by Lucy English
‘No, you don’t like folks who ask. I say, what’s in there, what’s in him. You don’t like that, but remember, you let me in, I know now, I know –’ and Bailey sat up as if she had slapped him – ‘inside you are … soft.’
‘No fucking big deal, that is no big deal,’ and he was angry now, ‘don’t you use that. What do you think you’re like inside? I’ve been up there enough.’
Leah closed her eyes for this one, because she had to think. A dark room with no light, no windows, no doors, a small dusty forgotten place. Whatever Bailey did was nowhere near this. ‘I’m empty,’ she said and burst into tears.
Bailey leaped out of the deckchair. ‘I hate it when folks cry.’
‘I’m reaching for you, I want to keep trying, I want you to keep trying.’ She wasn’t sure if he understood but he comforted her anyway.
‘Don’t tell your old man. I don’t want nothing spoiled.’
She arrived back in Brewery Lane at suppertime with week-long dirty clothes and her hair a mess. The rest of her a mess too, because she hadn’t wanted to leave Steep Street; Bailey saying, ‘Don’t worry I’ll phone,’ wasn’t enough when she wanted to crumple in his bed and watch mobiles.
‘Ho, ho, the vanishing lady,’ said Clive, and Tatty jumped about. Clive banged her with a ladle. He was cooking pans and pans of food because in the front room were Patsy, Lorna and, surprisingly, Debbie, all watching a Batman video.
‘I was at a friend’s,’ said Leah in case he asked, but he didn’t.
‘One more for dinner, one more beautiful lady for dinner. Ho, ho, have we got enough, have I got enough – four ladies, is that enough?’
‘Have some beer,’ said Patsy, coming in with a bagful of tinnies. ‘I haven’t seen you since the party.’
She woke up late, stuffed with Clive’s food, beer, wine and mad dreams.
Al rang: ‘I hope you’ve organised the picnic, because I haven’t, we got back too late last night.’
‘So did you have a good time?’ said Leah weakly, a brush in one hand, a mop in the other.
‘Of course we did. This picnic’s your responsibility now. I’ve done my bit. I hope you haven’t bought him a supersoaker, because I got him one.’
‘I haven’t, don’t worry, but can we make it at one? Clive had a do last night and I’m cleaning up.’
‘So your social life is more important than Ben’s birthday, then,’ said Al.
‘No, no,’ said Leah but she was glad Al couldn’t see her say that. In the last ten days she had hardly thought about the children. ‘Let me talk to Ben, is he there?’ She looked at the clock: it was gone eleven – she’d never be ready.
Debbie came down the stairs in a big T-shirt and one of Clive’s cardigans. Leah had gone to bed before the end of the dinner but she knew something was up because Tatty had been shut out of Clive’s room and was sulking in her chair.
‘My head!’ said Debbie, ‘and the rest of me.’ Tatty padded in and sniffed her rival. ‘Oh please, not first thing. It was all that wine, could you make me a coffee? Oh, I do feel that bad.’
Leah kept on cleaning while Debbie curled up in the comfy chair. She was a plumpish girl with streaky blonde hair and a sunbed tan. That morning she didn’t look her best.
‘I hope you don’t mind about me staying?’
‘Why should I?’ Leah found it amusing.
‘Because I always thought you and him were a pair, but you’re not.’
‘I’m just the lodger.’ She started to wash the floor.
‘And other people say he had a shine for Patsy, but that can’t be right, because she’s a … you know, and anyway, she’s not very … you know … After her party he walked me home, I know he’s a bit old, but sometimes you do want a bit of respect … Oh would you make me another coffee? I do feel that bad, I couldn’t sleep, he’s snoring like anything. I suppose I should make breakfast, does he like muesli?’
‘He usually has a fry-up,’ said Leah.
Clive came down to breakfast grinning like a lunatic.
‘Little sexpot makes breakfast, ho, ho.’
‘Oh Clive I’m not dressed, and I haven’t had a bath and who is this at the door?’
It was Al with the children, who rushed in full of talk and bounce and little stories as if they hadn’t seen Leah for months, not ten days.
‘I went boogie boarding in a wetsuit and Daddy did, and Tad, that’s Dad’s friend, went rock climbing and nearly fell off.’ That was Ben.
