by Helen Rolfe
‘Put everything in here.’ Veronica opened up the plastic carrier bag and held it out for them. ‘What’s so funny?’
Audrey was laughing so hard she even had tears forming as she shoved the dirty crisp packets, chocolate wrappers and a piece of discarded foil into the bag. ‘Her…she’s hilarious.’
‘Layla?’ She did her best not to stare at Audrey. It was good to see her laugh.
Audrey wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘I went over to help her because she was taking ages and when some kid left the swings, he dropped his crisp packet. Layla, hands on hips, demanded he pick it up. Bossy little thing.’
‘But he was naughty,’ Layla insisted as she too pushed everything she’d collected into the bag.
‘It was the way you said it,’ laughed Audrey. ‘You sounded eighty, not eight.’
Veronica could well imagine. Layla definitely wasn’t shy, especially if telling someone they were doing the wrong thing. ‘You be careful, you never know who you’re picking on,’ she warned.
‘I had her back.’ Audrey pushed a dirty plaster and a cigarette butt into the bag. ‘I’m taking gloves if we do that again.’ She pulled a face but Veronica noticed she wasn’t entirely displeased at being involved. Maybe everyone needed other people, no matter how much they acted like they didn’t.
‘Go wash your hands, both of you,’ Veronica urged. ‘Revolting what some people leave behind. Do not touch anything until you’re clean.’ She binned the refuse after tying the bag up tight.
Audrey squirted a generous amount of soap onto her own hand and then some onto Layla’s. Audrey and Layla, who stood on tiptoes, battled for the tap like two young siblings eager to be first every time. Watching them reminded Veronica of what she’d once had but had lost, through nobody’s fault but her own.
‘Gran…Gran…’ Audrey’s voice pierced into her thoughts. ‘You should wash your hands too. I saw you pushing the rubbish into the bag before you tied it up. Here…’ She held out the soap canister and when Veronica put her hands out, squirted a generous blob.
Veronica worked up a good lather and even used the nail brush she used if she’d been tending the pot plants lined up on the windowsill. ‘That was an awful lot of rubbish,’ she remarked if only to distract the pair from the emotional pull she’d just felt. ‘Did you really pick it all up in the playground across the road?’
‘It was in bushes,’ Layla reported. ‘Some of it might have been there years. I found bits beside a tree, a few other items under the roundabout.’
‘You be careful fossicking around in these places.’ You never knew whether there might be glass or worse, a needle, although in this little village she never saw much out of the ordinary. At least she hadn’t the last time she ventured beyond the garden gate.
Herman had never understood Veronica’s condition and he’d never tried to either. His way of coping was to deny there was a problem, carry on as normal and yell at her or ridicule her when she behaved in a way he couldn’t fathom. She’d kept her nursing job as long as she could until the mayhem and the people became too much for her to handle. Veronica often wondered, if she’d had Herman’s support, whether she’d have been able to get on top of her problem before it was too late, before Sam had pulled away and Veronica did something she’d never ever forgive herself for. You were supposed to be there for your children no matter what, and she hadn’t been, had she?
But there was no use living on what-ifs. Not now. Perhaps being trapped inside these walls was her comeuppance for what she’d done.
Veronica watched Layla take out her pencil case from her backpack, find a felt-tip and cross out ‘Litter Picking’ from the kindness calendar. ‘You’re done with that now, are you?’
‘I’ll pick up more but I can still cross this off. Mrs Haines says that even after we’ve crossed off an item, we can keep doing it; our kindness doesn’t have to have a start and an end.’
‘Your Mrs Haines is instilling some good life lessons with her students.’ Veronica wholly approved. Kindness didn’t have to be measured with a start line or an end goal, it was something to carry with you throughout life. Charlie should congratulate himself at having a daughter who really got it despite her young years. He’d done a far better job at parenting than Veronica ever had.
