Reluctantly, I followed her through the house, picking my way across a floor covered with books and boxes over which several more cats slumbered. To my eyes, the possessions looked like debris, but I guessed that these were Miss Untidy’s treasures.
It was the rat-sized holes in the skirting board at the bottom of the stairs that almost stopped me in my tracks. But I’d got this far, so I continued following the therapist up the winding, rodent-chewed staircase that smelled of damp and decay. Freud would have had a field day.
I put my hand out to steady myself as we climbed, but there was no rail, just huge, gaudy portraits that hung, neglected and at an angle, all the faces tilted slightly to the left. Perhaps they were pictures of old clients.
By now experiencing serious doubts about her professional ability, I thought I’d better set the record straight from the off. So, as we entered the therapy room I made sure she knew where we stood.
‘I don’t want any of that quiet therapy where the therapist doesn’t speak, mind. I’d like your opinion, please. I need you to be proactive.’
Miss Untidy nodded, but didn’t smile. This could be hard work. She sat me in a comfy chair and set the clock to an hour. This room didn’t hold any junk – just the two chairs, an alarm clock on a small table and a book shelf containing many papers on therapy techniques. I stared at the flaking skirting boards and thought they could benefit from some gloss, easily distracting myself from the job in hand. We sat in silence. Eventually she began going through the terms of our engagement; ‘this is to be confidential,’ she told me – she would only share information if she thought I would harm myself or others. I thought I might harm Miss Untidy if she kept up this unfriendliness, I’d found it difficult to ask for help – to even get this far had been a bit of a risk, so right then I could have done with a friendlier welcome.
‘I’m sorry I was a couple of minutes late,’ I said, by way of making conversation. ‘I couldn’t find your house.’
‘It’s your time, Dizzy. If you want to be late it’s up to you.’
I immediately felt told off and patronised – not a great start to our relationship.
‘Would you like to start by telling me why you have come to me, why you now feel the need to reach out?’ she asked.
I spilled out the whole tale. I had nothing to lose – I remembered I wasn’t there to make a friend.
‘Well, it’s because I was adopted,’ I said, ‘and recently my birth family tracked me down with the help of a private detective. There are loads of them. They’re Irish and of a very excitable nature. I only wanted to have a look at them, but now they think I’m part of their family. The problem is that I already have a family and I’m feeling rather overwhelmed by it all.’
Miss Untidy nodded, made sympathetic faces and handed out tissues. Occasionally, she penetrated any uncomfortable silences with helpful comments like “Hmmmm” and “Really?” presumably to encourage me to expand on my explanation.
‘Plus,’ I said, ‘my birth mother Marie thinks she is a psychic and – even worse than that – she’s coming to stay.’
‘I see. That must be very difficult for you, Dizzy.’
Mid nose-blow, I glanced up at her.
‘Well, that’s why I’m here.’
‘I’m hearing what you’re saying, Diz,’ Miss Untidy said.
Since when did we become so pally? Diz now was it?
‘You need to put this other family of yours into little boxes and get them out when it suits you.’
I stared at Miss Untidy’s uneven teeth. Feeling angry with her, I thought how distracting it was to be watching a mouth full of molars that would look good on a mule.
‘How do you reckon I can do that?’ I asked.
I knew I was being miserable and difficult – knew it wasn’t fair on her. I tried again to explain.
‘Look – they keep phoning and arriving. I don’t want to be rude, but the thing is, well… the thing is, um… I don’t think I’m getting on terribly well with my birth mother.’
There was a pause. Miss Untidy seemed pleased at this early revelation. She had been asking the right questions, her training was obviously paying off.
‘And my birth father arrived with a half-brother I didn’t know about, and, on the way to our house, he lost his friend’s false leg on a bypass.’
Miss Untidy tried not to look shocked; she had adopted the serene smile employed by welfare professionals when they don’t know what to say.
‘I see, and did they find his leg?’
‘No, it’s somewhere between Keynsham and Bristol,’ I told her.
At the next visit, the local environmental health officer was in Miss Untidy’s hallway, laying out tiny trays of blue food that was appetising to rodents. This second meeting got off to a better start; I was pleased she had asked for help from the environmental health department for her problems. I was obviously making headway in making her address her underlying early parental separation.
‘How have you been getting on since we last met, Dizzy?’
‘Merlin bit one of our customers,’ I said.
‘A challenging week, then?’
Cordelia, as she’d told me to call her, had no idea of the complications I faced.
‘Just a normal week.’
‘Hmmm. Anything else you would like to bring to the table?’ she asked.
There was no table; obviously, the rats had eaten it.
‘On Friday, Will bought an old army lorry and had to take the gate off to get it down the drive. He drove it across the lawn and got it stuck. It’s been there for three days. Merlin is very distressed, because he thinks a permanent intruder is waiting to pounce on us out of the cab. He can see the lorry from the window if he climbs onto the back of the chair. He barks at it all day.’
‘Hmmm… right, will it be moved?’
