They left the church, Maria quickly shifting subjects, keen to show that she didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable, or that she was only spending time with him because of Albie’s list. Pointing to a woman walking a Labrador on the other side of the road, she said, ‘Labradors are lovely looking dogs, aren’t they?’ and felt pleased to see Keith’s whole body relax as he responded with a grateful nod and fell into step beside her.
They didn’t speak on their way to the pub, walking slowly in the heat, the air warm, the distant chime of an ice-cream van passing, shouts and squeals from behind a wall – a garden of children, a birthday party perhaps. Finally, they arrived, a chalkboard outside advertising a Pork Roast with Crackling. Maria felt her stomach grumble, looking forward to sitting down, all this walking more than she was used to.
‘About earlier,’ Keith said, quietly stopping her with a hand before she stepped inside.
She turned to look up at him, his face largely in shadow, the sun bright behind him.
He was looking over her shoulder, not quite able to meet her eye. ‘I will talk to you about it one day, you know. Keep asking.’
She nodded at him. Patting him on the arm, she said, ‘Come on, let’s get out of this wonderful sunny day and eat our body weight in roast potatoes.’
‘The lady knows best,’ he replied, his voice light, his face untroubled.
A friend in Tesco told me she’d heard from her cousin that Steve was married now and had twin boys. They lived in Cumbria and he worked for her dad, doing something in farming. It hurt – the idea of Steve and his new family. It shouldn’t have: it had been years with no news but the pain felt as fresh as the day he had walked out.
I’d left the supermarket with an empty trolley and was late for school pick-up.
I was quiet on the walk home, responses late, distracted. She didn’t say anything, she didn’t seem to notice anything was amiss. She was obsessed with Hubba Bubba bubble gum and I let her buy two packets in the newsagent on the way home, reaching into the small freezer for the dinner I hadn’t bought earlier.
I hadn’t eaten mine, pushing the food around the plate and trying to imagine what Steve would look like now: did he still wear leathers? Did he have streaks of grey in that black hair? Did he love his twin boys with a fierce passion?
I hadn’t heard the kettle. She pushed the mug towards me.
‘Mum.’ Her look was solemn. I stared vacantly in her direction and then down at the drink in front of me.
She had made me a tea.
She half-rubbed, half-patted my back, ‘There you go,’ and my heart lurched for my child who saw everything.
It must have had at least five sugars. I spat the mouthful back into the mug as discreetly as I could. ‘Thank you, darling,’ I’d said, knowing it had been done to comfort, to help. My heart swelled with the enormous love I had for her.
Thank god, thank god I had her.
And a red-hot anger fired through me that he would never know this incredible, generous, loving girl.
I had so much to do the next day, so many meetings lined up, but in that moment, I just wanted to gnash and wail and throw things.
Cumbria.
I’d never been and now I struck it from my list of places I wanted to visit.
Twin boys.
Works for her dad.
‘I just need to do a little work,’ I said, picking up my briefcase in the hope I could disguise the emotion building inside me.
She just looked at me, watched me leave the room, twiddling a strand of her hair round a finger, a sure sign of nerves. I couldn’t meet her eye as I pushed my bedroom door shut.
‘I’ll come through and say goodnight soon,’ I said in a high, unnatural voice before dissolving onto my bed, face into the pillow.
I didn’t want her to see me crying. This wasn’t how it was meant to have been.
Twenty
Troy looked awkward in the doorway of the café, removing his baseball cap as he searched the room, a nearby couple looking up at him enquiringly.
Maria waved from her spot at the table, nerves butterflying in her stomach that he had agreed finally to meet her here. She felt self-conscious about the scrutiny of the other teenagers at the skatepark and this was where she felt their shared link to Albie meant something too, where she felt comfortable enough to talk in more depth, get to know him better.
She had gone for her blow-dry that morning, Mandy asking her why she seemed so jumpy. Maria had told her why: that she wanted to make a really good impression.
‘He’ll love you, Maria,’ she had said, touching her shoulder. ‘You’re kind, non-judgemental, easy to get on with.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ she had replied, seeing her face smiling stupidly in the mirror opposite at the compliment.
