Unravelling

by Lindsay Stanberry-Flynn

  The tea tasted like tin. She had the sensation of liquid metal travelling down her throat. It made her want to retch, but its awfulness gave her something to focus on. She was on her own in the room. In one corner a large television was suspended from the ceiling. The sound was switched off. Figures appeared and disappeared on the screen. It looked like some sort of game show. Magazines were strewn over low tables. Two ashtrays on the table in front of her were thick with cigarette butts. The stench of smoke sat in her nostrils. The sign on the door had said Relatives. When she was worked up about something, probably Cordelia, Andrew used to say ‘Everything’s relative’. For a second she heard his soft northern voice in her ear. Then the drips started. There was a bucket standing in the middle of the room and as the rain outside gathered momentum, Vanessa realised why. She stared up at the ceiling. She watched as water squeezed between the polystyrene tiles, bulged like bubble gum, and then sploshed into the bucket below. She counted the seconds that each bubble hung suspended before its weight grew too heavy.

  ‘Hello, Nessa.’

  Vanessa’s eyes didn’t move from the ceiling. It was important she didn’t miss that moment when the blob of water dropped.

  ‘You know how sorry I am, don’t you? If there is anything I can do … ’

  She counted to ten. The bubble was enormous. It had to drop soon.

  ‘Nessa, look at me.’

  She turned her head. A plop of water landed in the bucket. ‘You made me miss it.’ She fixed her eyes on the ceiling again.

  He sat down beside her. She felt the sofa dip under his weight. He took her hand and drew it on to his knee. Her fist was clenched tight, and he lifted each finger and smoothed it out so that her hand perched on his knee like a bird. ‘You shouldn’t be on your own,’ he said. ‘I’ll come back to the house with you.’

  Her head whipped round. ‘No!’

  He stroked the back of her hand. ‘I’ll help you with the children. I rang Cordy. I told her about Andrew, but said not to let the others know until we get there.’

  She snatched her hand away. ‘Typical.’

  ‘What? What’s wrong with that.’

  ‘Leaving her to deal with the news on her own.’

  ‘She’s sixteen, Nessa. You mustn’t treat her like a baby.’

  His face was close to hers. It would have been easy to reach up and strike his cheek. ‘Who says I do?’

  ‘She does.’

  She jumped up. It took a moment to cross the room. She snatched up the bucket and turned it upside down. The water trickled on to the floor. There wasn’t much to show for all those drops, all that effort. The water sat on the nylon carpet like a teardrop on a cheek.

  She looked across at him. She could only see a mass of tangled hair. His head was resting on his bandaged arm. ‘You are not to have anything to do with the children ever again.’

  He lifted his head. She saw his eyes were bloodshot. ‘But Cordy’s expecting me. I said I’d bring you home.’

  ‘I never want to see you again.’

  ‘But, Nessa – ’

  ‘This is all your fault.’

  ‘If you’d listen – ’

  ‘I’ll never forgive you.’

  ‘There’s a car waiting downstairs for you, Mrs Heaney.’ The nurse had appeared in the doorway. ‘Whenever you’re ready.’

  Gerald reached the door before her. ‘Let me come with you.’ She pushed past him. She heard an intake of breath. She must have brushed against his injured arm. ‘Thank you,’ she said to the nurse. ‘I’m ready now.’

  Twenty-four

  Gerald has to go up to London to see the consultant, and Vanessa takes him to the station. She wanted to go with him, but he wouldn’t discuss it: ‘You’ve got work – that’s more important. I’ll be fine on the train and Esme’s going to meet me.’

  When Vanessa gets home, she pours herself a glass of fresh orange juice from the fridge and sits at the table. Her drawing pad and pencils are lined up waiting. She contemplates the day ahead: solitude, peace, the opportunity to work, things she normally craves, but the image of Gerald struggling on to the train with his bag clogs her mind. The heat that has persisted for weeks saturates the air, draining her energy. She should have gone with him.

  There’s a rattle at the front door and the sound of voices. Vanessa’s heart jumps but she doesn’t move: she can’t think of anybody she wants to see. Her thoughts are fixed on that box of steel hurtling along the tracks to London: he should be almost there by now.

