The Year of the Rat

by Clare Furniss

  ‘What are you doing?’ I ask.

  ‘This is a drill,’ he explains, as if to a small child, pointing to the dip he’s made in the soil. ‘It’s where I’m going to plant these seeds. I used to do this with Nan when I was a kid.’ He picks up a packet of seeds and opens it. Then he shakes some seeds into his palm, picks them out a pinch at a time with his other hand and sprinkles them into the soil.

  ‘It always seemed like magic when I was a kid,’ he says. ‘We’d bury these tiny seeds in the soil. And then next school holidays I’d come back and . . .’ He holds out a packet with a mass of red and orange flowers pictured on the front.

  I look at the dry, greyish seeds again, and the black earth, and then back at the fluorescent flowers in the picture.

  ‘It still seems like magic to me.’ I smile at him. ‘You’re a magician.’

  As I’m walking back to the house, he calls after me.

  ‘You don’t—’ He stops.

  ‘What?’ I ask, turning back towards him.

  He doesn’t look me in the eye. ‘You don’t want to go out later, do you? As it’s my last night here?’

  ‘Oh,’ I say. ‘No. I can’t. Sorry.’ The words are out before I can stop them.

  He looks confused and a bit embarrassed. ‘Oh right. Fair enough. Just thought I’d ask.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I say again, and I turn back to the house and rush inside, my cheeks burning.

  In the kitchen Granny’s looking pleased. I know she’s been watching me.

  ‘What?’ I say at last, not really concentrating on her. I’m still thinking about Finn.

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ she says, meaning the opposite. She smiles at me as if we’re sharing a secret. ‘Lovely boy, isn’t he?’

  ‘If you say so.’ I pour myself a glass of water.

  ‘And going to one of the top music colleges in the country too, so your dad was saying,’ she calls back to me as she goes to take the rubbish out. ‘Plays the cello.’

  ‘Oh well,’ I say, pulling a face at The Rat who’s in her little chair, gnawing on a fist. ‘He must be nice then.’

  The Rat gurgles.

  And then she smiles at me.

  She smiles. At me. Her whole face changes. She looks like a person. She’s happy.

  Happy to see me.

  I stand, staring at her. It’s as though something’s pressing on my chest. I can’t breathe.

  ‘Stop it.’

  I want to shout at her, but it comes out as a whisper.

  ‘Stop it.’

  And the glass I’ve forgotten I’m holding slips from my hand on to the stone floor and shatters. The crack of it startles her and she starts to cry. I watch the smile disappear, her little face redden and crease. I kneel down to pick up the pieces of glass. My hands are shaking.

  I drop the shards of glass on to a newspaper on the table and a trickle of blood drips down. As it does, I realize how much my hand hurts. When I open it up, it’s full of blood.

  Dad comes up to see me when he gets in from work. It’s late and I’m already in bed. ‘Granny said you cut your hand badly,’ he says, looking anxious. ‘She said you should have gone to the hospital to get it stitched.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ I say, waving my bandaged hand at him. ‘She was just fussing as usual.’

  He sits down on the bed and looks at me.

  ‘What?’

  He pauses uncomfortably. ‘It was an accident, wasn’t it?’

  I remember how, when Granny bathed my cut in a bowl of boiled water, the blood had blossomed from my hand like an exotic flower.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I say. ‘You think I did it on purpose?’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘No. Of course not. It was an accident.’

  He watches me closely, the lamplight picking out shadows under his eyes, making him look tired. ‘OK.’ He kisses the top of my head.

  When he’s gone, I find myself thinking about how upset I was that time when I was a kid and Dad shouted at me after I ran into the road. I didn’t know whether my tears were because I was scared of the car, or of Dad shouting, or because I knew I’d upset him. He hugged me so tight it hurt, but I didn’t care. I felt safe. Promise me you’ll never, ever do that again, he said. What would I do without my Pearl?

  Next door The Rat starts to cry. I hear Dad go in the room to comfort her. It all goes quiet, then after a while I hear him singing softly to her to get her back to sleep.

  Why did he have to ruin it all? Why did he have to want a baby? He had me. Why wasn’t that enough?

