by Meg Mason
She was desperate for a shower, but needing to expedite Freddie’s departure, she pulled on some dirty clothes that lay on the floor. The realisation that she had just made another, even worse, mistake gripped her chest.
When she emerged, Freddie was hopping back from the kitchen with a jar of water.
‘It’s a tad sparse up here, isn’t it, Jim? You’re not a big one for furniture.’
He was still naked and Abi lifted her eyes to the ceiling. ‘It’s temporary.’
‘I’d hope so. That sofa looks like it was dragged up on Hard Rubbish day.’
Freddie ambled back to the bedroom, and with mounting terror, Abi realised he was intending to stay over.
‘Oh,’ Abi said. ‘You’re not going to pop home then?’
‘What, were you just going to use me for your pleasure and then boot me out?’ Freddie pulled the sheet to his waist and put his hands behind his head, exposing tufts of underarm hair.
‘No. I just thought since you’re only next door, you’d prefer to sleep in your own bed.’
‘I’m a gentleman, Jim. And I’m tired. Bloody hell. Did my Mum paint that?’ He gestured towards the small frame Abi had moved from the living room to the floor beside the mattress.
‘She gave it to me.’
‘I’m sure she did. Odd seeing it here. It used to be in the laundry loo. Anyway, I’m spent. Night-night, Jim.’
80.
A slave to your wash cycle
Abi lay rigid on her side of the mattress until it was light enough to get up and reasonably start making tea. Freddie had slept deeply all night, resisting every telepathic request Abi had made for him to wake up and go. Elaine was bringing Jude back straight after the St Luke’s 8 a.m. service, owing to the Newcomers Lunch she had agreed to host afterwards, ‘but only as a one off’. Abi desperately needed Freddie to leave so she could strip the bed and take the sheets to the laundry.
Freddie did not wake up even as she moved noisily around the flat, and with no other option, she knelt by the mattress and began trying to roll the fitted bottom sheet off each corner and slide it out from under him as he slept.
‘What are you doing?’ Freddie sat up and ran his hand through his hair.
‘It’s wash day. Sorry. Do you mind? I always do sheets on a Sunday.’
‘You’re really a slave to your wash cycle, aren’t you? Fine, I’ll get up. Is that for me?’ He nodded towards a plate of toast Abi had put on the floor beside the mattress, then got up slowly and found his swimming trunks.
‘Take the toast with you if you like. You don’t have to eat it here.’ Abi went to the living room to find the laundry key. When Freddie appeared, with toast between his teeth, he was wearing one of the T-shirts that Stu had left behind. ‘Your baby-daddy won’t mind, will he? I can hardly go home in my trunks.’
Abi felt as though air was suctioned out of her body, leaving her weightless, floating. Stu.
‘What’s with the curtains, Jim? Do you grow a lot of weed up here?’
‘No,’ she said defensively, yanking one of the window sheets down and rolling it into her pile. ‘They’re for privacy.’
Freddie came up behind her and looked out the window. ‘Ha, look at that. Breakfast al fresco for the Woolnoughs. How do you open this window? Let’s give them a little shock.’ In the instant it took Abi to shove him away from the glass, she saw Phil at the table, leaning back in her chair so that Brigitta could refresh her coffee. Polly sat at the other end, leafing through the newspaper. Mark was kicking a ball with the boys, as Domenica ran excited circles around them.
‘What are you doing?’ Abi cried. ‘They can see up here.’
‘Ow, fuck, careful,’ he said, as he stumbled back and gave her a hard stare. They were strangers again.
As much as Abi wanted to stand guard at the window and keep him from taking a second look, she tore herself away to hunt for the laundry key, overturning sofa cushions, rifling through kitchen drawers and tipping out her neatly folded suitcase. Freddie began to wander behind her from room to room, either bored or amused, Abi could not tell. As her hand found the key under one side of the mattress, powerful knocking sounded from outside the front door.
‘Expecting anyone?’ Freddie said, ambling out as though he intended to answer it.
