by Emma Morgan
‘That’ll be why.’
‘But I’ve got to get you to the hospital.’
‘No, I’m OK, honest. My leg hurts, that’s all. Don’t worry about the fainting. It’s nothing to do with the leg. Blood sugar thing. Cup of tea would do the trick. And a biscuit. I like being down here to tell you the truth.’
‘I’m so sorry. I feel so embarrassed.’
‘It’s entertaining. My life isn’t that exciting, you see.’
‘Wait a minute,’ Sam said, and moved away. The guy upstairs started to play a tune that Grace recognized even through the banging and kicking. What was it called, though? Sam came back and put a blanket over her and lay down next to her. She took her hand.
‘This is bliss,’ Grace said.
‘You’re crazy,’ said Sam and she smiled and squeezed Grace’s hand.
‘I’m easily satisfied.’
‘Here. Open your mouth and close your eyes.’
Mint and chocolate. Hard cold dark chocolate and creamy mint.
‘I love you,’ Grace said through the mouthful.
‘What did you say?’ said Sam.
Grace felt Sam’s arm go around her waist, her mouth on her ear.
‘Yum,’ said Grace.
‘Black Rock,’ said Sam.
‘Mmm?’
‘The name of the band.’
‘Stupid name.’
‘Yeah and the guy wears an all leather outfit.’
‘Cool.’
‘He’s very fat.’
‘Not cool then. I’ve got it!’
‘Got what?’ Sam asked.
‘ “The Ace of Spades”,’ said Grace, feeling ever so pleased with herself. A snog, chocolate, and a memory that functioned – she was having a great, if strange, day. ‘ “The Ace of Spades”. I knew, I knew it. He’s playing the bloody “Ace of Spades”. Such a good song.’
This is Annie and the family question
Annie had never told her mother about the men she had been with; as far as she was concerned it was nothing to do with her. There had been more than one and less than ten. That seemed like a reasonable number but she doubted her mother would think so – she was probably still getting over the shock of finding out that not only was Annie no longer a virgin but that she had lost her virginity in her mother’s bed while her mother was at a coffee morning. At least her misadventures hadn’t been as disastrous as Violet’s. Like the time Violet had had to crawl out of a room clutching her clothes when the man she’d gone home with had left her stranded in a darkened room while he made noises by himself in his bed.
Also, her mother had seen off a teenage hopeful or two, or rather made her father see them off. It was not uncommon for Annie to come down the stairs after hours of getting ready to find that the lad had gone, frightened off into the night. Her mother’s say was final. ‘Chubby.’ ‘Overlapping teeth.’ ‘Will never amount to anything.’ Then there was Michael Alexander Wrigley, the only one she’d ever loved, whom she’d got engaged to aged seventeen, two days before they moved out of their terrace. At first Michael came around all the time to the new house, rolling up the drive in the Triumph Herald he was doing up with the dodgy exhaust that blew black smoke wherever it went. Annie’s mother seemed to have accepted the engagement even if she had frowned pointedly at the small silver ring with a garnet that Annie wore on her left hand.
‘Not what I’d call much of a ring that, is it? But then he’s only a mechanic I suppose, can’t earn much. Well, I know how headstrong you are, Annie, so I’ll not try to stop you. But you are still going to university.’
The word ‘university’ had started to hang over Annie’s head like an approaching prison sentence. She knew she had to go, she did want to be a lawyer very much, but she couldn’t square it with being away from Michael and so secretly she had slipped in Manchester on to her UCAS form. That way he could come at weekends. She didn’t tell her mother, whose heart was set on Exeter or Bristol, ‘somewhere where you’ll meet a nice sort of person’. How her mother knew that those places were where a nice sort of person lived was beyond her because her mother had never been further south than Chester, but she knew she meant ‘a nice sort of man’.
