‘But that’s dreadful! They can’t take children to a place like that.’
‘They say my mum can’t cope any more.’ Janice was rubbing her hand round and round the lid on the range’s hot plate.
‘Well it’s been very hard for her,’ said Mrs Brown kindly. ‘I don’t know how she’s lasted that long with them. And with all the little ones as well.’
‘But Kevin and Terry are getting better!’ said Janice fiercely. ‘They can do jobs around the house. They can feed themselves and dress themselves and they dig the garden. They can do all sorts now!’
‘I know, pet. But they’re not little boys any more. They’re turning into young men, getting bigger all the time. It will be hard for your mother to cope with them. And your dad … well.’
‘Dad works very hard!’ said Janice defensively.
‘Yes he does. He can turn his hand to anything in all weathers. But because he’s out working so much, it’s hard for him to do much for them, isn’t it? And after the window …’
I looked enquiringly.
‘When Janice’s mother comes to clean at the post office, she has to leave the twins at home, so she locks them in their bedroom. A few weeks ago they got so angry that they smashed the window and tried to get out. They were terribly cut. Blood everywhere, ooh it was a real mess.’
‘That’s when the doctor said it had to end. That if we didn’t do something, they would kill each other, or Mum, or someone else. But they wouldn’t, I know they wouldn’t.’
I expected her to be in tears, but she was fierce and dry-eyed.
‘What exactly is the matter with them?’ I asked.
‘They’re not right in the head,’ said Mrs Brown, with great brevity but not a terrific amount of clinical accuracy. ‘Never have been. There’s a few like that in her father’s family.’ While she’d been talking she’d been making a pot of tea and now she poured a cup for Janice, who took it and scuttled back to the shelter of the range.
‘It’s for the best. It really is,’ said Mrs Brown kindly. ‘They’ll be looked after there by people who are used to dealing with them. They’ll have those nice big grounds to be in. They can play cowboys there. They like that, don’t they?’
Janice nodded.
‘And your mother will be able to spend more time on the rest of you, won’t she? There’ll be more time and space for them too. You’ll still have four brothers at home and that’s more than enough! They’re all shooting up and wanting to be fed and clothed. Your mother will have her hands full enough. It’s for the best.’
‘Tell you what,’ said Mr Brown, ‘why don’t we find some polish and clean those shoes for you? You’re such a smart little thing, let’s look smart on the outside too.’
Janice pushed her shabby shoes off and almost hid behind the cup of tea. I tried to imagine those thirteen-year-olds in that institution, and hoped that Janice was comforted by the Browns’ kindness.
Into the gloomy silence came a cheery yell from upstairs. ‘Bathroom’s free!’
I went up and was almost knocked over by the smell of bath salts, talc, and the scented soap that Peggy had used in abundance. Lenny didn’t know how lucky he was that night. I stayed upstairs until I heard him arrive to call for Peggy. I thought it best, really, that I didn’t see him. I didn’t want to upset him.
When I went downstairs, Janice had gone.
‘Best thing that those boys are going to Parkfields,’ said Mrs Brown again. ‘How that woman’s managed all these years I’ve no idea. That husband of hers – well, he’s a worker I suppose, but he hasn’t got much up top either. All he’s good at is making babies. And look where that’s got him. And the house! Well, she does her best. But there’s no money, and what she does manage to do, those twins wreck.’
‘What are the other children like?’
‘Well, they’re normal enough I suppose, as far as you can tell, because they’re only young. But they’re not going to set the world on fire. No, little Janice has got all the brains in that family. Pity really that the only girl should be the clever one. It would have been much better if one of the boys had had the brains. They could have done something with them then.’
‘Little Janice might. She’s very bright,’ said Mr Brown peaceably.
‘Yes, well, that’s all very well, but then she’ll only go and get married and have babies like her mother’s done. A boy could really make something of himself.’
I was just drawing breath to leap in and slice this argument to pieces when the doorbell rang again. ‘That’ll be your young man, Rosie,’ said Mr Brown. ‘Aren’t our girls popular tonight? You get your coat, I’ll let him in.’
