Broke

by Mandasue Heller

  ‘Maybe Mark took it?’

  ‘No, not without telling me.’

  ‘You’ll have put it somewhere safe, knowing you,’ Marnie suggested. ‘But can you look for it later, or we’ll miss the bus. Don’t worry, I’ll pay.’

  Amy knew that she hadn’t taken the money out of her purse, but she could do without Cassie’s teacher giving her another lecture about the importance of punctuality so she pushed it to the back of her mind, telling herself that if worse came to worst and she didn’t find it, Mark would just have to stump up for the electric. He always pleaded poverty whenever she asked for money, but if he could afford to go drinking three or four nights a week he could certainly afford to keep the lights on at home.

  By lunchtime, the tenner was burning a great big hole in Mark’s pocket and he couldn’t wait to get to the bookie’s. It was another week and a half before he was due to be paid, and he needed cash asap. But he had no intention of telling Steve where he was going, because he could do without one of his mate’s legendary lectures about the folly of throwing money away on gambling when he could be spending it on booze instead.

  Hoping to avoid Steve now, he darted into the staffroom and changed out of his paint-splattered overalls. But Steve popped his head around the door just as he was pulling on his jacket and asked if he was ready.

  ‘Er, no, I’m giving the pub a miss today,’ Mark told him cagily.

  ‘Yeah, right.’ Steve smirked. ‘And the pope’s coming round mine for dinner tonight. Come on, the lads are waiting.’

  ‘No, I’m serious,’ Mark said, following him out. ‘I’ve got an errand to run for Amy.’

  ‘I don’t mind subbing you a couple of pints if you’re broke,’ Steve offered.

  ‘Cheers.’ Mark gave him a grateful smile. ‘But I promised Amy I’d check up on this thing she’s waiting for from the catalogue.’

  ‘Whatever,’ Steve said dismissively, accurately guessing where Mark was really going. ‘Just don’t be late back.’

  ‘I won’t,’ said Mark, grinning as he set off in the opposite direction.

  Mark had no clue about form, or any of that other shit, so when he had the money to take a punt he generally picked out horses whose names gave him ‘a feeling’. It was a shit system, and nine times out of ten he came out of the bookie’s with less in his pocket than when he’d gone in. But not today. Today, luck was on his side, and he had two hundred and fifty quid in his hand by the time he realised he was late back to work.

  Another race was about to start, and it was a real temptation. But he managed to drag himself away and ran all the way back to the depot.

  The gaffer, Stan, was waiting when he sneaked in through the back door.

  ‘What time do you call this?’

  ‘Sorry, boss, an old lady fell over when I was on my way to the butty shop,’ Mark lied. ‘I had to call an ambulance, then wait with her till it came.’

  ‘And that took two hours?’

  ‘I know, it’s shocking, isn’t it?’ Mark shook his head, the picture of innocence and indignation. ‘I gave them a right mouthful when they turned up. I said, what are youse playing at, leaving an old woman lying on the pavement for that long? She could have froze to death.’

  ‘Such compassion,’ Stan drawled, not believing a word of it.

  ‘What was I supposed to do?’ Mark asked. ‘Leave her lying there?’

  ‘Yes, if it meant getting back to work on time,’ barked Stan. Then, pointing a finger in Mark’s face, he said, ‘Do it again and you’re out. Consider yourself warned.’

  Mark gave a chastened nod and looked down at his feet until Stan had gone about his business. Then, smirking, he slipped his jacket off and his overalls on, and sauntered through to the workshop.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ Steve hissed when Mark joined him at the paint-mixing machine. ‘Stan’s been going off his nut, threatening to sack you, and everything.’

  ‘He’s all talk,’ Mark replied unconcernedly. ‘I’m going nowhere.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be so sure,’ Steve said grimly. ‘You’re pushing your luck, mate.’

  ‘If you say so.’ Mark smirked.

  Amy had just sat the kids down in front of the telly and was about to make a start on dinner when Mark got home that evening. Surprised, because he was earlier than usual, she reached up to kiss him.

  ‘I’m just putting dinner on. Go and sit down – I’ll bring it in when it’s ready.’

