by Kate Long
She hung her head, but Dex stared me out. ‘I bet you’ve more than us, love.’
I opened my mouth to protest, then stopped. He was right. For all we’d had our lean times, I’d never had to live with bare floors and no TV.
I said, ‘What is it you need money for?’
She gave a bitter laugh. ‘What don’t we need money for? They’re bloody queuing up.’
‘What, are we telling her now?’ said Dex.
‘She might as well hear. I owe somebody, Charlotte. Well, I owe a load of people, but there’s this one man. He’s not so patient as the others. He’s—’
‘He’s gonna fuck us over. We’re out of time, basically. Finished.’
‘We’ve moved twice but they always find us. And it’s all right saying, “Ooh, don’t go down that route,” but you get a bit behind with your rent and that, and then someone offers you notes in your hand. You’d have to be Mother sodding Teresa to turn them down. A month later they’re taking the door off its hinges.’
Loan sharks, then. I’d seen a drama on TV a couple of months ago about one and it had given me nightmares. One woman they’d pushed so she was leaning right out of a window, another said they’d set fire to her son’s school bag. There’d been children screaming, mothers on their knees. Jesus, if it was pigs like that shouting through the letterbox, no wonder she was wound up. No wonder she was so keen to see me. A walking cash dispenser, I must have looked like. My conscience hovered between pity and outrage.
‘Listen,’ I said, ‘I might be able to give you something. Just a small amount. Out of my own money.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Maybe twenty.’
Dex snorted.
I said, ‘It’s all I can manage. I need the rest to get back home.’
‘Waste of time.’
‘Where did you put my bag?’
Jen shot Dex a look. ‘I tell you what, sweetheart, how about you just loan us the cash. I can see you’ve got a few notes in your pocket there. Make it a bit more than twenty and we’ll pay you back. Promise.’
‘Where’s my bag?’
‘I’ll post the money to you. Soon as I get straight.’
‘Enough.’ I slapped my hand against the thin wall. ‘I’m going to go now, right? Give me my stuff or I’m calling the police.’
That made her laugh. ‘And tell them what, sweetheart? You’ve mislaid your handbag? Your old granny’s asked you nicely for a few quid to see her through the week? Like they’d even come out.’ She saw me reaching for my mobile. ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, it’s in the loo.’
I turned on my heel and ran for the tiny bathroom, locking the door behind me.
This was the rattiest room of the lot. No window, naked light bulb, gouged-up cork tiles under my feet. The bath had a line of grot going right the way round and a load of what looked like dirty bedding bundled down at the plug end. I didn’t dare check the toilet.
At first glance there didn’t seem anywhere to hide a bag, unless she’d stuffed it in the cistern. But when I used my foot to shift a pile of clothes from the corner, underneath was my coat and a plastic bin with my bag in it. I grabbed it and held it to my chest, heart thumping. Outside I could hear Jen and Dex still arguing. Dex didn’t look to be in great physical shape, but he was angry and desperate. He could probably just take my money off me if he wanted. Or worse. A swell of panic sent me giddy and I had to clutch the sink for support. Idiot, Charlotte! What a total and utter idiot I’d been ever to come here in the first place. Swept in on a tide of arrogance, and now see the state of me. No one knew where I was or who I was with. God, I’d have given every penny I possessed to be back in Bank Top with Mum and Will, bickering over TV channels. Even to be on the platform at Euston.
I had to get home.
A deep breath, and I undid the lock.
I think what happens is, straight after a crisis, your brain function splits into two halves to protect you. There’s this brief period where you go onto auto-pilot and deal quite coolly with all the small practicalities, even though part of you wants to be throwing yourself on the ground and howling. For instance, I remember the day Mum died, the Health Centre rang about Will’s MMR and I was able to hold a perfectly rational conversation with them about suitable dates for his jab.
It’s later that you let yourself fall apart.
