‘Jo?’ Rose asks, her voice fading away, just her mouth moving, dulled out of focus.
I look at Nick and the sight of him fills me with such a sense of shame. For surely that is what I feel, my insides turning to water as he wrinkles his brow at me, then smiles and begins to walk towards us.
‘Look.’ Rose grabs my attention with her imperative tone. ‘We’re having a bit of a do for everyone a week Friday. Just a few of the regulars. A little thank-you for everyone’s hard work. Come back for that. Say goodbye properly.’
‘I don’t know, Rose,’ I reply, backing away as Nick draws closer.
‘Any time after lunch, okay?’ she says, undeterred.
‘I’ll think about it,’ I call back to her as I head towards the door.
May – This Year
It’s late when I leave the drop-in-centre, Rose behind me locking up. With Rob away overnight – some kind of ‘networking opportunity’, whatever that may be – I’d stayed as long as I could, chucked out with the other malingerers, nowhere better to go than a tired community centre with bad coffee and a strange smell leaching from the stain on the carpet which refuses to be either removed or identified. Rose thinks it was probably Badger, the dreadlocked Big Issue seller who needs delousing and a good shower. I call out a goodnight to Badger and Rose who are now debating her selfless proposal to lend him her bath. I think of Rob, probably eating steak at the five-star luxury hotel where he’s staying. The cost of the bottle of wine he’ll have ordered would probably turn around Badger’s fortunes for several nights to come.
‘Come with me,’ Rob had offered as he packed his overnight bag. I wrinkled my nose, knowing he wouldn’t have much time for me between his jam-packed itinerary of client meetings, even over dinner. ‘Another time then. A romantic night away just the two of us,’ he said, bending to kiss me on the lips as we said goodbye on the front doorstep. He touched my cheek, his hand cold as he whispered, ‘I need to spoil you a bit more, I think.’
My car is parked a few streets away, opposite Thomas’s bar, the sight of The Limes both repellent and somehow magnetising to me. I tell myself I park there because it’s free, an anomaly which is bound to be rectified with double-yellow lines when someone at the council notices, but maybe there are other reasons too, as though I have to keep an eye on Sash, still living above the bar with Thomas despite my hopes one of them would have tired of the other by now. I looked over this morning, imagined Sash still asleep in her bed, her soft pout, the flush in her cheeks. Then Thomas’s face intruded into my thoughts and I turned and walked towards the drop-in centre at speed.
I survey the bar again now, my car key in my hand as my focus travels up to the flat above, the red curtains gaping. It’s not dark outside, but it still seems odd that there are no lights on at all behind the grubby windows. Sash should be home from work by now. It’s usually a comfort to me to see the lights on or the curtains drawn, as if I were part of her routine. It feels strange that the flat is apparently empty and although I can think of a number of reasons why she may not be home, something feels off. She’s told me she rarely drinks in the bar these days, or goes out much, preferring to ‘play house’ as she puts it.
As I approach, thoughts of that night in February return, flashes of Thomas naked, turning back the covers and inviting me into his bed, Sash’s bed. I falter, my concerns about Sash’s whereabouts only just overriding my reluctance to push open the door and walk inside.
Thomas is propping up the wrong side of the bar, his words brash and incoherent. He’s loud, everyone’s his friend, but those he’s corralled seem anxious to get away, using my approach to make their exit.
‘Jo, come over here!’ Thomas calls out, his welcome as if we’d seen one another only the other day, when it’s actually been three months.
The thought burns my cheeks as it always does, but especially now; the shabby beer-swilled room a painful reminder of that night when I’d stumbled across it in the darkness.
‘You’re drunk,’ I tell him, sitting on the barstool next to his, although I pull mine away, leaving a decent amount of space between us.
‘Shame you’re not,’ he says as he swivels around to face me, almost falling off his seat in the process, his large hand grabbing my arm to save himself. ‘You’re much more fun when you are.’
‘You haven’t said anything to Sash?’ I ask, throwing off his hold on me. The barman, who has obviously been listening to his boss from the other side of the bar, catches my eye and I look away.
Thomas laughs, then shakes his head. ‘Course I haven’t. And I’m not drunk.’ He smiles at me. ‘Been too long, Jo. You’re looking very—’
‘Where’s my daughter?’ I ask. ‘Is she asleep?’
