by Meg Mason
After two days, her eyes hadn’t adjusted to the emptiness of it all. Its stretches of plain white wall and sparse furnishing still amazed her. Although Stu had promised that the flat would be ‘a hundred and ten per cent ready’ by the time she arrived, his acquisitions were meagre. In one corner sat a pull-out sofa covered in fabric that looked like rich brocade, but was in fact a highly flammable poly-blend gone shiny across the arms. Facing it, an oversized television sat on an arrangement of bricks and wooden planks and a small table had been pushed into one corner beside an empty Ikea bookcase, thrown forwards by the furred cream carpet that banked up beneath it. Where the bookshelf was missing a strip of veneer, it showed its mulchy wooden innards. There was nothing else. No magazines, no stacks of the Croydon Advertiser. No ornaments. No ashtrays, bulging cartons, saved Christmas paper, collected plush toys. No archived scrapbooks filled with pictures of Posh and Becks on their wedding day.
Hard sunlight poured in through the flat’s large windows, only one of which boasted a functional set of blinds. And although the temperature inside could be unbearable by afternoon, to Abi the slanted rays of sun that moved across the carpet from morning to evening felt like the most glorious antiseptic.
She was hungry and ate half a yoghurt in front of the open fridge. When she jerked open the window above the sink, the collected heat of the kitchen was replaced with a gust of salt-sweet air, mingled with something tropical and the tang of two-stroke petrol from dinghies in the bay. The closest thing to it, Abi decided, was probably walking past the Body Shop at Putney station.
The tips of tree branches tapped against the glass and from further off, Abi could hear the bell-like clanging of yachts’ rigging clattering against their masts. It would have been nice to phone someone and tell them what it was like.
‘There’s nothing in London the same blue as that water,’ Abi said quietly, trying to summon the image of her sister. ‘Except the Greggs sign. But not in nature, that blue’s never occurred.’
But trying to see Louise here, breathing sultry, summer air, was beyond Abi’s powers of imagination. It was hard enough in their room at Highside, where Louise’s empty bed served as a placeholder.
Stu had left first thing and would not be home until evening. Abi’s bag hung over the kitchen door and she fished out a half-eaten Twix and a packet of Marlboro Lights. Boosting herself onto the kitchen bench, she pulled her knees up inside the T-shirt and smoked what she promised herself would be her very last cigarette.
From her benchtop vantage, Abi could see down into the still, empty garden of the next-door house, appearing so vast under its slate roof she wondered if it ran the entire length of the flats. Well-kept lawn edged by enormous flowering shrubs sloped all the way down to the edge of the track.
From the living room, Abi had already seen the side of the house, shingled, with multiple recessed porches. If she looked at an angle, she could see a deep window seat, with faded squab cushions, built into a recess.
Further along, a side entrance gave onto a mossy green courtyard. The green painted door had a leadlight window, and pretty baskets dripping blowsy orange flowers hung on either side. Their trailing leaves were as round as lily pads. Abi’s botanical knowledge was derived mostly from Milly Molly Mandy’s Summer and on that basis, she thought they might be nasturtiums.
The street-side of the house, with its herringbone-brick area for a car and immense potted trees, was visible from the flat’s bedroom. Every time she looked down, Abi wondered what sort of people got to live in a house like that.
She had seen no comings and goings, and the house sat motionless under the lid of afternoon heat. But as Abi leaned into the sink to thread her finished cigarette down the plughole, French doors which faced the harbour rattled, then opened from the inside. Out stepped the woman, dressed in a loose silk wrap. Abi pressed her forehead against the glass and stared down, disbelieving. The woman stood on the patio and looked across the water, her arms wrapped tightly around her chest.
Abi wished she could shout down, wave and call out, but a moment later the woman disappeared inside and the doors came together behind her. When it seemed that she would not come out again, Abi slid off the bench and looked in every cupboard for cleaning things.
Under the sink she found a damp sponge that smelt of meat and a single tin of Ajax that had rusted over and made a sound like a baby’s rattle when she shook it. She wrote ‘cleaning things’ on a takeaway menu tacked to the fridge and left the room.