When the helicopter had taken off I first of all tried Charlotte’s phone, no bloody reply, bloody selfish girl, then I got back in my car and drove to a petrol station because I knew the tank was down to fumes. Next I stopped off at Iceland because it was the quickest way I could think to get my hands on some ready cash, stood in the centre aisle cradling a catering pack of spicy chicken wings – and Lord knows when we were going to eat those – managed to pay for them OK, even exchanged a line about the weather with the girl on the till. I collected Will from Eric’s and foisted him instead on Maud, who was so shocked at my news I thought she was going to have a heart attack. Finally I took myself to hospital.
There was a bit of waiting around and then the surgeon led me into a side room. By that point I was nearly dead with fear.
‘It was a very bad accident,’ he began.
I fingered Mum’s crucifix round my neck, managed a nod. Tell me something I don’t know.
‘Steven’s injuries are multiple and serious. He’s fractured his left shoulder, elbow, wrist and hip, and also his right knee. The shoulder and knee are particularly badly damaged. He’s going to need several operations in the short-term. There will be longer-term issues, too.’
I found my voice. ‘Will he walk?’
‘We think so.’
‘Will he lose a limb?’
‘I can’t rule it out at this stage. We’ll know more when we operate. Now we’ve completed the X-rays we’re taking him straight down to theatre. The good news is, his skull and spine are intact. His injuries are life-changing, but not life-threatening.’
‘I see.’
‘Have you any other questions?’
‘About a million, only they’re all swirling about . . . I can’t think straight.’
He waited for about half a minute, and when I didn’t speak, he stood up and put his hand on my shoulder. I didn’t want to delay the man, but I wasn’t ready to be left just yet. ‘How long will he be in hospital?’
‘We’re looking at months rather than weeks. And when he comes out, he’s going to need a lot of looking after.’
This time I didn’t say we weren’t married. What did it matter? I wondered who was going to tell Lusanna.
I should have said no, but Dex insisted.
‘Jesus, girl. You was asking for a lift earlier,’ said Jen. ‘And it’ll be ages before we can get you a taxi. They’re all tied up with school runs this time of day. So if we don’t take you now, you’ll miss your train. Be stuck here. With us. Imagine that.’
‘We’ll go straight to the station?’
‘Course we will.’
I knew they weren’t being honest only I didn’t feel I had a choice. It’s hard when you’re in a strange city and everyone you love is two hundred miles away.
We all climbed into his stinky Saxo and set off down the back streets. I was holding my bag so tightly my finger-ends had gone numb. Sure enough, five minutes in and Dex began saying we should call round at his son’s because we were pretty much going past and he needed to drop something off. I said that would make us late. Jen sat in the front and stared out of the window. ‘I’ll ring my mum,’ I threatened at one point, and I saw her shift in her seat, half-turn towards me. Her eyes held a kind of spiteful triumph.
‘Like fuck you will. Like you’re going to tell her you were ever here.’
And I knew that what she said was absolutely true. Mum must never know I’d been here and met this evil-minded cow.
Without warning the car swerved up onto the kerb and Dex pulled on the handbrake.
‘Why are we stopping?’ I said. ‘My train!’
He pointed to th
e row of shops opposite, and the bank. ‘See that cashpoint? Yeah? Just nip across and draw us out fifty, will you?’
I gaped at him stupidly.
‘Go on. Then we’ll take you straight to Euston and you’ll never hear from us again.’
‘And if I don’t?’
Dex sighed. Jen had shut herself off from the whole proceedings, fixing her gaze ahead and saying nothing.
My hand groped for the door handle.
‘Or seventy,’ said Dex.
I leaned hard on the door and it flew open. I stumbled out and, legs wobbling, made it across the busy road. From there I walked past the bank, and into the newsagent next door where I stood in full view of the window, facing the car. Then, slowly and clearly, I retrieved my phone and switched it on, holding it up to my ear so Dex could see.
After a minute the car drove away.
I closed my eyes in relief and, at the same moment, the mobile began to ring.
They let me say goodbye before they wheeled him away, but I don’t really think he had a clue. On my way out a nurse gave me a plastic carrier bag of his clothes, and then I went outside to ring Charlotte. And if she wasn’t answering, by God, I was going to keep pressing redial till the damn button fell off.
