The Things That Matter

by Andrea Michael

  Kit frowned, ‘Did she say why she left?’

  ‘Just that she was young and overwhelmed, and that she was sorry. Even just an apology goes a long way.’

  God, would she even want to see me after she heard what I had to say?

  ‘And what are your plans long term?’

  I snorted, ‘I feel like I’m in an interview. I can clear out if you need the room for Sarah.’

  ‘Sarah’s got a flat,’ Kit looked at me in confusion, then raised an eyebrow. ‘You two have been scheming, and I don’t need someone to look after me.’

  I shook my head, ‘It’s nothing to do with that. Sarah’s going to be making some changes, hopefully. And I know she’ll want you there when that happens. But also there’s no harm in having people want to help you and look after you.’

  ‘Sure, stick me in that home with my sister and we’ll live together like a kooky TV show, slowly going mad.’

  I frowned at my aunt, her prickly temperament getting to me more than usual, ‘What’s up, Kit?’

  ‘People say to forgive and forget, and I just worry about the forgetting part, that’s all.’ She focused on cutting her food up, aggressive and resolute.

  ‘You think I’m getting too close?’

  ‘I think you came here wanting to say something to her, and you’re too scared to do it. Because you want her to love you. You want her to make up for all the times she wasn’t there because she’s harmless now. She’s a pretty lady who doesn’t have to remember all the horrible things she did.’

  ‘So, what? I’m meant to remind her? I’m meant to be angry every time I see her? Have an argument and tell her off for leaving every day? Why can’t I just have a mum for a bit? Just enjoy having someone love me and call me special and tell me they love me? Why is it so wrong for me to want that?’

  I could feel myself getting teary and to my shame, my voice broke. I coughed to try and cover it up, taking my food to the bin and scraping the remains before washing up.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with that, hen. I’m just afraid for what it means when you don’t get a do-over every day. When you’ve got to go back into the real world.’ Kit brought her plate to the side and stood next to me, ‘I just don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all.’

  I pressed my lips together and said nothing. I nodded, and let her pat me on the shoulder as she started washing up. It occurred to me that she was jealous. That I got to have the mum I’d always wanted, finally, and she was still holding on to old grudges.

  As I headed up to my room I felt that familiar tightness in my lower abdomen, like a clenched fist. My period. Of course. I almost laughed to myself as I stomped up the stairs.

  That tiny bud of hope extinguished. Probably for the best.

  So much for new beginnings.

  I didn’t hear from Dan, and I didn’t expect to. I carried out my normal morning routine with Kit, working well together even as the silence felt more taut than usual. And then I jumped in the car and headed over to my mother, ready to tell the truth.

  Of course, with Nina, there was the option that she might not remember it. She tended to cling to particular nuggets of information with certainty, and others she let slip away. The ones that reinforced what she already believed, that fitted in with the existing narrative – they got to stay. The ones that made no sense, that were unpleasant or unbelievable, they didn’t tend to make it through the weeks.

  She seemed to want to talk about Dad anyway, it was like I couldn’t stop her.

  ‘Well you know how much he adored you, he’d have done anything for you,’ Mum said, patting my clasped hands as she sat down opposite me. ‘I remember when you were born he cried. Didn’t want to put you down.’

  These memories had seemed so at odds with what I’d remembered. I only remembered the end of his life, the way he’d been after she left.

  A man who disappeared to the pub for hours on end, came back stumbling and loud, swore when there was nothing in the fridge or when he saw me studying. My priorities were elsewhere and that always upset him. The best thing I could do to keep my dad sweet was leave him a portion of dinner out on the side, take time to smile and ask about his day, and then disappear.

  So that was what I did, for years, with the skill of a royal servant. Knowing when to fade into the background at exactly the right moment. And as long as I jammed a chair under my door handle at night, the bad moods didn’t matter.

  ‘I always wondered what might have happened if I’d come back, you know? If I’d sorted myself out sooner, I could have come back and looked after you all, made everything better.’

