The Love of a Family

by Rebecca Shaw

  Down in the kitchen she got out two dustbin bags, shook one of them open and put the bits of her apron in, then marched upstairs and stuffed the remains of the tea cosies in until the bags were full. Out came the upstairs vacuum and she cleaned the floor. All that remained of her former business was the state-of-the-art sewing machine and two linen baskets of wadding and material, plus a leaflet advertising a Christmas Arts and Crafts Fair

  She’d cancel the stall she’d reserved this very minute. Her reason?

  She couldn’t very well say my stuff didn’t sell because it was dreadful.

  I’ve given up trying.

  I’m wasting my time.

  The fair will be better without my tea cosies, believe me.

  Then the excuse hit her. She’d say she and her husband had been lucky enough to take in two boys and she was too busy to sew. That was it. The very, very best of reasons. No need to say she’d cut everything up in a mad frenzy. Just that at the moment she couldn’t find time for sewing, being busy helping the boys to settle in. A perfect cover story.

  The sitting room clock chimed the hour. Myra counted and found to her amazement it was already eleven o’clock. Where had the time gone? She marched downstairs, picked up the phone and told the organiser what Myra knew to be a lie. The organiser was delighted for her. Thank you for being so understanding said Myra. No, she couldn’t see her way back to sewing just yet, she was too absorbed in making a good life for the boys. No, no it’s Graham and I who are privileged, they’re such lovely boys. And a Merry Christmas to you too. Having listened to her own lies Myra couldn’t believe how easily they had slipped out, and how readily they’d been believed.

  She replaced the receiver and wondered what to do next. The ironing, of course. One moment of madness couldn’t be allowed to let everything go to hell in a handcart, she thought.

  Three o’clock came round all too soon and the challenge of managing not to get spoken to as she fought her way through the crowd of mothers would have to be faced again. They all gathered at the school gates: a hoard of them, chattering while hanging on to their pushchairs or their toddlers. One of them was giving out leaflets and she handed one to Myra. ‘You’re new aren’t you? You won’t have heard of the New to You Sale. The details are on here. Stunning stuff, believe me. Some wonderful bargains. You’ll be most welcome. Which class is yours in?’

  Myra saved herself from looking a complete chump by remembering the teacher’s name was Mrs Fletcher.

  ‘Ah! She’s very good, my eldest was in her class last year and he did brilliantly. He’ll like her. See you then!’

  The doors opened and the children poured out. Just as Myra was beginning to think Piers would never come out, he did, shivering slightly in his shirtsleeves.

  ‘I can’t find my coat.’ He was holding back the tears as best he could.

  ‘I see.’ Myra did not know what to do. Did you go in and ask? Did you go in and look for yourself? Did you go in and speak to Mrs Fletcher? Or did you just go home without it? She was terribly keen to go home without it rather than draw attention to herself. But it was so cold.

  She took hold of Piers’ hand to give her some confidence, and though she suspected it made him feel a baby, he let her. They found the cloakroom because it had a smart notice on the door. There, under a bench was Piers’ coat.

  ‘I can see it!’ he yelled and rushed to get it. He struggled into it, fastened the buttons and the zip and tried to get out of school without holding her hand but she was determined and gripped it tightly. As an excuse he suggested he should put his gloves on as his hands were cold, so she let him, delighted to have navigated this small hurdle without having been seen or needing to speak to anyone else. She wished she’d listened to the other mothers greeting their children so she might have a better idea of what to say to him.

  ‘Did you have a good time?’ was the best she came up with,

  ‘Yes, thank you. They’re nice in Mrs Fletcher’s class. Two of the boys let me play with them.’

  ‘Did you find out their names?’

  ‘Yes. Aidan and Carl.’

  Spontaneously Myra declared she liked his name best. ‘Well they sound like nice names, but Piers is much nicer.’

  ‘Do you think so? I used to get teased about my name at my other school.’

  ‘What did they say?’

  ‘It was posh but it isn’t, is it? My dad said it was my mum’s choice.’

  ‘It was. I remember.’

  ‘Did you know my mum?’

