‘Idle hands breed idle minds’ she often says to me, as we mop the kitchen floor or wipe down tables for the umpteenth time in a day. She is short and stocky, with veiny forearms that tell the tale of many years of sheer hard graft. She worked with her father at Billingsgate Fish Market in London before she married Ted and they opened the café. She would tell me stories about how no one cared that she was a girl; she would be expected to lug the same boxes of fish and ice around that the men were. ‘My dad wouldn’t hear any excuses about my being weaker ’cos I was a girl. He’d tell me that it was me mother’s fault for not giving him any sons to help out with the business.’ I thought that sounded awful but Rose wouldn’t have any of it.
‘Taught me a valuable lesson, Abby: never let anyone tell you that you can’t do something just ’cos you’re a woman. We’re strong, we can do whatever we set our minds to – you’d do well to remember that.’
As she sits across from me at the table now, I can see she’s been crying too. She folds her arms across her formidable bosom and looks me straight in the eye. Jack is next to me, still holding my hand, and she gives him a strange look before leaning across the table. She speaks in a very low, no nonsense kind of way.
‘You need to be strong for your mum now, sweetheart, do you hear me? Your dad, well, let’s just say he’s made a bit of a mess of things.’ As she speaks she’s fiddling with the ring on her left hand, turning it round and round.
‘What mess? What’s he done? Has he run off with another woman? I heard some girls at school saying he’d gone to Spain to be with his girlfriend or something. Is that it?’
Rose shakes her head. ‘The details aren’t important. Your mum thinks it’s best that you all just move on with your lives. You do as she says now, Abby. Don’t you go making more trouble for her.’
I can’t believe what I’m hearing! How can wanting to know where my dad is be classed as making trouble?
‘She just wants to know what’s going on. That’s not making trouble – he’s her dad. He can’t just disappear, and no one tell her anything – that’s not fucking fair!’ exclaims Jack.
‘Life isn’t bloody fair and you mind your fucking language, young man – you’re not too big for a clip round the ear, you know!’ Jack sits back in his chair, stunned. Neither of us have ever heard Rose swear like that before. She takes a deep breath and straightens the front of her tabard; I’m bracing myself for another onslaught but instead she smiles at me kindly.
‘I know none of this makes any sense to you now but one day maybe it will. Your dad doesn’t want you and your family ruined by his stupidity. That’s all I can tell you, Abby. He went because he didn’t feel like he had any choice.’
I’m hit by the realisation that my dad’s gone and he’s not coming back and I don’t think I’m ever going to know why.
‘You’re not alone in this, Abby. Ted and me are always going to be here for you, no matter what happens. You’re surrounded by people that love you, my dear, remember that. You’re going to hear lots of stories and idle gossip in the next few weeks. Just ignore it, all right? Focus on looking after Mum and your brother and you’ll be fine.’ She reaches across the table and gives my arm a reassuring squeeze before walking away.
‘And I’m here too, Abby. I’ll look after you. I promise,’ says Jack.
*
‘But you didn’t look after me, did you, Jack?’
The memory of Jack’s words brought me back to the here and now, standing in the middle of my café with tears streaming down my face. What must I look like to anyone walking by? The soppy middle-aged woman, clutching a tea towel and staring into space.
Don’t be a fool, Abby. Why dwell on the past? You can’t change it and you can’t make it better. At some point, you have to decide to not let it rule your future. That was what I’d been doing for most of my life so what had changed? Why couldn’t I hold back this sudden tide of memories that was threatening to drown me? It was Jack’s fault – seeing him after all this time was dredging up the kind of crap I’d fought so long to bury. I needed to keep him out of my life; it was that simple. My sanity depended on it. I wiped my face with my hands and headed to the back to get my coat; the sooner I got to Mum’s, the sooner I could get away.
*
It was only a five-minute walk to her house – it sat at the top end of the same road that the café was in – but it might as well have been a million miles considering how often I managed to drag myself there.
