“Anyways, we had that lovely meal and you know all her meals tasted the same, as in, she never changed the recipe, but her cooking, well, no one can complain. It was good and I think that Jesus or God made her do that job as she does that even now and pretty well. It was gone 4 o’clock and I could see the red anger flame in her eyes and the fumes coming out of her nostrils, she was red hot sizzling angry because he didn’t come up at three and lunch was getting cold.
“I could hear his jolly whistling and in came the man all happy, straight to his chair and said, ‘Let’s eat.’ He served himself and me and he went to serve her but she put her hand on her plate. She watched us and then took her empty plate as we both ate and put it straight into the sink. He ignored her and we both ate.
“He called her, ‘Honey, let’s cut the birthday cake, I have put the candles on and then we will do the presents.’”
Steve licks his mouth from one corner to the cracked arch of his dry mouth. P.C. Sarah Sands puts a pen neatly down onto her Oxford brand writing pad in a straight line and then takes the plastic cup from the bundle of 10. Steadily, she pours some more liquid for him from the jug. She places it right in front of Steve, his hands crossed and so are his arms. He keeps his eyes on the information he has disclosed neatly within the paper slowly sipping the water bit by bit.
“There, that is much better now. Well, this Oxford pad must be a really good quality, right. I know a friend whose mother always bought the Oxford pad for her son. I never did but others did. So, did it make their handwriting any better than mine, but then you know what I mean, don’t you get my drift? When I asked her upstairs if she could buy me one as it just makes you feel a little bit of a special person having that special paper. Just once, please, is all I said but she quickly said that if I improve my handwriting then maybe she will.”
P. C. Sarah widens her mouth to show a tiny smile. Stephen smiles back and asks if that notepad did improve her handwriting.
She doesn’t reply so he says, “I suppose not. If you close your eyes and imagine (I do a lot of that) flick forwards and slowly turn the Oxford pages over one by one and hear them ruffle like black Krispy feathers, it just sounds like a sharp scissors. Scissors and paper go together, I never did get that. It was up to her, even though my teacher often wrote, lovely handwriting. I often showed her the comments that my teacher made with pride but all she would say is good boy keep it up, try harder but if I showed it to my dad he’d always smile at the comment and often would even tell the punters that his son is doing well.
One thing is for sure, I loved one thing about her and that was probably the only thing that she did as mum. You would ask what is it that made me happy about her? And that is that whenever she was a wee bit happy with her son, she’d run her warm chubby mummy hands all over my hand.
“Wow, that was such a fantastic thing that would make me smile not just outside but the whole of me from inside including my face and I would smile so long after that. That would all phase-out and it was like it happened a very long time ago. Rare precious moments, almost once in a century so it seemed.”
Steve’s hands are now scratching his head in search of the pain that just isn’t allowed to escape. Pain is Steve’s only sure friend.
Steve continues, “Anyway, that birthday just seemed a very long time ago but I still remember we were in the living room and then she entered in a rage and they both started saying things and she started throwing things around the living room and that shouldn’t have started but she did. I have seen this on many occasions, whenever her anger got the better of her, plates and stuff went flying across the room and that was quite normal. No one actually was that bothered with her throwing things since nothing actually hit my father. He did try to calm her down by saying good things about her.
“Then he said, ‘You are a mad woman carrying on like this.’ These words had already made her even angrier than before and so she started hallucinating.
“I stood still and watched and I think my eyes were moist by this time. I wanted my birthday cake, she was frantic and then I heard her hurling some thoughts towards Father I didn’t understand so she picked up my birthday cake and threw it across the room. I grabbed my birthday presents, neatly tucked them away under my arm, and ran into my room. I slammed the door tightly shut behind me.
“Quietly, I opened the presents and found the football boots Father had promised. He always kept kept his promises. The present should’ve been a happy thing but at this moment I wasn’t very happy. That morning, I had already opened my Christmas present quietly and on my own before they’d got up, there was no rejoicing today. I pushed the boots aside and lay in bed with the duvet covering every tiny bit of me.
“By the time morning came along as it always did, I could hear him whistling calmly and cleaning. She did not like the chores but he seemed to always enjoy it. I think it was his own time in his own space, the time when she let him get on with it and she liked the house clean so they did it every morning. Then, you know, it was all done because he would Hoover and then Mr Sheen time, the stuff from under the sink cupboard and the polish and duster rubbed up and down the furniture. He had his coffee first thing in the morning and normally she would make the breakfast.
“Often, I would take his downstairs for him but today, the day after my birthday, Boxing Day, he had not eaten. She was still in her bedroom and as I watched her come out with her sullen look and white gown that was always too big for her and her slippers that frayed a little more every day, like her almost. She made her tea as I sat watching her but pretending to watch the television. She didn’t cook anything today, no breakfast even though that was a normal thing. If it was a good Boxing Day, then perhaps she would’ve made mince pies as normal for our breakfast, hot mince pies and he would have coffee and she would have tea and I would always have hot milk. That was a real treat, fresh mince pies with a hot drink.