‘Just be you,’ Mandy had said, adjusting her leopard-print hairband and picking up her hairdryer again. ‘And he’s a teenager so don’t be worried if he hardly says two words – they don’t.’
That last sentence had made Maria blink, the familiar ache in her chest as her brain moved automatically to a place she tried to avoid. She nodded once, trying to swallow down the grief that was building in her body. How many years would have to pass before it stopped hurting?
‘Seeing anyone?’ Maria had asked, wanting to be distracted by one of Mandy’s amusing diatribes about the useless men of Brighton. Instead, Maria frowned as she watched Mandy go scarlet to the roots of her recently peroxide-dyed hair. ‘Maybe, early days, not sure.’
She had clamped up after that, which was most uncharacteristic. Normally, Maria was treated to a blow-by-blow account of the man under scrutiny: what his hobbies were, what he did for a living, passing judgement on his clothing to his family situation to his ex-girlfriends. This was unheard of, Mandy’s eyes sliding all over the place, refusing to rest on Maria.
‘I’m just going to book in this next customer,’ she mumbled, scurrying to the counter and a waiting woman with short auburn hair.
Nina glanced over from her customer next door, mouth half-open as if she was about to share something, closing sharply when Mandy returned. Still, Maria had been too distracted by the meeting ahead to think about it too deeply, and Mandy’s love life was her own business so if she didn’t want to tell Maria anything, that was fine by her.
When she returned, Mandy had launched into a loud review of a new restaurant a few doors down: ‘New management, not sure about the menu. It’s a bit too exotic for me, I just like a decent burger, hand-cut chips, you know, and it’s all tapas, and I’ve never been a huge fan of sharing my food neither…’
Maria had let her speak, not pushing the other topic and grateful to have the time pass in this way. Mandy seemed to talk particularly quickly, not letting Maria ask any questions but leapfrogging to the next conversation, desperate to move on. Nina stood nearby, quiet and watchful as Mandy finished Maria’s hair. Maria had rushed off with a hurried goodbye, nervous about the meeting ahead.
The stench of cigarettes struck Maria as Troy sat down, scooting sideways into the chair. She had chosen a different table for them, not able to sit at the one she had always sat at with Albie. The smell of smoke reminded her of another afternoon in that café, when Albie had shown her a lighter, white with a black skull and crossbones, which he’d confiscated in his attempt to get Troy to give up the habit.
‘The old man hated me smoking,’ Troy said, as if he had read Maria’s mind. ‘Bad habit though, going to give up again soon.’
‘It’s hard giving up a bad habit,’ she said and was rewarded with a grateful smile. ‘I should know, I used to be a smoker too. God, sometimes I miss it.’ She surprised herself with the admission.
She clearly surprised Troy too as he snuck her a small smile. ‘Smoking? Really? Want one?’
‘No!’ She laughed, blushing. ‘Anyway, I don’t anymore. That was years ago. Now…’ she said quickly, not wanting to think about those times, the other parts of her old life, ‘what can I
get you?’
Troy looked longingly at the counter piled high with iced buns, Eccles cakes, muffins and scones. ‘I’m alright, I’m not hungry.’
‘Well, I’m having a raspberry muffin, and it’s all on Albie so go on,’ she encouraged, knowing he was just being polite.
‘S’OK.’
Maria raised one eyebrow, a trick she hadn’t done in years, one that had always caused a reaction, a bark of laughter or a roll of her eyes depending on her mood.
‘Chocolate cake then, thanks,’ he mumbled into the table.
Amrit appeared at that moment to take their order, expertly not reacting to Maria’s newest table companion. She had only ever come here with Albie and this was just the second person she had brought into their haven since his death.
‘One muffin and one chocolate cake, please. And I like your hair!’ Maria commented, noting the fresh new silver streaks, like a very attractive badger.
‘Something for the summer. Thanks, Maria. Won’t be long.’ She noticed Amrit couldn’t resist a curious glance back as she left the table.
