by Kit de Waal
She’s scrubbing so hard that she’s swaying from side to side.
“Mo won’t even notice, will she? No, she won’t. But you’ll know, Sylvia. You’ll know you scrubbed your front step like it was Leighton Buzzard 1952. There!”
She stops and wipes the back of her hand across her forehead and tests the rollers to make sure they haven’t moved.
“Make us a cup of coffee, Leon, love. Don’t just stand there and look at me like I’m a Martian. This is normal behavior where I come from.”
Leon makes her coffee in her favorite mug and puts two biscuits on a plate. He puts everything on a tray and then adds a teaspoon in case her biscuit collapses when she dips it in. He brings it out to the front and when Sylvia sees it she gives him a kind smile and stands up, arching her back forward and then backward.
“What would I do without you, eh?” she says. “You’re lovely, you are.”
Even though her face is very old, Sylvia has young eyes and sometimes he can see that she used to be pretty. When the TV was black and white, she says, that’s when she was pretty, when everything cost a shilling and she used to go dancing at the Locarno. Sylvia is prettier than Maureen but Maureen is nicer and Maureen is coming back. That means that Leon will go back to his second bedroom. His first bedroom was when he used to live with Carol and Jake. His second bedroom was at Maureen’s house where he and Jake used to sleep. He remembers the wallpaper and the lampshade and the way the light came through a gap in the curtains. His mom came to that room and saw the photo of Jake and fell down. His third bedroom is next to Sylvia’s. It won’t take him long to pack his things.
Sylvia gets in the shower and when she comes out she has her hair in a different style.
“What do you think?” she says.
“It’s higher.”
“Higher and?”
“Bigger,” says Leon.
“Bigger and higher,” she says.
Leon nods.
“And is that good in your world, Leon?”
She sounds angry so Leon says nothing.
“You’ve got a babysitter tonight. I’m going out.”
Crazy Rose comes to look after him.
“Hello, Pete,” she says.
“Leon, Rose. His name is Leon. Leon. He’s ready for bed, so just send him off when you’re ready. He’s as good as gold. Won’t make a fuss.”
“Like your hair, Sylv!” says Crazy Rose and she walks all the way around Sylvia so she can see it from every angle.
“Did you do it yourself?”
“Me and the rollers and a can of Silvikrin Extra Hold.”
“It’s worked anyhow, hasn’t it?”
“Do you think?” says Sylvia, pushing it up at the back. “It’s not too high?”
“Goes with that dress and them shoes.”
“Ten ninety-nine from British Home Stores,” says Sylvia, putting one foot forward like a ballet dancer. “The dress was on sale and I took it in. Always had a tiny waist.”
“Well, have a good time, Sylvie, love. We’ll be all right together, won’t we, Pete?”
“Leon,” says Sylvia.
Crazy Rose puts the TV on and they watch a film about a shark and then she falls asleep, so Leon changes the channel. He is still awake when Sylvia comes back.
“Rose? Rose?”
Sylvia has to shake her loads of times to get her to wake up.
“Oooh,” she says, “was I asleep? How long have I been asleep? Where’s Pete?”
Sylvia cocks her thumb and tells Leon to go to bed.
“Come on, Rose. I’ve saved my taxi for you. It’s outside.”
Leon stays on the sofa. He’s taken seventy pence out of Crazy Rose’s purse and he’s already put it in his backpack. He also took her nail file with its purple plastic cover. He saw a film once where someone used a nail file to escape from prison. They put it in the lock and then the door opened.
When Crazy Rose has gone, Sylvia starts taking grips and pins out of her high hairstyle and it all comes down, wild and fluffy. She has black makeup under her eyes.
“Bastard didn’t turn up, if you want to know, Pete,” she says.
Leon gets up.
“We’re going to move to the seaside, that’s what we’re going to do. Me and Mo. Hastings. Or Rye. I’m going to make her do it. Give this all up and retire to the sea. A little cottage next to a pub.”
She’s swaying a bit from side to side as she lights her cigarette.