She thought about waking Jude for something to do, but sank onto the pull-out, feeling the hot, prickling fabric against her sagging shoulders. As the light in the room faded from white to gold, Abi felt like whatever energy she had summoned to get herself here had finally run out. Her chin dropped to her chest and she fell into a heavy sleep.
10.
Very English skin
She was woken by Stu gently shaking her forearm.
‘Abi, babe,’ he whispered. ‘Mum and Dad are here. Do you want to pull your . . . you’re a bit all over the show.’
Her head snapped up. Someone had turned on all the lights.
‘Well. Hello Abi,’ said the woman, stepping out from behind Stu. ‘I’m Elaine.’ She emphasised the E, as though sadly accustomed to people making too short of that important first syllable. E-laine. She had a narrow frame, neat bosom and a coarse, ferociously brushed plume of hair. Its short sides and rounded top put Abi in mind of a toilet brush. ‘And this is Roger, Stuart’s father.’
As Elaine spoke, Abi tried to stretch Stu’s T-shirt to cover her bare thighs. ‘Wow, hello. Hi. So nice to meet you. Excuse my . . . I forgot you were coming! Tonight, I mean. Still a bit jetlagged I think.’
‘And where is the little Jude?’ Elaine asked.
‘He’s in the bedroom, sleeping I hope. I can go and get him if you like.’
Elaine said nothing, before turning to address her son. ‘Stuart, it would be good to get a cross-breeze in here. It’s stifling. Haven’t you noticed?’
‘Mum, do you want to meet your grandson?’ Stu pointed a thumb over his shoulder to the other room.
Elaine had nodded assent, causing the toilet brush hair to quiver. Roger brought over a dining chair so that Elaine could sit down. She smoothed her skirt in readiness to receive the child. Roger stood sentry behind her, jingling change in the pocket of his trousers and bouncing softly on the balls of his feet.
Abi’s eyes prickled threateningly as she stayed pinned to the couch, stretching at the T-shirt’s hem. It made a tent over her braless chest, and through its neck she could see all the way to the top of her underwear.
Stu returned with Jude who was asleep, swaddled tightly in muslin. Abi had taught herself how to do it by following the diagrams in the ‘Troubleshooting Sleep’ chapter of First Year with Baby. Elaine took the baby into her arms. ‘Well, he’s very nice, Stuart. Although I can’t see any of you in him. No Kellett at all, is there Roger?’ Elaine inclined her head, sorry to have to be the one to say it. Roger did not speak. He stayed as he was, looking over his wife’s shoulder with an expression of all-consuming wonder.
Abi watched him watching. Every time Jude’s eyelids fluttered or his mouth arranged itself into a perfect O, Roger’s face would change. His woolly eyebrows would lift and crinkles form at the corners of his eyes and he would nod, just once each time, as though Jude’s cleverness was a rare and surprising thing. It was difficult not to feel as though her own cleverness was being admired. Reluctantly Abi tore her eyes away as Elaine spoke again.
‘And the name’s absolutely set, is it?’
Abi flicked a helpless look at Stu who was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. ‘Um, I think so? I mean, that’s what I put on all his forms.’
‘Wherever did you come up with it? Did Stuart have any input?’
‘I’ve always loved, um, Hardy and I was reading that one, Jude the Obscure, when I met Stu so–’
Elaine looked momentarily irritated, as
though Abi was using made-up words that she shouldn’t be expected to understand.
‘Abi loves reading, Mum,’ Stu said.
‘Oh well,’ Elaine sighed. ‘We can only make the best of things now I suppose. Kelletts pride themselves on doing the right thing. It’s our way. Hopefully he will start filling out soon, although I expect he’ll always be small. Stu told us you were petite, Abi, but goodness me, you’re tiny aren’t you?’
It was coming so thick and fast, Abi didn’t know what to apologise for first. In the end, she could only manage a low, breathy ha.
‘You’ve got very English skin,’ Elaine said, peering more closely. Abi raised her hands to her cheeks.
‘I must ask, how did you get that scar?’ Elaine gestured towards the cotton-thin seam running from Abi’s left eyebrow nearly to her hairline.
