“Oh. Yes,” says Stu, and he seems confused. “Haven’t seen you for a while, Bill.”
Dad looks towards Mum and pushes his hands into his pockets. “No. We ought to have a drink soon, mate.”
“Is that your mum?” whispers Malc.
I remember the incident outside the pub before Christmas, but I’m pretty sure he can’t recognise her from then; she looks so different now with her shorter hair.
“Yeah, why?”
“Did she and my dad – you know?” He looks completely serious.
I frown back at him hard. “No way! Don’t be an idiot. She hardly knows your dad. She’s back with Dad now. He just moved back in.”
“Weird,” he says, shaking his head. “She looks just like this woman I saw once – just like her. Maybe she’s got a double.” He chews at the corner of a fingernail, watching Mum closely as she gets nearer.
My heart’s pounding, and I don’t even know why.
“We’d better get off, Malc,” says Stu. “Things to do.”
When Mum reaches our table, there’s an awkward silence, before we all say goodbye and Malcolm and Stu go and sit at the back of the café.
“You’d really like Stu if you got to know him, Mary,” says Dad, tearing open a sugar sachet and pouring it into his coffee. “He’s a good bloke, isn’t he, Jake?”
I nod, hiding my face behind the huge chocolate éclair that Mum brought back for me.
“I don’t rate his taste in women much, though,” Dad laughs. He sweeps spilt sugar off the table into his palm, then brushes it from his hands on to the floor. I’ve seen him do this movement countless times, and I don’t know why he doesn’t just sweep the stuff straight on to the floor.
Mum stirs her tea for longer than it needs, never looking up from the table.
“But, anyway, it sounds like Gypsy’s disappeared, so that’s her out of the picture,” says Dad. “Poor old Stu, I think he misses family life.” He reaches across the table for Mum’s hand. “Sometimes I have to remind myself how lucky I am.”
We get a brilliant deal when we buy my midi system. It’s got a record player, built-in amp, radio, and a double cassette deck, so I can record tape to tape. We traipse around all the electrical shops until we find the right one, and Dad bargains hard at the end to get some money knocked off and a couple of free albums thrown in to boot. I choose Misplaced Childhood by Marillion and The Beatles’ White Album, because Dad says it’s a classic that belongs in every serious music collection.
Afterwards, I ask Mum if we can go into Millets as I’ve got some money left to spend.
“If you want clothes, we should go to M and S or British Home Stores, Jakey. Millets is a camping shop – they won’t have much there.” Mum obviously hasn’t been in Millets for years.
“It’s not really clothes, in particular,” I say. “They do shoes too – converse, DMs. And monkey boots, you know, like George’s got? They’re really cool, but I could also wear them for school because they’re black lace-ups. Means you wouldn’t have to buy me an extra pair for school. And my school shoes are getting a bit tight now.”
“Well, let’s have a look,” says Mum and we head up towards Millets at the other end of the high street.
In Millets, Mum and Dad agree that the monkey boots are a good idea. I also manage to find myself a new army green canvas satchel for school, just like the one George had hanging on the back of his bedroom door. All it needs are some badges and a bit of graffiti, and it’ll look just right.
We head home with a handful of bags, a big box, and a tenner still unspent in my wallet. I think about all the new albums I’ll buy with my shop wages, and about what I’ll write in my letter to George this week. We’ve already decided that we’re going to send each other tapes of any new albums we’ve bought, so we’ll end up with double the amount of music.
Mum pops into the Spar to pick up some mince and carrots to make a shepherd’s pie for supper.
“I think we’ve got onions and plenty of potatoes at home,” she says as she comes back out of the shop. “And look, I got one of these too.” She holds up a Swiss roll, to have with custard for pudding.
“This day just keeps getting better,” I smirk at her and Dad. “My favourite ever supper, and a new midi system! Did I mention that I’ve got a midi system? Did I? Did I?”
Mum laughs, and bops the back of my legs with her shopping bag.
Dad pats me on the back. “Well, you earned it, son. You’ve worked hard for that money. You’ve got a bloody good work ethic, and that’s as much as you need to survive in life, Jakey. Well done.”
