a woven-thread Indian bracelet on the other wrist. His face showed his age and was slightly craggy, lived in, but not in a weary way; he had laughter lines around blue eyes that looked intelligent. He also looked amused by what was happening. But is that by us or by the situation he’s in with us? I wondered. Whichever, I decided, Daniel Scott is a very attractive and charismatic man.
‘So you met our mother?’ asked Rose.
‘I did,’ said Daniel. ‘On several occasions. She came to one of the meditation centres I oversee. She studied with the swami at the centre for many months about eight years ago and then again in her last year.’
‘Swami Muktanand. I remember her telling me about him,’ I said.
Daniel nodded. ‘That’s right. She was a true seeker, your mother, very open minded. We kept in touch.’
‘Did you visit her at the home?’ asked Fleur.
‘I did.’
‘Did she contact you or you her?’ asked Rose.
‘She contacted me.’
‘When?’
‘March or April this year – yes, late March I think it was. She said she’d been thinking a lot about her life, what she’d achieved and what she hadn’t.’ He stopped for a moment and regarded us all, each in turn. ‘She cared deeply that you should all be happy in your lives, and she regretted that you are no longer close.’
‘Yes, yes, we know all this. We’ve had the letter,’ said Rose.
‘Rose, no need to be abrupt,’ said Fleur. ‘Let the man speak.’
‘I just want to get on with it, whatever it is,’ said Rose.
Daniel nodded. ‘I understand. I also understand that this must be unusual for you all – not what you expected.’
‘You can say that again,’ said Rose.
Daniel gave her a brief nod. ‘I’ll do my best not to waste your time. In short, she devised a list of activities for the year. She did it with her friends, Jean and Martha,’ he looked at Rose again, ‘but I expect you know that much. She asked that I bring it to life, like an events manager – that’s my part. No more. I’m not here to comment or prove anything to you or to advise, merely to put her programme in place. Whatever else happens is strictly between you and your late mother.’
‘So what’s first?’ asked Rose.
Daniel reached into his briefcase and pulled out an Apple MacBook Air, which he placed on the table in front of us. ‘A recording from your mother.’
There was an audible gasp from all of us. ‘What! From Mum?’ I asked, ‘I mean with Mum in it?’
Daniel smiled and nodded. He really did have a nice smile. I smiled back.
‘That’s wonderful,’ I said.
Rose let out a breath. ‘Let’s hear what she has to say first.’
‘I think it’s wonderful too,’ said Fleur. ‘We never thought we’d hear her voice again.’
‘It’s not just her, Martha and Jean have taken part too,’ said Daniel. ‘Shall I turn it on?’
‘Please,’ said Rose, as if giving a command to a waiter.
I wished she’d lighten up a bit. Don’t shoot the messenger, I thought.
‘OK. Here we go. Don’t shoot the messenger,’ said Daniel as he pressed his keyboard and found a folder.
‘I was just thinking that,’ I said and laughed.
Fleur rolled her eyes. ‘Yeah sure.’
‘I was.’
Any further conversation was cut short when an image of Mum appeared on the laptop. My eyes welled up with tears at the sight of her. A little bird, she’d become so frail in her last year, her white hair tied up in some sort of red polka-dot turban. She was sitting on a sofa in her living room at the bungalow at the retirement village, and by her side were Jean and Martha. Three little birds. They were all grinning like kids who were bursting with a secret to tell.
‘Is it on?’ Mum said to someone off screen. Daniel, I assumed. ‘Yes. Right.’ She turned, looked directly into the camera and beamed at us. I couldn’t help but beam back. I was so pleased to see her. ‘Hello dollies,’ she said, using her old term of endearment. ‘Met Daniel have you? Don’t shoot the messenger, especially you Rose. Don’t give him a hard time. He’s only doing his job.’
I glanced at Daniel and our eyes met. Twinkle. Acknowledgement. Nice. Take that Fleur, I thought as I turned back to the screen. I looked closer and saw that the three of them had knotted their scarves on top of their heads, like housewives from the 1950s. Mum had a mop in her hand, Jean had a duster, and Martha a can of furniture polish. They held their items up near their faces in the manner of women in post-Second World War advertisements, then they all did a cheesy smile.
I laughed. Fleur gave me a look as if to say, what the …?
‘So, our outfits,’ said Mum as she looked back to the camera. ‘I’ll get to that in a moment. By now, you’ll have had my letter from Mr Richardson and know that I want you to follow my list for a year. Oh, I do hope you’re all there and one of you isn’t being awkward. It might seem a bit odd, but I am doing this for you, really I am.’
‘We want to pass on a wee bit of what we’ve learnt in our lives,’ said Jean.
‘Our very long lives,’ Mum added.
‘Yes, true,’ said Martha. ‘We’re all in our eighties now. None of us knows who will go first, but one knows that it’s inevitable that it might be soon. As the saying goes, nothing more certain than death, nothing more uncertain than the hour.’
‘Wuhooooo,’ said Jean, and lifted her hands up into the air as if mimicking a spirit rising.
‘Cheerful,’ said Mum.
‘I know, that’s me,’ said Martha with a smile, ‘but it’s a fact. Anyway, as you probably know from Iris, we’ve all been reading up about the afterlife and what’s next—’
To her side, Jean slashed at her neck with the tips of her fingers, acting out having her throat cut, then she shut her eyes, let her head loll to one side and stuck her tongue out.
Fleur and I burst out laughing, and even Daniel chuckled. Jean was always mucking about when we were growing up. It was good to see she hadn’t changed in her later years.
‘But I felt more concerned about this life,’ Mum interrupted. ‘I want no regrets when I go, and my major regret is you three not getting on. And I wonder if you’re all happy with the choices you’ve made. I know the world news is grim at the moment, it breaks my heart to hear what man is doing to man, and I worry how my girls are going to survive through it all, the anger and hatred you see every time you turn on the TV. That’s partly why I want you to follow my list. Sometimes you have to work