The walk was just long enough to give me time to develop the sweaty palms and upset stomach that always seemed to accompany my visits. I didn’t think I was overstating it when I said that I hated that house. I never used to; before Dad went it was just a house. It was never exactly overflowing with warmth and love – Mum and Dad used to argue too often and too loudly for that ever to be the case – but I liked locking myself away in my room and listening to music or reading book after book. Sometimes Matt would hide away with me and we’d talk about what we were going to do with our lives when we grew up and left home. Matt was going to be a pilot and I was going to be a famous actress. I would imagine myself up on stage, listening to the thunderous applause as I stepped up to collect my most recent award. What a joke that turned out to be.
I pushed open the front gate and made my way up the cracked concrete path to the door; I’d never noticed before how run-down and old the house was looking. The frames in the front bay window were starting to rot a bit and the painted red brickwork around the small porch was peeling and worn. I reached up to knock but the door was yanked open before I got the chance.
‘I thought I heard someone creeping around out here.’
‘It’s just me, Mum. No one’s creeping around.’
My mother looked past me, as if expecting to see someone else. When she realised that I was on my own she stepped back to open the door wider and I walked inside.
‘I thought maybe Matt or Lucy would be with you,’ she asked, hopefully.
‘Nope, sorry, just me. Lucy’s out with friends and I don’t know what Matt’s doing. I haven’t spoken to him today.’
‘Oh well, never mind. I’m sure he’ll pop in later if he can. He usually does. Tea?’ She didn’t bother to wait for a reply, she just bustled off down the hallway to the kitchen at the back of the house.
I took off my jacket and dropped it onto the stairs; from the kitchen I heard her call out, ‘Put your coat in the under-stairs cupboard.’ The woman was obsessed with tidiness. I contemplated pretending I hadn’t heard her and just leaving my jacket where it was – did I dare? No, you don’t, said the voice in my head. I picked up the jacket and pulled open the door to the under-stairs cupboard. It was so neat; just like everywhere else in the house, everything had its perfect place. Mum’s shoes sat in a tidy row on the little shelf she’d made Matt put up for her and her coat hung on one of the hooks above. There was a spare hook for my jacket but in a childish act of rebellion I ignored it, chucking my jacket over the upright vacuum cleaner in the corner instead. How very mature, Abby. I couldn’t help it; there was something about being in that house that always made me want to act like a naughty teenager rather than a mature adult.
Closing the door on the evidence of my childishness, I made my way down the hall and into the kitchen. I stood in the doorway for a minute, watching my mum potter about, fetching the teapot from the cupboard, laying out a mug for me and a cup and saucer for herself, and I wondered how many times I’d watched her do the exact same thing over the years. The kitchen was the same one that had been there since before I was born: high-gloss purple cupboards that she always seemed to be wiping fingerprints off and dark orange ceramic floor tiles. The unforgiving fluorescent strip light that ran down the centre of the ceiling filled the room with an unnatural yellow light that made everyone look jaundiced and it gave off a low-level buzzing noise that used to drive me bonkers.
‘Well, are you going to just stand there or are you going to sit down? You look like
you’re not stopping.’
If only, I thought. ‘No, I’m stopping. Sorry,’ I mumbled as I parked myself in the nearest chair. She poured out the tea and brought it over to the table. We each took a sip and then sat in silence. I started picking at the skin around my fingernails; one particularly stubborn bit refused to budge so I raised my hand to my mouth, ready to pull it off with my teeth.
‘Don’t bite your nails, Abigail,’ my mother snapped. ‘It’s a disgusting habit. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you.’
I dropped my hand into my lap.
‘That’s better,’ she said, taking another sip of tea. ‘Flo tells me you’ve been busy working for that friend of yours. Lyn, isn’t it?’
‘It’s Liz,’ I corrected her, ‘and yes, I was helping her cater a party. I made the desserts for her.’
‘Couldn’t she get a proper caterer for that?’ Mum asked, eyeing me over the rim of her cup.
