The Kicking the Bucket List: The feelgood bestseller of 2017

‘I did.’

‘Did she contact you or you her?’ asked Rose.

‘She contacted me.’

‘When?’

‘March or April this year – yes, late March I think it was. She said she’d been thinking a lot about her life, what she’d achieved and what she hadn’t.’ He stopped for a moment and regarded us all, each in turn. ‘She cared deeply that you should all be happy in your lives, and she regretted that you are no longer close.’

‘Yes, yes, we know all this. We’ve had the letter,’ said Rose.

‘Rose, no need to be abrupt,’ said Fleur. ‘Let the man speak.’

‘I just want to get on with it, whatever it is,’ said Rose.

Daniel nodded. ‘I understand. I also understand that this must be unusual for you all – not what you expected.’

‘You can say that again,’ said Rose.

Daniel gave her a brief nod. ‘I’ll do my best not to waste your time. In short, she devised a list of activities for the year. She did it with her friends, Jean and Martha,’ he looked at Rose again, ‘but I expect you know that much. She asked that I bring it to life, like an events manager – that’s my part. No more. I’m not here to comment or prove anything to you or to advise, merely to put her programme in place. Whatever else happens is strictly between you and your late mother.’

‘So what’s first?’ asked Rose.

Daniel reached into his briefcase and pulled out an Apple MacBook Air, which he placed on the table in front of us. ‘A recording from your mother.’

There was an audible gasp from all of us. ‘What! From Mum?’ I asked, ‘I mean with Mum in it?’

Daniel smiled and nodded. He really did have a nice smile. I smiled back.

‘That’s wonderful,’ I said.

Rose let out a breath. ‘Let’s hear what she has to say first.’

‘I think it’s wonderful too,’ said Fleur. ‘We never thought we’d hear her voice again.’

‘It’s not just her, Martha and Jean have taken part too,’ said Daniel. ‘Shall I turn it on?’

‘Please,’ said Rose, as if giving a command to a waiter.

I wished she’d lighten up a bit. Don’t shoot the messenger, I thought.

‘OK. Here we go. Don’t shoot the messenger,’ said Daniel as he pressed his keyboard and found a folder.

‘I was just thinking that,’ I said and laughed.

Fleur rolled her eyes. ‘Yeah sure.’

‘I was.’

Any further conversation was cut short when an image of Mum appeared on the laptop. My eyes welled up with tears at the sight of her. A little bird, she’d become so frail in her last year, her white hair tied up in some sort of red polka-dot turban. She was sitting on a sofa in her living room at the bungalow at the retirement village, and by her side were Jean and Martha. Three little birds. They were all grinning like kids who were bursting with a secret to tell.

‘Is it on?’ Mum said to someone off screen. Daniel, I assumed. ‘Yes. Right.’ She turned, looked directly into the camera and beamed at us. I couldn’t help but beam back. I was so pleased to see her. ‘Hello dollies,’ she said, using her old term of endearment. ‘Met Daniel have you? Don’t shoot the messenger, especially you Rose. Don’t give him a hard time. He’s only doing his job.’

I glanced at Daniel and our eyes met. Twinkle. Acknowledgement. Nice. Take that Fleur, I thought as I turned back to the screen. I looked closer and saw that the three of them had knotted their scarves on top of their heads, like housewives from the 1950s. Mum had a mop in her hand, Jean had a duster, and Martha a can of furniture polish. They held their items up near their faces in the manner of women in post-Second World War advertisements, then they all did a cheesy smile.

I laughed. Fleur gave me a look as if to say, what the …?

‘So, our outfits,’ said Mum as she looked back to the camera. ‘I’ll get to that in a moment. By now, you’ll have had my letter from Mr Richardson and know that I want you to follow my list for a year. Oh, I do hope you’re all there and one of you isn’t being awkward. It might seem a bit odd, but I am doing this for you, really I am.’

‘We want to pass on a wee bit of what we’ve learnt in our lives,’ said Jean.

‘Our very long lives,’ Mum added.

‘Yes, true,’ said Martha. ‘We’re all in our eighties now. None of us knows who will go first, but one knows that it’s inevitable that it might be soon. As the saying goes, nothing more certain than death, nothing more uncertain than the hour.’

‘Wuhooooo,’ said Jean, and lifted her hands up into the air as if mimicking a spirit rising.

‘Cheerful,’ said Mum.

