Unbecoming

by Jenny Downham

  She opened her eyes suddenly. ‘What ice cream did you order?’

  Mum looked puzzled. ‘Why?’

  ‘Mary asked me to find out the recipe for a knickerbocker glory the other day. She said you loved them.’

  ‘Really? I’m surprised she remembers.’

  ‘It was a knickerbocker glory?’ Katie scrabbled off the chair in excitement. ‘That’s where she’s trying to get to every day – the coffee bar she took you to.’

  ‘She’ll be lucky. It’s been gone for years.’

  ‘She doesn’t know that though, does she?’ Katie went over to the Bisham map. ‘What was your road called?’

  ‘Victory Avenue. But they changed all the names when they built the bypass. A lot of houses got knocked down.’

  ‘She mentioned Victory Avenue the first morning she was here. Was it number twenty-three?’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘She wrote it on the sofa. It took me ages to get the mark out.’ Katie traced the route to the café with her finger again. ‘Here it is – Park Avenue. There’s a café we go to. Mary loves it. We always end up there. I bet you a million pounds it used to be the coffee bar. It’s opposite the library – do you know the one I mean? Is that near where you used to live?’

  Mum looked uncertain. ‘Mary wouldn’t remember. It was years ago. She only visited once.’

  Katie thought back to all her morning wanderings with Mary. Something was nagging at her, something important. Mary claimed to recognize loads of places in Bisham – the railway station, the park, the cemetery. Katie had always thought she was just confused. But what about the day Mary left the flat before anyone was awake and knocked on that woman’s door? Was that random? It was the day they’d gone to the café for the first time. They’d walked for ages afterwards and ended up outside the primary school. Mum had to rescue them because Mary was utterly felled by being there. It was like when she sun downed at night – like she was taken over by ghosts.

  Now it made sense!

  Katie sat on the bed and scooped her mum’s hand up in her own. ‘Mary knocked on a woman’s door once, claiming Pat lived there. I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d freak. Mary said she watched the place from the café window. The woman thought Mary was nuts, but what if Mary was re-enacting something she used to do years ago? What if she used to get the train and go to the coffee bar and sit watching your house? What if she didn’t just come to Bisham once, Mum, but loads of times? Think about it – it makes perfect sense. She even recognizes the school you would’ve gone to when you were a kid. The day she actually showed herself to you was because you were the only one without an ice cream and she couldn’t bear it. How else did she know your mum used to lie on the sofa with headaches? She’d been peering through the windows, watching you for years! That detective gave her the address when you were a baby, and all that time she’d been checking you were safe, not interfering, allowing Pat to get on with it. She didn’t mean you to find out who she was that day, but Pat saw you and the whole thing blew apart.’

  Mum often looked as if she was out of reach. Even if you tied a rope to her and reeled her in, she’d probably stick her foot in the door and refuse to get close. But now she gazed at Katie with an open and vulnerable expression.

  ‘So you think when she had a day off at the theatre or something, she used to come here?’

  Katie laughed. ‘Yes! I think you had your very own fairy godmother watching you after all.’

  ‘So when she runs off every morning, she’s not actually trying to get away from me?’

  ‘She’s trying to find you, Mum. She wants to sit in that café and watch her little girl. It’s like an ancient memory pattern or something. It’s totally awesome!’

  Katie had a sudden desire to hug her mum, to nudge her nose into the space between Mum’s chin and shoulder. It’d been years since she’d done it, but she remembered the warmth and comfort of it from when she was much younger, and she’d feel like a small creature, a baby bat or a mouse – totally taken care of and completely approved of.

  But Mum stood up and brushed at her skirt. ‘Right, well I better go and see what’s going on downstairs.’

  How could she shove her feelings away like that?

  ‘And you should be getting on with your personal statement, shouldn’t you, Katie, instead of faffing around with musty old clothes?’

  Her beautiful softness had gone. It was like watching someone come out of their house to sunbathe for a second and then dash back inside and slam the door.

