Unbecoming

by Jenny Downham

  I want you to know that those short weeks we spent together were the best of my life. I spent every day astonished at your loveliness. I leave you to your new mummy and daddy now. You will be very safe with them. I will think of you every single hour of every single day. Never doubt it.

  Mummy

  Twenty

  It was as if the dark called to Katie, as if the very fact of the day fading caused some primal heat to rise. Like a fever. Or when she had that virus once and it got worse at night. Perhaps she should go to bed instead of going out. She wouldn’t though. Nothing was stopping this now.

  She wore sweatpants, a T-shirt, her boots and a hoodie. ‘Just going for a walk,’ she said from the doorway, keeping her voice light.

  Mary and Chris didn’t look up from the TV, but Mum frowned at her from the laptop, its shine reflected in her glasses. ‘I don’t want you going anywhere. You’ve caused enough trouble today.’

  ‘I just need some air.’

  ‘You don’t feel well?’

  ‘A bit woolly, that’s all. I know it’s late, but I just need a quick walk round the block.’

  Mum considered this. She was probably thinking that if she actually grounded Katie she wouldn’t be able to ask her to look after Mary tomorrow.

  ‘Just a walk?’ Mum said.

  Katie nodded. When had she started to lie so much? It was recently. When Mary arrived, was it? Did it matter? It was only a small lie.

  ‘Half an hour max,’ Mum said, ‘and take your phone.’

  Half an hour? That wasn’t going to be long enough. Katie shook her head in disbelief as she sidled out to the hallway. Why did Mum have to be so strict about everything? Why could she never just relax?

  Katie had been convinced the suitcase would change things. She’d let Chris do the honours, proudly telling Mum where they’d been and what they’d done. Katie had genuinely thought Mum would be elated, because here was concrete proof that Mary had loved Mum after all. One of the letters had almost made Katie cry. ‘I will think of you every single hour of every single day. Never doubt it.’

  But instead of being thrilled, Mum was furious – Chris was overexcited, Mary was exhausted and Katie was both a liar (for saying she’d stay local when she clearly had no intention) and a busybody (for stirring up the past). Nice. Thanks for that, Mum.

  ‘But Mary hired a detective,’ Chris kept saying. ‘Don’t you think that’s cool? She found out where you lived and everything.’

  ‘And then didn’t bother showing up.’ Mum put her hand up to mark the end of the discussion and marched off to the kitchen to open a bottle of wine, even though it wasn’t six o’clock yet. She relegated the suitcase to the broom cupboard.

  Never mind. Never mind any of that now …

  Katie ran down the stairs two at a time, and at the bottom eased the door open, slipped through the gap and let it close gently behind her. Empty grass. Empty wall. No one by the dustbins or under the fire escape. She took a breath, filled her lungs with the dark.

  It had rained earlier and the air had a fresh-washed smell about it. The sky was grey now, edged with darkest blue. It looked like a healing bruise. She stood there for a moment and breathed. She liked the way the trees moved in the wind, as if they were dancing. She liked the scent of wet earth and growing things.

  She shoved her hair into her hoodie and zipped it up.

  One, two …

  She walked quickly, skirting the grass. She didn’t look back or up at the windows. She didn’t want to falter if Mum’s disapproving face was up there looking out.

  The temperature changed as she jumped the low wall and jogged along the pavement. A coolness of space, of trees, of more air, of being away from enclosed buildings. She ran past the pub, past three lads sheltered in the doorway with pints clasped to their chests. She could feel them watching, but they didn’t say a word, didn’t tell her to slow down or speed up or come over or anything and so who knows what they were thinking, which meant maybe nothing, but which also meant she could give them anything to think. Like, that running girl looks completely normal, wouldn’t you say? Yep, she doesn’t look like she’s on a special mission at all …

  The main drag was quieter than daytime, barely any cars, never mind people. It was like she owned this town! Like being on holiday. No – like being older. Like maybe she’d left home and gone to university and tonight, after lectures, she’d come out for an adventure, with the trees dripping overhead and the beautiful empty street to run into.

