Unbecoming

by Jenny Downham

  ‘What did the others say?’ Mum asked. ‘Did everyone find it so manageable?’

  ‘What others?’

  ‘Well, you’re quite late back. I’m assuming you hung about and discussed the paper?’

  Katie nodded. ‘Yeah, I did for a bit. Most people thought it was fine.’

  She was too ashamed to admit the truth – that she’d spoken to no one after the exam. She’d come walking out into sunshine, feeling relieved and eager to celebrate. She’d dared a text to Esme, asking if she wanted to meet, but got no reply. Determined not to let it deflate her, Katie went to the shopping centre, bought herself a double chocolate muffin and a large mocha latte and sat on a bench to celebrate by herself. It was only when a woman with a little kid in a buggy came and sat next to her and started making small talk about the under-fives club at the arts centre that Katie had a wave of feeling so pathetic that she had to leave. Everyone else was probably at a pub or in the park and she hadn’t been invited. Instead, she was in a shopping centre cramming sugar in her face and talking to a total stranger about rubbish.

  And it was walking home that decided her. Courtesy of the maths boys, Katie had all the details for Saturday’s party on her phone. Esme never missed a party. If Katie’s life was going to improve, she had to get her best friend back. A relaxed and happy environment with free-flowing alcohol to steady the nerves was the perfect opportunity.

  Katie sat at the edge of the bed and folded the corner of the duvet into a triangle and smoothed it flat. ‘I have a proposition.’

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘Now my exams are finished, why don’t I look after Mary for a few days?’

  Mum frowned suspiciously. ‘Why would you want to do that?’

  ‘Because you can’t stay off work for ever and I don’t mind hanging out with her. I’ll just follow her about and see where we end up.’

  ‘What on earth for?’

  ‘You heard what the doctor at the memory clinic said about letting her wander. He thought she might be looking for something from her past. If I go with her, it might help her remember stuff. It’d be like an experiment, like Pavlov, you know – see if a stimulus promotes a response. It’ll be very educational.’ Katie smiled to lighten the mood, but Mum wasn’t going for it. She was positively glowering, in fact. ‘Maybe she’s trying to get to the seaside.’

  ‘The seaside!’ Mum made it sound like the worst place on earth.

  ‘Well, she did grow up near the sea. I could take her on the bus. I talked to her about it a couple of times and she was really up for it. You can make all your calls in peace or go back to work or whatever and I can take her out, and in return you’ll let me go to the party I told you about.’

  ‘Just because exams are over, doesn’t mean everything collapses, Katie. You’ve got open days and summer courses to apply for. We need to begin work on your personal statement.’

  ‘I’m supposed to write that myself.’

  ‘And work experience? Is that finalized?’

  ‘Well, I was thinking I could look after Mary for work experience. I already asked school and they said it was OK.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous. You can’t put looking after your granny on your CV! All you do is sit around talking for hours.’

  ‘I like talking to her.’

  ‘Think what a difference professional work experience could make to your university application.’

  ‘I might not go straight to university. I might take a gap year.’

  ‘And do what in it?’

  ‘I don’t know. Travel the world?’

  ‘What? No! God, this is a nightmare.’ Mum stood up, walked past Katie to the door, yanked it open and marched downstairs. Katie pelted after her.

  Mary was at the window looking down at the courtyard. She turned round expectantly as they came into the lounge. ‘Lovely day out there.’

  ‘The seaside?’

  Mary beamed at her. ‘Oh, yes. Shall I get my coat?’

  ‘You’re not going now!’

  ‘It’s rather pressing.’

  Mum shook her head, exasperated. ‘Of course it isn’t. The only thing that’s pressing round here is you!’ Mum yanked her glasses off and rubbed both eyes, a fist balled in each. She looked like a child silently crying. ‘No one’s going to the seaside. No one’s travelling the world. Now, I’m going to make some more phone calls, so will you please both sit yourselves down and stop being so relentless.’

  Katie took Mary to sit on the balcony. Mum stayed inside and Katie shut the door on her.

