by Beth Miller
‘Oh, Laura, for fuck’s sake. What does that even mean?’
I don’t know why he’s so exasperated. Maybe he’s in love with her. Maybe that’s how she can be so sure he’s having an affair.
‘What did you do, Laura?’
Why should I lie? Is it really so bad, to try to help someone get what they want? ‘I, you know, just offered her some of your sperm.’
Huw stares at me. There’s a big space between us, and I can’t reach his hand without moving. Which is a shame, because I’d like to touch his hand. Then he laughs, a proper, barking laugh, which startles me into laughing too. He opens the drinks cupboard, still laughing. He’s not hysterical, like Miffy was. He puts a bottle of whisky in the middle of the table and sets down two glasses, as he has done so many times over the years. One for me, one for him.
‘You silly cow,’ he says, but it is affectionate.
‘Are you cross?’
‘No.’ He smiles. ‘It’s funny. So, finish the story. Did Melissa want some of my freshly minted spermatozoa?’
‘Freshly minted’s going a bit far. No, she didn’t. In fact, she got a bit upset. But it wasn’t that bonkers an idea, honestly. She’s wanting to find a sperm donor.’
He opens the whisky and sniffs it – ‘Ah, Laphroaig. Nothing like it’ – and pours me a large dram. I point to my bump and he says, ‘Just in case you fancy a little bit.’
‘So go on, then. Why is it unfortunate timing?’
He sips his drink. ‘Fact is, cariad.’
Something in his voice makes me feel cold. The hairs on my arms rise and prickle. Huw’s face looks odd to me. A stranger’s face. How long has he had that spot on his cheek? When did he last shave?
My stomach starts to churn. Not now, I need to concentrate. I have two medicinal sips of my drink. The worst of the pain lasts only a moment, subsides quickly.
He swirls the whisky round its glass. Then he stands, says, ‘Get some ice.’
I say, ‘I suppose it’s that blonde cunt I saw you with in the Ty-Nant.’
He turns around the freezer so fast that he spills some of his drink. ‘Oh.’
My tummy needs more medicine. I drink my whisky and pour another.
‘So where did you meet her? Who is she? Have you fucked her? Of course you’ve fucked her.’ I take a nice big sip in between each question, and you know what? I definitely don’t hurt quite so much. The downside is I can’t concentrate on what Huw’s saying. He’s mumbling, something about meeting her last year, conference, Liverpool, research fellow, but who fucking cares anyway?
‘I’m really, really sorry, Laura. I am truly sorry.’
Huw’s hand falls onto mine, maybe to stop me raising my glass. His hand is a dead fish. I shake it off and drink some more. Wish Mama was still here. She could make all the nasty bits go away.
Now he’s going on again about shitty timing. He’s obsessed. Ought to buy him a new watch, a calendar, a desk diary, a clock. Carriage clock, cuckoo clock, grandfather clock.
My grandfather’s clock was too tall for the shelf, so it stood ninety years on the floor.
Evie used to love that song.
‘I wanted to leave it till the baby was born. But she won’t wait any more. And I want to be with her.’
‘Is that what you said to Carmen?’ Did Carmen drink whisky, the night he left her for me? Hot tears spill onto my face. Mine, I imagine. They taste like whisky. A new world record for crying has today been set by Laura Ellis, née Morente, soon back to being Morente again.
‘I don’t want to talk about Carmen. God, cariad, we’ve got to try and discuss this like adults. Even if you are offering my sperm to your girlfriends.’ He smiles. He’s in grown-up mode. I hate that. I could punch him. Shall I just fucking punch him?
‘I know you’ve not been happy lately, cariad. We haven’t been too good for each other, have we?’
Will you stop calling me cariad? You don’t love me any more, so I’m not your fucking cariad.
The front door opens then slams, and we hear Glynn go upstairs.
Huw says, ‘Talking of Glynn, he told me that Evie said you’re in love with Daniel Cline.’
It takes my brain a few moments to work this out. I can’t quite remember who Daniel Cline is. Who am I in love with? Shouldn’t I be able to think? Then I do, and I’m outraged. ‘You’re basing decisions on lies your fucking son tells you? On some crap our eleven-year-old daughter has completely misunderstood?’