  ‘No need.’ Mark grinned. ‘I stopped off on the way home and got these.’

  A frown skittered across Amy’s brow when he produced two pizza boxes from behind his back. Closing the door into the living room so the kids wouldn’t hear, she whispered, ‘What did you do that for? You know we can’t afford it.’

  ‘Yes, we can,’ Mark assured her, putting the boxes down on the ledge. ‘I got a bonus from work, so I thought I’d treat you.’

  ‘A bonus? What for?’

  ‘Employee of the month. Look.’ Mark took a wad of twenty-pound notes out of his back pocket and fanned them out. ‘Hundred squids.’

  ‘Wow, that’s fantastic,’ Amy trilled, throwing her arms around his neck. ‘I’m so proud of you.’

  ‘You can thank me later,’ said Mark, waggling his eyebrows to let her know that he meant in the bedroom. ‘Now, hurry up and get that pizza out, ’cos I’m starving.’

  ‘What are you going to do with the money?’ Amy asked, reaching into the cupboard for plates. ‘Only I could do with a bit for the electric, if you can spare it.’

  ‘It’s yours,’ Mark told her, coming up behind her and putting his arms around her waist. ‘I had to nick a tenner off you this morning, so I was going to buy you some flowers. But I figured I might as well just give you the dosh and let you get yourself something nice.’

  ‘I can’t take it all,’ Amy protested. ‘You earned it, you should have some as well.’

  ‘I want you to have it,’ Mark insisted, magnanimous in the knowledge that he had the same again and a little bit more still stashed in his pocket.

  Amy looked at the money thoughtfully. Marnie had lent her thirty quid to buy Bobby a new coat and Cassie some shoes off the market this morning, but Mark would hit the roof if he knew she’d been borrowing, so she’d hidden them in the cupboard under the stairs, intending to produce them after his next wages went in. But now he’d given her this money, she could bring them out tomorrow and pretend she’d just bought them.

  ‘Thank you.’ She turned and kissed him. Then, to cover her guilt, she said, ‘Why don’t you give Steve a ring and see if he fancies going for a pint?’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Mark gazed innocently back at her, even though it was exactly what he’d expected her to say. ‘I don’t mind staying in with you and the kids.’

  ‘No, you deserve a break,’ Amy insisted. ‘But get changed first,’ she added, sniffing at his jumper and wrinkling her nose. ‘You stink of sweat.’

  ‘Must be all that hard work I’ve been doing,’ said Mark, slapping her on the backside as she picked up the kids’ plates and carried them into the living room.

  Cassie and Bobby were sitting together on the couch watching TV. ‘What is it?’ Cassie asked, her eyes never leaving the screen as Amy held out her plate.

  ‘Pizza,’ Amy told her. ‘Daddy’s treat.’

  Both children twisted their heads at the mention of their father. When they saw him in the doorway, they jumped up and ran to him.

  ‘Steady on!’ Mark yelped, squatting down to catch them as they launched themselves into his arms. ‘I’m an old man, you’ll break my back.’

  ‘We haven’t seen you for ages and ages,’ said Cassie, hugging him tightly.

  ‘We misses you,’ added Bobby, wriggling to get closer.

  ‘Yeah, well, now you’ve seen me you’d best give me some air before you kill me and I have to get buried with grandad Taylor,’ Mark said, laughing as he pushed them gently off. ‘And then I’ll have worms in my eyes, and beetles in my
mouth.’

  ‘Mark!’ Amy scolded, fetching in his plate in time to hear this. ‘Don’t say things like that. You’ll give them nightmares.’

  Mark exchanged a mock-contrite look with the kids and sat down to eat his dinner.

  Half an hour later, he was washed, dressed, and ready for the off. ‘I’ll try not to be late,’ he told Amy, kissing her goodbye.

  ‘Don’t worry about me.’ She pushed him towards the door. ‘I’m going to have a bath and go to bed with my library book. You just have a good time. And say hello to Steve.’

  Watching through the window as he strolled down the road, Amy sighed. When they were like this, life was blissful, and she felt like the luckiest woman in the world.