‘Freddie, open up!’ came a disembodied voice. ‘Are you in there? It’s Mark. Come on, pal. We saw you from downstairs.’ Abi balled the dirty sheets up in her arms and, unable to think what else to do, followed Freddie towards the door. Between each appeal, she could hear Mark take another jagged breath, as though he’d run all the way.
‘The jig’s up then,’ said Freddie. ‘Mark’s come up to claim me.’ He appeared to find the idea amusing, even as Abi tried desperately to stuff the sheets under the sofa.
‘Hurry up, Freddo,’ Mark said, pleading now. ‘Come on, your sister’s on her way up.’
‘Fancy meeting you here,’ Freddie said, as he threw open the door to reveal Mark mid-knock. ‘You’re a friend of Abi’s as well, are you?’
‘Don’t be a twat, Freddie. Polly’s behind me. You’ve really gone too far now, mate. Too far. She’s ropable.’
Abi had backed herself into the farthest corner of the living room and watched as Polly tore up the stairs, knocking Mark into the doorframe as she flew at Freddie, pummelling his chest with her fists. ‘You bastard. You fucking shit. What were you thinking? What is wrong with you?’
‘Ow, Polly, stop it.’ When the pummelling did not cease, Freddie grabbed his sister’s wrists. Even then she continued to flap her hands uselessly in front of his face, and delivered a strong kick to his injured leg.
‘Fuck, Polly. You’re insane.’ Freddie’s face turned grey as he clutched his lower leg, releasing his sister so suddenly it looked like she was going to fall over.
‘Okay, that’s enough.’ Mark put his arm around Polly and tried to steer her towards the door. ‘Come on, he’s got the message.’
Polly threw off his arm. ‘Has he, Mark? Has he? Because it seems like we all abandoned our own homes and jobs to help him stay out of a third-world prison and five minutes later, he’s getting his end away with the girl from next door.’
‘Easy, Pidge. Is it possible you’re overreacting?’
Polly spun around as though she was intending to come at Freddie with fresh blows, but as she turned, she saw Abi for the first time pressed into the corner. Expecting Polly to come at her next, Abi put her hands over her ears. Instead, Polly looked straight through her as though she was nothing.
‘Stop calling me Pidge!’ Polly said as she locked back on Freddie. ‘I am trying to keep this family together and you just stand there making stupid jokes. You are tearing this family to shreds and you don’t even care.’
The three of them fell into a mad tussle, and Abi looked on in horror.
‘What are you all doing up here?’ Another voice came full-force from the threshold and everyone turned to see Phil, who had come up the stairs unnoticed. ‘Freddie, I need very much to understand what has happened. I do hope it’s not the sordid business it looks like.’ Next, Brigitta appeared beside her and immediately burst into tears.
‘Mum, it’s nothing, honestly,’ Freddie said, sounding like a boy who’d been caught in the pantry. He was panting, and gave Mark a small backwards shove. ‘Polly has got the wrong end of the stick.’
Everybody began speaking at once and Abi tried to shrink further and further into the corner, with her hands still covering her ears.
In the middle of the roar, Phil turned and looked at her. A moment of perfect stillness passed between them, all the noise seeming to die away as their eyes met. As Phil’s features slackened, Abi saw the depths of her disappointment. Phil turned back to her own children.
Abi was trapped. As the Woolnoughs raged on, she glanced towards the open door, contemplating escape. But as her mind tried to map out a route between the shouting people, the sofa cushions she’d cast onto the floor during her hunt f
or the laundry key and the boxes of kitchenware stacked and waiting collection by the door, she saw Stu appear in the dark stairwell, with their son sitting high on his shoulders and a bunch of bright pink tiger lilies under his arm.
‘Hey, what’s going on? Who are all of you?’ Confusion spread across his face as he slid Jude off his shoulder and looked at the five strangers, in various states of torment and weeping, standing around in his flat. Next his eyes were drawn to the packed boxes. Polly’s gaze followed his, and instantly she recognised one of her mother’s platters.
‘Is this ours? This is ours! Mum, why does she have all your stuff?’ Polly lunged at the boxes and began pulling out piece after piece and loading it into Mark’s arms.
