‘That sounds ideal,’ Rosie sighed, pulling her school coat tightly around herself. ‘That list is brilliant. And you deserve a treat too, he’s got you doing hard work on it!’
‘Hardly.’ Maria laughed, already feeling lighter, her step more confident, her shoulders rolled back.
‘Well, I think it’s awesome what you’re doing, really awesome,’ Rosie said, grinning and balancing along the edge of the pavement.
‘Be careful,’ Maria warned, seeing her so close to the road, the cars whooshing past.
She noticed they were standing outside the newsagent.
‘I’m OK,’ Rosie said, ‘I better go now. You take care, OK? I’ll see you soon.’
‘I’d like that,’ Maria replied, finding that she was smiling. ‘I really would.’
Rosie waved goodbye and Maria watched her as she walked away, rounding a corner up ahead. She had her hand held up in a wave and a man walking past frowned as she lowered it. Ducking her head down, she pushed open the door to the newsagent and stepped inside.
It was dark for the time of day, one strip light flickering above her, another needing a new bulb on the other side of the room. Mr Khan was stacking shelves to her right, his face lighting up as he saw her.
‘Good to see you, Mrs. I will be two minutes, do see my new royal selection.’
Maria gave him a half-wave and started loading up her basket with essentials: bread, milk, butter. Seeing Rosie had made her feel stronger, her miserable mood evaporating as she planned the rest of her day.
‘Have you seen the new Meghan tea towels?’ Mr Khan asked as he helped her lift her basket onto the counter.
‘I haven’t,’ Maria said, watching him pull out a white tea towel with an enormous caricature of Meghan Markle in the middle – not a terribly good likeness.
‘They are bestseller – two for £5!’
She noticed a few others displayed behind the counter: one with Meghan in a blue pencil dress, one clutching Harry’s arm and another with her inexplicably playing tennis.
‘Would you be interested?’
There was something about his warm smile, the encouraging look in his eyes, that made her nod along. ‘Why not? You can never have too many tea towels. Mine are getting a bit ragged,’ she lied, glad to see his face break into an even bigger grin. ‘I’ll have that one, and um… Tennis Meghan,’ she said, pointing behind him.
‘Absolutely. She is a fine princess. And she is a great wife to Harry,’ he said, folding the tea towel up on the counter as if he had first-hand experience of spending time with her.
‘Yes, she seems very nice,’ Maria agreed.
‘And you, Mrs, you seem a little better now. Spring is coming, the blossom will be out.’
Maria handed over money. ‘That’s true,’ she said, having mixed feelings about the changing seasons that marked time moving on.
‘I will have new mugs ordered soon, some of Eugenie the Princess.’
Oh no, Maria thought, realising there would be no avoiding that purchase.
‘Well, I’ll look forward to that,’ she said as Mr Khan hastened around his counter to open the door for her.
‘You take care, Mrs, always a pleasant thing to see you.’
Maria couldn’t help her mouth twitching as she left, huddled into her coat once more, surprised again by the cold. Her hands immediately freezing, she wondered whether Keith had somewhere to stay that night – it was so cold to be out on the streets with just a sleeping bag and some measly blankets.
The outing had restored her energy and after depositing her things, placing the tea towels in pride of place over the bar on her oven, she turned, picking up her gloves from the table by the door, and left once more. No more wallowing in the apartment, people were relying on her now.
The kids would often stay out late. Brighton was safe and I got on well with my neighbours, who knew to look out for her too.
She was currently around at Polly’s house because Polly had two space hoppers and I’d banned them from our flat, it was just too small for that level of bouncing. They had devised a game – the fastest to bounce down Polly’s street – and I laughed as I went to get her, an elderly lady sat on a chair outside her front door, smiling at the noise they were making.
‘They’re getting better,’ she told me as I folded my arms. ‘One of them nearly went head first into that Morris Minor,’ she added, pointing to the car.
‘It’s getting dark,’ I called to her, ‘Let’s head home, I’ve made a shepherd’s pie.’
