by Emma Morgan
‘I’ll give myself a quick touch up,’ she said to Annie and tic-tacked off to the bathroom. Annie recognized this sound both as one from her childhood and therefore her mum’s authority, and also as the sound of nights out when she could have had her way with any man in the room. It was the sound of confidence and power. Annie began to pray to an unknown god, the god of order perhaps, that she had not left her contraceptive pills by the sink, or even in the cabinet, because the likelihood of her mother looking in there was high.
‘You should get dressed, Annie,’ shouted her mother from the bathroom and Annie looked down to see that she was wearing, of all things, a grubby T-shirt, a sports bra, and the tracksuit bottoms she used to clean in, because she had been about to do her annual clothes audit and every item she owned from knickers outwards was piled high on her bed. No, I will not, she thought, it’s my bloody flat, I’ll wear what I want, even if what I have on are these disgusting things. She put her thumbnail in her mouth and chewed off the end deliberately. It’s my bloody flat. It was probably good that her mother was here, perhaps this was the time she could finally tell her about not wanting children right now. Grace had encouraged her to address it when she felt able to. It was better that she was on her own turf. Yes, she would do it even though the prospect terrified her. Grace had said they should aim for ‘a dialogue’, after all. She’d had enough of her mother telling her what to do. It was her life. When she came out of her room her mother was standing with the fridge door open.
‘You shouldn’t have raw meat at the top, Annie, that should go on the bottom shelf. Have I never told you that? I’m sure I have. And I’ll have a coffee but not if it’s out of that contraption. What’s wrong with Nescafé, I ask you?’
‘There’s a jar in the cupboard above the kettle.’
Her mother turned to stare at her and waited for a beat which meant, you are the hostess, I am the cherished guest. Annie didn’t move.
‘I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here? How’s that Laurence?’
‘He’s OK.’
‘That’s not very forthcoming, is it?’
‘He’s fine.’
‘Quite a nice lad, that one. Clean. Good manners. I hope he’s never seen you in those awful trousers you’re wearing. What are they – jogging bottoms? Really, Annie, could you not find anything else clean? Have you no laundry system to speak of? And that Violet? Where is she?’
‘Out.’
‘With one of her young men, is she?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘I can see when I’m not wanted.’
Annie couldn’t imagine a more irritating phrase than the last apart from, ‘You’ve put on weight since I last saw you.’
‘I’m surprised that you’re here, that’s all,’ Annie said. ‘You never come on your own.’
‘I’ve got better driving shoes now. And I’ve got news to tell you and so I thought I’d come to visit.’
‘You’re moving again. You’re getting divorced. I’m adopted. Grandad Arnold has popped his clogs. They’ve run out of your favourite Chardonnay in the M&S food hall and despite your protestations they won’t restock. Any of those do you?’
‘Annie, I don’t know what has got into you this morning! Is it your time of the month?’
And that is the other phrase, thought Annie. How had I forgotten?
‘If a man was to say that I’d punch him,’ she said.
‘Why does that not surprise me?’ asked her mother. ‘And I wonder why you’re not married yet. Sit down.’
‘I’ll stand, thanks.’
‘Fine. I’ll sit down.’
Annie’s mother took over the sofa as though it was centre of her queendom, carefully spreading her linen skirt to minimize the creases. She plucked at her blouse which was of course pristine despite the journey and then patted her chignon to check if she had any hair out of place, which she didn’t. Annie hovered, a pretender in her own home. She always felt like her mother’s doppelgänger, but the inferior version and not just the younger.
‘Your father and I are going on the road,’ said her mother casually.
‘What, like Jack Kerouac? You’re going to bum rides and hop trains? Or are you going to get one of those big caravan things?’
‘You don’t listen. We’re going on the road. We’re going on tour. Amsterdam. That’s the first one. Then we’re going to, I think, Hamburg. Then Bremen, even though I don’t know where that is. Then back to Holland.’
‘I am finding it hard to follow this conversation.’
‘Well, you know that your father and I had ourselves a little band when we were young? Lady V and the Dreamers? Don’t ask me, the name was all your father’s idea. Well, it turns out someone, all those years back, took a video of us and they found it again and went and put it up on that there YouTube and before I know it we’ve got 250 likes and then 1,000 and then Michael Wrigley of all people rang up …’
‘Michael Wrigley?’
Her mother looked vaguely sheepish.
‘Now Annie, don’t get aerated about that. Turns out that now the lad is very entrepreneurial and knows all sorts of people who put on gigs …’
‘And you didn’t think to tell me this at an earlier stage? That it might have been a good idea? Because now the story has jumped on and you’re off to Holland?’
Her mother eyed her speculatively.
‘I’m sure I don’t know why you’re getting into a right tizzy about this.’
‘What, like you, you mean? You the queen of all spectacular rages, you who once threw a cut-glass decanter at our Eddie’s head? A full decanter, mind you.’
‘Annie, would you please sit down and hear me out. I thought you’d like this. I know you’ve always wanted me to be more independent, more like you. You know, off doing your own thing. I look back on my life and I think have I wasted it? But now it’s expanding. It’s wonderful.’
