Chapter Nine
ELSIE
‘I know I shouldn’t have shouted at him,’ Elsie said to the walls. She was sat at the top of the stairwell of her house, talking to the closed door opposite her bedroom. She had finished the weekly clean, a can of furniture polish and a yellow duster gripped in her hands. It always felt strange after she’d been inside the room, the smells and sights unchanged in twenty-eight years. She had pulled the door closed and sat immediately on the top step, not wanting to go downstairs just yet even though she needed to tick the chalkboard.
‘I was surprised, I didn’t have time to think through my reaction.’
There were no comforting words back and Elsie squeezed the duster tighter.
She replayed yesterday afternoon again. She hadn’t felt that comfortable in her garden for months. She hadn’t realised how much she craved someone else to share in her love of the outdoors, the haven that she and her mother had lovingly created together. But now she needed to fix things with Billy.
She gave a last glance back at the closed door before she stood up. Would she ever spend more time in that room beyond just the hour cleaning, she wondered. Would she ever have the courage to face what was inside?
‘It’s hard,’ she said aloud.
Billy had been the first person to make her believe one day she might have the strength to do it, if she could change. He had such a lot of worries and yet he seemed to always be polite, in good humour. He didn’t deserve being snapped at. There were moments when she saw the woman he must see, the hard-edged old lady who lived next door: prickly, difficult. She didn’t want him to think of her like that. She didn’t want him to see what everyone else saw. A thought struck her and she stood quickly, moving through the house to fetch her handbag.
She hadn’t had her customary tea and custard cream, she realised on the way down the high street. She had been so distracted by her idea she had only grabbed her coat and had forgotten her mother’s beloved blue silk scarf. She would normally have turned back but it didn’t seem worth it and she picked up her pace, barely feeling the ache in her hip.
She was almost there when she saw her, the red cropped hair even brighter outside, dressed in a tracksuit, holding two small hot pink dumbbells, wiggling her way down the pavement on Elsie’s side. It was too late to cross the road; perhaps she wouldn’t stop.
She stopped. ‘Elsie,’ she said, still pumping the dumbbells up and down as she trotted on the spot, her cheeks pink and clashing with the shade of her hair.
‘Hello, Jun—’ Elsie tried to smile, get it all out of the way quickly so she could get on.
‘I’m on a power walk. I do them twice a week, Elsie. My friends say, “June, how do you find the time?” but do you know what I tell them?’ She puffed.
‘What do y—’
‘You have to put your own oxygen mask on first. Do you get me, Elsie? Self-care is so important. Well, I best get on, we don’t all have the luxury of time,’ June said, shifting a dumbbell in her hand.
Elsie smiled through tight lips, trying not to look cross, but she had somewhere she needed to be too. Just because she wasn’t carrying strange coloured weights didn’t mean she wasn’t on her own mission. Before she could say anything else, June had left, her bottom waggling from side to side as she disappeared up the road.
Elsie breathed out slowly. That woman! Put your own oxygen mask… honestly. She had almost forgotten what she was there to do.
Fortunately, moments later, she had what she had come into the village for and felt much brighter for it. Clutching the bag to her chest, she stared across the street, seeing the white peaked hat of Mr Porter bustling behind the counter of the butchers. It wasn’t the right day for her visit there but she remembered Billy’s comment about living on plain pasta. Meat was expensive, Elsie thought, as she crossed the road.
‘Elsie,’ he said, looking up, handing a pie in a paper bag to his last customer. ‘Good to see you, you look well. Darren, look who it is!’
Darren looked up and gave Elsie a wary smile.
‘How can we help today? I’ve got a fresh batch of steak and mushroom pies in? Or one of the Scotch eggs you like… the bigger size?’
‘Some diced chicken, please,’ Elsie said, touched that he appeared to remember some of her favourite items. That thought made her add, ‘And a Scotch egg would be lovely.’
Mr Porter beamed. Elsie fumbled for her purse, accepting the bag with a quiet, ‘Thank you, Mr Porter.’
