Hello, My Name is May

by Rosalind Stopps

  Jenny arrives in a burst of frosty air. She’s got a gleam about her that might mean recent sex, and I shudder at the thought of that Dan with his hands so limp on her lovely matronly body.

  Mum, she says, are you ready for an adventure. I used to say that to her when we were going out, and I want to cry now that she has remembered it for me, but crying is not in the spirit of this day so I laugh instead. I say laugh, but I am as aware as anyone else in the room that it’s a cackle at best, a witch’s cauldron noise. I can’t remember what my real laugh was like but it wasn’t this, I’m sure of that. I make a mental note not to laugh when we’re out. I don’t want to embarrass anyone.

  Jackie comes in and I have a moment of pure envy that takes me back to my teens. She’s got a coat on, I haven’t seen it before but it’s purple and gathered from just below the bust, more like a dress than a coat. That’s a lovely coat, says Jenny, and Jackie does a little twirl of acknowledgment. I’ll buy you one like that, Jenny, I want to say, there’s room for a bit of purple in your life. Jenny favours navy, sensible padded coats that will last.

  They get on well, Jackie and Jenny, I can hear them chatting about this and that as they push me into the cab. I think at other times I might have been jealous, but I’m busy calculating how long it’s been since I saw the outside world. I can’t work it out at all.

  Bye-bye, says Kelly, her hair on top of her head this morning like a fat doughnut, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.

  For a moment I wish so hard that I could speak that I have to close my eyes and let things pass. Well one thing I wouldn’t do is puff my hair like a sausage pie and pile it on my head, I would have said. I think Jenny and Jackie would have laughed.

  So unfortunate Dan’s career ended rather abruptly, I hear Jenny say to Jackie in the cab. Abruptly my arse, I’d say if I could, he had his hands where he shouldn’t and that equals the sack in any job. Jenny looks at me as if she’s frightened I will say something but I’m too busy looking at the trees. There are trees everywhere, still wintery looking but I bet if I could get up close I’d see little buds and signs of spring.

  Jackie is quiet, nodding and making the odd comment as Jenny chats, and I think, how nice this is to stay quiet and listen to a good friend talking to my child. How lovely to have that trust. I wonder what child rearing would have been like in the early days, if I had sat around the table drinking tea or wine with friends while Jenny played with the other children. Helen flashes into my mind, Helen and her baby son Sebastian. He was a cherub of a baby, a fat little prince with an early smile. I don’t usually think of them, it’s too painful. Maybe Jenny and Seb will get married, we used to say, maybe we’ll be grandparents together. I wish we were grandparents, Helen and I, together or separately, it wouldn’t matter. A stake in the future, that’s what it is to have a grandchild. A reason to care.

  So we’re going to try again, Jenny says, see if we can really make a go of it. She’s talking to Jackie, but it’s me she wants to tell, I’m sure of it. I push Helen and Sebastian away and make a thumbs up sign, solidarity.

  We even thought we might try for a baby, she says, blushing like a teenager, how would you like that, Mum? A baby, I want to say, and I want to say it so much that I have a go, and nothing comes out but a gurgle. You’re forty, I think, is that safe? Is it advisable? I realise I was right about the glow I saw on her earlier. They’re trying already, I’m sure of it and I’m all in a dither. Part of me wants to whoop with joy, jump out of my wheelchair and dance about, and the other half wants, just for a moment, to tear Jenny’s hair out and slap some sense into her. Why now, that part of me would say, why now when I can’t hold her or feed her or take her out for walks or read her a story? What kind of cruel punishment is this to dream up? Like nailing a thirsty man to a tree and drinking water in front of him, wasn’t that an old form of torture?

  Oh Jenny, says Jackie, and she gives me a sharpish look as if to say, don’t spoil it for her, oh Jenny, that’s lovely news, that’s happy news, I know you’re not counting any chickens yet but it’s still news to make a person smile. I marvel at how she knows the right thing to say on any occasion. Reminds me of Helen.