  I switch the lamp off and lie back in the dark. I just want to sleep, but I find I’m thinking of Finn. Why did I say no? He’ll be gone tomorrow and I’ll probably never see him again.

  Not that it matters. Not that any of it really matters.

  I press gently on the blank white of the bandage and the pain makes my ears ring.

  ‘Pearl, could I just have a quick word with you before you go?’

  Mrs S smiles at me as Molly and the others file out of the classroom and I try to smile back. I have a feeling I know why she wants to speak to me.

  ‘I’m really glad you’ve chosen to carry on with English,’ she says. ‘How are you finding it so far?’

  ‘Fine,’ I say.

  ‘And how’s everything at home now? Is your little sister doing well?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you? How are you doing, Pearl?’

  ‘Fine,’ I say.

  ‘You’re sure about that?’

  ‘Course.’

  ‘It’s just you’ve missed a couple of classes already. And we’ve only been back a few weeks. I wondered if there was a problem?’

  ‘No,’ I say, thinking fast. ‘Sorry. It’s just I’ve had to help out with the baby.’

  ‘But your dad told the school that your grandmother was caring for her now?’

  ‘She is,’ I say. ‘But she’s quite old. It’s a bit much for her.’

  I try not to smile, imagining Granny’s face if she could hear me saying this.

  ‘I see,’ Mrs S says. ‘All the same, it’s important that you don’t miss classes, Pearl. You can’t afford to get behind.’

  ‘I know,’ I say.

  ‘And in yourself, you feel that you’re coping?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She looks at me with gimlet eyes. Mr S always used to say, You have to get up pretty bloody early to fool my wife. Believe me, I know.

  ‘Well,’ she says, ‘you know where to find me if you ever want to talk about anything.’

  ‘I’d better be getting to my next class.’

  Molly’s waiting for me outside in the corridor, looking pale. She’s been moping around like mad since Ravi left for university a couple of weeks ago.

  ‘What did she want?’ she says as we walk downstairs.

  ‘Oh, you know. Just asking why I’ve missed classes.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I told her I’d been looking after the baby.’

  ‘You haven’t though, have you?’

  I look at her, surprised. That’s the excuse I’ve been giving Molly. I had no idea she’d seen through me. I wonder how long she’s known I’ve been lying. Since the beginning of term? Since Mum died?

  ‘Course I have. Why would I lie?’ I say.

  She looks at me. ‘I don’t know. How would I? You never talk to me.’ Her voice wobbles a bit. Then she walks off and leaves me standing on my own.

  It’s half-term and Granny’s got me looking after The Rat for the morning while she goes to the dentist.

  ‘If you’re just going to lurk around the house doing nothing, you might as well make yourself useful,’ she’d said briskly. ‘I’ve had this rotten toothache for weeks. It’ll only be for an hour or so.’

  I grumble about it, but it’s not so bad. The Rat doesn’t cry like she used to. She can’t crawl yet so I just sit her on her play mat propped up by a cushion, surrounded by the gazillions of toys that Granny has bought for her,
and she keeps herself occupied while I try to read a magazine. But I keep getting distracted by what she’s doing: chatting away to herself, making excited little noises and chuckles as she reaches out for toys, chews them, bashes them together. She’s changed so much.

  I turn away from her and walk over to the big bay window. The clouds are low in the sky and the wind blows leaves from the trees and rattles the windowpane. I shiver. And then I notice it: a FOR SALE sign outside Dulcie’s house. I stare at it, thinking about how kind she was to me in the summer. I’ve hardly seen her since then. Dad says she hasn’t been well. I won’t see Finn again if she moves. I push the thought away. What does it matter?

  I think of him digging in our garden, about the seeds, the bright flowers on the packet. The colours seem impossible on a raw grey day like today. I wonder what he’s doing now?

  Perhaps I’ll go round and see Dulcie. I’ll take The Rat; she’ll like that. I scoop her up and squeeze her into her little coat.

  When Dulcie opens the door, I’m shocked by how thin and exhausted she looks, her skin almost translucent. But she smiles when she sees me and her eyes are as bright and blue as ever.

