Hello, My Name is May

by Rosalind Stopps

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said.

  ‘Look, I’m not trying to push you,’ said Helen, ‘but I’ll bet you haven’t even told me all of it, have you? And you haven’t got any relatives to go to, have you?’ May shook her head.

  ‘I don’t mean you have to come with me. I mean I’d love it but I’d be really happy if you would go anywhere, anywhere that’s not here. How long have we got until he comes back?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said May. ‘I know this sounds weird but he says he loves to walk through London streets in the dark, when no one is about. I don’t know what he does. Who he’s seeing. A couple of times he’s been gone all night. Sometimes though, sometimes he comes back a bit shaken up, says he’s been beaten up. Once he had a black eye that kept him off school for two days.’

  ‘Do you realise,’ Helen said, looking at May over the top of Jenny’s head, ‘do you realise that this is most definitely not normal? That this isn’t how other people live? That you deserve better?’

  May knew that Helen was right. She shook with nerves as she got out a small case from under the bed while Helen looked after the babies.

  ‘We can’t take everything,’ Helen said. ‘Just bring a couple of changes of clothes for you, and a few more for Jenny. We can sort everything else out. Bring your passport and contact lens stuff, don’t worry about books, my place is like a bookshop. Or toys, Jenny can share Seb’s.’

  May rushed around, her heart pounding. She couldn’t stop to think, or she would start worrying about something else, and she had no time for that. She knew this was her big chance, and that she owed it to Jenny to leave right now. She was scooping up underwear when the phone rang.

  ‘Don’t answer it,’ said Helen. ‘Leave it, let’s just go.’

  May wanted to do as Helen said, she really did. She could see the new life waiting for her, she could almost taste it. She knew that Helen was tired and scared, and she felt disgusted with herself for involving her friend in all this. She let the phone ring.

  ‘You know how grateful I am, don’t you?’ said May. ‘I can’t think what would have happened if you hadn’t come to stay. I’m sorry about your holiday, I really am.’

  ‘You know, I’m not even surprised,’ said Helen, ‘and you certainly don’t need to apologise. I had a feeling, reading between the lines in your letters. And I’m happy to help, for goodness sake, just get a move on.’

  The phone rang again. May knew that she would have to answer it this time.

  ‘I’ve got to, Helen,’ May said. ‘It might be important, I can’t go without answering it.’

  Helen sat down with both babies cradled in her arms.

  ‘Hi,’ May said. ‘Yes I am, is he there? Can I speak to him?’

  Helen rocked the babies gently and May wished for a moment that someone could comfort her like that. She listened as the person at the other end spoke.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said when they had finished. ‘Give him my love and tell him I’m on my way.’

  She put the receiver down without looking at Helen.

  ‘It’s Alain,’ May said. ‘I don’t believe this.’

  She sat on the arm of the chair as if her legs had suddenly buckled.

  ‘What, May? What about Alain? Don’t get fooled again, honestly, I’m sorry but you can’t trust him.’

  May looked at Helen.

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘it wasn’t actually Alain. It was the hospital, St Thomas’s Hospital. He’s been badly hurt, Helen, they couldn’t give me details but they said I should go as soon as possible.’

  ‘Nothing’s changed,’ said Helen, ‘you can still leave with me.’

  Both women knew that wasn’t true.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  April 2018

  Lewisham

  Jackie’s been out with Bill a few times recently.

  Out of the nursing home and into the big wide world, no kidding. I don’t know what she sees in him, I swear I don’t. He’s a greasy snaggle-toothed oik, that’s what I want to tell her but I don’t. He came in here yesterday, bold as brass.

  Have you seen my screwdriver, he said, I want to mend that kettle.

  What kettle, I wanted to say but I think even if I could have got my words out I wouldn’t have said anything. He makes me feel scared, so terrified my bowels turn to water. It’s his face. It’s his face and the way he walks and everything else about him, if I’m honest.

  I know you, don’t I, he says and comes right up to me and peers into my face, so close I could have kissed him. I’d rather bite him on the nose but I’m stuck here so I had to sit it out. I could even smell his breath, it was horrible. Sewer breath, I wonder that someone as refined and lovely as Jackie can give him so much as a second glance.