She came careering towards me, the space hopper round in her arms, her little face peeking over it. ‘Mum, Mum, watch! I’m soooooo fast. Polly and I are going to be in the Guinness Book of World Records. Come oooooonnnnnn!’
She’s a cheeky thing, I thought, as I joined the old lady in her doorway, smiling as my daughter, the great love of my life, hair flying, enormous grin on her face, bounced past me.
Sixteen
The moment she saw him in the doorway, she felt ashamed: she had planned to drop off his coffee and sandwiches every day. Albie wouldn’t have missed a day. It was self-indulgent to mope about when others relied on her. She vowed not to do it again.
‘Hi Leonardo,’ she said weakly as she held out the thermos. Would he be angry? Weary of broken promises?
Keith frowned briefly as he took the flask, before remembering the morning in the hairdresser’s and chuckling. ‘Alright there, Maria? I’m still not sure who he is.’
‘He was in Titanic years ago.’
Keith looked horrified, almost spitting the first mouthful out. ‘That baby face!’
His appalled expression made her laugh as she settled herself without thinking on the blankets beside him.
A woman on her mobile paused, head swivelling as Maria made herself comfortable.
Maria was tucking her handbag neatly under her arm and Keith was smiling at her over the cup – ‘You’d make a terrible bag lady, far too neat.’
He’d been writing in a lined notepad, the scrawl illegible from this distance and without her reading glasses.
‘It’s a diary of sorts, keeps me from getting too bored,’ he said, following her gaze. ‘I’ve been trawling for work again but most places want an address, won’t take a chance.’
‘How about the Job Centre, couldn’t they help?’ Maria asked.
Keith nodded. ‘They could, they were helpful, but’ – he looked at his shoes – ‘I don’t want to get a handout, I don’t want money for nothing, I want to work. Anyway, don’t want to waste their time, there are others far worse off.’
Maria couldn’t help an exclamation.
‘There are,’ he insisted firmly.
Maria couldn’t help but feel that Keith was punishing himself for something. And more than anyone, she knew what that was like. ‘Is there… is there anyone you could go to? Friends, family?’ she suggested tentatively.
Keith swerved the conversation, his smile wide, his words firm, ‘How are you getting on, Maria?’
She let him change the subject. ‘I’m… I’m…’ She would normally have said she was alright, not wanting the spotlight on her, not thinking she deserved anyone’s sympathy, but there was something about Keith’s open face and the reminder of the person that connected them that made her more honest. ‘I miss him,’ she said matter-of-factly. She put a hand up to her chest.
He nodded slowly. There was nothing else to say. He sipped at the coffee and as she stared out at the street, she could feel the cold of the pavement despite her clothing and the blankets, a sharp breeze around her ankles. How did he abide living like this? No one should have to sleep outside in the wind and the rain.
‘So,’ Keith said, leaning back against the wall, ‘tell me what’s next.’
She frowned, not sure what he was getting at.
‘The list, Albie’s list, of course! What’s next? You been to The Ritz yet?’
Maria felt her cheeks heat up. ‘Don’t be stupid! Me at The Ritz?’
Maria reached into her handbag and pulled out the folded piece of paper, one corner holding the smallest tear. ‘I’ve slowed down a bit, I suppose. It just seems…’ She didn’t finish the sentence. What word was she searching for? Overwhelming? Intimidating? Unachievable? She didn’t want to think about the last part, the lines under her own name.
‘Who’s Cathie?’ Keith asked, his face open and enquiring.
‘I…’ Maria felt an uncomfortable pain in her stomach at the name. Who was Cathie? ‘That’s a good question.’ She laughed, trying to sound light and untroubled but aware the laugh was high-pitched and too loud.
Keith hadn’t noticed anything amiss, still scanning the page, ‘Well, that’s a good one,’ he said, finger stabbing at one of the bullet points.
Maria leant towards him. He smelt of wood smoke and the sea, and she tried to push away the thoughts edging in. ‘Oh, I’m not sure…’
• Splash out on a makeover for the café (state-of-the-art coffee machine, new fridges and stove, get rid of those tablecloths!)
