‘JESUS LOVES YOU.’
‘He loves me?’
The man starts to pirouette around the lamp post. ‘JESUS IS LOVE! HE’S ALL AROUND US.’ His voice is so loud, I’m sure my parents can hear him as far away as Dorset. Someone opens a window from a top-floor flat to see what’s going on. George looks to the left and right. ‘But I don’t see him!’ he tells the man.
The light turns green and swiftly I drive on. George turns to wave at the prophet.
As we reach the school gates he’s quiet. ‘I don’t want to go,’ he says once more, but this time his voice is calmer and I know it’s not going to lead to an argument.
‘Why do you hate it so much?’ I ask gently, dreading the answer. He’s being bullied.
‘I haven’t got any friends,’ he replies and stares ahead, tapping his hands restlessly against one another. The gesture reminds me of Finn when he’s overdosed on caffeine.
I park the car and unbuckle George’s seatbelt. ‘You’re my friend,’ I tell him.
‘You’re my best friend, Mum,’ he says back.
There are lots of mothers at the gate kissing their children goodbye. I watch George run across the playground. His Thomas the Tank Engine lunchbox snaps open and out fall his rubber cheese and ham sandwiches, wrapped in Clingfilm, along with an apple and fromage frais yoghurt. Everyone laughs and jeers as he kneels down to pick it up off the ground. ‘George is a loser,’ one of the other boys calls. I want to rush over and help him put his lunchbox back together again but know that would only encourage the other children to tease him more. George picks himself up off the ground and walks through the main school door. He doesn’t turn round to see if I’m still there.
I turn on the engine and drive away.
‘Dear Emma,’ I write at work before Ruby arrives at the office, ‘just taken George to school. OH, I feel blue. He tells me he has no friends. A part of me dies when he says that. Does Nat have friends now? Tell me it gets better …’
‘Oh, God,’ she writes back. ‘I remember those first days at school. I used to feel like a bad lion letting my cub go out into the wild, unprotected. Nat has made friends, he tells me he’s “grown up a lot” and is better able to keep them now. George is a sweet boy. I’m sure it’ll get better.’
I hope she’s right. Another message comes onto the screen.
‘P.S. Nat even made sausage rolls on his own with no prompting. Made a real mess but I never would have believed it in a million zillion years. Keep the faith.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I park the car behind a shiny white van with a big blue disabled badge on the back and a luminous yellow sticker which reads, ‘IF YOU PARK IN MY SPACE WOULD YOU LIKE MY DISABILITY TOO?’
There is a great buzz of noise outside the iron school gates.
I suck a peppermint. Next to me is a mother with long chestnut-coloured hair, the colour of autumn, that almost reaches her waist. She’s wearing a blue velvet jacket with a patchwork skirt and heavy black lace-up boots. There’s a strong smell of garlic. What did I eat for lunch? I panic, subtly trying to smell my breath.
‘Sorry,’ she says, hand over mouth, ‘I’ve been making a chilli sauce. I’m a cook.’
I could almost fit a napkin ring around her waist. She clearly doesn’t lick the wooden spoon. ‘Josie Greenwood.’
She holds out one hand. Virtually every slim finger is covered with rings with large aqua- or amber-coloured stones. ‘Agatha, but call me Aggie. Murder on the Orient Express was my father’s favourite novel.’
I smile. ‘What year is your boy in?’
‘Two.’
‘Mine too.’
‘It’s his first day. I moved to this area after my divorce.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘About the area or the divorce?’ She laughs. I like her already.
‘The divorce.’
‘God, no, I’m much better off without the sod.’
I laugh. ‘The area’s not so bad, there’s a park with tennis courts and a playground. My son and I go for runs in the morning, but avoid the Uxbridge Road.’
‘What’s your little monster called?’
‘George. Yours?’
‘Eliot. I call him El. I wanted to call him Holmes, but my husband said he’d get teased at school. He was probably right,’ she adds tight-lipped. ‘About the only thing he was right about, though. I hear the old head had a breakdown and they had to get someone else in quick?’
‘Mr Phipps. I haven’t met him yet.’