‘He didn’t: you’re supposed to, it’s called abseiling.’ That was Jo.
‘Ben’s got a supersoaker and I haven’t.’ That was Tom.
‘It’s his birthday,’ said Leah.
‘What’s this, what’s this, large water pistol?’ That was Clive.
‘It’s a supersoaker and I’ve squirted everybody,’ and Ben aimed at Tatty.
‘Don’t. Poor dog,’ said Debbie, bounding across the room to rescue her, but she got a face full of water. She was used to this; she was a playworker. ‘Now I’m going to get you!’ She chased Ben screaming upstairs.
‘Hello,’ said Leah to Al. ‘Shall we have this picnic?’
Ben came downstairs crying, ‘I’m all wet!’
‘I didn’t mean to upset him,’ said Debbie, following, and the phone rang. She was the nearest: ‘Who? Bailey? Oh hello Bailey, do you want to speak to Leah?’ Leah froze because Al was staring at her. She took the phone.
‘Sounds like a madhouse,’ said Bailey.
‘Was it something to do with the Project?’ said Leah.
‘Your old man’s there, isn’t he?’ said Bailey, delighting in this.
‘About your starting date?’ said Leah, wanting to scream at him, what are you doing? ‘The first Wednesday in September, I think.’
‘Just thought I’d let you know, no spilling beans. Spilling beans is off.’
‘No, there won’t be any need for that,’ said Leah.
‘When you’re next off, let me know. I’ll be finking of you till then,’ said Bailey.
‘See you then,’ said Leah, putting the phone down, flustered. There were the sandwiches on the table, Al was saying to Clive, ‘No, it was a bit further north of Newquay.’
Tom sucking his thumb came and held her hand. ‘Why didn’t you come to Cornwool?’ he said.
They sat on a grassy hill above the deer enclosure in Ashton Court. Behind them was a small wood where after the picnic the boys played hide and squirt among the trees. In the far distance were the hills of Dundry and the suburbs of Bedminster and Bedminster Down.
‘Do you think we can see our house, your house?’ said Leah, staring hard. The air was hazy and from up there seemed almost crinkly. They had hardly spoken to each other, but the boys had plenty to say; it hadn’t been a quiet occasion.
‘I don’t give a fuck,’ said Al. ‘You know, ten days in Cornwall and I felt fine; ten minutes with you and I remember what’s the matter with me – you’re a cow.’
‘I’m not that bad.’ She picked a daisy and then another.
‘You arranged it all nicely, it was all organised, wasn’t it.’
‘That’s what you wanted.’ She started to make a daisy chain. Al had become tanned in Cornwall, his hair was longer and more matted, he looked like a wild man.
‘And you always do exactly what I want. Aren’t you sweet. Let me tell you something – on that holiday I felt for the first time in years how refreshing it was to deal honestly with people.’
Leah threaded another daisy through and remembered. My dream, the knitting countryside, the daisy-making day, the colours turning to blank. With you it all feels blank. I am on a slope picking daisies and nothing has changed.
‘Let’s talk about the weather then, that’s all you’re capable of. Haven’t we been lucky with the sun? Mind you, it was a bit chilly on Tuesday …’
I cannot tell you what I feel. What can I say? Bailey spins me, colours me, makes me – you are too angry to hear that.
�
�Or we could talk about your mother, how is she, have you heard from her lately, or your stuck-up brother, or daft sister … how is your dear family?’
‘Al?’ said Leah.
‘Al, Al, that is my name, yes. Do you want to communicate with me or sit there killing daisies?’
‘Please stop it,’ said Leah.
‘Stop trying to talk to you. Yes, I think I shall, but I still have this curious belief that in there is a person.’
‘I am not made of stone!’ shouted Leah far too loudly and jumped up. Al had not seen her retaliate; he was surprised, then curious. Leah felt this like hot fingers forcing her open. She held her breath. Jo and Tom came rushing out of the wood: ‘Ben’s up a tree and he can’t get down.’
Al ran towards the woods: ‘Stop crying, I’m coming to get you.’