Automatically, Abi touched her finger to its familiar ridge, the downward stroke of a letter ‘P’, put there by an enormous sixth-former who had held her down, knees pinning her chest, trying to write the word ‘PIKEY’ across Abi’s forehead with a mathematical compass.
‘I ran into the corner of a table when I was little,’ Abi said.
Roger was still looking quietly on at Jude, who hiccoughed now, three times in a row. In between each small pop, like corks being tugged from a bottle, his heart-shaped belly puffed up, and each time, Roger raised his shoulders, involuntarily mimicking the movement. Slowly, he drew a hand out of his pocket and reached over Elaine’s shoulder, intending to cup his grandson’s head, but Elaine leaped up and handed him back to Stu.
Roger looked about to see if anyone had noticed, and nodded apologetically at Abi who had been watching. As he put his hands back in his pockets, he smiled at her. They agreed then. Jude was the best one.
‘So what are your plans while you’re out here?’ Elaine said, brushing her skirt with a series of short, brisk strokes.
Abi thought for a moment. ‘Well. I’m going to drink more water but um, after that my schedule is still quite on the open side.’
‘Mum,’ Stu cut in, ‘Abi’s not out here, she lives here.’
Elaine made a tsking sound. ‘What sort of visa did you manage in the end?’
‘Oh,’ Abi began, her throat catching. ‘Excuse me. I could only get Working Holiday, in the time, but I’ve got all the papers to transfer to . . .’
‘Student. Or Prospective Marriage,’ Stu cut in.
Elaine looked at Abi with a gimlet eye. ‘Well.’
‘Well what, Mum?’ Stu said.
Abi squirmed. The sofa fabric was starting to feel greasy beneath her bare legs.
‘A Student visa would be more than adequate, I think, Stuart,’ Elaine said. ‘Presuming Abi plans to resume her course? Do you, Abi? Because the offer of minding Jude three days a week, which I have already made to Stuart, is still on the table, although of course you will have to get him on a bottle. I recommend doing it now so he won’t learn to miss you. Remind me what you were studying?’
‘Social work. I was part-time and I worked in the Student Services office.’
‘She oriented me,’ Stu said. ‘Big time.’
Stu laughed, a sort of snort, and Abi refused to meet his eye.
‘Yes. Stuart said something about that. Well, our system here could be very different so I’d get onto it. There will be a great deal of paperwork.’
‘Give it a rest, Mum, she’s only just got here,’ Stu said. He lowered Jude into Abi’s arms and stalked off to the kitchen. At that, Jude woke and turned his head towards his mother’s chest, trying to latch on to her arm. Abi put her little finger in his mouth, to delay the horror of having to feed him in front of Elaine.
‘Thank you for the flat,’ Abi said. ‘It’s such a lovely spot. I went out this morning, and then I was just about to do some cleaning and whatnot but I couldn’t find the things.’
‘We had cleaners through when the tenants left.’ Elaine looked offended. ‘Didn’t we Roger? I hope Stuart has told you the unit isn’t forever, Abi. Only until Stu graduates, and then we’ll require you to stand on your own feet. If indeed . . . that’s where we find ourselves. Of course we can’t know the future. I gather we can’t expect any help from your side.’
‘Elaine,’ Roger whispered sharply. Abi looked at him again, realising then it was the first time he’d spoken.
‘Unfortunately Rae isn’t working. At this time.’ Abi looked at both faces, embarrassed.
Elaine’s blank expression demanded further explanation. ‘Rae’s my mum. I’ve just always called her by her name. Since I was little. I don’t know why!’
‘How unusual. I wouldn’t have stood for it, personally, my own child using my Christian name, but each to their own, I suppose. Not everyone’s cut out to be a mother.’ Elaine touched a finger to the corner of her lips, in case coral lipstick had found its way into the deep creases, which Abi suspected had been formed by decades of tight pursing.
‘No,’ Abi looked into her own lap. ‘You’re probably right.’
‘Either way I expect your mother would be very disappointed if you walked away from your studies altogether.’
