‘So… I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?’ said Kath.
‘Tina.’
‘Well, Tina, you saved my arse. I’ve a nasty habit of putting my foot in it. Thank you, and hello.’
‘Hello,’ said Tina.
‘So, what do you get up to when you’re not being a reading groupie?’ said Kath in her confident drawl, stretching out her long legs.
‘Not much really,’ said Tina. What did she do all day? She read. She tidied her house, she decluttered it, she cleaned it. She baked. She knitted. She went to the shops. On a Thursday morning she cleaned Mr and Mrs Haynes’s modest semi; on Mondays for four hours she cleaned Judy and Sandra’s classy, capacious home. She visited Meg’s grave. She ate. She ate some more.
‘A woman of leisure,’ said Kath, running her long fingers through her wild hair.
‘I suppose so, yes. Apart from my cleaning jobs.’
‘You can come and clean my place if you like! It’s a pigsty. Do you have kids?’
‘No. Oh, no.’
‘Very sensible. I’ve got two of the little buggers. Boys. Hence the pigsty status. Need I say more?’
‘That sounds nice.’ Tina badly wanted to join in with the conversation and ditch the banalities she knew she was uttering, but she couldn’t. She didn’t know how to. The hair was incredible, so thick and purple. Purple-ish. Tina wanted to say something about it, but she thought that would be even more banal. It was the sort of hair that attracted regular comments, Tina decided, and Kath probably didn’t need to hear any more.
‘Most of the time being a mum is nice,’ Kath was saying. She winked, and Tina liked her, she really liked her, and she was glad she had spoken up for her about Birdsong. Keaton would like her too. He was a quiet man, but he got on well with loud and funny people; he liked those who weren’t afraid of things, and so did she. Tina and Keaton were afraid of too much.
And while Kath prattled on good-naturedly about her boys and their never-ending capacity for destruction, and how her part-time job made her feel human, although it was tough sometimes, Tina didn’t really listen. She cowed inside as she thought of Meg and how she would feel – would have felt – about Kath. Meg would not have liked her. Kath was definitely not Meg’s type. And Meg would advise her sister not to get involved, not to trust, not to cultivate this friendship which would be too distracting. For friendship it was, right there in the night-shrouded library, eating cake, chatting idly to somebody new and interesting and friendly, about a book both had (mostly) enjoyed. They sipped Tess’s insipid coffee: ‘I prefer it with cream, don’t you?’ whispered Kath. Tina did prefer coffee with cream, she had always done so, and she heard herself say, ‘It’s surprising how many people settle for milk, isn’t it?’ Kath nodded in ferocious agreement, eating up the last of her slice of Tina’s orange and apricot cake. Kath told her she made a fine cake: sticky, gooey and fruity, just like it should be; Tina glowed with an emotion she couldn’t describe.
That night she told Keaton about Kath and her purple hair, her boys (Zack and Joe) and her part-time job. She couldn’t remember what Kath’s job was although she probably did say, and she told him how funny she was, that they had swapped mobile numbers and planned to meet up again before the next book group meeting in December. They were “going for a drink” one evening, probably food too. Things were on the up, Tina hoped. Perhaps this would be the beginning of a new chapter in her life? But the doubts piled in, as they always did. Perhaps Kath didn’t really mean it when she said she’d like to hook up with Tina for a coffee or dinner. Perhaps she was just being polite. Perhaps she thought Tina was a freakish, socially inept weirdo? Tina tried to shake off these thoughts but they persisted, as they always did.
When Tina awoke on Wednesday morning, initially in the glow of the morning after the night before, her heart slowly sank at the prospect of needing to explain herself to Meg – to tell her about Kath and the reading group. Tina couldn’t often hide things from Meg. It was nigh on impossible. Meg had vision, a sense, where her twin was concerned. Apparently, Tina had read somewhere, that wasn’t unusual with twins. It was sometimes a comforting idea. All day Tina was apprehensive, dreading her Thursday visit.
