by J. A. Baker
‘I know what it says!’ Dane grabs the tin of Coke from Alex and snaps it open with a crack, gulping down half the liquid in one swift movement. A cream foam moustache sits on his upper lip, tiny bubbles shifting and creeping over his skin.
‘So?’ Alex shakes his head, staring at Dane for answers.
‘So I was hiding out behind the store cupboard having a fag and now they’ve caught me and they want a meeting with my folks. My dad’s not so bothered though. Dommy Rose taught him when my dad was a kid and he can’t stand the guy so it’s all good. My mum’s pushing to go and speak to the pair of them but nobody takes any notice of anything she says anyway. I’m not worried.’
‘So, what’s your problem?’ Alex drains his drink, tosses it to the ground and crushes the can underfoot. He likes the sensation of the metal shrinking beneath his heel. It folds and concertinas into a small flat circular shape.
‘My problem? My problem is, Dommy Rose reckons I’m on target to get a fail.’ Dane’s voice is a growl, low and sinister. ‘No qualifications. No college place. Nothing. Not that it matters. I’ve got other plans anyway. It’s just the fucking cheek of it. Who does he think he is?’
Alex stares at his friend and is shocked to see that Dane’s eyes are glassy, as if he is about to burst into tears, his skin pallid and drawn, small creases lining the edge of his mouth.
‘Anyway.’ Dane’s voice is a tinny echo as he rubs at his face and laughs. ‘Who cares, eh? Who fucking cares about any of them? Come on.’ He nudges Alex, juts out his chin. ‘Let’s go and have a laugh at somebody else’s expense. Let’s show them all who’s boss.’
Alex follows Dane as they head towards the small terraced property of Miss Bennison, a small amount of anger building at the thought of his mate being punished and leaving school with nothing to show for it. How can that be fair? Dane may be surly but there are loads of kids at that school who are far more worthy of being singled out and humiliated and stripped of their exam results. What he has done, or more importantly, not done, does not warrant him being threatened like this or being branded a failure.
They move past the house and continue walking. ‘I thought she lived at that one?’ Alex is pointing to her small terraced house, a nondescript property with a glossy black door. He spots her car outside, a small red Fiat with a dent in the passenger side wing.
‘She does. We’ll get her on the way back,’ Dane shouts over his shoulder to Alex, his voice carried by the breeze.
‘Why do all the teachers live so near the school anyway?’ Alex is breathless as he runs to catch up. ‘If I was a teacher there, I’d live miles away. I wouldn’t want to be so near to the place where I work.’
‘It’s only these two. Maybe a couple more that I don’t know about. I made a point of finding out where Bennison lived. I got lucky when I found out she was local. Dommy Rose has lived here for years. He’s been in the same cottage since he taught my old man. What a saddo, eh?’
‘He never married?’ Alex stops and looks up at the dim grey sky. Soon it will be inky black save for a sprinkling of stars. Soon they will be plunged into darkness.
‘Ah,’ Dane says, his expression brightening, a new playful bounce to his timbre. ‘Now there’s a story. My dad knows the ins and outs of that particular tale. It made the papers apparently. I’ll tell you all about it once we’re done here.’ Dane suddenly grins, his eyes dancing with happiness. It’s a look that takes Alex by surprise. It’s a rare occurrence to see his pal smile or display any emotion akin to happiness. His default character traits are gloom and near anguish. ‘Come on,’ he says, breathless. ‘Let’s shake old Dommy Rose up. Give him something to think about before he starts labelling me as a fucking failure.’
14
The silence is deafening. Perhaps even worse than the shouting. Worse than Rob and Dane yelling at her that she is wrong and that she needs to lighten up, not get so worked up about something so insignificant. Her son’s qualifications, his future deemed insignificant. That’s what they’re talking about here and yet apparently, she is blowing it up out of proportion, turning it into something that it isn’t. According to Rob, it’s a trivial matter and not worthy of serious discussion.