  As she wheels me out of the cab Jackie whispers in my ear, I know, I know, she says, but try to be pleased for her, it means a lot. She gives my shoulder a squeeze. I’m so happy I could burst, honest I am. I smile my lopsided smile and I decide that I won’t say anything about Dan, no warnings or anything. At least for today. Today is a good day. I wonder if this is what it’s like to have two people bringing up a child, if it’s always a kindly conspiracy that warms the heart. How nice that must be, to have two of you thinking round any problems, two of you working out what to do. That time when Jenny was bullied in Year 6 and I was at my wits’ end. If I had known someone like Jackie then, I think, I could have talked it through, made a reasoned decision. It would have been so nice to know that I wasn’t the only one who had her best interests at heart.

  Where to first Mum, Jenny says, it’s your trip. Jackie and I are your servants.

  She winks at Jackie and they both laugh. I don’t know what to say. I haven’t been shopping in so long, and I don’t know when I last went into the centre of Lewisham. There isn’t much point when you’re on your own. There are so many memories buried in unexpected places. I always thought that I hadn’t put down a single root, but it’s not true. London belongs to everyone, that’s the thing, it’s a communal project, but there are still personal pockets of memory scattered about that can trip a person up. I can’t help claiming some. That street corner over there, opposite the station, that’s where Jenny and I waited for a cab when we had been Christmas shopping. My heart was breaking, I wish I had managed to be happier. That run-down department store there, I used to avoid that because it reminded me of Binns, my meeting point with Helen, the nearest to grand that Hull had. I point to it and make a drinking sign with my good hand.

  They both laugh.

  Coffee already, says Jenny, sounds like a good idea to me. You know there isn’t a coffee shop in the department store any more don’t you?

  I raise my hand to show that of course I know, but in truth I had forgotten, and I was expecting it still to be there on the fourth floor with the tablecloths and everything, like it was in Hull when Helen and I used to go. I think it was waitress service but I’m not sure, sometimes I remember things from books or films and think that they are my own memories.

  Let’s go to Costa, says Jackie, it’s good for wheelchairs. I know this sounds odd but I had to look round, see who was in a wheelchair. I forgot it was me.

  I don’t like those kinds of places, big chains. I don’t like my coffee in a paper bucket but I don’t say anything. This is a nice day, I’m thinking, a day out, a day away from that place. The only thing is, the more the day wears on, the more fun we have going to shops and trying on clothes and eating little pastries they would never serve in the gravy boat, the more I don’t want to go back. I don’t think they notice. Isn’t there some way I could live with Jenny, I’m thinking, I wouldn’t be any trouble but I would, I know I would. I’d be the most trouble ever.

  Cheer up Mum, Jenny says, aren’t you having a nice time?

  Yes I am, I am I want to say but I nod vigorously instead.

  Only I hate to see you looking sad, she says, and she bends down and gives me a kiss, like I used to do to her when she was in her pushchair. She should have had a sibling to share the load of me, but I can’t think about that. This is a happy day.

  Did you never have kids, Jackie? Jenny asks her and it’s as if she can read my mind. I’ve always wondered that. I would have asked before now if I could but it seems a stark thing to write down just in case there’s a sad story. Most things are sad stories by the time you get to our age.

  No, says Jackie, no I tried, and I even had IVF in the early days, but it didn’t work. I did have a little dog, she says, and she looks as if she might get all tearful. Come on Jenny, I think, change th
e subject, don’t make her sad.

  Hey, says Jenny, see that sign? There’s a pop up art gallery. Shall we go? Jackie and I smile a grown-up smile at each other, a smile that says, ah, look at the young ones trying so hard, see how kind they are to us old ladies. I’ll share Jenny with you if you want, I think, you can co-parent a forty-year-old with me. The idea makes me laugh so much. I can’t help myself.

  What’s funny about a pop up art gallery, Jenny says but that makes me laugh all the more and then Jackie joins in and Jenny starts to look quite grumpy.

