by Kate Long
‘He’s only being helpful.’
‘Oh, aye, course he is. Who is he again?’
‘I told you, he’s our back-to-back neighbour. Rents Tommy Cottle’s old house. Works as a freelance painter and decorator; he’s doing up the Swan Hotel off Moor Street at the moment. A perfectly pleasant man. There was no need to get so uppity with him.’
‘Hmph.’
I stuck the kettle on again, for something to do. ‘You all right, anyway?’
‘I am, actually. I’ve been offered a bit of bar work up at the bowling green. And I’ve applied for a warehouse job at the Co-op and I’ve joined the Kawasaki Owners’ Club.’
‘Whoopee.’
‘And I had a text off our Charlie, summat about a film she saw that she thought I’d like. How is she, do you reckon? Is she coping in York? She getting on all right with her studies?’
‘How should I know? I’m only her mother. She never texts me unless she’s on the scrounge.’
Steve made a regretful face. I pulled a mug out of the cupboard and set it down on the breadboard. ‘You could always go up there and visit her.’
‘To t’university? Brrr. I don’t reckon it’s my cup of tea. Full of students. They’d make fun.’
‘Don’t talk soft.’
‘It’s all right for you, you’re clever.’
‘Looks like it.’
‘Please, Karen. I’m trying—’
‘What?’
‘Look, I knew you’d be fed up today so I wondered if you fancied a little spin?’
I nearly dropped the lid of the tea jar. ‘On your bike?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Do I look insane?’
‘I thought it’d give you a boost. You get a real buzz at top speed. Clears your passages right out.’
‘I don’t want a buzz. Anyway, I’ve no helmet.’
‘Now, well, hang on a minute. Ta-daa!’ He shook the carrier bag at me, then laid it on the fridge top and peeled down the crinkly plastic. What emerged was a silver and pink crash helmet with flames airbrushed down the side and a lightning bolt across the brow. Steve patted the crown admiringly.
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘You really shouldn’t have.’
‘It didn’t cost me owt. I did an exchange with a woman at the club, Lusanna. Means now you can hop on whenever you want. Yeah? Come on. Just a spin round t’block, just down Vickeridge Road and then back up the high street. You’ll have to have a try sometime. Five minutes, we’ll be. Honest, Karen, you’ll love it. You’ll be set up for t’day.’
‘And who’d look after Will?’
Steve jerked his thumb towards the lounge. ‘How about Valentino Rossi in there? He’ll sit with the boys while we nip out, won’t he?’
Before I could stop him, he’d opened the door and stuck his head round. ‘Hoy, Eric, can you watch the kids for a bit? I’m taking Karen for a quick ride.’
I saw Eric glance up, startled, then jump to his feet. ‘I was going to say, actually. I was hoping you could have Kenzie for an hour this afternoon, Karen. There’s a job in Bolton needs pricing and I said I’d call today and check it out for them. In fact, I’m late now—’
Steve folded his arms.
‘So if it’s OK with you, Karen,’ Eric was already in the hall, ‘I’ll be back by three but I have to get off or I’ll be . . . Oh, did you know there was a card stuck behind your door curtain?’
He bent and retrieved it, held out the bright blue envelope to me. I took it, and the next second he was gone.
‘Fool,’ said Steve.
‘Aw, he’s OK,’ I said, turning the envelope in my hands and wondering at the London postmark. ‘Just a single dad trying to juggle everything.’
Steve went back into the kitchen and I heard the rustle as he stuck the helmet back inside its plastic bag.
‘I didn’t mean him,’ he said. ‘I meant you.’
Gemma was making a chilli for us all. She had the big pan out and a shedload of peppers, a pack of economy mince and four bashed-up tins of beans waiting on the drainer. She looked too glam to be cooking, though, in her boat-neck top and red nail varnish. She’d applied her black eyeliner in wings, like a French film star. I wondered if she had a girlfriend yet but I was too shy to ask.
‘Do you think Roz’ll be down for this?’ she said, rinsing pepper seeds off the blade of her chopping knife.
‘I’m not sure.’
She opened the cutlery drawer and rooted about. ‘What was it they argued over anyway? Did she say?’
