‘Good idea.’
‘Well, I don’t want to go! Why can’t I stay at home? Get it ready for when you come out?’
‘It’ll only be a few days, Sarah. Just go along with it, and you’ll be back home before you know it.’
‘What about Ted?’
‘I’ll phone Deborah. See if she can have him for a few days.’
‘He doesn’t even know her!’ Sarah’s face feels as if it’s on fire.
‘Yes, he does. He’ll be fine with Deborah.’ Dad pats her hand.
Sarah can see how weak he is. ‘Sorry,’ she says.
She looks back towards the door, where Mrs McCabe is waiting on the seat outside. She sits neatly, reading a magazine with her body turned slightly away from the doorway so as not to appear intrusive. Sarah watches as she runs her hand over her small baby bump, resting her fingers beneath its curve as if to hold the weight. She told Sarah to take as long as she needed. No rush.
Sudden tears spring into her eyes. ‘I’d better get going,’ she tells her dad, flicking her head in Mrs McCabe’s direction.
He indicates for Sarah to fetch his wallet from the drawer beside him, and hands her two five pound notes. ‘In case you need anything.’
‘I’ll bring you a bar of Bournville, after school tomorrow?’
He smiles approvingly and squeezes her hand. ‘Good girl,’ he says.
Sarah zips the money into the front of her bag and kisses him goodbye.
Mrs McCabe drops them at Kate’s house after school. She lifts Sarah’s bags out of the boot, and stands beside her car as the girls walk up the path.
‘Let me know if you need anything, Sarah,’ she calls after them.
Sarah turns to look at Mrs McCabe and sees the warmth in her eyes as the light spring breeze ripples through her blonde waves. She feels light-headed. ‘Thanks,’ she calls back.
The school nurse stands watching until Sarah steps over the threshold and clicks the door shut behind her.
Kate’s mum is home, chopping onions at the island unit in the middle of the kitchen. She stops when they walk in, her knife hovering over the work surface. Sarah is struck by how much older she seems than Jason. Her hair has more grey streaks through it than she remembered, and she looks so tired.
‘Alright, Mum,’ says Kate, picking up the biscuit tin and prising it open against her chest.
‘Hello, girls. How are you, Sarah?’ She wipes her hands on a tea towel and walks round to stand with them. ‘Have you visited your dad yet?’
Sarah feels an immediate rush of emotion flood up through her lungs. She gasps back a sob, and Mrs Robson embraces her, holding her head protectively against her own shoulder. Sarah’s body heaves haltingly as she attempts to stem the tears. After a minute, she pulls back from Kate’s mum and gratefully accepts the kitchen towel that Kate thrusts into her hand.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Robson. I really don’t want to be a bother. They wouldn’t let me stay at my place.’ She blows her nose and exhales through pursed lips. ‘But they think he’ll be out on Saturday morning, if he’s doing OK.’
‘It’s Patty. And it’s no trouble, love. Make yourself at home.’ She returns to the onion chopping, and the girls take Sarah’s things upstairs.
Kate throws herself back on her big puffy double bed. ‘She never hugs me like that,’ she says.
For the last few days of term, Kate and Sarah walk to and from school together. There’s no Dante as he’s gone to Florida for Easter; it’s as if he never existed. Most evenings they take their meals up to Kate’s room to watch TV and listen to music. They hear Patty’s soft tread on the stairs every night around nine, followed by the sounds of her brushing her teeth and the quiet click of her bedroom door. It’s because of the sleeping pills – that’s why she’s like a zombie every morning, Kate says. They lie in bed talking into the early hours, laughing quietly and gossiping about the other girls at school. They’ve never been closer. Jason’s smile lingers on Sarah over breakfast when no one else is looking, and her stomach flips as their eyes meet.
On Friday evening, Sarah returns from the hospital on Kate’s bike, just in time for supper. The family are in the kitchen, serving up lasagne and salad as she comes in through the door.
‘Sarah, sweetie! Just in time for grub!’ Jason’s got a plate in one hand and a can of lager in the other.
‘How’s your dad?’ asks Patty. She’s wearing a large pair of shiny red spectacles.
Sarah’s cheeks feel pink from the cycle ride. ‘He’s really good. They think it was a very mild attack – he’s doing well. But they don’t think he’ll be home tomorrow, more like Sunday.’