  ‘Of course. She was lovely.’ After that Myra was silent, thinking about Mo and how envious she had always been of her. Mo with two babies and herself with none. How grossly unfair it had all seemed. Now they were both supposed to be hers, yet they weren’t, and things had come round full circle.

  ‘Tell me something about her. Dad never said much.’

  What was there to tell? How pretty she was with her blonde curly hair, her huge blue eyes that Piers had inherited, how kind she was, how she loved life and how John wept for her when she was killed? And how she, Myra Butler, didn’t.

  ‘You’ve got her eyes and Oliver has her fair hair and her curls.’

  ‘Did she smile a lot?’

  Myra nodded.

  ‘Was she happy?’

  ‘Oh yes. And you boys are what made her happiest of all.’ Alarmed by the direction the conversation was taking, Myra steered things back on to safe ground. ‘When we get in will you feed Pete, I’m not sure I gave him enough this morning.’

  ‘Oh no! We forgot about him.’

  ‘Never mind, I fed him, well, Viv and I did.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll do it as soon as I get in. Oliver’s never home before half past five on Mondays because he has football. He catches the late coach.’

  ‘I’m glad you told me. There we are, in we go in the warm. See to Pete before you take your coat off, it’s so cold. I’ll start on the supper.’ There, she’d managed the coming home quite nicely, no awkwardness at all. She put her keys down and looked at the leaflet for the New to You Sale. She wasn’t going, not likely. All the crowds and the prattle. How did you chatter like they did? What was there to endlesssly chat about? A lot apparently. She spotted a scrap of fabric on the floor she must have missed earlier. She wouldn’t tell Graham about what she’d done to the tea cosies. So long as she kept the bedroom door closed he’d never know. She’d tell him when she’d sorted it all out in her mind.

  But Graham came home that night with a present for the boys. A bumper car game with two cars, two remote controls and loads of batteries to make them go. ‘Flashing lights,’ he said, ‘loads of noise, just what kids like. I’ll surprise the boys with it in the living room. But I’d better get the big scissors from your room to cut the box open.’

  Before Myra could offer him her second-class pair of scissors he had raced upstairs with this new enthusiasm he’d garnered and it was all too late. He walked down more slowly, came into the kitchen and stood in front of her. He gave her a long slow stare and when she didn’t provide an explanation he asked, ‘Myra? What’s happened? What have you done with everything? All your work? All the tea cosies?’

  She put down the vegetable knife and with downcast eyes muttered, ‘Got rid of them.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘By the bin.’

  Piers had sneaked in to see what all the fuss was about, and now he rushed back out to look and saw the two bags lined up against the wall. He prodded them with his fingers, poked a small hole in one and by the light of the outside lamp he took a peep inside to prove she was speaking the truth. Dashing back in he said with his big blue eyes wide with amazement, ‘She has, Uncle Graham, she really has. They’re all cut up. In very little bits.’

  Graham’s attention was focussed on Myra in a way it hadn’t been for years.

  ‘You cut them up? All of them?’

  Myra nodded. ‘All of them.’

  ‘But why? They’re your pride and joy. You love your cosies. Wha
t made you do it?’

  Her voice trembled. ‘I-I-you’ve known for ages, but never said.’

  ‘Known what?’

  ‘They were dull. They were plain. They were . . . safe.’

  ‘I’ve never said so.’

  ‘No, but you knew. I knew you knew, but I wouldn’t have listened, even if you’d said.’

  ‘What about your stall at the Christmas . . .’

  ‘Cancelled.’

  ‘Did you tell them why?’

  Myra turned away so he couldn’t see her face, she couldn’t say what she’d said. She couldn’t have him thinking she’d suddenly accepted the boys willingly as a blessing, because she hadn’t, had she? ‘I said I was too busy and hadn’t been well.’ What had happened to the truth she thought to herself, lying twice in one day. What were these boys doing to her?

  ‘But you’re not ill . . . are you?’

  Was she? Was that why she’d had that cutting frenzy, maybe she was going mad.