‘Honestly! It’s Stanley! You take care of yourself, Elsie. We’ll see you in here soon, I hope,’ Mr Porter said as she blustered out the door.
‘Thank you, yes, thank you, Stanley.’ She stumbled over the name, always formal, always perfunctory. Anyway, she really did have to get back, she didn’t want to waste a moment longer.
Clutching her prize in her hand, she hurried home, past the post office, past the library. Scarlet had given her a wave from the window and Elsie, hesitant at first, had returned it. That was a good sign perhaps, people could be nice. Surely Billy would give her a second chance? She swallowed as she passed her own house and headed straight to next door, a trembling hand reaching for their doorbell.
‘Would you mind if I came in?’ Elsie felt her heart hammering as Samantha appeared in the doorway. She didn’t look impressed. Two deep lines between her eyebrows appeared as her eyes narrowed. She crossed her arms, not inviting Elsie inside.
Elsie licked her lips, cracked and dry. ‘I got you some chicken,’ she announced. Samantha’s mouth twitched but she didn’t budge.
‘I’ve come to apologise,’ Elsie blurted, gripping the bag tightly in her hand. ‘Please.’
Something shifted in the younger woman’s eyes and she stepped to one side, a hand indicating Elsie could step inside.
‘Thank you,’ Elsie said, squeezing past her.
There was no porch, the door led directly into the living room, a small square room with not even a lampshade over the bulb. In fact, as Elsie looked round, she realised how bare the place really was: hardly anything in it at all.
There was an old sofa in faded burgundy that had seen better days, holes in the arm rests, no cushions. No pictures on the walls, a single hard-backed chair, no trinkets, frames or even a television. It was so stripped back it made the small room look cavernous, and there was something temporary and depressing about the scene, so different from her own house crowded with memories. For a moment Elsie forgot what had brought her there.
‘So,’ Samantha said, ‘Billy told me you shouted at him.’
Elsie flinched at the coldness in her neighbour’s voice, at the directness of the sentence.
‘I… well, “shouted” might be going too fa—’ Elsie felt her usual defences go up and then swallowed, remembering the little boy’s face in the garden, his enthusiastic excitement that had morphed into something else. She dropped her head and nodded, ashamed. ‘I did. He really didn’t deserve it.’
‘Why? He’s only ten and he’s got so much on his plate right now.’ Samantha was clearly cross, swiping her fringe out of her eyes. She really needed a haircut. Oh goodness, Elsie realised, perhaps she couldn’t afford to treat herself.
‘It was… I… The thing is…’ How could Elsie explain the swell of emotions that had risen up inside her as she’d realised what Billy had found? How could she justify the way she had spoken to him? She didn’t really remember what she said: one minute she had been lost in a sea of thoughts and feelings, old scars now livid and open, the next all she could hear was his voice asking the very questions she didn’t have answers to. Then she was spinning round, wanting him to stop so she could think, get away, be alone and she had twisted round to face him, opening her mouth, angrily silencing him.
‘I am truly sorry, I treated him badly.’
Samantha didn’t say anything, arms crossed again, eyes not quite meeting Elsie’s as she battled with whatever she was thinking.
‘Please, I want to make it up to him, a
nd you,’ Elsie said, holding out the small bag she had been clutching. ‘I wanted to give him this – is he here? Would he see me?’
‘He’s at school.’
‘Of course,’ Elsie replied, her hand dropping to her side. ‘Silly, of course he is.’ Her smile was weak, sad.
Samantha stalled, nodded at the bag, ‘What is it?’
Elsie felt a small opening, a chance to fix things. ‘Gloves,’ she explained, holding up the bag. ‘For Billy. I didn’t have any in his size so I went to the DIY shop this morning. He seemed to like the garden…’ she trailed away.
Samantha took a breath, her voice soft, her eyes less suspicious. ‘He told me.’
Elsie felt her chin lift, ‘Did he?’
