by Lucy English
‘I have to go,’ said Leah. ‘My children will be back from school.’
Declan ruffled his hair and said, ‘Oh dear, oh dear.’
Leah got up quietly but Bailey was in the deepest of sleeps. ‘He has bad dreams,’ she said, not sure how much she should reveal.
‘Not again! Oh no, oh dear. He never says. He never ever says.’ He sighed deeply. He too was a part of it all.
‘Will he be all right?’ said Leah.
‘He usually is.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
Bailey, I’m worried about you and I can hardly think of anything else. Why did you tell me? We hardly know each other. You said, it’s a secret. I want to talk about this with somebody but I can’t. I can’t discuss it with Al. I mention you and he goes berserk. There are too many things to discuss with Al: money, Christmas, moving out. There are too many rows to be had.
Al gave her ₤80 and said, ‘That’s for Christmas,’ and Leah said, ‘It won’t be enough!’ and Al said, ‘That’s all we’ve got.’ She nearly burst into tears because it meant no presents for her brother and sister and mother. The children had made their Christmas lists long ago including things like mountain bikes, computers and videos – and who would tell them? She ran upstairs with Al shouting, ‘What did you expect?’ She shut herself in her room and looked through her jewellery, but anything valuable had been sold long ago.
Al was calling for her because Rachel was on the phone.
‘I’m back in the land of the living. Do you want to come out?’
‘I’d love to, I would. When?’
‘Tonight.’
‘Tonight? I’ll have to ask Al.’
Rachel made a tutting noise. She didn’t get on with Al. He was listening to the conversation. ‘Yes, go on bugger off, I don’t want you round here.’
‘I think he says yes,’ said Leah.
She took a long time getting ready. She changed clothes at least four times.
‘I don’t know …’ She was in a blue velvet dress and in front of the mirror. The children had just had baths and were jumping about with no clothes on.
‘Mummy’s all posh,’ said Tom.
‘Daddy will read the story,’ said Al. ‘Looks like Mummy’s too busy.’
‘If it’s a pub then I’m overdressed …’
‘For goodness’ sake!’ and he took the children into their room.
By eight o’clock she had tried on nearly everything black and she had decided. Black jeans and a black polo-necked sweater. It was lamb’s-wool and felt soft and delicious. She dashed downstairs to show Al, who was now watching telly.
‘How do I look?’
‘Why on earth should you care about what I think about how you look?’
She had forgotten. They were splitting up. She had forgotten everything. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘You look like somebody who spent three hours getting ready so they can look like somebody who just walked out of the door.’
Leah smiled. ‘Oh good,’ she said. There was a car beeping outside. Rachel never came to the door.
‘I don’t know what time I’ll be back,’ said Leah nervously.
‘You mean, don’t wait up and thump me. OK I won’t.’
‘Goodnight,’ said Leah.
‘Bugger off,’ said Al.
She had not seen Rachel since the visit after Ian had died. Lit up by streetlight she still looked pale and thin. ‘So, how are you?’ Leah asked.
‘I stopped walking around in sackcloth and ashes. Mummy and Daddy went home.’
‘Was that good?’
‘What do you think?’ and she screeched the car round a corner. She was not a careful driver. Leah grabbed the seat-belt strap and this made Rachel laugh.
‘Where are we going?’ said Leah, trying to be calm.
‘To the Queen of Sheba to see a band.’
‘I thought we were going for a quiet drink.’
‘God, no, it’s somebody’s birthday. Anyway I’m fed up with quiet. Quiet makes me fucking angry.’ She screeched round another corner.
The Queen of Sheba was a converted boat. It was dingy and half decorated. It smelt of tar and beer but it was a popular place. The hold of the old trawler was the bar. Rachel bought drinks. Leah looked at the other people. She didn’t know anybody. Rachel was wearing a huge bright pink sweater. She knitted jumpers and sold them in Bath but she hardly ever wore them. Tonight was an exception.
‘Come and meet everybody,’ said Rachel, leading her to a table. ‘This is Leah. This is Bill and Carol and Ange and Pete and the other Pete … and over there is Declan and Bailey, but you already know them.’ She turned, and at another table there they were, a whole heap of empty glasses in front of them. ‘Oi!’ shouted Rachel, ‘Leah’s here.’
