by Nina Manning
I didn’t stop thinking about the woman all the way home. I played the scenario over in my mind. I imagined the child or children who were waiting for the medicine, what their ages were and if they were boys or girls. I had wanted to follow her to see where she lived, to see why a woman who was shopping in an affluent area couldn’t afford a bottle of paracetamol. The walk that was supposed to alleviate my racing mind had achieved the opposite. I counted the lamp posts on the way home to calm my cluttered thoughts, tightening my grip on my shoulder bag until I reached the steps that lead up to the house that I was just coming round to the idea of calling home.
I had become accustomed to a solitary existence, so being greeted when I arrived home was a real novelty. Yet again I was surprised that one of my three house mates was just reaching the bottom of the stairs as I came through the front door.
‘Oh, hey,’ Mini said as I closed the door behind me and began to unwind the scarf from around my neck. She eyed me in that way I was becoming familiar with. Being assessed was not unusual to me and Mini always looked slightly alarmed by my presence, as though she wasn’t entirely sure what to do with me. I imagined she thought I was always on the edge and might do something crazy at any moment, my strange routines adding an almost nervousness to the house. Mini, as her name suggested, was the youngest house member at just twenty. At fifteen years her senior, I had yet to shake the notion that she saw me as a slightly crazy distant auntie or cousin rather than a house mate she could confide in.
I took my cap off and hung it on the coat stand by the front door. Ignoring the mirror, which in the past would have encouraged me to check my hair for post-hat frizz.
‘I was just going to get some lunch.’ Mini began walking into the kitchen.
‘Okay.’ I followed her because I constantly felt the need to compensate for my inability to be that house mate; the one who sat up until dawn, chatting and giggling, offering to paint nails, plait hair and listen to endless stories of near misses with ‘the one’.
I tried to ignore the chaos of the kitchen and sat down at the huge table that could seat at least eight. I was still getting used to eating with others again after spending so much time taking my meals alone.
I was still struggling with the size and openness of the house: five bedrooms, a huge kitchen, two reception rooms and three bathrooms between four of us.
One lonely room had cocooned me for the last year where sounds would arrive uninvited, an echo of an infant yelping or screaming, but always, I heard the cries. They say you never stop hearing them. I was forever alert; ready to run to the slightest whimper.
Even in a house this size, there was nowhere I could hide that would drown out the sounds that ran through my mind on a loop.
Mini’s uncle owned the property and let it out for a price that would choke a Yorkshire man, but made London renters nod with enthusiasm whilst daring to utter the word bargain. I looked around at the kitchen with its large surfaces and random scattered items: bleach, washing-up liquid and an array of utensils were out on the surface next to the sink, which was deep, white ceramic and stained with tea. The Aga was greasy and a pan left over from breakfast was still perched on top of the insulating lid; the fat congealed to a sticky, yellow mass. The huge wooden kitchen table had a general tacky feel to it that didn’t seem to lift no matter how many times it was wiped.
Up until now I had managed to not let the mess get to me, but I wasn’t sure how much longer I could leave it. The lack of order in here brought everything to the surface. Even now in the kitchen with Mini, I began to look around for something I could open and shut an even amount of times to satisfy the monster who I knew would not rest.
Perhaps if I offered to clean the kitchen? I imagined this as a way I could bring a little bit of me to the house; up until now I hadn’t felt confident enough to take the initiative and show the girls some level of basic domesticity. I had little else to offer in the way of sparkly wit or entertaining anecdotes about my day. I looked around and thought perhaps I could assert my role as the older and wiser house mate and draw up a cleaning rota. Perhaps I would be the one who would instil some basic home skills into these girls, something they would look back upon in later life, remember me and be thankful for.
Mini pulled open the fridge, and I caught a glimpse of the salad tray with its dying leaves stuck to the clear shelf and a mass of jars that had left rings that could be seen through the glass underneath. I averted my eyes; I didn’t need to see it to know it was there. In the last few years, cleaning had become a compulsion; something I needed to do and do well. Looking around, I felt something new growing inside me: an uncontrollable need to cleanse the house from top to bottom.
Mini opened a tub of prawns in Marie Rose sauce and emptied the contents over half an avocado. She left the remnants on the side and sat down opposite me on the kitchen table, giving me one of her half-smiles, showing off her perfectly pinched pink cheeks and petite lips. I could see why her parents named her Mini; with her sleek black hair, she was like a perfect china doll.
‘How are you finding it all, are you feeling settled?’ she asked before she took a mouthful of her salad. A little sauce spilled from her lips and she emitted a squeak like a small animal, then dabbed her mouth with a piece of kitchen roll.
Settled. I pondered over the word, which had so many connotations. I didn’t think I would ever feel settled, in fact, I was forever teetering on the edge of uncertainty. But I imagined Mini was curious to know if the bed was comfy enough and had I found enough bathroom space to keep my toiletries.
‘I am now, yes. You know what it’s like, it takes a while.’
‘And your course? Textiles, isn’t it? Has it started yet?’ Mini reached over and edged yesterday’s newspaper closer to her; it was open on the crossword where someone had abandoned it halfway through.