The bell rings and children start to file out. Most of the girls carry pale blue and pink rucksacks, the boys carry black and red ones. Some boys kick a ball across the playground, others just walk straight to the gates and their mums. They’re given a quick hug – George tells me it’s not cool to hug your mum for too long now.
‘Come on, El,’ Agatha starts muttering. ‘First days are always a bloody nightmare, aren’t they?’
‘General rule of thumb is, you know you’re in trouble if a teacher comes out before your child. It means they have something bad to report,’ I inform her.
Another crowd of boys walks out of the main entrance but George is not amongst them. I feel like I am playing a game of Monopoly at school. If he comes out on his own, I’ve passed Go and can collect my £200. If he’s with a teacher I haven’t passed Go, I don’t collect my money and we both go to jail.
Soon Agatha and I are the only two mums remaining outside the gate. It is eerily quiet.
‘How many children do you have?’ I ask.
‘Oh, there he is!’ we both exclaim at the same time. George is pushing a young boy in a wheelchair across the grey tarmac. Ms Miles follows closely behind. She’s wearing a dull jacket with a dark skirt that matches the colour of her hair and general personality. Her hair is curled and looks waxy and stiff like a wig. ‘I don’t like this teacher,’ I whisper to Agatha. ‘She’s been at the school for years and hates George.’
‘Not so fast, George,’ Ms Miles screeches at him. ‘It’s not a sports car.’
‘Hi, Mum!’ He lets go of one of the handles and waves.
‘Looks like El’s made a friend,’ says Agatha. I want to ask her why Eliot is in a wheelchair but now isn’t the right time.
‘Is everything all right, Miss Miles?’ My heart is beating fast.
She smiles twitchily. ‘Ms Miles, please, and no, I’m afraid not. We had an “incident” in the creative writing class. Plagiarism.’
‘It wasn’t my fault!’ George blurts out. ‘Mum, we were asked to write ’bout what we did at Christmas and I said we’d visited my great-granny by the canal and I heard her fart.’
Eliot’s shoulders start to heave up and down in the chair and he lets out a snort.
‘George isn’t lying,’ I tell Ms Miles. I have passed Go! We’re safe until the next round.
‘I’m not lying,’ repeats George. ‘Eliot copied me! He said that his granny farted too!’
Eliot now sits quietly in his wheelchair which is largely covered by stickers of Bart Simpson. He has a knot of curly red hair, a splattering of freckles over his cheeks and nose, and he wears black-rimmed glasses, just like his mother’s, except his are round and Agatha’s are more oblong-shaped.
‘El, why didn’t you write something about that jungle puzzle we finished?’ Aggie suggests.
‘Boring!’ George says with a laugh like a hyena. ‘Dad gave me a scooter.’
Eliot hits his wheelchair in a rage. ‘I don’t have a dad.’
Ms Miles demands an apology from George.
I encourage him with a stern nod. I had been thinking more along the lines that a scooter would be no good for Eliot because he’s in a wheelchair. So, in fact, double whammy.
‘Sorry. What’s for tea, Mum?’
Ms Miles turns to Agatha and me. ‘It’s Eliot’s first day. He was nervous, that’s understandable.’
‘I was nervous,’ Eliot says as sweetly as an angel, but I am sure I can see a smirk behind those
large hazel eyes.
‘I think you owe my son an apology too,’ I say.
‘George shouldn’t have given Eliot his work,’ she responds curtly.
‘Was he sitting in the front of the classroom? Couldn’t you see what was going on?’
She purses her lips. ‘Mrs Greenwood, I am a professional. Make sure it doesn’t happen again, both of you. Is that understood?’
‘Bitch,’ George says as she walks away.
‘George!’ I gasp as if ice-cold water has been tipped over my head. ‘Where did you hear that word?’
Eliot’s shoulders are moving up and down again.
Aggie starts to push him towards the white van. ‘Ms Miles is strict, isn’t she?’ She digs into a large leather satchel bag to find her car keys.
‘She shouldn’t be a teacher. I don’t think she even likes children. Do you need a hand?’ I say.
‘No, we’re pros at this.’ She opens the boot of the van and presses a button on her keypad. A ramp automatically comes into place with tracks for the wheels of the chair. George stands watching, mesmerised.