  PART TWO

  Twenty-two

  The memory game was getting dangerous. Today’s category was: blue blank, and it was going to hurt. Blue meant sad. Blank meant forgotten, Mary knew that much. She also knew there was no avoiding it. The day was approaching when memories would slip through her so quickly that she’d only be able to stare at the space where they’d been. She’d be in nappies by then. Drooling. Silent …

  She knows it involved a garden.

  She knows there was a fox calling in the dark, and somewhere at the top of some stairs a child cried and cried.

  Hunting for a memory is like peering through fog. You know it’s there, but you’re not sure if it’s friendly or terrifying or even of this world and it keeps moving about. You catch glimpses, tantalizing fragments. She remembers a baby, for instance – sleep warm, milk and powder, the smoothness of skin, the weight in her lap. Then it is gone, whisked away and replaced by a crowd of people staring down at her.

  What’s this picture now?

  Come on, Mary, you can do it. Think, woman, think!

  She’s in a railway station, is that right? When you are old, people often look through you, but now their attention is upon her. She feels their hot, pitying gaze.

  Someone says, ‘Her breathing’s very rapid. You think she needs an ambulance?’

  I am sitting in a railway station and there are people looking at me.

  ‘It could be a panic attack.’

  And somewhere in a garden, a blackbird trills and somewhere a child weeps.

  ‘Or a shock. Sometimes a shock causes this reaction. Is she with anyone? Does anyone know her?’

  ‘Jack,’ Mary says. ‘Jack knows me.’

  But no one seems to know Jack. They take her to hospital instead, just for one night. She is cold, so cold that they wrap her in silver foil and she’s sick in a bucket. It takes her hours to warm up. Hypothermia on such a warm evening. How did she manage that?

  She has no idea. She has to sit here in this memory and see what happens next.

  What happens next is a woman appears in front of her holding a plate of biscuits. ‘Did you take your tablets?’

  ‘Are you a nurse?’

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  ‘Are you real?’

  ‘Yes, extremely real. Now, did you take them or not?’

  A blink and the hospital has gone. A blink and the terror abated.

  A quiet breath in and out and Mary found herself on a sofa in a lounge.

  The woman with the biscuits was still there. She said, ‘Did you hide the tablets again? Is that what happened?’

  The best policy in such situations was to keep quiet and pretend you hadn’t heard. Mary took a sip of the tea that had appeared in front of her and avoided eye contact.

  ‘Are they down here?’ The woman held the plate out of reach and slipped her hand down the edge of the chair. First one side, then the other. ‘Thought so.’ She showed Mary two white blobs congealing on her palm. ‘What are these?’

  ‘No idea. They’re not mine.’

  ‘Then who do they belong to?’

  ‘Not me, I assure you. Now, how many of those biscuits are for me?’

  ‘All of them if you take these tablets.’

  ‘I’m not touching those. You found them down the side of the chair.’

  The woman tutted. ‘They’re perfectly fine. Just swallow them.’

  ‘They’ll hurt my head.’

>   ‘The doctor said they might do that for a bit, but then they’ll stop.’

  ‘I don’t want them to do it at all.’

  Mary reached for a biscuit, but the woman held the plate higher, as if Mary was a child and this woman was in charge – holding things out of reach because little fingers mustn’t touch and little ears mustn’t listen and little girls mustn’t climb trees or kiss boys, but must sit in chairs and keep safe.

  ‘Bugger off,’ Mary said. She liked how it sounded. ‘Bugger off, missus, why don’t you? I want the other one. What have you done with her?’

  ‘You mean Katie?’

  ‘That’s it. Sweet little girl with the red hair.’ She stabbed a finger at this officious woman. ‘No one’s taking her away again, I tell you that for nothing.’

  ‘Christ! I give up. This is ridiculous, this charade every day.’

  The woman stalked off, slamming the lounge door behind her. She thought she was in charge, that was why. It was no good trying to make friends with her either. If you took her hand, she’d snatch it back. If you reached out to stroke her face, she’d shake you off. She was never relaxed, always rushing everywhere. If she kept bossing people around and never sitting down for even a minute, she’d have a heart attack. She should be careful.