KAREN: I’ve been clearing out the front room for Will. Have you any idea how many tins of food I found in the bottom of that wardrobe?
NAN: (laughs)
KAREN: Why do you hoard so much, Mum? Is it because of the war?
NAN: (laughs)
KAREN: Anyway, they’re all pre-decimal so I’m afraid I’ve whizzed them.
NAN: Aye.
KAREN: And there were eight false moustaches. Eight! All in different styles and colours. Those were from your Mothers’ Union plays, I presume?
NAN: That’s right. I were allus chosen for th’ hen-pecked husband, and they’d put me wi’ Molly Higham or Gertie Speak, somebody big, as my wife. Th’ audience’d start laughing before we even spoke.
KAREN: You enjoyed acting?
NAN: Oh aye. We did some grand plays. Comedies, mainly. A Tuppenny Tale, The Lost Slipper, Down the Primrose Path.
KAREN: Can you remember any lines?
NAN: No. It’s too long ago. (Pause.) Did you find my ladle in t’wardrobe?
KAREN: The one with the shell bowl? No. I found an old carpet-beater and a bag of donkey stones.
NAN: I wonder where it went?
KAREN: What’s so special about this ladle?
NAN: Nowt, really. Only it were a nice thing and I had it a long time. I used clean up after t’dog wi’ it.
KAREN: We never had a dog.
NAN: Your dad did, briefly. Took it in for a neighbour when she fell sick. But it were a whippet and very flighty. So someone at t’paper mill had it off us. I think he ended up racing it. It could run like the clappers.
KAREN: You never told me about that.
NAN: Didn’t I? We only had it a month or two. Sammy, they called it. Lightning Sam. So anyway, this ladle come in very handy.
KAREN: I thought you said you used it to serve vegetables?
NAN: I did, later on.
KAREN: Are you winding me up?
NAN: It were properly disinfected. Mind, I did used t’think, Imagine their faces if they knew where this ladle’d been.
KAREN: Good grief.
NAN: (laughs) But what folk dunt know won’t hurt ’em.
KAREN: You reckon?
NAN: Aye, I do. I do.
CHAPTER 10
On a day in October
It was ludicrously early, not even light outside. I’d crept downstairs after an upsetting dream I couldn’t remember, and stuck the TV on low so as not to disturb Walshy or Gemma. For the first half-hour I’d watched a programme about a dance school and a bunch of nervy anorexic teens who studied there, which was mildly interesting. But that programme had finished and now it was snooker and I was too weary even to bother switching channels. The screen showed a close-up of coloured shiny balls jammed inside a triangle, then the frame was lifted away. Seconds later the formation was smashed apart. The balls sprang in different directions to ricochet off the table-edge or each other, scattering themselves across the green cloth. And I thought, That’s how my life is right now, blasted.
Back in another county, Dad was laid out on a hospital bed with actual metal screws driven into his skin, and a tangle of tubes going in and out all over. One tube was morphine, I knew because the nurse kept having to come and change the cartridge. The one at the foot of the bed was for holding wee. I tried not to look at that. Mum had said before I went in the first time that it was really important I didn’t freak out in case I upset him. She kept stressing that. God, though, it was difficult. I’ve never seen anyone so bashed up. With respect to my mum, I reckon I could have said pretty much anything to him, waltzed round the HDU in a ballgown, and he wouldn’t have turned a hair. He was too drugged up. Yet Mum was adamant, in the face of all the evidence, that he was going to end up OK. I wasn’t convinced her definition of OK was the same as mine. I’m pretty sure she just meant Not Dead. After that initial visit, I’d texted Dan – more to head him off than anything, I didn’t have enough strength left to deal with him turning up in person – and he’d been shocked and kind and let me speak to his father, which helped a bit. You have so many questions and there’s never anyone around on the wards who seems able to answer them.