  ‘No, not really.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry. Sorry for your sake, Myra. But maybe it was time to move on – try something new. There’s so much you could do.’ He said this so sympathetically it didn’t feel like criticism at all.

  A few days ago she would have lambasted him. Today, she hadn’t the energy to do it and just suggested he took the bumper car game into the hall, it would run better on the parquet floor and she could get the supper ready. He and Piers took her at her word. Within minutes everything was out of the box, the batteries fitted, the aerials in place, and the two of them were playing the game as though nothing else in the world existed. And that was just how it felt to Myra. She was on the outside of this male-dominated world she’d so abruptly found herself in. Now she not only had no work to take refuge in, but no Graham either.

  The bleeping and the flashing of the car lights and the whoops of excitement drilled holes in Myra’s brain. How could she concentrate on the plaice and chips and the parsley sauce with all that going on? She glanced into the hall readying herself to silence them, and caught a glimpse of the delight in Piers’ face. And it was not only Piers’ face which was full of pleasure, but Graham’s too. She couldn’t remember when she’d last seen him so delighted.

  By the time Oliver got home off the late bus, Graham and Piers were completely absorbed in the bumper car game and couldn’t wait for Oliver to have a go.

  ‘Oliver! Look what Uncle Graham’s bought! Isn’t it great? Come and have a turn.’

  Oliver flung down his school bags and took over Graham’s car. Within moments he had mastered the concept of the game and he and Piers were playing as furiously as Graham and Piers had been. The shouting, the cheering, the applause felt deafening to Myra, unaccustomed to such goings on in the normally silent house. Graham was sitting on the bottom step watching the boys and the look on his face baffled Myra. It was a mixture of . . . well, what exactly? Pride, boyish enthusiasm, childish glee, mirth, happiness? Yes, happiness definitely and then something else she couldn’t quite evaluate.

  ‘Supper’s ready.’ She may as well have said nothing because she got no response.

  ‘I said supper’s ready. Go wash your hands.’

  But they didn’t. Neither Graham nor the two boys moved a muscle.

  After all the slaving she’d done to get it ready and that lovely pudding too, all home made.

  ‘I said, supper’s ready. Go wash your hands.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Graham stood up. ‘I’m counting to ten and then we stop and have our supper.’ This worked, but even then when they eventually came to the table, they could talk of nothing else but the bumper cars, not a word about the lovely fish, not a word about the fruit crumble and cream, they just wolfed it down as fast as they could, said ‘Thanks’ and asked to leave the table to play with the game.

  Myra intended to give them a lecture on manners but Graham beat her to it. ‘I’ll clear your dishes for you tonight, you go play the game.’

  She was furious. She closed the kitchen door so the noise level was reduced and she could think what she was saying and burst out with, ‘I won’t have bad manners. Not one word about how nice their meal was, all they can think about is that blasted game.’

  ‘Myra, have you noticed anything about that game?’

  ‘It’s noisy and silly and stupid and I wish you’d never bought it for them. How much did it cost?’

  ‘Too much, Myra, but worth every penny judging by the enjoyment they’re getting out of it.’

  ‘It’s ridiculous, what a waste of money.’

  ‘You haven’t answered my question.’

  Myra stood up and began shuffling plates. ‘I haven’t time. There’s all this to do.’

  ‘I’ll answer it for you then. It’s the first time they’ve really enjoyed doing anything at all since they’ve been in these four walls. These bumper cars have really engaged them and being taken out of themselves is what they need. Forgetting their grief, just for a while.’

  ‘So that’s it is it? That’s why I’m having to tolerate all the din? What about me?’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’ve given up my business because I’ve too much to do with four of us in the house, what with all the washing and ironing and cleaning and tidying. They were my pride and joy.’

  ‘I thought you said—’

  ‘I got rid of them all so they aren’t reminding me of what I’ve lost.’