‘I know, that’s me,’ said Martha with a smile, ‘but it’s a fact. Anyway, as you probably know from Iris, we’ve all been reading up about the afterlife and what’s next—’

To her side, Jean slashed at her neck with the tips of her fingers, acting out having her throat cut, then she shut her eyes, let her head loll to one side and stuck her tongue out.

Fleur and I burst out laughing, and even Daniel chuckled. Jean was always mucking about when we were growing up. It was good to see she hadn’t changed in her later years.

‘But I felt more concerned about this life,’ Mum interrupted. ‘I want no regrets when I go, and my major regret is you three not getting on. And I wonder if you’re all happy with the choices you’ve made. I know the world news is grim at the moment, it breaks my heart to hear what man is doing to man, and I worry how my girls are going to survive through it all, the anger and hatred you see every time you turn on the TV. That’s partly why I want you to follow my list. Sometimes you have to work hard to rise above the sorrows of the day, with what’s happening to you as individuals, but also what’s happening on a grander scale in the world at large. What I propose in the programme we have devised is my true legacy – not the money, though you will get that later, but ultimately it can’t buy what I want for you.’

‘It can pay the heating and health bills, though, so we’re not knocking it,’ said Jean.

‘Happiness doesn’t come from possessions or the material. One has to go deeper,’ added Martha.

I glanced over at Fleur and wondered how she felt about what they were saying. Her face gave nothing away. Rose’s left foot was twitching as it always did when she was uncomfortable.

‘I’m leaving this list so that you can explore, to a small degree, where happiness lies. To go forward with hope in your heart. Hah. If I was in better voice, I’d cue to a song right now.’

‘Dance on through the din, dance on through the pain—’ Jean sang blissfully out of tune.

Martha crossed her eyes and pulled a horrified face.

‘Wrong lyrics, Jean,’ said Mum. ‘But you know what we’re saying. Listen to songs that lift your heart, be with people who inspire you, go to places where you feel peace, cherish the ones you love.’

‘Indeed. Choice not chance determines destiny,’ said Martha. ‘And if you’re in a good frame of mind, if you’re happy, then it is easier to react to whatever life throws at you.’

‘So choose happiness when you can,’ continued Mum, ‘and I hope the methods we’ve arranged for you to look at in the coming months will go some way to help you do that.’

‘I’ve known you all your lives,’ said Jean, ‘since you were wee girls. What we want to say to you is: don’t waste your time with arguments, don’t miss out on the friendship of sisterhood because of petty disagreements or distance or whatever it is you tell yourselves to keep you all apart. I remember you when you were close when you were younger, even if you don’t. Give yourselves a chance to be close again.’

Mum nodded. ‘And follow your dreams. Make time for them.’

‘Do any of you have dreams, goals, things you’d still like to do?’ asked Jean. ‘Regrets about things you never did or said? Make time while you still have your health and movement. You don’t appreciate it until it’s gone. To have a healthy body means that you are free. Don’t underestimate that freedom.’

All three of them nodded at that. I thought about my dream – to be a successful and respected artist. I’d started out with such enthusiasm, but in recent years settled for just getting by.

‘The list looks at some of the different approaches to finding happiness,’ said Martha. ‘Of course, that happiness can be random, just comes across you some days out of the blue—’

‘Days of grace,’ Jean interrupted. ‘That’s what I used to call those times.’

‘But there are times when one needs a helping hand,’ Martha continued.

‘Yes,’ said Mum. ‘Like Rose: you work so hard, but I wonder if you ever get to enjoy the lifestyle you’ve worked to create. Kick back, baby girl, don’t always feel you have to be in charge. Enjoy time with Hugh and your children and let some of your feelings out before they make you ill. You know the saying – disease is really dis-ease. Learn to be at ease, Rose. And you Dee, you keep so much of what you’re feeling inside. You were always the peacemaker, but at what price? You’ve hidden away much of your true potential. Be the expressive soul you were meant to be. Bugger what the others think. Fleur, you took flight so early into a bad marriage and to live abroad. But where are your friends now? I rarely hear you speak of them.’ She looked at Martha and Jean with such tenderness. ‘Friends are priceless; as everything else slips away and no longer seems to matter, your friendships will. Cherish them, nurture them. You three have sisters, find the friendship you had with them again.’

‘No pressure then,’ said Fleur.