‘What’s there not to be sure about?’
‘Will it seem a bit rude? Pauline might be offended, she might think I don’t like the café as it is.’ And she did – it was where she met Albie, after all.
‘Maria,’ Keith stopped her, lowering the list, ‘this is what Albie wanted, that’s all you need to remember. And what’s a few new tablecloths? She won’t be offended, I’m sure. She didn’t seem like the easily offended type. I’ll come with you and we can ask.’
Maria wrung her hands. It would be nice to tick something substantial off the list. And Keith was right, these were Albie’s wishes and despite his secrets, despite everything that had happened since he’d died, she had trusted him. The thought that she had trusted once before flitted across her mind but she pushed it away. Biting her lip, she nodded once. ‘Alright.’
‘Right, well we can ask and then you can tell me what colours and whatnot. I’m no good at interior design but I do know a thing or two about painting and decorating so I can source the stuff you’ll need.’
‘I could get the cash out for the paint and things.’
‘Great, great.’ Keith nodded, lifting up his pad and pen. ‘I’ll make a list. You’re going to want sandpaper, a primer coat, paintbrushes, of course…’ He tapped his teeth with the pen. ‘She’ll probably have a ladder, but we should ask—’
‘And I’ll pay you for the work, of course,’ Maria said hastily.
Keith stopped tapping the pen and rolled his eyes at her. ‘Quit trying to pay me for everything. I’d love to do it for Albie and it’s better than moping around in this doorway for another day. And if there’s that delicious carrot cake in it for me, I’m there.’
His words seemed genuine and Maria felt a warmth flood through her for this lovely man, along with renewed curiosity as to how someone like him had ended up alone in this doorway. What had happened that Albie knew needed fixing?
They finished planning what they’d need, Keith guessing quantities. Then he got to his feet and helped her up. As ever, he towered over her. ‘We’ll need to get on and ask Pauline.’
‘Right,’ said Maria, straightening her skirt as she stood, glad to be drawing on Keith’s energy.
‘Oh, and you can tick that one,’ he said, handing her back the list.
‘Which one?’ Maria glanced down at it.
‘Stop and chat to Keith, of course.’ And as Maria gave him a small smile, he threw back his head and laughed.
She’d been begging me to take her for a perm for weeks but I didn’t want her to ruin her beautiful hair. She had clattered through the flat, her hair crimped and tied back with a scrunchie, blue eyeshadow inexpertly applied, clip-on hooped earrings and a lurid off-the-shoulder top in hot pink.
I hadn’t meant to look quite so surprised, my mouth a rounded ‘O’ as she appeared, her roller skates tied together, her bright blue leg warmers balled up in her other hand.
‘What?’ she’d asked self-consciously, biting a lip. At least there was no lipstick yet, I’d thought.
‘Nothing.’ I’d stared back down at the sheaths of paper in front of me – a presentation I was working on for the next day, my owl-like glasses resting on top.
She tugged at her ra-ra skirt. ‘It’s just a roller disco, Polly’s mum’s taking us.’
I forced myself to smile at her, no lecture or words of advice. ‘Alright, that sounds like fun.’
I didn’t want an argument tonight. Sometimes it was so intense, just me and her, and I knew I shouldn’t crowd her. I had a daughter who opened up to me, who let me inside her teenage world, and I didn’t want to ruin that.
‘I thought we could go shopping tomorrow. That new single by Madonna is out and I know you’ve been wanting it.’
She seemed to relax then, moving across, dumping her roller skates on the armchair to pop a clumsy kiss on my head. ‘Thanks, Mum. Yeah, that would be awesome.’
I looked up at her, my baby girl growing up right in front of me. For a second, I felt tears threaten. Coughing, I looked back down, a graph, a sheet of accounts. ‘Great,’ I said, ‘Like the earrings.’
She blushed, suddenly looking ten years younger again. ‘Thanks,’ she mumbled, touching the left one briefly.
The doorbell buzzed and I had already lost her, roller skates scooped up, denim jacket flung on.
‘Bye, Moooottttthhhhhhheeeeerrrrr!’ she shouted as she left the flat.
