Undercurrent

by J. A. Baker

“Cake,” I say quietly, hoping he doesn’t detect the edge to my voice. Suzie’s face has once again embedded itself in my head and refuses to go away.

  “Shall I get us some?” he asks, his tone soft and warm. It takes me by surprise. I hear it so rarely it makes me misty eyed.

  “I’ll do it,” I say, jumping to my feet. If I can keep myself busy, Suzie’s face will disappear from my mind, retreat back into the farthest part of my brain where it belongs.

  The tin opens with a soft metallic thump. It’s a Cath Kidston design. I know they’re not cheap so I carefully place the lid to one side and lift out a beautifully decorated chocolate cake. I am swamped with guilt at my behaviour towards Anna - yes, I’m certain that’s what she said he name was - as I cut into it and put each slice on a plate. I will apologise when I take her tin back. My behaviour was unacceptable. It was just the uncanny resemblance and her untimely appearance on my doorstep that threw me you see. But I guess that’s something I am going to have to get used to. We live so close I can hardly avoid her. I am just going to have to come to terms with it and forget about Suzie, about how our last words were in raised in anger. She had been showing off as usual, dancing about on the riverbank, making sure she had the attention of all the others around us while I was left to clear up the mess everyone had so thoughtlessly discarded. And although she was wearing red and white striped hot pants - the fashion item of the day back then - she had insisted in stripping down to her bra and knickers in another of her bids for attention as she headed down to the water and jumped in. All the boys had flocked around her, and a few of the girls too, like flies around excrement. I had watched meekly from a clearing in the trees as they all splashed and cavorted around without a care in the world, too self-conscious myself to strip off and join them, my envy and resentment growing by the minute. Of course, there was no need for me to feel that way because after a while, as was always the case, they all tired of her. I could hear her barking orders at them all about where they should stand, what they should play, what the rules should be. Then, with a certain amount of inner satisfaction, I watched as one by one, they all trudged their way out of the river and back onto dry land where they made feeble excuses about having to get back for their tea, before gathering up their belongings and leaving.

  “Phoebe. For god’s sake! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  The boom of Martyn’s voice and a crack of porcelain as it hits the floor, drags me back to the present. I look down to see my plate in pieces at my feet and my hands covered in clumps of deep brown icing. It is smeared everywhere; over my fingers, up my arms, on my clothes. Martyn is looking at me aghast, as if I have just committed some kind of terrible atrocity. I refuse to rise to it. I will handle the situation in as dignified a manner as I possibly can. Give him no opportunity to gloat or cause yet another argument.

  “It’s only cake,” I mutter feebly, “it’ll soon clear up.” I stand up and survey the damage.

  “You do know what you were doing don’t you?”

  I ignore him, disregard the scorn and sarcasm in his voice and instead, march past him, grab a roll of kitchen paper and rub it over my arms and clothing then kneel down and slowly wipe the floor clean.

  “You were off in your own little world there. Muttering and swearing and shoving your hands in the cake, smearing it around the plate like a toddler. What was all that about then eh?” He leans down to try and catch my eye, “Having another of your little ‘moments’ as we like to call them, were we?”

  I pay no attention to him and continue cleaning the tiles until I can almost see my face in them. I listen to him in the background making derogatory remarks about me, laughing softly, pointing to bits I’ve missed with his cane. And then silence. I continue wiping, determined to eradicate all traces. When I finally get up again, my knees cracking as I do, Martyn has gone. Lost interest and wandered off leaving me to ponder over what happened. I hate losing control like that. It’s embarrassing, unseemly and something I thought I’d managed to get under control. I have to stop thinking about that day by the river and focus on the here and now before I get dragged down to a place I don’t want to go to. I walk over to the patio doors, fling them open and breathe in the cold, clean air. I make a small promise to myself there and then. No more visits to the past. No more Suzie.

