by Martina Cole
Kenny was such a nice boy in many respects, but he was also a very arrogant and a very ignorant one. He would not listen to reason, had no time for advice, no matter who was offering it to him, and he was already of the opinion that only idiots went out to work each day. He saw paying tax as a mug’s game, that was how green he was. Mary would save the lecture on how a legitimate business could be a blind for other, less lawful, enterprises for when he was sensible enough to listen to her advice, and take it on board. He was such a fucking scratcher even though, in fairness, he tried to scratch a living so that he could provide her with money, see that she was all right for a few quid. But if he had any brains at all he would have already sussed that she was a real fucking grafter in her own right.
Mary was not going to argue with him any more. She knew that she had to let him get on with it now. Like all young men his brain was not yet wired up to listen to reason. He needed to learn a lesson in his own good time, he needed a fright, and once he had experienced that he would be more amenable to her gentle persuasion, or her manic screaming, which all depended on what form his fright would take. She hoped it was not something she would not be able to smooth over. Knowing him though, that would be the case; he was a law unto himself.
Mary looked at the clock. It was nearly nine, and she knew he would eventually come home, if only to be fed and watered. Her worry had stemmed from the fact that he had not come home as usual, he had not been there for his food, and he liked his food. It was his main preoccupation while at home with her. So she poured another drink for herself, and settled down in the chair to wait for his arrival. Until he came home, and she saw him with her own two eyes, she would not rest. He was a little fucker, but he was her little fucker, and she loved him no matter what.
Jordanna was amazed at her mother’s complete indifference to her words. She had not really expected anything else from her, she remembered her mother very well. She knew better than anyone just how easy Imelda found it to write people out of her life as if they had never existed. She erased people from her life within moments of deciding she was fed up with them.
Jordanna knew what her mother was capable of, she also knew that she did not even register on her mother’s radar. She genuinely had not known who she was. She had not even been written out of her mother’s life like everyone else; she had never been important enough to her for that to happen. But she had recognised her mother immediately. She had glanced over at her, and felt her breath leaving her body as the shock of recognition set in, as she felt the physical pain wash over her. It was the day she had dreaded all her life.
She had known her own flesh and blood within a second. She had braced herself for the inevitable approach, had waited for her mother to make the first move, had assumed she was probably as disturbed by the meeting as she was. After all, she was her mother. But that had not happened, in fact, it had taken a while before Jordanna had realised that the woman who had carried her inside her belly, who had birthed her, who had named her, did not even recognise her. That she had no recollection of her at all, until prompted.
That had really hurt. She had not forgotten how her mother had been, how selfish and vicious she was, she had not endowed her with pretend attributes or made-up stories about her as a lovely lady who did really love her kids, but had problems she needed to deal with. She had never made excuses for her, she had always understood that her mother was not like other mothers, knew that she was not capable of loving anyone. Even herself. She had always accepted that her mother had no real interest in anyone except herself and her habit. And she could cope with that. She had known the truth of it from a small child. She still remembered how nasty she could be, remembered how having to stay at her mother’s house would terrify her, how her nerves would be on edge. She would always remember how much she hated her mother and her lifestyle. She knew that, and she had accepted it a long time ago. But still, to find out that her own mother had not even recognised her, that had really hurt. She was annoyed with herself for letting it bother her so much. But it did, and when she had realised that her mother had no idea who she was, she had felt angry enough to go over and force the woman to at least acknowledge her existence.
Even though when Jordanna had first seen her mother, had recognised her immediately, she had not wanted to make any kind of contact with her at all. She had been determined to say a brief hello and leave it at that. She wanted to let Imelda know that she did not need her, had never needed her. She wanted to let her know that she was all right, that her saying hello after all these years was not that big a deal to her. She wanted to be the one who broke the tenuous connection between them, who was strong enough to say, ‘Well, we’ve said hello, so can you go because I am busy?’ But it had not happened; how could it if her mother had no recollection of her at all?
She had expected her mother to come over to her, to want to see her, see how she had turned out, had expected her to at least initiate some kind of communication. She had expected her to have some kind of reaction at seeing her daughter for the first time in ten years.
But no, she had not even known who she was. She had not even recognised her own child. She knew that physically she was her double, but that just made it worse; she was her mother’s clone.
It was eerie, even she could see it; she knew her granny had seen it as well. She also knew that her granny wouldn’t mention the likeness between them if her life depended on it.
A short while ago she had been really enjoying herself, she was on the threshold of life: she was grown up enough to get served in a pub without a big song and dance, she was pretty, she was popular, and she was finally getting up the nerve she needed to see herself as a grown-up at last. As a young woman. Now she was reminded all over again that she had not been wanted by her own mother, that she had not even been of enough importance for the bitch to remember what she looked like.
She was catapulted back to her childhood and the fear, the hate and the guilt this woman commanded at her leisure.
‘Did you not even notice the resemblance between us?’
