by Jane Gilley
‘And it’s been nothing but hard work, every day here, just as usual. And, well, you know what it’s like. I’ve told your father I’d like to persuade your grandfather to sell it and then we can retire and get a little cottage somewhere by the sea. We’ve got some savings put aside, you see. So it’d be nice to do that.’
‘I didn’t know it belonged to Gramps. But Dad’ll never let it go, will he? He’s got nothing else in his life and he’s just too stubborn.’
‘Well, he’s not always such an ogre – your father,’ her mother said carefully. ‘Just old-fashioned. Unfortunately, he’ll never change, love.’
Stacy had forgotten how serene it was here in the top fields, with only the swishing of the wind and leaves rustling on the hedges for company. But now they were alone there were some things Stacy needed to discuss with her mother; some things she needed to get off her chest. She folded her arms, bracing herself.
‘Well, I think you should move, Mum. I hated living here, I’m sorry to say. Peter hated it too. So many hard-edged rules and Dad’s word was final. But also we felt you could’ve stuck up for us or at least been on our side sometimes. That’s one of the reasons we left. The other reason we left is because you didn’t allow us a childhood or any nice treats occasionally. You made us work as if we were your staff or something. All our lives. Please tell me why you did that, because I’ve never understood it. No one else I know has ever been treated like that. It hurt us both, considerably, you know.’
Stacy watched whilst her mother’s eyebrows rose and fell, as though she was searching for the right words. An apology and explanation would have been nice; some outpouring of remorse and love would have been wonderful. Or were her parents incapable of giving or showing love, as she suspected they were?
‘Oh, Stacy. It was just our way, you see. We’ve always had to work hard throughout our lives, with little reward and—’
‘Oh,’ Stacy exclaimed, her indignation rising to the surface. ‘So because you didn’t get anything nice out of life meant that we shouldn’t have expected anything nice? Is that it?’
‘Well, no, but it builds character to struggle, my father told me. And look at you both! You and Peter have made something of yourselves, haven’t you? You, in the library and Peter with his IT?’
‘Right! So your reasoning is that you both made us suffer – you were unkind to us, you showed us no love – so we’d get good jobs?’ Stacy said resentfully.
‘No, I don’t think we were unkind, exactly, love. And childhood doesn’t last, does it? So, well, I suppose we thought it would prepare you to be strong and independent. But I will admit that I’ve realised since then that our, um, behaviour, let’s say, drove you away. You were both out the door so quick after you turned eighteen. And I am very sorry about that. But I don’t want to go over old ground and start worrying about all that now. We’ve made our beds, all of us, and it’s done now. So, anyway, tell me, do you have a nice boyfriend now?’
A tear teased her eyelid as Stacy sighed.
Her mother clearly didn’t understand how unloved and lonely she’d felt throughout her childhood. So it wasn’t just their father who had odd ways about him. Stacy could see that her mother had her own very fixed ideas about life, too. She realised they’d never understand that it was their lack of love and care that really drove her and Peter away. It was as she thought: her parents were simply unloving people.
‘Nope,’ Stacy said finally. ‘I never have any kind of life because of my cats.’
‘Well, they’re gone now so maybe you can have some kind of life. At least your father’s sorting out your flat for you. Got someone in to freshen it up with a lick of paint, too, apparently. He likes things to be done in a certain way, as you know. So it’ll be nice when you go back in. What you had before wasn’t really working was it, love? We spoke to that John. He says you yelled at them all the time. But it wasn’t the cats’ fault, love. They were cooped up and that’s not right for animals like that. You’d become a cat hoarder and that’s not healthy living either. So you just need to find a nice boy and settle down before it’s too late. I’d love some grandchildren and we won’t be getting them from Peter, unless him and his partner decide to adopt some kiddies, you know?’
‘I know. But I feel sad about my cats. I tried my best with them. But it all just got to be too much, which is a shame, really. Mum, tell me, do you ever see my friend Elsa who had that skiing accident?’ she asked, determined to change the direction of the conversation because thinking about her lost cats was too painful. ‘You know Elsa? She lives at the bottom of the hill. You know, that girl I used to go to school with? Or do you see her parents at all? I wouldn’t mind going to see her while I’m here.’
‘Bottom of the – oh, yes! They moved last year. They got a bungalow somewhere near Bognor. Nicer for their girl, you know. No stairs or hills to bother about. And she’s got one of those electric chairs now. So she can manoeuvre herself about, instead of her parents pushing her everywhere. Much better arrangement for them all. No forwarding number but I suppose they might be in a phone book.’
As they turned and headed back towards the farm Stacy realised something. So there’s nothing left for me here, now. Nothing left for me anywhere, really, now my cats are gone and Elsa’s moved.
Chapter 11
Stacy relented to staying with her parents for a couple of weeks, taking the time in paid leave from the library. However, her supervisor had told Stacy that she needed to have a serious think about things, before she came back, because she’d been taking far too much time off work lately.
‘Do we bore you, Stacy? Are you thinking of leaving us or something? You really don’t seem to have the same motivation you used to have. Or are there difficulties we need to be advised about?’
