by Beth Miller
‘You interfere too much, Laura.’
‘Sorry, Mama. How’s Evie? Is she okay with those children and, er, Hella?’ Nearly called her Heifer out loud.
‘Evie is fine, Laura. She likes being around other young people. Only children do. You did. Hella is excelente with them, of course. She is very experienced.’
‘What are they doing?’
‘Dios mío, Laura! My husband is in hospital, about to have his heart chopped up, and you are asking me non-stop questions. Do you want to know how I feel? I feel that Michael will not make it through the operation.’
‘Of course he will!’
‘He won’t make it, and I will be left sólo. I will not cope.’
Tears pour down her face, though her mascara stays put. Cleverly, she has used waterproof.
‘You won’t be alone, Mama. I’m here.’
‘I cannot drink this, it’s disgusting.’ She stands up, leaving me to throw the cups away and hurry after her. When we get back to the ward, there are nurses round the bed and Danny is sitting to one side.
‘I am his wife!’ cries Mama, rushing forward.
‘We’re just doing his pre-meds, Mrs Cline,’ a nurse says, ‘ready for surgery.’
Mama leans over Michael, hugging him and crying onto his head. Danny and I both turn away from the scene, and in so doing, look at each other instead.
17 FEBRUARY 2003
The baby rolls over and over, waking me up. It makes me want to laugh out loud; there have been plenty of times when that movement’s never come. Plenty of times when the midwife’s put the ultrasound on my belly – smile smile chat chat – then it all goes quiet and she can’t look me in the eye. I stroke my tummy and talk to my wriggling baby, quietly, so I don’t disturb Evie, who’s sleeping on a camp bed at the foot of my bed.
‘You’re excited today, baby. So am I. It’s exciting being so near Danny, isn’t it?’
The baby thrashes about, and I realise I need the loo. Right now. I creep into the bathroom. It’s five and still dark outside. As I wash my hands I notice the huge jumble of children’s toothbrushes at the side of the sink. How come Hella gets all the child-producing luck? How amazing to need so many brushes, so many pyjamas, so many combs. Next to the pile lie two unfamiliar adult toothbrushes: one green, one pink. I take the green one and gently rub my fingers over the bristles. Damp. I use it to brush my teeth, working Danny’s saliva around my mouth. I’m about to go back to my room when I realise the significance of the brush being damp. I tiptoe downstairs and, yes! He is up, and alone in the living room. Well, not quite alone – he’s bottle-feeding the baby. But still, it’s a God-given opportunity.
He looks up as I enter, closing the door behind me. Those eyes; that curved mouth. I blink away an image of two young eager bodies in a sunlit barn.
‘You’re up early.’
‘I always get up with the babies so Hella can have more sleep.’
Oh you perfect man.
‘What about you?’ he asks.
‘Babies as well. This one.’ I put my hands on my stomach. So glad I brought my silk kimono. ‘His acrobatics keep waking me.’
He laughs. ‘They’re such amazing little creatures, aren’t they?’ He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. More tired than you’re letting on, hey?
I sit next to him and coo over the chicken baby. ‘Such a cutie!’ Not.
‘God willing, Dad had a good night. I’ll try to contact Lissa again today.’
‘Where is she, exactly?’
‘Still in Africa, I think. Last time I spoke to her, a couple of weeks ago, she was in Sierra Leone. You know she took a year off to travel round the world?’
‘Michael mentioned it. Kind of a belated gap year?’
Danny lets the baby fall asleep on his lap. ‘She just wanted to get away for a while. Actually, the year’s nearly up. She was planning to be back for Micah’s barmitzvah in a couple of weeks.’ He stretches to put the bottle on the coffee table without waking the baby. His arm brushes mine, making my heart leap about. I feel strange, not myself at all.
‘So, what’s Miffy like now?’ I say. The nickname feels clumsy on my lips, an old toy I ought to have outgrown. ‘Is she completely unchanged, like you?’
‘Oh, I think I’ve changed a bit.’ Then he gestures to the shelves. ‘Well you’ve seen photos of her, of course?’
