TWNS-2-6-Kindle Master

by Alexander, Nick

  He had resented Catherine on those days. He had (while still loving her) hated her for being the reason he couldn’t leave, for being the reason that his life was so adventure-free.

  But today, he is free, isn’t he? No one is waiting for him, nobody cares what Sean does anymore.

  The woman tips her head back and laughs at something the young man has said, and Sean wonders how long it is since he last laughed. She leans in and kisses him, then nervously looks around as if kissing is perhaps a crime.

  She smiles at Sean, then winks, and he forces a smile back, then embarrassed, stubs his cigarette out on the underside of the railings and stands. He drops the cigarette butt in a litter bin, then returns to his car.

  As he opens the car door, his phone vibrates, so he pulls it from his pocket and checks the screen. It’s showing an SMS from Perry saying he can’t attend to their mother this weekend and can Sean please go instead? Sean sighs deeply, replies, “Sure. No worries, I’ll go Saturday,” and slips the phone back into his pocket. You wanted to drive somewhere, he thinks.

  He climbs into the car, puts on his seatbelt. He starts the engine; he glances one last time towards the couple on the houseboat but they have both vanished inside. He pulls gently away.

  When he reaches the roundabout, he heads not south towards Dover but north across the Elizabeth Way, towards work. “Sorry, Catherine,” he murmurs. “It wasn’t your fault at all.”

  The reason Sean never left was not, it transpires, because Catherine and April had stopped him leaving, after all. Perhaps there was a little cowardliness about him that made adventure difficult; perhaps there was a certain lack of imagination, an inability to take risk in his genetic makeup, that had kept him here. But mainly, he realises, it was that everything he really wanted had been here in Cambridge. His vision is blurring now. He sniffs and wipes away the tears with the back of his hand. Yes, even now that he’s free, he doesn’t want to leave. Even now, all he wants is another twenty years with Catherine.

  Snapshot #14

  35mm format, colour. A young man poses for the camera. He is wearing a black gown and a mortar board. He is holding a rolled certificate and blushing deeply.

  The results had been published in June, and Sean had received his employment contract at the beginning of July. He and Catherine had spent a final heavenly, lazy month in Wolverhampton celebrating and saying goodbye to everyone, before loading their things into a friend’s battered Transit van and heading off to Cambridge where they had rented their first ever flat. It had been small – just one bedroom – and underground; it had been shabbily furnished and surrounded by roads, like living in the middle of a roundabout really, but it had been theirs. It was their first ever private home.

  It had been raining when they left Wolverhampton and sunny when they arrived in Cambridge and, despite April’s screaming, Sean had taken this as a good omen. But Catherine had been jumpy and strange, which was no doubt why April was so fractious, too. Yes, Catherine had been sad and irritable, and her strange mood had lasted well into September. Sean had hoped that things would improve soon, because coming home from an exhausting day at a new and stressful job only to find a grumpy wife and a screaming child had been seriously starting to test his nerves.

  Graduation day had been mid-September, and Sean had not been particularly motivated to attend. He had been at the start of his first ever job and money, time and energy had been tight. He also felt that he had already moved on from Wolverhampton; he felt as if his college years already lived in the distant past. But Catherine, who already seemed desperate to get out of Cambridge, had insisted.

  Sean had spent the whole week leading up to it worrying about his parents. He had really hoped that they wouldn’t come at all but, just like at the wedding, Perry had driven his mother and, just like at the wedding, they had both sulked all day. Sean’s mother had even worn the same dress. It had felt like an unwanted rerun.

  Cassette #14

  Hi Sean.

  I didn’t think I’d be able to use this one as we have it framed in the lounge, but apparently we had two copies, so here it is again. My darling baby Sean in the silliest hat that ever existed.

  You were so embarrassed about that hat, but I was as proud as I could possibly be. Actually, you weren’t just embarrassed about the hat, I don’t think you wanted to go to the ceremony at all, but as far as I was concerned, it was non-negotiable.

