Hello, My Name is May

by Rosalind Stopps

  I’m not, he said, I didn’t and he started to look scared, but he still had his hands in my private stuff on my tray, my notebook and my purse and my photographs and a postcard that Jenny sent me the other day, so I had to keep shouting.

  Get off, get off, I said, or my version of it anyway. He started to cry then, honestly he did, big tears like an old wrinkled up baby. I was hoping one of the staff would hear him and come by so I dropped the scissors. I thought I might be able to press charges or something, accuse him of breaking and entering and rifling through personal stuff but no one came and he seemed to pull himself together.

  Don’t you shout at me, he said, coming back over to where I was sitting, I don’t expect that kind of treatment and I don’t like it.

  Just like my Al, I thought, crying one minute, begging forgiveness and full of the sorryness of the world for himself and then bam. Back to frightening little old ladies and speaking in a scary voice like someone from a horror movie. Bill scrunched his face up then, right up as if someone had asked him to pull the scariest face he could. Twisted it right out of shape and I knew I was right.

  Don’t fuck with me, he breathed into my face. It was really quiet, as though someone might have been listening.

  Don’t screw things up for me, he said again but the word screw, seemed to trigger something for him and he untwisted his face.

  He left soon after that. Just stayed long enough to pick up a few things from my tray, and from the shelf opposite my bed. He picked them up and put them down again, like he was looking for something, then he shook his head and looked at me in a different way. As if he wasn’t sure who I was, as if he’d been invited to a party but couldn’t remember the name of the host. I think I caught the word screwdriver as he left but I’m not sure, and even if I did, even if he’d gone back to being a crazy old man, who’s to say that it wasn’t an act. He was always good at acting, Alain, he should have been on the stage.

  As soon as he’d gone I’d tried to think of a plan. Jackie, that’s who I was worried about. Jackie, with her sadness and her linen trousers, no one was going to look out for her if I didn’t.

  *

  I’ve been up all night, thinking. They came to put me to bed after a while, said they were sorry but Manny had been unwell. As if I cared. I’m not even sure who Manny is.

  No bed, I wrote on the pad, things to do. I caught them raising their painted eyebrows to each other then, Abi and Agnita, as if the idea that I might have anything to do at all was so ridiculous they wanted to laugh. I breathed evenly, in, out, in, out, staring at a point on the opposite wall and eventually they left.

  We’re not going to force you into bed, dear, they said, but we’ll be down the hallway when you’re ready. Give us a buzz and we’ll come and help you as soon as we can.

  I signed thank you even though they probably don’t know any sign language. And I sat up all night, and now I know what I have to do. No messing around, no pulling back, I’ve got to tell Jackie, I’ve got to save her.

  *

  Hi, she says as she breezes in after breakfast, aren’t you going to eat your toast? It’s sitting there in front of me, two soggy slices covered in something that looks like butter but isn’t. I wave my hand at it and wrinkle my nose as if it smells bad and she laughs, my Jackie, it really isn’t that funny but she laughs anyway because she is a most loyal friend. One good turn deserves another, I think, and I motion for my notepad but before she notices what I’m doing she is dancing, yes, literally dancing from one foot to the other, she’s so excited to tell me something.

  I motion to her to sit down, take the weight off but she’s so excited I don’t think she can stay still.

  Oh, she says, oh May I never thought, I mean I hoped but I didn’t think it would necessarily happen, oh I’m going to miss you, of course I am but you only get one life, don’t you? Only one chance at happiness and all that.

  If I could speak, I would slap a cliché order on her, demand that she starts talking to me in normal language but that’s a hard concept to get across in sign and she doesn’t seem to have the concentration to be able to wait for me to write anything down. I don’t blame her. It takes me a while on the best of days.

  Let me start at the beginning, she says, like in the song. You know, don’t you, that Bill and I have been getting along well, we’ve been going out, we’re kind of special friends.

  I nod, but I want to say, yes, when he can find his damned screwdriver, when he remembers who you are.