  I took a sharp breath, wondering why that comment felt like a knife to the chest. I didn’t like what ifs – I’d been punishing myself with mine for years. And now I’d finally come clean to my husband, he didn’t believe me. I’d created a perfect persona over the years, and now he didn’t believe me capable.

  But my mother knew me, knew how much like her I really was. She would believe that I was capable of causing a man’s death. And I deserved to be punished.

  I wanted to throw myself at her mercy. Make her punish me, make someone punish me. I had taken away this man, I’d been responsible for destroying him. This man she had wonderful memories of, a loving partner who had adored her.

  ‘Mum, I’ve got to tell you something.’

  Something behind her eyes flickered, as if she knew what I was going to say, and was preparing herself. As if she’d been expecting it.

  ‘You spoke to the doctors, didn’t you?’ she said, that throaty edge back to her voice.

  ‘What? No. It’s about Dad. All these lovely memories you’ve shared, and how much you loved him… it’s… I’m glad I got to see a different side of who he was. Because later on, he was… more difficult.’

  She frowned at me, waiting for me to finish.

  ‘You know he died when I was a teenager.’

  ‘Yes, you said it was an accident.’

  I took a deep breath, scared to meet her eyes. ‘It was, it was an accident. But it was also my fault.’

  I told her everything. I told her how Dan made me feel, how alone I’d been, how scared I’d been to lose that. How Dad had been so sad and volatile, but how I’d let everyone think he was a monster. And how that had killed him.

  ‘But all these beautiful memories you had, who he was… I’ve been carrying this guilt for years, and Dan doesn’t believe me because he thinks I’m perfect. But you know, you know what I was capable of. You always said I was a survivor, and I would do anything to get what I wanted, just like you. And you were right.’

  My voice cracked as I looked at her, waiting. I expected judgement, pity, anger. My old, volatile version of Nina to reappear, perhaps. Or the new softer version to gather me up and tell me everything was okay.

  Instead she nodded, her mouth a thin line as got up and walked into her bedroom. She was gone for a few minutes, I wasn’t sure if she’d return or if I should go. But she came back holding a box, clutching it tightly. It was well worn, the edges fluffy with age, and she carefully plucked out two pieces of paper, folded neatly. She thrust her hand out and forced me to take them, her face still blank.

  The first was a newspaper cutting from when Dad died. I hadn’t looked at any of them during that time, any mention of reporters just brought back that moment, that horrible clunk as his head hit the table, the sight of his open eyes staring past me.

  I scanned the article:

  Jonathan Donnolly, 43, died this week after an altercation on a council estate in Luton, Hertfordshire. Donnolly died of a head wound at the hands of his daughter’s boyfriend, Daniel White, 17. White insisted he was coming to collect his girlfriend and was scared for her safety. Donnolly was drunk and a brawl ensued. He was known to the police for multiple drunk and disorderlies. A neighbour said they had often been concerned for his daughter, Natasha. An eye-witness said, ‘He was always drunk, abusive. Yelled at me about my dog barking, threatened to poison her. That b
oy did nothing wrong trying to help the young girl.’

  * * *

  Despite potentially saving his girlfriend’s life, Daniel White will be charged at Luton Crown Court for manslaughter. His family did not make a statement.

  I looked up, but Mum was looking out of the window, wringing her fingers.

  The next piece of paper was jagged and old, ripped from a kid’s lined school book.

  I recognised the handwriting, loud swirls in smudgy black ink. The same as the only birthday cards I’d had for years.

  Dear Nina,

  * * *

  I know this ain’t what people do and I’m sorry. But I know what you’re going through, I lived it myself. And Tasha is a good girl. She deserves more. So do you.

  * * *

  I called the police last night. I’m sorry if I made it worse. I thought he was going to kill you this time.

  * * *

  If you need help getting out, come to me. I did it, you can do it too. For now, if it gets too much, send Tasha round to me, I’ll keep her looked after.

