by Jemma Forte
‘Hayley,’ I say, hurt and shocked by her brusqueness. ‘Don’t say things like that. I know you don’t mean it.’
She shrugs but it seems that today, being so angry is too draining even for her to manage and her face crumples as she gives in to how she’s really feeling once again.
‘It’s all right,’ I say gently. ‘It’s all right Hayls. You’re allowed to be upset you know. It would be weird if you weren’t. I know you’re hurting and I understand because it’s so, so unfair.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispers and her bottom lip trembles with the effort of keeping it together. We’re both in very alien territory here. ‘Because …’ she trails off.
‘What?’
‘Well … my friends are all a bit crap and Gary’s … well Gary’s Gary but actually you’ve been really, you know …’
‘What?’ Despite the fact she’s on the verge of tears I’m going to force her to say it.
‘You’ve been really … nice to me through all this,’ she says almost warily, as though being nice to someone in their hour of need is downright suspect.
‘You’re my sister,’ I state simply. ‘I’ll always be here for you.’
‘Wasn’t your boyfriend supposed to be coming today?’ she enquires, wiping her hand across her face, determined not to cry any more.
‘He’s here already,’ I reply, wishing she hadn’t reminded me.
‘You don’t look that happy about it,’ she remarks flatly.
‘I’m not,’ I mutter, not keen to elaborate. It doesn’t feel appropriate talking about anything other than what’s just happened really.
However, Hayley seems to sense this because she says, ‘Look, you might as well tell me. Apart from anything else it might take my mind off things for a second. And that would be good.’
She has a point and, besides, laughing at my misfortune is something she’s always enjoyed so I give in and tell her what’s going on, ‘Oh god Hayley, he’s awful.’
She looks confused.
‘Andy’s awful. I know it’s mean but I’ve gone right off him. The minute I saw him I realised what we had was just a holiday romance, to the point where I don’t think we’re going to have anything in common here. Plus, and I know this is bad, but I didn’t fancy him even remotely.’
‘He can’t be that different,’ she muses, looking as I’d suspected she would be, quite pleasantly distracted for a second by the awkwardness of the situation I’m in.
‘He is. He’s white and fat and is wearing high-waisted jeans and a woolly jumper. Like a really big fisherman’s jumper with a pattern on it. I’ve only ever seen him in shorts and t-shirt before.’
‘Oh my god,’ says Hayley chuckling for a second, though the poor thing stops as soon as she started, as from nowhere she’s suddenly overwhelmed by another wave of grief for what she’s lost today. It seems to have ambushed her completely, for this time she gives in to it, covers her face with both her hands and sobs. I’m relieved in a way and before I’ve had time to analyse what I’m doing, acting purely on instinct I get up and go to the other side of the bed, where I climb in next to her and hug her tight. For a while we stay like that, her venting some of the pain, misery, grief and disappointment that she’s feeling and me rocking her back and forth but making no attempt to stop what she so obviously needs to do.
Later, once she’s started to recover a little she starts laughing self-consciously as it occurs to her that we’re locked in an embrace, ‘What are we doing?’ she says, pulling away from me and sitting up in bed, wiping her by now very puffy face with the back of her hand.
I shrug and sit up too. ‘I don’t know, but we’re sisters aren’t we? So not a massive deal really. Besides, we used to get into each other’s beds all the time when we were little.’
Hayley sniffs hard and nods. ‘I suppose,’ she says reaching for a tissue from the box next to the bed.
We stay silent for a while until Hayley says flatly, ‘Put the telly on then.’
A re-run of an ancient episode of Dallas provides a perfect hour of mind-numbing entertainment as we remain sitting in bed, solemnly leaning against her big pillows like The Two Ronnies.
During the ad break I glance at Hayley and notice that she has a strange look on her face.
‘What?’
As she replies she determinedly avoids catching my eye. ‘I think I will see Ray.’
My heart leaps and instinctively I know I have to tread carefully with what I say or she’ll change her mind. But I’m pleased. I would hate her to regret not seeing him and it be too late. I think this is the right thing for her to do.
‘O-K,’ I say cautiously, fighting back the temptation to ask what made her change her mind.
‘Will you arrange it?’