Thomas looks at his watch for a long time then says, ‘Too early to be asleep.’
‘There’s no lights on in the flat, I assumed . . .’
Thomas leans in, breathing alcohol in my face. ‘We don’t live up there any more.’ He laughs, pointing to the ceiling. ‘We’ve gone up in the world; hasn’t anyone told you?’
‘What?’ I push him away. ‘Where’s Sash?’
Thomas leans back, sways a little, rights himself, then beckons to the barman who had been serving the few remaining customers.
‘Yay!’ the barman says to Thomas, pulling at an already stretched hole in his ear.
‘Tell her!’ Thomas says, waggling a finger in my direction. ‘Tell her where Sash and I live.’
‘Oh yeah, they have one of those flats near the park,’ he tells me, smiling. ‘You know those expensive new ones near the college? Her daddy pays the rent.’
He says the word daddy in a salacious way, as though it were a different kind of arrangement; although . . . what is the arrangement?
‘What does he mean?’ I ask Thomas, wishing the barman would leave us alone to talk.
‘Rob pays,’ Thomas whispers to me, his breath hot and beery, then he turns to the barman and explains that daddy is ‘her husband’, pointing at me again, his finger too close to my face. I swipe it away, frowning at him.
‘You know . . .’ the barman says, looking over at me. ‘You do look a lot like your daughter.’
Thomas laughs loudly. ‘Yeah, like mother like—’
‘Don’t you dare!’ I warn him, standing up.
The barman finally moves away, a smirk on his face. Thomas sits up straighter, and assumes a serious expression. ‘You didn’t know about the move?’
‘Clearly not,’ I say, sitting back down as I try to process the information. ‘When did this happen?’
‘Few weeks ago,’ Thomas says, then he laughs again and asks, ‘Things not great between you and Rob?’
‘Things are fine, thank you.’
Thomas leans forwards. ‘You know if you ever feel like—’
I push him away and walk fast towards the door, ignoring his calls after me: ‘Fuck you, Jo! Fuck you! I wasn’t bloody interested anyway!’
I’ve already opened the door, but I turn back, blinkered to the stares I must surely attract as I tell him, ‘If you EVER do anything to hurt my daughter . . .’ Then I walk out.
17
Thirteen Days After The Fall
I reach the multistorey car park after a brisk walk, breathless but grateful to be away from the drop-in centre, and in particular to have escaped another confrontation with Nick. He’d called after me, but I’d ignored his pleas to wait as we ‘need to talk’. I don’t know why exactly, but his words had seemed familiar.
I hadn’t found a parking space opposite the bar today, perhaps a good thing given my confused state, but in my haste to get away I drop the coins I’m feeding into the pay machine; chasing them down as they roll across the dirty concrete floor. I thank the strangers who help me pick them up, at least the ones who don’t huff with impatience, and then I rush off in search of my car. I have no recollection which floor I parked on, walking up and down until I finally spot my Mini tucked behind a longer car.
Calming myself enough to begin the drive home, I thump the steering wheel with the heel of my hand, frustration and anger giving way to regret and fear as the tenderness of my wrist reminds me again of my fall down the stairs. Since I woke on the hall floor I’ve been presented with too many edited-down and economical versions of the last year, snippets at best: from Rob, Nick, Thomas, even Sash. I rewind Sash’s words in my head, so reminiscent of her father’s when I confronted him about the deliberate deceit they had co-managed. Neither of them appears to regret concealing her pregnancy from me, citing my recuperation as their rationale for so many lies. Is there no one I can trust? No one truly on my side? Then I think of Fin. My boy.
‘Mum, hi.’ His voice is edged with doubt, although it’s difficult to be sure as the signal fades in and out, filtered via Bluetooth through the car’s speakers. I can hear voices and a guitar being strummed, the music retreating as he walks away from the source of the background noise. ‘Are you okay?’ he asks. ‘You sound upset.’
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ I reply, hoping I’m not over-compensating as I try to keep the emotion from my voice. ‘Just leaving town, wondered if I could see you.’
‘Now?’
‘If you’re free. I’m a bit—’ I bite back the tears. ‘Just at a bit of a loose end.’
