Hello, My Name is May

by Rosalind Stopps

  Alain picked up his guitar and strummed the opening chords of ‘May You Never’.

  He knows, May thought, somehow he knows. Why would he say that otherwise? Alain swept into the bedroom, smelling of night-time London and beer. May forced herself to smile, and not to turn away.

  ‘Hiya,’ she said in a quiet voice. ‘Jenny’s just gone off, I’m knackered. Couldn’t manage supper, sorry.’

  ‘Oh I wasn’t expecting any supper,’ Alain said. ‘Not with you so poorly and everything. Don’t worry, I’m just glad to see the two of you all present and correct.’

  ‘Where else would we be?’ said May. ‘This is our home.’

  She knew it was a dangerous thing to say, but May felt that she needed to know where she stood, and how much Alain knew.

  ‘It is, it is,’ said Alain, bending down to kiss Jenny, ‘and terrible things happen to little girls who get lost.’

  What the hell, thought May, if he knows, how, and more importantly, what?

  ‘So, how was your day?’ Alain said. ‘What have my girls been up to?’

  ‘Oh you know,’ said May, ‘usual stuff, nothing exciting. Round the block and up the wall, you know the kind of thing. I was sick three times before breakfast but I’ve been OK since.’

  It was a gamble, May knew it was a high risk strategy but she didn’t really have any choice. She could either confess that she had tried to run away and plunge herself and Jenny into danger or she could try and bluff it out, wait until she had clearer evidence that he knew what she had been up to.

  ‘Maybe now the weather is better,’ Alain said, ‘we could start taking Jenny out a bit, you know, further afield. Show her there’s something outside central London. Maybe go on a train or something, to the seaside.’

  May felt as though her face was on fire. He knows, she thought, he must know, why would he say it otherwise? It could be a coincidence, the rational part of her brain said, it’s not an unusual thing to say in the summer. Keep going, May urged herself, keep going but try to be nearer to the door.

  She stood up and stretched.

  ‘I’m tired,’ she said. ‘I’m going to tidy up the bedroom. There are clothes on the bed, I haven’t put the washing away yet.’

  May moved towards the living room door, aiming for nonchalance.

  ‘There’s a direct train to Brighton from Victoria,’ she said. ‘Maybe we could take Jenny there, when this sickness wears off a bit.’

  ‘Brighton,’ Alain said, rubbing his chin. ‘The south coast. I suppose that makes sense. It’s just, whenever I have the chance, I prefer going north, don’t you?’

  Don’t panic, May thought, it’s all still perfectly normal. Travelling north, that’s all he’s talking about, nothing more, keep calm.

  ‘What seasides did you used to go to, when you were a little boy?’ May asked. ‘You know, if you went for a day out. Mum and I used to go to Broadstairs or Margate usually.’

  As soon as May had said it she knew it was a mistake. Alain never said much at all about his childhood, but he was clear that it was a closed subject.

  ‘So,’ Alain said, ‘because lucky little merry little May had some lovely days at the seaside, everyone else must have done too? Let me make sure I’ve got this right. What a glorious world we’d be living in if we were all as happy and lucky as merry merry May.’

  May was stung.

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t trying to, I didn’t mean to upset you.’

  ‘I’m sure you didn’t,’ Alain said. ‘You just can’t help it, can you? Thrusting your happy life, your normal life, in front of everyone’s nose like a lucky charm. I try to suggest an outing, an outing together, the three of us being a family, and that’s just not good enough, is it? Oh no, nothing’s good enough for you unless you can be making someone else unhappy.’

  May moved a tiny bit nearer the door. The difficulty was, Jenny was still asleep in her buggy near the kitchen. May would be able to get herself out, no problem, but getting out with Jenny would be much more difficult. The unfairness of what Alain was saying burned but she couldn’t help thinking that if he had known about Hull and her escape then it would have been his main focus. Probably. The trouble with Alain was, it was extremely difficult to second-guess him.