  Five

  Anna’s face burns with humiliation as she scurries away from the house, her feet crunching over the gravel driveway as she stumbles over the road and back home. By the time she gets in the front door and slams it behind her she is close to tears. Stupid really. It’s nothing to get all worked up about. It was only a bloody cake after all. And besides which, her timing was all wrong. That poor woman was obviously up to her eyes in it, unpacking and shifting and rearranging things. Moving house is nightmarish. Anna looks around and thinks back. Despite its many flaws - and god knows there are many - beams riddled with holes from a woodworm infestation and windows that have seen better days, she really does love her house. But the memory of moving in will never leave her. That awful, horrible day, fraught with worry and anxiety, waiting for money to change hands, traipsing backward and forwards transporting things, realising most of your furniture doesn’t even fit. Awful. And anyway, it’s her own daft fault. She should have left her welcome visit for a couple of days before bothering her with piddly little cakes. Mike was right. She was just being bloody nosy, hoping she might get invited in for a look around. It’s a fabulous house and truth be told, she is more than just a teensy bit jealous. Anna’s house is a three bedroom Victorian semi with dark corners and sloping floors. This new lady’s home is a show home; huge, immaculate and expensively furnished. Everything hers isn’t.

  By the time Anna has emptied the tumble drier and set up the ironing board, she has convinced herself that her new neighbour didn’t mean any harm, although there was something in her expression that made Anna feel a bit uneasy. A hard, unblinking stare that put her on edge, made her skin prickle. Or maybe she is just reading too much into it after having the door closed on her. She shrugs idly and tells herself to never give up. If there’s one thing she is determined to be, it is friendly and neighbourly. There is no way she is about to let this embarrassing situation get to her or stop her. She is nothing if not tenacious. She’ll just give her some time to settle in and call round again when the poor woman is unpacked and settled and not feeling under so much pressure. Bad timing. That’s all it was. Just bad timing.

  Mike marches into the kitchen and eyes up the steaming iron. “You haven’t forgotten, have you?”

  She stares at him, willing her brain to register his words. Nothing comes.

  “New flooring? You wanted me there to check it’s the right colour? Said you wanted a second opinion?”

  Anna slaps the flat of her hand against her forehead and closes her eyes in annoyance. She has nagged him about it for days, complaining that everything has to wait till weekends because he is always at bloody work. How can she have not remembered when it has been in her mind all week?

  “Right. Of course,” She unplugs the iron and folds the board up, dragging it behind the fridge. She stares in the mirror and frowns at her reflection, “Just give me five minutes to run a comb through my hair and I’ll be right with you.”

  As if it’s not bad enough having a new neighbour with a house big enough to fit ten of her own in, she also looked like the kind of person who wakes up looking perfectly groomed. Not pretty - well certainly not conventionally pretty for sure - but flawlessly put together. Expensive looking. Like she buys her makeup from the most exclusive shops and gets her hair done at the best salons.

  In the bedroom, Anna brushes her flyaway hair, sprays perfume around her in a fine mist and applies a slick of lipstick. Not brilliant but better than plain and pale faced. She slips her feet into a pair of leather boots and stares in the mirror. An image of a middle aged, underfed woman stares back at her. How did she get this old and this thin when in her head she is still 1
8 years old? Anna clicks her tongue and hurries back downstairs. She’s only going shopping for floor tiles for god’s sake, not parading down a bloody catwalk.

  She checks her handbag and listens as Mike hollers upstairs, issuing stern instructions to the boys about how to behave in their absence. He comes back carrying jackets for them both. Anna waits as he hands hers over and slings his own over his shoulders then snatches up the car keys from the fruit bowl.

  “Ready?” he asks.

  “No arguing over colours or designs,” she says smiling. “You did promise to be nice.”

  “As long you buy me lunch afterwards.”

  She follows him out to the car, “It’s a deal.”

  ....................................................................................................................................................

  Upstairs, Callum and Mason listen out for the familiar slam of the door and stop everything they’re doing.

  “The parents have left the building,” Mason croons, a crooked smile forming as he clambers up to the window and watches their dad’s silver Vectra pull off the drive.

  “What’s the plan then?” Callum swings his legs off his unmade bed and hitches his trousers up past his exposed hipbone. He kicks his way through the mass of machinery and games that cover the bedroom floor and leans into the wardrobe to retrieve a pair of multi coloured baseball boots.