“That was a memorable birthday to say the least and I think I’ll always have it in my head, in my mind definitely, because every time I wore my football boots, it reminded me of that day and every time Christmas and my birthday came, it was full of the old. Often, when the duvet was covering every inch of me, whether I was on the bed or under it, I would always remember and I think I will always wonder if birthdays before were like that or not because I can’t remember each and every birthday.
“After that time, I noticed that there was almost a pattern of her anger, then twinges, cutlery, crockery and food flying across the room and her horrid angry words, normally always starting with me. I was always to blame and I know that was true. It wasn’t my fault but it was as if I wasn’t allowed to say anything good and he could never say anything good about me because if he did that would start her. The only way that he could ever keep her happy was when he was flattering her or complimenting her, that would keep her happy for a little while but then it would be lunchtime and it was food time in the bar.
I could see her trying to catch a glimpse of him and what he was up to, she would look through the hatch door or from the kitchen entry and if she could catch him talking to females at the bar or especially at the table, that was enough to get her mood angry again. I think that is why we always told her to stay in the kitchen and not to enter the restaurant or bar area at all, sanity for father and to avoid confrontations.
“She ruled the kitchen, that was her territory and she made all the decisions. The restaurant and the bar area only he decided. Why couldn’t she be happy? He was good to her, he gave her all the freedom she wanted. After lunchtime, which was 3 o’clock, she’d go out with her friends or go out to town and sometimes they did go out together even. There were occasional evenings when they would go out together as if they were on a date and I would say that it was definitely a date because she would wear lots of perfume that evening. I didn’t mind that I was home because I could pretend to be the boss for that day but the manager was
in charge and I could help him almost as if that was my father. We called him Tony Curtis because he looked a lot like him, laughing, singing and always joyful. Jolly fellow. Father said he spread joy every day when he came to work, he was definitely a good worker and someone worth keeping.
“Whatever she was doing, however she was dressed up, he would be happy. He admired her immensely, they went out together but I cannot remember them taking me much. You see, he would often suggest it to her on a Friday night and as soon as he did, she looked for the glint in his eyes because she knew that made him happy but hers would disappear.
“Politely, Father would say, ‘Well son, never mind. You’re big now, why don’t you stay home and look after this joint for me?’ Instead of being angry, I was quite proud. I would nod my head and I couldn’t imagine ever letting him down. This was normal life and even though she was my mother, she resented me because Father paid attention to me and often put me first. They were allowed out together, I was allowed out with her and not so often with him.
“I was allowed with him to go to the cash-and-carry or wholesalers. I knew that she picked fights with Father when he favoured me or if he spoke for me that would make her angry and she would address me as, ‘HIM.’ I think she used to think that I wouldn’t know who she was talking about but I knew it well that she was talking about me, how did that make me feel?
“I know her problems really weren’t with me but I was clever enough to know that she just wanted him and for him to want her and not pay other females any attention. I often wonder, though, where he used to go when he left his joint. At times, he would go out of the restaurant area to the washroom but where from there, I really don’t know and I didn’t pry so I didn’t genuinely know where he was. At times, he would say he was just popping out for a second and then someone else would follow but sometimes he had left after others, if you looked around you would know the pattern. It was confusing and perhaps coincidental but then I was not there to think of what was really happening and I could not have spent all my energy on guessing what was happening with who and what.
“Most birthdays of mine were full of Christmas cheer rather than birthday cheer and so Christmas presents were always bigger than birthday presents but it wasn’t my fault. She would always make sure that I opened my Christmas presents first and birthday presents were not allowed to be opened until the evening. I always tried to make sure that I opened her presents first and always say I loved them. She was pleased then but he did not crave for that attention or affection from me and even though, I’d like to not admit, but deep down inside, all I craved for was for her to be my real mum. A mum who loved and cared for me unconditionally without any limits, a mum who never hated me or put conditions on when or how to love me. Instead, she kept me a little at length, she would never say to me but I heard her often say to Father that she was only given one kid and he is not perfect, a bit slow, like Joe Bloggs from around the corner and not as clever as others. I remember quite clearly.”
Chapter Three
“The first day back at school in January after a lovely Christmas break, she stood still in the playground with the other mums and their pretty faces proud of their children and her face showed her sorrow and stress lines. She was unhappy at the fact that she was picking up this particular child, her child and wishing it wasn’t me. She was stuck with me.
“She would never copy and say, ‘Go and play child.’ She would say, ‘Well, you just be careful, you’re not like the rest.’ I always stood holding her finger but she never held mine.
