by Liza Cody
At last she heard footsteps on the stairs. But no one came to the kitchen. The front door opened and shut, and then there was silence. Grace? Grace and Alec? Lin?
Once, years ago, when the twin forces of her children and her mother were keeping her prisoner in the house, Lin came to stay. Out of the blue, she turned up with a single bag and camped out in the attic.
‘Why?’ Robin asked. ‘Where’s Jack?’
‘In the States,’ Lin said, answering the second question first, and the first one not at all.
For nearly a week it was as if the doors and windows had been left open. Lin came and went. Sometimes she went alone. Sometimes she took one or both of the children. She even took their barmy mother to buy hats and handbags. She made Robin go to the movies or to visit friends. It could have been a holiday for Robin except that, for the whole time, she felt as if she were holding her breath. She was in suspense, tied by a skein of silk threads to the phone and the doorbell, waiting.
For what? For Jack to call? For Jack to come? Why? He wasn’t going to call her. He wasn’t going to visit her. It was as if she were waiting on Lin’s behalf. Which was a complete waste of her emotional energy because Lin didn’t seem to be waiting at all.
It was clear to Robin that something had gone badly wrong between Lin and Jack. But Lin never said what it was. And Robin was afraid.
Lin wasn’t waiting, she wasn’t afraid. She stepped out and danced. She didn’t seem to give a damn if Jack phoned or if he didn’t. It was Robin who cared desperately that he didn’t. And when at last he did, Lin was out and she didn’t ring him back.
Then a long white car arrived at the door and the driver came in with a letter. Lin was out then too. Robin, aching with tension, gave the driver lunch. The letter sat on the table between them like an unexploded bomb.
Lin came home three hours later. She said, ‘Hi, Mr Peters,’ to the driver, and took the letter up to the attic. She came down again a few minutes later and said, ‘Thanks, Mr Peters. There’s no reply. Would you like another cup of tea?’
Mr Peters declined the tea, but used the phone and then left.
Robin said, ‘What’s happening, Lin? I don’t understand. Are you breaking up with Jack?’
‘Maybe,’ Lin said.
‘Maybe?’ Robin asked pathetically. ‘Don’t you know? Mr Peters said he had instructions to take you with him.’
‘Instructions,’ Lin said. ‘My, my. Look, Robin, do you want me out of your hair? Are there too many people here? Is that the problem? Because I can easily find somewhere else. I can go if you want.’
‘No,’ Robin said. ‘It isn’t that.’ But there she was, wanting Lin to go running to Jack as if her own life, freedom and happiness depended on it. Waiting, holding her breath for Lin to make the right move, or for Jack to say the right thing. Wanting to say, for Christ’s sake Lin, resolve this so that I can breathe again. Lin, it seemed, was on the brink of throwing away something which was crucial to Robin. And Robin couldn’t even begin to explain it. It wasn’t her life – Jack wasn’t her man.
‘It’s my life,’ Lin would have said, had she known. ‘Am I supposed to live it by your criteria?’
‘Yes!’ Robin would have howled. ‘Don’t leave Jack. Be faithful, honest and true. Put up with anything he does, but keep him.’ Because that’s what Robin would’ve done if she’d been given the chance. Oh yes she would. Without question. Then maybe things would have turned out differently.
Jack arrived in the dead of night when Robin was already in bed. He was tired, his eyes were ringed and sunken – not the angel boy in her photograph. He asked for Birdie, and Robin realised with horror that Lin had not come home from a date with someone almost as beautiful as Jack. Someone, Robin realised, she ought to have recognised from the glimpse she had of him through a Porsche windscreen.
She couldn’t tell Jack that, so she asked him in and sat him in the living room, offering him tea, coffee, alcohol, whatever she could think of, chattering uncontrollably. Finally he asked for hot chocolate, more to shut her up, she thought, than because he wanted anything. And when she came back with it, she found him asleep on the sofa. So young, too young to be so weary. It nearly made her cry to see the drooping head and long eyelashes. She covered him with her patchwork quilt as if he were an orphan she’d taken in from the street. And yes, she would have kissed his eyelids if she hadn’t been afraid to wake him. Because if she woke him she’d have to talk to him and she never knew what to say. She didn’t know what interested him – or rather she didn’t know what didn’t bore him, and she suspected that she was boring.