Her mother had at least left them to it and they had now done it in every room in the new house, but it seemed to Annie that Michael’s enthusiasm was waning even though when she asked him about it he said it wasn’t. He kept saying that he was up to his eyes in work, that this car needed doing and then another one, even at the weekends. One day, after she had gone round to his house for once, and they had had sex in his tiny single bed, she asked him.
‘Do you not like me any more?’ Said not in a whining tone but as a demand because Annie was developing, along with her 38E bust, her mother’s forthrightness.
‘I love you, Annie. You know I love you. Look.’ And he picked up her hand to demonstrate the ring. ‘I asked you to marry me, didn’t I?’ he said but he dropped her hand with a casualness she couldn’t tolerate.
‘What’s wrong with my house then?’ she said.
‘What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong.’
‘You don’t like it there, do you? Or you don’t like me? One or the other, or perhaps both. Tell me the truth for once.’
‘I think … I don’t know … you’ve changed since you’ve moved,’ he said, and looked out of the window and picked at the duvet cover.
‘How have I changed?’ asked Annie quietly.
‘You know … you’re different,’ he said, still not looking at her.
‘How?’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Well, you’ve got no choice now, have you? Tell me. And would you look at me while you’re talking to me.’
He turned his head to look at her. It was a funny thing about Michael Alexander Wrigley but he had got uglier as he grew up, like a reverse Ugly Duckling. Once he had been a pretty little boy with blond hair, but every day now his ears seemed to stick out more and his skin was stippled with acne like someone had thrown pink paint and spattered him. Meanwhile Annie, an ordinary little girl, was going in the other direction and becoming beautiful.
‘You’ve got … you know … stuck up. Looking down your nose at me like your mum does.’
‘What?’
Annie got out of bed in a hurry and yanked her knickers back on and then her bra.
‘Don’t pretend, Annie. I don’t know if it’s the house or what. Like you’re better than me now you live there.’
‘When did I say that, you pillock?’
‘There’s no need to call me names.’
‘There bloody well is.’
Annie put on the rest of her clothes.
‘You can shove it,’ she said.
The thing is he always came after her. She stormed out every now and then but he was the one who always apologized although he normally hadn’t done much wrong, she’d just got aerated. But this time he never came around or rang, he left her to it, left her to sweat. There was no way she was backing down, how dare he say that about her, but a week went by, and then it was two weeks and he still hadn’t called and she’d bitten her nails off and she didn’t know what to do. Her mother said nothing, she didn’t seem to be aware that he hadn’t appeared, but Annie knew this wasn’t true, she was just keeping out of things for once. She knew that her mother was hoping it was over. Was it over? It was three weeks on when she went to see him. His mother answered the door and told her he wasn’t in.
‘I’ll wait then,’ said Annie and barged her way in and up to Michael’s bedroom. Among the car mags on the floor there was a pair of knickers, a pair of small pink nylon knickers that would hardly have fitted round one of her legs.
‘Tiffany Jones,’ said Michael’s mother from behind her. She didn’t like Annie.
She never spoke to him again. A broken heart, she found, had nothing to recommend it. It kept you up at night crying so hard that your eyes got swollen and needed ice cubes. It encouraged you to forget to use conditioner or shave y
our legs. It made your revision seem so pointless that you only just got the grades you needed. She vowed never to let that happen to her again.
As an adult, there had only been that one semi-suitable bloke whom she’d met at one of her brother’s horrible parties. Simon was a quantity surveyor. They went out for three months but he wasn’t the most exciting person ever. He wore striped pyjamas to bed and driving gloves to drive, he played golf and wouldn’t kiss her unless he’d brushed his teeth first. She always had to initiate the sex, which she’d thought she liked doing until she had no other choice in the matter. Then she took him home for Sunday lunch. As she left the house with him later, her mother took her to one side. ‘Quite a nice lad,’ said her mother. ‘But not good enough for you.’ In retrospect Annie had known that. It’s why she had taken him.