Patty hands her a plate and she starts to help herself to lasagne.
‘That’s great news, love. Just in time for the Easter holidays. Bet you’re pleased?’
‘Wanna Coke?’ asks Kate, holding open the fridge.
Sarah nods and smiles in answer to both questions. The tension behind her eyes has lifted, and everything feels right. Kate’s place is so warm and comfortable, but Sarah is excited about the prospect of being back in her own home with Dad and Ted, with all her own things around her.
Kate brings out two cans and snaps open both ring pulls. ‘What d’you think of Mum’s new specs?’
Patty rolls her eyes.
‘Very nice,’ says Sarah smiling.
‘Nice?’ says Kate. ‘She looks like Timmy Mallett!’
Jason grins. ‘Don’t be mean, Katie. She looks more like Su Pollard. Hi-de-Hi!’
They both snigger. Patty pulls open the cutlery drawer to fetch a bundle of knives and forks.
Kate slaps at the worktop with the palm of her hand. ‘Or – I know, I know – what’s his name, the one who does the weather?’
Jason laughs hard. ‘Ian McCaskill! Now, that’s just nasty!’
Kate screeches with laughter, pushing Sarah to encourage her to join in.
‘Well, I think they’re really nice,’ says Sarah, smiling at Patty.
‘Thanks, love.’
‘Creep,’ says Kate. She flicks a ring-pull across the worktop. ‘Oh, Mum! – I’m supposed to be going over to Gail’s tomorrow morning. Can you phone Auntie Linda and let her know I can’t make it?’
‘Don’t be silly, Kate,’ Patty says as she walks through to the living room. ‘You’ve had Sarah with you for the last few days. It won’t kill you to be parted for one night! And Auntie Linda’s looking forward to seeing you.’
‘Oh, Mum!’ Kate kicks her heel back against the kitchen cupboards.
‘Katie,’ says her dad. ‘Come on. You’ve had your cousin planned in for weeks. You can’t let her down at short notice. You can have Sarah back over any time.’ He joins Patty in the living room, and the girls take their food upstairs.
‘I’ve got to work all day tomorrow, in any case,’ says Sarah, trying to make Kate feel better. ‘Maybe Tina’s around – I could see her after work?’
Kate places her tray on the bedside table. ‘She’s babysitting the twins. To be honest, she’s really getting on my nerves at the moment. She’s constantly on about how great it is to be a vegetarian, and telling everyone else that they’re murderers ’cos they eat meat. The other day I flicked a slice of Spam in her face at lunch break, just to make her shut up.’
Sarah laughs. ‘She wrote on the blackboard in Geography the other day, before Miss Tupper came in. Chickens are Friends NOT Food. Miss Tupper asked who had written it on the board, and when no one owned up she said, “I rather like them with a few potatoes and a bit of gravy, myself.” Tina nearly went mental. She was raging and whispering about it all lesson. Miss Tupper must’ve known it was her.’
‘She’s a right pain in the arse these days. I’m gonna give her a bit of a wide berth until she stops going on about the bloody veggie stuff.’
Sarah pulls up a pillow and sits on the edge of the bed with her tray on her lap.
‘I’m really pissed off I’ve got to go to my cousin’s,’ Kate says. ‘Gail’
s a complete square.’ She hops between the channels on the portable TV until she settles on The Cosby Show and sits back on the bed with her legs up. ‘She’s sixteen, and she’s into horse-riding and playing the violin. God, you should see some of the clothes she wears – it’s embarrassing. She’s still got a ra-ra skirt!’
Sarah laughs and wiggles back up against the padded headboard to get comfortable. ‘Maybe you can give her some fashion tips.’
‘Yeah, right. I’d die if anyone knew she was my cousin.’
‘Well, at least she doesn’t go to the same school as you,’ says Sarah, stretching across to put her can on the bedside table.
Kate eats the last mouthful of her lasagne and downs the rest of her Coke in one go. She turns and prods Sarah, before letting out an enormous belch. ‘Be – el – ze – bu –b,’ she growls deeply.
Sarah shrieks. ‘You freak!’
Thank God for Kate.
