by Jemma Forte
She looks away and busies herself with heaving the vacuum cleaner out of the cupboard and plugging it in. This all gives her time to think. I see that now and find myself wondering how I could have been so dense all these years not to have noticed her rubbish attempts to conceal the truth. Angry suddenly, and determined to get an answer, I get up and pull the plug out of the wall just as she’s started vacuuming.
‘Hey,’ says Mum, looking annoyed. ‘You know I don’t like talking about that time, so let’s drop it shall we? Plug me back in.’
I shake my head. I can’t do it. I can’t pretend and don’t see why I should have to any more. ‘I know he went to prison,’ I say steadily.
Mum freezes and even though her back is to me at this point, her shoulders go rigid, so I know she’s heard what I just said.
‘Who told you?’ she asks, her voice little more than a whisper. When she turns to face me, her skin has gone a rather strange colour. The colour of a mushroom. Not the black bit, the grey bit obviously.
‘I found it on the internet,’ I say, not sure I should deliver all the facts just yet.
‘Right,’ she says, swallowing. She looks momentarily confused because of course the information isn’t online or I would have found it long ago, but then she seems to accept that it must be.
‘Why didn’t you tell us? Why have you lied to us all these years?’ To my horror my eyes start filling up. ‘You had no right.’
Abandoning the vacuum cleaner, Mum sinks down onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar and for a second seems close to tears herself. Taking a deep breath she runs her immaculate peach fingernails through her hair.
‘How could I tell two young girls their dad was a criminal? You were four Marianne, are you telling me you would have understood that? That you would have liked to have known he was a villain?’
I consider this for a while. ‘OK, I understand why you didn’t tell us when we were little. But later, when we were older, didn’t we deserve to know the truth then?’
‘And how would you have felt? You believed what I’d told you. What day would have been the right day to break my daughters’ hearts?’
I swallow. ‘I don’t know. Look, I get that it was hard for you Mum. I really do. Being left to deal with everything must have been awful, but surely it would have been better at some point to tell us the truth? At least we would have known he didn’t leave us out of choice. As it is I’ve spent my entire life staring at pilots in the airport, scanning their faces for family resemblances. I haven’t even been to Australia because I thought it had too many unpleasant associations.’ I wail, as these side effects of the whole situation occur to me.
‘I’m sorry, all right,’ says Mum, sounding more angry than sorry. ‘But I was ashamed too you know. My husband was a low-life criminal and I put up with it, and turned a blind eye for years. I was still so young when he went down, far younger than you are now,’ she adds pointedly. ‘And I was heartbroken if you must know. I lost my husband that day, just as you lost a father. He let me down,’ she shouts and her voice becomes quite shrill.
‘I know,’ I reply quietly.
Mum pauses as she tries to find the right words to express what she wants to say. ‘Look, the one right thing I did was have you girls, and the day he went, I realised you deserved better than the start you’d had. I wanted better for you. So I started afresh. We were better off without him anyway.’
‘Were we?’ I stammer. ‘Surely that wasn’t your decision to make alone? Like it or lump it that man is our dad and if we’d known he was in prison then maybe we could have decided for ourselves whether we wanted him in our lives or not. Don’t you think we had a right to that choice?’
‘No, I don’t actually,’ says Mum plainly. ‘I had to do what I thought was right, for all of us, and it wasn’t flaming well easy I can tell you.’
‘Why wasn’t it?’ I sob. ‘I want to know, all of it. I need you to tell me what happened. You owe me that at least.’
Mum looks at me for a while and it’s as if the day she’s been dreading for so many years has finally arrived. Maybe it’s even a relief for her because she doesn’t put up any more of a fight. Instead she just tells me everything. And for once, I can tell it’s the truth.