‘Course.’
‘Good.’
We don’t say any more on the subject. I can tell she doesn’t want to discuss it and besides, she’s got other things on her mind.
By the time I head home an hour or so later I’m drained, exhausted and horrified too as it occurs to me that when I get home, on top of everything else, I have an amorous Antipodean to deal with.
CHAPTER TWELVE
For a split second after I’ve put the key in the door, I pause. I want to gather my thoughts before seeing everyone. A long deep breath does the trick. Head held high I finally turn the key and push the door open. ‘Hi, I’m back.’
Mum comes scuttling out of the kitchen. ‘How is she? How’s my poor Hayls?’
‘She’s OK. I mean she’s not OK, she’s devastated and it’s been traumatic and everything but she’ll be OK … eventually.’
Mum deserves and needs to be filled in, but I’m so wiped out I can hardly speak.
‘I’ll pop over and see her tomorrow. What do you think? I could go now but do you think she might be a bit tired?’
‘I think you’re right Mum. She needs to sleep. Go tomorrow. She’d appreciate that.’ I hang my jacket up on the coat hooks. ‘How’s, er, Andy doing?’
‘Lovely,’ says Mum, visibly brightening. ‘Him and Mar are getting on like a house on fire.’
‘Really?’ I can’t imagine what they can possibly have to say to one another. Mind you, I can’t imagine what I have to say to him either so …
‘Oh yeah, in fact we’re going to have a little barby tonight. First of the year. It was Andy’s idea so you can imagine how ecstatic Martin is.’ She rolls her eyes in mock disapproval. ‘They’re at B&Q now buying a gas canister.’
‘But it’s cold.’
‘Cold?’ she says, wrinkling her nose up. ‘Don’t be silly, it’s the end of April. I didn’t even have to have the heating on this afternoon.’
‘Right,’ I say faintly, just as my phone starts ringing. It’s Ray.
‘Er, I’m just going to take this call Mum. I won’t be a minute,’ I say, heading into the kitchen.
‘Don’t mind me love,’ she says, following me in. ‘I’m just defrosting some burgers in the microwave, but when you’re finished maybe you could set the patio table? I asked Pete but he’s busy.’
‘Er yeah sure,’ I say, darting into the utility room that’s directly off the kitchen and shutting the door behind me so she can’t hear. ‘Hello,’ I whisper into my phone, slipping right to the back of the small room and wedging myself in next to the fridge-freezer and Martin’s golf clubs.
‘Marianne, I was worried. I’ve been trying you all afternoon.’
‘Were you? Sorry. It’s been a … it’s been a pretty full-on day actually. As you know I had to pick up Andy from Paddington and then um … well, Hayley lost the baby.’
‘Oh no,’ says Ray. ‘Poor girl. Is she OK?’
‘Well … you know.’
‘I can imagine. That’s dreadful. Still, I bet she’s glad she don’t have to go through with the operation next week yeah?’
‘Yeah,’ I agree. ‘Also, I’m not going to promise she won’t change her mind, but she said today that she will meet up with yo
u.’
‘You’re joking,’ says Ray, sounding gobsmacked. ‘Wow, well that’s t’rrific news. I don’t believe it.’
‘Who are you talking to?’ says a voice behind me. I jump out of my skin and spin round, no doubt looking guilty as sin. I hadn’t heard Mum come in. She’s bearing down on me, packet of burger baps in one hand, pot of coleslaw in the other.
‘No one,’ I say. ‘Just Jason.’
‘Marianne, you should tell her it’s me,’ Dad huffs down the phone. ‘You’ve got every right to be talking to me.’
‘That doesn’t sound like Jason,’ says Mum looking furious and depositing the baps and coleslaw on top of the tumble drier. ‘Is that Ray?’
Startled, I nod.
‘Give that here,’ she says, lunging for my phone. I’m far too slow to react and the next thing I know she’s wrestled it away from me.
‘Now, you listen to me,’ she squawks into it. ‘You stay away from my daughters, do you hear Raymond? You’ve got no right swanning back into their lives like this. You made me a promise and we don’t want you anywhere near us.’