But this man Laurence, he pressed all her buttons. She saw his self-assured face looking up at her when she came down the steps outside her flat and she thought about whether he would, in her mother’s take on things, make a good dad. Solvent, good-looking, too charming by half, posh, parents who lived in Surrey, courteous, kind, clean, not prone to halitosis or dandruff. Did not, as far as she knew, pick his nose. Not a ball-scratcher either. Clothes from labels she approved of, although that shouldn’t mean anything at all. How superficial. An interesting past playing violin before he moved into copywriting. He sent her well spelt texts and properly punctuated emails. He always rang when he said he would, was always on time. He opened doors for her, gave her his jacket if it was cold. He brought her big bunches of Stargazer lilies and small boxes of expensive chocolates. He did everything right, as though there was a ‘how to charm women’ manual and he had read it cover to cover. He ticked all the boxes if there were boxes to be ticked. She could have made herself a spreadsheet; she liked Excel.
And she’d come outside, and he’d tell her how beautiful she looked, and she didn’t even say, yes, I know that, like she usually did. She spent even more tedious time over her appearance and she knew that was for him. He was a handsome fairytale prince with fresh minty breath, almost too good to be true. She kept waiting for him to slip up but he never did. She hadn’t taken him home in case her mother started putting pressure on her; she feared he might be considered ‘a good catch’, which was one of her mother’s highest compliments. In bed with him she made louder noises than she would normally have made. Annie loved sex but she thought that it was a quiet and private activity that should be done in the dark. The only language that was needed was sighing and heightened breathing. Not squeaks. Not, on more than one occasion, a grunt. At times, when she caught herself making these noises, she felt embarrassed, but he seemed to like it. When she looked in the mirror afterwards she saw that he’d made a mess of her make-up by kissing her so much and that she’d also got burn from his stubble. She didn’t even mind when he started to want to leave the lights on. After all, when had she ever not enjoyed being looked at? But it worried her that she didn’t mind, like it worried her that she liked him more than anyone she had ever met apart from Michael. She’d told herself that after that disaster, she would never again get so involved. She wanted to be adored, that was all well and good, but she didn’t want to have to rely on anybody else for anything. She didn’t want to be dependent in any way. But she liked this man. She liked him a lot. And wasn’t it about time she thought about getting married and having a baby just like her mother wanted?
Annie had expected that the office would be pink. Pale pink like the kind little girls were supposed to like but which she’d never had. She hadn’t been a girly girl, that came later, she had been a fighter with permanent bruises and constantly torn dresses. The school bully Stu Patterson had sat on her once and nearly broken a rib until she punched him in the whatsits. All the kids cheered and even the teachers tried to hide their amusement. But the office wasn’t pink, it was cream like the good stationery her mother liked to use for thank-you notes. The oatmeal carpet looked brand new. There was a completely empty desk, not even a computer, and there was nothing on the walls apart from a calendar showing flowers, and a clock. Annie responded well to minimalism. It felt soothing.
‘Annie, nice to meet you, please come and sit down, I’m Grace.’
Annie sat down. The chair was well supported at the back. Annie approved of this too. She appraised the therapist. Tall. Long fingers. Early thirties. Dressed neutrally in black trousers and a blue shirt. Not beautiful by any means but kind-looking. Yorkshire but posh.
‘Now what can I help you with?’ asked Grace and she held a silence.
Annie was good at silences herself and recognized Grace as a fellow professional with them.
‘I don’t think I want children. Well, certainly not right now.’
‘Is that a problem?’
‘I’ve never told my mum,’ said Annie. ‘And I don’t know how to.’
‘Then let’s go into that further perhaps.’