“Fuck this shit,” she says, waving her arms around. She flops down on to the sofa and a single belch pops out.
“Begging your pardon. Make us another one of your marvellous coffees, Pete.”
She begins to giggle.
“Pete! Pete! Crazy fucking Rose.”
Leon makes her a cup of coffee and puts extra sugar in it because Sylvia looks sad. He takes it in on a tray with the biscuits and a spoon.
He puts it carefully on the floor and sits next to Sylvia on the sofa. She doesn’t say thank you and so he doesn’t say anything, either. The room is so quiet he can hear the traffic on the road outside, just a few cars and a siren far away.
Then Sylvia begins to cry. She puts one hand over her eyes and the other hand, with the cigarette, starts shaking. Leon takes the cigarette and puts it in the ashtray, then he sits back down. Sylvia’s crying gets worse and her hair starts bobbing up and down. He holds her hand because that’s what she did when he started crying when he was sick.
“Sorry,” she whispers. “I’m sorry.”
Then Leon puts his arm round her shoulder.
“Don’t cry,” he says. “Maureen is coming home tomorrow.”
35
Leon knows Sylvia won’t wake up early, because she never does when she’s been drinking so, as soon as he gets up, he looks through every single thing he’s collected and all the things he has in his backpack.
He has nine pounds and forty-seven pence plus his granny’s five-pound note, which he’s saved for ages, a nail file, a writing pad and a pen, four Curly Wurlys but one is broken in the packet, a can opener, two small cans of baked beans that he can heat up, his Take-A-Chance seeds, his garden tools from Mr. Devlin, a comic, Sylvia’s favorite brooch in case he has to sell it for money, a can of soda with a dent in it, the gun, a key ring in the shape of a gun, a green plastic gun, the head, an axe with a wobbly handle, a map of Bristol, a map of London, a bar of soap with a crack in it, baby dinners, the photograph of Jake with his address on the back, a mini packet of cornflakes and a mini packet of Rice Krispies, some coins that aren’t English, a knife, the letter from Jake, his best Action Man wearing a beret, Big Red Bear, two diapers and a pacifier, a tea towel from Sylvia’s cupboard, and a baby’s blanket.
When he puts everything inside his pack it’s so full he can hardly zip up the top. He will never be able to carry it all at the same time. Maureen will ask him what’s inside and he will have to pretend it’s all toys. Then when he takes the pack back to her house he can hide some of the things under his bed. He’s going to have to leave the things that he’s stored in his shed but when Maureen brings him back to visit Sylvia again, he can see if his plants are growing and collect anything he leaves behind. Leon might have to wait to do his plan now that Maureen’s back. He might not have to do it at all.
When he has made his breakfast, Sylvia shuffles into the kitchen. She puts the kettle on and pulls the belt on her dressing gown. She sits down at the kitchen table and puts her hands together. She has lots of folds on her face and the black makeup is now on her cheeks as well as her eyes. But her hair isn’t high anymore.
“Listen, Leon, I’m sorry. I’m bloody sorry. What was I saying last night? Was I talking rubbish? Anyway, the point is, whatever’s going on in my life, it’s not fair to put it on you. It’s not like you’re having such a marvelous time, either.”
She gets her cigarettes out of her pocket and lights one. Leon starts to make her a cup of coffee.
“Mo will be here sometime today. I’m hoping she’ll move in for a few days. Or even for good.”
Leon splashes himself with hot water and nearly drops the kettle.
“Careful, love!”
Sylvia is up quick as a flash and takes the kettle off him.
“You all right? Let me see.”
But Leon moves out of her way and sits back down.
“You’re not hurt, are you?”
Leon shakes his head. Sylvia is ugly in the mornings and her old lady smell is very bad. She can make her own coffee. She’s wrong about lots of things, so she is wrong about Maureen moving in. Like she said, she talks rubbish sometimes.
They have to wait for ages and ages before Maureen comes. He hears it first. He hears a car pull up outside and he runs to the door. Maureen is getting out of a black taxi. She has a suitcase with little wheels on it and Leon runs to get it.
