It’s rush hour on the London to Solihull train, there are suits everywhere. Singles slump into their seat with the relief of the days’ end, whilst colleagues continue with the office chat. Whose at the meeting tomorrow. Did you notice how long they were gone today, you know the score.
And here I am, a sore thumb sticking out. My suitcase on one seat and me squeezed into the other. Yeah yeah I know what you’re thinking but it was too big to go overhead and there wasn’t a suitcase rack. I think I’ve got on the cheaper train today. Dirty windows. Cramped leg room. Well put it this way, it’s not one of Richard’s Virgins that’s for sure.
Oh no. That’s disgusting. Lunchtime drinking hey, it’s a killer every time. Come on guys please. At least try some gum or aftershave or something. That does make me wonder though. Don’t they have friends to tell them they smell? The booze oozing suit from yesterday certainly didn’t.
By the way, I don’t have anything against people wearing suits. I don’t like wearing them myself but I do enjoy them. Many a fine moment my eyes have been allowed to gaze a little too long on a fit tailored number. But when I say ‘suit’ you know exactly what I mean. If I’m honest I simply can’t be bothered saying ‘professional workers’ every time.
Oh my god, the guy next to me has really hairy knuckles.
So I’m heading to a funeral. It’s my Nana’s. In the morning. It’s a weird one really because I’m not entirely sure how I feel. I mean I know I feel sad. She was an amazing Nana. But it’s more than that. There’s something else.
I’ll always remember Nana as the one that made me smile. Nana would always have treats for us. Give us special attention every time we saw her. She always had that soft feminine Nana smell. Gave the best hugs, really tight so you could hardly breathe. I’ll miss those hugs. Nana was a dancer, an elegant dancer. She fed honey to an injured bumble bee. Would nurse sick birds. Tortoises. Rabbits. Newts. Tadpoles. That was the kind of Nana she was. I will miss Nana. I will miss Nana a lot. That’s normal. I don’t think it’s that.
Things are different now. I’m a daughter again. I haven’t been a daughter for over 20 years. We’re a family again. Me, Will and Dad. Now we support each other, we support Dad. Being there for him when he needs to talk. Checking in to see if he needs anything. To listen. To support. That’s what you do. So I don’t think it’s that.
Maybe it’s this. Maybe it’s Nana dying on Mum’s birthday. The day to celebrate Mum getting older. Mum would’ve been 45 today. 55 and 60. The day where I imagine how she would’ve celebrated. What crazy adventure she would’ve gone on. What party she would’ve thrown. This was a good day. A good day to self indulge, in the make believe world of ‘normality’. Yeah, maybe it’s that.
Welcome to 'emergise' and my blog, 'secret diary of a good girl'. Let me introduce myself, my name is Emma Fairclough and I am a good girl. I am a good girl with a twist.
