by Anne Cassidy
Margaret picked Emmie out of the carrier.
“Would you hold her for me while I get her lunch stuff?”
Alice sat back as Margaret placed the tiny baby on her lap. She seemed to weigh almost nothing and was struggling, moving her legs and arms, her eyes half shut and her mouth turning towards Alice’s breast. Rosie was sitting beside her whispering endearments. The sound of the telephone stopped her and she looked round.
“Rosie, it’s Jill,” Margaret shouted.
“I’ll be back,” Rosie said.
Margaret appeared with a bottle of feed. She took Emmie from Alice’s lap and sat on the other chair with her. The baby sucked hungrily at the teat and Alice watched as her hands seemed to pause in mid-air, her tiny fingers open, her body still and heavy with contentment.
While the baby was feeding Alice tried to listen to what Rosie was saying from out in the hallway. Pushing her thumbnail against her teeth she wondered what Jill had planned for her. The tone of Rosie’s voice was even, there were no exclamations or protestations. That was a good sign. There were long silences though, as if Jill had lots to say, masses of information to get across. Occasionally Rosie’s voice sounded businesslike. Absolutely! As soon as I get off the phone! Right away! It made Alice think of Rosie in court with one of her social-work cases. Wearing her special suit and sounding efficient and in charge. It made Alice smile. How different Rosie was at home. How simple it was to get round her; how easy it was for Kathy to boss her.
The call ended and Rosie came back into the living room. Alice looked closely at her face trying to read what was there. Rosie’s mouth was turned up in a half-smile, her eyebrows raised slightly, expectantly. Alice tried to catch her eye but she couldn’t. It gave her a bad feeling.
Margaret got up, cradling the baby.
“This always happens! She falls asleep before she’s finished the bottle. I’ll take her upstairs for a nap. Give you two a bit of space.”
The room felt empty when Margaret and the baby had gone. She was there and Rosie was there but there was something big missing. The baby’s things looked awkward, at angles; a rattle had rolled under the seat opposite and looked forlorn, as if it would never be found.
“Alice.”
Rosie’s voice broke into her thoughts.
“What did she say?” Alice said, knowing full well that it was going to be bad.
“Nobody got any pictures of you this morning. Jill is really pleased about that. It makes her job much easier.”
Alice had become Jill’s job. Maybe she always had been. Not for Rosie, though. She and Rosie had something more, something Jill with her painted nails and her smart glasses couldn’t have.
“Jill is organizing a new placement. It will mean a change of location. A new name. Everything else is just the same, though. You’ll still go to uni. In time, if there are no leaks, the newspapers will forget you and you can live a normal life.”
“I won’t be going to Sussex?” she said, a fleeting picture of Frankie passing through her head.
“No. Some other uni. They all do History degrees.”
“We’ll have to move,” Alice said, under her breath, her hand clutching on to Rosie’s arm.
Rosie was very still, her eyes on the carpet.
“You have to do this on your own, Alice,” she said.
There was a moment’s silence. Alice’s chest seemed to swell up like a balloon. She pushed her bottom into the seat in case she rose up and floated away.
“But you’ll be coming with me?”
Rosie shook her head, her lips closed together in a tight line.
“Why not?”
Rosie didn’t answer.
“But you could!” Alice gushed. “You’re a social worker, you could work anywhere. We could both change our names. You could buy a new house. You’re always saying that the flat is too small. We could look for one together. It would be fun. . .”
Rosie was shaking her head.
“Why not?” Alice asked, the words floating up from somewhere deep down in her chest.
“Alice, I’d do anything to help you. You’re such a sweet lovely girl and you’ve had such an awful time, but. . .”
“Why?”
“I can’t leave my home, my job, my friends. I can’t leave my mum!”
Her mum. Rosie loved her mum. Alice thought of Kathy with her smart clothes and her stiff lacquered hair. She was so different to what Alice had expected. She’d thought Rosie’s mum would be an older version of her: plump, grey hair, good cook, always searching round charity shops for clothes. But Kathy had burst through the flat door with her red hair and matching coordinates. She was always trying to persuade Rosie to go to Majorca when really Rosie wanted to go round the world. Why should Alice have thought they would be similar? Look at her own mum. She was nothing like her.
