The Pupil

by Dawn Goodwin

  *

  Thirty minutes later, I stepped off the bus at the bottom of a familiar street. The pebble-dashed houses were the same as the day I had left, as was the biting wind cutting through my coat and snapping at my face. It was always at least ten degrees colder here than in London, and looked cheerless and greyer too.

  Despite the overcast sky, I slipped my sunglasses over my eyes and hauled my bag onto my shoulder before trudging up the hill, feeling like the outsider I was. I stopped outside number eleven and reached over the bottle green, peeling gate to unlatch it. It creaked as it swung open and I could hear the canned voices of a television programme in the air. The smell of fresh laundry travelled on the breeze.

  I approached the door, stepping over a worm creeping across the damp pavement, and took a breath before knocking firmly. Inside, a dog barked deeply and a husky voice told it to ‘get by’. The volume of the television was muted abruptly.

  A minute passed and the door opened a crack.

  ‘Mam? It’s me.’ I removed my sunglasses.

  I could hear snuffling and snorting at the bottom of the door. Then it was nudged open and an overweight British bulldog barrelled through and collided with my legs.

  I couldn’t help but smile. The dog was pawing and wriggling around my legs in delight.

  ‘Hi Bert!’ I said, squatting down to make as much fuss as I could while he squirmed and twisted, his lack of a tail making his entire back end wag joyfully.

  ‘So what’s this in aid of then?’ My mother stood in the doorway, her hands planted on her substantial waist.

  ‘Hi Mam. I thought I’d come and surprise you.’

  Bert had worn himself out and shuffled back inside, casting glances over his shoulder to make sure I was coming in. I hadn’t been invited yet though. My mother was scrutinising me.

  ‘You’ve lost weight.’ She stepped aside and held the door open for me. I picked up my bag.

  The door to the house next door flew open and a thin, elderly woman peered out.

  ‘Everything all right over there, Linda?’ she croaked.

  My mother stuck her head around the door frame. ‘Yes, Norma, everything’s fine. Our Kathy’s come to visit. Bit of a surprise – and here I am in me slippers and pinny!’

  Norma emerged from the door and wandered over, trailing cigarette ash. ‘Eeee, Kathy, how are ya? It’s been a while, mind. I can’t get used to seeing you with that lovely dark hair. You’ll always be a fair-haired bairn to me. And mind, you’ve got skinny.’

  ‘Hi Norma. I’m good, thanks. How are you?’

  ‘Can’t complain, pet, can’t complain. You still living in that London? Terrible that business you were involved in. All done with it now though, eh?’

  I just nodded. ‘You still smoking, Norma?’

  She chuckled. ‘Aye, well, it hasn’t killed us yet. How’s that posh fella of yours and them lovely little ’uns?’

  ‘All fine, thanks Norma.’

  ‘Well, I’ll let you get inside and get a cuppa. Ta-ra, love.’

  ‘Bye, Norma.’

  She shuffled back indoors.

  ‘Well, don’t just stand there. Get inside. The whole street’ll know you’re here now.’ Mam tutted.

  I followed her into the hallway and shut the door behind me. The wallpaper was the same eclectic print of blue peacocks, the carpet the same dark brown swirls; nothing had changed since I had left all those years ago.

  Mam shuffled her slippers through into the lounge and I put my bag at the foot of the stairs and followed. Bert had collapsed on the sofa and was peering at me, his tongue lolling. I sat next to him, gently stroking his head. He gazed at me in adoration.

  ‘Bert looks good, a bit podgy, mind,’ I said.

  Mam had heaved her own bulk into the armchair by the window and pulled her cardigan tight across her ample chest.

  ‘Well, he’s getting on a bit now. And I can’t take him for walks any more – my hip, you know.’ She picked up a remote control from the side table next to her and unmuted the television. A chat show blared into the room, advising women on the best winter coats to disguise an apple-shaped body.

  ‘I’ll make us a cup of tea, shall I?’ I asked, slipping back into the role of carer like a well-worn dressing gown.

  ‘Can do. There’s biscuits in the tin.’