‘Well, I have had some, er, personal problems recently but I’m just about on top of all that now. So when I get back everything will be different, I promise.’
She couldn’t go back just yet though because her flat wasn’t ready, for one thing. Her father was still busy trying to sort it out during the evenings after his farm work, doing the long drive to her flat and back twice a day. Stacy did feel a bit guilty about that. He always worked very hard, her father; she’d give him that. But she surprised herself by acknowledging that she did want to stay with her parents and try to patch up some of the holes in their relationship. She’d been away eight long years and not seen them in all that time. She’d only spoken to her mother once on the phone, when she first moved into her flat. Yet her mother hadn’t responded with much enthusiasm when she’d asked how they were.
‘Oh, you know,’ she’d said. ‘Everything’s pretty much the same, as usual. Nothing much changes around here.’
Her mother’s complacency had left Stacy feeling empty. Why hadn’t her mother said she’d missed her? And even though her parents had never expressed loving feelings of any kind – even to the point of them never having kissed either of their children goodnight when they went to bed – Stacy would secretly have liked her mother to have told her, just once in her life, that she was loved and missed. But no one had ever told her she was loved. Not even Mike, although she had loved him. So that was the reason Stacy had stopped calling her parents all those years ago. There was no point looking for love where it did not exist. She knew she had to try and find it elsewhere.
So whilst she stayed with them, she helped her mother, like she used to do, washing and cleaning and even collecting the apples. Their house looked tired and dated and Stacy mentioned this to her mother who said, ‘Decorating is your dad’s department, love. But he’s always busy with other things. Anyway, he’s busy with your flat at the moment, isn’t he?’
Her mother even persuaded Stacy to let her cut her hair, sitting on the old three-legged stool with her knees nearly up to her chin, in the middle of the kitchen, while she snipped away like she used to. It completely irked Stacy that she’d acquiesced to allow her mother to do that on this occasion,
like she was still a little girl, even though her hair had needed sorting out. Yet it was just another thing, Stacy realised, she hadn’t been able to do because of the cats. The amount of time it took looking after her cats had meant they’d prevented her from organising essential life events like dental appointments, having a haircut or doing the weekly shop. Perhaps it was best, all around, that they’d gone to other homes. But she knew she’d miss seeing them once she stepped back into her newly decorated flat.
‘Seems funny that I used to cut both yours and Peter’s hair with these old scissors. But there now. Your hair looks much better shoulder length and I’ve given you that fringe so you won’t need those awful hairbands. Right, now keep still a while longer and I’ll plait it, like I used to. You can keep this old scrunchie. You could easily plait your hair yourself, you know. Plaits keep that wild hair of yours tame. Plus, you’ll see how pretty it looks. Much more feminine. Unfortunately, you got that frizz from your dad’s side of the family. But plaiting it will help with that. There you are. What do you think? You look so much better now!’
Every afternoon Stacy would wander down the potholed drive, which her parents had done nothing about fixing since she was little. That took her onto the lower road and then down the hill to the village. Her mum was right in one respect, that everything pretty much was the same. A few people had added extensions to their homes, though. She was especially keen to see the old village school because it had been one of her favourite escapes from her oppressive childhood. When she saw it nostalgia swamped her. The climbing frame was still in place. But no sand pit. Of course, it looked smaller than she remembered, as she leaned on the outside railings, looking in. Then she went round the corner and found the brook and sat on the bank a while, playing games on her phone. It was good to feel the fresh air on her face and relive old memories. It was even good to be doing something other than working and looking after her cats for a change.
The run-down pigsty where Mike had stayed had been knocked down and turned into a proper studio flat for Bob, who had worked for her father, since Mike left. He ate with them each night, as usual. He was a lot older than Mike and nowhere near as fanciable! Her father came and went each day grumbling about this and that, or with news that Stacy’s flat was nearly ready. She wondered if her mother would be sad to see her go but didn’t really care either way what her father thought.
When the time came for them to say goodbye, Stacy could see that her mother was fighting to keep her tears at bay. Ah! So maybe her mother did care a little about her then, in her own way? But she wasn’t going in the car with them. Stacy relented and gave her mother an awkward hug. It felt so strange hugging her mother. It was something she’d never done before. She was surprised to note that her mother’s clothes smelt of mothballs and she felt very thin. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d touched her mother.
‘Bye, Mum. Look, when I’m settled I’ll ring you and you’ll both have to come for a proper visit or maybe I can cook lunch or something for you.’
Her mother had nodded, a handkerchief in front of her face, probably masking her real feelings about everything, Stacy hoped.
Her father had driven his daughter home without a word passing his lips. Stacy had spent the entire journey just looking out of the window. There was no way she could make conversation with him for the whole journey. But when he dropped her off outside her block of flats she did assent to thank him for his trouble.
‘Thanks for everything, Dad. Um, I’m sorry I’ve caused you some grief. I’ll see you soon.’
‘See you later then,’ was all he could manage, looking out of the car window as Stacy got out of the car.