‘Shh,’ whispered Rose. I noticed her eyes were shiny, wet with tears, which was unlike Rose who, as Mum had said, was so in control of her emotions as well as everything else.

‘So. Cleaning,’ Mum continued from the screen. She brandished the mop. ‘That’s what this first weekend is about. Don’t worry, you don’t have to do any. It’s about giving the insides a clean, and we thought three different methods would be a good start to kick off with. The three approaches are: the emotional, the physical and the spiritual. First you will be starting with a session with a counsellor to get you all talking to each other. Clean out what you’ve all been holding back.’ She brandished her mop.

Rose and Fleur groaned.

‘No, don’t groan,’ said Mum.

I laughed nervously. This is spooky, I thought, like she’s here in the room.

‘You’ve got a lot to say to each other. You’ve all been bottling it up inside. Get it out, get rid, you’ll feel better for it,’ Mum continued.

‘Session two is colonic irrigation,’ said Jean.

‘What?’ gasped Rose.

‘Martha’s idea,’ said Mum with a chuckle. ‘Clear the crap. Great for the skin apparently.’

‘And lastly, tomorrow,’ said Martha, ‘a meditation session to clear out the negative thoughts, or at least go beyond them to find some peace inside. I found it very helpful when I was younger and living in India.’

‘Me too. But not in India,’ said Mum. ‘I know, this is probably not what you expected, but none of the weekends will be. We’ve tried to make it a varied programme with a few surprises. And the reason we want you to explore the different ways to be happy is simply because we wish you happiness. So. That’s it, I think.’ She looked at her friends. ‘Anything to add?’ They both shook their heads so Mum turned back to the camera. ‘OK. Good. Excellent. See you in a couple of months.’

The three of them went back into their 1950s ad pose, held it for a moment, then the screen went blank.

Daniel turned to Rose, Fleur and me, then handed us each a sheet of paper. ‘Your schedule for this weekend is on there, as well as my mobile number. Please call if you have any further questions. Oh and I must mention that, as well as the weekends, Iris asked me to send you the occasional message—’

‘From you or her?’ asked Rose.

‘From her. You should have already got one – about being a winner not a loser?’

‘I wondered who that was from,’ said Fleur.

‘I thought it was from Anna,’ I said.

‘Rose?’ asked Daniel.

‘I got it. How many will there be? What are they about?’

‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to disclose that. Iris wanted them to be a surprise.’

Rose let out a heavy sigh. ‘I hate surprises.’

‘I don’t,’ said Fleur. ‘I love them.’ She looked at Daniel flirtatiously but it was hard to read his reaction.

‘If you could confirm I have the right email addresses too, please. Apart from that, your first session today is at eleven,’ Daniel continued. ‘Second is at two this afternoon. The evening is for relaxation and leisure, and tomorrow the meditation session starts at ten.’ He stood. ‘I know it’s a lot to take in, so I’ll give you some privacy to talk about the recording. Have a nice day and I’ll see you tomorrow morning – and may I say how much I am looking forward to working with you on your mother’s last wishes.’ He picked up his laptop and briefcase and gave us a slight bow. ‘Until later.’

*

‘And may I say how much I am looking forward to working with you,’ said Fleur in a perfect impression of Daniel’s south London accent after the door had closed behind him. She’d always been a good mimic, another talent to add to her already long list.

‘I take it you didn’t like him?’ I asked.

Fleur gave me a look to say, isn’t that obvious? ‘Too silky smooth. I bet you do, though. He’s just your type.’

‘He is not. Why do you say that?’

‘I know you. He’s Mr Touchy-Feely.’ She went into her Daniel impression again. ‘I’m an emotionally intelligent man. Oh, I understand, let me give you some privacy, I am so sympathetic. Your type.’

‘You were the one flirting with him.’

‘It’s always good to keep in practice but, seriously, not interested.’

‘Sounds like the lady doth protest too much.’

‘No, really. I mean, did you see those rubber wristbands? So pretentious. You don’t even have to believe in the cause because your bracelet says it for you. They say I support charities. I support meaningful causes. Right on, brother, and all that.’

‘What’s wrong with that?’

‘I think the people that really do something don’t flaunt it. They just do it, quietly, sans bracelet, sans advertisement to the world that says they are one of the good guys.’

I didn’t tell her that up until a month ago I’d worn two bracelets from charities I supported. ‘No more than wearing a pink ribbon for breast cancer awareness or a poppy on Remembrance Day.’

