The Things That Matter

by Andrea Michael

  ‘I’m fine, really.’

  Kit frowned at me, ‘Are you nervous about the horse riding?’

  Oh god, I had forgotten about the horse riding. Sarah had convinced me last night, and I’d agreed.

  I gritted my teeth in a fake smile, ‘Well… I’m more of a fan of staying on the ground. Or away from things that could trample me.’

  ‘You just helped feed them!’ Kit hooted.

  ‘And I did that very well from a distance.’

  Kit looked at me; that lined, reserved face that had become so familiar was unsure of what to do with me.

  ‘Kit, when you’re feeling out of sorts, do you like to be questioned about it? Or do you prefer people leave you be until you’re ready to be a bit better?’

  She held her hands up, but didn’t look happy about it.

  ‘All I’ll say is that if it is about the horses, tell Sarah you don’t want to do it.’

  Of course, after that, I was left with a choice. Back out and hope Kit left my bad mood alone, or be honest. Because it wasn’t just the bad dreams and the fact that the very large horses on her farm were measured in hand-spans. It was the niggling feeling hidden very deep down, an itch that demanded scratching.

  I wanted to see my mother again.

  I wanted to know this woman who was without all the memories and the bitterness. A woman who might stroke my hair and tell me I was beautiful and be impressed at what my life looked like now. Something had been unleashed and it was like an addiction. And I hated myself for it.

  I wanted her to be proud of me.

  But first, horses.

  ‘Your face! Come on, I’ll show you the ropes. You’ll be jumping in no time.’

  Sarah was in a good mood. She seemed more at ease with animals than people, and Lachlan was safe in Kit’s care so she could focus on the task at hand.

  ‘I sincerely doubt that.’

  ‘Well if you doubt it, I’m sure that’s true.’ She gave me a look before leading me into the stables.

  She tugged at her ponytail and laughed, raising an eyebrow. She looked so comfortable in her boots and padded gilet over her fitted jumper. I felt like a child playing dress-up with the stupid helmet on my head.

  Sarah was an optimist. Kit described optimism as ‘never learning your bloody lesson’ but I liked it. She kept that thing that kids have, where their imagination is unlimited by hardship. Why shouldn’t you go to the moon, if you want? Why shouldn’t your dreams come true, if you work hard enough?

  I was never like that, even as a kid, but in Sarah I loved it. I wanted to protect her, this girl who must have been about ten years younger than me, but had already made being a mother her main identity and priority.

  She was patient with me and the horses, speaking softly but firmly.

  ‘What’s the problem here? You’re afraid of the beasts?’

  ‘Not in general. It’s just… very high up. And I can’t see it’s very nice for him to have someone sitting on his back and telling him where to go. Maybe he’d just like to wander about on his own without some dumb human demanding things!’

  Sarah rolled her eyes. ‘He’s a horse, Taz. Winston likes a good adventure, don’t you lad?’ She ruffled his mane affectionately. ‘Give me a chance, hey? What’s the worst that could happen?’

  ‘That is never a good argument.’

  Eventually, she managed to get me onto Winston, and whilst I didn’t exactly take to it naturally, I did enjoy myself. Sort of. As much as awkwardly squeezing your thighs together and hoping for the best could be enjoyable.

  ‘Taz! Relax, would you? You’re sitting like you’ve got a stick up your arse!’ Sarah called from below as she led us around the space in a circle. He was a good horse, I’d give him that. Very patient and took care of everything.

  ‘You’re so passive! You’re letting him decide everything Taz – that’s your job! Take the reins isn’t just a saying, you know!’

  I gripped the reins tighter and glared at her.

  ‘You know, Winston has riders who can’t see, kids with accessibility issues… he’s not going to freak out because an English woman with an attitude problem tells him what to do.’

  ‘Well he should, where’s his national pride?’ I laughed, and relaxed. We got as far as gently trotting before Sarah said we could go out on the land. She pulled a helmet on, jumped up on the other horse and told me to follow her. I desperately wanted her to keep hold of that rope attached to Winston’s harness, but she said she trusted him (and me).