Obviously the next thing I’d done was put York on hold. Final year or not, there was no way I was leaving Dad in that state, and also I was needed to look after Will while Mum hung round the hospital. But, three weeks down the line, she’d persuaded me to go back because we were winding each other up and because it was crucial I didn’t blow my degree on top of everything else. By then we’d had so many offers of babysitting she was able to draw up a rota stretching for months. Colleagues from school, parents of kids she taught, the massed ranks of the over-seventies, everyone wanted to help. ‘It is amazing how people step up in a crisis,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know so many people were bothered about me.’
Meanwhile, in an entirely separate nightmare, I spent every spare second sweating over the Jessie/Jen woman: the possibility of her trailing after me, pursuing me for cash, threatening to reveal to Mum how I’d sneaked behind her back. Ringing our front doorbell, barging her horrible way in. What kind of bitch had I unleashed there? How far might she push? I still wasn’t sure if she was mad, desperate or plain criminal. Should I have given her money? Or might that have opened the floodgates? Even though I’d told her no, she could come. And then Mum, already so near the edge, would tip right over. My God, Charlotte, who is this woman? What the hell have you been up to? Again and again I went over the information I’d let slip whilst I was in Jessie’s flat – our daily routines, the places we visited, so many different ways she could smash her way into our lives. Random details – the smell of air freshener, a pile of dirty bedding – brought back the visit with sickening clarity. That godawful train journey home, replaying Mum’s message on my phone, having to lie to her that I was coming back from York. Not knowing whether Dad would be alive when I got to him. The overwhelming sense that Fate was punishing me for my deceit.
What the hell had I been thinking when I took myself to London? Some tangle of selfish logic about how Mum being miserable was mainly a drag on me, and how superior I was to her when it came to rolling up my sleeves and sorting out problems. Trust Charlotte to take charge. Charlotte’ll make it better. Hah. It hadn’t been my business, it wasn’t my mystery to piece together.
What would Daniel have said? I tried to conjure him up, but this time he wouldn’t come. My fault for telling him to keep away, I supposed. All I could visualise was his bedroom wall, the poster of Einstein I’d bought him, the case of scarab beetles below it. I must have lain in his bed for hours, staring at his ranked insects while he explained to me the biological function of iridescence, the properties of chitin, the differences between katydids and cicadas. An ache of longing
pierced me. What was he up to now? Who was he with?
A sound on the stairs made me whip round. Here came Walshy, pale and ruffled in his ridiculous Chinese robe.
‘Fuck’s sake, Walshman,’ I said. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack.’
‘I am incredibly threatening.’ He slouched against the doorframe. The robe fell open.
‘Make yourself decent, at least.’
‘Some might say you shouldn’t have been looking. What you doing up at this time?’
‘Trying to unravel the knots in my head. What about you? You don’t normally grace us with your presence till gone eleven.’
‘Gotta be off to Stranraer in a couple of hours. Dad’s girlriend’s mum’s funeral. If I’m late for that, Dad’ll come after me with a shotgun.’
‘God, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Are you OK?’
He rubbed his eyes. ‘I never met the woman. I’m only going as a show of family support, show Dad I’m behind him, blah blah. Though obviously it’s a shame the old biddy’s dead.’
‘I hope they’re not relying on you to give the eulogy. Oh, you might need to shave before you set off, too.’
‘Yeah, I know I look like shit. I’ve been up all night, which doesn’t help.’
‘How come?’
‘Talking the night away with Gemma.’ He swung across and flopped down next to me.
Gemma and Walshy? That took me by surprise. Had I missed something while I was away?
He laughed at my expression. ‘Yeah, that’s right. She decided to become un-gay over the summer and we’re back together.’
‘You’re not!’
‘Nah, we’re not. She’s just having a freaky time right now and wanted someone to moan at. I came down for an aspirin around midnight, she was in the kitchen. We got chatting, drank a shed-load of coffee and the next thing you know it’s nearly morning. She’s gone off to bed but I’ve this funeral to get to, so I thought I’d make some toast, crank up my energy levels for the day. You want some? I can even scrape the fur off the jam.’
