Moments

My eyes opened. It was a sunny Tuesday in early April and the air smelled fresh through the open window of my small village house. Well, I used to view it as small. Since Mum died it had suddenly seemed so big. A place I’d known for all of my privileged eighteen years went from feeling cramped to cavernous overnight. I’d shared a room with my little sister since she was born thirteen years ago, and although the empty bedroom sat just down the hallway, we were still snuggled together in my single bed.

I shut my eyes tightly and willed sleep to return, but consciousness had grabbed me and it wasn’t letting go easily.

“Jane?” my sister’s voice came from beside me. Her innocent, once joyful tones were constantly full of a gentle sadness that I wish I could squeeze out of her in one giant hug. “Are you awake?”

I waited three more heartbeats just in case sleep was close, but it was long gone.

“Yeah, Fray, I’m awake,” I rolled over as best I could with two bodies in a single bed and looked at her. I forced a smile onto my face. “Smiley toast?”

Her eyes sparkled, drowning the sorrow just a little. “Yes please!” she whispered.

I clambered out of bed and tucked her back in, stroking her hair before going downstairs to put the grill on.

It had only been three days since Mum had died in the car accident, but as Dad wasn’t around it left Frayer and me to ourselves, and as I had turned eighteen just two months ago, I was legally old enough to apply to be Frayer’s guardian. That was a much more appealing notion than contacting our father - who knows where that man was or what he was up to!

I cut the necessary shapes out of foil and pressed it into the bread to make a smiley face then popped it under the grill. I was glad I could still make Frayer happy in the small moments, as I had no idea about the bigger picture. Naturally I would need to turn down my place at university, find a job and… and what? Raise Frayer? Was I really capable of guiding a teenager into adulthood? Did I even qualify as an adult myself? I’ve got my final exams in just over a month and then… well, then is unknown.

Ok, come on Jane, don’t think about that. One day at a time. Don’t burn the toast. Think about lunch. Thank goodness I could drive.

The postman pushed a handful of letters through the door. I hated that time of the day. Mum had never talked to me about bills or money management, I didn’t know the first thing about bills or mortgages or -

Come on Jane, stop. One thing at a time. Breakfast. Aunty Susan and Uncle Phil will be here this evening. I’ll talk to them about anything that’s worrying me.

The smell of burning toast snapped me out of my thoughts and to the blackening toast under my watch. It’s not a metaphor. It’s just toast.

I heard Frayer plodding down the stairs as I poured her a glass of orange juice and placed it next to the plate of mediocre toast sporting a somewhat wonky smiling face. She sat at the counter in the middle of the kitchen and began chomping through the dry toast.

I filled the kettle up, my mind running through the different things I should do before Aunty Susan arrived at 6pm. Grocery shopping, cleaning, washing… were they going to sleep in Mum’s bed? I hadn’t thought that far. Was that weird? It was weird to me… should Frayer and I sleep in her bed? But that would leave Aunty Susan and Uncle Phil in our single beds… no that would be weird… but Mum’s bed… 

“Jane,” Frayer snapped me back into the present to find the water overflowing from the kettle and gushing over my hand, splattering my pyjamas with cold.

“Oh crumbs! Silly me!” I chuckled, pouring the excess and placing the lid on. “What am I like?” I chucked it on to boil and plonked myself across from my sister. “How’s the toast, munchkin?”

“It’s ok to feel sad, Jane,” Frayer said, looking at me with eyes wiser than her age. “I miss Mum lots. You don’t need to be her,”

I could feel my eyes filling with water, like a tank too small for its incoming load. I refused to let them overflow.

“I know,” I said, smiling and biting back the tears as I turned to grind my coffee beans. I took the moment of noise to take a deep breath and enjoy a break from the alternation between forced conversation and uncomfortable silences. I perhaps let it grind longer than optimum, but the noise was strangely comforting. I set up my filter and took my time pouring the water over the coffee. Making my drink was such a calming part of my day; the smell of warmth and strength, twisting its way to my nose and furthermore to my brain, and my whole body relaxed a little. The constant in my day, the 3-minute process of making my drink was a small bit of control I had left. I adored Frayer for not interrupting this time.

My sister waited patiently until I was sat down opposite her again.

“Jane,”

“Yes,”

“I miss Mum,”

I admired Frayer for her emotional honesty, and I knew in my heart of hearts that it was a very healthy way to respond to what had happened. But I just didn’t have it in me. I needed to stay strong for us. I refused to let anyone take her away from me. It’s only five years until she won’t need a guardian any longer.

“I know, boo,” I sipped my coffee. How do I have this conversation? “I do, too.” The calmness I’d gained from making my drink was draining away far too quickly and I clung to it like water. “Eat up, munchkin,” I walked into the study and grabbed a pen and paper and started noting down my to-do list for the day.

“Fray,” I called. “I’m going to go out for a bit,”

“Ok,” I heard the clatter of her putting her breakfast things into the dishwasher.

I took a deep breath and went to gather the post before setting myself back at the desk in Mum’s study. I felt strangely comfortable in that room. Perhaps because anytime I had been in there with Mum we’d been quiet, so I wasn’t afraid of the silence in here. It was a room of work and dedication, and right now that was a welcoming notion.