‘When I met Ray, your dad, at school, he was the lad everyone looked up to. He was … what’s the word? He was … charismatic. All the girls fancied him,’ she says, looking vaguely glassy eyed. ‘And when he picked me, when he could have gone out with anybody, I couldn’t believe it. But he was a troublemaker Marianne and by the time we’d left school he was already up to no good. Not that I knew quite what a bad crowd he was in with. All I did know was that by seventeen he was one of the only lads who had their own car and that he always had money to take me out. He dressed really nice too, looked after himself. Anyway, I’d got myself a job working for my mate Tracy’s mum in her shop, only Ray didn’t like me working. He said it was up to him to look after me and I suppose I liked his old-fashioned values in a way. I mean, I liked my job too, but I liked being looked after better. I was probably a bit lazy to tell you the truth.’
She gets up from the breakfast bar at this point and comes to sit down at the table next to me. She swallows hard and I can see it’s difficult for her to talk about this time in her life. Or rather how unused to it she is. I remain silent, not wanting to put her off her stride. I’m still so full of mixed emotions but need to hear what she has to say.
‘Then I got pregnant. Your dad had just turned eighteen by this point but I was still only seventeen. Anyway, a week after I told him I was expecting he asked me to marry him, at your Nan’s house, in his room, and I said yes. It doesn’t sound very romantic but actually, at that stage, we were really in love …’
Mum pauses for a second and sniffs before staring into the middle distance.
‘You all right?’ I ask flatly.
‘Yeah, it’s just funny talking about it. Seems like a lifetime ago now. Stick the kettle on will you Marianne? I’ll have a milky coffee, but use my sweeteners.’
‘So what happened then?’ I ask, getting up to make her coffee.
‘Well my mum, your Nana, was furious that I’d got myself preggy, so I moved into Ray’s mum’s and it was only really then that I properly realised what sort of people he was mixed up with. He was forever popping out on some business or other but it was obvious he was up to no good. Not that I did anything about it. I knew we’d soon have a mouth to feed, so it was easier to accept the money without asking how he’d got it I suppose.’
‘How had he got it?’
‘Extortion, burglaries, credit card scams. You name it, he did it. Though he was never involved with drugs. Ever,’ she says adamantly, like that made everything else perfectly OK.
I give her her coffee.
‘Thanks, lovey,’ she says dolefully. ‘Anyway, we were all right for a while, happy really. Then, when Hayley was tiny and you were on the way we eventually got our own house off the council. You know, the one in Hackney, and at that point Ray became less discreet about his business than he was when we were living at his mum’s. People were always coming round ours at funny times, often in the middle of the night. It used to drive me mad. I’d see cash changing hands but all business conversations used to take place behind closed doors. Ray used to say he’d tell me things on a strictly need to know basis, though I obviously didn’t need to know very much because I was permanently in the bleeding dark.’ She laughs at this and rolls her eyes with mock frustration as if she were talking about something really silly and trivial as opposed to turning a blind eye to her husband’s criminal activity.
She gets up to fetch her biscuit tin and frowns for a second as, upon opening it, she discovers how depleted her supplies are. Still, she must be equally as engrossed in what she’s saying because she just takes a biscuit without saying anything.
‘Of course, I’d know when he had a really big job on because before he’d leave he’d tell me where I could
find cash if I needed it. Give me the name of someone I could go to if I needed help and that. I used to hate it when he got like that though. I wouldn’t sleep a wink, wondering whether he was ever coming back, but he always did, and he’d always have a nice present for me and something for you girls.’
I must give her a disapproving look because she suddenly looks quite shame-faced. ‘I know I know, but like I said, I was young and by this point I was bringing up two little girls and besides, he was my man Marianne. It wasn’t my place to question. I mean, I should have done, I know that now, but at the time it just wasn’t the way people like us operated. Anyway, when you were four and Hayley must have been six, there came a night when things didn’t go to plan. Your dad had something big on. I knew it was big because he was all jittery for weeks and I couldn’t say anything right. I remember that night so clearly. Before he left I told him I had a bad feeling but he wouldn’t talk to me or tell me anything. You know how I’m a bit psychic don’t you?’