I nod up at him, feeling my chest puffing up with pride. I can’t wait to tell Mr Horrocks that I managed to get the midi system I’d been saving for. He’s got Griffin today, so I can pop in and tell him about it later, when I pick the dog up.
As we get closer to home, Dad says he fancies a pint in the Royal Oak.
“But I thought you were going to help me set up my system, Dad?”
“Oh, come on, Jakey, I’ve helped you choose it, haven’t I? And I got you a good deal. I’m just going in for a pint or two – you get started and I’ll be back to give you a hand in a while.” He disappears through the front door of the pub without looking back. Mum stares after him, looking tired.
“Come on, darling,” she says, “I’ll give you a hand, once I’ve had a cup of tea and unpacked the shopping. I’m sure there are clear instructions in the user manual.”
“I know,” I say. “But I just thought that Dad would want to help me set it up.”
Mum gives me that understanding look that I’ve seen a million times, and we carry on up the street towards home.
“He will, Jakey. Just let him have his pint, and he’ll be back to help you out. In the meantime, see how much you can get done without him. That’ll show him! So. Happy with your ape boots, then?”
“Monkey boots, Mum! They’re monkey boots!”
“I know,” she says, laughing at me, “I’m pulling your leg, you great hairy chimp!”
I nudge her shoulder with my head, careful not to dislodge the box in my arms, and give her one of my cross-eyed loony faces. She puts down the shopping to pull out the door key and let us in.
“You get started upstairs, and I’ll be up to give you a hand in a minute, Jakey. Cup of tea?”
I nod, and disappear up the stairs with my new gear.
Mary, November 1980
I’m woken by the creak of small feet on the staircase. The nine o’clock news is drawing to an end, and the fire is down to its last embers. A child appears in the doorway of the living room, and in the dim light I think it’s a little girl. It’s Jake, in his dressing gown, rubbing his face.
“What’s the time?” he asks, turning to look at the television.
“Must be about half nine,” I reply, holding my arms wide to beckon him closer.
In his half sleep, he forgets that he’s nine, and pads over to climb into my embrace.
“I’m cold. And hungry,” he says, as he stretches over the arm of the chair to reach for the plate of cheese and crackers I’d been eating before I dropped off. His pyjama sleeve catches on my glass, sending red wine splashing up the wall.
“Oh, Jake!” I curse, brushing him off my lap and flicking on the light in one movement. “Why are you always so clumsy? You’re always knocking stuff over. Well, get a cloth then!”
He hurries off to the kitchen, and returns with a white tea towel.
I tut. “Not that one. It’s red wine, for God’s sake. Oh – I’ll do it myself.”
When I finish clearing the mess I look up to where Jake is sitting on the sofa with his knees under his chin, remorse across his face. I feel horrible, but I can’t say anything that might take it back. I uncork the wine bottle and pour the small remains into my empty glass.
“No harm done.” I sit down in my armchair again, and pat my knee for him to come back on to my lap, but he pretends not to notice. After a few minutes’ sil
ence, I finish the last of my drink and clap my hands together. “Right! It’s way past bedtime, darling. Time for bed.”
Jake doesn’t move.
“Come on, Jakey,” I say.
“Where’s Dad?” he asks.
“Out.”
“Out where?”
“The Royal Oak,” I answer, poking at the dying embers with the toasting fork.
“But he was out way before we went to bed,” Jake says with his bottom lip hanging out.
“I know. He’s met a friend, probably.”
I clear away my glass and push the bottle to the bottom of the kitchen bin. My head feels woozy, where I’ve been dozing.
“He should be back by now,” Jake grumbles, climbing back up the stairs towards bed.
“Night,” I call after him.
“Night,” he calls back.
I sit and gaze at the fire as the flames catch the new log I’ve placed in the ashes. I switch off the main light and go to the kitchen cupboard for a drink. Click-clack it pings as I gently pull it open over the oven. There’s vodka, so I pour myself a glass, topped up with lime cordial and ice.
As I sit in the glowing darkness of the living room, the ice cubes clink about in the liquid like little lights. I’d rather be drinking red wine or whisky, a drink that warms the insides on a cold November night. But the drink is still soothing, and by the time Jake comes back down, I must have had two or three more.
“Is Dad still out?” he asks, lit up in silhouette.