‘We’ll have to get another lorry in to move it and…’
I was becoming increasingly worried about what I was putting her through – I wondered if Miss Cordelia Untidy would crumble under the pressure of my problems.
‘And later that morning I had to pop to our daughter’s school as she’d forgotten her PE kit. I was horrified when I found her. An older boy had tied her to the school railings with a skipping rope – especially as the rest of the class and the teacher had gone back into the classroom for circle time.’
‘Hmmm, tricky.’
‘Actually, I can’t stand it anymore. Living my life is messing with my mental health.’
We both drew breath.
‘We also might have a YTS trainee starting with us who will have to board three nights a week, because there are no buses to take him home. Plus, our friend Prue might be moving in as she’s losing her accommodation.
‘Have you got the time and space for these people?’
‘No!’
‘Why do you feel you have to take on other people’s problems?’
‘Well, people have been very good to us. It’s awful to be in a situation where nobody will help you; I’m very lucky,’ I continued – I didn’t want to sound like a victim.
‘It’s not your problem, Dizzy. You can’t save everybody.’
I glared at her… It was all right for her – she might live in a messy house, but she probably didn’t have to deal with a messy life.
I decided to challenge her. ‘Well, imagine if we all turned our backs the whole time,’ I said.
‘What would you do if your friend was going to be homeless and asked you for help?’
‘There is no need for anyone to be literally homeless these days in the UK,’ she replied.
At this point, I wondered which planet she lived on.
‘If you turn your back on other people, you’re being selfish – that’s the way I’ve been brought up. When we were growing up, we had everybody living with
us, people we didn’t even know came for Christmas.’
‘It’s fine if you can cope with it, Dizzy, but you have to look after yourself or you end up no use to anyone.’
‘But so many people ask us for help, and,’ I added, ‘if I tried to say no, I’d feel guilty.’
She sighed.
‘You manage an awful lot more than most would take on, what with the new family, your job, the forge at home… and that dog.’
It was clear Cordelia didn’t like dogs, and this worried me. She did, however, have an overworked cat that was stressed out trying to keep up with all the vermin. Leaning back in her chair, she sighed again.
‘But the very worst thing,’ I continued, ‘is that we may have to move, because there’s a new management team taking over the estate where we live. We went to a meeting about all the changes that are going to be happening. They might not be able to renew our lease now.’
‘Have you not got security of tenure?’
‘No, hardly anyone on the estate has, but with the old team that didn’t matter. The rest of Will’s family are okay; they have three generational succession leases on their farms.’
‘But you’ve never received one, even after all these years?’
‘No.’
‘Are they going to evict you?’ she asked.
‘Not as such, but we don’t feel secure there now. It’s awful, this feeling that they could give us two months’ notice to leave and there would be nothing we could do about it. This fear of not getting a proper lease is hanging over us. We can’t bear to leave our home – we’ve been there for over twenty years – but we might have to.’
‘Home is very important to you isn’t it Dizzy?’
She was right – it was. Whatever stress I felt about Marie’s visit, it would be nothing compared to having to leave our lovely home.
‘We’ve put down roots there. Plus, we don’t know what we’ll do with the business if we move. It’s everything.’
‘You’re going to have to start standing up for yourselves,’ she said.
It took Miss Untidy a while to get her message across, but after a few weeks, it sank in. Will and I were going to have to think about our own needs and say what we wanted more clearly – and soon, even Miss Untidy was going to have to manage without me. I was almost sad when I finally left her, in her now rodent-free accommodation.
Chapter 25
Beyond the Veil
We collected Marie and Vernon from our local country train station early one October evening. On the surface it was all smiles and “How are you?”, but underneath I was dreading the moment when I’d have to introduce my birth mother to my mum.
Marie floated down the train steps in full make-up, hair scooped up into an immaculate bun. Seeing her on our turf was alarming. Dressed in her leather coat, she looked out of place beside the farming community in their wax jackets and wellies – a lone and glamorous figure, soon to be dropped into the field that contained our house. I wondered if we should drive her quickly to Vale Farming Supplies to get her some overalls.
As soon as she alighted from the train, Marie spotted Sasha. She sped over as fast as her stilettos would carry her – all heels and lipstick.
‘Sasha, sweetheart,’ I whispered, bending down, ‘that’s Marie, Marie Dishcloth. Say hello.’ Sash smiled up at her. Marie could hardly contain her excitement at meeting Sasha. She dropped her handbag by her side and bent down to gather up into her arms the granddaughter she had never seen. Meanwhile, the now abandoned Vernon was still aboard the train, grappling with his own and Marie’s huge cases. He was struggling to get himself and all the luggage down the train steps.
‘Oh love,’ Marie said, now on Sasha’s level, her arms stretched out in front of her so that she could clasp Sasha’s tiny hands in her own. ‘Aren’t you gorgeous? I’ve been desperate to meet you.’
She reached into her handbag and pulled out a small shiny parcel. She pushed it towards Sasha.
