by S. E. Lynes
Waving, I made my way with Isla to the car. On the back seat, the upholstery was solid, cracked with dried food. I had to wrestle with the clip on the seatbelt. The bloody thing wouldn’t fasten. Valentina was already making her way back with the rest of my stuff.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I can’t get this to clip in.”
“I told you, it’s a total bastard. Wait, let me throw this in the trunk.”
And then it occurred to me: Zac wasn’t there.
“Where’s Zac?” I asked her.
“Red’s got him.”
“Isn’t he at work?”
“He’s in retail, remember? He’s got to work this weekend so he gets today in lieu.”
“Oh no. I’ve spoiled your family day.”
“Not at all.” She fastened the clip, gave me a kiss on the cheek then made her way back round to the driver’s seat.
I got in next to her and pushed my face into my hands. “What am I doing?”
“The right thing.” She started the engine. “It might seem dramatic but it’ll make him think twice about steamrollering you again. When I left Zac, did I tell Red where I was going, when I’d be back? No. None of his goddamn business. I told him I needed him to look after his son, end of. I’m going into town for a coffee after I’ve dropped you. On my own.”
I drew my hands down my face and looked at her. She’d pushed her sunglasses onto her head and was smiling at me. I knew how drawn and stressed I must look. She, however, looked radiant.
“Trust me,” she said, shaking her head. “The more you give, the more they’ll take, without ever volunteering anything in return. They’re not like us, Shona. They’re not like women.”
“I think maybe I should stay and hear what he has to say before I go raving off like this.”
“You will hear what he has to say.” She reversed the car at high speed around the edge of the picket fence and, with a spray of gravel, revved forward into the lane. “But you’ll hear it from a position of power.”
It was weird being back in Glasgow – like seeing it for the first time. My city seemed so built up, which of course it is, but living in the open space of the country had given me a new perspective. The sandstone was, I have to say, a welcome break from all that granite, the matt terracotta tenements flattened to card by an overcast sky. We crossed the Clyde, over into Govan. No granite here either, no glittering rock. Here, nothing would’ve glittered, even if the sun had come out. Nothing was claiming to be gold.
I got the taxi to drop me on the Govan Road. I didn’t want my mum to see me pulling up in a cab. With Isla’s car seat clipped into in the buggy base, I walked the rest of the way to Southcroft Street.
Davie let me in at the main door, barefoot, scant black hair sticking up all over the place. He wore only a thin white t-shirt and scruffy jogging bottoms over his skinny white frame. He was grinning as if he found the sight of me funny. “What are you doing here?”
I tipped up the buggy to negotiate the front step. “Great to see you too, brother dear.”
He stepped back and held open the door asking how long I planned to stay.
“Hold on a second,” I said. “Can I no’ get in the door first?”
The hallway for the flats seemed smaller, awkward with the buggy – the faint whiff of weeks’ old sick covered with something floral lingered in the stairwell. Someone needed to take that carpet outside and set it alight.
I followed Davie into my parents’ ground-floor flat, into the kitchen. “Why aren’t you at work?”
“Ach.” He waved his hand over his head as if he were swatting a fly.
Once he’d made tea, we went and sat in the lounge. My parents have a white leather three-piece suite and a hideous pink leaf design accent wall where the gas fire is – for which I blame those nineties home design shows – my ma and pa were mad for those. The suite, the wall, all of it had embarrassed me the two times I’d brought Mikey here. I’m ashamed to say that now, but there it is.
“So how come you’re here?” Davie asked.
I smiled at him, taking him in, his pinkish scalp visible through his tufty hair. “Are you going bald?”
He put his hand on his head. “Get to fuck, Shone. Yeah, I am. Twenty-four.”
“Too much self-abuse. It’ll make you blind too, you know.”
He shook his head and smiled. Youngest of four. Never stood a chance with us lot.
“I’m here for a wee visit is all,” I said. Lied. “Thought I’d surprise Mum. How is she by the way?”