Imelda was seeing it now, of course, but she shook her head and motioned for her dealer to join her, trying to indicate that she wanted an end to any further conversation with her daughter.
Her dealer sat down at the table happily, the lovely young girl was more than enough to keep him there for as long as needed.
Jordanna didn’t walk away, even though she knew that her mother wanted her to go. Her mother wanted her to crawl back into her past, where she belonged. But she didn’t. She couldn’t.
Imelda had not allowed for this shit, and she was not going to start playing happy families at this late stage.
‘This is Charley Buckman. Charley, this is my daughter, Jordanna.’
Charley was amazed at her words and it showed. Jordanna was suddenly gripped with the urge to get away from them. She knew that this slimy man with his ponytail and unironed shirt was her mother’s dealer. He now knew who she was, and he was in possession of her name. She was sorry she had come over, sorry that her mother’s indifference had bothered her so much, she had been a fool to force the issue. She had been a fool to let this woman and her associates into her life once again.
‘I knew you had kids, Mel, but I didn’t think you had anything to do with them.’
Imelda saw the changing expressions on her daughter’s face; the disgust, the regret and she saw her daughter register Charley as her dealer. Then she said snidely, ‘I don’t have anything to do with them if I can help it, she came over to talk to me. I didn’t even know who she was.’
Jordanna walked away then, and she knew that her friends were wondering who the woman she had spoken to was, and she wondered what lie she could fabricate to explain her actions away though she guessed the resemblance between them would tell them what they needed to know.
She was just about to say that she was a distant relative of her granny’s when she heard Imelda shrieking at her vociferously, ‘Oi, Jordanna, t
he least you could do is buy your old mum a drink.’
Jordanna felt the shame wash over her as her friends stared at her sadly. She knew that if any one of them had been in the same boat as she was, she would have wanted to curl up and die for them.
She sat down heavily and, swinging her heavy hair away from her face, she said loudly and with as much pride as she could muster, ‘I thought she was dead. I only went over there to make sure it was her.’ Picking up her drink she gulped at it, but she was mortified and they all knew it. They also knew the story of her mother, although Jordanna had never talked about it, ever, so they were only in possession of rumours and hearsay. Now they had seen Imelda Dooley with their own eyes, and they were not impressed.
Joanie Barker, her closest friend, said quietly, ‘Fucking hell, what a turn-up for the books. Ignore her, Jorge, she ain’t worth a wank.’
Jordanna smiled then, and she answered her loudly, ‘You got that right anyway.’
But the night was ruined and everyone knew that. No one was sure what to say, or what to do, it was a really strange situation.
All they knew for sure was that Jordanna’s mother, who they had heard about at some point, was even worse than they had expected, and that was saying something considering what had been said about her.
Imelda sat and scored as she had arranged, and then she watched her daughter warily until she finally left the premises with all her friends in tow.
Imelda waited to see if Jordanna would look back at her one more time, but she didn’t and that annoyed her. After all, she had been the one who had dragged up their past lives, not her. She had been the one to fucking approach her, so why was she acting so fucking innocent? Imelda had been spooked by the encounter though, and she had not expected that. She rarely thought about the kids and, on the few occasions she had thought about them, it was her Kenny she had wondered about. Jordanna had never really been of any interest to her whatsoever.
Charley had watched her daughter with the look of a man on the want; the girl was a beauty. But although she might have inherited her mother’s good looks, she had not inherited the spark that had set her apart from everyone else. Imelda still had it, still commanded people’s attention, and she knew that it was what had been her downfall in the end. She left the pub and went back to work. Within the hour she had forgotten the meeting with her only daughter.
Joanie was shocked, and as a bona fide drama queen, she was determined to make the most of it. She had heard so much about Imelda Dooley and all the things she had been accused of, but to see her like that, it was unbelievable.
Jordanna wanted to slap her friend, but she knew it was a pointless exercise. Joanie loved the feel of tragedy, she felt the power of a story and would not be satisfied until she had got it out of her system. She needed the excitement of other people’s misfortune, she would then throw herself right into the middle of their bad luck. Unlike the poor people who could not walk away from their tragedies, Joanie could do just that, and she did when she had had enough of it all.
Joanie had not felt confident about broaching the subject of Jordanna’s mother until they were alone, knowing that Jordanna would not want to discuss her with all the others present. Now she had seen her mother up close and personal, she understood why. Joanie had occasionally been the sounding board for Jorge’s rare wonderings about her mother, but even then it was only about the woman’s whereabouts. Not about her as a person.
Joanie had a natural curiosity about the woman who had produced her best friend, and she would sometimes ask about her. She would be discussed briefly, and then dismissed by Jordanna as if she was not worthy of any further interest.
Jordanna had never had a mother to turn to, she had her granny but that was not the same. She was from a completely different generation, so Joanie had passed on all her mother’s gems of wisdom to her friend. They had laughed themselves silly at most of them, but some of her mother’s advice had made sense and they had heeded it, accepting that there were a lot of things they did not know.
