One Moment

by Linda Green

  Michael makes some more notes. I wipe my eyes with a scrunched-up tissue from my pocket.

  ‘And the other girls were screaming,’ continues Terry. ‘Because of all them rats. I were trying to catch them so I could stop girls screaming. That’s what I were still trying to do when policeman came in. That’s why I wouldn’t let him grab hold of me, because I were still trying to grab hold of rats.’

  Terry goes back to singing Dusty’s bit from ‘What Have I Done To Deserve This?’, even though he struggles with the high notes. And all I can think of as I sit there feeling sick inside is how I wish the assessor who found him fit for work and Denise from job centre could be in the room with us now to see what a massive fuck-up they have made.

  *

  Sgt Hopkins comes over to me later that evening while Terry is being interviewed and hands me a cup of coffee from the machine.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘Any idea how long it will take?’

  Sgt Hopkins shakes his head.

  ‘No. Try not to worry, though. Michael will see he’s OK.’

  ‘He’s never been in trouble before,’ I tell him. ‘Not even at school. He’ll be mortified when he realises what he’s done. When he’s better, like. Whenever that is.’

  Sgt Hopkins starts to walk away.

  ‘Is she OK?’ I ask. ‘That wee lass, I mean.’

  He turns back to me and nods. ‘Her mum took her home.’

  ‘Poor kid,’ I say. ‘Must have scared her half to death.’

  ‘We can contact you when he’s all done, if you need to get off home,’ he says.

  ‘No, thanks,’ I reply. ‘I’m not leaving him. I’m all he’s got.’

  *

  It’s a policewoman who comes out to talk to me half an hour later. Introduces herself as DC Hoyle.

  ‘We’re detaining your brother under the Mental Health Act,’ she says, sitting down on the bench next to me. ‘Obviously, this was a serious offence, but our mental health team have asked for a full assessment under the Act, so he’s being sent to the psychiatric unit in Halifax.’

  I nod. Terry will hate it, but I know it’s probably the best we could have hoped for.

  ‘Is he going to be charged?’ I ask.

  ‘It’s still too early to say. The Crown Prosecution Service will decide that, once we have the full psychiatric assessment.’

  I try to steady my voice before I speak again.

  ‘When is he going?’ I ask. ‘Only he hasn’t got any pyjamas or owt and I need to get bus home to pick them up for him.’

  ‘He’ll be ready to go in about ten minutes. You can go with him, if you like. I’ll ask the officer to stop off at your place on the way so you can pick up what he needs.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘Will you be speaking to that little girl’s mam? Only if you do, I’d like you to tell her sorry from me. I know she won’t want to hear it and I can’t say I blame her, but I want her to know he never meant her wee lass any harm.’

  She nods, gives me a little smile with her mouth shut and walks away.

  AFTER 7

  7

  Finn

  I put the ‘Create Your Dream Garden in Just 4 Weeks’ Alan Titchmarsh supplement in a plastic folder, so it keeps clean and dry when I take it out into the garden.

  Dad has given me a budget of two hundred and fifty pounds for the whole project, which, when he first told me, I thought was enough money to make our garden look like the Chelsea Flower Show but, having researched online to see how much the things I need cost, I now know is actually only enough to buy four climbing roses and a garden arch (Alan is a big fan of garden arches).

  I am a bit worried about that, but I have decided that I will just have to budget very carefully and maybe try to make my own garden arch out of bamboo canes, so I can get some more flowers instead.

  I have drawn out my garden design and put that in a plastic folder to keep it nice too. Although it turns out that even with a very good set of felt-tip pens, I still can’t get my plan to look anything like the picture I have of it in my head. Of course, on Love Your Garden, Alan has 3D computer graphics, but Dad said the software for that would blow my entire budget before I started, so I suppose my rubbish felt-tip pen design will have to do.

  I don’t mind, though. I still can’t believe that this is actually happening. The only thing I am a bit worried about is the party they have on Love Your Garden when they reveal the finished garden, because, apart from Dad and Kaz, I can only think of two people I want to invite and one of them can’t come.