She pushes Eliot into the back of the van and shuts the door.
‘’Bye, Eliot!’
George presses his face against the glass and starts to pull faces. I grab the arm of his dark green v-neck jumper and wrestle him away from the van. Aggie watches, wondering why I can’t control my son. I can see it in her eyes. Eliot puts both fingers up at me. I blink and look again. ‘Bugger off,’ he mouths now, hitting his wheelchair triumphantly with a wicked smile and a lick of his lips.
*
‘George!’ I shout above the noise in the car. ‘Turn it down. What’s wrong with Eliot?’
‘What?’ he shouts back.
I reach to adjust the volume switch. ‘Why’s he in a wheelchair?’
‘His legs don’t work properly,’ my son states simply. ‘Is it the same thing as my head not working properly, Mum? My head’s too busy all the time, isn’t it? Are Eliot’s legs lazy all the time?’
*
Finn is on-call today but should be home by now. It’s past eleven. I’m in my pyjamas, tucked up in our large double bed. A soft glow warms the white room. With the money Finn’s mother gave us for Christmas (Gwen had to write out another cheque) I bought a new glass lamp base for our bedroom and a white pleated shade. The only colour in our bedroom is the orange, yellow and pale blue flowers on the curtains and a bright pink stool near my dressing table. I am talking to Tiana on the telephone.
‘How did the date go with Mr Shuttlecock by the way? Sorry, that was ages ago and I never asked.’ Clearly not that well otherwise I would have heard about it.
‘Another frog. He had rather bad, let’s say, “hygiene issues”.’
‘Oh,’ I say, more disappointed than her.
‘Has Clarky met anyone?’
‘No.’
There’s a sigh of relief. This piece of news is as comforting to Tiana as hot sticky pudding because it means that she’s not alone in her quest to find the perfect soul mate. ‘The thing is, he’s still hung up on you, isn’t he?’
‘Oh, come off it.’
‘The whole country knows it, except you, although I think you do know really. How’s Finn been since announcing the baby’s arrival to the whole world? I love that man, but God, he can be difficult, can’t he?’
‘He’s now convinced I don’t want the baby. It’s like his pride is hurt because I don’t want his child, and that’s not true.’
I hear a key in the lock. ‘He’s back.’
‘You go. Talk to you later.’
Finn takes the stairs two at a time. I hear him going into George’s bedroom first. Finally, he puts his case down and lies on the bed next to me, kicking his shoes off.
‘You’re late,’ I say.
‘I had a quick drink with Christo. Last orders.’
‘You didn’t ring, that’s all.’
‘Do I have to call all the time outlining my movements?’
‘Finn, what’s got into you?’
‘Where do I start? Sometimes I wonder why I do this job.’
‘Because you’re good at it?’
‘I saw a young girl who’s been snorting cocaine like there’s no tomorrow.’
‘How does that affect the heart?’
‘It tightens the arteries; they can go into spasm. If it’s short-term use it’s normally fairly temporary, but in this case … oh, God. I lost one patient in cardiac arrest today and had to tell the mother. She was only twenty-fucking-two.’
I touch his shoulder and start to rub it gently. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Hey, it’s the job. That’s what I’m paid a shitty amount to do. Tell relatives that we couldn’t save their loved ones.’ He looks at me, his eyes tired and flat.
‘I’m sure you did …’
‘We should have been able to save her.’
‘You’re a doctor, not God. I’m sure you did everything in your power to help that girl.’
He shakes his head with miserable frustration. ‘J, I know you’re trying to help but you have no idea what it’s like.’
‘No, I don’t,’ I admit. ‘I can only imagine.’ I reach out to try and touch him but he flinches. His mind is far away. He’s still with that twenty-two-year-old. ‘How was your day?’ he asks absently.
I tell him about the first day back at school and meeting Eliot and Aggie. ‘I’m tired and it’s only day one.’
‘Are you saying all this to make me feel guilty about you being pregnant?’
‘What?’
‘You’re trying to tell me again that another baby is the last thing you need.’
