by C. J. Skuse
There was more applause, entirely undeserved, and this time I went burning red.
Max leaned in to his dad. ‘She’s not been picked yet,’ he muttered.
‘I know, but she will be,’ he said, smirking. ‘She’s my superstar, aren’t you, Ella?’
I inhaled. I exhaled. It didn’t matter. He didn’t matter.
‘And she’s got the best trainer in the area, Pete Hamlin, coaching her privately to ensure the best possible results – so it shouldn’t be too long now before we see her on that winners’ podium, garlanded with medals. And she’ll have the full Rittman team behind her the whole way. So a toast to our gorgeous Ella, if you will, everybody!’
Once again, the glasses were raised, and everyone looked at me, while I shrank in my seat and silently prayed for it to be over.
But Neil wasn’t finished. ‘Our baby boy, Max, has just finished his first year of A levels – and is predicted all A stars I might add…’
Everybody cheered. Everyone except Shelby. And me.
I was dying to chip in with: It hardly matters what results he got if he’s going to be stuck managing your stinking garden centre the rest of his life but I held on to it tightly, like it was a child teetering on a cliff edge. The applause went on for ages. Then Neil started on about his football prowess and how he was even too good for the England team and Max was back slapped and high-fived and they were all oh so proud of him. All but me. And Shelby.
Then Drunken Uncle Paul piped up from nowhere. ‘Shame our Shelbs couldn’t manage her career prospects a bit better, n’all.’
‘Leave it, Paul,’ muttered Call Me Manda, who by this point had Soggy Yorkshire Baby clamped to her udder-like boob. (Granny Ethel was clutching her handbag to her lap and doing the sign of the cross.)
‘No, they all deserve to know, Mand.’
Shelby looked up from her phone. ‘Don’t start, Dad, please. You said you wouldn’t.’
‘Go on – tell your auntie and uncle what you’ve gone and done.’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ Her glossy pout shimmered and her cheeks glowed red.
‘For God’s sake!’ said Manda.
But Paul wouldn’t leave it alone. He turned to the table and counted them off on his fingers. ‘Three Fs, four Gs and three Us at GCSE. And now, just yesterday, she announces she’s dropping out of her college course and she’s going to become a pop star. I mean, can you credit it? Pinning her future on bloody X Factor!’
Shelby, already at boiling point, slid back her chair and rushed from the room. The silence was punctuated by the baby banging her spoon on the edge of her tray.
‘What did you have to go and say that for, then?’ said Manda, whacking him on his meaty Burnley FC-tattooed forearm.
‘What?’ said Paul, oblivious. ‘I only said the truth. She’s dropped out and she’s applying for The X Factor. Couldn’t hit a bloody note with a frying pan.’
‘Never stopped anyone before.’ Neil grinned, knocking back another glass of wine.
The baby started crying. Manda looked furious as she held her over her shoulder. ‘I can’t believe you did that. You know how funny she is.’
Jo got up with some empty glasses. ‘Who’s for crumble? The top should be browned by now.’
‘I’ll give you a hand,’ said Manda, shoving the winded baby back in her high chair, where she started banging her spoon and roaring like a tiny crusty-faced MP.
‘Oh, she needs that to chivvy her up a bit, she does,’ said Paul, draping his arm across the back of my chair. ‘Bloody wet blanket, she is. If she spent more time on her books and less time on her phone or lads or her bloody hair extensions, maybe she’d have some decent prospects to look forward to, instead of pinning all her hopes on bloody prancing round a stage. It’s not going to happen, is it?’ He turned to me, putting his hot, hairy arm around my shoulders. ‘Well done, girl – well done you.’
‘Can we go soon?’ I whispered to Max, as he leaned across me to clear my plate, Paul’s arm still around me like a blinged-up python.
‘We haven’t had crumble yet. Give it another half-hour, yeah? You haven’t been out to see the Porsche yet, have you? Get Dad to show you.’ Max disappeared out to the kitchen with a stack of plates, leaving me with heat exhaustion and a table-full of his relatives.