‘I’m glad to hear that bringing up me and my brothers was a waste of your precious time!’
‘That’s not what I said. Can’t you see? I’m free now, we’re free, your dad and me, to do anything we want to do. The world is our oyster. This has come just at the right time. Maybe you want me to be your poor old mum, stuck at home dusting for the rest of my days, but I don’t. There’s so much more for me. I thought you’d love this. I really did. I’m disappointed in you, Annie.’
‘Michael Wrigley cheated on me. Not that I’ve ever told you that. With Tiffany Jones. That’s why I broke up with him. And I don’t want children. Not right now. And I don’t want to get married. Not right now. I’m not saying not ever but I’ve got other stuff I want to do. I got offered this job.’
There, it was out, all in one breath. She had thought it would be cathartic. It wasn’t. Her mother stood up.
‘And why exactly did you choose to tell me all this now?’
‘Because Michael Wrigley is not who you think he is. And because you think you can go and do whatever you damn well please but you object if I try to do what I want to do and not what you’ve decided is best for me.’
‘And not wanting children. You couldn’t have told me before?’ her mother said.
‘I tried.’
‘When did you try?’
‘I wanted to.’
‘I’ll have no grandchildren.’
‘Well, maybe my brothers …’
‘Chance would be a fine thing. Now you listen to me, young lady. That Laurence is a catch. You won’t get any better, not at your age. You’ll be over the hill before you know it and then what? Then what?’
‘You’re like something out of the dark ages.’
‘How dare you! You haven’t got your priorities right, not at all.’
‘You’re being stupid.’
‘Don’t speak to me like that.’
‘I’m a grown-up. I have a life. I have a job. I can speak to you however I want.’
‘If your father was here right now …’
‘He wouldn’t do any
thing. He never does anything. You tell him what to do all the time. And you’ve been telling me what to do all my life too. Study this. Go there. Be that. Get married to some suitable character who doesn’t exist. Have children because you want them. Not because it’s the right time for me. Oh no. Well, you can shove it, Mum, you really can.’
Annie was so angry she was shaking. She looked down at her feet, which were bare. She had forgotten to put her mules on, and then she looked up to see her mother stand up and wedge her feet firmly back into her shoes, pick up her handbag, and leave the room and Annie listened for the slam of the door that had punctuated her childhood when her mother took umbrage at a minor infraction of her many rules. But it didn’t come and instead there was a soft closing of the flat door so as not to inconvenience.
Annie sat down on the sofa. Well, that went well then. I expressed myself very coherently. I must make such a good lawyer. Fuck, she thought, fuck.
This is Violet and her bedroom wall (II)
Violet hadn’t appreciated before what a strong personality Sam had, being used to, as she was, the strength in Annie. She had a quiet firmness, had Sam, that brokered no argument, a calm parental authority. And the truth is that Violet liked this of course, she liked being told what to do, where to go, how to do things. It cancelled the whirling indecisions of her wandering brain and meant she never, ever, had to grow up; she could always be the little girl in the fairy story. She spent more and more time with Sam now and less and less at home; Annie and her had stopped speaking completely. Even if Annie wasn’t there she moved around the flat quietly trying not to displace the air. Sam seemed to like her being at her flat, but Violet noticed that she never let her leave anything behind her as was Violet’s scattering wont. So where was her home now? Where did she belong? And to whom? She would like to belong to somebody; it would make her feel safer. Everything was temporary and nothing was fixed and so she asked Sam if she could come and live with her. Sam didn’t say anything for a while. Was this a row, Violet wondered. The lack of an immediate answer meant she ended up in a panic attack, with Sam sitting on the edge of the bed with her making her blow into a paper bag that had once held organic apples. She inhaled the crisp smell. In and out. In and out.
‘I’m sorry,’ Sam said, ‘I didn’t know that would upset you that much.’
Violet couldn’t say anything.
‘I don’t know what to do now,’ said Sam. ‘How can I help you?’
‘Please don’t make me go,’ said Violet when she could breathe, although her voice sounded more like a croak.
‘I’m not trying to do that,’ said Sam, still as gentle as she always was.
‘I know I’m being …’ said Violet. ‘Clingy. If that’s the right word. Maybe it’s a bit to do with Annie. She’s gone all … far away. And now you seem far away too and I don’t know what to do.’
‘Getting like this doesn’t seem to be a great option. I’m sorry but I don’t do living together,’ said Sam, and Violet waited to be hugged but she wasn’t and couldn’t instigate the movement herself.
‘Never?’ she asked.
‘Never.’
‘But perhaps you could …’
‘No, I don’t want to. But I do like you, Violet, and I’d like to keep seeing you.’
And she nuzzled Violet’s ear.
‘Tickles,’ Violet whispered.
‘I know,’ Sam said. And did it again.
One part of Violet was used to this kind of sex now and one part was still surprised every time. She normally spent the first few minutes in a mild state of disorientation – I am in bed with a woman, what do I do? But each time they did it this early stage got shorter and shorter and Violet imagined a day would come when it would all seem so normal that it would disappear entirely. She was more assertive with Sam than she had ever been with a man; she sometimes even instigated the sex, which she had never done before. Tonight, she wanted to see if she could make Sam come more than once. She ignored her own arousal and put her mouth on Sam until Sam whispered to her, ‘Please don’t stop.’