  Ah, who was this, coming now? What a beautiful face on her.

  ‘You need to take your tablets, Mary.’

  ‘Someone else just told me that.’

  The girl laughed. ‘We have to get to the café. It’s sunny, really lovely. You, me and Chris are going together.’

  ‘That sounds wonderful. Shall I get my bag?’

  ‘I don’t think Mum’s going to let us go anywhere until you take your tablets. She’s out in the kitchen crushing them up and then she’s going to hide them in a chocolate biscuit. But, hey, maybe they’ll taste better like that?’

  Mary smiled at the girl. She looked particularly beautiful this morning, as if she was tipping towards something lovely. ‘And then we’ll go to the café?’

  ‘That’s right. And see if there’s anything on the menu you haven’t tried yet.’

  ‘And talk to the waitress you like.’

  The girl gave her a startled look. Yes, Mary thought, I see you. I see your fire and heat, don’t think that I don’t.

  ‘Anyway,’ the girl said, ‘Chris is coming with us today, so things might be a bit different. But we’ll sit at your favourite table and you can still wave at people who walk by and chat to everyone.’

  ‘Perhaps Jack will be there,’ Mary said. ‘Perhaps we’ll see Caroline.’

  ‘All things are possible, Mary.’

  ‘And you’re coming with me, aren’t you? You’re special, anyone can see that. You have the face of an angel.’

  ‘Do I?’ The girl’s eyes shone with laughter. ‘I wish other people could see what you see, Mary.’

  The woman came back with only a single biscuit on a plate and a sullen boy at her side.

  ‘Why do I have to do what they want?’ the boy said. ‘Why can’t I decide what I do?’

  ‘Stop fussing,’ the woman said. ‘I’m sure you’ll have a nice time when you get there.’

  ‘Not in a stupid café I won’t.’

  ‘Please, Chris, don’t do this to me now.’ The woman handed the plate to the girl. ‘You try.’

  The girl stroked Mary’s cheek. ‘This is a special biscuit and you need to eat it. It’s the only way for us to get out of here. Would you like to give it a go?’

  Mary found her hand, curled their fingers together. ‘You want to share it?’

  ‘No, it’s all for you.’

  ‘Well, you’re very generous, thank you very much. I asked that lady there for a biscuit just now, but she wouldn’t give me one at all.’

  Katie’s heart lurched with pity. Every morning it was the same, like some kind of ghastly comedy sketch. She hated the whole ritual of it. She hated the way Mum stood over poor Mary, insisting and insisting.

  Why was it so important to take the stupid tablets anyway? The consultant had said they ‘might’ slow down the progression of the disease, but he’d also said it was impossible to accurately diagnose Mary in the first place. She ‘probably’ had vascular dementia, she ‘almost certainly’ had Alzheimer’s. He’d been pretty clueless.

  He showed them the CT scan, pointed to some black smudges with the tip of his pen and said Mary had plaques in her brain. It was about the only thing he was certain about. He used the analogy of a forest – one day a tree crashes to the ground and bang, the recipe for lasagne you’ve known for years falls out of your head. The next day a different tree silently collapses and bang, the memory of your first kiss disappears for ever. Eventually Mary would forget how to use the toilet, how to walk, how to eat. Until, one day, the forest became a wasteland and she forgot how to breathe.

  ‘Silent, deadly and irreversible,’ the consultant said.

  It was the worst analogy in the world and he was the worst doctor. Would the tablets stop the trees falling down? No. Would new trees get planted? No. All the tablets ‘might’ do was slow down the process of deforestation. The tablets might have side effects as well – headaches, nausea, diarrhoea, insomnia, loss of appetite, lethargy. Like Mary needed anything else to put up with.

  Mum seemed to think it was all totally worth it. She’d even mentioned Mary’s irregular sleep patterns to the doctor and let him prescribe sleeping pills and anti-depressants, although he’d advised saving them for later, once the main tablets kicked in.

