Bad Mothers United

by Kate Long

  Because I hadn’t even especially wanted sex in the first place, only everyone else seemed to be doing it and it felt like the grown-up option. None of us likes to think we’re a freak. Alternatively I could have taken charge of my own contraception, marched up to the doctor’s and asked for the pill, except if you sat in Bank Top surgery for more than thirty seconds one of Nan’s friends was bound to totter over and start asking in a loud voice what you were there for. They have no sense of boundaries, old people. The best option of all would have been if I’d never gone anywhere near Paul Bentham, full stop. Obviously, when it came down to it, he was an utter bastard, but I didn’t spot that key fact till it was too late.

  And I couldn’t help it, I found myself wondering: imagine if I’d never got pregnant in the first place, if Will had never existed. What kind of person would I be now? Smarter, braver, clearer-headed?

  Immediately I felt scared sick at my own disloyalty. Imagine if Fate heard me and visited some awful lesson on my head, Will in a terrible accident, or struck down by disease. Wishing you weren’t a mother, were you? Well, there you go, see how it actually feels. Mums must never ever ever admit they’re anything less than thrilled at being mums, or they might be made to pay.

  I knew I was working myself into a state but I didn’t know how to stop. Soon I’d be forced to phone home and check everything was OK. And even if it was, the minute I pressed End Call the bad thoughts would start up again. I began to picture all the ways my son might come to harm: he could fall down the stairs, run out onto the road, stumble into a pond, choke, stab himself, stick his fingers up a rare unguarded socket.

  The knock at the door made me jump as though I’d been shot. When I pressed my hand to my chest, my heart was throbbing under the palm. ‘I’m busy,’ I shouted. ‘I don’t want to be disturbed.’

  The door opened anyway and Daniel peered round. ‘Not even by me?’

  I yelped in genuine delight, ran to hug him. ‘You didn’t say you were coming.’

  ‘I wanted it to be a surprise. I thought you might need cheering up today.’

  ‘I do.’ I turned the radio-babble off, led him over to the bed and wrapped my arms around him. ‘Really pleased to see you.’

  ‘Evidently.’ His hair was, if anything, madder than when I’d last seen him. He grinned, then freed an arm and patted his jacket pocket. ‘And I’ve brought you a present.’

  ‘Is it a dead beetle in a matchbox again?’

  ‘That was one time, Charlotte, and it did have a spectacular carapace. No, I’ve got you a tin of Uncle Joe’s Mint Balls. I thought we could suck a couple in memory of Nan.’

  I squeezed him again, so hard he pretended to be choking. ‘You’re a well weird boyfriend, you are. But I love you.’

  ‘Do you? Do you really?’ He leaned backwards so he could study my face.

  ‘Well, duh. Course.’

  ‘It’s just – it’s been a long time since you said it.’

  ‘No, it hasn’t.’ I drew him into a long kiss to stop him arguing. When we broke for air, I said, ‘You know, I’ve been thinking: did I ever say a proper thank-you?’

  ‘For the beetle? No. You were singularly ungrateful, as I remember.’

  ‘Idiot. I mean for how you were with me when I got pregnant, and how you helped with the baby, everything. Because if I didn’t, I’m saying it now. I’d never have managed without you. You were what got me through that year.’

  ‘It cuts both ways. If you recall, you were about the only person who bothered speaking to me when I started in that bloody school. I was Billy No-mates, stuck in the corner of the sixth-form common room day after day, playing chess with myself. No one else would have anything to do with me till you took me on.’

  ‘Yeah, well. Someone had to rescue you. And you are great with Will.’

  Daniel flopped back onto the bed. ‘That’s no hardship, I enjoy shaping his impressionable young mind. You know I’ve taught him the word “protein”?’

  ‘No, you haven’t.’

  ‘I have. Last time we were at your mum’s. I handed him his chicken drumstick and I said, “That’s protein.” And he said it right back at me.’

  ‘He doesn’t understand, though. He’s only parroting. You could have claimed it was plutonium and he’d have accepted it.’ I lay down next to Daniel and nestled my head against his shoulder. ‘Enough, already. I don’t want to talk about Will, it’ll only make me homesick. What I need right now is distracting. Quick, take off your jeans.’

