‘What?’ he says, to nobody in particular. ‘My mother just died. I’m supposed to be upset and I’m allowed to have a bloody drink if I want to.’
No one argues with my father; it’s never been a good use of time. Arrogance always translates his opinions into facts inside his head.
Nancy returns with a tray, after being gone longer than expected. I see that she’s swapped her black silk pyjamas for a black roll-neck, cropped trousers and ballet pumps, one of her classic Hepburn ensembles. She’s put on some make-up too – thick black eyeliner and a little blusher. I suppose everyone deals with grief differently. Her blue-veined hands are visibly trembling, and the tray rattles as she sets it down on the coffee table. Everyone takes their own cup. They have our names on them – hand-painted by Nana – even Conor has his own.
‘Mum,’ Trixie whispers, ignoring the cup of tea placed in front of her. My niece has been quieter than normal, and I wish I could have protected her from all of this.
‘Mmm hmm,’ Lily says, without looking up.
‘I need the bathroom.’
‘So why are you telling me about it?’
Trixie frowns. ‘Because I’m scared.’
I jump to my niece’s defence before her mother can reply. I can’t stand it when Lily bullies her own daughter. ‘I’ll go with her, I don’t mind—’
‘Nobody is going to go with you or hold your hand,’ Lily snaps, ignoring me. No one says anything, but their eyes speak the words that their mouths don’t. ‘There is no reason for you to be scared of going to the bathroom. You’re fifteen, not five. All those bloody books you read are putting silly ideas in your head. And there’s no need to be scared of Nana anymore, darling. The old bat is dead.’
Dad takes another sip of whisky, and Nancy tuts again, louder this time. Neither of them was ever any good at telling my sister off when she was out of line, which is why she’s never been in step with the rest of the world. It’s almost as if they’re scared of her.
‘You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead,’ Nancy says.
‘Why?’ Lily asks. ‘You always speak ill of the living. Go to the bathroom, Trixie. There’s no need to be scared, it’s just across the hall. Go on, and grow up while you’re at it,’ she says to her fifteen-year-old daughter who has just seen a dead body for the first time. Trixie glares at her mother, pushes her pink glasses a little further up her nose, and leaves the room.
‘I think we ought to come up with a plan,’ says Conor.
‘I don’t remember anyone asking what you thought,’ slurs my dad.
‘Surely we all just stay together until the tide goes out?’ says Rose.
The rain outside lashes against the elderly glass in the windows, making it rattle inside its frame. Lily’s teeth start to chatter as though it’s contagious.
‘If we’re staying down here until the sun comes up, then we’ll need to keep warm,’ she says. ‘This house is freezing.’ My sister can always find something to complain about, but to be fair, she is only wearing a nightdress. ‘I’ll get some jumpers from upstairs. Does anyone else want anything?’
Looks are exchanged like unwanted gifts, heads are shaken, and shoulders are shrugged.
Trixie returns, Lily leaves, my dad pours another drink, and my mother tuts again.
‘Is that really a good idea, Frank?’ she asks.
‘No, it’s an excellent idea.’
‘Do you really think it was an accident?’ Conor asks him.
‘Enough!’ Dad snaps. ‘This isn’t a crime scene for a BBC correspondent to report on or a murder mystery story for someone to solve. She was my mother. She slipped and fell. Simple as that. There was no murder, there is no mystery. She was eighty, had already lost most of her marbles, and now she’s dead. That’s the end of it.’ His face closes like a door. The conversation is over. Then Dad frowns and stares out of the window at the sea lit by moonlight, almost as though he has forgotten the rest of us are here. ‘Forgive me, I think I need to be alone for a while,’ he says quietly.
Lily returns with some jumpers and blankets, and has dressed herself in jogging bottoms teamed with a tight top. Dad leaves the room as she enters it, taking his whisky with him and closing the door. We hear him go into the music room, and a few minutes later, we all hear the familiar sound of him playing the piano. Even though he is drunk, he plays perfectly.
‘I’m still cold,’ whispers Trixie, despite the jumper Lily has given her. It’s the pink jumper from last night, and matches her pyjamas.