A Jarful of Moondreams_What does it take to make a dream true?

by Chrissie Bradshaw

  That’s when she went off it again. The weeping and wailing grated on my nerves and Dad didn’t appease her with his usual patting and whispers of ‘come on’ and ‘there, there, don’t get upset’. His silence didn’t seem to be helping. I went around to hug her and Mum sniffed and turned her head away.

  I said, ‘Look Dad, you just go and I’ll go in there myself. You and Mum have seen the place anyway and going in there is going to make her even worse. They’re expecting me, so let’s just say goodbye from here.’

  Dad came over, gave me a long hug, told me not to worry and everything would be sorted out. He then handed me the envelope of cash to give to the staff and as I walked towards Mum, she put her hand out to stop me approaching.

  I climbed the first steps and composed myself to wave them off. As the car disappeared from view, I turned towards the door. I was facing months of incarceration and then I would have a tussle to keep my baby. I was about to open the door, feeling despondent at what lay ahead, when a waft of cooking, it was like boiled cabbage, made me retch.

  That jolted me into action. I fled back down the steps and darted into some shrubbery to the side of the house, thinking I might be sick on the steps. The morning sickness was getting better but certain smells were lethal.

  A retch or two and a few breaths of air later, I returned to my suitcase just as a taxi was pulling up. A heavily pregnant girl got out and the driver helped her to the doors. One door opened and swallowed her up and the driver came down the steps and noticed me. I hadn’t moved from my case.

  ‘It must be all over for you then, love?’ he questioned looking at me and my case. ‘Are you wanting to go to the station?’

  ‘Yes.’ It was out before I could think and I jumped into the back of the cab and was off. The cab driver chatted about the number of times he had done this run and then the train station appeared.

  ‘Where are you off to now then? Are you on the two o’clock to Manchester? You have ten minutes to get it from platform two.’

  I nodded at him and gave him two notes. ‘£2 and keep the change, thanks.’

  I bought a single to Manchester and stood at platform two. I got aboard thinking, what have I done? I found a seat and sank into it. As the train moved away, I realised that, for the first time in months, I felt light. I felt alive. I didn’t feel full of guilt and blame and regret. It was similar to how I felt today, getting on board this plane.

  I got off at Manchester and found lodgings, found friends and changed my name so that my parents couldn’t track me down. If they found me, they’d make me give baby up. I sent a letter to say I was fine but wouldn’t embarrass them by keeping in touch and that was the last they heard from me for a very long time.’

  ‘And your chosen name was Teresa Moon,’ Greg said.

  ‘Oh no, not Teresa,’ Teri shook her head and smiled at Greg. ‘I was seventeen, very fanciful and I was mad about all things Egyptian. I wanted to read Ancient history at Oxford, remember. On my first night in Manchester, I changed into Neferteri Moon. Neferteri after the Egyptian queen and Moon because it was a full moon that night and I needed to quickly think up a surname to get digs.’

  ‘So you are Teri because the name Neferteri is beautiful, but a bit of a mouthful?’ Greg still sounded interested; she hadn’t bored him too much with her meanderings.

  ‘Yes, that’s right, and now you’re the only other living person to know the history of my change of name.’

  ‘I’m honoured. I really am. You’re a very interesting companion. Did you know that Neferteri means ‘beautiful companion’?’ he asked.

  Teri nodded and felt her cheeks flush. She hadn’t known the meaning when she chose it for herself.

  They sat in silence for a while, each with their own thoughts.

  Teri looked at Greg who had fallen asleep. That would pass some of the journey away. Teri thought she’d never relax enough to sleep, but she dozed off and her old nightmare came back to taunt her.

  She was leaning over the sink in the cold, dark bathroom feeling sick, splashing cold water on her face. A rapid banging on the bathroom door gave rise to a different lurching feeling of sickness. She rested her cold, clammy brow on the bathroom wall in utter despair. Her mum, must she face her?

  ‘Margaret! Margaret! Come out of there now. I need a word with you.’

