“Thanks,” Alice says, stuffing the cash into her handbag. She’s glad that Dot could only take out three hundred. It’s still enough to make Ken angry, but at least he won’t be able to claim that she was trying to clean out the account.
“Now,” Dot says. “I had a think and–”
“I did too,” Alice interrupts, realising only as she says it that it’s true. “I’m going to Tim’s place. I’m going to go back and get my car and then I’m going to Tim’s place in Broseley.”
She knows, as soon as she has said it, that it’s the right decision. Dot’s flat is not a neutral space. Dot is not neutral, either. And what Alice needs now is neutrality. She needs to be able to think properly in an unhindered way about what to do next. She needs to be able to decide without Dot pushing her this way and that. Tim and Natalya will have a much more balanced view of things.
“I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” Dot says.
“It’s OK. You don’t need to,” Alice replies.
“I think you should stay here.”
“Thanks. But that’s not what I’ve decided,” Alice says. “But you’re a sweetheart for offering.”
“Oh Alice,” Dot says. “Please.”
“I’m going to get a taxi back and pick up my car. And then I’m going to Tim’s.”
“I don’t think you should drive either.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“And what if Ken’s there? What if he sees you?”
“He won’t,” Alice says. “The car’s around the corner, and I’ve got the keys. I don’t even need to go in.”
“Let me come with you, then,” Dot says. “Just in case. You can drop me home afterwards.”
“No,” Alice says. “Thanks Dot, but no. My mind’s made up. And that’s what I’m doing.”
As the taxi approaches the end of her street, Alice thanks her lucky stars that there were no spaces available in front of the house when she had parked her car. “Can you do me a favour, dear?” she asks the cab driver, a young, muscular Pakistani lad with a pink turban. “Can you just wait till I’m in my car and my doors are locked before you drive away?” Though she had entertained the idea of entering the house and re-packing her bag properly, her heart is racing now that she’s here.
“Sure,” the taxi driver says, looking worried. “You having problems, lady?”
“Hopefully not,” Alice tells him as she hands him a twenty pound note. “But I’d just feel safer that way.”
The cab driver nods and frowns, then reaches for the keys and switches off the ignition. He climbs out, rounds the car and yanks open Alice’s door. Then standing over her like a bodyguard whilst constantly scanning the horizon, he walks her to her car. She’s so grateful to him that it’s as much as she can do to avoid crying again.
She throws her bag onto the passenger seat and starts the engine immediately. The young man, after all, is waiting. With a wave from her trembling fingertips, she drives away.
After about a mile, she turns down the same road to the cemetery from which she had phoned Dot just a few weeks before. Here, she turns the engine off, and sits and watches the drips from the recent rain as they fall from the trees onto her windscreen. Once her nerves have settled, she continues on her way.
At Tim’s house, she can tell even before she rings the doorbell that only Natalya is home. Neither Tim’s nor Vladlena’s cars are outside.
“Alice!” Natalya says when she opens the door. She looks more surprised than pleased. “Tim’s not here,” she says, confirming Alice’s perception of the situation.
“Can I come in please?” Alice asks – Natalya is body-blocking the entrance.
“Um...” Natalya replies, clearly struggling to invent a circumstance whereby refusing entry to your mother-in-law might be acceptable.
“It’s a bit urgent,” Alice tells her.
“Urgent?” Natalya repeats. And then she notices something about Alice’s face. Perhaps the sunglasses don’t hide everything, or maybe Natalya has simply worked out their significance. “Of course,” she says, stepping aside. “Come in. Something is wrong, yes?”
“Yes,” Alice confirms. “I’m afraid it is.”
Natalya leads Alice to the lounge. “Boys are still at school,” she tells her.
“Yes,” Alice says. On the lounge table, playing cards are spread out. “You’re playing Solitaire?” she asks.
“Sorry?”
“Solitaire? The cards?”
