them loose and they fell in a heap onto the ground.

  Flustered, she gathered them up, pricking her hands on the thorns. The stems were far too long to sit neatly in the space left in the gravestone but the thorns prevented her snapping them to a more suitable length. Annoyed with herself, she arranged them as best she could in a lean-to fashion, sure that the first puff of wind would carry them away.

  The wrapping began to roll down the hill. She picked it up and looked for a bin. Only then did she notice the view.

  ‘Wow,’ she whispered.

  Like a great grey sea, Glasgow glittered beneath a milky sky, the curved aperture of which embraced everything in Sissy’s sight: a purple patchwork of hills in the distance, motorways snaking through the city, lines of cars shooting like darts in a never-ending flow of near misses; blinking lights on high-rise buildings, countless church spires and glinting windows, plumes of smoke rolling out from tall chimneys before settling in drifts, and running through it all large swathes of greenery flourishing against all odds.