I heard her footsteps stamping down the stairs.
‘Bye,’ I whispered. ‘I love you.’
Seventeen
Keith was there early, surrounded by carrier bags of supplies, dust cloths, paint pots and more.
He handed her an envelope. ‘The money I didn’t spend.’
She wanted to thrust it straight back into his hand. It felt like his money as much as hers: it was Albie’s. But she knew he wouldn’t accept it, so she put it in her bag with a muttered ‘thank you’.
Pauline headed towards them down the street, a wide smile on her face, her ash-blonde hair still damp from a morning shower. When they had asked her the week before she had cackled at Albie’s list: ‘He always hated our tablecloths, they were the height of bleedin’ fashion in the nineties.’ She had agreed to the makeover immediately and together, they had planned a colour scheme, going online and choosing various bits and bobs. Keith had offered to source the rest.
‘You’ve got it all, brilliant. You’re a diamond!’ Pauline said, clapping her hands together.
They carried the things inside and Pauline instantly fired up the kettle. Moving tables and chairs to the kitchen, they cleared the room in record time. Maria set about folding up the dreaded tablecloths, feeling nostalgic at the red-and-white checked pattern, the very tablecloths over which she had looked at Albie.
Amrit arrived then, a welcome distraction, sweeping her now blue-streaked hair back into a ponytail before shaking Keith’s hand. ‘Alright, Maria?’ she said over her shoulder. ‘Love the dungas!’
Maria grinned as she stood up in some oversized denim dungarees that Keith had picked up for her from a charity shop – ‘I feel like a proper painter now.’
Amrit threw on a long-sleeved shirt and headed into the kitchen to find Pauline.
Keith was watching her go, a small sad smile on his face, his thick eyebrows drawn into a frown.
‘All OK, Keith?’ Maria stepped across to him.
‘Just, ah, it’s nothing, she reminds me of my son. He was always dying his hair crazy colours. I sometimes wonder what colour it is now, or whether he grew out of that…’
Maria waited, not wanting to break this tentative glimpse into Keith’s life. ‘Do you not see him?’
Keith turned away, picked up the ladder. ‘He doesn’t want to see me.’ His voice was tight as he adjusted the ladder, refusing to catch her eye. ‘Can’t say I blame him, I wasn’t the best dad. Too wrapped up in myself, a
nd didn’t like him pointing that out. We had a row. I said things I didn’t mean…’
‘We all do when we’re angry,’ Maria said gently, her heart going out to this man, the hurt clear in his eyes.
‘But I was his dad, I should have done better by him.’
‘I’m sure, if he knew…’ Maria knew what it felt like to feel you’d let someone down. She had been punishing herself for the same thing for most of her life. She felt the familiar swirl of nausea even after all these years as her mind flitted back to that same face. She placed a hand on her stomach, concentrated on the man in front of her. What would she want to be told? How could words ever suffice? ‘Well, I think he’d be lucky to know you,’ she said softly, tugging at a loose thread on her dungarees. She knew it wasn’t enough but hoped it might be some comfort to know not everyone viewed him in the same way.
Keith turned and looked at her. ‘Hey, I know what you’re up to, Maria,’ he said, waggling his finger and reaching to plonk a paintbrush in her hand, bringing her back to the café. ‘Don’t think I don’t remember: “Reconnect with his family.” You’re as bad as that Albie, you just want me for your ticks.’
She would be offended had he not given her a reassuring grin and a quick squeeze of her shoulder. ‘Let’s paint this room, eh? Then maybe you can fix me up.’
Maria nodded, knowing that was enough for now. A son. She couldn’t imagine Keith being a bad father, he was such a joyful, positive person with so much energy. She wondered how he had ended up estranged from his family and living without a home. She knew she shouldn’t push him, he would open up if he wanted to. And she hoped she could help him, not just because of the list but because she had really started to care about him too. This thought came as a surprise, realising in that moment that she liked these connections, that Albie had given her permission perhaps to finally make them.
The Wish List of Albie Young (ARC) Page 13