She appeared on the landing, slightly dishevelled, her barnet rivalling my shagger’s clump for a bad-hair day award.
‘Can we go home and talk, please?’ he asked, a desperate edge to his voice.
‘No, I think we’ve done all the talking we need to do.’
‘Fuck’s sake, Hattie. For the last time, I’m not shagging anyone, especially not Ali!’
‘Jim, Grace!’
On cue Grace ran to my side and looked up at me, unsure about what was happening, her bottom lip trembling.
‘You need to tell me what’s going on then. The truth.’ She started walking slowly down the stairs, her arms crossed. ‘Not at home. Now, before you can think up an excuse.’
‘Grace, let’s go and see Elinor,’ I said, taking her hand.
‘Please stay,’ Hattie asked.
‘No, it’s weird.’
‘Please.’
After asking if Elinor could have Grace for half an hour, I returned home feeling slightly icky.
‘So?’ Hattie demanded of Jim, standing at the bottom of the stairs. He’d collapsed on the sofa, almost disappearing into the cushions, his face grey.
‘Jim, are you OK?’ I asked, hoping he wasn’t about to have a heart attack.
‘Yes.’ He sounded beaten. ‘I wasn’t at Mum’s. I was in hospital, then at the hotel recuperating for a week.’
‘What?’ we both shrieked like Harpies.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ Hattie cried, striding over from the stairs to sit next to him. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I wanted it to be a surprise.’ Now I wanted to laugh. The only surprise Jim could give her apart from a penis extension was a personality transplant, and as far as I could tell, it had been unsuccessful.
‘I had my vasectomy reversed.’
‘Holy fuck, your what?’ Hattie screeched.
I was unable to utter anything. The word ‘vasectomy’ stole my breath, missing jigsaw pieces falling into place.
‘I thought you knew,’ he said disingenuously.
‘How the fuck was I supposed to know about that? You never mentioned it.’
‘I said I never wanted any more kids. I thought you would guess.’
‘Hang on, a minute. When did you have this vasectomy?’ I butted in, feeling I had a right to ask questions, nascent anger waiting in the wings.
‘A while back.’
‘Obviously after Grace,’ I pushed.
‘Obviously.’
‘So when, exactly? Before she was born?’
He squirmed. Lying was as natural as breathing to him, but having both of us there turning the thumbscrews must have loosened his conscience.
‘After we got engaged.’
‘I knew it. You disappeared for two days to visit your mum the minute the plane landed. I thought you were going to tell her we were engaged; you went to have the snip and wouldn’t touch me for weeks!’
‘Did you, Jim?’ Hattie backed me up.
He hung his head. ‘Yes.’ I knew exactly why he’d confessed. Not out of any sense of duty but just to get him off the hook with Hattie. It was his way of showing her she deserved the truth, and a redemptive action of reversal.
I stormed into the kitchen and started slamming things around trying to make coffee, not offering it to anyone else.
‘Can you leave now?’ I stammered. ‘I don’t want to be a part of your circus any more. I don’t know what I might do if you stay any longer. You’re a piece of shit, Jim.’
He opened his mouth to protest, but common sense must have intervened.
‘I’ve got a busy day today that Grace will just have to be a part of and I haven’t time for a breakdown.’ Debbie was going to shave her hair off and we were filming it at Samantha’s with everyone.
‘Come on, Hattie. Let’s go.’ Jim stood up, suddenly finding the strength to leave now he’d offloaded.
‘Er, Jim, Ali’s upset.’
‘This isn’t about her.’
‘What!’ I thundered, abandoning opening the fresh packet of coffee, my hands too jittery. The mood I was in it would explode everywhere, coating me in a fine crumb of Italian Every Day Blend. ‘This is EVERYTHING to do with me. You had a vasectomy despite getting engaged, knowing I wanted a baby and falsely agreeing to it. But it was too late, I was already pregnant!’ I laughed bitterly. ‘Soon after, things went downhill. You never wanted Grace! Then you left me. It all makes fucking perfect sense now!’
‘I did want Grace… in the end,’ he blustered, the addendum negating the sentiment.
‘If you don’t want any more kids, why have you had this reversal?’ Hattie asked tersely.
Tears had already started pooling behind my eyes and I angrily wiped them away. I refused to let him see me cry any more tears over him. But the heartbreak came crashing over me in a force-ten storm, thoughts, feelings and memories I hadn’t revisited for a while washing up on my shore. I turned away from them and snatched the scissors from the utensil pot, snipping the coffee open. Ifan’s face mingled in there somewhere too, pulling at my insides, reminding me what a fuckwit I was at relationships, always choosing the wrong ones.