So she crept out of the living room and went to sit at the bottom of the stairs waiting to warn Lin. At first she was angry with Lin. How could she go off with someone else? Then she was angry with Jack. Who did he think he was – turning up unannounced and putting her in this embarrassing situation? Last, she was angry with herself. Why was she getting in a state about her sister’s boyfriend? That’s all it was – her sister and her boyfriend had a row. It wasn’t the end of the world. Lin going out with another guy wasn’t high treason.
But it was the end of the world. It was high treason. Because it was Jack. That was the last unreasonable thought Robin had before she too nodded off.
Much later something disturbed her, and she woke cold, stiff and gummy-eyed. It was after five in the morning. She got up and peeped round the living room door. Jack was gone.
She tiptoed up to the attic. The attic was empty. Lin’s bed was unslept in. Her bag was gone. Downstairs in the kitchen she found a note on the draining board. It said, ‘Thanks for everything. Talk to you soon. Love, L.’
Desolate, Robin went into the living room. The quilt was half on the sofa, half on the floor, like a sloughed snakeskin. The sofa was dented and rumpled. The mug of hot chocolate had been left where she put it, untouched, cold. She picked up the quilt, meaning to fold it, but it felt a little warm. A little heat was all that remained of Jack’s visit. She wrapped herself in it and lay down where he had lain. She buried her face in the cushion on which he’d rested his head. And smelled her sister’s perfume.
Sitting bolt upright she said aloud, ‘You stupid, stupid cow.’ And then she went to bed. Something important had happened under her roof – under her nose – and she had missed it.
Always losing the thread, Robin thought, always missing the punchline. Enough. There was work to be done, so do it.
She went slowly upstairs and walked quietly past closed doors. She wouldn’t intrude. Lin was in her mother’s old room. Alec was in Jimmy’s. Grace was in her own. Maybe. The only open bedroom door was Robin’s. Was she really the only one in the house with nothing to hide or no one to hide from?
As she passed her room she caught sight of an alien shape. She turned quickly and saw Alec in her bedroom.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘What’re you doing in here?’
‘Oh, sorry,’ he said. ‘I was looking for Grace.’ He smiled at her, apologetic, but not guilty. ‘Love your masks. Is that a picture of The Legend? His music’s incredible. I only got into it recently but I’m hooked.’
‘Yes, that’s Jack,’ Robin said, warming to him. She sat on the edge of her bed. ‘Do you live in Bristol like Grace?’ Alec might have been looking for Grace, but he’d found her, so he was going to have to put up with a few questions.
‘Actually, no,’ Alec said. ‘And, before you ask, we met on the Net. We’ve been corresponding for months.’
‘No. Really?’ she said, alarmed and fascinated. No sex yet, she thought. Is that good or bad?
‘She signs on as g.ace, so it was a long time before I found out if she was male or female. We just hit it off, if you know what I mean. I suppose, in your day, it would’ve been a pen-pal thing.’
In my day? Robin thought. Cheeky bugger. But Alec seemed to be too young to know he was insulting her.
She smiled and said, ‘So, this is the first time you’ve met? In person?’
‘We
decided that I’d meet her train and we’d let an element of chance take over. She’d described herself to me and I’d described myself to her. And we thought, if we recognised each other from the descriptions – like, if neither of us had been telling porkies – we’d be off to a good start.’
He was laughing now, and blushing. Good, healthy teeth, Robin thought. Well, if they met on the Net, at least it means he can write.
He said, ‘I know it’s a risk, Mrs Emerson. People can say any old thing and you never know if it’s true or not. But I recognised Grace straight away, so I reckon she’s the honest type.’
‘Oh, she is,’ Robin said. When she actually tells you anything.
‘So I guess we both thought, like, OK. We can go to a party together and see how it goes from there. I don’t know about you, Mrs Emerson, but I like to get to know people slowly.’
‘We-ell,’ Robin said, pretending to think about it, ‘there’s no point in rushing things, but you are in my bedroom and I don’t even know your last name.’