‘Yeah, I guess. Can you give me twenty minutes?’
It takes me longer than that to find Ryan’s house. I’d typed the address Fin texted me into my satnav but, like me, the technology hasn’t caught up with the new layout of this part of town; all one-way streets and no-through roads, the priorities constantly changing. It’s not an area I know well; mainly student lets, which is ironic given Fin’s rejection of that life. The drive has given me time to compose myself, and I’m calmer as I park my car in the nearest gap and walk towards Fin’s choice of home; a scruffy terrace in a run-down street. I shan’t ask him anything, I tell myself; just enjoy his company.
‘Hey, Mum,’ Fin says as he opens the door. ‘You found us.’
The use of us strikes me first, then the overpowering smell as Fin steps back to allow me into the small front room. It’s dark inside, the curtains still closed although it’s mid-afternoon, and the air is smoky; the scent not acrid like tobacco smoke, more herbal and organic than that.
‘Ryan not here?’ I ask as I watch my son close the door.
‘No, he’s still at rehearsal,’ Fin replies, turning to face me. He’s wearing his coat, the shoulders of it loose about his narrow frame, revealing an angular collar bone and a printed tee-shirt.
‘Rehearsal?’ I ask, kissing him lightly on the cheek.
‘Yeah, band practice. We’ve lined up a few more pub gigs.’
‘Ooh, sounds promising.’ I smile. ‘You’re on guitar, I assume?’
‘Yeah, and vocals,’ he replies, looking around him. ‘Sorry about the mess.’
The sofa is covered with a grimy terracotta sheet which presumably hides greater misdemeanours, the carpet tacky with grit and stains beneath my shoes.
‘I just wanted to see you,’ I say, trying not to look too carefully as I take a seat. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have come; it was short notice.’
‘Yeah, it’s just . . .’ He looks around him. ‘This place is a bit of a disappointment to you, I guess.’ He sits at the other end of the sofa and looks across at me. ‘Like me.’
‘You could never, ever disappoint me, darling,’ I say, reaching across to place a hand on his lap. ‘You’re my son and I love you, I just want you to be happy.’
‘Not sure Dad feels the same,’ he replies, edging away.
I will myself not to cry, knowing how much he hates it. I’d wanted to see him, to hold him, to be comforted by him, but now I’m here I’m only reminded of the distance between us. ‘Your father’s giving you money,’ I point out, looking back at Fin. ‘That must show you he cares.’
Fin looks up at me from beneath his fringe then he shakes his head and laughs. ‘You know, Mum, whatever happens you always just keep on going, don’t you? Keeping it together, pretending everything’s fine. You really have no idea, do you?’
‘I don’t understand,’ I say, stung by his words. I’d come here to find an ally, but Fin has changed too. ‘What do you mean?’
‘It just seems like you all take the money and shut up and maybe just once—’ Fin stops himself and flicks his fringe out of his eyes. ‘Doesn’t matter; think what you like.’
‘Is that what you think I did? Took the money and shut up?’ I ask and he shrugs. ‘No, Fin. You can’t make accusations like that and then say nothing. Isn’t that what you’ve done anyway, taking your father’s money for this place?’
‘Nice to know you have such a high opinion of me,’ he says, standing up and walking towards the window to stare out into the street. ‘At least with Dad I know where I stand. Absolutely nowhere.’
‘That’s just not true, he loves you so much! We both do!’
‘Can we please drop it, Mum? I shouldn’t have said anything, just leave it. Okay?’
‘Are you trying to tell me something, Fin? Are you and Ryan . . . together?’
He continues staring at the view of the narrow street, punctuated by the sound of a car as it passes by, then he shakes his head, not in denial, more disappointment. ‘It would be so much simpler if this was about whether I’m gay or not, wouldn’t it? Why do I have define it for you? Why does it even matter?’
I tell him it doesn’t, not at all. I’m just trying to make sense of what’s happened, what I’ve forgotten. He turns to me and says he should probably get back; they’ve only got the rehearsal room for a couple of hours.
