by Annie Murray
‘What’s wrong with Nana?’ Linda asked.
‘I don’t know – she had some sort of blackout. Marigold came over last night – not that you care ’cause you weren’t even here. I’ve got to go over after work.’
Violet flurried out of the door, then turned, eyes narrowed, and as an afterthought hissed, ‘You just better not have been up to anything – that’s all.’
Chapter Seventy
Bessie was smiling.
Violet stood by the range, looking at her mother’s sagging body sprawled wantonly in the chair. She felt a sense of discomfort, disgust even. And shame, because she wanted to feel kinder. But Bessie was not a kind woman. She was strong and in charge, or she was as nothing, Violet saw suddenly. Like a candle with no wick.
Marigold sat silently by the table, watching. She had a pencil in her hand, although there was no paper on the table.
‘She won’t stay in bed.’ Clarence’s stooped frame hovered behind her. Violet’s nose wrinkled at the smell of him. His voice was high and quavering and if you heard it without seeing him it would have been hard to tell if it was that of a man or a woman.
‘I said to her, Bess, you stay in bed today after a turn like that, but she wouldn’t have it. I said I’d make her a cuppa tea and she did let me, and I took it up . . .’
‘What happened?’ Violet interrupted.
Clarence sucked his gums for a moment. ‘Well, I helped her sit up in bed, and . . .’
‘No – yesterday.’
‘Oh!’ Clarence stood wavering, supported by his stick. ‘Well, I woke up, see, and there were these noises – the kettle . . . And Bess was – well, much like she is now only there was summat different. I mean, I can’t say really. I tried to wake her and she wouldn’t come round . . .’
‘The doctor’s been, then?’
Clarence nodded hard. ‘Oh ar – well if it wasn’t for Mrs Jenkins calling in – I mean, she got the doctor. Marigold weren’t here, you see . . .’
‘What did he say?’
Clarence stared back at her with his rheumy eyes. Violet was seized with a longing to shake him by the shoulders.
‘Well . . . He daint say much really. ’Cept she’d had a turn, our Bess . . .’
Violet tutted. ‘Well, that wasn’t anything we didn’t know, was it?’
‘She’d come to herself again, more or less, by then. Said her head was hurting—’
Bessie’s eyes opened then, so suddenly that Violet jumped. But she did look dazed for a moment. She leaned forward muzzily in the chair, looking up at Violet.
‘What’re you doing here?’
‘I came to see you. They said you had a turn.’
Bessie stared up at her so blankly that for a moment Violet wondered if she had really lost her mind. She put one hand to her forehead and rubbed it.
‘Oh ar,’ she admitted vaguely. ‘I came over a bit dizzy.’ She began to rally, to take charge. ‘That’s all though. As if my head went a bit numb. No need for a fuss. Marigold – put the kettle on.’
Silently, Marigold obeyed.
‘The doctor just said to rest a bit and see.’
Violet went into the scullery where Marigold was lighting the gas.
‘I wasn’t here,’ Marigold whispered emphatically, as if she’d been accused of a robbery.
‘I know, Clarence said. You all right, Mari?’
Marigold nodded, and Violet saw that she did really look all right. Violet smiled at her, then got the cups down from the shelf.
There seemed nothing much to be done. Mr Bottoms had given her the impression that all this was an emergency, but now she was here, her mother just seemed a bit off colour and there was nothing she could do. She drank her tea with them and set off home again.
On the bus though, like a delayed reaction, emotions set in. She hardly ever went to the Aston house now. Life was too busy and, she realized, she had been avoiding it. But going back there, as soon as she walked into that house, so full of her mother’s overweening presence, she shrank inside into a younger, more timid version of herself, who felt unsure and invisible, fit only to be pushed around.
Habit, that’s what it was. It had always been like that with Bessie. She had to take up all the room. She could make you feel like nothing, as if you didn’t exist.
I’ve changed, Violet thought. It came as a revelation, because she had not seen it before. All that had happened, Harry, Carol, everything, had made her stronger. And now there was Rita, her ebullient kindness. You go off early, Vi, if your mum’s been taken poorly. Course you must.
