‘I know what you mean. Every time Trev turns up the heating or rubs his hands together to ease his chilblains, I think about it.’
‘He doesn’t mind you going?’ Vivienne felt a bit guilty about dragging Trev’s wife halfway round the world.
‘No! He doesn’t mind much.’ This was true. ‘I think he’s looking forward to the rest.’
‘He’ll think he’s gone deaf!’ She laughed.
It was Ellen’s turn to ignore her. ‘It’s not long till we go, Viv, only a fortnight. What did Aaron say?’
‘Haven’t told him yet. I’m seeing him tonight.’
‘You chicken,’ Ellen clucked.
‘I am not chicken; I just wanted to tell him in person, have a proper chat. I didn’t want to tell him over the phone and I half hoped his invite might pitch up before I saw him.’
‘If you say so, love.’ Ellen smiled before making a squawking noise.
‘I do. And what about this? This is perfect for you!’ Vivienne held up a grey balaclava. ‘I think this could only improve your look.’ She giggled.
‘I’ll remember that, you know I will.’ Ellen narrowed her eyes at her friend, who was still laughing.
*
The days were getting shorter and shorter. Vivienne tried to picture the spring, when things always felt brighter. She turned down the peas, which had just started to boil, and went to answer the front door, wiping her hands on her sweatshirt.
‘God it’s cold!’ Aaron stamped his feet and pulled his fingers from the bulky leather gloves that encased them, as Lizzie sauntered in on impossibly high-heeled boots, letting the heat whoosh out of the door and up Mendip Road.
‘Hello, love. Hi, Lizzie!’ She added an injection of enthusiasm that she didn’t feel. ‘I’ve made fish pie.’
‘Told you,’ Lizzie muttered under her breath, just loud enough to be heard.
‘Oh, I can make you something else if you’d prefer? I’ve got a pizza in the freezer.’ She felt her face colour.
‘No, no, I just said that’s what you’d make and I was right.’ Lizzie gave a half smile.
Vivienne found it hard to guess at the point of her statement, but felt embarrassed nonetheless.
Aaron gave an awkward, embarrassed smile.
‘Bob!’ Lizzie beamed, before dropping down onto her knees and ruffling his fur and whispering close to his face. It always fascinated her how the warmest of welcomes was reserved for the dog; Lizzie had always been this way, as if he was the only member of the family, other than Aaron, she was comfortable with. Vivienne wished her daughter-in-law were able to lavish the same love and attention on Aaron’s human relatives.
She watched as Lizzie stood and Aaron helped his wife out of her slim-fitting red coat and hung it on the hallstand before handing her her shiny, oversized handbag. He reminded her of an over-familiar cloakroom attendant, hoping for a tip. His shoulders were stooped, his stance subservient and the look he gave his wife, as she briefly raked his arm, was one of pure gratitude. It tore at her heart. She felt a spike of guilt, as she again considered the fact that his dad’s bullish behaviour might have shaped her son in this way, wondering what more she could have done to give him the confidence he so clearly lacked.
Raymond Lane had been a big man, filling any room with his presence. A more aware character might have tried to counter this imposing physicality with humility, deference and a quieted tone, but not Ray. In fact, quite the opposite: he revelled in it.
Though not a criminal, exactly, he’d been a big shot in the area and there was always some kind of deal going on. She couldn’t count the number of times he’d stepped over the threshold of an evening and offered her something she didn’t need – seven pairs of identical sling-backed shoes in a size 4, three wheelbarrows, a Teasmade, a couple of frozen lambs. She always, laughingly, ignored the offers; better that than embroil herself in God knows what. Besides, Ray would do as he saw fit, with or without her approval.
Her mind flitted back to a morning not long before he left. It was a school day and six-year-old Aaron was sitting at the table swinging his skinny legs while Emma sang loudly from her bedroom along the hallway. Their flat was small but cosy.
‘I was thinking, might be an idea to get Aaron up the boys’ club, do a bit of boxing.’ Ray eyed his son with a look of exasperation. ‘My mate Den runs the place. He said he’d have him up there a couple of nights a week. Bit of sparring will do him good. What do you say, Aaron, boy?’ Ray shuffled on his feet, jabbing his bunched left fist and then his right, breathing sharply through his nose.