  3

  Ginger Jenny had never been one for going out. In the past she’d avoided it because she’d been scared of bumping into the bitches who had made her life a misery at school. But in the last two years it had been because she’d been too busy nursing her mum to go any further than the local shops or the doctor’s surgery. Today was the first time in as long as she could remember that she had been anywhere without the clunky old wheelchair preceding her every step, and it felt as if she’d had a limb amputated.

  Everyone had been very kind, especially the vicar who had said some lovely things about her mum despite never having met her. But Jenny had kept her mouth firmly shut when he’d asked if anybody wanted to speak. There was nothing she had wanted to say – nothing that she cared to say in front of strangers, anyway. And that was what the other mourners were to her, truth be told. The small gaggle of elderly neighbours who had come along to pay their respects, for example.

  Jenny had lived in the same house her entire life, and those neighbours had seen her grow from baby to teenager to the woman she was now. Yet none of them had bothered to call round to see how she was coping while her mum had been sick. And she would never forget the time she’d pushed her mum out in the wheelchair and seen old Mrs Peters scuttle back into her house to avoid them. But they had all turned up in black today, looking suitably mournful, as if they actually cared.

  And the same went for the women from the cake factory who had worked alongside her mum for fifteen years before the cancer forced her to quit, only one of whom had ever bothered to call round to see how she was doing.

  Still, at least the neighbours had bought flowers – albeit one poxy bunch between the three of them. And the factory girls had presented Jenny with the fifty-seven quid they had collected in a whip-round, so they weren’t completely heartless.

  Which was more than could be said for the bastards at the community centre where her mum had worked as a part-time barmaid for eight years. They hadn’t even bothered to send a card, never mind show their faces.

  As for family, the only ones who had turned up from her mum’s side were two elderly aunts, Hetty and Lizzie, whom Jenny only vaguely remembered having visited as a child. None of her dad’s side had shown up, but that was no surprise considering Jenny hadn’t seen most of them since her dad had walked out when she was nine.

  All in all, it was a pretty poor turnout, and Jenny was glad that her mum hadn’t been there to witness how little she had meant to the world.

  It was the first funeral Jenny had ever attended, much less had to arrange. She had completely forgotten that she was supposed to cater for the guests, so she’d been relieved when one of the neighbours had suggested going for a drink in The Junction instead. She was sitting between her aunts now, on a bench seat in the corner, and she was cringing as the elderly sisters bullied the other mourners – and anybody who was standing nearby and was foolish enough to look their way – into joining in with their sing-song. When Lizzie launched into On Mother Kelly’s Doorstep for the fourth time, Jenny stifled a yawn. It had been a long day and she was dying to go home, but none of the others seemed in any rush to leave and she didn’t want to appear rude by being the first to go.

  Icy air swirled around her ankles every time the door opened. Shivering when someone else walked in now, she glanced towards the door and nearly choked on her drink when she saw Mark Taylor. It was five years since she’d last seen him, but he hadn’t changed a bit. His glossy black hair was a little shorter, but his face was every bit as handsome as she remembered. And as he and his friend Steve sauntered towards the bar he still exuded that air of self-confidence that she’d always found so attractive.

  ‘Earth to Jenny.’ Aunt Lizzie brought her out of her daze with a dig in the ribs. ‘What’s up, chuck? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Jenny lied. ‘I’m just a bit tired.’

  ‘Best get yourself off to the bar before you drop off, then.’ Lizzie scooped the pot money off the table and dumped it in her hand. ‘Rum for Mrs P and Kenny. Scotch for Mrs J and them other two. Gin for me and Hetty. A lager for Bob. And whatever you’re having.’

  ‘Can’t someone else go?’ Jenny asked quietly.

  ‘It’s for your mam,’ Lizzie reminded her, nudging her off the seat with her hip.

  Aunt Hetty had already stood up to let her out from behind the table, so Jenny had no choice but to do as she’d been told. Dismayed to see that the only space at the bar was a tiny gap at the side of Steve, she slipped into it and pulled her hair down over the side of her face, conscious of her drab clothes and washed-out complexion.