  ‘Granny!’ The voice whistles through the letterbox, high-pitched and breathy. ‘Are you there?’ Savannah! What’s she doing here?

  Vanessa rushes to the door and flings it open. Savannah runs at her, and Vanessa wraps her arms round her, relishing the feel of the strong young body.

  ‘Hi, Vanessa.’

  She lifts her head from Savvy’s shoulder and sees Cordelia waiting further back on the path.

  ‘Cordelia! It’s lovely to see you, but why didn’t you let me know?’

  Cordelia grins, that awkward sideways lift to her mouth she does when she’s embarrassed. ‘I didn’t know if we’d be welcome.’

  Since the call when Cordelia screeched down the phone, demanding Vanessa ask Gerald about the past, there’s been only the odd text or email between them, curt, restrained. Something must have happened to bring about the sudden visit.

  Cordelia’s eyes shift away from Vanessa, searching over her shoulder into the darkness of the hall. ‘Gerald? He’s not – ‘

  ‘No, he’s not here. He’s gone to London to the consultant.’ And you must know that, Cordy, Vanessa thinks. Esme’s told you. Wild horses wouldn’t have got you here otherwise, whatever’s happened.

  Vanessa prepares a salad and puts cheese, smoked salmon and bread on the table. ‘I haven’t got much, I’m afraid.’

  ‘This is great.’ Cordelia lifts a sliver of salmon to her mouth. ‘Just the job.’

  Savannah chatters all through the meal: the tramp who sat next to them on the train and stank the carriage out, some new boots she’s saving to buy, the gig she and her friend went to the week before, but Cordelia pushes food around on her plate, hardly saying anything.

  Afterwards, she gets up. ‘I’m off for a long soak, Vanessa, if you don’t mind.’

  Vanessa studies her daughter. She’s lost weight. The lines round her eyes and mouth are more pronounced and the cotton skirt droops on her thin frame. ‘You go and relax,’ she says.

  Savannah kneels up on the window seat gazing down at the water. ‘It’s so cool having your own river, Granny!’ Some people are standing on the path opposite staring across at the cottage and she waves at them. They look uncomfortable at being caught and move on.

  ‘Come and talk to me, Savvy.’ Vanessa settles down on the sofa.

  Savannah flops down beside her and tucks her legs up. She’s wearing a tiny denim skirt and her bare limbs curve like a new moon. Vanessa thinks how painful her own knees are these days. When she comes downstairs in the mornings, she’s perfected a shuffle so that she doesn’t have to bend them too much.

  ‘What subjects are you doing for A level?’

  ‘Art, English and history.’ Savannah picks up Vanessa’s hand and fingers her rings as she speaks. ‘We don’t have to wear uniform in the sixth form, and we get our own common room with a CD player and coffee machine.’

  Vanessa smiles. Savannah looks so grown up, it’s hard to imagine such small things being important.

  ‘I like this ring.’ Savannah points to the silver snake.

  ‘I got it in Venice.’

  ‘Really? We have to spend a week in Venice for our art history coursework.’

  Vanessa thinks of stepping on to the vaporetto at Piazzale Roma, managing to get outside seats at the front of the boat, clutching Andrew’s hand as they rounded the bend of the canal. ‘You’ll love it. I’ll never forget my first sight of the Grand Canal.’ Goose pimples,
she remembers, sprang up on her arms as she tried to fasten images of the magic, the mystery of those glorious buildings in her head.

  ‘You look sad, Granny.’ Savannah’s voice cuts into her visions. ‘Is Venice a sad place?’ She strokes the back of Vanessa’s hand, her touch soothing.

  Vanessa blinks away the water filling her eyes. ‘Some people think so. They say it’s dead. But I love it.’

  Savannah leans forward and kisses Vanessa’s cheek. ‘You’ve done such a lot of stuff. I hope I can be like you when I’m old.’

  Vanessa laughs. ‘Old? Thanks a lot.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’ Savannah gets up and goes to the window. It’s getting darker now, but she presses her forehead against the glass and stares out.

  Vanessa sips some wine and watches her. ‘Now you look sad, Savvy.’

  Savannah turns from the window and perches on the arm of the sofa. ‘If I tell you something, will you promise not to tell Mum?’

  ‘Depends what it is. The stuff about modelling got me into trouble.’