  I was struggling with Cambridge – I hadn’t settled at all – and I was gagging to see all our old friends one last time, too. But beyond that, the fact that you had studied for four whole years, the fact that you were now a trained architect, these were amazing achievements as far as I was concerned. These were events that required some kind of ceremony.

  Perry and your mum came again, which was unfortunate because they, of course, did everything they could to ruin the day.

  We stayed in the old house with Alistair and Donna (Donna, being younger, still had her final year to do, and Alistair was still painting those horrible pictures in the loft). So we got to stay up late drinking and listening to music with Alistair while Donna slept with April, and for the first time in my life, I felt nostalgic. For the first time ever, I felt that I had lost something valuable. Even April seemed to agree. She too seemed happier in Donna’s arms than in Cambridge.

  At the ceremony, we saw Theresa and Bronwen and Angie and just about everyone else. They all had their parents in tow which made them behave differently than usual. Everyone was uptight and on their best behaviour, but no one could have been more uptight than the Patricks.

  They turned up together, Perry with one of his girlfriends – I don’t even remember her name, there were so many of them – and your mother looking like someone had just slapped her around the face. I don’t think sixty seconds passed before Perry upset you. As far as I recall, your mother asked about your new job – she seemed to be trying, for once, to be enthusiastic about something – and then Perry asked you how much you earned, and pulled a face and said that, of course, you were bound not to earn that much with a degree from Wolves Poly. “If you’d gone to Cambridge like you were supposed to, you’d be earning double that,” he said.

  You pointed out that you were living in Cambridge now, and Perry laughed and said, “Yeah, bro. You always did do everything the wrong way around.”

  I cried when you were called up onto the stage for your degree certificate. Perry was banging on about how much nicer the ceremonies were at the Oxbridge universities, but I didn’t let it get to me. I was so proud of you, I didn’t care about anything. And I didn’t believe that anything anyone could say could possibly get to me that day. I was, as it turned out, wrong about that.

  Your mother asked me how April was doing and who was looking after her (she was with Donna and Alistair, again) and I thought, for a moment, that things might improve between us. I imagined that perhaps, having seen that I hadn’t stopped you studying and that I hadn’t stopped you getting a great job either, she might be ready, finally, to be friends. April had just started talking, so I told her excitedly about that and, again, she was enthusiastic. “They make so much progress at that age,” she said.

  So I suggested we come and visit them in Dorset with April. I thought that perhaps she was ready to start being a grandmother, finally.

  “Oh, Giles would never put up with a baby in the house,” she said.

  I pointed out that April was almost three.

  “The worst age,” your mum said.

  “Oh well, I just thought it would be nice for you, for all of us,” I told her.

  “It wouldn’t,” she said. And then she added, “You know, I haven’t changed my mind about you. I know exactly what you are.”

  Now, these were the exact words she had used on our wedding day, Sean, and I’d often thought about that and I’d often wished I had confronted her about what she meant. I suppose I’d grown up a bit in the meantime, too. I didn’t feel so scared of her anymore. So this time, I a
sked, “So? What am I? Tell me.”

  “You’re a hypergamous little slattern,” she said.

  Because I had no idea what either of those words meant – though I could tell that slattern didn’t sound nice – I got her to repeat herself twice.

  That amused her, I think – the fact that she could add ignorant to her list of adjectives. It made her smile, anyway. It made her smile for the first time that day.

  I didn’t go to the meal with you all afterwards. I didn’t tell you why because I didn’t want to ruin your lovely day, so I made my excuses and went back to look after April at Alistair’s.

  When I got to the house, I asked Alistair what a hypergamous slattern was, but he didn’t know either, so we borrowed Donna’s dictionary and looked the words up. And then Alistair held me while I cried.