Maureen opens her arms wide.
“Here he is!”
She grabs Leon and squeezes him hard and he squeezes her back.
“Stop it!” she whispers. “Stop growing so tall! You’re going to be a giant and we won’t get you through the door.”
She doesn’t let him go.
“Oh, I’ve needed a good hug, I have. That’s better than all the pills in the world.”
Then Sylvia comes and Leon has to move out of the way.
“Get the bag, Pete,” she says. “Come on, Mo, come on. Inside and sit yourself down. You shouldn’t be pulling that suitcase.”
Sylvia bosses Leon around and makes a pot of tea. She’s bought a round cake with sprinkles on top and jam in the middle. She puts it on a plate and cuts it into slices.
“Get you!” says Maureen and she winks at Leon. “Have you gone all fancy while I’ve been away?”
“This,” says Sylvia, “is your last piece of cake, Mo. You’ve got to promise me about your eating and drinking.”
“Me? Drinking?”
“Eating then, sugar, cakes. You know what I mean.”
“All right, all right, don’t go on, Sylvia.”
Leon likes it when Maureen uses her no-nonsense voice with Sylvia. They are all quiet while they eat the cake. Then Maureen gets up and cuts herself another slice and looks at Sylvia while she does it.
“Do you want a bit more, Pete?” Sylvia says.
“Who’s Pete?” asks Maureen. “Why you calling him Pete all the time?”
“Oh, it’s a joke. Crazy Rose started it.”
Maureen looks at Leon and raises an eyebrow.
“She’s a bright spark, is Rose. Did she fall asleep midsentence like she usually does with her tongue hanging on her bosom?”
Maureen makes such a funny face that Leon begins to laugh and then Maureen and Sylvia join in. When nearly all the cake is gone, Leon asks if he can go out on his bike.
“I’ve heard a lot about this bike,” says Maureen. “Where do you go?”
“The park,” says Leon.
“What park?”
“The one with the railings.”
“All parks have railings, Leon. How do you get there?”
“Up the road.”
“Hmm,” says Maureen, “you can show me this park tomorrow. Bathroom first, wash your hands and face. You’ve got crumbs everywhere.”
Leon goes down the hall and opens the door to the bathroom but he doesn’t go in. He stands quietly near the living room. Sylvia is talking.
“. . . good kid, all in all. No trouble at all. Got used to having him here.”
“Where’s this park he keeps talking about?”
“Oh, it’s up there on the main road. You pass it on the bus. He’s all right, Mo. Look at the size of him. He can take care of himself. You should be worrying about yourself.”
“He’s gone a bit quiet,” says Maureen.
“Kids are like that at his age.”
“He’s going to be six foot and then some, that one,” Maureen says, “and good-looking.”
Leon smiles and feels the muscles at the top of his arms. Then Sylvia starts again.
“Listen, you and me have got to have a talk about the future, Mo.”
“Not again, Sylvia, for God’s sake. I’ve just got here.”
“And you’re staying here. You’re moving in with me. It makes sense. I can keep my eye on you. Neither of us is getting any younger. You haven’t got a guy, neither have I now. Two of us could halve our bills. I’ve got two bedrooms going spare. No stairs to climb. I’ve thought about it a lot and it’s for your own good. You don’t want to have another stroke, Mo. It’s nearly finished me off. You’re moving in with me.”
“Am I? You’ve decided, have you? That’s nice. I’ve got no say, I suppose.”
“Then, well, we don’t have to stop here. What’s keeping us from moving? Nothing. Mo, what do you think about Hastings?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Sell it all. Pool what we get. How much do you think we’d get? We’d have enough for a two-bedroom cottage, that’s for certain. The sea, Mo. You love the sea.”
“Hastings?”
“By the sea.”
“If only.”
“Why not? You love the sea, Mo.”
“It’s been a good long while since we had a proper break, I know that much.”
“What’s stopping us?”
“I can think of a few things.”
“Just give the idea a chance for a few minutes, Mo. Stop thinking of why not all the time.”
