You Be Mother

by Meg Mason

  Sylvie to Guy: It’s over! Love-rat director given boot by radio star wife!

  Embattled West-End personality Guy Kidd has moved out of the £4m North London home he shares with wife Sylvie, after a rumoured affair with a seventeen-year-old model–actress who starred in his most recent production, according to sources close to the couple. A bitter custody battle over the couple’s son Ludo and newborn daughter Thea is expected to follow.

  Brigitta rested the magazine open on her lap, and looked up again at the squalling ocean beyond the pool. Her name appeared at the bottom of the story, as a sort of after note put in by a journalist who needed another 200 words. ‘It is not Kidd’s first indiscretion. Earlier this year . . .’

  In India, there had been hardly any time to think about Guy, the scandal, the probable end of her career. Only occasionally, lying awake in her hot hotel room did she dare to consider that if there was one upside to Freddie’s disaster, it was that no one in her family was talking about hers anymore.

  The thought made her sick with guilt, but then her family had a knack for moving on when it suited them, and it always fell to her to remind them of stories and things and people they’d forgotten or become bored by. In this instance, Brigitta was happy to leave them to it.

  And already, her time with Guy was starting to feel like something she’d imagined, distant and unreal. The only thing that shamed her still, as she looked at the pictures, was the fact that one day, those lovely children would read about what their father had done and his pretty wife would be forced to explain.

  Brigitta rolled up the magazine and stuffed it into a nearby rubbish bin.

  With few people about, she stripped off her jeans and shirt and walked down the rough stone steps into the ice cold water of the pool. A breath caught in her chest as she lowered herself in, but she needed to be cleansed. Standing against the wall, up to her waist, she lifted her feet off the ground and then with two fierce kicks, she forced herself forwards through the deep, eyes wide open.

  78.

  The doghouse

  Abi offered local pick-up only. She scheduled collections for Saturday afternoons when Jude was with Stu and the Cremorne Point Benevolent Society could be relied upon to be kipping in their quiet houses. She could not bear the idea of them seeing one of their donations carted away by a stranger. Every sale was accompanied by a prick of guilt, and only the increasing thickness of the envelope hidden underneath the mattress made it bearable. She had made $544 dollars so far, boosted by a surprise bidding war that broke out over Sandy’s retro-kitsch cutlery tree. Counting two more fortnightly child benefit payments to her UK bank account – she never had quite managed to cut them off – she hoped to have enough money to leave before Christmas. Each small withdrawal she made to buy nappies and noodles seemed to push her departure back by another hour. She let her phone credit run out, and her contact with Rae ceased.

  To keep moving forward, she packed her suitcase and began living out of it, although it was only just November. ‘I feel as though I’m living out an ending. The fag end to be sure,’ Phil had once said, and now Abi knew what she meant. She spent each slow-moving day trying to occupy Jude in the flat and watching eBay. Occasionally, very early in the mornings or just as it was getting dark she would hurry Jude out for a swing, hoping to slip into the playground. Whenever she heard a noise from Phil’s garden, she covered her ears, and so that she would not look down, she hung sheets over the windows. They cast a flat, white light across the room. No one came up except her, Jude, and a trickle of successful bidders.

  ‘Thank you, bye,’ Abi said, closing the door on a Chinese lady who left with Barb’s stackable mixing bowls. She had only got $7.80 for them, but she added it to the envelope. As she sat on the mattress counting it out again, a trickle of sweat ran down her chest.

  On a humid Saturday evening, Jude removed to Gordon, Abi sat refolding the contents of her suitcase. There was nothing else to do. Folded beneath her underwear was her swimsuit. She pulled it out, feeling the familiar fabric, and thought.

  Jude would not be back until the following morning. And so for the first time this new summer, she snuck down to the pool. The lights in the towers on the other side of the water were flickering on, and ferries chugged past, brightly lit from inside. The sky was ribboned with pink and yellow above a sinking sun. Abi opened the gate. An earlier party had left behind a plastic garden chair and pool lounger, and after looking around to make sure she was on her own, Abi lay down on the lounger. It would all be gone by the next day. A resident would ring the council. She closed her eyes against every memory that lived within the pickets. Phil on that bench. Phil holding Jude over her forearm and shouting, ‘Kick, Abigail, for Lord’s sake!’ Newborn Jude sleeping under a tree with the soles of his bare feet pressed together. She pressed the tips of her fingers against each eyelid. A single gasp of pain came out with her breath. For the shortest time, she had had it all. Stu. Phil. Jude. Everything she had ever wanted.

