New Animal Ella Baxter (best books to read non fiction txt) 📖

where I lay it out on the bed. I stuff it with a pillow. Then I take the pillow out and put the dress on. I take it off. It brings no peace.

I run to the fridge in the main house and pull out the lump of marzipan that she rolls each piece of fruit from. I carry it back to the bungalow with both hands and sit on the edge of the bed, tearing off chunks and cramming them into my mouth until my lips can’t close. I chew and swallow, then break off another piece and mould it into the shape of a woman. Wide hips, pointy breasts, hugging arms. I eat the woman head first, but it brings no comfort. No peace at all.

I get a pair of her favourite earrings, long beaded chandeliers. I put each under my bra strap, either side of my ribcage. I want the physical dent of them; I need to wake up with a pattern on each side of my body like pressed tin. I need to have her things near me. I need to have her near me. I need.

CHAPTER FIVE

In the early hours of the morning, Vincent sends a group message reminding us that Cherie Reynal’s funeral is on in a few hours. He adds that we will hold my mother’s funeral in two days’ time. He then sends another message saying he’s sorry if the timing is insensitive, but we need to organise everything asap. Hugh messages to say that he will help out tomorrow and advises us to focus not on the things we can’t control but on the things that we can. Carmen sends a message saying how sorry she is for our loss, and how she loved our mother’s throaty laugh. Judy sends an animated heart. Vincent sends another message saying that it’s important to support each other in this difficult time. He forwards a link to a grief counsellor, and then sends a picture of our mother riding a bike in the sun. Simon doesn’t reply, and I throw my phone across the bed.

When I absolutely must, I pull on a dress and stamp my feet into some flat shoes before leaning against the wall, exhausted. Whenever I have felt this awful in the past, my mother was there to support me with hugs, and even though I don’t love them, I would happily cut off my own hand for one right now. If I let myself, I could stay leaning against this wall all day, breathing and creaking like another piece of the house. Vincent could have cancelled Cherie Reynal’s funeral, repaid the deposit and lost a few dollars. We could have had a whole day to mourn our loss, to cry alone or together. Anything but go to work as normal. The thought of Cherie at work, waiting, hurts. But I need to go in, and so here I am, two earrings still pressed into my body, deodorant on, packed and ready. But he could have cancelled, we all know it.

‘I should brush my teeth,’ I say aloud, before taking seventeen long, slow breaths.

‘Go to work,’ I say, willing it to happen. ‘Pick up your bag and go to work.’

Judy is sitting at the desk stapling pamphlets, and as I trudge in she bursts into tears. She brushes her hand along my leg as I trudge past her into the back office, and again when I return, sipping my water bottle and staring absently at the apricot trees. When I trudge back over to her desk and put the bottle down, she immediately puts two fingers over my thumb.

‘How are you going inside that head of yours?’

‘I’m compartmentalising every moment,’ I say, moving my hand away.

She hands me an invoice for coffee pods, and I sign the sheet while she slides her puffy foot out of one Swedish clog and places it over my shoe. She loves the clogs, even though they give her blisters and make her sound like a Shetland pony walking across cobblestones.

‘Judy, are you going to keep touching me like this?’

She nods.

‘I don’t need it,’ I say. ‘It’s unnecessary.’

‘I think you do need it, and Josephine would have wanted me to look after you. Putting things in boxes won’t cut the mustard in the long run.’ She lifts her hand to cup my chin, and then starts to cry again.

Reaching into the top of her tunic, she takes out a sodden tissue from her bra strap and blows her nose into it. She then folds the tissue in half and wipes her eyes. I lift my arm to touch her, because it appears to be her love language, but before I’ve made contact she’s hugging the tops of my legs sideways, resting her forehead on my hip.

I pat her on the back a few times. ‘Remember, the shoe that fits one person pinches another,’ I say. This is written on a post-it note near the photocopier. She nods through a sniffle and I give her shoulder a firm rub.

Hugh steps out of the back office dressed in a pair of formal suit pants and a checked shirt. He has brushed his hair, and his face is pink from shaving. He looks surprised to see me.

‘Vincent didn’t hear back from you last night, so he’s done Cherie’s make-up himself.’

No. I shake my head. That can’t be right. He wouldn’t.

‘Mr Reynal came in early to drop off her make-up bag, but Vince says he’s already finished.’

Simon walks out of the office with a mug of black coffee and a piece of toast. He’s wearing our mother’s red silk scarf and a few of her silver bracelets.

‘We’ve told him it’s against regulation, but he’s being an absolute nightmare,’ Simon says, waving his mug towards the prep room. ‘I really can’t deal with him right now.’

We all watch as he throws his head back and drains his coffee.

He swallows, then says, ‘Also, Carmen and