  He went out then, muttering about kettles and screwdrivers, and I realised I was shaking. I couldn’t eat my cheese salad when they brought it in.

  Are you alright, May, Agnita said, you normally like your salad. I looked at her but it wasn’t a question I could answer with a nod or a shake of the head. Do you want your pad, she said, but I shook my head then. I’ve got a growing unease about the man across the corridor, I would like to have written, I think I know him and he scares me. Why would he come in here looking for a damn screwdriver, what kettle is he talking about. Just the thought of so many words makes me want to go to bed for a nap so I point to my tummy instead to indicate that I’m full. It’s the only answer I can manage.

  We’ll have to keep an eye on that, says Agnita as if I’m a skinny frail child who’s in danger of fading away.

  I spent a couple of hours trying to draw little screwdrivers over a whole page of my jotter. There are a lot of straight lines in a screwdriver, you wouldn’t believe how difficult they are. On a bad day I can hardly make a mark, but this was a good day and I think they ended up looking pretty good. They were even cute, some of them. I was thinking I could add two tiny legs at the bottom and a face where the handle bulges out and maybe write some adventures for them. It would be therapy, the sort of thing the occupational therapist would love, even if the results weren’t clear to anyone but me. It was one of the things I loved best when I was a teacher, making up stories for the children. Stories like Alain used to tell. You should put them in a book and sell them, people used to say but it’s not as easy as that. You need to show them to someone outside school, for starters. I was thinking about that when Jackie came in smelling of lavender and freshly ironed cotton.

  What are you drawing, she says, ooh look they’re really good, I can’t believe you can do that with one hand. Are they screwdrivers? Why screwdrivers?

  Your beau, I write, quick as a flash. Jackie looks a bit embarrassed. I would too if it was me, to tell the truth. It’s always more dignified not to have a partner than to have a crazy one, a stupid one or a bad one. That’s a thing a lot of women don’t learn until they’re old, and sometimes not even then.

  Oh, she says, oh Bill, he’s not very well at the moment. I can’t help myself, I point to the side of my head like we used to when we were kids, to indicate that someone had a screw loose. The thought of loose screws and him looking for a screwdriver makes me laugh and I can see Jackie is a bit shocked.

  He scared me, I write, and it’s the longest thing I’ve written in ages. The screwdrivers were easier. My hand feels like it’s going to drop off.

  Oh poor May, says Jackie, you mustn’t be scared. He sometimes thinks he’s at home, and that he has jobs he has to do. Was he looking for a screwdriver?

  I nod.

  Oh, poor you, poor him, he’s asleep now, but when he wakes up I’ll tell him off. He has this bladder infection and it’s making him a bit bonkers, he doesn’t know where he is half the time.

  I have to think then, should I try to explain that I think he’s familiar, and that I feel as though he could be dangerous, or should I go along with her? It’s so long since I’ve had a friend I don’t know what to do. I don’t think for long. I’d be lonely here without Jackie. P
oor Bill, I write and then I let the pad slide to the floor, as if my hand is so disgusted with what I’ve written that it can’t hold on any more. Jackie doesn’t notice.

  I knew you would understand, she says, thank you so much for being lovely and understanding. The staff don’t really approve of friendships between the sexes and neither of us has anyone to tell, outside of these four walls, so it makes all the difference to have a friend on our side.

  Steady on, I want to say, hang on a minute, I didn’t sign up as number one cheerleader and founding member of the fan club. Jackie hugs me though, and she smells so fresh, I can’t help wanting her to be happy.

  So this morning when she came again I tried to look interested when she started talking about Bill, but not too interested. The single worst thing about being in my situation is, you can’t change the conversation. Makes me realise how many times in my life I’ve turned the talk back to me, me, me, made people pay attention to whatever it was I wanted to say. It’s a skill but I’ve lost it.

  Let me tell you about how I met Bill, she says, as if she’s doing me a great favour. She looks all excited as she says it, as if it’s the best secret in the world. I’m split in two. Part of me wants to enjoy the girlie chat and give Jackie the gratification she wants, after all she’s been good to me and she deserves that. Then there’s my mean part, my evil sarcastic twin. She just wants to say, let me guess, did he come into your room looking for a screwdriver, by any chance? Just thinking it makes me chuckle so I’m relieved I can’t speak. Jackie sees the smile and claps her hands.

