The Wish List

by Ruby Hummingbird

  Amrit took delivery of an enormous chrome coffee machine, which would have looked more at home in NASA than in a Brighton café, and Pauline spent a good twenty minutes running her hand along the gleaming surface. ‘Oh, it’s got two steam arms!’ she exclaimed, eyes wide. ‘I always wanted to froth milk with them. I’m going to make a new range of flavoured cappuccinos.’

  ‘Gingerbread?’ Amrit asked hopefully.

  ‘Hazelnut, gingerbread, salted caramel… I’ll do ’em all,’ Pauline replied, clapping her hands together.

  Gradually, the room took shape. Gone were the holes in the walls from old pictures, the stains from a former spillage, the scuff marks on the skirting boards. Replaced by walls in a wonderful shade of duck egg blue, crisp white blinds at the windows, new lampshades in a soft gold.

  Maria stood back, watching the delight on Pauline’s face, Amrit and Keith laughing as they stood in front of the finished walls, overalls and faces spattered with duck egg blue. They both loved music festivals and Keith was telling her about the time he had gone to Glastonbury and got so close to the headliners on stage, he’d been able to smell the sweat. Here in this café, dressed in overalls, decking the place out, no one would ever see Keith as a faceless homeless person, someone to scuttle past, ignore. He had a natural authority, directing everyone to paint or sand or scrub. He was Keith: formidable, funny and bright.

  ‘One last thing,’ he said, pulling out a bag, ‘Maria, I think you should do the honours.’

  They had taken their time to select the perfect set and Maria pulled out the new tablecloths with a dramatic flourish: white stiff cotton with intricate cut-out edges.

  ‘Oh, ain’t they perfect!’ Pauline said. ‘Not a gingham check in sight. Albie would be so relieved.’

  They finished as the sun was setting, the newly painted walls tinged with a warm orange light. Pauline brought them all mugs of chicken soup and warm bread fresh from the oven. The smell filled the room as Maria broke the warm dough in her hands, looking around at everyone eating, content.

  ‘I think Albie would love the new look,’ Pauline said, smiling round at the prints on the walls, the sparkling coffee machine, the freshly painted walls, the scrubbed, sanded and polished counter top. ‘The customers aren’t going to know what’s hit them. I can’t thank you enough.’

  Maria batted the words away, ‘It wasn’t me! It was all him.’ She felt a mixture of emotions inside, knowing they had done something wonderful, the joy on the faces of the others obvious, but also a silent goodbye to the café she had so loved, the room she conjured in her memory every time she thought of a Thursday afternoon with Albie. For a second, she thought she might begin to cry, the emotion building in her throat.

  Amrit waved them a goodbye, jolting Maria from her thoughts. ‘Have fun,’ Maria called after her, watching her leave for a nearby pub to listen to a live music set with friends. Pauline started clearing away their bowls and plates. Keith was at the sink washing up before she could even ask. Maria finished her tea and wandered over, marvelling at Keith’s ease as he loaded an industrial-looking washing machine.

  ‘You seem to know your way around.’

  Keith murmured something Maria didn’t catch, noticing Pauline watching him carefully.

  ‘Well, you two will want to be getting home,’ she said with a clap of her hands, looking out at the darkening day. Moving across the room, she started to pull down the new blinds.

  Maria flashed Keith a look, knowing that Pauline still wasn’t aware of Keith’s circumstances. She felt a stab of shame: shouldn’t she offer Keith a place to stay? She didn’t have a spare room but she imagined her sofa would be better than the alternative. She wrung her hands as the words froze somewhere inside her. Someone entering her flat, another person, for the first time in years and years. She would have to talk to him, the awkwardness of moving around him. And what if he reacted badly to the offer? Would he feel patronised? Would she threaten the budding friendship? Her mouth opened a fraction and then snapped shut.

  ‘Yes, yes, best be getting going,’ Keith said in a loud voice.

  Maria felt a deep sadness at the way he swallowed down any disappointment at leaving the warm cocoon of the café, as if he had somewhere to go.

  She wouldn’t give him away.

  ‘Keith, if you wouldn’t mind, could you help me get this stuff back?’

  ‘Course.’