  With the sigh of someone incredibly put-upon, he reached for the buckle on his belt.

  ‘God, Charlotte, it’s one demand after another with you.’

  As Roz once charmingly observed during one of her drunken heart-to-hearts, Daniel didn’t look as though he’d be good at sex. His wild hair, the mad professor glasses, the generally dishevelled clothes – none of it suggested Mr Lover-Man. But appearances can be deceptive. Maybe it was because we’d been friends first, taken things slowly, or maybe it was because we’d now been dating for nearly three years and he just knew his way around my body. Whatever it was, this was what I needed. Martin Eavis once said in a lecture that poetry was ‘the only pleasure humans enjoyed with their whole mind’; when some of us sniggered, he said, ‘No, think: even when you’re enjoying the most intense physical sensations, your mind goes wandering off.’ But for once he was wrong. There are times I’ve been with Daniel when I’ve been so consumed with sex that there’s been no room in my head for anything else at all. Only a fierce meshing of rightness and release, and that amazing blissed-out calm that comes afterwards.

  When we’d finished, the room was very quiet. I could make out far-off noises from round the house – water running through the pipes, birds cheeping outside my window, a low bass beat coming from Gemma’s room downstairs. I felt like I was lying in some kind of bubble, insulated from the everyday world. Right at this moment I had no doubts or fears about the future. I could look into Daniel’s face and be sure I loved him and that we would stay together. If he asked me to marry him here, now, in this bed, I’d say yes.

  ‘OK?’ he asked, reaching across to the bedside table for his glasses.

  ‘Wait,’ I said. ‘I like to see you without them sometimes. You look all naked and vulnerable.’

  ‘All blind and clumsy, you mean.’

  There was a small dent on the bridge of his nose where his glasses had been resting. I reached up and touched it. What do you think will happen when we leave uni? I wanted to ask. Are you going to be there for me and Will? Do you promise? Are we safe?

  But before I could put any of it into words I heard Walshy thumping up the stairs, shouting, ‘Cut the green bits off, then. No one ever died of cheese poisoning.’

  And then I remembered. Oh yeah: I was a faithless bitch.

  ‘I’ve brought your cat back.’

  Eric stood on the doorstep holding Pringle under one arm as though he was a parcel. Kenzie lurked behind.

  ‘Oh,’ I said. I knew what a sight I must look. No make-up, a painty apron, bare feet with a plaster wrapped round one toe. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘He was in my kitchen. About to help himself to a packet of cheese slices.’

  God. And prior to that a piece of chicken and a sausage roll, I guessed.

  ‘I suppose it’s because it used to be his home. You could do with nailing your old cat-flap shut.’

  ‘Aye, I’ll get round to it one of these days.’

  I took Pringle and dropped him at the foot of the stairs where he stretched, sat, then stuck his leg in the air and began to groom his privates.

  ‘Wash hands, Grandma?’ called Will.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Look, we’ve had a messy morning but it’s clearing-up time. Come in and I’ll make a drink.’

  Automatically I turned CBBC on, then hauled Will through to the bathroom to wipe him clean. While he dabbled his fingers in the sink I leaned across him into the mirror and tried to smooth my hair into a normal shape. There was a
spare lipstick down here, luckily, so I made use of that. My shoes were upstairs but I did keep a pair of mules by the bath, they’d hide my manky toe. The apron I would lose after I’d gathered up and binned the newspaper. If only I’d had some warning Eric was about to come round. It was all very vexing.

  After the table was cleared, and my history laid on top of the television to dry, I rustled up a plate of biscuits, juice and two coffees. ‘You’re a big boy now, you don’t need a beaker like Will, do you?’ I said, bending over the sofa to hand Kenzie his cup. I expected him to boast a bit about being older, the way the kids at school do. But he didn’t respond at all. I watched him sip his juice and thought again how little the age gap actually showed. Honestly, you could have dropped Kenzie in the Giraffe Room at nursery alongside Will and no one would have batted an eyelid. Then again, Will was tall for his age. Already we had him in Age 3 trousers.

