by Fiona Perrin
‘Listen.’ I sat down at the table and nodded to Dad to sit down too. ‘I’ve got something terrible to tell you.’ And, as I related how they were going to have to get used to living without Wilf down the road, I watched their faces fall in disgust.
‘I always thought that Ralph was a feckless bastard,’ Mum said ferociously as the news sank in. This wasn’t strictly true – when I’d first got together with Ralph, they’d been really keen on him. Mum had thought that it was good that he was domesticated and seemed to want to stick around; Dad had had another pair of ears forced to listen to him. And the fact that Ralph also gave them a proxy grandson had counted in his favour.
I had the now familiar conversation about how there wasn’t really much we could do about it legally. Mum reacted just like Daisy – wanting to fight for Wilf and their right to be with him. Dad was more ponderous and kept saying, ‘The facts aren’t on our side, Lois. It’s unfortunate but the law is an ass.’
‘You’re an ass!’ Mum hissed when he’d said this for the eighth time.
When my folks fought, it was ferocious and childish, so I leapt in quickly. ‘I’ve got to go, but I’ll come and pick you up for the tour of the centre tomorrow.’
‘I’m turning you off now, Lorca.’ Mum pressed a switch behind her ear as I went out of the door.
*
When I got home later that week, there was a carrier bag containing food on my doorstep again. There was a note on top of a pile of silver-foil containers; I pushed that aside for now and took the bag inside to unpack it. I was hungry, and the containers contained a still-warm Chinese – noodles, seaweed toast, prawn crackers, spring rolls, special fried rice and delicate lemon chicken. And there was enough for four people. Salivating, I wondered how long this fantastic service was going to go on for. I knew I should discourage it, but it was great, not having to knock up dinners for my household.
I shouted to the kids, put it on the table and picked up the note with one hand as I got plates out of the cupboard with the other.
Wilf came piling into the kitchen and said, ‘Yum, Chinese.’
‘Ace,’ said Daisy, coming in on his heels.
Only Lily looked at the food in an uninterested way, throwing herself into the chair, stress emanating from every pore. ‘I will never pass chemistry,’ she said, reaching for a plate and a fork.
‘Is this from the Deliveroo guy?’ Daisy asked, digging in. ‘Maybe he fancies you after he tried to mow you down.’
‘Meals on wheels,’ Wilf said.
‘Just save me some.’ I pushed Wilf’s hand from the noodles. You had to try quite hard in my family to make sure you got the required amount of daily nutrition.
I opened the note from Patrick: it was on exercise-book paper and in scrawling round handwriting.
Dear Very Visible Callie, sorry for not bringing you food for a bit – I got some supply work in London. I hope this meets the required rules for living in Seymour Hill. I’ve decided that the full version of Bill – William – is more suited to my station in life, so have adopted that instead. Yours sincerely, the aforementioned William.
I should message him once and for all and tell him to stop.
‘I saw him earlier,’ Wilf carried on, chomping his way through a spring roll. ‘He’s got quite a cool bike, but he says sometimes he delivered the food in his car.’
I shook my head. ‘You mean you spoke to Patrick?’
‘Yeah,’ Wilf said. ‘I was walking Bodger back from the park—’ the dog looked up expectantly at hearing his name ‘—and Bodger started wagging his tail and bounded up to him on our way back, so we had a chat. I didn’t realise he lived so close.’
‘Hmm,’ I said and glared at Bodger, who looked confused as to what he’d done wrong. I spooned lemon chicken onto my plate before the kids could eat it all.
‘Anyway, I said cheers for the grub and stuff and he said, did I like Chinese and I said, yeah, everyone likes Chinese and he said, there’s four of you, right? And I said yeah, but sometimes there’s Lois and Lorca, and he said who’s Lois and Lorca and I said, Nan and Grandad in normal families.’
‘Oh,’ I said. This was quite a long monologue by Wilf standards. There were four spring rolls not six, so probably even Patrick thought having to feed a family of six through guilt was a bit much, even for someone who had made me go to A & E. Wilf finished up, ‘He was a nice guy. I told him you were fine. We talked about his bike.’