‘Don’t mind.’ Aaron shrugged his narrow shoulders and stared at the cereal in his bowl as he gripped the spoon. ‘Can I have some more milk, Mum?’ he whispered.
‘What’s boxing?’ Emma asked loudly as she came into the kitchen and took a seat next to her brother. She too reached for her bowl of cereal, shovelling it into her mouth as she spoke.
‘It’s something I hate,’ Vivienne said.
‘D’you hear that, kids? No one is to do boxing. Your mother has spoken. I’ll just phone up every boys’ club in the country, and all them blokes who’ve been kept out of trouble through knocking about in a gym, and tell them Viv has decided: no one is to do any boxing!’ He shook his head and made as if he was speaking on a phone, holding an imaginary handset to his ear. ‘Is that you, Rocky? Listen, mate, sorry to have to tell you this, but Viv has spoken!’
She ignored him. ‘I don’t care what anyone else does, Ray. I only care about my kids and I don’t like the idea of them boxing. It’s violent. And Aaron is still so little.’ She picked up the tea towel and started to dry the mugs.
He snorted. ‘I tell you what’s violent, is watching a boy get the you-know-what kicked out of him because he doesn’t know how to box, standing there like a plank instead of putting up the dukes. Now that’s violent.’
‘Please, Ray!’ She closed her eyes.
‘I’m only having a laugh. She’s on my case again, kids.’ This he addressed to the table in a tone that sounded both jovial and threatening at the same time. ‘I’m getting out of here. Time for Daddy to go to work.’ Once again he jabbed his fists at his son.
Aaron smiled weakly at him.
‘Might be late tonight.’ This Ray said to his cuffs as he folded back his leather jacket to reveal an inch of tanned wrist and the heavy faux-gold watch that graced his arm like a weighty Christmas bauble.
Vivienne nodded, knowing there was no ‘might’ about it. The smile that played around his mouth and the narrowing of his eyes told her all she needed to know. He and his shady associates were clearly up to no good, some grand plan that might just mean their ship had come in, but more likely would turn out to be a leaky dinghy that needed bailing. There was a time when this had caused her so much distress it made her gut churn and filled her lungs with a cloud of misery, making it hard for her to breathe. She worried about his operations on the wrong side of the law and what that might mean for her and the kids. What if he got caught? What if her mum and dad found out? It had, however, been a little while since she’d felt like that. She now responded with silent acquiescence and nodding indifference, and the only thing that was bizarre to her about the situation was that Ray didn’t seem to have noticed.
Vivienne waited for the sound of the front door closing before skipping to the table and placing her arm around Aaron’s slight shoulders. ‘Take no notice of your dad. He’s only joking.’ She beamed, just as she had practised, believing that if she smiled hard enough and laughed long enough she could erase the memory of the harsh tone and unpleasant atmosphere, smothering the flames of her husband’s latent aggression under a blanket of beaming kindness.
‘I don’t want to do any boxing.’ Aaron spoke to his cereal, occasionally eyeing his sister for a reaction and embarrassed to be so fussed over by his mum.
‘You don’t have to, love. You can do whatever you want.’ She ruffled his hair and filled the kettle ready for her second cup of tea of the
day.
Bob’s muffled whine drew her to the present. He wasn’t happy that the petting had stopped, the spoilt thing. She felt his nose nuzzle her palm as she took him by the collar and led him towards his basket, as all three made their way into the kitchen. Remembering that episode with Ray had rattled her, she wondered not for the first time if this was one of the reasons Aaron seemed a little reluctant to become a dad, maybe he was scared of turning out like his father? She would have to find a way to reassure him, he was already a far, far nicer man.
‘How’s work, love?’
‘Ah, you know, plodding on, Mum.’ Aaron glanced at his wife, who leant against the countertop and made a kind of ‘tsk’ sound, the noise suggesting that even Aaron’s job was a source of dissatisfaction.
‘You’ll be breaking off for Christmas quite soon, won’t you?’ Vivienne searched for the positive.
Aaron nodded.