  ‘What did she call us?’ Mary said as Katie opened a deck chair.

  ‘Relentless.’

  ‘What did she mean by it, do you think?’

  ‘I think she means we both want something and she doesn’t want us to have it and it’s annoying her.’

  ‘I do want something,’ Mary agreed, smiling sadly. ‘Trouble is, I keep forgetting what.’

  It must be terrifying having your memories drift out of your head, yet Mary still managed to find humour in it. Katie felt a rush of fondness for her and an interesting opposite rush of fury towards Mum.

  ‘Let’s do some writing in your book, Mary. Let’s write down every name of every boyfriend you ever had. And then let’s write down all the places you went with them and all the windows you climbed out of and every country you ever visited in your life and then, if you ever forget, I can tell it all back to you.’

  It was fun for a while, but Mary tired easily in the afternoons and she soon fell asleep. Katie sneaked upstairs so she didn’t get roped into any more conversations about summer courses.

  Her bedroom was beginning to look like a gallery with the pictures of old movie stars she’d stuck on the wall. She’d been hoping to detract attention from Jack’s Post-it Notes, which Mum seemed to hate.

  ‘Sorry, ladies,’ she said as she unstuck the pictures from their central position and moved them to the edge. She didn’t want to get rid of them completely – she loved their vulnerable but determined eyes.

  She got Blu-Tack from the drawer and several sheets of A4 and wrote one giant letter on each page and coloured them in. Mary’s Family. She tacked them across the top of the wall like a banner and moved the Post-It notes directly underneath – all the messages from Jack, including the little stick figure picture. They could have centre space. She didn’t care what Mum thought of them any more.

  It still looked a bit empty, so she got out the photo album Dad made for her tenth birthday and chose one photo for each of them and stuck herself, Chris, Mum and Dad in a little row. She’d have to take a photo of Mary and get one of Jack from somewhere if she was going to replicate Jack’s drawing, but this would do for now.

  Katie spent the next half hour choosing photos from her phone, printing them out and sticking them to the wall – the block of flats where Mary knocked on the door, the poppies, the primary school, the tables outside the café Mary liked so much. If Mum was going to limit Mary to the flat, then Katie would bring the world to her.

  It was only half an hour later when Mum came tapping on the door. She sidled in and shut the door behind her, leaning on it and biting her lip.

  ‘What’s going on, Mum?’

  ‘I just got a call from work. They want me to meet a client tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s fine. I’ll look after Mary. I said I would.’

  ‘But I don’t want you taking her anywhere. I won’t be able to concentrate if I’m worrying about you all the time.’

  Typical Mum. She wanted help, but on her terms. ‘Well, I’m not staying in all day. You can’t expect that.’

  ‘No, I thought you could sit outside on one of the benches or take her to the local shops. Would that be OK? No buses or trains, though. No leaving Bisham.’

  For a second, Katie told herself to say no, because those options were rubbish. She wanted to find out where Mary was trying to get to every morning and it certainly wasn’t the nearest bench. Hadn’t the doctor at the memory clinic s
aid people got agitated if you stopped them going where they wanted?

  But Katie didn’t say any of that because there was a deal being offered here. ‘So, can I go to the party?’

  Mum sighed. ‘I’ll need to speak to the boy’s parents.’

  ‘No way! No one does that.’

  ‘I want to know they’ll be there. I also need to ask about alcohol.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Will there be any?’

  ‘Of course there will, but that doesn’t mean I’ll be drinking it.’

  ‘Well, those are my terms. Like it or lump it.’

  ‘I’m going to look like a total idiot if you call the parents. I guarantee no one else will do that.’

  ‘Well, maybe other people don’t care about their kids the way I care about you.’

  Katie felt a thrill of anger – it wasn’t so much caring as suffocating! ‘Actually, you know what, never mind. I can’t look after Mary tomorrow anyway – I’ve got plans.’

  Mum frowned. ‘What plans?’

  And because it was a total lie, Katie said nothing, shrugged instead.

  ‘I’ll pay you. I wasn’t expecting you to do it for nothing. Twenty pounds, I was thinking. Does that seem fair?’