This conversation had obviously gone on for a while, then. ‘I hope you told him not to bring any more food round.’
‘Nah, I mean it’s goals,* free food.’ Wilf shook his head.
‘We’re not a charity case.’
‘No, he wants to bring us food. To make up for knocking you down,’ Wilf said, with all the logic of a permanently starving boy. ‘We had a chat about bikes and I told him I’d have to get a new one in South Africa. And I talked to him about why I was going and stuff.’
A really long conversation, then, for Wilf, who could never be described as loquacious. ‘He’s a PE teacher,’ Wilf went on. ‘He hasn’t moved here long and he’s going to teach at Whitebury in September.’
‘Full of Fuck Boys,’† said Daisy under her breath.
‘Daisy!’ I was outraged. ‘I have had enough of your terrible language. Every time you swear from now on I will add two pounds to the amount you already owe me from your allowance.’
Lily looked up and smiled for a moment and I met her eyes. She liked getting one over on her sister.
‘It’s just an expression,’ said Daisy. ‘Jeez.’
‘Don’t cheek me, madam,’ I seethed. She looked down, but I could see a small smirk on her face.
‘The basic definition, by the way,’ she went on, in a sweet voice, ‘is a lad who shags around and hurts girls’ feelings just to get his tiny dick wet.’‡
‘DAISY!’ I roared. ‘Upstairs now. Grounded now.’
‘You said don’t swear, I’m just quoting basic biology,’ she said. I shook my head, determined not to let her rile me even more, but I glared back. She knew just how to push my buttons.
She got up, objective of shocking me achieved, and sauntered out of the room. Wilf and Lily immediately tried to grab her plate; she’d made the classic Daisy mistake of behaving appallingly before finishing her dinner.
‘We will ignore her. If we take no notice of her, she will eventually stop.’ I determinedly ate on and tried to count to ten in my head. The problem was that as I got to five, my brain was flooded with rage at Daisy. Our relationship had always been heated; right now, it felt volcanic. I tried to remember that she was behaving badly because exams were coming, and her brother was going.
I decided to focus on the conversation we’d been having. ‘But Patrick’s a stranger, really,’ I said. ‘You shouldn’t talk to strangers.’
‘He isn’t really, though, is he?’ Wilf said. ‘I mean, he knocked you down and stuff. And he’s our neighbour.’
I turned to Lily, who was eating really fast, and said gently, ‘Hey, slow down.’
‘I need to get back to revising,’ she said, her mouth half full.
‘You’ve got to chill a bit,’ I said.
Wilf and Lily both chorused in the sarcastic voice they used to mimic me: ‘You can only do your best.’
*
Later, I hovered outside Lily’s door for a while and then, a bit desperately, pushed it open with: ‘Why don’t we all go to Nando’s at the weekend?’
‘But what about physics?’ Lily’s voice was anguished. ‘I need every hour of every day.’ She was sitting at her little desk, surrounded by open books and highlighter pens.
‘Is there anything you want?’ I asked.
‘No, no,’ she said and looked down again while furiously biting the skin around her thumb. ‘I just need to get on.’
I went back out onto the landing and peered through Daisy’s door. In contrast, she was sitting at her desk, but with one leg swung over the arm of the chai
r, and her phone pinging with notifications. ‘Phone OFF,’ I said as I walked in the room and grabbed it from her hand. ‘You can’t behave like that, you do know that? It’s not fair on your sister, your brother or me.’
Daisy immediately looked contrite. You could never tell with her whether she meant it or not, but at least it was an effort. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s like something gets inside me.’
‘A devil. A potty-mouthed devil gets inside you. Now I’ve had enough of it. Revision or sleep, those are your two choices.’
‘But I was swapping notes on Hamlet with Clare,’ she pleaded, ‘so I need my phone. It’s group revision, Mum.’
‘Seriously? Was I kissed by the gullible fairy when I fell from heaven?’ And I pocketed the phone.
Resilience, that was the word Sunil had used. I wondered how to make Lily have even half the resilience of her sister.
