by Kate Long
‘So I see.’ Eric stayed where he was. I wished he’d come and sit down with me.
‘Because I think the world of that lad. He’s sensible, he’s grown-up. You can have a decent conversation with him. I’d banked on having him as a son-in-law one day . . .’ Will, strangely shy this morning, manoeuvred himself a fraction nearer the bricks. ‘No chance of that now, of course. Someone else has already snapped him up, according to his mother, damn woman.’
On the floor above, something went thud. Both of us jumped.
‘The back bedroom window slams shut sometimes,’ said Eric, recovering himself. ‘I’m going to have to mend the latch.’
‘Oh. Daniel mended the latch on our pantry,’ I said mournfully. ‘He was just so helpful round the house. Carried bags of shopping, washed up. Reached things down off the top of the cupboard for me. Unblocked the hoover pipe. Helped bolt Will’s new bed together. And he was always lovely with Nan, even on the days she talked nothing but rubbish. And polite. Politer than our Charlotte. No eye-rolling or sighing, it was always a nice greeting, always a smile.’
There was a clatter from the kitchen and the next second a cat shot across the hall. I did a double-take. ‘Dear God, is that who I think it is?’
Eric stepped back out of sight and reappeared in the doorway holding Pringle uncomfortably round the middle, the way you’d carry a squashy pillow.
‘It is. He comes every day or so. Don’t you, laddie? We’ve shut the food away but it’s made no difference. Last week we found him on the drainer, drinking washing-up water.’ He opened his arms and Pringle dropped to the floor, shivered his tail and stalked off. Something in the cat’s imperious manner reminded me of Charlotte.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘He has his own water bowl at home, Whiskas twice a day.’
‘It’s no’ your fault. You canna train a cat.’
At last Eric left his station by the door and came and perched on the chair arm opposite me.
I said, ‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to just land on you and moan, only I really needed to sound off. It’s been such a shock.’
‘That’s OK. It’s just that I have to go out soon. A job over in Bolton.’ He tilted his head in Kenzie’s direction. ‘Via Radcliffe.’
Will had finally edged over to the Duplo box and was sorting through the tub of bricks after the little figures. Kenzie was building the green wall of something.
I ploughed on.
‘See, the problem with Charlotte is she’s never appreciated what other people put in. I’m not saying she doesn’t work hard – she does – only she doesn’t think about the effort everyone else is making. And you can tell her till you’re blue in the face. She’s still no idea what a battle it was for me, bringing her up on my own. You know what it’s like, Eric, don’t you? Sitting in night after night with no one to talk to, having to deal with every crisis and no one to share the load. It’s hard, isn’t it?’
He nodded.
‘I didn’t have the kind of freedom Charlotte’s enjoyed, waltzing off and living the high life while someone else holds the baby. Not that I resent it – well, I do . . . It’s vital she gets that degree, only she’s sat there like a queen bee while we’ve all buzzed round her. I’m not jealous. I want her to do well. It’s this, this self-sabotage, that’s what I can’t deal with. I’d have given my right arm to have a boyfriend like Daniel around. The way he took on another man’s child, treated him – well, he was just wonderful with him, and I’ve watched her all this time and she’s not been grateful enough. We owe Daniel, all of us.’ I glanced down to where Will rummaged. ‘And my worry, my big worry, is what’s he going to think when Daniel never comes back? Because that’s the nearest he’s ever had to a dad, and you need a dad, or something like one. How much say has my grandson had in the matter? None, that’s how much. It’s not just her own life she’s spoiling. She needs to sit down and think about it.’
At my feet Will grasped a plastic man in each fist and banged their heads together. I let my gaze linger on his rounded cheeks, his clean silky hair. His eyes were wide and long-lashed, heart-melting. Charlotte didn’t deserve such a beautiful child. But then, when had she ever appreciated what she was given? Barbie dolls I’d saved for, left out and rained on; her school PE kit lost I don’t know how many times. Six-month-old bike forgotten in the park, nicked by the time she went back for it. Careless, she was. Memories sparked off memories: my daughter, aged eight, sitting in a Southport café, scowling and stabbing at a dish of spaghetti as if it was alive. Some row about something. A glittery cowboy hat with the crown stamped flat.
