Chapter Five:

When it came to Zosia's next day off, she decided to take Miranda's advice and go down to the funeral directors. Miranda had offered to go with her, but Zosia had declined - if she broke down, which she suspected she might, she didn't want Miranda seeing her like that. Of course, Zosia knew that in proper relationships, people weren't supposed to mind their partners seeing them at their weakest, but she was still getting used to the whole 'relationship' part. It was best not to do anything to jinx it.

At least, that was the justification Zosia used to herself. It didn't sound very convincing, even to her.

It hadn't been hard to track down the funeral directors who had helped with her mother's funeral - they were a small firm, a family business, that seemed to be mainly run by one person. That seemed odd, and it was something of a mystery to Zosia why her father had used them - they certainly didn't have a wonderful reputation, at least according to the National Association of Funeral Directors. Maybe her mother had a personal connection to them, or had specifically requested them? Hopefully, these were the sort of questions the funeral director could answer for her.

Zosia reached the funeral parlour, removed her sunglasses, and took a look around. The outside of the building certainly wasn't very well maintained - the windows were dirty, the paint on the door was peeling, and the sign above the door seemed on the verge of falling on top of someone. Gingerly, she opened the door, causing the sign to creak alarmingly, and stepped inside. The reception was every bit the equal of the outside in terms of appearance - dirty floors, dusty counters, magazines that were years old - certainly not the place Zosia had expected her parents to use.

The front desk was unoccupied, so Zosia looked around to see if she could spot anyone. No luck - there wasn't even a bell to ring. "Hello?" she called out. "Is anyone there?"

There was a crash from one of the back rooms, and Zosia couldn't help but roll her eyes. However, she was mindful of the fact that her bedside manner (and manner in general) had been criticised for being somewhat cold, and since she was on a mission here, she was going to try her utmost to be sweet and pleasant.

A dishevelled figure, not much older than Zosia herself, shambled out of the back office. He looked surprised to see her there, and ran a hand through his lank blonde hair. He was clad in a suit that had seen better days. Zosia could not imagine a less inspiring or reassuring figure to help people following the death of a loved one. "How...er...can I help you?" he asked.

Zosia gave what she imagined to be her sweetest smile. "I was hoping you could, actually, Mr..?"

"Oh, just call me Ed," he said with a wave of his hand. "Everyone does."

"All right, Mr...Ed..." At this, Ed sniggered. Zosia frowned. "What?"

"Mr. Ed," he said. "You know, like the horse?"

"Like what horse?"

"On the telly. It talked."

"Horses can't talk."

"No, no, it wasn't real..."

Zosia held her hand up, her desire to be sweet quickly forgotten. "Stop right there. I don't have any idea why you're talking about imaginary horses, but I'd like some information."

Ed gestured to a ratty selection of leaflets. "Oh, right...there's some info there...on the leaflets."

"No, it's about a funeral that already happened," said Zosia, her frustration growing by the moment. "It was the funeral of Anya March."

At the mention of the name, Ed's face instantly dropped. "What?" he said in a hollow voice.

"Anya March," said Zosia again, louder this time. "I know you must do lots of funerals here, but I'm sure you can remember this one."

"Why do you say that?" whispered Ed.

"It was only a year ago..." Zosia peered at Ed. "What's wrong? You've gone white as a sheet."

"Nothing's wrong," said Ed quickly. "I did what I was asked to on that one. It went all according to plan. That's what he said - all according to plan."

"All who said? My father?"

"She was your mum, then?" said Ed nervously. He was fidgeting with his hands now. "Why weren't you there?"

"That's none of your business," snapped Zosia.

"It had to be done quick, that's what he said."

"I don't care what he said." Zosia rubbed her forehead in frustration. "Why are you being so weird about this? All I want is some information about the service. Like...an order of service...a video if you have one."

"No, no videos. He insisted." Ed leaned in closer to her. "You don't know anything about it, then?"

"I wouldn't be asking if I did, would I?"