  ‘She was in a right state about that.’

  ‘I probably shouldn’t have said anything. I was worried.’ Vanessa looks up at Savannah. ‘What is it about this time?’

  Savannah clamps her teeth over her bottom lip. She rakes them backwards and forwards.

  ‘What is it, Savvy?’

  ‘Did you know Patrick’s moved out?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I knew she wouldn’t have told you.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Few weeks ago. I was staying at Sadie’s and when I got back, he was gone.’

  ‘Has he taken his things?’

  ‘I’ve looked in Mum’s wardrobe and his clothes are gone.’

  The stricken look on Savannah’s face wipes out Vanessa’s initial relief at the split. ‘Did she say what happened?’

  Savannah shrugs. ‘She won’t tell me anything. The thing is, I really like Patrick.’

  ‘Because he’s rich and can buy you nice things?’

  ‘No!’ Savannah’s eyebrows shoot upwards and her mouth forms an outraged O. Then she catches Vanessa’s eye. ‘Okay … at first, perhaps. But then I decided he was cool, and Mum definitely likes him.’

  ‘Who do you think finished it?’

  ‘I don’t know. She cries in her bedroom at night.’

  Vanessa gets up and puts her arms round Savannah. ‘If it wasn’t working, perhaps it’s for the best.’ The stiff spikes of Savannah’s gelled hair feel like an insect crawling over her face, but she stops herself brushing them away.

  ‘He and Mum got on great. She was happy for a change.’

  Vanessa puts her hand under Savannah’s chin and lifts her head. ‘Look at your poor face.’ She wipes away tears.

  ‘Will you talk to her, Granny?’

  Vanessa thinks of the times she’s tried to ‘talk’ to Cordelia. ‘I don’t think that’s such a good idea,’ she says.

  ‘Please.’ Savannah clutches Vanessa’s hand. ‘She’ll listen to you.’

  When Savannah goes up to bed, Vanessa tries to work. It’s late by the time she finishes. She listens outside the spare bedroom, fighting the urge to look in at her sleeping daughter. For heaven’s sake, she tells herself, Cordelia’s forty-three, not three. She continues up the stairs. She stands in her small bathroom in front of the mirror taking off her make-up. She dabs cream on her right eye and wipes the tissue across it. She stares at her reflection, lop-sided and freakish: one eye still dark with mascara and a line of kohl and the other side of her face insignificant in comparison. Which one is really her? Which one will raise the subject of Patrick with Cordelia: the painted-in vibrant version that she shows the world, or the blank side with a scared look in her eye? She can already see that little shake of the head Cordelia does when she’s not willing to talk.

  Vanessa climbs into bed and checks her phone: no new messages, no missed calls. She was sure Gerald or Esme would ring when they got back from the hospital. Her fingers hover above Gerald’s name on her mobile, but he’ll say she’s fussing if she rings first. She wonders if Gerald told the doctor he’s got no energy. When he was first staying, he used to say he would surprise her and meet her from work, but he hasn’t managed it. She pictures him in bed in the Highgate house. He’ll be lonely.

  She’s got into the habit of sitting on his bed, last thing at night. The other night she described a design she’s stuck on. It’s a ball gown with a fitted bodice and a full skirt and the folds of the skirt won’t hang, as she wants them to. He asked lots of questions. If only it had been the same forty years ago. She sees herself back in Highgate in that workroom overlooking the garden. Her pencil makes the first tentative strokes of a design. Rod Stewart is on the radio. Gerald’s step sounds on the landing outside and then he comes into the room. He looks to see what she’s doing. His hand squeezes her shoulder encouragingly. ‘Well done, darling.’ She glances up at him and he smiles. She holds the vision to her, cradling it like a baby. For a cruel moment it seems more real than what actually happened. When it goes, an ache remains.

  Cordelia is sitting at the dining table.

  ‘Hello, you’re up early,’ Vanessa says.

  Cordelia shrugs. ‘I didn’t sleep very well.’

  Vanessa reaches into the fruit bowl. She stops. ‘Do you want the apple?’

  ‘You have it.’ Cordelia’s voice is sharp, and Vanessa glances across at her. Dark circles stain the skin under her eyes.

  Vanessa drops the apple into her bag. ‘I hope the bed wasn’t uncomfortable.’