  I’m pretty sure Lottie will come, though. And Rachel will bring her, so that’s one more. And I’ll have to try very hard not to think about who won’t be there. That’s the only thing that is making me a bit sad. I’m mainly excited, though. The last time I was as excited about something as this was when I was with Mum doing the school in the woods, and to be honest, I was more scared than excited then. This is different. I will be safe because I will be at home with Kaz and Dad will know where we are. The only places we will go will be to the garden centre and on a trip to one of Alan Titchmarsh’s favourite gardens.

  I have been looking through Alan’s book and there are none in West Yorkshire, which seems a bit strange because he was born in West Yorkshire but maybe it’s because there are too many hills and too much rain here. He has three favourite gardens in North Yorkshire, though, so perhaps we can go to one of those. Although I’ll have to ask Kaz because she hasn’t got a car and goes everywhere by bus and I’m not sure if you can get to North Yorkshire on the bus.

  I hear a knock at the front door and run downstairs. I get there as Dad opens the door. Kaz is standing there in some old jeans and a sweatshirt. She has her hair in plaits as normal and I realise that is very sensible for gardening. She is also holding a big carrier bag with plants sticking out the top.

  ‘Your friend Barry from garden centre said you can have these because they’re not good enough to sell but will be fine with a little TLC.’

  ‘Thanks, Kaz,’ I say, beaming. Alan said some plants needed some TLC once on Love Your Garden and I asked Mum if you could get that at Homebase, which is why I know what it means.

  ‘You’re a complete star, Kaz,’ says Dad. ‘Finn’s been busy planning it all since you left. I think you’re going to have a busy day. There’s plenty of food in the fridge and I’ve left some bread out for sandwiches, so please just help yourself.’

  ‘Thanks. Will do,’ says Kaz.

  ‘Right,’ says Dad, ruffling my hair. ‘I’ll be off then. Have fun.’

  I don’t even mind him ruffling my hair today. I’m too keen to get going.

  Kaz comes in and puts the bag of plants down in the hallway.

  ‘Would you like to see my plans before we go out?’ I ask.

  ‘Wow, you don’t waste any time, do you?’ she says.

  ‘Alan never starts work without proper planning,’ I say. ‘Though I’m afraid my plans aren’t very good because I’m rubbish at drawing.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re not,’ she says. ‘Let’s go and have a look.’

  We go upstairs and I hand her the plans. I can tell by her face that she is trying to think of something nice to say.

  ‘I really am rubbish at drawing, aren’t I?’

  Kaz grins at me. ‘It’s not your strongest point, is it, pet? Don’t worry, I’m rubbish at lots of things but weirdly, drawing isn’t one of them. Do you want me to have a go?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ I say, rushing to get some more paper and my best felt tips from my desk.

  ‘Have you got a pencil?’ she says. ‘I only draw in pencil.’

  ‘Don’t you like felt tips?’ I ask, handing her a pencil.

  ‘We didn’t have none at home,’ she says. ‘I like to stick to pencil, because that’s what I know best.’

  ‘Why didn’t you hav
e felt tips?’

  ‘We didn’t have lots of things. A car, a home phone. Not much money around and what little there were went on drink.’

  ‘The drinks you had must have been very expensive then. Did you have lots of fizzy drinks? I’m not allowed fizzy drinks because they rot your teeth and they’re expensive.’

  Kaz smiles at me. It’s a sad sort of smile. ‘Let me draw these plans for you. You tell me what you’d like it to look like and I’ll see what I can do.’

  I stand at my bedroom window so I can see the garden and start telling Kaz about my design. I don’t stop talking for ages and I don’t look back to see what Kaz is drawing until I run out of words. When I go back to my desk and look, I can’t believe it.

  ‘Wow, that’s amazing. Everything looks like the thing it’s supposed to be. It’s almost as good as Alan’s and they do his on computer. How did you do that?’

  Kaz shrugs. ‘Just summat I can do. I don’t know how.’

  ‘Did you go to art college?’