But, actually, there are no recent pictures of Miffy amongst Mama and Michael’s old-people collection of family portraits, which covers every horizontal surface. Danny and Heifer’s wedding photo on the telly, of course, and numerous photos of their interchangeably plain kids, poor buggers. Danny, scrumptious in his graduation robes. None of my graduation, obviously, as I never finished my degree, though there is a huge print of my wedding photo. Huw looks like Terence Stamp in it, staring into the camera with his blue eyes. I’m so young and pretty, gazing adoringly at him. I feel a pang for how much in love I look. Oh God, I’m going to start singing ‘The Way We Were’ if I don’t get a grip. I resolve to make things better with Huw when I get home.
There are actually only four pictures of Miffy. A school portrait in her early teens, looking just how I remember her: chubby, great mass of hair frizzing out from her head, squinting through her glasses. The poor thing’s not helped by our school uniform. It’s a wonder any of us got boyfriends at all, wearing that hideous ensemble. There’s a group shot of an older Miffy with college friends, but the sun’s behind them and the young women are bleached out, their faces indistinct. I only know the central figure’s Miffy because Mama told me. You can see her backlit mane of hair. Weirdly, she is the tallest of the group. I wonder if she’s standing on something, because she was always a short-arse when I knew her. In her graduation photo – so smart, these Cline kids – her face is obscured because she’s throwing her mortar board into the air, head flung back, one of those annoying action shots. And in her wedding photo she’s kissing the handsome dark-haired groom, so you can only see a cheek, some eyelashes – no glasses – and a lot of white veil.
Danny stands next to me to look at this picture, the baby sparked out on his shoulder. I inch closer, so that if Danny turns to me my lips would almost brush his face. The instant I have this thought, he moves away and says, ‘Well, these photos aren’t very enlightening, are they? Let’s see, what can I tell you about Lissa? You know she got divorced last year, of course.’
‘Yes, Michael said.’
Mama told me Michael had sleepless nights worrying that Miffy’s divorce was somehow to do with him having left Andrea Cline all those years ago. Like the two things were connected! I don’t think Mama let him wallow in that notion for long.
‘It was really sad it didn’t work out,’ Danny says. ‘Her husband’s a great guy. Lissa went abroad when they separated. I never thought she’d leave her job for so long.’
‘She’s a child psychologist?’ I ask, though I know this from Michael’s boasting.
‘Yes. She’s very good. I sent a friend of mine to see her. His son couldn’t stop wetting the bed. Transformed the boy overnight. Fascinating, what she does.’
Heifer comes in, looking super-attractive with flattened hair and pillow scars pulling down her eyelids. ‘Where’s Ishy-wishy?’ She waddles between us, taking the baby from Danny’s arms. ‘Who’s so fascinating? Me, I hope!’
Heifer’s definitely one of those women who say, ‘Oh, I only take five minutes to get ready.’
Mama appears in the doorway, wondering if it’s too soon to ring the hospital.
‘They said after six, Olivia,’ Heifer says, before I can even open my mouth.
‘Shall I make us some coffee?’ Danny asks.
We three women sit while he serves us. He knows where everything is, and I watch him as he moves gracefully around the kitchen. I look from him to Mama, red-eyed and silent, and wonder what they think of each other. Mama’s never said much about her relationship with Danny and Miffy, even when I complained about my own step-kid
s. She did reveal a small chink a couple of years ago when she said they were all polite to one another ‘now’.
Heifer’s in the middle of a monologue about the scandalous price of kosher food – don’t buy it then, bat-brain! – when the phone rings. Mama rushes into the hall to answer it. Some of the youngest Cline kids wander in, and Heifer shushes them; we all strain to hear what Mama’s saying, but she hardly says anything. When she comes back her face is white. Michael’s had a bad night and is ‘rather poorly’.
Heifer pulls her into a hug. It’s so fucking annoying how she always has to be at the centre of the action. Mama sobs into Heifer’s ample bosom. ‘This back and forth, he’s okay, he’s not okay. It’s a damn montaña rusa.’
Danny looks at me, and I translate, ‘Roller coaster.’
He drives Mama and me to the hospital. I sit in the back, force myself not to think about Michael. Focus instead on the shuttered houses we flash past. Focus on the way Danny’s hair curls into his nape.