Neil butted in, reaching across me for the unopened bottle of Merlot. ‘Yeah, you haven’t seen my new motor, have you?’
Aunty Kathy leaned across Paul and touched my arm. Her perfume was suffocating. ‘Ella, remind me again what distance you are?’
‘Estella’s county champion in the 400 metres, aren’t you?’ Neil butted in again. I reddened, all down my sweaty itchy neck. ‘Yeah,’ said Neil, popping the cork on the bottle. ‘Remember that face. That’s who you’re gonna be cheering for come the next Olympics.’
If I’d been any more embarrassed I’d have exploded and bits of me would have splashed all over the headache-white walls.
Kathy looked impressed. ‘How thrilling. Going to be the next Mo Farah are you?’
‘No, I’m middle distance.’
‘Oh right. Usain Bolt then.’
‘Well, he’s more of a sprinter.’
‘Oh right.’
I couldn’t be bothered to explain any further. Her perfume had hit the back of my throat and I was suddenly nauseous.
‘She’s incredible. Like white lightning, she is. Did you know we sponsor her now? Yeah. Rittman Inc. on all her kit. She’s known as Volcano Girl around here, cos she ‘erupts right out of the blocks’. We’ll keep sponsoring her until she loses – then she’ll be out on her ear.’ Neil winked at me, clearly thinking that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.
‘She knows I’m only kidding. We wouldn’t do that, would we? She’s our superstar.’
Finally at my limit with the heat and the tedium, I slid my chair back. ‘Sorry, just need to pop to the loo,’ I said.
To my horror, Neil got up at the same time. ‘Come and see the car first.’
Taking some plates with me, I went into the kitchen, where Jo was getting the crumble out of the oven and Call Me Manda had the Marigolds on. Then they started fighting over who was doing the washing up.
‘No, Manda, you’re a guest – I won’t have it.’
‘Jo, for goodness’ sake, you’ve cooked, it’s the least I can do.’
‘We do have a dishwasher, you know.’
‘I’ll just leave these here,’ I said, dumping the side plates on the draining board.
‘Thanks, love,’ said Jo. ‘Are you staying for crumble?’
‘Uh, yeah, I think so. Where’s Max?’
‘I don’t know, love.’
I turned and walked right into Neil at full pelt. ‘Come and see the Porsche,’ he said, looking at Jo. ‘Shan’t be a minute. Custard on mine, please.’
I was practically frogmarched out of the kitchen, across the hallway and outside onto the double drive. Neil was right behind me the whole way. He was so close to me I could smell the gravy stain on his shirt.
The black Porsche was parked at an angle on the drive, taking up the space of about three cars and shining like polished coal. There wasn’t a mark on it.
‘What do you think?’ he said, folding his arms and looking at the car like it was a brand new baby. ‘Beautiful, isn’t she? You should hear the engine. She purrs.’
I said nothing – I couldn’t believe he’d infected my private space again, with his arrogance and fatness and general wank. I could hear him swallow. He started banging on about double exhausts, seven-speed gearboxes. I kept looking back through the kitchen window where I could still see Jo and Manda at the sink, gossiping and passing each other plates. He couldn’t do anything with them there.
‘You seem tense, Ella. You and Max haven’t fallen out, have you?’ I felt his hand on my shoulder and my entire body shook him away, like I’d stuck my wet fingers in a plug socket.
‘All right, all right,’ he said, looking aroun
d sheepishly. ‘Take it easy.’
There were a billion words in my head, but none of them seemed powerful enough to tell him how much I hated the sight of him. The smell of him. How much I wanted to scratch and smash the wax out of that Porsche. How much I wanted revenge on him – this ugly, greedy, fat, old perv.
‘Don’t. Touch. Me,’ was all I could manage.
He laughed, looking around again, his breath stale with red wine and roast meat. ‘Whatever you say. Only that horse has kind of bolted now, don’t you think?’