Mum had been a designer. Mainly websites and computery things, but she dabbled in interiors for fun. She’d had a great eye for colour, something she’d passed onto Frayer, and had such classy taste. She’d always told me one day I’ll have enough money to buy a big open house and do it up. There was always a futon over here and a little table over there and ooh how about a lamp in that corner on the dresser. I’d always marvelled at her creativity and I loved flicking through her books of designs. I had a much more mathematical brain. Apparently I got that from Dad, which I resented, but Mum had always encouraged me that I was so gifted. Both Frayer and I: Fray with her art, and me with my science and maths. What use would those be now though?

I sat back in the wheely chair, taking in the details of the room: the old shelves that were bowing in the middle because of Mum’s heavy books, the artwork on the walls - Mum’s and Frayer’s - that she had put up to keep the creativity of her workday alive. I was never quite sure what she meant by that. My eyes passed over the small potted plants lined neatly along another shelf - I’ll have to water those later - to a stack of thin A3 sketch pads. I grabbed them and placed them on the desk. I stroked the blank cover, eyes hungry, hands tentative. My fingers found the edge of the hardback cover and I lifted… slowly… 

My breath was stolen for moments as I discovered artwork I’d never seen before. Mum’s personal and private creations. The first page held a photo of Frayer and I in the corner; we were sitting on a bench on one of our annual family trips to the Isle of Wight, holding hands and laughing deeply at something I don’t remember. The rest of the page was filled with a charcoal sketch of that photo, so detailed and so lifelike. My eyes started to fill again as the memory flooded back to me: the intense joy and the weightlessness of lack of responsibility.

I turned the page. Another memory. This time of all three of us. Mum was in the middle and Frayer and I were snuggled into either side of her. We were all in our pyjamas and it was a Christmas morning. We’d used a timer on the camera and there was far too much space above us, cutting off our feet, but Mum had insisted we don’t take another. She’d had this strange pleasure of only ever taking one photo. She’d always said that memories were ruined by trying to take the perfect picture, that moments were only truly captured if you weren’t trying too hard and just caught it.

I spent the best part of two hours making my way through Mum’s hidden artwork. I felt so close to her, so connected, in a way I hadn’t even felt in the last couple of months before her death. I loved that feeling. Experiencing someone else’s joy and passions was a true way to know them more deeply. I so wanted to keep this to myself, but I knew Frayer would absolutely adore this treasure trove I’d found. Maybe just a few days…

I shut the final book, took a breath and shut my eyes, smiling. What a golden couple of hours. I opened my eyes and slid the sketchpads to the side, revealing the list of chores and bills. Crumbs. Ok. I’ve totally got this.

I nodded a little gratitude towards the books, picked up the list and headed to the shower. I’ve totally got this.

Half an hour later I was buttoning up my jacket and tying my laces to brace the outside. I’ve totally got this.

“Fray, I’m off out for a bit,”

Silence.

“I won’t be long,”

Silence.

She’ll be fine.

I grabbed my shopping bags and made my way to the local shop, just a five minute walk from our front door. I got the necessities: milk, bread - did we need more cereal? I’ll check when I’m back - eggs, loo roll - should I get pizza? Crumbs, no, I’m on a tight budget now, focus Jane - and toothpaste. Sandwiches for lunch will do, Aunty Susan will cook us something amazing tonight, she loves doing that. We’ve got jam, peanut butter and cheese, so sandwiches are sorted. Alright, that’s everything for now.

“Hi Jane,” the motherly lady who’s worked at the shop for years greeted me as I stepped up to her till.

“Hi Pat,” I forced a smile, but was met with a pitied head tilt.

“How you holding up, chick?” she asked, taking her sweet time on beeping through my purchases.

I never know what to say to those questions. Horribly! I'm falling into a dark hole and I'm not sure I'll ever know how to get out! All I want is my mum to come through the front door and tell us they got it wrong. But no. I identified the body. I… let’s not go there.

“Erm… ok thanks…”

“Oh, you poor things,” thankfully she was getting to the last items. “If there’s anything any of us can do, don’t you hesitate to ask, alright?”

I forced another smile, paid, and hurried out of the shop, thanking her as I left. I knew people’s intentions were good, but if I saw another pitied head tilt I might just run away and never come back.

I got home and called upstairs for Frayer.

Silence.

Ok this isn’t comforting.

I left the shopping at the foot of the stairs and climbed to see our bedroom door shut. Music was drifting through the keyhole and I hesitated before opening the door, but I let myself in.

Frayer was laying on the floor in the space between our beds, A3 paper strewn across the floor, surrounded by pencils, charcoals and pastels. She had a reference photo of us two and mum on one of our adventures, and she’d sketched a beautifully lifelike portrait of the three of us. We were laughing and dancing in a field somewhere. The photo showed a picnic behind us, but Frayer had ignored that, focusing on every detail of Mum’s smile, her hair, her hands. How had she captured her very spirit? It was incredible. Tears started streaming down my cheeks, silent yet unstoppable.

“Fray,” I whispered, falling to my knees next to her. “Fray, it’s perfect,”

“You think?” she sat back on her heels and inspected her work, then looked up at me and smiled.

We sat in the moment for a few precious minutes, savouring every second.

“I have something to show you,” I said, taking her hand and leading her downstairs to Mum’s study. I shut the door, took a sketchpad from the top of the pile and sat us both down on the floor.

The silence was no longer deafening, it was no longer constricting, but it was enveloping, it was bated. The whole room seemed to hold its breath as I opened to the first page.

Frayer gasped as her eyes landed on the same project that she’d been working on upstairs.

“Fray, we’re gonna be ok,” I put my arm round her and kissed her shoulder. I knew I believed it now. We were going to be ok.