The Garden of Lost Memories

by Ruby Hummingbird

  Maybe I would stay in the classroom, say I needed to finish the worksheet. It was funny, at this new school I kind of wanted to do all the work – it was one way of not being with the other children. I was getting better grades – Liam would call me a right swot. I pictured him now, circling on his bike, trying to lift the front wheel off the ground – which he so couldn’t do – laughing at me. Thinking about his face made me suddenly want to cry right there at the desk.

  ‘You can finish there, Billy,’ Mrs Carter said, straightening the worksheets into a pile on her desk. ‘Get out to break.’

  I swallowed the strange feeling that had come over me. ‘I…’ Mrs Carter’s eyes darted to the clock. Maybe she wanted her break too. We saw them all in the big window over the corner of the playground. The staffroom had armchairs and biscuits on a table. Even with all the teachers, I’d choose to go there over the playground. ‘OK…’

  Swinging my legs over the side of the chair, I slipped off and handed over my sheet.

  ‘Looks like you made good progress,’ she smiled. ‘Well done.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I mumbled, feeling my face get hot. Mrs Carter could be nice. She was probably one of the younger teachers in the school, still old like Mum but not ancient like Mrs Holmes. She wore big gold hoops in her ears and pale lipstick.

  ‘You enjoying things?’ she asked as I packed away my pencil case. ‘Must be hard starting in the summer term, but you’ve fitted in really well.’

  Had I?

  She was definitely just being nice. There was no way I fitted in, with my crap clothes and weird accent, and now my hair was so short, I suddenly really noticed my big dark brown eyebrows. In London I’d never really cared about stuff like haircuts but in the last few weeks I had felt so… different. In London everyone else sort of seemed like me but here I stuck right out.

  ‘S’alright,’ I said, lifting up my rucksack and just wanting to get out of there. All I needed now was to be seen talking to Mrs Carter by Daniel or one of his mates and be called a teacher’s pet. They’d made sucking noises like kissing when she’d waved me off once.

  Outside the playground was big, but somehow Daniel always seemed to be in the bit I was in.

  ‘Alright, me mate, me china plate. Nice hair.’

  There was a laugh. I tried not to touch my head.

  ‘I googled some words so you’d understand us, cockney rhyming slang,’ Daniel said, smugly turning to Javid and Max, who always seemed to be right there. ‘Why were you late this morning? Up late robbing?’

  Looking over their shoulder for a distraction, I couldn’t see anything. Huddles of kids stood around mobile phones, the occasional glance for a teacher; some kicked a football, others shrieked playing tag, some girls were sat on a bench, deep in conversation. Becky who sat next to me in English looked up and gave me a smile. It would take more than Becky and her mates to help me now.

  The teacher on duty, Mr Williams, was in a maroon tracksuit and was lecturing two boys near the bin about something. Daniel didn’t care and it didn’t look unusual anyway – he would just sling an arm over my shoulder like he did the week before and force me to walk inside with him. Mrs Carter thought he was my friend. Ha!

  ‘Mum said another person was stabbed in London last night. Was that you, Billy? Or your dad?’

  At that word I looked up sharply and Daniel noticed, his eyes gleaming with the victory.

  The bell went before he could say anything else and I pushed past them inside, tripping as Javid or Max stuck a foot out. I wished I wasn’t skinny. I wished I had muscles and was taller and scarier so they wouldn’t think I was such an easy target. More laughter as I headed inside, feeling anger burning through me. I bit the inside of my cheek hard to make sure no tears would come.

  Where was Liam to have my back, to call them dickheads, to punch me in the arm and make me feel better? Where were my old friends? Why did I have to be stuck here?

  It had only been a few weeks since Mum had woken me in the middle of the night with an urgent shake. I’d been fast asleep in my bed and suddenly there she was, fully dressed, her coat on. ‘We’re going now,’ she’d hissed.

  I’d been scared ’cos she’d turned the light on and I saw that she had carrier bags filled with things in the corridor.

  ‘Change into this,’ she’d pointed to the chair, clothes draped over. ‘And your coat, it’ll be colder than it looks.’

  ‘But where are we going?’ I rubbed at my eyes.

