Mother and Child

by Annie Murray

  ‘You managed to get here, obviously,’ I say to Hayley. ‘I hope you’re not getting the sack because of it?’

  ‘No.’ She grimaces. Once again, talking about work, she seems uncomfortable. ‘They weren’t very pleased. But they’re short-staffed anyway so they don’t want to lose me.’

  ‘I should think not,’ Pat said.

  ‘Right.’ Sunita hoiks her bag up on the table and starts pulling out boxes and a big bottle of 7 Up. ‘Time we all had something to eat.’

  She pulls the lids off to reveal a delicious-looking array of snacks – pakoras and samosas, sandwiches, biscuits and grapes – and is met by appreciative cheers.

  ‘That’s the beautiful thing about this running,’ Sunita says, happily biting into a samosa bulging with potato. ‘I can eat just whatever I want!’

  Eventually we find ourselves walking through the low sunshine of a Wembley evening, past fruit and veg stalls and rows of booths selling mobile phones and phone cards, as well as curry shops and lots and lots of people. Pat and I follow Sunita, who parts the waters of the crowds with her loud, rumbling suitcase, until we turn into a side road of large terraced houses. We stop at a white door with a small window in it, the glass patterned with flowers.

  The door is opened by a woman so small and doll-like that for a second I wonder if she is a child of the family. She is dressed in jeans and a peach-coloured T-shirt and her hair is cut neatly at shoulder length.

  ‘Hello!’ She beams in welcome. ‘Come in, come in!’ She greets Sunita first with a hug and then we go through the introductions. This is Janu, Sunita’s sister-in-law. Two boys, who look about eight and ten, peer out of the back room and then abruptly disappear again and a sound starts up that sounds like an electronic racetrack.

  ‘My nephews,’ Sunita says. ‘Hey, you two – come and say hello to your auntie!’

  As the boys come out shyly for hugs and introductions, Janu urges us to put our bags down and come and sit down in the front room. Seeing that she is barefoot and that there is a shoe rack, we all take off our sandals and pumps and walk into a large room, the thick pile of the crimson carpet like a luxurious lawn beneath our feet. The air smells faintly of curry and of something scented.

  The room has long windows, swathed with black-and-gold curtains held back each side and big, cream-coloured sofas arranged along three sides of the space. There is a big flatscreen TV on the wall to the left.

  ‘Now,’ Janu says to us as the boys hover, curious. ‘Prem, my husband, will be home in a moment. He has gone to buy some nice sweets – we have a good shop along the street. You are very welcome – and I wanted to tell you about where you might sleep. We have one spare room –’ she counts off the options with her fingers – ‘and there is an office with a fold-out bed. Thirdly, it is very possible to be comfortable down here – all these cushions and we have duvets and covers . . .’ She smiles. ‘You might like to be together, I don’t know.’

  ‘Let’s do that,’ Pat says. ‘It would be fun – we can all camp out here together.’

  ‘Like the Famous Five,’ I say.

  ‘Without the dog,’ Pat adds.

  The front door opens then and we are greeted by a man of medium height, with a round but slightly saggy face which has hints of Sunita’s. Prem, Sunita’s brother, who comes and shakes our hands. Little blue plastic bags dangle from one of his wrists.

  ‘So,’ he says. ‘Bhopal, is it, you are all running for?’

  ‘It was Jo got us into it,’ Hayley says, looking at me.

  Prem comes and shakes my hand, holds on to it for a moment. He has tired-looking eyes and a friendly expression.

  ‘Terrible – a terrible thing that was,’ he says. ‘My friend, some of his family, aunt, uncle, kids, lived in that part of the city. North side, isn’t it? Many people dying. My friend was about eight or so when it happened. Most of the family survived but he is almost blind – the gas affected his eyes very badly. He has had big problems finding work. The whole family have faced many problems since that time.’

  There is not much you can say. I sense – and I can feel it from the others – that it is being brought home to us again why we are doing this.

  ‘Come.’ He turns away, suddenly more cheerful, and says something quickly to Janu, who scuttles out to the kitchen. ‘We have food for you – some tea and snacks. You need a good amount of energy for tomorrow!’

