Fifty Years of Fear

by Ross Greenwood

  Their relationship was strained still. If I left them in a room together for any length of time, one of them would make an excuse to leave. I presumed he wouldn’t stay when the baby came. I was no expert, but sleeping with a crying infant wasn’t high on anyone’s living requirements.

  He would be missed though. He had calmed down. He had a good job, a nice girl and a flash car. We didn't see much of him as he went to the gym every day. Maybe that’s what settled him down. The poor girlfriend was keen, but Frank had no interest in having his own children.

  The doctor arranged an early appointment at the hospital for us due to the problems we’d had. It was the day before the scan when Frank told us he was leaving. He'd bought a place in the town centre a year or so back and rented it out. The tenant had left and he would now go there himself.

  ‘It’s time for me to leave.’

  ‘That’s okay. It’s been nice having you here.’

  ‘I won’t be far, so you can ring me anytime you like. I’ll even get one of those mobile phones so you can get hold of me at work.’

  ‘Fingers crossed that won’t be necessary.’

  ‘No, it won’t. You’ve done well. You have a family. A beautiful wife, a good job and a baby on the way. If any of my girlfriends looked at me how Clara looks at you, I’d run for the hills. Mum would be proud. She always told me to watch out for you, Vinnie. I know I’ve not been a great brother, but look at you. You’ve made it.’

  ‘When will you leave?’

  ‘I’ll pack this afternoon and tonight, and leave tomorrow. You know I travel light so it won’t take too long. I might even hoover before I go.’

  ‘You are a changed man. Mum would’ve liked that too.’

  He went to climb the stairs and stopped. Taking a moment to decide, he returned and altered my perception of the past.

  ‘Vinnie, I have to tell you this. I don’t even know why, but for some reason it’s eating me up inside and I need to get it out.’

  ‘What is it?’

  A crazy thought flashed through my mind. Was Clara’s child his, was that why they seemed so uncomfortable together?

  ‘I know you have Mum on a pedestal, but she was far from perfect. Far from it, in fact. Mum killed Dad.’

  ‘What? His heart failed.’

  ‘Yes, but she caused it. She smothered him with a pillow. He had no quality of life and was suffering. She said it was for the best.’

  To be honest, I wasn’t surprised.

  ‘When did she tell you? Before she died?’

  ‘No, before she did it. She asked me to take you away to Cromer remember. She didn’t want either of us here when, well, you know.’

  I wondered if life had made me hard. All the death and disappointment seemed to have blunted my feelings. I’d never been a strong one for emotion. Frank was almost crying.

  ‘I’m sorry. It was selfish to burden you.’

  ‘That’s okay, Frank. It will be our secret. She did what had to be done. That’s all.’

  Clara woke up and screamed in the middle of the night. I pulled the bed covers away expecting to see blood, but there wasn’t any. She was in agony though. I carried her to the Fiesta, quite a task, and lay her on the back seat. The drive took forever. It’s slow time when your dreams are dying.

  I parked in an ambulance bay and lifted her up. As I passed through the sliding doors, her howls of pain worked better than any bell. They placed her on a trolley and demanded I move my car. She’s pregnant, I told them.

  It took no time at all for me to park up and return. By then, she had been taken to a room and staff surrounded her. I suppose some can blame the NHS for many things, yet it can’t be denied they are fantastic in a crisis. She was bleeding and her stomach was strangely distended, like she was 9 months gone, not 9 weeks. An ectopic pregnancy was suspected.

  What happened afterwards was a blur. It was as if it was all over in minutes. However, I was there for hours and hours. Later, they let me wait in the high dependency unit as all three beds were empty and then they wheeled her in. The nurse wouldn’t tell me anything, except she would make a full recovery. Basically, she lied.

