Thirty-eight
Mum was crying. Katie stood in the doorway between the lounge and the kitchen and stared at her. Mary was sitting on the sofa and she was staring too. Mum hadn’t cried for years – not when Dad cheated on her or when his girlfriend got pregnant, not when Mary arrived, not even when Katie yelled at her yesterday. But she was crying now – sitting on the sofa next to Mary with the memory book on her lap, looking as if her whole world had ended.
Mary got a hankie from up her sleeve and dabbed Mum with it. ‘There,’ she said, ‘there, there. Let it all out.’ Katie felt fear rise up her throat. Mary said, ‘You could stick the kettle on if you want to be useful. Make this poor woman a cup of tea.’
Katie watched them from the kitchen as she waited for the kettle to boil. Mary stroked Mum’s arm, squeezed her hand, whispered soft words in her ear. It made no difference. Mum was broken and Mary couldn’t fix her.
Katie brought in the tea and still the tears were falling. Should they call emergency services? Could you get an ambulance for someone who wouldn’t stop crying?
Katie gave the cup to Mary who tried to get Mum to take a sip. But she wouldn’t. Mary put the cup on the table. ‘I think you need a hug.’ She put her bony arms round Mum and pulled her close. ‘Is this any better?’
Mum folded into Mary like a child and shut her eyes.
‘Hush,’ Mary told her. ‘There’s my girl.’ And she stroked Mum’s hair with a wrinkled hand. Over and over, like spinning a cocoon.
Katie couldn’t bear it. She crept upstairs to talk to Chris, to see how long this had been going on, but he wasn’t in his room. She phoned him, but he didn’t pick up. Well, either he’d run away or he’d been farmed out somewhere. She missed him with sudden urgency. She went into Mary’s room, closed the door, sat on the bed and tried him again.
He picked up this time. ‘What?’
‘Where are you?’
‘Outside.’
‘I didn’t see you.’
‘I’m in the ball court playing football.’
‘Does Mum know?’
‘She told me to come out.’
So, whatever was wrong with Mum was so momentous that she was prepared to risk Chris’s life by sending him to play with the rough football boys, the kids she’d always thought would force drugs or alcohol on her precious son within minutes.
Katie wanted to say, It’s my fault Mum’s crying, Chris. I told her who I really am. She wanted to say, Promise not to hate me when you find out. But those words were bottled tight inside. She sat not saying anything, just listening to her brother breathe until he said, ‘I have to go,’ and she said, ‘Sure,’ and he hung up.
She went to the window and looked out. There were kids swarming the courtyard on bikes and a couple of women sitting on the steps with mugs of tea. Katie looked left, towards the fenced-off ball area, and there was Chris. He was in goal, which she knew was the worst position, but maybe there was a hierarchy and you had to work your way up. He looked happy enough. One of the regular football boys – Luke, or Lewis or something, from the block opposite – ran up to shoot. Chris didn’t save it, but another boy came running over and slapped Chris’s back in a friendly way as if he was sorry, as if he was saying, better luck next time.
Weird how watching Chris negotiate the world made Katie feel sad, like he was growing up and would need her less. She felt as if she’d lost something. She wondered if this was how Mum felt most of the time. But she didn’t wonder it for long because the door opened and Mum peered warily in. ‘Can we talk?’
She came in and shut the door quietly behind her. She walked over and stood next to Katie at the window. She smelled of smoke. Maybe she’d had a few drags on one of Mary’s fags, or maybe all that proximity meant Mary’s scent had rubbed off on her.
‘Sorry about the tears,’ Mum said.
Down in the courtyard a couple of older kids were navigating planks of wood on skateboards. The ones on bikes continued weaving about the place.
‘Is it OK if I say a few things?’ Mum said. ‘Would that be all right with you?’
Katie wished she was one of the really little kids – that one there with the dungarees, sitting next to her mum on the step – innocent, young, everything ahead, plenty of time to do it all differently. That girl wouldn’t have given a book to her mother because she probably couldn’t write yet. That girl’s mother wouldn’t be walking away from her, sitting on the bed, waiting for permission to speak.