“Ah,” Natalya says. “Nearly. This is Russian game. But almost Solitaire. Yes. You want a drink, Alice? Tea or coffee, or...” Her voice peters out. She leans, frowning, towards Alice. “Your face!” she says, now reaching, rather rudely it seems to Alice, to remove her sunglasses. Alice raises one hand to retain them but then relents and removes them herself instead.
“Bozhe moy!” Natalya exclaims breathily. – My God! “Who do this to you?” she continues. “You are rob or mug or something?”
Alice shakes her head gently. “I had a fight,” she says. “With Ken.”
Natalya is frozen in a caricature of shock. Her eyes are wide, her mouth ajar.
“Do you know what time Tim will be home?” Alice asks. “I tried to phone him but there was no answer.”
“He is meeting all day,” Natalya says shaking her head. “Maybe seven. Maybe eight. But God, Alice...” she reaches out to gently touch Alice’s cheek. “Ken do this to you?”
Alice nods.
“So you need to stay here,” Natalya says. “Yes! I put Boris in with Alex tonight. There is no bed in the spare rooms yet, but...”
“I can sleep on the sofa,” Alice offers.
“No. Boris’ room is better. And he likes to share.”
“OK. Then, thank-you,” Alice says.
Natalya slides her hand into her pocket. She is, she realises, trembling. She has seen many bruised faces in her time, including a few looking back at her from a mirror. Horrible memories are surfacing, memories of every bruise she ever tended to.
“You need a drink, maybe?” she asks, heading for the bar. “Vodka, or whisky. Oh... Martini, yes?”
“No,” Alice tells her uncertainly. “It’s a bit early for...”
“Huh! I don’t think,” Natalya says slopping some Martini into a glass for Alice and some vodka for herself.
Natalya downs hers in one, and though she’s not sure why, Alice emulates her and does likewise. Something about Natalya’s certainty has convinced her that this is maybe what she needs after all.
“More?” Natalya says, reaching for the bottle again.
“No. Really,” Alice says. “But perhaps I could sleep for a bit? I’m so tired.”
“Of course. Come.”
Once she has shown Alice to Boris’ room and offered to change the sheets (an offer Alice refuses), Natalya says, “I wake you when Tim is home, yes?”
“Oh, I won’t sleep that long. I’m sure I won’t,” Alice replies.
Whether it’s because of the alcohol or sheer nervous exhaustion, she does sleep that long. She sleeps without dreams, without tossing or turning – she sleeps the sleep of the dead.
She’s woken just after seven by Tim. The room is lit red by the setting sun outside the window. “Mum,” he says. He’s crouched beside the bed. He’s still in his work clothes: a checked blue shirt and a pink tie, shiny cut glass cufflinks.
“Um,” Alice murmurs as she tries to convince her mouth to work. She feels like she’s taken one of those sleeping pills the doctor used to give her in the seventies.
“Natalya told me what happened,” Tim says.
“Um,” Alice says again, blinking to clear her vision and managing, just, to sit up.
“Ouch. That looks serious. What did you argue about this time?” Tim asks.
This time, Alice thinks. Because in those two words are a whole encyclopaedia of meanings. “This time,” means that Tim has remembered every other time. Of course he has. “This time,” reveals realms about how Tim is
going to react, as well. By saying this time, he’s telling Alice that he’s used to this, that he’s not shocked – he’s telling her that, considering their shared knowledge of every other time, it couldn’t be any other way.
“You don’t want to know,” Alice says. “I’ll get up.”
And she’s right. He doesn’t. “OK,” Tim says. “I’ll see you downstairs.”
Once Alice has washed her face and brushed her teeth (with her finger – the toothbrush is one of many essential things she has failed to bring with her) she descends the cold concrete stairs.
Boris and Alex are watching television. They are wearing disheveled school uniforms, and Alice wonders how they got home. Perhaps Tim brought them.
“Hi Gran,” Boris says. “Mum says you’re sleeping in my bed.”
“If you’ll let me,” Alice tells him.
Boris nods. “I’m in with Alex,” he says. “But that’s cool. He doesn’t snore. Not like Dad.”
Alex, hearing his name, looks up. “Where’s Granddad?” he asks.