  She looked small, grey and frail in the bed as if she was dead. Blood loss, I learned. I held her hand and stared at her. I’ve no idea how long for. She had no make-up on, but I realised I’d forgotten how pretty she was. She who spent so little on herself. The doctor came and explained. Their prognosis was correct. It was all rather technical to a man like me, but the final solution had been a radical hysterectomy. They almost lost her at one point. Even I knew what that meant.

  I stayed that night as did a nurse. Clara did come around, but refused to talk to either of us. I left as the hospital woke up and drove home. The neighbour waved as I pulled up. She was pushing her children in a double buggy. I sat on the concrete ramp at the back of the house where Mum smoked, and I did the same. Is that what life did to her?

  My brother’s comments gave me some clarity over the past. I remembered her as a serious woman. The hugs seemed stilted and uncomfortable. We had to rebuild our relationship after my accident. It was strange to sleep in a house with people I didn’t know. To be touched and kissed by strangers. Was it easier for them, knowing they loved me but wondering what remained? Or easier for me, starting from scratch?

  Maybe that was why I had begun to think I might like having my own children. So I could experience through them the missing years of my own life. At that point, I understood I would never get to be a better or worse parent than my own. My mum used to say your children’s judgement is all that matters. I wouldn’t be having any, so who would judge me?

  My brother disturbed me, carrying a box. I vaguely remember seeing his car outside but it hadn’t registered.

  ‘This is the last few bits.’

  ‘We lost the baby, Frank. And any chance of another.’

  I expected him to give me platitudes instead his reply was simple.

  ‘I’m sorry, but maybe that’s for the best.’

  As he walked past me, there wasn’t even a curl of anger at his cold remark. There was a part of me that knew it was true.

  It wasn’t just the baby that died. I suppose it’s not a baby at that stage, more a collection of cells, but bereavement is what we would feel, for that life, and also for our hopes and desires. Something deep inside Clara’s mind disappeared that day and our future went with it.

  Chapter 23

  1999 – Age: 33

  My brother inspired me to get a buy-to-let property. We suddenly had a large amount of money put aside with no purpose. I suppose I could have bought a new car but I enjoyed the challenge of keeping the old Fiesta on the road. Silent Kevin carried on coming over to work on it with me. Still brought us two beers each.

  The money saved to pay for cots and clothes would never be used for that purpose. Clara didn’t go back to her job after that, so our income dropped, but she wasn’t spending any money in bed. In a perverse way, she had her maternity leave.

  I can’t say I blamed her. Myself? I simply stopped thinking about it, or perhaps I would have folded too. There were constant reminders when you went out, young children on television programmes at home, and they even knocked on your door, once in a while at Halloween. The little sods were everywhere. They aren’t something you notice if you are young. I suppose it’s like when you’re single, all you can see are couples holding hands.

  The doctor came to the house. I couldn’t get Clara to go to the surgery. He offered all manner of things to help. Medicines, therapy, counselling, and even acupuncture. She took none of them. I believe she would have killed herself if she didn’t have an inbuilt enjoyment of food.

  It’s a sign of human nature that there is usually something we like to do that’s both a reason for living and is detrimental to our wellbeing. I think my mum’s was smoking. The perils of that are obvious, yet she gained a great deal of relaxation and pleasure from it. I loved to read, but it cut me off from society. My brother dra
nk alcohol. He could put up with five days of the heaviest graft during the week if he had eight pints of lager waiting for him on a Friday night. Clara liked to eat.

  I wouldn’t have thought it is possible to get to twenty-one stone if you didn’t. It was a shame after the hard work. All that effort to lose the weight and none at all to put it back on.

  I’ve seen those television shows on feeders and that’s what I became. A reluctant one, at least as I never stopped trying to get her involved in life. That was the truth while I lived there anyway, but later I gave up. Nonetheless, it was still me who went to the shops. I was also the waiter who bought a nice strong tray to make my job easier.

  It was only when eating that she seemed to wake up from the stupor. We would have conversations around food. To start with, it was just to ask what she wanted. Later, I decided to make meals at home and she would be interested. Sometimes she came downstairs and we cooked together.

