by Kate Long
I was thinking of Will, and then Walshy, then Will again, when Daniel suddenly turned off the radio and said, ‘What exactly is it that bugs you about Amelia?’
‘Nothing,’ I said at once.
‘Come on, Charlotte.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘You really want to know? Pff. Only that she’s had it all on a plate. I bet she’s never put a foot wrong in her short sweet life.’
‘You don’t know a thing about her.’
‘I know she lives in a mansion.’
‘No, she doesn’t. Her parents own a four-bedroom house in Wiltshire, I asked her. Six years ago they bought a small field off the farmer next door to save it from developers. That’s all. And stop being an inverted snob. Would you like it if someone judged you on the size of your house?’
‘Oh yeah, I’ve remembered what it is bugs me about her: the way you always defend her, like you’re doing now. That’s seriously annoying.’
‘I don’t “always defend her”. I offer an alternative viewpoint when you’re not being rational.’
I’m your girlfriend, I thought. You should side with me.
‘Well, I know your mum thinks she’s the best thing ever, and wishes you were going out with her.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘It’s not! Bloody hell, Dan. Every time we’re round your flat, she finds a way to drop Amelia into the conversation. You must have noticed. Amelia brought her some honey for her sore throat. Amelia’s family live near where your mum grew up. Amelia’s been admiring her William Morris cushions. I said, “Hey, Mrs Gale, I love William Morris stuff,” and she gave me such a patronising smile. You? Get back to your Woolworths tea towels, dear.’
Daniel’s fingers twitched on the steering wheel. ‘You could argue that Amelia makes an effort with her.’
‘God, I try my best, Dan. Your mum’s not the easiest.’ If he only knew the strain involved in just keeping my mouth shut whenever I was with the sozzled old witch.
‘My mother feels comfortable with Amelia. They come from a similar background.’
‘Yes, and doesn’t she let me know it.’
Lorries in both neighbouring lanes now, hemming us in. I wondered, if you added them all up, how many hours I’d spent travelling this damn motorway.
Daniel said, ‘Are you jealous? Is that the problem?’
‘No!’
‘How about this, then. Would you like to meet her?’
That caught me totally off-guard. ‘Meet Amelia? Where?’
‘Anywhere. I thought you might like to see her face-to-face.’
‘Why?’
Daniel raised an eyebrow slightly.
My temper flared. ‘I’ve no interest in the woman. Why would I want to trail over to meet her? What’s so fascinating about her, anyway?’
He said nothing for a while. I turned my head away and stared out at the moorland and the misty outline of the hills. Can’t bloody stop talking about her, can you? I imagined saying. But I couldn’t face another row. All I wanted was to get home.
‘Can we have the radio back on?’ I asked, reaching forward for the button.
‘No.’
Again I was wrong-footed. ‘Huh? Why?’
‘Because we need to talk. Well, we do, don’t we?’
‘Does it have to be now?’
‘I’d say so.’
‘OK,’ I said, without enthusiasm. Not more shit, I was thinking. Not more strife to go burning round my head.
The car slooshed past a coach filled with old ladies. They looked happy, off to some pensioner-attraction, no doubt. Nan used to go on these trips with the Over Seventies, the Edinburgh Woollen Mill outlet store, the Tower Ballroom, Harry Ramsden’s, and she always had a whale of a time. Cup of tea and a bun and her day was complete. I thought how nice it must be to be past it, untroubled by the urges of youth.
Daniel said, ‘How many of my uni friends have you actually met, Charlotte?’
I thought about it. ‘Well, I’ve spoken to Julian on the phone. I took a message from him. We had a really long chat. He seemed nice.’
‘So, none, then.’
‘I’ve seen loads of photos. I feel like I know them.’
‘Uh huh.’
‘Aw, come on. It’s difficult. You know it is. If I have a free weekend I need to spend it with Will. That’s the way it has to be. Obviously.’
‘Obviously.’
‘So are you saying I shouldn’t? Daniel, I’ve got to see my son. I hardly see enough of him as it is. You of all people should understand that.’