The hospital is a centre of activity, brightly lit against the still-dark morning sky. Trolleys are pushed noisily, crowds of people move purposefully about, others stand outside chattering on their phones. The curtains are round Michael’s bed, which makes Mama gasp, but it’s only because he’s asleep. A nurse opens the curtains to let us in. Michael seems to have lost half his bodyweight overnight. He looks much older. We sit awkwardly, staring at him, not looking at each other, listening to his slow, rasping breath. Three nurses come in separately to check the machines. Each time Mama asks how he is and they all say, ‘He’s rather poorly.’
Danny says he’ll fetch coffee, as we didn’t get to drink ours at home. I offer to help, but when we get into the corridor he turns and says, ‘Coffee was an excuse.’ For one wild moment I think he’s going to say, ‘I can’t stop myself any longer,’ and kiss me passionately. But he actually says, ‘I’ve got to try and get hold of Lissa.’
We go outside so he can use his phone. Who knew Orthodox Jews were allowed such tiny state-of-the-art mobiles? We sit on a bench, and while he taps away I watch my breath make foggy clouds into the sky. It’s still not properly light.
‘Sent it. Really hope she sees it soon.’
‘Does she email from abroad?’ I want to see grown-up Miffy’s words. And I want to keep Danny out here with me.
He presses some buttons. ‘This is her last one, from Liberia.’
Where the fuck is Liberia? I thought it was an Arab-y sort of place, but he said she was in Africa. Danny keeps hold of the phone so I have to lean in to him, and for a moment I can barely see whatever he is showing me.
Danners, never take flushing loos for granted. Miss you. Miss J too. You were right. But all things must pass. Including my time with these hole-in-the-ground bogs. Tomorrow, Sierra Leone. Love to you and H and kids. L x.
‘What does she mean, you were right?’
‘I told her she’d miss Jay when she was travelling.’ He smiles. ‘I’m always right. She knows that. I’m the sensible one.’
‘That’s so weird; I always remember her being sensible. You were wilder …’
He stands up. ‘I’ll ring Mum, see if she’s heard anything.’
Andrea Cline still lives in the old family house with her new husband. Which means that Danny is ringing the same number I used all those years ago, the dozens of times I called Miffy.
‘I know, Mum. I’m really sorry to keep on.’
It’s clear from his end of the conversation that Andrea still hasn’t forgiven her husband for having left her four million years ago. I can’t hear her words, just a rhythmic babble.
‘But I just want Lissa to have the chance to see him. He’s not doing at all well.’
A great outburst of jabber jabber jabber follows, during which Danny stares at the sky, then gives me a thumbs up.
‘Yes, please, that’d be great. Thanks, Mum.’
He clicks the phone shut. Sits next to me and blows out his cheeks. ‘That’s good news. I didn’t realise she’s got an emergency phone number for Lissa. Someone’s relative on the Ivory Coast.’
‘Well, her daughter’s bloody father is dying! Isn’t that an emergency?’ I know I shouldn’t swear in front of him, but honestly! That fucking woman!
He turns to look at me. ‘Mum didn’t realise how ill Dad is, Laura. Of course she’ll leave a message. Though we don’t know how long that will take to reach Lissa, either.’
‘What about Miffy’s home in London? Maybe someone’s collecting her messages from there?’
‘There isn’t a home any more. It’s been sold, and her stuff’s in storage.’
Abroad and homeless! Miffy’s elusiveness is infuriating – and intriguing. Who is this strange woman?
When Danny puts his phone into his jacket pocket, looking defeated, I can’t stop myself. I hug him, press my face against his shoulder. He smells of a long time ago. ‘Don’t worry,’ I whisper. ‘We’ll find her before anything happens.’
For one glorious moment Danny is in my arms. Then he pulls away, mumbling, ‘Please, don’t.’
‘Oh, Danny.’ I point to my belly. ‘I haven’t got my period or anything! I’m not unclean!’
‘It’s not that.’ Danny stands up, face red. ‘We’d better get back.’
The curtains round Michael’s bed are pushed to the side, and two doctors are talking to Mama. They are all smiling, an unexpected sight. Michael is out of immediate danger. The hospital staff tell us there’s no point staying. They encourage us to go home, get some rest and come back later when he’s conscious. So we go. Mama chatters repetitively all the way back about the look on the doctors’ faces when they realised Michael was responding to treatment. Meanwhile, I think about the look on a different face: Danny’s when he pulled away from me saying, ‘It’s not that,’ and what that means.
