September 2021, No. 7

I awoke to hear Jadie crying, sleepily I got up and went to the nursery to get her and make my way downstairs, thinking “it can’t be my turn again”. To this day I remember exactly which stair I was on, third one down, as my brain dropped into gear and I was jolted awake with the realisation that it would always be my turn from now on. There was no one else to take a turn, I was on my own and I had two tiny human beings totally reliant upon me. Why on earth had I encouraged Mummy to move to Florida? If she still had our lovely home in London I would have scooped the children up and been on the next plane back to the place I loved best in all the world. I’m not just talking about the house and my London family, but the city itself. 

When I was about nine my brother, then eleven, almost cut off my thumb, accidentally I hasten to add. My Norwegian grandmother had sent him a hunting knife with a fancy handle for a present, which my mother had instantly hidden but of course both my brother and I knew where. One afternoon he decided to risk his mother’s wrath and, having got it out to play with, advanced towards me menacingly. Terrified I grabbed the blade and asked him to stop the game, I didn’t like it. Without thinking he put his arm down but unfortunately I hadn’t let go of the frightening blade. My mother was right to have hidden it, the blade was extremely sharp and it was not a toy for children. It sliced straight through to the bone and I remember staring at the back of my right hand in fascination as my thumb fell to my wrist and blood poured everywhere. I could hear my brother screaming and noted he had run off to get help. I can remember very clearly standing stock still, feeling completely calm and being totally engrossed in looking at the widening wound and watching the blood pour copiously down my arm, there was no pain. It was as though I was watching a scene and not a participant. Then of course there was the dash to the hospital and the discussion of whether or not my thumb could be saved, a simple matter nowadays but not then, my mother was adamant that it would be (my mother’s life long vanity extended to her little girl). Then all the stitches, the bandages, the ride back home and getting me settled and comfortable. Only then, after the event, did it all hit me, the calmness disappeared, the delayed shock and the pain started.

So it was with Daniel’s death. The six weeks of standing by his bedside willing him to get better, the inundation of family and friends, the funeral, the christenings, the mountain of paperwork a death requires, the scattering of the ashes, once again I felt like I was numbly watching a scene unfold. However, standing on that staircase, holding my baby daughter in my arms, the reality of my darling husband’s death hit me like an express train and could not have left me feeling more shattered had that been an actuality. It wasn’t just the overwhelming grief, the horrendous anger induced by a truly beautiful person dying at such a young age, the unfairness of these lovely children never knowing the father that wanted them so much, it was the absolute terror of the future. I had no idea what on earth I was going to do or how I was going to manage, and the feeling of aloneness was almost unbearable.

I realised Jadie had stopped crying as I’d been standing still on the stairs for some minutes, allowing desolation and bereavement wash over me like a tsunami.  Looking at her peaceful face her innocence struck me, I turned to look sideways as though I could see Richard’s face through the wooden wall. Two innocent babies that did not need a miserable, mourning, useless mother to look after them, they deserved better. My multi generational upbringing with a myriad of relations that had lived through both world wars, had taught me that one has to accept adversity and “get on with it”. Certainly Daniel had been taught that a “stiff upper lip” was always expected. I couldn’t let him down, I had to give the children love and happiness and a good education. Fine, that’s the way it had to be, obviously the ostrich method of life needed engaging, I just couldn’t and wouldn’t allow myself to think about it. Take one day at a time, get up in the morning, slap a smile on your face and work hard at all that needed doing and simply try not to think. Yes, that’s the answer, don’t think about it at all, wipe it from your mind, pretend Daniel was simply away doing something else. Now if I could just manage to sleep at night I might actually pull it off.

In fact I have to thank the makers of the British TV series Darling Buds of May and the film Four Weddings and a Funeral. I discovered that by putting a TV and video player in my bedroom and leaving either of those videos on continuous play I could fall asleep. If I woke up they somehow soothed and comforted me with their lovely music and scenery, enough to keep me from thinking but not enough to stop me falling asleep again. It took me a good year to stop falling asleep to them! I was always too frightened to take any kind of sleeping pill, I have an addictive nature and didn’t want to tempt fate.