“I’ve told her she should retire.”
“She won the lottery and not told anyone?”
“Aye, right.”
We gossiped, ran through our Gus, Craigie, my dad. Annie next door and her lot. Her oldest boy was inside for possession – it had put years on her.
“Aye, well, it does,” I said.
“Yup.” Davie looked away and I kicked myself. He’d seen the inside of a cell himself a few years back – the last thing he needed was me reminding him what it had done to our mum and dad.
“What about you anyway?” I asked.
He shrugged and looked at me once again. “Nae work just now.”
“Mum never said.”
“Aye, well.” He sniffed, bit at this thumbnail.
“Do you want me to ask Mikey, see if he can get you something on the rig?”
“Nah. I’ll be OK.”
Davie didn’t like Mikey. He’d never said as much. Never had to.
“Say the word,” I insisted. “It’s nae bother. The work’s tough right enough but the money’s good and you’ve only got half the time to spend it. Davie. Think about it.”
He picked up Isla and sat her on his knee, let her pull his nose, poke him in the eye. I took a couple of photos of the two of them with my phone. We had a second cup of tea and I felt my insides thaw, felt the softness of my mum and dad’s sofa under my backside. I yawned.
“I said I’d get something in for tea,” Davie said. “Will I take Isla out with me, show her the sights? You look like you could use a nap.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Baldy man.”
He rolled his eyes. “Your bedroom’s still a museum piece by the way.”
I went down the hall and pushed open the door to my room. My pink Hello Kitty jewellery box still stood on my rickety white dressing table, my cuddly toys lined up and staring at me from the top of my old pine wardrobe. My duvet cover with the lilac and pink hearts was still on the bed, my framed poster of Casablanca I’d thought so sophisticated when I was eighteen still on the wall. I hadn’t lived here for ten years yet my cheap childish knick-knacks were, as Davie had said, preserved like precious antiques. Fully clothed, I got into bed. But it was weird being without Isla. The silence, the empty space had a shape to it and that shape was her. I breathed in the familiar smell of my mum’s fabric conditioner, closed my eyes and tried not to think about Mikey getting home and finding me gone, finding the note I had left. At the thought of that note, I got a pit in my stomach, as if I’d done something very wrong. Valentina had said I had every right to make a stand but now that I was here, I felt less sure.
I woke to the sound of the key in the door. “Hello?” My mum’s voice. “Anyone in?”
“I’m here,” I called out.
“Is that you, Shona?”
“No, it’s Elvis Presley, ma, who do you think?”
“Well, what d’you know? That is a nice surprise.”
The bang and rustle as she made her way inside. Obviously carrying bags – she always was. Davie must still be out with Isla, I thought. Had probably taken her to Brechin’s to show her off to his feckless ned mates. The crackle of the furred-up kettle drifted out from the kitchen; I knew my mum would call out in one, two, three ...
“Can I get you a cup of tea, doll?”
I was home.
We ate together in the living room, plates on our knees, in front of the news. Davie made chicken curry, which was all right, actually,
and when I told him so he blushed so much his ears went red. Mum and Dad were full of questions about the cottage, about Mikey. I told them he rang me almost every night from the platform, told them about the electricity failing, how I’d had to bum shuffle down the stairs to find the fuse box. Basically, I made out that everything was peachy, that any problems were silly things, nothing more than a funny story to tell.
“D’you no get awful lonely out there?” my mum asked.
“Nah. It’s beautiful, Mum. I’m always out and about. And I’ve made a pal. She’s great – she gave me a lift to the station, actually.”
“Aw, that’s nice,” said Mum. “Nice girl.”
“Could Mikey nae come down the road with you?” my dad asked.
“Aye,” Mum chipped in. “It’s a long way on your own with a bairn.”
“He’s got a work dinner tonight,” I lied. “The train was nae bother. And he’s so busy I thought I’d clear out and leave him a bit of peace, you know?”
Davie, I noticed, was watching me, his plate empty, his fork still tight in his hand.