  ‘Actually, Myra, you’ve lost nothing. You were quite clear earlier: you cut them up because you realised all by yourself that they were not interesting enough to make people want to buy them. And if you want to know what I really feel, I think a part of you knows that you can do better. You’ve got so much talent if you’d just take a chance or two. That’s the truth and you know it. I’ll advertise for some domestic help for you, there’ll be plenty of people who’d like to clean and iron and put clean sheets on in a tidy house like ours. You don’t have to stop your work. But right now, why don’t you go and sit down and switch the TV on. I’ll clear up in here. You’re doing a brilliant job with the food, Myra. The boys might not say anything, but they do eat it all up, and if that isn’t a recommendation I don’t know what is.’

  Myra flopped down on the sofa after tiptoeing across the hall in an attempt to avoid treading on the bumper cars. So he did still care about her, right when she thought she’d lost him to the boys. Thinking about getting help in, clearing up the kitchen for her, he must still care. He was right about the food, too, the boys didn’t need persuading to eat it. So she must be good at something. The memory of Graham’s face when he was playing with Piers flashed across her mind. Why had it been so long since she’d seen him so happy?

  Chapter 6

  Graham and Myra never came across each other once they’d gone upstairs for bed. Myra’s bedroom had its own shower room and Graham used the main bathroom. So it came as a shock to Myra that night when he tapped briefly on her bedroom door and walked in wearing his pyjamas.

  Her heart leapt and she could feel it pounding in her chest. Oh no! He didn’t did he, not after all these years. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’ve come to say goodnight and a great big thank you.’

  Was she about to get the one reward she couldn’t stomach?

  ‘Thank you? What for?’

  ‘For trying so hard with the boys. How did you go on at Piers’school this morning by the way?’

  ‘I’d have got on a lot better if you’d told the truth. They thought I was his mum! I didn’t know where to look.’

  ‘I didn’t pretend anything. I told the head teacher everything – she’ll be an important voice when Social Services approve us becoming guardians – or I certainly hope so. But I know plenty of people assume we’re their parents when we’re out and about. And even if we have to fill out forms or give our names, people are bound to think we’re a normal family because our surname is the same as the boys.’ You must have met with a different teacher today who just glanced at the forms and
made a logical guess. Did she call you his mum?’ He had a kind of tentative grin on his face.

  Myra pulled the duvet up a little higher, just in case. ‘Yes, and Piers didn’t contradict her.’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘No.’

  He patted her leg where he could make out the shape of it under the duvet. ‘I know we’ll never replace John and Mo – we wouldn’t want to, and it’s important the boys always know how much their parents loved them and didn’t want to leave them. But if we can’t be Mum and Dad to Piers and Oliver, we’ll be as close as we possibly can. We’re family already, and now we’re just even closer family. And if other people call us their mum or dad from time to time, that’s fine by me, as long as it doesn’t upset the children. You know John’s lawyer talked me through the next steps – as well as Social Services giving us the thumbs up, we need approval from the Family Court. They need to see we’re serious about our responsibilities, and that the boys are happy. But I’m not going to hide anything from you, Myra. I’d like to do more. I’d like to make it permanent and adopt them. And there’s no hurry on that, we don’t want to overwhelm the boys. For now, getting the legal guardian status is my priority. What do you think?’ He stood there smiling down at her, with that lock of hair flopping down his forehead as always, waiting for her reply.

  Myra turned over to face away from him. ‘It’s permanent then?’

  ‘It is for me.’

  ‘I’ll think about it, it’s not a decision to be taken lightly.’

  ‘It certainly isn’t and we’d have to ask them first, of course. We mustn’t rush things. Here, I’ll turn out your light for you.’ He reached down to her bedside lamp and she smelt the mingled toothpaste and soap. Normally even just the thought of anyone being close, invading her space, made her tense up. But just for a moment, there felt something comforting about his presence. Before she could even fully register this strange emotion, he’d gone, leaving her to the quiet and the dark.

  Graham had got his bedroom organised just as he wanted now. It had taken a while to adapt to being the equivalent of a single man in this regard, but he rather felt he had achieved it. The wallpaper sprayed with bunches of apple blossom had been painted over, the curtains swapped for a more masculine pair, the carpet and the bed linen changed to match, and together with the computer on a sleek desk down one side and some smart shelves for his files above it, it felt like a space he could call his own.