“Uh-huh,” I answer, turning back to the orange flames.
“What time is it now?”
“Nearly eleven,” I say, looking in his direction.
“Maybe something’s wrong?” he says. He looks like he might cry.
“Of course it’s not,” I say, trying to keep the irritation from my voice. “He’s just got caught up with someone.”
Jake’s quiet for a minute. “I think we should find him. Just in case.” He walks to the coat rack by the front door, and pulls down my coat. “Come on, Mum. It’s just round the corner.”
I look at the clock on the mantelpiece. It’s 10.50. Billy had gone out for a couple of pints at six, saying he’d be back for supper. My stomach growls, and suddenly the sight of skinny little Jake, holding out my coat, fills me with hot rage. I imagine Billy in his favourite spot at the bar, supping his fifth or sixth pint and laughing away, without a care in the world. And there’s Jakey, worried about his father, who hasn’t a thought for anyone. I snatch my coat from Jake’s hand, and I wrap him in his, and I march him outside, steadying myself on the doorframe as we go.
“Shh,” I whisper as I ease the front door closed behind us. We creep away from the house.
Our breath is white in the black night air, and we trot down the road in small fierce steps, until we’re standing outside the Royal Oak, looking in. The windows are steamed up on the inside, and we can hear the bubbling chatter and laughter pressing against the walls and doors.
“You stay here,” I tell Jakey.
“No chance!” he says, his eyes enormous. “It’s pitch black out ’ere.”
“Out here,” I correct him and we enter through the public bar door. I spot Billy immediately. He’s sitting at the far corner, leaning on the bar, talking to Cindy. Cindy is Eric the Landlord’s new girlfriend. She moved in a few weeks ago, after his wife moved out. The New Model, Billy and Pete call her. Eric’s down this end of the bar, pulling pints and mopping up spills.
“Cindy!” he shouts. “A hand this end, love!” and Cindy totters along the bar to serve the waiting drinkers.
I walk through the bar, with Jake close at my heels, avoiding the stares of the locals. Billy’s eyes meet mine as I draw near. Panic crosses them.
“Mary! What’re you doing here, darlin’?”
I’m icy.
He notices Jake, smiling shyly as he comes out from behind me. “Jakey!”
Billy’s face suddenly turns from pleasure to concern, and he straightens up. “What’s wrong? Are the boys alright?”
I get up close to him and whisper through gritted teeth, “They’re fine. But Jake was worried. He thought something might have happened to you. As it’s been five hours since you went out.”
Billy checks his watch, and looks straight past me to Jake. “Oh, Jakey boy! Bless you, son – I’m fine. Just got chatting a bit long, that’s all.”
Jake smiles at his dad, adoring and gullible.
“Want some crisps?” Billy asks. “Cindy! Come and meet my boy! What flavour, Jakey?”
Cindy gets Jake a packet of smoky bacon crisps and a bottle of Coke.
Billy turns to me. “Mary, darling? What’ll it be?”
I want to say, no, I’ve got to get back to the boys, but Cindy stands there waiting for my answer, all fresh and fleshy in her tight salmon T-shirt, and I know I have to stay for Billy’s sake. “Red wine, please,” I say, suddenly ashamed of my faded leggings and unbrushed hair.
Jake’s face is glowing with happiness, his eyes sparkling and excited.
“He’s a lovely boy, Billy,” Cindy says as she puts my glass down on the bar in front of me. She wipes the bar down and slowly moves along the surface away from us, taking care to mop up all the spills.
“She seems nice,” I say to Billy, as I watch her polish the brass of the drip tray.
Billy speaks low so that Jake can’t hear. “Poor old Eric. She’s a bit of a slapper, but he hasn’t sussed it out yet. See Tony over there? She was with him last Wednesday. On her ‘night off’.”
I look over to where Tony’s sitting, at the other end of the bar. He’s a man in his late thirties, with a sad, hungry look about him, and his eyes follow Cindy wherever she goes. Cindy now wipes the bar in front of him, slowly leaning in to make a good job of it. Eric rushes about behind the bar, doing twice as much work as Cindy.
Billy gives me a wink. “Poor old fool,” he says.
I laugh, forgetting my bad mood, and wonder whether he means Eric or Tony.
