by DH Smith
‘Probably best,’ he said. ‘Must get on.’
He threw back the last of the tea. She took his cup and held his fingers. He stared into her blue eyes, she looked back, her lips parted, expectant. Jack shook himself, he felt uncomfortable in a nursery.
‘Better earn some money.’
Jack went to the window, sat down on the floor and pulled his boots on.
‘Is there anything you don’t eat?’ she said. ‘Tonight’s meal.’
‘I can’t stand sprouts and sour cream.’
She smiled. ‘Neither of those are on the menu. Seven thirty, right?’
‘Right.’
He stood up. They embraced.
‘You can come back here for lunch,’ she said.
He shook his head. ‘Love to, but I’ve got to go to the merchants and order fencing and posts for tomorrow.’
‘Then it’s tonight,’ she said. ‘Free of children and work.’
‘Tonight,’ he said, and stepped out into the rain.
Chapter 21
Bessie had a walloping for not being at home when her father got back. He walloped her again because she was snivelling as she made his lunch. And might have walloped her again if she had not eaten with him, which she would much rather not as she could barely eat in his company. But she consented out of necessity, sitting opposite him and forcing down some food. He told her off for having a grizzly face. How could he eat opposite that? he asked. It was a penance. She couldn’t put on a smile for him. Though she tried, but it was such a poor thing that he made her stand in the corner while he told her how a proper daughter should stand, behave, and what he wanted from her in future. Or she was for it.
‘And another thing. I don’t want you talking to that builder. He’s a busybody. Paid to work, not to gossip with you. And why are you running errands for him?’
Because he’s nice to me, she might have said if she wasn’t afraid of a walloping. Please, die, she thought as she followed a crack in the wall with her finger. Get in a car crash, have a heart attack. Anything, just leave me be, as the tears rolled down and caught in the side of her mouth.
‘If you’d have been here,’ he went on, ‘you could have cleaned the car out. The car that keeps you, don’t you forget it. You’re just like your useless mother, the pair of you, a waste of space. Everything’s so grudging. Now, I have to be out and working. Someone has to. Don’t know why I put up with you. How many times must I tell you – keep your phone with you. Forget again and you’ll get a right seeing to. I’ll phone when I’m on the way back. Maybe six. Dinner ready. Get me a couple of chops. Not for you. You don’t deserve it.’
He slapped a five pound note on the table.
In the corner she poked out her tongue. She should’ve run away years ago, but where would she go without money or friends? The only people she knew were here. Nancy was kind to her, and Tickles sat in her lap. Maggie always had a nice word. And so had the builder. She’d like to marry him, but her father would kill her if she said another word to him.
Frank left, slamming the door behind him. She stayed in the corner until she heard the front door close. Then, and only then, she turned carefully around, just in case he was tricking her. But he had gone. And she sank into a chair with relief, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.
A little later, she was sick in the toilet. She couldn’t help it. It was forcing down food that she didn’t want, his food, in front of him. If only she could find where her mum was. But there had not been a word in ten years.
She washed her hands and face. Then did the washing up. She didn’t mind doing chores when he wasn’t here. The warm sudsy water was soothing. She’d best go off and buy the chops. Or she’d never know the end of it if she forgot. No way. And take her phone with, just in case he calls. Then, only then, she’d go and see Nancy, empty the cat litter. Have a stroke of Tickles and take him out into the garden, never mind the rain.
It didn’t lecture you or belt you. And was good for the skin.
Except she mustn’t talk to the builder. Or not be caught anyway. All she’d done was run an errand for him. One errand. And he gave her two pounds. Which showed he liked her. She must look for a love spell on the computer while her dad was out. He mustn’t catch her at it. No way. Find one, write it out. Then get the ingredients.
She’d like to be a builder’s wife. Keep the house clean while he was at work, do all the shopping, make breakfast and dinner for him. Do his laundry. Have a baby and two cats, a black one and a white one. Put his washing out on the line on blowy days, and iron it while waiting for him to come home.
