Val McDermid - The Vanishing Point

‘In Spain? Why? What happened?’

‘They had a major bust-up. Leanne decided she needed to have a come-to-Jesus talk with Scarlett about the importance of family as far as bringing up Jimmy is concerned. Scarlett told her that it was already arranged and you are taking care of the kid. There was a bit of to-ing and fro-ing, then Leanne accused you of being a gold-digger. That you’ve only ever been interested in what you could make out of Scarlett and you only agreed to take the kid on because of his inheritance.’

‘Ouch. Cheeky bitch. I hope Scarlett didn’t fall for that.’ I was genuinely outraged.

Simon smiled and patted my hand. ‘Not for a nanosecond. She told Leanne not to judge other people by her own shitty motives. That she knew Leanne would stop at nothing to get what she wanted and she, Scarlett, had made bloody sure that she wouldn’t get her clutches on Jimmy. Because if anybody was looking at Jimmy as a meal ticket, it’s Leanne. And why didn’t Leanne fuck off back to Spain instead of hanging round like a fucking vulture?’

‘Ah. Not a friendly parting then?’

‘Anything but. Leanne flounced out and got straight online.

I took her up to Stansted yesterday morning. She was still sulking. She gave me hell for not weighing in on her side.’ He looked plaintive. ‘When I told her I thought Scarlett had made the right choice, she looked like she wanted to stab me. She had a few choice words for me, too. I tried to explain that it was not actually helping my career for me to take a leave of absence to care for Scarlett, but she kept on about me wanting to become the doctor to the stars.’

I gave a bitter laugh. ‘She really has no idea how the world works.’

‘None whatsoever. Me, I’d pay money not to become doctor to the stars. Scarlett’s the exception. Mostly they are egocentric monsters. Anyway, Leanne has revealed her true colours. So the poker school is down to three.’

Which was fine by me, now that I knew what Leanne really thought of me. So the world had contracted to four of us revolving like satellites round Scarlett. Jimmy was the bewildered one, not really understanding what was going on and why Mummy was spending most of her time in bed. Scarlett tried to conserve energy for him every day, but the nearer she came to death, the harder it became. In the final few days, it was all she could manage to snuggle with him while he watched cartoons in bed with her.

When he wasn’t at nursery, one of us would take charge of him. We’d play in the pool, kick a ball round the garden, watch videos or build rambling Lego structures across his bedroom floor. I used to sit on the window seat with him and work my way through his collection of picture books. I think he found me quite comforting to be with. When I look back on those few weeks, it’s with a mixture of sadness and contentment; I think I did him a bit of good and built a bridge into our future.

The only interruption to our routine came when the team from Yes! magazine turned up for the final photo shoot, complete with stylist and make-up artist. I know there were people who thought it was pretty sick, but Scarlett wanted the world to see what a woman dying of cancer looked like. ‘We shut sick people away so we don’t have to confront the fact that we’re all going to die,’ she said. ‘I want to show them that I’m still a human being, still the woman I always was.’ Then that achingly sad smile. ‘And it’s a few extra quid in the coffers,’ she added.

When the end came, it was very peaceful. We were all in the room when Simon loaded up the last bolus of saline and refilled the morphine pump. Jimmy kissed Scarlett and gave her a last cuddle. I held her in my arms for the last time, unstoppable tears running down my face. Her courage in the face of impending death had been remarkable. The final act of a remarkable woman. I walked Jimmy out of the room and took him to bed.

I was still sitting in his room, watching him sleep, when Simon came through to tell me it was all over. I stood up and wrapped my arms round him as he shook with the force of his tears. ‘I’m sorry,’ he kept saying. ‘If only I could have saved her . . . I’m sorry.’

‘You did your best. Nobody could have given her better care.’

‘She was special,’ he gulped. He drew away from me, folding his arms over his chest, hands on his shaking shoulders. Somehow, he pulled himself together. ‘I need to call the funeral director,’ he said. ‘They’ll take her away and prepare her. And I need to sign the death certificate.’ He bit his lip. ‘I’ve lost my share of patients, Stephanie,’ he said, ‘but I don’t think I ever minded more.’

44

The funeral was a circus. A perfectly orchestrated circus, but a circus nevertheless. Scarlett had left detailed instructions which it fell to George and me to carry out. And carry them out we did, even though our teeth were gritted for most of the time.

The media were frustrated by the lack of a grieving relict. We knew they would dog our every step until they got something for the front page, so we arranged for them to have a single pool photographer take a series of shots of Jimmy carrying a posy of flowers into the funeral parlour where his mother was laid out. In his second black suit of the year, he walked in with bowed head, not quite five and already apparently master of his own public image.

Once the media had the pics they wanted, they decamped from the hacienda. There was nothing to see now Scarlett was gone, after all. Their place by the side of the country lane was swiftly taken by the tributes left by Scarlett’s army of fans. Bunches of flowers, cards and soft toys soon covered the verges and we all prayed that the rain would stay away. Banks of sodden tributes would be an eyesore that would provoke complaints to the council from the other residents of the lane, who had never approved of Scarlett or what she brought in her wake. It would be one more hassle we could do without.

The grown-ups went for a viewing before they closed the coffin. I barely glanced at her; I’ve never understood the need to mourn with the dead in your eyeline. From what I saw, they’d done a good job on her. She looked less gaunt than I expected, and Marina had chosen one of her signature hats to cover her baldness, the deep watermelon shade giving a welcome splash of colour to the interior of the woven willow coffin. ‘It looks like we’re sending her off in a giant picnic basket,’ George said.

‘It’s what she wanted,’ Simon said. ‘She cared about the planet. Even if she wasn’t going to be here, Jimmy’s got to grow up in this world.’

George sighed. ‘I know, I know. It just looks . . . odd, that’s all. I’m accustomed to a more traditional look.’

On the day of the funeral, George arranged for a driver to collect Scarlett’s mother and sister from King’s Cross Station. To her final days Scarlett had been adamant that she didn’t want Chrissie and Jade at her bedside. She didn’t want them to so much as set foot in her house. The instructions were to provide them with first-class return tickets from Leeds and a hotel room if they needed to stay overnight. George had booked them into a decent hotel near King’s Cross. In an act that would have made Scarlett smile, he’d chosen one that had no bar or restaurant.

Marina, Jimmy and I were taken from the hacienda to the nearby funeral home by 1940s black Rolls Royce. I couldn’t help feeling that Leanne should have been with us, but she hadn’t turned up. The day after Scarlett’s death, Simon said he’d called to try and persuade her to put the rift behind her and pay her last respects with the rest of us. But Leanne had been adamant that Scarlett hadn’t wanted her there, so she would stay away. She wasn’t going to be two-faced about it. It seemed a sad end to what had been one of the few important relationships in Scarlett’s life.