Stacy kept walking without looking back. She could tell he’d paused for a moment because his engine was still idling. But whether it was to check on something or whether he was thinking about how different their lives could have been if only he’d been a more loving father, she could only wonder. At least she’d finally broken the ice with her parents again. So maybe there was a tiny ray of hope about striking up a better relationship with them in the future. She also wanted to phone Peter and catch up with his news.
‘But first,’ she said firmly – and she slid the thank you card, from her mother’s old box of cards, under John’s door and then inserted the key in the door of her own flat.
The change was dazzling!
As she walked from room to room in wonder, she could see all the walls had been repainted in an off-white colour, which brightened everything considerably. The bathroom had been scrubbed and was gleaming and there were no piles of dirty washing lying about. Even her washing had been done and put away!
‘Oh, wow!’
It was as though Mary Poppins had come in and swished a magic wand and everything had sorted itself out. Everything was clean and tidy and the piles of paperwork and books that had been stacked on the lounge table had been whisked away into a new low-level cupboard, which had been added to the room. Oh, that would be useful as she’d never had enough storage for everything before. Her sofa had been replaced by another infinitely better one. It was not new but that didn’t matter. Her old one had been stinky with cat pee. The disgusting lounge carpet had been replaced with laminate flooring. Her torn cat-pee-stained duvet had also been replaced. And there was food and fresh milk in the fridge.
What a difference!
And it was a very pleasing difference, she was happy to note. A tear escaped down her cheek, as the enormity of all the changes finally hit her and as she realised she had even more reason to be thankful to her father.
However, it was completely silent and that was an experience she was not used to! No little Pooch or Chater was there to come and welcome her or wind around her legs, expecting their dinner. Stacy sighed despondently. No longer having her little kitties would take some getting used to; she knew that for a fact.
Chapter 12
Eileen wiped the back of her hand across her tired face. She felt she was starting to look a lot older than her fifty-three years. She really needed to get her mother to help her colour her hair again. She rarely had time for hairdressers but her roots were starting to look like a runway at Gatwick. Yet there was always so much washing and ironing and feeding of everyone in her household. No time for herself what with work and her two boys. Marcus and Troy were in their early twenties yet told her regularly they had no intention of leaving home until they found their Mrs Rights. Sure, they both had jobs, down the local supermarket and training up for management, no less, and she’d loved having them around since her husband Graham walked out of their lives, saying he was going down the pub one evening, never to return. But sometimes some help from them – offered, not cajoled – would have been nice.
She’d long given up hope of ever finding Graham. The police had done their best, they’d told her. There had been sightings of course and CCTV had showed grainy images of someone who might have been Graham. But nothing had come of it. Eileen knew that if his intention had been to disappear then that’s precisely what he would have done. He’d been gone for over three years at any rate.
Not that Eileen had really minded. He’d been a drinker, had Graham, and not a very nice man when he was on one of his benders. He’d also never really managed to hold a job down for very long, so Eileen had always been the main breadwinner. Anyway, since she’d always had so much to do there wasn’t much time left for lamenting over her loss in that respect. So she and her boys had got on with things without him.
At her mother’s request, though, she’d moved out of the rented flat she’d been living in with Graham, and she and the boys had moved in with her mother, Veronica.
‘It’s a bit of company for me, rattling round this big old house. And I won’t charge you rent just as long as you do all the shopping. Plus it’ll be easier on your purse strings now you’re the only earner.’
Eileen had never known her father. ‘A quickie behind the coal shed, with an old boyfriend,’ was how Veronica laughingly e
xplained her daughter’s parentage.
But Eileen knew life was full of glitches, grievances, problems. ‘You have to make do and mend,’ her mother was fond of telling her. Eileen agreed with her mother that having plenty of problems herself made it so much easier dealing with other people’s problems.
Anyway, she was busy putting the washing into piles, setting up the ironing board and checking the temperature on the iron and then while the iron was hissing away, climbing to the correct heat, she got a saucepan out. She filled it half full with cold water, added a bag of frozen peas and then began filling up the sink to wash the potatoes.
‘Chicken and leek pie tonight, Mum. That do you?’
‘Of course. You know I’m happy with anything, love.’
Eileen took the pie out of its carton, placed it on the side by the oven and switched the oven on.
‘Hi, Mum,’ said Troy, coming in from work. ‘Marcus is gonna be late. Problems with cashing up. So he’s got to stay and sort things out with that new cashier. She’s not very good. She’ll be getting the boot if things don’t improve with her.’
‘Uh-huh. Well dinner’s going to be a bit late. I’m just catching up with the ironing.’
‘Whatever. I’ll be in my room. Just yell when it’s ready.’
Veronica tutted. ‘You know, you ought to teach those boys how to look after themselves, love. What if they decide to leave home? Neither of them can cook. Neither of them knows what a washing machine’s for. They’re pretty useless!’
‘Uh-huh. Well maybe one day when I’ve got time and a whole load of patience! Oh, can you pass me those jeans, Mother? No, not those. Those there. Thanks.’
‘You’re running yourself ragged, love. And then you’ve got work on top of that. Don’t know where you get all your energy from.’