This is Violet’s secret outing
Since the unhelpful visit to her mother, Violet had, apart from the occasional foray to the shop, stopped going out again, but she had had an idea and had decided that she would, for once, follow through with it. It might help, it might not help, but it was worth a try at least, wasn’t it? It was just as well that Annie owned the flat where they lived and that the rent she charged Violet was about half market prices, because Violet was always in arrears. It was due next week and Violet only had three-quarters. Surely it would make little difference if she used some of it. It was only ‘borrowing’. It was a Friday afternoon and Violet was at work, except she wasn’t at work, and would have to lie to Annie when she got home about that. She’d never told a lie to Annie before, not least because Annie would be able to spot one a mile off, but she didn’t have any other option. Everyone has secrets, Violet thought, even Annie must have them. She looked up at the lampshade. It was purple with dirty gold tassels, the sort of thing that both her mother and Annie would be horrified by. Oh well, I’m not here as an interior design judge, I’m here as a … what exactly?
‘You’re a seeker,’ said the woman who was sitting across from her, ‘I can tell that.’
‘Am I?’ said Violet and the woman smiled in a conspiratorial way as though this was something only the two of them knew.
‘And someone doesn’t want you to be here,’ said the woman.
The photocopied flyer had been attached to the front door of the shop with Blu-Tack along with a range of other cards advertising healers, shamans, herbalists, spiritual retreats, yoga, and a man called Barry who apparently had a van. Violet had pulled the sheet of paper off when Starchild was out. It wasn’t one of the new ones anyway. There was a faded photo of a rainbow on the front. It had only taken her two weeks to decide to go. Positively speedy by her standards.
‘I’m Susan, by the way,’ said the woman, which surprised Violet because she’d been expecting she’d be called ‘Rainbow’ and not something so sensible.
‘I’m Violet.’
‘A lovely flower.’
Susan spread her cards out on the red tablecloth that clashed with the lampshade. They were so pretty that Violet reached out to touch the nearest one but Susan put her hand over hers and looked at Violet with her big brown eyes like a cartoon deer.
‘You’re afraid of dying,’ she said, which seemed to be the most obvious thing she could say to anyone. Violet decided that from then on in she would cut off the soundtrack in her head of her own doubts and Annie’s withering remarks.
‘Yes,’ said Violet, ‘I am a bit.’
‘Yes, I can see it in the cards, they never lie.’
I wonder if she has a script for this, and Violet cut off that thought too.
‘And your mother has had a very big influence on you. And you have three brothers.’
‘Er, no, no brothers at all actually.’
‘No, three, I definitely see three. And your father is very small. And both of your parents like old things. You often feel left out. Differ
ent from other people. As though something is missing. And once, many years ago, you were left behind somewhere. Oh yes, a dark place. You will have more than one lover but only one true love. And one child, only one child. An only child like yourself.’
‘But I thought you told me that I have three brothers.’
‘Essentially you are on your own. Inside yourself. Ow.’
‘What?’ said Violet. ‘What did you see?’
‘I get chronic cramps,’ said Susan, ‘when it’s my time of the month. I’ve got a TENS machine but it’s run out of batteries. Now I think of it I could have taken them out of my vibrator. Except they are probably just about done. Silly me. Now, where was I? Were you in a dark place?’
‘I am in a dark place, I think,’ said Violet.
‘I can tell. You are lost in a dark wood. But where are you heading, in what direction must you go?’
‘I was hoping you could tell me something about that.’
Susan flipped over the last card. It had a tower on it.
‘What does that mean?’ said Violet.
‘It means that even if everything comes crashing down, you will be OK. Don’t worry about a thing because every little thing gonna be all right.’
‘Isn’t that Bob Marley?’
‘I love him, don’t you?’
‘But which way should I go? Out of the dark wood?’
‘Towards the light.’
‘But I can’t see any light,’ and Violet felt desperate.
‘The cards never lie,’ said Susan, sitting back. ‘There’s a cash machine in the Co-op if you haven’t got enough cash. I’ll come with you and buy some batteries.’
Violet traipsed home and didn’t tell Annie where she’d been. She felt ashamed of her stupidity, of thinking that a thing like that might help. It had been a complete waste of money and now she couldn’t even pay the rent. What should she do now? How would she stop ‘the fear’ from consuming everything? She had no idea. She went straight to her room and got into bed.
This is Grace waking up in Sam’s bed