I swallowed hard and just contented myself by saying pleasantly to Mrs Brown, ‘And I’m sure Janice will make something of herself too,’ then I went to the hall where Phil was standing shyly.
‘I’ve got the bike, I thought we’d go out into the country,’ he said. ‘A pub perhaps?’
‘Great idea,’ I said as we went outside. I clambered on the back of the bike. I didn’t feel quite as nervous as before without a crash helmet, but I did still feel a bit vulnerable. I put my arms around Phil’s waist, companionably I didn’t long to cling to him and get as close as I could, not the way I had with Billy. We went up into the hills that surrounded the town. The road was narrow, not much more than a track in places, as we got higher into the hills. Then we were going along a ridgeway, looking down at the valley below. We came to a row of houses – you couldn’t really call it a village – and Phil stopped in front of a small pub with a bench outside.
‘Cider?’ he asked, taking off his big leather gauntlets.
‘Yes please. Can we sit out here?’
‘Of course. I thought you’d like the view.’
It was terrific. You could see for miles. I was trying to place the village we were in on the modern map that existed only in my mind and memory. It was on the edge of my consciousness somehow. I couldn’t quite reach it.
‘Here you are,’ said Phil, coming back with the drinks, which he placed on the rickety table, a table that clearly lived outside all winter and in all weathers.
‘Thanks.’ I took a mouthful of cider, still gazing at the view – the ridgeway, the sharply sloping hill, the town in a sort of bowl at the bottom …
‘It’s the motorway!’ I said suddenly. Phil was looking at me over his pint. ‘Sorry What did you say?’ he asked, looking puzzled.
‘Oh nothing, nothing at all,’ I said quickly and confused. ‘I was just admiring the view.’
What I wanted to say was that I recognised it because I always came back this way from seeing my parents. You come across the view suddenly, just past the Long Edge Services, so it sort of hits you – I always know that I’m nearly home, nearly back with Will. But here there was no motorway. Just a country road, and a cluster of cottages, and the baaing of sheep, sounding louder now the light was beginning to fade.
‘What’s this village called?’
‘Long Edge,’ said Phil.
I sipped my cider and looked at the view, relished the silence and peace of it. I thought of the narrow road overlaid by the six-lane motorway. This little pub is somewhere under the service station now, all flashing yellow-and-red neon signs and constant traffic and noise and people. It was a hard idea to get my head around.
‘Penny for them,’ said Phil, smiling.
‘What do you think this place will look like in fifty years?’ I asked him.
‘Probably much the same as it does now,’ said Phil. ‘It hasn’t changed much in the last thousand years, so can’t see fifty making much difference.’ He lit a cigarette as though that ended the matter.
‘I liked your story about the dog that caught the train,’ he said. I’d done a shaggy dog story about a dog that hopped on a train every day to meet his master coming from work. It was a bit daft.
‘Billy reckons you’ve got a really nice touch with light stories – as well as the big stuff like the Littlejo
hn piece. He thinks highly of you.’
I wanted to punch the air with glee. I was glad the light was fading so Phil couldn’t see me blush, or see the eagerness in my face. Trying to keep the conversation about Will going would be the next best thing to being with him. I wanted to talk about him, find out more of what he was like at work, what Phil knew about Carol and the family. I was trying to frame ways of asking questions without seeming unreasonably interested, but Phil was telling stories about stories, the way newspaper people always do when they get together.
We had another drink or two and talked in easy, friendly fashion about work. All the time I was thinking about Will.
Finally it was dark. We still sat there on the bench outside the pub, with the sound of the sheep, and the muffled buzz of conversation and clatter of dominoes from the few old men inside. Phil put his arm around me and then he kissed me. Not passionately, but nicely. I was a bit shocked. Not because it was Phil – but because it wasn’t Will. Surprised really.