  It took almost ten minutes to get to the garage, which was longer than she’d imagined. But what the hell? She’d simply have to run home at top speed. Here was the library, and next to the library was a bus stop and over the road was the café

  It looked shut. The outdoor lamps glowed red but the tables were bare and inside was dark, definitely empty or closing. This wasn’t what Katie had imagined. She wanted crowds of people and a quick flustered moment with Simona to pass her the note before running home again.

  As Katie stood catching her breath she had the feeling of being on the edge of something. She thought back to Mary on the train – the fire in her eyes as she’d sifted through the suitcase, plucking out photos, letters, even the adoption agreement from all those years ago. How courageous she’d been, how she’d fought for Mum despite everything.

  Katie had read some letters out loud. She loved the crisp dryness of the paper, the antique look of the ink, the passion in the words, the knowledge that day after day Mary had spilled her heart before sealing the envelope, licking the stamp and walking to the post box.

  No one made that much effort any more. Now, it was all texting and Snapchat and Facebook and instant messaging and so, when they got back to the flat (after the protracted bollocking from Mum) Katie had gone upstairs and written a letter – longhand on a sheet of paper from a stationery set she’d got for her birthday years ago. It was gilded with gold. It meant business.

  The café door opened. Katie shielded her face and peered towards the oncoming traffic, trying very hard to look as if she was waiting for a bus. It was an older waitress – one Katie had never seen before. She looked up briefly, one hand on her hip as if she was exhausted. The neon sign behind her flashed Latte, cappuccino, pasta, pizza over and over into the dark. She stacked four chairs into a pile and dragged them beneath the window. She hauled a table across to join them and chained all the legs together, as if she was in a Western and was hobbling horses for the night. Katie imagined a camp fire, Simona strumming a guitar …

  The waitress went back into the café. Maybe she was going to get Simona to help with the other tables. There were a lot of them. Or maybe she was going to call the police. ‘Yeah, there’s this strange girl across the road staring at me and to be honest I think she’s a psycho …’

  Oh, this was ridiculous! Where had Katie’s courage gone? She just had to cross the road and deliver the letter. She didn’t even have to speak!

  Simona was standing behind the counter cleaning the coffee machine. She was wearing a T-shirt and jeans and her work apron. Katie didn’t knock on the window or make any sound – she simply stared at the bare arc of Simona’s shoulder, at the place at the nape of her neck where her hair was shaved. And maybe Simona had special powers, because only a few seconds passed before she turned from the machine and looked at Katie. Right at her and no one else was there. Now Katie was going to look like some kind of stalker and Simona would be revolted. She already looked annoyed, giving a kind of ‘what-the-hell-are you-doing-here?’ frown as she wiped her hands on her apron and came to the door. She didn’t smile when she opened it. She barely opened it in fact, just peered out. ‘We’re shut.’

  Katie couldn’t speak. She’d been mad to come. What had she been thinking?

  Simona said, ‘Did you hear me?’

  ‘I wrote you a letter.’ Katie’s voice was a cracked whisper and yet she imagined everyone on the street hearing. She imagined the other waitress listening in, her shoulders stiffe
ning with disapproval somewhere inside the dark of the café.

  Simona opened the door, stepped through and pulled it shut behind her. She leaned on the glass, her eyes suspicious. ‘What kind of letter?’

  Katie fumbled at her pocket, pulled it out. It looked crumpled and ridiculous, not at all as she remembered it. ‘Here.’

  Simona shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe this was happening. A flood of fear rushed Katie’s heart as she watched Simona rip the envelope and pull out the single sheet of paper. The letter said:

  Dear Simona,

  I kissed my best friend and she told everyone. The day I laughed at you was the first time anyone had spoken to me for weeks. I felt included. This is absolutely not an excuse, more a way of explanation. I’m sorry. Truly I am.