‘Because without it you would leave me eventually,’ Jim said pathetically. ‘I was freaking out, sneaking around, trying to organise it all in secret so you would never know, then hey presto, I was hoping you would get pregnant. Most reversals work within a year.’
‘But you don’t want a baby.’
‘I do if you do.’
‘You do if I leave, you mean. I don’t want a baby like this, Jim.’ I almost felt sorry for him, but remembered he was a cunt. I blew my nose on a piece of kitchen towel and turned round, blinking, making sure the tears were at bay.
‘So I’ve gone through all that for nothing,’ Jim complained.
‘As I said, can you take this discussion home?’ I slammed down the coffee pot, almost shattering it from the force, and started scooping in mounds of coffee, humming Black Beauty to myself. Fuckers.
‘I’m so sorry, Ali,’ Hattie started with the platitudes. ‘We’ll get out of your hair. I hope you’re OK. We’ll take Grace so you can work.’ I could feel more tears threatening. I dug my nails into my palms. All I needed now was for Ifan to ring me and tell me he was getting married and had signed with Models 1 and that would just about push me into the abyss.
‘I’m fine, just go, please.’
I followed them into the corridor and collected Grace so she could carry on her weekend with Jim, though she protested massively.
I shut the door on them and slid to sitting on the floor, my legs splayed out in front of me, my breathing ragged in my ears. The tears had dried up but all the long-standing anxious thoughts, feelings and memories fought for precedence in my head, swilling about chasing my heart round my ribcage. It felt like my life was built on sand, that Grace’s existence was in fact the very reason I had endured all that pain after she was born: being made homeless, Jim leaving, fighting legal battles to get my money out of the house, all because he hadn’t wanted a baby, though he had played along that he did. And now he was going to have another child. My phone pinged with a text, jolting me from one crisis to another.
Have you seen this? See you later.
Carl texted, and sent me a link to the East Dulwich Forum.
4 July 2014 8.02 a.m.
Re: Drug smells in the Mews
Posted by: Neighbour12
Has anyone noticed a smell coming from the back gardens of the Mews on Underhill Road? Either they are smoking or growing it there. It was particularly strong last night early evening.
Re: Drug smells in the Mews
Posted by: Philmecrackin67 8.33 a.m.
I don’t think you can say stuff like that on here – it’s slander. Unless you have proof, call Crimestoppers on 0800 555111.
Re: Drug smells in the Mews
Posted by: PhatBiffa86 8.52 a.m.
Now you say it, I have noticed a smell, but I think it’s the bins down the
alleyway. Has anyone noticed how rubbish just gets left by the Two Brothers Fish Bar? I trod in a Pukka Pie yesterday…
Holy shit, do you think anyone will call Crimestoppers?
No! You can’t report someone because there might have been a joint smoked round the corner from their house or the whole of London would be arrested.
*
My coffee had stewed by the time I poured it and, searching for milk, I found the fridge bare. I jumped in the car to zip to Sainsbury’s but when I reached the mini roundabout by the graveyard, it died. I managed to steer it coughing and spluttering to the edge of the road.
‘It needs so much doing to it, it’s amazing it’s lasted this long,’ the AA man said an hour later, wiping his oily hands on a rag and slamming down the bonnet. ‘You’re lucky it didn’t happen when you were on the motorway.’
‘Is it worth fixing?’
‘Depends if you’ve got a bottomless pot of cash. I would bite the bullet and get rid of it.’ The poor AA man didn’t know what to do when I started howling like a wounded animal. Thankfully no one was around when he dropped me home, his lights flashing as he disengaged my car from the tow chain. I let myself into the house and lay on the sofa and screamed into a cushion, bashing it with my fists and sobbing.
‘My life is an endless fucking shit storm!’ I wailed to the empty room. I don’t know how long I lay there before the outside doorbell rang.
‘What’s the matter?’ Carl asked, carrying two kitbags into the living room.
‘Everything, my car, various other shit. I’ve had the worst day on record for years.’
‘Are you going to be OK to do the shoot? Do you need a new car?’ I nodded, fresh tears sliding over the moist snail trails on my cheeks.
‘I’m impecunious, Carl!’
‘Ah, don’t say that about yourself. You’re a lovely girl.’