Not worthy of serious discussion.
The words ring around her head. So much commotion and upset – Dane, Rob, her words drowned out by their anger at her suggestion they call the school, arrange a meeting, get their son back on track.
‘Qualifications aren’t the be-all and end-all. He can come and work for me, be a general labourer. Don’t know what you’re getting so worked up about. That’s your problem, Nina. You’re too bloody intense. Everything is a fucking problem with you.’ Rob had turned away from her and given Dane a smile, tousling his hair, telling him to ignore any teachers that give him hassle in the future.
‘Send ’em my way, son. I’ll soon sort them out. And take no notice of your mother. She takes everything to heart, sees life as one big bloody problem.’
Winking and nudging one another, the two men in her life had sauntered out of the kitchen leaving her dizzy – her head reeling at how things had deteriorated so rapidly – and feeling marginalised, an inconsequential bystander in her own life. That’s what she has become. Or has it always been this way? There was a time, even after Dane was born, when she saw Rob as a witty, charming individual, somebody she could rely on. Because that’s all everybody wants in a partner, don’t they? Reliability. Kindness. Not someone who continually lets them down and fails to deliver on promises. He worked hard, gave them a good home, made sure they had enough money in the bank. Always with a smile, he was a handyman, a comic, a perfect gentleman.
So when did it change? How did things get to this point? Or has it always been this way? Was she so blinded by his charms and charisma that she simply didn’t see it – his darker side, the part of him that was possibly always present, lurking, just waiting for the shine of their relationship to dull so it could reveal itself.
Or maybe it’s her. Perhaps she has altered in some imperceptible way; become less frivolous, unable to see the lighter side of life. They used to have such good times together, Rob’s raucous laughter filling any room they were in. She can’t remember the last time they smiled together, let alone laughed. Those days seem to be so far behind them it’s as if they never existed at all and are just a figment of her imagination – implanted memories she has dreamt up to keep herself sane. At some point their lives diverged and went in opposite directions and now it’s as if they are so far down different paths they will never meet up, a family fractured and broken, the glue that once held them together, spoiled and damaged beyond repair.
Nina swallows down the lump that has risen in her throat, blinks back tears, and tells herself she is being overly dramatic, proving Rob right, that she is too intense, turning everything into a problem instead of just letting it be.
Some problems repair themselves. That’s what he has said in the past. Stop thinking you have to fix everything and everyone, Nina. You’re not God.
Will Dane’s future and his school problems repair themselves without any intervention from her? Will her boy get fixed and set himself on the right path? She hopes so but fails to see how. Without any guidance or assistance, Dane is rudderless, a young boy lacking in experience and knowledge of how the world works. He cannot see the bigger picture. How many fifteen-year-olds can? He isn’t alone in that respect. But with his immature ways and absence of foresight, he lacks more than many when it comes to functioning on a day-to-day basis amongst other people.
She thinks of her parents, of her dad and how he discreetly tried to warn her away from Rob, telling her how some mistakes can never be patched up and made good. She didn’t understand the meaning behind his words, couldn’t see it at the time, how he had done his best to be subtle, attempting to dodge the obvious topic of Rob’s brashness and arrogance, using philosophical phrases, esoteric language to guide her thinking. She was blind to it all, unable to see beyond the
initial attraction she felt towards her husband-to-be, was too enamoured by Rob’s exuberance and confident manner to take a step back and analyse it in any great depth.
And now here she is all these years later, thinking about how those attributes that originally caught her eye, making her feel comforted and even aroused, now make her toes curl with embarrassment and revulsion. His loud voice that turns heads whenever they walk in the pub, his cast-iron opinions, his inability to stop and slow down and just think about what he is saying, they all serve to heighten her misery, making her feel trapped.
This isn’t how she planned it. She entered this relationship dead set on happiness and contentment and finds herself miserable and weighed down with thoughts of how it will all end. And then of course, there is Dane to think about. For all his brusqueness and surliness, deep down he is fragile. Ending this marriage would stir up a hornet’s nest, exacerbating his behavioural issues, making everything a thousand times worse.