For a moment I was stumped; I’d forgotten my own lie. ‘Oh. No. Something completely trivial, I expect. Gareth can wind her up pretty easily. God, what’s Walshy doing?’
Through the kitchen window we could see him running around the yurt, hitting the canvas sides with a long whippy twig. After a few seconds, Daniel’s head poked through the entrance flap. He said something that made Walshy laugh uproariously, then ducked back inside. Walshy began what looked like a tribal dance on the lawn.
‘Operating as normal, I’d say. Hey, Charlotte, chop an onion for us, will you? I don’t want to ruin my mascara.’
I came and stood beside her to work. Thought of Nan teaching me to peel an onion under a running tap, saw her pressing pastry into the bottom of a pie dish with her knuckles, blowing on the flames at the back of the grill to get them to ignite. There’s nothing so nice as cooking with your grandma when you’re little. I could tell Mum had felt let down when I’d said I wasn’t going home for the anniversary, but I missed Nan the whole time, not just one date on a calendar. Besides, to be completely truthful, I just couldn’t face a day watching Mum screw herself further and further into her own grief.
Walshy and Daniel emerged from the yurt again and began to examine one of the guy ropes. It was funny seeing them standing next to each other like that, Walshy so upright and well-formed, Daniel hunched and with legs that were too long and skinny for his body. If only he’d stand up straighter, that would help. And if he’d do something about his hair. Then I thought, How shallow am I? Not half an hour ago I’d imagined committing myself to this man for all eternity, forsaking all others, etc. God, I was a crap girlfriend.
The boys finished their inspection or whatever it was, and began to slope across the lawn towards the kitchen. When Walshy got to the window he made a pig-nose against the glass. We both ignored him.
‘You know he’s dating a barmaid at the moment,’ said Gemma. ‘Well, I say “dating”.’
‘What happened to the sociologist?’
‘Oh, her? Vanished, weeks ago. Like thistledown in the wind. Then there was a Spanish student, briefly.’
‘That’s quite a fast turnover even for Walshy. Do you think he’s trying to prove something?’
She laughed. ‘To me, you mean? Nope. I think that’s just him. He can’t help it.’
From the back porch came the sound of boxes being shoved out of the way and empty bottles clinking, then the boys appeared.
‘You like our new tent, then?’ I asked Daniel.
He sat down at the table and clasped his hands in front of him as though he was about to say grace. ‘I do, actually. Very much so. Impressive capacity, robust construction.’
‘Easy erection,’ said Walshy.
‘Well, that’s always a bonus. But I’m thinking seriously, something like that’d be ideal for the Twenty-First Century Rocks event because it’s so much easier to handle than a traditional marquee. It depends on cost. And size. I’ll get Amelia to look into it.’
Amelia again. I put on a slight sneer. ‘An expert on yurts, is she?’
‘She knows a bit about marquees because they had one put up in the grounds for her sister’s engagement party.’
‘Ooh, get her. The grounds?’
‘Of her house.’
‘Lah-di-dah. So they’re too posh to have a garden like every normal person?’
Daniel flopped back in his chair, annoyed. I didn’t care.
‘Does she live in a mansion, or what?’
> ‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t have grounds unless you have a bloody great house.’
‘Well, yes, then, I expect she does. I expect her dad’s a baronet and she wears a tiara to eat her supper every night.’
Walshy and Gemma were exchanging glances.
‘Well, does she?’
‘I have no idea. She could bed down in a dog kennel for all I care.’
‘But she doesn’t, does she? She has grounds.’
‘What on earth’s the matter with you, Charlotte?’ asked Daniel.
‘It just sounds so pretentious. “In the grounds”.’
‘“Garden”, I meant.’
‘You said “grounds”.’
I knew full well I was behaving badly. But suddenly I was sick of it. It all seemed so unfair. Who was this Amelia to waltz into my life with her well-heeled family, her cheerful charity work, her uncluttered, child-free background? The darling of Mrs Gale. Oh, I meant to say, Dan, Amelia popped round with some copies of Country Life magazine for me, isn’t that sweet of her? Sometimes it felt as though she’d been sent specifically to make me feel inferior.