“At home.”
Alex rotates his head, zombie-style so that it faces the television again.
“What happened to your eye?” Boris asks.
“I walked into a lamppost,” Alice tells him.
Boris laughs. “Well, that was silly! Did it hurt?”
“A bit.”
“Mum and Dad are in the kitchen shouting,” Boris says as he too turns back to face the television. “But you can watch The Simpsons with us if you want.”
Alice tunes her hearing. And yes, now she too can hear the argument.
Glancing back at the boys to check that they’re not watching her, she crosses to the closed kitchen door. From beyond it, she can hear Tim’s voice, saying, “... whole life. It’s what they do, Nat.”
“But he did hit her,” Natalya replies. “Did you see her face?”
“Yes, but...”
“This is not OK, Tim. Never.”
“But you can’t help them, Nat. It’s just what they do.”
“I cannot believe that you say this. This is your mother!”
“Yes, she’s my mother. And Ken is my father. And this is what they do. She winds him up until he whacks her one. And tomorrow it’ll all be forgotten. And there’s nothing...”
As Alice opens the door, Tim’s voice fades. He blushes deeply.
“It’s OK,” Alice tells him. “Whatever it is, it’s OK. Just don’t you argue about it as well. Please. Just don’t.”
“I’m sorry, Mum,” Tim says sounding emotional. “I just... I can’t deal with this shit anymore. I just can’t.”
“I know, son,” Alice says. “I’ll get my bag. I’ll leave.”
“No!” Natalya says. “You will stay.”
Tim glances at his wife, and though she can’t see Tim’s face, she can see Natalya’s expression of outrage as it forms. “Tim!” Natalya says. “Tell her she must stay.”
“You don’t understand,” Tim says. “It’s best not to get involved.”
“Tim!” Natalya growls in a tone of voice that makes even Alice feel scared.
Tim half-turns to face Alice. “You should stay tonight,” he tells her. “It’s late. So you should stay the night. Just tonight.”
“Sure. I get the message,” Alice says. “And it’s fine. Really it is. I was leaving tomorrow anyway.”
“Tim!” Natalya protests again, her voice even deeper.
“I’m sorry,” he tells his wife. “But that’s my limit. I can’t get involved. You don’t know...”
He walks briskly from the kitchen leaving Natalya and Alice alone. “I’m sorry,” Natalya says. “He is stupid sometime. I talk to him. It will be OK. I will talk to him later. I promise you this.”
Alice smiles sadly. She’s unsettled to find herself allied with Natalya against her own son. That was unexpected. “It doesn’t matter,” she tells her. “Really it doesn't. I only wanted to stay one night.”
“I don’t understand him,” Natalya says. “How he can say this things.”
“You don’t need to understand, really. But Tim’s been through a lot, too. With Ken. With me. And he’s right. It’s been going on a long time. It’s been going on for too long.”
“But...”
“So I understand him. And it’s fine! So really. Just, you know... leave it,” Alice says.
Natalya shakes her head confusedly. “I will talk to him,” she says. “Now, you are hungry, I think? There is pizza in the oven if you want.”
“Yes,” Alice says. “Yes, some pizza would be lovely, Natalya. If you have enough?”
“Of course,” Natalya says.
Alice returns to Boris’ bedroom almost as soon as they have eaten. She feigns tiredness, but in truth it’s just too hard to make polite conversation with Tim and Natalya. It’s like the elephant in the room – namely Alice’s swollen eye – is sucking the oxygen out of every other possible conversation they might have.
She hears Tim put the boys to bed next door. She hears them talking and giggling together once he has left. She hears Natalya read them a short story, her voice rhythmic, the words indistinct. Family life, Alice thinks. It can be so simple.
She watches the patterns from Boris’ stargazer nightlight as they drift across the ceiling and remembers Tim and Matt as children. It’s a terrible cliché, but like most clichés, it’s true: they grew up so fast. It really does seem like only yesterday.