Sometimes it’s not so bad. She has a lovely home. Rob has a thriving building business. She doesn’t rise out of bed every morning utterly miserable but neither does she rise happy. She simply exists. Existing is a thing, isn’t it? Surely that is enough? Many suffer far worse. There are men and women the length and breadth of the country who are trapped in abusive relationships, living in poverty, suffering beatings every single day. Rob has never hit her. He is careless with his words, cruel even, and then there is the matter of his affairs. But he has never kept her short of money or beaten her.
Nina slumps down onto the sofa, her legs weak, her head throbbing with the effort of trying to hold everything together, to reason with herself that things, although not great, could be a whole lot worse. Is anybody truly delighted all of the time? Surely such people don’t exist? And yet there are times when she does feel so terribly lonely. She has never told anybody about her woes and thinks that perhaps keeping it all hidden is part of the problem. Maybe now, her cracks are starting to show, the pressure inside her too great to contain her misery. Soon it will all come pouring out, a roaring beastly thing.
She feels worn out; a hundred years old. It’s exhausting having to cover up, trying to be jolly whenever she talks to any of the neighbours or the other parents at the school, especially Sally whose faultless life oozes brilliance and charm. For years she has consoled herself with the fact she isn’t depressed but now all of a sudden that doesn’t feel as if it’s enough. She doesn’t want to be just okay. She wants to be happy.
She stares out of the window at their immaculate lawn and wonders how low things have to go before she acts, before she is able to catapult herself out of this loveless marriage and into a life that is worth living. Always lacking in confidence, she is happy to plaster over the cracks, too frightened to confront Rob and tell him how she feels. Striking out on her own scares her, the possibility of failing miserably, getting stuck in bottom gear with no way back up. And it’s a distinct possibility. With only Rob’s salary and her limited knowledge of how to make money, she would struggle on her own.
A sting takes hold on her lip as she bites at it, reminding herself that it isn’t all about money. She has become indoctrinated in Rob’s way of thinking, assuming that life is all about making heaps of cash and having the biggest and the best of everything. Rob knows the cost of everything and the value of nothing. He is stuck in a groove, motivated by financial incentives and very little else. Except other women. There is always room for other females in his life. Sex is what drives him, making him feel powerful.
The tears flow freely as Nina fights back a sob, placing her hand over her mouth to stop it from escaping. It’s at times like this she misses her parents. Such wise kind people. Why didn’t she take notice of them? Why was she so blinded by love and carried away by a wave of euphoria that hinged only on Rob’s good looks and his stream of humourless one-liners? Those awful banal jokes that now make her skin crawl as he barks them out time and time again.
She wipes at her eyes and clears her throat, checking in the mirror to make sure her face isn’t blotchy, that her cheeks aren’t stained with mascara and her eyes red-rimmed. Nobody likes a weeping woman, especially her husband.
Rob had caught her a few weeks ago, crying quietly and was incredulous that she had anything to be upset about. ‘Got a bloody huge house and a tonne of money in the bank. What you got to cry about, eh?’ he had shouted as he grabbed himself another beer out of the fridge and held out the remote, scanning channels until he found the football, turning up the volume full blast. The roar of the crowd forced her to flee upstairs where she remained for the rest of the evening. When she eventually found the courage to go back downstairs, he was sprawled out on the sofa asleep, head flung back, an empty bottle dangling from his fingertips.
The thought that she could visit the school alone, speak to Dane’s teacher and beg for confidentiality crosses her mind. She is unaccustomed to taking such steps, to being wily and forthright and issuing demands. It doesn’t come easily, but something is going to have to be done about Dane’s education because although she is lacking in confidence when it comes to certain areas of her own life, she is damned if she is going to sit back and allow her son to miss out on getting some qualifications, to allow him to slip into working on a building site alongside his dad, who will manipulate and twist their offspring, moulding Dane into a younger version of himself.