‘Not that he’s getting a rest, mind – I’ve got plans for him. I’ve decided we should decorate the hall, stairs and landing. I want to copy something I saw on one of my programmes.’ For the first time since arriving, Lizzie looked quite happy. ‘I’m going to have one feature wall with a printed mural, a theme, like the sea or a forest, I haven’t decided yet, and then all the other walls will blend with it in a coordinating shade.’ She smiled, moving her palm in an arc as if picturing the finished article.
‘Sounds lovely.’ Viv tried not to concentrate on the look of dread on Aaron’s face, wishing her son could rest up for at least a day or two.
‘Actually, I wanted to talk to you both about Christmas,’ she began as she set the salt and pepper on the dining table.
‘We only want vouchers, no pressies as such,’ Lizzie announced.
‘Oh, but I’ve already started knitting.’ Vivienne pictured the half-finished, striped scarf that languished in her knitting bag.
‘Well, your knitting doesn’t really count,’ Lizzie informed her, unaware of how her words cut her mother-in-law to the quick. ‘We are asking for vouchers from everyone and we’re putting them towards a beautiful multi-coloured, glass-droplet chandelier we’ve seen for the dining room, aren’t we?’ Lizzie glanced at Aaron, who nodded a little less than enthusiastically.
‘Err, it wasn’t about presents, exactly, more about the whole event, actually,’ Vivienne tried again.
‘It’s my mum’s turn, remember? We were here last year.’ Lizzie stuck out her finger and made a circle in the air. Vivienne followed her finger, looking around the humble little room that was bursting with memories, and not a glass-droplet chandelier in sight. Lizzie’s tone rather suggested that the whole experience had been something to be endured.
‘Yes, I remember. What I wanted to say was that I’m going away beforehand but will be back in time for the twenty-fifth.’ She turned off the stove and walked the saucepan of peas over to the sink, where she tipped them into the sieve, pulling her head back to avoid the steam.
‘Where are you going, Mum?’
She turned and smiled at her son. ‘Hong Kong and then New Zealand. Emma’s getting married.’
‘What? Never!’ He looked a little taken aback. ‘No way! Well, that’s a turn-up for the books. Who’s she getting married to?’
‘His name is Michael McKinley and I don’t know that much about him, to tell you the truth, but he’s a Kiwi and she sounds absolutely over the moon, it’s lovely. I spoke to her last night.’ She beamed at her son, feeling joy in sharing this happy news.
‘Ahh, that’s great.’ Aaron wrinkled his nose, pleased for his little sis.
‘She has of course invited both of you, but I know it’s a long way.’ She let this hang, replaying Emma’s comments about Lizzie in her head.
‘It is a long way, Mum, and a bit pricey, but I would love to go, love to see her get married,’ Aaron added. No one mentioned the extravagant decorating plans.
‘I can’t believe she’s getting hitched.’ Lizzie sat back in the chair. ‘Wonder what her wedding will be like. I hope it’s none of her hippy shit.’ No doubt she was picturing her own extravagant nuptials, for which her parents had taken out a large loan. ‘I always wondered who’d end up with Emma!’ She let out a short giggle.
This angered Vivienne. She wanted to point out that whoever had managed to capture her lovely free spirit of a daughter was a lucky man indeed, but she didn’t want to embarrass Aaron by arguing, so she swallowed and simply said, ‘Well, you don’t have to wonder any longer, Lizzie. She met a doctor. A tall, handsome Kiwi doctor and it’s him that is going to end up with Emma.’
She noted the slight fall of Lizzie’s lower jaw and knew Ellen would appreciate this in the retelling.
‘A doctor?’
‘That’s right.’ She nodded, avoiding eye contact, as if this snippet of news was incidental.
‘Wow! How did they meet?’ Aaron leant forward eagerly.
‘I don’t know, I’ll ask her. But I think it was on a night out when she was probably up to her hippy shit.’ She avoided the faces of her guests and set the plates on the counter top.
‘That’s… that’s great news, Mum. I hope she’s happy. She really deserves it,’ Aaron stuttered, clearly not wanting the tension to escalate.
‘Right then, who’s for fish pie?’ Vivienne asked as she opened the oven door.
The phone on the wall rang.
