Cupid's Way

by Joanne Phillips

  Way to go, Evie. Throwing a drink over someone. Absolutely terrifying. You’re a real force to be reckoned with.

  Evie told the little voice in her head to shut the hell up and turned back to Frank.

  ‘So that’s it then?’ he was saying. ‘They’re going to force us to sell and there’s nothing we can do about it.’

  ‘Well, we mustn’t–’

  Evie didn’t get any further. She heard a strangled sort of cry behind her granddad and then saw Mavis falling. Bob Peacock managed to grab her before she hit the ground, and then chaos erupted. As she tried to reach her gran, people crowded in on her from all sides.

  ‘Evie, what did your friend say about–’

  ‘Evie, is Mavis alright? What do you think we should–’

  ‘Gran? Gran, are you okay?’ Evie helped the older woman to her feet, then shifted so they were facing away from the other residents. She started to walk towards the door to number eleven. When had her gran come outside and started listening? If only she’d noticed in time. ‘I’ll have you home soon,’ she told her. ‘Don’t worry. It’ll be okay. I promise.’

  Making promises you couldn’t keep to your own grandmother. She was sinking lower and lower. Harry was right about one thing – her lovely holiday certainly was turning into a nightmare.

  *

  On the walls of the living room in her grandparents’ house, framed photographs and prints competed for space and attention, relegating the leaf-patterned wallpaper to a mere backdrop. A few years ago, Mavis had taken up cross stitch, and now at least ten of her creations were plonked haphazardly among the pictures. There were photos of Evie – at school, graduating, winning the Young Environmentalist of the Year competition, staring gloomily at the camera in an attempt to look sultry – and almost as many of Evie’s mother. But it wasn’t these photographs Mavis turned to after Evie had made her a cup of tea and managed to get her to stop crying. She’d gone to the very back of the wooden cabinet with the sliding slatted door and pulled out a cardboard shoe box. Evie hadn’t got a glimpse of the contents, but she could see the photograph Mavis clutched in her hand clearly enough. A young boy, no more than a toddler, dated by his clothing and smiling at the camera. She had a feeling this was Tommy. She also had a strange urge to run out of the living room and up the stairs. To pack her bag and head back to Manchester and leave Cupid’s Way and all this madness behind her – go back to occasional phone calls and even rarer visits.

  She stayed where she was and waited. Mavis was gazing at the photograph. Every so often she would lift her forefinger and stroke the boy’s face. The clock on the wall, with a cross-stitched church on one side of it and a print of a bug-eyed dog on the other, ticked in a manner Evie thought particularly laborious. She let out a faint sigh. Mavis looked up.

  ‘You’re wondering what the hell’s going on, I bet? I saw you earlier, escaping out the back gate. I guessed you’d seen me in the kitchen. No, it’s okay. You don’t have to deny it. And last weekend, when you came downstairs early doors. I wanted to talk to you about it, Evie. Really I did. It’s just … when you haven’t talked about something for such a long time, for so many years, it’s hard to find the words.’

  Evie sipped her tea. She had no idea how to respond. She figured she’d just let her gran get there in her own time.

  ‘This,’ said Mavis, holding up the photo, ‘is Tommy. The day I got pregnant with him was the happiest day of my life. Frank and I, we had no money. We were living here with his mum, and you know what she was like, the old dragon. My folks had sold up to the Peacocks by then and gone to live over the river, but I didn’t really miss them. I had Frank, and now I had my baby.’

  Even though it was what Evie had expected to hear, it was still a shock to hear the words spoken out loud. Her fingers tingled with the urge to hold her gran’s hand, as much for her own comfort as anything. But she didn’t move. It was as though a barrier existed between them, like Evie was watching through glass. Mavis’s expression was relaxed, almost serene. She’d never been a beauty, but Evie could see the young girl she’d once been and she could see remnants of the sparkling eyes and the lively personality that had attracted the strapping youth next door.