Buoyed up by the thought, she wipes at her eyes and sniffs. It feels good to do something on her own – empowering and uplifting. Tomorrow morning when she is at home with nobody else around, she will ring the school, ask for an appointment with the teachers in question and request that it is kept confidential from Dane or her husband. This is something she wants to do unassisted.
It’s not as if Rob is even interested in Dane’s education. She is the one who, in the main, visits the school, she is the one who puts the effort into attending his consultation evenings, assuring them she will work with Dane to help him complete homework and achieve the best results he can for his end of year exams. Not Rob. He rarely has time for such stuff, stating repeatedly how much he hated school and what a waste of time it was and look how far he got in life without exams and grades, that it’s all a load of bullshit and it’s hard work and sheer graft that counts and gets you the big house and the flash cars. The one and only time Rob accompanied her still makes her toes curl every time she thinks about it – Rob’s curt manner, his dismissal of any advice. She wanted to shrivel up and disappear on the spot.
Every time he mentions how healthy their bank balance is, she wants to add that yes, they have plenty of money but little or no culture in their lives. She doesn’t consider herself to be a particularly learned person but is willing to pick up what she can as she goes through life. Rob has a gaping hole inside him where facts and knowledge should be. He picks up snippets and isn’t willing to delve in for further details, to stretch his brain or try to expand his knowledge of the world around him. Football, fast cars, big houses – they are Rob’s interests. The women are just an addition to the status he likes to project to the outside world, that he is one of the boys, a player, somebody who can have whatever he wants whenever he wants it.
She knows her husband, knows him well. Probably better than he knows himself. Rob isn’t a thinker or a people watcher. He is too wrapped up in his own little world to take any notice of anybody else and that is not the life she wants for their son.
Sitting by the window, Nina realises that there is hope, just a glimmer, but she at least feels mildly optimistic that all is not lost as she once feared. Anything is possible. Anything at all. She stands up and pulls back her hair into a ponytail, staring at her reflection in the window, at the tired wan-faced woman looking right back at her, the woman who once was so full of happiness, convinced nothing could go wrong in her neat predictable little world. She smiles. She is older, her worries stamped into her face, showing in the small lines forming around her eyes, in the slight sag of her neck, but sh
e is wiser too. It may have taken some time for her to wake up to what is necessary and what isn’t but she is finally reaching the point where her sanity is more important than her status.
It may not be tomorrow or next month or even next year, but one day she will leave this house, forge a better life for herself. But only when Dane is on an even keel. Only when she can truly say she has done her utmost to make him the best person he can be, not a surly teenager who lashes out with insults and hurtful acerbic comments, but a kind respectful human being who knows right from wrong and always chooses to do the correct thing. Until that point, she will remain here. She will endure the arguments, the lack of respect and try to be a force for good. That is important to her, being helpful and kind and leaving people with a sense of positivity. Because if she can’t even do that, then what is the point of it all?
15
30th June 1978
You are everywhere, my dearest Clara. Everywhere and nowhere. I see your face as I travel to work, your smile is ever present in my head, the twinkle of your eyes in the sunlight, the scent of your perfumed body in the freshly opened flowers that I recently planted in the garden. You are everywhere, my dearest girl, and yet so very far away from me. My body aches for you. My body, my mind, they cry out for you – the lightness of your touch, the sound of your laughter – I crave them like an alcoholic craving for that first drink after they make a vow to abstain.
Nobody else exists in my world. Nobody. I only have room for you, dearest Clara. Only you.
Yesterday, the men with whom I work, asked me to accompany them on a pub crawl, stating I looked down and in need of a friendly face. I turned them down. As I did it, I could hear your voice in my head, cajoling me, telling me I should take them up on their offer, get out and live a little, and yet nothing holds any appeal for me while you are not here. The beer is tasteless, their jokes witless and disagreeable. It’s all pointless without you.