I can’t hear what Ray says back, but it doesn’t sound good, though I’m with him quite frankly. I don’t appreciate my mum’s use of the royal ‘we’ at all and also don’t like her talking on my behalf, when she has no idea what I actually think about anything. Largely due to the fact she’s never thought to ask.
‘Why would I want to talk?’ Mum’s screaming now, looking utterly incensed. ‘I ain’t got nuffink to say to you that I haven’t said a million times already.’
Her rage has brought back her old, less-refined voice with a vengeance.
‘No, don’t you dare,’ she yells, sounding more and more like an old fishwife. ‘Do you hear me? Don’t you …’
She pulls the phone away from her ear and stares at it. ‘He’s hung up,’ she exclaims, outraged beyond belief.
‘What did he say?’ I ask timidly, backing away from her.
‘That he’s coming round,’ she says, looking frantic.
‘What did you mean when you said “things I’ve said a million times already”?’
Something about the level of panic in her face moves me to ask my next question before she’s answered. ‘And how much does Martin really know about Ray?’
Her expression tells me everything I need to know.
‘Mum, you have to tell him.’
‘Don’t tell me what I have to do young lady. This is all your fault. I told you not to speak to him, but what do you go and do behind my back?’
At this point the stress of the last few days catches up with me. I can literally feel blood racing to my head and end up screaming back at her.
‘I’ve done nothing wrong,’ I yell.
It’s her turn to look startled.
‘Look, I know him reappearing is really tricky for you Mum. I get that and that’s why I haven’t said anything. But at the same time you can’t dictate what I do, because he’s my dad, so surely I have every right to talk to him if I want to.’
‘But he’s a criminal Marianne.’
‘Yes. I know. Or rather he was a criminal who has served his time as it goes and of course I’m struggling massively with the fact he did terrible things in the past but I don’t care.’
‘What do you mean you don’t care?’
‘I mean that although I haven’t forgiven him for everything I just want to see whether I can. Before it’s too late. Because what nobody else seems to be realising is that we don’t have a lot of time left so there’s no point wasting it by sulking in order to prove a point. And besides, if you must know, I don’t completely hate him.’
Mum blinks rapidly.
‘And he seems to like me. He’s not some ogre. He shows an interest.’
‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ splutters Mum, the veins in her throat protruding unattractively.
‘It means that I’ve spoken more to him in the past week about stuff to do with me than I have with anybody …’ I trail off because just then we hear the front door opening. Martin and Andy, it seems, have returned from their quest to B&Q and are laughing and chatting as they come into the house, blissfully unaware of what old harpies lie in wait for them.
In direct contrast to the state Mum and I are in, they sound ridiculously happy and jovial. In fact, by the sound of it, Mum probably hadn’t been exaggerating about how famously they’re getting on.
I sigh loudly, despairing of everything. ‘Come on,’ I huff impatiently to Mum who seems to have frozen to the spot. ‘I’m sure Ray won’t turn up. He was probably just winding you up.’
‘Do you think?’ she says, her eyes, which are plastered in blue shimmery eye shadow, wide with anxiety.
I nod and indicate to her to move out of the way so I can get past. Still pent up with stress I shove open the utility room door and march through to the hall.
‘Hi,’ I say dolefully, forcing myself to get a grip of my emotions and manfully raising a smile, albeit a fairly weak one, for Andy, the man who feels like a random stranger.
‘Hey,’ he beams back happily, immediately making me feel like the world’s biggest bitch, which in turn makes me feel even more resentful of him. I’m pretty sure I’m not a massive bitch, so being made to feel like one because I don’t fancy him is horrid and annoying. I wonder briefly what he and Martin can have been buying at B&Q that Martin doesn’t already have. Between them they’ve got about eight plastic bags.
‘Oh my god, how’s your sis, sweetie? Is she OK? Are you OK?’ Andy asks, his face falling as he remembers where I’ve been.
‘She’s fine, thanks for asking.’
‘Oh good,’ says Martin, grave for a second. My stepdad’s wearing beige canvas trousers, which I believe, in outlets like Millets, are described as utility trousers. On top he’s sporting a blue and pink pastel golf jumper and the whole ensemble is topped off with hush puppies. As he stands with his hands on his hips, looking quite the ‘Man at C&A’, he says, ‘Terrible business. Poor Hayley, the lord works in mysterious ways sometimes that’s for sure. Still, I’m sure one day she’ll be blessed with a little one, eh?’