God! Holding your hand up was lonely. Simona was right.
‘Say whatever you want, Mum.’
‘I’d like to know that I’ve understood correctly.’ Mum’s voice cracked. She coughed and started again. ‘There’s a lot of confusion in that book, Katie, but my understanding is that you like this Simona girl. She means more to you than just a friend?’
She waited for Katie to answer, but all she could do was nod. A seagull had appeared in the sky. It wheeled in lonely circles above the flats. She wondered if it was one of the ones she’d seen earlier by the café.
‘Do you think some of what you’re feeling might be because of Mary? You’ve been stuck with her for weeks, you haven’t seen your normal friends, you’ve been dragged to that café every day. I make you look after Chris and he gets so much of my attention. Then there’s your dad leaving. Is it because of that?’
‘It’s nothing to do with that stuff.’
‘I’m just trying to understand. I thought it might have affected you – Mary being here for so long, I mean.’ Her voice trailed off. ‘To be honest, I thought you had a boyfriend – that boy you went to the cinema with.’
‘Jamie. He’s a friend.’
‘Have you never wanted a proper boyfriend?’
Katie shrugged. Her throat hurt. What did Mum mean by ‘normal friends’ or a ‘proper boyfriend’ anyway?
‘Has this Simona ever dated boys?’
Katie couldn’t stand this. Did Mum think Katie knew the answers?
‘Can I ask you,’ Mum said, ‘when you dream – do you dream about girls?’
That was surprising. Katie hadn’t expected that. What did Mum do – go online and download twenty questions to ask a sexually deviant daughter?
‘Have you ever felt like this before?’ Mum said.
‘Please stop asking all these questions.’
‘Do you feel different from the other girls at school?’
‘I don’t know. I can’t answer any of this.’
Mum sighed, lay back on the bed with her hands under her head and stared at the ceiling. Katie thought Mum might cry again and she didn’t know what she’d do if that happened.
‘Young people often experiment with their sexuality,’ Mum said to the ceiling. ‘Do you think you might just be experimenting?’
Hadn’t Katie just asked her to stop? It felt like being under a microscope. She turned from the window and Mum leaned up – all jutting chin and hopefulness. She wanted reasons. She wanted Katie to describe the day something happened to send her off on this strange tangent. Maybe she’d caught a bug and it sent her mad, maybe she’d seen a DVD that was too old for her, maybe she’d been talking to people she shouldn’t. She’d surely been influenced in some way.
‘I’m not experimenting, Mum. Not in the way you mean. I’ve felt it for ages. It was just difficult to admit. Then I met Simona.’
‘At the café?’
Katie nodded.
‘And how does she feel about you?’
Katie shrugged, because how could she ever describe the complexities of what she imagined Simona may or may not feel? Anyway, it was none of Mum’s business.
‘So, you’re sure about this, are you?’
Katie nodded very slowly.
‘Do your friends know?’
‘I guess.’
‘And what do they think about it?’
‘Not much.’
Mum sighed. ‘You see, that frightens me. That makes me think you won’t live an ordinary life. Oh,
I know there’s less stigma these days, but I can’t help but feel you’ll be marked out in some way and people might hurt you.’
The words hung between them. They felt so heavy and terrible, like they’d last for ever and always be true. If you put them in landfill and buried them, they’d still be there, exactly the same in a hundred years.
‘You hate me for this, don’t you, Mum?’
‘No! Of course not.’ Mum scrambled up to sitting. ‘Oh, Katie, I’m sorry – I love you. That should’ve been the first thing I said – I love you, of course I do. I’m surprised, that’s all. I had no clue about any of this and you seem so sure.’
‘Some people know when they’re three.’ Katie looked back at the seagull, still circling overhead. ‘I knew a long time ago. I just never said anything.’
‘Why not? Why didn’t you come and talk to me?’
‘Because we’re completely rubbish at communicating.’ The gull looked like a sailing boat gliding across some blue ocean with its white wings outstretched. It made Katie think of what Simona said about daring to see yourself in your own future with all your possibilities laid out.
