How to Play Dead

by Jacqueline Ward

  I didn’t sleep Thursday night. I lay awake wondering what she looks like now. If she is still pretty. She always was back then. Different to me. I was skinny and blonde and she was curvy. But we jelled. We were best friends, right from the off. She would come round and play dolls with me, and we would play out in the fields behind my dad’s house, stroking the horses. She was the sister I never had.

  How was I to know that she was a bitch? We were inseparable. I told her everything, but she just sat there, taking it in. Using it to get to Al. By morning I was seething but I had to hold it in. I would talk to him tonight. Friday night, with the weekend ahead to recover if anything bad happened.

  But Friday afternoon at work he turned up half an hour early. Instead of waiting in the car he strode into the office, cocky and smiling. I saw Jade look at Karla. He is a good-looking man and their eyes followed him. He had a carrier bag, Monsoon, and I immediately thought of her. He’d bought her something. But my heart beat faster as he popped his head into Mr Simister’s office, then came over.

  ‘I’ve got you something. For tonight.’

  I saw Jade look at Karla and they craned their necks to see. I reached into the bag and it was a beautiful velvet dress. The colours graduated from pink to lilac and there was hand-stitched beading across the bodice. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. He stared at the bag.

  ‘Go on. There’s more.’

  I pulled out a velour box and opened it. A bracelet. It was opal and diamonds, clearly antique. Art deco, if I am not mistaken – I read about it in a Reader’s Digest when I was at the doctor’s surgery once. He clipped it around my arm and I looked up at him.

  ‘It’s Jenny and Colin’s party tonight. From work. Remember?’ I nodded. It was only four-thirty. He pre-empted. ‘It’s OK. I’ve made it right. Give you time to get ready.’

  All the way home he chatted to me about work, the radio on and his finger tapping on the gear stick. We called at the chip shop for a Chinese take-away on the way home. I had to stay in the locked car but when he brought the bag and put it on my knee, it felt like we’d rewound to the beginning. I started to giggle and so did he.

  I showered and dressed and put on the dress with some strappy sandals that he had bought me for a colleague’s wedding. I applied a tiny touch of make-up. I know just the right amount, any more and he won’t like it at all. But he nodded his approval when I stood in the kitchen in front of him.

  ‘Lovely. You look so beautiful.’

  I almost spoiled it by flinching when he moved towards me, but I pushed myself forwards into his surprisingly gentle embrace.

  ‘So we’re going to Jenny and Colin’s party. It’s her fortieth. I thought it would be good for you to meet her. It’s at their house. They’ve got a nice-sized detached over the hill near town.’

  I suddenly felt panicky. I hadn’t socialised for a long time. What if something happened? What if I annoyed him? I felt like I was going to throw up but he was already calling a cab. I took some deep breaths and calmed myself. Nothing was going to stop this, so I just needed to make sure I didn’t do anything wrong.

  We got into the cab and I waited for him to click the remote control to close the shutters. But he didn’t.

  We never went this way. We never went towards town because that would mean going near where we met and everything that happened. But he didn’t stop the driver and I moved my eyes as far as they would go without turning my head when we passed the bottom of the road. It still looked the same.

  The party was lovely. Tiny cones of food that I could eat. Jenny and her friends were huddled in the huge conservatory, drinking wine and chatting. Al ushered me towards them and they looked at my dress and jewellery and pulled up a wicker chair. The men were in a games room playing pool and drinking beer straight from the bottle. I watched Al for a while. He seemed completely at home. Laughing, drinking, his foot tapping to the music.

  Eventually everyone went outside. It was crowded in the garden and I stood with my back against the wall while they did speeches and then there was a band and some fireworks. Then suddenly, I couldn’t find Al. I hurried over to Jenny.

  ‘Have you seen Al? Only I’ve lost him …’

  She laughed loudly. ‘Oh, he’ll be here somewhere. Is he feeling better? Any idea when he’ll be coming back to work? He asked us not to mention it to you as you get upset about it, but it must have been a shock?’

  I am the master of the poker face. I really had no idea what she was on about, but I looked down at the fake grass.