I frown. I don’t. She’s not.
‘Anyway, this time your dad didn’t come home for a week. Longest week of my life that was and when he did come back he was a changed man. He told me he was wanted by the police and that things had gone seriously wrong.’
Mum looks away, as if the end of the story is going to tell itself.
‘Go on,’ I say frustratedly.
She stares mournfully into her coffee. ‘He’d been paid to arson a warehouse by someone so that they could claim on the insurance. Though normally he wouldn’t have done a job like that himself, or at least that’s what he told me after, but he owed a bloke a favour you see and he was the sort of bloke you didn’t muck about, so … Anyway, it all went wrong. Ray thought the security guard had left the building to patrol the grounds, but he hadn’t. He’d gone back in, though to this day no one knows why. Maybe he’d heard the phone ringing? Or needed the loo? Or fancied taking his thermos flask with him? Something like that.’
I experience a wave of sympathy for Mum. I can tell she’s been wondering these things for years.
‘That poor, poor man died in the blaze,’ she says sadly. ‘So suddenly your dad was on the run for murder. But they got him in the end of course.’
‘He’s back.’
‘What do you mean?’ she says, looking up sharply and I feel bad for blurting it out but know it’s the only way I’m ever going to get the words out.
‘He’s back,’ I repeat.
‘Back where?’
This could go on.
‘I saw him, Mum.’
‘Where? Where did you see him? In the street?’
I hesitate. Judging by her appalled face it might be better to lie at this juncture. ‘Yeah … in the street.’
‘Did he see you?’
‘Er … yeah.’
‘What did he say? You didn’t tell him where you lived did you?’
‘Um no. He er … he got out … years ago.’
‘I know,’ says Mum, still looking deeply agitated about the fact I’ve seen him.
‘He’s ill Mum.’
‘Good,’ she says.
‘That’s not very nice,’ I retort. ‘He hasn’t got a cold you know. He’s really ill.’
‘I said good!’ she shouts, and her voice wobbles dangerously. ‘As far as I’m concerned he’s dead to me and I don’t want you having anything to do with him Marianne, do you hear me?’
I hear her all right but I can’t believe what she’s saying. She can’t tell me how to deal with this. I need to work out for myself what I’m going to do. As a grown woman. I can understand her not wanting to see him, but she can’t decide what’s right for me any more. In fact her reaction now is merely pushing me towards seeing him again. First though, Hayley needs to know what’s going on. I know that now. It will stress her out more if she finds out at a later date that I’ve seen him and didn’t tell her. It should be up to her to decide whether she wants to talk to him, even if it’s just to have a go at him or to ask him things she wants to know. After all, she’s carrying his grandchild and there’s a chance Ray might still be around when it’s born. I get to my feet.
‘Where are you going?’ Mum asks nervously.
‘Nowhere, just out for a bit.’
‘But we need to talk. I need to know you’re not going to do anything stupid, Marianne. If your dad bumped into you that wouldn’t have been a coincidence. You need to be careful and you have to promise me you won’t see him. I don’t want Martin worrying about this.’
‘I can’t promise I won’t see him Mum, but you don’t need to worry about Martin. I won’t say anything,’ I say, picking up the car keys from the hook where we keep them.
‘Tell me where you’re going. Why are you taking Tina?’
‘I’m popping to the shops,’ I lie.
This seems to appease her. ‘Right, well I’ll see you later then. Are you here for your tea?’
I nod.
‘Great, we’ll all eat it together,’ she says slightly manically, as if our previous conversation never even happened. She stands up, brushing crumbs from her biscuit off her and taking her mug to the sink. ‘Chicken Kievs I’m doing with jacket spuds. Then we can talk about what song Hayley should do for Sing for Britain. I know she blew up the other day but once she’s had a chance to cool off I’m sure she’ll come round. Besides, doing the show preggy would make a really interesting story for the viewer. It would be different anyway, wouldn’t it?’
