‘Mum. That’s not what … I mean, I didn’t …’
She shook her head and reached for his hand. ‘No, darling,’ she said, stroking her cheek with his fingers like a child seeking comfort. ‘No, I know it isn’t you. Look …’ she pointed to the bottom of the screen. ‘He didn’t even bother to pretend.’
Chris leaned in to look at where she had pressed her trembling finger. ‘Username and password,’ it said. And the username was ‘randyvic’.
‘Mum.’ He didn’t know what to say. This was so far outside the usual parent and child issues that it almost met itself on the way back. ‘I just don’t know what to say …’ He leaned over to switch the computer off, but she grabbed his wrist.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Leave it on. In fact, let’s turn the sound up.’ She pressed the key over and over until the grunting, screaming and random obscenities filled the room. Chris suspected it could be heard outside in the road. He also suspected that that was her plan. ‘Let’s leave it,’ she said, raising her voice over the din. ‘Randyvic and I have a lot to say to each other when he gets back.’ She stood and pulled him into the hall, where it was quieter. ‘Is that a paid site, do you know?’
‘Pardon me?’ His eyebrows hit his hairline. ‘Why do you think I would know something like that?’
‘Don’t all men do that?’ she asked, checking her facts.
‘No, they certainly don’t! But the fact that there is a log in might point to it being subscription, yes.’
‘Hmm. Something else for us to talk about. He blames my online shopping for the overdraft, but now, I wonder. Anyway, darling,’ she seemed to have reached new reserves, ‘could you pop out for the rest of today, do you think? I would rather be on my own when he gets back.’
Chris didn’t need telling twice. He could start his new exercise regime right now. In fact, he would go to the park. He could feed the ducks.
How To Disappear Completely
*
The park was peaceful, although perhaps only Chris saw it that way. There were children everywhere, throwing hunks of bread to unheeding ducks. Once, he would have walked through the crowd not noticing what was happening, but now, he saw the skull beneath the skin. That mother, over there, with the three little kids; she was clearly on her own, no man in her life these days. But you could tell, just by looking at the children who all looked as unlike each other as it was possible to do and share a species, that she had had at least three and all in the space of about four years, making a rough guess as to age.
He watched as a man approached, being walked by a dog. It wasn’t that the dog was particularly large or rambunctious. It wasn’t pulling or jumping around, it was just a rather overweight Labrador, golden, to Chris’s ineffable relief. He had enough of black dogs, what with the dream and all, so he avoided them like the plague. But he saw in the man’s face his total disinterest in his task. He had been told to walk the dog. He was walking the dog. He could now go home and say the dog had been walked and there would be no need for further conversation. He wore a yellow sailing anorak which Chris knew without being told was one of a pair. The man’s wife had one two sizes smaller, hanging on a hanger in the hall. But since she never walked the dog, it was considerably cleaner and didn’t have a roll of poop-bags in the pocket. How lovely, Chris thought ironically, to have a pet.
And that guy over there. Allowing for the fact that he was three inches shorter and was carrying a couple of extra stone, he and his kid could be Chris and Kyle in a funny mirror, out for a walk in the park to feed the ducks on his one visitation a month. The father was on his phone, holding the boy by the hand. The child was leaning away, his mouth a dark hole of misery. In his other hand, he held a packet of sweets, full of banned e-numbers, and now his dad was reaping the whirlwind of a kid who didn’t want to be there anyway but who was now rendered virtually psychotic by sugar and additives. In fact, everywhere he looked, people were generally unhappy and desperate. He could hardly believe he had never noticed it before.
Hang on, though. Surely, over there, that couple were happy? The girl was hanging on his arm and looking lovingly into his face. He had an arm around her shoulders and was swinging along as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Chris felt a small pang; he and Megan had been like that, not so long ago. He was surprised he didn’t feel more upset, but somehow he couldn’t dredge up the enthusiasm to poke the painful part of his heart today. As he got nearer, he could hear what they were saying and the bluebirds circling around their heads suddenly turned into vampire bats.
