by Roberta Kray
‘Yeah?’
Helen gazed blankly back at her for a moment. ‘Er, is Moira in?’
‘Who?’
‘Moira, Moira Sullivan.’
The girl shook her head. ‘Sorry. Never heard of her. Are you sure you’ve got the right address?’
Helen felt her heart sink. ‘She used to live here.’
The girl gave a shrug. ‘Sorry,’ she said again.
‘You don’t know where she’s gone, then?’ Helen knew the question was pointless even as she asked it. The girl didn’t have a clue who she was talking about.
‘No idea,’ she said, and closed the door.
Helen picked up the case again and trudged back across the road. Maybe Paul Connolly would have Moira’s new address. But why had she moved? She’d lived in that flat for years. What if she was dead? she thought suddenly, with a jolt. What if she’d got sick and gone to hospital and never got better? Although she knew it was unlikely, Helen was so used to losing the people she loved that this bleak possibility continued to dog her thoughts as she retraced her steps, pushed open the door and stepped inside the steamy café.
She went up to the counter, where a woman was paying for her food. She could feel her stomach twisting as she waited to be served. The woman, an elderly lady, was taking forever, counting pennies out one by one from her purse. But eventually it was done and Paul Connolly turned his attention to her.
‘Yes, love. What can I get you?’
‘Tea, please,’ she said.
‘One tea coming up.’
As he filled the mug from the big metal urn, Helen put her elbows on the counter and asked as casually as she could manage, ‘Is Moira working tonight?’
‘Moira?’ he repeated, and then shook his head. ‘No, love. Moira doesn’t work here any more. Not for months.’
Although relieved that there wasn’t worse news, Helen still struggled to hide her disappointment. ‘Oh, do you know where she’s gone?’
‘Sorry, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘She moved away a while back.’
Helen gave a nod. ‘Thanks.’ She paid for the tea, picked up the suitcase and the mug and carried them both over to her favoured table. Pulling out a chair, she slumped down listlessly. So, she was too late. She should never have allowed herself to hope. Moira was gone and she would probably never see her again.
As she gazed out of the window, Helen suddenly remembered the letter she’d received, realising now what it must have been about. Moira had been writing to say that she was leaving. Maybe she had included her new address, or a phone number. But Helen would never know. She had ripped it up without even looking at the contents, and chucked it in the bin. How could she have been so stupid, so childishly unforgiving? Well, she was being punished for it now.
She took her time over the tea, glad at least to be out of the cold. The sun had gone in and the light, even though it was only two o’clock, was beginning to fade. She knew that she had no other choice but to throw herself on the mercy of her aunt. The thought of this filled her with such dismay that she wanted to put it off as long as possible. Should she ring first? There was a phone box outside the café. But if she called, Janet might find an excuse as to why she couldn’t come. It was probably best to just turn up.
It was half an hour before Helen finally left Connolly’s. She lugged her suitcase back across the street – it seemed to be getting heavier with every step she took – and went to stand by the bus stop. She would need to go to Chingford and from there get another bus on to Farleigh Wood. Ten minutes later, a Chingford bus arrived. Helen shuffled forward in the queue, but just as she was about to get on, she changed her mind and stood aside. She wasn’t ready yet. She would wait and get the next one.
Three more buses came and went, but Helen still couldn’t bring herself to do it. She could imagine the look on Janet’s face when she turned up unannounced. Her aunt was not the type of person who would refuse her entrance, but it would be done grudgingly and it would be made clear that she wasn’t welcome. At the thought of this, Helen moved away from the bus stop, leaned the suitcase against the stretch of wall beside Moira’s old flat and gazed dolefully along the high street.
An hour later, she was still standing there when the door to the flat opened and the girl with the long straight hair came out. Helen watched as she crossed the road and went into the Spar. As if oblivious to the cold, she was dressed in a fringed brown suede miniskirt and a bright yellow blouse. A few minutes later she was back, clutching a bottle of milk in one hand and a pack of cigarettes in the other.