All those years she’d been almost afraid to breathe without her mom to tell her what was what. But not now. She didn’t need all that now. She inhaled the hot, smelly air in the bus, lost in her own thoughts, which were suddenly full of satisfaction.
I’m me now, she thought, smiling to herself. Really me.
Chapter Seventy-One
Linda stood at the back door, looking out at the sun-browned grass.
Carol and two little friends, all in little pastel frocks, were playing with Snowdrop. The two dogs were stretched out fast asleep by the back wall. Linda sat down on the step and stroked their hot, smooth fur. Next door, Mr Bottoms was hammering something, chink, chink, in his little lean-to at the bottom of the garden.
Linda poked at the frayed hole in the knee of her jeans. She hardly wore anything else now, when she wasn’t at work, even in this heat. Her hair had grown very long, falling most of the way to her waist, and she wore it loose today.
She smiled wistfully at the sight of the three girls crouched over the fat old rabbit. Being little like Carol seemed such a long time ago. Now she was sixteen it felt as if parts of her life were spinning too fast, out of her control, and for a moment she wanted to run backwards into childhood again. It was as if she was locked into the separate world she and Alan had made, and couldn’t get out.
‘You coming to see Snowy?’ Carol called to her.
‘Nah. Going out in a minute.’
Carol’s face fell. ‘You going out, again?’
Linda didn’t answer. She felt guilty. Of course she loved spending time with Carol, but she had to do other things as well. Carol was in with all her little friends, and Mom took her out to those polio things – the society where they all met sometimes and had nice parties. Carol had made some pals there as well.
‘Is Alan coming again?’
‘Yeah. In a minute.’
The three girls stared at her for a moment, then turned away and continued chattering.
Linda sighed. Alan couldn’t come earlier because he’d been to see his mother. Since that one last visit home, she hadn’t been allowed out at all. Alan went about once a month now and she knew how much it affected him. She found herself at once full of tenderness for him, yet also dreading what mood he would be in. That was the trouble with Alan – he was so much pain and pleasure all rolled into one and she couldn’t make out which she felt most.
Another twinge of panic went through her. All week she’d been so worried, trying to put it out of her mind. She couldn’t believe now what had happened that night last week. That she’d actually gone all the way with Alan! Afterwards it had seemed like a dream. She’d barely known what was going on at the time, not to start with, all hazy from the drink. How could she have! She’d lost her virginity at sixteen! Didn’t that make her cheap and dirty? A blush rose up her cheeks thinking about it, and about how it had felt. They’d got carried away, that was all, or Alan had. It had been over so quickly . . .
But what if . . .? What Mom had said – about babies? This was what was really making her panic. Surely there wouldn’t have been time for anything to . . . well, have happened? With a feeling of despair she realized she knew nothing about any of it. And there was no one she could ask, was there? Certainly not Mom – God, no! Even if she asked the most innocent-sounding question Mom’d be off, carrying on. Joyce was the only one who had given her any clue.
She’d gone ro
und there a couple of days ago. Little Charlie was six months old now, a real bruiser of a kid who looked just like Danny. Joyce was besotted with him, but she was also tired and bored and a good deal fatter than she had been before she had him. She looked pale and exhausted and was wearing a shapeless pink frock.
‘He’s everything to me,’ she said, pushing her unbrushed hair out of her eyes. ‘But I don’t half wish I was back at Bird’s sometimes. I’m just stuck in all day long – Danny’s hardly ever here.’
Linda thought she looked a mess. She didn’t understand what it was like to be Joyce, she just knew it was the last thing she wanted. As Joyce brewed up some tea, Linda perched on a stool in their tiny kitchen and tried to steer the conversation round so she could ask what she needed to. As it turned out it was easy, because Joyce turned and with desperation in her eyes said, ‘I had a scare last week. Thought I’d caught again.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘You know – thought I was going to have another one. I mean, it’s too soon – we need to wait a bit.’
‘Oh.’ She didn’t know anything about how you might choose to have or not have a baby. ‘So . . .’ She spoke casually, trying not to sound too interested. ‘How d’you know you’re not?’
