A Season in the Snow Page 4

  That wasn’t true, though, and a little part of her was ashamed for wishing her life away at this time. If she had a wish, she’d wish for neither of them to be in the coffin. None of them to be in any of the coffins.

  Alice wondered if any of the other victims’ funerals were being held today. It was possible, but she probably would never know. She certainly wasn’t about to scour the newspapers for grainy paparazzi shots and saccharine-soaked write-ups.

  She lifted her face to the water, and it felt good. If only she could hide in here all day.

  Alice was on the outside looking in. A spectator letting other people make the small talk around her, glancing at her occasionally with a morbid curiosity that pulled people’s attention from poor Jill.

  ‘Nobody’s looking at you,’ Bahira had whispered inside the church.

  Alice had shuffled on the spot, her smart shoes pinching, her collar tight on her throat. Deep inside she knew Bahira was right, but with tissues squeezed tightly in both her hands she knew that if she fully let her guard down and accepted the reality that she was at Jill’s funeral she didn’t know if she’d ever come back out. It couldn’t be real. The world wasn’t that cruel.

  The funeral was horrible but peaceful, and over quickly. She’d clung to her friends, Bahira, Theresa and Kemi, silently pleading with them to not be angry at her for ever.

  Alice now stood in the churchyard, under the newly appeared sunshine with Bahira, Kemi and Theresa, their faces looking like reflections of their younger selves, with their make-up minimal, their mascara wiped away onto tissues, their eyes tired. Inside the church hall was a small wake, but most guests were bringing their china cups of tepid tea back out into the open air. Theresa was telling a story they all knew, slowly and carefully, peppered with genuine smiles, about the holiday they’d all taken with Jill right after uni. Jill’s many friends, from her many walks of life, stood in huddles all recounting their own memories.

  ‘ . . . And when we finally got on the boat, she said, “You can all call me the Codfather!”’ Theresa paused and Bahira and Kemi chuckled. Alice realised a beat too late and then joined in too.

  As Theresa, bless her soul, continued the story to fill the silence with a sliver of happiness, Alice’s ears focused in on the conversation behind her. Jill’s parents were talking to her brother.

  ‘I spoke to Max, the man Bear came from, and he can’t take him back,’ Jill’s mum was saying wearily. ‘I mean, he was very sorry and said he would if we couldn’t find anyone else, but he doesn’t have the space to keep him.’

  ‘He’s a lovely dog. Jilly loved him so much already.’ Jill’s dad’s voice cracked, which in turn cracked Alice’s heart a bit more. Why were they talking about this here, now? Perhaps the mundanity of keeping organised helped keep reality at bay. Alice should try it sometime.

  Jill’s brother Sam, only in his early twenties and too young to be going through this, spoke with the quiet voice of someone who didn’t know if they should be parent or child in this situation. ‘I don’t know how to help. I can’t have pets at uni. I could take a year out maybe?’

  ‘No, no you can’t do that,’ insisted his mum.

  ‘Or I could come home every weekend to walk him, if you kept him, and I could look into finding someone to walk him on weekdays?’

  Of course Jill’s parents, her dad with his arthritis and her mum with her dodgy knee, wouldn’t be able to raise a puppy, especially a big strong puppy that was, in Jill’s words, going to grow into a grizzly. Alice felt silly for never thinking past the assumption that they would take on the dog, especially as they appeared more fragile than ever now.

  Jill’s mum sighed, her voice sounding defeated. ‘I don’t know what to do. Where to start. I just don’t want to give him to someone we don’t know, he was only with her a month but he was part of Jill.’

  ‘I’ll take Bear.’ Alice left the conversation with her friends and turned around, the words falling from her lips, desperate to do anything that might contribute to the huge debt she owed her best friend’s family. ‘I’ll take him. I’ll look after him just like Jill would have. I went to the vet’s and the puppy socialisation parties with her, I can help. Please let me help.’

  *

  While Jill’s family exchanged a silent conversation with each other, which Alice didn’t know whether to interpret as thinking about it or wonderment at how Alice could dare even to suggest it, Kemi appeared at her elbow.

  ‘Alice, I don’t think you have space for a dog,’ she murmured.