We send Mama to bed; she doesn’t even put up a token protest. Heifer offers to make Danny and me some scrambled eggs. I open my mouth to refuse, but find I am starving and say yes, please, instead. While she cooks I check on Evie, who is still asleep in her usual position, arms flung high above her head. I smooth her hair from her forehead and quietly close the door.
In the kitchen Danny smiles at me. I wish he’d stop doing that. No, I don’t. He waves his phone. ‘An email from Lissa!’
I read it quickly.
Danners. Bad re. Dad. Sorry not with you. Somewhere near Bo. Coming back asap. Waited all day for internet. Send this now before lose connection. L x.
‘Thank God she knows now, anyway,’ I say.
Heifer serves us breakfast as though we are the couple and she our housekeeper. I like it. Danny eats with one hand, starts typing a reply. Upstairs, their baby wakes and cries. When Heifer lumbers out I say, ‘Danny,’ intending to see if I’m brave enough to say something about what happened outside the hospital. But when he looks up I lose my nerve as quick as Miffy’s internet access, and say, ‘Where is Bo?’
‘Sierra Leone, of course.’ He grins. ‘Don’t worry, I had to look it up.’
‘Miffy’s become very adventurous. The kid I knew would never bomb off round the world on her own.’
Danny nods. ‘Well, she’s changed a lot since then, I guess.’
‘Have I?’
He pushes his plate away. ‘I’m exhausted. Think I’ll go back to bed for a bit.’
‘Have I changed, Danny?’
‘Laura. We’re both tired.’
‘I’m only asking. You haven’t seen me for more than twenty years; of course I must have changed. You still look just like yourself. Still nice. What about me? Is it all for the worst, do you think? I know I look a bit older.’
He stands up, blocking the light. I can’t see his face.
‘You tell me,’ he whispers. ‘Have you changed?’
He closes the door quietly, and I hear him climbing the stairs.
After a minute to calm my breathing, I go up too, and crawl into bed. It’s only seven o’clock. I want to get back to sleep,
especially as the baby is calm, for once, but instead of my stomach it’s my head that whirls about. All the things I should have said, whether he fancies me at all, whether I have a little hormonal crush or am full-blown in love. Have I lusted after him all this time without realising, or has it just been re-ignited now I’ve seen him again? Would I even have these feelings at all if things were better with Huw? I hear children’s voices, and Heifer talking quietly to them. Do I hear Danny’s murmured voice? I strain to listen but I’m not sure if it’s a person or just the wind outside.
Now there is dappled sunshine, and two girls digging in mud. They flit around, sometimes disappearing momentarily. They resemble those little Victorian girls who photographed fairies. The mud they are digging in starts to make a noise, an insistent noise, and I am dragged out of the depths by the phone ringing, and by someone running downstairs to answer it.
My alarm clock says it is ten-forty, and I already know that Michael has died.
Miffy
1979
Girl’s World
Evenings like this, just Laura and me, are the best in the world. She called me Miffy the whole time, her nickname for me. Some people call me Missy, which I hate, and others call me Mel. Mum always calls me by my full name, Melissa. Daddy calls me Lissa. One time I asked Laura if I was like the real Miffy, the children’s book rabbit. She said Miffy and I were both small and sweet. She did a drawing of me with rabbit’s ears and a cute dress, which I stuck on my wall.
Laura had got one of those doll’s heads Mum won’t let me have that you can style its hair. And she had loads of make-up because her mum’s friend Anthony East works for Max Factor. Laura showed me how to put on eyeshadow. When I tried putting it on at home it looked like I’d got the lurgy. I need it for the Valentine’s disco at the youth club, which I am praying will be when I get off with Towse. Laura said I should wear strong make-up because of my glasses, and when I put them on you could see the colours really clearly.
When we went downstairs for Coke, Dad was still there, sitting at the kitchen table drinking whisky, which he doesn’t do normally except when he is ill. Mum never drinks, except for one glass of wine at Passover, when she gets all giggly. Mrs Morente was wearing a dark-red flared-out skirt with tight pleats. Her black hair was piled up on top of her head with curls hanging down. She was drinking whisky too. Laura asked Dad if he liked my make-up. He said, ‘Very nice.’