Alec looked mortified. He even squirmed. ‘Parry,’ he said. ‘Alec Parry. I’m such an idiot. Sorry.’
He’s a puppy, she thought, all wriggly and waggy. Odd how much more mature Grace seems. Perhaps she feels most comfortable with men she can control. Well, it’s as good a way of finding out about men as any. Better than finding out about them from the ones who can control her.
She said, ‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘But, in the same situation, my mother’d go potty. You’re so cool, Mrs Emerson. Your whole family’s so cool.’
‘Wait till you meet Jimmy,’ Robin said, laughing. ‘Now, I must go and do some work. Grace’s room is next to yours on the other side.’
‘Right,’ he said, ‘but I’m really glad I had the chance to talk to you.’
‘Me too,’ she said. A happy accident, she thought. It would’ve taken ages to learn as much from Grace. She hoped he liked garlic and ginger prawns.
She sat for a moment, after he left, staring absently at Jack’s young smile. So, so long ago, Jack, what would you look like now? Would you be fat or thin? Would your hair be grey, like mine, or would you touch it up, like Lin? Would you have any hair? Would you be famous or forgotten? Would you have dumped Lin or would she have dumped you? Would I have ever really got to know you or would you still be an icon on my wall? If you were alive, Jack, would you still be a memory? After all, there are many more ways to lose people than by death.
Upstairs in the attic she picked up the work Lin had interrupted. She was making an old-fashioned frock coat for a fat actor and she was taking pains over the detail because she knew he’d buy it from wardrobe when the production was over. He always did. But the cloth was heavy and dull, so after a while she put it aside and took up a riot of colour – something she was making for a private client out of hundreds of pieces of off-cut silk. This was what she enjoyed most – making the fabric from which the garment would be shaped – holistic dressmaking. Very slow. Very expensive. Thank God for private clients.
And there, blinded by colour, soothed by silk, Robin lost herself for a few hours.
‘That’s beautiful,’ Lin said, putting two glasses of white wine on her work table. ‘Who’s it for?’
Robin blinked, slowly refocusing her eyes. She slid her reading glasses up on to her hair and said, ‘Rich old lady. It’d suit you better. Where’ve you been?’
‘Out. Trying to mend bridges, but …’
‘Oh no.’
‘Sorry, darlin’, I’ve been replaced – no more Cole-Adler pay packets. Don’t look like that – it isn’t the end of the world. I’ll find something else. They’re giving me a great reference.’
‘I suppose that’s better than nothing.’ Robin stretched and then took a sip of chilled white wine. ‘Where are the kids?’
‘Movies,’ Lin said.
‘Well, I’m not worried about Alec any more. He’s a puppy.’ And she told Lin the story of Grace and Alec meeting on the Net.
‘Which site?’ Lin asked immediately.
‘Huh?’
‘Never mind, sweetie. I’ll find out.’
‘Does it matter?’
‘It might,’ Lin said. ‘This is a guy who travels with a locked camera case hidden in a studenty backpack. For your information, he also has a big box of gossamer condoms and half a pint of lubrication gel which he’s carrying quite openly. And an ounce or two of very nice grass and some sweet little white tablets with doves stamped on them. He’s not bothering to keep them hidden. Makes you wonder what he’d lock up, doesn’t it?’
‘Oh Lin,’ Robin said.
‘Well, he’s got the sex and drugs bit covered, hasn’t he? So what’s he doing for rock’n’roll?’
‘Shit, shit, shit, Lin. I thought butter wouldn’t melt.’
‘Well, they’re going to a party.’ Lin shrugged. ‘Which bit upsets you most? You’ve got to assume Grace is doing all the usual stuff.’
‘Yes, but not under her own roof, my roof, with a stranger.’ With a sudden gut-lurch, Robin felt herself sliding into a knot of linear time. The thread of her life wove over and under itself in a pattern which had no end and no beginning. She was a responsible, experienced adult who felt like a mystified, frightened teenager. She was conversing with a responsible, experienced woman who was, at the same time, her little sister – the one who ran wild and took appalling risks, and yet always seemed to come up smelling of roses.