  I knew you’d want to hear, she says, it’s so good to tell people things sometimes, isn’t it. Her face clouds over.

  Oh, she says, I didn’t mean, it must be awful for you, I’m so sorry, dumb head, that’s me.

  I’m trying to shrug to show her that I don’t mind and I find I really don’t mind, in some ways I’m communicating more with her without words than I have done in years of talking to myself. She’s not looking at me though, she’s staring at the floor and saying, dumb head, dumb head and hitting herself with a closed fist on the side of her head. I don’t want to press my emergency buzzer, if the staff come they’ll take her away, back to her own room and she wouldn’t want to be on her own, I know that. I reach out with my good hand but I can’t quite get to her so I slap my hand on the tray over my chair instead. I’m surprised, it’s quite a good slap and several things go flying. My glass with the water in it, some polo mints Jenny brought in, a magazine I don’t want to look at given to me by some visiting do gooder. I’ve caused quite a stir. Enough for Jackie to stop and look up as if she’s waking up from some kind of trance.

  Oh, she says, sorry, shall I help you tidy up. I nod and curse that I can’t say more, but at least while she’s picking stuff up and wiping things down she isn’t hurting herself and it looks as if she’s calmer now.

  I don’t know what happened there, she says when she’s finished tidying and fussing.

  She looks at me like she wants me to help her make sense of the whole thing so I shrug my shoulders and blow her a kiss. It has to be enough.

  It isn’t a very exciting story, she says, me and Bill. Well, exciting for me but I don’t tell it well. I’ve never been good at explaining things. It was just, I used to talk to him when he was so ill, you might not remember but he was really poorly, just after you first came here. I used to chat to him and no one thought he would get better but then he did, against the odds and he said it was me that gave him something to live for. Isn’t that sweet?

  I nod, of course I nod and I smile as well, but in my real self I’m doing that thing the kids do, where they stick their fingers down their throats and pretend to vomit. Come on, I think, wake up and smell the sewer breath, that man is a bad man. He makes me think of death and dying and evil clowns in gutters and the smell of the water in a vase when you’ve forgotten to empty the flowers and gone away for a month or two. He stirs me, that’s the best way to put it, he stirs me up and down and round until I’m not sure who I am.

  But Jackie looks happy. She could be about fourteen, I’m not joking, there’s a freshness about her that takes me back to when Jenny was a teenager. It wasn’t boys with her, that came later but she would get that look on her face when she was explaining something that she cared about, a science project or an interesting fact about whales. Jackie’s got that look right now.

  Oh May, she says, and she clasps her hands together in excitement. She’s wearing an old-fashioned dress today, with lots of tiny covered buttons going from the waist to the neck. Honestly, if Charlotte Brontë saw her she would put her straight in a book.

  Oh May, I know it’s going to be fine, when he gets over this silly bug. The other night, we went to a restaurant in the city centre and he gave me a rose, there was a woman selling them. A red rose, have you ever heard anything so romantic.

  I’d like to laugh, and shake her, both at the same time. Not the old red rose trick, I’d say if I could, surely you didn’t get caught out by that, not at our age.

  You probably think I’m silly, she says as if she can read me, but he caught my heart with that, he really did. I haven’t known many nice men, May, I’ve had a different sort of past to a lot of people. I bet you had a lovely husband, and it must have been fun bringing up Jenny, she’s such a sweet young woman. I bet you went for days out to the seaside and had pizza on Fridays and everything.

  Oh, I miss my voice. I grab my jotter and line it up so that I can write without it sliding. Which bit do I write? Do I tell her that Jenny and I had all that eventually, the seaside and the pizza but we had it just with the two of us, so I was never sure if it counted? Or do I let that one go and tell her the important stuff?

