Shadows Of Regret

by Greenwood, Ross

  ‘Can we get a job?’ asks Maleeha.

  Sally had arrived a few minutes ago for her late shift and was filling in paperwork when we found her in the office. A perceptive look creeps onto her face, though.

  ‘I’m so pleased that you’ve asked. It’s one of the positive signs we hope to see.’

  ‘We’re bored.’

  ‘Ah, Katie. How can you be? There’s a whole world out there. Go for a walk. The art galleries might be a nice thing to do. Watch people. Laugh at the students who think they know it all and mostly don’t.’

  The thousands of students trigger a mixed response in me. It’s great to see youngsters laughing and enjoying themselves. Most are extremely polite, even the drunken ones. That said, I feel an element of jealousy at their carefree lives. I’m sure they feel pressure from exams and deadlines, but it must be wonderful to have a whole life of possibility and excitement ahead of you.

  I wonder if my life could have been different. The prison tutors all thought I had an aptitude for learning. I breezed the tests I revised for. I even have vague recollections of being told I was bright at school. Put some effort in they said, but I could never engage. I existed in a bubble waiting for the next awful thing to happen.

  ‘We want money, Sally,’ I add.

  ‘Ah, now you’re being honest.’

  It's true. I didn’t care about clothes and make-up in prison. I wasn’t bothered about perfume and stationery, and all the other things people focused on collecting. Why spend cash on a writing pad when the library would give you plain paper for free?

  This world is different. It’s changed. We saw the other revellers that night at the club and felt separate. It was like we’d gone through a time warp from a previous period. I want to fit in, not stick out. I know I'm being manipulated by advertisers, yet I yearn to be glossy. I need those new running shoes and the latest hair colour.

  Maleeha spent all of her savings on a modern phone and fiddles with it for hours. I’m not sure what she's doing, but she looks happy. She drifts off into some virtual space and ignores me — sometimes in the middle of a conversation. I laugh thinking what Mrs Gill in the children’s home would have done if you’d absentmindedly stared at your mobile while she spoke to you.

  However, I kind of understand. The fact your phone can take videos still sounds like magic, never mind what Facebook, Instagram and Twitter are all about.

  There is one part of my life that I have to change immediately: my tattoos. There is a parlour in town with the fattest man I’ve ever seen working in it. He chats to me like an old friend whenever I pop in and flick through the brochures. Everything is so expensive, though. I tried to flirt with him a little. Not too much, just to see if there was a discount to be had for friendly banter. He laughed his head off, and said, ‘Good try.’

  ‘What sort of job do you want then, ladies?’ asks Sally.

  Obviously, we’d discussed it. Maleeha at least had worked before, but she’d been an administrator in a children’s day nursery.

  ‘We’ll do anything,’ Maleeha says. ‘Together if possible. I assume we can’t work with children?’

  ‘No, there are rules for people like you.’

  There’s that phrase again. I didn’t like the sound of that at all. ‘What rules?’

  ‘You’re unable to work with vulnerable people for a start. That includes kids. You both had sentences over four years, so if an employer asks you to disclose any previous convictions then you must, or you’re breaking the law.’

  ‘I bet that would be another reason to get recalled to prison,’ I say.

  ‘It would.’

  ‘I imagine employers are treading over each other to employ people like us, as you so nicely put it.’

  ‘Calm down, Katie. A lot of companies don’t ask as it’s not important to what they do. You do have to be aware that with such a big student population here, many jobs are filled by them.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound promising,’ Maleeha says.

  ‘You’ll find there are quite a few roles they don’t like and won’t do.’

  ‘That sounds even less promising.’ I laugh but feel down.

  ‘There is a company we work with that will take anyone we send to them.’

  Maleeha and I glance at each other and pull hopeful, cautious faces.

  ‘Doing what?’ we ask in unison.

  ‘Putting magazines in envelopes. Minimum wage but they’ll pick you up from the bottom of the road at four p.m. and bring you back at ten p.m. Money paid weekly straight into your bank account.’

  ‘We don’t have accounts!’ we both shout together.

  ‘No problem. We can sort that tomorrow afternoon if you like?’

  Later, I return to the kitchen as I can’t settle in my room. Maleeha is the same. We keep stealing looks at each other and grinning. Another girl has arrived to replace Nancy. She is about as interested in talking as Firestarter upstairs, but she does sit downstairs to eat with us. Even she picks up on our energy.

  ‘What’s new?’

  ‘Sally got us a job,’ I say.

  ‘Really? Can everyone have one?’

  ‘She said so, after you’ve been here a little while.’

  It is the first time I’ve seen her smile. She makes no further comment, and we carry on eating in silence. I can’t believe I’ll be working and don’t care what it is. I think of those students with the excitement of an undecided future and I feel the same way.

  18

  My First Job

  It’s two weeks later and we nervously wait at the meeting point. Sally told us to wrap up warm which seemed strange. Regardless, we sweat in our coats under the early April sun. A minibus arrives packed full of foreign-looking folk and we sit at the front in the remaining spots. We wonder why they are empty until we find there are no seatbelts. The way the driver drives, I suspect they’ve just wiped the previous occupants off the inside of the windscreen.