*
Thank you so much for the lovely Chinese. I am fine, thank you. Wilf enjoyed talking to you. All the food parcels are sufficient now as a way of saying sorry though, so please stop! Thanks again Callie.
I took a while to compose this text to Patrick, wanting to balance gratitude with a firm request to stop. I resisted any humour to make it clear I meant it. I was busy looking up community reviews for the Dutch company that ran Seymour House when Patrick pinged a message back.
Hi Callie, thank you for the message. Just a bloke called William.
Not a very grown-up one, I thought. But the food-delivery dude turned teacher was definitely hitting on me. This wasn’t good.
Firstly, no one had hit on me in a very long time and I didn’t have a clue what you did any more. Flirting was something that happened to other people. It was OK to fancy someone as young, gorgeous and unattainable as Sunil from afar: it meant perspiring a bit more than usual, but it was safe. But to actually have to avoid the bloke down the road was a bit much.
It was a long while back, when the kids were at primary school, but I’d used up loads of energy avoiding the school-gate dad I’d gone out with a couple of times. He’d turned out to want to talk about polygamy and other open relationships much more than he’d wanted to compare homework schedules. After I’d said no to another night out, I’d had to skulk around for at least a year.
Patrick was also recently out of a previous relationship – one he’d described as ‘long term’. I didn’t want to be a shoulder to cry on; that was what I needed myself.
He was quite attractive, particularly when he wasn’t wearing Lycra. But he was new to the area and, therefore, just out to make some friends. Once he stopped feeling so guilty about me, he’d probably find much less complicated, younger and more attractive women to pursue with food deliveries. And then I’d have to go through the embarrassment of avoiding him every time I bumped into him in the street. Eventually, I’d see him with another woman walking up the road and have to think of a supercool way of saying ‘hello’ while looking exactly as if I didn’t care at all. And with him being my neighbour meant something as simple as putting the wheelie bin out would become an epic exercise in wearing make-up and something other than pyjamas.
But mostly, aside from my harmless dreaming about Sunil, I needed every element of strength and focus I had to concentrate on my family.
*An aim in life = goals.
†I will spare you this one.
‡Sorry couldn’t spare you. In my defence, I’m only recounting what happened. I apologise AGAIN for my daughter.
13
Seymour House had been part of the landscape between our town and the countryside since Victorian times. It was all gargoyles and leaded windows. Dad explained, as we drove there, that it was a really common practice now in progressive Holland to mix generations in the quest for an agile brain in later years. ‘All the facts support the impact on refreshing life in the third age.’*
As we went through the big front door, we were pounced on by a member of the Yoof. He was tall and hairy, and wearing a Breton T-shirt and bright red trousers. His blond hair stuck up in spikes from his head. The overall impression was that he was a trainee clown. ‘Hello! Hello!’ he said. ‘Lois, Lorca, welcome back to Seymour House. I guess you wanted to “see more”, ha, ha, ha.’
Loads of LOLZ. I mean loads. I looked at him suspiciously, but Mum and Dad were shaking his hand enthusiastically.
‘Pete,’ Mum said. ‘This is our daughter, Calypso.’
He looked at me and smiled a toothy grin. ‘Come to check out the pad for the parents?’ Then he grabbed my hand in his clammy one and started pumping my arm. ‘Well, let’s get going, then!’
I didn’t know whether I could handle an hour in the company of someone this keen. And as he came closer, there was the distinct smell of fish – the exact same waft you’d get if you were passing the wet fish counter in Tesco. I drew back instinctively, but my folks didn’t seem to notice the unfortunate odour of dead marine life.
Mum and Dad both seemed to have a spring in their step as they followed Fishy Pete into a hallway painted in bright colours. From an open doorway came the sound of badly played rock: ‘Just band practice!’ said Pete, and on the other side, in another room, about ten old people and a couple of women in their twenties were all doing the downward dog. ‘And yoga!’ It was as if everything he said came with unnecessary exclamation marks, but Mum and Dad looked excited. Even I could see that band practice and yoga were one up on your standard old people’s home.