  She laughs. ‘No, pet. But I got an A in O level Art. Proud of that, I am. Only qualification I did get at school, mind.’

  ‘So why didn’t you become an artist?’

  Kaz laughs again. She seems to find a lot of things I say funny. ‘Because being an artist doesn’t pay rent and someone had to.’

  ‘Why couldn’t your mum pay the rent?’

  Kaz hesitates before replying. ‘She wasn’t up to working, see. And someone had to put food on table and new shoes on our Terry’s feet. He were going to school in his slippers by that time because he didn’t have owt else to wear.’

  I look down at my shoes. The kids at school used to say I had the wrong shoes and the wrong trainers, like I had the wrong trousers. I wonder what they’d have said if I’d have turned up in my slippers.

  ‘Did he like them?’ I ask. ‘His shoes, I mean.’

  ‘Oh, aye. Right proud of them, he were. I used to think of smile on his face when I gave them to him when I were doing a massive pile of washing up at café.’

  ‘I still think you would have been a very good artist,’ I say.

  Kaz grins. ‘Thank you, pet.’

  ‘Did you draw the pictures at the old café where you worked?’ I asked, suddenly remembering. ‘There were pictures of teapots and teacakes on the blackboard and they were really good.’

  ‘Yeah, I did, thanks.’

  ‘So you were a sort of an artist. Just for a bit.’

  ‘Come on,’ she says. ‘Let’s get to work on this garden of yours.’

  *

  We start digging in the bottom corner, where there aren’t any bulbs. Sometimes, Love Your Garden get a proper big digger in but I didn’t even ask Dad how much that would cost because they would need to lift it by crane over the back fence and, if I have learnt anything, it is that real life isn’t actually like the Bob the Builder episodes I used to watch when I was little.

  ‘How old were you when you started gardening?’ Kaz asks.

  ‘About three,’ I reply. ‘Mum says I always liked gardening, but I didn’t like getting my hands dirty.’

  ‘Is that why you wear them?’ she asks, nodding towards my gardening gloves.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m complete opposite, I am. I used to love getting right filthy when I went down allotment with me mam.’

  ‘What did you grow there?’ I ask.

  ‘All sorts. Tatties, peas, beans, carrots, sprouts. If it grew in Yorkshire, we grew it. There were plenty of stuff we went without but at least we didn’t go without veg, not for most of year, at any rate.’

  ‘Why did your mum give up the allotment?’ I ask.

  Kaz pauses for a moment before replying. ‘It were too much for her. She weren’t right well for a long time, before she died.’

  ‘Did she have cancer?’ I ask.

  ‘No. She drunk too much, sweetheart. It’s not good for you, drinking alcohol. You want to stay well clear of it.’

  I frown because I remember on the night that we are not supposed to talk about, she bought a bottle of alcohol just before it all happened.

  ‘Is that why you left it?’ I ask.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘The bottle you bought from the probably-a-student-man behind the counter. You left it on the floor afterwards, even though you’d paid for it.’

  Kaz seems to work out what I am talking about because she shuts her eyes for a moment.

  ‘I realised I hadn’t been thinking straight,’ she says. ‘I’d let everything get on top of me and done summat stupid. Only sometimes things have to happen to make you see that.’

  I nod, even though I don’t understand what she just said, and we both go back to digging in silence for a bit.

  ‘Why did your mum drink?’ I ask.

  Kaz carries on digging and says, ‘Me dad weren’t right nice to her before he left.’

  ‘Did they argue a lot? I ask. ‘My mum and dad used to argue a lot.’

  Kaz puts her fork down and looks at me.

  ‘Did they, sweetheart?’

  ‘Yes. I used the Richter Scale to measure their arguments. They had a lot of sevens and eights and once, they had a nine.’

  Kaz nods slowly.

  ‘It’s not nice when your parents argue, is it? I used to hate listening to mine. Dad used to gamble his money on horses. He didn’t have much to start off with and what he did have were supposed to pay for food and rent and clothes for me and our Terry. That’s why we often had to do without, even when he were living with us.’