  Well, she says, we talk a lot, me and Bill. There’s not much else to do here is there? So we talk about everything, hopes, plans, you know.

  Yes, I think, I know, because it’s the kind of talk we used to have. Me and you. Jackie doesn’t seem to remember that.

  We even talk about what we would do if we could get out of here, where we would live and that sort of thing. Moon dreaming, Bill calls it. Anyone can dream, can’t they?

  Jackie looks at me with shining eyes as if what she is telling me is the most exciting thing ever. Even if my voice miraculously returned I wouldn’t join in with this drivel, I think, I’d still want to vomit at the idea of moon dreaming. So I stare at her and she claps her hands and says, we’re going to be able to do it, May. We’re leaving here, Bill has come into some money and we are going to get out of here and get a place and have carers coming in and everything, don’t look sad, you can come and visit us if you like, maybe you can even stay the night…

  Her voice tails off and I feel like the meanest friend ever. But honestly, how stupid is she? People our age don’t ‘come into money’. We’re the ones who leave it to other people. There’s a scam going on somewhere and she’s going to be terribly hurt, I can sense it and I know I’m right. I grab my pad.

  Are you sure, I write and then, when?

  Oh May, she says, of course I’m sure, I’ll miss you and Trevor and everyone here but imagine being in my own little home again, making a cup of tea and calling to ask someone else if they’d like a biscuit with it.

  I’m sorry, she says then, that was about as tactless as a person can get, wasn’t it, I didn’t mean to upset you, it’s just, well, I was hoping you’d be happy for me, I haven’t had a very lucky life but maybe this, this happy bit at the end, maybe this will make up for all of the other stuff.

  I run through the things I could tell her, to see which one fits. Don’t go, he’s not who he says he is, I used to be married to him and he’s dangerous. That’s the straightforward version but it doesn’t take a genius to work out that she would probably think it was sour grapes. I should have told her before, when I first suspected it was him. I could have included her in all my speculations and then it wouldn’t come as a terrible shock but I didn’t, of course I didn’t, because of my damn words. My words have gone and it doesn’t matter how much I need them, they won’t come back.

  I stare at her and I don’t know how to arrange my face. Happy, sad, indifferent, anxious, interested. Even if I could pinpoint the name of the emotion I couldn’t get it to show on my face.

  Come on, Jackie says, be pleased for me, I’m happy, I’m in love, come on.

  She does a little hop and a skip and takes my face in her hands and kisses me square on my dribbly old lips.

  Would you be my maid of honour, she asks and for a moment the words resonate and I’m in a normal world, where people get married and have celebrations and there’s dancing and cake and clothes bought specially for the occasion. There’s a snap in my head like an old-fashioned flash camera and I see myself, out of the wheelchair and dancing with Jackie in a marquee. There’s bunting, women in high heels and men in ill-fitting suits with flowers in their buttonholes. It’s the wedding I never had and for just that one moment, I want it so much for Jackie that I almost forget.

  Almost.

  I look up and he’s there, in the doorway, leaning and lounging and looking pleased with himself. He looks as though he has won the lottery, or robbed an old lady of her pension.
/>   You’ve heard my news then, he says. His news indeed. As if Jackie was nothing to do with it.

  I look at her and she doesn’t seem to be bothered by what he has said. She’s linking her arm through his and grinning like it’s everyone’s birthday. She turns to him and gives him a kiss and it hurts much more than I was expecting it to. I expect she’s forgotten that she just kissed me, that would be the last thing she would be thinking of.

  I look at him and he’s smirking at me. Perhaps he only took up with Jackie to get at me, I wouldn’t be surprised. Nothing he does would surprise me. He raises one eyebrow in my direction. Jackie can’t see, she’s snuggled into his shoulder, but there’s no mistaking it.

  I grab my notepad. Don’t do it Jackie, I write, I know stuff. I’m exhausted then, and I meant for only Jackie to see it but he picks it up and I can’t stop him and he reads it out in a voice that’s pretending to be kind. I know that voice, I think, that voice that speaks one thing and means another. I know that voice and I start to scream, I can’t help it.