But it had still hurt Jordanna, knowing that her mother was alive and well, and yet she had not even asked after her daughter, that was really destructive for anybody to experience. She had not wanted her mother in her life, but she still felt that her mother should have cared about her in some way. No birthday card, Christmas card, nothing. It was heart-breaking knowing that she was not even worth a stamp.
‘Are you all right, Jorge?’
Jordanna nodded sadly. Her lovely face was resigned now, and that just made Joanie even more angry. She wanted some kind of a reaction from her friend, wanted her to finally open up and tell her about what her life was really like with her mother.
‘How can you sit there so normal? Your mother has surfaced after all these years and you act like it means nothing. Don’t you want to find out what she’s been up to, what she’s been doing?’
Jordanna shook her head. ‘No, I don’t. You saw her, Joanie, would you be interested in someone like that? She’s a fucking junkie. She is only interested in one thing, her skag, everything else means nothing to her. It’s how drugs work, well, heroin anyway. I only really remember her burning herself an armful, that and the trouble she would cause for us all.’
Joanie nodded sagely. Her thin lank hair was already sticking to her scalp in the summer heat, her eyes were grey, large and oval shaped, and they gave her a permanently startled look. She was pretty enough in her own way, but she knew that beside Jordanna she paled into insignificance. But she didn’t care about that, she was not jealous of her friend’s beauty, she had a feeling that her kind of looks eventually brought you nothing but trouble.
‘Can I ask you something?’
Jordanna shrugged, hoping she was finally going to change the subject. ‘ ’Course. We are best friends, aren’t we?’
She saw the way Joanie’s eyes seemed to change. The dull grey was now the colour of steel and they looked as hard. She saw the way Joanie’s body seemed to draw away from her as if she was tainted somehow, as if her mother coming back on the scene had made her less of a person, as if she was now without any kind of respect.
‘Did you shoot Lance, Jorge? I know we have never talked about it, but now your mum’s turned up, I can’t help wondering . . .’
Jordanna went white at her friend’s words, staring at Joanie as if she had never seen her before. As if she was a complete stranger.
She knew that the story of Lance’s death would always be talked about, but until now no one had ever mentioned it to her face. She was nearly sixteen, and she had never discussed that night with anybody. She understood now that it had not stopped everyone else from discussing it behind her back. Especially her so-called friends. The realisation that she was basically no more than fodder for the gossips was another shock to her already depleted system. First her mother had appeared after all those years and hadn’t been able to recognise her, and now her best friend wondered if she had killed Lance. She had asked her outright, ‘Did you shoot Lance?’ She had not asked her gently about what happened on that terrible night, had not tried to get her friend to open up to her, had not attempted to get her to unburden herself. Joanie wanted to be told that she was a murderer, and given all the gory details. She had asked a question that had obviously been on her mind for a long time. A question she had obviously answered for herself long ago.
Jordanna looked around the bedroom she loved, and she saw it as Joanie and everyone else must see it. She had a double bed, new mirrored wardrobes, fitted carpets and a TV. She had a state-of-the-art stereo system, and she knew that in comparison to her friends she was classed as rich. She had not really thought about it before, she just saw herself as a person; what she had and what she owned was always secondary in her mind. She liked people because they were nice, not because of what they had.
Now though, after the day’s revelations, she knew that her lifestyle was probably another thing that was discussed in graphic detail by all and sundry, like her mother
’s departure and the shooting incident. She felt a fool, an idiot, wondered why it had never occurred to her before that her life might be the cause of so much speculation, even among her closest friends. People she would never have talked about behind their backs, no matter what might happen to them. She would not have discussed them with anyone, and she knew that was a fact. She had believed that Joanie was the same as her, was not capable of treachery, was only interested in friendship and loyalty. She had been wrong, so wrong.
Her mother, as always, ruined everything she touched. One meeting with her, and suddenly Jordanna’s life was in tatters once more. It was almost as if Imelda deliberately set out to ruin everything for her.
Joanie knew she had just done a wrong one, had fucked up a good friendship with a few ill-chosen words. ‘I’m sorry, Jorge . . . I wish I had not asked you about . . . I could fucking cut me tongue out. Please forgive me . . . Please don’t hold it against me . . .’
Joanie was literally begging for forgiveness, she was genuinely sorry for probing into her friend’s past life. All the years they had known each other, she had never once even referred to it, even in passing. Guessing that if Jorge wanted to tell her something so huge, she would do it in her own time. But she had not been averse to hearing other people’s opinions on it, she had listened to the stories and wondered, like everyone else, what had really happened.
Now she knew that Jordanna would never, ever trust her again, and that she had ruined a friendship that was even more important to her than she had realised.
Jordanna took a deep breath, then, turning her back on Joanie, she said quietly, ‘I think you had better go, don’t you?’
‘Please, Jorge, don’t let’s fall out over this. I wish I had never mentioned anything. You know how much I care about you.’