Tina made her reluctant way to the cemetery after cleaning the Haynes’s house. It was a chilly afternoon, a tart wind whipping about her every step as she walked from the car park up to her sister’s grave. The cemetery was enveloped in a cloying grey light. Tina tidied the grave and she heard herself pour out the tale of the reading group and her new friend, and as she spoke, her terrible, misplaced guilt washed over her like a vat of warm slurry. Tina steeled herself for accusations, questions, tantrums. But Meg was silent and the silence was unexpected; it frightened Tina more than the tears, raging and dire warnings would have done. It was not like Meg, who never held back, who was never afraid to voice an opinion, who was naturally jealous as hell.
Tina fell silent too. She could not read her sister’s mood. If only she could see her clearly, properly.
‘She sounds all right,’ Meg eventually said.
‘She is,’ agreed Tina.
‘Do you think she could help us?’ said Meg.
‘Help us with what?’
‘You know what. We discussed it last time didn’t we? Well, I did. Seems I’m the only one around here who can sensibly discuss anything. Could this new friend of yours help us? We need to get our own back, remember?’
Tina closed her eyes and hummed loudly to herself for a while. It was a trick she’d learned in those first few days after Meg’s death. Loud, tuneless humming, blotting everything out. She quietened after a while. She breathed hard and opened her eyes. Meg had gone, of course. Meg, wherever she was, was not there. Tina cleared her throat and glanced around. Mercifully she appeared to be unnoticed; nobody was near, apart from the woman in the green coat and the furry hat who was, Tina suspected, only pretending to take no notice. She looked like she was reading a book. Tina wondered which book, but she couldn’t see from here. She had to go. She longed to be at home on her cosy sofa reading, eating, reading, eating… She stumbled, muttered goodbye to nobody at all and left. Yet she felt Meg watch her go. She felt the woman in the green coat look up and watch her go too.
The woman pulled her coat closer to her and shivered. Soon she would have to stop coming here; it could do her no good sitting around in this cold. Poor Tina. How stressed she was. It wasn’t surprising, when all was considered. She watched Tina leave, watched her place one foot in front of the other, stumbling like an injured soldier. All was quiet again now. She stood up to leave too. She should go and find warmth, some good coffee, and think, think, think. One day, she hoped, one of these days, and soon, she would get up the courage to approach Tina; to say hello, how are you, do you remember me?
Four
August 1954
Lucia found it was easier than she had thought to harm her baby brother and get away with it. He was such a stupid, helpless little thing and he could not tell of her, which was the best part. And even if he could tell, Mum and Dad wouldn’t believe him, because she was their little girl and they didn’t ever think badly of her, not even when she was being bad. Mum especially saw no wrong in her, and this was something she had known ever since she could remember. So she inflicted upon little William regular pinches, slaps and smacks, which were hard enough to cause him anguish, yet soft enough not to leave obvious marks. She took his toys from him, and now, as he was going through that delightful toddler stage she broke his toys in front of him, laughing in glee as his little face crumpled, poking her tongue out at him as his tears flowed. She showed him little mercy, only occasionally feeling a twinge of pity or remorse. Then she could be nice.
The Thornton household was already overflowing with three gruff boys and the attendant muddy boots, fishing nets, Dinky Toys, ice skates, books, Meccano, puzzles and paint boxes. William and his para
phernalia were not needed. Lucia may have realised, deep down, that she was the lucky one, enjoying a bedroom to herself (albeit the cramped, cold room above the kitchen) and having her own feminine and therefore uninteresting toys largely ignored and unmolested.
