by Amy Miller
But on her nineteenth birthday, she couldn’t pretend anymore. She hadn’t told anyone it was her birthday, because it was also William’s birthday, but a friend found out and insisted that she celebrate, literally dragging her to the pub. But the more beer she consumed, the louder she heard the sound of a baby crying in her ears and the more she felt herself sliding down into a pit. At the end of the evening, drunk and melancholic, she refused to go clubbing with her friends, saying she felt unwell, and walked home alone.
It was past midnight when she made her way to Trent Bridge and climbed up onto the barrier, staring down at the vast expanse of black water below. She had the strangest sensation, like a vision of the immediate future, that she’d jumped and was already in the water, struggling to breathe, the current pulling her under, a knowledge that she was going to die. A stranger passing by grabbed her hand, persuaded her to get down and called her a taxi. Back at home, trembling, cold and tearful, she realised she would never know who that stranger was, yet he had saved her life. What if he hadn’t been walking by?
After that she couldn’t concentrate on her studies. The words swam across the page; meaningless squiggles. She felt tired all the time, too tired to work at Joe’s or see her friends. She no longer felt in control. She missed lecture after lecture, didn’t hand in her assignments and was eventually thrown off the course. All the time she thought of William and was haunted by the sound of his cry and the warmth of his body.
Though she was clearly disappointed in Heidi, Rosalind tried her best to be sympathetic and encourage her to keep on reading and studying, but Heidi felt too blank for books. It was furniture that helped. Her father Alan taught her everything he knew about upholstery, and working with her hands and seeing the results of hard physical work felt good. Furniture was tactile and practical and beautiful. Though Alan mostly worked with heritage organisations, maintaining fine furniture in historic buildings and houses, he also enjoyed dragging an old chair from a skip and bringing it back to life in wild and wonderful ways. He encouraged Heidi to be imaginative, to express herself in the fabrics she chose to reupholster with, to enjoy herself making a wreck splendid again. She thought of the rose chair at Joanna’s house – and how sitting in it, feeding William, had felt like someone was holding her.
Over time, her ambitions changed. She wanted to rescue things. Give furniture a new life. A second chance. Heidi became immersed in her father’s world, and though she didn’t have his formal training, she was resolute that she wanted to follow in Alan’s footsteps. She wanted to make tired, sad things beautiful again.
Hearing from a friend that because the ironmongery was suffering, Johnny had gone to Manchester to take up an apprenticeship in carpentry, she knew he was consigned to the past. She dated one of Johnny’s old school friends, Max Hartley. Max had been sporty at school – a windsurfer – who wasn’t really in her social circle. He worked part-time as a lifeguard in the swimming baths and swam for Dorset. Swimming and surfing were his passions, but he was studying for a diploma in carpentry and construction too, so he had options. They went swimming together in the sea, gradually increasing their distance until they could swim side by side from one pier to another, occasionally pausing to appreciate the sun sinking into the water, like a giant peach on the horizon. Heidi fell in love with swimming in the sea and it lifted her mood better than any drug ever could.
They dated for a year and Max talked constantly about them both going to California for a year, to work and surf. Heidi went along with it but couldn’t quite imagine herself on the other side of the world. Then, a group from their school year organised a reunion and because Heidi didn’t want to go – couldn’t face the questions about why she had dropped out of university – Max went alone. After the event, he was forlorn and moody. He told her that Johnny had turned up, and that Johnny, not knowing Max and Heidi were dating, had had too much to drink and confided in Max about the baby being the reason their relationship had ended.
‘He basically told me he’s still in love with you,’ said Max. ‘He said that to my face! He was literally in tears. Said he’d let you go because of pressure from your mum telling him to stay away from you. I couldn’t tell him we’re an item. How could I? You had a baby with him, for God’s sake! He said he wanted you to keep it! That kind of takes me out of the equation! Did you not think to tell me about that? It’s unfinished business!’
‘It was an accident,’ said Heidi, trying not to react to the news that Johnny still had feelings for her. That was too confusing. ‘I don’t talk about it. He was drunk, Max; ignore it.’
A week later Max gave her an ultimatum. She travelled to California with him or they broke up. Her passport stayed in her drawer.