  While we were waiting for you to come back from your meal, I went to the phone box and called Mum and told her what Cynthia had said. I had to explain what hypergamous meant to her as well, though she knew what a slattern was. Mum said, “Oh, don’t listen to her, love. She’s a stupid old hag who wouldn’t know true love if it came up and slapped her across her ugly, sagging chops.” She said that you were lucky to have met someone nice like me, too. She told me that if you hadn’t met me you might have ended up with a horrible old witch like your mother. She cheered me up so much that by the time you got home, I was fine.

  You were fuming with both of them and happy to have escaped, so that sort of reinforced the deal for me. It enabled me, I think, to convince myself that Mum was right. I wonder. Who would you have married if you hadn’t married me?

  • • •

  On Tuesday evening, Sean is driving home from work when April calls him on his mobile. He clicks a button on the steering wheel and her voice springs from the car speakers.

  “Hi Dad,” she says. “It’s me.”

  “Hello, you,” Sean replies. “Are you OK?”

  “Fine. I’m sorry, I meant to call yesterday, but I got a puncture on the way home and had to get a tow truck to come out and change the wheel.”

  “You don’t know how to change a wheel?” Sean asks.

  “No. Of course I don’t.”

  “Well, you should. It’s important. I’ll show you the next time you come up.”

  “Um, thanks Dad, but you’re all right,” April says, laughter in her voice.

  Whatever happened to feminism? Sean wonders, deciding that he will teach his daughter how to change a wheel the next time he sees her.

  “Anyway, I was too tired by the time I got home,” April continues. “Plus, I had a bit of a ding-dong with Ronan.”

  “Nothing bad I hope?” Sean asks, glancing over his shoulder and then indicating to change lanes.

  “Are you in the car?” April asks. “You sound strange.”

  “I am. I’m driving home. You’re on the hands-free thing.”

  “Oh, OK. And no. Nothing bad. He just said the same thing as you about the puncture, really. Only being Ronan, he went on about it until I got annoyed.”

  “You should try just agreeing sometimes,” Sean tells his daughter. “Especially when people are talking sense.”

  “Yeah,” April says, vaguely. “So, how was Gran? You went on Saturday, didn’t you?”

  “I did,” Sean says, swinging around Mitcham’s Corner, past their first ever apartment, hidden behind a high brick wall, then heading right, over the bridge, into town. “She was worse than when you saw her, if that’s possible.”

  “Is that possible?” April asks.

  “Yes. Yes, I’m afraid it is. I don’t think she even realised that I was there, honey. It felt like a bit of a wasted journey to be honest.”

  “Oh, Dad,” April says, woefully. “I’m so sorry. I mean, on top of everything else… But you’d have felt bad if you hadn’t gone.”

  “Yes, I would have felt bad if I hadn’t gone,” Sean repeats. “So…”

  “So, you didn’t tell her? I just wondered what she’d said. If you had told her, I mean.”

  “About your mother?”

  “Yes.”

  “Like I said before, there wouldn’t be any point,” Sean says. “I may never tell her. Even if she did have a good day I don’t think there would be much point.”

  “Because it would just upset her?”

  “Because she’d probably just say ‘good riddance’,” Sean replies. “You need to stop worrying about the fact that she doesn’t know.”

  “I just think it’s weird that you don’t want to tell her.”

  “April, honey, you’re not listening to me.”

  “I am, Dad. But she’s still family. And we don’t have a lot of family left.”

  “She’s my family, unfortunately. But she was never family as far as Catherine was concerned.”

  “Now, you see, that’s weird, too,” April says. “I mean, we all know that Mum didn’t like her much. But I’ve only ever heard you defend her, and now, suddenly you agree with Mum.”

  “Me? Defend her?” Sean repeats, sounding shocked.

  “You did. You always tried to… what’s the word? Mitigate. You always had an excuse for why she didn’t buy presents and why she was grumpy, and why she forgot Mum’s birthday. There was always a reason, according to you.”

  “I don’t think you’ll find that I made excuses for her, as such,” Sean protests feebly.