‘Look … um … Shaz, it was great, all right. I’m not saying it wasn’t great. But … let’s be honest, girl, we’ve got nothing in common.’
‘But …’ for all her pretty face, the girl had a voice like a circular saw. Chris could see that a lifetime of listening to that could easily get on your wick.
‘What’s your favourite film?’
‘Yer what?’
‘Book?’
The girl looked puzzled.
‘So, you see what I mean. I’ll buy you breakfast and then walk you home, shall I?’
‘Get stuffed, you ungrateful pig,’ she shrieked and pulled away from him. ‘Got what you want and that’s it, is it?’ People were starting to turn and stare. ‘Breakfast! You can shove it up your arse!’ And with that, she stormed off, flinging her bag over her shoulder and stamping like a thwarted child.
Chris wanted to go up to the man; he was little more than a boy, really, a student he would guess, having a night of fun with a little bit of local tottie. Chris could tell him that that wasn’t always where it ended, but how could you encapsulate a life in ruins in just one sentence? In the end, Chris walked away; if the lad was lucky, Shaz wasn’t a psychopath. If he was unlucky, the damage was done by now.
Chris became aware that he was squeezing the bag of toast crusts in his pocket. Even the ducks wouldn’t want them now and he walked towards a bin to get rid of it. Along the path, just coming through the gate, he saw a face he knew. It was Megan and, in front of her, pedalling his trike as though his life depended on it, was Kyle. Chris was sure that for a few seconds, his heart actually stopped beating and his feet froze to the floor. They were laughing and Megan had never looked so lovely. His feet unfroze and he took a step towards them but then thought better of it. What good would it do? He turned and walked away, towards the cafeteria. He could hide in plain sight there. And if by chance she saw him, somehow having a cup of coffee and a free read of the paper made him look a little less like a stalker. More like a normal person, if she could imagine that. But he didn’t stop for a drink. Head down to hide his tears, he walked through to the other gate and disappeared in the Saturday crowd.
‘Mummy,’ Kyle said over his shoulder as he pedalled on ahead. ‘Do you remember when we came here with Daddy once?’
‘Not just once, sweetie. We came here a lot with Daddy.’
Kyle was puzzled. He had trouble with the concept of number and Megan made a mental note to look that up; she wasn’t sure whether this was a milestone or not. ‘Is Daddy here?’
‘No.’ Megan forced a smile. ‘He isn’t here today, sweetheart.’
‘Why isn’t he here?’ Children’s questions were usually direct and Kyle’s more so than most.
‘Umm … Daddy has to be somewhere else at the moment,’ she said, trying hard to keep the tremble from her voice. She hadn’t heard from Chris since the day he had walked out of the door. Some money had appeared in her account and then that was it. Nothing. She felt her lip begin to wobble. Didn’t he care at all?
‘I want Daddy to be here,’ Kyle said, his voice rising and threatening a tantrum.
‘Let’s feed the ducks, shall we?’ Megan was aware that she was using what she called her ‘teacher voice’ and hated herself for it.
‘I don’t want to feed the ducks. I want Daddy!’
‘Okay, Kyle. That’s enough. We’re going home.’ Even as she spoke, Megan knew that she was being short with Kyle more a
nd more often. But she just didn’t have the strength to deal with him. Not here, with all the perfect families looking on. Not now. Weekends were always the worst times. No lie in cuddles. No breakfast in bed, marmalade on the sheets and Weetabix everywhere. Just nothing; unless more of the same counted as something. Samantha was already on at her to go out, but to find herself a date and go out and make pointless small talk seemed to her to be on approximately the same scale as scaling the Matterhorn. So, she turned Kyle’s bike around, clipped on the steering handle and pushed him, steely-faced and determined, out of the park and home.