Veronica and Layla talked about the other items on the calendar including how next week Layla was going to make chocolate chip cookies and take them to the school crossing lady. ‘We always thank her for stopping the traffic but I want to say an extra thank you,’ Layla declared. ‘I wonder who will have crossed off the most over summer,’ she went on as Audrey sat next to them to eat the beans on toast she’d made for her lunch.
‘I think you’ll be up there at the top of the class,’ Veronica smiled. She looked closely and recited from one of the days, ‘Do a sibling’s chores’. Looking at Layla she suggested, ‘You’ll have to think outside the square for that one.’
‘You could do my chore if you like,’ Audrey put in without even looking up from the piece of toast she was scraping through bean juice. When she did look up at Veronica, she told her, ‘I’m not saying it to be lazy, I’m helping her fill in the calendar. And I did help with the litter collecting, kind of.’
‘What are your chores?’ Layla wanted to know.
‘Gran doesn’t make me do too much; she keeps the house clean anyway and probably thinks I’d never do it as well, but I do have to take the bins out on bin day… although they are heavy some days so maybe not that.’ She thought again. ‘I’m supposed to cook dinner a couple of times a week, although I’m not a very good cook.’
‘The shepherd’s pie you made was perfectly fine,’ said Veronica.
‘The potato on top had lumps,’ Audrey confided in Layla. ‘And I’d made it so thin the juice from the mince seeped through and kind of ruined the effect. It was a pile of slop by the time we got it to the table.’
‘I can help with dinner, and I’m good at mashing potatoes.’ Layla looked between them. ‘Daddy lets me do it all the time.’
‘See, good idea of mine wasn’t it?’ Audrey looked to Veronica. ‘And it means Layla gets to tick off the item on the calendar. I can be your surrogate sibling,’ she told the little girl.
‘I’d like that.’
‘Well, that’s settled.’ Veronica managed to hide her pleasure that these two were getting on after weeks of Audrey moaning about the piano playing. ‘How does tonight sound? You could make my one-pot chicken. And you should of course eat with us and invite your dad. Unless he already has something planned.’ She was getting carried away now and wondered whether it was Audrey or Layla’s presence in the house that had made her grasp at any opportunity to socialise. Perhaps it was a bit of both.
‘He’s planned a Chinese takeaway. He’s been working and said he wouldn’t get a chance to shop.’
‘Then that’s settled. We’ll all eat together.’ She got a look from Audrey, who seemed to think she’d gone doolally. But it was Layla’s company, her and Audrey not butting heads, the infusion of youth, not to mention the kindness calendar, which all had Veronica’s spirits soaring. And these days she was learning to go with it, enjoy the moments as they happened. She had a flutter of panic that she wouldn’t cope with guests, but Charlie had a way of diffusing any tension and she felt sure he’d bring his A game tonight. At least she hoped he would. Or there’d be more fireworks than she saw sparks in the distance every November the fifth.
‘Audrey will be your kitchen assistant,’ Veronica told Layla with a look in Audrey’s direction, ‘on hand to help with anything you need.’
After a pause Audrey agreed, ‘As long as I’m not the only cook, I’m happy.’
Veronica clapped her hands together. ‘You’ll be able to cross another item off that calendar. Oh Layla, you’re doing really well with this, do you have September’s yet?’
‘Mrs Haines is going to give us that one on the first day of school.’
Audrey, one hand u
sing her fork to scoop beans into her mouth, looked closely at the calendar. Veronica watched the two of them discuss what it was like at Layla’s school, which children had done things properly, those who weren’t managing so well, like the boy in her class who’d washed his dad’s car but managed to collect a pebble in the sponge and left an enormous scratch on the boot.
‘I can’t wait to see what’s on next month’s calendar,’ Veronica told Audrey, reeling her into their plans, making her a part of it too. ‘I’m already involved by helping Layla learn the piano.’