As the girl approached the door, she stopped and looked at Helen. ‘Still here, then?’
Helen gave a light shrug, trying to smile but not quite succeeding.
The girl glanced down at the suitcase. ‘So what’s the deal? You running away?’
‘No.’
‘Your parents kick you out?’
Helen shrugged again. ‘Something like that.’
‘What’s your name, then?’
It was on the tip of Helen’s tongue to say Mouse – the name she had got so used to over the past four years – but at the last moment she stopped herself. That part of her life was over. It was time to start again. ‘Helen. Helen Beck.’
‘I’m Lily,’ the girl said. She handed over the pint of milk. ‘Here, hang on to this for a sec.’ She dug into her back pocket, took out a key and unlocked the door. As she stepped inside, she glanced over her shoulder at Helen. ‘Well, come on. Don’t just stand there. Do you want to come in or not?’
42
The inside of Moira’s old flat was familiar and strange at the same time. The same furniture was there, although the curtains were different and all the books and ornaments had gone. It was also a lot untidier. Magazines were strewn across the coffee table, along with dirty glasses, empty wine bottles and an overflowing ashtray. The gas fire was on, making a soft hissing noise. Helen put down the suitcase and handed back the pint of milk.
‘Excuse the mess,’ Lily said. ‘I had a few mates round last night. You want coffee?’
‘Thanks.’ Although Helen would have preferred tea, she was grateful for anything hot. While she’d been hanging round the bus stop, the cold had crept into her bones.
Lily went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. Then she came back into the living room, crossed her arms over her chest and looked at Helen. ‘How old are you, then?’
‘Sixteen,’ Helen lied.
Lily’s eyebrows shifted up as if she didn’t quite believe her. ‘My mum kicked me out when I was fourteen. Well, not my mum so much as her fancy man. Not that she made any objection. To be honest, I was glad to get out of there. He was a real creep, couldn’t keep his hands to himself, if you know what I mean.’
Before Helen had a chance to reply, Lily had returned to the kitchen. There was the sound of running water and the clatter of cutlery being thrown into a bowl. Helen stood in the middle of the room, not quite sure as to what to do next. The invitation had been so unexpected that it still felt faintly unreal.
‘You going to sit down, then?’ said Lily as she came back with a couple of mugs of coffee. She shifted the dirty glasses to one side and put the mugs on the table.
Helen perched on the edge of the sofa, carefully watching the girl while pretending not to. ‘Thanks.’
Lily curled up in the armchair like a cat, ripped the cellophane off the pack of cigarettes and offered one to Helen. ‘Smoke?’
Helen shook her head. ‘No thanks.’
Lily lit one and leaned back. ‘So this mate of yours – Maggie, was it?’
‘Moira.’
‘Yeah, Moira. That’s it. She used to live here, did she?’
Helen gave a nod.
‘It must have been a while ago. I’ve been here for… God, it’s almost six months now.’
‘We kind of lost touch,’ Helen said.
‘So what’s the plan? What are you going to do now?’
Helen’s plans, such as they were, woul
dn’t have filled the back of a postage stamp. ‘I don’t know. I’ve got an aunt in Farleigh Wood. I was thinking of going there, but…’ She didn’t need to finish the sentence for Lily to understand what she meant.
‘But you don’t get on with her.’
‘Not really,’ Helen said. She took a sip of the coffee. It was strong and sweet, with a bitter aftertaste.
‘So what’s the deal with the parents? Why’d they kick you out?’ Lily took a drag on the cigarette and smiled. ‘Hey, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. It’s none of my business, right?’
Helen hesitated, not sure as to how much to say. ‘It’s kind of complicated.’
‘It always is, love.’ Lily stared at her for a few seconds, then asked, ‘You got any money?’
Helen looked warily back at her. Was this why she’d been invited in? Was the girl going to rob her, steal all her money and then throw her back out on to the street? She thought of the three five-pound notes in her jeans pocket and the saved cash that might or might not be in the suitcase. ‘Not much,’ she said. ‘A couple of quid.’