‘I didn’t base any decisions on that. I want to be with Tania.’
I’ve never liked the name Tania. Hairdressers are called Tania, tarty girls with red fingernails, fat thighs in miniskirts. I hear him saying words. He says them so rhythmically, they are like a poem. Familiar as a poem I learned at school. All the fights we’ve had since New Year, turned into a funny little poem:
I just didn’t want another child/ You knew that, and you/ Went ahead anyway. I know you/ Wanted another but I don’t want to/ Face it all again.
‘Does she have kids? Barbie?’ My glass is empty. Shit, the bottle is empty too. I stand up, not sure what I’m going to do – find more whisky, go upstairs, run into the street, hit Huw – but then I have what feels like a contraction, the room tilts and I sit down on the floor. It’s clear that’s what I must do. Sit on the floor.
‘The thing is, Huw, the important thing you’ve forgotten, how could you forget, is that I love you.’
Huw crouches next to me. From somewhere far away I see his face is very pale. ‘Melissa!’ he yells, and there’s an answering call from upstairs. ‘Can you come here a sec? Quickly?’
I feel giggly because the fridge looks much bigger than normal. I try to tell Huw that the fridge is funny. Wasn’t it white before? Now it’s grey. It must be a magic fridge. The magnets on it dance about. Another Guinness Book of Records right there; this day is full of them, full of them, to be sure, to be sure, begorrah. Wasn’t Norris McWhirter Irish? I think he was. Roy Castle wasn’t, though.
Miffy is carrying a suitcase. When she drops it on the floor I feel the vibrations. ‘Oh my God. Laura.’ She rushes, sits down next to me, other side from Huw.
Huw says, ‘Phone.’
Miffy fumbles in her coat pocket and holds out her mobile. Huw grabs it.
‘That was rude,’ I say. ‘You mustn’t snatch.’
Huw jabs at numbers, says, ‘Ambulance.’
Why do we need an ambulance? Because you’re leaving me?
Miffy strokes my hair, says, ‘It’ll be all right. We’ll get you to a doctor.’
‘A doctor won’t help, Miffy. Huw’s leaving. He’s met someone else. It’s too late for therapy.’
I don’t think the words come out; they are only in my head.
‘It’s all right, sweetie.’
‘My tummy hurts.’
Huw gives our address, says, ‘My wife. Laura. Yes.’
I am still his wife, then. That’s nice.
‘She’s twenty-eight weeks, I think. Hang on.’ Huw talks to Miffy across me. ‘Melissa, do you know if that’s right?’
‘It’s twenty-seven weeks.’
Ooh, she’s good, isn’t she? She didn’t even have to think about it. The room is pink when it ought to be green. I chose green when I was pregnant with Evie – breakfast-room green. Am I going to pass out? I used to faint with heavy periods at school. Those funny long afternoons lying on sunny beds in the sick room, listening to everyone in the playground. Same hot feeling in my head.
Miffy is so close I can see tiny lines next to her eyes. I thought she didn’t have any lines. I tell her, you are naughty, you haven’t been using your moisturiser, but she just carries on stroking my hair. My lap is wet. I must have spilled whisky on my skirt; no wonder there was none left.
Huw’s head bobs on my other side: bob, bob, bob. It’s so funny, I start laughing. Huw puts his arm round me but I don’t think it means we are back together; it is like he would put his arm round anyone.
Glynn�
�s here now and he’s shouting. ‘Jesus fucking Christ.’
I look down, where he is looking, and see that the floor is covered in blood.
Miffy
1979
Lamb Chops
Big row tonight. My fault.
I asked Dad to test me on my batmitzvah portion. Mum is no good at Hebrew so it has to be him. But he said he was too tired. Mum was at the sink but whirled round so fast I thought she might get whiplash. ‘Can I have a word, Michael? Now?’ She stormed into the hall, dripping Fairy Liquid suds all over the floor. Dad followed.
‘Spending enough bloody time round that tart’s house helping her daughter, but when your own flesh and blood …’ Then it went muffled as the door slammed.
Danners looked up from his magazine. ‘Well done.’
‘You got loads of help off Dad for your barmitzvah, why shouldn’t I?’