‘We have to be kind to ourselves,’ Layla elaborated, ‘and one item was to learn a musical instrument. I chose piano.’
‘I didn’t hear you today – I thought you’d be straight on it after a week’s holiday.’
‘Veronica said we needed to give your mum and you a break.’
‘I don’t mind, kid, go for it while Mum’s out.’
Veronica couldn’t have been more shocked. In fact if she hadn’t been sitting down she may well have slumped into her chair. ‘She’s right, make the most of it, Layla. You go and warm up and I’ll join you.’ She knew so little about her daughter that she had no idea whether Layla’s piano-bashing – they couldn’t call it playing just yet – would irritate her. Veronica worried that it might bring back memories of when she used to play herself. That was something else Herman put a stop to, as he did with anything out of the ordinary or that he couldn’t see a straightforward use for. Academia came first and it was as though anything else was considered a waste of time.
‘Does a piano really need warming up?’ Audrey wanted to know as she rinsed her plate beneath the tap and they were left in no doubt that Layla had already found the instrument.
Veronica raised her voice above the noise. ‘The piano might not, but you should make sure your fingers are warm, and your wrists. You need to build up strength, and you don’t want to strain anything.’
‘Maybe if you’re a concert pianist.’ Audrey winced at the same time as Veronica when strains of something very non-professional came from the study. ‘She’s not quite there yet, and it’s a shame she’s not shorter.’
‘Shorter?’
‘So her legs can’t reach the pedals.’
Veronica burst out laughing. ‘I try to encourage her not to use the loud pedal – she must think she’s entertaining us. I’m sure she’ll get better,’ she added, enjoying the togetherness. ‘Do you play an instrument?’ There was still so much she didn’t know about her granddaughter, so much she wanted to learn.
‘I tried the cello once. Hated it, too big and bulky, and I was always jealous of the other girls at school who had flutes or clarinets, or a guy who got to learn saxophone. That would be cool.’
‘It’s never too late to learn.’
‘It’s never too late to make any change, Gran.’
Having others try to help and show they understood was nice, but Veronica’s avoidance of going out of the house had gone on for so long it had become normal to her. Audrey was young, it was never too late for her to do anything, but Veronica wasn’t so sure it was the same for a person of her age.
Veronica left Audrey popping ice cubes into her glass of lemonade and with a teen magazine at the table. In the study she took Layla through a few of the exercises, her young face tight with concentration, her little fingers splayed on the keys as they stretched between the notes. Half an hour later, Layla packed up her things and met Bea out front ready for their trip to town to buy another pair of shoes for the new school term.
Veronica wondered whether Audrey had organised her uniform for her new school yet but she wasn’t going to mention it in case it ignited any kind of fury that she’d bear the brunt of. Shortly after her arrival, Sam had made her announcement that they would be living in Mapleberry for the foreseeable future once she found a home and a job, which Veronica suspected had to be largely due to the trouble Audrey had been in at her previous school. Sam had managed to get Audrey a place at the local high school and Veronica only hoped the transition would go well and they wouldn’t have World War Three on their hands.
After Layla left, Audrey was still browsing through the same magazine and Veronica explained to her the importance of keeping quiet about the piano lessons.
‘Fair enough, I won’t breathe a word.’ Audrey turned back to the magazine, but as soon as Sam waltzed in through the front door she flipped it shut and made a sharp exit, stomping up to her room claiming she’d promised to call her friend Sid.
Sam dumped her bag on the sofa and in the kitchen filled a glass of cold water from the tap. ‘She’s pleased I’m here, then.’
‘How did you get on?’ Best to ignore the dramas between mother and daughter for now. Nobody would thank her for interfering.
‘I got myself a job,’ she beamed.
‘You did? That’s wonderful. And quick. Where?’ Sam had been living under a shadow since she showed up in Mapleberry, and for the first time Veronica saw how being happy could transform a person. Sam’s face lit up, which added a shine to her blue eyes, the same as her own; it dazzled her already beautiful features with colour flooding to her cheeks.