  ‘Sneaking to the door, are you?’ Alain said. ‘Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing. Don’t think I don’t know your damn plans. Always sneaking off somewhere, packing your little bags and making your stupid plans. Your stupidity almost amuses me, that’s the funny thing. That’s a quote, by the way, I think it’s from Scott Fitzgerald, only that wouldn’t matter to you, would it? If a writer isn’t lesbian you don’t really have much time for them, do you? And why is that? Could it be anything to do with Helen, precious Helen, Helen and the choir of angels that sing behind her head because she’s so bloody perfect?’

  OK, May thought, try to think straight. He seems to know, he’s made enough references now, it seems the most logical thing to assume that he knows, otherwise why the choir of angels?

  Alain got up out of his chair and moved towards May.

  ‘So,’ he said and May immediately stopped wondering what he knew. It doesn’t matter what he knows, she thought as he slapped her face, first one way and then the other like a cartoon villain. It doesn’t matter what he knows, she thought as he punched her, full in the face this time so that May could hear a bone in her nose shatter as her head hit the wall, it doesn’t matter because he was always going to do this anyway.

  ‘It’s not because of me,’ May shouted as she hit the floor. ‘It’s you, not me.’

  Her voice sounded disgustingly nasal.

  She knew she should keep quiet, take it in silence, try not to enrage him any further. May knew this because she’d done it before, begged for forgiveness, accepted a beating without arguing. It made things shorter, made Alain lose interest in what he was doing more quickly. But what she lost, May knew, what she lost and could never get back was her dignity. Both times she had adopted the passive approach May had felt sick afterwards at her own complicity.

  Not any more. This is for Helen, she thought as she managed to get hold of Alain’s leg with one hand. He was wearing shorts and May’s nails were longer than usual. She dug them in as hard as she could and then a little bit harder, for Helen.

  ‘Fuck off, bitch,’ said Alain, shaking his foot to try to get her off. ‘That’s my bad leg. It’s only just out of plaster.’ May clung on, feeling her nails go through skin, feeling something wet on her fingertips, on her hands, knowing that the leg was weak, knowing that this was her only chance. Alain’s attempts to move became increasingly frantic until he reached down, slapped May’s head again and again and she had to let go, scraping her nails down his leg as hard as she could on the way.

  ‘Ow,’ said Alain. ‘Ow, ow, you hurt me.’ He hopped away from May towards the door, for all the world as though he had been attacked out of the blue.

  ‘It’s bleeding,’ he said, holding his leg. ‘Look what you’ve done.’

  May stared at Alain’s scratched leg from her vantage point on the floor. It was white and skinny from the weeks in plaster. They were only small scratches, but he was right, they were deep, there was blood, big beads of it travelling down towards the carpet. May knew that if she studied the scratches more carefully, she would see that the marks left by her nails were crescent shaped. She felt proud, as if she had made something clever like a coat for a baby or a dress, and she wished that she could take a photograph.

  Alain stumbled to the kitchen and May took a quick inventory. Definitely a broken nose and quite a large amount of blood but nothing to be done, no point taking her nose to hospital. May knew that she had never been a beauty, but she had liked her nose. She put one hand up to touch it in apology. May’s face felt sore everywhere, and there was an empty sound in her ears, as if she had just left a loud rock concert. Arms and legs OK, but there was a strange throbbing deep inside her that didn�
�t feel right.

  Get up, she thought to herself, this is your chance, grab the baby and leg it, go to the place for battered wives, or ring an old friend. The thought felt urgent, but May was unable to follow it. Get up, get up, she thought, quick, go on, do it now. No matter how urgent the voice became, May stayed exactly where she was. On the floor, semi-curled, waiting for the throbbing to go away.

  ‘It’s still bleeding,’ Alain shouted from the kitchen. ‘You’ve hurt me, May.’

  May heard him but she couldn’t completely understand. He didn’t sound threatening or angry at all, more like a little boy who is puzzled about why the grown-ups are angry with him.

  ‘May,’ he said, ‘have we got any antiseptic?’

  ‘Hang on,’ May said.