‘Oh Lord! Hang on a minute.’ She placed the supper dish on the sideboard, its mashed-potato topping steaming away, and reached for the phone.
‘What did Lady-Never-Dump make of your news?’ Ellen boomed.
Vivienne felt her face go crimson as she prayed that her friend’s words hadn’t been as loudly delivered as she suspected.
‘Not today, thank you!’ She quickly hung up and reached for the serving spoon. ‘Fish pie, Lizzie?’ she asked.
‘Why not.’ Lizzie pushed her plate forward.
It was the middle of the evening when Vivienne waved them off. As she stood at the sink, washing up the plates and using the scourer on the remnants of mashed potato that were crusted round the sides of the casserole dish, she thought back to the many Christmases she’d spent in the house. She pictured her mum standing on that very spot, washing pots and swaying slightly after her mid-afternoon sherry with a frond of tinsel draped around her neck that made the most inadequate feather boa.
In the weeks leading up the festive holiday, her dad would work extra shifts at the Wills factory, and her mum would always be in receipt of a lovely gift from him. It was often a fancy bottle of scent that she would use sparingly, making it last all year or, as she remembered one year, a beautiful, pair of navy leather, hand-stitched Dent gloves.
Their little square house, built in the 1940s, sat within a mile of the Wills Tobacco factory. It was the beating heart of their community – a smoke-belching monster on which they all depended. That was what people in their postcode did: they grew up and went to work at Wills and spent the next four decades waving to their mums, dads, aunties and uncles across the canteen and courting and marrying people they met on the production line. Her mum and dad were no different.
But not Vivienne: she had been swayed by the charms of Ray Lane, who promised her something more. She often wondered what might have happened if she had yawned a bit earlier, grabbed her bag and left the Rising Sun seconds before she did. Funny to think that for the want of a yawn she might have been someone quite different, living a different kind of life. Married to a steady man maybe, who worked opposite her in the factory, a man who wouldn’t have left her behind. She stopped scrubbing and sighed, suddenly feeling quite tired.
*
The next morning, Vivienne smiled and lifted her chin as the pretty young salon assistant tied the plastic poncho around her neck and finished it with an extravagant bow that she patted down neatly. The girl stood behind her and smiled into the mirror. ‘Would you like a magazine?’
‘No, she wouldn’t. If she gets her head in a magazine I’ll have no one to chat
to.’ Ellen twisted her own poncho and craned her neck to loosen the tie.
‘Coffee? Tea?’ The young girl addressed them both, clearly unsure of the etiquette where these two were concerned and wary of the rather shouty, larger lady who answered on her friend’s behalf.
‘Two coffees, love, white without.’
‘Do you know, Elle, it’s a wonder my voice box doesn’t give up altogether, what with you on hand to do all my talking for me.’
Ellen ignored the comment, as she routinely did with anything she didn’t particularly want to hear, and twisted the chair to face her. ‘So, what did she say when you told her he was a doctor?’ She picked up the conversation they had started as they made their way along North Street to their regular hair appointment.
‘Not much really, but her mouth literally fell open! I could tell she was shocked and I’m sure there was plenty she wanted to say.’
‘I bet.’
‘And you know, it must have really meant stuff if even she deemed it too bad to be aired. Emma had said on the phone how Lizzie’s attitude towards her upset her and I felt that last night, Emma gained a bit of ground. It’s only right she gets the recognition she deserves. She’s brilliant.’
‘She is.’
Ellen agreed, while humphing her disapproval at Lizzie’s antics.
‘Aaron was pleased for his sister, though. Said as much, and I could tell by his manner.’
‘He’s a good boy.’ Ellen smiled.
The two women still on occasion had difficulty seeing their children as the adults they had become. Vivienne would often find herself picturing her rosy-cheeked schoolboy when she thought of Aaron, and sometimes, when the stocky thirty-something man himself stepped into her home, she did a double-take, as if he were a stranger. This, and the fact that in a certain light he looked just like Ray.
‘Morning, ladies!’ Fatima stepped forward with her shiny mahogany mane draped over one shoulder, making Vivienne feel quite self-conscious about her own layered, greying hair that had thinned around the temples; she was convinced that, when she brushed it back, she could see straight through to her scalp.
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