Edward came into the lounge just as she was smashing William’s favourite toy car on the corner of the fire surround, hard, harder, grim determination giving her the strength to break it. He must have been summoned by William’s cries. Mum was hanging out laundry in the back garden, Dad was at work. Robert and Ambrose were off out, fishing and roaming and probably getting up to no good, and wouldn’t be seen again that day until they were hungry. Lucia, at eight years old, was a trusted babysitter, instructed to “mind” William while their mother performed her many daily chores. Lucia revelled in her role, appearances suggested, and her mother had no qualms about leaving her youngest child in his sister’s care for a few minutes here and there. Mum had the habit of seeing only that which she wanted to see, and this was useful. But Edward was clever; he saw things, all things, and made Lucia nervous. She had confided in him too much before, when she was little, when William was born. Edward was aware, where the others were not, of the firm boundaries of her love for William.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ said Edward, stepping into the room and staring down at her. He looked shocked and angry, and big and strong, so Lucia stopped banging the car on the fireplace and looked up at her tall, handsome brother and perfected her innocent face. But Edward was not fooled, as she had feared he wouldn’t be. He advanced into the room and plucked William from the floor. He wiped William’s nose and dried his tears with a large white handkerchief.
‘I’m doing nothing,’ said Lucia. She stood up and twisted a strand of hair in her fingers. About to put her thumb in her mouth, she stopped herself. Big girls didn’t suck their thumbs.
‘It’s clearly not nothing, you little madam!’ he said, glaring at her. She had not been spoken to like this before. Not by Edward.
‘I don’t want to be told off!’ she cried, and stamped her foot and clenched her fists.
‘Little girls who don’t want to be told off shouldn’t be so damned wicked towards their baby brothers,’ said Edward. ‘Does Mum know about this? I’ve noticed all these broken toys lying around. I thought it was William being too rough or too clumsy or too… something. It has to stop. Do you understand? It’s not fair on him.’
‘Don’t tell Mum,’ said Lucia.
‘Why shouldn’t I?’
‘Because it would be horrid for her,’ said Lucia. Her logic made perfect sense to her, and even to Edward sometimes.
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Yes, I suppose it would be. In that case, Loose Ear, you had better pack it in or I will have to tell Mum.’
‘My name is Loo-Cheea,’ she said. ‘And another thing. Mum wouldn’t believe you. She’d blame Robert and Ambrose. So there.’ And she tossed her hair and left the room, leaving Edward holding the now calmed William. Lucia stomped up the stairs to her bedroom, sat on her bed and looked down on her mother in the back yard hanging out the morning’s laundry.
Edward crouched down to examine the broken car. He decided it was beyond repair, and gathered up the remains of it and put them in his trouser pocket to dispose of later. He resolved to keep a close eye on Loose Ear. She had always been a difficult child.
He wandered outside to reunite William with their mother. He pulled a lollipop from his pocket, unwrapped it with his teeth, and put it into William’s chubby hand. The little boy was delighted. Edward handed him over to his weary mother, and offered to finish pegging out the laundry. Mum didn’t receive many offers of help. She took her baby son in her arms.
‘Did I hear him cry?’ she asked. Edward said he just needed his mum. William nestled in her arms and sucked on his lollipop. Edward pegged out a dozen of his own handkerchiefs, followed by Lucia’s white knickers and vests and slips. He reflected that his little sister was probably right – neither Mum nor Dad would believe that their daughter was capable of such unkindness towards her baby brother. They assumed she loved him. Everybody assumed so, because why on earth wouldn’t she love him? In front of her parents she was a model sister, playing with William, wiping his nose, spooning food into his clumsy little mouth. She was quite the little actress, Edward knew. It was a shame for his sister really, this nasty streak, because at times she could be a most likeable little girl. He glanced up at her bedroom window and saw her looking down sadly on him. How lonely she looks, he thought. She was such a silly thing. He raised his hand and waved. She didn’t wave back.
Tuesday 18th November 1975
Dear Elizabeth
Thank you for your letter and the birthday card that was nice of you to send one and it doesn’t matter that it was a bit late because we didnt even know each other in time for my birthday. I have written yours down and I WONT FORGET IT that is a promise. I would love to see a photograf of you thank you and I will see if I can get one of me to send to you. My mummy keeps photografs of me and Meg when we were babys but there are not many now we are grown up. I think our letters will have crossed in the post so I will write this one now and you reply to it then we will be taking it in turns. It is better if we take it in turns but my sister Meg wouldnt agree she doesnt like to wait her turn but I dont mind.