Her father would be dead. Finishing the spell tonight would take care of that. It had to. Then she’d get him cremated. Burn every last bone of him.
And drop his ashes in the cat litter – and let Tickles poo on him.
Chapter 22
Nancy hadn’t slept well last night. Her shoulder hurt where she’d fallen in the supermarket. And while tossing about, she kept thinking about the row at the meeting, or rather what was supposed to be a meeting. All that flying china, fists and boots. She was glad David had given Frank a good hiding. But she didn’t think it would end there, these things never did.
She could never sleep during the day. She’d tried this afternoon but had been woken by Bessie yelling. He was hitting her again, up there in the sitting room above hers. She always knew. Every time she thought of calling the police, but he would know who called them. And he would come down here. And what could she do? In the supermarket, she’d been pathetic.
How she hated growing old!
Millie had come. It was so pleasant to have a visitor. She thought her quite heroic considering the dreadful weather.
‘Three buses I had to catch,’ exclaimed Millie. ‘The one from Barkingside came straight away, so I got on, and of course then I’d committed myself, hadn’t I? The next one, either an 25 or 86 at Ilford, I waited ages for. Normally they’re so frequent. I don’t know what was the matter today. And thought of giving up, but I’d missed one going back – so waited until at last an 86 came. And it was so packed, that I had to stand all the way to the Princess Alice. And young people these days never give up a seat to an elderly person. I blame their parents. No manners, playing with their phones. And then, when I got off, I had to stand around in the rain to catch a 325 to the Spotted Dog. That is such a useless service. Might as well have walked. Couldn’t have got any wetter.’
Millie moaned a lot which made Nancy think she must do it herself. But wasn’t that old age for you? Everything was more difficult and no one took any notice of you. And what could you do for yourself? And what with everyone so slow, home helps, doctors, meals-on-wheels… She was determined not to moan at Bessie, the poor girl tried her best. He hit her for nothing. Last thing she needed was another telling off. Though she was late taking out the cat litter. And had to do it when Millie was here. She hated that when she had a visitor.
‘The girl tries hard,’ she said to Millie when Bessie was out emptying the litter tray. ‘Her father hits her and I don’t know what else. But she’s a nice girl in her way, always helpful to me. So don’t say anything when she comes back.’
‘She should have her teeth seen to,’ said Millie.
‘Times I’ve told her that,’ said Nancy, ‘either she’s scared, or her father won’t let her. He’s a nasty bully, pushed me over in the supermarket, but bit off more than he could chew last night – and David upstairs beat him up. Didn’t he wallop him one! I almost wanted to join in. He kicks Tickles every time he sees him. Yet Bessie, his daughter, is as nice as pie.’
Bessie came back. Nancy wondered whether she’d been listening at the door. And thought of what she’d said. Depended how long Bessie’d been listening in. But then again, she hadn’t said anything nasty.
‘Will you pour the tea out, love?’
The tea was on the sideboard with the cake and crockery. Bessie poured out two cups and then put the milk in. Nancy was going to say you should put the milk in first,
but thought no, I mustn’t keep telling her off. And I should leave her some money in my will. Though only if I can stop her father getting his hands on it.
‘One sugar for you, Nancy,’ as Bessie gave her the cup and saucer. ‘And none for you, Millie.’
‘I’m sweet enough already,’ said Millie with a little giggle.
Nancy heard this every time. She didn’t mind. It was well meant. Besides, she liked company, and Millie made all this effort to come and see her. Three buses. Though she wondered how much longer.
‘Do you both want cake?’ said Bessie.
They did. Bessie carefully cut two slices of the coffee cream cake.
‘Don’t you want a piece yourself?’ said Nancy.
‘Go on,’ said Millie, ‘you’re all skin and bone.’
Bessie smiled at them and said, ‘I’ve not long had my lunch. So I’m not hungry now. Thank you very much, Nancy.’
‘Then have some tea at least.’