I stand too and try to hug him but he stiffens, pulling away as soon as he can. I wave goodbye as I drive off, Fin at the door, his slender figure still shrouded by his oversized parka. I bought him that coat, a surprise for university; thought he’d look the part in it. He’d filled it out back then, shoulders up, straight back, for once proud of his height, but by the time we’d got him there he was already defeated, his head slumped down again. Why hadn’t I listened, or at least noticed how little he wanted to go, how it wasn’t right for him? Maybe I could have saved him from all this quiet rebellion. Saved myself from his obvious resentment.
June – This Year
Nick and I were locking up when he picked up on my reluctance to go home, asking if maybe it was a good time for a catch-up? If Rose had been around I might have confided in her, but she’s with her father at the care home as he’s had a ‘funny turn’, so Nick was the only option. That or go home to an empty house. So I nodded and he unlocked the door again. It was only then I thought to warn him, half joking, that there was to be no funny-business. We both laughed, Nick teasing me he was sure we could be in the same room without ripping each other’s clothes off; besides it had been months since, well, you know. He switched the entrance light on and led the way across the hollow-sounding room, the darkened space somehow feeling much bigger now it was empty.
That was an hour ago, maybe more. Nick is sitting with his back up against the wall of his messy office, mirroring my position on the opposite side of the small room. He smiles at me, listening without interruption; as he has been for most of that time.
‘So let me get this straight . . .’ Nick says, shifting his position from one buttock to the other. ‘Rob rented this new flat for Sash in April?’ I nod. ‘Without mentioning anything to you at all, even after she’d moved in?’ I nod again. ‘You know how much the rent is on those places?’ He kicks over a pile of files with his heavy boot as he adjusts his position again. ‘One downstairs from me just went for twelve hundred a month, but that’s a two-bed.’
‘Hers is a two-bed,’ I reply, recalling Rob’s description of the apartment. ‘Apparently it has the best view of the park.’
Rob didn’t apologise for keeping it a secret from me, even when I’d described how humiliating it was to hear the news from Thomas of all people, a drunk belligerent Thomas who took great pleasure in te
lling me Daddy pays the rent. ‘I told you I’d do anything to sort it, Jo, and I have,’ he replied. But he hadn’t sorted it, not entirely. It might have ended the rift between father and daughter, but Thomas is still very much on the scene, despite Sash’s promises to Rob that she wouldn’t move her boyfriend in with her.
‘What did you expect?’ I asked Rob. ‘She’s besotted with him.’
‘And that kind of told-you-so response is precisely why I didn’t tell you,’ he replied, walking out of the lounge and up the stairs to slam the bedroom door behind him.
‘Wow! No expense spared then,’ Nick observes, wriggling again.
‘Apparently not. What Sash wants, Sash gets,’ I say, more to myself than him.
‘She’s a piece of work,’ Nick says, then catching my eye he says, ‘Sorry.’
‘She’s still my daughter, and she’s only twenty-two,’ I reply, looking away. ‘Anyway, if she is, it’s my fault.’
‘Not true,’ he tells me. ‘Have you spoken to her about the new flat?’
‘We’ve exchanged a few texts, but I’m not ready to go there yet. She and Rob have always been like this, cooking up their little schemes, well this time I’m not . . .’ I stop talking as I notice Nick is now edging forward, an awkward move that involves walking on his buttocks. ‘What are you doing?’ I ask, amused by his clumsiness then concerned at his intention.
‘I’m trying to get near enough to put my arms around you.’
‘Nick, no.’ I stand up, almost colliding with him as he does the same. ‘We agreed.’
‘I was only going to give you a friendly hug,’ Nick says, holding out his arms. ‘Because you looked so sad.’
I allow him to embrace me, at first out of politeness, but then I begin to imagine how it would feel to kiss him again, to feel the weight of him against me as he guided me back towards the wall. He smells of cologne and hair products, and this place. He’s such a different man to Rob – socially minded, principled, thoughtful – and I’m so angry with Rob for going behind my back. It takes me a moment, almost too long, but I pull away, already concerned he may have misread the signals, picking up on my thoughts and extrapolating them to mean something they really don’t; for I don’t want Nick, although I may want the notion of him. I tell him I should go. He hesitates, then nods, asks me to take care. I close the door, my grasp remaining on the handle for a moment, then I march with purpose across the dark and silent room, back towards the entrance light and then my car.
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