by Shawna Lewis
29
Aidan’s mother could tell he couldn’t wait to come home. His last few calls had been positively enthusiastic. He’d even asked if things were OK at the village hall.
“Fine,” his mother lied.
Before Doug left again for Sunderland, she told him, “See! He does miss us. He does, I know it. A mother can feel it.”
He climbed into his van and let the window slide down.
“Everything will be OK once he’s home,” she insisted. “I’ll ask him if Melanie’s said anything about this carry-on with Jermyn.”
Doug knew better than to tell her she was wrong.
“Aidan’s very mature for his age,” she told her mother later. “He’ll tell me anything that’s cause for concern.”
Belinda’s father kept his mouth shut. His daughter was deluded when it came to that lad. He’d long suspected it, but now he knew it for a fact, having spotted his grandson from a bus in Denswick when the lad’s parents thought he was in Wales. George had been on the way to see his chiropractor when he spotted Aidan, with a couple of other young men, turn in between a pair of tall stone gateposts as the bus passed by. There was no doubt – the lad was conning his mum and dad.
Lying on the practitioner’s couch, he’d explained that his daughter was having a tough time, sure enough, but everyone has tough times every now and then.
“Things aren’t too rosy for me and Gwen either. This is no time for our daughter to crack up – she needs to pull herself together. I’ll keep my mouth shut about the boy for now, but you can be sure I’ll give him what-for when I get him in private. He’ll be home for Easter soon.”
The chiropractor agreed with his patient: a spot of National Service would make a man of the boy, if only the government would see sense and bring it back.
On Dapple Grove, the atmosphere between mother and daughter was tense; the full truth about Melanie’s involvement in The Mikado had not yet been addressed. The girl sent frequent texts to her brother.
NVR SPK 2 MUM BOUT MKDO.
MUM TRIDE2POYSNMI
To be honest, Aidan had never given a thought to whether his sister had told their parents about the show. He’d just assumed Mum would be there on the night.
“I thought even Dad would have made the effort,” he’d said after the performance. “Gran and Granddad would have enjoyed it too. Why didn’t they come?”
“Because they’re old and haven’t a clue what’s going on half the time. They all care about themselves more than me.”
Aidan had ignored this as one of Melanie’s pathetic efforts at attention seeking and walked away, to where Solly was waiting in his mum’s car to drive him back to uni en route to his own. They all needed to put in a full week before the end of term.
*
Melanie was determined not to repent the error of her ways. What was OK for Aidan was OK for her, right? She had fallen hook, line and sinker for the brief postings she’d seen on his Facebook page. Aidan’s typing had never been great.
TRICKY STUFF WITH HOLLY ROWAN AND ASH ALL IN THE BEG NOW
His sister was jealous. She realised her brother had mistyped the penultimate word. He’d had three of them in bed at the same time!
“Isn’t Rowan’s a boy’s name?” she gasped inwardly. Her brother was becoming more exotic by the day. Ash could be male or female, but she disliked Holly already – stuck-up cow!
The Facebook page carried photos of girls’ bottoms, panties showing beneath hitched-up skirts. These pictures were all taken from behind, Aidan having been a mere observer at the feast of flesh, but Melanie didn’t notice that. It looked like her brother was getting some grown-up action and his sister wanted a share.
*
“Help me clean Aidan’s room?” Belinda asked her daughter two days before the student was due home. She hoped that, like before, they would share confidences while they worked. The girl edged into her brother’s room, a limp duster held between forefinger and thumb.
“Cleaning’s gross. I’m gonna have a maid when I grow up,” she muttered.
“That’ll be nice, love.” Her mother avoided confrontation as she washed the window with a chamois leather, checked that the clean sheets had not developed wrinkles and that no flies had laid their eggs on the window frame since yesterday.
“What shall we have for dinner when Aidan comes?”
“Dunno.”
“What would you like?” Belinda was trying too hard. “You choose and we’ll cook it together. It’ll be fun.”
She moved to the mirror hanging on the wall.
“Not bothered.”
Belinda balked as a photo of a massive-bosomed brunette with no knickers slipped down the wall from its hiding place behind the mirror, disturbed by over-enthusiastic polishing. With a gasp but without comment, she screwed up the paper and shoved it in a drawer to dispose of later. One of Aidan’s mates must have put it there as a joke.
Trying to get close to the girl was a waste of time, but it would all be fine when Aidan came home. Shoulders back, she forced a smile.
“All done,” she announced.
The girl slunk out, still holding the unused duster between finger and thumb.
*
Doug was in Sunderland for a few more days, so they would have the boy to themselves for a while. Melanie had scores of complaints about mum to divulge. She counted them out on her fingers to Chelsey on the way to school on the last day of term.
“There’s giving me a dead sparrow sandwich, for a start.”
Chelsey had heard it all before.
“Mmm.” Chelsey was looking over her shoulder for Ben Jepson, who was chatting up some girl from Year 8 ten yards behind them.
“Mum’s a weirdo. Aidan knows that already. He’ll see she’s getting worse.”
“Mmm.” Ben Jepson was fingering the girl’s long auburn plaits.