‘It means I’m broke. I heard it on Radio Four yesterday. How fucking apt. I have money to get by, but not for a new car. And without a car, my job is fucked. I’m fucked. Fuck’s sake!’ All the fucks…
He placed his kitbags down on the floor and hugged me. The minute he did, my stomach melted; his proximity was too much. I was scared to move even a millimetre in case he let go because for the first time in months I felt safe, even if it was for a few seconds. I hoped my feelings wouldn’t seep into his skin via osmosis. He must know. My face was burning whilst being soaking wet. I was surprised steam wasn’t wafting off it like a Turkish bath. The hardness of his muscles underneath his T-shirt pressing into my face was reassuring. As Carl stroked my hair a sigh escaped, giving me away.
‘Are you OK now?’ he asked, pulling away.
I looked right into his eyes and I swear, just for a second, he looked unsure, nervous. There were no jokes to hide behind. I nodded, and the mere movement of my head seemed to trigger some kind of electric current between us. I know I wasn’t imagining it. He bit his lip.
‘Cooee! Are you in there?’ Elinor called through the half-open door from the shared hallway.
‘Yes,’ I croaked and stepped back from Carl, my legs clumsily banging into the chair. I glanced at him but he was busying himself with hoisting his bags up on his shoulder.
‘Oh, fab, you’re both here. Shall we pop over now? I wonder how Debbie’s feeling about the shave.’
32
The Big Shave
‘Are you ready?’ I asked Debbie, her hair meticulously brushed and scraped into a glossy ponytail, tied securely with a brand-new hairband. Lila and I were standing in front of the camera with Debbie sitting on a kitchen chair in profile, clutching a clear zip-lock bag, the white backdrop behind her. Lila was brandishing a pair of professional hairdressing scissors. I crouched down on my haunches and took Debbie’s hands. I’d left all my shit at the door. This was her moment and I was keenly aware that her bravery and forthcoming journey dwarfed my petty troubles.
‘Yes. Let’s do this!’ I could see everyone else in my periphery standing behind the camera holding their collective breath: Charlie and Isabelle, her two kids; Elinor, Jo, Francesca, Samantha, and Carl just to the side of the tripod, gripping his camera, ready to capture the moment.
‘How do you feel?’
‘OK. This feels better than just letting my hair go to waste, falling out in clumps. I’m taking control and helping someone else at the same time.’
‘Yes, Debbie is donating her hair to a children’s hair loss charity where it will be made into a wig. We’ll put the details up on the vlog later.’
‘Don’t people normally choose their wigs while they have their hair, so they can match it?’ Lila asked.
‘Normally, yes,’ Debbie replied. ‘But I don’t want to match my hair, I want to go for something completely different, outrageous even, if the NHS wig stash allows it!’
‘Good to go?’ I asked.
Debbie nodded.
‘Right, Lila, chop it off!’
Lila carefully picked up the hair in her left hand, lifting it away from Debbie’s neck and cut through the base of the ponytail, holding it up like a trophy once she had freed it. Everyone cheered.
‘You’re sure about the shave?’ I checked as she opened the bag and Lila placed the hair carefully inside like a specimen from a crime scene, sealing it up.
‘Yes. Just do it, please.’
I felt wrong shaving off the remains of Debbie’s hair. Her pale scalp gradually revealed itself and images flashed through my mind of concentration camps, prison films where new inmates are stripped of their dignity and their hair. I shivered. Debbie looked vulnerable, exposed like a newly hatched chick without any feathers, and as the hair dropped down her back and into her lap, I felt surprise tears close up my throat. I swallowed hard, forcing them back down. I wasn’t allowed to cry if Debbie wasn’t. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Isabelle put her arm round Charlie to comfort him and suddenly questioned making this a public thing with her children watching. It wasn’t a joke, it was Debbie’s life, and it suddenly hit me how brave she really was letting people in to this very private moment of losing her hair.
Carl clicked away and as soon as I was finished I stood back, not knowing what to do with myself. Did I hug Debbie? What did I say? I wasn’t sure I could even speak. Isabelle and Charlie wordlessly crossed from the other side of the room and hugged their mum as she remained seated, Charlie unable to hold himself together. Now I started to cry. Samantha ushered us all out and into the kitchen. A reluctant Jo, who obviously wanted to go and offer some kind of comfort, was practically dragged back to give the family some space.
‘Oh shit, I left the camera running,’ Lila gasped, wiping her eyes.
‘Just leave it,’ Samantha said. ‘They need some time. To be honest, I had no idea how this was going to go. When Debs said the kids were coming I wasn’t sure. But we can’t shield kids from everything.’ I looked at her and she winked at me, and I remembered now about her son, Scott, finding her husband dead from a heart attack.