‘It’s at the Mapleberry Mug. It’s not a career position,’ she added before Veronica could even congratulate her, ‘it’s a stopgap.’
She could see that Sam was still conditioned to think the way her father had; that she had to be in a career that would impress, a formal career in an office with a desk rather than a local café. Veronica had always thought Sam would pursue her interest in psychology and wondered how much of her career path had been mapped out with her father in mind and how much of it had been down to Sam herself.
‘I think they recognised desperation when they saw it,’ Sam went on. ‘It’ll be money coming in at least. It should tide me over and I can give you some housekeeping while I look out for a flat to rent.’
‘I’m happy to have you here.’ She didn’t add that it had been so long since she’d been able to spoil her daughter and her granddaughter that she feared this may be her one and only chance to do so. ‘I can loan you money if you need, Sam, I have—’
‘We’ve talked about this.’
‘The offer is there if you change your mind.’
Sam was nothing if not independent. Veronica supposed Herman may have had his faults but he’d instilled strengths in their daughter. Veronica only wished she got to see the other side of Sam more often, the side she knew was in there, the softer side that was warm and caring.
Neither of them looked at the other. Conversation was difficult at the best of times, let alone when they were acknowledging Sam’s predicament.
‘I’m looking forward to something totally different,’ said Sam, surprising Veronica with her willingness to carry on a conversation when she’d expected her daughter to sneak off to her room again to call best friend Jilly and likely moan about what it was like living with her mother after all these years. ‘It’ll keep me on my toes. Learning to make coffee is one thing but I’m really nervous about carrying plates to customers and not being able to balance them like the professionals do.’
‘It’s the Mapleberry Mug, not a Michelin-star restaurant.’
Sam managed a laugh but turned serious quickly enough. ‘And this means I can look for our own place, Mum. I know it can’t be easy having me and Audrey here.’
‘It can’t be easy for you to live here either.’ Veronica, nervous, fiddled with the watch on her wrist. They both knew how caged in Sam had felt when Veronica’s problems started all those years ago, how desperate she’d been to break away. And Veronica did wonder whether Sam, back under the same roof, would find her condition as stifling as before.
Veronica finally left her watch alone. ‘I hope you don’t mind but I’ve invited Layla and her dad over for dinner tonight.’
‘Really?’
‘Don’t look so shocked – I do have some social skills, you know,’ she bristled. It was the first time she’d done anything other th
an reply politely and dance on tenterhooks around her daughter.
‘That wasn’t what I meant.’
‘Layla will be here early, she’s making dinner with Audrey’s help, then Charlie will be over at 6.30 p.m. Do your best to be nice.’
‘Mum…’
Veronica waved her hand and disappeared off to the downstairs bathroom. She didn’t need to use the loo – she needed breathing space. One minute she’d been happily hearing about Sam’s new job, the next she realised, looking in Sam’s eyes, that she’d probably always be the mum everyone had talked about in the playground, the mum who hadn’t been there in the way she should’ve been.
She looked in the mirror above the vanity and adjusted the bun at the nape of her neck. Her hairstyle tended to get more and more straggly as the day went on and today was no exception. It was now totally grey, and she wondered when the strands would transition to all white, when the wrinkles on her face and around her eyes would deepen even more, when she’d go from not wanting to leave the house to not being able to because she was so old she could no longer manage it.
She thumped the edge of the basin. She got so angry with herself sometimes, furious she’d wasted all this time she could’ve been getting out and about, meeting new people, having a life. Instead, she was here, feeling sorry for herself. And she’d been doing it for so long she didn’t know how else to live.
She flushed the loo even though she hadn’t used it and went back to the kitchen. She may hide out from her neighbours but she couldn’t do the same inside her own home. ‘Whatever are you looking for?’ She found Sam peering at the shelves, inside cupboards.