The Other Ida

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The Other Ida Page 2

by Amy Mason


  It was exactly the same as it had been years before – a wide concrete lip over a pawn shop, filthy public loos, a cut-price bookshop and an overpriced sandwich place. In the corner, near the photo booth, a small gang of teenagers stood drinking White Lightning and smoking, the same group, she could have sworn, who’d hung-out there forever. She was still woozy with pills and drink but walked fast with a clear aim in mind.

  She’d planned the route she’d take. On the coach she hadn’t been able to help going over and over it in her head. She wanted to avoid the beach, to keep to the main streets, and it was about forty minutes she thought if she went down the High Street and took a left through Westbourne, straight to the end of her mother’s road.

  She couldn’t help but notice things. The weird ‘American Golf Centre’ was still there, druggies in the car park were still there, and the old church, where someone in her family – her dad’s aunt Gill maybe? – was supposed to have got married: that was still there too.

  Some things were different though. There was an Asda so big it looked like a minor airport, and her beloved, smelly Hothouse – the only club that would let her in when she was thirteen – had been renamed Extreme. But it kind of felt the same. The area by the train station, the nasty bit of town, had the same flat, grey feeling she remembered from when she was young. Bournemouth had always felt grey, actually. It was like all the colour had been used up on the end-of-pier rides and the ugly bedding plants on roundabouts. The rest of the town had to do without.

  She headed into the centre and felt a hot rush of anxiety as she realised she may well bump into someone she knew. And what if they’d seen the paper? The thought of their sympathy – their thinly veiled nosiness – made her wish she at least had the cash for a cab.

  A flock of seagulls appeared above her and she froze before she heard them call, bracing herself and closing her eyes. They shrieked as they swooped and she bent forwards, her mouth and eyes shut tight, noticing a strange scratch of memory at the back of her throat as though she had just woken and, for a split second, remembered some extraordinary dream.

  It had been an unusual day, she thought, she was bound to feel a bit odd. The sky was turning dark and she dug her fingertips into her palms as she walked. It would be okay. She was sure she’d be relieved, rather than angry or afraid, when she finally reached the house.

  At first Ida wasn’t certain she was on the right road. The corner house, where Mad Harry used to live, its windows covered in newspaper, had been knocked down and in its place stood a block of cream coloured flats. It was the same all along, the 1930s houses that had stood in vast, tree-filled gardens, had been demolished and replaced by glass-fronted towers looking out towards the sea and filling every inch of space.

  But not her ma’s. As she neared the house she saw the familiar crumbling wall and the overgrown oak tree that she had swung on as a child.

  And yes, it looked the same. Not smaller as she thought it might, but as big and unnerving as ever. A steep path led up to the wide white house, which peered over the woods and towards the sea through its mean slits of windows. The pointing was still crumbling and Ida remembered an earnest builder who – so many years before – had told her mother the house wouldn’t last the year.

  She ran her fingers along the wall and unlatched the gate. A curled, dead squirrel lay at the edge of the path, and she booted it into a bush.

  Above her the curtains were closed and the rooms looked dark, but Ida was sure someone must be in, forgetting for a moment that it was her mother who was always at home, and her mother was no longer there.

  With her head bowed she climbed the uneven steps, hammered like a bailiff at the chipped black door, and turned to see the lights on the water.

  Behind her she heard the slow creak of the lock and held her breath despite herself.

  Chapter three

  ~ 1975 ~

  Despite feeling sick Ida had been singing ‘Daisy Daisy’ to her sister for what felt like hours. Normally there’d be someone else in the car – Uta, sometimes their mother – to calm Alice down if she was upset, but today there was only Da, and he was busy driving.

  Ma was somewhere behind them in her little car, the roof down probably, putting on lipstick and smoking while people hooted their horns. Ida hoped she wouldn’t crash or get arrested. She’d done both those things before.

  On Ida’s lap lay two Observer Spotter’s Guides, Cats and Lizards, bad choices for a journey that had mainly involved straight, fast roads. She wished she has bought Cows or Trees instead – she’d seen lots of them.

  “Well, your books are all packed,” Da said when she had realised her mistake. “You can’t have them until we get there. Try to go to sleep.”

  Instead she looked through the back window at the van that was following them. The two fat removal men sat in the front and Ida was annoyed that they’d be able to read her books if they wanted to, although at the moment they just seemed to be smoking.

  Da was humming songs she didn’t recognise. On the dash-board lay the cine-camera, ready to catch their expressions when they first saw the house. He was in a good mood, the best mood he’d been in since Christmas. Ida couldn’t tell him that she felt ill.

  From where she sat she could see the thin bit of hair at the back of his head, the collar of his pink shirt, and his hands tapping the steering wheel. He was wearing the tan leather driving gloves that Ida liked to smell.

  “Wanker,” he shouted, as a red car pulled out in front of them.

  Ida had never heard the word before but liked the sound of it and mouthed it to herself. Alice, who had been dropping off to sleep, started to cry again.

  “Nearly there sweetheart,” their father said, grabbing at the map that lay open on the seat next to him.