  ‘It was. And, no, we’re not sure.’ I hope she will take the hint but she is still staring at me expectantly. ‘So how much has he told you?’

  She shook her head and took a big gulp of prosecco. I sipped my water.

  ‘Just that he has had treatment and that he’ll need another couple of months off, probably. I mean, I’m a social worker. If you two ever need …’

  I nodded.

  ‘Yes. Yes. That’s right. You are very kind. So is it affecting business?’

  She shrugged. ‘Well, it is, but we’ve managed to get someone temporary in to do the accounts in the meantime.’

  I frowned. ‘Oh. What about the cars? The supercars?’

  She stared at me blankly. ‘Do you mean the vans? The transport? Haulage companies don’t have supercars, love.’

  I’m beginning to get the picture. Slowly. As usual. I laughed lightly.

  ‘Oh, yes, sorry, that’s just what he calls the vans. Supercars. His little joke, you know.’

  I elbowed her and moved off. More lies. I stood alone in the crowd, just as alone as I would have been in the house. Which is just as well because he reappeared.

  ‘Good girl.’

  He whispered it in my ear. It would have probably looked like a kiss to other people. He has no idea. No idea at all.

  Chapter Twelve

  Day 18

  I wake up early as a hungover Donelle accidentally slams the door on her way out. I am on high alert as I remember last night: the small crowd at the back of the pub; people tapping their feet to the band. He was there. In that crowd. Then gone, leaving me shaken and wondering if I had imagined it. But when I look at the photograph on the phone, I know I didn’t. I see the back of my head, but I also see Donelle and Janice, laughing. Janice mid-clap.

  Jennifer and Simon come into my room and climb in either side of me, their warmth relaxing me until I jump as my phone buzzes. I gently move snoozing Jennifer, red curls splayed across Danny’s pillow, to one side. I stand down as I see Danny’s name.

  All right babe x Day 18. It’s fuckin hot here but it’s worth it. I miss you and the kids xx Is everything OK?

  I type my reply carefully. I don’t know if Donelle has told him anything – I hope she hasn’t.

  Just the usual, love. Kids are missing you. Going to meet Mother today. Wish me luck. I love you x always.

  I wait nervously. I need contact with my husband. I really need him here, but I know what he would do. His temper. There would be no police if Danny was here. For the first time I wonder if I should tell him. But what would that achieve? He would come rushing home and I don’t even know who it is. He texts right back and I finally smile a little.

  Haha. Good luck with that. I’m always here for you, Ri. Give me a ring tomorrow, yeah. Eighteen days to go until snuggles. I love you x always

  Thank God. Donelle hasn’t mentioned it. I asked her not to and she knows exactly what Danny would do. I’ll deal with it before he gets back. I will. I just hope I can.

  Jennifer has realised that it is Saturday before I really want her to. She cuddles up to me.

  ‘You’re here so it must be weekends. Are we going to see Grandma? In town?’

  I sigh. That’s the plan. I could do with staying here and having some down time. If I leave Jennifer and Simon with her for three hours, which is the allotted time she can be in town, it doesn’t work – it isn’t worth me coming home. So I usually take a book or listen to
music while she buys them new clothes. Or takes them for a McDonald’s and fills them with sweets so that they are manic until late on Saturday night. But it is what I have to do.

  ‘Yes. We are. But we’ll go in early. I want to get you some school shoes.’

  Simon looks at me. He is a thoughtful child. Vi tells me that Danny was the same until he hit his teens. He has long dark brown ringlets which I wax every day and he will not let me cut. Long legs, like Danny, but he has my face shape, and my hairline. He is beautiful. Jennifer is mini me. Her hair is straight and auburn and her skin coffee coloured, striking a contrast that makes people stare. She has my blue eyes and Danny’s family’s long eyelashes and slender build. I know she is going to be stunning when she grown into a woman, just like Aunty Donelle. Simon finally speaks.

  ‘I wish Dad was here. I wish he wasn’t away all the time.’

  He comes and sits beside me and I pull him towards me. I look at them both.