  At some point, the gate rattled and she sat up, squinting through the dusk. A figure with a lopsided way of walking entered and came slowly towards her. As he got closer, Abi saw that he was leaning on a walking stick. Then, as he came and stood right in front of her, she noticed a thick red scar raised along one cheek and another one, more jagged, down the centre of his forehead.

  ‘May I?’ he asked, gesturing towards the empty plastic chair, where he tossed the striped towel that had been draped around his neck.

  ‘Okay,’ Abi said. She rotated her stiff shoulders and gave a smile that died unseen in the dusk.

  He lowered himself into the plastic chair, and let the stick fall away. His head dropped back and he closed his eyes.

  ‘You’re Freddie aren’t you?’

  Lazily, he cocked his head towards her. The corner of his mouth lifted into a half grin. ‘So sorry, I can’t remember where we’ve met,’ he said, in the precise Woolnough accent.

  ‘We haven’t. I know your mum. I used to.’

  He sat up and studied her. ‘You wouldn’t be the girl from the flats, would you? The one with a habit of popping in when no one’s home. My sisters have been bringing me up to speed.’

  Abi said nothing.

  ‘So we’re both in the doghouse, are we? I’m grateful to you – Annie is it?’

  ‘Abi.’

  ‘That’s right, Abi. The only time my sister gets off my back is to give my mother a go about you. Apparently you’re a menace to society, although looking at you, I’m struggling to see it.’

  As he looked her up and down, Abi pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. ‘You look like one of those tiny gymnasts. Very useful on the parallel bars.’

  Abi felt the back of her neck tingle.

  ‘You look like you’d really stick your landing,’ he said, miming a final flourish to the judges. ‘Perfect ten.’

  Abi could not help laughing. ‘You look so much like your mum.’

  Freddie pretended to be offended. ‘A much manlier version, I hope. Are you swimming then, Jim?’

  It took Abi a second to figure out why he’d called her that. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Go on. Don’t make me swim by myself. I’m infirm, you know,’ Freddie said.

  ‘Your mum taught me to swim in this pool,’ Abi said, staring at the flat surface, as black as the empty sky.

  ‘Well that makes two of us. Are you any good? There’s a very real chance I’ll require rescue.’

  He stood up and hopped towards the edge, leaving the stick where it was. ‘Come on then, Jim,’ he called after easing himself in. ‘It’s lovely once you lose feeling in your legs.’

  79.

  Infamous Abi

  ‘So where’s this baby of yours? And your husband for that matter?’

  Freddie was swimming around her in lazy circles, kicking sporadically with one leg, forcing her to spin as she trod water in the deepest part of the pool.

  ‘He isn’t my husband. He has
the baby at his parents’ house. We had a row and haven’t spoken since. His parents hate me. Well, his mum definitely does. I’m going home soon anyway.’

  Freddie raised an eyebrow. He looked amused.

  ‘It isn’t funny. Why are you laughing?’

  ‘I’m not laughing, Jim. It sounds like a fucking nightmare to me. But if I was your chap I’d be in no rush to leave you, no matter how naughty you’d been. You could end up swimming in the middle of the night with an unbelievably good-looking stranger.’

  The words gave Abi a pulse, so mortifying in its intensity she had to press her hand between her legs, unseen in the deep. She couldn’t think how to reply. For what felt like an eternity, she hadn’t spoken to anyone who wasn’t angry at her, disappointed, confused or in a hurry to get her pretty pine desk into their van. She felt undone by Freddie’s attentions, his care. She let herself sink all the way to the bottom and lingered there for as long as she could, stroking her arms slowly back and forth. When she opened her eyes, there was nothing in front of her except darkness.

  Freddie dropped under and pulled her back up by her wrist. ‘God, Jim. I thought I’d lost you there for a moment.’