  Wearily she opened the bathroom door, wiping her face with the towel she had been clutching to her mouth to stifle the noise of her retching. She met the dark, raging face of her mother. With a halo of curlers and a pink candlewick dressing gown hugged around her, she looked comical; Margaret felt only terror.

  ‘I knew it. I just knew you would have to go and do something like this to let down the family. You’re pregnant aren’t you? You stupid, stupid little fool!’ The words are spat out.

  She said nothing, it was best to say nothing when her mother was in full flow; it would pass sooner if she stayed silent. This was Dad’s strategy and she tried to adopt it. The urge to say something was strong, but her mother was past listening.

  ‘Say something!’

  ‘What on earth is going on?’ Dad appeared on the landing rubbing his eyes and looking dazed.

  Feeling cornered and ready to throw up again, she rushed back to bed and burrowed under the blankets. Muffled sounds, raised voices, and then the weight of someone on the side of the bed. Dad drew the covers back from her face.

  ‘Is it true, Margaret love?’ he whispered.

  Opening her eyes to meet his, she wondered if he was for her, or for her mother.

  ‘Yes,’ relief and fear swept through her. Would Dad make it all right?

  She saw him drop his head and let the covers fall over her and felt his weight leave the bed. The door closed. Silence. No one could put things right. She was left alone; she had a reprieve, but for how long?

  Teri woke up with a start; it had been years since she’d dreamed of that. She was feeling icy cold. Yes, she’d been Margaret then, another life ago and her girls knew nothing about it. She really should just tell them, but her parents’ rejection was still raw. They were better off not knowing how her parents had reacted. Cleo felt bad enough about things without knowing how her grandparents had not wanted her.

  Just seventeen, she had been a mere babe like Alex, and she had never forgotten that hurt. Shivering, she buzzed for a blanket.

  Greg woke when their food was about to be served and they were both starving enough to tackle the airline’s meal. As they gamely tried to drink the coffee, rather thick and bitter, Teri asked Greg why he was taking a break from archaeology. He didn’t answer for a while and she was starting to wonder if he had heard her. Eventually, he looked at her and, from his expression, she could guess that he’d gone back to a painful place.

  ‘You’ve been honest with me, so I should be open with you in return. I was married, my wife was an archaeologist too and we went on digs together. I’m not ready to do any without her just yet.’

  ‘I can understand that. It’s hard to carry on the same way when you’re on your own. How long have you been apart? Is it permanent?’

  Greg’s face was ashen as his gaze met hers. ‘Oh, it’s permanent all right, Teri. Laura was killed. A helicopter crash, coming out to meet me. She’d just had confirmation that she was pregnant. I didn’t find that out until later. I’ve lost her and our future.’

  They sat in silence for a long time. Teri was remembering the horror of finding out that a lorry had smashed into Mac’s car when they had so much to look forward to.

  ‘I do understand, Greg,’ she explained, ‘I lost my husband when I was about your age.’

  The remainder of the flight flew by as they regaled each other with stories of Laura and Mac and found they were remembering happy times.

  14

  Cleo sat in front of the TV, her eyes were looking towards the screen but she wasn’t following the recording of Endeavour. Her mind was racing over the day’s events while thinking about how she’d survive
the next day... and the day after that. She was sitting here on her own, yet she wasn’t happy in her own company, with Alex in the spare room and her office being taken over by Neil.

  She’d had it out with him about misleading Dan on the phone and deleting his number but she couldn’t forgive him. She never did get to see Dan before his flight back to Australia and just hoped that the Newcastle vacancy would come up soon and she would get a chance to see him and talk things over.

  Before that, she wanted Neil out. Now that Alex was here, he was camping out in her office and had brought in a hideous blow-up bed in a brown cover that took up most of the floor space. He’d assured her it was only a matter of days now so she’d just have to be patient. Patience! The very word irritated the hell out of Cleo.

  She walked across to her bowl on the kitchen counter and, as she took a handful of gummy jellies, she tried to close her eyes to the dimly lit kitchen area. Disaster area more like, she firmly turned her back on it all and perched on the sofa, annoyed that she was unable to ignore the mess.