‘Listen, Twat-Face. First, everyone said my barmitzvah was the greatest the universe has ever seen, and I got £150 in present money, which is £150 more than you’ll get. And second, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but Mum and Dad aren’t getting on very well, so it might be a good idea to stop bloody annoying them.’
Dad came back in, whistling. ‘Who wants lamb chops?’ he said, and we both shouted, ‘Me!’
He said Mum had gone for a lie-down. Dad does very pink lamb chops, a bit bloody on the inside. But I told him they were lovely. After supper he listened to my portion, and said it was really good.
The Postcard
Mum and Dad went to look at a Home for Booba Preston today. I watched them drive off, then went into their room and opened Mum’s bedside cabinet. I put on her perfume and tried on a pale-pink lipstick. Then I pulled out the letters and cards that were squashed underneath, and lay down to read them on Mum’s slippery grey eiderdown.
There were a few letters from Auntie Leila, which talked mostly about what she was up to in Brittany, but ended with things like, ‘Keep your chin up, love’ and ‘Let me know if you need anything’.
In the middle of the pile was a postcard of the Alhambra. I recognised it straight away because it was near where we’d been in Spain. My first thought was that Mum must have brought it back from our holiday. But it was stamped and covered in Mrs Morente’s spiky handwriting. The postmark was April 1979. It must have been sent at Easter, the last time Laura and her mum were in Spain before we all went at half-term. It was addressed to Dad and said, ‘Mi querido Michael. Feel brave as they are away, so daring to send this. Your last words touched my heart. Te amo. O.’
I stared at the card for a long time, trying to work it out. I remembered that at Easter, Mum, Danners and I were meant to be at Auntie Leila’s. But we cancelled at the last minute because of Dan’s flu. Mrs Morente would have sent the card thinking only Dad was at home. But Mum must have seen it first.
I wondered if Dad knew. Mrs Morente must have said, ‘Did you like my postcard?’ and he would have said, ‘What postcard?’ and she would have said, ‘Oh no!’
Alarm
Danners and I were so excited about Auntie Leila coming, because her presents were famous. Last year for Dan’s birthday she sent a packet of condoms and a card that had phone numbers of brothels in Paris!
Mum said before she arrived, ‘I know Leila’s a bit off-colour sometimes, but she’ll help with Booba’s move, and it would be good to get some support round here.’
Danners and I started protesting that we were lots of support but Mum said, ‘I didn’t mean you, darlings,’ and went upstairs.
I asked Dad why Booba Preston couldn’t live in our spare room, though I wasn’t sure I really wanted her to, as she smelled. Dad said she needed nursing care and would be better off in a Home. Which was fair enough.
Auntie Leila arrived at teatime wearing an ankle-length purple coat. Her present to Danners was a smoking jacket! It was red pretend-silk and he looked a complete idiot in it. She clapped her hands when he put it on and said, ‘Noel Coward, as I live and breathe!’ She’s the one who needs a smoking jacket, as she is always puffing away on her French Gauloises cigarettes. I might try to borrow a couple to share with Laura.
My present was in a small thin box. I hoped it was jewellery but the thing inside was more like a pen. When I tried to take the cap off, Auntie Leila yelled, ‘No, Melissa!’ making me jump out of my skin. ‘Only take the top off in emergencies. It’s a rape alarm.’
‘For heaven’s sake, Leila,’ said Mum.
‘Better safe than sorry.’ Auntie Leila showed me how it worked. ‘You just pull the lid and it makes such a noise that any young man trying his luck will get the fright of his life, believe you me.’
‘It’s a sad world when a twelve-year-old needs a rape alarm,’ Mum said.
‘Surprised you haven’t kitted her out yourself, Andrea, after what you told me about that pervert Max Kaplinsky.’
‘Ssh! I told you, he doesn’t teach Melissa now. The Rabbi’s tutoring her.’
‘Well, who knows what thoughts the Rabbi has in his head about our Melissa?’
I went bright red at the wonderful idea that Aron might have thoughts about me, but Danners laughed. ‘Honestly, Aunt Leila, do you think all men are rapists?’ Under his breath to me, he hissed, ‘Like anyone would want to rape you!’
‘I’m sorry to say, Danny,’ said Auntie Leila, ‘that when it comes to sex, you never know which men you need to worry about.’