Ed stared at her, his jaw moving slightly as if he wanted to say something, but instead he just disappeared into the back office, leaving a baffled, angry Zosia in the reception area by herself. After a few minutes, he reappeared, clutching a folder in his hand. He stuck his hand out to Zosia wordlessly, and she took the folder - it was an order of service for the funeral.

Overcome by the sight, Zosia could feel herself tearing up. As she tried to keep a lid on her emotions, she heard Ed order her out. She looked up. "What?"

"That's what you wanted, right? So leave. I've got work to do."

"Is this all you have?" she pleaded.

"Everything." he said firmly. "I'm busy. If you've got what you came for, get out."

Zosia wanted to protest, to ask him just what his problem was, and to ask him if this really was the best way to run a funeral parlour, but the sight of the order of service had taken the wind out of her sails, and all she could do was nod silently, and leave.

As she stood on the pavement outside, she faintly heard the door lock behind her, but she didn't care. She put her sunglasses on to hide her red, teary eyes and made for home.

A perusal of the order of service yielded little in the way of new information for Zosia. The service had been short - almost perfunctory, even. It was as if the bare minimum required had been done, and nothing else. Maybe that was how her mother had wanted it? Maybe her father had been unable to bring himself to do any more? Had he already descended into an alcoholic stupor at that point? Zosia didn't know. it was frustrating - she'd thought this would answer questions, but instead it had raised more. No wonder Colette hadn't been able to tell her much about the funeral - there was precious little to tell.

As she was looking through it, a glass of wine in her hand, Arthur came out of his room and wandered into the kitchen. He was dressed up in a smart suit, and actually looked quite dapper.

"Looking good, Dr. Digby," she said lightly.

Arthur turned round in surprise. "What? Oh...thank you."

"Meeting Mollusc Girl tonight, then?"

"Maria? Yeah..."

"You're dressed up - going anywhere nice? Fancy restaurant? The theatre?"

"A lecture at the museum..." said Arthur, sitting down next to her.

"That was going to be my next guess, actually."

Arthur smiled. "It's...ah...quite interesting actually. It's about..."

Zosia held up her hand. "It's okay, Arthur. I fear it would be lost on me."

"Yeah..." Arthur pondered it. "Maybe."

"So things are going well with Maria, then?"

"Oh! Oh, yes. Don't like to jinx it, but...sparks are, as they say, definitely flying."

"Good." Zosia smiled. "I am glad, Arthur. She seems really nice."

"And Dr. Cowley? Is that going...you know...okay?"

Zosia smiled, almost to herself. "Yes. It's going very well."

"You know...when you two...well...it was a bit of a surprise. But...I think she's nice, and...well...good for you."

"How do you mean?"

"You just seem so much more...happy...these days." Arthur shrugged. "I'm just assuming it's to do with her."

"Well, it is, thank you," said Zosia.

"Is she coming over later..?"

"She is, but don't worry - we'll be out of your way. I know how excited aquatic info gets you two."

"Thank you." Arthur shook his head. "I just have to make sure because after last time - when Dominic got confused about which bedroom he was supposed to go into, and didn't hear us come home...well, no-one is very keen to repeat that."

"You never know," smirked Zosia. "I bet Maria's into all kinds of kinky shit that you don't know about."

"Ha ha - I know everything's Maria's into, thank you very much," said Arthur indignantly. "And if you'll excuse me..."

He made to leave, and Zosia called out after him. "Have a nice time," she said warmly. "I mean it."

Arthur smiled at her. "Thank you," he said, and left.

Miranda stroked Zosia's hair lightly. "How did it go at the funeral director's?" she asked softly.

Zosia leaned back into Miranda's embrace. They were lying on the sofa, watching a film, Zosia in Miranda's arms. "Fine," she lied, glad that Miranda couldn't see her face. "I got an order of service...it was helpful."

"Good." Miranda kissed her lightly on the top of the head. "I'm glad. You know, I don't want to speak out of turn here..."

"Never stopped you before."

"Shut up," said Miranda jovially. "But seriously - maybe it's time to take a break from all this. I know you miss your Mum, and I understand that...but sometimes it's like an...obsession with you. Now that you have some closure, at least, maybe you could hold off on it for a while?"