Sylvia’s getting loud and Maureen doesn’t say anything for ages and then when she does her voice is different, it’s all soft like when she used to tell Jake a bedtime story.
“I do love the sea. I’ve always wanted a place by the sea. Walking on the beach. Them lights that they put around the pier. A little springer spaniel or something. I’d lose this weight, wouldn’t I, with all that walking? I love that curve in the bay, great sweeping curve, like a giant smile. It’s mild down there even in winter and you’d have the sea to look at. To listen to. What is it about the sea? What is it when you look out at the sea and feel calm? Hastings, though, it must have changed since we were there.”
“Just me and you, Mo,” says Sylvia.
“Or a Lakeland terrier. Or a . . . what was the dog the Turners had?”
“Bedlington.”
“Pedigrees are expensive though, Sylv. And Bedlingtons can be a bit bouncy as well. We could get a rescue dog. I’d rather have a little mutt. A little crossbreed, quiet, well behaved. If it was up to me, I’d have beams in the ceiling and a stable door at the back. I don’t like cobbled streets, though, not with my ankles. I’d like it to be at the bottom of a little lane with hollyhocks on both sides. They’re the tall ones, aren’t they? Don’t want much of a garden when you’ve got the sea and I’ve never been much good with plants. Local pub. Local fish-and-chips shop. Sound of the waves at bedtime.”
“Just you and me, Mo.”
Leon walks into the bathroom and flushes the toilet. He watches the water swirling around, turning blue and then settling in the bottom. He flushes it again and spits into the water, watching his saliva dissolve and disappear. He wipes his hands down his trousers and goes into his room.
Jake looks at him from his photo with his hand stretched out, trying to pull his hair or take his truck or sit on his lap. Leon lies on his bed, closes his eyes, and puts his hands on his stomach in case he’s going to be sick. He feels all his blood turning to clay, feels Sylvia’s plans settle like an anchor on his chest, squeezing his throat into a narrow iron tube, filling his lungs with her sour perfume, her intimate odor. On his palms, he feels the squeeze of his mother’s fingers, her secret messages, he
r physical decay, her distractions, her stained fingers, brown as rotten fruit. And, deep in his brain, he can hear something screaming and wailing, the new realization that Maureen is just like everyone else.
He picks up his backpack to feel how heavy it is. Yes, he will be able to carry it on his bike all the way to the allotment. Yes, he can put the heaviest things in the empty shed. Yes, he’s good on his bike and strong. Yes. Castro won’t have found his hiding place. Yes, he can do it. He can. So long as no one else finds his halfway house and steals his things while he’s away. Yes.
When he goes back to the living room, they are still talking about the seaside and when Maureen sees him she takes his hand.
“Think I’ll come with you for a little stroll up to the park,” she says.
“I’m not going now,” he replies and sits down in the armchair.
“Changed your mind?”
“Yes,” Leon says. “I’ve changed my mind. I want to stay at home with you.”
He smiles. Just like Maureen has a soft voice and Sylvia has three or four different voices, Leon can have a pretend voice as well.
Then the whispering begins. They go into the kitchen but he can hear because only his face is watching the TV; every other inch of him is standing between them in the kitchen, watching their lips. Maureen will have her arms folded.
“You didn’t tell him then?”
“No,” says Sylvia.
“Good. Leave that up to me. I want to tell him before the social workers get to him. But I’ll wait until the time’s right.”
“How soon will it be official?”
“Any day now but you know how bloody slow they can be. Social Services do everything in their own sweet time as you know.”
“And it’s for good?”
“Permanent, as far as I’m concerned. I’m stopping work apart from him.”
Then he can’t hear because the kettle’s boiling. They’ll drink more cups of tea and coffee and eat cake and sandwiches and talk about people he doesn’t know and the seaside all the time while they make their plans about him, while they make their plans without him. Then Sylvia starts talking about houses again and how many bedrooms they can afford. And Maureen is nodding. They keep saying it will be permanent and secure and Leon sees how fat Maureen is and how ugly Sylvia is and how they both want to get a dog instead of him.