“We could go on a long holiday.” Alice’s words hiccuped out, her hands trembling.
Rosie shook her head. She seemed unable to speak.
“I’d go anywhere for you, Rosie. Why won’t you come with me?”
“I can’t. I have my life here,” Rosie whispered, brushing down the dark hard material of her suit skirt.
Alice sat perfectly still, on the settee, among the baby clothes and jars of cream. She was looking at her reflection in the television screen. A small girl tucked into the side of a settee. At the other end a big woman with a life of her own. From above she could hear Margaret’s footsteps, the boards creaking with fatigue.
“I’ve checked with Jill. We can still see each other. I can come and visit you, in your new uni. We can still be friends,” Rosie said.
Alice didn’t look around.
“Course we can,” she said, even though she knew it wasn’t true.
part four: Kate Rickman
Kate carried the last cardboard box of stuff into her room. She was puffed from coming up two flights of stairs. She was out of shape, she knew that. She placed the box on the single bed in the corner and looked out through the window at the grounds of the campus. It was vast, green grass and trees stretching ahead, broken up only by student accommodation blocks. Three four-storey brick buildings surrounded by parents’ cars, their sons or daughters ferrying their stuff up to their rooms. Over to the left a road snaked past, leading to the teaching blocks a kilometre or so away. Kate remembered reading about the bus that ran up and down this road, taking the first-year students to their classes and back again.
In her second year she would move away from here, find a shared flat or house, possibly somewhere in Exeter itself.
Behind her she heard Rob and Sally talking. Rob was carrying her stereo system and Sally was carrying the crystal lamp that was too fragile to be packed in any of the boxes.
Rob squatted down and put the stereo on the floor. When he stood up he checked his sports watch. No doubt he had timed himself coming up the stairs, to see how fast he could do it. She looked at his tracksuit on top of bright white trainers. He seemed to have a different one for every day of the week.
“I’ll just put this here,” Sally said, placing the lamp on to the desk.
Even though it was warm outside Sally still had her coat on, done up to the neck. She’d worn it in the car for the whole trip from Bristol to Exeter. I feel the cold, she said at least ten times a day. It was a change for Kate. She was usually the one who didn’t like the cold.
Sally began to unwind the bubble wrap that had been around the lamp ever since it had been taken from Croydon a few weeks before.
“Do you mind leaving that, Sally?” Kate said. “I’ll do it later when I’ve sorted all my stuff out.”
“Course,” Sally said, moving back away from the lamp.
Sally was always careful not to intrude, not to interfere.
“These places have improved since we were here,” Rob said, giving Sally a nudge.
“They must have knocked those old blocks down. It was more like a blooming dormitory in those days!”
Sally h
ooked her hair behind her ears. She was always saying stuff like that; blooming and blimey. As if she didn’t know any stronger words. Rob was the same. In the three weeks Kate had been living at their bungalow she’d not heard either of them utter a single swearword. She’d heard a lot of other stuff, though. All day long they’d talked to her; about the news, the television, her course, the magazines she was reading. There didn’t seem to be a minute in the day that they would allow to tick by without conversation. It wasn’t their fault. They were nice people. They’d probably been told to keep her busy. Look after Kate, Jill Newton had probably said. She’s been depressed lately and needs perking up!
Kate caught her reflection in the mirror over the wash basin. She pushed her fingers through her short blonde hair. These days she was always touching and fiddling with it. Since she’d had it bleached it felt different, coarser somehow, as if it wasn’t really her hair at all. And the glasses. They made a real difference. Plain black frames and lightly tinted glass. She’d looked like a serious student from the moment she put them on.
“Would you like to take a drive around the campus?” Rob said, his eyes crinkling up.
“No thanks.”
Rob nodded his head lightly as if he was searching for something to say. Sally gave a light cough. There was a moment of awkwardness.
