A Song for Issy Bradley by Carys Bray

Author:Carys Bray
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Random House UK, Cornerstone

“PLEASE FORGIVE ME for being untruthful and please bless me to carry on. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.”

Ian waits beside the bed, hoping for an immediate answer. All he hears is an echo of his own words—“Carry on, carry on, carry on”—and it is enough to keep him going; if he doesn’t get into bed he will fall asleep on his knees.

He climbs in carefully and Jacob shifts and rolls closer as the mattress dips, air beating out of his mouth in shallow, sour puffs. Ian remembers how it was when the children were babies and their milky breath blew through bare gums, he remembers Issy occasionally lying between him and Claire when she wasn’t well or she’d had a bad dream, and he reaches for Jacob’s hand, trying to find the right tightness of grip, one that won’t wake him but will hold him fast to mortality.

Jacob persistently arrows toward the center of the bed, no matter how often Ian gently repositions him, and at five o’clock, when there’s no longer any point in trying to sleep, Ian climbs out, pulls on yesterday’s clothes, and tiptoes down to the kitchen. He makes the sandwiches and loads the washing machine. The kitchen smells strange, like rotting and something else, something burned. It’s probably the sympathy flowers; their crispy petals dot the countertops like confetti and the ribs of the leaves are showing. He opens the back door and carries the flowers out to the green garden-waste bin, bunch by bunch. He puts the empty vases and buckets next to the sink to wash later and wipes the countertops clean. The room feels empty and bereft.

When the children come down, he tells them to sit at the kitchen table.

“Mum isn’t feeling well at the moment. She’s very … tired because of everything that’s happened. If people ask where she is, you can say she’s not feeling very well, but I don’t want you to say she’s in bed—we’ll keep that bit a secret in case people think she’s lazy, which she isn’t. Understand?”

They all nod.

“Now, what cereal do you want?”

“Shreddies.”

“Oh, I forgot to buy a new box on the way back from Home Teaching.”

Jacob starts to cry and Alma calls him a big girl.

“I’m a girl,” Zipporah says. “And I’m not crying, so what’s your point?”

“A proper girl would’ve done a better job of washing the clothes.”

Ian’s head is fuzzy from lack of sleep and he’s not up to refereeing a fight so he tells them to eat in silence or leave the room.

Later, as Zipporah is leaving for the bus, she turns and says, “Dad, can I stay at Lauren’s tonight?” She looks like she is expecting a firm “No,” and Ian is about to refuse when he realizes he’d rather not. She’s been so good about keeping up with the laundry and the washing-up, and if Claire doesn’t get out of bed next week and the Relief Society meals stop coming there’ll be the cooking to do too.

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