  ‘Pearl!’ she says. ‘And little Rose too. What a lovely surprise.’

  She takes us inside and I make the tea while she sits down and plays with The Rat on her lap.

  ‘You’re moving,’ I say.

  ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘It had to happen eventually I’m afraid. I’m not well and the house is too much for me to cope with. I’m moving into a home after Christmas.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say.

  She smiles sadly. ‘So am I.’

  ‘How’s Finn getting on?’ I ask, trying to sound casual.

  ‘Oh, he’s fine,’ she says. ‘Having a great time.’

  I try to smile. ‘Great.’ I wait, hoping she’ll say that he’s coming down to visit her soon, or that he’s asked after me, but she doesn’t.

  We don’t stay long; I can see Dulcie is exhausted.

  ‘She’s really growing up,’ she says as she hands The Rat back to me at the door. ‘She looks just like you, you know.’

  ‘Like me?’

  ‘Yes,’ she smiles. ‘Can’t you see it?’

  ‘No,’ I say.

  ‘It’s Molly on the phone,’ Dad calls from downstairs.

  I’m surprised. I thought she’d be off visiting Ravi over half-term. I also thought she’d given up phoning me.

  ‘She sounds a bit upset,’ Dad whispers as he hands the phone over.

  ‘Can you meet me at the park later?’ she says.

  ‘Oh,’ I say, trying to think of an excuse. ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘Please, Pearl. I need to talk to you.’

  My heart sinks. But she sounds desperate and anyway Granny keeps hassling me about spending so much time in my room on my own. It’s not right, a girl your age. You should be out with your friends, having fun. You can’t just droop around all day doing nothing. At least this will get her off my back.

  Molly’s waiting for me by the gate. Her eyes are red and her face is blotchy and she doesn’t smile when she sees me.

  ‘Shall we go and get a drink?’ I say.

  She shakes her head. ‘I’d rather walk.’

  It’s getting cold, the sun already dropping low in the sky, but we stick our hands in our pockets and walk off along a tree-lined path. The trees stand in pools of leaves, red and orange, lit like fire by the light of the setting sun. Our shadows stretch long and thin in front of us.

  I wait for Molly to say something, but she doesn’t. It must be Ravi. He must have broken up with her. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help feeling pleased. He was never right for her. We walk on, right down the hill and past the swings, our breath puffing out in white clouds.

  ‘Do you remember we used to come here when we were little kids?’ Molly says, pausing as we reach the boating lake. ‘Mum and Dad would bring us down here on Sunday afternoons in the summer. Or take us up to the bandstand and we’d have a picnic.’

  ‘Yeah, I remember. In the winter we’d fly kites on the Heath and then go to the tea pavilion for hot chocolate. Seems so long ago, doesn’t it?’

  Molly doesn’t reply; when I look at her, there are tears in her eyes.

  ‘What is it, Molls?’ I say, trying not to sound impatient. ‘Please don’t tell me it’s Ravi. If he’s gone off with someone else then there really is no justice in the world.’

  ‘No!’ She looks shocked. ‘Of course not. He’d never do that.’

  And yet the tears still come.

  ‘Oh my God,’ I say. ‘You’re not pregnant, are you?’

  ‘No. It’s nothing like that.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘It’s Mum and Dad.’ It all comes out in a rush. ‘Dad’s left. For good. He’s not coming back. They’re getting a divorce.’

  ‘Oh.’ I can’t really say I’m surprised.

  ‘Turns out Dad’s been having an affair with some woman in the Swindon office. Can you believe it?’

  I can, as it happens. I’ve never liked Molly’s dad much. All mouth and trousers, Mum used to say. And her mum’s so nice and always looking so tired and stressed. But I try to look sympathetic. Molly thinks the sun shines out of his backside. And at least she’s telling me this time, not Ravi.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say.

  We walk on in silence.

  ‘I just can’t believe it. I can’t believe he’d do it. First of all it was like I was in shock. Now I just can’t stop crying.’

  I look at her, irritated. I know she’s upset, but it’s hardly the end of the world. ‘Maybe it’s for the best,’ I say.