  That still hadn’t happened though. If anything, the tablets appeared to make Mary worse. She was often tired. She seemed slower, sadder. She said her head was ‘all muddled’ and sometimes she seemed to have no purpose beyond sitting in the chair. It took ages to get her up and ready and out of the flat these days.

  Mum was late for work nearly every morning, which was probably why she was looking so anxious now, picking up her bag and groping about in it for her purse. ‘Stay together, the three of you, won’t you? And here you go – subsistence money.’

  Thirty quid! Mum wasn’t going to be able to keep that amount up every day of the summer holidays.

  ‘Right,’ Mum said, snapping her purse shut. ‘Do as your sister tells you, Chris, OK?’

  ‘How come she’s in charge?’

  ‘We discussed this. You know the deal.’

  ‘But there’s somewhere I want to go.’

  Why was nothing easy? Katie wanted him in a good mood today, she needed a favour. ‘Where do you want to go?’ she asked.

  He tapped his nose. ‘It’s a secret.’

  Katie smiled, despite herself. ‘Well, I like secrets. Maybe we can go together later, how about that?’

  ‘Cool! I’ll get my stuff.’ He rushed off, slamming out of the lounge and up the stairs.

  ‘Don’t let him do anything stupid,’ Mum said. ‘And keep in touch with me at all times.’

  ‘When will you be home?’

  ‘I’ve already told you.’

  ‘Tell me again.’

  ‘Christ, don’t you start forgetting everything I say as well! Six thirty. And remember to get stuff for supper. The list’s in the kitchen along with the sun cream.’

  ‘You don’t expect me to cook as well, do you?’

  ‘Well, if you get time, that’d be great, but if not, don’t worry.’ Mum laughed, as if she was being totally generous, when actually she’d probably be disappointed if there was nothing bubbling away in the oven when she got home.

  When Mum had rung school and confirmed Katie was doing her work experience being a carer, she doubted the Head of Year realized it would turn into a long-term job. Katie didn’t actually mind – she had no other plans for the summer holidays anyway, but now Chris was off school and part of the care package, was it fair that she was supposed to make supper as well?

  Katie curled her fists into two neat balls as she followed her mother down the hallway and watched her grope with the mortise lock. She l
ooked so desperate to get away that Katie thought she was going to leave without saying goodbye, but at the very last second, she turned in the doorway.

  ‘I couldn’t do this without you,’ she said. ‘I’m deeply grateful.’ She leaned in and kissed the top of Katie’s head. ‘You’re my good girl.’

  Which showed how much she knew.

  Twenty-three

  Here’s what happened, exactly how it went.

  A week after Katie gave her the letter, Simona said, ‘I wondered when you two were going to show up again. I was beginning to miss you.’ She took their order and served it. Over the course of the morning, she threw an occasional smile in Katie’s direction. When she brought their second tray of drinks, she leaned in and whispered in Katie’s ear. ‘You sure it’s Mary who wants to sit here all day, and not you?’

  Heat rose in Katie like mercury. And she knew Simona saw it because she smiled that slow smile of hers, and Katie’s heart beat so fast she thought she might die at her feet.

  The next day, Simona said, ‘Can’t keep away, can you?’

  And Katie wanted her to understand that she was here for Mary, not for herself, so she told Simona about Victory Avenue – how Mary used to be an actress, and every time she had a day off she’d get on a train and sit in this café to watch over the daughter who lived across the road. And Simona really listened. She listened so hard, she pulled up a chair and sat down.

  Mary couldn’t recall the plays she’d been in when Simona asked her, but she was so charmed to have the waitress sit with them that she took hold of Simona’s hand. ‘Funny ones. Popular ones.’

  ‘A different play each week?’

  ‘That’s it,’ Mary said. ‘All over the place.’

  ‘Repertory theatre,’ Simona said. ‘I did my drama project on that.’

  Katie watched their hands, all her attention focused on the way Simona smoothed her thumb across Mary’s palm and she noticed (not for the first time) that Simona wore a thumb ring and that she had long slender fingers, unlike Katie’s fat sausage ones, and could probably be a surgeon or a pianist if she wasn’t interested in going off to do drama and English at university in four months’ time.