  Later, as we lay out cushions and duvets and pillows all over the wide floor, I realize how much I am loving all this. Of course, I’m nervous, but not like this morning when all I could do was fret about Ian and worry about packing and wait for it to be time to go. Ian finally texted me, Will do my best . . . Will go to Mom’s beforehand, and my heart sang. He’ll come. I went to see Dorrie just before I left – she needn’t know anything and things will be all right. It’s going to be all right . . .

  And right now, it’s just fun. We had a lovely time sitting and eating with Prem and Janu. They are very hospitable and their boys, Ijay and Tapu, ran in and out and were cute and talkative. Sunita has a light-hearted, teasing relationship with them. They talk about cousins, other relatives. I find myself envying her large, scattered family.

  Laying out all our stuff feels like camping, getting changed, taking it in turns to go into the downstairs loo and clean our teeth. It’s like travel and adventure and, now I begin to think about it, it’s something I have missed.

  The night is warm. Sunita slides the window open: ‘I hope there won’t be burglars – they will get a shock if they come in here!’ And eventually we all lie back on our makeshift mattresses under light covers. Pat and I are side by side, foot to foot with Sunita and Hayley. Pat is the last to clean her teeth and get to bed.

  ‘Right, ladies –’ She stands with a hand on the light switch by the door. ‘Everyone ready?’

  ‘Yes!’ we all chorus, like kids. Darkness comes over us. The thick curtains block light from the street, except a crack down the middle, a yellow glow from a street lamp outside. I like the feeling of them all here with me – of having other human beings breathing around me.

  Sunita is sitting up and I hear her give a little burp before she settles again. ‘Tomorrow is the day,’ she says. Her voice sounds older, now she is lying down. We are all quite old, come to think of it – except Hayley, of course. I have not thought about my age for weeks. We’ve all just had this goal in mind and have been heading for it.

  ‘Did you ever think you’d be doing this, Sunita?’ Pat says.

  ‘No,’ Sunita says. ‘My daughter is still always saying, “Mummy is running – I just can’t believe it.” And Leela, now she is saying, “I am going to go jogging like Nanimma – she is a fit athletic lady.” ’

  We can hear the pride in her voice. I grin in the darkness, remembering Sunita’s description of getting her bum stuck in the chair. How long ago it seems now, but it was only February. It’s life – new life.

  And as I’m musing, I suddenly realize Hayley has started talking. I think Pat asked her something but I had gone off into my own thoughts. I turn on to my back to hear her better.

  Pat must have asked something about Hayley’s grandmother. Hayley’s saying how good her nan has always been to her, how kind, how the old lady doesn’t understand why her own daughter, Hayley’s mother, has been so irresponsible, how uncaring of her own child.

  ‘I think she feels bad – about my mom,’ Hayley says in her soft voice. ‘And I never want Nan to be upset about anything. The thing is . . .’ She hesitates, sounding upset, on the brink of confiding something. There’s a silence. We’ve all wondered about Hayley, about exactly how she got those bruises, what exactly is going on. In the end I say:

  ‘What’s up, love? I’m sure you can tell us. I mean, if you want to.’

  ‘I’d like to. I don’t like not being truthful with people, and . . .’

  ‘It’s all right, Hayley.’ I sense, rather than see, Sunita sitting up again to speak. ‘You are with friends here
. If you want to say something, say it, darling.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Hayley says. ‘You guys are so nice. You’re like another family.’

  I smile. This feels true. But I wonder what we are going to hear. Does Hayley have some awful boyfriend – is that why she had injuries to her face?

  ‘Well, OK,’ she says. ‘Now or never, I suppose! Just don’t judge me – OK?’ I hear her take a breath. ‘It’s just – you know I want to go to college? I mean, I’m not even sure what I want to do now. I thought beauty therapy or something but now I’m wondering . . . Anyway, doing this race, why we’re doing this, has made me think about it. I know I want to go to college, but I want to do something to help people. Anyway, that’s another thing and I’m not really sure what yet.’ She pauses for a second.