  ‘Can you keep a secret?’ They both nod enthusiastically. ‘Well, you know how I am Superwoman, cos it said so in the paper?’ More nodding. ‘Well, Daddy is Superman. That’s why you’re not allowed in our room. That’s where he gets changed.’

  My children have not yet encountered the Superman films. So it is easy for me to invent silliness. Their eyes open wide. Simon thinks.

  ‘So can he fly?’

  I shake my head. ‘Not when he’s Daddy. But when he’s Superman …’

  They bounce on my bed and clap.

  ‘Superdad!’

  I laugh with them and I am secretly happy that I have deflected the usual ‘where is your daddy’ conversation that crops up every time I mention meeting my mum. Danny Snr is so present in their lives that they are almost oblivious to him as he sits in his leather wing-backed chair snoozing and snoring. He is a lot older than Vi and Danny constantly dreads anything happening to him. I am showered with questions now.

  ‘Has he got a cape? What are his special powers?’

  Danny’s special power is patience. Especially with my father and mother. He has never forgotten the day we were asked to leave, yet he never mentions it. Danny is used to bullying and insults, and he can handle himself, but I know he has always felt disappointed that someone so close to me could be so unpleasant. I hear him, strumming his guitar to Sinead’s ‘Black Boys on Mopeds’. He is devastated each time the children ask about Granddad. I see his jaw set and his eyes narrow at my father’s small-mindedness. He had been very specific. Not you and not any kiddies.

  He is also very patient with me and my wanting to move around. He could never know that I am so insecure; I don’t even admit it to myself most of the time. But I can feel it now, the dreaded tightness in my chest, the nausea bubbling up inside me. He has been patient with my job, when I have been threatened by angry spouses, by the council, when I have argued with the police. When I have been woken in the middle of the night as someone has arrived or left and there has been a serious incident. Before the kids, we would go together. Now, he just turns over and goes back to sleep as I wait for my taxi. But he never complains. And that is what I am relying on now; that he is patient with me while I sort this out.

  As we set off to meet Mum I find myself checking to see if anyone is watching. I know this is getting to me, but it isn’t going to spoil my life, or my children’s. Jennifer skips along in front of us and Simon walks alongside me telling me about someone at school and how they had been to Spain and could we go to Spain?

  I tell him yes, yes we can, and then, in my mind I add on ‘when all this is over’. I catch my breath as I realise I have been adding this on to every sentence. It has stopped my life. He doesn’t even need to follow me or show up where I am. He has firmly pushed himself right to the front of my consciousness. A faceless figure with a hundred possibilities.

  At least I know, and I am waiting for him, ready. So on the surface I am as normal as possible, laughing and joking. Because if he is watching, I don’t want him to think I am afraid. I am strong. I am capable. I repeat this in my head all the way to town on the bus until I see my mother standing outside Boots.

  I do love her. But she can be so cruel and scathing that I feel dread around this time every Saturday afternoon. My rational mind tells me it is her problem, not mine, that there must be a reason for her impatience with me. Why she can’t let me just be who I am without comment. But the little girl inside me still cries out for her approval, and here she is, looking our way and waving.

  Jennifer runs across and hugs her and it’s only then I start to see that something is different. She is wearing a pair of leather ankle books with three metal buttons up the side, replacing her sensible standard Mary Jane’s. These boots have a small heel, which make her look taller. She is wearing grey straight-leg jeans and a grey and mustard tunic under a black denim jacket. As I approach, I see a smudge of eyeliner and mascara. I can’t help but smile. She is huffily self-conscious.

  ‘Morning.’

  I stare at her, eyebrows raised.

  ‘Hello … Ria. How are you?’

  Yes. It is still the same voice, still the same tight tone, which she reserves especially for me.

  ‘Good. Good. Yeah. So …’

  I look her up and down as she fusses with Simon’s coat.

  ‘Ah, Simon, love. How was school this week?’

  Her voice is soft and crisp now, like she used to talk to me when I was small. Before I grew into something she wasn’t happy with. Simon starts to tell her and I bend down to kiss Jennifer, catching a whiff of Lady Million perfume. My own odour of choice when I can afford it.