“I’m thinking of moving to Wales,” announced the abandoned sister. “To Aidan’s flat. He won’t mind sharing his room. It’ll be great. He’ll be thrilled when I tell him.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, we get on really well and his flatmates are really really cool. Jude, one of them’s called. He’s got this beard – it’s a hoot. I won’t mind doing the cooking. I can make omelettes and everything. I’ll do the shopping after school.”
“They won’t just let you in any school. They’ll need to see your parents.” Chelsey tried to be realistic.
“I’ll say Aidan’s my guardian – our parents have been killed in a plane crash or something.”
“Oh.” Chelsey gave up.
“I’m learning Welsh too. Listen.”
Chelsey listened.
“Maes parcio. That’s car park.”
“Mmm.”
“Araf. You see that on the roads. It means slow or something.”
“Right.”
“And… listen to this… Ysbyty.” (She pronounced it WHYZBYTEE.)
“What’s that mean?”
“Hospital. If anyone asks directions to the hospital car park, I’ll be able to help them.” Melanie glowed with pride in her linguistic prowess, but Chelsey wasn’t listening. Ben Jepson and the girl with plaits were snogging in the bushes beside the school gates. The shards of Chelsey’s shattered heart were ground even smaller.
*
That evening, Melanie turned a deaf ear as Mum chatted to Dad on the phone.
“I thought we could take a picnic to the sculpture park. It will be lovely to show you all where I carved my snail.” No one had noticed the decapitation.
“Don’t start making plans. He’ll want to do his own thing.” Doug was down-to-earth.
“He’ll love it – all those trees! He’ll be able to identify them for us.”
“Hmm. He’ll have some studying to do and he’ll want
to see his mates.”
She protested. “He’ll want to see us too. Spend time with those who love him.” The desperate upward inflection turned her sentence into a plea. It was unthinkable that things had changed forever.
*
When the time came, the lad wouldn’t hear of his mother picking him up from either the rail or bus station.
“I’m a grown man, Mum. I don’t need you fetching and carrying me about. I think I can find my way home by myself.” His tone was decisive.
She wanted to explain that she needed to be needed, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she gave in meekly.
“Oh, alright then. What time will you be here?”
“Not sure – some time Friday or Saturday, probably. Don’t make any meals for me – I’ll see to myself.”
The tears welled up, too many for her to blink away.
“OK. Bye.” The quivering voice revealed her disappointment.
“Mum’s being manipulative again,” he told his housemates. “I’ve a good mind not to go home at all, but there’s someone else I need to see so I’ll have to.”
*
By bedtime on Friday, Belinda and her daughter had emptied the box of chocolates they’d bought to share with Aidan and replaced his favourite DVD in its box. It had been waiting on the player, ready.
The girl took herself upstairs at ten. Downstairs, Belinda dialled her son’s mobile number. Maybe he’d had an accident or something. The call went straight to voicemail. She sent a text imploring him to get in touch, before climbing the stairs herself.
*
At the time the message was received, Aidan’s phone was in his jeans pocket. The jeans were roughly folded beneath his T-shirt, underwear and trainers in the Ladies’ at Sallby Village Hall, only 500 metres from his mother’s loving arms.
This was to be the last official gig for the life models, and the artists were demanding a longer session than planned. That didn’t bother the lads too much. The Dewson sisters had already booked them to model in their own home studios at a very attractive rate, travel costs included. As for Hattie and Penelope, their bodies had been finding the endless tours abroad exhausting and they needed to rethink their strategies for viewing the male form.
The differing physiques of the four young men offered endless opportunities for original art. The sisters wanted to break out from copies and interpretations of great works and unleash their own, boundlessly increasing creativity.
“You know, Penelope dear,” Hattie said to her sister as they packed their equipment at the end of the evening, “if we find the boys satisfactory, we ought to think of hiring them longer term.”
“What’s in your mind, Hattie?”
“We have plenty of space at Da Vinci House. Even with our studios and galleries, there are some rooms we rarely use and two big attics full of junk.”
“I don’t follow you, dear.”
“Why don’t we convert those attics into twin bedrooms for the boys? Then we could put them up overnight – or even longer if we’re working on a major piece.”
Penelope found her sister’s idea quite titillating, but tried not to get too excited.
“We’ll have to look at the financial side of things, of course,” Hattie cautioned.
“I’m sure that if we cut down on overseas trips we’ll be able to manage.” Caution was not second nature to Penelope.
The sisters would mull over the practicalities on the way home.
*
Belinda checked her phone repeatedly during the night and the following morning. It was difficult to resist the urge to ring round the hospitals. He didn’t come the next day. His sister barely left her room. His mother wept. His father promised to give the lad a piece of his mind when he did turn up.
30
Easter Sunday in Sallby that year commemorated not only the resurrection of Christ, but also of the Rejoice with Jesus! Evangelical Church, whose members would be, for the first time, holding a service at Sallby Village Hall.The incredibly helpful wife of the Methodist minister had shown Pastor Darren round the building just a few days earlier, and although both were perplexed to see a tileless roof, each had taken it as a sign that the evangelists had been sent by the Lord to help restore the building to its former glory. And Glory there would be, Darren was certain.