‘Erm, yes. Next week, after the Easter holidays,’ I said, trying to sound keen, but I felt burdened with guilt at being able to start again, learning a new skill, which I hardly felt I deserved. But I needed the distraction. I also needed something to spend my money on. The money that was fairly mine. An even split down the middle. It was what I was entitled to, so I took it. There hadn’t and wouldn’t be any lavish expenditures, I would simply exist with it. I had reached a point where I was functioning, and that was all I needed to do.
I watched in awe as Mini rapidly filled in the blank spaces of the crossword with only a moment’s pause after reading each clue.
‘Have you always loved art?’ she asked.
I thought back to my late teens, when most girls my age were out experiencing everything they could. By the time I was twenty, I had already become a mother.
I reached for a stray paper napkin and folded it over six times until it was a neat, tight square wad.
‘I loved design at school,’ I said, pressing the napkin square down until my finger turned a deep shade of pink.
I noticed Mini staring at my finger and I quickly pushed the napkin away. I knew she saw what most did; a woman with a bunch of obsessive compulsions.
What she didn’t know was what I did to become her.
2
Then
The room was filled with dancing bodies and people slouched in sofas and chairs. A block of three disco lights flashed beneath a makeshift DJ booth where a pale, skinny guy with a ginger afro was mixing vinyl records. I looked across to my right and my eyes stopped on a guy a few feet away. I could tell he was older than me as he danced amongst the chaos, busting out some moves to a Michael Jackson hit. There was something alluring about him, something about the way he smiled. He had a slight gap in his teeth, but it suited him. He wore a faded black T-shirt; his tanned arms were muscly with wisps of light-blonde hair. His hair was cut short and I wanted to run my fingers across it, to feel the brittle follicles on my fingertips. I watched him for what felt like forever until finally his eyes met with mine. We shared a moment and in that look was a sentiment that said, ‘I know you.
’
Even though we hadn’t met before, it was as if we had known each other all our lives. When he finally found his way over to me, he began the conversation as though we were halfway through it.
‘That vodka won’t drink itself, you know.’ He pointed at the full bottle next to me. I had bought it from the off-licence on the way here, along with a bottle of Diet Coke. But I didn’t fancy drinking either of them.
It had been another friend’s birthday two nights previously, and I had gone at it pretty hard, so was still feeling the after-effects.
I was only at this party because I was staying with my cousin, forty miles from my house. He rang on the off-chance and said one of his friends was having a party and did I fancy coming up and staying the night? There was a moment when I thought to myself, I won’t go, I’ll stay at home and keep an eye on Mum.
My mum was having another one of her turns. The ‘black dog’, as she preferred to call it, had come back to visit. I thought the term was more depressing than depression itself. I would be turning eighteen in the summer, but I would probably still stay living with Mum. I needed to keep an eye on her, even though all she did was sleep during these episodes.
But there was another part of me that was interested to go to the party, to see what the night could bring. I was still young and ready to grab what life offered with both hands. And if I was being totally honest, I was looking for love. I had grown up watching too many films: Sleepless in Seattle, When a Man Loves a Woman, Indecent Proposal. Mum would always have a love film on any time of the day or night. She referred to them as her ‘weepies’. I never saw her weep at them though. Instead, by the end of the film she would have more of a scowl on her face, as though she knew she had been dealt an injustice. But still she played them. And I watched. And I learned that no matter what life threw at you – alcoholism, bankruptcy or the death of spouse – there would always be someone else there to save you; to pick up all the pieces and put you back together again.
Standing at this party with this stranger in front of me, I felt as though I had been saved.
I told him that I didn’t fancy drinking the vodka, that I was feeling a bit worse for wear, then I laughed and told him that all I actually wanted was a cup of tea.
‘Then that is what you shall have,’ he said with a twinkle in his eye. We left the party that I had been at for just over an hour together, hand in hand.
He told me to call him D. ‘Everybody does,’ he said.
He took me to a McDonald’s and bought me a cup of tea and a doughnut and told me anecdotes of nights out and holidays that made me feel like I had barely lived a life at all; which, of course, I hadn’t.
‘What will folk think when I tell them I took a girl to McDonald’s on a first date?’ He tucked into a burger with fries, apparently not conscious of eating in front of strangers.
‘So this is the first date?’ I asked quietly as I attempted to sip scalding-hot tea from a polystyrene cup as graciously as I could.
‘Many more to come, I hope.’ He raised his eyebrows and flashed a cheeky grin, exposing that tooth gap.
He dropped me off at my cousin’s house an hour later. Time seemed to stand still as his lips met mine, unfurling all of my senses. I could smell alcohol on his breath, but beyond that, there was a scent about him that was hypnotic.
He left me with my knees weakening and a promise of another date.
‘Once I’ve shown you a good night out and how I treat a lady, you’ll never want to let me go,’ he called as he walked off down the path and back to the waiting taxi.
I watched the car drive away and felt the pang in my gut; this was just like the films I had watched.
I was already missing him.