  Pauline moved across to Maria and without warning, bent down to give her an enormous hug, her hair tickling Maria’s nose, her rose-scented perfume consuming her. ‘What a wonderful day. Thank you.’

  Maria felt a delighted joy as she extracted herself from Pauline’s embrace, scooping up her handbag. ‘It looks brilliant,’ she said, taking a last glance around.

  Pauline grinned. ‘Come back in soon and see me.’

  She nodded.

  Keith was packing the ladder and paints away in a storeroom as he called a goodbye and Pauline began the process of locking up. Maria waved and left the café, her bones weary from such a long day. As she moved down the pavement she thought of the transformed space, the old café, the café she had always associated with Albie: gone. The thought made her stop, a fresh wave of grief forcing her to place her hand on a lamppost, catch her breath.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the lights on, remembered Pauline’s expression as she had drunk in the wonderful changes they had made. She thought of Keith still in there, the new people in her life who were only there because Albie was gone. It was a strange and confusing thought, that the list was forcing her to move on, to change things, to move her further away from her old life: the life that contained Albie. Yet she knew he had wanted those changes, had planned to make them himself. Even that last one, the one attached to her own name. She swallowed, watching the café windows descend into darkness as she turned for home.

  I met her outside Woolworths, her cheeks stuffed full with penny sweets.

  ‘Mum,’ she said, wriggling out of my grasp as I went to kiss her.

  She had grown up so much recently, a pre-teen who was quick to anger, wail, laugh, blush.

  ‘Hey, you need me for my money so you have to let me kiss you!’

  She looked around and grinned, ‘Shurrup!’

  We headed to Tammy Girl, a shop crammed with rows of glitzy clothes: skirts, dresses, dungarees, tops, hair scrunchies, jewellery, shellsuits and more. Her heaven.

  It was a big day.

  She disappeared into the cubicle, surreptitiously taking in three bras with her. I wasn’t allowed inside.

  Moments later, there came a whispered, ‘Muuuum…’

  The woman outside the cubicles glanced across at me.

  I moved outside the curtain. ‘Are you alright?’

  The whisper again, ‘I can’t… I’m a bit… tangled.’

  Frowning, I tried to swallow down the giggle that threatened, ‘Do you want me to take a look?’

  ‘No, I… yeah….’

  I pushed inside and saw her in the corner of the cubicle, one arm twisted behind her, her blue top dangling half-off, swatting at the clasp of the training bra that seemed to be tangled round her and her top in the most extraordinary way. I couldn’t help the quick laugh that escaped me.

  ‘Mum,’ she pleaded, twisting once more. ‘Help!’

  ‘How did you even…?’ I giggled as I released her top, moved the straps around, undid the clasp.

  ‘I tried to put it on over my top and then sort of wiggle out of it like the girls do in PE but it got stuck,’ she explained.

  I looked at her, standing there in the white bra, my little girl on the cusp of adulthood.

  ‘Quite ambitious for your first time maybe?’

  She nodded solemnly, ‘Yeah. Yeah, maybe next time.’

  I gave her a quick squeeze and felt a hand poking my kidneys.

  ‘Mum, stop it!’

  I chuckled all the way out of the cubicle.

  Eighteen

  The library session was s
tarting in under an hour and Maria was already fretting over it. She had two frightening things to do today and she wasn’t sure which one she was dreading more.

  She had offered to read that morning, taking Albie’s spot as a volunteer. She had loathed reading aloud in school, remembered English lessons on her feet, following the text with her finger, her mouth dry as she stumbled over simple words. She had always loved books but only in her head – others seemed to make it seem so straightforward, even doing different voices for different characters. What would the children think of her halting, quivering narration? Why had she offered?

  Reaching a hand up, she pushed down the label scratching at her neck as she left her apartment, counting the minutes till the dreaded moment. Distracted, she moved down the stairs, meeting her neighbour flying out of her door. She was rushing to take a bin bag down the stairs to the communal area, her baby once more strapped to her, calling behind her to her toddler, telling him to stay put in the hallway while she was gone. ‘Don’t touch anything,’ she shouted. ‘Oh sorry!’ She almost collided into Maria.

  Maria should have offered to stand there with him for the two minutes his mother was away, but it was one thing to be directed to help people by Albie, quite another to find the confidence to push into someone else’s life uninvited.