Samantha nodded slowly, relenting a fraction. ‘He told me you had every kind of flower and there were even fruit trees that would grow things he thought might become apples. He got quite carried away.’
‘He really did seem to like the place,’ Elsie said, a small smile on her face. He had noticed the trees? She hadn’t realised he had spotted the fruit trees. He might have meant the plum tree in the corner that she was late to prune. ‘I would love to teach him more. If you would allow him to come over again?’
Samantha’s expression changed again, a cloud descending. ‘I… I’m not sure. He really… Look, I do understand. I know you’re probably not used to young children, but, well…’
‘I will try harder,’ Elsie replied, a note of desperation entering her voice. ‘I know I can be… difficult. I’m not used to children, well, not good with people generally, I…’ Why was she fighting so hard for this boy who only a week or so ago simply represented disruption and chaos?
‘It’s not that I’m not grateful, it was kind of you to step in and take him those other times. It’s let me do my job, it’s just…’
‘I really do want to,’ Elsie said, ‘I need to make it up to you both.’
Samantha sighed, twisting her hair into a low bun. ‘To be honest, I’ve been looking but it seems round here babysitters are a rare breed. I searched online again this morning, but people aren’t exactly hammering down the door to look after my kid. Not at the times I need them, and who knows when Rich will decide to change my shifts again.’
Elsie’s heart swelled with a tiny sliver of hope, a feeling that also surprised her: she hadn’t realised the impact Billy had made. ‘Well, I am available and would love the chance.’
Samantha’s face fell, an embarrassed blush forming. ‘I told him he didn’t have to see you again.’
‘I understand,’ Elsie replied, her heart sinking with that knowledge. How awful that the little boy had said those words. What had possessed her to be so cruel? ‘But,’ she started, for the first time in her memory wanting to do something for someone else, ‘you do need someone to look after him?’
Samantha didn’t respond to her question.
‘I am happy to have him whenever you need.’
Still Samantha didn’t say anything.
‘I know I was unfair to him and I do feel dreadful. I really won’t ever do anything like that again, I assure you.’
Finally, Samantha looked up. ‘I’m not sure he’ll be that keen, to be honest…’
‘I imagine not. I was very harsh with him and I will make sure he understands that it was unacceptable and absolutely all my fault.’
These words finally altered something in Samantha’s demeanour. Her shoulders dropped and her face opened up. ‘He said something about finding a tin, a box of some sort?’ she asked tentatively. ‘I didn’t really understand what he found but Billy has always been a curious little thing.’
‘Sign of intelligence,’ Elsie said, relieved that Samantha appeared warmer with her.
‘Well, he has mentioned it more than once,’ Samantha carried on, ‘He thinks it might have been left there by pirates.’
Elsie leapt on her chance with both hands, despite everything. ‘Well, you tell Billy if he agrees to come back, we can open the tin together,’ she said, swallowing down the instant surge of anxiety triggered by the rash statement.
‘So, there is a tin? Well! Maybe he’s right and you’ll both find gold. God knows, we could do with some of that!’
Elsie wasn’t really listening, the nerves fluttering in her stomach at the thought of what she had started. Still, at least the promise would get him there. She would let him open that tin: what was the worst that could happen?
Chapter Ten
BILLY
‘You said I didn’t have to go back there.’
‘I said I’d look for a babysitter.’
‘That’s the same thing.’
Mum went quiet, which she always did when she knew I was right. Not that being right meant much. She was making me go back to Mrs Maple’s. She hadn’t said anything all weekend and now we were about to leave for school and she was springing it on me.
‘No way!’ I said, stopping, one black school shoe in my hand.
‘She feels terrible,’ Mum replied. ‘She came round and apologised while you were at school and look,’ she held out a pair of large, khaki green gloves, ‘she bought you these, they’re brand new, for the garden. She said you’d been so good in her garden – that’s nice, isn’t it? She obviously likes you, Billy.’
‘Funny way of showing it,’ I said, remembering the way she’d turned round in her garden and shouted at me.