As Eric rings time behind the bar, we finish our drinks and walk out into the empty street. Jake pushes himself between us and holds our hands.
“Can we do this again, some day? Maybe in the ’olidays?” He looks from me to Billy. “Just us three?”
“I don’t think so, Jakey. And it’s holidays. We’re not supposed to leave the others on their own, you know?”
Billy ruffles Jake’s hair. “Of course we can, son. We’ll work something out.”
I tut, and scowl at Billy over Jake’s head. Jake squeezes my hand and does a little skip-hop between us, blowing his cold breath out in a cloud of white steam.
Jake, June 1985
Dad gets back about half eleven. Mum went to bed hours ago, but I stayed up in my room, playing about with my music. Griffin’s asleep on the floor beside my bed, and his ears prick up when he hears the front door go. I flick off the power switch, and jump into bed, pretending to be asleep in case Dad comes up to ask me about my midi system.
But I hear him downstairs, clattering about in the kitchen, searching out the shepherd’s pie that Mum has plated up and left in the oven for him. The TV goes on, and I know he’s not coming up. I fall asleep to the sound of his fork scraping across the plate, as he polishes off the supper we all started four hours ago.
After Sunday lunch, we settle down in front of a film that Mum wants us all to watch, The Yearling. It’s about this boy and his poor family. They adopt an orphaned fawn, who becomes the boy’s best friend.
“It’s a beautiful film,” says Mum, as it’s just starting.
“Not forgetting it’s got Gregory Peck in it,” Dad says, easing himself into his armchair. “Apparently he’s a ‘bit of a dish’. Your mum’s words, not mine.”
Mum snuggles into the sofa, putting her arm round Andy. “Rather a dish, and a great actor. Now shush, and let’s watch the film.”
When the film’s about halfway through, the phone rings. Mum pulls a face at Dad as he gets out of his armcha
ir.
“Leave it,” she says, “they can always phone back later if it’s important.”
But Dad never leaves a phone unanswered, thinks it’s dishonest to pretend you’re not in. He sprints over to the window sill, pulls back the curtain and grabs the receiver.
“Bill Andrews speaking.” He always answers it like this, as if he’s working in an office or something. “Stu, mate, how’s it going?” He sounds pleased to hear from him.
Mum turns to look at him over the back of the sofa. He keeps his back to us, one finger over his free ear, his shape silhouetted in the crack of daylight from the half-opened curtains.
“Course I can, mate. What time d’you need me? – OK, let me get a pencil, I’d better jot the address down – I’ll only forget otherwise. Yup, yup – OK. See you in about ten minutes, Stu.” And he hangs up.
For a moment he pauses in the window light, then he quietly pulls the curtain back across the window, and comes over. He squats down behind the sofa, leaning his arms on the back.
“You don’t mind if I pop out for an hour, love?” says Dad, talking to the side of Mum’s face. She’s staring ahead at the film with a blank expression.
“Why’s that?” she asks.
“It’s Stu. He’s just moved into a new flat on the other side of town, and he’s struggling to get the bed up the stairs. He’s got a friend down there with him, but they need another pair of hands. I said I’d take my tools down in case it needs taking apart. He’s a mate. You don’t mind, do you?”
Mum shakes her head, doesn’t say anything more. Dad gathers together some of his screwdrivers in a tool belt and heads out the door. After a couple of seconds I hear his key in the lock, and he pops back in, reaches for his wallet on the side, and pops back out again, giving me a wave as he goes.
I move into his armchair, and me, Andy and Mum watch the rest of the film in silence. The deer has grown up now, but it keeps eating the crops of the family, who are so poor that they are almost starving. When the boy takes the gun into the woods, Mum is already mopping the tears up from her face, and Andy’s eyes are watery. Even I’m trying to swallow back the lump in my throat. I pat my lap, and Griffin jumps up for a cuddle. He turns himself over so I can rub his round little belly. He’s got these really soft little pink bits under his front legs, where the hair grows thinner, and he wriggles like mad when I tickle him there. I imagine what it would be like if I had to take Griffin out into the woods with a gun, for the good of the family. I couldn’t do it. I’d have to just run away with him, I think. I’d have to pack a bag, and run away, maybe to Mr Horrocks. He’d have us.
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