  Cleo delighted in chewing furiously on several jellies at a time. Open plan living was fine when she was on her own but from the sofa she could see the dishes and debris from their dinner and the dining table still needed to be cleared. Her idea of having a welcome dinner for Alex had been met with a lukewarm reception from both Neil and Alex and she’d prepared and cooked on her own, while they both busied themselves with an iPad and laptop.

  After dinner, Alex had left the table and said she would just go and settle into her room and Neil had excused himself with work to do. No offers of help with the clearing up. Cleo had left the table too and now she couldn’t relax while she was looking at that aftermath and worrying about how they’d all fit in.

  A god almighty terrible smell wafted across the room. Where had that come from? She got up to follow it to her bedroom; the door was ajar. It was definitely coming from her room. She put on the light.

  ‘Oh for heaven’s sake! What have you done?’ Her piercing cry brought Neil and Alex rushing from their rooms.

  Pharos had clawed a latrine for himself in the centre of her duvet. He was now curled up sleeping peacefully in a wicker basket on top of her clean washing.

  ‘I thought he was with you. You said you’d look after him, Alex!’ Cleo shouted. ‘Don’t laugh, it’s not a bit funny’

  Alex dashed across to the basket and picked the old boy up,

  ‘Poor Pharos, you’re not used to being a city cat. Come on and I’ll show you your new litter box.’ She sailed out of the room controlling her grin but Cleo could read her delighted look of pure mischief.

  ‘Gross.’ Neil just shrugged and went back to the office.

  Cleo loved that white cover, she loved her goose down duvet too but a closer inspection showed that both were beyond rescue. She had given up her apartment, they were all unappreciative and now her bed, the only sanctuary she had left, had been defiled. She really wanted to cry or throw something.

  Swallowing back hot tears of self-pity, she formed a plan of action. It started with turning off the TV and looking through her iPod to find the playlist that she used when she was running. As Echo Beach blasted out of the speakers, she grabbed a big bin bag and set about binning, cleaning and putting her apartment straight.

  Alex was now sitting on the sofa, cradling Pharos as Cleo put glasses and plates away and sang along to Don’t stop me now. As Cleo paused to pour herself a well-deserved glass of wine into one of the sparkling clean glasses, Alex said,

  ‘You’re just like Mum when you do housework, nothing gets in your way.’

  ‘Am I?’ Cleo felt unaccountably pleased to be compared to her mum. ‘It’s a shame you’re not and can’t join in’

  ‘I would have but you didn’t ask and I am a guest,’ Alex had a deadpan expression.

  ‘Are you joking?’

  ‘No, why would I? You have no sense of humour.’

  Cleo walked over to the sofa and sat by her. ‘Look, Alex, I want you to feel at home here and don’t want you to feel you have to be treated like a guest.’

  Alex broke up laughing, ‘Fooled you! And Cleo I’d never feel at home here in a million years. It’s too, too... you.’

  Cleo left her and escaped into her bedroom. She closed the door firmly; what a little madam but she just wouldn’t rise to it.

  She took a spare duvet and cover from the high shelf of her wardrobe, polyester from student days - no goose down then, and pulled down a panel of quilting that her mum had made her when she first moved into her apartment. It didn’t really match Cleo’s style and she’d put it out of the way. She thought that it would be ideal as bedding for Pharos. She took it through and handed it to Alex.

  ‘Here you can use this as a bed for Pharos and make sure that he knows about that litter tray in your room too.’

  Alex was looking at her in dismay. ‘Cleo, you must be joking. You’re not going to use that piece of art that Mum made for you for the cat’s bed?’

  ‘He needs somewhere to sleep.’ Cleo was puzzled. Alex usually thought nothing was too good for the Egyptian prince.

  ‘Mum spent months making that and you haven’t even appreciated it.’

  Cleo was unsure whether this was another wind-up. Their mum was always in her studio making patchwork and tapestry stuff and Pharos had slept on many of them. She’d thought it might make him feel more settled and leave her bedding alone.

