The Pupil

by Dawn Goodwin

  I can’t bear it. I knew he was at it again. Another tart to add to the list. And not forgetting he slapped me last week when I asked him where he’d been. Told me I didn’t trust him. Well, seems I was right not to. It took a lot of foundation to cover my bruised cheek. And now I’m pregnant with his baby.

  Mam says she has a friend at the doctors who can sort out an abortion for me in a few days and then I can be on a train to London by this time next week, putting the past behind me and looking to the future. The word abortion just sounds so clinical and final, but then it is, isn’t it? I don’t know. If I think about it too much, I know I won’t do it. But what other choice do I have? This place is too small for me and Darren. If I don’t get away, I’ll end up taking him back and I will be the sad loser of a teenage single mother that Mam had always warned me about. Or he’ll hit me harder next time. Mam thinks I should go, but I’m not sure if that’s just because she can’t bear to look at me. I feel like my heart has broken into teeny, tiny bits of shrapnel.

  Dad would be so proud, wouldn’t he?

  I’ll do it. I’ll have the abortion. Mam knows best, right?

  God, the pen is heavy tonight.

  21

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Is that Katherine Baxter?’ I didn’t recognise the male voice at the end of the line.

  ‘Yes, who is this?’

  ‘This is Patrol Officer Daniels calling from Cramlington Police.’

  I swallowed. ‘Has something happened?’

  ‘I believe Linda Baxter is your mother? I got your telephone number from her neighbour.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. Is she okay?’

  ‘I’m sorry to inform you that there’s been an accident. It looks as though your mother had a fall last night.’

  ‘What? Oh my god! Is she in hospital?’

  The voice was gentle. ‘I’m afraid it seems she fell down the stairs and passed away as a result of her injuries.’

  I couldn’t breathe. It felt like someone was holding a plastic bag over my head, pulling it tight around my throat. I could hear a woman’s voice in the background. ‘Let me speak to her. Give me the phone.’

  The phone was handed over – or taken by the sounds of it.

  ‘Kathy? Oh, Kathy, it’s Norma here.’ She sobbed into the mouthpiece. ‘It’s so awful! I came over early this morning to bring in her milk – bless her, she’s been quite immobile of late with that hip of hers – and I found her… at the bottom of the stairs… her neck twisted… it was horrible. The shock, I’m still shaking.’ Norma began to sob uncontrollably.

  ‘Norma, I don’t know what to say,’ I croaked.

  ‘It gets worse, Kathy. Poor Bert.’

  I felt cold yet clammy.

  ‘What about Bert?’

  She sobbed again. ‘He was lying next to her on the floor. He’s gone too. I don’t know if she fell on him or if she was trying to get to him, but he’s gone. Maybe a heart attack or something, bless him.’

  I sank to my knees, a pall of utter devastation falling over me.

  ‘Kathy? Are you there?’

  ‘I’m here, Norma. God, Bert as well.’

  ‘I need to sit down. Here, speak to the policeman again.’

  The phone was passed between hands and the policeman’s voice spoke again, still gentle and placating. ‘I’m sorry to break it to you like this. Someone will be in touch about the next steps, but for now, do you have someone with you?’

  ‘Er, yes, my husband is here.’

  The rest of the words were a blur, but I remember telling him to let Norma know I would come up immediately. My ears were buzzing and there were spots in front of my eyes.

  *

  I sat on the train in a fog, not noticing anyone or anything around me. Stations came and went, but I merely sipped on lukewarm tea in its polystyrene cup and stared out of the window blindly. My phone buzzed next to me and I looked at it half-heartedly, not even bothered that it could be another threatening text. There hadn’t been any for days, but that didn’t mean to say they’d grown bored of tormenting me. But the message was from Viola instead.

  We should meet to discuss the next steps. V

  The next steps. That’s what the policeman had said too. I couldn’t think about anything else right now. I fired off a brief reply:

  Off to Newcastle – my mother has died. Talk soon. K

  I heard the notification of a reply coming through but didn’t read it. Paul and I had put our argument to one side after I had explained what had happened and booked onto the first train the next morning. He’d provided stiff hugs and cups of tea while I cried, his face creased in concern, and Helen had offered to help with the children as I made hasty travel arrangements and robotically packed a small bag, not sure how long I would be gone. Paul had offered to come with me, but I cut him short, saying this was something I wanted to do alone and that he would be more useful to me if he stayed with the kids. Jack and Lily were understandably upset as it was, but I didn’t want to put them through the dreadfulness of a funeral.

  Once I had disembarked from the train, I wandered through the station and onto a bus on autopilot, my feet moving me forward and thoughts swirling through my mind like dust, visible but elusive. My feet finally brought me to the bus stop on my road and to the front door that was so familiar.

  Today it looked different. Older maybe, with more cracks showing, the damage evident. I reached under the plant pot by the door for the spare key that was always hidden there, dating back to the days towards the end when my dad would come home late. My mother always left him a key and a frosty reception. Maybe it was still there because Mam had always hoped he would use it again one day.