  ‘He wasn’t like other babies,’ Mavis said, stroking the photograph again. ‘Whenever I met up with my friends I’d look at their babies, all colicky and crying, demanding attention, and then I’d look at my Tommy and think, “I’m so lucky.” They struggled and didn’t sleep and were frazzled right through to the bone, whereas I had it easy. Tommy was an angel. Of course, later we realised it wasn’t in fact a good thing that he never cried.’

  Evie felt her eyes start to blur with tears. Mavis took a deep, shuddering breath and sat up a little straighter, as though gathering courage to go on.

  ‘He wasn’t quite two years old when he died. It was three weeks before his birthday. I was planning a party for him, planning the cake I’d make, who we’d invite. Frank’s mum was interfering and getting on my nerves, and Tommy was just lying there on the mat snoozing. He’d only started walking a month before, but he wasn’t into everything the way other kids were. We weren’t worried though, Frank and me. I guess … I guess we didn’t have any experience to compare it with.’

  Evie nodded, barely able to swallow over the lump in her throat, but Mavis must have taken her silence the wrong way, because she said, ‘You wouldn’t understand – your generation has information just shoved at them from all sides. We were innocent. Frank’s mum used to say I was lucky – even she didn’t think there was anything wrong.’

  ‘I do,’ Evie said, forcing out the words. Her voice was choked. ‘I do understand.’

  Mavis didn’t seem to hear her. She was back behind her glass wall. ‘I baked a cake for him, just as a practice. I wanted everything to be perfect on the day. My parents were coming over for the party, and I’d invited that woman from the church who had those five little blonde-haired girls. Dorothy she was called. I felt the need to impress her. Can’t remember why now for the life of me. I made a Victoria sponge, Tommy’s favourite. I took him a slice, and laid it on the mat. I tried to wake him up. I tried and tried to wake him. I said, “Tommy, my love, wake up. I’ve got some cake for you. Come on, sweetheart, wake up now.”’ She stared into space, her eyes wide and confused. ‘I couldn’t understand it. He’d been fine that morning. Running about, laughing. Playing with his blocks. But now … nothing. He was just gone. Like someone had come into the house and stolen him, but left his body behind.’

  Evie couldn’t bear it any longer. She couldn’t hold the tears in. They spilled out of her eyes and flowed down her cheeks, and when she thought distractedly about wiping her face her hands seemed disconnected from her body. She stared at them, wondering why they were so dirty. The clock ticked on and Mavis stroked her photo and Evie’s heart was breaking. How did a person carry on after something like that? How did you breathe, wash, eat, drink? It was impossible. Unthinkable.

  She pictured the little boy lying on a mat in this very room and let out a sob, unable to stop herself. Mavis looked up and regarded Evie, as though only just remembering she was there.

  ‘Oh, my lovely. I’m so sorry.’ She dropped to her knees and threw her thin arms around Evie’s neck. ‘I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t be telling you this. It’s not fair.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be apologising to me,’ Evie said, shaking her head and trying to wipe her face on her sleeve. ‘It didn’t happen to me.’

  ‘But I shouldn’t have burdened you with it, Evie. It’s not right. You’re young and you’ve got your whole life ahead of you.’ Mavis was crying now, her face crumpled up like a scrunched tissue. ‘I should have known better. I know how it feels to have this in your heart, and now you’ve got to live with it too. I’ll never forgive myself, never.’

  ‘Gran, please stop. I’m glad you told me, I really am.’ Another lie, but this one was important enough not to count. ‘I’m proud you felt you could share it with me. Honest
ly, I’m okay. It’s just … it’s just hard, that’s all. Hard to hear. Hard to think of you holding this in all these years.’

  Mavis nodded and hugged Evie tightly. Then she sat back on her heels and picked up the photograph from where it had dropped on the carpet. ‘He was a beautiful boy,’ she said. ‘Wasn’t he?’

  Evie steeled herself and held out her hand. Mavis placed the photo in it reverentially. ‘He was beautiful,’ Evie said. Her uncle. The thought made her dizzy. Her mother’s brother.

  She said, ‘Does mum know?’

