by Laura Marney
‘Well you can always redecorate Bob, it’s not the end of the world.’
‘That’s not the point. The point is that we agreed amicably that Helga and I get the house. Amicably, didn’t we? But no, you don’t know the meaning of the word. You’ve wilfully vandalised my home.’
‘So sue me!’
‘It’s a good thing you’re so fucking far away because if you were here Trish, I’d rip your fucking head off.’
‘Oh that’s nice. Offer me violence why don’t you, are you sure Steven got all that? Get a hold of yourself and stop swearing for fuck’s sake.’
‘You’re swearing at me!’
‘Yeah, but Steven can’t hear me, I’m allowed. Okay, enough, calm down, don’t shout like that in front of him.’
‘Oh you and Steven are getting helluva cosy aren’t you, on the phone every bloody night. On my fucking bill. Having a good chat were you? I bet he didn’t tell you his prelim results, did he? He fucking crashed maths! Forty two per cent! I’ve been up at the school today trying to rescue his ungrateful arse. They’re trying to bump him. Mr Gozie says he’s taking him out of credit maths. No maths, no university, but d’you think Steven is bothering his arse? Not one bit!’
‘I am bothering my arse!’ I heard Steven remonstrate.
‘Just you mind your language!’
‘Bob, we’ll need to do something. What about a maths tutor?’
‘Yeah and who’s going to pay for it? D’you know how much it costs? Twenty-five quid an hour. I don’t have that kind of money, I’m too busy paying McKay and Son to redecorate the bedroom you destroyed.’
‘Oh for Christ’s sake Bob. You don’t need a decorator. Just peel it off and slap up more paper, it’s easy.’
‘Get off my fucking phone, you’re costing me money.’
‘Let me speak to Steven.’
‘You spoke to him, you were on for fifteen minutes, long distance.’
‘I just want to say goodnight.’
‘Yeah. Goodnight!’
Bob slammed the phone down with such force it hurt my ear.
I tried calling Steven again but it was the answering machine. Bob had obviously forbidden Steven to pick up, either that or they were having such a big row that they hadn’t heard it ring. Bob hadn’t changed the outgoing message and I listened to my own voice tell me that I would return the call as soon as possible.
*
Jackie came and started on the garden before I was even out of my bed. By the time I was up and respectably dressed, he had chopped and cleared masses of it. The garden looked even bigger now. I took him out a cup of tea.
‘It looks naked.’
‘Och, you have to get rid of the dead wood. To let the new growth through. It’ll look a lot better in a few weeks.
I went back into the house and let him get on with it but I could see him from the kitchen window. By lunchtime he had taken off his sweat shirt and was down to his vest. I called him in for a plate of soup. It was just tinned soup from Jenny’s but he was grateful.
‘Aye Trixie, that was grand.’
I had to set the record straight.
‘My name isn’t actually Trixie. It was a bit of a misunderstanding with Jenny in the shop. I should have sorted it out at the time.’
‘Aye, that Jenny has a habit of misunderstanding to suit herself.’
‘Och I don’t know about that. Anyway, that’s not my real name.’
‘What is your real name then?’
‘It’s Trisha, bit of a let-down after Trixie I suppose.’
‘And which would you prefer?’
‘I don’t know, I hadn’t thought about it. I’ve always just been Trisha.’
‘Aye but you haven’t always lived in Inverfaughie.’
That was true, I could be Esmerelda for all anyone in Inverfaughie knew.
‘Well I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.’
‘Okay then.’
We shook hands on it and this time Jackie held my hand in both of his lovely warm strong hands.
*
I did have neighbours after all. One morning I heard noise through the wall and spotted a people carrier parked outside. I didn’t do anything about it but a couple of hours later they came to the door. Two sweet little girls with a bunch of flowers for me, to welcome me to Inverfaughie, their mum Polly said. I introduced myself as Trixie without as much as a blush and seemed to get away with it. Then I put my foot in it by asking if the girls were twins.
‘No’ said Polly, Michaela is six and Rebecca is eight.’
‘Eight and a half,’ said Rebecca.
‘Oh you’re quite right darling, eight and a half.’
