points and people taking umbrage all over the place.
I’m so busy thinking, it takes me a moment to realize that Esme is conveying information to me.
‘I’ll take you to the green room,’ she says, ushering me along, ‘then we’ll have a quick rehearsal and soundcheck and you can comb your hair or whatever … not that you need it,’ she adds, giving my hair a sidelong look. ‘It’s amazing, your hair.’
It does look quite spectacular. I took some time off work to have a blow-dry earlier, and it’s been tonged into ringlets, just how Daddy loved it.
‘Thanks.’ I smile back.
‘It must take forever to wash,’ she says next, just as I knew she would.
‘Oh, it’s not too bad,’ I reply, silently predicting her next remark: How long did it take you to grow it?
‘How long did it take you to grow it?’ she asks breathlessly as we turn a corner.
‘I’ve always had really long hair. Just like Rapunzel!’ I add swiftly, pre-empting any Rapunzel remarks. ‘So, is Sinead Brook here yet?’
‘Not yet, but she does have a very busy schedule. She’s lovely,’ Esme adds. ‘Really lovely. She does loads for the hospital. She had her three children here, that’s the connection.’
‘She looks lovely on the TV,’ I say politely.
‘Oh, she’s even more lovely in real life,’ Esme says, so quickly that I instantly wonder if Sinead is in fact a total bitch. ‘Now, I think I’ve planned for everything …’ As she leads me down a hospital corridor, filled with bright art and that antiseptic, hospital smell, her brow is furrowed again. ‘So here’s the green room …’ She ushers me into a tiny room with ‘VISITORS’ printed on the door. ‘You can leave your things here.’
I don’t really have any ‘things’. But to make Esme feel that everything is going to plan, I take off my jacket and put it on a chair. I can see her mentally checking off ‘leave things in green room’ and relaxing a little. Poor Esme. I’ve organized events myself. I know what it’s like.
‘Good!’ she says, and bustles me along the corridor again. ‘So, come this way … and here it is!’ We’ve stopped in a circular area, facing a new-looking set of double doors. There’s a podium and a microphone in front of the doors – and above them is a sign reading ‘The Marcus Lowe Suite’ in the standard hospital blue Helvetica. And as soon I see it, my throat clogs up.
I thought I was prepared for today. I thought I had my mental armour on. But I hadn’t imagined actually seeing Daddy’s name, up there like that.
‘That’s what your dad achieved,’ says Esme gently, and I nod. I don’t dare speak.
I wasn’t going to get emotional, but how do you not get emotional when your father paid for a facility which will help save lives, then lost his own life? The sharp, antiseptic hospital smell everywhere is reminding me of that last, terrible night, three days after the crash, when it became clear that ‘catastrophic’ really did mean ‘catastrophic’.
No. I can’t think about that. Not now.
‘Darling, you’re not going sleeveless?’ Mummy’s voice hails me, and instantly my throat unclogs. Trust Mummy to puncture the moment.
She’s approaching down the corridor with a smooth, suited man whom I’ve met before. He’s called Cedric and he’s in charge of all development so presumably he’s Esme’s boss. He must have been plying Mummy with coffee.
‘No,’ I say defensively. ‘I just took my jacket off for a moment.’
Why shouldn’t I go sleeveless? I want to add. Are you body-shaming me? What if the girls heard you and got a complex? (But, time and place.)
‘Your hair looks good,’ Mummy allows, and I instinctively run a hand through my ringlets.
‘Thanks. You look very nice, too,’ I say in return – and she does, all in mauve with matching shoes. I’m in powder blue, because Daddy loved that colour. ‘Are you all right?’ I add in an undertone, because this is a pretty momentous day and if I’m feeling like I might crumble into bits, what about her?
She nods with a resolutely bright smile. ‘I’m fine, darling. I’ll be fine. Absolutely fine. Although I am rather looking forward to my glass of champagne.’
‘Is the podium all right?’ Esme asks me anxiously.
‘It’s perfect.’ I beam at her, trying to boost her confidence. ‘Everything looks wonderful.’ I step up on to the podium, switch on the mike, and say ‘one-two-one-two’ into it, my voice booming through the speakers.