‘Did anyone see that post on the EDF?’ Francesca hissed, purposely changing the subject. ‘The one about the drug problem in the Mews?’
‘What?’ Samantha squeaked as Carl nodded along.
‘Yes, someone was accusing one of us of growing weed or dealing it or something.’
Elinor looked at me, her eyes wide with alarm. I shook my head at her and she nodded almost imperceptibly.
‘Wow, I wonder who it is. Maybe it’s Norman and that’s why he’s so grumpy and nosy – he’s deflecting from his own misdemeanours,’ Samantha suggested.
‘Yes, maybe,’ I murmured.
‘More likely to be Nick the Spy,’ Jo said. ‘You’ve been over there – seen any evidence?’ she aimed at me.
‘None whatsoever.’
‘I can hear you all whispering in the kitchen!’ Debbie shouted from the other room, interrupting the conversation. ‘I’m going to start drinking all the champagne unless you stop me!’
*
‘Do you think
the kids noticed that Debbie and Jo are together?’ I asked Carl as we walked home from Samantha’s.
‘Isabelle definitely has, or suspects something. Jo is desperate to be part of it all and it seeps out of her pores like a pheromone.’
I could stare indulgently at Carl through my sunglasses without him noticing. His profile was delineated by the sun’s rays, casting his eyes into shadow above his strong cheekbones. Had I imagined our frisson earlier?
‘I think she only wants Debbie because she’s a project and a challenge as a straight woman,’ I whispered outside my front door.
‘Shall I come in so we can talk properly?’ he asked, taking me by surprise.
‘Sure, why not?’
‘She does really like Debbie, and yes she also revels in the challenge of winning over breeders, as she calls you all!’ he said, once we were in the house, away from prying ears.
‘But would she like Debbie if she wasn’t going through some shit?’
Carl pensively cocked his head to one side from his perch at the breakfast bar where I had emptied the last packet of crisps into a bowl. ‘I mean, what were all her other girlfriends like?’
‘Well, more recently, Caro had escaped an abusive husband and Jo met her when she came to do a quote to put in a fireplace at her new house.’
‘So Jo is a builder?’
‘Slash property developer.’
‘Caro is the reason she bought the Roller?’
‘Yes. Caro decided that actually she preferred men after all and left Jo after she had put in the fireplace, built a new kitchen and sanded the floors.’
‘Oh wow, mercenary! Has she ever been with anyone who didn’t need “fixing”?’
‘Actually, I don’t think she has. Her heart is in the right place and she’s seen some proper shit.’
‘How so?’
He sighed and quickly crunched his mouthful of crisps.
‘Oh, I’m sure she won’t mind you knowing, Steve was my best friend too.’
‘Who’s Steve?’
‘He was Jo’s twin brother. Jo and I were best friends all through school and Steve automatically became part of our crew. She was always this powerhouse of energy, organising us, hosting the best parties, bossing everyone, looking after the underdogs. She was more fluid then. Girls and boys used to love her and she would pair up with either sex. It was revolutionary for the eighties, but she never got any flak for it because it was “just Jo”. Steve, on the other hand, kind of dwindled in her shadow. He wasn’t as clever as she was, wasn’t as magnetic, didn’t have the gift of the gab or the ability to talk himself out of tricky situations with teachers. Jo was almost like his voice and he flew in her slipstream, basking in her popularity. When we all began experimenting with drugs at fifteen, smoking weed and drinking vodka at parties, Steve found something he was good at. He became the fixer, sniffed out the places you could buy stuff from and soon became the Go-To Kid – that’s what we called him. He liked the adoration it brought; he wasn’t just Jo’s quiet twin any more. But it soon became apparent that drugs didn’t like him. He messed up his last year at school and had to retake it before he could go to sixth form. But he failed it again at seventeen. Soon he wasn’t coming home and Jo had learned to drive and would go and drag him out of bad places where he was dealing weed, and later all the hard drugs, too.’ Carl paused and shook his head sadly. ‘You think something like that can’t ever happen to a friend of yours, but it’s so easy to slip very quickly to somewhere you didn’t mean to go. Mine was a gradual decline and I’m pretty sure my addictive behaviour started with Steve at school, always chasing the next high, the next party, the next whatever, but I always felt one step removed from me having a problem because back then I really did keep it in check, and I never did heroin or crack. That was for proper smack-heads.’
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