  I stroked Bert once more, then headed into the kitchen at the back of the house. The cream melamine units and small Formica kitchen table were spotlessly clean but dated straight back to when the kitchen had been fitted. I remembered my mother’s excitement back then. She’d hosted a ‘cocktail party’ as a ‘kitchen warming’, with cheese on sticks, glacé cherries and my dad serving tall glasses of Cinzano while the neighbours fawned over the new modern appliances. I remember hiding under the table during the party and giggling as I watched the feet moving around like the opening credits of Footloose, while cracker crumbs fell to the linoleum floor like dust. I had a sudden moment of sadness. How had life got so complicated? Everything seemed simpler then or was that just the naiveté of youth clouding my memory? I hardly recognised myself any more.

  I stood against the counter as the kettle roiled and bubbled behind me and stared out of the window into the small, narrow back garden. It was paved in grey concrete slabs with a washing line stretched from one end to the other. Weeds forced themselves between the slabs, the insistent yellow heads of dandelions swaying in the wind. Beyond the back fence I could see the path that led into the village, one I had walked many times to school, the shops and later the pub. Next door, in a back garden that was a mirror image to ours, Norma’s sheets flapped in the biting wind, struggling against the pegs.

  I wasn’t convinced coming back here was the right move, but I was starting to feel my feet grounding again, the stress of the last few days shedding from my skin.

  The kettle clicked off and I reached into the cupboard for mugs, muscle memory knowing exactly where everything was.

  I wandered back into the lounge with the tea on an old tin tray emblazoned with a commemorative photo of Charles and Diana’s royal wedding day, a plate of custard creams obscuring Diana’s shy smile.

  ‘So, you going to tell me what’s happened?’ Mam said without looking away from the television screen.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Something must’ve happened. You wouldn’t just turn up without a reason. Not after all this time.’

  I felt my hackles rise as I set the tray down. ‘There’s no reason. I just wanted to see you and Bert.’

  ‘Well, since I wasn’t expecting you, I haven’t got anything in for tea. It’ll have to be the chippy.’

  ‘That’s fine. I don’t mind. I don’t want you to go to any extra trouble.’

  ‘How long are you staying? You’ll have to make the bed up in your room.’

  ‘Just one night. I have to get back for Lily and Jack tomorrow.’

  ‘How are they? Still doing well at school?’

  ‘Yes, they’re great.’ She knew they were fine because I got the kids to phone her every week to tell her their news. They may not see much of her, but it was important that they stayed in touch.

  I dunked my custard cream in the strong tea and had a sudden sense of déjà vu from when I would come home from school and sit cross-legged on the floor illegally watching Grange Hill and dunking my favourite biscuits. My mother had hated the programme and was convinced it would lead me astray.

  I had a sudden urge to cry. Putting my cup aside, I excused myself from the room, mumbling something about the bathroom. Bert heaved himself from the couch and followed me, panting heavily as he bounded up the stairs to keep up. I made my way into the bathroom on the landing and waited for him to catch up before closing the door and perching on the edge of the avocado-coloured bath. He flopped down at my feet on the threadbare bath mat.

  I dropped my head and swallowed against the lump in my throat, felt the tears stab at my eyelids. Bert rested his head on my foot and gazed up at me.
If I had thought coming here would distract me, then I was wrong. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was passing up a golden opportunity, but I was also terrified of taking my writing any further. I had to accept my decision and move on with my life with Paul. Comfortable; settled; secure; dull. A life where the most dramatic thing that could happen would be to rebel by putting the bins out the night before collection day. That was what I wanted, wasn’t it? To be inconspicuous, left alone? No more taunting or fear?

  It wasn’t just the messages though. Something else had been nagging at me too. Something to do with Viola, like an itch I couldn’t reach, ever since she had been to the house. But I couldn’t hold onto the thought long enough to identify it. The connection would be cut on Friday anyway when I handed back the laptop and I never had to see her or Sam again.