Bailey stood up. He looked at Leah. He too was wearing a black polo-neck and black jeans. They faced each other. He sat down.
‘Stupid man,’ said Rachel. Declan waved, a big grin on his face, but his attention was diverted by Bailey telling a joke.
‘So you’re Leah,’ said somebody. ‘I’m Carol, sit next to me.’ Carol had a friendly face, lots of wavy dark hair and big square glasses. ‘It’s nice to see Rachel like her old self. We all knew Ian. It was so tragic.’
‘I only met him once,’ said Leah.
‘You’ll like Leah,’ said Rachel, sitting down as well. ‘She doesn’t go out much. Her pig-headed husband doesn’t let her.’
‘I’m leaving him. I meant to tell you earlier.’
‘Really?’
‘I really am … I really am.’ And she laughed because, yes, she really was.
‘I am sorry,’ said Carol, looking confused.
‘Don’t be,’ said Rachel. ‘This calls for a celebration. About time too. When? Next week?’
‘Not until after Christmas.’
‘Were you … married long?’ said Carol, embarrassed.
‘Whose birthday is it?’ asked Leah on a different tack.
‘It’s Bill’s birthday. This is Bill. I live with Bill,’ explained Carol.
Bill was small and dark. He had bottlebrush hair and little round glasses. ‘Rachel has such beautiful friends,’ he said charmingly.
Bailey was still with Declan. Rachel was getting drunk. Leah tried to distract her. ‘So, what do these people do?’ she asked her in a quiet moment.
‘Do?’ Rachel leaped up. ‘She wants to know what you all do.’ The conversation stopped and everybody looked at her. ‘Pete’s a social worker. Ange’s a nursery teacher. The other Pete’s in business management. My God, I’ve got interesting friends. Declan teaches. Carol’s an estate agent … that’s different, and Bill mends bikes.’
‘Bill the bike!’ shouted Bailey from the other end.
‘And Bailey does nothing except get drunk,’ shouted Rachel and sat down. She was being embarrassing and she didn’t care.
‘I do like you jumper,’ said Carol.
‘I don’t. I hate pink,’ said Rachel.
The band was introduced and the music started. ‘Venue says they’re a cheerful Nirvana,’ said Bill.
‘So why are you and Bailey dressed alike?’ said Rachel in Leah’s ear.
‘I haven’t a clue.’
‘Well, you’re lucky. He usually wears tartan trews.’ She knocked back another drink and tapped her hand to the music. Leah realised Rachel was about to cry. ‘You all right?’ she whispered.
‘Why shouldn’t I be? Just because Ian got cancer and died and there was nothing I could do. Why shouldn’t I enjoy myself? I think I’m going to dance.’ And she got up and pushed her way to the band.
‘She’s very upset,’ said Carol. They watched her fling herself about in true dance school fashion.
‘That looks fun. I’ll go and join her,’ said Bill. The others started talking about a camping trip. And what can I talk about? My husband hits me. Rachel’s having a crack-up and Bailey told me about his sordid past. She went to the loo. On the way back, at the foot of the
stairs, there was Bailey. ‘Yo,’ he said. He didn’t smile.
‘I was worried about you.’ I have to say it, I have to.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Don’t be worried about me.’
‘But I was. After … what you told me.’
He said nothing. Somebody squeezed past them. It was not a private place.
‘Why did you tell me?’ she said.
He was very solemn. ‘Because you know what it’s like.’
She felt quite sick. She thought nobody knew. She thought it was invisible.
‘You had a bruise on your head. I saw it. I see these things.’ But there was no compassion in his voice. ‘Look, I want a piss.’ Leah stepped aside for him.
She went back to the tables. The others were watching Bill and Rachel swirling about the dance floor. I want to go home. They hardly noticed she was there, let alone a faint mark above her eye. She felt used by Bailey, but for what purpose she wasn’t sure.
Declan sat next to her. ‘How nice to see you again for sure.’ He was drunk.
‘So, how are you?’
‘I think … I’m very well … I talked Bailey out of giving up his job.’