Maria stared back across the table, which suddenly seemed like a desert to cross.
‘It’s just been re-decorated earlier this year, it was Albie’s idea!’ She tapped on the table. ‘He’d hated the old tablecloths, thought the place could do with a bit of love.’
‘Cool.’ Troy nodded.
‘All the furniture is new. Faux leather seats, I think.’
She realised Troy hadn’t seen the café before the transformation, wouldn’t notice any difference. She also knew that as a teenager he probably didn’t have a lot to say about soft furnishings. She suddenly longed for Amrit to return to fill the silence for her.
Troy looked around the room, humouring her: ‘S’nice.’
She swallowed down her nerves. This was ridiculous, she was the grown-up and yet it had been years since she had talked with a teenager. She felt the grief of it as that thought sunk in, the pain sometimes winding her when she least expected it.
Distracting herself, she looked across at Troy. ‘I’ve never asked how you first met Albie?’
Troy crossed and re-crossed his arms on the table, trying to get comfortable. Was he as nervous as her, perhaps? Up until then their meetings had been sporadic, her dropping by the skatepark, snatching a few moments with them. This was different: just them, sat across from each other, Albie’s absence like a third seat at their table.
‘Sorry, is this a little like an interrogation?’ she said.
‘Nah, it’s alright. Nice to talk about him, you know. Sometimes all I can see of him is that day…’
Maria realised with a hideous lurch that he was talking about the day he had found Albie, cold and inert in the bedroom of his apartment.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, reaching out to touch his forearm, the touch a surprise to both of them. This was much more Albie territory: being a comfort to others, a support.
‘He dropped his mobile outside the youth centre,’ Troy began, clearly not wanting to dwell, ‘I chased after him. He made a real fuss about it, like I’d done this incredible thing, asked me loads of questions, about the youth centre, home, and there was something about him that made me talk, you know?’
Maria nodded and smiled, she did know: Albie had the remarkable ability of making people open up.
‘Well, he gave me a bit of a hard time about not being in school, guessed I’d lied about my age, but not many people gave a shit, sorry…’
‘It’s fine!’ Maria smiled, remembering briefly the days when she swore like the best of them, all those years ago. How she’d had to watch it once her own child picked up on everything.
‘And it was kind of cool, you know, then asked if I minded if he came to see me, check out the youth centre. I didn’t think he’d do it, you know, but then he came same time the next day…’ Troy looked up then, met Maria’s eyes. ‘Kind of like you, you know, not quitting, like, but showing up again, reminded me of him.’
Maria blinked, impossibly moved by the comparison.
‘Albie signed up to mentor me and it was good, you know, he seemed to understand. And we hung out. Fuck, I miss him. God, sorry.’
Maria smiled again, more sadly. ‘I miss him too. So much.’
They sat then in a more relaxed silence, both thinking of the same man, the same person who had touched both their lives.
Amrit brought over their cakes and this seemed to prompt them out of their reverie. Maria noted Troy’s enormous slice of chocolate cake with satisfaction, the double layers of chocolate buttercream icing, the sprinkles on top.
‘That looks good,’ she said, pointing her fork at his plate.
‘It does. Only birthday cake I’ll be getting,’ he said, casually slicing into it.
Maria set her fork down, a horrified look on her face. ‘Your birthday? It’s today? I had no idea. Happy Birthday!’
Troy shrugged, a small embarrassed look down at his plate. ‘Doesn’t matter.’
‘Of course it matters,’ Maria scoffed, picking up her fork again. ‘Birthdays always matter. Well, until you get to my age and then you want to start counting backwards…’
She couldn’t help but pause and think of Albie then, how he’d never see another birthday. She hadn’t even known when his birthday was, had never thought to ask. All those uncelebrated days in the years she’d known him. She should have asked, should have bought him cake, got him a present. So many ‘shoulds’…
‘How old are you?’ she asked, not wanting to make that mistake again.
‘Seventeen.’
‘Oh, that’s a big one. Anything special planned this evening?’ Maria asked.
His expression made her want to take the question straight back.