  ‘It will be fine. My flat is small, but he’s only small . . . at the moment, and I have the park minutes away for big walks.’

  ‘I know you want to help, but you’re so busy, Ali,’ added Bahira. She turned to Jill’s parents. ‘Maybe I could have him for a while?’ Even as she said it she sounded unconvinced.

  ‘You have a dog already,’ Alice said. ‘I have no one. I’m alone.’

  ‘What about work and things, though?’ Bahira pressed, tugging Alice just out of earshot. ‘Aren’t you trying to get involved in more causes at the moment?’

  ‘It’s all just so unimportant,’ Alice said, tiredly. ‘I can’t change anything, I can’t stop anything, I can’t even save my best friend!’ The morning after it had happened Alice had woken up a different person. She’d given so much of herself to optimism, and without it she didn’t really know who she was any more. She was crumbling, and she turned back to Jill’s mum, dad and brother. ‘Let me save Bear?’

  Jill’s mum shrugged, and then nodded, too overwhelmed to continue the conversation she’d started. Sam patted her arm, awkward but kind. Jill’s dad cleared his throat. ‘That would be very helpful, thank you, Alice. Even if it’s just temporarily.’

  Alice nodded, processing what she’d just done. ‘How will I get him—’

  ‘I have my car down here. I’ll take you and him and his things back to London whenever you’re ready,’ Bahira interjected, pulling Alice away from the family, knowing the details didn’t need to be decided right now.

  ‘So,’ said Alice when it was just the four of them again, nestled under the comforting leaves of an old oak tree in the churchyard. ‘Anyone know how to raise a dog?’

  Back at her home that evening, Alice was listening to her parents and her friends discussing her. They were all drinking tea and sitting around the living room, tired, emotionally worn, the different ages an inconsequential factor. It was like a board meeting being held at the very end of a very long day, where people occasionally remembered to include the person on the other end of the spider phone, which in this case was Alice.

  ‘I’m just worried because it’s a big responsibility for her. Literally. It just doesn’t seem like a good time. She’s still quite wary of things. Understandably,’ Liz was saying, nodding encouragingly at Alice on the final word.

  ‘My sister-in-law has a big dog,’ Kemi said. ‘And she’s always saying how he makes her feel really safe. It could be that he helps her. You.’

  Theresa nodded. ‘And they do say dogs can help with shock and –’ she whispered the next word, ‘– trauma.’

  Liz looked to Ed. ‘She’s not had a dog before. It’s a lot to learn.’

  ‘I don’t know if it’s that much hard work,’ Ed said. ‘Jill already trained him up a fair amount, I remember Alice telling us.’

  ‘But she doesn’t want to leave the house at the moment. Maybe we should take him instead.’

  ‘If I have a dog, I will leave the house,’ Alice said without looking up from her tea. ‘I promise. We can look after each other.’

  ‘Where would you walk him around yours?’ Bahira asked.

  ‘The park is two minutes away. My street is quite quiet, too, so I can take him out for wees last thing at night.’ Even as she said it, Alice found herself wondering if dogs could have litter trays.

  ‘If having a dog is anything like having a kid, which it is, as I know because I have both,’ said the ever-practical Bahira, ‘it�
��s a massive lifestyle change. You won’t be able to go out and leave him for long. You’ll need to find dog day care for if you have to go into the Funny Pack office. You have to take him out and walk him, twice a day, rain or shine.’

  ‘I know all of this,’ Alice said. ‘I know it’s not going to be easy, but I’ve made my decision and I’ve already told Jill’s parents. I’m taking Bear. I need to do this.’

  ‘It’s not too late—’ started Liz.

  ‘Mum, I really do need to do this. I’m going to look after him.’

  They all nodded, and then Bahira spoke up. ‘Well, like I said earlier, if you want to come back with me tomorrow, you can. I’ll drive you both. Otherwise just ring me when you’re ready, no rush, and I’ll come down and pick you up.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Alice sipped her tea.

  Theresa sighed. ‘I’m happy. I mean, it’s been a horrible day, but I’m happy Bear is coming to live with you. It’s like you get to keep hold of a little bit of Jill’s heart.’