  While I was pondering them both, Kenzie slid off the sofa and went over to the TV. I thought he wanted to get a better view of 64 Zoo Lane, but it was my history he’d spotted and the multicoloured handprints round the border. He crooked a finger and poked one of the paint splodges experimentally.

  I didn’t mean to shout, but I suppose I did raise my voice slightly. ‘No, love, come away from that!’

  At once he shrank back as if I’d yelled down his ear.

  ‘What’s he doing now?’ said Eric.

  ‘It’s nothing, he’s fine,’ I said, and led Kenzie back to the sofa where he sat with his shoulders hunched. What a contrast to Will, who only ever registered the mildest interest when you were telling him off. I suppose that was the difference between being two and being four. Two-year-olds live in their own world, largely.

  Eric stepped forward and peered at the book. ‘Looks interesting.’

  ‘It’s just a family history I’m putting together.’

  ‘And what’ve you uncovered? Any highwaymen, or dukes?’

  ‘I’m not going that far back. Really it’s only about my mother’s life. Charlotte started the project, but she left to go to university so I picked it up. We both of us wanted to record the family stories while my mum, you know . . . While we still could. I’m glad we made the time.’ I felt a lump begin to rise in my throat, swallowed it down. ‘It’s actually her anniversary today.’

  ‘Ach, I’m sorry to hear that, Karen.’ He was studying the photos as if he genuinely cared what was in them. ‘You know, this is quite a work y’ have here. No, really. I can see the care must’ve gone into it. I always meant to look into my family tree, except all I’d probably have found was a bunch of rogues. Maria started hers once – that’s Kenzie’s mum – but she didna get far. Always got distracted, y’ ken? There was always something else more interesting going on. That was her all over, actually. Couldna settle.’ He pointed at the photo I’d stuck to the top of the page. ‘So, go on, who’s this lot, then?’

  I lifted the book off the TV and nodded at him to sit down. Then I perched on the chair arm next to him.

  ‘This little girl in the pinafore’s my mum. The boy’s her brother, the young woman’s my grandma Polly, and the old sourpuss in the black silk’s my great-grandma Florrie.’

  ‘She seems like a barrel of laughs.’

  ‘Doesn’t she just.’

  ‘Your mother’s pretty. She has a nice smile.’

  I felt such a rush of warmth towards Eric for saying that. He had no need. In truth, Mum was quite a plain girl, her face too round for a beauty. I was glad he saw what was lovely in her. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Aye, it’s hard when your mum’s not around any more.’

  ‘When did you lose yours, Eric?’

  ‘She’s not dead. She lives out in Spain with her fancy man.’

  There was an almighty clatter as the plate of biscuits fell onto the carpet. Kenzie glanced up, stricken.

  ‘It’s all right,’ I said quickly. ‘Nothing broken.’

  ‘Jeez, Kenzie. Why can’t you be more careful?’

  Will carried on sucking his custard cream and watching TV, but Kenzie next to him was wide-eyed and appalled. The skin under his nose glistened unpleasantly.

  I said, ‘Ooh, now, I think someone might need to blow his nose. Hang on a minute and I’ll get you a tissue.’

  I knew full well we had no tissues in the house, but toilet paper does the job. I scooted through the kitchen into the bathroom, and was just pulling a few sheets off the roll when I heard noisy breathing behind me. Kenzie had followed me and was standing by the sink.

  ‘Come here, sweetheart,’ I said. I held the paper to his nose, as I’ve done a hundred times with kids at school, and helped him blow. Then I wiped, wiped again, and went over his face with a damp towel for good measure. He stood meekly till I’d finished, then suddenly lurched forward and buried his face against my thighs. I put my arms round him and held him for a few seconds, while from the living room drifted the theme tune to Fireman Sam. I thought, Eeh, lad, whose is the bosom you snuggle into when you need someone squashy? I know you’ve got your father, but there’s no mum, no granny round the corner. Where’s the mother-figure in your life? Is there anyone? Because if there isn’t, it’s a poor do.