  When the lads had been served, Steve picked up his pint and turned to look for a seat. ‘Sorry, love,’ he apologised when he banged Jenny with his elbow. ‘Didn’t see you there.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ she muttered, keeping her face averted as her cheeks flared.

  ‘Coo-ee!’ one of the factory women called just then. ‘Stevie! Over here!’

  Steve looked around and waved when he saw his mother sitting with Jenny’s party. ‘All right, Mam. What you doing here?’

  ‘Funeral,’ she mouthed. ‘Her mam.’

  She pointed at the girl who was standing beside him, and Steve peered down at her. He was about to offer his condolences but hesitated when he recognised her. ‘It’s Jenny, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah.’ She nodded.

  ‘Sorry about your mum.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘That’s mine, in case you hadn’t guessed.’ Steve nodded back towards the table. ‘Didn’t know they knew each other. Small world, eh?’

  Jenny gave him a tight smile and willed him to stop talking to her before Mark stopped chatting up the barmaid and spotted her. She’d dreamed about running into Mark so many times, but in those dreams she always looked amazing and he was always completely bowled over. But that was hardly going to happen if he saw her like this.

  It was too late. Mark turned round.

  ‘You remember Jenny, don’t you?’ Steve said.

  Mark took a sip of his pint and gave her a bored look. Then, shrugging as if he’d never seen her before in his life, he said, ‘Hurry up, the machine’s free.’

  ‘Sorry about that,’ Steve apologised as his friend strode away. ‘I’d, er, best go.’ Unsure what else to say, he gave her an awkward smile and rushed after Mark.

  Jenny stepped into the space they’d left at the bar and ordered the drinks she’d been sent for.

  ‘Do you mind if we go after this?’ she whispered to her aunt when she carried them back to the table. ‘I’m getting a headache.’

  ‘You get off whenever you like, chuck.’ Lizzie patted her hand. ‘You’ve had a hard day.’

  ‘Aren’t you coming?’ Jenny asked, dismayed at the thought of going home on her own. ‘I thought you and Hetty might stay over?’

  ‘Oh, no, we’ve got to get home to the cats,’ Lizzie informed her. ‘But don’t you worry about us. The fifty-seven stops round the corner from ours, so we’ll just hop on that.’ With that, she turned back to the others and clapped her hands together. ‘Right, you lot, I bet you all know this one, so don’t be shy about joining in . . . She’s only a bird, in a gilded cage . . .’

  As the oldies sang
loudly along, Jenny downed her drink and slipped out quietly. It was freezing by now, so she pulled up the collar of her thin coat and walked quickly home.

  The house was dark, and there wasn’t a sound but for the soft tick-tock of her mum’s brass carriage clock on the mantelpiece. Jenny made her weary way upstairs and pushed her mum’s bedroom door slowly open. It was a week since she’d found her dead in her bed, and she hadn’t set foot in there since the undertakers had removed the body. She’d been so busy with the funeral arrangements since then that she hadn’t had time to stop and think what life was going to be like without her. But now, with everything done and dusted bar collecting the ashes, this was it.

  No more Mother demanding she do this, that or the other. No more stinking sheets to change, or backside to sponge. No more wheedling pleas for morphine – or being called a selfish bitch for refusing to double the dose.

  No more of any of it.

  Jenny was free. At long last, she was free – and it felt really, really good.

  4

  Three weeks later Amy was sitting on the couch, folding the still-warm clothes she’d brought back from the launderette into piles. Bobby had fallen asleep on the way back so she’d carried him up to his bed. Thinking that he’d got up when she heard a noise in the hall, she looked round. But it wasn’t Bobby who walked in, it was Mark. And he looked really glum.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, shoving the washing aside. ‘You’re not ill, are you?’

  ‘I’ve been sacked,’ he muttered, dropping his jacket onto the couch and making his way into the kitchen.

  Sure that she’d misheard, Amy jumped up and followed him. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘You heard.’ Mark took a can of beer out of the fridge and flopped onto a chair.

  ‘Are you serious?’ Amy asked, hoping against hope that he would laugh and tell her it was a joke. When he didn’t, a sliver of fear trickled down her spine. ‘Oh God, Mark, what have you done?’