Though she tried to resist, Heidi decided to ask Johnny to meet her. They should at least talk. In fact they had an epic argument; Heidi shouted and screamed at Johnny, releasing the fury and sorrow she’d carried in her heart since the day she’d given birth to William. Johnny shouted and screamed too, arguing that he’d felt rejected and not listened to. She didn’t tell him about Max. By the end of the evening, they were in each other’s arms. The next month Max left the country and very gradually, Johnny and Heidi re-established their relationship.
Heidi hadn’t expected they would get back together – it somehow made relinquishing William feel even worse, so they agreed early on it would be less painful to not talk about him. That he would be living happily with his adopted family. He would be loved and cherished.
Heidi and Johnny were together eight years before they got married and another five before having Scarlet. And, besides wordlessly marking his birthday each year, when it was also Heidi’s birthday, they carried on with life and didn’t speak about William again.
Seven
‘I must have been hallucinating,’ Heidi said to herself, parking outside her house. ‘That’s what it was. Some kind of anxiety issue.’
She couldn’t remember a single thing about the journey home from Poole – only that a high-pitched whine had sounded in her head the whole way, like a washing machine on a high spin. She sat for a moment in the car – Johnny’s 1968 forest-green Morris van – her heart racing, humming the theme tune to Dallas, trying to regain composure.
You imagined the whole thing, she thought, as an image of the man in the café flashed into her head. It wasn’t real.
Zoe was at home – and she couldn’t possibly find the words to tell her what had just happened or what she imagined had happened. She swallowed and closed her eyes for a moment, but her mind immediately returned to the café, where she had seen… what had she seen exactly? Was she seeing things? Grief could do that to a person; she knew that. Take your mind as if it was paper and rip it into shreds, before throwing in a match and watching the flames burn. Grief could make you lose your mind completely, couldn’t it? Perhaps she was now seeing things in the same way she was already hearing Johnny’s voice. Her own mind was not to be trusted. She felt strangely light-headed and faint.
She went into the house and straight to the kitchen, where she poured herself a glass of cold water.
‘Hi, Mum,’ said Zoe, appearing in the kitchen with Leo just behind her. ‘Mum, Leo and I would like to talk to you, if you have a minute?’
Heidi’s mind was still in the café. She looked at Zoe and tried to smile.
‘Yes?’ she said.
‘Are you alright?’ Zoe said. ‘You seem a bit dazed.’
‘I’m fine,’ said Heidi, taking another gulp of water. ‘I just need some food. I had a strong coffee and forgot to buy some lunch. The caffeine has made me jittery. I shouldn’t drink the stuff; it’s no good for me. Hello, Leo, by the way. How are you? Still at the guitar shop?’
‘Alright,’ mumbled Leo, not meeting Heidi’s eye. ‘Yeah. Still there. It’s good. Yeah.’
Heidi sighed silently. Leo wasn’t the best communicator in the world, unless he was talking about ukuleles. Zoe had fallen for him when she’d seen him perform as par
t of a local ukulele group.
‘So,’ said Zoe. ‘We want to ask you something. Would it be alright if we go up to Scotland this weekend? I just don’t want to leave you on your own, if you’ll be too lonely.’
‘What?’ said Heidi, completely distracted.
‘Will you be okay if Leo and I go up to Scotland?’ Zoe asked again. ‘He has a cousin up there, don’t you, Leo?’
‘I do,’ he said. ‘His name is Angus.’
Zoe glared at him and shook her head slightly.
‘That okay, Mum?’ said Zoe. ‘Will you be too lonely?’
Heidi blinked. She was more worried about her mind than her loneliness. It had just played a trick on her that had completely floored her. It had to be a trick – the alternative was too much to comprehend.
‘Well yes,’ she said. ‘I suppose so. Maybe it’ll do you good to get away. I’m going out to the workshop, okay? I’m knee-deep in work I haven’t done.’
‘Thanks, Mum,’ said Zoe, kissing Heidi on the cheek. ‘I’m going upstairs to pack.’