‘I will,’ she said. And poured herself a cup.
‘Has your dad gone out, Bessie?’ said Nancy.
‘Yes, he’s out with the cab this afternoon.’
‘That’s good,’ said Nancy.
‘Yes, it is,’ said Bessie.
They both knew what they meant by that, but didn’t want to make it plain in front of Millie.
A little later Bessie said, ‘The rain seems to be stopping. Can I take Tickles out in the back garden?’
‘Yes, dear. But do keep an eye on him. You know what that horrible ginger cat’s like.’
‘Thank you, Nancy. I’ll look after him. Promise.’
And she picked Tickles up in her arms and took him outside, leaving Millie and Nancy free to discuss the scandal of the house, much of which involved Bessie’s father.
Chapter 23
Maggie was ironing. A few blouses for herself, a couple of shirts for David – that would do. Just enough to keep up, though she must put a wash on. That would annoy him downstairs, anyone else she might have been more conciliatory – but let the machine shake his ceiling down. The busyness of the school day had kept last night out of her head, but as soon as she was back within her own four walls, the events renewed themselves. Frank’s insults and the fight. David had thrown the first punch but she was with him all the way. All those racial insults and Frank’s refusal to leave. You wanted to come home to peace and quiet after the hectic demands of the working day, but beneath your feet, as you ate, washed your clothes and relaxed, lived a hateful man.
She resented her thoughts being taken over by him. No wonder the very rich had huge estates with large fields and high walls guarding the boundaries. And great iron gates. All to keep the enemy at bay. Not marauding Vikings these days but those with a different world view.
Only people like us may enter.
She was going to have a black baby. Of course it was half white, so logically you could say it was a white baby – but it didn’t work that way. A smidgen of black genes and you were black. Actually mixed race. Oh those dreadful dividers! The peering eyes, sizing you up, boxing you up. Frank was right in a way. She, David and their child would have a constant battle, would have to continually face up to a prejudiced world. Was it fair, he’d said, bringing a child into this world. A world with too many people like me, he might have added.
The thought exhausted her. The years of upbringing, the mothers at the school gate. And her daughter who would need to stand up for herself in the playground. Maggie fiercely ironed a sleeve and shirt front. Well, she would fight her corner, mostly seeing a daughter, though admitting there was only a 50% chance. She, yes a she, would come out of a strong family, one where she was loved – so she knew who she was.
In the end it didn’t matter; you had to fight all your life anyway, to hold onto your values in a sea of cheap and nasty flotsam. Get rich capitalism and flag-waving patriotism.
It would be nice to come home and not think like this. But this was the real world, and there would be tears and fights. Mind you, next time they moved they’d interrogate the neighbours. And what a waste of time that would be! All jolly with their tea cups, until you moved in.
There was nothing else for it. She needed a 500 acre estate, a mile long driveway and walls twenty feet high. Each night the Rottweilers would be out, kept half starved, and the key to the gun cabinet in her purse.
All from that rat downstairs. Stop, stop, stop. Put a kettle on. David would be back shortly.
She folded the ironing and put it away. And the board and iron. The kettle went on and she did half an hour’s marking before David arrived, with easy jazz playing in the background.
David came. They had a quick embrace and she went to make tea. He followed her into the kitchen and patted her bump as she filled the kettle.
‘What’s it like in there?’ he said.
‘Dark, and I’ve nothing to read,’ said Maggie in a squeaky voice.
‘That’s not Yoruba,’ said David.
‘She’s bilingual.’
‘Clever boy!’ he said.
She blew a raspberry at him.
He said, ‘Careful now. You are directing non verbal abuse against the area manager.’
‘So you told them?’
‘I said, my wife says I’ve got to take it. And I have no say in the matter.’
‘I didn’t say that,’ she said offended.
He pecked her on the cheek.
‘I know you didn’t, dear. I’m just feeling resentful at this propertied universe, where I have taken a job I don’t want so we can get a house – and will yes sir, no sir, for the next 25 years so I don’t lose my job, and we can pay for it.’