  * * *

  Always here if you want a cuppa (or something stronger).

  Sharon (no.12)

  Fuck.

  I watched as my hands started trembling, until I had to drop the pieces of paper on the coffee table.

  As I looked at my mother, the years stripped away. That soft pink lipstick and chocolate brown hair changed and she looked the way she used to, bleached blonde, red lips, dark kohl eyeliner. The pinched look around her lips, constantly pursed around a cigarette.

  ‘The day we made a pillow fort and watched movies all day, eating biscuits,’ I said, and she refused to look at me.

  It was my favourite memory of my mother, the one I got out and walked into whenever I missed her, whenever I wanted to remember she had loved me, once.

  But suddenly I remembered why she’d let me have the day off, creating a magical fort out of pillows and sheets, watching Disney movies cuddled up together. I had a split lip and a bloody nose and Nina had said, ‘Best stay home today sweetpea, we don’t want your teachers to get upset, do we?’

  I felt the tears threaten, pressed my lips together. There was a photo of me in that newspaper article, and seeing myself as a teenager, so small, so fragile, it was hard not to pity that little girl. I didn’t remember being that small. I’d always felt so strong, so tough. I was good at surviving, that’s what Mum had said. I had to be good at surviving.

  ‘You knew. You knew and you left me behind,’ I said. I swallowed, trying not to be sick.

  Nina looked at me, shaking her head.

  ‘Oh, now you’ve got nothing to say? All these stories about how much he loved me? How much you loved him? When you knew what he was?’ I tried to calm myself, tried to remind myself she wasn’t well, she couldn’t remember, she got easily confused. But this scrappy bit of paper proved one thing: my mother had known her kid was being hurt, and she left her anyway. She saved herself.

  ‘Are those memories even true?’ I asked her. ‘Look at me!’

  Nina turned to face me, twisting her fingers over and over. ‘What’s true, really?’

  ‘Oh, fuck off.’ I stood up, gathering my things.

  ‘You lived for years with the guilt of killing your dad, of your husband going to prison. Wondering if you were enough. If he’d still have chosen you. Do you know what it’s like to live with the knowledge that you abandoned your child? That you left her unsafe?’

  ‘Then why didn’t you come back for me? At any point you could have come back and got me! You could have sent social services, you could have reported him! Something, something to show you gave a shit about me!’ I yelled. I watched as a porter arrived out of the corner of my eye, standing in the doorway, but Nina waved him away, like she was the queen here, allowing a subject’s outburst. He nodded and stepped out into the hallway.

  ‘It’s easier to live in other memories. Ones where I’m not the bad guy. Ones where I left you with a kind, loving father who would look after you. Where you were better off. I was seventeen when I had you!’

  ‘And I was sixteen when I watched my dad die on the living room floor, brain bleeding into the carpet. I was sixteen when Sharon took me in because they couldn’t figure out where to put me and I had no other family. When I went every week to a prison to visit my boyfriend because they decided he killed someone. Don’t talk to me about being too young.’

  I paused, looking at her, the way she sat in her chair suddenly so much more like the old Nina, rather than this new regal, calm creature. She pulled a hand through her hair like she used to, like she was pulling it out. She tapped the pack of cigarettes she had down the side of the chair, but resisted lighting up.

  ‘Do you even really have Alzheimer’s?’

  She almost laughed at that. ‘Yes, penance. Misremember the past on purpose, and they’ll take away all of it.’

  There was something she wasn’t saying.

  ‘But…?’

  ‘It’s not as advanced as they think.’

  ‘You lied.’

  She half shrugged, looking out of the window again. ‘Tests showed I have it, didn’t say how bad it was. People assume. Just like you did.’

  ‘What on earth could you possibly have to gain from that? Come on, there must be an angle, Nina, you always liked a good con, didn’t you?’