  It was a clever thing to say, she thought. It would keep him wherever he was for another moment, and she would have time to, time to… May was puzzled. She couldn’t remember what it was she had to do, before she got up. Something, she thought, something important. The baby, that was it, Jenny. May knew that she had to find Jenny and keep her safe, get her away. A small amount of urgency crept back into May’s head and she tried to sit up. Her head and her nose and her neck were hurting but the worst thing was the giddiness. Dizzy like a carousel, she whispered. She thought it might be a line from a song. There was a song a few years ago about dizzy, an old pop song and May tried to remember how it went.

  She sang to herself in a whisper and then it struck her how very funny that was, that she would have remembered a song she hadn’t even liked and yet she couldn’t remember why she was on the floor, or what she was supposed to do next.

  ‘May, look, my leg,’ said Alain and then he was standing over her and she remembered, she wasn’t safe and there was a baby somewhere and she was supposed to get out. May started to scream. A feeble scream, an underwater scream but it seemed to scare Alain anyway.

  ‘May,’ he said. ‘May, stop it, Jenny’s asleep, you’ll wake her up. May, stop screaming, what’s the matter? It’s me should be crying, look at my leg.’

  Alain squatted down by May.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Everyone has rows.’

  His voice was conspiratorial.

  ‘Stop crying, stop making that noise. I’m sorry if I was a bit rough but you really hurt my leg, you know.’

  May breathed through her mouth and tried to stop screaming. She could smell danger. When Alain went quiet and irrational, it was never a good sign. He wants me to feel safe, she thought, he wants me to feel safe and then something worse will happen. Jenny. Jenny. May remembered Jenny through the haze of her poor battered head and put her hands on the floor to brace herself for standing. There was something wrong. She couldn’t seem to balance herself properly, and her hands didn’t appear to be able to bear her weight.

  ‘Stop messing about, May,’ said Alain. ‘I’ve said I’m sorry. I said it. I’m sorry. There, I’ve said it again, what more do you want me to do?’

  May could hear a note of panic in his voice. She wasn’t sure why. The floor under her legs felt wet and May put her hand down to see what it was, thinking that maybe if she cleared up that mystery, she would be able to get up, get Jenny, see what was happening. Anything that would make her feel a little clearer, less muddled, would be good. May held her fingers up to her face.

  It was blood. Sticky, smelly blood.

  ‘May,’ said Alain. May could hear the catch in his voice. ‘May, you’re bleeding, why are you bleeding? I didn’t do anything, did I? You hurt my leg but I didn’t do anything.’

  ‘I’m bleeding,’ May said. ‘I think I’m losing the baby.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  June 2018

  Lewisham

  It’s hot.

  Jackie hasn’t gone yet.

  There are snags about moving in to their new flat in the warden assisted block, something like that. I’m grabbing hold of as many moments with her as I can, but our relationship hasn’t been the same. We don’t have the easy chats that we used to. She tries, my lovely Jackie, to be fair on her she tries very hard. It’s me that’s the problem. I want to tell her about Bill, tell her what I know but I can’t seem to get it out. My hand has been too shaky to write and it’s hard to point to danger when you don’t have any words.

  She talks to me, my Jackie, she talks about everything under the sun except for the wedding stuff, the important stuff, the things I know are uppermost in her mind. I get hold of the pad and manage to write, beware, danger, but they’re very wobbly, my words. I’m not sure that she can read them. She looks at me with pity, I hate that, and she says she’s fine.

  I gesture that I want the pad again and I manage to write, not Bill. I’m trying to tell her that he’s not who he says he is, that’s what I want her to know, but of course she doesn’t understand.

  I write maid of h and I scribble it out, scribble so hard the paper tears. I need to show her that I can’t collude, maybe that will make a difference.

  Oh May, she says, I want you to be happy for me, I’m happy, please don’t spoil it. I understand if you don’t want to be there. He’s old and he’s all sorts of things but he’s a good man, May, you don’t know him like I do. He’s funny, and he’s clever. I never had a chance before.

  And you don’t stand a chance now, I think. He’ll chew you up and spit you out and what good will your velvet curtains do you then?

  I think I growl a little, it’s easy to do that when I’m trying to talk, I can’t help it. I growl and she cries. She looks young when she cries, like a young girl.

  Oh what’s the matter, sweetie, Abi says, May, you haven’t been upsetting our summer bride, have you?