Walshy reached for the radio, turned it on and got Britney Spears. ‘Oops, I did it again,’ he sang, pursing his lips and rolling his shoulders. I watched, scowling, as he took the knife off Gemma and began to dance her against the sink. Daniel was sitting across from me with his eyebrows raised – waiting, I suppose, for some more reasoned response. Let him wait. I thought of Roz upstairs, weeping over her traitorous body, and of my own fucked-up life. No tiaras for me. No marquees on our scant lawn. Lucky if you could fit a couple of Portaloos on there.
Because by now I was convinced Amelia was after my boyfriend, the number of invitations she seemed to be throwing his way, all the post-meeting drinks, the strenuous flattery of his mother. And my fear was that Daniel was simply going to gravitate towards his own kind. Who could blame him? Mrs Gale would be on her knees with relief if he traded me in.
‘What’s Amelia think of me, then?’ I persisted. ‘When she found out your girlfriend was a single mum from a northern pit village. I bet that made her lip curl. I bet she’s got me pegged as a right freeloader.’
‘We haven’t talked about you,’ said Daniel.
‘You mean you’ve kept quiet, out of embarrassment?’
‘No. When I see her we discuss arrangements for the gig. You don’t figure as a topic of conversation.’
‘Then don’t you think it’s time I did?’
Daniel raised his palms in a ‘can’t win’ gesture. At the same moment his phone began to ring. He flashed me a wary look but reached for it anyway, pressed it to his ear. His face stiffened.
‘What’s up?’ I said. ‘Is it Will?’
He waved me to be quiet. Then my head cleared and I thought, Idiot girl, why would anyone be phoning Daniel about my son? They’d ring me, wouldn’t they? And my mobile was by the tea pot, lying silent.
‘In the stairwell?’ Daniel was asking. ‘How long for? And she’s OK otherwise? Does she need to get up to A and E?’
‘What is it?’ I mouthed.
This time he turned away, shutting me out. I waited till he’d finished, jiggling my leg under the table with impatience.
Finally he closed the phone. ‘My mother’s had a fall and we think she’s sprained her ankle. She’s in one piece but shaken, so I need to get back over there.’
‘Who was it calling?’
‘Amelia.’
I knew it. ‘And what was Amelia doing round your flat again?’
‘I think she called to pick up some flyers. Look, Charlotte, that’s really not the most pressing issue I have to deal with right now. My mother’s had an accident and she wants me home.’
I backed off sulkily. It was only a sprained ankle, for God’s sake, and almost certainly the result of a drunken stumble. I didn’t see the need for an immediate mercy dash. Especially with Amelia on hand to soothe her brow.
‘So you’re going right now?’
‘Yes. I have to.’
‘When will I see you again, Dan?’
‘We’ll arrange something later. I’ve really got to get off.’
I did walk him to the front door. Just before he left he said, ‘What went wrong today? It was great earlier on, and then you went cross all of a sudden.’
I shrugged.
‘Don’t let’s part on bad terms, Charlotte. I knew you were going to be near the edge with it being your nan’s anniversary, and obviously it’s—’
‘I’m fine,’ I said tightly.
‘So, yeah – I’m sorry for whatever it is I’m supposed to have done. I’m sorry you’re upset. We’ll talk when things are calmer, yeah?’
Part of me wanted him just to go, part of me wanted to throw myself on the carpet and beg his forgiveness for behaving like a brat. I’m sorry for being a stroppy cow and I’m sorry about your mum is what I needed to say. Tell me you’re not interested in Amelia. Tell me I’m better than her. I could shape the words in my head; why couldn’t I get them out? Roz’s misery vibes leaked through the floorboards and filtered down into the hall around us.
He hesitated, then grasped the door knob. ‘I’ll ring you, let you know how I get on.’
‘Yeah.’
‘See you—’ Then he was gone.
‘Bloody hell, Chaz. What was that even about?’ said Gemma, coming up behind me.
‘And does Eric babysit for you?’ Steve fixed me with a beady stare.
‘Not yet. But he will. Anyway, you can’t talk. How much babysitting have you done lately?’
‘I had Will last month, when you went for that tooth out. You’re not being fair, Karen. It’s you who dunt want to leave him with me.’