‘It’s like, no matter how you try and smooth her path, she throws rocks into the middle. I’m sick of it, sick of it!’
Will looked at me for a moment, but then carried on playing. Eric cleared his throat.
‘Ach, people break up and get back together all the time. She might change her mind, and then if he’s still keen . . .’
‘No, because his mother said he was already with someone else.’
‘She might be lying.’
‘You think?’
‘Scoring a point. You said she was stuck-up. You don’t know if he’s got another woman, and I bet she doesn’t, either. Not for definite. Lads don’t tell their mums anything, take it from me.’
The little spike of hope I felt at his words made tears well up. I lowered my face and patted my pockets for a hanky. ‘God, what a state to get into.’
‘It’s OK, Karen.’
‘Last thing you want, neighbours turning up and weeping on your sofa. I’m such a fool.’
‘You’re not.’ Eric shuffled forward and lightly rested his fingers on my knee. ‘Come on, it’ll work out.’
‘How, though?’ Another wave of self-pity broke over me. ‘She’s that perverse! You know, all I’ve ever wanted, from the day she was born, is for Charlotte to have a better life than I managed. Realise her potential. I’ve worked so hard for that. Learned her spellings and tables with her, always turned off the TV so she could do her homework, helped her revise for exams, bought her the right course books. Cut back on things for myself so she could have what she needed. Not that I mind, she had to come first. And she did pass her exams, so that was a relief, and then Daniel turns up and I really thought I’d got her onto the right track. I thought, Yes, Karen, in the end you have done a decent job and all that struggle’s been worth it. And OK, the fact he was a doctor’s son did make me glad because it’s a step up the ladder, isn’t it, and if thinking that way makes me a snob, I’m a snob. But I’d have loved him if his dad had been on the dole. A diamond, he was. And she’s chucked him away.’
I buried my face in my hands. After a pause I felt Eric come and sit next to me and place his arm across my shoulders. I let myself lean into him, exhale, and it was so lovely to feel the support of his hard, muscly body against mine and smell his spicy aftershave. This was what I’d come round for. I could sense the small shifts in his limbs, hear his breathing, hear the clatter of stirred Duplo, and Will’s nose whistling because he needed to blow it. Kenzie was humming softly and I found myself thinking, It’s strange how little that lad has to say for a four-year-old; our Charlotte was never quiet at that age. Maybe he had glue ear like Joe Evans in Year Four. I recalled Joe sucking a cushion in the book corner; a young Charlotte sucking her thumb under the table during a fight I’d had with Steve over a bill not paid. Steve on our wedding day, the cuffs of his jacket hanging halfway down his hands. I pictured Steve with Lusanna, racing up Rivington on his bike and then afterwards, in his bed. Would he compare my body with hers? Would he rate the sex as better? The world around me churned and buckled; nothing was the same as it had been. The rules were all changing.
Go on, went my inner demon, turn your head now and give Eric a kiss. I dare you. I know he said he wasn’t on the market, but that was weeks ago. Things have moved on. Think how he was at the reservoir that time. Held your hand like a boyfriend would. All you have to do now is tilt your head and
put your lips against his skin. Easy. While he’s here, next to you. Don’t miss the moment that’s being offered to you.
My heart began to thud.
This is why you came round. To be held, to be kissed. He’s right there, right by your side. Just do it, do it. Quick!
‘Need a wee, Grandma,’ Will broke in, piping and urgent.
I jerked back guiltily.
‘Potty, Grandma.’
‘Oh, OK.’ For a second I’d been in too much of a dither to process what he’d said. ‘I haven’t got the potty here. Can you hold on till we get home?’
Will clutched the front of his trousers and pulled an anguished face. ‘Need it now.’
‘You haven’t still got Kenzie’s old one knocking about, have you, Eric?’
‘Nah. We slung it ages ago.’
‘Right, well. It’ll have to be the toilet, then, like a big boy.’ I remembered old Mr Cottle’s chemical commode, tucked behind the stairs. ‘Where is the bathroom? Upstairs?’
