Sixty
The first festive period without Nanna was never going to be easy. But both Don and Pat seemed determined to give it a go. As well as the obligatory Christmas Day arrangement, Pat had invited Beth and James over for a New Year’s Eve celebration. Beth had grudgingly accepted their invitation.
‘Why did you say yes, if you’re dreading it?’ James asked.
‘They want to try to move on. It’s not my place to tell my dad he should still be grieving instead of seeing the New Year in.’
‘They do have a point, though. I mean, you need to move on. It’s tough, but … well, I had to do it after my mum died.’
What could she say? In her head she was sure there was no comparison between the loss of Shirley and the fact that she would never see Nanna again. But she knew she couldn’t voice that opinion.
‘If your mum and dad feel ready to celebrate, I think we should join them.’
Beth took a deep breath. ‘James, I just told you I’ve accepted their invitation, didn’t I? I can’t help it if I’m not looking forward to it. I’ve only ever spent one New Year’s without Nanna, and that was when we were in Bondi.’ She automatically peered at the photograph on the mantelpiece, her and James sucking on lemons.
‘It might be OK. Sometimes you just have to face these things.’
Again, Beth secretly wondered to herself if James had ever experienced this awful raw pain? If he did, he hid it well. He rarely spoke of his mum. ‘I think it’s just worse somehow, because … well, you know how she adored New Year’s.’
‘Because of your Grandpa?’
‘Yes. He loved Hogmanay and, from what I can gather, his enthusiasm was infectious. Nanna looked forward to it every year. And Christmas and New Year are everywhere at the moment. On the TV, the radio. She would be so excited.’
As it turned out, James and Beth were too ill to go to Pat and Don’s anyway. Three days before Christmas, they both began to ache. One minute Beth was cold and shivery, the next she was stripping off layers and sweating buckets. She was sent home from work. James was just as bad. By Christmas Eve they both had hacking coughs. Whatever the virus was, it swiftly took them down. Beth couldn’t remember ever being so ill, except, perhaps, when she’d had her ear infection. They took to their bed and there they stayed.
She called Pat and explained. ‘I’m sorry, Mum. We’re not going to see anything of Christmas and I have my doubts about New Year’s Eve.’ Her teeth chattered throughout the conversation.
‘Don’t worry about it. Loads of people are suffering. We’ve had an onslaught of elderly people in the hospital. This bug is a bad one.’
‘Are you and Dad OK?’
‘We seem to be. Goodness knows how I’ve managed to avoid catching it.’
‘It’ll just be you two for Christmas dinner.’
‘We’ll be OK. I didn’t expect it to be a laugh a minute.’
‘I feel awful, Mum. It’s like I’ve been hit by a truck.’ Every few words, Beth’s breath was stolen by a hacking cough.
‘You do sound bad. Can I bring you anything?’
Beth assured her mum there was nothing. The last thing she wanted was to pass this horrible virus on to anyone else. She promised they’d keep their fluids up and take paracetamol as often as was sensible.
On Christmas Day they opened a large bar of Toblerone that Beth had bought as one of James’s stocking presents. Placing triangles of chocolate into their mouths, they allowed them to slowly melt, it hurt to swallow.
Everyone knows the week between Christmas and New Year is odd enough at the best of times, but Beth found that, as they spent the days in bed, not eating and feeling incredibly rough, she totally lost track of time. They dozed their way through the week. Waking each other frequently with their collective snores, sneezes and coughs. The house lay dormant, gathering dust. Each day they took it in turns to stagger down to the kitchen and make tea or Lemsip. Every drink was accompanied by another chunk of life-sustaining Toblerone.
Before they knew it, New Year’s Eve was upon them. They’d agreed that at the very least they ought to get out of bed and watch TV. Beth thought it would be nice to see the fireworks at midnight. She figured Nanna’s favourite, Jools Holland, could ease them into the next year. But they were still too unwell.
At about 10 p.m. she asked James if he wanted to head downstairs to watch some TV, and maybe have a drink.
He blew his nose and examined the contents of the tissue. Then, in a voice which was nothing like his own, he stuttered, ‘I donn thing I can make it, love.’
She needed no persuasion to stay in bed. In an equally nasal tone, she replied, ‘OK, les stuy here.’
They were both asleep in minutes.
Beth awoke with a start to hear Lisa calling her name. A quick check of the bedside clock told her it was eleven fifty-nine. She lay in the dark, waiting. The illuminated second hand crept round.
Lisa whispered, ‘How excited would Nanna be?’
‘Do you think she knows? That it’s the night she always waited for.’
‘I don’t know. I hope so, but …’
‘Do you think she’s with Mandy?’ Beth wanted that to be true.
‘Maybe. I don’t know.’ Even though Lisa was, to all intents and purposes, dead, she seemed to have very few answers.
The second hand passed the twelve. It was midnight. The dawning of a new year. Beth could hear fireworks going off around the neighbourhood, and people rushing outside to celebrate. ‘Happy New Year’, ‘Happy New Year’ the words echoed around the estate. She was reminded of her best New Year’s, back in Bondi. The boats tooting, all her friends together, snogging the face off the handsome, young James. Simpler times. If I knew then what I know now!
Her heart ached for Nanna. The weight of grief crushed her.
James didn’t wake up. He lay next to her, snoring, his bunged-up nose restricting his airflow.
Nanna’s dead, and we still have no children.
Beth called out to Lisa in despair, ‘I’ve never felt this desperate. I don’t think I can bear it.’
Lisa was rarely sentimental, but somehow she managed to think of something nice to say. ‘We’ll bear it together.’