The kids had gorgeous cute little English accents and they called their Mum ‘Mummy’. Polly passed on her husband Roger’s apologies but he was at his desk in the middle of a video conference. They were just back from visiting his mother in London she explained.
‘It took fifteen hours to get back. Makes you realise how far away we are.’
Polly was beautiful, all delicate cheekbones and soft hair but she was nervous. I tried to put her at her ease, offering her wine but she said she didn’t drink. I told her the vin rough story thinking we could have a laugh but Polly was disappointingly shy of gossip.
‘I try to get on with everyone in the village.’
The pitch of Polly’s voice had got a bit higher.
‘It might be easier for you Trixie, being Scottish.’
To change the subject I asked her about the house next door.
‘It’s owned by Clive and Helen, good friends of ours.’
Oh well, I thought, things are looking up.
‘They let it out in the summer to tourists. Roger keeps an eye on it for them, burst pipes, all that sort of thing. They used to live here. We used to come and visit them, that’s really why we moved here. It’s funny, Clive and Helen back in Sussex and us up here now.’
She sounded as if she’d been abandoned.
‘They say that if you last two years in the Highlands you’re going to make it.’
‘And how long has it been?’
‘Three months.’
My only female neighbour didn’t drink, didn’t gossip and I could see it was only a matter of time before she started telling me how lonely she was. The kids were great though. They dragged me into their garden to meet Smidgy Rabbit. I’d never touched a rabbit before but Rebecca thrust him into my arms before I got a chance to think about it. I could feel his little bones shaking inside his gorgeously soft fur. He was fragile and vulnerable and suddenly I understood why children loved pets.
‘Polly, I’d be happy to look after the girls any night you and Roger want to go out on the town.’
‘Can she Mummy, oh please? Can Trixie babysit for us? Please?’
‘We’ll see.’
But later when the kids were putting Smidgy back in his hutch Polly said, ‘Thank you for offering, it was very kind Trixie, but I don’t know if Roger would be keen. We haven’t been out since we moved here.’
Polly’s perfect bone structure wobbled a bit when she said that.
*
I discovered that Harrosie was hoaching with beasties. The bath panel was loose so I pulled it back and keeked in but I wished I hadn’t. There were loads of grey coloured creepy-crawlies writhing around in the damp darkness. It was disgusting and every time I thought of them my lips and my spine curled. The house was clean enough but I found spiders, moths, beetles, wee red ants and the grey things. I was scared to open cupboards and drawers for fear of what was in there. I told Steven about it when he phoned but it was all a big joke to him.
Anytime I encountered beasties I’d completely freak before spraying them with something, anything, just to stop them crawling. Knowing how fast these things can move I would never contemplate baring my arse in the presence of a beastie. But there were so many of them. After a week of freaking and spraying, I was exhausted. Eventually I gave up and just tried to avoid them.
I con
centrated on getting the house sorted out. One step at a time. Nothing major, no decorating, I’d had enough of decorating, I just wanted it to feel homey. I wanted to stop waking up wondering where the hell I was.
I put my photos up on the mantelpiece in the lounge and all my wee knick-knacks and ornaments around the furniture. The middle of the altar was reserved for my favourite photo of Steven. At age sixteen months, his tear-stained baby face girning behind the bars of his cot, he stood with his arms outstretched, knackered, refusing to lie down and sleep. That seemed like a long time ago, it was hard to imagine it was the same person. But even my most recent photo of him, taken last Christmas, was out of date. Steven had changed so much since Christmas, his face lengthening and becoming more angular, he was changing all the time now. Even when he became an old man I’d always think of him as that wee tyke banged up in his cot.
The cupboards in the kitchen had a horrible smell in them, like antique Rich Tea biscuits. No amount of scrubbing with Zoflora would get rid of it. The shelves were lined with ancient sticky-backed plastic that was curling up at the edges and had some sort of organic grey stuff worked into the creases. It was a pity because the design on the plastic was beautiful, teensy wee pink and red roses, really old fashioned. I caught myself thinking what a gorgeous floral pattren it was. I was turning into my mother, that had been one of her linguistic foibles.