Joyce gave a mirthless laugh. ‘If you come on. You know – your monthly. Turned up yesterday. I’ve never been so pleased to see that, I can tell you!’
Linda digested this quietly and with great relief. So all she had to do was wait and see if her monthly visitor turned up and she’d know she was all right. She’d been so afraid she’d have to tell someone, or even go and see the doctor! She calculated when she might be due – not until next week. And she wouldn’t say anything to Alan. She just needed to make sure they didn’t do anything again. Even so, she felt deeply ashamed. What if anyone found out?
A sound brought her out of her thoughts, the bike revving outside.
‘ ’Bye, Carol – see you later!’
Alan lined the bike up alongside the kerb, his slight figure dressed in jeans and leather jacket. His face looked tense, the jaw clenched.
‘You’d better not be late!’ Violet’s face appeared at an upstairs window as Linda hurried down the path, pulling her cardi on. ‘I want you back by nine o’clock, miss – at the latest!’
‘Oh, Mom!’
‘Nine or nothing,’ Violet said adamantly to her upturned face. ‘I’m not sitting here wondering where you are all bloody evening! All right, Alan? Bring her back on time, won’t you?’
Alan raised a hand in salute, though he didn’t smile.
‘ ’Llo,’ he said gruffly.
‘Hello. How’s your mom?’
‘All right. Same really. Let’s go, eh?’
She swung her leg over the saddle and soon they were speeding north out of the estate, up past Pheasey and out into the country. Linda was filled with the usual sense of elation, the two of them like king and queen of the world, the rushing air, like flying away from everything, the sun, hanging between zenith and evening, hot on their faces.
‘Where’re we going?’ she yelled.
He shouted something back that sounded like ‘Anywhere’, but she couldn’t hear. Now he had the bike he always seemed to want to get right out of town, to the middle of nowhere. Fancies himself as the Lone Ranger, she thought. Only he wants me there too. Needs me, as he kept saying. She hugged her arms tighter round him.
He had his canvas bag resting on his thigh, the strap across his back. She slid her hand down and felt the hard bottle shape inside, and was immediately uneasy. The bike swerved and she quickly held on tight round his waist again. That fear again, like it had been with Dad. Don’t let him drink too much . . . Please don’t let him.
Chapter Seventy-Two
They passed the last of the sprawling new estates and headed into the countryside. It was such a beautiful afternoon, wheat and barley ripe and gold in fields stretching away from the road and tucked around green hills and clumps of dark trees. She saw that they were back close to where they had been last week, and soon Alan stopped and they found a beautiful sloping spot, where they left the bike tucked in by the hedge and walked a bit further up.
Alan took her hand and it felt nice, that they belonged together, just the two of them.
‘Did your dad go with you today?’ she asked as they found a place to be.
‘Nope.’ Alan swung the bag round and lifted the strap over his head. He put it in his lap and uneasily she saw him take out the bottle. For a moment she thought it was a bottle of water, then read the label: Vodka, this time.
‘He’s not here,’ Alan said, unscrewing the cap. He spoke in a tight voice, as if he was keeping angry emotion under control. ‘He’s in America.’ He took a swig from the bottle.
‘America?’
‘Some institute in Boston. He’s working with Dr Rutenburg – Stanley’s dad. He wouldn’t take me with him, the mean old sod. Said I didn’t deserve a free trip at his expense after all the trouble I’ve caused. That I need to knuckle down and stick it out with my job.’ He gave a harsh laugh. ‘In a sweet shop!’ That was the latest thing.
‘Maybe next time he goes . . .’
She felt so angry for him. There he was, alone in the house with just that housekeeper coming in. Dr Bray acted as if he didn’t even have a son! Even her own father had paid a bit more attention to them all. Once he was sick, anyway, and couldn’t drink. She thought of him staggering to Joyce’s wedding, looking like a ghost. Dr Bray probably wouldn’t even notice if Alan got married.
‘He won’t ever take me,’ Alan said flatly. ‘He just won’t – I know it.’