  Mavis shook her head. ‘We never told her. Your mother came along a year later, and at first I didn’t think I could do it. Any of it. I thought I would just lie down one day and die, that the life in me, the will to go on, would just creep away one night while I slept. Because it was unbearable, all of it, but you do bear it. You have to. Losing Tommy was bad enough, but having another baby was intolerable. It was like we were replacing him. It felt so disloyal. At first I … Well, it doesn’t matter now.’

  ‘What, Gran? It’s okay. You can tell me. Whatever it is, you can tell me.’

  ‘At first, I didn’t like her. Angela, I mean. She was so different to Tommy, so full of life and spirit, such a bundle of energy. This is going to sound ridiculous, but I resented her. I used to think, Why couldn’t you have given your brother some of your energy? Even though she hadn’t even been born when he was alive.’

  ‘It’s not ridiculous,’ Evie said. Who the hell could say what made sense and what didn’t in a situation so tragic? It was too horrible to imagine.

  ‘So, she grew up and she was healthy and bright, and Frank and I convinced ourselves we were lucky, that this was our second chance, and by and by I grew to love her. Too much, I think, looking back. I became over-protective, which isn’t so hard to understand, but I also think I was trying to overcompensate. For not loving her enough when she was born. For wishing she hadn’t been born and for wishing I could have kept Tommy instead.’ Mavis took the photograph out of Evie’s hand and held it to her lips. ‘For years I’d say to God that if I could only have one child, he should have let it be Tommy. Do you think that’s terrible, Evie? I’ve often wondered if your mother sensed any of this.’

  Evie held her gran in her arms and reassured her, all the while wondering how anyone managed to sustain any kind of faith in a world where children died and people’s lives were regularly broken by the most horrific events. They sat on the sofa side by side and Evie listened while Mavis talked about Tommy, recalling him in as much detail as she could.

  ‘It’s how I keep him alive,’ she told Evie. ‘It’s how I keep myself alive.’

  ‘Why are there no photos of him in here?’ Evie asked, gesturing up at the living room wall. Her mother stared down at her from the nineteen eighties, all permed hair and bright blue eyeshadow. Evie looked away.

  ‘Frank can’t talk about it. He never could, not since the day it happened. He went away, I still don’t know where. I didn’t see him for three weeks. He wasn’t here for the funeral. Not that I’d wish it on anyone,’ she added, shaking her head.

  ‘He left you? I can’t believe it.’

  ‘Ah, Evie, don’t get on your high horse. It was eons ago, and it was how he dealt with it. Men were different then, it’s just how things were.’

  Bollocks, was Evie’s response to this, but she kept her thoughts to herself.

  ‘Seriously, Evie, I don’t want you judging your granddad over this. In fact, I don’t want him to know I’ve even told you.’

  ‘You’ve never talked about it? Not ever?’

  ‘No. Not everything has to be raked over constantly. Some things are best left alone.’

  Except her gran was raking over it, Evie could have said. She had been for over fifty years. Without any support.

  She bit her lip, weighing up how best to phrase what she wanted to ask next. ‘Gran, how did Tommy die? I mean, did the doctors ever find out what was wrong with him?’

  ‘He had a weak heart, my lovely. That was all. These days he’d have been whisked off and operated on hours after he was born, would probably have lived a long and healthy life. But in those days some children were just sickly. We were expected to accept it and get on with our lives.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Evie said, wiping her face on a clean tissue. ‘I just can’t imagine what you went through.’

  ‘And nor should you. But I am glad I told you, Evie. Because now at least you understand why I can never move away from here. And if it comes to it, you’ll understand what I have to do.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘This house, this street, it’s my connection to Tommy. He’s here, don’t you see? He’s here with me every day.’

  Evie looked around. ‘You don’t mean he’s … actually here?’

  Mavis laughed. It was an edgy, almost hysterical sound. ‘He’s not buried here, if that’s what you mean. And I’m not saying I can see him, like a ghost. But I can feel him. Sometimes I can really feel him. As though I could reach out and touch his cheek. His cheeks were always so soft, so smooth. He needs me, you see. He’s only a baby. Tommy never got to grow up, so he needs his mum. If I left this house I’d be leaving him, leaving my memories of him behind, and that’s something I could never do.’