“He’ll come next time,” I added. “Davie, this curry is delicious by the way.”
Davie laid down his fork. “You’ve already said that, goldfish brain.”
After tea we went to watch television in the living room. When my phone rang at 7:30pm, I jumped. At the sight of Home on the screen, I felt my throat close.
“That’ll be Mikey,” I said. “He said he’d give me a buzz around now.”
I left my mum, Dad and Davie to their programme. I closed the living room door behind me and went to switch on the hall light but decided to keep it off for fear of catching sight of my face in the mirror. If looked at myself, I thought, I’d lose heart. I answered.
“Hello.”
“Shone?”
“Aye. It’s me.”
“What the hell’s this?” He was almost whispering, as if he’d gone beyond speaking, beyond shouting. He sounded angrier than I’d ever heard him. “Dear Mikey?” he went on. “I need some time to think ... Really, Shona? Are we really doing this – this – soap opera?”
“Y’all right, doll?” came mum’s voice from the lounge.
I covered the mouthpiece and shouted through. “Fine, Mum. Told you it’d be Mikey. He’s away to his dinner.”
“Shona,” he said.
I couldn’t remember anything I’d planned to say. Even if I could have, I couldn’t speak for the fear I might cry. If Valentina were here, I thought, she would tell me what to say. It had sounded so clear, so right, when she’d said it that morning. You’ll be in a position of power, she’d said.
“I told you we’d talk about it when I got in.” His voice had strengthened but still had this terrible quiver to it, like there was a force beneath that would break through any second and leave us both screaming. “You can’t go running off to your mum’s every time you don’t like something.”
“There’s a lot of things I don’t like,” I blurted, stopped, forced myself to whisper. The walls at my parents’ house are thin. “I don’t like it when you go offshore. I don’t like being on my own. I don’t like it when I’ve got no one to talk to in the evenings. This is more than a wee something. This is my whole life. It’s not what you said. It’s not what you promised.”
“Oh, come on ...”
“Don’t come on me. You’ve tricked me, Mikey, and it’s a pretty big trick. I’ve come away because I cannae take it in.”
“I’ve tricked you?”
“That’s what it feels like.”
“Do you actually believe that? You believe that I tricked you on purpose? What, like a con artist? Like a criminal? What a high opinion you must have of me, Shona.” He gave a derisive laugh.
It was absolutely horrible. I felt horrible.
“I’m sorry, I ...”
“No, come on,” he interrupted. “Let’s play this out. Let’s play this right out. I tricked you into moving here so that I could make you miserable, is that it?”
“No, I ...”
“You think that I enjoy going out onto a metal crate in the middle of a freezing cold ocean, that I relish the fourteen-hour days, the smelly bastard I have to share a bunk with and all the rest and then, when I get back, you think I love having barely two days to recover before I’m back on the treadmill? You think, you actually think, that I want to get up on Monday morning, still so knackered I can barely walk, and go into work?” He sighed. “Maybe you should change your focus, Shona. Maybe you should think just for one minute about someone other than yourself.”
I started to cry – confusion or shame, it was hard to tell. Both, probably.
“I did tell you,” he said. And, thank God, his voice had lost its edge. “I did, Shona. I can remember the conversation. I said I’d still have to go into the office sometimes, I asked you if you could cope. You said as long as I was coming home at a reasonable time, it was OK. I did tell you, babe. Of course I did. I’d never have kept that from you. Think about it. What you’re saying is – it’s quite mad actually.”
I tried to picture his face. He could easily have been offshore right now for all I knew. That was the thing about phones. He could have been on the moon. Had he told me? It was possible. Of course it was. Of course he’d told me. Only, there had been so many arrangements, so little sleep. I had jumped to a terrible conclusion. How could I have let myself think this way about him? He was my Mikey, the man I had fallen in love with, my life partner, the father of my child.
“Where are you?” I said.
“At home.”
“I mean whereabouts?”