  Katie tasted the words in her mouth. It was a game she played sometimes – daring to see how it would feel to say certain things out loud. Words like, No and Can’t and Don’t you see? Money didn’t make claustrophobia a more attractive prospect.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Mum said. ‘Come on, you were the one who offered in the first place.’ She went across the landing to her room and came back with her handbag and fumbled around in it. Katie felt a bit strange as Mum took out her purse and scrabbled for notes – sorry for her, or something. She looked desperate. ‘Here you go – payment in advance.’

  For a millisecond, their fingers touched.

  ‘You were right, I do need to get back to work. I was a bit harsh earlier and I’m sorry. I’ve got viewings to sort, appointments to make, and even if I don’t manage to catch up, it won’t do any harm to show my face. I don’t want my colleagues stealing clients in my absence!’ She laughed and leaned in, nestling her head on Katie’s shoulder for a second. It was such a remarkable thing for her to do, that Katie was silenced by it. ‘If tomorrow goes OK, maybe you can do Thursday and Friday, possibly even a couple of days next week?’ Mum sat on the bed. ‘She’ll be gone after that, I promise, and then we can all get back to normal.’

  Fourteen

  Today’s category for the memory game was: men.

  As Mary walked she got to twelve, which wasn’t bad, because she was sure she’d repeated none except for Robert, who deserved to be repeated, because he’d been her first. But thinking of men brought her to the baby. And thinking of the baby brought her to Pat. She tried to keep within category, but could only remember censure – her sister’s breath in her face as she hissed her disapproval. You’ve done it now, Mary. Nearly full term and not a word to anyone. There’ll be no bringing Dad round this time.

  Pat picks up a cup and sloshes it over to the draining board. She comes back for a plate and strides over to the bin with it. She puts both plate and untouched sandwich in the bin and lets the lid drop with a thud. She turns to Mary, her eyes furious, ‘Look what you did.’

  ‘What did I do?’ Mary sits on her hands to stop them shaking. ‘Everything isn’t my fault.’

  ‘No. But this is your fault.’ Pat says it quietly, like there’s no disputing it. She crouches down by Mary’s chair. ‘Who’s the father?’

  Mary shakes her head.

  ‘It’ll be all right,’ Pat says. ‘Tell me his name.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do we know him? What’s his job? Will he make an honest woman of you?’ Pat’s eyes clutch at her. ‘Mary, I’m your sister. You can tell me anything. We should be friends.’

  ‘Friends? That’s a laugh. You don’t even like me.’

  ‘I gave up everything for you, everything that I was going to be.’

  Yes, thought Mary. And don’t I know it.

  Tears spill. Splish, splash onto the kitchen floor. It surprises Mary that this is how it is. She thought she was stronger than this.

  Pat relents, kneels by the chair and strokes Mary’s back, describing slow circles. Mary doesn’t want her to stop. Maybe if she stays here with her sister rubbing her back, then none of this will be true – she won’t be pregnant, she won’t have these strange gripping pains in her stomach and it’ll be a normal Saturday instead.

  ‘It hurts,’ Mary says. ‘It already hurts. Is it supposed to?’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Pat says. ‘What a fuss.’

  Mary sobs properly then. She can’t help it. She just can’t hold everything in any more. She watches the tears drip onto her skirt and spread like flowers and she knows this is the end of every future she’s ever imagined for herself.

  1953 – a girl like her

  Beautiful Robert Gibson, contracted for six months to work at the railway yard at Hexham. Mary had met him on the beach. She’d been daydreaming at the waves and he’d simply laid his coat on the sand and sat down beside her.

  They’d talked for ages, sitting together watching the tide retreat when she should have been home hours ago. She knew Pat would be half-crazed with worry, but Mary couldn’t seem to drag herself away.

  They met every day after that. Why not? What harm? He collected her round the corner from the secretarial school and they’d go to the harbour and look at the boats or stroll along the beach. One evening, he borrowed a car and they went to Tiffany’s and he was the best dancer there and it was Mary he wanted to be with. He told her he never imagined in a million years he’d meet a girl like her in a town like this. He said she moved him.