Lily tilted her head to one side and laughed. ‘There’s no need to look like that. I’m not a bleedin’ mugger.’
Helen blushed furiously. ‘I know. I didn’t—’
‘I was just thinking we could get some cider, have a drink. I’ve got a stinking hangover. It’s the only thing that gets rid of the headache. I just spent the last of my cash on fags, but I can pay you back tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow?’ Helen repeated, thinking that she didn’t even know where she’d be tonight, never mind the next day.
‘Sure. I mean, you need somewhere to stay, don’t you? You’re welcome to kip on the sofa if you can stand the mess. I’ve got spare blankets and stuff.’
Helen stared at her, wondering if she’d heard right. ‘Do you mean it? I can really stay here?’
‘Course you can. You know, until you get yourself sorted.’ Lily glanced towards the window. ‘You don’t want to be out there on your own, love. It’s not safe. There’s all sorts wandering the streets at night. So what do you say? You fancy that drink or not?’
Helen didn’t have to think twice. With her only other alternatives being an embarrassing plea to Janet Simms, or sleeping under a bridge in a cardboard box, the choice was an easy one. She jumped up, her despair fading into something more akin to hope. ‘Shall we go and get that cider, then?’
Two hours later, Helen was lying stretched out on the sofa. She wasn’t used to alcohol, and it had gone straight to her head. It had cut through all her inhibitions, too. Now she was talking to Lily like she’d known her all her life. She’d already told her about her childhood in Farleigh Wood, and now she’d moved on to what had happened at the Fox.
Lily, who never seemed to watch or even read the news, was totally unaware of the drama that had taken place. ‘So he was murdered by his own son?’ she said, her eyes wide and incredulous.
‘Yeah, and now Tommy’s in jail too, even though he didn’t have anything to do with it. Yvonne’s going to sell the pub and go to Spain.’
‘Nothing like sticking by your man. She sounds a real piece of work.’
‘She’s that all right. And when he comes out, he’s going to have no pub, no home, no nothing. How could she do that to him?’ The booze was drawing Helen’s emotions to the surface. She wiped away the tears with the back of her hand. ‘She’s such a cow.’
‘You okay, hun?’ Lily asked.
‘Yeah, I’m okay.’
‘Well, you’re best out of it, from the sound of things. What you need is a fresh start. Life’s too short to be stressing about the past.’ Lily took a large swig of cider. ‘That bitch sounds just like my mum. She used to put me in care every time she got a new bloke. I was in and out of them homes like a bloody yo-yo.’
Helen turned her head to gaze at her. Lily seemed so smart and confident that it was hard to believe she’d had such a background. ‘What about your dad?’
‘What about him? He’s a complete waste of space.’
‘My dad was a copper,’ Helen said.
‘You’re kidding?’
‘No, for real. I don’t remember him, though. I was only young when he died.’
‘Oh well, at least he had a job. My old man never did a day’s work in his life.’
‘I’ve got bad blood,’ Helen said. ‘That’s what Joe Quinn said.’
Lily gave a snort. ‘There’s no such thing,’ she said. ‘You’ve just been unlucky.’
‘Unlucky,’ Helen said. ‘That’s one way of putting it.’
The two girls looked at each other and burst out laughing. Suddenly, with a friend to share things with, life didn’t seem so grim. Helen knew that she was drunk – they were both drunk – and she was glad of it. She didn’t care about tomorrow, or how she might feel. The booze slid through her veins, giving everything a rosy glow.
‘Have you thought about a job?’ Lily said. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘I can find work in a bar or a caff. Maybe I can get some shifts in Connolly’s.’
‘That won’t pay much, not at your age.’
Helen knew this was true. Although she had a bit of money in reserve, it wouldn’t last long when she was having to fork out for rent and bills and food. ‘I’ll think of something.’
‘I know how to make some decent cash,’ Lily said. ‘If you’re interested.’
‘Yeah? How’s that, then?’
Lily gave her a sly smile. ‘Well, what is it that all men want?’