  ‘Is that what your mum was cross at him about?’

  ‘Yeah. Only when she got cross at him, he used to get nasty and hit her. That’s why she started drinking.’

  ‘My mum and dad never did that,’ I say.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ says Kaz, giving me a little smile. ‘What did they argue about?’

  ‘Me,’ I say. ‘About what was best for me. Only they could never agree on it.’

  ‘At least they loved you enough to argue about you.’

  ‘I never thought of it like that,’ I say. ‘I just wanted it to stop and now it has stopped, I wish that it could start again. The thing I hate most of all is the silence of them not arguing.’

  Kaz comes over and gives me a hug. Her hands are a bit dirty, but I don’t mind.

  ‘How’s it going with your dad?’

  ‘It’s OK. He doesn’t really know me, though. He doesn’t know all the stuff I like and the things I don’t like. And I’m mad at him for arguing with Mum, because if he hadn’t, maybe none of that stuff would have happened and she’d still be here.’

  Kaz gives me a squeeze and takes hold of my shoulders, so I look up at her.

  ‘Thing is, Finn, we can’t change what’s already happened. Even when it were horrible, and we wish we could. All we can change is how we respond to it and what happens in future. That’s what you’ve got to think of now.’

  ‘Like finishing the garden,’ I say.

  ‘Exactly,’ she says, giving me another smile as she picks up the fork. ‘We’d better get our arses in gear, then.’

  It’s my turn to do a smile.

  ‘What?’ she asks.

  ‘Dad doesn’t let me say that word.’

  ‘Well, I shan’t tell him,’ she replies.

  ‘Arse,’ I say, trying not to giggle. ‘Arse, arse, arse, arse, arse.’

  *

  Kaz makes sandwiches for us at lunchtime. I’m a little bit disappointed she hasn’t brought her sheep apron with her to do it, but I don’t say anything. I have cheese and tomato because it’s the best sandwich in the world and Kaz just has cheese. I am happy when I see that Dad has bought white bread, because Mum always bought brown, but then I feel bad for feeling happy and I try not to feel anything.

  We sit
on the picnic bench in the garden to eat them and I bring out my Alan Titchmarsh Favourite Gardens book, to show Kaz some of my ideas.

  ‘Some of them are quite tricky to do,’ I say, ‘because they have got castles, palaces, Japanese pagodas, bridges and palm trees, and Dad says palm trees only grow in certain climates in this country, like Cornwall, and definitely not in Yorkshire.’

  ‘He’s not wrong there.’

  ‘But I like this one,’ I say, turning the page to Castle Howard in North Yorkshire, ‘because it’s got roses and delphiniums and we’ve got those already, so that’s a good start, and I know we can’t get a big fountain like that, but maybe we could get a little water feature.’

  ‘It’s lovely, is that.’

  ‘Have you ever been there?’ I ask.

  ‘No, pet. I haven’t been anywhere like that.’

  ‘Could you take me on Wednesday, please? Dad says I can choose one garden to visit and he’ll pay for us and won’t take it out of the budget.’

  ‘Trouble is, I haven’t got a car, see.’

  ‘I know, but I looked at their website and we can get the train to Malton and catch the number 181 bus from there, and they will give us twenty per cent off the entrance fee for helping to save the planet.’

  ‘That does sound like a good deal,’ says Kaz, after finishing the last mouthful of her sandwich. I haven’t even started mine yet, because I’ve been too busy talking, but I have noticed that Kaz does eat fast.

  ‘So, can we go?’

  ‘As long as your dad says so.’

  ‘OK. I’ll check with him tonight, but it will have to be this week because I’ve got to go on holiday with Dad next week.’

  ‘You don’t sound too pleased about that. Where are you going?’

  ‘The Lake District.’

  ‘That’s nice.’

  ‘Mum booked it.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Dad says we still have to go because the campsite’s paid for and it would be a shame to waste it and anyway, it will do both of us good.’

  ‘But you don’t want to?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘It won’t be the same without her. I’ll be sad she’s not there all the time and it’ll be boring just with Dad.’