  ‘That’s alright,’ she said, feeling useless, marvelling at the way in which this woman seemed to juggle everything. She returned in the blink of an eye from dumping the bin bag, taking the stairs two steps at a time, calling, ‘Owen!’ and his reply, ‘I wait here.’

  And then Maria was out in the street, walking quickly, when it occurred to her that she could have asked her neighbour to join her: her toddler might have enjoyed listening to the stories, and it might have afforded her a moment’s peace. But Maria dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. She couldn’t just impose on people, the neighbour probably had plenty of friends and places to go – not everyone was lonely like her. She didn’t need Maria barging her way into her life.

  The library loomed large in front of her and Maria took a long, deep breath. Mothers with prams, some holding the hands of older children, were filing inside. A colourful poster in the window announced ‘Storytime: Starts 11 a.m.’ Maria gulped, her palms slipping on her handbag. It was warmer than she had thought and she felt hot and bothered in her thick coat.

  Moving inside, the air smelling of books, glue and dust, she approached the curved desk, waiting patiently as a woman with tight grey curls systematically worked her way down a towering pile of books, stamping the insides and moving to the next.

  ‘Hello,’ Maria said, the word barely loud enough to alert the woman. ‘I’m Maria,’ she continued, slightly louder, ‘I’m here to read a story.’

  The woman didn’t stop stamping. ‘You’re Maria,’ she replied. ‘Diana. Good of you to volunteer. Was sorry to hear about Albert. Nice man, the children loved him. I’ll be with you shortly.’ Every sentence was punctuated with a ruthless stamp, making Maria jump.

  When she finished, she moved around the desk, stepping in front of Maria, her walk brisk. ‘Well, they should all have arrived by now, we’ll get you started. The books are in a pile on the table there. I’m sorry about the first. Apparently, Aliens in Underpants is rather amusing, not quite my taste but there you are.’

  Maria bit her lip as she took in the small circle of people, stepping over abandoned bags, moving round folded-up pushchairs to a small table in the corner where she was meant to be seated.

  ‘Everyone, this is Maria, a volunteer today who will be reading. Let’s make her feel welcome.’

  There was a smattering of applause and Maria, cheeks reddening, wanted to turn and run.

  ‘Hello,’ she squeaked and allowed herself to be ushered towards a large beanbag-style pouffe in front of a radiator.

  She immediately regretted not removing her coat but everyone was looking at her now and she had already sat down on the pouffe, sinking into it so that she had little hope of being able to get up again. She would keep it on, she thought, as she reached for the first book with shaking hands.

  Fifteen expectant faces looked up at her. One boy at the back was standing up, dressed as a tiny dragon, pointing to something on the wall behind her. His mother mouthed an apology.

  ‘Right,’ Maria said, opening the first book, feeling dizzy with nerves, the words swimming in front of her, a green alien in red frilly knickers with four eyes making her think she was seeing double for a moment. ‘A pleasure to be here,’ she croaked. ‘I’ll just begin, I think.’

  Taking a last look at the faces in front of her, the children staring, some of the mothers smiling at her, others on mobile phones or staring off into space, she took a breath and began.

  ‘There once was a girl who lived in the forest far away from anywhere…’

  The thirty minutes passed quickly, her voice growing more confident as she went on, gratified to hear the tinkle of laughter from the children, their earnest expressions as they listened intently to the stories. The books were fun and bright and she found herself wanting to make them exciting. She pictured Albie with his energy and charisma and tried to channel it that day for these children. She did silly voices, waggled her eyebrows, forgot her nerves, the expectant faces and the heat pumping from the radiator behind her and lost herself in the story, in the moment.

  Diana ended the session and there was loud applause and lively chatter as mothers moved their children away, some kissing the others goodbye, others agreeing to head out for a coffee. The room was buzzing with noise and life.

  ‘Thank you, that was great,’ a woman in a headscarf with kind brown eyes remarked as she passed.

  ‘Nank you,’ her girl said, smiling and tugging at her mother’s skirt.

  ‘My pleasure,’ Maria replied, feeling at the heart of things for once.

  The library emptied and Maria finally struggled to her feet from her precarious spot.