I thought I’d clinched the argument with that, but no, he wasn’t stepping down.
‘I’m not asking you to see less of him.’
‘What, then?’
He set his jaw stubbornly. ‘Just to respect me more. Think about it, Charlotte. The bottom line is, you don’t take any real interest in me—’
‘Bollocks.’
‘In my Manchester life, in anything I am outside what I do for you. You’ve no real idea who my friends are, and we never talk properly about what I’ve been up to.’
‘Gerroff. You do tell me. You told me about Julian dyeing a rose blue for his girlfriend, and Professor Jamieson talking that student down off the roof. And you’re always banging on about science-y stuff. I know so much about what’s going on in your lab I reckon I could have sat your end-of-year exams and scraped a pass.’
‘But you don’t listen!’ His voice was suddenly loud in the confines of the car. ‘I talk, yes, but you don’t listen to me. I see you zoning out. Yes, you do. You never ask me anything back. It’s as if I’m giving a lecture.’
I laughed. ‘Glad you said that and not me.’
He let out a kind of stifled groan. ‘For God’s sake. You see, you’re not even listening now. This isn’t funny, Charlotte. Always I’m in second place with you. I know you have a child, and before you start it’s not about that. I love Will, he’s top of my chart, too. I know he takes up your time. But this is about you taking and taking and not giving back. I run round after you and what do I get in return? Bad moods. Your eyes glazing over when I tell you about my world. You don’t think about me. Sometimes it’s as if my words don’t even register. The whole of our relationship’s based on me supporting you. I’m like a – like a bloody clothes prop.’
This time I didn’t dare even smile.
‘I suppose I’ve always known it,’ he went on. ‘That was the basis on which you let me be your boyfriend, right from the word go. Right from that day in the sixth-form library when I asked you out and those girls were giggling on the table behind and you were looking at me as if I was completely mad. But you were kind to me when you could have laughed in my face. You became the first real friend I had at that bloody school. My best friend. You shared your secrets, you asked my advice. And then when we started seeing each other properly, it was like everything came right for me. My parents warring, it didn’t matter. We had each other. You made me laugh. You were beautiful, you were clever. It was a privilege to be by your side, and if people wondered what someone like you was doing with a geek like me, I didn’t care. I was just on top of the world. So if there were times I worked a bit harder in the relationship, I was prepared for that, it didn’t seem too bad, you know? There’s always one person in a couple who does more accommodating. It was OK. Until lately, and this ridiculous reaction over Amelia – don’t, let me finish – that brought it home how little respect you have for me. It’s as though I can’t have friends of my own unless you approve of them, even if you never actually take the time to meet any of them. Suddenly you decide to take a dislike to someone I mention, what, once or twice, and then every time her name comes up, it’s open season.’
‘Well, you shouldn’t go on about her so much.’
‘I don’t “go on about her”. I don’t mention her in any other context than Twenty-First Century Rocks, and the reason I talk about that is because I’m enjoying it, it’s taking up a lot of my time, it’s important t
o me. That’s all. Do you think I fancy her or something?’
I shrugged.
‘For the record, Charlotte, I don’t. I like her a lot, she’s fun, she does an efficient job, that’s as far as it goes.’
‘What if she fancies you?’
‘It makes no difference. Sheesh. I can’t believe you genuinely consider her a threat. And lately it’s struck me how bloody unfair things are between us. See, I would never tell you who to hang round with, or sneer about them, or question your motives. Your friends are your friends. I trust you to choose them and I’m happy for you to get on with it.’
A picture of Walshy flashed up before my eyes and there I was, skewered on my own hypocrisy. Yes, that’s the reason you’re so twitchy about Amelia, went my conscience. He trusts you and look how you’ve repaid him. Trying to judge him by your own slack morals. Trollop.
‘Honest, it isn’t like that,’ I said feebly.
‘But it is, Charlotte.’