‘You can’t. It’s too untidy.’
‘As if that matters.’ I grabbed Will and made for the hall.
‘Use the garden. It’s nearer.’
I glanced back in surprise. ‘I’m not going down that route. Otherwise he’ll be pulling down his trousers in the street and just widdling anywhere.’ Ivy’s grandson had once been forced, during a motorway traffic jam, to pee into a bottle. For months afterwards he’d refused to go in anything that hadn’t previously held Coke or 7UP.
I lifted my grandson by the armpits and ran for the stairs with him, top speed. ‘It’s the door straight ahead,’ Eric called from behind me.
The bathroom door was the only one open anyway. We charged in and I flung the toilet seat back, yanked Will’s trousers down and held him so he was above the bowl. After a moment’s pause an obedient stream hit the pan. ‘Just in time,’ said Will, mimicking my intonation.
‘We were, weren’t we. Good boy.’
While he finished off, I gazed round the room, trying to calm my thundering nerves. The place was shabby, yes – wallpaper half-peeled off, some of the brown and blue patterned tiles cracked and all of them needing a re-grout – but it was a long way from unusable. The suite itself was a nasty turquoise. I imagined old Mr Cottle proudly picking it out of a showroom thirty years ago, back when he was still fit enough to manage the stairs. Aside from the suite, there was a bucket of Kenzie’s bath toys in the corner and some value toiletries ranged on a shelf, nothing really. Nothing to hide. You nearly kissed Eric, went my head. Oh my God! What if you had? What then?
‘Wash hands, Grandma.’
‘That’s right.’ Shakily I set Will back on the floor and left him to deal with his own trousers. As I stepped away, though, something odd caught my eye. The turquoise sink was streaked on the inside with blood, a single thick drop and then a line of it running down and pooling about the plughole.
I stared, confused. Had Eric been wounded in some way? Or Kenzie? Neither of them had looked to be damaged. My brain flicked through the various accidents I’d witnessed at school: a burst nose, a cut lip, a tooth knocked out, that boy who came into class having sliced open the heel of his hand on some corrugated iron. The memory made me shudder.
Quickly I turned both taps on full and sluiced water round, swilling it against the sides with my palms. The blood seemed sticky and persistent, and in the end I took toilet paper and wiped it off that way. I dropped the paper down the loo, closed the lid and flushed so Will wouldn’t see and ask questions I couldn’t answer.
Tucked under the outflow pipe was a small plastic step which I presumed was for Kenzie’s use. I pulled it out and Will, his waistband more or less back in the right place, climbed on. Together we dabbled our fingers under the cold tap. The water was now perfectly clear. Perhaps the bleed had been caused by knocking off a scab, an old injury you wouldn’t think to mention. Eric must get injured at work. He dropped that bucket on his toe a few months back, didn’t he? Almost kissed him! What’s the matter with you? He’s a friend, that’s all. Don’t spoil it, don’t mess this one up as well.
‘Karen? Karen!’ I heard his voice from the hall. To me he sounded anxious and annoyed, or maybe that was my embarrassment I was hearing reflected back at me.
Will climbed down off the step and headed for the stairs.
‘Wait,’ I said. ‘Let Grandma hold your hand.’
He paused in the doorway and I reached out to him. But at the same moment, the mobile in my pocket started to ring. I fastened my hand round Will’s cuff, opened the screen and held the phone to my ear.
What I heard in the next ten seconds blasted any thoughts of Eric – of nearly everything – right out of my head.
Fairly soon we’d left the grand streets and we were out into a grittier urban landscape. The road became an expressway, crossing the Thames, ducking under flyovers. Then we were moving through streets packed with high- and low-rise flats, back-to-back terraces, 1930s council semis like mine. I saw parades of shops, bookies and off-licences, kebab houses and launderettes, warehouses, lorry parks, leisure centres, occasional playing-fields. We passed a schoolyard where children in blue sweatshirts queued in lines; an ornate church that was now a carpet-fitter’s. All these people going about their normal days. Eventually the taxi pulled up by a tyre-fitting yard. The driver pointed across to a row of stone bollards.
‘Pedestrian precinct. Can’t go no furver. But that’s the road you want.’