And I kissed him back, a bit absent-mindedly, but quite nicely, politely. And we got on the bike and rode down the hill into the deep darkness, with just a few pinpoints of light from the occasional house. And I thought about all the lights and the gantries on the motorway and it was a bit odd really.
When we got back to the Browns’ house, I hopped off the bike and gave Phil a swift kiss on the cheek before he could get the bike propped up and get me into a clinch.
‘Thank you for a nice evening, Phil,’ I said, and went quickly into the house and upstairs to bed where I could devote myself to thinking about Will without any distractions.
Just before I drifted off to sleep I wondered briefly about Peggy’s big night with Lenny.
As I lay in bed on Sunday morning I could hear the Browns getting ready for their day out. The rattle as they cleared the fire. The back door banging and the stamping of feet as they took ashes out and brought coal and sticks in. Familiar morning sounds now. They were making an early start for their complicated journey. They seemed to be pottering on for ages until finally I heard the front door close and their footsteps receding along the quiet Sunday street.
Once they’d gone, I made a pot of tea and sat at the kitchen table reading Mr Brown’s Sunday Pictorial, a real scandal sheet, but still with a surprising amount of news in it. What bliss. No thought of church, or of peeling vast amounts of vegetables for lunch, or anything. Nothing to do at all. I finished reading the Sunday Pictorial. Had a second cup of tea. Sambo, for lack of anyone else, leapt up gracefully and settled down on my lap. I stroked him absently.
Now what?
I was restless and didn’t know what to do. I had no friends to meet, apart from Phil, and he’d be having a lazy day because he was back on night shift tonight. Anyway, I didn’t want the poor chap to get the wrong idea by appearing too keen. I liked him too much for that. It was Will, of course, I wanted. But …
I decided I’d go for a walk, use up some energy. I put on my little red jacket, scribbled a note for Peggy and set out. I meandered through the town and found the path alongside the river. It was a pleasant walk, with that scent of spring in the air, still chilly but suddenly warm in the sun. I was enjoying walking. I noticed that I had much more energy than I had in my normal life. Getting more sleep helped, I suppose. And not drinking so much. There had to be some benefits.
I had no idea where I was going and I was trying to superimpose my route on the mental map of the modern town I knew, but I couldn’t marry the two. I walked on, glad to have an outlet for my restlessness. And then I laughed. Instinct was an amazing thing.
Somehow I had walked around the town until I was on the opposite side of the river from Billy’s house. There it was, at the bottom of that narrow lane, perched on the river bank, with the long garden stretching up behind it. I walked up some steps to a bench in the shelter of the old town wall where I could sit and look across. From here the neat rows of vegetables just beginning to come through had all the organisation and formality of a medieval garden. There was an intricate pattern of paths and squares. It reminded me of those Victorian samplers, neat, ordered.
Two small figures were running around the lower part of the garden. Peter and Davy, I guessed, chasing a ball. Then I saw Billy. He was coming down the path, carrying some sort of rake or hoe or something. He propped it up by the shed, then, wiping his hands on the seat of his trousers, he intercepted the ball. The two boys’ delighted yells of mock indignation floated across the river. I wasn’t the only one watching them. Another figure carrying a tray was coming up the steps. It was Carol who stood watching them all, while a tiny figure, Libby, clung to her skirts. One of the boys mis-kicked the ball and it headed straight for their mother. I waited, tensed for the tray to crash, but no, Carol had sidestepped neatly and then kicked the ball back towards the boys. She put the tray down somewhere just out of sight and they all gathered around her as she seemed to be dishing out drinks and biscuits.
It was a tiny snippet of family life. The sort of thing happening in hundreds of back gardens all over Britain. Nothing special at all. And it broke my heart.
They were a family, enclosed, happy together. And I was on the outside. I had no place with them. Watching them I was like a voyeur, watching people who had something I wanted so badly, something I couldn’t manage on my own.
I stayed there, watching and immobile, while they finished their elevenses. I saw Billy put a cup back on the tray and walk back up the garden to carry on with his work. I watched him as he picked up a spade and dug a small patch. It must have been hard work, but he worked quickly and easily in a smooth steady rhythm. I just stared at the sheer physi-cality of him.