‘Are you leaving, Abi?’ Stu’s voice cracked. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Nowhere,’ Abi said. One of her legs had started to shake violently and she tried to press her knees together to stop it.
‘No, you’re going. Are you going home? Are you going back to live with your mum?’
The floor dropped away beneath Abi and she felt herself lean against the wall. Phil let out a gasp. ‘Do you have a mother, Abigail? Do you have a mother, alive and well?’
Polly dropped a serving dish, which exploded into a thousand tiny pieces.
Abi did not speak.
‘Ah. Well. I see I’ve been wrong about you on every possible count.’ Phil turned towards the others and in her most commanding tone ordered them out.
The Woolnoughs formed a straggling line and moved towards the hallway, passing by Brigitta, who was still in the doorway weeping. They looked like teenagers being marched out of a party that had got out of hand. As Freddie came to Stu, standing to let them past, he paused and peeled off the T-shirt he had taken. When Stu made no move to reclaim it, Freddie let it fall from his hand onto the carpet.
Brigitta stayed where she was until the others had disappeared into the stairwell. She raised her hand as high as her shoulder and gave Abi the smallest wave. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she croaked. ‘But don’t worry. It’ll be all right.’
Before she could wave back, Stu cut in between them and held Jude towards Abi so that his little legs dangled in mid-air. The flowers fell to the ground with the soft crunch of cellophane.
‘Weird to think I came to sort everything out.’ His freckled face turned red and tears rose in his eyes, clinging to his blond lashes. ‘But it seems like you’ve been busy. You can go home if you want, I thought you probably would.’
He placed Jude in her arms but kept a hand wrapped around the baby’s foot. ‘I never thought you’d leave without letting me say goodbye.’
81.
We are awful
The family trooped through the back door of the big house one behind the other, heads bowed. Although it was clear each of them wished to continue upstairs and shut themselves away in a quiet room, they all remained there, as though trapped by a force outside themselves.
Polly could hear the muted babble of cartoons coming from upstairs but had no energy to check the boys were all right. Not fifteen minutes ago, she had herded them in from the garden, with a firm injunction against moving, after Freddie had been spotted peering down on them from a top floor window of the flats.
By chance, Toby had arced the ball high into the air and Mark had looked up to watch it sail over the fence to the flats, only to catch his brother-in-law smiling down at them all from on high, bare chested and very possibly naked below the waist-high window sill. When the boys began shouting for Mark’s attention, Polly had looked over to see what had distracted him, following her husband’s gaze towards the top floor where Freddie could still be seen, taking a few stumbling steps backwards, grin still in place. Mark was already taking great strides towards the gate, urging Polly to stay where she was, but after grabbing the children and shunting them through the French doors, she followed him out, shrieking her brother’s name.
Now Mark was the first to take a seat at the pine table, scraping a chair noisily over the flagstones and causing Phil to tense even further. As though taking a punt on his closest ally, Freddie took the place beside Mark and sat with his eyes downcast and hands folded in his lap, a posture of uncharacteristic apology.
Polly helped Phil into a chair at the other end, where she sat ashen-faced. Once or twice she reached up for Polly’s hand.
Brigitta leaned against the sink with her face buried in her hands.
Nobody spoke.
After some minutes, Mark’s phone rang and he reached into his pocket to silence it. The sound seemed to rouse Polly and she squared her shoulders. ‘The first thing will be to call . . .’
‘We are awful. We are awful, terrible people.’ The table turned towards Brigitta, who had started shouting over her sister. ‘We should go back up there and apologise to that poor girl for how we have treated her. I can’t believe what just happened. I can’t believe what we just did.’
‘Why on earth would we do that?’ Polly could not believe what she was hearing. ‘She’s a total fantasist, Brigitta! You heard, this entire time she let Mum think she’s a dear little orphan when all the time she’s had her own family back in the UK. Seeing the lengths she’s willing to go to to ingratiate herself into this family, I think we’ve had a lucky escape.’ Polly shot a furious look at Freddie. ‘She may actually be some kind of sociopath. We ought to report her, actually. For the break-in at least.’