  Chapter 8

  ‘Good morning,’ Ed said with surprise. ‘You’re up early.’

  Alice walked into the kitchen dressed. It was nine a.m., so not early really, but considering the length of time she’d spent in bed over the past three weeks it was practically the crack of dawn. ‘Where’s Mum?’

  ‘Here,’ Liz answered, coming into the room and embracing her daughter. ‘Going somewhere?’

  ‘Actually, yes. I’m going to take Bahira up on the offer for a lift back up to London today.’

  ‘Oh, honey, you don’t have to go so soon, we can drive you back into town when you’re ready, can’t we Ed?’

  ‘Of course we can.’

  ‘I know, thank you, but I think I need to go for it. I remember Jill saying that puppies have about fifteen weeks before they stop learning things so easily, and he must be around that now. I think I need to get him home with me as soon as possible so he gets to know his new environment and any ground rules.’

  It was funny, she was speaking like a convincing, functioning, human. Maybe this is how she would be from now on, a mask of a person. Because really, under the mask, she didn’t think she’d ever be over it.

  She smiled at her parents. ‘Will you come up and stay, though, maybe next weekend? If you have no other plans? If you aren’t sick of me?’

  ‘Yes, any time,’ Liz nodded.

  ‘And if you wake up in the night and that pup is either making you more anxious or not making you feel better, you call us. Any time, it doesn’t matter, we can come up and get you or come and stay, you don’t have to be brave right through to the weekend.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad.’

  She’d called Jill’s brother that morning. Her parents’ landline number was forever etched into her memory bank from years of childhood phone calls to Jill almost every night to talk about TV shows or books or boys or uni choices. But it felt somehow invasive to call them on that directly, to have them pick up the phone without realising who was on the other end, and to give them no choice in whether to talk to her or not. So instead she called Sam, and asked him if she should take Bear today. He’d agreed, saying it would be a big help, actually, and the relief in his voice was enough to cement the deal for Alice. Bear was her responsibility from today, there was no going back. It was the least she could do to help. She owed this to Jill’s family. She owed this to Jill.

  *

  As she and her mum approached Jill’s family home to collect the puppy, Alice had thrown up at the end of their driveway. It came out of nowhere, and she didn’t think anyone had seen, but she and her mum had sat on the pavement for at least ten minutes before making their way to the house.

  ‘You don’t have to do this, you know. You’re going through enough, you don’t have to be the one to take on a pet as well.’ Her mum stroked her back as she said this.

  Alice faced the concrete ground, her back hunched, her forehead sweating. ‘I have to.’

  Liz was silent for a few moments. ‘Will you bring him back to our house then, and you can both stay there for a while?’

  ‘No, I want to get him settled in his new home. It’s not taking on Bear, that’s not why I’m . . . ’

  ‘I know.’

  How could she go in there, into her family’s personal space, without Jill? When she was the one who took Jill away? How could they ever forgive her?

  ‘I don’t want to see all the photos of her on the walls.’

  ‘I know,’ her mum soothed, lost for what to say.

  Alice’s breathing returned to the normal, numb breath she was getting used to, and she slowly rose, checking herself for traces of vomit. She nodded at her mother, and they slowly made their way up the driveway. Alice kept her eyes down, afraid to look up in case she couldn’t stop herself looking towards the window in the top left-hand corner – Jill’s childhood bedroom.

  Her mum knocked on the door, and the sound of scrambling feet on wood and crumpled ears being shaken out could be heard before the door had even opened.

  When Sam pulled the door open, Bear scrabbled through and Alice exclaimed, ‘Oh my gosh!’, not believing how much he’d grown in the past month. ‘Hello, you,’ she said to him as he greeted her like a long-lost friend.

  Bear circled her and bounced and waved his paws and beamed up at her, his eyes big and his tail wagging furiously. He sniffed briefly at her mum’s knees before turning his attention back to Alice.

  ‘Someone’s pleased to see you,’ Sam commented with a smile.

  He remembers me. And she was surprised at how pleased she was to see him, this little tornado.

  Alice crouched down and Bear nuzzled his head into her chest, his spindly tail still causing a tidal wave on the other side of the world. ‘Hi, Bear, hi, do you want to come home with me?’