To be sure, the space did not offer the capacity for expansion in numbers that Darren hoped for, and setting out the creaky chairs took quite a while, but the building was homely and, more importantly, cheap.
The minister’s wife had explained that, although she was not herself in charge of the hall, she was very good friends with the person who was. Mrs Batty would make sure all relevant permissions and insurances were in place. All Darren had to do was arrange car shares so the members of his flock could get out to Sallby.
Marnie was delighted. At last she’d be able to contact Belinda with the new booking, and casually drop news of her own marriage into the conversation. She nursed a secret glee. Since the wedding, her future was secure and she had felt no need for the money made by the various village hall enterprises. There would be no more special events. Michael trusted her always to do the right thing, and although Marina herself thought the enterprises were for the public good, that might not be enough for her husband, who had already suffered enough at the hands of narrow-minded jobsworths.
Marina’s conscience was clear, for every penny of her share of the profits had been stuffed through Belinda Lowe’s letter-box to be used on the village hall. She was gleeful at the prospect of her friend’s response and at the sight of the bare roof. The money was obviously being put to good use. She felt sure that Michael would be proud of her Christian act and its benefit to the community.
In the call, she would explain the Rejoice with Jesus! Church’s predicament, convinced that Belinda would be delighted by the regular income for the hall – all above board and thoroughly respectable. Marina tried ringing for most of Saturday until late at night, but the line was always busy. It would have to wait until after the service – not the best, but the only option.
Meanwhile, she had one more scheme to work on. A few swimming lessons ago, Samantha had spoken of her sister-in-law’s longing for her absent husband and desperation for a child. Marina wanted to find love for Bud Baxter, who had once, in his cups, spoken of how he longed for a wife and family. All this longing! It had been a simple thing to make sure that the abandoned wife was paired up with Bud at the AID session. Now she just had to work on ensuring the individuals kept bumping into each other until the two became one. The minister’s wife had come to realise that, given the opportunity, she had the ability to make things happen. She had no doubt that, within months, Michael would be officiating at another wedding.
*
Easter Sunday, Doug was home, grim-faced but pretending things were OK. Chocolate eggs adorned the breakfast table, but the foil wrappers remained untouched. They barely spoke; all was numb, all subdued behind the meaningless dusting and tidying.
Their daughter slouched downstairs around noon, only to isolate herself inside headphones on the sofa. Her right thumb flicked incessantly between the buttons of her mobile, her eyes rarely straying from its tiny screen.
No one heard the click of the gate or the rasp of the key in the door.
“Mum! Dad! Anyone in?”
Belinda ran from the kitchen, arms wide to receive her beloved son. Instead of Aidan, her open embrace encircled a blonde woman, youngish, whose face was vaguely familiar. Over the blonde’s shoulder, her eyes questioned Aidan’s before spotting the small boy holding her son’s hand.
“Mum, Dad… This is Candy. We’re getting married!”
The young man looked overjoyed. He swelled with pride. “We’re having a baby!”
Belinda staggered back slightly, relief, hurt, shock and horror fighting for supremacy. Glancing dow
n, she saw the little hint of a swell on the woman’s belly. Two months gone at most, she guessed.
Melanie skidded downstairs into the awkward silence.
“Who are you? Who’s that kid? What’re they doing here?” She punched her brother’s shoulder.
“This is Job. I’m going to be his dad.”
Doug found his voice and his manners. “You’d better come in. Aidan didn’t mention he’d be bringing guests.”
He ushered them into the living room. As the woman walked ahead, he noticed the hearing aid in her left ear before glaring at his son to indicate his fury. Belinda and her daughter were left to blink back their tears on the bottom stair.
“He says they’re getting married.” The mother struggled to hide the sob in her voice. “She’s pregnant.”
“She can’t be. He can’t get married. I’m going to share a flat with him!”
“Oh no you’re not! What gave you that idea?”
“I could look after him. I’m ready to leave home anyway.”
“Get a grip, Melanie. You’re still a child. You don’t matter to him now. None of us does.”
Stunned by this dreadful realisation, mother and daughter sat in silence, glued to the step. Their world had changed forever. It was the shock of a bereavement, or even worse: they had been superceded. Mothers know it must come, and Now is never the right time. But how? But when? And where had she seen that woman before?
The name – Candy – rang a bell, and at the thought, the clangour of the village hall fire alarm rang in her mind’s ear. Malevolence crept stealthily from the shadows; the memory of the brassy woman’s superior tone and crass haughtiness flooded back. Job Dunne’s party booking. She thought of her not-so-little list and remembered the name at the top.It took an hour to hear the creatively expurgated version of the story. How the couple had met at a party at the village hall – the one Aidan and his mates had come home for specially. How the couple had fallen in love instantly. How Aidan was sooo proud of his sweetheart, a survivor of marital domestic abuse and desertion, coping with recently-inflicted partial deafness, raising the delightful Job on her own, the loss of her home, smart car and sophisticated way of life thanks to bent coppers and incompetent lawyers, accepting all without complaint. She was not far short of a saint and the family would be privileged, he was sure, to have mother and child move in with them.