  I’m looking after my grandmother, Mary, at the moment and she loves your café, which is why we’ve been every day since I made my first terrible attempt at an apology. If our visits are awkward for you (because you think I’m a moron), please text me on the number below and I’ll try and take her somewhere else instead.

  Thanks,

  Katie

  A slow smile lifted the edges of Simona’s mouth. ‘I’d say less of a moron and more someone with truly terrible taste in friends.’

  ‘Yeah. Except for Esme, they’re idiots – sorry.’

  ‘Esme’s the one you kissed?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘She doesn’t sound much of a friend either, to be honest.’

  ‘It’s not her fault. It was a misunderstanding.’

  Simona raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that right?’

  Was that a question? Did it require an answer? Simona kept looking at Katie. The way she kept looking made Katie look away.

  The pavement outside the café was littered with things that Katie only noticed now that she was trying hard not to look at Simona – a sweet wrapper, three chips, a plastic fork, a ball of tissue scrumpled up under the pile of tables.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Simona said. ‘You don’t need to tell me. I should probably get back to work anyway.’

  Katie felt suddenly hot in her layers of running stuff. She counted how many items of clothing she was wearing and it came to eight. She counted the number of tables in the stacked pile and it came to four. She was aware that Chris did this kind of counting – when he felt ashamed, uncomfortable.

  ‘I wish everything could go back to how it was,’ Katie said. Her voice sounded strange – high and uncertain. ‘I wish Esme would talk to me and her mates would stop staring. Every time I walk past them, it’s like being on stage in the worst possible way.’

  She waited for Simona to say something, but she didn’t. She waited for her to open the door and escape back inside the café, but she didn’t do that either.

  ‘My parents split up last year,’ Katie said, ‘which is why we moved here and why I changed schools. My brother still goes to his old school. He has special needs and they send a bus for him. It’s funny, I never really envied him before, but I wake up most mornings wishing a bus would come for me.’

  It was easy to talk to someone in the dark, someone who felt like they might know what you were talking about. Katie had a sudden desire to ask Simona if the rumours about her were true. And if they were, then how long had she known and what had been the signs, the very first signs? And did her parents know, and how did she tell them, and were they handling it or were they falling apart? She didn’t ask though. Of course not.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Katie said. ‘You have to get back to work. I should go.’

  ‘You say sorry a lot.’ Simona’s sandalled foot slid forward and tapped Katie’s boot. ‘Why’s that?’

  Katie’s chest constricted. It was suddenly hard to breathe. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Probably not a good habit to get into.’

  A sandal and a boot. Bang, bang.

  ‘I’m not saying never apologize,’ Simona said, ‘because the letter’s kind of sweet and I appreciate you bothering to come here and explain, but you should be careful you don’t end up saying sorry for who you are, if you know what I mean …’

  Katie feigned fascination with the street, the trees beyond, the glitter of the tower blocks in the distance. Simona’s sandal was rapping on her boot and it felt like a test. She was completely aware of it. What did it mean? Was she supposed to do something, say something? Simona would probably deny all knowledge. My foot knocking yours? You think that means anything? Are you crazy? That’s just a coincidence.

  There was silence again. Rounds of it, like a boxing match.

  Simona said, ‘Do you fancy a coffee?’

  ‘I thought you were shut.’

  ‘I don’t mean here.’

  Katie flicked her a look and Simona smiled that slow smile again. And it was like Katie’s eyes got snagged and she couldn’t look away.

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘My mum’s really strict. I told her I was just going for a walk.’

  ‘So, tell her you’re just going for a coffee.’

  Something’s going to happen, Katie thought, if I say yes.

  It was like an energy building, the two of them looking and all the seconds ticking between them.

  Katie looked away first. ‘I have to get back. If I’m late home, it’ll really stress my mum out.’

  ‘I would’ve thought your mum was nicely distracted with your grandmother the way she is. I would’ve thought she wasn’t actually taking much notice of you at all. Maybe you just think she is?’ Tap, tap went Simona’s foot again. ‘Maybe you’re just looking for an excuse?’