  ‘I’m going to get there anyway,’ she sighed, flicking her pastel pink nails, ‘this way at least I have a roof over my head, and a sister who feels obliged to look after me. I’ll have some family before I’m completely lost.’

  ‘I actually can’t tell what’s worse – leaving me with him, or making me believe he was a good man all these weeks. Filling my head with these memories that never existed, making me feel like I’d destroyed a man’s life when all I’d done was tell the truth!’

  ‘They did exist. There were good times. We went to the fair, and he cried when you were born and he asked me to marry him on the carousel. They were all true. I just didn’t want to remember the bad times. I wanted to give you something good.’

  What use was good? What use was remembering that he liked candy-floss when suddenly every other memory came flooding back? The smell of beer and cigarettes, the screaming fights they used to have, the split-lip smiles and tiny circular burns on her arm? I remembered the fear viscerally, hiding under the bed and trying to climb out of the window, wondering if I could break my arm because then someone would have to do something. God, how could I just have forgotten all of this? How could I have believed they were good? The floodgates were open and it was like everything I’d ignored or pushed away for decades was suddenly returning to me. Every memory that was too painful, that I thought had been safely snuffed out, had come back.

  I rushed to the toilet and was sick, nothing but spit and bile, as my stomach convulsed and tears streamed from my eyes. I suddenly remembered those evenings at Sharon’s, doing my homework at her kitchen table, her eyes clouding over when I mentioned my mother.

  ‘Why are you so angry at her?’ I remembered asking, but Sharon wouldn’t give me an answer, just put a cup of tea and a sandwich in front of me, and ran her hand over my ponytail.

  ‘Mothers have one job, they put the safety of their kids first. In the animal kingdom, in the human world. That’s all they’ve got to do. Keep them safe and keep them loved.’ I remembered Sharon’s words, but couldn’t recall when she’d said them. After Dad died, when she took me in, or those Saturday afternoons I used to sit with her because I didn’t want to go home?

  When I wiped my mouth and my eyes, I made sure to stand tall, walking to the door. ‘You didn’t want to give me good memories, you wanted to pretend you weren’t guilty. You’re selfish, the same way you always were. Using me for your amusement, the way you always did.’

  ‘But I told the truth! I told the truth when I saw how guilty you felt, how heartbroken you were! I assumed you remembered what he was like. I wanted to let you know you could still miss him
even if you hated him!’ Nina stood, babbling in her desperation to be understood.

  ‘That’s funny, that’s how I always felt about you. Goodbye, Nina.’

  As I walked out of the door, I heard her yell, ‘Wait, are you going to tell Kit?’

  Of course, like all liars, all she cared about was being found out.

  I kept walking.

  Chapter Eleven

  I knew I should be more upset, but it was like I was in a bubble. Like I couldn’t figure out who I was, and what was true. All I knew was: I hadn’t lied. I hadn’t tricked him.

  I would probably always feel guilty, feel responsible. But there had been a reason for Daniel to come to my flat that night. I had needed saving.

  Strangely, I decided to stop off at the bakery in town and picked up some cake for Kit, because somehow it seemed that I had to provide sugar to counteract the sour truths I was going to deliver. Or maybe she’d laugh at the silliness of the gesture, and that would mean something too.

  I nodded at Fraser, on the bridge again, and he lifted a hand in response, tapping the brim of his hat. I still needed to ask him why he was there. Or maybe I needed to mind my own business, because I had more than enough trouble of my own to deal with.

  It’s funny, but I felt calm. I knew I should have been disappointed, I should have keenly felt the loss of a woman who had suddenly filled that mum-shaped hole. But the truth felt like relief – the world was upright again.

  Kit was busy when I arrived back, and didn’t seem to want to stop her tasks. It was like she sensed I had news she didn’t want. Perhaps she was trying to put off my departure.

  ‘I need you to sit down.’ I put my hands firmly on her shoulders, and pushed her into a chair.

  I sat down opposite her, paused, and then got up to get the whisky out of the cupboard, and brought over two glasses.