‘No, I’m not,’ I say slowly. ‘You’re twisting my words.’ I turn off the light and turn away from him, pulling the duvet closely around me. ‘I’m going to sleep.’
We lie next to each other but there’s an ever-widening chasm between us.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It was approaching Christmas and the end of term for the students. I was sitting at the kitchen table watching Clarky chop an onion. ‘I can’t wait to go home, J. I like Cambridge but I’m bored to death by my job and I miss my music.’ He was making up for my silence by rambling. ‘If I have to stack one more box of flipping cards …’
‘If I have to serve one more pizza,’ I muttered distractedly.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Fine.’
‘You’re not thinking about …’ Clarky shifted from one foot to the other. ‘You know who.’
‘You’d like him if you got to know him.’ I wasn’t sure why I was defending him.
‘Hmm,’ he said without conviction. ‘Maybe.’
‘I need to call Mum,’ I lied. ‘Back in a minute.’ I knew he was watching me as I walked out of the room.
*
I shut my bedroom door and stared at the telephone, willing it to ring. Finn hadn’t been in touch. How could someone’s feelings change overnight? Was he bored because I hadn’t slept with him? I hated myself for being so dependent on another person’s actions. I would stare at the restaurant door, willing him to walk in. My feet felt sluggish; my heart wasn’t in anything. The idea of food made me feel ill as I placed it in front of other people. The last message Momo had written on my pay packet was, ‘Men aren’t worth it.’
I’d miss Momo, his bushy moustache and volcanic temper. It was impossible to imagine not seeing Finn again, though. This couldn’t be it? The last time I’d turned up to his club he was like the evil twin. ‘Suppose you’re going to ask me why I haven’t been around?’ he’d said, immediately on the defensive.
I’d been shocked by his abruptness. ‘No, I’m here to have a good time, thanks.’ He was looking at me but he was absent, his eyes blurred with drink. ‘It’s all a load of bollocks,’ he started to say.
‘What?’
‘This.’ As if that were explanation enough.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘You wouldn’t understand,�
�� he’d said sternly, jaw clenched. Everything about him was unforgiving.
‘I can’t if you won’t tell me. What’s going on?’
‘Don’t worry about it.’ He’d wiped the beer froth from the corner of his mouth. He looked grubby, like he hadn’t slept for a week, stubble on his chin, hair needing a wash. His breath stank of cigarettes and alcohol.
‘Finn, can we talk?’
‘Now’s not a good time.’ Three girls came tottering up to his booth. ‘What can I do for you lovely ladies?’
‘When you stop behaving like an idiot, let me know.’ I walked away, expecting him to come after me and apologise profusely but he didn’t. ‘What’s wrong with Finn?’ I asked when I bumped into Christo at the top of the stairs, putting my hand on his arm. ‘He’s in one of his moods,’ was the enigmatic reply.
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning, let him be until he cools down. It’s family stuff.’
Walking home I told myself over and over again that he wasn’t worth it. ‘You’re going anyway … thinks he’s God’s gift . .. arsehole … you can do better.’ Yet I’d known then, as I do now, that even if I could, I didn’t want to.
‘What’s wrong?’ Clarky asked when I walked through the front door. I could see he was about to go out, then I remembered he had a date with one of the girls he worked with in the shop.
‘Nothing. You scrub up well, Clarky.’ I’d straightened his shirt collar, trying hard not to cry, but my lip was quivering, chin wobbling.
‘Do you want me to stay with you?’
‘I’ll be fine, promise. Finn’s being a shit, that’s all,’ I conceded, unable to keep anything a secret from him.
Next thing I knew Clarky was on the phone running off a list of excuses to his date. ‘Feeling sick … it came on suddenly … make it another night … sorry.’
‘You didn’t have to do that.’ I leant my elbows on the table. ‘That’s lame.’
‘I don’t care. Come on, what’s he done?’ He sat down next to me and listened. ‘No one should treat you like that, Josie,’ he said, taking me into his arms. ‘Not even Finn.’
*
I shut the front door and Clarky ran after me, flinging it open again. ‘Where are you going? Supper’s ready, I’ve even made our favourite custard cream.’
You, Me and Him Page 11