  Jenny came in this morning. They gave me something to make me sleep and I slept all night but I knew I was asleep, if that makes sense. I was aware.

  Fancy spoiling your friend’s big news like that, Agnita said, I remember that and then it was like being underwater, or watching wedding after wedding that I hadn’t been invited to.

  Are you better, Mum, asks Jenny. She’s holding my hand and she looks so worried. I nod.

  It’s probably just the surprise of it, she says, I heard about Jackie getting married and moving out and I thought that must be such a shame for you. Very sad.

  I look at her and I can see she means it. She really does understand, my funny, straight-laced Jenny and I feel so lucky to have her and so guilty not to have realised that, all at the same time. I’ll be alright, I think, I’ll be alright as long as I have Jenny. Poor Jackie, with no one to look out for her. I’m going to have to help her, I think, it’s down to me, it really is.

  I’m concentrating so hard on what I can do to help Jackie that I don’t hear Jenny at first.

  Good news, she’s saying, something about good news and I assume it’s something to do with her job and try to make my face look right. A promotion? Head of year perhaps? I’m trying to think what it is she’s said when I hear something else.

  I know it’s late, and I’m old by their terms anyway but the midwife says there’s no reason why the baby shouldn’t be absolutely fine, lots of women choose to have them later these days.

  I look at her, lost for an expression or a sound that would help. A baby. A grandchild. A small person with a smattering of my genes as well as the ones from the rubbish grandfather and the dodgy dad.

  Someone to keep safe, someone to watch out for, I think. For a moment I’m back in the heat of that summer, holding Jenny, trying to get her out of the flat. My arms flap a little, as if I’ve lost something.

  I thought you’d be pleased, Jenny says and she sounds so hesitant, so worried. I try to raise my arm up in a victory salute, an attempt to punch the air. Jenny laughs.

  Careful Mum, she says, we have to keep you fit so that you can welcome your grandchild.

  As long as he doesn’t find out, I think, as long as we really can keep the baby safe.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  May 1978

  Pimlico

  May got off the train at Kings Cross and went to stand by the ticket barrier. It was the place where she had met Helen when she had come to visit. If I close my eyes, she thought, if I count to a hundred, maybe the last twenty-four hours will be a mistake; maybe Helen will appear and say ‘surprise’, or launch straight into a tale of how badly Seb has been sleeping. She was here, May thought, right here, where I’m standing, how could she be dead? It seemed impossible. I’m so sorry, Helen, May thought. Sorry I didn’t come running when you didn’t answer my letter, sorry I didn’t leave with you in March, sorry you’re gone and I’ll never see you again, sorry about lovely little Seb.

  ‘Are you OK, love?’

  May looked up and realised that she was crying, and that Jenny was too, and a couple of concerned women had stopped to help.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I’m fine.’

  May bent down, kissed Jenny and moved away. I’ve crossed a line, she thought, I’ve become a person who knows something terrible. Who knows that the world is terrible.

  May longed for a familiar face. She rang Alain from a phone box. There was no answer. May wondered for a moment whether he was with Sue, and the image of them together, laughing, maybe talking about her and how stupid she was, hit her like a fighter’s punch. I need to talk to Helen about it, she thought and then remembered and dug her nails in to her palms to stop herself from crying out. If only her mother was still alive. If only she had a safe place that she could go to. Friends. She thought for a moment about the hostels for battered wives she had read about. Surely they were for women in much worse situations? They would probably laugh at the kind of arguments she and Alain had. Arguments over literature or cooking or answers on Mastermind, that wasn’t what they were set up for.

  ‘Enough of this,’ she whispered to the hiccoughing, sleepy Jenny. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll look after you.’