  ‘Well, that was a success,’ Diana said, stacking up the small pile of books to return to the shelves. ‘You’re a natural,’ she announced, which Maria felt was a compliment coming from such a no-nonsense sort.

  Maria found herself agreeing to return the next month, swapping book recommendations with Diana, who kept thrusting different things into her hands. She finally made her excuses and left, knowing she couldn’t put off the second terrifying thing she had to do that day a moment longer. Maria felt her earlier nerves return, the library trip now seeming a walk in the park compared to the task ahead. She thought then of the list safely tucked away in her handbag, trying to draw strength from the fact that this was someone else’s wish.

  It had started to rain and she was grateful that she had remembered to put her umbrella in her handbag. The air smelt damp, daffodils bunched underneath the trees, the colour cheering on such a grim, grey day.

  The youth centre was set back from the road, the entrance a flaking blue door. A couple of teenagers were leaning against the rail on the steps going in as Maria loitered on the other side of the road, staring at the façade. It seemed a world away from anything she had known and she was nervous about meeting Troy, this young boy who had no doubt looked up to Albie. How would she be able to tell a child about his death? What words would comfort him? How could she ever come close to replacing him? She wavered, watching the teenagers move away. Maybe she should head home, think about it more, write him a letter, allow him a moment to process the news on his own terms.

  She had just about made up her mind to leave when a familiar figure stepped out of the door of the youth centre. Rosie. She noticed Maria on the other side of the street and started with surprise before crossing the road, barely glancing left or right. Maria looked around worriedly for cars.

  ‘Maria, what are you doing here?’

  ‘Oh, I’m… well, I was meant to be…’ She felt silly and tongue-tied.

  Rosie brushed a piece of hair behind her ear as she waited for Maria to get the words out.

 
; ‘…I’m trying to find someone. Troy.’

  Rosie looked apologetic. ‘I don’t know him. Does he hang out here?’

  Maria nodded. ‘Albie used to come here to see him, he told me he met up with him regularly.’

  ‘Oh!’ Rosie cocked her head to one side. ‘Well, you need to get in there then.’

  ‘I do.’ Maria was still stuck to her position on the pavement.

  ‘But you’re… afraid?’ Rosie guessed, the words slow.

  Maria dipped her head. ‘Albie mentored him. He, he won’t know what’s happened…’

  ‘I see,’ Rosie said, her voice filled with sympathy. ‘That’s sad. It’s good you’re here.’

  Maria looked up at the young girl, trying to draw strength from her words.

  ‘I know I’d want to know,’ Rosie said with a single shrug.

  ‘You’re right, of course you’re right.’

  ‘Look, I’ve got to get going, but you’re definitely doing the right thing,’ Rosie said, touching Maria’s arm. Maria stared at her hand, warmed by the reassuring gesture. She nodded then, knowing this young teenager was braver than she would ever be.

  ‘You’re right. I’ll do it. I’ll head in there now.’

  ‘Fab,’ Rosie said, grinning at her. ‘Look, let me know how it goes, yeah? You’ll be alright.’

  Maria bit her lip, wringing her hands.

  Will I be?

  ‘Go on!’ Rosie laughed.

  The sound was so carefree, Maria wished she could view the world in such an untroubled way. She had to admire Rosie’s positive spirit, living in the moment, living with no regrets. Unlike Maria, who seemed to be filled with regret. She thought then how she wanted someone else by her side in that moment: Albie. His easy confidence, his kindly eyes. He would place a gentle hand on her back, steer her inside, pay her a compliment she would bat away. Why had she not thanked him every time? Paid him a compliment?

  She watched Rosie leave and then, taking a deep breath, she crossed the road and headed up the stairs to the blue door. The entrance smelt of bleach and rubber-soled trainers. A corkboard just inside the foyer was covered in posters – adverts for a band, youth choir, the numbers for Childline and Samaritans, information about the sexual health clinic, all criss-crossed over each other. Glass panels in a set of double doors to Maria’s right showed a peek of the main room: a carpeted space containing a table tennis table, football table, a couple of sofas, and milling teens. She could hear the beats of a song she didn’t recognise pulsing through the doors, a shout and the echoes of laughter.