Helen stared back at her in horror. ‘No way, I’m not—’
‘Oh, I don’t mean that. Haven’t you heard? There’s more than one way to skin a cat.’
43
The next morning, Helen woke up with the headache from hell and a stomach that seemed intent on ejecting its meagre contents. She rushed to the bathroom, reaching it just in time to lift up the lid and throw up in the toilet. Leaning over the bowl, she retched a few more times before dropping her forehead on to the cool porcelain rim and swearing to God that she would never touch a drop of alcohol again.
Ten minutes later, when she felt just about able to stand, she stumbled back to the kitchen and put the kettle on. While she was waiting for the water to boil, she searched the cupboards until she found a bottle of aspirin. She took two, hoping it would be enough to dull the hammering in her head.
When the tea was made, she slumped down at the kitchen table, rubbing her eyes as she tried to remember the events of the previous night. She had said too much, she thought. The booze had loosened her tongue and removed all her natural reserve. But still she was grateful for the bed that Lily had provided her with. Glancing towards the window, she saw that it was grey outside and pouring down with rain. She wondered how long she would have waited before finally getting on a bus and going to Farleigh Wood.
After the tea was drunk, Helen went to have a shower. This proved to be a more arduous task than she had first envisaged, the water constantly changing from hot to cold and back to hot again. She found a bottle of shampoo in the bathroom cabinet and managed, eventually, to get the vomit washed out of her hair. Shivering, she dried herself quickly on the towel that was hanging on the rail.
Back in the living room, she opened the suitcase for the first time since leaving the Fox and dug out some clean clothes. Nervously she rummaged through the contents until she found the sock with the money in it. It was all there. The photograph of her parents had been packed too, as well as the shell-covered box and the old A to Z of London.
Sitting back on her haunches, Helen gave a sigh of relief. After burying the sock again – she thought she could trust Lily, but she couldn’t be sure – she pulled out the road map and flicked through the pages. She was about to close it when she came across a neatly folded sheet of paper tucked in near the back. Her heart gave a tiny jolt as she opened it out. Written on the still crisp ivory-coloured notepaper that her gran had always used, in her grandfather
’s familiar slanting handwriting, was a set of directions to Kew Gardens. It was a trip that must have been made long ago, but still it stirred up her emotions. In the choppy waters of a world she had always struggled to understand, her grandad had been like an anchor, strong and steady and constantly reassuring.
For a while Helen held the piece of paper in her hand, before carefully placing it back in the A to Z. She knew it was no good hankering after the past; what was gone was gone, and she had to get on with her life. She would not grow attached to anyone else, she decided. It was too painful to lose the people you loved.
It was chilly in the flat, but as it wasn’t her home, she didn’t feel free to put on the gas fire. Instead, she took a sweater out of the case and pulled it on over her T-shirt. She ran a comb through her damp hair and glanced towards the bedroom. It was almost eleven, but there was still no sign of movement from Lily.
Helen made another mug of tea, took another aspirin – the first two didn’t seem to be working – and then, with nothing else to do, set about cleaning up. She collected the empty bottles and threw them in the bin. She put the dirty glasses in the sink, along with all the used plates and mugs, and did the washing-up. She wiped down the surfaces in the kitchen and then moved on to the living room. By the time she was finished, the place was immaculate and her headache had receded a little.
It was midday before Lily finally put in an appearance. She came out of the bedroom wearing nothing but a long white T-shirt with a picture of Mickey Mouse on the front. ‘Morning,’ she mumbled. Then she gave a shiver. ‘Christ, it’s freezing in here. Why haven’t you put the fire on?’
Helen, who was sitting on the sofa making a list of things to do, looked up and pulled a face. ‘Sorry, I didn’t… you know, with it being your flat and everything.’
Lily bent down by the fire, put a match to the gas and crouched there for a while rubbing her hands together. ‘That’s no reason to freeze to death.’
‘Do you want a brew?’ Helen asked. ‘The kettle’s just boiled.’