  He leaned right into her face, his nostrils sniffing, and licked her nose.

  ‘Is that a yes? We can keep each other company.’ The three of them watched Bear as he stepped back from Alice and peered around her. He was still smiling, his tail was still wagging, but he seemed to be searching for the missing puzzle piece, and Alice knew what it was. ‘She’s not with me, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Oh, honey,’ Liz said, her heart breaking for her daughter.

  ‘Why don’t you both come in? It’s cold out here,’ said Sam. He seemed grown up beyond his years now, with a seriousness to his voice that Alice didn’t recognise.

  Inside the hallway, Bear continued to look towards the door, as if he couldn’t understand why Alice was here without Jill. And in all honesty, she still hadn’t wrapped her head around it either.

  Alice felt like a coward, but she stayed near the puppy, talking softly to him and keeping her eyes on him, while her mum spoke with Jill’s family and followed them through the house gathering up Bear’s belongings. It was only when all the bags were by the door, ready to be carried back down the driveway to Liz’s car, that Alice stood and faced Jill’s parents.

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ she said, her whole heart in those three words.

  Jill’s mum nodded. ‘So are we.’

  ‘I’m . . . sorry,’ she repeated.

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ Jill’s mum said, and pulled her into a hug, though it didn’t feel the same as it used to. It felt more guarded. Did they know? Did they know that she’d been pleased when Jill had said she didn’t want to lose their spots to get more water? Did they know that their daughter’s supposed best friend put a good view at a concert over Jill’s life?

  ‘You’ve been such a good friend to Jill,’ Jill’s mum said, pulling back and revealing eyes that were pink and full of sorrow.

  ‘She was the best friend in the whole world,’ Alice whispered back. She took a breath and stepped backwards towards the door before the bile rose again. ‘Please visit him whenever you want,’ she said, the words sounding stiff in her own ears. ‘Or I can bring him to you.’

  Jill’s mum nodded. ‘Maybe sometime.’

  She and Sam said goodbye t
o the puppy, Sam pushing his face into his fur for a long moment. Then Alice and Liz left, Alice holding Bear’s lead, his bed and as many bags as she could manage, and Liz carrying the rest. Alice had refused any extra help, and Bear trotted down the driveway without looking back.

  ‘Do you think he thinks we’re taking him back to Jill?’ Alice asked her mum.

  ‘I think he’s just a daft puppy looking forward to heading out on an adventure,’ Liz answered.

  The amount of stuff that Jill’s parents had given her had filled the boot and the back seat of Liz’s car, and then Bahira’s car later that morning. On the journey back to London, Alice held Bear tightly on her lap, on red alert for anything that could cause her precious cargo – Jill’s beloved puppy – any harm.

  ‘How are you, B?’ Alice asked her friend when Bear had stopped wriggling and dozed off.

  ‘Good question,’ Bahira answered, her eyes on the road. ‘Very sad, quite pissed off and probably will have an enormous cry tonight when I get home, and everyone’s in bed, and I let it all sink in.’

  Alice nodded. She admired Bahira’s strength and maturity and she nearly let the words all tumble out of her and admit how responsible she felt. But she’d lost a friend already, and the shameful, selfish part of her didn’t want to risk losing another.

  So instead she said, ‘Call me if you need anything, won’t you?’ to which Bahira glanced away from the road quickly to give her a smile.

  Chapter 9

  Had Alice not volunteered to adopt a bear cub called Bear, she didn’t know when she would have left her childhood home. Maybe she would have never returned to London, and to the real, cruel world. But her determination to give Bear a home again, some stability, meant she found herself back at her own front door only a day after the funeral. Only this time she was holding in her arms a wriggling fluff-bag.

  Bear shifted in her arms, sitting his bum on her hands and his front paws on her shoulders, and licked at her face while she tried to pass instructions to Bahira.

  ‘It’s the key on the end, with the red dot . . . that one . . . that goes in the top lock . . . it sometimes jams. Ugh, stop it, Bear. Flick the key to the right first then turn left, that’s it. Bear.’ She turned her head and the dog’s tongue went in her ear instead.