by Shari Low
‘Thanks, Grandad.’ She almost told him just how much she loved him, but that would mortify him even more, so she stopped herself. It was enough that they both knew exactly how much they cared without having to actually say it.
‘Aye, well…’ he blustered. ‘It’s changed days now, lass. Just as well yer gran is long gone – she nearly had a hairy fit when yer mother announced she was pregnant.’
Claire had heard the story many times, about how Agnes had marched her mum right round to her dad’s house and insisted they took her in.
‘Bit rich since she’d been in the same situation herself.’
‘No!’ Claire blurted, shocked. ‘Gran was pregnant when you got married?’
How come this was the first that she’d heard of it?
‘Aye, she was,’ Fred admitted with a deep sigh. ‘We’d only been courting a few months. Big ideas Agnes had, and she ended up with a bairn and a husband she didn’t love.’
‘Grandad! Of course she loved you.’ Claire was reeling with the shock of it.
‘No, lass – we made the best of it, but the truth was we were never suited. She was a bit of a giggler when I met her. Och, she had a temper on her, but she loved to have a good time and she could fair kick up her heels. That all changed when there was another mouth to feed and little money coming in. Stuck, she was, and she was furious about it – she was pretty much in a permanent foul mood for the rest of her life.’
‘But why didn’t you leave?’ Claire asked.
He shrugged. ‘Because it was my mess too. What kind of man would I be to leave a wife and a bairn? Especially in those days. I just kept my head down, went through the motions, while Agnes simmered. That’s probably why her old ticker didn’t go the distance. Och, the rages she’d fly into. Let’s hope this wee one doesn’t inherit her temper.’
Claire grinned, loving that he was already talking about his great-grandchild’s personality traits and sharing his hopes. But she couldn’t shake off what her grandad had just told her – it explained so much. She remembered her Granny Agnes as a fierce and ferocious woman. When Claire was eleven or twelve, Agnes had dropped dead of a heart attack, right in the middle of a bawling match with her neighbour over some disgruntlement. That wasn’t an unusual event in Agnes’s life. She wasn’t the kind of granny who handed out Mint Imperials and wiped runny noses. The words that came first to mind when Claire thought of her were irritated, combative, argumentative. The only thing Claire ever saw her enjoying was her cigarettes, her sherry and her sewing. She’d bustle away on the old Singer machine that Claire inherited when she died, making clothes for herself, her family, and even for Claire and Doug, although, of course, behind her back, Denise would turn her nose up at them and refuse to let the kids wear them. Only shop bought stuff for her children, Denise would say. They had an image to keep up. Those pleasures aside, Agnes was a woman who never seemed happy, while Denise was a woman who was utterly self-consumed and devoid of empathy.
Thinking now about the gene pool this child was coming from, Claire just hoped that the baby would be 50 per cent Fred and 50 per cent Sam’s side.
Talking of which…
Giving Fred’s hand a final squeeze, she pushed herself up off the couch. ‘I’ll come back later, Grandad – but if I don’t go and tell my parents now, I’ll lose my nerve, so I’m going to go and get it over with. God, three generations of women in our family, all knocked up by accident. Not a great track record, is it?’
‘It’ll be fine, lass,’ he reassured her. The two deep ridges between his eyebrows returned. ‘But when you tell your mother… you know what to expect, don’t you?’
Claire nodded, no words necessary, causing Fred to sigh again.
‘You know, Claire, I wasn’t much of a father to her. There was only room for one parent when it was someone with as big a personality as Agnes. And with the hours I was working at the plant, and the way things were with your gran… well, like I said, I didn’t have the energy or the inclination to do much other than take the route of an easy life and say nothing. It’s something I’ll always regret, but I hope I’ve done better by you and our Douglas. And I promise you I’ll do everything to help with this little one too.’