3
Now
I was alone in the house again. I still had hours to go to make it to the end of this day. I still felt the tension rising through my body, the thoughts layering themselves one over another, each becoming entwined with the next. I heard a voice, a voice I recognised. I looked around the hallway where I was standing alone.
‘Don’t do it,’ the voice said. I was being pulled back in time.
I looked behind me again. ‘Don’t do it,’ they said, and suddenly they were there with the same kindness in their eyes; behind their veil of sadness they too were trying to overcome their difficulties, and they wanted me to try as well. If I just unlocked and locked the front door an even six times, everything would be okay, no one would get hurt. No one would die. Why couldn’t they just understand that?
I felt the actual presence of someone behind me, a voice that was very real; not from the past. I spun around and there was Sophia, another house mate.
She had put her shoulder-length blonde, curly hair in bunches and was wearing dungarees; she looked like a children’s TV presenter and reminded me of all those years I spent hours watching children’s TV programmes.
‘That one’s a bit tricky, huh?’ She smiled at me, her blue eyes twinkled. I realised I had found my way to the front door and my hands were on the doorknob.
I felt a wave of shame flood over me. Sophia was the eldest of the three house mates, but still so young at only twenty-three. I was drawn to her more than the other two, yet I still felt like a small child who had been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. The noise of the door must have brought Sophia from her room, where she spent an inordinate amount of time studying hard. She had told me on the first night I was here how studying had been inbuilt into her from a young age by her parents, who were both head and shoulders above everyone else in their chosen careers. I knew they put too much pressure on Sophia to be better than she was. Sophia was being kind and patient with me – a trait I had recognised in her from the first day – but I was sure all three of the girls would be sick of me once they began to hear me opening and closing doors over and over. But I was beginning to enjoy being around others again. I had spent far too long solitary. I was glad Sophia had appeared when she had. When someone else was in the house, it felt nice. It felt right. Perhaps I could start to appreciate having someone there for me again. I had pushed away everyone from my past a long time ago.
I thought about calling them from time to time, my cousins, or even my mother. I was an only child. My father had passed away when I was just fifteen, so I had the guilt of the unanswered calls from my mum to deal with. In the three years that had passed, I still couldn’t bring myself to pick up the phone and reach out even though so many people had texted me after it happened, telling me they were there for me. What was the point of reaching out to those whose lives were so far removed from me now? It would only stir up all the memories; people were very good at forgiving, but I knew no one would ever forget what I did.
‘You have to just twist it like this.’ Sophia leant in past me. I could smell her coconut conditioner; the one I had seen on the bathroom shelf on my first day in the house and inhaled so I could get a sense of who I was going to be sharing a house with. I looked at Sophia’s hand on the doorknob as she tried to demonstrate how sometimes the lock would get stuck. I smiled at her vain attempt to make my behaviour appear normal.
‘Thank you,’ I said, and I knew from the way her smile reached her eyes that she was genuine.
‘Look, tell me to do one if you think I’m being rude,’ Sophia said. ‘As you still have a few days to go until your course starts, I wondered if you fancied a little project to keep you busy?’
We stood next to one another outside the large green wooden summerhouse. It ran about ten feet along the back edge of the garden in front of the fence and hedge that divided the gardens. All along the side facing us were large floor-to-ceiling windows. The rest of the garden was square. A few small slabs of concrete passed for a patio just outside the back door, then it was mostly grass with modest borders of small, easy-to-manage plants with the summerhouse perched right at the top end.
‘It’s such a great little unit, it seems a shame to let it go to waste just sitting there filled with
junk. I thought, maybe if you were not too busy and you fancied the challenge, you might enjoy emptying it out and giving it a spruce? We could all chip in for some new furniture or accessories. It could be a really nice spot to come and sit now it’s getting warmer.’ Sophia turned to me with a grimace. ‘What do you think? I don’t want to overload you.’
‘I’ll do it,’ I said with a small smile. Inside, I felt a wave of relief. Much like the kitchen, I’d had my eye on the summerhouse since I had arrived, but I hadn’t wished to sound impertinent by offering to give it a once over.
‘Oh wow, that’s amazing. Really, the others will be so pleased. I’d love to do it myself, but my workload is fierce at the moment – I barely have enough time to eat and sleep.’
‘It’s fine – it will keep me busy for a few days. Plus, the weather is picking up – I’ll enjoy being outside.’
‘Great! Just chuck all the stuff we don’t want on the lawn and I’ll send a photo of it to Mini’s uncle and see what he wants to do with it.’
‘Well, no time like the present,’ I said as I headed back to the house to fetch Marigolds, bin bags and spray guns, feeling for the first time in a long time a flurry of enthusiasm and a sense of purpose.
Once I was alone and inside the summerhouse, I felt the relaxation come in waves, but each time I acknowledged it, it dispersed, and the aggressive butterflies crept back into my gut. Cleaning was a welcome distraction and brought back a swell of relief. I looked around at the dusty interior of the summerhouse, with its stacked boxes and stuffy furniture. Sophia was right; this would make a nice place to hang out. I could imagine myself sat here on a warm day, reading or sketching some ideas.