She thinks of Tim saying, “this time,” and she wonders how many of Ken’s outbursts Tim had to witness. More than a few. And more than Matt. Ken calmed down a little as he got older, so Matt perhaps suffered less. Should she have left him? Would depriving them of a father have been the right choice? Even now, she doesn’t know.
She tries to remember the good bits as well, and slowly memories resurface. Tim clamped to her back as she swam at Morecambe Bay. Matt on her shoulders watching the trains. He’d been so excited he’d peed down her back. How everyone had laughed! It had been a good day. Yes, there had been good days.
She wonders if Tim remembers that. She wonders if he remembers any of the good times, or if they have all been wiped away by the ever-present fear of his unpredictable father.
Just before midnight, she hears Natalya and Tim arguing again. This time, they’re in their bedroom at the end of the hall, too far away for her to hear the words. But the tone is the same as before. Tim, being manly, sounding sane and reasonable. Natalya sounding outraged. Yes, family life should be so simple, but it rarely is.
Alice is woken at three by Natalya opening her bedroom door. She crouches down at the bedside exactly as Tim had. “Alice!” she whispers.
Alice rolls onto her side and then pulls the quilt around her. She sits up. This time she feels wide awake. She feels as if she was barely asleep in the first place. “Yes?”
Natalya glances back at the door and raises one finger to her lips. Then she straightens and returns to quietly close it. “I have to tell you something,” she whispers. “Tim calls Ken on the telephone.”
“He phoned him?”
“Yes. He will come in the morning. To take you home.”
“Oh. OK. Was he angry?”
Natalya shrugs. “He says it’s rain in cup or something.”
“A storm in a teacup?”
“Yes. This is the one.”
Alice raises one eyebrow. It still hurts slightly. She sighs.
“Anyway, I think you should know,” Natalya says. “In case you don’t want.”
“Yes,” Alice says. “Thank-you.”
“You will stay?” Natalya asks. “You are not scared?”
“I don’t know,” Alice replies blankly. “But thank-you.”
“OK,” Natalya says, reaching out to stroke Alice’s arm. “I go to sleep now.” She stands and turns towards the door, but then hesitates and looks back at Alice. “You know, Alice, you should not let him do this things.”
“I know,” Alice says sadly.
“You should never let a man do this things. If someone do this thing to me I am running away.”
Alice’s eyes begin to water. She swallows with difficulty. “Yes. Thank-you, Natalya.”
And then Natalya blinks at her slowly and is gone.
“What a strange day,” Alice murmurs, dabbing at the corner of one eye.
Following Natalya’s intervention, Alice can’t sleep. She tosses and turns.
She watches the stars on the ceiling and tries to remember the names of the constellations. After an hour, she stands and crosses to the window. She opens the curtains and looks out at the garden. Each of the oak trees is illuminated by an up-lighter set in the grass. She never noticed it before, but the garden looks magnificent by night, like the garden of a stately home, like the garden of the White House, perhaps. Lit by these spotlights, the trees don’t look like nature, but like opulent monuments to wealth and power.
She imagines the Megane coming up the drive. She imagines Ken arriving at the house. He’ll be relaxed and jokey. He’ll act like nothing has happened. As long as no one challenges him, that is. As long as no one asks him why he punched his wife in the face.
Alice won’t ask him. And Tim won’t ask him either. But Natalya might. There’s an unpredictability about Natalya that sets Alice’s nerves on edge. Because if Natalya lays into Ken, the fact of a woman standing up to him could make things turn very nasty very quickly.
Alice thinks of Tim’s words. It’s what they do. It’s always the same. It never changes. And he’s right. As long as they’re talking about the past, he’s totally right. But the future? Who knows? Not even Alice knows what the future holds. Yesterday, she had thought she was about to die and she had been happy at the idea. Who would have thought that could ever happen?
She turns from the window. She looks at her absurd little bag again. Of course she’ll go back, she thinks. But not right now. Not just yet.
She crosses to Boris’ desk and retrieves her slacks from the back of the chair. She pulls them on, then pulls her t-shirt over her head, followed by her old cashmere jumper.
The Other Son Page 18