  ‘No, nothing like that. I’ve got stuff on my mind.’

  Vanessa leans down and drops a kiss on Cordelia’s head. Her hair smells of lemony shampoo. Vanessa breathes in, storing the scent in her memory. Stay casual, she tells herself. ‘I’d better go. Josie’s on holiday this week.’

  ‘Can I walk to the shop with you?’

  Vanessa pauses on her way to the door. ‘If you’d like to.’

  They set off for Marine Parade. Cordelia takes Vanessa’s bag, heavy with files and papers, from her. They walk in silence until they reach the sea.

  Cordelia looks towards the Cobb, shielding her eyes from the sun. ‘I always forget what a wonderful bay this is. Look at the light on the water.’

  It’s true. The sea has a pink glow. ‘It’s magical,’ Vanessa says.

  It’s quiet along the parade. Most of the holidaymakers have gone, and they pass only the occasional person on their early morning walk. They smile and say hello. Vanessa is already hot. She breathes out, directing the air up and over her face. She feels her hair shift slightly.

  ‘Do you mind if I tell you something?’ Cordelia says.

  ‘Of course not.’ Vanessa stares at the tiny waves rippling on to the sand. There’s a girl down on the beach playing with a golden Labrador puppy. She throws a stick into the sea and the puppy bounds after it, water spraying in the air. Let me be up to this, Vanessa thinks. I mustn’t let Cordelia down.

  ‘Patrick and I have split up.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I know you don’t like him, but – ’

  ‘On the contrary.’ Vanessa hears her voice rise. ‘I thought he was charming. But there was something … it’s difficult to put my finger on … ’ Should she say it? The last thing she wants is for Cordelia to clam up, but perhaps this is a moment to be honest. ‘There was something about him I didn’t trust.’

  A man Vanessa meets most mornings passes them. He smiles and nods his head. Vanessa’s face feels frozen. She can’t make it smile back.

  ‘Your instincts were right,’ Cordelia says.

  ‘They were?’

  ‘He was keeping a massive secret.’

  Vanessa thinks about the silent shop, its blinds still drawn. It will have to wait. ‘Let’s sit here for a few minutes,’ she says.

  They sit on a bench with their backs to the harbour wall and look out over the li
ttle inlet. There are a number of boats moored, and they bob up and down in the water as a speedboat manoeuvres through them.

  ‘Tell me about the secret.’

  Cordelia stares straight ahead. ‘I wondered why he never suggested meeting his parents. I kept hinting, but all he ever said was they didn’t get on. I persuaded myself it didn’t really matter – I mean, he hasn’t met my father has he? – but deep down I knew it wasn’t right.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘It came to a head when Lance told me I couldn’t possibly marry the guy without finding out more about him. Lance had never met his family or any friends either. I was scared I’d lose Patrick if I probed too much, but I couldn’t take any risks, what with Savvy and everything.’

  Vanessa puts her hand over Cordelia’s.

  ‘He wouldn’t tell me anything else at first, but then it all came out.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘It turns out his father was violent. Used to hit his mum. You know that scar … ’ She fingers her cheek as if she’s visualising it. ‘He got that when he was fifteen. He was trying to protect her.’

  A cold feeling spreads through Vanessa. ‘Oh, poor love.’

  ‘He got a job in London and saved up for a flat. She came to live with him – they didn’t dare let his father know where they were – but not long after she had a stroke and died.’

  ‘That’s so sad.’ Vanessa can only manage a whisper. ‘And what happened to his father?’

  ‘Patrick wouldn’t have anything to do with him. He committed suicide not long before Patrick and I met.’

  A seagull flies down and perches on the wall just behind Vanessa’s shoulder. She glances back and meets its piercing stare. She flaps her arm, shooing it away. It ignores her.

  ‘The awful thing is,’ Cordelia goes on, ‘I didn’t comfort him. Didn’t try to understand what it must have been like for him. All I thought about was me, and why he’d kept such a big secret from me. If he really loved me, he’d have trusted me enough to tell me.’

  ‘It was a shock.’

  ‘No. I’m a selfish cow. He must think so, because next day when I got home from work, he’d gone. Just left a note to say we both needed some space and he’d be in touch.’