‘Mum’s a bit busy.’ His lips sealed close and Maria kicked herself for walking into such a minefield. She knew from Albie that Troy had a difficult home life, younger siblings and a dad who’d left them when they were young. Why had she not treaded more carefully? This was her problem: thoughtless, careless, bumbling into things without stopping to reflect – Albie wouldn’t have made such a mistake.
She noticed a small pad sticking out of one of the enormous pockets that ran down Troy’s trouser leg. Desperate to move the conversation on, she asked, ‘What’s that?’
He drew out the pad. ‘S’nothing really,’ he said, covering it with a defensive hand. ‘Drawings.’
‘Can I see?’ she asked, holding out her hand.
Troy shrugged and handed it over. Maria had wondered whether it was some kind of diary but the thought that this young boy walked around with a pad of drawings made her heart lurch.
She opened the first page. They were good, really good. Vivid colours, cartoon-like pictures, reds, blues, greens, thick black lines. She turned the pages, discovering more sketches, some scribbled out, some calligraphy, different fonts spelling out different words.
‘What does this mean?’ she asked, pointing at the sheet.
‘YOLO,’ Troy said, peering over at it, ‘means You Only Live Once.’
‘Albie would have loved that sentiment,’ she remarked.
The briefest pause before Troy grinned. ‘Yeah, he would’ve.’
Maria continued to absorb the pages.
‘It’s just doing lettering, practising, you know,’ Troy said, a little self-consciously. ‘Albie set me up with an apprenticeship on Saturday mornings at Electric Lady. Adam’s the owner, got me doing these…’
‘They’re brilliant,’ she said, examining the next page: a dripping rose, blood from its thorns. She could see the petals, the shape of the flower, smell its sweet scent. ‘Do you want to be an artist?’ she asked, turning the page, not looking up, lingering now over the picture of a man: flat cap, large brown coat, a twinkle in his eye, a broken nose. ‘Oh!’ she said, taken aback, a stutter to her voice. ‘It’s just like him.’
Troy couldn’t help the pleased twitch of his lips. ‘I want to be a tattoo artist,’ he said softl
y, as if saying it out loud might make it real. ‘That’s what I’m doing at Electric Lady, it’s a tattoo place.’
Maria didn’t want to tear her eyes away from the picture of Albie, something about the stoop in his walk, the light-hearted expression. Troy had the same gift; they had shared a real talent for art.
‘You can have it, if you like,’ he said, dragging Maria back to the room, the noise of the café, Troy looking at her.
‘Oh no, I…’
‘You can keep it,’ he repeated, his eyes not quite meeting hers.
‘I couldn’t, it’s yours, it’s…’
She saw his shoulders fall. Why was she saying no? Out of embarrassment? Did she not think she deserved it? He had offered it and she snapped back, her usual response.
‘That would be wonderful, I’d love it. But…’
Troy took the pad back, neatly pulled out the page with Albie’s image on it. ‘There you go,’ he said, thrusting it towards her and sliding the pad back in his pocket.
‘Thank you,’ Maria said, eyes still roving over the image on the page. ‘I’ll keep it on one condition.’
Troy looked up, eyes already narrowed in defensive suspicion.
‘If you sign it for me,’ she said firmly, rooting in her handbag for a biro. ‘Then it’ll be worth millions in the future.’
A tiny laugh, short and deep, came out of his mouth and Maria felt a moment of satisfaction to have been the cause of it. He signed his name in the bottom left of the drawing and then handed it back. She took it reverentially, placing it between the pages of her book so it wouldn’t crease.
‘It seems wrong that you’ve given me something when it’s your birthday,’ she admitted.
‘You gave me the cake, it was sick.’
‘Was it?’ Maria asked in alarm.
Troy frowned. ‘Yeah.’
‘Oh dear,’ Maria said, wringing her hands and looking towards the kitchen. Should she tell Pauline? She didn’t want to upset her but she probably needed to know.
Troy’s eyebrows had drawn together, a twinkle in his eyes. ‘That means good.’
The Wish List of Albie Young (ARC) Page 16