‘Oh knock it off you two,’ said Rose. ‘What does it matter if he wears bracelets? As Mum said, don’t shoot the messenger.’

‘What did you think of him, Rose?’ I asked.

‘It doesn’t really matter what I think, does it? We’re doing this for Mum, though I did think he was a bit full of himself. Smug. Probably because he knows what we’re in for.’

‘Your type?’ asked Fleur.

Rose gave her a withering look by way of reply.

‘And what about Mum’s programme of events?’ I asked.

‘Ridiculous. Colonic irrigation as a way to explore happiness? Seriously?’ said Rose. ‘I think perhaps Mum was on some weird medication when she thought this up, because frankly it’s bordering on insane. I mean, come on, a dead woman sends her three daughters to have colonic irrigation as one of the conditions of her will. It’s mad.’

Fleur laughed. ‘I agree, it does sound a bit bonkers when you put it like that. I thought we’d be doing happy things, seeing as it’s supposed to be an exploration of how to be happy.’

‘Like what?’ I asked.

‘What makes anyone happy? Looking at flowers. Skipping in sunlit fields. Eating cupcakes. Drinking champagne. Buying shoes.’

Rose looked at her as if she was deranged. ‘Buying shoes?’

‘Oh, I don’t know, but having a colonic would definitely not be top of my “how to be happy” list.’

‘Maybe she’s punishing us for not seeing each other?’ I suggested.

Fleur suddenly burst out laughing.

Rose turned to her. ‘Why is that funny?’

‘I’ve just realized the inference. Why she’s done it. Mum was saying we’re full of shit.’

Fair point, I thought.

‘In that case, our mother might have been eighty-seven but she was surprisingly immature,’ said Rose. ‘I suppose she thought it was funny too.’

‘She probably did,’ I said.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Fleur. ‘I’ve had colonics. They’re not so bad. Your skin will glow and your eyes will sparkle. Doesn’t hurt. Might even do us some good.’

‘And this is supposed to bring us together how?’ asked Rose.

‘I can see the sense of it, sort of,’ I said. ‘A clear-out is always a good thing. Like clearing the leaves out of drains, get rid of the rubbish and you get to the clear water underneath.’

Rose raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Typical of you to say something like that. Did you hear it at one of your New Age workshops down in Cornwall?’

‘No, but I do tell my art students that when they feel that their work isn’t going well. In any creative venture, you always have to clear the gunk first. Don’t you tell your writers that?’

‘No. I tell them to rewrite.’

‘Same thing, sort of.’

But I’d lost Rose’s attention. As far as she was concerned, she was the only one whose opinion mattered when it came to being creative. She glanced at her watch. ‘There are so many other things I could be doing with this weekend. I’m going to my room. I’ll see you for the first session at eleven.’

With that, she turned and walked off.

Fleur sighed and took the paper from me. ‘Ah. Happy days,’ she said as she glanced at it, then left the room and took off in the direction of the bar.

9

Saturday 10 October

At 11 a.m., the three of us trooped back to the library for the first session, where our counsellor was already waiting. She looked to be in her sixties, a large woman with silver hair past her shoulders, chunky amber jewellery, layered clothes the colours of autumn: ochre, brown and orange, and a pair of wide, comfy shoes, the kind bought by older people with bunions. Fleur would probably comment later on her bosom and need for a good bra – an over-shoulder boulder-holder, she used to call them.

The counsellor introduced herself as Beverly. She spoke with an American accent, East Coast – possibly a New Yorker. ‘I met your mother on several occasions when she came and stayed here in her younger days,’ she said.

‘Our mother actually came here?’ asked Rose.

Beverly nodded. ‘She did. She attended a few of the workshops I ran over the years. She contacted me earlier in the year and told me she was putting together a list of activities for you and asked if I would meet with you as part if it. I suggest that we begin by introducing ourselves. Would one of you like to start?’

‘We’re sisters,’ said Rose. ‘We grew up in the same house. We don’t need any introduction.’

Beverly regarded her for a few seconds. She had a very direct gaze. ‘I do this with all my clients, even the married ones. We so often think we know each other, but actually there’s always something new we can learn. Rose, why don’t you go first? Tell us a little about yourself.’

Ha-ha. Take that Rose, I thought.