  He speeds to an industrial estate twenty minutes down the road. We are first out. A tall Asian man with thick glasses beckons us over as the rest trudge through a huge open garage door. There are cheap chairs around a horseshoe of tables. The others sit down, many of them flex their fingers. A beeping van makes us step away, and he reverses into the doorway.

  ‘You are Sally’s girls?’

  We nod.

  ‘Good. You’re here for six hours. There’s a ten-minute break for a cigarette or whatever after three hours. Visit the toilet before your shift starts, but obviously go if needs be. We have work for six hours and that’s what we pay you for. If we have to stay late to get it done, we will do. Any questions?’

  We shake our heads. A cool breeze blows through the high-ceilinged building.

  ‘Don’t look so worried. You’re stuffing letters, how hard can it be? I don’t care what you do while you work. Talk, sing, or dance if you want. We usually leave a little early if everyone keeps moving. You’ll get a payslip on Friday and your money will be in your account the following week. I’ll give you a tax code and a bank form tonight. Return it to me by tomorrow.’

  And that was it. We have a job. Us, eleven East Europeans and three Iraqis sit in a chilly warehouse and put magazines in envelopes for six hours. Nearly all listen to music through earpieces connected to their phones. No one cares about us, our history, or my prison tattoos. In fact, I see a few more. There’s no slave driving from the bosses. There is no need. These people work fast.

  It’s mind-numbing, of course. Maleeha talks about her kids. I tell her a little about what happened to my parents. I don’t mention my brother, Billy. We eat the packed lunch Sally sent us off with when it reaches our break. We enviously watch other workers sip hot drinks from thermos flasks. An older gentleman notices and, without talking, pours a small amount each into two polystyrene cups. It is good strong coffee.

  I point out how much we’ll get paid for the shift. £40, more or less. Every time I say the amount, I laugh. When you’ve been earning £2 per day
for sixteen years, it’s a fortune. I think that’s why the others work in an easy-going, relaxed manner. They’re under little pressure and are probably making the same as a doctor back in their own countries.

  Maleeha and I discuss what we’d like to buy. There are so many things that, all of a sudden, £40 doesn’t seem so much. Then I realise we’ll be paid this every day. We will be rich. She wants new clothes. Her other focus is a savings account for her children. I feel like saying her need is greater than theirs at this point, but it’s not a time for negativity and I keep quiet.

  Later, she gets onto a story about falling in love when she was at school and only sixteen. It’s weird, she says, but even though they only kissed a few times and knew because of their faiths it couldn’t go any further, she thought about him when she was inside all the time. I tell her to find him, but she soon returns to the subject of her kids.

  It makes me remember the first boy I loved. I was only nine, and we only ever held hands. Yet, I thought of him in the same way Maleeha had. I’m not sure I can describe what we had. Unconditional love is perhaps closest. As the last hour ticks by we slip into the past and silence, and I remember Tommy.

  19

  The Fifth Memory - Age Nine

  I had been in the children’s home for a few months when I first met Tommy. Mrs Gill told me a boy was coming back to them for the third time, and he would make a good friend. I’d kept to myself since arriving there. Most of the children were older and were uninterested in me. One said there’s no point in making friends as they only leave.

  I went to a new school, and the attitude was similar. I wasn’t lonely as such because I’d built a wall around myself to protect me from getting hurt. I read books and watched television. There was no fun. We lived near a historic home called Thorpe Hall. A teacher told me its spooky history. There was a little wood to hide in. Not the place for a nine-year-old girl to hang around on her own, but I did.

  I waited in reception with Mrs Gill for Tommy to arrive. They dropped him off with a huge suitcase that was way too big for him to carry himself. A young man ruffled his hair, said, ‘See you, Squirt,’ and that was it.

  Mrs Gill looked at the large case and then our little arms.

  ‘Welcome back. You’ll have to help Tommy with that up to room five.’

  Tommy was shorter and skinnier than me. He had an uneven crew cut and a small squint in his left eye. He glanced at his belongings. ‘Front or back?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Which would you like to carry?’

  ‘Oh. Front.’

  ‘Deal.’

  It took an hour. The case fell open twice and finally split down the spine. We ended up carrying his clothes up on each half. I almost dropped my end when a door we were passing slammed open, and a girl frowned at us. Tommy piped up, ‘Did you order the stew, madam?’

  Unpacking his things was depressing. Everyone here turned up with pretty much the same stuff. There was always a child’s toy, some unloved clothes, and a few delicately handled worn photographs. Tommy had a small bar of soap from a hotel which for some reason made me want to cry.

  ‘Why did you have to come back, Tommy?

  He shrugged. ‘The woman hurt her back a while ago. It didn’t get better, so she couldn’t keep the place clean. There were two other foster kids there, but they were both nearly eighteen and would be going soon. Last in, first out. You know how it is.’

  I didn’t. “Woman” also seemed a cold term. ‘This is your third time here?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘Are you sad?’

  He peered at me over his smudged glasses as though he’d never been asked that before.