Zosia didn't say anything, so Miranda continued: "It's just a suggestion, Zosh. Sometimes I get worried about you, you know?"

"I know," said Zosia softly. "I'll...I'll try, okay?"

"Okay." Miranda paused for a moment. "You know...on a complete tangent...have I ever told you I love your name?"

Zosia frowned in confusion, and angled her head up to look at the other woman. "What?"

"Your name. It's really pretty. Zosia...Zosia...Zaaww-shaahh." Miranda grinned. "I just love saying it."

"You're weird."

"Look who's talking."

"I think Miranda's a nice name too."

Miranda shrugged. "It's boring."

"No," said Zosia, turning herself over and cupping Miranda's face in her hand. "It's beautiful, just like you."

"So cheesy..." said Miranda, before Zosia's lips met her own, silencing her. Zosia kissed her deeply, rolling Miranda over and positioning herself on top of her.

When they broke apart, Zosia smiled wickedly. "How invested are you in this film?"

"To be honest, I don't even know what it's about," admitted Miranda. "Why do you...ooh!" She gasped as Zosia's hand slipped under her shirt. "Oh, I see..."

"Not yet, but you will..." Zosia leaned down and kissed Miranda again.

The movie was soon abandoned in favour of other activities.

Zosia stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep for the first time in weeks. Miranda's naked body was draped around her, and normally the feel of the other woman's skin next to her was enough to help her relax into unconsciousness. Not tonight, however.

Their lovemaking had moved from the living room into the bedroom after Maria and Arthur had returned home from their lecture early. Zosia had heard them fumbling at the door and she and Miranda had rushed, naked and giggling, into the bedroom before the other couple could enter.

She looked over at Miranda guiltily. Spending time with the other woman was a joy like she'd never known with any of her other partners. For the first time she felt like she'd found someone she could actually foresee being in a long term relationship with - a thought that scared and delighted her in equal measure. Why then did Zosia find it so difficult to be completely honest with her? Why couldn't she tell her about the weird events at the funeral home?

It was probably because Miranda was right, and Zosia knew it - she had been obsessing over her mother's death too much. For her own mental health, she needed to take a break, but could not bring herself to do it.

Even now, she thought, glancing over to her mother's diary on the bedside table, she wanted nothing more than to start going through it again. She looked down at Miranda again, guilt washing over her, but still reached out for the diary. Just one entry, she thought, just one - then I'll put it down again.

The thought of reading through her mother's diagnosis made her insides churn, however, and she instinctively flicked through to the last page, suddenly gripped by a desire to see what the last entry was.

When she reached it, though, the last entry was not what Zosia had expected at all.

The next morning, Zosia kissed Miranda goodbye at the hospital entrance as normal. Miranda looked at her and frowned. "You okay, Zosh?"

"Yeah!" said Zosia, a little quicker and forcefully than normal.

Miranda shrugged. "I don't know...you just seem...a little weird this morning."

"Thought you liked weird," said Zosia, trying to keep her tone light.

"I'm serious, Zosia." Miranda reached out and stroked Zosia's face softly. "You just seem a little off this morning, that's all. It's like you're totally different from last night. Has something changed?"

Zosia shook her head. "No...no...don't worry...just feeling a little sick, that's all. Probably something I ate."

"Oh." Miranda raised an eyebrow. "Do we need to get you to a hospital?" she asked, totally deadpan.

Zosia smiled and kissed her again. "I'm fine, really. I'll see you later."

Miranda said her goodbyes and walked away, leaving Zosia standing at the entrance. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she had to do. Her head told her that she should wait until after her shift, but her heart was pressuring her to do it now.

Sadly, Zosia's heart always won out in situations like this.

Zosia approached the doors to the CEO's office nervously, her mind still screaming at her to leave it, to tackle this another time, but she didn't listen. A question had been raised inside of her, and she would not rest until it had been answered. However, she could not shake off the dread that she wouldn't like the answer.

She made to open the door, then paused, bitter memories reminding her that she should probably knock first. She did so, and her father called out for her to enter. As she did so, he looked up from his desk in surprise, Colette doing the same. "Zoshie?" he said, clearly confused. "What are you doing here?"