  She shushed me. ‘I don’t have time to explain it all now. Just get dressed, OK? I’ve got you a banana and some biscuits too. We can eat properly when we get there.’ She was talking quickly, as if I wasn’t here and she was running through a list out loud.

  ‘Where’s there?’

  ‘Just…’ She waved the banana at me and I took it.

  It was too early and strange and I set the banana down to pull on my clothes. She was moving through the small rooms of our flat and her voice was quiet. ‘Keys to the house, money, phone, passports, bags, right… Billy, you ready?’

  ‘Coming.’

  ‘Bring that bag by your door.’

  I looked at it and saw she’d stuffed my pyjamas in the top already. ‘’kay.’

  Passports? Maybe we were going on a holiday that she hadn’t told me about? I thought palm trees and a beach and sandcastles. But then I remembered school and there was no way she’d let me miss that. She’d once complained about Zach’s mum taking him out to go to Disneyland and that she should be fined.

  ‘Billy, come on.’

  Leaving my bedroom, the bag so heavy it bashed into my leg, I frowned. There was so much stuff and Mum was wearing her thick coat and a bobble hat, her fringe pushed down into her eyes. ‘We have to go now.’ She winced as she lifted up the bags, dropping one of them and clutching her side.

  I stepped forward, ‘Are you alright?’

  ‘Fine,’ she said, snatching her hand away from the side, ‘I just… just pulled a muscle.’

  Mum often did things like that.

  ‘Come on then, Bean!’ she said, her nickname for me. Apparently, I looked like one when I was in her tummy and the name sort of stuck. I hated it when she called me that in front of Liam – so embarrassing.

  I followed her, pausing in the doorway. ‘Where’s Dad?’

  ‘Dad’ll meet us there. Quick, come on!’ She didn’t look at me, just flapped me out of our flat, down the first flight of stairs.

  ‘But what about school? I’ve got a science project…’ I didn’t care about my science project, in fact I hadn’t even finished it. But this felt strange and wrong and I wasn’t sure I wanted to go anywhere with Mum like this.

  ‘Mum…’ I whined.

  ‘Shush!’ She spun around on the landing of the first floor, the bags clashing. ‘No more questions, OK. I promise I’ll explain, I promise.’ Her voice was a whisper.

  I blinked as we left the stairwell and went into the courtyard outside. The sun hadn’t even come up, the light all grey, the orange lamps still on. There was no one out on the estate, all the curtains were closed in the apartments on the ground floor. I could make out Liam’s window opposite – he wouldn’t be up for hours. We were going to take our bikes out later that day and he’d told me he’d nicked one of his stepdad’s fags and lighter so we could try smoking.

  ‘Bloody broken lift I won’t miss,’ Mum said, putting the bags down and rubbing at her neck. She was carrying an enormous rucksack.

  ‘Mum, where are we going?’

  She was biting her lip, looking at her phone. ‘He’s two minutes away.’ She was back to talking to herself, eyes darting up to the windows too.

  ‘Who? Is Dad coming?’

  She ignored my question. ‘We’re getting an Uber to the station.’

  ‘What station?’

  ‘Eat your banana. Oh, thank God!’ she exhaled and bent down to collect up all the bags. She had brought loads. This wasn’t a holiday. Not that we really went on holidays but this
definitely didn’t feel like one.

  ‘Get in,’ she said quickly as the silver car drew up, its engine humming as the driver stepped out and opened the boot for the bags.

  ‘Thanks,’ Mum said in a bright voice as if this wasn’t the weirdest thing ever.

  I stayed confused, standing by the door watching her pack the bags in tight, serious as she glanced back up towards our apartment. Something about her face made me feel even more worried. Why did she have tears in her eyes?

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Get in, get in.’ She dabbed at her face and came round to where I was standing.

  ‘He can’t eat that in the car,’ the driver said, pointing to the banana in my hand.

  ‘He won’t,’ Mum replied, bundling me into the car.

  ‘Hey!’

  ‘I’ll strap you in,’ she said and I let her. ‘Remember what the man said about the banana.’