  ‘Basically, though, I don’t want to be any burden on my nan. I know no one in the family can afford for me to go to uni now the fees have all gone up and everything. I don’t want her to think I have a load of debt. I know there are some loans and things, but I want to save up so that I’ve got enough to get through – or most of it, anyway.’

  This we already know – and admire her for it.

  ‘My nan doesn’t have much idea about money now – except for the basics, you know. Every time she buys a pint of milk she tells me how much it cost in – I don’t know, the nineteen thirties or something! She’s got no idea how much uni will cost. And she doesn’t know how much I earn . . .’

  ‘Pub work’s not very well paid, is it?’ Pat says.

  I hear Hayley take another breath, almost a gasp. ‘That’s the thing. Nan thinks I’m working in a bar but . . . Well I am, but . . . The thing is, I’m not telling her the truth but I want to be truthful with all of you because you’ve all been really good to me and I hate lying to people.’

  God, I think to myself. What on earth is she doing?

  ‘I’m actually earning good money – much more than Nan realizes – because I work at Flighty Aphrodite’s, in town.’

  Ah.

  ‘Flighty what?’ Sunita says.

  ‘It’s a dance club.’ Hayley sounds really awkward. ‘I mean, it is a bar, but there are girls and we dance, you know, there’s a pole for dancing . . .’

  ‘What – topless? One of those all-bosoms-hanging-out places?’ Sunita sounds scandalized.

  ‘I know a lot of students are stripping to get by these days,’ I say, trying to make her feel better. I can see how good she would be at it as well. She’s gorgeous, a good dancer and very physically flexible – she’s certainly got assets she can make use of, though heaven help her for having to.

  ‘I’m not the only one there who’s into going to uni,’ she admits. ‘There’s a girl already at Aston. I really don’t like it – I don’t like the way the men are. It’s . . . ugh . . . But the stupid thing is, I’m really good at it. I can already dance and I’ve learned a lot of moves on the pole. I can earn big money some nights, in the VIP rooms – you know, they pay for private dances. There’re one or two men who . . . Anyway, that’s why my boss didn’t want me to be off tonight. It’s Saturday . . .’

  ‘But it must feel very disgusting with all those men staring at your bosoms?’ Sunita asks, rather relentlessly I can’t help feeling.

  ‘Hey, Sunita!’ Pat says, in a gentle attempt to shut her up.

  ‘You just have to switch off and give them what they want. It’s a seedy world and that’s the truth.’ I can tell Hayley is reaching the limits of how much she wants to tell us, especially as Sunita sounds so judgemental.

  ‘It’s nice of you to tell us,’ Pat says kindly. ‘I can see why a lovely-looking girl like you gets on well. You’re a good’un, Hayley – and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to, just to get to where you do want.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. I don’t want to judge her, but I’m really not sure what to think.

  ‘Aah.’ Hayley sounds almost tearful. ‘Thanks, guys.’

  ‘I don’t think I could take my clothes off like that,’ Sunita says. ‘Not in front of strange men and all.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I tease her. ‘You most likely won’t have to – not in this lifetime, anyway!’

  ‘The other week, when I had that cut on my face,’ Hayley says, as if wanting to complete her confession while she can. ‘It was one of the punters – he punched me.’

  ‘Oh, my God!’ I say, as the others exclaim as well. ‘Why?’

  ‘Dunno,’ Hayley said. ‘You just don’t know with some people what they’re going to do. He just lashed out at me and it really hurt. I tell you, I’ll be out of there the moment I get enough money.’

  ‘I wouldn’t let my daughter do it,’ Sunita says. I feel cross with her for keeping on like this, but in a way, I have to admit I feel the same.

  ‘Your daughter’s been better supported,’ Pat says. ‘Thanks for telling us, Hayley. You’re doing what you need to do at the moment – and we all think you’re great.’

  I say something similar and, I’m glad to hear, so does Sunita. We chat on for a bit longer until Pat yawns and says:

  ‘Anyway, wonderful women – how about us getting some beauty sleep?’