Zosia stepped inside. "Colette?" she asked quietly. "Could you give my father and I a few minutes alone?"

"Do I need to alert security?" asked Colette lightly, but then she caught a glimpse of Zosia's face, and nodded quickly. "Of course. I'll be...around if you need me."

As Colette left, closing the door behind her, Guy gestured to a seat in front of his desk. "Have a seat. Now look, I've only got a few minutes - there's a board meeting, and..."

"It'll only take a few minutes," mumbled Zosia, sitting down. She fumbled in her bag, and produced the diary. "Um." She wasn't sure how to start. "I...I took this from the house..."

"Is that Anya's diary?" Guy's face hardened. "Did you break into the house and steal that?"

"I had a key," said Zosia defensively. "It wasn't breaking in..."

"You had no right," snapped Guy.

"I know." Zosia stared down at the diary. "I didn't want to bother you with it, but I knew I needed something to understand why Mama did what she did, and I thought this would help, and..."

"Did you take anything else?"

"No," Zosia said instinctively. Best not to make her father any more angry than he already was. "I'm sorry - I know I shouldn't have..."

"No, you shouldn't. That was your mother's private journal."

"I needed to know why she did it." Zosia opened the journal to the last page. "Look at this last entry!" she said, gesturing to the page. "'This time I don't think I'm going to beat this. I need to tell Zosia.' Why would she write this if she wasn't going to tell me? This is the last entry, the last thing she ever recorded about her life...why would she say that and then not do it?"

"Give me that." Guy reached out and took the diary from Zosia, who wiped her eyes - tears had begun to flow unbidden from them.

"I'm sorry, she whispered. "I know this must be hard for you too..."

"You have no idea," muttered Guy.

"Why would she write that? And why is that the last entry? It's a few weeks before she...she...why aren't there more entries?"

Guy sat back in his chair, sighed heavily, and ran his fingers through his hair. "Zosia..." he said levelly. "I know you have so many questions...but are you sure you want the answers?"

"I need them," pleaded Zosia. "Why wouldn't I want them?"

Guy nodded. "All right. If you're sure."

"I'm sure."

"Look...your mother was a headstrong woman - no-one could get her to do something she didn't want to do. I tried to get her to tell you, I did, but she thought you couldn't handle it."

"I could have handled it!"

"But you would have left medical school, and she couldn't have that."

"I know all of this..." said Zosia impatiently.

Guy sighed. "And you know she refused treatment."

"Because there was no chance of recovery."

"Oh, there was a chance, all right."

"What?" Zosia's heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean? She said right in the diary that she didn't think she'd beat it this time..."

"No, she meant she'd decided not to beat it this time." Guy stared at Zosia, clearly trying hard to keep his voice level.

"She was going to tell me..."

"She decided not to, and decided to stop treatment, after she realised what it would do to your studies. You would have come home and had to repeat a year."

"Of course I would! She was my mother!" Something was twisting inside of Zosia now, making her nauseous. Her head was cloudy - she couldn't think straight.

"For you, for your career, she decided to...sacrifice herself." Guy practically spat out the words, his gaze not leaving Zosia.

"What are you saying?" muttered Zosia, shaking her head. "This doesn't make sense...are you saying Mama could have gotten well, but she decided to let herself die so I wouldn't fail my year?"

"Like I said," Guy said levelly, "she was a headstrong woman."

"It was my fault," whispered Zosia. She looked up at her father, tears blurring her vision. "I never meant...I would have never asked her..."

"Doesn't matter now, does it?" Guy looked down at his desk. "You said you wanted the answers."

"You must blame me..." asked Zosia weakly. "Do you blame me?"

"I..." Guy couldn't meet her gaze. "I...try not to. You didn't know."

"The drinking...the ignoring me...was it because of...because of this?" Zosia's head was spinning now, tears streaming down her cheeks, her guts twisted up inside herself. She wanted nothing more than to vomit.

Guy still refused to meet her gaze. "It was only a small chance, after all...maybe she thought it wasn't worth taking..."