Claire threw caution to the wind and threw her arms around him again. ‘Thank you. You’re an amazing grandad and we’re lucky to have you. And I’m going to go now before I cry and get you all flustered,’ she added with a grin. Tears were up there on the scale of emotions that made Fred pull at his collar and hope for a large hole to appear and swallow him.
With one last hug, she headed back to the bus stop, the weight significantly lifted from one shoulder. Just the other one to clear now.
Alighting twenty minutes later, she walked the ten minutes to her parents’ house, a knot growing in size in her stomach with every step. She hated confrontation, antagonistic situations and awkwardness at the best of times. Hated having to have serious discussions with her parents too. There was a pretty good chance this was going to tick all of those boxes.
Taking a deep breath, she let herself in the back door. Her mum was already in the white glossy kitchen, making coffee. Denise wore her hair in a trendy bob, her make-up was flawless and in her jeans and white T-shirt she absolutely did not look thirty-five, or old enough to have a nineteen year old daughter.
‘Hey, Mum,’ Claire said, giving her an awkward kiss on the cheek.
‘Hello there,’ Denise replied breezily. ‘Do you want a coffee?’ She gestured to the hi-tech machine that was built into the glossy kitchen units. Claire was fairly sure a masters in engineering was required to operate it.
‘No, I’ll just have water thanks.’
She helped herself to a glass and water from the tap, while her mum shouted her dad through. He didn’t appear, so she immediately explained, ‘He’s watching the football. You know that’s what he likes to do on a Saturday.’
There it was. The first dig. She shouldn’t have come around during Dad’s football hours. God forbid, he should miss a split second of twenty-two blokes chasing a ball, even for the daughter he’d barely seen in six months.
It was hard to describe her parents to people because they simply didn’t believe the stories. Not just because Ray and Denise were a mere sixteen and seventeen years older than her. But because it was difficult to fully paint a picture of the mother who spent her whole life dedicated to the man she adored beyond question. Or the father who demanded 100 per cent of his wife’s attention, even to the exclusion of her own children – offspring for whom he could barely hide his disdain. But it was the manipulation that drove Claire crazy. Her mum was absolutely under his control, not because she was scared of him, but because she loved him so much she was willing to sacrifice everything for him. Claire had no idea why her mother put him on such a pedestal. He was a shit father, had no friends to speak of and was only a big bollocks in his own twisted world. Sure, he was relatively wealthy and his business afforded them a bit of high living, but that was because they lived in a house that had been handed to them with a tiny mortgage that they’d soon paid off. It was all show, him acting like a big shot, because he could afford to splash his cash on self-indulgence – an aspect of their lives that Denise adored to the extent that she was blind to his failings. Claire just wished her mum could see the reality of how he was pulling her strings, but no. They had a twisted, co-dependent relationship that Claire and Doug had long since stopped trying to connect with.
It was another half an hour before her dad graced them with his presence. Must be half-time in the game.
He pulled out a chair and took the beer that Denise had jumped up to fetch for him. God forbid he should get his own beverage.
He opened with, ‘Have you seen that brother of yours?’
Hackles immediately upright, Claire went right back at him, her tone challenging. ‘Of course. I see him all the time, Dad. Most days. Why?’
‘Bloody ridiculous that he hasn’t called his mother. After everything
she’s done for him.’
Ding ding, round one. There it was. As always, he encouraged his wife’s martyrdom by appearing to be defending her. The compliment on the top gave a little boost to Denise’s ego. And the net result was that she gazed at him adoringly.
Claire wanted to retch. And it wasn’t down to her pregnancy.
‘You know, you could always call him if you want to speak to him, Mum. Or me.’
‘I know, Claire, but I’m just so…’ She had that pinched look and Claire knew what was coming. ‘… Busy. I never seem to have a minute these days.’
Busy. Yes, it was a hectic life, between working as her husband’s home based secretary and pandering to said husband’s every need. Definitely no spare minutes in there for communication with people you actually gave birth to.
It was her mother’s dichotomy: the attention seeking martyrdom over the fact that her children didn’t keep in touch, versus the fact that she made it perfectly clear she had no time for them anyway.