Anything that ended in ‘ern’ Elsie pronounced as ‘ren’. She knew the correct way to pronounce these words, she just revelled in her own wee eccentricity, it made her quirky and interesting, or so she thought. When she used to knit she’d phone and tell me about the lovely modren knitting pattren she’d got from the wool shop. Once, just for a laugh, I talked about a lovely lantren I’d seen in the tavren. She knew fine well I was at the kidding but cool as you like she batted back, ‘was that in the Westren Tavren?’
You had to hand it to her, she was quick.
Thinking about it I realised that, as daft as it was, it did make her quirky and interesting. But it didn’t do to think.
I stacked all the dishes, and there were hundreds of them, on the sideboard and started howking out the shelves. Under the bottom shelf there was a certain amount of dust amidst mystery objects, one of which turned out to be a chip. It was black and solid, petrified, the only way I could tell it was chip was that I could see the potato eye on the top edge. Another was a photograph which I very nearly threw out. I hadn’t noticed it while I was sweeping up, trying not to look too closely after the unpleasantness with the chip. As I was emptying it from the shovel into the bin, the photo stuck on the edge of the shovel. I shoogled it about but it was stuck firm. I wouldn’t be able to use the shovel until I got rid of it so I gritted my teeth and yanked it off. When I wiped it the dirt came off easily. It was a picture of a child. A wee one, a girl. It was a cute photo, she had on a yellow dress and a green ribbon in her hair. The colours were enhanced and made her cheeks a bit too rosy, or maybe she was teething. She didn’t look too happy anyway. She was so cute and comical I felt rotten throwing her in the bin so I stuck her up on the mantelpiece beside baby Steven, propping her up against the wall. They were about the same age, they could keep each other company.
It wasn’t until I ran out of cigarettes that I realised how late it was. I’d fiddle-faddled about that much I’d lost all track of time. The Calley Hotel, which was nearer than Jenny’s, didn’t sell cigarettes, not even in the bar, due to a high-minded decision by Ali the owner, a born-again non-smoker with an evangelical streak. I was too tired tonight to give up smoking, I didn’t have the emotional strength. I was weak and feeble and if I was going to make the shop before Jenny shut up for the night I’d have to bomb it down to the village.
When I turned the ignition the radio came on playing the local station. It was the evening request show, I’d caught it the last few nights while I unpacked and pottered about the house. I didn’t know why Inverfaughie FM bothered taking requests because they only seemed to have about three records they played in rotation. As I turned it on I heard Andy Robertson, the presenter, say,
‘Colin, the bar man from the Caledonia Hotel wants, I think it’s some Dutch fella, Van Morrison to sing “Have I Told You Lately That I Love You” for Chillian, the new waitress at the Seaward. Chillian is all the way from Glasgow and is here for the season. Unfortunately we don’t have that particular record tonight, but I’m sure neither of the lovebirds will mind if we play for everyone’s enchoyment: a Strathspey from the marvellous Chimmy Shand!”
Coming down the hill into the village, I lost the signal. I twiddled the knobs and it came and went and then nothing, white noise. I suppose I wasn’t giving my full attention to the road.
I recognised Walter’s dog Bouncer as it crashed onto the bonnet and bounced over the car. When I got out all I could see was a heap lying between the wheels. I leaned down to comfort the dog and blood seeped onto the edge of my new waxed jacket. He lifted his head and whined; he must be in terrible pain, I thought.
Walter was in hospital, how would he take this news? It might kill him. How could I tell him? And what kind of future did Bouncer have? It was pitiful to listen to him. I could only hope that he’d die quickly. The shop was closing in fifteen minutes and I was gagging for a fag. As I stroked his matted fur there was no recrimination in Bouncer’s eyes, only resignation. Again and again he lifted his head and whimpered as if begging for an end to the suffering until I could bear it no longer. I got a shovel from the boot and whacked him over the head. He never saw it coming, now at last the pain was over for Bouncer. I lifted his poor broken body out from under the car and threw it in the ditch. There was no one around, nobody need ever know and Walter would be spared the news of his faithful companion’s death.