‘Am I really so hard to talk to?’ Mum said. ‘You make me sound like a monster.’
‘It’s just you get disappointed so easily. There’s no room to fail.’ Katie walked over and sat next to her on the bed. She noticed for the first time how the grey in Mum’s hair was outweighing the gold. She was getting older day by day. ‘I shouldn’t’ve read Pat’s diary and I’m sorry I did.’
‘It’s all right. I don’t mind so much today.’
‘This is going to sound weird, but when I was reading it, I kept wishing I’d known you at that age. If we’d been at school together, we might’ve been friends and we could’ve shared our problems.’
‘Is that why you gave me the memory book? You wanted that teenage girl to read it?’
‘Maybe, yeah. Then neither of us would be so alone.’
Mum smiled and the corners of her eyes crinkled. Her eyes were mostly pale blue, but today, in this room, they were the colour of rain. ‘It’s ironic, because that teenage girl was going to be a brilliant parent. She was determined her kids would be able to talk to her about anything. She wanted to repair all the stuff that had gone wrong with her.’
‘You’re not a monster, Mum.’
‘I’m too involved. You were very eloquent on that subject.’
‘At least you care about us. You’re always there, you’re interested in our lives, you said it yourself – you know about friends and homework and come to every school event.’
‘But all that stuff you wrote in the book, all these big things you’re telling me – I’m not sure I know what to do about any of it.’ She looked very serious. ‘Katie, if you don’t do what’s right for you because you think I’ll be disappointed, that would be terrible. If you go to some overseas university just to get away from me that would be terrible too. Don’t get me wrong, I’m certainly not glad about this, but I don’t want to lose you either. Do you understand? Pat lived her whole life trying to please her father and look how it worked out for her. I wasn’t much better, spending my best years looking after the miserable sod because I felt so guilty I’d pushed Pat over the edge. Mary didn’t get it right either – all that running about doing whatever she wanted might look very glamorous from the outside, but she had to pay a hefty price, didn’t she?’
Sunlight spilled briefly from behind a cloud, sliced across the carpet and up onto the bed before being chased away by shadow again.
‘I’m a bit worried,’ Mum said, ‘that I’m not going to handle this very well. I don’t have any gay friends. I don’t know anything about it. I’m not sure I know how to be a good mother to a seventeen-year-old daughter who’s telling me such enormous things.’
Katie thought of what the perfect mother might be like – one who approved of you and loved you and was interested in all that you did, but who had a fascinating life of her own so you didn’t feel guilty about leaving her. A mother who was at home when you needed her, but absent when you wanted space, who would sew on your buttons and help with revision, but was also scintillating company and completely cool in the eyes of your friends. Katie thought this mother was possibly a combination of Pat, Mary and Mum and that made her smile, like it was feasible to take the best bits from three women and make a perfect parent.
‘OK, Mum, here’s something you can do. One day, sometime in the future, maybe I’ll bring a girl home to meet you.’
‘Simona?’
‘Or someone else. And maybe we’re holding hands, me and this girl, because we’re nervous and this is a big deal for us. But when we come in the flat and I introduce her, you’re completely unfazed. You just say hello and ask if we want a cup of tea or something to eat and we sit down in the kitchen and you make us sandwiches and drinks and then you join us for a while and chat.’ Katie shrugged. ‘That’s it. That would make you a brilliant mother.’
‘That’s it?’
‘It’s as mundane as that.’
Mum smiled gently. ‘What kind of sandwiches would you like?’
Katie felt her throat clench. That was the trouble with sympathy and kindness – they pulled your defences open and exposed you.
Thirty-nine
It would be nice, Mary thought, to understand why she was gripping so tight to the handles of her handbag. Her fingers had become mottled with the strain. She looked down at her hands. They were like chicken flesh. Damp and white and her thumb the drumstick.
This made her chuckle. She quite fancied a bit of chicken, could just imagine the satisfying crunch of bone between her teeth. She was still smiling when she heard a click and the door opened.