‘Here you are, Sash,’ she said. ‘A present from me, all the way from Up North. We have fantastic shops where I live.’
She beamed at me, threw her arms round my neck and then went over to Will. He held out his hand, tentatively, but that was a waste of time – it wasn’t Marie’s style at all. Instead, she pulled Will to her in a binding embrace and didn’t let go. Sasha clasped the parcel tightly. Her eyes asked me if she could open it.
‘Wait until we get into the car,’ I said.
We manhandled Vernon, the enormous load of luggage, and everyone else into our tiny Mini and, with some trepidation, we set off for home. Marie sat in the back seat, looking out of the window, taking in the scenery.
‘Isn’t it beautiful down here, Vernon?’ she said.
‘Aye, it is that. Not many houses though.’
‘We like it like that,’ said Will.
‘Well, it wouldn’t suit Marie,’ Vernon said. ‘She’d go mad without a Peacocks.’
‘Take no notice of him, Dervla. I love the countryside.’
‘Well, granted you like looking at it from inside the car with the heater on,’ replied Vernon.
‘I’ll have you know, thank you very much Vernon, that I was brought up near fields. We used to play out for hours.’
Marie tilted her chin up slightly, turning her head away from Vernon, and stared out of the window.
Sasha, sitting between them on the back seat, fretted at the sticky tape on her present. After some time picking at the gift, she uncovered a small blue jewellery box. As she lifted its lid, she found what was hidden inside: a delicate silver necklace with a tiny horseshoe charm.
‘Ooh, my favourite, horses. Thank you very much indeed.’
Marie had chosen correctly.
‘You’re welcome, sweetheart.’
When we eventually pulled up in the farmyard, it was obvious from the barking inside the farmhouse, that Merlin, a step ahead of us as usual, had been lying in wait for our return. As we climbed out of the Mini, his barks were interspersed with a pitiful howling; the noise seeped through the gaps in the windows and underneath the front door.
‘That sounds like a big dog, Dervla. Is it friendly?’ asked Vernon, pulling the cases out of the boot.
‘Um, well, once he’s accepted you,’ I said, looking at Vernon, who looked back at me nervously. ‘The most important thing is that you show absolutely no fear.’
Merlin was waiting behind the front door. As soon as Will pushed it open, taking advantage of the tiny gap, our dog leapt at Vernon, placing his paws on his shoulders and pushing him back against the porch door.
‘OH MY GOD! Ger ‘im off me!’
‘Merlin, get down!’ Will heaved on his collar. ‘Sorry, Vernon, that’s probably it now – he won’t give you any more trouble. It’s just his initial enthusiastic greeting.’
We made our way into the house with Marie, Sasha, Merlin and the cases.
‘There we all are then,’ I said breezily. ‘Safe inside. Who wants a cup of tea?’
We went through into the kitchen, and I reached into the wooden dresser for the mugs.
‘Sugar, Marie?’
‘Oh no! Thanks, pet. Not since my new diet.’
‘What about you, Vernon?’ I turned towards him, but he wasn’t there. ‘Where’s Vernon?’
Everyone, including Merlin, stared at me innocently.
‘Oh dear,’ said Sasha, ‘we’ve lost Vernon.’
‘Could you have a look for him, please Will?’ I asked. ‘He must be out in the porch, or gone to fetch something from the car.’
Marie and I made the tea. After a short while, Will came back and delivered his unfortunate verdict.
‘Can’t see him anywhere, he must have gone for a walk in the woods. I hope he doesn’t get lost or he might fall down a hole – get snatched by Ginny Greenteeth.’
‘Who’s that?’ Marie demanded.
‘Bog fairy,’ Will said, giving Sasha a wicked wink.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I said. ‘He’s not going to fall into any bogs. But as he doesn’t know his way about, and it’ll be dark soon, perhaps you should give him a ring on his mobile, Marie.’
‘Shall we call the police, Mummy?’ asked Sasha.
‘Not yet, love.’
Marie found her phone, which was switched off. She pressed button after button, working out how to turn it on to make contact with Planet Vernon.
‘Vernon.VERNON! Can you hear me? Where the bloody hell are you, I’ve come all this way to see our Dervla and you’ve gone and got yourself lost in a forest.’
She held the phone in front of her face and pressed the keypad, randomly stabbing at the buttons.
‘OH MY GOD! It’s gone straight to his messages. Suppose he’s hurt. He’s been acting strange for a while. Suppose he’s had a turn. Suppose he’s dead! What will I tell his children?’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Will. ‘Let’s have a quick cup of tea, then Dizzy and I will have a proper search.’
Merlin stood up, arching his back in the air like a cat, and yawned. He gave us a wilting look then padded away quietly. He was up the stairs in a trice. The mere mention of a search had sent him back to bed.
‘I’ve got a lot of farming family around here,’ said Will, keeping a straight face. ‘We can get tractors and diggers. Ron from the pub could bring his terrier in case we do have to dig Vernon out of a bog.’
‘Stop it, Will,’ I said.
Strays and Relations Page 14