  ‘But, Gran …’ Evie stopped herself and swallowed. What right did she have to tell this woman what she could or couldn’t do? Staying here in Cupid’s Way might well be impossible, but her gran didn’t need to hear that right now. She needed support. She needed Evie to understand.

  She needed Evie to lie.

  ‘It won’t come to that,’ Evie said. She cleared her throat and looked at Tommy’s photograph. ‘It definitely won’t come to that. I promise we’ll save Cupid’s Way, and you can stay here with Tommy.’

  ‘Until I can join him,’ Mavis said softly.

  Chapter 13

  Evie was up early again the following morning. She’d spent a sleepless night thinking about Tommy, and Mavis and Frank, and about her mum and the older brother she’d never had. She wondered how having an uncle might have changed the path of her own life – she might have had cousins, an aunt to share her problems with, a father figure. Uncle Tommy. It was like looking into a time vortex and seeing the future she never had.

  She pulled on thick socks and a clean jumper over the top of her pyjamas and took her cup of tea outside to see the sun come up. Funny how when she had to get up for work and be in the office for nine sharp getting out of bed seemed impossible. But here, where there was nothing to do and nowhere to go, she couldn’t force herself to lie in.

  Leaving Cupid’s Way by the north gate, Evie circled its perimeter, peering into the little back yards and noticing more of the dilapidation Michael had talked about. Her face grew hot when she thought about him, despite the chill in the air. Harry’s news about Dynamite Construction’s master plan might have been temporarily drowned out by her gran’s revelation, but Evie was still smarting over Michael’s betrayal. The backhander deal with the council shouldn’t have been a shock – Evie knew how these things worked, after all – but she couldn’t help wishing Michael had just told her about it. He must have known she’d find out one day.

  Just like he’d known she’d find out who he was the day of the community meeting. And he hadn’t felt the need to enlighten her then, either.

  He’d be in Edinburgh now. She’d ignored his three texts last night, and had no intention of responding if he texted her again. How long until he figured it out? And what would he do then?

  Evie left her empty mug on the wall by the renters’ house and decided to wander further out. She crossed the road and went into the new estate, which was heralded by two red-brick columns topped by grey Atlas stones. Classy. The houses here were your run-of-the-mill fare, detached and boxy, each slightly different from its neighbour, as though this would make the occupants feel more individual. She smiled, picturing Cupid’s Way with its brightly painted front doors and window
boxes and its haphazard gardens. A regimented terrace, each house identical, and yet Cupid’s Way had more character than this architect-designed estate could wish for.

  She turned back, suddenly dispirited, shielding her eyes from the rising sun that glinted off the McAllister building. On impulse, she followed the road around to the gates that led into McAllisters’ car park. The arched iron gates were closed and the car park empty, but Evie grabbed a railing in each hand and looked up, tipping back her head to see the top of the office block. She remembered when they’d first proposed their new head office, the furore over the planning application, the protests and sit-ins when the builders turned up on site. And for what? Here it was, large as life – larger than life, in fact. Compared to the toy-town houses and the Monopoly-style retail park – compared to the cute little terrace it overshadowed – the building was monstrous.

  A clanging noise caught her attention, and she thought she saw someone sneak around the back of two enormous black dumpster bins situated at the end of the parking area. Evie peered through the gate. No one there now. But she could have sworn she saw something. The arm of a jacket and a flash of red. She shook her head and started to walk away, but then doubled back and crept along the side of the wooden fence until she figured she was level with the bins. There was a hole in one of the panels where a knot had fallen out; Evie pressed her eye to it. She’d misjudged the distance but was only a couple of metres from the dumpsters. There, perched on top of the nearest one, gripping onto the side with one hand while rummaging around inside with the other, was Stig.

  There was no mistaking that red neckerchief, or that worn old face so wrinkled he looked like he slept on corduroy pillows. Poor Stig. It wasn’t a good sign that he was having to scrounge around in dumpsters, although what he hoped to find in McAllisters’ bins Evie couldn’t imagine. The remainder of yesterday’s lunches, perhaps? Or maybe something that had been thrown away by accident that he could sell?