Claire wasn’t going to get into the argument – she’d had it way too many times before and she never won. Nothing would change.
‘Anyway, that’s all beside the point, and not what I came to talk to you about.’
OK, here goes.
She took a deep breath. She could do this. Her hands were sweating, her heart was racing, and she suddenly felt like her mouth was full of cotton wool. But she had this. Didn’t she?
‘You’re pregnant,’ her dad said, scorn all over his face.
‘Well, there’s my thunder stolen,’ Claire quipped, defaulting to using humour to diffuse difficult situations.
‘You’re pregnant?’ her mum gasped, and Claire could see her glance at Ray. As always, her mum’s response would depend completely on what her dad thought.
Unfortunately, he didn’t waste time telling her.
His face twisted into a sneer. ‘Seriously? You’re pregnant. At nineteen. So I’m going to be a grandfather at thirty-six? Jesus Christ.’
Claire knew that would absolutely set his vanity into overdrive. She also decided now wasn’t the time to point out that her mother had her at sixteen.
She opened her mouth to explain the situation, but she didn’t get the words out because her father was in full flow.
‘Well, let me tell you, that’s your problem. Your mother and I did our bit, we brought up you and your brother and we won’t be watching grandchildren and paying for bloody nursery fees. This is our time to enjoy our lives and we won’t be giving any of that up because you made a stupid decision.’
‘I didn’t ask you to,’ Claire responded calmly, somehow managing to ignore the hormonal surge inside her that wanted to punch him in the face.
‘What was it your mother said to you, Denise, when you were pregnant?’
Denise switched into full scale drama and self-pity mode. ‘That I’d made my bed and I could lie in it.’
‘Exactly,’ her dad said, as if it proved some point he was making. He went on, ‘It wasn’t often that old bag was right, but she was that time. And now, you’ve gone and done exactly the same thing. Well, you’ve made your bed too. Good luck with that.’ The cruel curl of his lip told Claire he was being facetious, but before she could comment, he cut the conversation off with, ‘So we all know where we stand? Good. I’m away to watch the second half of the game. Denise, I’ve booked a table for half past eight tonight, darling. I’ll have a cab pick us up.’
And with that, he sauntered out of the room, without another word in Claire’s direction.
That was that then. Parents told.
‘You know, Claire…’ her mother began, quietly.
For just a glimmer of a second, Claire thought she might be about to offer some maternal comfort. A little support. A kind word even.
‘… I really don’t know how you can do this to us,’ she added haughtily.
Claire opened her mouth to fight back, but weariness and disappointment got there first. She didn’t say a word. Instead, she simply stood up, picked up her bag, opened the back door and walked out.
There were some battles in life that just weren’t worth fighting.
For now, this was one of them.
Before she’d taken half a dozen steps, her hormones changed her mind and she marched back inside.
‘You know, Mother, I just don’t get you. You live in this bubble where only you and Dad exist and you don’t give a damn about anyone else. Where do you get off treating people like that? And do you even have a clue what you’re missing? Grandad is getting on and he’s such a good man, and Doug is the kind of son anyone would be proud of. Meanwhile, you ignore all of us for that arrogant, uncaring tosser because you think the sun shines out of his arse. I’ve no idea what kind of mother I’m going to be, but I tell you what I do know… I’ll be one that always puts her kids before anything or anyone else.’
With that, she turned and stomped out, taking her hormones and her dignity with her. She also took enough self-awareness to know that Denise wouldn’t give a toss what she thought because no one’s opinion except Ray’s actually mattered to her. It was pathetic. Baffling.
As she marched back to the bus stop, fighting a sudden urge to pee, Claire realised that the visit had gone exactly how she’d expected. They’d been true to form. Totally in character. She just wished she knew what had happened to make her parents into the utterly self-centred people they were.