‘Thank you. It would have been too much, before Christmas.’
‘You mustn’t let him … bother you … get you down.’
‘I don’t,’ she lied.
‘He’s very … he’s very …’ and he looked at his Guinness for inspiration. ‘He’s selfish.’
Rachel sat down, pink cheeked from dancing. ‘That’s better. Declan, where are you going?’
‘Sure I’ll be back.’ He staggered over to join Bailey at the bar.
‘Bailey this, Bailey that, you know he gave up work this week because Bailey was under the weather.’ They watched them. Bailey so tall flinging his arms out and Declan so small balancing himself so he wouldn’t fall over. ‘Bailey’s a parasite,’ spat Rachel. Bill was with them now and a tallish woman with dark hair and a leather jacket. ‘That’s Jen,’ said Rachel.
‘Is she a social worker?’
‘Ian dumped her for me. Things are a bit tense.’ She was looking tired and becoming dreamy.
‘Go home soon?’ said Leah.
‘I want to stay until the bitter end.’
It was the bitter end. The music was over. People were leaving. Rachel was not in a fit state to drive at all. Leah led her out saying goodbye to everybody. They passed Bailey and Declan hopelessly drunk and giggling with the dark-haired woman. In the car park Rachel fell into the front seat and burst into tears. ‘He’s dead. I can’t bear it. I hate him … I hate you Ian, why did you go and die, you idiot. Why didn’t you die on Jen, why did you die on me?’ She sobbed on the steering wheel. Leah rubbed her back. The others were milling round the car park getting into cars and taxis. Bill on his mountain bike. Bailey, now shouting at Jen, ‘Give us a bell!’ Rachel was blowing her nose in her handkerchief. ‘Can you drive?’ she said.
‘I never learned. We could get a taxi.’
‘Oh, sod that.’ And she started up the car and they screeched away.
It was the last week before the Christmas holidays. Leah was having tea and cakes in the Project café. It was her treat for doing the Christmas shopping. It was Wednesday and the café was nearly full. She sat at the back. Bailey didn’t work there on Wednesdays.
Halfway through the second cake Clive came in looking hot and fed up. He saw Leah and sat next to her. He took off his hat and fanned his face.
‘Not a good day?’ said Leah.
‘Basically …’ and he went into a list of about forty separate grievances, ‘… and, my second lodger’s gone.’
‘I didn’t know the first one had left.’
‘Ho, ho, oh yes, and did he pay his rent, oh no, and has the second one?’
‘Oh no,’ said Leah. Clive had trouble with his lodgers. In order to pay off his mortgage he let out rooms but so far all his lodgers had been mad or broke or both.
‘It might be difficult to get somebody before Christmas,’ said Leah.
‘Some Christmas I’m going to have …’
She listened and nodded and smiled and finished her cake. She looked at Clive with his shiny bald head and big bushy beard and a thought came to her. ‘How many rooms do you have to rent?’
‘The small one and the big one. That’s two.’
‘Have you ever had anybody with children?’
‘Oh ho, well I like kids as you know, I suppose if I was asked, but I never have been, so the answer’s no.’
‘I’m looking for some rooms to rent,’ she said, feeling hot.
‘For a friend?’
‘Um, no, for myself, and the children. I’m leaving Al, my husband, you see …’ Her voice trailed off into a whisper.
‘For you! Ho, ho, ho!’ He waggled his beard. ‘Leaving your husband and you want to live with me!’
‘It would only be for a short time,’ she said as matter of fact as possible.
‘Not getting on with the husband!’ he said, eyes sparkling.
‘Things have been heavy,’ said Leah, embarrassed. ‘It wouldn’t be until after Christmas.’
‘I never let down a lady in distress.’
‘Can I see the rooms? Are you busy?’
‘I’m sure I could spare you some of my time.’ He looked like he couldn’t believe his luck. Leah was feeling giddy, but not at the prospect of sharing a house with Clive.