Love from your new friend and your cusun Tina Thornton xxx
Five
November 2013
After Tina arrived home from the cemetery, cold and despondent, her mobile rang, and it was Kath, breathless and friendly. Would Tina still like to meet up? The new American diner in town was supposed to be fun. What was she doing on Saturday? When’s the last time she went out on a Saturday night? If Tina was anything like her, Kath was willing to bet she couldn’t remember the last time she went out on a Saturday night. How about it?
The arrangements were made, but immediately Tina panicked about what she would wear and what she would talk about. She already knew that Kath was a confident talker, so Tina hoped there would be no awkward lulls or difficult questions. Mostly, she wanted this night out badly.
‘So what exactly is worrying you?’ Keaton asked, as he sprawled across their bed on Saturday afternoon and watched his wife try on yet another top. This one was orange with sparkly trimmings and floaty sleeves. ‘No, that’s no good,’ said Keaton. ‘Too dressy. And it’s too cold out, surely?’
Tina knew he was right. Keaton judged these things unusually well. He was practical, with a good eye for detail. She peeled off the orange top and threw it onto the colourful and ever-growing floordrobe (as Mrs Haynes would call it: both she and Poppy had one) under the window. Keaton passed her the last of the tops she had laid out earlier that day on the bed.
‘I’m not really worried about anything,’ said Tina, pulling the top over her head. It was one of her favourites, empire-line and tunic-length. It had three-quarter-length sleeves (flattering), a curved neckline, and a riotous pattern of purple, orange, pink and red; all good for disguising the burgeoning flesh that was becoming ever more obvious around her waist and on her hips.
‘Oh, come off it,’ said Keaton. ‘Be truthful.’
‘You know,’ she said, putting her hands on her hips and swinging from side to side in front of the mirror.
Keaton leapt from the bed, stood behind his wife and snaked his arms around her waist. He kissed her neck. Tina knew he was aware she was gaining weight, gradually, year on year, but neither of them ever mentioned it. He kissed her cheek, her neck again. She twisted her head towards him and he kissed her mouth slowly; he clearly didn’t want to stop when she pulled away from him and sighed.
‘Later,’ she promised.
‘This is the outfit,’ he said.
Keaton dropped Tina outside the diner at eight o’clock precisely. She wondered if she should just go in – it was beginning to rain – or if she should wait in th
e small lobby for Kath to arrive. Tina feared her new friend would be late.
‘Go in,’ said Keaton, and he leaned across and kissed her cheek. ‘If she’s not there just sit at your table and wait.’
‘But… What if…?’
‘What if what?’ Keaton said.
‘Nothing. I’m being stupid.’
‘That’s what I thought. I’ll pick you up at around ten, yes? Or later, if you like. Text me.’
She got out of the car and watched Keaton drive away, back home to their comfy sofa, the TV and a mug of hot coffee. Lucky Keaton. Oh, lucky, lucky Keaton with his simple life, steady job, fantastic temperament and sane secretary (who was not his secretary, but his assistant, as Keaton always insisted). Tina shook off the silly thoughts and as she turned towards the diner, saw a smiling, gesticulating, on-time Kath beckoning enthusiastically for Tina to join her.
Tina took a long time to make her choices from the menu and apologised to the more decisive Kath, who didn’t care how long it took, she claimed, because they were going to make a night of it. They shared a bottle of house white. Tina chose her food and the food came. They ate, Tina modifying her pace to keep time with Kath. Tina was a fast eater. When Kath asked the inevitable questions, Tina replied as best she could. She felt herself open up like a flower in June. Kath was the sun, Tina thought dreamily, and the wine was the rain and the food the earth. The thoughts were poetic, she supposed, and she reminded herself of her Uncle Edward. She giggled.
‘So you’ve been married for… how long, again?’ said Kath, glugging back her wine. Her polite little sips had long ago ceased.
A Life Between Us Page 3