Heidi waited until Zoe and Leo had gone upstairs and then she went out to the workshop. She had one thing on her mind. Stepping over Simone’s footstool, she dragged the stepladder over to the haberdashery unit stashed with fabrics and trimmings, then reached on top of the unit and felt around for the rusty old money tin that held her dancing-clown trinket box – out of sight and reach of anyone but her.
‘Where is it?’ she muttered, sweeping her hand left and right but finding nothing. Sweat prickled her forehead. The box wasn’t there. Panic engulfed her.
‘Where the hell is it?’ she muttered, turning to scan the workshop.
Climbing back down the stepladder, she sat down and put her head in her hands. Either she really was completely and utterly losing her mind, or Johnny had moved the money tin.
‘What did you do with it?’ she asked the frog pot.
Feeling suddenly frantic, she moved over to the drawers, yanking open each one to reveal screws, door pulls, wires and nails. Finally, when she tried the last one, there it was. Relief flooded through her, but she was confused – she couldn’t remember putting it there. She hadn’t put it there! Had Johnny done it in a hurry one day?
The keys to the tin, she knew, were in a drawer in her bedroom, but the tin was already open. Johnny must have opened it.
Carefully, she unwrapped the trinket box. Just holding it in her hands brought tears to her eyes. The red, blue and white casing, the Dancing Clown label and the colourful clown with pom-poms on his shoes took her straight back to the day that William was born.
She opened the drawer to find not the two Polaroids she’d been expecting to see, held by an elastic band, but only one. She swallowed. With trembling hands, she held the remaining photograph, which curled at the edges, to the light; it was of William laid carefully on the rose chair she’d so loved. Heidi’s nose filled with the scent of his skin, the warmth of that June day, the sunshine that had poured through the window of Joanna’s spare bedroom, warming the floorboards, the grandfather clock chiming downstairs. The beautiful rose chair, where she placed his tiny folded white jumpsuits. She thought of the man in the Blackbird Café and a hot rush of liquid flooded her throat. She closed her eyes.
‘Hello!’ said a voice from the workshop door, making Heidi jump. She knocked the tin off her lap, and it clanked noisily on the floor. A young woman came inside with her mobile in her hand. She introduced herself as Karen and showed Heidi a photograph of an elegant mahogany tête-à-tête or kissing chair, upholstered in gold fabric which was, by the look of the fabric, covered in damp and mould.
‘This has been in my parents’ garage for years,’ Karen said. ‘They’re moving house in a couple of months – downsizing – so we’re having a big clear-out, but my mum doesn’t want to let this go. It was her mother’s and she’s very attached to it. I thought, as a welcome-to-your-new-home gift, I could get it reupholstered for her in a cheerful, bright fabric.’
She gave Heidi a small, hopeful smile.
‘It’s a beautiful chair,’ Heidi said. ‘I can understand why she loves it.’
‘She’s been meaning to get it reupholstered for years but never got around to it,’ Karen said. ‘I just want to do something nice for her. She’s desperately nervous about the move, and I want her to walk into that new house and feel instantly at home.’
She raised her hands in the air and dropped them by her sides.
‘I’d love to do it,’ said Heidi.
‘Are you sure?’ Karen said. ‘You look pretty busy.’
‘I’m sure,’ said Heidi firmly. She really would love to and wanted Karen’s mother to enjoy her new home.
Forcing herself to concentrate, she and Karen discussed the details: a vivid floral fabric, dates, delivery and price. She also made a mental note to ask Max if he could work more hours. But as soon as Karen left, Heidi’s thoughts flew back to the missing Polaroid.
Leaving the workshop, she went back into the house, upstairs and into the bedroom. Flinging open the wardrobe doors, she stared at Johnny’s clothes, hanging in a neat line. Across the landing, she heard the sound of Zoe and Leo’s laughter coming from her bedroom and the cheerful sound of ukulele music. Quietly, she closed the door and started to go through Johnny’s things to see if she could find the missing Polaroid.
Opening the drawers of his bedside table first, she carefully lifted out his favourite book – A History of Furniture – and flicked open the pages. Nothing. A copy of Uncut magazine and some sheet music. She fanned them out on the carpet. Nothing. She pulled a shoebox from the bottom of the wardrobe and looked through birthday cards and drawings from the children that Johnny had kept. No sign of the photograph. She moved it aside and pulled out a rucksack. Digging in her hands, she found Johnny’s swimming shorts and a pair of goggles. Nothing more. Pulling off shirts and jumpers from their hangers in the wardrobe, she threw his clothes into a pile on the bed, checking each and every pocket in every pair of trousers.