Jenny’s was shut by the time I got there. At thirty seconds past seven o’clock the door was locked and bolted. Hanging about the Calley car park until I could bum a smoke from foreign backpackers was humiliating and the roll up they made me was so loose I was spitting tobacco all the way home. It was time to quit.
Chapter 8
I looked at catalogues and picked out furniture I could’ve ordered if I wasn’t paying twenty-five quid a week for Steven’s maths tutor.
‘How did you get on with Mr Lennox then Steven?’ I asked when he phoned.
‘Tam? Aye, he’s okay, quite a good guy. He’s going to Europe for the semis if Celtic go all the way. He said I can come with him and his mates if I want.’
‘Well you don’t want. Forget it. And I’m not paying ‘Tam’ twenty-five quid an hour to discuss Celtic’s European chances.’
‘But you and Dad agreed that if I pass my exams I’ve to get a present, and that’s what I want.’
‘Within reason Steven, and you haven’t passed them yet.’
‘It’s not fair, that’s exactly what Dad said.’
‘Well for once I agree with your Dad. You need to get the head down now and get on with studying.’
‘I hate that big bastard.’
‘Steven. Stop it.’
‘He grounded me, for nothing. He’s just acting the big man in front of Helga, trying to boss me about all the time, it’s embarrassing.’
‘If he grounded you it must be for a reason.’
The phone went quiet.
‘For swearing,’ he said eventually.
That did seem a bit harsh. I bit my tongue and waited.
‘But he swore at me first. He shouts at me all the time. I was home late on Wednesday and he cracked up. He didn’t like it when I answered him back. It’s his fault I can’t study, I’m sick of him on my back.’
‘Let me speak to him.’
‘He’s not in. And anyway, he said he’s never speaking to you again. He says you’re an evil bitch. I told him he’d better shut it and he went, ‘or you’ll what?’ I hate him.’
I felt the heat in my face. Not with anger at Bob for namecalling, or with pride for Steven defending my honour, but with the burning shame of what
we were doing to our son.
‘I’m sorry Steven. Dad loves you. He’s just angry with me and he wants you to do well in the exams.’
‘Helga says he’s hurting because everything’s changed, you’re so far away and the family’s broken up.’
I cleared my throat so that my voice wouldn’t sound soppy.
‘I never thought I’d say this Steven, but Helga’s right.’
*
Thank God we weren’t the only dysfunctional family I knew. I saw Roger put the girls on the school bus and came out to introduce myself. Roger wasn’t good-looking like his wife, he was balding and had a thick black moustache. We quickly ran out of things to talk about so I asked after Polly.
‘I’m afraid Polly isn’t feeling too clever this morning.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Oh it’s nothing serious. She just can’t seem to get out of bed. I don’t mind, I enjoy the air in the morning. If Polly has a lie-in it means I can work undisturbed.’
I’d noticed when I hung out the washing that the curtains were drawn all day in the back bedroom, all day every day.
I could always tell when Rebecca and Michaela were home from school. I could hear the telly and hear them on the stairs but through the day the house was as quiet as the grave. If Polly was quiet during the day she made up for it at night. It’d sometimes start about ten o’clock, probably when they thought the girls were asleep.
They weren’t really arguments, more like a ritual. Polly howled and Roger shouted at her to ‘pull herself together!’ She’d start screaming, he’d clatter up the stairs slamming doors and then it’d all go quiet again. Polly was depressed. Lying in her bed all day and howling all night, the selfish cow was going to be no company for me at all.
*
Steven’s phone calls were getting shorter and terser. Things between him and his dad weren’t getting any better. I’d tried to apologise but Bob refused to even speak to me. I was wary of putting pen to paper, Bob might use it against me at some later date, but I couldn’t get through to him any other way. Choosing my words carefully, I wrote that it was regrettable the bedroom wallpaper had been damaged. I acknowledged the pain that this may have caused him. (I stopped short of offering to pay for the repair. He should have been man enough to fix it himself and anyway, I was already shelling out plenty for Steven’s maths tutor.) I begged him to consider Steven’s feelings during this dispute and I assured him that we shared common objectives i.e. for Steven to be happy and pass his exams. Not even pass the exams, just be happy.