She, Robin, was the sister who stayed home, stayed in school and studied hopelessly for the exams she only just scraped through. She had to keep trying. Because there must be one good sister, one good daughter, mustn’t there? Above all, Robin hated conflict. Anger scared her. How many screaming rows could a kid endure?
Then, one day, it stopped. ‘I can’t do this any more,’ said Lin, sitting on Robin’s bed, skinny legs tucked under her. ‘Fighting’s crap.’
‘So don’t fight,’ Robin said. ‘You’re never going to win. Parents hold all the cards. And I’m fed up with it.’
‘So’m I. But it’s like being in prison. Parents control everything. Nothing’s mine. Not even my time.’
‘We could go away to university. Somewhere like Edinburgh.’
‘That’s years away. And that’s the other thing – it’d be just like school. And school is as bad as parents. “One fist of iron, the other of steel. If the right one don’t get you, then the left one will.” Sing it, Robin.’
They sat on the bed, two kids, singing ‘Sixteen Tons’, Lin trying to harmonise a third above the melody and getting it wrong. Giggling miserably. Because Robin knew that realistically she didn’t have a snowball’s hope in hell of getting into university, and she didn’t think Lin would even try. All she could see ahead of her were years of the same old same old.
Now, she had a son and daughter and she was supposed to be the one fist of iron. She was supposed to be contemplating the control of her daughter – how to stop her doing what Lin so carelessly described as ‘the usual stuff.
The trouble was, she didn’t have a clue. She was so busy avoiding confrontation that she rarely confronted Grace. So quite how much of the usual stuff there was in Grace’s life was a mystery to her. Maybe Grace was simply getting away with it. Just like Lin did when, at the age of thirteen, she decided fighting was crap. Everyone was so relieved when Lin stopped needling and demanding that they failed to notice that she hadn’t changed at all. She merely talked sweet, looked sweet and appeared with clean hands at meal times. Precocious in the art of man-management.
Is Grace a good, sensible kid, she asked herself, or is she managing me? Am I skilled at avoiding rows, or am I a neglectful parent?
She said, ‘Lin, do you think Grace is like me? Or is she like you?’
‘Grace is like Grace,’ Lin said, with her silly-question expression.
‘Do you think she knows what she’s doing?’
‘Not for a moment,’ Lin said. ‘Who does? But she probably thinks she
does.’
‘Then she’s more like you,’ Robin decided. ‘I never even thought I knew what I was doing.’
‘Bollocks,’ said Lin. ‘You had it all mapped out.’
‘Did not.’
‘Did.’
‘It was a screwy old map then,’ Robin sighed. ‘Nothing turns out the way you plan.’
‘Let’s hope that’s true for Alec as well. Some plans deserve a good trashing.’
‘Do I kick him out? Or keep an eye on him?’
‘Oh, definitely keep him.’
‘But I really don’t want drugs in the house.’
‘Mmm,’ said Lin. ‘We could probably sabotage those without being rumbled. If you want.’
‘The condoms are a symbol of social responsibility, don’t you think?’ Robin asked hopefully.
‘We don’t want to damage those.’
‘OK,’ Robin said, ‘let’s do it.’ She was thrilled. Years of passivity and ignorance fell away.
In Jimmy’s room, under the eyes of famous footballers and Nobel prize winners, Robin and Lin examined the guest’s luggage.
He was very organised, Robin concluded. ‘He’s got rich parents,’ she said. ‘Even the underwear’s designer.’
‘Parents?’ Lin said, raising one eyebrow. ‘Because he turned up with Grace? Because he acts like a puppy? I don’t think he’s as young as he’s acting.’
‘No dirty laundry,’ Robin observed. ‘No. Categorically, postively, he isn’t as immature as he seems. What’re we going to do with his stash?’
‘Turn it into something he’ll throw away,’ Lin said. She slid her hand between two T-shirts and drew out a tobacco tin.
‘Kitchen,’ she said. ‘Something noxious and smelly – like lighter fluid or turpentine.’
They went down to the kitchen. Lin opened the tobacco tin. Tidy young Alec kept his pills in an airtight polythene sachet and his grass wrapped in tin foil.