  Once I stopped panicking, it was perfect. A wonderful way to see the lush green surroundings of the farm, and to talk to Sarah.

  ‘I didn’t realise this was a thing normal people could do,’ I said suddenly, as our horses walked side by side.

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Just… when I’ve met people with horses, they always were.… well, rich. Posh. Spent hundreds on outfits and making their horse do that funny dance and wear ribbons or watching polo matches. Horses are fancy!’

  ‘Aye, and you’re not fancy, with the expensive car parked outside Kit’s house, or that huge diamond ring on your finger?’ Sarah’s voice wasn’t judgemental, she was just trying to understand.

  ‘I… it’s kind of hard to explain. It’s like skiing.’

  She just waited for me to continue.

  ‘Like, people who ski don’t just go because it’s a hobby they have, it’s this whole thing with expensive resorts and après ski and hundreds of pounds in kit and clothing, and the food is insane, and they drink wine that costs eighty euros a bottle, and it’s a rich people thing.’

  Sarah sighed. ‘You know you can go skiing here? About an hour away. Cost you about thirty quid for the day. Sometimes a sport is just a sport. A horse is just a horse.’

  ‘So you’re saying my whole concept of class and privilege is based on an Englishness that I don’t really understand?’ I thought about it.

  Sarah laughed so hard and so long she had to wipe tears from her eyes. I thought she was going to fall off the horse.

  ‘I’m saying… if you like skiing, go fucking skiing. Sweet Jesus.’

  And with that, it seemed, I’d made a friend.

  ‘So how’s it all going with your ma? I get the sense she was a bit of a troublemaker?’ Sarah’s voice took on a gentle tone.

  ‘Oh, she was a piece of work. But she doesn’t remember any of it, and maybe it’s better that way.’ I paused, then realised what I’d said. ‘Not that I want her to be ill, obviously, that’s horrible. I just mean… without any of those memories… she’s a different person. The woman in that room wasn’t my mother, but she was the mum I might have had.’

  ‘Well, who wouldn’t want that?’ Sarah nodded at me, ‘My mum was a trainwreck. Always putting on airs and graces, wanted everyone to think well of her. So if I wasn’t perfect, I wasn’t good enough.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I moved out when I was a teenager, and she found other things to fuss over and eventually married a man with two boys she could mother half to death. I think she’s happy. Still see her around from time to time.’

  I couldn’t stop myself squawking, ‘She still lives here?’

  Sarah shook her head, ‘One town over.’

  ‘Has she met her grandson?’

  Sarah shrugged, ‘She knows he exists. I think she wants to, but if she asks me for anything she’s got to apologise, and that’s not her way.’

  I nodded, and we plodded along in silence for a bit, taking in the scenery and just breathing. This so was so different to home, where everything seemed fast and pointed. If you stopped, even for a minute, you’d be behind. Left behind. If you weren’t paying into your pension or investing, or saving for a bigger house. If you weren’t getting higher in your careers or making a jump or taking the next step. Standing still was the most terrifying thing back home. And here it felt like just breathing was important enough.

  ‘How’s things with your… erm… with L
achlan’s father?’

  ‘Murray,’ she said darkly. ‘I’m sure Kit has given you no end of bad stories about him. Much as she says she’s not a gossip, she doesn’t forget a damn thing.’

  I shook my head, ‘She made it clear she didn’t like him, and she thought you deserved better, but there was no big list of things he’s done. And if I listened to things people used to say about me and my husband, I’d be a crumpled mess by now.’

  ‘Murray’s not a bad man. He’s just a screw-up,’ she smiled at me. ‘Sometimes you’ve gotta give people a chance to grow up, right?’

  ‘Sure,’ I nodded. That was all we’d done, me and Dan. Grown up together. Sometimes quickly, sometimes more slowly. He taught me how to act at those fancy parties, he’d taken me on my first trip abroad and gripped my hand when the plane took off and I almost threw up. And I’d taught him things. Harder things, about being savvy with money, making things last, looking over your shoulder. He expected the best and I expected the worst, and between the two of us we survived.