‘Blame Charlotte for that. She bothers because you’ve no stair-gate, and no cupboard locks, and you live in a tip.’
‘Aw, geroff. I’ll have him if you want me to. While I’m off work, anyroad. You know, we never had any of these safety gadgets when I was a kid. My mother just used to plonk a chair on t’landing at night to stop me wandering. I never came to any harm. You were trusted not to go sticking your head down t’toilet or your hand in t’fire. And guess what? We didn’t, and we lived to tell t’tale. Funny, that, int it?’
But I’d stopped listening. I was staring at the card and envelope in my hands. A cheap thing, embossed beige-flowers on the front, one corner bent over. When I opened it, words that made me almost stop breathing. LOVE FROM YOR MUM. The writing was nothing like Mum’s had been, that loopy, quavery style so many old ladies use. This was heavy-handed, laborious. It reminded me of the way some of our Special Needs kid write. I checked the postmark again, my whole body trembling.
‘What’s up, Karen?’ I heard Steve say. ‘You look a bit peculiar.’
‘Why don’t you give him a ring, apologise?’ said Gemma, rinsing her hands under the tap. ‘Better than stewing all night.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Why?’
Walshy was back outside, playing Frisbee with himself. The radio was playing ‘Too Many Broken Hearts’.
I said, ‘He’ll come round. He always does.’
‘If you say so.’
I looked at the clock.
‘I’ll give my mum a call. She’ll appreciate it today and I need to hear a friendly voice.’
I turned on my heel and ran to the back door. I flung it open, jumped down the step, wrenched the lid of the wheeliebin open and stuffed the card under a slop of spaghetti hoops rejected the previous day by Will. I closed the bin and counted to ten. Then I counted another ten. I felt so sick and angry I barely knew what to do with myself. Finally, my legs still shaking, I went back inside.
‘Is it a migraine or summat? Have I to get you an aspirin?’ said Steve. I stared at him, hearing the words but not able to take them in. At the edge of my vision, Will strained and scrambled after the plate of biscuits on the table.
My mobile began to ring.
Steve picked
up and went, ‘Oh, hiya, love – yeah, yeah, all right – well, up and down, you know – I don’t think so. Look, I’ll pass you over. Charlie,’ he mouthed at me. He held out the phone and I took it automatically.
At the exact same moment I put the phone to my ear, Will dropped with a thump between the table-edge and the arm of the chair. He landed face forwards, banging his chin and nose on the carpet. The screaming started immediately.
I threw the phone onto the sofa and ran to pick him up. His jaws were wide open in a yell; I could see there was blood in his mouth where he’d bitten his lip, but no other obvious damage. With one hand I felt over his skull for bumps, then I ran my fingers up and down his limbs the way Sylv’s shown us at school. At last I gathered him into a cuddle and sat on the floor, rocking him.
‘Hurts, Mummy,’ he said. ‘Hurt my mouth, Mummy.’ His little body shuddered and heaved against me.
‘Ssh, no,’ I told him. ‘Grandma’s here. Shush. Shush.’
Take your eye off the ball for one single second, I was thinking, and you invite disaster. That is literally all it takes.
And I could hear Will howling in the background for bloody ages before Dad picked up again. I had no idea what was happening, I was frantic.
‘Aw, he took a tumble off the chair, that’s all. He’ll be right as rain in a minute. No need to worry.’
‘He’s not damaged himself?’
‘No.’
‘You don’t think it’s worth taking him up to the Health Centre for a check-up? He might have concussion.’
‘Nah. He didn’t hit his head. Banged his nose, give hisself a fright. Aside from that he’s champion. Honest, love. Don’t fret.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
My heart was hammering against my ribcage.
I said, ‘Tell me one thing, Dad. Who did he just call “Mummy”?’
KAREN: What can you tell me about Grandma Fenton?
NAN: Lily Fenton?
KAREN: That’s right. Your dad’s mum.
NAN: Oh, well, she were in service. It’s her as brought back that ladle.
KAREN: What ladle?
NAN: You know. That bonny ladle wi’ a shell bowl.
KAREN: No, I don’t know.