I nod.
‘Anyway, you never told me Andy here was almost as much of a barbecue nut as I am, Marianne. We’ve had a riot down at B&Q, haven’t we son?’
‘Too right,’ says Andy, who has at least shed his awful jumper, though surprisingly I almost wish he still had it on because underneath the offensive knitwear, he’s been hiding not only a pale pink polo shirt, which clings to his huge belly, but also a bum bag. The revelations just keep on coming because at that moment it dawns upon me; Andy is Martin’s sartorial twin.
‘That place is awesome, so many great products on offer. Though I said to Martin here, you can’t have a gas barby mate. It’s simply not right.’
‘So you’ll never guess what we’ve gone and done, love,’ chuckles Martin gleefully as Mum appears, absent-mindedly clutching the packet of baps again. From nowhere Andy bursts out laughing. Then, to my further surprise, he proceeds to high five Martin who for no discernible reason is suddenly also completely beside himself.
I can’t believe how excited the two of them are and am starting to think that maybe they have done something truly incredible. Robbed the store perhaps? Fashioned a tree house out of wicker baskets? Arranged a protest march to Trafalgar Square against gas barbecues? Martin’s face in particular is lit up, like a small boy on Christmas Day.
‘What have you done?’ says Mum flatly.
‘Oh I’ve gone a bit mad I’m afraid, but if you don’t like it you can blame Andy here,’ says Martin, nudging his new barbecuing partner in crime.
‘Now hang on there a minute, mate,’ gushes Andy, grinning madly. ‘That’s just not fair. I’m not taking all the responsibility.’
Mum and I look at each other bemused, wishing they’d just hurry up and spit out whatever it is they’re trying to tell us, which let’s face it, we both know probably isn’t going to live u
p to the build-up it’s getting.
‘Oh dear,’ says Martin, wiping away a tear of satisfied mirth. ‘You know what, you’re just going to have to come and see love,’ he says, grabbing Mum by the arm and ushering her out the front door. I follow at an unenthusiastic pace. Andy keeps winking at me, which is really getting on my nerves.
‘Look at this monster,’ says Martin, practically shitting himself with excitement.
‘It’s a beaut, come and see, baby,’ adds Andy.
Baby? For a second I wonder who he’s talking to. All the stress is taking its toll a bit. I feel terribly distracted and my eyes keep being drawn to his bum bag like a magnet. I’m feeling quite deranged really.
‘There,’ says Martin proudly and I look up to see that strapped on top of his Volvo estate is the biggest god damn barbecue known to man. In fact it’s so big it hardly even qualifies as a barbecue. It’s more of a monstrous oven, complete with hot plates and three separate grills.
‘Hee hee,’ says Martin rubbing his hands together.
‘It’s enormous,’ says Mum, flatly.
‘I know my darling, but you’re not cross are you? I hope not, because I think we’re going to have such fun with it and you’ll never guess what else?’
‘What?’ says Mum, looking stunned to find out there’s more.
‘Andy says he knows how to barbecue … are you ready for this? This is so mad,’ he chuckles. ‘In fact I still think you might be having me on,’ he says to Andy, in a matey aside. ‘Anyway, he says he can barbecue … fish! I mean, I thought we were being a bit adventurous with those lamb steaks last year. Do you remember those Al? They were gorgeous weren’t they, with a bit of that nice rub from Asda, t’riffic, but fish I tell you …’
As Martin prattles on Andy saunters over to where I’m standing. Sliding one pale, chubby arm around my waist he says softly, ‘Your old man’s a genius, babe. I should have known I’d fit right in with your family.’
There are so many things wrong with this sentence I hardly know where to begin but am too busy wondering why Mum’s staring over Martin’s shoulder with her mouth open to worry about it. As I follow her gaze, it occurs to me that Andy might want to reserve judgement on that last statement anyway. For walking purposefully down the road, towards our house, with a look of conviction on his face, is Ray and he doesn’t look best pleased.