I followed my advice to the letter and it did work. By using the ‘video’ method to sleep at night and filling my days with noise (to this day I always have an audio book or talking on the radio playing, never silence) I managed to ignore Daniel’s death. Since no one wanted to come to a resort and be reminded of his passing it wasn’t discussed, either by me or the regulars, other than a quick “I’m so sorry…” cut off by me with a “thank you so much and how are you?” By all means change the subject as soon as possible and move on. I did talk about Daniel as a person and his life all the time, especially with the children, but never as though he was dead, always as though he was still very much a part of our lives and very careful not to turn him into some kind of saint. Years later a divorced friend of mine said: “You know what it’s like to be a single parent.” I was incensed: “I am not a single parent, my children have a mother and a father. I never make a decision without considering what he would want, I talk to him all the time!” Guests frequently asked my children where their father was as they talked about him naturally and easily. They were always shocked to hear that he was dead, had in fact been dead for years. Of course how they really felt is their story, I couldn’t possibly say because I cannot imagine what it would be like to grow up without a father.

A month ago my girlfriend’s husband died suddenly and quickly, although not unexpectedly, and she is in deep mourning. She has the luxury of being financially secure and since they didn’t have any children she only has herself to think about. She keeps asking me if her inability to stop crying and move forward is normal: “Was it like this for you?” Obviously not is the answer, I had to “get on with it”. I have often thought my lack of being able to mourn Daniel was not healthy and would come back and bite me in the bottom one day. For years I’d watch the boat come around the head and wonder if he’d alight and run up the beach, confirming my suspicion that it the whole thing had been a big mistake. Even now, after 27 years, if I allow myself to really think about him, how my heart had been broken, my life shattered and then wonder what having a husband and a father to the children would have been like, it still has the ability to devastate me. I’m cynical enough to realise that it might have been a total disaster, but I would have liked the chance to have found out. I’m also shallow enough to think that had I met someone else then I probably would have got over Daniel, but that never happened. The problem is you don’t fall out of love with someone just because they die, so I always felt like I was being unfaithful. I still talk to Daniel regularly and think about him for some reason or other most days. However, it would be fair to say that’s probably because I’m still blaming, and cursing, him for having ended up running his bloody resort for nearly 30 years, the one he decided he didn’t want!

My main objective in November 1994 was to get the accounts up to date, organise some advertising for the next season, manage the finances to last through till next season, make sure we had staff for next season and then pack up and get to my mother’s house in Florida in time for Christmas. I somehow managed it and by mid December was on my way. Having closed up the resort my business partner agreed to open up for the new season, thus we’d be able to stay away until February 1995. Normally I would always fly to the States via Europe but this time I wanted to get there as fast as possible so decided we’d go via Tokyo and Detroit. An horrendous journey with babies but they’d sleep if I timed it right and I’d booked business class as I knew I would be getting an insurance payout.

Daniel’s company had promised me RM500’000.00 as they held life insurance policies on all executive staff. I happen to know for a fact they received RM450’000.00 but I only received RM240’000.00 because they had forgotten to take out any medical insurance for him, so deducted all his many medical bills. I politely asked for the balance because I was going to move back to the UK and would need money. At 40 years of age, with no discernable qualifications, two babies and no where to live I’d need as much help as I could. I still have the wonderful reply they sent informing me that the money I had received “more than adequately compensated for the death of your husband”. To this day it staggers me that anyone thought it was acceptable to actually put those words in black and white, even if they were thinking it. I did sue them because a great lawyer friend of ours insisted, took years and years, and we did win, over RM2 million. Unfortunately we didn’t sue the mother company and they bankrupted the subsidiary company so we never got a penny. First lesson learned, always sue the mother company, second lesson learned, always have more than one company!

I digress as usual, sorry. So having taken off from Singapore I treated the first leg of the journey as day time and played with the children. We landed at Tokyo but instead of being able to stretch our legs and explore I discovered that nothing there is designed to accommodate a double buggy. Consequently we spent the layover playing in the mother’s feeding room off the toilet facilities. I had designated the second leg of the journey as night, even putting on jammies, cleaning teeth and reading a bed time story. Thankfully the lack of exercise in Tokyo hadn’t spoiled my plan and they both went to sleep almost immediately. I was extremely pleased with myself and, breathing a sigh of relief, I relaxed. My children were used to sleeping soundly from 6pm to 7am so this 12 hour flight was going to be easy. Instead of going straight to sleep I enjoyed some food, sipped some fizz and watched a film, secure in the knowledge I would have peace and quiet till we reached Detroit. I really should have gone to straight to sleep and not had any alcohol, one should never tempt fate.  I awoke with start as the captain announced: “Prepare to land in Seattle”. Seattle? I was flying direct to Detroit I anxiously asked the air hostess: “Am I on the wrong plane?”

“Oh no honey, this is the direct flight to Detroit, it’s just not non stop.” I had been a ground hostess and an air hostess and I had never heard of such a nonsense!
“Will we be continuing on the same plane?”

“Yes, same plane, same seats.”