  ‘We should probably get out.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘What? Nowhere. Home. To our own homes. Separate homes.’ The idea of him leaving her and being allowed to walk into the big house made her long for Phil. Only to be able to see her, to have a chance to explain.

  ‘Well, the only thing I’ve got to look forward to at home is a fresh bollocking from Poll. What about you? Why are you in such a hurry to get home?’

  Abi thought for a moment. ‘A whites wash.’

  Freddie let out a rich laugh.

  ‘It’s in the common machines,’ Abi said. ‘It will have finished and someone might take it.’

  ‘Jim, the only person who’s interested in your whites wash around here is me. And I promise I won’t touch a thing. Don’t go just yet.’ He moved nearer to her. ‘If you’re cold we’ll get out and dry off. But really, you’re easily the loveliest person I’ve spoken to in some time, not counting one rather sweet little nurse back in India. Don’t deprive me of company. Not in my condition.’ He was so near her now, the water between their bodies felt warmer than the water at their backs.

  ‘Gosh,’ Abi said, gathering herself. ‘You’re getting loads of mileage out of your sore knee.’

  ‘I’ve got nothing else going for me, if you ask any Woolnough. Let’s get out, but really, stay for a bit. If I’m late back, it will give Polly something else to be worked up about. You’d be doing her a favour really.’

  ‘Okay, well. Maybe ten minutes. But if my washing gets taken, you owe me a whole load of smalls.’ She went up the ladder, sensing Freddie waiting below her, watching.

  ‘Smalls?’ he said. ‘You sound like a Victorian housemaid.’

  ‘What do you call them then?’ She paused, hanging off the handles.

  ‘I don’t, Jim.’

  Abi dashed dripping to the lounger and felt around for the bath mat she’d brought with her to dry off. Before she could find it, Freddie threw his in her direction.

  ‘Here,’ he said. ‘This’ll be better than that sad little flannel.’

  ‘It’s a bath mat actually.’ Abi pressed his towel to her face and inhaled a deep draught of Phil’s eucalyptus laundry liquid.

  ‘We don’t want you catching your death.’

  Abi wrapped herself up. ‘Your mum always says that.’

  ‘Bugger, she does, doesn’t she?’ Freddie took his chair and draped Abi’s bath mat across his shoulders like a tennis player on a water break. ‘Here I am, trying to be charming and instead I remind you of a middle-aged woman.’

  ‘How is she? Your mum?’ Abi asked quietly.

  ‘She’s all right, Jim. But it’s almost a year since my father died. That’s why we’re all hanging around. She’s been pretty wobbly. A lot on her plate. Partly my fault of course.’ The lightness in his voice fell away.

  ‘Could you tell her I’m sorry?’

  ‘I’ll try, Abi.’ He touched the scar on his cheek. ‘But I’d say, don’t get your hopes up.’ Abi did not think she could feel worse than she already did, but Freddie’s sympathetic face lowered her even further.

  After a moment he stood up and, with one deft movement, kicked his stick upwards and caught the handle. ‘Now come on, Jim. Show me to this common laundry and we’ll see what’s left of your smalls.’

  The five-minute walk back to the flats took half an hour. Freddie demanded frequent rests on account of his knee whenever they came to a low section of wall. All along the way, around every bend and through every thicket, he pointed out a personal landmark.

  ‘Ah, now. That bench, Jim, is where I spent the night after a particularly blistering Year 12 formal. It really ought to have a plaque commemorating my heroic recovery from Long Island Ice Tea poisoning. I seem to remember my father docking me for a new tux.’

  Further along, a tree root snagged the end of Freddie’s stick and he slung his arm around Abi’s shoulders to steady himself. He did not seem in a hurry to let go. Music and laughter wafted down from houses above, and from the other side of the harbour came the dull pop-pop of fireworks.

  ‘Jude and I have lunch on that grassy bit sometimes.’

  ‘Who’s she?’

  ‘No, Jude. My son.’

  ‘Right, the baby. I’d forgotten already. Forgive me. Blame the recent concussion. Well, next time you bring him here, you can tell him about the great Freddie Woolnough whose alcohol tolerance remains the stuff of legend to certain-age Loreto girls.’