  A tug of pain seemed to travel up from his heart to mine; I hoped I was just imagining it because of my own raw state. Only, you see these programmes on TV – documentaries and the news – about kids who look OK but are secretly in difficulties. Damaged children. It’s something that I think about a lot these days. Sometimes I lie awake at night worrying about the unhappiness in the world.

  ‘All right now, pet?’ I asked.

  He relaxed his grip and I peeled him gently off me. Such a quiet child. His eyes were dark as pools.

  ‘About time he learned to blow his own nose,’ said Eric as I steered his son back through to the lounge.

  ‘Actually, he’s nothing like as bad as some of the infants I deal with. We had one, it was like a permanent stream. Very off-putting when you were hearing him read and he was standing at your elbow. His mum took him to the doctor in the end and it turned out he’d a piece of sweetcorn stuck up his nostril.’

  ‘Kids, eh? Kenzie once shoved a marble up his bum. Came out on its own, though, thank God. Which school is it you work at?’

  ‘Saint Mary’s. Behind the council offices.’

  ‘I know it. I drive by there if I’ve a job out Bolton way.’ He stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘Hey, here’s an idea. How about, next dinnertime I’m going past, I stop and take you for a bite to eat? Kind of a thank-you for looking after Kenzie. You’ve really helped me out these last few weeks.’

  He’d caught me on the hop. I was flustered. ‘That’s very – I enjoy having him – there’s no need.’

  ‘It was just a thought.’

  ‘No, it’d be good. The Feathers is nice.’

  ‘Grand. I don’t know when you teachers have your breaks.’

  ‘Twelve till one. But I do a half-day Tuesdays and Thursdays.’

  We smiled at each other, suddenly shy.

  Through the lounge window came the sound of an engine outside revving over and over, like a snarling dog. That broke the moment. I edged slightly to one side to see past Eric, and a big blue and green motorbike was parking by our front gate.

  Half a minute later, Steve waved through the glass. Pulling off the crash helmet had swept his hair upwards so it stood on end, Chuckle Brother-style. He gave me a thumbs-up and raised a swinging carrier bag for me to see. Now, what might he have brought to help me get through this difficult day? A memorial rose for the garden, maybe? A nice boxed photo-frame so I could display another picture of Mum? More likely to be a four-pack of cider and a DVD. Mind, I wouldn’t have said no to that.

  I went to let him in.

  ‘I thought as you might have been a bit low today, so I – bloody hell, who’s that?’ Steve stood in the lounge doorway and pointed rudely at Eric.

  ‘Ssh,’ I said, batting his hand down. ‘He’s a neighbour. That’s his little
lad, Kenzie. I look after him sometimes.’

  Eric stood up and the two men eyed each other.

  I said, ‘Eric: Steve. My ex-husband.’

  ‘Good to meet you,’ said Eric, with reasonable politeness. ‘That your bike, then?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Nice.’

  Steve’s body language relaxed slightly.

  ‘Course,’ Eric went on, ‘Suzuki GSX-Rs are faster.’

  I said, ‘I don’t want him going faster.’

  ‘Do you ride, then?’ asked Steve.

  Eric snorted. ‘Me? I’ve better things to do than scrape my own body parts up off the road. But I used to work with a guy who’d been a dispatch rider. He’d been all over, knew all there was to know about Suzukis. Came off I don’t know how many times, broke half the bones in his body. You want to get a decent back protector.’

  ‘Oh, aye?’

  ‘Hein Gericke, they do the best ones. They do decent leathers, too. Plenty of Kevlar where you need it. What make’s your helmet?’

  ‘AGV.’

  ‘Not bad. Arai’s better.’

  ‘I’ll make sure I ask your opinion next time I go shopping.’

  Eric nodded, missing the sarcasm. ‘Yeah, I can come along with you, any time. Just give us a shout.’

  Over my steaming dead body, said Steve’s expression. He glared at me. ‘Can I have a private word, Karen?’

  We left Eric with the boys and went through to the back kitchen.

  ‘Who the hell does he think he is?’ Steve burst out, the minute I’d pulled the door to. ‘“Plenty of Kevlar”? I know where he needs some Kevlar.’