‘It’s all about keeping us active, Lois.’ Pete put his arm through Mum’s. Then he pointed to another doorway where a few more old people were sitting at desks, while more twenty-somethings pointed to computer screens in front of them. ‘And here, some of our community are learning how to build their following on social media.’
‘I love Instagram,’ said Mum. I shook my head in disbelief – was my mother, unbeknown to me, taking photos of her food and posting them for the world to see? ‘All that lovely avo on toast.’ I made a mental note to see if I could track her down online. ‘I’ve got a hundred followers now, but I’d like more.’
‘You could be a micro influencer, Lois,’ Fishy Pete said, and she looked really pleased. I didn’t know what this was and I’m not sure she did either, but it sounded good.† ‘You could use it to raise awareness of your campaigns.’
‘Pete is a peaceful activist in the daily fight against capitalism,’ Mum whispered approvingly. ‘We talked all about the effects of globalisation when we were last here.’
I eyed him even more suspiciously. ‘So, you’re part of the yoof team here, Pete?’ I asked. ‘Do you get free rent?’ That was blatant capitalism in action, after all.
‘Hey, Calypso, thanks for asking!’ Pete bounced brightly along the hall in the direction of the stairs. ‘But it’s all part of my mission for the community. I love being here with like-minded people. And one of my duties is to show prospective community members round.’
He got free rent, then. ‘Do you have an outside job too?’ I followed him as he turned the corner to a lift.
‘I’m studying the advancement of human kind,’ Pete said. ‘And hey, Calypso, thanks so much for your interest in me as a member of the community.’
‘Look, no more stairs.’ Dad nudged me in the ribs as Pete pressed the lift button. I could see that not having to climb stairs was a big bonus for them, but had they worked out that this place had the distinct feeling of a cult? Was Pete about to persuade them to sign up to a dubious religion and hand over all their worldly possessions so that he could buy himself and his fellow cult members several Rolls-Royces? Wasn’t that the chosen thing for fake cult leaders to do – buy a shitload of prestige cars? I made a mental note to do some hefty due diligence before my folks went anywhere near the place.
But when we got upstairs to see the accommodation, we were presented with a beautiful, spacious flat, brightly decorated and comfortable, from the shiny kitchen to the upright chairs and large TV. Outside the window, cherry trees wafted in the spring
breeze. On a further look, it was clear that the rooms had been converted with the elderly in mind, with hand rails and space for walking frames, but it had been done with discretion and taste. My parents clearly adored it and there wasn’t much not to adore.
‘You can cook here for yourselves – I bet you’re a great cook, Lorca.’ Pete winked at my dad and got an approving look from Lois for such an outward display of feminism. ‘Or you can join other members of the community downstairs.’
Wow, I’d never have to come home and think about feeding my parents again. I wouldn’t have to clean their house every Saturday or worry about what they were up to next. I’d get a bit of my life back. And more importantly, I’d be able to go to Cape Town and see Wilf without worrying about what was going on with my parents.
‘It’s got a great vibe, hasn’t it?’ Dad said and grasped Mum’s hand. ‘You know what, Lois? I think we should give it a go.’
As we drove home, they talked excitedly about the trial period. Pete had given us lots of paperwork and several web addresses to check out ‘user reviews from our community’.
‘If we don’t like it, we’re not committed,’ Dad said.
That was good, I agreed. ‘And Pete, you don’t think there’s something odd about him?’
‘Well, he’s just one member,’ Mum said. ‘He told us he’d never felt more at home anywhere. He didn’t have a great family upbringing himself, he said. His parents were negligent capitalists, like many others. That’s probably had a formative impact on his politics.’
‘He seemed quite upbeat to me for someone who’s had a miserable time.’
‘You’re always so suspicious, Callie. I thought he had an awful lot of positive energy, considering his background.’
I muttered something about a weird smell and she said, ‘And all your negativity is not helpful. You’d be better off sorting out your own life, rather than worrying about what we are doing with ours.’
It was brutal, but there was no doubt she was right.
*