  I didn’t want the stupid banana. I didn’t want to be in an Uber, the clock in the front telling me it was 05.04. I didn’t want to be with Mum in this mood, with all the bags and the tears along the bottom of her eyes.

  ‘Mum, you’re freaking me out.’

  She didn’t say anything, just rested her head back on the seat, closed her eyes.

  ‘Coach is just after six so save the banana for then.’

  Why was she so obsessed with the banana?

  ‘Mum?’

  The man turned up the radio and Mum was scrolling on her phone. I never really went in cars in London because we mostly walked or took the bus and this car smelt of leather.

  The sun was low in the sky as we stepped out of the Uber. Victoria Coach Station was busy even though it was so early in the morning, pigeons eating old bits of croissant and sandwich crusts as we waited in a queue to get on a coach to Calcot, Reading. I didn’t know where Calcot, Reading was and I couldn’t remember it from the bus or tube map. Mum was barely talking to me and I was bored, even eating the stupid banana. I wished I had a croissant but I wasn’t about to ask Mum when she was in this mood.

  We were quite near the front of the queue and a woman ahead of us had a baby strapped to her, her husband holding the hand of a toddler who kept peering round at me. I started making faces and that made the little girl hide behind his legs before peeking out and staring at me all over again.

  I couldn’t help a bit of a smile. At least someone was in a good mood. I’d always wondered what it would have been like to have a little brother or sister. Liam had one of each and even though he said they were annoying, I think he quite liked them too.

  There was an announcement and the dad moved away and then suddenly the toddler was standing in front of me.

  ‘Hello,’ I said, feeling a bit awkward, like a big giant next to her. She was tiny. She was holding up her rabbit toy, which was grey and droopy.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, accepting it. She grinned as I took it. ‘Are you going to Calcot, Reading too?’ I asked. She looked back at me blankly.

  ‘Meghan? Meg?’ The woman in the front of the queue with the baby was looking about her, eyes widening as her daughter hid behind my legs.

  Mum was staring at the board, waiting for it to turn green or something as I bent down. ‘I think your mum is looking for you,’ I said, handing the girl her rabbit. The toddler screwed up her face. ‘Don’t want to go on the coach either, eh?’ I knew that feeling. She nodded.

  ‘Meg?’ The voice sounded frightened.

  ‘You’ll be alright,’ I said, feeling the opposite. ‘Coaches are good fun!’ She shook her head stubbornly. ‘I’ll be there too. Shall we go back to your mummy?’

  The little girl thought for a moment and then held up her hand. I took it, walking her back past the rest of the queue to the lady with the baby strapped to her. ‘Oh, thank you, thank you so much,’ she gushed at me before speaking to the little girl. ‘Meghan, never run off like that, never! Thank you so much,’ she repeated.

  ‘Billy?’ Mum was looking at me, her eyes drawn together.

  ‘Coming.’

  Chapter Five

  ELSIE

  Billy was going to walk to hers straight after school and Elsie had calculated that he would arrive just before she was due to start cleaning the oven. She did it every two weeks – it was extraordinary how the dirt built up. She could delay it perhaps, if it hadn’t become too bad. She had made a promise to his mother after all and she would honour it. The thought made her stomach swirl, unused to prolonged human interaction, but it was the right thing to do.

  She tidied the desk in the front room, carefully polishing the wood of the desk and chair, plumping the worn cushions and straightening the blotter pad and paper. She glanced at the fountain pen, recalling the joy of holding it in her hand, knowing it was an opportunity to spill out more of her memories in purple ink, a chance to share her innermost thoughts.

  Moving back through to the kitchen, she ticked her chalkboard: ‘Clean and Tidy Desk’. She had prepared for Billy’s visit, buying an extra pack of custard creams and, along with the sausages, she had purchased some potatoes and broccoli. His mother, Samantha, had warned her that the boy wasn’t a huge fan of vegetables but there would be no custard for pudding if he didn’t eat his portion. That was what it had been like for her – her mother had been a stickler, loathing any kind of food waste, a hangover from the rationing years she’d lived through.

  The day felt different and she was distracted because of it. He had been there a few times now, since his mother had got the job at the local restaurant and struggled to find a babysitter for the erratic hours. When the boy came everything was thrown up in the air: her careful rituals, the order of her day either rushed or ignored completely. It made her pick at the skin round the edges of her nails, tap her feet as she glanced at the clock.