Rose gave a tight smile and, without looking at Fleur or me, began to speak. ‘My name’s Rose Edwards. I live in Highgate, London. I’m fifty-one years old. Two children. One husband. I work in publishing.’

‘Speak to Fleur and Dee, Rose.’

Rose turned in her seat. ‘What do you want to know?’ she asked through gritted teeth.

‘How do you feel about being here, Rose?’ asked Beverly.

The look Rose gave Beverly almost made me laugh. I knew it so well. Her ‘I won’t be bossed around and you watch your step missie’ face. Beverly reflected it right back. This could be fun, I thought as I settled in my chair as Rose continued. ‘I feel frustrated. I don’t want to be here. I have better things to do with my time.’

‘Good,’ said Beverly. If Rose was expecting an argument, she wasn’t going to get one. ‘Now you Daisy.’

I turned to look at Fleur and Rose. ‘Mum was the only one who called me Daisy. I’m Dee McDonald. Forty-nine. Divorced, presently single. One daughter, doing well, and thanks to both of you for asking about her. OK, we might have fallen out but she’s still your niece.’

‘Mum always let us know how she’s doing. Anyway, we’re in touch on Facebook,’ said Fleur.

‘You are?’ Ouch. That was news to me and hurt. Lucy hadn’t accepted me as her Facebook friend, but then ours had never been an easy relationship and we’d often been at war with each other when she was growing up. We weren’t close like Mum and I had been, though I hadn’t given up hope that one day we might be. Lucy was wilful and stubborn as a child, ran wild in her teenage years, and her opinions often clashed with mine. As soon as she left school at eighteen, she was out the door and went to get a job in London and live with her aunt, Andy’s sister. She’d lasted less than a year there, then went to live in Byron Bay in Australia, near her father, who she adored and who could do no wrong. We Skyped regularly, but letting me see her Facebook page was a no-no as far as she was concerned.

‘Yes. She often messages me,’ said Fleur. Turn the knife, why don’t you Fleur? I thought.

‘Let Dee speak,’ said Beverly. ‘How do you feel about being here Dee?’

‘I was feeling great, but now I feel insulted that my sister Rose feels she has better things to do with her time than be here with Fleur and me. I think the least we can do is try to approach things with a positive attitude.’ What I didn’t say was that I was gutted that Lucy and Fleur were friends on Facebook and I’d been left out. It felt too familiar, reminiscent of times with Fleur and Rose when I’d been excluded from their various groups of friends.

Rose rolled her eyes.

‘Good,’ said Beverly. Good? Is she mad? I wondered. You could cut the atmosphere in here with a knife. ‘And lastly, Fleur.’

‘Fleur Parker. Youngest. Married twice. Presently single. Nicest of the three.’ She grinned at Beverly.

‘Don’t hide your feelings behind jokes and charm, Fleur. How do you feel about being here?’

‘Actually I feel good,’ she replied, and turned to look at Rose and me. ‘I think the stupid standoff has gone on long enough and it’s time to make up. We’ve just lost our mother. It’s a time to be with family.’

If it’s not too late, I thought.

‘We were never close,’ said Rose.

‘Yes we were. We were. I remember loads of good times with both of you. You have a selective memory, Rose. I’ve missed you both.’

I was surprised to hear this. Fleur had always been so independent, and never appeared to need anyone, except in her thirties when she’d gone through a bad patch with alcohol. She used to call in the early hours of the morning when she’d been drinking to bemoan about some relationship or other, but mainly to berate me for not being there for her, as if she was the only one who ever had problems. Rose had had many years of the same phone calls, and both of us had grown weary of them and taken to putting the answering machine on after ten in the evening.

‘I do have a selective memory,’ said Rose. ‘And that is why we’re not close – because I remember what you can be like.’

Beverly nodded. ‘Fleur’s turn, Rose.’

‘People change,’ said Fleur, ‘conquer demons.’

‘Do they?’ Rose replied.

‘Not you apparently,’ said Fleur.

‘Meaning?’

‘You haven’t changed at all. Still judging, sitting on your high and mighty throne with no compassion.’

Ooh, that’s harsh, I thought, though had to agree. Rose could be heartless.

‘OK, good,’ said Beverly. ‘We’ve broken the ice a little. Now I want each of you to use three words to describe your sisters. Positive words. This time we’ll start with you, Fleur. Three words about Rose.’

Fleur looked at Rose then back at Beverly. ‘Three?’