  “I’ll give Sammo a ring. Tell him we’re out and about. His old man’ll drop him off at ours. Sammo’s always good for a laugh.”

  Callum sucks his teeth then nods in approval, “Nice one. What about AJ? Shall I message him d’ya think?”

  “Aw man, no party without the one and only AJ. Course you should.”

  They each tap away at their phones, letting out small guffaws at the replies before stuffing them in their back pockets and heading downstairs.

  “Sammo reckons he’ll be here in less than ten. His dad was heading this way anyhow.” Mason is standing in front of the open fridge staring in, his face bathed in the glow of the yellow light. He lunges his hand in and grabs at a wedge of cheese.

  “She’ll notice, you know,” Callum watches as his brother cuts off a hunk of cheddar and presses it between two slices of bread. Mason shrugs nonchalantly and sinks his teeth into it, flecks of doughy residue stuck between his teeth.

  “Gotta eat haven’t I?”

  His younger brother shrugs and turns away, “Your funeral mate. You know what she’s like.”

  Mason continues to munch noisily. Callum watches him and then grabs at a milk carton, swilling it back greedily, rivulets of milk running down his chin and neck in small white streams. He pushes it back inside and marches past, “Gonna head off outside. Don’t forget to lock up.”

  “I’m right behind you man. Wait up.”

  Together they stroll outside and hang around for the others to turn up. The cold bites at them, a wave of icy wind buffeting them as they dance about outside the front gate.

  “Fuck, it’s freezing!” Mason hops from one foot to another and hugs his hands under his armpits for warmth, their denim jackets and hoodies no barrier against the bracing north easterly wind as they wait for their mates to arrive.

  “Is that them?” Callum cranes his neck and stares off down towards the end of the village at two willowy figures who are heading their way.

  “Yo Sammo!” One of the shapes raises a hand as Callum’s voice reaches them.

  “Must have both got a lift,” mutters Mason as he shoves his hands deep in his pocket to warm them up.

  “No shit Sherlock,” Callum replies and they both laugh. It’s a phrase they both use regularly and it never fails to elicit a cackle.

  “So what’s the plan then?” AJ and Sammo run the last few metres, their long legs gazelle like in their dark skin tight jeans. Callum and Mason shrug listlessly,

  “Dunno. No plan really. Just hang around, have a few laughs.”

  If there’s one thing they both know, it’s that sticking to the rule of no friends in the house when their parents are out, is absolute. Their mother can sniff out lies and traces of uninvited guests at fifty paces and they know from bitter experience that trying to pull a fast one just isn’t worth it.

  “How about heading off down there?” AJ nods over in the direction of the river. They all stare at one another waiting for someone to make a decision. Mason nods and flicks at his hair.

  “Yeah. Sound.” He stares at his brother. The river might be high but it’s easier than trying to cover their tracks if they go in the house. She would find out. She always finds out.

  The four lads slope off over the green and down towards the bushes. They spend a good few hours by the river, skimming stones and making mud slides. AJ even tries to build a makeshift bridge over the water using logs and sticks and all manner of detritus he can find in the dense undergrowth until eventually boredom sets in. Callum rubs at his hands and sniffs loudly. Even with keeping moving and using the shrubbery as protection from the wind, there is no denying it is freezing.

  “What now?” Mason asks, the tip of his nose red from the cold.

  AJ shrugs listlessly, “Dunno.”

  “What about hanging around that unused garden again? Was a right laugh last time.” Sammo is pointing towards the back of Phoebe’s house, his finger wobbling about as they all gaze at the summerhouse they had used as a hang out when the place was empty.

  “Nah. No can do,” Callum says, a flicker of apprehension in his belly, “Someone moved in yesterday so it’s out of bounds now.”

  Sammo smiles and Callum feels the flicker turn up a notch. That’s the only problem with his mate. He might be a good laugh but sometimes he takes things too far. It’s a double edged sword really. His antics are hilarious but they come at a price. And this place is too close to home for Callum and his brother to be involved in anything too raucous. Their mum would kill them if they upset a new neighbour. She’s really hot on stuff like that, making a good impression and everything.