He left me there, standing on the driveway, all four of my limbs shaking with some weird adrenaline that had made my whole body go completely cold. Why could I stand there and let him say and do what he wanted? What was it that rooted me to the spot in terror about that one man? I could face down the Shaws, no problem. I could outrun a furiously angry Zane Walker, who could actually flatten me if he wanted to. I could even stare into the waters of the evil Witch’s Pool and not give a crap about all the skeletons in its depths or the ghosts who lurked around it at night. But when it came to Neil Rittman, I turned to stone. I know it’s there, waiting to come out. Waiting to erupt.
When I could summon the will to move, I walked back inside to the warm smell of baked rhubarb and custard and laughter floating along the hallway. Call Me Manda was bringing up the rear of the crumble dish with a box of vanilla ice cream and a handful of dessert spoons.
‘Crumble’s ready,’ she said proudly. ‘Go and round up the sulks, will you?’
I guessed that she meant Shelby. In the dining room, I noticed Max wasn’t back in his seat either. I think it was then that I knew.
I walked across the hallway towards Max’s bedroom, knowing what I’d see through that slightly ajar door. Each footstep took me closer to a new level of pain. Sure enough, as I peered through the gap, I heard voices. Saw movement. Max lying on his bed. Him wriggling down his jeans. Him, fully excited. Her head in his lap.
‘Quick, hurry up,’ he whispered.
‘All right, all right,’ she said, giggling.
I wasn’t repulsed that they were related. Or even angry, at that point. I was just sad, realising I had lost him. I didn’t know him anymore. I knew he didn’t want to hurt me but I also knew he needed sex. And that was something I just couldn’t give him, no matter how much I wanted us to stay together.
I walked back towards the front door and stepped out onto the drive, the glossy black Porsche eyeballing me like a predator. I didn’t stop to throw a stone at it, or scratch it or kick it like I’d wanted to, five minutes before. Instead, I broke into a run and sprinted back along the streets and roads and back alleys until I was at the roundabout to my house.
Then my phone rang in my pocket.
But it wasn’t Max, like I was expecting. It was Corey.
‘Ella? Ella? Are you there? It’s me, Corey. Ella, I need help, quick. I’m at my house with Fallon. She’s just bleeding everywhere. I don’t know what to do.’
‘Your head must have been all over the place.’
16
Junior Springs a Surprise!
I didn’t have time to dwell on Max and Shelby right then. By the time I’d sprinted the mile or so to Brynstan General, I’d almost forgotten it. I was too worried about why Corey had said Fallon was bleeding. I didn’t know much about childbirth, but I knew blood was a bad sign.
When I got to the hospital, I ran to the reception desk, sweating and breathless, and asked if she’d had been brought in. They sent me up to Maternity on the second floor. The lift took ages. When it opened again, I saw Corey, sitting on a chair in the corridor. His head was against the wall; his eyes wide open. Above him hung a notice board filled with leaflets on ‘Coping with Miscarriage’ and ‘Common Birth Defects’ and support groups.
‘Corey?’ I said.
He saw me and his face crumpled. I dashed straight to him and held him tightly.
‘Is she OK? Corey, is she OK?’ I felt him nod against my shoulder as he sobbed. ‘Is the baby OK?’
He mumbled something. ‘They said it might be – some long word.’
‘What sort of long word?’
‘Something about the thing detaching.’
‘Umbilical cord?’
‘No.’
‘Placenta?’
‘Yeah, it could be that. I didn’t know what to do. I called the ambulance and they came quickly but what if I was too late, Ella? What if she dies because I was too late?’
‘It’s OK, it’s OK,’ I said.
He took off his glasses, wiping his eyes with his coat sleeve. ‘We were sat down, looking at the plans I’ve made for the new chicken run…’
‘What plans?’
‘I’ve been doing some designs for the farm. Rose was talking about it and I offered. I’m going to help build a new coop and an extension to the goats’ pen. I’m gonna set them up with a website too, so they can rehome the cats more quickly.’
‘Corey, why didn’t you go into work today?’
‘Well, Fallon had a twinge and I was worried about her, so I called in sick.’
‘They’re going to fire you if you carry on like this.’