Halfway through the pile, she was interrupted by Zoe.
‘Do you know where that travel bag is?’ she said, bursting into the room. ‘Wasn’t it under your bed before?’
‘Travel bag?’ said Heidi.
‘Yes,’ Zoe said, looking at her as if she was mad. ‘I’m packing for Scotland, remember? What are you doing? You’re not throwing out Dad’s stuff, are you?’
Zoe picked up one of Johnny’s jumpers – a thick cream fisherman’s sweater and hugged it. They smiled sadly at one another.
‘Can I have this?’ Zoe said. She lived in huge jumpers these days.
‘Of course you can. I’m not throwing anything out,’ Heidi said. ‘I was just looking through… and I think the bag is under the bed.’
Zoe dropped to the floor and pulled out the travel bag, unzipping it and finding a pair of new shoes – a pair of black-and-white checked Vans.
‘I don’t think I ever saw him in those,’ she said. ‘Not very Dad.’
Heidi shook her head, and, picking up one of the shoes he’d never worn, she pushed her hand inside. Her fingers landed on something. A sock with something inside. Her heart raced. Instinctively she knew she’d found what she was looking for. She tried not to show any emotion on her face.
‘Mum,’ Zoe said, ‘have you spoken to Scarlet recently?’
Heidi blinked. ‘I speak to her a lot. Most days.’
‘I mean, have you really spoken to her,’ she said. ‘About her life? It’s just that she’s finished with Charlie. She’ll kill me for telling you. She says you have enough on your plate, but she’s told Charlie he has to move out. He’s not taking it well. He’s really punishing her.’
‘Oh, poor Scarlet!’ said Heidi, feeling horribly guilty that she had missed such a massive event. ‘I’ll call her. And are you and Leo okay? Are you sure you want to go to Scotland? I haven’t been there for you or Scarlet, have I? Too wrapped up in the shock of your dad and…’
The news of w
hat she’d seen at the Blackbird Café was on the tip of Heidi’s tongue, but she swallowed the urge to tell Zoe everything.
‘I’m fine, Mum,’ Zoe said quickly, not meeting Heidi’s gaze. ‘We’re going for a walk on the beach, okay? I’ll be back in an hour.’
Heidi smiled. ‘See you later,’ she said, waiting until Zoe had left the house before she pulled out the missing Polaroid from the sock. There was a roll of money too, which she counted out as £300, held together with an elastic band. And a small piece of paper, torn from a magazine. She frowned, confused, and her entire body shook as she unfolded a piece of paper. In Johnny’s handwriting it said: William, 24 June 1983. Blackbird Café.
Stars fizzed in front of Heidi’s eyes. Her head swarmed. William. His adopted parents had kept his name. She thought of the photograph of the street on Johnny’s phone, that he’d taken just before he died. The man in the café. A shiver ran up her spine. She hadn’t been seeing things. It wasn’t a hallucination. Johnny had deliberately taken that photograph. He had known he was going to die and was trying to send her a message. He wanted to leave her a gift. His last photograph told her something Johnny hadn’t been able to voice. He had done the unthinkable, the unmentionable. He had done what they’d promised they would not. Johnny had found their son.
Eight
Throughout their marriage, Heidi and Johnny didn’t discuss William. It was an unwritten rule between them that they would keep his existence buried deep in their past, never to be exhumed. Some people might think this was strange. But locking the secret in a metaphorical box was the way they coped with the enormity of it. Of course, Heidi thought about William all the time, especially on his birthday. She’d imagine him surrounded by family and friends, blowing out candles on the top of a chocolate cake. She’d wonder if, when he smiled, he had Johnny’s signature dimple. She thought about her great-aunt Joanna, who had since died, but who had shared the joy of holding William on the day he was born. Sometimes, when she was alone, she’d pull the photographs out of the musical trinket box and tell baby William that she loved him. But otherwise, she kept William’s existence in the dark recesses of her mind.