Half an hour before closing time on Saturday, Jason pops into the chemist’s to ask Sarah if she’d like a takeaway curry. She’s busy filling up the flannel basket beside the bubble baths.
Jason picks up a tightly rolled pink flannel, and juggles it from hand to hand. ‘I’m having a rogan josh, and Patty usually has a tikka masala. What d’you fancy? My treat.’
Sarah’s never had an Indian takeaway before. ‘I don’t like anything too hot,’ she says, trying not to sound ignorant. ‘I can’t remember which ones are less spicy.’
‘Oh, you’ll want a korma, then. Chicken?’
Sarah’s aware of John at the back of the shop, where he’s running the till roll off for cashing up. He hovers around the counter, glancing in their direction every now and then.
She turns her back to him.
‘Yes, that’s the one I like,’ she tells Jason. ‘Great, thanks. Do you want some money? Dad gave me ten pounds in case I needed anything.’
‘No! I said, it’s my treat. I’ll pick up something for pudding, if you like. I guess you like chocolate?’
Sarah smiles, waiting for him to leave. She can feel John behind her, still watching.
Jason waggles the flannel in the air and drops it back in the basket. ‘Righty-ho. What time d’you finish?’
‘Half-five.’
John brings the empty baskets down from the counter and drops them on the pile beside the door, a couple of feet from where Sarah and Jason are standing.
Jason looks at his watch. ‘Why don’t I meet you outside, and we can walk back together? Kate’s not home, is she, so I expect you’ll be glad of the company?’
John wrinkles his nose at Sarah as he returns to the counter.
‘OK,’ she says to Jason. ‘See you then.’
Jason walks out through the shop door, smiling like a fourteen-year-old boy. He turns to look back through the window and gives Sarah a little wave. She turns away quickly, pretending not to notice.
John pulls out the second till tray with a clatter of coins. ‘Who’s that again?’ he asks when she returns to tidy up the till bags under the counter.
‘You know, it’s Kate’s dad. I told you before.’
‘He’s a bit chummy, isn’t he?’
‘No, he’s just trying to be nice.’
‘Yeah, really nice, by the looks of it.’
‘Don’t be an idiot, John. I’m staying there at the moment. Because of Dad. He just popped in to see what I wanted for supper.’ She tuts, and pushes the paper bags back into place.
John looks embarrassed, and he stares into his tray distractedly. ‘Sorry. I didn’t realise – you know, that you’d had to go and stay with Kate. I mean, you could’ve stayed with us, if you’d wanted.’
Sarah bends to pick up a ten-pence piece which has dropped from John’s tray. She plops it into the right compartment and starts to polish the worktop.
‘That’s alright. Anyway, thanks for helping Dad when he fell outside the shop. He said a nice young chap had helped him. I knew it was you when Dad described the dodgy ponytail.’ She turns away, smiling, and puts an excess of energy into polishing the Vicks stand.
Still balancing his tray, John prods her calf with the toe of his boot, causing her to buckle at the knees.
‘You – !’ she gasps, laughing and swiping at him with her cloth.
He flicks his head theatrically, causing his ponytail to swish. ‘They call me the Horse-tailed Hero! Where there’s trouble, I’ll be on hand to save the day!’ He stamps his foot like a pony and neighs, galloping out the back with the day’s takings.
For a moment, Sarah stares at the space he leaves, half expecting him to return. She carries on with her polishing, counting down the last fifteen minutes till home-time.
When the shop shuts, she rushes off as fast as she can to avoid John seeing her with Jason again. She peels off her pinafore, rolls some tinted balm across her lips and leaves through the fire exit, shouting a quick goodbye behind her.
As she hurries down the alleyway, she spots Jason crossing the road towards her with a carrier bag of shopping from the Co-op. They walk along the High Street, out on to the suburban roads that run parallel to the sea. It’s a mild April evening and the sun is low and bright above the houses and bungalows of Tide Road. The gulls are out in numbers this evening, calling and bombing over the rooftops, to and from the sea. There must be some activity down at the seafront; perhaps the fishing boats are drawing back in to the shore. She can smell spring in the air. The salty tang of sea spinach and wet shingle circulates on the light breeze like the promise of a long summer. The branches of an enormous cherry tree hang over the old stone wall of the big house on the corner, laden with newly formed pink blossom flowers. They’ll flutter like mist for a week or two, before the tree starts to shed its petals, carpeting the pavements with a blanket of rippling pink. Sarah thinks of the bare, gnarly branches of the winter cherry tree. All that waiting, all that hard work, growing and blooming, for just one short moment of beauty.