  Molly stops and looks at me, her eyes wide and uncomprehending.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Maybe it’ll turn out to be for the best.’

  I’ve never seen Molly look so angry. In fact, I’ve never seen her look angry at all. But she certainly is now.

  ‘How can you say that?’ she shouts, and a couple of pram-pushing mums in front of us turn round disapprovingly. ‘My mum’s in pieces. The boys can’t sleep at night. I’m trying to hold everything together.’

  ‘I just meant—’

  ‘I should have known you’d be like this.’

  ‘Like what?’

  She thinks about it, searching for the right word. ‘Cold. I don’t know why I’m even surprised. It’s what you’re like now. It’s as if you’re a different person from the Pearl I knew.’ She shakes her head. ‘You’re so distant. Nothing gets through to you, does it? It’s like you just don’t care about anyone. I thought after everything you’ve been through you might be sympathetic. I thought you’d understand how I feel—’

  And now it’s my turn to lose it.

  ‘Are you seriously comparing your dad running off with some slapper from Swindon to my mum dying?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good. Because you’ll never understand how I feel.’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose I will. Because it doesn’t matter how many times I’ve asked you, or tried to help, you just shut me out. I feel like I don’t even know you.’

  ‘I’ll never see my mum again. So don’t expect me to be all heartbroken just because your dad can’t keep it in his trousers.’

  The pram-pushers tut and shake their heads.

  Molly puts her face up close to mine. She’s shaking. For a second I think she’s going to slap me. ‘At least your mum didn’t choose to leave you,’ she whispers, tears sliding down her cheeks.

  Then she turns away from me and walks off into the dusk.

  ‘Ravi was right about you,’ she shouts over her shoulder.

  ‘Why? What did he say?’ I call.

  But she doesn’t answer.

  I’m so angry I just walk, rerunning the argument over and over in my head. How dare she? How dare she? I’m shaking with anger and with cold too. The sky darkens as the sun drops below the houses on the far side of the park. Everyone else has left, but I just keep walking, alo
ng the paths and avenues, not caring where I’m going.

  Eventually, I find I’m back at the kids’ playground. It’s deserted now. The light is dim and shadowy, and the wind is bitter. I don’t care. I sit on a swing and push with my feet, trying to let the motion soothe me. The metal chains are freezing under my fingers. The cold ache is satisfying.

  I tip my head back as I swing, back and forth, back and forth, until I’m dizzy. The sky is already flecked with dim stars.

  ‘Well, this is nice.’

  I start at the sound of her voice. It’s Mum, sitting on the swing furthest away from me.

  ‘Oh. Hello.’

  ‘Everything OK?’

  I remember the look on Molly’s face just before she walked away from me.

  ‘Course,’ I say. ‘Why shouldn’t it be?’

  I look over to see if she’s buying it, but in the falling dark I can’t really make out her face.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, Pearl. You’re hanging out on your own in a kids’ playground in the middle of the night . . .’

  I can feel her staring at me, waiting for an explanation, but I just carry on swinging.

  ‘With no coat . . .’

  ‘It’s not the middle of the night.’

  ‘Even though it’s minus thirty—’

  ‘Why do you always have to exaggerate?’ I snap. ‘I know you think it’s funny. But it’s not. It’s just annoying.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘And childish.’

  Mum lights a cigarette. She doesn’t say anything for a moment and I wonder if I’ve gone too far. ‘Well, that’s me told,’ she says at last, her face still masked in shadow.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘But you’re always going on at me.’

  ‘Am I not allowed to worry about you?’

  ‘You’re always nagging. Always asking me questions.’

  ‘I know you’re not telling me what’s really going on.’ She says it carefully, the precision and weight of her words concealing the emotion beneath them, whatever it is. ‘You won’t ever tell me the truth.’

  I watch the amber tip of her cigarette glow bright as she takes a drag.

  I take a deep breath. ‘I told you. There’s nothing wrong.’

  We sit on our swings in silence, not looking at each other.

  ‘I know you told me,’ she says eventually. ‘And I know you’re lying.’