“Thing is,” Kate said, “I’d probably be better spending a bit of time on my own. You know what it’s like, unpacking, finding places for everything.”
They both nodded their heads and there was a feeling of relief in the air. Rob started to jiggle his legs as if he was limbering up for a long run. Sally leaned across to give Kate a quick peck. Kate took Rob’s hand and gave it a hearty shake.
“Thanks for everything. You’ve been real lifesavers.”
“You’ve got our number. If you feel you need a place to escape to. . .” Sally said.
“Absolutely. Any weekend that you’d like a break you’d be welcome.”
“I know,” Kate said. “I won’t forget how kind you’ve been.”
She meant it. Walking downstairs with them and watching Rob open the door for Sally to get into the car she felt a huge debt of gratitude that she’d never be able to repay. The car juddered a bit as Sally waved out the window. Then it drove off and disappeared.
Sally and Rob’s bungalow had been her refuge. Their lives, their routines, their everyday concerns; these had been places where she could hide while things in her world were out of control. The newspapers had bounced stories off one another: Jennifer Jones Flees From Her Mother; JJ Slips Out of the Media Spotlight; Jennifer Jones Goes Into Hiding Again! There were talk shows where the issues were pored over. Should JJ be left alone? Can people really change? She’d switched on daytime telly once to see her mother talking about the problems faced by the relatives of violent children. I had a lot to put up with, Carol Jones said.
Kate had rocked back and forth on the chair in the corner of Rob and Sally’s living room and watched it all. She felt like a survivor from a road crash, sitting on the side of the motorway looking at the wreckage below. They’d known exactly who she was but they never mentioned it. Not a word. They called her Kate without hesitation and only talked about the future.
It was to be Exeter University, not Sussex. She would stay on campus until the Christmas break and by then Jill would have some news for her of another placement. It had been organized discreetly and only Jill and the Director of Studies at the uni knew the truth. He was an old friend of Jill’s. How thankful Kate was. Jill seemed to know everyone.
Back in her room she began to unpack. It didn’t take long. Her clothes and books fitted the spaces and the wires from her electrical stuff reached the necessary plugs. She got her bedding out. It was all new stuff, sheets, pillows, a duvet, all bought from a shop in the last week. Lastly she unwrapped the lamp and saw, with dismay, that it definitely didn’t fit in her tiny student room. No matter. She left it there, on the edge of her desk, its crystals tinkling for a while and then subsiding into silence.
Almost as soon as she’d finished there was a knock. Before she could get to the door it opened.
“Hi, I’m Lindsay, next door but one. You’re doing History, aren’t you?”
A girl of her own age walked casually into her room. She was tall with long dark hair. Her fringe was hanging in spikes and one of them kept catching her eyelid when she blinked. She was drinking from a big plastic bottle of water.
“This is a dump, right? My friend is at Durham? She got two As and two Bs? You should see their halls. She says they’ve got en suite and televisions in every room. Standard. Me? I only got a B and three Cs but then one of my teachers had a nervous breakdown? How about you? What were your grades?”
Kate smiled. Here was something she could be proud of.
“Three Bs and a C.”
“Not bad,” Lindsay said, plonking down on Kate’s bed. “Hey, new stuff,” she said, fingering the duvet cover, stiff with tell-tale lines where it had been in the packet. “Your parents shelled out for it?”
Kate nodded. Why not. She didn’t have to explain a thing.
“Along this corridor? There’s mostly humanities students: English, Psychology. . .”
Lindsay chatted on, looking round Kate’s room all the while. Her eye finally settled on the desk.
“Hey? A laptop? Brilliant!”
Putting the bottle of water carelessly on the edge of the bedside table she got up and went across to the desk, flipping open the computer without a moment’s thought. Kate decided, in that instant, that she didn’t much like her.
“Great. My mum was going to get me one of these? But her bloke said they were too expensive. Still, maybe I can borrow yours.”
Kate smiled benignly. No one was going to borrow her laptop. Rosie had bought it for her.
“Some of us are going to the uni bar later? Come along, if you like.”
“Yes, I might,” Kate said.