Fourteen
Denise – 2019
Denise threw three pound coins onto the saucer holding the bill the waitress had brought over for the tea. Fifty pence tip was quite sufficient given that the waitress barely had to do anything for her. Back when she worked in that grubby little cafe after school, it was a miracle if anyone left a tip, much less a decent one.
That was something else that Ray’s death had taken away – her job. And she wouldn’t be getting another one. The thought that she’d be dropped into in a new environment where she’d be forced to interact with other people filled her with horror. She shuddered. That wasn’t for her. She and Ray had been blissful in their own world with just the two of them and she had absolutely no desire to start all over again at almost fifty-six. This was the age when people were starting to think about retirement. Thank God she didn’t need the income. They had no mortgage and Ray had a substantial life insurance policy that he always said would make her a rich woman when he died. Not that she cared about the money, but at least she wasn’t going to have to worry about where she’d live or how she’d support herself. He’d taken care of everything. Just as he always had.
Besides, she wasn’t qualified to go back into the workplace. For over twenty five years, she’d worked as Ray’s assistant, making bookings for his building company. It had given them a very nice life and a gorgeous house. Denise knew how lucky she was. Past tense.
The yoga women were laughing again now and it was beginning to seriously get on her nerves. Her heart was shredded, she’d just been to a place where her husband lay dead and they were cackling like they didn’t have a care in the world. Time to leave.
Just as when she entered, she had to weave through the tables, this time to get to the door. Outside, she inhaled, trying to ease the tightness in her chest. She tried to analyse why she suddenly felt like she couldn’t breathe. Anger. That’s what it was. Blind fucking fury that her life had been snatched from her the moment he took his last breath. She just wanted him back, would give anything to be walking home right now, with him waiting there for her, ready with his next plan for doing something fabulous. A holiday. A new restaurant. A gift he thought she’d love. He was the happiness in her life. How could she survive without that?
Her feet automatically started heading towards home, people coming in the opposite direction pointedly turning away so they weren’t caught staring at the tears that were sliding down her cheeks.
She had no idea how long it took, but she eventually stumbled up the gravel path to her house and somehow managed to get the key
in the lock. She burst through the door, slamming it behind her like she was being chased for her life.
Legs giving way beneath her, she slumped against the hallway wall, then slid down it to the floor, put her head on her knees and howled, each tear and roar desperately trying to cast the physical pain out of her body.
When the noise and the trembling finally eased, her head fell back against the wall, her glance going to the mail under the letter box on the floor beside her. Desperate for a distraction, she kicked off her shoes, pulled off her jacket and lifted the pile of envelopes from the floor. As she sifted through it, she saw they were all addressed to Ray.
In almost forty years, she’d never opened a letter addressed to him. Today didn’t feel like the day she wanted to start, but what choice did she have? There were people to be notified, accounts to be closed, legalities to be sorted.
The letter on the top had the crest of his bank on the front. They had three accounts. One was his business account, one was his personal account, then they had a joint account that all the bills and expenses were paid from. That was the only one that Denise used. Not that she’d ever been a spender. Ray treated her so well and bought her so much that she didn’t need to splash out on her own.
Opening the mail was going to be her job now – one of the many that she was inheriting. She succumbed, only because it would give her something to do.
Sighing, she ripped open the envelope and unfolded the statement that was tucked inside. At the top was the bank’s logo, then below that was the account name: R.H. Construction. He’d always said it was all about perception, and the title gave the impression that it was a company of considerable size, as opposed to just Ray and a team of ad hoc sub-contractors. Smoke and mirrors.
Her eyes scanned the rest of the document. Transactions in. Transactions out. The final line was the one that she settled on: £106,000.
It was more than she expected. She’d had no idea he kept that volume of cash in the business account. She handled enquiries, typed estimates, arranged sub-contractors, basically everything Ray didn’t have time for, but she didn’t touch anything to do with the finance. Now she wished she had – and that she’d persuaded him to go on that Caribbean cruise he’d had his eye on.