My legs went weak. I scrabbled in my purse and extracted from the special zipped compartment what felt like a huge amount of cash (Mum was going to do her absolute nut when she saw how much I’d taken). I offered no tip, though. Our eyes met in the mirror but I stared him out. Something told me to keep tight hold of every penny I had.
As the driver pulled away I panicked again, this time at the sensation of being left alone on a strange street. But then Jessie – Jen – would see me right, wouldn’t she? She’d give me a lift back to the station, after I’d travelled all this way. ‘I’m dying to see you,’ is what she’d said.
I stood for a moment, getting my bearings. Around me was a modern estate with flat-roofed buildings, concrete balconies and walkways. A metal pedestrian bridge, painted blue, flaking metal garage doors. Murals, graffiti. Not a lot of greenery going on. I followed the house numbers till I came to a three-storey block, plain and functional. The balcony directly above me had a folding chair set out on it and the one next door was being used to dry baby laundry.
And here I was. This was Jessie’s place. I rang the bell for the ground floor and stepped away. Daft, I told myself, to get worked up when it was all going to be fine. This was a good thing I was doing, for my mum. Across the street two teenage boys in sweat-tops slipped out of an alleyway and watched as I rang once more.
By the time she opened the door I was a bag of nerves. I pretty much fell into the dark little hallway, and began babbling immediately about what sort of journey I’d had. She stood it for thirty seconds, frowning, then nudged me into the lounge and got me to sit.
First impressions: I wasn’t in a nice place, it didn’t look very cared for. For a start there was hardly any furniture, not even a TV on top of the TV unit, which meant you could see every scuff on the walls and every mark and dent in the carpet. The wallpaper under the window was peeling and even where it was in decent nick the colour scheme was pretty rank, a lot of burgundy and gold and blue, stripes and swirls, Mum would’ve had a fit. And the light-shade had a loopy fringe that was lower on one side than the other, and on top of the gas fire was a lone crappy ornament, a china pig cuddling a duck. Skank. Tat-orama. And then I thought, For God’s sake, stop being so mean, Charlotte. Jessie’s only just moved in, hasn’t she? It takes time to get a place straight, install your stuff. Half a pot of wallpaper paste and a go with a steam cleaner, it’d come up a different room.
And still I couldn’t stop talking, spilling my life out in one big gush. Where I was at uni, how I adored my tutor, ho
w I missed Will, the Daniel situation. Meanwhile I was drinking in Jessie and trying to see Mum’s face, or mine, in hers. She was a smallish woman with brown hair, though you could tell it was dyed because there was a good two inches of grey at the parting. The eyes were similar to Mum’s, the same creases in the corner and the same-shaped forehead, but Jessie was quite a lot more wrinkled. Her lips were thinner; she was thinner all over. Her hands had gone a bit clawed, big knuckles pushing against chunky resin rings.
She sat down opposite me, crossed her legs. The jeans she wore had sparkles down the seams.
‘Well,’ she said.
I knew it was time I shut up so she could get a word in. But there must have been something wrong with me because I just carried on rabbiting. Paul Bentham, I now found myself describing, and how it hadn’t been my fault I got pregnant in the first place but I was so glad Will was around, not that I’d ever judge anyone who didn’t keep their baby, it was such a hard call, you had to do what you thought was best, and Mum had taken a while to get over the shock of Will but now she was fine with it. Jessie’s brow creased. What the hell’s up with this girl? I guessed she was thinking. Is she on drugs, or what?
It was my ringtone that shut me up finally. I jumped as if I’d been shot, grabbed the phone, dropped it, retrieved it from where it had spun under the sofa, checked the screen and it was Mum. MUM! Jesus. I switched the mobile off, shuddering.
‘All right?’
‘It was no one. No one important.’ I looked up shyly. ‘You know it’s funny, I can’t think of you as “Jen”.’
‘Well, I am. That’s who I am. That other was a different time. Do you understand?‘ She sounded quite fierce.
I nodded. Don’t we all have periods of our lives we’d prefer to gloss over?
We stared at each other for a moment. Then she said, ‘Have you come on your own?’