He swigged at the bottle, drinking as if it was water. Linda didn’t want to see. She stared down between her knees. There were ants, a tobacco-brown line of them.
‘Your mom,’ she said gently. ‘Did you tell her your dad was away?’
There was a long silence. Alan twitched one knee up and down. Tersely, he said, ‘No. It wasn’t much of a conversation.’
She dared to touch his arm. ‘Why not?’
‘She just – what she was saying. It didn’t make any sense. And her face . . .’ Suddenly he was struggling not to cry, his face working. ‘I’ve never seen her as bad. I don’t think she’ll ever get better . . .’
‘Oh, surely she will!’ Linda said, because she didn’t know what else to say.
‘What do you know?’ he snarled. ‘It won’t happen just because you say so!’
‘I know . . . sorry . . . I didn’t mean it like that.’
After a minute he rubbed his arm across his face and said, ‘Sorry.’ Anxiously he turned to her. ‘I love you.’
‘Love you too.’
In the hedge, close behind them, were flowering nettles. She picked one, thinking of Lucy Etheridge who had told her the stems of the flowers taste sweet, like honey. There had been some in Lucy’s garden.
She plucked the pale flowers and sucked.
‘Here – try,’ she said to Alan.
He put the ends of two in his mouth.
‘Can’t taste anything. Too much of this.’ He patted the bottle and drank again. She wanted to tell him to stop, but didn’t dare.
‘Want some?’ He held it out to her. She shook her head.
‘Have you finished your script yet?’
‘No.’
Something in the way he said it stopped her asking any more. She wanted to talk about being out here last week, about what had happened and how it mustn’t happen again, but his mood was so low and he felt so distant from her that she didn’t dare.
After a moment he put the bottle down and put his arms round her, lips searching for hers. He kissed her hard, desperately. Sometimes she almost felt he was trying to suck the life out of her. His arms were tight round her and they tumbled back, lying there wrapped round each other.
‘Don’t ever leave me, will you?’ He stared deep into her. He had ‘drink eyes’ already, glazed, too intense.
‘Not if
I can help it,’ she said. But she felt helpless suddenly, and frightened. Whatever he needed from her it felt too much. She loved him so much that it was an ache inside her, but now, when he was like this, she just wanted to get up and run away from him.
They slept for a time, in each other’s arms. When Linda woke and stiffly sat up, the sun had sunk to orange, a last half-circle of it disappearing as if into the fields in the far distance. The sky was turning a mauvish blue. Alan was still asleep. She picked up the bottle, holding it up in the dim light. He had drunk a good half of it and she could tell by his breathing that he was very deeply asleep. He looked as if he might stay that way for hours. She looked at his sleeping face, feeling like a mother looking down at a baby. Even Mrs Bray had asked her to look after him.
Then she panicked. What time was it? She was really going to get it from Mom if she wasn’t back on time tonight! Alan had a watch and she leaned over him to look at it. A quarter past eight. They’d better get going.
‘Al – Al!’ She tugged at him, shook him, wondering in panic for a moment if he was actually unconscious and she wouldn’t be able to rouse him. Eventually he opened his eyes and stared ahead as if he was blind, then up at the pale sky, not seeming able to focus. How were they going to get back with him in this state?
‘Alan – come on. It’s getting on for half past eight.’
His eyes rested on her and to her relief he seemed more alert.
‘How long’ve I been asleep?’ he asked, muzzily.
‘I dunno – an hour? Maybe more. But we need to go.’
Alan sat up and reached for the bottle again.
‘No!’ She tried to snatch it but he pulled it out of her grasp. ‘Don’t have any more, for God’s sake!’
‘Need a drink.’
There was something lost about him, as if he had let go and fallen from a great height and was now lying crushed with nothing else to lose.
He drank, then got up, staggering.
‘Come on then.’
She didn’t feel too well herself, especially once they were walking. Everything seemed distant and her head hurt, a hard ache in her left temple, and she was queasy. The thought of the ride ahead was dreadful. I don’t feel safe, she thought hazily. But how else was she going to get home from the middle of nowhere?