days, mair sparkly and bubbly, but I thought it was just the spring coming – she was always sensitive tae changes in the seasons.
This is nice, Fiona, she said, patting my haund. A girls’ night in.
Aye.
There’s something I want tae tell you.
I can still see her face, the shininess of her eyes, the blue changing fae green tae blue and back again.
I’m having a baby.
I was surprised, nae doubt about it. The twins were twelve noo and Mammy was forty-three, ah never thought she’d have another.
That’s brilliant, Mammy – when’s it due?
December 19th. A winter baby.
Sagittarius.
Ach, don’t believe all that astrology rubbish, you’re as bad as Janice.
Jas never asked any questions, just sat listening as the story unfolded, how she was fine during the pregnancy, just a wee bit high blood pressure.
And that’s just to be expected at my age, she said. I’ll be fine.
How she seemed tae glow with happiness and I’d catch her in the kitchen daeing dishes, watching bubbles rise fae the washing up bowl.
How she looked when the baby got bigger, carrying it high and proud in front.
How the pains came the day afore her due date and how calm she was as she set aff to the hospital wi ma da, her last words as she went out the door, Now make sure the twins dae their hamework tonight and mind – put their gym kit in their bags for the morra.
How she never came back.
Doesnae happen nooadays. Doesnae happen tae a healthy woman who’s already had four weans. Doesnae happen in a clean bright modern hospital with highly trained professional staff and all the technology you can imagine. In a Victorian novel, aye, but no on the eve of the twenty-first century. Mammy died in childbirth. And her baby, a perfect wee lassie, died with her.
Jas took ma haund; the skin felt dry, too auld for someone his age, spoke of years of work carting boxes around and being out in the thin early morning air. I looked intae his face, asked the question without speaking while he kept staring at our haunds, interlinked between the high stools.
My da was struck by lightning. He paused, took a deep breath. He was sheltering under a tree. A fucking tree. How stupid can you get?
It was the first time I’d ever heard Jas swear.
Where did it happen?
He was away on a business trip and the guy had taken him out to play golf. He’d never played golf in his life. A golf course in the middle of nowhere and a storm starts and he goes under a tree and gets struck by lightning.
It’s … terrible. I had no words.
Jas turned to me. You know I’ve never said this to anyone else and I probably never will say it to anyone else but I know you’ll no take it the wrong way … it’s the embarrassment of it, the pure riddy you get fae having a dad numpty enough to get struck by lightning. It’s such a stupid embarrassing way tae die.
It grew darker outside. Spits of rain hit the windae.
I stroked Jas’s wrist. I’ve always been terrified of lightning. When I was wee I’d run and hide in the big press in the hall, squeezed in behind all the auld boxes and suitcases and stuff. The only place in the house you cannae hear it.
I used tae love lightning storms. I’d stand at the windae and watch them. But no any mair.
Mammy came in the cupboard with me. She’d put her airm round me and explain how lightning couldnae really get you in a tenement. It goes for height, she’d say. It cannae get you indoors. It’s only if you’re out in the open.
Yeah, on a fucking golf course.
Jas’s face twisted up and I thought he was gonnae start tae greet but all of a sudden a smothered giggle came out.
Mibbe he thought his turban would save him … muffle the electricity … He was shaking, couldnae haud it in any mair, and I started tae giggle too, then to laugh, the two of us on these stools, laughing and giggling as if it was the funniest thing in the world.
See, said Jas, wiping tears away. My da was the smartest guy you could meet – always full of information about everything, statistics – I can just see him with this business guy, sheltering. He put on a mock serious voice. You see, Mr Parmi, the statistical probability of being struck by lightning while standing under a tree is actually very low and the statistical probability of being killed while wearing a turban is even lower … in fact …
Then zap!
Suddenly it wasnae funny any mair.
IT MUST OF been easier in Victorian days. You had mourning clothes and there were rules about how many months you’d tae wear black, then gradually cut back on it; everyone could tell how long it was since you were bereaved. And there was black jewellery you could wear to remember your loved ones. Nooadays you’re straight back at school or work and you don’t talk. You don’t even talk in the hoose, at least we never. Ma daddy couldnae cope wi talking and the twins, well they seemed tae bounce back. It was different in Jas’s house, rituals of grieving. A photie of his dad wi flowers and stuff all round it, in a position of honour, as if he was still watching them.
Jas took me hame after we’d known each other a few weeks. I was surprised – boys didnae usually introduce girls to their family unless they’d known them for ages. Hame was a tenement flat, much like ours but bigger, with a couple of attic rooms up a stair fae the main part of the flat. Jas’s room was under the eaves – huge, with its ain bathroom. Pale blue bathroom suite. Jas had painted the walls midnight blue wi silver stars and a moon on the ceiling.
My God, it’s like having your ain flat up here. Dead posh.
A guy my da knew done it up to let to students – put in a couple of extra bathrooms and showers – there’s one in Ma’s room too. Then haufway through he’d to sell up and my da bought it, finished the bathrooms and decorated the place for us. We’ve been here since I was seven. It’s dead handy for the shop.
The shop was a pharmacy. Since his da’s death his uncle ran it; Jas’s ma helped out during the day and Jas efter school.
Jas and me sat side by side on his bed. The cover was blue too, with gold and silver stars and moons patterned over it.
Is your uncle a pharmacist too?
No but my cousin Harpreet, my uncle’s daughter, is. And when I qualify, I’ll be able to take over. Harpreet’s getting married and she wants to have her own business with her husband.