"Oh god...it was..." Zosia put her head in her hands. "I spent all this time blaming you, and...and...it was me, and..." She looked up at her father, her eyes wild with grief. "I'm sorry! I never would have...I didn't want..."

Guy looked away again. "It was the cancer, darling, not you. That's...what I tell myself."

"Daddy, I'm sorry," said Zosia desperately. She reached out to take Guy's hands, but he instinctively pulled them away. "Daddy..?"

"You wanted to know, Zosia. I warned you, but you wouldn't listen. Did the answers bring you happiness?" All Zosia could do in reply was sob into her hands. Guy looked at her, and his tone softened. "Darling...maybe now we can move past this? I'm willing to forg..." He paused and his jaw hardened. "I'm willing to forget this and move on."

"How do you expect me to forget this?" wailed Zosia. "I killed my mother!"

Guy was silent for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, he looked away again. "No, the...the cancer did that."

Zosia abruptly got up, the force sending her chair clattering backwards. "I've got to...I need to...I've got to get out of here..."

Guy stood up and held his arms out placatingly. "Look, darling...even before this you've been a little...shall we say unstable? Maybe you need some help...some professional help?"

"I don't think anyone can help me now," said Zosia in despair.

"I'm worried about you...I think you could be a danger..."

"Like I was to Mama?" snapped Zosia.

"Just let me call someone..." said Guy softly. "We can help you, Zoshie."

At the sound of her mother's favourite name for her, something in Zosia simply snapped. Shaking her head in confusion, she turned and walked from the office in a daze, her father's cries ringing in her head, but not fully understood. She walked past Colette, who was making her way back to the office and who stopped in shock when she saw Zosia. She asked what was wrong, what had happened, but Zosia simply ignored her and walked past.

On Keller, Arthur spotted her and frowned. "You're really late," he said peevishly. "Get changed - we're swamped today, and..." He realised she wasn't stopping and called after her. "Zosia? Are you okay?"

Zosia didn't answer. She barely heard the call. All she knew was that she had to leave - had to get out of this hospital right now.

She walked past Sacha Levy at the other end of the ward, and he gestured at his watch. "You are seriously late, Dr. March - I trust you have a good explanation?"

Again, Zosia simply walked past, not acknowledging him in any way.

He called after her: "Dr. March? Zosia?"

Lost in her thoughts, Zosia ignored both him and Arthur's calls, walking straight to the lift and making her way down to the ground floor. Mechanically, she walked the familiar route back to her flat, almost on autopilot. More than once, she stepped out into traffic, and cars screeched to a halt mere feet from her, angry, confused drivers shouting abuse at her. She didn't respond. She didn't even slow down. Dimly, she was aware that she could be seriously hurt or even killed, but in her present state of mind, she didn't care.

Once back at the flat, she made her way straight to the kitchen, and gathered together every bottle of alcohol she could find. Then she brought them to her bedroom, set them down, and locked the door.

Then Zosia screamed.

All the grief, all the anger, all the emotions that had built up in her since the conversation in her father's office came spilling out as she howled in rage and pain to the heavens. Suddenly everything she had thought she knew was wrong. It wasn't really her father she needed to blame, it was herself. She had killed her mother. She was the reason that her life was destroyed. Not her father, not anyone else - just her. Self-loathing and guilt flowed through her and, seeking some - any - form of outlet, she did what she apparently did best and began destroying things.

Everything in the room that could possibly be broken - picture frames, ornaments, bits of furniture - was hurled or smashed against the wall, or against other items, in an orgy of violence. Zosia screamed as she blazed a swathe of destruction through the room - sparing the booze, of course - trying to let out her guilt, her rage at herself, knowing she would never be able to.

Zosia had killed her own mother, and nothing would be okay ever again.

Once she had destroyed all that could possibly be destroyed, she sank down onto her mattress, now sitting on the floor in a pile of clothes and broken furniture. She sobbed, but had no more tears left to cry. There was only one thing she could do, so she reached for a bottle of vodka, popped the top off, and began trying to drink herself into oblivion.