  Maybe Kit was being a little hard on Murray. After all, they were still only nineteen. Girls matured faster, and Sarah had motherhood to contend with. She was amazing.

  ‘Is this your job, teaching people?’ I suddenly realised I’d never asked.

  She shook her head, ‘I help out, but with Lachlan being so young… Murray doesn’t like it. He says I should focus on our family, him and the baby, not doing so much and wearing myself out.’

  ‘And what do you think?’

  She looked skyward as if looking for answer. ‘Most days I think it’s not worth an argument. But when Lachlan’s older I’ll probably ask Kit if I can do something more full on. She’s been pushing for it. Wants to get me out of the house as if I’m a ninety-year-old in a relationship with the shopping channel!’

  ‘I’m sure Kit will come around,’ I said, knowing full well that was unlikely.

  Sarah laughed, and shook her head. ‘Come on, let’s get back. You’re gonna be sore tomorrow. And the wee fella will be wanting a feed.’

  Sarah was still so young in many ways. She laughed freely, was easily delighted by things we saw as we travelled about, pointing out rocks in funny shapes or a particularly beautiful plant, or clouds that looked like doughnuts. Something about her seemed to soften the sharp feeling in my chest.

  We laughed and chatted as we walked back to the main house, and I was surprised by how achy I felt already, how much I felt energised by exerting myself. The mixture of fresh air, hard work and Kit’s dram of whisky each night doing their job. Making me strong.

  ‘So what about your fella?’ she asked me.

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘What’s he like? What does he do?’ She made a motion with her hand as if to suggest all the usual questions people asked.

  ‘He’s… I’ve loved him since we were teenagers. He’s loyal and funny and gentle. He’s an artist. Draws everywhere, scribbling on bits of paper. But… he wanted to please his parents so he got a fancy job, and hangs out with arseholes and I’m wondering if I can still love him if he becomes one of them.’

  God, it sounded so simple when you put it like that. And so incredibly stupid. But every time he laughed along with the lads, or corrected something someone said, or even, once, clicked his fingers at a waitress (I didn’t talk to him for two weeks after that), he stopped being my Daniel and got closer to being his father.

  ‘You’re the sum of the five people you spend the most time with, isn’t that what they say?’ Sarah offered. ‘Is that what it is?’

  ‘Yeah, maybe.’ Or we thought a baby would fix everything and instead it’s broken us.

  ‘Maybe you need a holiday.’

  I nodded, said something noncommittal. The nineteen-year-old with the baby and the unemployed boyfriend, making ends meet giving riding lessons, was telling me I needed a holiday. The woman who rolled around her huge flat all day doing nothing? I was embarrassed by her kindness.

  When we walked to the door, we saw Kit bouncing Lachlan around, a smile on her face. Her eyes were soft and warm, her voice sweet as she sang some nonsense song that sounded all the prettier for meaning so little.

  ‘She pretends to be this tough, crotchety old meanie, and she can be, but she’s this softie underneath it all.’ Sarah nudged me, smiling. ‘She’s struggled with your ma, these last few months. She feels like she’s got to look after her, just because she never liked her very much when they were kids. As if that’s what caused her illness!’

  ‘Guilt is a special kind of prison.’ I shrugged. ‘Doesn’t have to make sense.’

  Suddenly, Kit’s voice barked from inside the house. ‘Well, are you gonna gossip out there all night like old women, or are you coming in for something to eat and to take this irritable lad off my hands?’

  Sarah’s face turned to guilt, ‘Oh! Was he fussing?’

  Kit waved it away, ‘He was a sweetling. And you have excellent timing, his highness is in need of a bit of a clean-up.’ She handed him straight back to Sarah, and looked at me, ‘Feeling better?’

  I nodded, not wanting to get into it. ‘It was fun. I think I’m gonna go out for a drive, do some exploring. That okay?’

  Kit paused, looking at me as though trying to decipher what I was saying. But I knew she understood the irritation of constantly being asked if you were alright, what you were feeling and how it was going.

  ‘There’s some maps and guidebooks on the side by the door if you want any inspiration,’ she said, and left me to it.