Where the hell had all this come from? Ten minutes ago we were bowling along as normal. Suddenly, out of nowhere, he’d brewed up a crisis. I just hadn’t seen it coming. Daniel didn’t really do Angry, it wasn’t his style. Stoic, he was. Level. Constant. For as long as I’d known him.
‘This sniping at my mother,’ he went on.
‘She snipes at me.’
‘Get over it.’
Now I was righteously indignant. ‘Hang on a minute, she started it! She’s always looked down her nose at me. I was never good enough. And I hate the way she acts with you, she’s too controlling. Banging on the floor every time she wants you, and you springing to your feet and running up to her flat straight away. For God’s sake. You need to stand up to her more.’
‘She needs support.’
‘Yeah, stop her falling over drunk.’
He swallowed. ‘That was low, Charlotte.’
‘She is an alcoholic.’
‘You think I don’t know that?’
‘Then why pretend everything’s OK? Why not do something about it?’
‘What do you suggest?’
‘There are groups. The AA.’
‘Oh, thanks. That never occurred to me. When I get home I’ll just strap her to a gurney and wheel her to the nearest branch against her will, shall I?’
I’d have protested but he carried straight on.
‘All right, she’s over-reliant on drink. But look at what she’s been through. She’s not a strong woman. You’re so much stronger, and you have so much more in your life than she does. You could afford to be generous, let the odd jibe go. Because ask yourself how I am with your family. Ask yourself about the effort I put in with your mother, with your father, with Will, your nan.’
Again he had me. It was all true. His treatment of Will alone made him a saint, never mind the way he fielded my bloody mother. I was officially the worst girlfriend in the world.
‘So what are you saying, Dan? What do you want me to do?’
‘I’m saying, I deserve better.’
The knife twisted in my guts.
‘I don’t think you love me,’ I said outrageously. It was the clumsiest kind of emotional blackmail but I was getting desperate. I only wanted him back to normal, back to his usual mild and tolerant self. Why wouldn’t he behave? Why now all this resentment and chafing? I looked at him, willing him to tell me it was actually OK. If I wished hard enough, perhaps any minute now he’d sigh and say he’d had a bad morning, or he just needed to get things off his chest, and then I’d come in with some concessions of my own.
All right, I’ll come to Manchester with you. I’ll miss a precious weekend with Will and I’ll meet your friends. I’ll listen more carefully when you tell me about neurons and stuff. I’ll try and be pleasanter with your mum. I won’t make fun of your marvellous – no, not that – I won’t make fun of Amelia any more, I’m sure she’s very nice. Obviously you have to have a social life. And I do trust you, I’m sorry if I got it wrong. The problem is, I get so stressed over missing Will and everything else slides out of proportion. It feels as if there’s not enough of me to go round. As if I’m failing on a dozen fronts.
He’d nod, he’d smile, the row would be over. We’d pull in at motorway services and share a muffin.
‘Daniel?’
His expression stayed grim.
‘Don’t you love me?’ I said. A tiny moth-sized flutter of panic had started in my chest.
‘God, Charlotte. More than you have any idea.’
His voice sounded bleak and lost. Across the horizon in front of us, dark clouds gathered and the sky flashed with sudden summer lightning.
When we pulled up outside my house I found I was shivering all over and my teeth were chattering. My hands, when I tried to take off the helmet, were numb and useless.
‘You’re never cold?’ asked Steve incredulously.
‘Frozen,’ I said. It was easier than trying to explain the exhilaration still coursing through me. Every fingertip tingled. I hadn’t felt so alive in years.
‘So, do you get it? Do you understand why I needed this bike?’
‘Suppose.’
That was enough for Steve. He beamed proudly. ‘Champion. We’ll make a biker of you yet. Hey, and I nearly forgot. I were talking to this old gimmer in t’warehouse last week and he was telling me about his daughter doing this teacher training course actually in a school, you know, working and getting paid for it. How smart is that? I don’t know if it was legit but he reckoned it was. She didn’t have a degree or anything, and she’s older than you. So I thought it might be worth looking into.’
‘What’s it called, this course?’