  Sam. He had become a better friend to me in the last few short weeks than Helen or anyone else had been for years. Or was that just because he told me what I wanted to hear? No, I was so much more myself with him and I didn’t feel like I was playing house like I did with Helen, trying to cover up my working-class roots that poked insistently into my middle-class surroundings like the persistent weeds outside. Me with my tins of Ambrosia rice pudding and little bottles of Babycham hidden like a dirty secret at the back of the cupboard, but a comforting reminder of how much I’d changed. But had I actually changed for the better?

  My mind was dragging in disorientating circles and I couldn’t still it. What I really wanted to do was to drink my tea, eat some fish and chips, and watch mindless programmes with my mother until the day faded away. That was why I had come, wasn’t it? To distance myself from all of it and set my mind straight so that I could get back to the way things were?

  I stood up, splashed some cold water on my face and headed back down the stairs, with Bert bouncing down ahead of me.

  *

  I grabbed Bert’s lead from the shelf and headed out, my pace dictated by the hefty bulldog at my ankles. He was far too rotund for his own good, so this would be a slow amble to the chippy. We strolled along the familiar streets, the footsteps well-practised, the scenery familiar. And with every step, I felt my paranoia lift, knowing that whoever had been watching me wouldn’t have followed me here.

  Bert was keeping pace, but his breathing was loud and raspy. He was getting on in years now. A rescue dog originally, apparently abandoned as a one-year-old because he refused to be house-trained, Norma had read about him in the local paper after I had left for London and had told my mother about him in the hope that the company would help to stop her depression from spiralling out of control without me there to manage it.

  My mother had bonded with Bert immediately and she had even managed to house-train him, probably because they were so devoted to each other that he would do anything for her. He had been her constant companion for all these years and had indeed kept her depression at bay, just as Bo often proved a remedial tonic for me. But Bert was thirteen now, a true geriatric, and I often worried about what would happen to my mum when he was gone.

  We rounded the corner to the high street and pushed through the door into the chippy. Comforting smells of sharp vinegar and cloying oil hit my nostrils. The small, elderly Chinese man behind the counter looked up from scooping chips out of a fryer.

  ‘Kathy! Is that you? How are you?’ Everyone here knew me as chubby blonde Kathy Baxter, not the Katie Hayes I grew into with her glossy dark hair, branded clothes and high, cutting cheekbones.

  ‘Hey, Mr Liu. I’m good, thanks, and you?’

  ‘Ah, can’t complain. You look good. Where you living these days?’

  Despite having lived in the north of England for decades, Mr Liu still had a strong Chinese accent. I had been eating his chips and curry sauce since I was little and had been school friends with his daughter, Lisa. We used to pop in after school and he’d feed us free chips served with a dollop of pride and a splash of curry sauce.

  ‘I’m still in London. How’s Lisa?’

  ‘She’s good! She is married with a baby now, little Isaac, and she’s a nurse at the RVI.’

  ‘Ah, that’s lovely. Please tell her I said hello.’

  ‘Yes, yes. What about you? What you been doing?’

  ‘Nothing to set the world alight yet, Mr Liu.’

  ‘Ah, you’ve got those lovely children of yours though, that’s enough.’ My mother had clearly shared some of my news, but I doubt she’d shared all of it.

  Bert sat and panted at my feet. Mr Liu looked down over the counter.

  ‘Hi Bert. You want your usual?’

  Bert shuffled his bottom against the linoleum in response.

  ‘What about you, Kathy? Your mum’s usual and for you?’

  ‘Yes please, and cod and chips for me with your famous curry sauce. I’ve travelled a long way for that sauce. Loads of salt and vinegar on the chips too please.’

  He smiled widely and started scooping chips into newspaper.

  The door opened behind me, letting in a rush of chilly air. I moved to the side, but Bert’s bottom was firmly planted in place and he was not for moving. I looked up to apologise to the new customer and came face to face with Darren, my ex from high school.

  I stopped breathing for a minute, felt vomit rush up the back of my throat, but I swallowed it back down. He was one of the reasons I didn’t come back much – and the reason I’d left.

  ‘I thought it was you. How are you, Kath?’ He looked older around the forehead and much heavier around the waist, but the sparkle in his green eyes was the same. My stomach spasmed and my palms started to sweat.