  “What difference does that make? Just adds to the fun.” A glint is evident in Sammo’s eye. Callum flinches slightly and looks over at Mason who is staring at the floor.

  “No way Sammo. The other owners were in Spain while it was empty. This new one can see us from her kitchen window.”

  “Like I said,” Sammo repeated, his voice crackling with menace, “all part of the fun.”

  AJ smiles while Callum and Mason exchange a worried glance. It’s okay for them. None of this is near where they live. Sammo always makes sure of that. His dad would kill him if he did anything bad near his house. Sammo and his old man are pretty close since his mum died but his dad rules their house with a rod of iron. Mason finds himself wishing he hadn’t bothered letting his brother get in touch with him. This is obviously one of Sammo’s nutter days where anything goes. He has times like that, as if he is almost bordering on lunacy. Mason’s mam reckons it’s since his mother passed away, some kind of rebellion or kick back at being abandoned. Mason just reckons it’s because he is some kind of thrill seeker with no inhibitions. A right loony. He remembers the time Sammo once climbed up on the school roof and abseiled down by tying the assembly hall curtains to some external pipe work. By the time he had reached the bottom, the fire brigade were there along with his dad who grounded him for like, forever. Such a nutcase. The only reason he wasn’t excluded from school was because he gets straight A’s and is heading for A*’s in all his exams.

  “No way,” Mason pipes up, “Like my bro just told you, the place is out of bounds. You can’t break into stuff when it’s not empty any more. The last time a good laugh ‘cos there was nobody living there and we could doss around in there not bothering anyone but a woman and her husband moved in yesterday so it’s a no go. Let’s go back down by the river yeah? Or we can grab some skateboards and go over by the path where it’s wider.”

  AJ and Sammo look at each other and smirk.

  “Didn’t know you two were such
a pair of nancy-boys. What’s up? Scared of getting caught by mummy and daddy?”

  The words hang in the air, sour and acrid as all four lads stare at one another,

  “Do whatever you want Sammo. You too AJ,” Mason croaks, resentment and annoyance evident in his tone, “But count me out. If you wanna act like a complete prick, that’s up to you but I’m off.” He stares at Callum who nods and starts to wander back in the direction of their house.

  “Yeah, go on you pair of soft twats. Run and cuddle into mummy’s apron.”

  They ignore the jibes and head off home, looking back only once to see their mates disappear behind the shrubbery that leads onto the path at the back of the garden.

  “Not worth the fucking hassle,” Callum says as they unlock the door and let themselves in.

  Six

  It has been a morning of ups and downs. So much to deal with; so many oscillating moods. Neighbours banging on the door, memories resurfacing unbidden. And now this. My hands rest on the oak unit as I stare out at the far end of the garden. As far as I can tell, there are just two of them, wandering along the public footpath, wearing hoodies and low slung jeans to complete the picture. I guess this is to be expected. As the lady in the shop so kindly pointed out - I will have a load of strangers traipsing through my garden. I just didn’t expect it so soon. And I definitely didn’t expect teenagers. This is a rugged area, a path that forms part of a well-known local walk. I presumed it would be used by ramblers, people who were serious about their love of the countryside, not gangs of youngsters skulking around looking for trouble. I move back as one of them looks up at the house and feel a slight jab of fear as they start to walk up my garden towards the old summerhouse; the same summerhouse that had a broken lock when I initially viewed the property. Everything suddenly begins to slot into place. The sheer arrogance of these two wasters, it would appear, knows no bounds. I do know this place had been vacant for some time before I bought it so maybe they presume it is still empty? Well, it’s going come as a terrible shock when they find out their silly plan has been rumbled. Of course, there is another reason I need to get rid of them. Martyn. If he comes in and spots some suspicious looking teenagers hanging around his garden he will have a fit. Best thing to do is to scatter them before the whole thing escalates. Which it will. It’s been that kind of day.