  Aw, sorry darling, says Jackie, you mustn’t take any notice of us old ladies, we’re a bit highly strung. She puts her arm round Jenny and I can see Jenny is melting and it’s all going to be alright. I manage to get my notepad out of the pocket of my jacket and write ‘lovely day’ on it and show it to Jenny and she sings this song about didn’t we have a lovely day and Jackie seems to know it too so she joins in. People are looking at us but we don’t care.

  We don’t make it to the gallery, but we go to all the shops and I’ve got a flowery top to take back to the gravy boat. It’s too pretty to wear in there, I’d rather wear it in the real world but that might have to wait. I’m feeling a flash of hope, thinking that maybe I won’t have to stay there for ever. Maybe we could get a house together, me and Jackie and Jenny, maybe that could work. If it was anything like today, we would have some laughs at least.

  I’m glad though, when Jenny says it’s time to go back. I’m feeling tired, and I can see that Jackie is too. Plus I need to get sorted out in the toilet department, and that’s not something that can happen in a public lavatory. We pile into a cab again only this time we’re comfortable with silence. No polite conversation. We’re like a proper group of friends on the way home after an outing.

  I’m thinking it will be sad later when Jenny goes, but I’ll still have Jackie. Maybe she will read to me again, some more poetry or a short story. I don’t like to ask her while Jenny is still here in case it looks as though I’m planning to be rid of her.

  That was fun, Mum, Jenny says, we should have done more stuff like this.

  Jackie looks out of the window as if she’s fascinated by Lewisham Way.

  We can, I write on the little notepad, soon.

  Oh Mum, Jenny says, you’re a love.

  For once I’m pleased I can’t speak. I have no idea what to say. A love. What a thing to be called. What a happy thing to happen, what an unusual thing to say to a grumpy old woman in a wheelchair. I flap my good hand at Jenny, as if to say, go on with your nonsense but she just laughs. My lovely mum, she says and I break into a sweat, I’ve had enough of this stuff now. Also there’s Jackie. I would hate for her to feel that she’s being left out, like we’re forming some kind of club without her just because we’re related or something. I give Jenny a meaningful look, and then I look at Jackie, so that she realises what I’m trying to tell her. I see a quick understanding flash across her face.

  So Jackie, Jenny says, what are you and my mum going to get up to later, when I’m not keeping an eye on you any more? Midnight feasts, drinking after lights out?

  I know she means well but I wish she wouldn’t try so hard. It sounds patronising, I don’t want Jackie to be offended. I look over and Jackie smiles, I can see that she understands.

  That’s for us to know, she says, and she gives me the biggest grin. I don’t think I have been a grinner before now but I decide there and then that I’m going to practise it. It cheers people up, makes them think of happy stuff.

  Let’s have a quick look at what we’ve bought, Jenny says, I always used to love looking at a new thing on the way home, still in its bag.

  Did you, I think, did you ever tell me that? I expect I would have brushed it away. Yes, yes, no time for that sort of nonsense. That’s the sort of thing I would have said. So I go along with her, try to look excited about the purchases, to make up for all the times I didn’t join in when she was growing up. Jenny has bought a long tunic to wear with trousers, about as boring an item of clothing as could be but we enthuse. Jackie has a flowing kimono style robe in bright colours, and I have my flowery top, big bold red flowers on a black background. I used to have a dress a little like it in the eighties, although I never wore it much. I’d like to wear my new top every day.

  It’s raining by the time we get back and the glitter has washed off the day. Jenny sees me back into my room, explaining all the time that she is going to cook something special for Dan tonight, she’s got some sea bream or something. I wish she could stay longer. He is not a person who deserves a special effort, I’d like to tell her. Chargrilling, if you please. If you ask me, it’s Dan who ought to be chargrilled.

  So we’re sorted and sitting in my room drinking tea, me and Jackie.

  Your Jenny is great, she says, so funny and full of life.

  Really, I think, gosh that’s not what I would have said at all. For once I’m glad my words have gone.

  It must have been fun, bringing her up, Jackie says, what happened to her dad?

  I put my hand to my head, as if I’ve got a sudden pain. It’s the best I can do, but actually my head does hurt as soon as I do it, no lie. Of course she didn’t expect me to reply anyway, she was just making conversation. I shouldn’t take things so seriously.