She packed up the picnic, carefully, there were a few sandwiches left. She folded the tablecloth. When Al came back carrying Ben, who was perfectly all right, but still crying and hanging on to his supersoaker, there was hardly any evidence they had been there at all.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
August ended with thunderstorms. The summer burned itself out. Leaves were yellowing and the air was sharper. Leah sat in the front room at Brewery Lane with her head against the window like Tatty. Tomorrow the children were going back to school. Tatty, moping and forgotten, slumped on Clive’s chair flicking her tail. The back door was open. An early evening moist smell crept in off wet railway banks. Down Brewery Lane the sun made the streets golden; dust and gnats circled in the air. The trees in the Project bent with tired leaves. There were no cars.
I am two people. I am this person: Mummy just washed the dishes, read a story, said go to sleep quietly now. All spent out, looking up the street. And what can I do but sit here until it’s dark in this quiet house? It’s not enough. I am two people. The other wants to run in this golden light to the top of the park, then to Totterdown. Bailey is having his dinner now, he’s watching the telly now. He’ll ring up Bill later and I’m here and I can’t go out. This one person I am, I’m straining with it.
Only Friday I was there. The storm was building and in the morning broke. Rain slammed the windows. I’m wary of storms. I lay there counting between flashes. You woke, heavy like a storm cloud, you said, ‘No sunbathing today then,’ rolled on me heavy and hot; you said, ‘No point getting up then.’ I see you sliding, pushing. I feel you.
Leah, with her cheek on the window, closed her eyes.
Al was going back to college. In the week before he started he invited Leah for tea. Up his steps she knocked on the door. At the same time the children came back from school in Sarah’s car.
‘Mummy’s here, Mummy’s here!’ They ran up the steps too. Leah hadn’t seen Sarah all summer.
‘Are you … and Al?’ said Sarah, all concerned.
‘No,’ said Leah, trying to talk to her above the children and Al opening the door, ‘I’m having tea.’
‘There’s so much to say.’ Sarah was at the bottom of the steps in a dark blue dress with stars on. She was wide eyed and tragic as she often was. ‘The girls … and Chris …’ Her daughters were sulking; they were tanned and looked older.
‘Why don’t you go and have tea with her?’ said Al, impatient on the doorstep.
‘I’ll phone you, we’ll meet –’ and Sarah swept off fondly blowing kisses as if Leah and she were long-lost lovers.
Leah’s children pulled her into the house to show her how different it was. The front room was bright blue, the kitchen yellow. Ben and Tom had a new cupboard. Eventually she and Al sat in the kitchen. Cakes and sandwiches were on the table. This was so familiar she felt she had never left.
‘Well?’ said Al. ‘Are you pleased I’ve got my life together or did you want me to mourn you always?’
‘I want you … to do what you have to.’ She looked at the cakes. One was chocolate, large and home made. ‘Did you make that?’
‘I can cook, you know. I can also wash my clothes.’
She ate a bit although she didn’t feel hungry. ‘I hope they don’t send you to the Blessed Martyrs again,’ she said.
‘I don’t care if they do. I’m ready for it this time. I must admit this separation situation has given me a new sense of confidence.’
‘Oh good,’ said Leah.
‘And you? How’s your life progressing?’
‘It’s ticking over, I suppose,’ said Leah, her face over the cup. This one had a handle but a big crack down the side. The far kitchen wall was a patchwork of children’s pictures.
‘One day,’ said Al, rolling up a fag and lighting it – Old Holborn tobacco, she hadn’t smelt that for ages – ‘you will tell me ‘‘I know what I want my life to be’’. Sometimes I wonder what you swapped me for?’
They sat around the table, the boys more rowdy perhaps than they would be with Leah, filling up their plates with food.
‘Lily says she doesn’t want to live with her mum any more and wants to live with her dad in America,’ said Ben, tactless as ever.
‘Oh poor Sarah,’ said Leah.
‘Jazzy didn’t like it, she said it was full of muggers,’ said Tom.
‘She’s wet,’ said Jo.
‘Dad, why don’t you live in America, then we can all go there?’ said Ben.
‘And Mummy can come,’ said Tom.
‘Not this year,’ said Al, handing round chocolate biscuits.
‘Daddy will be at college,’ said Leah.
‘Where’s Mummy going to sleep,’ said Tom, ‘now Jo’s got her room?’
‘Mum’s just come for tea, you idiot,’ said Jo quickly.