  She gives me a really nasty look but with Jackie she’s all tissues and kindness.

  Go and have a lie down in your room, lovey, she says, May will be fine without you. I’m here now.

  Jackie kisses me goodbye but she’s sniffing, and I know I’ve upset her. Upset her without even telling her the truth, it’s unbearable.

  I try not to cry out when Abi does my hair, pulling and twisting it into some kind of old lady ponytail.

  Jackie is having pink extensions for the wedding, Abi says, no point in you being Mrs Jealousy now.

  Bill looks in briefly while Abi is doing my hair. He’s always popping in these days, even though I’ve tried to beg them to keep him away. It’s as if the more I don’t want him here the more he wants to come. Like a cat, he is, a sneaky nasty little creeping cat.

  She’s going off on one, Abi says, come and help me, Kelly. I can’t cope when she goes all crazy.

  I wasn’t, I think, I was just laughing, that’s not fair. I try not to cry. They don’t like that either. It’s always known as waterworks in here, never tears or sadness or crying, just waterworks. As if we were all on some giant Monopoly board. Waterworks. I used to like to buy up the utilities. No one else wanted them, that was the thing.

  The only person here who can help me is Trevor. He understands about love and loss, he gets how I feel about Jackie and he understands me better than anyone. I didn’t want to tell him about Bill being Alain. I didn’t want to over burden him but I’ve got no choice now. Someone has to help me. I know he’s a fragile little chap and the last thing I want to do is frighten him, but I have to tell someone else. I know he can’t do anything, no one can unless Jackie knows and believes me. But someone needs to know.

  He’s there when they’ve finished doing my hair. Trevor, not Bill. I was looking down, trying not to cry when Abi scraped my hair back, and when I looked back up he was there.

  Trevor, Abi says, well look who’s come to see us.

  He hasn’t come to see you, I think, he’s bloody well come to see me.

  Always a pleasure, Abs, always a delight, Trevor says and he winks at me. I’m so relieved I nearly start blubbing again. Everything makes me cry these days. Trevor manages to make me feel dignified, as if he can see through to the old May underneath, the real person. He might be able to h
elp.

  He pats my hand. We’ll have a chat in a minute dear, he says and for just a moment I think – let him come, the scary one. Let Bill poke his stupid ugly head round my door. I’m safe. It’s how I used to feel with Helen, poor Helen.

  They leave, finally, the carers. There’s a whole lot of laughing and hilarity about what Trevor and I might get up to, when they’ve gone.

  Don’t you two do anything I wouldn’t do, that sort of thing. They wouldn’t say it if he wasn’t gay, I’m sure they wouldn’t.

  I’d like to say I’m sorry but I can’t so I do a kind of growly shrug. Trevor gets it immediately.

  It’s not your fault, dearie, he says, I’ve never been one to blame all the heteros. Some of my best friends are straight, he says and it makes him laugh a lot even though I can tell it’s a well-worn joke.

  So what’s going on, my May, he says. He picks up my hand, the bad one, the one that stays in a claw, and he kisses it.

  I don’t like to see you like this, he says, you look very worried.

  I shrug to show him I can’t explain.

  Well that’s not good enough, he says, that won’t do at all. Remember I’ve got experience in all this getting old stuff, I’ve been here before. Try to say the words, look my ears are out on stalks already. He points at his ears and it’s true, they really do stick out and I can’t help laughing.

  That’s better, he says, that’s the May I like to see. When my Michael was, well, when he was at his worst, I used to think that if I made him laugh once a day I was doing OK. It wasn’t always easy, he says and his face clouds over like there’s a storm coming. Storm warning face, I’d like to say but that would be far too difficult. Trevor coughs that painful sounding cough again.

  Michael, I say without thinking too much about it. It comes out well. Really well, and Trevor claps his hands and jumps up.

  Oh listen to her, he says, as if there’s a whole audience of people waiting by my bed, isn’t she great, isn’t she marvellous? I am so honoured that you said his name, Trevor says and I’m worried for a moment that he’s going to cry. His eyes are definitely as sparkly as the hat he was wearing that first day.