Mum let out a sob.
Auntie Leila said, ‘Oh, sweetheart, I’m meant to be here to help. I’m sorry.’
She put her arm round Mum, and motioned for Danners and me to leave the room. I got a good Chinese burn on him on the way upstairs, and also managed to tell him exactly what he looked like in his smoking jacket. Then I went to my room and looked up ‘rape’ in the dictionary.
Lark House
Today Mum, Auntie Leila and I visited Booba Preston in her new Home in East Finchley. It was called Lark House and it smelled like the dustbins at school. Booba was in a large living room with French windows and a loud telly on a high shelf. She was sitting in a chair with leather on the arms. There were other old ladies around but no one was talking to anyone else. Most of them were asleep. No idea how, with the noise of the telly. Booba smiled at me and held out her hand. Mum said, ‘Thank God she still knows who you are, at least.’
Mum and Auntie Leila went to talk to the manager. Booba didn’t smell as bad as usual. Or maybe she just smelled better than Lark House. It was weird talking to someone who didn’t talk back. I told her I was studying hard at school, and for my batmitzvah. Booba kept smiling as if she wanted more, and I found myself blurting out a lot of other stuff. About Laura. How she wasn’t always nice to me. How sometimes I felt her mum pushed her into being friends with me. I whispered, ‘I’m really scared.’
Booba squeezed my hand tightly, and then Mum and Auntie Leila came back, so I said loudly, ‘And in English we’re doing Macbeth.’
To my surprise, Booba said, ‘Hubble, bubble, toil and trouble,’ making us all laugh.
Auntie Leila took Booba outside for some air, and Mum sat back, looking round the room. ‘It’s not such a bad place, is it, Melissa?’
The worry crease between her eyes was very deep today. I told her it was lovely, even though it wasn’t.
Under the Carpet
When I got home from school, something made me go in really quietly. I left the front door open, and crept along the hall. In the kitchen I could see the edge of Auntie Leila’s leg and her purple high-wedge shoe.
‘Not like you to be a wimp, Andrea. Why don’t you just get it into the open?’
Mum sounded like she was crying. ‘It’s such a can of worms. There’s Mum, and the batmitzvah, and everything.’
I’d taken the Alhambra postcard Mrs Morente sent to Dad. Ripped it into fifteen pieces. Put the bits in a bin on the way to school. I was hoping if I got rid of it, Mum might forget about it.
Auntie Leila said, ‘So it’s better this way, is
it, everything pushed under the carpet, happy families?’
I must have made a noise because Mum called out, ‘Melissa, is that you?’
I slammed the front door, said, ‘Hi! I’m home!’ and went into the living room as though I hadn’t heard anything.
Chicken and Cashew Nuts
Auntie Leila took us all out for a meal at the Mandarin Palace. I’d wanted to go there for ages. We were allowed to order whatever we liked. I had chicken with cashew nuts, and Danners had sizzling beef in Szechuan sauce, and we shared noodles and egg-fried rice and spring rolls. It was completely delicious. The grown-ups had white wine and Auntie Leila gave me a sip when Mum went to the loo, though I didn’t like it. It was lovely all sharing food. Dad gave me some of his pancake duck. I didn’t try Auntie Leila’s because she had king prawns – she doesn’t keep kosher – but Mum didn’t say anything. In fact, it was the most smiley I’d seen Mum for ages. She looked very pretty; she’d had her hair done and was wearing green eyeshadow to match her dress. Halfway through the meal she raised her glass and said, ‘A toast!’
We all raised our glasses too. Mum said, ‘To Leila, my wonderful, crazy sister.’ And we all said, ‘To Leila!’
I said, ‘I want to do a toast,’ so everyone had to raise their glasses again. I said, ‘To my family, who are brilliant.’ And everyone said ‘To the family!’
Then Dad raised his glass and, looking at Mum, said, ‘To my beautiful wife and children. And my sister-in-law, of course! Thank you for being so wonderful.’
Danners and I shouted, ‘To my beautiful wife and children!’ and everyone laughed.
Dad said, still looking at Mum, ‘You do look very beautiful tonight, Andrea.’
Auntie Leila let me order lychees and coffee with cream on top, and I felt completely happy.
Helene’s Paris Fashions