  I pushed open the door. A couple of takeaway menus slid across the carpet in its wake. I picked them up without reading them and crumpled them in my fist. I wasn’t sure what to expect inside the house. Flapping police tape or a white-taped, Cluedo-esque body outline at the foot of the stairs? But it looked the same as it had the last time I was there, a lifetime ago now.

  What was missing was noise. No Bert snuffling and farting his way over to me, his bum wiggling in delight; no soap operas blaring discontent; no washing machine whirring or tumble dryer vibrating through the thin walls.

  Just oppressive silence.

  I closed the door and dropped my overnight bag at my feet, my eyes immediately drawn to the foot of the stairs. Was that where Norma had found her and Bert? I wanted to feel tears welling up, but instead felt dehydrated, as though there was no moisture left in my body, and hollowed out with sadness.

  I wandered into the lounge. My mother’s armchair stood in pride of place by the window in direct view of the television, a dark, greasy outline marking where she had sat for so long, feet propped up on her little stool, cup of tea in hand.

  I walked from room to room, not entirely sure what I was looking for – some sign of life maybe. Norma or someone had washed whatever dishes had been left. A mug and a few plates were stacked on the drying rack. I carefully put each one away, then pulled out the chair and sat at the tiny kitchen table, with its scuffed 1960s patterned surface. The crumpled junk mail fell from my hand. I wasn’t aware I was still clutching it.

  I’d had many a meal at this table, just me and Mam: pork chops and peas after school; tiny Sunday roasts for the two of us, always with Yorkshire puddings; buttered crumpets in my pyjamas on a winter’s evening. Today there would be no Sunday roast.

  When I thought back now, she may not have been tactile in her displays of affection, but when her mood had been up, Mam had demonstrated affection through the mechanics of every day, with food to suit every mood, clothes washed and ironed as though from a magic laundry basket and her time when it came to reading my endless scripts, short stories and poems. I’d never fully appreciated it all until now.

  But then, when her mood had been down, this house had taken on the air of an oppressive sepulchre as I crept around, trying not to disturb her. I had that same feeling now
.

  I knew I had to contact the police and start making arrangements, but I couldn’t bring myself to move from the chair now that I was in it.

  I heard a knock on the door, but it opened before I could get to my feet.

  Norma rushed in as quickly as her little legs would carry her, her tabard apron flapping above the hem of her shin-length beige skirt.

  ‘Oh, Kathy, I thought I saw you. Come here and gimme a cuddle. An awful business, it really is.’ She held out her arms and I pushed from the chair and propelled myself into them, thankful for any welcoming embrace.

  I pulled away after a moment. ‘How are you, Norma? It must’ve been awful to find her like that.’

  ‘I can’t lie, Kathy, it wasn’t nice.’ Norma looked wired, as though on an artificial high from the thrill of all this drama. ‘I can’t get the image out of my head of her neck bent the way it was.’ She shuddered. ‘And poor Bert – probably died of a broken heart. He was devoted to your mam. Unless he went first and it was her heart that was broken, of course. Have you spoken to the police yet?’

  I nodded. ‘A few times on the phone. They’re conducting a post-mortem tomorrow, but it’s clearly a case of accidental death. They still need to know how she died though.’

  ‘I’ve spoken to the funeral place down the road – they buried our Frank and were very nice – family business, you know. Anyway, they’re happy to put everything in place. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve jotted down some ideas – hymns and such that she liked. We’ve hummed along to enough episodes of Songs of Praise together for me to know what she would like.’ Norma brushed some tears from her cheeks.

  ‘That’s fine – you knew her best, really.’

  ‘Well, everything is set for Saturday if you want to go ahead then – and if the body is released.’

  ‘Yes, I think that’s wise, don’t you? Get it all over and done with.’

  ‘We can just pop to the pub over the road from the crem afterwards. They do a good finger lunch there.’

  ‘That sounds fine, thanks Norma. I’m happy for you to carry on organising it if you want.’

  ‘Well, it’s giving me something to do, otherwise I’d be turning meself inside out thinking about her.’

  Something else had come to me on the train. ‘Should we tell my dad? Do you know where he is these days? How to get in touch with him?’

  Norma suddenly looked even more distressed, if that was possible. She clasped a hand to her chest. ‘Oh, pet, didn’t she tell you?’

  ‘Tell me what?’

  ‘He died, love, quite a few years ago now. Cancer, I think.’

  I wasn’t sure what to feel about this. The idea that I was suddenly an orphan was difficult to compute on top of everything else. Pathetically, I’d actually hoped my mother’s death would bring my dad out of hiding.

  ‘It’s not like you had a proper relationship with him though, so best not to dwell on it. Besides, he made his intentions clear the day he left, heartless bastard.’

  ‘She never told me what happened.’

  ‘He’d been carrying on with that Brenda behind Linda’s back for years and then one day he said he loved Brenda and not her. Of course, she didn’t see it coming, it all got a bit nasty and he said that your mam had been stifling him all those years. She never forgave him. She did everything for that man, but the grass was always greener somewhere else for him.’

  I suddenly felt light-headed and slumped into the chair. Finally, confirmation of what I had suspected all along. I could feel every one of the body blows from the grenades being lobbed at me.