‘I’m sorry, alright?’ Mum sighed. She did that a lot now, her face paler, her cheeks thinner; she looked funny without her bright orangey lipstick which she never wore any more, ‘I did look but there isn’t anyone around here who wants to do the kind of hours we need, and, frankly, Billy, we can’t really afford it.’
What could I say? I knew something was going on. Mum was counting things at the supermarket checkout and she made me take back the box for the fajitas and the chicken breasts, and we’d had cheese on toast again last night and we still don’t have a television and I’m not stupid.
‘I could stay here on my own.’
‘You’re not old enough,’ Mum said, but not angrily.
I scuffed my toe on the floor. ‘What if she yells at me again?’
‘She won’t.’
‘What if she does?’
‘Well, if that happens, you tell me and you really won’t have to go back there.’
I looked up. ‘Where would I go?’
Mum paused. ‘We’d work something out.’
I was quiet, not sure what else I could say.
‘Everyone deserves a second chance,’ Mum said, ‘don’t you think, Billy?’
‘What about Dad?’
She reared backwards. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re not giving him a second chance. Does he even know we’re here?’
‘Look, Billy, it’s complicated. I… I know maybe I should…’ She was fiddling with the sleeve of her sweater and she wouldn’t look at me. ‘You don’t know some… it’s just…’
‘Don’t bother,’ I replied, knowing I was being rude. It wasn’t like I expected to get a straight answer from her anyway. I felt a bit sorry for Dad: he must be really missing us now. He never said it, but Mum always told me how much he loved me even if sometimes he didn’t show it either.
‘If it doesn’t work out at Mrs Maple’s,’ Mum said, ‘maybe you can go round a friend’s house another day? From school?’
I thought of school and my total lack of friends. Yeah, great, I could head round Daniel’s or Javid’s or Max’s – hey, guys, want to hang out? They’d sneer and make stupid comments about my clothes and my voice and I hadn’t even told Mum, who’d probably want to come in and talk to the teacher, which would only make things a million times worse.
‘Yeah…’ I said.
‘It’s only for a couple of hours after school today. And if you hate it, well…’
‘Fine.’ I slouched onto the sofa, which smelt of cat hair and damp. I missed our flat and the soft grey throw that Mum draped along the back of
our L-shaped sofa that meant I could lie right out with only my feet poking over the end. God, I hate this stupid house.
‘I’m sorry, Billy, I need this job. Rich said—’
‘I said fine,’ I replied, shoving my shoe on, ‘I’ve got to go.’
‘I can walk round there with you after school, if you like.’
‘I can get there alone, it’s like two seconds away,’ I replied, watching her slink back.
She nodded dumbly. ‘Alright, fair enough. I am sorry, Billy. I’ll pick you up once my shift’s finished at 6 p.m.’
‘Whatever.’ I picked up my rucksack and barely looked back at her. Normally she forced me to give her a kiss on the cheek, or a high five if I really wasn’t in the mood, but this morning, she didn’t say anything, just let me leave.
I was halfway to school when I realised I’d left my PE stuff at home but there was no way I was going back now. I’d just have to pretend I was ill or hope they’d let me sit it out anyway. I was crap at PE at this school. They didn’t play football this term, we were doing tennis on the court, and I’ve never played before but I think Daniel has his own court or something because he’s amazing at it.
Thinking about Daniel only put me in a worse mood as I turned up to school, joining the queue into the classroom. No one said ‘Hi’, although Becky looked over and smiled at me but I was standing next to another girl who was a twin and I couldn’t remember which one so she was probably smiling at her.
In the end they’d found me spare PE kit, which was gross and smelt of someone else’s BO, even though Mr Williams said it had been washed. Javid and Max were clutching their sides cracking up in the changing room as Daniel walked past, calling me a tramp again.
‘Although they’re nicer than your normal clothes,’ he’d said, swinging the tennis racket round so it hit me in the calf.
I’d been about to go for him but Mr Williams had come in then and told us to hurry out onto the court.
The Garden of Lost Memories Page 6