  Ida knew that her parents hadn’t seen the house, except in photographs, although Da had sent his secretary to have a look. She’d told them they couldn’t move in, not until the builders and cleaners had been, but Ma wouldn’t talk about it and Da got so annoyed he made them move down straight away.

  Bridie didn’t want to move at all but they were moving anyway because ‘a change is as good as a rest,’ Da said. Ida didn’t like resting (especially not when Uta made her lie down after lunch). She hoped this change would be better than that.

  She imagined the house to be like Miss Havisham’s, which she’d seen in a film, and felt scared but excited too. Mostly she was excited about the mice, and planned to put some in a box and keep them as pets. She could imagine her mother sitting in the dark, her dress ripped up like Miss Havisham’s was. But what about Da? She tried hard to imagine all his pairs of shiny shoes lined up together on a dusty floor.

  Alice was still crying, and kicking now too. She was lying next to Ida on the back seat, twisting and turning, the tell-tale signs she was about to throw a fit. Ida started to sing a song about tigers’ feet she’d heard in the playground.

  “Not pop music, Ida, please,” her father said. Ida was confused. Pop music was about love, not tigers, wasn’t it? If that was pop music was ‘Old MacDonald’ pop music too?

  “Sing ‘Daisy’ again,” he said.

  But she suddenly couldn’t, there was water in her mouth and her tummy felt odd. She put her hand over her lips, but her stomach jumped and sick came through the gaps between her fingers. It went all over her kilt, right down her legs and into her patent shoes. She tried hard to be quiet.

  Alice stopped crying. “What’s happ’ning Ida? What’s happ’ning Ida? Sing ‘Daisy’ Ida,” she said over and over again.

  “What’s that smell?” Da asked and glanced at them over his shoulder. “Jesus.”

  Ida could see her sicky face reflected in his sunglasses.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  He took a red handkerchief from his pocket and thrust it back at her. “Here, darling. God. Don’t let your mother see you like t
hat.”

  Ida brushed the worst of it onto the floor, wiped her mouth, and stuffed the hankie in the ashtray while her father lit a cigarette. He was either angry or nervous, she couldn’t quite tell which.

  Although it was sunny it felt cool and dark in the car. They were kind of in the woods even though there were houses about.

  “We’re here,” he said as they turned sharply into a driveway, gravel crunching under the wheels.

  Normally Ida would be desperate to escape after a long drive but something made her sit and wait. She looked out of the window and saw trees everywhere, with some steep stone steps leading up to a house.

  Da walked round to the door and pulled it open. “Come on then sweetheart, what are you waiting for?”

  She climbed out. There were bushes either side of the narrow path, so overgrown that even skinny Ida couldn’t imagine a way through.

  “You’ll have fun playing in there, won’t you?” said Da.

  He sounded happy, and Ida nodded although she felt scared. Dead things and monsters, she bet they were everywhere.

  The house was enormous and totally flat, with lots of small windows. Their real house, their house in London, had decorations on it, stone bits over the windows, but this one was as smooth as a piece of paper.

  “Is this a hospital?” Ida asked.

  “This is our new house – you know that. Are you coming down with something?” He touched Ida’s head to feel for a temperature.

  “But it looks like an advent calendar.”

  She was serious but her father laughed loudly.

  “It’s 1920s,” he said. “You’d better like it. And please don’t let on to your mother if you don’t. That’s the last thing we need.”

  He switched on the camera and started filming as the van drove up to the house.

  Ida shuffled from foot to foot. Now she needed a wee.

  “Look,” he said and pointed towards some birds flying overhead.

  “Pigeons?” she asked.

  “Seagulls.”

  “Up, up,” said Alice, holding her arms out to Ida.

  The van stopped and the two men jumped out and opened the doors at the back.

  “Ready girls? Follow me,” said Da, running halfway up the steep steps then turning round to shoot them with the camera. “There’s a surprise at the top I hear.”

  Ida held Alice’s hand and helped her up to the front door.

  “Now turn around,” he said.

  They did as they were told.

  “Glorious,” he said. He sounded as though he’d opened a present.

  Ida felt sick again. From where they stood they could see over the houses and all the pine trees, right down to the sea. Only it didn’t look like the seaside sea in Brighton, it looked like something horrible, everything big and grey and mean. She could see the wind, pushing everything in the same direction, all the trees and the boats and the people.

  “Ten minutes through the woods and we’ll be at the beach. Marvellous, eh?” he said.

  She couldn’t speak. Tears hurt her eyes and throat until she couldn’t stop herself and let them out with a loud sob.

  “My goodness, you funny little thing. Let’s go inside,” he said as he fumbled with the key.

  Ida didn’t like this house. She didn’t like the garden or the scary woods or the horrid view. She was glad that after the summer she could go back to London and see all her friends and her cat. She thought about that and tried to be brave.

  “Voila,” said her da.

  They followed him into the dim hall as he patted the wall to find a switch. “What an adventure. God, it smells funny.” There was a scuttling noise and he whooped. “Say it, Ida! Say it!”

  Ida knew what he meant – their favourite line from The Railway Children. “It’s only the ratttssss,” she said in a hissy voice and he laughed as he walked to the end of the corridor and switched on a light.