‘She had a proper caterer but they let her down so she asked me to step in and help out.’
Mum nodded – her knowing look said that obviously Liz was desperate and now it all made more sense to her.
‘Well, I’m sure you did your best, love. That’s all that matters.’
I wanted to shout at her that actually my best was fucking brilliant and that everyone raved about my food, but I didn’t; past experience had taught me that it wouldn’t have made the slightest bit of difference, so I just went back to drinking my tea and changed the subject.
‘I met someone at the party, actually. Someone I used to know, so did you – you used to be friends with his parents.’
‘Oh, really? Who’s that, then?’ Mum got up and took her cup to the sink; her back was to me as she turned on the hot tap and started to fill the sink.
‘Jack Chance. His family used to live a few doors down. Do you remember? Jack’s dad worked at the bank on High Street.’
Mum turned off the tap and just stood looking out of the window above the sink. After a few seconds, she turned and started wiping her wet hands on a tea towel.
‘No, the name doesn’t ring any bells. Are you sure?’ She folded the tea towel neatly and laid it on the worktop next to the sink.
‘They lived four doors away, Mum. You and dad used to go out with them now and then. Oh, bloody hell, what were their names again?’ I said, racking my brains to remember. I could see them quite clearly in my mind’s eye; Jack’s mum was always very glamorous for a housewife and his dad was such a sweet man. Suddenly it hit me. ‘Brian and Sally!’ I exclaimed. ‘That’s it! Brian and Sally Chance. Thank God for that – it would have really started to annoy me if I couldn’t remember,’ I said, bringing my mug over to the sink. Mum took it from me and I noticed her hands were shaking a little.
‘Do you remember them, then?’
‘No, Abigail, I don’t!’ she shouted. ‘I’ve just told you I don’t – why are you still going on about it?’ She looked pale.
‘Are you okay, Mum? Do you want to sit down?’
‘No, I’m fine. Don’t fuss.’ She sloshed hot, soapy water into the mug and when she’d finished she started with the obsessive hand-drying again. Her hands looked sore and I took the tea towel from her.
‘Mum, stop it. Look at your hands – you’ve made them all red.’
She looked down at them. ‘Oh, yes, look at that. I should get my hand cream.’
I watched her scurry out of the room and all but run up the stairs, no mean feat for a woman of her age. I followed her out into the hallway and called up after her.
‘Is everything all right? Do you want another cuppa? Shall I put the kettle on?’
‘No.’
I stood at the foot of the stairs, unsure of what to do. Should I follow her and check she was all right? I took a step up and then stopped; I heard her slamming drawers up in her room. I’d just wait for her to come down. Coward, said a voice in my head. I knew I was, but I couldn’t deal with her when she was upset. She became too unpredictable and I didn’t like it. It made me feel off balance. That was how she’d always made me feel. After she’d recovered from her breakdown she’d put on a good show for everyone. She’d managed to convince them all that after two years of shutting herself away and being barely able to function she was now better. My grandparents had been happy to believe her since that had meant they were free to move out and get away from us, and the few friends she’d had left had gone along with the pretence, because it was easier for them to think that they no longer had to worry about her doing something stupid. But I knew better; I lived with her. I heard her crying at night or, when she couldn’t cry any more, obsessively cleaning and tidying the house. From the moment she ‘recovered’, until the day I finally moved out, I walked around our house in a permanent state of high alert, just waiting for her to fall apart again. And even after all this time, I knew I was still just waiting.
I went back into the kitchen and sat at the table, listening to her moving around upstairs. I heard her talking to someone. I couldn’t make out what she was saying but I could hear the muffled sounds of crying interspersed with words. After about ten minutes she came back into the kitchen, a smile plastered firmly in place. She looked surprised to see me still sitting there.
‘I thought you’d gone,’ she said.
‘No, what made you think that?’
She just shrugged, as if it didn’t matter to her either way, and I realised that this little exchange perfectly epitomised our relationship. She ran from the room upset, I didn’t feel any desire to follow her or offer comfort, and she really couldn’t give a shit either way.