The day Abi left for Heathrow, Rae had not felt able to make it as far as the front door. She had lower back pain and didn’t want to catch a draught. They’d said their goodbyes in the sitting room, with the television muted appropriately. In deference to the moment, Pat shielded her face with an OK!, which made it look as though Jordan and Peter Andre were bearing witness to mother and daughter’s farewell from their luxury villa on the Costa del Sol. Abi remembered the thin coil of Parliament smoke rising from behind its pages.
‘Mum would be very disappointed, yes. She’d definitely be on my back about it.’
They fell silent again and all three cast about for somewhere to look, until all at once, they settled on Jude. Abi loosened the muslin so he could pedal his tiny feet in the air.
A minute later, Elaine cleared her throat. ‘There’s a sausage casserole in that cooler by the door, Abi.’ Then to Roger, ‘Five minutes, or we’ll get traffic on the highway.’
Stu was leaving with them for the second part of a split shift, and wanted to be dropped off. Abi nestled Jude in the corner of the sofa and they congregated by the door for goodbyes. Elaine wondered out loud whether they should take the cooler now, or whether she could do without it until the Sunday lunch she had already arranged with her son. Knowing as little of Abi as they did, Elaine seemed to be thinking, there was no way of knowing if she was a reliable returner of coolers. In the end, she decided it would be safest to take it. She lifted the rectangular Pyrex dish, laminated with cling film, out of the bag and put it into Abi’s hands. The rounded ends of naked-looking sausages sticking out of a dense, reddish gravy made Abi blush.
‘Ignore all the crap. It’s going to be amazing,’ Stu whispered as he passed her.
Elaine coughed, as dry as a cat, and they turned to go. Only Roger stuck his head back around the door and said, ‘Lovely boy. Lovely grandson.’ Abi wanted so much to hug him before he backed out and closed the door. She was glad the heavy sausage casserole stopped her from doing something that would definitely have seemed a bit on the weird side.
11.
Southbound traffic
When Stu returned after midnight, Abi was lying awake on the mattress, the sheet shrugged off and a washer that had been wet and cold, now blood-temperature, spread out on her chest. Night had not brought relief from the heat. As he undressed, Abi propped herself up on her elbow, whispering so as not to wake Jude who was asleep in the crook of her elbow.
‘Do you think your mum and dad think we should be getting married? I mean. I don’t. Unless you do. Do they, though?’ Abi could not make out Stu’s expression in the darkness of the room.
‘Babe, it’s not the fifties.’ He got in beside her and Jude. ‘I think they’re sweet with us getting our heads around the parenting first.’
‘Me too. Yep. That’s what I think.’ It was only a half-lie.
‘What? From me?’
‘Just for nappies and groceries and whatnot.’
‘Yeah but I’m not exactly minted, babe. I’ve got six grand of fees to pay just for this semester. And books. And I’ve got a bit of a credit card situation to sort out from my study abroad stuff. No offence, but do you get how expensive architecture is?’
‘No offence, but do you get how expensive a baby is?’
Stu turned to face her. ‘Yeah, fine. But I’m working pretty much every day already. Do you reckon you’ll start looking for a job soon?’
‘Well, I can’t really until Jude’s a bit more on the independent side. And has stopped feeding practically every half an hour. Can your parents help us a bit maybe?’
‘They’re already helping us with the flat.’ Stu let out a ragged breath. ‘I think there’s two tens in my wallet you can have. Then we’ll have to work something out I guess. I can probably do maybe seventy bucks a week or something for groceries but you’ll have to go to the discount one at the junction. Super food something, warehouse or barn, I can’t remember. Either way, things are going to be pretty lean.’
‘Fine. I’m going off truffles anyway, they’re so oily.’ Abi rolled away to face the cot, irritated. Did Stu for some reason think she had grown up in comfort? As though things being lean wasn’t the only state she’d ever known? As though juggling grocery money and the gas bill, Rae’s medications and her own school things hadn’t been a source of constant anxiety ever since she took over the running of the household before her twelfth birthday?
Before she arrived with Jude, Stu had agreed to support them all until Abi could reasonably get a job. Although she hadn’t noticed it in London, she was beginning to realise that Stu had a tendency to forget things they had decided on. And sometimes, Abi was starting to see, he could be a bit impractical. She wondered if Elaine’s ready provision of Pyrex had delayed his full entry into adulthood.