  They were in a long hall with a staircase at the end. From the ceiling hung a glass lampshade, all black inside with dust and dead flies. The rose-patterned wallpaper was peeling in places. Near Ida’s head some naughty child had drawn a picture of a dog with a green crayon.

  “Look Da,” Ida said, but he’d gone into another room.

  “So through here is the kitchen,” he shouted. “Bloody hell, it hasn’t been touched since 1950.” He ran out and up the stairs. “Okay girls. Let’s choose your rooms,” he called down to them.

  “Come on, Alice,” Ida said.

  Alice went first up the bare wooden stairs. Ida noticed her bottom was wet, her nappy had soaked through her trousers.

  “Be careful, Ally,” she said, patting her sister’s hair. “There might be splinters.”

  He met them at the top. “I’ve worked it all out girls. I’m going at the back, your mother can go over there, and you two are next to each other.” He pointed to the left. “Ally baby, you have the little one, Ida, the big one is for you.”

  Alice sat down. Her face was red and she was rubbing her eyes which meant she was tired.

  Ida felt she shouldn’t ask, but she needed to – she’d waited all day long.

  “When’s Uta coming, Da?”

  He touched her hair. “Try not to think about her. You’ve this marvellous house to play in after all.”

  “But who will change Ally’s nappy?”

  “Your mother will have to do it I suppose,” he said.

  He leant down to Alice and picked her up under the armpits. Alice looked bewildered.

  Ida stood on the landing. She still needed a wee. Downstairs there was lots of banging and loud, deep voices as the men started to bring in the sofas and the boxes and things. How long before she could have her books and toys? Why wasn’t Uta here? She turned to a door her father hadn’t said was a bedroom. It was small inside, the floor made up of black and white squares. Her first thought was good for hopscotch, and she felt excited, before noticing the brownish loo that stood in the corner with dust all over its seat.

  Round the bath was a shower curtain with red and blue fish swimming up and down it and Ida summoned her courage and pulled it back. The bath was the same as the loo, cracked and sort of brown, but at least her bottom wouldn’t touch the bath. Climbing over the edge, she rolled down her knickers, and watched her pee snake through the dirt and go down the plug.

  She took off all her sick-covered clothes, left them in a pile on the bathroom floor and walked across the landing to the room that Da had said would be hers.

  It smelled of dust but was bigger than her room in London, with peach wallpaper and two tall windows that looked out towards the front. The carpet was soft and red and like nothing they had in their old house; it was like something a king would have. She walked into the middle and lay down. The deep pile felt lovely between her fingers and on her naked body. She wished Uta was there to read to them and sing Swedish songs, and plait their hair with her cool, white hands. Ma had said she’d gone on holiday, but when would she be back? Ida never imagined that her holiday would last all the time until they moved.

  She shut her eyes. She could hear the wind outside and tried to ignore it. So this was her new house. The house Ma said was probably just for the summer. At least the carpet was nice.

  From the corridor downstairs she heard the sharp sound of high heels and knew her mother had arrived.

  Ida stood up, closed her bedroom door as quietly as she could, and lay back down on the floor.

  Chapter four

  ~ 1999 ~

  “Fuck me, come in then,” said Alice.

  Ida had forgotten her voice – shaky, high pitched, and still slightly posh. A softer version of Bridie’s. It was the voice that Ida had worked so hard to drop. She turned around.

  “God,” Ida said.

  Alice had changed. The mousy fourteen year old was now
a slim woman, her wavy hair tied up into a messy bun. Her features were still small and neat, like their da’s. She wasn’t wearing make-up and looked clean and toned, an immaculate dark blue tracksuit revealed a slice of flat stomach. Ida pointed at it and raised her eyebrows.

  “You’ve got those diagonal lines going down to your fanny, those muscle things – like you’re in Gladiators.”

  Alice didn’t laugh but put her finger to her lips and pointed upstairs to indicate someone was sleeping, beckoning Ida through the dark hallway towards her mother’s study.

  “What about my room?” Ida asked, unable to hide the hint of panic her voice.

  “Your room?” Alice said. “It’s been my room for ten years or something. You’ll have to go in here.” She opened the door.

  “It smells different,” Ida said, trying not to look around.

  “No fags,” said Alice, as she folded out the chair bed in the corner.

  “Can I light one?”

  “No.”

  She lit one anyway and Alice threw a cushion hard onto the floor.

  “What?” Ida laughed. “It’s what she would have wanted.”

  Alice turned, her face screwed up with irritation, her hands punching the air by her sides. She was whispering so hard her voice sounded raw as she began to chuck quilts and pillows onto the bed.

  “Don’t tell me what she would have wanted, don’t you dare. I can’t stand any of your fucking bullshit. Are you pissed? You’re slurring your words and you stink, Ida. You can sleep in here, wash your clothes, or throw them away. You can take some of Mum’s from the airing cupboard here. No drugs or booze in the house.”

  Ida laughed but she was taken aback.

  “You never used to swear.”

  “What the fuck do you fucking expect? I’ve had it.”

  Ida smiled at her sweetly, her palms held up in mock defeat.

  “Oh, fuck off, you big stupid cow,” said Alice.

 

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