‘She could have our room, or share with Dad.’
‘Shut up!’ said Jo. Al put his cup of tea down.
‘I’ve got to go back. I’ve got to look after Tatty,’ said Leah, wanting to hold this moment and stop it collapsing.
‘I thought Mum was coming back,’ said Tom.
‘I said you were coming for tea,’ said Al through his teeth.
‘I do understand,’ said Leah to Al.
‘Lily says she hates her mum and her dad never tells her off and they have hamburgers all the time,’ said Ben and ate Tom’s biscuits.
‘We have hamburgers.’ Tom was getting confused. He burst into tears.
‘I hate this!’ And Jo rushed upstairs.
‘I thought it would be a good idea.’ Al was genuinely upset.
‘Perhaps I should go,’ said Leah but Tom began to scream. ‘Don’t go, Mummy!’
After an hour of stories and cuddles Tom finally accepted that Leah had to leave. Meanwhile Jo was still in his room and Ben was watching Bedknobs and Broomsticks on video again.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Al on the doorstep.
‘I’m sorry too,’ said Leah.
She ran back to Clive’s but stopped in the park by the swings. They were empty. One was broken and another wound up high over the bar. She used to bring the boys here to watch the trains.
Tom said, Mummy don’t leave. Poor little boy, what can you know about your mummy, how can I tell you I will never live with that man again, your dearest daddy? I’m better off in Clive’s house, better off running across the park to somebody you don’t know, better off when I leave you behind. Am I that selfish? Al, you pushed me into this, I hate you for that. Hate you that you scared me, still scare me.
Beyond the railway line the city stretched out in front of her. She sat on the last good swing.
I was on the swing and Jimbo played cricket in the garden. I had a flowery skirt and a ribbon in my hair. It was summer. Always safe in the garden with the hedge around. My children cry, Mummy don’t leave and get weird. I am selfish. I want things for myself. I couldn’t do that in Garden Hill. I crawled out like a slug.
The city was grey and pink and blue like pastel child’s bricks.
I want the city. To be like a city, mapped out and noisy. To build myself like a city.
Swinging up and down it felt like s
he was inhaling it.
Late September was Rachel’s birthday. She planned to meet at the Queen of Sheba to see a band. She was glamorous in pearly grey with a long string of beads. Spread over two tables were Bill, Carol, Ange, both Petes and their spouses. Leah gave Rachel a bunch of chrysanthemums and a box of real Turkish delight.
‘I’ve got three of these already. Never mind, I’ll eat the lot.’
‘How was your summer?’ said Leah.
‘We got the decorating done. I’m going to get Declan a better job, I’m sure he could be a deputy head.’ He had just sloshed most of his pint over Ange. She didn’t care, she was laughing. Leah looked around. She assumed Bailey would be there.
‘No Sally,’ said Rachel, ‘I didn’t ask her. I tell you who I did ask, and here she is.’ It was Jen, in black with a new boyish haircut. She glanced up and down the tables; she too was looking for Bailey.
‘Sure, if it isn’t our Jen.’ And Declan tipped the rest of his drink over her shoe.
‘Tell me about this band,’ said Leah to Bill.
‘They’re a bit like the Stone Roses but more jazzy. Anyway, how are you?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘You’ll have to come on another Saturday sesh. Last week were we on one or what? Where is the boy wonder?’
‘I haven’t a clue,’ said Leah.
‘… he rang me,’ Jen was saying to Rachel, ‘to tell me he wouldn’t come out tonight because I was here, I said, so what if we meet in public …’
‘Oh dear,’ said Bill. The music started up. ‘This is the support band, they’re crap.’
Jen was still on about Bailey: ‘‘What’s up with him? After we split up I said, come on let’s have a drink and be mates. Would he have it? No way, he won’t see me, and now this. I mean I’ve known Declan for years, and Bill. He can’t treat me like this, it’s insulting. What’s the matter with him?’
‘He’s a cunt,’ said Rachel, smiling like the Mona Lisa.
Jen gulped down her Guinness. ‘He’s hopeless.’
‘Leah, what do you think? You like him.’ It was a wicked thing for Rachel to say: she knew they had slept together. She raised one eyebrow. Our cheeky secret.
‘I’m going out with him.’
