Free Cervena by Louise Lyons

her eyes to reprimand me for rushing back to England again for nothing more than a “flutter.”
    “I’m so sorry, Mum,” I whispered. “I should have been here. I should never have gone.”
    My heart shattered into a thousand pieces in my chest, and yet still I didn’t cry. My eyes burned but remained bone dry.
    I stayed there at her side—it could have been a minute or an hour before Steve placed his hand on my shoulder and steered me to the door. I walked with them, and after a few minutes, we reached Steve’s car. Rosalyn and I sat in the back seat, clinging to each other’s hands like a pair of frightened children, as Steve drove us home.
     
     
    I STAYED in the spare bedroom at my sister’s house. I couldn’t bring myself to sleep at Mum’s, and Rosalyn wouldn’t hear of me staying there alone anyway. We muddled through, communicating the news to Mum’s friends, trying to organize a funeral with heavy hearts. At the same time, we all struggled to keep things as normal as possible for Rachael. She was crushed to learn that her Gran was gone, but at the same time she’d been looking forward to Christmas, and we did our best to make things fun as we decorated a tree and piled the gifts under it.
    I called Karel the day after Mum died, and told him I wouldn’t return to Prague until the New Year, and even then I didn’t know how long it would be. He was sad for me and told me not to worry about anything. He even boxed up the Christmas gifts I’d bought, along with a case full of my clothes and personal items, and shipped them out to me. Rachael would still get her iPad on Christmas morning and I wouldn’t have to buy myself a new wardrobe.
    Mum was buried on December 18, a Thursday. The cold, damp weather reflected our moods as we stood miserably, wrapped in dark winter coats and huddling under umbrellas in the graveyard. Rosalyn had rallied by then, her nature the same as Mum’s, strong in the face of adversity. She read the eulogy and made small talk with everyone at the wake afterward, at Mum’s house. I drifted, lost and numb, unable to think about what I was doing, much less what I was going to do when it was all over.
    A pang of guilt hit me on Christmas Eve when I thought about everyone at the club, working hard on the last party night before New Year’s. I should have been there the way I always was, but I didn’t feel I could be anywhere else but with my family. Karel and the staff wouldn’t expect it, but I still felt like I should have done something.
    I messaged Karel to tell him I’d arrange the staff bonuses with the bank. It was a tiny thing, but something I’d always taken pleasure in doing personally. But he responded to say he’d already done it along with the December salaries, and that I should forget about work and try to enjoy Christmas. He insisted I shouldn’t go back until I felt like it.
    Christmas Day was as good as we could make it. It was the first time I’d been home on the day in four years.
    We all got up before seven, woken by Rachael’s squeals of excitement. She’d bounced back remarkably well during the last week, and buoyed up the rest of us. Eight years old and nothing could dampen her spirits when she saw the huge mountain of gifts under the tree.
    The parcel-opening session took over an hour, and of course Rachael received more presents than anyone. Once she’d ripped the paper off everything and sorted the items into “clothes and other not-so-exciting items,” “cool toys,” and “fantastic toys,” Steve gathered up the sea of discarded gift wrap and Rosalyn went to make breakfast.
    I enjoyed the day—I couldn’t pretend I didn’t. The devastating loss of Mum was ever present when we sat around the table for Christmas dinner with one obvious empty place where she should have been, but we toasted her and agreed she’d be smiling down on us. I drank far too much wine with my meal—enough to dull the sorrow, but not so much that I embarrassed