  Of course, I wasn’t going to explore. At least, not the Scottish landscape. I was going straight back to that facility to see Nina. There were too many questions I had to ask, and I was sure if I just asked the right thing, scratched away at the veneer, she’d still be there underneath, rotten and bitter and ready to be honest.

  As I drove, I looked up at the crossing over the roundabout for the man in the trilby, but he wasn’t there. On the passenger seat I had two bags of jelly babies and some shortbread. What could I take to an estranged, sick mother, who most likely wouldn’t remember me without Kit there?

  I turned my focus back to the road, wondering what it was I was looking for. I could make excuses and justifications all day, but the truth was, I just wanted to see her. I wanted to hear her talk and see her eyes light up when she looked at me. I wanted to feel like a child again, just for a little while.

  The staff were happy that I was there, they made a big fuss of Nina’s daughter from England coming back again. Their voices cooed and were jolly, giving me updates on her health, her eating, her weekly activities. There were no whispers or warnings. She was a pleasant lady, they said, always polite, always asking about their day and their families. She remembered as much as she could.

  ‘Miss Nina, you’ve got a special visitor!’ the nurse introduced me, and there she was, sitting with a book in her lap, staring out of the window. She looked at me with a vacant politeness.

  ‘Hi Mum…’ it seemed too strange to ask if she remembered me, so I just waited to see if her face changed.

  She narrowed her eyes as if looking through a fog, trying to place me.

  ‘Natasha. My daughter Natasha.’

  ‘Right!’ Ding ding ding, you win the prize. ‘How are you, Mum?’

  ‘I don’t know, how do the nurses say I am?’ There was a stubbornness akin to Kit’s in the set of her mouth.

  ‘They say you’re good. They say you’re a little ray of sunshine, a model patient.’ I had stubbornness of my own. I tried to keep the bite out of my voice.

  ‘Well, if that’s what they say…’ she smiled and shrugged. ‘Are you enjoying time with your Auntie Kit? I bet you like her more than me.’

  ‘Why would you say that?’

  ‘Everyone likes Kit more. Perfect Kit,’ Nina arranged her features into a smile, but there was a hint of something else there that I wanted to tease out. Let’s see who you really are, Mum.

  ‘What’s perfect about her?’<
br />
  ‘Mummy always loved her more. She was so kind and selfless and did what she was told. She was boring and that made people like her. Is that what you’re like, Natasha? Are you a goody goody like your aunt?’

  Her tone was still light, her head cocked to the side as she smiled at me, but there was something there, that steel spine, that bitterness. Now we’re on to something.

  ‘I guess… I just focus on surviving, mostly.’

  Nina’s face erupted into a smile, ‘Ah you’re like me, like your mum. Sometimes things have to be done to survive, sometimes you have to make hard choices to get what you want. What you deserve.’

  ‘Sometimes that means leaving people behind,’ I said innocently, and she went along with it.

  ‘Oh yes, you can’t take everyone. It’s like swimming with stones in your pockets.’ She stood up, ‘Shall we have some tea?’

  She walked over to the kitchenette, clearly she could be trusted to have her own kettle and bits and bobs. She picked up the box of shortbread I’d brought, and put a stick of cinnamon in the teapot.

  ‘Where did you go when you left us?’ I asked, and wondered how she’d react. Whether she’d forget, make excuses, apologise.

  ‘Oh, lots of places. I met a man who was a film producer, or he said he was… or was it theatre? Something glamorous. And after London, we went to France somewhere. Then I met an older lady in need of a companion. She couldn’t get around much, but very wealthy and lonely. So I stayed there for a few years until she passed away.’

  ‘Sounds like you had some adventures.’ Sounds like you killed an old rich bird for her jewellery collection.

  ‘Oh yes, it was all such a wonderful time,’ she spoke like something from a movie, and I wondered whether any of this was the truth. My mother in France? My mother thought chocolate chip brioche was ‘up itself’. I’d once bought a pack of pain au chocolat on sale at the end of the day for 17p and she said it should have been written in English.