  We had some good laughs; I was a terrible chef at the beginning. I still don’t understand how two people can follow a recipe and get a completely different result. However, I had my Clara back and even though she refused to go outside, that was enough.

  I carried on working at Perkins, reading, and bowling. It didn’t feel like much of a life. Clara watched a lot of movies. That was an improvement on before where she just studied the wall. Bit by bit, she almost returned to normal.

  We had a cold spell and she used the telephone to order double glazing. I thought that was a big deal and she was getting better, until the day they came. I took the morning off at her request and all I could hear as the windows were replaced were the shrieks of play from next door.

  The idea of buying somewhere else lit her up though. We browsed the Evening Telegraph property section each Thursday and she even got into the car to see the place we found.

  It was a second-floor flat in Paston, not far from us. I wanted it close so I could keep an eye on things. It was in a terrible condition. The previous tenants had been drug addicts, and the owner just wanted to get rid. I found we could afford to buy it outright.

  I wondered if Clara would be put off by the mess but she saw the potential. It was spacious; big bedrooms, a huge lounge and loads of storage. Clara could look past the stench and debris, and knew it would make a nice home for someone. We put it in her name for tax purposes.

  It was my brother who suggested we move to the new place and rent out our old house. Clara jumped at the chance. Real enthusiasm was enough to defeat any doubts I felt about moving into a flat, and I would not miss the garden which was becoming a ball ache.

  Frank and Silent Kevin came and helped on removal day. Clara wouldn’t let us touch her wardrobe and she carried a jewellery box with her as if it held the crown jewels. The only jewellery I knew she had of any value, she wore on her fingers all the time. I hadn’t seen that particular box before either.

  More strange behaviour wasn’t much of a surprise so I didn't mention it. Kevin acquired a van for the big stuff. We binned loads of it. Clara wanted fresh things for our new start.

  It was weird walking through the bare rooms afterwards. I kept getting flashbacks: my dad watching the snooker with drool coming out of his mouth; my mum smoking whilst doing the washing; a younger version of me doing weights, sitting on the edge of the bed.

  A blurred image came to me, of feeling silent rage in a small dark space. I checked the cupboard under the stairs. The white paint on the door was peeling so badly the wood was visible. Did I get stuck in there once?

  It was empty now, and the slim key lost long ago. Frank must have cleared it. It made me think of the loft. We’d never been allowed up there; in fact, the hatch was still secured with a heavy lock.

  We found a bunch of keys at the back of one of the drawers. I grabbed the stepladders and went to see. There was only one that looked like it would fit and, sure enough, it did. I pushed and twisted the wooden cover and lowered it down, bringing a waft of dust and stale air. How long had my mum been dead? Fourteen years. In some ways, my life hadn’t moved on. I was glad we were leaving now.

  As I climbed the steps a feeling of dread came over me. Why hadn’t I been up here before? But who goes in the loft unless you’ve run out of space downstairs? I began to think that something terrible was up there. Something best left forgotten. I was right, but not in the way I suspected. There were no bodies. They were elsewhere.

  The space was empty save for a rusting pram, a kid’s bicycle, and a couple of cardboard boxes. I carried the two boxes down, sat on the bottom step of the stairs and opened the first one. It was full of children’s toys. They looked old and loved. Well, perhaps unloved as many of them had been decapitated.

  None of them looked familiar to me except one. An action man. The torso, one leg and the figure’s dirty jacket; Frank’s favourite toy. I could see him doing swoops with him as though he was flying. My mum wasn’t a nostalgic person, so it was nice to think of her putting these away to show us in the future.

  The second box had paperwork in. I was about to close it back up when I saw an official letter. It was from Her Majesty’s Prison Service. In the name of my mother. I scanned through the pages like a speed reader, my eyes widening as I searched for answers. I was so engrossed that I didn’t hear my brother come in and stand next to me. It took a while, but I saw what I was looking for.