“In that case can we please stay on the plane, hopefully the children will continue sleeping.”
“Oh no honey, you and all your luggage have to come off as you all have to clear Immigration & Customs at the first port of entry.”

I woke the babies, who were grumpily unamused, and we prepared to land, except we didn’t. The worst snow storms in North West America in years caused a diversion to a Canadian airport where we sat on the aircraft on the ground for hours. Finally we took off for Detroit landing just in time to miss the last connection to Fort Myers, Florida, naturally. We didn’t have any winter clothes as I thought were going straight to Florida so we almost froze getting to the hotel. By the time we got there it was nearly 3am, only to be told by the receptionist we’d get a wake up call at 5.30am as we had to be ready to go back to the airport at 6am. Almost on my knees with tiredness by now I asked Richard to amuse himself while I looked after Jadie. Normally such a good boy, he was lovely and quiet and I assumed my little book worm was reading a book as usual. Apparently today was the day he decided reading a book wouldn’t do it for him, he’s try some “experiments” by stuffing every toilet roll he could find down the toilet. I was practically on my knees as we approached the aircraft for the final leg of our journey. Even Richard had had enough of planes: “No Mummy, please ask Bakri to come and get us.” Bakri was our supplies buyer and general factotum and our driver when required.

In those days business class was considered for businessmen and frazzled mothers traveling alone with babies weren’t terribly welcome. As I was sorting our seats out the air hostess putting our hand luggage away muttered something about women traveling without their husbands to help them. I couldn’t help snapping: “I’ll be doing everything alone from now on as my husband just died.” The poor girl, she literally shrank in front of me, and I did feel guilty but seriously, what a thing to say? Beating a rapid retreat she must have told her colleagues because I literally passed out on take off and slept all the way to Fort Myers. On waking the children had gone and I discovered the cabin crew had looked after them happily the whole flight, with Richard regaling them with “stories” of Pulau Sibu, which they could hardly believe!

Apart from wanting my Mummy, always a default position for me when things went awry, I wanted and needed a proper family Christmas and New Year. My mother’s sister and her husband lived next door and their two sons also lived close by with their families. Their daughter and her husband lived in New York but I was hoping they could come as despite the distance my cousin Sylvia and I are very close. Daniel’s father and his partner came from London and my brother and his wife and two children came from France. Consequently we were surrounded by love, happiness and merriment over the festive season and the children had a blast. I honestly can’t remember too much about it except from looking at the photos.

There were two practical things I made sure I did, wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget. I bought some life insurance, because I was so mad that Daniel didn’t have any, and I looked at apartments with a view to possibly moving to Punta Gorda, Florida. One thing was for sure, we wouldn’t be staying in Malaysia.

I also clearly remember two phone calls. The first was mid January 1995 from my business partner informing me we wouldn’t be opening because I’d done the accounts all wrong and there was no money. Now, I might have useless memory for names, I might be rubbish at recalling events, but I never forget a number. I love numbers and ledgers (pre computer days, remember?) and I knew I had not made any mistakes. I told him to find some money and we’d sort it out when I got back but he said he couldn’t so unless I did something we’d remain closed, typical! I made some calls and arranged things but couldn’t stop wondering where on earth the money had gone. When I got back I discovered that Bakri, who had been with us from day one and I trusted absolutely, had “borrowed” it. Apparently he’d got a gambling problem and had used it to pay his debts. Again I’m a little fuzzy as to why I didn’t just sack him but I didn’t and I’m not sure I even told my business partner, just sorted it all out myself. I do know when he finally resigned he stood next to me in tears and said he was quitting because “it’s just too easy to steal from you and I hate myself for doing it”. Well he had a point, in those days supplies were bought from all sorts of small shops and stalls between Johor Bahru and Tanjong Leman and everything was cash, receipts being slips of hand written paper, so of course it was easy for him to steal.

The second call came two days before we were due to fly back. It was Bakri, he was at Changi Airport to collect our Finish nanny Paivi, who had gone home for the holidays, but she wasn’t on the flight. I instantly called the contact number for Paivi in Finland and asked if she’d missed the flight. No, she’d split up with her boyfriend, who was meant to be coming back with her to work in the bar but now wasn’t, so she had decided not to come either. She was sorry she’d forgotten to tell me but it had only just happened and she was too upset. She was upset?! I’d just lost the nanny and the barman in one fell swoop. I franticly called Nancy in London and begged her to get on her nanny network and find me someone yesterday. I was not looking forward to going back to that blasted island, but it wouldn’t be for long, that was for sure.

If you have been, thanks for reading x