  Another time, he invited Mary to his caravan and made her sardines on toast. It was all very proper. Nothing happened. Trouble was, Mary wished it had. Because surely, if she was with a man in that way, properly with him, wouldn’t the world finally be enough?

  He’s sitting on the caravan steps drinking tea when she turns up. He has his shirt wrapped round his waist and when he grins at her, the whole morning seems to shine.

  ‘I’ve brought a picnic,’ she tells him, when he says he’s expected at the yard, that it’s Friday, that he won’t get his wages if he doesn’t go in. ‘Look – bread, butter, even a tin of salmon. My sister’s going to kill me about the salmon, but I don’t care. I brought dandelion wine too, which sounds horrid, but is, in fact, rather delicious.’

  He laughs. ‘So now you’re stealing your father’s moonshine?’

  ‘Can’t help it.’ She sets the bag down on the grass, holds out her arms to him. ‘I’m a very bad girl.’

  He looks her up and down appraisingly. ‘Whatever are we going to do with you?’

  ‘No idea.’

  She buries herself in him, his bare chest and naked arms, the softness of his neck. She breathes in the scent of his skin, still sweet and warm from sleep.

  ‘I can feel your heart,’ she tells him. ‘It’s beating very fast.’

  ‘Is it?’

  She smiles. ‘Does that mean you’re afraid of me?’

  ‘Should I be?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘And what about you, Mary Todd, what are you afraid of? Anything at all?’

  She pretends not to hear, pulls him tighter instead. She doesn’t want to tell him about how difficult things have been, how suspicious her family are. Pat’s taken her purse and post office book away for safekeeping. Dad’s taken to telephoning the secretarial school asking for details of Mary’s attendance. Her world is closing in. She feels constantly observed, constantly disapproved of.

  ‘I’m going to live in London,’ she tells him, because if she’s not going to talk about fear, then she’ll talk about its opposite. ‘I’m going to train to be an actress and then I’m going to get famous. My life’s going to be startling. One day, you’ll be telling your friends you knew
me and they won’t believe you, just imagine!’

  ‘Mary,’ he says, ‘I never met a girl like you before.’ He pulls gently away so he can look at her. ‘Tell me, since you’re so good at predicting the future – what’s going to happen today?’

  She smiles up at him. ‘I can think of plenty.’

  He tells her he feels like he’s cradle snatching as he leads her up the caravan steps.

  Inside is a table and a bed. ‘What else do we need?’ he asks as he finds two cups and opens the wine.

  Mary leans back on a pillow and quietly undoes the top two buttons of her blouse, so that when he turns round he’ll see the way the sunlight falls on her hair and how the skin at her throat gleams.

  He grins as he pours the wine. ‘What are you trying to do to me?’

  She smiles back. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Do you know how a man feels when you look at him like that?’

  She shakes her head, but she does know, has always understood it. Women are supposed to look demurely at their shoes, their laps, their folded arms, the floor. But it’s thrilling to look men full in the eye, to meet their gaze.

  ‘I’m going to have to kiss you if you don’t stop.’

  ‘Go on then.’

  She doesn’t take her eyes from his as he sits next to her on the bed. He looks like he’s drowning as he reaches for her. It makes her want to laugh out loud. She feels wild and young and powerful. She is Mary Todd and she draws men to her. She can make their breathing change just by looking at them.

  It’s minutes before he gives a little moan and pulls away, sits apart on the bed, can’t meet her eyes.

  When he speaks, his voice is strangely quiet. ‘Mary,’ he says, ‘I’m not sure about this.’

  ‘Why not? I thought you liked me.’

  ‘I do like you, that’s the problem. I want you so much I can’t think straight. But to do this now, well, it might not be the best idea we ever had.’

  ‘It is,’ she says, and she snuggles up next to him and rubs his thigh.

  ‘Mary, don’t. It’s not that I don’t want to. Christ, I want to so much. It’s just, I don’t want you to get hurt when I leave. I don’t want you to get pregnant either.’