Halfway home, Jason slows down outside the Old Sailor and peers in through the low window. He looks at his watch.
‘We must have time for a swift one? The curry won’t be ready till seven. What d’you reckon?’
Sarah feels uneasy. ‘What about Patty? Won’t she be expecting us home?’
‘Patty? She’ll be sitting in front of Neighbours or whatever that rubbish is she watches. Come on, we’ll have a quick drink then head straight back.’
Jason strides ahead into the dim-looking public bar. There are old glass lifebuoys and dusty ropes hanging across the bar and into the corners. The treacly wood-panelled walls are adorned with lobster pots and anchors, all of them looking as if they need a good clean. Sarah feels the tacky texture of the wooden floor beneath her sensible work shoes.
‘How-do, Jase,’ says the man behind the bar. He’s got the biggest beer belly Sarah has ever seen.
‘Afternoon, Stan. Pint of my usual, mate, and a half of cider for my friend here.’
Sarah smiles flatly, terrified that the landlord will know she’s not eighteen.
A group of men enters the bar. They stand at the other corner, bantering noisily and arguing over whose round it is, looking as if they’ve come off a building site, all of them in muddy boots and dusty clothes.
‘Jase,’ says one of them with a smirk. He drapes his oily eyes over Sarah. He’s about Jason’s age, and his shoulder-length hair grows back from a deep widow’s peak. If Kate were here she’d say he looks like a pikey.
‘Dave,’ replies Jason, leaning into the bar on his forearms.
‘That’s not your Katie, is it, Jase?’ asks the landlord, flipping down two cardboard coasters and placing their drinks on the bar in front of them.
‘No, this is Sarah, she’s a friend of Kate’s, aren’t you, love? She’s staying with us for a few days.’ He pats her on the back and pulls out a bar stool for her to sit on.
‘Is that right?’ says Dave in the corner, with a dirty leer across his face. ‘That’s nice, innit, Jase? Eh? That’s nice
, mate.’
‘Yeah, that’s right, Dave.’
One of the older men moves closer and gives Sarah a little nudge. ‘Don’t mind Dave, love. He’s a bit touched,’ he says, tapping his temple.
‘I went to school with him,’ Jason adds, keeping his voice low. ‘He used to be a right mental case, you know, really aggressive. Then he had an accident on his motorbike, down on Sheepwash bend. He’s just a bit slow now, that’s all. No harm in him, though.’
Sarah drinks her cider, deciding she won’t look at Dave again. He gives her the creeps.
‘So, where’s Patty tonight, then, Jase?’ asks Bert, the older guy.
‘Back home. We’re picking up a takeaway later on, so me and Sarah thought we’d stop off for a swifty.’
‘Hope the missus don’t find out!’ caws Dave from his corner. He snuffles into his bitter. ‘Wouldn’t like that, eh, Jase? Wouldn’t like that.’
‘Yeah, got yourself a younger model, Jase?’ chuckles the other man. ‘Traded in the old one, eh?’
All the men are laughing, even Jason. Sarah tries to look as if she’s amused too, so they can see she can take a joke, but she just wants to get out of there.
‘Well, it had to happen sooner or later,’ says Jason, putting his arm round Sarah and giving her a squeeze.
Sarah frowns at the group to show them it isn’t true, shaking her head. She glugs back the rest of her cider and hops off the bar stool to pick up her bag.
‘Looks like you’re off, Jase, mate!’ says Stan the landlord, picking up Sarah’s empty glass and leaning under the bar to put it in the dishwasher tray.
Jason slowly drains his pint and eases himself off his stool, to show he’s in no hurry.
‘She’s already got you well trained, mate. Look, she didn’t even have to say a thing, but he knew it was time to go!’
Laughter fills the bar, as Jason grins at the group and opens the door to show Sarah out of the pub. ‘See ya later, lads!’ he calls over his shoulder.
‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!’ Dave yells after them as the door closes.
Hurry Up and Wait Page 16