  It’s OK, she says, I was going anyway, I’ll see you later, you rest.

  No, I want to shout, don’t leave me, what about the sisterhood, what about the fun we’ve had, what about the midnight feast, please don’t go. I nod and raise my hand in a small wave.

  I’m going out with Bill, she says, in an hour or two, I need to have a quick nap before I get ready. I can’t burn the candle at both ends like I used to.

  I’m shocked. I feel as though I have been punched in the gut, and hard.

  Have a nice time, I write on my pad.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  March 1978

  Pimlico

  ‘Why don’t you wear those earrings?’ Alain asked. ‘I thought you liked them. Special present for a special person. They’re exactly my merry May, I thought when I saw them, understated and pretty, like my woman.’

  Like Sue, do you mean? May thought. Is she a feminist too? I don’t think so. May had wanted to ask about Sue so many times but she was terrified of what might happen. He had been attentive recently, more like his old self, and May hated to think it might be because he was seeing someone else. She knew what Helen would say. What anyone would say, to be honest, anyone with a brain could see that things were dodgy. He went out for a walk every night, that wasn’t normal for a start. And a couple of times he’d stayed out all night, even with a class to teach in the morning.

  ‘I’m fascinated by these city streets,’ he’d said but that had to be the stupidest lie May had ever heard. Or maybe I’m just a jealous bitch, May thought, maybe he does love walking the city streets, maybe it wasn’t his writing on the little slip of paper. Surely his letters were more stylish, less flourish? The ‘g’ on ‘darling’ as well, the tail was far too long. Maybe someone else had bought them then returned them because they’d fallen out with Sue, there could be a hundred different explanations.

  May decided to worry about it later. There was so much else to think about. He loved her, wasn’t that the main thing? And he had told her when they met how much he hated clingy women. He was in such a good mood right now, he hadn’t got into a rage for days. School had finished for Easter and Alain really seemed to be enjoying his time at home. He had even stayed home the last few nights, instead of wandering. You’re history, Sue, if you ever existed, May thought. Things were definitely getting better, and the best thing was to ignore the pointless doubts that sprang up from time to time. She only had to look out of the window to see that in the dismal wet streets of London there was a hint of warmer weather to come. At home, Jenny had become a small smiley person who tried hard to sit independently, and May could make her laugh just by pretending to sneeze.

  Alain had been more
settled, that was the best thing. May had almost begun to believe that the slip of paper in the earring box was legitimate, the maker’s dedication to his wife, perhaps, or something that had found its way in there during the manufacturing process. Not Alain’s writing at all. That was what she told herself at nights, when she lay awake next to Alain thinking of all the Sues she had ever known or heard of. There couldn’t be anyone else, could there?

  May felt tense, as if she was ready at all times to fight for her life or run for it. She thought this might be an inbuilt characteristic she owned, like red hair or recklessness. An overdeveloped flight or fight mechanism. There was probably an evolutionary reason for it, a period in history when it would have come in handy, only right now it wasn’t helping her at all and she knew that she needed to calm down.

  ‘I think I’ll wear them this weekend,’ May said. ‘I’ve been saving them for a special occasion. And I can’t quite fit into my jeans so I’ve got to wear something else nice.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Alain, ‘the visit of the famous Helen. I will be banished to the cold streets to atone for my sins. I confess, I confess, I’ve got a penis. Do you think she will like it if that’s the first thing I say to her?’

  May was horrified at the thought, but knew it was best to try to pretend she found his comments funny and lighthearted. Any sign of weakness and he would be ready to pounce. She wanted Helen’s visit to be as good as possible, especially since she had had such a hard time recently.

  ‘She’d find it funny, I expect, she’s a funny sort of person. But she may have lost her sense of humour temporarily, Seb’s birth sounds like it was pretty traumatic,’ May said.

  ‘Honestly, don’t look so worried,’ said Alain. ‘I’m not going to say anything I shouldn’t. It’ll be nice to meet your friend, lovely to have a chat with someone else who’s got a little one like we have. I’ll be good, I promise.’