‘They already have,’ he said. ‘I don’t care. What if I hadn’t been there for her, Ella? She could’ve …’
‘I know, I know.’
‘We were gonna bring the cakes round to yours later. Fallon wanted to go to the beach for a picnic. All of a sudden she got this pain and had to sit down. And then all this stuff – blood and stuff – just started shooting out of her, right on my grandparents’ kitchen lino.’
‘You mean her waters broke?’
‘I guess, yeah. All I could think was water and towels, cos you see it on the films, don’t you? Water and towels. But when I got the water and towels, I didn’t have a frigging clue what to do with them. So then I called Rosie and she told me where the overnight bag was and the money for the taxi and then I called you. I couldn’t think what else to do.’
‘You did good, Corey. Really good.’
He sat back down on the chairs but angled his head towards Room Five. ‘What if I hadn’t been there, Ella?’
‘You were there,’ I said, squeezing his hand. ‘That’s what you’ve got to think. If you want to go in with her now, I’ll be OK here—’
‘No,’ he interrupted. ‘It doesn’t seem right. She’s got her legs wide open and everything. And her mum’s with her.’ He looked quite faint. ‘How do women do it? I mean, seriously? It looks very painful. And traumatic.’
‘I think it is,’ I said. ‘Do you think we should call Zane?’
‘Fallon said he won’t give a crap.’
‘Perhaps not, then.’ I felt for the note in my pocket. It was still there, crumpled and creased and burning a hole.
Just then, the door to Room Five opened and out stepped Roadkill Rosie herself. Corey stood up, fiddling with the hem of his T-shirt. ‘How is she?’
‘About ready to pop. They’re keeping an eye on her, don’t worry. You can come and see her in a minute, all right, but let the midwives do their job. There’s a waiting area just down there on the right. I’ll come and tell you if there’s news.’
I’d forgotten how nice she was, alongside her squat, witchy appearance and butcher’s forearms. I remembered Rosie properly now. I remembered that I liked her. She’d been kind.
‘Won’t be long now.’ Rosie patted Corey’s forearm and smiled at us both before disappearing back into Room Five.
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘I need something sweet.’
We made our way down to the waiting area and I headed straight for the vending machine. There was a circle of chairs around it, a table loaded with magazines, a box of Lego, a stack of colouring sheets and a pot plant that had grown to the ceiling. A bloke with sunken cheeks waited with one knee bouncing to the tune of ‘Another One Bites the Dust’, and an older woman in a furry cardigan and two kids were colouring in The Gruffalo on the table.
I checked the clock on
the wall. It was 4.27 p.m.
By 5.19, we’d had another update from Rosie: labour was progressing normally, and Fallon had been given some drugs so she wasn’t in so much pain. Every time we heard a scream, Corey had to cover his ears.
He sighed. ‘Do you know what I bought myself at the start of the summer? A Marauders Map, a bottle of poly-juice potion and a wand. Over seventy quid I spent on all that. It would have been more if they had Golden Snitches in stock.’
‘I thought you were over Harry Potter?’ I said.
He glared at me. ‘You don’t ever “get over” Harry Potter, Ella. At best you just learn to live with the fact that fucking envelope’s never going to arrive.’
‘Well, whatever makes you happy.’
‘Yeah, but I’m not a kid any more. I need to spend my money on things that matter. I want to be more independent. Nan and Granddad do everything for me – my washing, my meals, tidying my room. Nan even still buys my pants.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘I’ve seen her in Peacocks.’
He sighed. ‘I just want to be useful. I wanna spend my money on useful things. I know I can be more than this, Ella. I can do most things. And yeah I’m a bit slow sometimes and I can’t run fast but I know computers. And I can drive – sort of. I want to look after Fallon.’
‘How are you going to support them with no job?’ I asked.
‘I’ll get another one. The Costa in town is looking for a barista. You get free lattes and all the brownies you can eat. I’ve got some savings to be going on with anyway.’
‘Are you sure you want to do that?’
‘Yes. I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life.’