“In the kitchen – I’m at the little table.”
“Have you eaten?”
“I’ll get myself something in a minute.”
“There’s eggs,” I said. “You could make an omelette. I think there’s some oven chips in the freezer.”
“Thanks, I’ll find something.” He gave another sigh.
“I’m so sorry, Mikey,” I sobbed. “I was so disappointed, that’s all.”
“Hey, don’t cry. Don’t cry, Shone. Let’s not start blaming each other. This has all been a misunderstanding.” He paused. The excited blare of adverts from my parents’ television bled through the thin wall.
He had told me and I had not heard or not digested the information. He had told me and I had agreed to the plan or had appeared to agree – maybe given a nod he’d interpreted as agreement, maybe when I was seeing to Isla or thinking about something else. He had thought I’d got it. It was all a horrible misunderstanding. He was shocked too. Oh God, and now – now I was standing in the dark and the cold in my parents’ hallway wondering how I could ever find my way back.
“You couldn’t even remember which rig I was on the other day.” His voice was soft, full of sympathy. “Don’t feel bad. I’m not criticising. It’s normal. I do understand. Totally. You’re not getting enough sleep. You’ve had a tough time. Isla’s been up at night. You haven’t made many friends yet. Not all the millions of friends I know you will make. It will get easier, you know.” His words had a rhythm to them, a gentle lull, like the patter of a hypnotist. “And it’s not forever.”
“I’m not getting enough sleep,” I said. “Isla’s been up at night.”
“That’s what I’m saying, Shone.” His soft Scouse burr. “Come home to me, baby. Come home.”
“I just needed to work it out.”
“I know, baby. I know.”
In the background I heard a voice.
I sniffed, dried my eyes. “Did you get the TV working?”
“It’s the radio.”
That’d be Radio 5 Live, I thought.
The background went silent – he’d switched it off. I wiped my nose on my sleeve.
“Do you want me to come and get you?” he said.
“No, it’s all right.”
“I’ll come and get you right now. Say the word.”
“No, it’s fine. I’m fine.”
&n
bsp; “You’re not going to leave me are you? I’ll make it right, Shona, I promise.”
“I won’t leave you, don’t be stupid. But I’m going to need a car. I can’t be relying on Valentina for lifts and the buses are one an hour if you’re lucky. And we need to sort the WiFi. It’s rubbish.”
“Of course. We’ll get you a car as soon as we can afford one, I promise. We’ll look back on all this and say – how did we ever manage?” He laughed. “In the meantime, I’ll get the bus to work or you can run me in, OK? You will come back tomorrow, won’t you?”
“I’ll spend some time with my mum and I’ll come back tomorrow night.” I brushed the tears off my face. They seemed to be falling quite independently of me, I was barely aware of them. I pictured him in the kitchen, looking out onto the back garden, seeing only himself reflected in the darkened pane. I heard him sigh yet again – that heavy exhalation – and wondered what it was about the phone lines today that made everyone sound as if they were smoking.
“It’ll take some time to get used to, that’s all,” he said. “But we can do this, Shone. Me and you. We’re a team aren’t we?”
“Valentina got me all fired up.” The moment the words left my mouth I regretted them. Valentina had tried to be a friend and here I was, using her as a lightning rod to deflect the blame for my ridiculous petulance.
“It’s none of that woman’s business.”
“She was only being kind, Mikey. She didn’t say anything bad – it was me. I wound myself up.”
“I’d be careful if I were you. From what you’ve told me, she sounds unhappy. Unhappy people can be very dangerous, don’t forget that.”
“At least she’s around.” I bit down hard on my lip, cursing myself inwardly.
“That’s not fair.”
“No,” I said. “You’re right, it’s not. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I seem to be making a mess of everything.”
Silence. Another heavy exhalation.
“Valentina cares for me, that’s all,” I said. “Tell you what, I’ll invite her and Red over for dinner when I get back. That way you can meet her properly and get to know her a bit, OK?”