‘Dunno. I can find out. Do you want me to?’
‘Well, yes.’
I dragged off the jacket, aware that my blouse underneath was patchy with sweat. I needed to get inside and take a shower; what’s more, if Steve showed any sign of wanting to join me, I wouldn’t say no. Not today. My whole body sang like a guitar string, joyously tense.
‘Oh,’ he said as I opened the gate and stepped through. ‘By the way, I’ll need that back. The jacket.’
‘What?’
‘It int mine. I borrowed it.’
I looked down at the thick leather bundle. I’d assumed it was mine to keep, like the helmet had been. Feeling foolish, I held it out to him. ‘Fine. Have it.’
‘Ta.’ He rolled it as best he could to tuck under his arm. ‘It’s Lusanna’s. It’s her spare.’
‘Lusanna.’
‘The girl from the Kawasaki Club. You know. As swapped me your helmet. She loaned me the jacket this morning, after you rang.’
‘Ah, right. That Lusanna.’
Steve thinks he’s Mr Enigmatic but I can read him like a book. The reason Lusanna was able to hand her jacket over immediately was because she was with him when I rang; or rather, he must have been round at hers because you don’t cart spare jackets about with you for no reason. And he never rises before ten on a Saturday, which meant he’d stayed over.
I said. ‘Are you seeing her?’
He gaped, then shut his mouth and came over shy. ‘Yeah, like, sort of.’
‘That’s great.’
‘Well.’
‘No, it’s good. It’s good.’
‘’S’only casual. Nowt, really. Don’t say anything to our Charlie yet, eh?’
The face of a healthy, unpoisoned cat appeared at my upstairs window, meowing to be let out.
‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ I said. ‘None of my business. Anyway, tell her thanks for the jacket. Tell her it was a bit loose on me but it did the job.’ I laughed lightly to show I wasn’t being a bitch by saying that, but no one was fooled. We both knew that, if anything, the jacket had been on the snug side.
‘OK.’ He sighed and looked down at his massive boots. ‘Anyroad, Karen, I can probably blag you a jacket of your own from somewhere, if you’re interested. Shall I? We could go out again sometime. I mean, it was a blast, yeah?’
‘I’
ll see you around,’ I said and closed the gate between us.
KAREN: What I wanted to know about was my dad’s side. I haven’t really got anything there except names. (Pause.) I know there was an Aunty Annie somewhere, my dad’s younger sister. She moved down south, didn’t she? With her husband? (Pause.) Did you keep in touch? (Pause.) Were she and my dad close? Did you have much to do with her? (Pause.) Well, we’re getting nowhere fast today. All right, Mum, tell me about your uncle Jack. I know he went to Mesopotamia during the First World War and he came home poorly. Didn’t he catch malaria? And he never fully recovered. You told me he was always cold, and you were in trouble if you left a door open near him because he couldn’t bear draughts.
(Sounds of someone coming into the room.)
CARE ASSISTANT: Now, how are we doing?
KAREN: She’s incommunicado today.
CARE ASSISTANT: Oh dear. Are you not feeling so bright, Nancy? She had a bad night, I think. You couldn’t get off, could you? Shall I get you some tea? Are you ready for a cuppa and a biscuit?
KAREN: Mum? Did you hear? Is she OK, do you think?
NAN: Uncle Jack’s dead.
KAREN: I know, Mum.
NAN: Jimmy’s dead, Bill’s dead, my mother and father.
(Pause.)
KAREN: But we’re here, Mum. Me and Charlotte, and Will. We’re all still about. I’m bringing Will tomorrow for you. He’s cut another tooth. You said he was teething, didn’t you?
NAN: I shan’t mind, when it’s my turn.
KAREN: Oh, don’t say that. Come on, now. Come here. Oh, Mum. (Pause.) Sita’s going to bring you a cup of tea. You’ll feel better after you’ve had something to eat and drink. You will, I promise. (Pause.) Sita, could you turn that tape-player off, please? Just, that red button. Thanks.