Chris had made himself a promise to not spend money needlessly. His account was still reasonably healthy, but he had a long way to go on this small amount and he needed to think ahead. But even so, a coffee wouldn’t hurt, not even an overpriced one with a fancy name in a cup the size of a bath. He settled down outside with the smokers and similar pariahs – inside was just too full of yummy mummies and their squalling progeny for his liking and anyway, autumn or no, it was a pleasant morning, sunny and warm. He sat there watching the world go by, the Big Issue seller crying her wares across the street. He had never actually bought a Big Issue. He knew it was all very laudable but he always felt that they surely had other options than standing outside in all weathers flogging a magazine nobody ever read. He watched her now, smiling, connecting, taking the right money and making the right change. This wasn’t a handout; she was actually in business for herself, doing what she could to change her life. Like the lad after the one night stand, he wanted to go up to her and say something, just to show he was in the same boat. But he just sat there, watching the chocolate pattern soak slowly into the foam on his skinny nutmeg short flat latte or whatever it was. He usually just pointed and nodded in coffee shops these days.
‘Chris?’
He looked up and almost groaned out loud. ‘Cassie. Hello, how are you?’ The social niceties just fell out of his mouth, without him having to think.
‘May I?’ She pointed to the chair on the opposite side of his table and he nodded. ‘I’ve been thinking about you. How have you been?’
‘I went to Gavin’s stag do last night,’ he said, deliberately avoiding a direct answer. ‘So I am a little bit …’ he waggled his hand to show how the land lay.
‘Oh, I see,’ she laughed. ‘A bit hungover, I would imagine.’
‘Just a bit. I …’ he leaned forward, ‘I tipped my stepfather’s hanging baskets over his car when I got home.’
She dimpled her cheeks at him. ‘You released your inner teenager, by the sound of it.’
‘Something like that. He was rather underwhelmed, according to my mother.’
‘But you get on okay, as a rule? You’re happy enough?’ She leaned forward and he realised that she was genuinely concerned for him, not just the nosy cow he had taken her for.
‘Not happy, no, I wouldn’t say that. It’s got a bit … difficult …’ And to his amazement, he found himself start pouring everything out, up to and including his mother’s rather startling discovery that morning.
Halfway through, she stopped him. ‘Sorry, Chris – I must have a coffee. This sounds like a bit of a humdinger.’
‘You could call it that. Cassie, could you get me another coffee, too? I’ll pay for it, of course – it’s just that, if you’re going …’ He could have kicked himself. He had already become that person, the one who never bought a round.
‘Don’t be silly. My treat. What was that?’ she peered into his empty cup. ‘Hard to tell these days, isn’t it?’
‘I’ll have whatever you’re having,’ he said. ‘I can't honestly remember what that was.’
She disappeared and he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. The sun was warm on his face and he found that by concentrating he could filter out the sounds around him, one by one, until all he could hear was the Big Issue seller crying her wares. He concentrated harder and soon even she became quieter and more distant until she came and went, like the shouts of children dopplering in and out on a merry go round.
‘Chris?’
The voice, much nearer, made him jump. He opened his eyes and saw Cassie’s worried face across the table. He sat up straighter and rubbed his eyes.
‘Sorry,’ she said, pushing a cup towards him. ‘Had you dropped off?’
‘Sorry,’ he said back. ‘I haven’t been sleeping very well.’ He waited for the depression lecture, but it didn’t come.
‘I’ve left the agency,’ she said, casually.
‘Really?’ Chris had often wondered why she worked there. She mostly did paperwork, rarely interacting with either tenants, landlords or colleagues. He had always come to the conclusion she needed the money.
‘I don’t really need the money,’ she said. ‘I only went out to work because … well, being on your own all day around the house, if you have a bit of a tendency to get into a low mood, it doesn’t help. Too much time for introspection is bad for someone like us.’
He didn’t take her up on her choice of word and she was grateful. He had either missed it or took it as it was intended. ‘I thought when you said …’
‘I know what you thought,’ she said. ‘I believe you thought that I would talk his hind leg off.’
He looked down, embarrassed.
‘That’s the thing with introspection, Chris, though I’m sure I don’t have to tell you. One little phrase sticks in your head and won't leave. It’s like a song that you can't get rid of, just going round and round. But no, it isn’t a member of my family. It’s me.’