  Blood washed up from Katie’s chest to her neck to her face. She had to get out of there, had to get home. She’d been an idiot. Why had she written a letter asking if she could come to the café more often? She should have written one pledging never to return. ‘She relies on me. I couldn’t do it to her.’

  ‘Do what? Be yourself?’

  ‘Let her down.’

  ‘Well, that’s that then.’ Simona folded the letter and put it in her pocket. ‘I just thought you might like to talk.’

  ‘I can’t. Sorry.’

  ‘Apologizing again?’ Simona grinned as she opened the café door. ‘You really want to stop doing that.’ She went through the door and shut it behind her. She walked back to the counter, picked up a cloth and returned to cleaning the coffee machine.

  Katie ran. She didn’t look back, not even a glance. She ran across the road. The lovely road. Away from the café. She ran along the pavement. Cars swept past. A group of people walked into the pub. A late-night corner shop was still open and its lights winked at her. She ran faster, putting distance between her and Simona. She ran until her lungs were screaming with the rush of sharp air. All the way home.

  Mum was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea and the open suitcase. ‘Well?’ she said. ‘Nice walk?’

  She didn’t seem mad that Katie was late. She was clearly making an effort. What could Katie tell her? Not the truth. I went to deliver a letter to Simona Williams who, incidentally, is a lesbian and who asked me out for coffee.

  ‘So,’ Mum said, ‘I’ve been looking through some of this stuff.’

  Katie stood in the doorway and stared at her mother and all she could think was – coffee is a euphemism. In every movie and book, people never mean coffee. And why did that knowledge make her pulse speed? She thought Mum might be able to tell just by looking, and she didn’t want to walk into that warm kitchen and sit opposite her mum’s sleepy face and destroy the rest of her life. So she made some excuse about how she was tired and maybe they could talk tomorrow.

  Mum didn’t say anything, but Katie could tell she was disappointed. It’s not what she expected. Chris was supposed to be the moody one and Mary was supposed to be the one who was always leaving. Katie was the good one, the one who helped, the reliable one who could cope with anything.

  Good old Katie, that was her.

  Twenty-on
e

  Fantasizing about members of the same sex does not necessarily mean you’re gay. Straight people often have same-sex fantasies. But fantasizing mostly about members of the same sex is a pretty strong indication that you lean primarily in that direction.

  Katie deleted her browsing history, slapped her laptop shut and looked out of Mary’s bedroom window. Correction – her bedroom window. It looked pretty mundane out there – grass, litter, other people’s windows. No drama. Nothing much to see.

  Surely it was just that Katie didn’t know any boys? She’d had two kisses in her whole life. The one with Esme had been far more meaningful and passionate than the one with Jamie, but that was probably because of their friendship. If Katie’s best friend had been called Eric instead of Esme, then Katie would probably have kissed him just as ardently. Nothing to do with gender at all. Although, that didn’t explain why she’d spent all morning thinking about Simona …

  Katie knew from biology that to keep a memory you have to keep having the memory, using it, revisiting it, so that the neurons become imprinted. When Mary had her own stories told back to her, she eventually found them easier to access by herself. So neuron behaviour also explained why Katie was being haunted by Simona. If she wanted to forget about her, she had to stop reliving last night’s conversation over and over.

  Katie moved away from the window and over to the wall. Maybe she could do some more work on it? That would be nicely distracting. It was building up – several photos of everyone now, each with a name card above them. The map of Bisham was new, allowing Katie to plot their morning walks to see if there was any logic to Mary’s wandering. So far, the only constant was the café. Katie traced the most direct route with her finger. Approximately one and a half kilometres. She wondered if Simona was working today. She wondered if Simona would text or call now she had Katie’s mobile number.

  No, this kind of thinking was not helpful! She unlocked her mobile and texted Jamie: YES. It was the second time he’d asked to meet. A walk in the park would be lovely and it was the quickest way to kill the synaptic connections between her and Simona.