  Red rose not enough, I write. I wish I could tell her more, tell her about Frank and his arms full of roses. Roses he left lying around to scare Helen. May, I remember her saying, you either have roses in your flat or you don’t, and I know I didn’t have any there. He must have got in, somehow. Oh yes, I know all about men who enjoy grand gestures. Earrings, I think, next thing you know he’ll be giving you earrings. I try to say, Sue, but it gets stuck. I haven’t thought of her for years and I don’t want to now.

  Oh, Jackie says now, and she looks as if she might cry, oh I can see you’re not convinced, do you think he might not love me, I hadn’t thought of that. She looks downcast, sad as a teenager with a broken heart. I’m torn. Do I make her feel better or go with the gritty realism? One thing’s for sure, I’m glad Helen helped me to understand about Alain. I wish someone had warned me off completely, right at the beginning. That would have been a helpful thing to do. True I wouldn’t have Jenny, but maybe I’d have a different Jenny and I wouldn’t know what I’d lost.

  There’s a knock at the door and it’s Mr Sparkly Hat. He’s not wearing the hat, of course, but somehow the ghost of it is always there. Happy Monday ladies, he says and it’s as if someone turned the light on in Jackie’s eyes.

  Why thank you sir, she says, and were you wanting anything in particular, because this young lady and I were just having a girlie chat.

  Something a gentleman never does is intrude, says Mr S.H. I learned that at my mother’s knee. I was merely dropping in to say hello to one lady, but it seems I have two on my hands and that’s too much even for Trevor. I’ll be off.

  He bows towards me and bows towards Jackie. I’m sorry to see him go and before I’ve thought it through I say one of my garbled words. Sentences really but it all comes out as one wedge of nonsense. I haven’t done it much lately, I’ve given up. I realised that no one knows what the hell I’m talking about but he’s different, Trevor, Mr Sparkly Hat, he sometimes gets it.

  I’ll go and get a chair, he says, and disappears off down the corridor to get a chair from the day room.

  What was that about, says Jackie, what did you say, and did he really understand it. She looks rattled, and I feel sorry for her. I didn’t mean her to feel left out or hurt. I don’t know why I inv
ited him in to be honest, maybe because he looked so lonely standing there. I know what it’s like to be the one standing on the edge. It must have taken a lot to bring him to my door. It hasn’t happened before.

  I shrug at Jackie and reach for her hand, and she doesn’t stay cross for long. More of an audience for the Jackie and Bill story I think, only not in a nasty way. It’s just that now I can’t speak to people, put myself into every conversation, I can see more of the dark and light and grey shades of what they are saying. It’s given me a different view. I can see behind the scenes of conversations, that’s how I think of it.

  Sure enough, when Trevor comes back from the day room lugging a chair that seems to be bigger than he is, Jackie offers him a glass of water and helps him arrange the chair in the best position.

  Isn’t this nice, she says, if only Bill was here too. The most marvellous thing happens then, I catch Trevor’s eye and he winks, just a quick wink but unmistakeable nonetheless. He thinks it’s funny too, the whole geriatric romance thing, and for once I can see the humour instead of just being scared of Bill. I’d like to tell him, I’d like to explain to Trevor about Bill, and how he is familiar and sinister but I don’t know why. I need to do it when Jackie’s not here.

  So how did you understand what May was saying, Jackie asks, I mean I’m her best friend in here, I see her all the time and I can’t do it.

  She looks upset, so I pat her hand to say never mind but really I’m very interested in what Trevor is going to say.

  It’s a long story, girls, but I had a partner, oh, a true love, let’s call a spade a spade. A lovely, lovely man, my best friend and my love. Trevor shakes his head in a sad way and I wish Jackie had never asked him. It seems to be too difficult for him to get the information out.

  OK, I’m going to tell this quickly, like pulling off a plaster. You ready, he says. Jackie and I nod.

  There’s not much to tell, my lovely Michael, he had a stroke, complication of a terrible illness, you know the name of the illness I think. I don’t like to say the name out loud even now. It struck him young, this evil thing, it took all of our best young men. He was twenty-five when he had the stroke, and he died when he was twenty-nine. Never got to thirty but if you’d seen him, you wouldn’t have known that. So this is the second time around for me, second time of living with oldies, even though I was young last time. If that makes any sense.