  ‘Bye, kids. See you in a bit.’

  There is no need to make arrangements with her as we have the same routine every week. I drop them here and collect them by the bus stop, where we go our separate ways, me towards the city and her towards the hills. I turn to walk away but she catches my arm.

  ‘Stay. I mean … we’re going to the games centre. We could have a coffee.’

  It isn’t a question. For the second I am fifteen again, wondering if this is a trap. Like the countless ‘Dad and I want a little chat about school’, which would then open up the seething can of worms they had both stored up. Their past regrets bubbling up and fired at me as individually packaged salvos of anger and insult about almost every aspect of me.

  I debate whether I should inflict any further pain on myself while I’m under my current stress, but my children are looking up at me, eyes pleading. So I nod.

  ‘That would be nice. Thank you.’

  I mimic her, mirror her, something I learned to do to avoid her disapproval. But as she sets off down the high street she is much more playful than I remember, light on her feet. She swings hands with Jennifer and Simon, who considers himself too old to be holding hands now. He walks close to her, chatting easily. I stand down a little, stropping behind them like the teenager I feel.

  We reach the games centre and they run off, finding vacant seats at computer monitors. This is all they seem to do, one screen to another, and even though I limit the use of tablets and TV at home, I know they are constantly seeking them. I smile at her foresight; she has done the right thing, spoiling them. I never had grandparents, both sides had died by the time I was born. So the only point of reference I had was my schoolfriends Danielle and Lin’s grandparents, who seemed to be constantly doling out ice cream and treats. She finds a table in the coffee bar.

  ‘They’re fine in there. I can see if anything happens and they would have to pass me to get out.’ She looks at the coffee menu. ‘Special request from them. I would have never known it was here.’

  I look at her fingers, same nail shape as mine. She is sixty-three, the same age as Sheila but she looks a decade younger. She has never smoked and drinks very little. The tiny lines around her eyes are only just starting, a few on her forehead. Nothing like Sheila’s skin. I think about the Beautiful South song ‘Prettiest Eyes’ and both Sheila’s and my mother’s lives. Different. So differen
t. She runs a manicured nail, painted the most delicate pink, along the coffee choices.

  ‘Cappuccino. What about you?’ She says it brightly, but I am somehow still in teenager mode.

  ‘Flat white. Large. Need the caffeine.’

  She goes to order and I check my phone. One text from Janice.

  Hope you’re OK, mate. I know there’s something wrong. Let’s have a chat about that fuckwit you told me about xxxxx

  I text her back quickly.

  Cheers Jan. It’ll wait till Monday. After Perps. Don’t worry. I’ve marked it xxxx

  In other circumstances I would have been in Costa Coffee with nothing to do for three hours and I would have phoned her straight away. She knows almost everything about my relationship with my mother, but I am aware I didn’t tell her I was here. I take a deep breath as Mum arrives back with coffee and cake. Cake. Yes. Actual cake. I think it’s a trick at first, to make me eat it so she can scold me, but she takes a slice and bites.

  ‘So. Here we are.’ She puts the huge slice of lemon drizzle cake down and smiles. Not directly at me, but it’s a start. ‘I just wanted to …’ She reaches into her bag and gets out the cutting from the paper from the awards night. It has been laminated and she puts it between us. ‘I just wanted to say that I am very proud of you.’

  I see myself upside down. The fuzzy letters are unreadable apart from the huge headline. I feel the tears. Here in a kids’ games workshop coffee shop, this important thing has happened and I am in public. I panic and scrabble in my bag for a tissue. She continues.

  ‘I had no idea. I thought you were a carer. But I am very proud of you.’ She bites into the cake again, chews then sips her coffee.

  ‘Thank you. I’ve been doing this for about twelve years.’

  It comes out spiteful. As if I am spotlighting the years she has relegated me to un-noteworthy. I know when it started. She never had time for me because she was always chasing after Dad. She forced me into what would, later on, become a big problem: me and my best friend Alice.