I do a double take. Is she serious? I think she is. Do you see what I mean now? Actually insane.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Hayley and Gary live at the end of a cul-de-sac, a few miles from us in Chingford. The entire house is decorated in various shades of white and when we were all invited round after it was finished Hayley got really cross with us for not being able to tell the difference between the apple white she’d painted the hall and the hessian white she’d painted the lounge. It just all looks white but, according to her, the difference should be as obvious as if she’d painted one room blue and one orange. Her carpet is also an off-white and her curtains are a pale shade of something anaemic too. As a result it’s one of the least comfortable houses to be in because you’re terrified to touch anything in case you sully it somehow. Even her sofa, a new purchase as of the Boxing Day sales, is white. Martin’s terribly jealous of her white leather suite because he hadn’t spotted it for himself. His obsession with boring shops is seasonal, you see. During the summer months it’s all about Homebase, but come winter and the Boxing Day sales, the second DFS and Land of Leather have flung open their doors, he’s there. In fact, this moment is probably the most meaningful and spiritual part of Christmas for Martin. Consequently, as a family, we’re always first in the queue at one or other of these places, no matter what the weather. No one except me ever questioning the fact we’re standing there shivering, when we could be at home eating leftovers and watching telly. Is it any wonder I like travelling so much?
Partially due to the lightness of their carpets, Hayley and Gary are obsessed with people taking their shoes off when they enter their domain too, which is fair enough. Like most people I appreciate that the thought of dirt from the street being trampled into your carpet isn’t that nice, but they are ridiculously anal about it. To the point where I honestly think if there was a fire in the house and Hayley was stuck inside, she’d insist on the firemen taking their boots off before coming in to save her.
Gary’s just as OCD as she is though. His clothes are always immaculately ironed and their bed never looks as though anyone’s slept in it. I love the thought of a child coming along to shake things up in Evans Towers, though I’ll have to take it on special outings to dirty places in order to build up its immune system. I’ll scout out really grubby church halls and play areas, then set the child free to eat stuff off the floor and chew on grimy toys, like babies are supposed to.
I ring the bell, my mind back on the task in hand. When the door opens Gary’s standing there look
ing as Neanderthal as ever.
‘All right sexy, to what do I owe this pleasure?’ he says, eyeing me up and down. His voice too high pitched for one so muscular.
‘Is Hayley in?’
‘No, she’s getting her nails done. You’re lucky you caught me. I just came home to pick up some paperwork to take back to the garage. Come in and wait if you like.’
I hesitate. Did I really want to sit and make small talk with Gary? Then again, what I had to tell Hayley couldn’t exactly wait.
I shrug and my foot’s only halfway over the threshold when Gary says ‘Your …’
‘Shoes, I know, don’t worry,’ I finish for him.
My heart sinks. Damn, I’m wearing my knee-length black boots, which don’t have a zip. Getting them on is relatively easy, you just sort of pull them on and heave them into position, like adjusting a pair of support tights. Getting them off is another matter though. In the end I have no choice but to sit spread-eagled on the floor and prise them off with the other foot, going red-faced from exertion. This isn’t an approach I feel particularly comfortable taking while Gary’s standing over me, but finally they’re off. As I pull myself back to standing, I feel like I’ve had a workout.
I notice that Gary’s own feet are bare, tanned and pedicured. He obviously has regular sun beds. He pads back towards the front room. ‘Can I get you a drink while you wait. Squash, Coke Zero, Fanta?’
‘No thanks,’ I say, settling myself down on the couch, picking a copy of Grazia off the coffee table. ‘So, congratulations on the baby.’
‘Yeah, thanks,’ says Gary, looking genuinely chuffed. ‘Better be a boy though,’ he adds, which ruins any vague sense of warmth I’d just been momentarily feeling towards him.
‘Er, why? Have you suddenly turned into a nineteenth-century estate owner who needs a son and heir?’