After Lindsay left she locked the door. She turned to the laptop and gently closed the lid. She moved it to one side, lining it up with the edge of the desk. There were some papers underneath. Her letters. She hesitated for a moment and then took her glasses off and set them on top, like a paperweight.
It was good to be completely alone. Her time at the bungalow had left her craving for privacy. Sitting down on the bed and leaning back against the stiff pillowcase she noticed her new mobile on the bedside table. The latest handset, a fresh number; most other teenagers would have been delighted. She picked it up, feeling its weight in her hand, its exterior smooth, slippery almost. Inside, it held the numbers she needed for her new life: Rob and Sally and Jill Newton. The old numbers belonged to the other mobile, the one she had to give back to Jill on the day she drove her to Devon.
“This has all sorts of new features,” Jill had said. “You can use it for emails and calls and it’s got a huge memory so you can save stuff. It’s even got games on it.”
She’d sat in the passenger seat of the car and played about with it. It only took moments to find all its functions, which button to press, how to scroll, how to text. Jill talked on while she focused on the tiny metal object that fitted beautifully into her palm, its silver casing giving off a luxurious gleam.
It was her link to the outside world, but it lay silent in her bag. She hadn’t bothered to turn it on. No one would ring. She was a new person, with no history. How could she be part of anyone’s list of phone numbers? She only took it out when she was bored and wanted to play games. One day she turned it on and saw the message icon on the screen. Surprised, she dialled her voicemail and heard Rosie’s voice. Rosie’s voice. Both Rob and Sally had caught her excitement as she paced up and down the living room listening to the message over and over.
That had been a week ago.
Kate pressed a couple of buttons and then put the mobile to her ear. She had saved Rosie’s message and the sound of her voice still made her quiver.
This is a message for Ka
te Rickman. . .
Rosie sounded calm. Trust her to use her new name so easily, so naturally. She, herself, wasn’t used to it yet and had failed to respond to several people who had spoken to her. That was why Sally and Rob had made a point of repeating it over and over again. Kate this and Kate that. It sounded funny to her, false, like a character in a film. Alice had been strange at first but then, after a few months, she had become Alice. She had left Jennifer behind in the past, a figure in a photograph, frozen in time, never to grow old. Now she had to leave Alice behind as well.
It’s Rosie here. Jill gave me your number and I just thought I’d call and wish you luck when you start uni next week. . . Everything’s OK here, all the fuss seems to have died down, you’ll be pleased to hear. . .
There was a few moments’ quiet and Kate pictured Rosie, fiddling with her earring, not knowing quite what to say.
Hope you’re getting on all right with the laptop. Everyone swears by them but, you know me, I’d rather use pen and paper. . .
Kate gripped the phone. Even though she’d heard the message a dozen times she still felt that Rosie was there, on the other end of the line, waiting to hear her voice.
I got your letter and I’ll keep it among my important papers. You know. . . Kate. . . I won’t forget you. You brightened up my life for a long time. . . Don’t lose that. When your life starts to calm down you’ll have everything you deserve.
There were a couple of coughs and the sound of snuffles. Kate swallowed back, her teeth clenched together. What did Kate deserve? A life of some sort, she supposed. Like Alice Tully had? A home; a job; friends; a boyfriend. Those things had seemed real and solid. Instead they had been as fragile as tissue paper. One puff of air and they had floated away. Then she had nothing.
Thing is . . . you mustn’t contact me in case. . . You know . . . in case anyone is trying to find you. But I’ll write to you, when you’re settled in uni. And who knows, one day I’ll maybe pay you a visit.
The line went dead. No doubt Rosie had pressed the end button before she meant to. How typical of her. She let the mobile drop on to the bed beside her and closed her eyes for a few moments. There were sounds from all over the building. Plodding footsteps on the stairs, irritated voices moving along the corridors, the sound of furniture shifting and doors opening and closing. A shriek of recognition from a girl and the low rumble of male voices from outside the window. A horn tooting in the distance and closer, from underneath, the thudding sound of someone’s stereo.