Clive’s house was right on Brewery Lane wedged between the road and the railway embankment. There were eight houses in a terrace and his was on the corner. The front was sludge green and the windows were always filthy. She had been there once after a meeting and all she remembered was that it was poky and smelt of dog. It was still like that. The dog, Tatty, was asleep in fat shaggy splendour in an armchair. When they came in she got up, barked and sniffed Leah’s crotch. Leah batted her away with her shopping bag. ‘Tatty’s harmless,’ said Clive and patted the old fleabag.
Clive’s house was uncarpeted, dirty and painted in odd colours. The front room was dark pink, the kitchen and back room were pale green.
‘Can I see upstairs?’ said Leah. One of the bedrooms was tiny, with just enough room for a bed and a bookcase. The other was a decent size.
‘I could paint them for you,’ said Clive, rubbing his hands. ‘I’ve still got some of that paint from the kitchen.’
‘They’re fine as they are,’ said Leah. He pointed out various attractive features. The central heating boiler. A new carpet with a big stain on it. Wonky shelves.
‘It’s fine … I think …’ said Leah.
‘Ho, ho, after Christmas!’
‘The money,’ said Leah, trying to keep it businesslike.
‘Well, um basically, let me see … ₤70 … should do it … a week.’
‘The housing will pay,’ said Leah faintly, and they shook hands.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Christmas happened and in Garden Hill it was a civilised affair. Al had taken the news of Leah’s move to Clive’s very well indeed. Suspiciously well. He said, ‘Are you sure … Clive’s?’ and Leah said, ‘Yes, I’m sure … but it won’t be for long, until I find somewhere else,’ and that was it, there were no more discussions.
She fixed a date with Clive. The second Monday of January. Al would help. Al would hire a van. Al would have the children for a week until Leah settled down. Al was being so considerate she began to wonder if it wasn’t all a mistake. In the post-Christmas slump it was Al who reminded Leah what to pack, and whose books were whose, and what plates and plants. He wants me to go. He, too, has had enough.
She woke up in her bedroom. Her things were packed in boxes. My little room doesn’t exist. There are squares of unfaded wallpaper where the pictures used to be. I’m in bed and my room has gone. What made it my room? The china on the chest of drawers. My dolls. The geraniums. The way I placed them. The way I looked at them. And I’m nearly gone too. This is the last Saturday I will spend in Garden Hill. Downstairs th
e children are watching telly and Al’s making breakfast … I want to turn it all back … I don’t want to leave and live in Clive’s poky house. This is my home, my children, my husband … I want everything back. I want the shadows of the geraniums on my rug and the prim dolls in lacy white and the mirror with plaster flowers around it. I want my carved wooden box Daddy Claremont bought in India all those years ago. She got up and opened the curtains to a wet January Saturday. She looked around but all she saw was a shabby room with a pile of boxes.
Clive was coming with the van at ten. All her things were now in the front room. The children were gobbling their Shreddies and getting ready for the first day of school after the holidays. They had been asking questions like, ‘Has Clive’s house got a loo?’, ‘Will we have the same bedtimes?’, ‘Can I sleep by the window?’ – the sort of things only children worry about.
‘I don’t want to go to Clive’s house,’ said Tom, looking defiant, with his shoes undone.
‘You don’t have to go until next Saturday,’ said Jo. ‘We’re spending a week with Daddy and then a week with Mum.’
‘But I don’t want to.’
‘Then you won’t see Mummy.’
Leah did up his shoes. ‘I don’t care,’ he said over her head, ‘I don’t care about Mummy … Mummy’s bossy, Daddy’s nice …’ She looked up at her son and his hot face. His expression said everything a confused four-year-old could not.
‘Clive’s got an enormous telly with remote controls,’ said Ben, ‘and we can watch it all the time.’
‘Not all the time, darling,’ said Leah. Outside, her friend Sarah was honking her car horn.
‘He’s got a video too,’ said Ben. In the last few minutes he had picked a length of sellotape off one of the boxes.
‘We could join a video club,’ said Jo. The horn honked again and they dashed for the door.
‘Bye Mum, see you later, oh, see you Saturday!’ shouted Jo at the bottom of the steps. Sarah got out of her car and rushed up to hug Leah passionately. She was a tall dramatic woman with dark hair. It was only two years since she had split up with her husband.
‘I know what it’s like,’ she said. ‘I do understand. Do you feel terrible?’