  ‘Ah, love, it’s the shock of everything, isn’t it? Here, I’ll pop the kettle on.’ Norma busied around me as I concentrated on breathing in and out.

  ‘She never told me that. She never said anything really. She kept it all to herself, like it was her burden to bear. I always assumed that maybe I’d been too much for him or something. I never even got a goodbye, so he can’t have thought that much of me.’ I was ashamed to admit that my teenage self had wished a few times over the years that he had taken me with him instead of leaving me with Linda and I’d held that against her in a way. ‘I always thought she’d secretly blamed me for him leaving,’ I added in a whisper.

  ‘You’re wrong there. She wanted you to have nothing to do with that scum. You were better off without him and she knew that. Men like that are selfish and expect the women in their lives to put them first. After making him her priority for a long time, Linda put you first from the day you were born and he couldn’t handle it. That’s when things soured between them. So he found a woman who did put him front and centre. He never had more kids.’

  ‘So it was my fault he left. Because I took her attention away from him.’

  ‘Ah, love, that’s a mother’s job, isn’t it? It’s a pathetic, weak man that begrudges a child their mother’s love.’ Norma patted me on the hand affectionately. ‘You don’t want to be bothered with the likes of him – and there’s plenty of carbon copies out there.’

  But wasn’t that exactly the kind of man I was involved with now? Paul had always kept himself at a polite distance from his children but expected me to be at his beck and call, pulling my strings like a seasoned puppet master, making me jump through his hoops, all the while telling me he had my best interests at heart.

  My father had left a gaping hole in my life and I had tried to fill it, first with Darren and then later with Paul. Neither had made me happy.

  Norma was chattering away, taking comfort in doing the little things: warming the teapot; rinsing mugs; putting milk in a tiny jug. ‘I’ll miss the grumpy old bat, I tell you.’ She chuckled. ‘Always quick to pass judgement, was our Linda. Told it like it was. And that business with your dad meant she never really trusted anyone again, was always looking for a motive. He broke her. Nobody could do anything for her just to be nice after that, you know? She wouldn’t let anyone get close. But she meant well in her gruff way. And she was very proud of you, mind.’

  I snorted incredulously. Norma looked across at me sharply.

  ‘She was! She was always telling me what you were up to, about the children and their antics, and how proud she was that you got away from here and settled down with a family of your own with a successful husband.’

  ‘She never told me that. She didn’t even like Paul,’ I mumbled as Norma put a fresh cup of tea in front of me and sat down opposite, her own flowery china mug steaming in front of her.

  ‘Well, she was as proud as punch – never stopped talking about you, so don’t you ever doubt it.’

  ‘She just used to tell me what I should’ve done, not how proud she was of what I had done.’

  ‘Well, she’d hardly tell you out loud that she missed you, would she? Hard as nails, that one. I knew her back when your dad was still around and she idolised him. She was a different woman back then, softer, gentler. And she loved to laugh. It broke her heart when he left. Then, she became a right stubborn cow and had more defences up than the Bank of England. Hardly ever heard her laugh after that. It was a challenge for her to get out of bed most days.’ Norma reached over and took hold of my hands again as the tears started to flow. ‘There, there, love. No need for that. She wouldn’t want you crying, I knae that.’

  ‘Oh Norma, I’m so confused.’ I could feel the words rising in my throat, everything I had wanted to talk to my mother about but hadn’t and now never would. My doubts, fears, hopes. I never gave her the chance to be a mother to me after I left home. I’d assumed that since she’d failed before, she would fail again. Now it was too late and yet I still needed her, needed someone. ‘Paul wants me to give it all up, the writing, trying to get published, all of it, and I don’t know what to do.,’ I said in a rush.

  ‘Ah, pet, you should ask yourself what you want to do! For what it’s worth, I think you should make that woman proud by getting that book published. That’s what she would’ve wanted.’

  I buried my face in my hands and breathed out, a
s though that long exhalation would help to still the myriad of thoughts and feelings rebounding through me like a pinball machine. My mother did care but felt she couldn’t tell me. Why? Why let her daughter think she meant nothing, was nothing? To push me harder? Why would that be easier than admitting how much you love someone? Because she’d been hurt before and her reflex was to keep everyone out? And wasn’t that what I’d been doing to the people around me all these years too? To her too? I’d mimicked her and slowly turned into the person I always swore I wouldn’t become.

  ‘You’re right.’ I looked up at Norma. ‘I need to make her proud, whatever it takes. And if not her, then my own daughter.’

  ‘Attagirl.’ Norma sipped her tea. ‘Now, I’ve got a lovely piece of gammon that I’m doing for tea tonight – shall I bring you a plate over? You look like you could do with a good meal, love.’

  22

  The funeral was an ordeal, to say the least. I looked at the faces filling a handful of pews and only recognised one or two. I felt inappropriately dressed for the occasion too – not knowing what to wear when I had packed, I had grabbed a black wrap dress that was sitting a little too tightly across my chest and I was well aware that a few of the older male guests at the ceremony were addressing my boobs when they were talking to me. A thin film of sweat greased my brow and I felt like someone had thrown a dirty dishcloth over me.