  The last time he had been there it had been Saturday morning and every Saturday morning, she worked on her jigsaw. He had joined her, staring at the green felt of the table.

  ‘Woah, it’s massive!’

  ‘One thousand pieces,’ she had explained, worried that he would want to sit on her writing chair, saved only for Wednesdays, rather than stand. Her eyes glanced across to the desk.

  Fortunately, he stayed put and so they began. Then after a while he flopped down onto the sofa, making a comment about one of the cushions. ‘It’s not a lizard,’ she had said. ‘It’s a newt.’ She was still doing the edges of this puzzle, a railway station scene, one thousand pieces and trickier than the last. A lot of sky in shifting shades of blue. She suspected Billy didn’t like her system, piling the similar shades together before selecting which ones worked. He had wanted to dive in with any old part of the picture.

  He’d wandered back to the table again: ‘There’s the chimney part… there’s the passenger with the hat…’ He didn’t want to search for the edges, wanted to race ahead. Youth. He had started to get fidgety, asking her questions about some of her figurines, the print above her desk. She didn’t really know what to do with him, felt like she should. Then he had almost spilt his pear squash all over the pieces and it had made her rather short with him and he had fallen silent after that.

  That time she had only needed to watch him until two o’clock. His mother had been called in to the lunch shift at the small restaurant in the village unexpectedly as there was a special party in. Her manager didn’t sound very understanding. Elsie had often walked past the place but had never gone inside. She didn’t want to dine alone – people thought it was odd and anyway, she didn’t have time to lounge around all day eating three-course meals.

  What would she do with the boy this time, she wondered, running through the rest of the day’s schedule. She should probably just get on with things and he could join her. A thought flickered across her mind, prompted by yesterday’s disagreeable time: could she? That had been their thing. Should she not protect that? Would he respect it or would he treat it like her jigsaw? The thought made her foot jiggle with nerves again.

  She wondered ag
ain why she had offered to have him. What did she know about children? But the words had spilled out of her and now she was caring for a ten-year-old boy, just like that.

  Billy and his mother had only been in the house a few days. The last tenant had barely made a sound: the dull hum of a television between their two living rooms, water running. The change had been sudden and very apparent: voices, sometimes raised, furniture moved and the unmistakable noise of the child’s footsteps racing upstairs.

  She had first seen the boy’s mother after four days. She was dragging the overflowing bin onto the pavement next to Elsie’s, barefooted, back bent over, wearing paint-spattered dungarees. Her dark brown hair was tied back in a high bun and she wore a headscarf knotted at the front.

  She had smiled at Elsie, a tired, tentative smile. ‘I’m Sam – Samantha,’ she corrected. ‘Just moved in.’

  ‘I’ve heard you,’ Elsie replied, glancing back at Samantha’s house with its peeling window frames and rotting wooden gate. A small boy had appeared in the top window shouting, ‘Mum!’

  ‘That’s my boy, Billy,’ Samantha said quickly, chewing her lip as she looked at Elsie. ‘I hope we haven’t disturbed you too much, it’s so quiet compared to where we’ve com—’ She drew up short then, two pink spots appearing on her pale face. ‘I mean, it’s just quiet.’

  ‘Mum!’ the voice repeated.

  ‘Coming,’ Samantha called back. ‘Probably wants to ask me when the TV is arriving. I’ve told him we can’t affor— well, not yet anyway…’

  Elsie couldn’t place her accent, familiar from a television soap she rarely watched but often had to read about if the shop had run out of her usual newspaper and she was forced to buy a red top.

  ‘I’m Mrs Maple.’ Elsie nodded, straightening her bin. ‘Well, I must get on.’

  ‘Right,’ the woman said. ‘Of course, sorry, I’m babbling. Well, nice to meet you, we’ll try to keep the noise down.’

  Elsie paused, taking in this woman and the boy in the window above, the awkward half-sentences, her flaming cheeks, and something twigged. ‘Is it just the two of you?’ Elsie asked. She could spend a moment or two longer to talk.