  ‘A little. It’s hard to keep moving. Just as you settle in at school or get used to the others, that’s when it happens. Back you come. Although, I reckon the foster carer took me on for the money. She was kind and pleasant, but I felt like a guest at a B and B.’

  At my confused face, he explained. ‘My mum and I visited a hotel once. A B & B is a small one of those. It’s okay here. Mrs Gill’s got time for you if you pretend to cry. There’re always kids to play with. There are rules but you have more freedom in a children’s home than you do elsewhere. It’s not all rosy. The washing-up here is brutal and everyone’s too busy nicking each other’s stuff. Still, you’re not likely to get abused.’

  I was unsure what abused meant, but I liked him. I didn’t want him thinking I was stupid.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Katie.’

  ‘Well, Katie. What will we do this afternoon?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘What would you do if I wasn’t here?’

  I’d told no one about my special place. I loved the fact I saw nobody down there. I decided to take a risk.

  ‘There is a stately home near here. You can climb through a fence at the end of the cow’s field and there’s a secret garden.’

  ‘A garden. With flowers?’

  ‘No, it’s wild. There’s water, I throw stones. We can hide there. It’s quiet. It even has a big log for picnics.’

  ‘Pirates?’

  ‘Their boats are still there, but I killed them all.’

  ‘Sounds interesting.’

  ‘And, Tommy, the house is haunted.’

  That got his attention. ‘Sounds fun. How do we get there?’

  ‘We can walk, but I have a bike.’

  ‘Listen to you! I like you more and more.’

  ‘But I don’t know how to ride one.’

  ‘I do, I’ll teach you. We’re going to have a blast.’

  His energy fizzed and I bought into it. We found my bicycle in a dusty corner of the garage. Tommy wobbling around on it made me remember Uncle Jack after he’d been to the office on a Friday night. Weird how electricians had to work on a Friday night. I didn’t think Tommy had much to teach me, and sure enough, he fell off with a laugh.

  We pushed the bike. Tommy reckoned it’d be safer to learn on grass. At the front door, Mrs Gill asked Tommy and me where we were off to. He stood there in his too long shorts, battered trainers and ill-fitting T-shirt and gave her a serious nod. Then, he reached up and put his arm round my shoulder and winked.

  ‘We’re going on an adventure.’

  I had my first proper friend.

  * * *

  We had almost twelve months together. It was the best year of my life. He was in the same school as me, just a year ahead. He would search for me at playtime and wait to walk back after school. I wasn’t alone anymore. His infectious humour had the teachers laughing as well as the kids. He raised my standing purely by being with me. I began to make friends with others, too.

  When school finished, we would race home and he made everything exciting. His bike lessons were abysmal. I didn’t think I was cut out for cycling as I struggled to trust people. He persisted and would push me as fast as he could, shouting, ‘Pedal, pedal,’ while running alongside gasping and chuckling. We bruised and grazed together.

  We ran riot around the grounds of Thorpe Hall which we seemed to have to ourselves. Even the cows left in winter. We conkered in autumn and rolled down the grassy slopes in summer. Tommy grew wider and taller overnight, but nothing changed. He still gave me lifts on the crossbar of my small bike.

  In the deepest copse there was a lake. Well, it seemed like one to our young eyes. A big old sycamore tree stood beside it with thick branches growing out over the water. We’d sit for hours up there, balancing on branches and giggling over the little fish.

  We were always going to make a swing but the lack of a rope made it difficult. Tommy stole bed sheets once and rolled an old tyre down there. He fell in with a mighty splash. That would have been funny enough, but the shallowness of the water got the biggest laugh. We believed it was bottomless, yet it failed to reach his hips.

  I’d heard at school that the house was haunted. That added an extra element of spice to the dusk. Once we were near the huge building and Tommy pointed at a bus
stop on the main road. There was a woman waiting, dressed in old-fashioned clothing. The bus turned up and didn’t stop but, after it left, she was gone. We ran off in a panic. I even sneaked into Tommy’s bed that night as I was sure we’d seen a ghost.

  If everything’s going well, one of the joys of being young is to think things will never change. Tommy was convinced he would stay at the home. Who would want an eleven-year-old boy? Other kids came and left, but we both stayed. I suspect Mrs Gill had some involvement in that. In the end, our fates weren’t hers to decide. That is when it all went wrong again.

  20

  Work

  Through our jobs, we re-joined life. Soon we took our phones and listened to music like the others. There was no dancing while we stuffed those never-ending envelopes, but we did have a laugh. As time passed, we’d sit with strangers and chat to them about their lives. I quickly realised that everyone fights their own battles.

  The person who scowled at me a few nights back and left me perturbed had buried her mother a few days before. Another who ignored my polite questions had been in agony with sciatica but had to work as he was the only one in his house with a job. We are all born to suffer.

  Reading the news, I had believed the immigrants rushed here to steal our jobs. The truth was different. Many had come from extreme poverty. To provide for their families, they moved countries and cultures and left their loved ones behind. When I asked one of the foremen why he employed nearly all foreigners, he replied that they couldn’t get the staff otherwise.