  It was time to stop acting like a victim, May thought. Helen’s death had to have a meaning and maybe that was it. May could change things. It was the very last thing she could do for Helen. May needed to be the person Helen had believed she could be, the person Helen had been. She would sort things out for herself, talk to Alain, explain how she felt, ask him to leave for a few days so that she could plan. It would be so much less inflammatory than disappearing, more adult. She refused to drag anyone else into the mess she had made of her life. She didn’t want to tell anyone about Helen, or Seb, or even the stupid earrings. None of it. It had to be better, she thought, even though she realised that she was not thinking straight, it still had to be better for her and Jenny to be in their own home. Alain isn’t like Frank, she thought over and over like a mantra, he isn’t like Frank, he isn’t like him.

  She thought of how he had been the night before, before he turned nasty, how he had been so kind to her. She tried not to think of the other Alain, the one who had snarled at Jenny. After all, she reasoned, he was tired, he was unwell after his injury, she knew she had been difficult to live with, it wasn’t as unreasonable as it looked at first glance.

  Helen would have understood, she thought, Helen would have known that I have to go back, I have to make a go of it. Later, May would realise that she was wrong, wrong, wrong. She would wonder what on earth she had been thinking of, why she had chosen to walk back, no, run back, to a situation every bit as dangerous as the one her friend had been in, the one that had got her friend killed. It didn’t make any sense, but at the time May’s homing instinct was so strong that she had to follow it. Home, she thought, pushing everything else away, Seb’s little hands, Helen’s terror, just get home, May, and you’ll be OK.

  It will be safer, she kept thinking, safer with him than without him. I’m sorry, Helen, I’m so sorry but if you had stayed with your man, if you hadn’t left, you might be alive now. And Seb, May stuffed her hand into her mouth to keep from crying out loud at the thought of Seb, his sweet little face, his long piano playing-fingers. Anything would have been worthwhile if it meant keeping him safe, she was sure Helen would have agreed with that.

  May moved fast, heaving the buggy on and off trains and up and down stairs like superwoman. She was sweating with terror by the time she managed to drag Jenny back across London to their flat. Every footstep behind her sounded like Alain, every voice in the street could be him. He’d find her if she left, she realised, he’d find her just like Frank had found Helen. Got to make it OK, got to make it OK, she mumbled as she ran, aware that she looked like a crazy woman but not able to do anything about it.

  May turned the key in the lock of the outside door to the hallway. She listened hard outside her own front door. No music, no T
V. Her hand shook as she turned the second lock.

  ‘Hello,’ she called, ‘Alain?’

  There was no answer.

  May opened the door and manoeuvred Jenny, the buggy and her bag into the small front room. It seemed impossible that nothing had changed since this morning but there it was, her unwashed teacup, a bib of Jenny’s on the sofa and the sun still shining through the grubby windows. May crept in. She took in every detail of the tiny flat like a cop in a movie. She checked in cupboards, behind doors and curtains, under the bedclothes, even in the fridge. No sign of Alain. It looked as though he hadn’t been back at all, although May couldn’t allow herself to hope.

  On the alert, she said to herself, I have to be ready. It could be a trap, of course, he was completely capable of making sure that the flat looked as though he hadn’t been there at all. Was the cup really in the same position, she thought, and did I leave Jenny’s bib at that end of the sofa or on the arm, at the other end?

  She had no idea, but by now her breasts were sore and swollen and Jenny was sobbing as if she knew that her little friend had died. May quickly tucked her suitcase back under the bed and sat down to feed the baby.

  ‘It’s OK, Jenny, we’ll be fine,’ she said as Jenny sucked with breathless little gasps.

  The enormity of what May had done began to hit her as she relaxed. She had brought Jenny back into the most dangerous place possible. May thought of all the horror movies she had seen where the characters went into the cellar, or the woods, or wherever was the most frightening place. This is why they do it, she thought, this is why, because it’s safer to keep your enemy, your danger, in plain sight. Safer to know they’re in the next room than to wonder all the time whether they’re outside, or round the corner, or waiting behind a door.

  I’ll move, she thought, I’ll finish this feed and I’ll go.

  *

  May woke to the sound of the front door opening. It was dark outside, so it had to be past nine o’clock.

  ‘Hello,’ Alain said, ‘where’s my girls? All safe and sound, back in the nest?’