  ‘I probably won’t.’

  ‘No. But it’s enough to know you’ll be thinking of me next time you eat your sandwiches.’ He put his mouth so close to her as he spoke, his warm breath filled her ear.

  At the last curve before the flats, she slipped out from under his arm and took a few quick steps ahead. He prodded her with the end of his stick as she broke away. ‘Are you actually in a hurry, Jim, or have you forgotten I’m the walking wounded?’

  ‘I haven’t. This is me, though.’

  ‘You really are right next door. How convenient.’

  ‘It was nice to meet you.’ Abi tightened her towel. Perhaps he would forget to take it back. ‘I am sorry, about everything. I didn’t mean to make trouble.’

  ‘You can stop being so miserable, Jim. I couldn’t give a fuck what you’ve done. Now listen, are you sure you don’t need a hand up with that washing?’

  ‘From a man with one working leg?’

  ‘You shouldn’t discriminate against the disabled. I meant in a purely supervisory capacity.’

  ‘I think I’m all right, thank you for offering.’

  ‘Fine. Goodnight then. It’s been a pleasure to meet the infamous Abi from the flats.’

  He grinned and lumbered off into the darkness. As Abi began to pick her way towards her block, Freddie’s words came at her, again and again. Infamous Abi, infamous Abi, like a chanted chorus. Infamous Abi, infamous Abi. The blank glass door to the foyer gave back her reflection, as she stood with one hand stretched towards the handle. She barely recognised herself, skinnier still, cavernous hollows below her eyes. Infamous Abi.

  When she caught her own eye, she spun on her heels and ran back the way she’d come. She reached Freddie just as he was about to lift the latch of Phil’s gate.

  ‘Freddie,’ she whispered.

  He turned around and threw his head back, supressing laughter.

  The voices of the other Woolnoughs floated out of the open kitchen.

  ‘I think I do actually need help with my smalls.’

  ‘I knew it,’ Freddie said. He stepped into her, so close, his breath picked up a strand of her hair and blew it into her eye.

  She pushed it to one side. ‘But in a purely supervisory capacity.’

  ‘Well. If you insist. It sounds like they’re getting on perfectly well without me in there.�
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  She took his hand and moments later, she was stumbled backwards up the flat stairs. Freddie had tucked the stick under his arm and had his hands on her hips, letting himself be led up. Her own recklessness was intoxicating. She had tried so hard to be good and look what had happened. What else was there to lose? As she struggled with the front door, he kissed the side of her neck and slid the straps of her damp swimsuit off both shoulders.

  She held it up as they stumbled in, and although she tried to apologise for the state of the living room, Freddie began kissing her with such unyielding force the words came out in a mumble. ‘It’s usually much tidier up here.’

  They found the bedroom and she let him tug off her swimsuit and fling it towards the window. His neck smelt of pool salt, more faintly of soap or honey. Abi felt a surge of pure love as they fell onto the mattress and Freddie climbed on top of her. She grabbed for the body above her, clutched it and pawed it. This time she would not let go.

  She fell into a sort of trance as the dark bedroom shrank in around them. Everything became hollows and spaces, warmth and wetness.

  ‘Do you have a thing, Jim?’

  Abi could not bear to get up and dig one out of Stu’s shelf of the medicine cabinet. ‘No, sorry.’

  ‘Well, I’m as clean as a pin so if you’re all right I’ll just,’ he whistled two short notes, ‘whip out when the time comes.’

  Abi murmured assent but after that something shifted. Their rhythm was lost. Everything she did seemed to cause him pain in some unseen place and he’d say ‘Fuck, Jim, that’s not going to work.’ She tried to think of something else from her slender repertoire but felt self-conscious, and then came the slow creep of shame.

  Freddie suggested they concentrate on her for a bit, but when he flipped her to his other side, her eyes fell on Jude’s empty crib in the near dark. She looked at Freddie, whose face was set in laboured concentration, and saw Stu. Regret flooded every cell in her body as Freddie finally hit his mark. A minute later it was over.

  Abi dashed to the bathroom, sat on the toilet seat and wept into a scented baby wipe. When she eventually stood up, she knew immediately that Freddie had mistimed his exit.