After Sam had gone to sleep, Violet lay awake and thought about the day when she had gone to the birthday party of a child in her class and one of the children had locked her in a cupboard and left her there and although Violet had screamed and banged on the door no one came for what seemed like a very long time indeed. Looking back on it, it could have been only minutes but at the time she was terrified that she would have to remain there for ever. Eventually the child’s mother let her out and called her silly for getting herself locked in. The other children sniggered and turned their backs on her and Violet realized that she had wet herself, that there was a large damp stain all over the skirt of her white party dress. Despite the sex, despite the things she had made Sam feel, she felt like that tonight.
The next morning, after she got home from Sam’s, the flat was quiet. Annie might be in or she might be out. Violet tiptoed to her bedroom door to see if she could hear anything. She couldn’t. Well, she’d just go to bed. That was her plan. ‘The fear’ had trailed her all the way home and was about to become overwhelming. But instead, six hours later, on half of the walls of her room was something resembling a mural. She stood, exhausted, her clothes and hands covered in a layer of pastels. At least she had put down a sheet so that it wasn’t on the floor. That was something. It should have depressed her, Sam’s refusal, but it hadn’t after all, it had energized her. And she should be feeling enormously guilty because of the mess she had made in what was, after all, very definitely, Annie’s flat, but she didn’t feel bad about that either. She felt satisfied and calm. She had made something. She had made something bigger than anything she had ever made before. Drawing for her had always been such a private thing that she was unwilling to share them with anyone. Only Annie had ever seen them and Annie wasn’t given to praise. But the fact that Sam had liked them and that she had been brave enough to share them with her had helped Violet, she realized now. And yes, it was embarrassing that she had asked Sam that, but it was more that she had been feeling insecure than that she really wanted to live with her. She was glad, on consideration, that Sam had said no. She didn’t want to live with her. She wanted to stay living with Annie. Even though, if Annie was to see the world of old ladies and dachshunds and trees and flowers she had created on her walls, she might well throw her out. Well, she thought, I’ll just have to keep the door closed, won’t I? She was proud of what she had made, she didn’t want it covered up. It was good. She could recognize it was good. She took some photos of it with her mobile and then she changed her clothes. She remembered that in her knicker drawer, tucked up with her vintage gloves, was her father’s letter. She took it out and looked at it and made a list about why not to go.
I know next to nothing about my father and he might well be a complete bastard.
I will have to go all the way to France.
I have no money to go all the way to France.
What if ‘the fear’ overwhelms me while I am there and I get stuck?
I am scared of all forms of transport including escalators.
But she couldn’t think of a 6.
This is what Annie had to say that Grace didn’t want to hear
Annie sat staring out the window. Grace stared at Annie but her mind was on Sam. It was always on Sam now and she had forgotten what they had been talking about.
‘I was horrible to my mother, I said some horrible things,’ said Annie, and Grace was glad that Annie had spoken first. ‘But I don’t want to talk about it any more.’
‘That’s fine. We don’t have to. Is there anything else you want to talk about?’
Annie turned her face back to Grace.
‘It’s Violet. I didn’t tell you but we’re not talking at all. It’s that girlfriend she’s got. I mentioned her, didn’t I?’
‘Yes, you did.’
‘She’s a bitch. I can’t stand her. She’s completely up herself but Violet, she just can’t let it go. I don’
t know what’s going on.’
‘What is it about her you don’t like?’
‘She’s a gardener in the park, and it’s not that I think there’s anything wrong with that …’
Annie looked at Grace.
‘Are you all right? You’re looking pale. Are you getting ill?’
‘Could I ask? The woman’s name. I mean the woman that Violet is seeing. Her girlfriend.’
‘Sam. Her name’s Sam. Anyway …’
Everything she said was going to sound like an accusation. But this was an accusation. Because this was happening. Sam was seeing someone else. Grace needed to get her head around it. But she couldn’t.
She sat in her car outside Sam’s house for twenty minutes. It felt like flu, like she was getting the flu, shivery and sick. She got out of the car and locked it. She went towards Sam’s house as if it was the last place on earth she wanted to go, and then she remembered the night on the doorstep. She didn’t want to say anything. Maybe she wouldn’t say anything? Perhaps she could ignore it. Pretend it wasn’t happening. After all, people did denial all the time, how many people had she seen over the years who were experts in it? Couldn’t she adapt? It was going to sound like an accusation, and what if Sam denied it, then where would she be? What if Sam said that she was jealous and paranoid? Perhaps she was jealous and paranoid, like she had been when she’d sat outside Sam’s all night. But she had been right, hadn’t she, she’d been right. When Eustacia had said, ‘When you know you know,’ had she been talking about something else? Perhaps she should have rung her first. She was sensible, she would know what to say. Shit. Shit. Shit. Grace rang the bell. Sam answered the intercom.