  ‘Darren, hi.’

  He moved to kiss me on the cheek, but I swerved, resulting in an awkward half clench, half headbutt of a greeting.

  He leaned down to pet Bert. There was no bum shuffle this time.

  Good boy.

  ‘So, how’ve you been?’ he repeated, straightening up. ‘Still in London?’

  ‘Yeah, still there.’

  ‘You must be doing all right then? You look good.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s great.’ Less is more…

  ‘I heard about all the trouble you got into. That all forgotten now?’

  I nodded.

  ‘What can I get you?’ Mr Liu interrupted.

  ‘Hey, Mr Liu, the usual please.’

  Mr Liu nodded and carried on his prep.

  ‘Still writing your little stories? Got any published yet?’

  I felt prickles of annoyance. Some things didn’t change. Darren had never understood my love of writing back then. In his opinion, anything even vaguely creative was more of a hobby than a career choice. When I’d left, I gave him very little by way of explanation, except to blame it on his ability to sleep with anyone that batted her eyelashes at him and a desire to pursue a career in publishing. He didn’t know the real reasons behind the move. Yes, sleeping his way through most of our high school class was part of it, as was his heavy hand after a night on the booze. But there was more to it than that – something only my mother and I knew and that I had kept locked away, like Pandora’s box, for a long time, fearful of what might happen if it saw the light of day. Just another box of secrets growing dusty on the shelf. Nothing to see here, folks.

  I avoided answering his question. ‘What about you? Settled down yet or still sleeping your way through the North-East?’

  ‘Now, now, jealousy makes you nasty. No, actually, I’ve settled down. I married Jenni a few years back, got a couple of little ’uns. Still working at my dad’s construction place. All good in the hood.’

  ‘Great.’ I feigned enthusiasm but could think of nothing duller. I remembered Jenni from school, a small, plain girl with little ambition and no sense of humour. I could just picture the rock ’n’ roll lifestyle they led.

  Compared to yours, you mean? Touché.

  ‘Here you go, Kathy. Two cod and chips, curry sauce, mushy peas and a battered sausage for Bert with some extra scratchings.’

  ‘No wonder h
e’s looking porky, Mr Liu. You spoil him!’ I smiled in gratitude.

  ‘Ah, but he’s a lovely old soul.’

  Bert wiggled in response. I took the bag Mr Liu was holding out and reached into my handbag for my purse.

  As I turned to go, I said to Darren through gritted teeth, ‘Well, nice to see you. Say hi to Jenni.’

  ‘I will. How long are you here for?’

  ‘Just tonight. Thanks, Mr Liu.’

  ‘Bye Kathy. Say hi to your mam,’ he replied.

  Bert was up and heading to the door already, the smell of battered sausage propelling him forwards. I followed with a quick ‘bye’ over my shoulder.

  I exhaled as I walked down the street and around the corner, old annoyances kicking at my heels and stirring up the same old dust: that Darren still thought my dreams were pointless; that I hadn’t proved him wrong; that he could still evoke a reaction in me, even if a wholly unpleasant one.

  I picked up the pace, Bert happy to loll faster with his dinner front of mind. My ears pricked at the sound of quick footsteps coming up behind me and I clenched my fist around the handle of my bag, my back stiffening, suddenly irrationally terrified that whoever had been following me in London was behind me now. I straightened my arm, ready to swing the bag of hot chips into their face.

  A hand grabbed my arm and I spun around.

  ‘Kath, just wondered if you wanted a drink later?’ Darren was standing behind me, looking hopeful.

  ‘No, thanks, Darren. I’m only here for one night and I need to spend the time with Mam.’

  ‘Come on, for old times’ sake. We used to have a laugh, me and you… among other things… What’s a drink between old friends?’ His hand was now stroking my arm, his smile lascivious. He hadn’t changed then. He fully expected me to drop my knickers right there in the street after just one smile.

  ‘I don’t think so. Go home to your kids, Darren.’ I turned my back on him and walked away quickly.

  ‘You haven’t changed, Kath. Still think you’re better than us lot, don’t ya? You’re not all that!’ he called after me.