‘But you always seemed so happy. Well, I obviously don’t know you well, but, you know … you were always the one going round collecting for birthdays and stuff.’
‘Just because I have depression doesn’t mean I can't be sociable,’ she said with a smile. ‘In fact, most of the time, I’m fine. But sometimes, just one thing will start me on the downward slope and that’s it, then. It’s hard to stop when you’re on that slippery slide. And so that’s why I spoke to you about it. You’ve been hit by the big life changers – a break up of your relationship and loss of your job and home. It’s no wonder you feel you’re out of control.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ he said, taking a sip of coffee and nearly burning his tongue out. ‘Ouch! How did you get them to make this so hot? It’s usually almost stone cold when I get it.’
‘Aah, my secret.’ She smiled at him. ‘All right, I’ll share. I just get them to give it a shot of steam at the very end. Good, huh?’
‘Now I’m used to it, yes,’ he said. ‘I’ll remember that.’ Even as he said it, he was reminded of his situation. Daily coffees were not going to loom large on his horizon, he didn’t think. He did a quick sum in his head. To keep the maths simple, he assumed the smallest, cheapest drink would be around two quid. Times five. Times fifty-two. Ye Gods! Over five hundred quid a year. More than half of the total money in his account. He took another swig. Best make the most of this one.
‘You were telling me about your mum. How is she going to deal with this? Your stepdad and the …’ she looked around and dropped her voice. ‘The pornography?’
He smiled to think she would talk about depression, about something he still called, deep in the silence of his head, being mental and yet wouldn’t say pornography out loud. ‘I don’t know. I’ve been wondering should I tell Claire.’
She raised a querying eyebrow.
‘My sister. She’s never really cottoned to Mike – I suppose she would call it woman’s intuition. She won't be surprised. Well,’ he qualified it, ‘she’ll be surprised at what it is, but not surprised that he has proved to be less of a saint than he likes us all to think.’
‘Hmm … I suppose lesbian porn isn’t the worst thing he could be indulging in.’ This time she didn’t drop her voice and got some startled looks from the people on the next table. She smiled at the wife, who had frozen with a tarte au citron halfway to her mouth. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Speak as I find.’ And then she turned back
to Chris. ‘It’s a bit of a facer, though, isn’t it? Do you dob him in, that’s the question.’
‘But … my mother knows.’ Chris wondered if he hadn’t made himself clear.
‘She does, yes. But what about the bishop?’ This time, the woman on the next table actually choked on a crumb of pastry. ‘Sorry.’ Cassie smiled again and waited for Chris’s reply.
‘But …’ Chris wasn’t good at decisions these days. But this was a decision too far. Yes, she was right, he should speak to the bishop. But in doing so, he would almost certainly make his mother homeless. And he knew himself how that made a person feel. ‘No. I don’t think I can do that. She’s got enough on her plate.’
‘Oh.’ Cassie was surprised. She wasn’t much of a churchgoer. ‘Have we got a woman bishop here?’
Chris was puzzled, then the light dawned. ‘No, no, not the bishop. My mother has enough on her plate.’
‘Sorry. I thought you were worrying about the bishop for a minute there. I do see your point.’ Cassie looked at her watch. ‘I should go. I only popped out for a paper.’
Chris realised that he knew nothing about her, where she lived, who with; nothing. And he also realised he didn’t want her to go. ‘Can't you stay a while longer? I don’t know why you left work or anything.’
She shrugged. ‘It was time. Dave’s wife is there now … oh,’ she read his body language, ‘I can see you know that. Well, she’s an improvement on Jacintha, that’s for sure. We can all stop looking for the knife in the back. But she runs a tight ship, I must say. And so I jumped before I was pushed.’ She chuckled. ‘I just hope Dave has the sense to do the same.’
Chris raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? Like that, is it?’
‘I think the way she sees it, she has been the housewife. It wouldn’t hurt him to have a go at being a house husband. Watch this space.’ She stood up and shouldered her bag. ‘Bye, Chris. Don’t be a stranger.’ And she leaned down and gave him a peck on the cheek.
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