  And after lots of ‘night-night’s and ‘sweet dreams’s we all settle, cosy together. But of course, I’m full of food and not sleepy. I lie there, thinking about Ian, hearing an occasional car outside, footsteps, and Sunita’s little rhythmic snores. I keep going over things in my head, all that’s led up to where we are. I imagine us all running over the finishing line tomorrow and Ian coming out of the crowd and hugging me and being pleased. And then I’m full of doubt about tomorrow and whether he’ll come, about everything. It’s a long time before I get to sleep.

  Thirty-One

  Race Day, 12 July

  All of us wake early, jittery and giggly with excitement.

  ‘You will need a very good breakfast,’ Janu says, already waiting for us in the spacious kitchen. ‘Very special, energy-giving.’

  ‘Good, but not necessarily big,’ Pat cautions her. I can see she’s thinking of the huge spread of snacks and fruit Janu and Prem laid on last night.

  ‘Well,’ Janu laughs, her eyes lighting. ‘Bananas I have – they are very good. And I can make porridge, toast, eggs?’

  Pat and Hayley opt for porridge. Sunita and I have toast – mine thickly spread with peanut butter. And soon we are setting off, Sunita leaving her luggage, planning to come back later.

  ‘Good luck, see you there!’ Janu hugs us all, Prem comes out in a red plaid dressing gown and the boys, bushy-haired from bed, climb on the front wall all excited, shouting, ‘Good luck – run very fast!’ The four of them wave us along the road.

  As soon as we get on the Tube there are quite a few of the other passengers wearing running gear. It’s a bit early on a Sunday to be up for anything else. We all give each other knowing looks and smile. Some sit adjusting their i-Pods, then we all pin race numbers on each other and fasten the little timer tabs on our trainers.

  ‘I suddenly feel like a pro.’ Pat looks up, grinning, admiring the tab fastened to her laces. She looks happy, lit up, and I feel a rush of affection for her.

  ‘I expect there’ll be some real pros running at the front,’ I say. ‘They’ll soon put us in our place.’

  ‘Well, it’s not about winning, is it?’ Hayley says.

  ‘No. More like being on the motorway,’ I say. ‘All just moving along from A to B.’

  ‘I can’t believe we’re really going to do it.’ Sunita smiles, full of delight. ‘Fatty Nanimma is running around London!’ Suddenly she breaks into a song: “We’re the ladies, of Hollywood . . .”

  We all join in, ridiculously extrovert. Other runners look startled, then grin. What does it matter? We are away from home and after all, it’s a day of goodwill.

  And then, after the bag drop, we are at the top end of Piccadilly in this warm, hazy morning, each with our bottles of water. Standing in the excited, limbering c
rowd, we can see, from the back, the memorial for Bomber Command, a group of bronze men in their flying gear, many who would have been going off to their deaths, gazing endlessly out over London, silent and dignified.

  The road is divided in half by barriers and all the runners are corralled into the left-hand side which slopes gently upwards. There are thousands and thousands here, at least twenty-five thousand people for this charity race, almost all about to run on behalf of someone else. We four, in our red Bhopal Medical Appeal vests – somewhere there will be others in the same vests – are surrounded by a sea of shirts in different colours with a huge variety of slogans. There are banners, a few brave souls running in costumes, and an atmosphere of excited goodwill.

  We limber up gently, sing softly, fret quietly. When will we start? But it’s fun – a band plays, someone passes us in a giant sunflower costume, a parade of horses goes by on the other side and suddenly, after half an hour or so, the crowd eases. We see people start to appear through the pink inflatable starter arch at the top of the slope, two young, compact men, Kenyan athletes, going like mad, other runners intent on making good times, and then the crowd thickens into the charity runners and we all surge forward.

  Round the top, towards the arch . . .

  ‘Oooh,’ Hayley skips up and down, suddenly looking like a little girl.

  ‘Save your energy, kid,’ Pat smiles at her.

  And we are through the arch and gradually breaking into a trot and we are running – slowly – but we are. It has begun: between the grand buildings of Piccadilly, which feel like being on a film set, music blaring, and all the crowds clapping and cheering us on and we drift, the first kilometre mainly downhill and it feels easy, almost like flying as we warm up. All of us beam at each other.