This was an aspect of Will I had never seen. I had never, I realised, seen him do any physical work. Sport, yes, but not work. Billy seemed to spend much of his time doing practical useful things for his family. Will just seemed to amuse himself.
Then the two boys were having a pretend fight. Billy called something to them. He must have sent them on an errand because they came back with a bundle of long sticks and a ball of string. Billy stopped what he was doing and came over. He divided the sticks into smaller bundles, cut up the string and tied the sticks together. He was doing it slowly, obviously explaining to the boys what he was doing. They stood and watched, then they too tried the trick and Billy guided them, helped them. Then with great triumph, they put the bundles of sticks upright and spread them out and I saw that they had made two perfect sort of tent frames, tepee-shaped, which they set up in the vegetable patch. Presumably they were a framework for some vegetable to grow up. They boys looked pleased with what they had done and Davy ran back down the path, dragging Carol back up to see.
As they admired the boys’ handiwork Billy and Carol stood close together. He casually put an arm around her shoulder and she looked up at him. I couldn’t see their expressions, but I knew they must be smiling at the newly found skills of their children. I couldn’t watch any more.
My hands had gone numb while I’d been watching, trying to get as close as I could to that little family scene.
My fingers were white and bloodless and scratched from the splintered wood of the bench. I liked the chilly numbness. It seemed right and fitting. It was how I wanted my mind to be, my emotions too.
How could I still want Will when he so clearly was happy with someone else? Will and I could never be together in this bloody awful place at this bloody awful time.
I hated myself and I hated what was happening to me. This challenge was too real, too painful. I remembered dimly the time when I had thought that it was meant to be a television programme. But that seemed like a dream now. All my other life did. I had to concentrate hard to remember it. Reality was here and now. Caz and Will, Carol and Billy. My two best friends, leaving me out and alone.
I jumped up from the bench and down the steps, landed awkwardly on the river path below. I sat there for a moment, just wanting to cry. I’d grazed my hands and knees and twiste
d my ankle. But I didn’t care. That wasn’t important.
I had thought that as soon as Will saw me again, he would want me and just come to me. It had seemed so simple, so obvious. Will and I loved each other. Surely we were meant to be together. So how could he not want me here as he did in our own time?
Yet maybe he did. I remembered the way he looked at me sometimes, the way our eyes met, the way he had held me after the evening at Littlejohn’s … Oh yes, Billy was attracted to me.
But he wasn’t going to do anything about it, was he? Will might have no one else in his life but me, Will and I might be free to wonder whether we wanted to be together. But Billy and I didn’t have that choice. Billy had already chosen, chosen Carol. Now he had a wife and family, and there was no way I could fit into his plans.
I hobbled home, almost glad of the pain in my ankle.
By the time I got back to the house I was in a dreadful state and close to tears. There was blood streaming from my hand and my trousers were ripped. I headed straight up to the bathroom. I needed to bathe my cuts, find some other clothes and just sort myself out. I went upstairs, hanging on to the banister and hauling myself up as my ankle was quite painful now.
I paused, frozen, at the top of the stairs. There was someone in my bedroom.
It sounded as if someone was opening all the dressing-table drawers. I could hear a drawer being opened and someone going through my things. Then another drawer opened …
Burglars. It had to be. Well, there wasn’t much for them to steal from my room. But what should I do?
There was a phone downstairs in the hall below me. If I could get down quietly, I might be able to dial 999. But what if the burglar heard me?
I started inching quietly back down the stairs, wincing as I put weight on my rapidly swelling ankle. Then I heard another noise. It was a sort of whimper and a sob. And a familiar voice said, ‘Oh where are they?’ in a voice reeking of tears and desperation.
‘Peggy?’ I asked tentatively, hauling myself back up on to the landing. ‘Peggy, is that you?’
The Accidental Time Traveller Page 16