  ‘Grievous Bodily Harm,’ I said out loud.

  ‘Four years at HMP Holloway,’ he replied.

  I searched his face.

  ‘You knew?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She told you?’

  ‘No, I found out. A long time ago. I was going to tell you, but I know you looked up to Mum so much that I took the easy way out and kept it to myself.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d better tell me now.’

  He seemed relieved. Another burden he would be free of.

  ‘When I was released from the navy I travelled all over and visited where mum grew up. I had some beers in a pub and mentioned it to some old guy at the bar. Turns out Mum was famous. After a lot of asking around, I found someone who knew her. He told me what happened.’

  ‘Do I want to hear this?’

  ‘I think you should. It’s important to understand where we came from. Mum met Dad at the local dance hall. He was smitten and she was determined. He was engaged though. The details are vague.

  The story he liked was that Mum went looking for her, with a knife, and picked a fight. She almost killed the girl and was lucky not to be tried for attempted murder. Her solicitor muddied the water, saying it was the other girl’s weapon, how she started it, and our mum was only protecting herself.

  The judge and the jury believed Mum’s version of things, or at least there was enough doubt. The problem was she stabbed her over twenty times. Mostly in the extremities so she would suffer. Four years was possibly on the light side.’

  ‘Bloody hell. That was unexpected.’

  Frank gave me an odd expression.

  ‘You’re all emotion, Vinnie. Anyway, Dad waited for her. Everyone disowned them both, they moved away and never went back. We had grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins. Many of them dead now. For want of a better phrase, Mum was a fruitcake. She had a terrible temper. She killed our cat for fucks sake.’

  ‘Spike? Wasn’t he run over?’

  ‘Mum did him with a meat tenderiser for stealing a steak she left on the side. Then put the body at the side of the road so we’d think it was hit by a car. It was flat enough.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘I came in and found her wiping blood off the walls. There was fur on the floor and a bloody mallet.'

  ‘What kind of lunatic kills a cat?’

  ‘A psychotic one, like our mum. Mum knew she was deranged and she also understood that I was aware. We used to row, but never in front of you. That was the reason our relationship was so strained. Oddly, it was you coming along that calmed her down. Even so, you must have seen her blistering temper?�
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  ‘I don’t really remember. She was always so nice to me.’

  ‘She was worried about you. That’s why. We all were. There’s other stuff I probably should tell you too, but that’s enough for one day.’

  ‘Why would Dad stay with someone like that?’

  ‘Love, I guess. Remember how you were when you came back from that holiday with Sara? You were a different person. Someone who others wanted to be with. As we know too well, life is short. If you found someone who made you feel like that why would you let it go? I’ve never had it, I suspect most people don’t.

  ‘The person we look for, whether we think it or not, is one who brings us alive. Otherwise, we’re just existing. Even if you only had it for a few days, you understand. That’s not a dig at Clara. Life isn’t easy and it’s also hard to explain or analyse.’

  I looked at Frank after he spoke those words and wondered who he was. I still thought of him as the fighting boy at school. He’d be 40 in a few months. It was too late for Sara and me.

  Yet, I remembered. How many years since would I trade for a few more hours with her? Who was I for those few days and what had I now become? Should I accept my current situation or was I doing us both a disservice? Maybe things were happening as they were because us being together wasn’t meant to be.

  I think of my mother and her stoicism. Family, she ingrained in me, was the only thing. You marry for life. Accept what comes. There’s no escape and why would you want one. Those beliefs were written through me like an image through seaside rock. I never thought Clara would be the one to give up.

  Chapter 24

  2000 – Age: 34

  There were four flats in the block where we lived. The two on the ground floor were occupied by single mothers. One was well-spoken and aloof. She had a Down’s syndrome boy called Jonty. He seemed such a lovely chap, so happy. Yet, he was wary around me. Sometimes he would run off when I spoke to him, so in the end I left him alone.