  Alex spread the panel on the table. It might have made a half-counterpane for the bottom of Cleo’s bed but she wouldn’t think of using it as a wall hanging like Mum sometimes did.

  ‘Look at it. Mum made it all in shades of cream and grey because you like boring colours but she made it a story about you too. She used Dad’s ties for some of it and it took her ages, you ungrateful doylem!’

  Dad’s ties? Cleo studied it more carefully than she had when she was given it. She wasn’t the biggest fan of Mum’s craft stuff but she had to admit it was intricate.

  Alex jabbed her finger at part of the panel.

  ‘Look at the baby cradle with an embroidered C –that’s you. Look here, at the scroll and the cap –that’s your degree. Look at the M scrolled around an apple; that’s McAplin for Dad. See all the new and full moons around the border and the Moondream jar here? Just look at the details and then step back and look at it all from a distance.’

  Cleo stepped back wondering what she should be looking for. Then she saw it, it leapt out at her and took her by surprise. ‘My God, It’s the approach to home. It’s a landscape of High Rigg and the road leading to it.’

  ‘And you’ve only just realised?’ asked Alex.

  The incredulous look on Alex’s face told Cleo that it was too late to pretend otherwise. She could see it all now, but she’d never bothered before. She had unwrapped it, thanked Mum and then pushed it away when she got home. Cleo felt ashamed. It was a beautiful personal panel of her life and she’d pushed it to the back of a shelf.

  ‘You were meant to have this for your wall, Cleo. Mum is talented you know. Neferteri Designs, her work, was sought after in the eighties.

  This deserved criticism on top of the events of the day caught up with Cleo and she felt tearful.

  ‘Hey chill, don’t cry about it now. Mum and I know just what you’re like and how you need things spelling out at times.’ With that Alex left with Pharos over her shoulder.

  Cleo, clutching the panel, retreated to her room to have a good cry. Perhaps Alex was right, perhaps she did need some things spelling out.

  Sunday wasn’t as bad as Cleo had anticipated. Alex and Cleo went over to Heather and Mark’s for dinner and Neil went out for the day. Alex chatted and laughed with Heather much more easily than she did with Cleo and they were both entertained by Archie.

  Afterwards, Cleo drove by the school and filled Alex in on how the school ran and what she thought Alex’s new teachers were like.

  The school had agreed to take Alex for the last few weeks of term.
She had to complete some work set by her own school but she could go into Art, English and Drama lessons because their syllabus was similar and she would probably benefit from different viewpoints and from mixing with the students.

  Alex seemed subdued after they got back. She retreated to her room and Cleo could hear that she was on the phone to the EllaBellas for ages.

  When it went quiet, Cleo knocked at her door and to ask if there was anything she needed or wanted to know before school next day. Alex opened the door and Cleo could see that her eyes were reddened and she looked miserable.

  ‘The school is OK Alex, you’ll be fine.’ Cleo wished that she felt as sure as she sounded.

  ‘Cleo, I don’t want to travel with you. Could I go by the metro train? I don’t really want the kids to see me, a newbie, arrive with the deputy.’

  Cleo could understand that and she tried to ignore the fact that Alex was scratching at the door edge and flaking the paintwork as she talked. The kids at school would find out they were related soon enough with their surnames being the same. There weren’t that many ‘Moons.’

  ‘Good idea. I go really early anyway so you could leave after me and walk to the metro station if you want. And Alex, at school I’ll be Miss Moon to you.’

  Alex put her tongue out and grinned before closing the door.

  Cleo picked up the flakes of paint and started to get ready for the next day. Would it all go smoothly at Tyneview? She hoped so.

  15

  Alex woke early and heard Cleo in the kitchen but she didn’t get up. She felt nervous about going into a new school but she knew she was more than capable of holding her own. It was just such an embarrassment being related to Cleo. She’d had a brainwave about that before she fell asleep last night. She heard a gentle tap and Cleo saying she was off.