‘Matt’s coming round,’ she said, filling up the kettle with water.
‘Matt? What for?’ I knew that was who she’d been talking to upstairs. She called and he came running, just like always.
‘He enjoys coming to see me, Abigail. He doesn’t need a reason.’
I loved my brother dearly and we were very close. He helped me raise Lucy and we would do anything for each other, but his blind devotion to my mother and her moods, and his willingness to overlook everything she put us through, really pissed me off.
‘I’ll leave you to it, then,’ I said. I went to the cupboard and retrieved my jacket.
‘You don’t have to go, Abigail. Why don’t you stay and we can all spend some time together? We haven’t done that for ages. It would be nice to have both my children under the same roof for once.’ Mum looked at me hopefully but I shook my head.
‘I can’t, Mum, got loads to do at the café. Tell Matt I’ll catch up with him another time.’ Shrugging on my jacket, I leaned in and gave her a quick peck on the cheek and then opened the front door.
‘Abigail, I…’
I turned to face her and her eyes were filled with tears.
‘What? Mum, what’s wrong?’ I reached out to touch her arm but she moved away. I saw a look of something flash across her face but she quickly tucked it away behind a fake smile.
‘Nothing. It’s fine. I’ll see you soon. Bring that beautiful granddaughter of mine with you next time, all right?’
‘Yes, Mum. See you later.’ I walked out of the house and the door had closed behind me before I even made it off the front step. I was filled with a sense of sadness and unease that stayed with me as I slowly walked home.
Chapter 8
Why won’t they talk to me? I know they can see me but they just stand and stare. Help me, I call out, help me, please. There’s Dad! I can see him. I try and get his attention but he turns and walks away. The crowd behind him parts and he’s swallowed up into a sea of faces I don’t recognise.
*
I locked the door of the café and leant against it – it had been a very long day. It had started badly, with a reminder from the bank about my outstanding loan payments, and then it had just got progressively worse from there. I’d probably only served about a dozen customers all day; a fact that was starting to feel depressingly normal. I’d sent Flo home early – there was no poi
nt in both of us wasting our time – and I’d spent most of the day trying to come up with ways to make some money, but to no avail. What was I going to do? I didn’t want to lose the business but, more importantly, I didn’t want to lose my and Lucy’s home. I knew she was leaving in a few weeks but I had to make sure that she would always have somewhere to come back to if she needed it, didn’t I? The sensible part of me, the part that was usually in control, knew that moving on, letting the business go, was the practical solution. Matt had already told me I could move in with him for a bit if it helped, but that wasn’t ever going to be a long-term fix; I needed a plan, and fast.
I couldn’t believe, after working so hard for all these years, I was facing the prospect of being broke and homeless once again. All that was supposed to be behind me now – this was going to be the part of my life that wasn’t going to be a struggle. No more worrying about whether or not I had enough cash to put credit on the gas meter key. No more hiding when people came to the door looking for debts to be paid. I’d done enough scrimping and saving to last me a lifetime and where had it got me? Still staring into a cavern of debt, that was where. The flat was rented from the council; all I owned was the café downstairs. That was the part that Ted and Rose had bequeathed to me. I could sell the café, but by the time I’d paid off my debts I wouldn’t be left with very much; certainly nowhere near enough if I wanted to stay in this part of London. And this was my home. Ted and Rose’s generosity had started out as a blessing, giving me and baby Lucy a roof over our heads and an income, but over the years, as the bills had risen faster than the profits, just staying afloat had become increasingly difficult.
I pushed myself wearily away from the door, weaving between the tables and chairs, towards the kitchen. I was fantasising about a nice hot bath and some peace and quiet when I heard knocking on the shop door. That was just typical. I didn’t see a soul all afternoon and then when I was ready to go home some git came and banged on the door. I spun round and stomped back towards the front of the café.
Secrets and Tea at Rosie Lee's Page 7