Polly looked to Mark for support but his expression was dubious. ‘I don’t know, darling,’ he said, pawing his chin. ‘Really? She seems pretty harmless to me.’
‘She is totally harmless!’ Brigitta cried. ‘She is just lonely and lost. But we were all happy to use her anyway.’ She looked past Freddie and tried to catch her mother’s eye but Phil angled her face away. ‘Nobody seemed that worried about her mental state when she was being useful, but now that she’s become a bit problematic, we’ll just chuck her. I am so ashamed!’
Brigitta looked furiously at each of her family members, but no one moved to respond. Even Polly felt too exhausted at that moment to contest Brigitta’s accusations.
‘Why won’t anyone think about her for a minute? Can you imagine being stuck up in that flat with a tiny baby and a rubbish boyfriend who bails on you and no friends obviously, except Mum.’ Again Brigitta looked at Phil, still refusing to be drawn in.
‘She just wanted to be your friend, Mum, that’s all. Everyone does and you know it! Everyone gets charmed by you. The poor girl didn’t stand a chance if you think about it.’ Brigitta blushed deeply then, but forced herself on. ‘And really, how is she any different from us? We all just want your attention! Why else are we all here? Abi was the only one brave enough to show it.’ Brigitta’s arms were rigid at her sides and her hands formed tight fists. ‘I don’t see why it even matters if she’s got her own mother. She just wanted someone here to be kind to her. That doesn’t make her a sociopath.’ Brigitta drew a deep breath before slumping against the edge of the counter. ‘We all just need to grow up.’
Slowly, Freddie got up and went and stood beside his sister, who had buried her face in the crook of her elbow. He put an arm around her shoulders and she gave him a sharp jab in his ribs before letting herself sag against him. ‘Fucker,’ she said. ‘You’re a fucker, Freddie.’
‘Right,’ Polly said, massaging both her temples. Somebody needed to take command. ‘We know what you think now, Brigitta. Thank you for that. Still, our first priority has to be getting her out of that flat so Mum can get back to some sort of normal.’ Unusually, Polly was struggling to order her thoughts. ‘Mum, you won’t need to see her again. Mark and I will handle everything.’
‘But you should see her, Mum,’ Brigitta interrupted again. Polly was losing patience, but there was no break in her sister’s impassioned appeal. ‘You should, Mum. Go and talk to her. You know you ought to. You are friends. It could all be quite easily fixed if you’d just bloody try.’
Polly could stand no more. ‘Brigitta, don’t
tell her what to do. You’ve got yourself totally wound up. You’re not thinking clearly. Mark, which estate agents do we know?’
‘Actually Polly, I must stop you there.’ Phil lifted her daughter’s hand off her shoulder and craned around to where Polly loomed above her, ‘I suspect Briggy is right on this score.’
Brigitta looked shocked. She cast around the table to see if the others had heard it. But all eyes were on Phil as she stood up and tucked in her chair. She turned towards Brigitta. ‘Although I expect I won’t, darling. Rather, I can’t. I really am terribly sorry.’ And then to them all, ‘Did we all remember your father died a year today?’
82.
Looking a gift horse in the mouth
Elaine did not make another journey down the highway after Stuart had returned from dropping off the baby, that very strange Sunday a month ago, and announced with tears in his eyes that there would be no more weekend visitations.
Maddeningly, he had refused to provide any detail as to why, before shutting himself in his room, where he mostly remained. Whenever Elaine rapped on the door and demanded he pass out the dirty dishes, and the waste basket overflowing with Gatorade bottles and torn-up drawing paper, the bodily smell that wafted out of the room made her gorge rise.
She could not let herself think about his degree in tatters, his tarnished future, the fact that she would be forced forever more to use common-sounding phrases like ‘from a previous relationship’ and ‘my son’s ex’. The only upside was that Abi had lost her final toehold in Kellett family life, and Christmas would be spent pleasantly, just the three of them again. As it had always been. Only Roger was granted admittance to Stuart’s gamey-smelling chamber and would spend entire evenings in there talking with his son. But the substance of their conversations remained a mystery, coming only like a low, bass-ish rumbling through the wall to which Elaine pressed her ear.