‘You don’t have to do that,’ she said.
‘And how might we make it work otherwise, my wise wife?’
She ignored the putdown and said, ‘I go back to work as soon as I can after the baby is born. You have another go at getting articled to a solicitor’s.’
‘I tried for two years,’ he said between his teeth. ‘Two damn years with nothing on my CV but a law degree. And with a stream of other law graduates, I kept knocking on doors that slammed in my face.’
‘Try again,’ she said.
‘I’ve been three years out of it,’ he seethed. ‘I’m rusty. I don’t have a family firm to give me a desk. The bastards won’t let me in.’
‘So don’t complain about the bloody job you do have!’
Both were silenced. Maggie poured the hot water in the teapot and took two mugs off the draining board. She immediately felt guilty at her outburst. The long day, the extra weight, hormones. Something. David sat on a chair by the kitchen table grinding his fists together. The kitchen was just big enough for a small table with two chairs, apart from the kitchen paraphernalia. Not big enough for a rowing couple.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, coming to him, standing knee to his knees. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘No, you are right.’ He looked up to her. ‘You should have said it. We are here together, however we are. I couldn’t get into a solicitor’s office, though I tried my hardest.’
‘I know you did, dearest.’
‘So I’m to be the area manager of a chain of coffee shops.’ He sighed. ‘I never wanted it. But you’re right. It’s a job. But the thought of 25 years…’
‘It doesn’t have to be 25 years,’ she said, coming down to his height. ‘If you can manage a dozen coffee shops, or whatever number, you can manage other things.’
He nodded and took her hands. She kissed him on the nose, knowing he was saying goodbye to his dream of being a human rights lawyer. She had no right telling him off. He was in the process of becoming someone else – and the metamorphosis involved breaking off his wings.
‘Do what you want,’ she said, ‘and I will go with you.’
He stood up. There were tears in his eyes.
‘It’s why I married you,’ he said. ‘I will be area manager, Maggie. Three weeks and I take over. And I will endeavour to do it well. T
ake their money, do it and then…’ His hands flew wide, ‘we’ll see what opens up.’
‘We can predict the past,’ she exclaimed, wagging a finger, ‘but not the future.’
‘What book of maxims did you get that from?’
‘My mum told me it.’
‘It is of course true then,’ he said, ‘but like most things your mother says – no help.’
There was a rap on the flat door. And a call.
‘Hello, it’s me. Anne.’
She was invited in and given a cup of tea. She was dressed up, they noted, a short, sleeveless red dress, her face made up. She said she couldn’t stay long as she was mid cooking, but had something important to tell them. They shifted to the sitting room, three was a crowd in the kitchen.
‘You have us both agog,’ said Maggie. ‘Spill.’
Anne hesitated a second, then jumped in.
‘Frank followed you to your school this morning.’
She told them that the builder was the source of information, and that Frank, on being asked about it, denied he was there.
Maggie and David looked at each other, jolted by the sizzle of threat.
‘How sure are you of this?’ said Maggie.
‘He says he saw the orange car, that Aurora of his, can’t miss it, and Frank himself, outside your school.’
‘But Frank says he wasn’t there?’ asked David.
‘Denies it completely,’ said Anne.
‘He would, wouldn’t he?’ said Maggie, ‘whether he was there or not.’
‘How reliable is the builder?’
‘He doesn’t drink,’ says Anne. ‘And he’s quite sharp.’
‘Let’s suppose he’s right,’ said David, turning to his wife. ‘Why would he follow you?’
‘All connected to the fight last night,’ she said. ‘Planning some sort of vengeance.’
‘But I hit him,’ said David. ‘Not you.’
‘He gets at you by getting at Maggie,’ said Anne.
Maggie shuddered and grimaced. ‘Ooh, it’s so creepy, being followed by that lowlife.’
‘There can’t be many reasons why,’ said David, the ticking of his thoughts almost visible. ‘Some attack, rape…’