  “You so did, Dad. So what’s changed now? That’s what I can’t work out. Did something happen when Mum was ill? Did Gran say something horrible about her, or…”

  “No,” Sean says. “She didn’t. But if I did try to find mitigating circumstances, as you say I did, it will just have been to stop things getting even worse between them. They were like cat and dog at the best of times, so I used to try to keep things calm. And it worked, for the most part.”

  “If you say so,” April says doubtfully. “But I still think you should tell her.”

  “Well, maybe I will, one day.”

  “If you do, will you tell me what she says?”

  “Why do you care, honey?” Sean asks, turning left onto Newmarket Road. “That’s what I don’t get.”

  “I don’t know,” April says. “Because she’s still my gran, I suppose. Because maybe I’d still like to believe that she has a heart?”

  “Right,” Sean says. “Well, if I ever do tell her, I’ll let you know. But don’t get your hopes up. I think you’ll be disappointed.” Sean turns into his street and, finding a rare parking space right in front of the house, reverses into it. “Right. That’s me home, April. Do you want me to phone you back once I’m indoors?”

  “No,” April says. “I need to go and buy some food before Ronan arrives. He’s coming over in a bit. We’re starting packing tonight.”

  “But you’re not moving for a month, right?”

  “No, but you know how I like to get things organised in advance, yeah?”

  “I do. You’re just like your mother on that one.”

  “Exactly like Mum,” April says. “Are you OK, Dad? I didn’t even ask. Sorry.”

  “I’m fine,” Sean says. “Go get your shopping. Talk soon.”

  The phone call over, Sean remains in the car for a moment. He looks out at their lounge window and imagines Catherine pulling the curtains and looking back at him. She’d had a second sense about when he was parking outside and he would often glance at the house and see her peering out, grinning at him.

  He thinks about his conversation with April and worries again that he was unfair to his wife. In a way it really is true that his attempts at excusing anyone’s bad behaviour had been a calming influence on the family. Sean has known families where the slightest of disagreements always mushroomed into the biggest of arguments, whereas in their family, even the most nuclear of disputes had always remained under wraps until eventually they dissipated, seemingly for the simple reason that no one was prepared to stoke the fire.

  But he hadn’t known that his mother had been so directly offen
sive towards his wife, had he? Why had Catherine never told him? Why had he never asked? Perhaps he hadn’t wanted to know. Because what would he have done with that knowledge if he had known? Where would that have got him?

  Snapshot #15

  35mm format, colour. A young woman holds a toddler in her arms. She is standing in a shabbily furnished lounge, on a worn green carpet. From the window behind her, weak, cold daylight is filtering into the apartment.

  The first memory to surface when Sean looks at the photo is an olfactory one. He remembers the smell of mould which used to hit his nostrils every time he stepped indoors. He can remember the odour of the grubby carpet, too; the distant throb of the almost constant traffic roaring around Mitcham’s Corner behind the tall, red brick wall that enclosed their tiny yard.

  Following on from these comes, surprisingly, the memory of a taste. The taste of the cheesy, greasy, rather delicious pizzas they used to buy from the kebab shop opposite. And then happiness. Pride. Contentment.

  For yes, Sean had felt happy in that apartment. They had their first ever home, just for the three of them. Sure, it was a bit dark and, yes, the carpet smelt pretty terrible. But it was home, and he, Sean, was paying for it, without any help from anyone. And that simple fact had made him feel a whole new kind of pride, something primeval, perhaps. He had become the hunter of the family, bringing home the carcass, in the form of a paycheque, that would feed, clothe and house the whole family

  Cassette #15

  Hi Sean,

  I’m not feeling very well today, so this may not end up being the longest of tapes. I’m praying that this queasiness indicates that I’m not in the placebo group after all, but to be honest, it’s probably just the food here. It is pretty bad.

  So, what do you think of this one? Our little flat on Mitcham’s Corner.