Ah, here was Jack. Mary wanted to share the joke – how her hands had turned to poultry in front of her eyes – but seeing him standing there, the words slipped away. Had she always been able to see right through him?
‘Morning,’ she said. ‘You all right?’
‘Yes, love. Just let me catch my breath.’ He stood there wheezing, one palm flat against his chest. ‘I’ve got some news.’
‘Not bad, I hope?’
He shook his head, breathing hard. ‘Caroline’s coming to talk to you.’
‘Who?’
‘Caroline. She wants to tell you about the photo. You and the little girl, remember? You and Katie? This is the moment we’ve been waiting for.’
His words swilled around inside her head. Mary tried to grab them, but they eluded her, made no sense. All she was aware of was the immense pain they brought. She hid behind her fingers. ‘I don’t want to.’
‘You do,’ Jack laughed. ‘Come on, don’t hide that pretty face. You’ve been desperate to talk about what happened for years.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Well, it’s true anyway. It’s been hurting you ever since we met. It’s not fair that you’re always painted as the bad one.’
‘I am the bad one, everyone says so.’
‘That’s a job you can give up now. Time to share it out.’
Mary risked looking at him. ‘Will it hurt?’
‘Let’s hope not. The girl’s set it all up for you, so I think it’s going to be all right.’
There were footsteps in the hallway. A click at the door. Jack was beaming with excitement. He looked very sure of things. ‘Time to face the music,’ he said, and he hobbled off and stood by the curtains.
Mary blinked at him. Surely he hadn’t always shimmered at the edges? ‘Jack?’
But he waved her attention towards the woman coming through the door. ‘Here’s your daughter. Recognize her?’
‘Caroline?’
‘That’s it.’ Jack clapped, his hands no louder than a whisper.
The woman came in, shut the door behind her and leaned on it. She said, ‘I think that’s the first time you’ve ever used my name.’
She was older than Mary remembered, her hair streaked with grey. ‘It is you, isn’t it?
You are Caroline, all grown up?’
‘Yes, Mum.’
‘Where have you been?’
‘Upstairs, talking to Katie.’
‘She’s back, is she? Well, that’s good. Is she going to come and see me?’
‘Yes, of course. She just needs a couple of minutes to herself.’
‘And what are you up to? Are you going to sit down and have a little rest? You look like you’re about to walk straight out that door.’
‘No, I’m not leaving. In fact, I’d like to talk to you, if that’s all right?’
Mary waited, but Caroline didn’t speak. In fact, she looked as if she couldn’t. She looked as if she’d turned to stone.
‘You’re not saying anything,’ Mary told her. She turned to Jack for guidance. He was still by the window, nodding and smiling like this was the most amazing thing that had ever happened.
‘She’ll speak in a minute,’ he said. ‘Give her time. She wants the girl to be here.’
The way the curtains rippled behind him reminded Mary of a walk they’d made once through a ploughed field. She’d been wearing high heels and carrying a picnic basket and Jack had given her a ride on his back so she didn’t ruin her shoes. She remembered the heat of him as she wrapped herself tight around him. How safe she’d felt. She couldn’t remember when it was, exactly. Only that it was a lifetime ago.
Jack smiled gently at her, as if he too recalled that picnic. ‘You need to concentrate on the matter in hand, darling,’ he said. ‘Ask to see the photo. She’s got it with her somewhere.’
‘Photo?’ Mary whispered.
‘You remember it?’ Caroline said from the doorway. ‘You remember showing it to Katie last night?
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, you did and then Katie asked me to talk to you about it. Did she tell you?’
It was Jack who knew what to do. ‘Ask her to sit down. Ask her to sit right next to you.’
Mary patted the space beside her on the sofa and Caroline walked over. It was a strange, reluctant walk. She sat down, looked at her feet for a bit and then looked right up at Mary. ‘I haven’t treated you well.’ She spoke very slowly as if she’d been practising. ‘I haven’t been as kind as I should. When we picked you up from the hospital that first night, I found it very painful that you didn’t recognize me.’
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