“I had to ask her often if I could hold her hand but she would say, ‘Just the finger is enough.’ Why was I expecting more? Why was I not normal? But perhaps I am normal but why was I never good enough for her?
“She rarely replied and when she did, she would say, ‘Shush child.’ Things could have been worse I suppose but that’s just the way it was. A son she didn’t want and a husband who didn’t want her. I wasn’t a delight so it would seem, as she would say so often as I listened on to have a conversation. I had never heard Father ever talk about me behind my back to anyone negatively. Does that mean that we weren’t that important for her or was it that this was how life is meant to be?” He takes a slow sip.
“It was important to feel important and wanted and it shouldn’t be important at all really, not really but somehow she wasn’t all bad. I would have to say that once he left us then she just looked hollow, she looked broken, unrepairable. She spoke less, she laughed less and there was definitely less interaction with the world. Her outings had finished and she tried to keep an eye on me a little more, her eyes firmly on my every movement the way she did with Father. He left and I began to feel trapped. That is how he must’ve felt. Birthdays had come and gone, and slowly but surely, she had a life at work and this became my life and that was all of the life that we were now living. She and I running and earning money for this joint of my Father’s for ourselves now. We both became her and me as individuals, not a family unit anymore.
“Slowly, day by day, this became a life and whether we were happy or not this is the way it was. I was now free to do what I wanted with this pub and often I would have events at the back of my head, things that I would be able to do with this pub, singers, dancers or any other entertainment I wished for.” A big smile spread from Steve’s cheek as his eyes light up, he stops twitching and rubbing his cheek. It is almost as if another man has taken Steve’s place on the hard plastic blue chair with strong black steel legs, but cold and harsh.
“Well, you see, officer, at the beginning she wasn’t just in my head and even now she’s not just in my head, you don’t see what I do, you can’t. She really is here just the same as when I first set my eyes on her for the very first time. Father’s joint was very busy on weekends and Friday nights, too. The thing was that I had known that a few groups of young people came regularly after work. All they would come to do was to have a laugh and this mixed group of black, white, yellow, and browns all came together on Friday night in abundance around 8 o’clock. They often ate at home then came in for a drink and a laugh and a chitchat. I noticed this group of people quite often because they were like dominoes, draughts or chess, moving here, leaving there, popping to the toilet and back, moving seats and then the most annoying thing was that they were all so loud. They didn’t really talk to me so it didn’t matter much to me. I was the boss here.
“Every Friday, this group of around eight to ten people would come and drool over their drinks for ages and they stayed till around midnight but never bought more than two drinks, if that. They spent the time on silly conversations that made them laugh and chuckle and they all wore Gothic style black leather jackets and had black hair with white skin and the females all wore black or red lipstick. I hated them but they put money in my till so who was I to complain. I just kept quiet and it looked quite good when the pub, Father’s joint was full. It made me feel that I was doing a better job than someone else or even the manager but he was good. We always had him on every busy evening. He was good and he looked after this joint as his own. He could drink all the night and had a meal for free but that was all fine because it worked well.
“I tried so hard to ignore her laughter, you know how it is, but it was always louder than the rest. Her behaviour was exaggerated because she used her hands a lot like those university students and the big lecturers do, posh educated people, not that I was one. She made almost mystical movements with her head and her body language was not what I had expected from an intelligent woman. You see, I tried talking to her every time and at the beginning, she would totally ignore me. Slowly, she knew she couldn’t ignore me as this was my place and I was officially the boss. This group always sat on the cushioned stools at the bar first and I could only see her black knitted stockings covering her long legs. She always wore those high heel black wedges, I don’t know why. They made her tall but then she was tall enough. Perhaps it was
all fashion.
“I’m sure that she used to go to other joints as a regular. I would always look out for her on Friday, always waiting for her to walk through the door as if there were no other Fridays without her, as they would not matter until she came through the door. If she didn’t, I’d be missing her. She had slowly made a place in my head and my heart and you could always say that she was living in my mind all of the time. I did explain to her at times what I was feeling but she would put a lid on my conversation, firmly shut and if I’d ask if she would like to go out with me she would say that she simply was not interested. If I told her that I needed to talk to her, she will reply that she wanted to be left alone, I had to respect that.
“I even followed her when she went to the bathroom but even that didn’t work very well. She would quietly swing back to her friends to hang out with them and she wasn’t in any way or form interested in me or my conversation. I don’t know what problem she had because we were similar to another and a similar age and interests, maybe. I’m sure she knew I was becoming besotted with her even though she may not have had any feelings for me.
“On Sundays, she would come and just be by herself. Her laughter was not there but I knew that she had entered the joint because I could smell her perfume and she wanted to be left alone, studying and chilling out. Sometimes she’d wear her black gloves and I’d stand watching her slip her hands out of the long black rubber leather things and her red varnish on her white skin, wow. There were no rings, which proved to me that she was available.
In My Mind Page 5