by Lee Kerr
Noah leans forward, tugging at his seat belt so he can get closer to the front. ‘Poppy has never met them and I have only met them once. They don't want us, Mummy said so.’
Hannah turns around, fussing over him and gently pushing him backwards. ‘Well, times have changed and no one saw any of this happening, but it will all be okay now.’
‘Doubt it,’ Noah says, folding his arms, giving her a frown far beyond his years.
‘It had better be,’ Blake mutters, looking only at Hannah.
The car is silent for a while and Hannah looks around the different streets, all of which are very long and lined with large, imposing houses. They are exactly as she had thought they would be, with well-maintained gardens and freshly painted fences. The few people she can see appear to be calm, as if life is continuing as normal, as if the prestige of living in St. John's Wood has granted them immunity from whatever is happening elsewhere in the world. Many of these houses survived a war, have seen bombings and recessions; some have now been converted into modern flats, while others are clearly still large family homes. She knows they all share one thing – the determination to survive this as well.
‘Turn left,’ the satnav says.
‘Finally, we’re really fucking here,’ Blake says.
‘Language,’ Hannah says.
He ignores her and looks out the window, his right hand clenched around the top of the wheel. During the drive he had been masterly, clearly in control while weaving between the parked cars, through the narrow streets. Now he starts to make his way down this unknown street with ease, concentrating totally on the hunt for the right house. Hannah cannot help being struck by his confidence and the ability and passion he is now bringing to this task, however simple it is. He will start moaning in a minute, telling her to hurry up or that he can’t find a parking space, but right now he’s a better man than that – someone much closer to what she needs.
She takes a deep breath and imagines – just for a moment. She thinks of the future again, but this time it’s different – this time she’s with her dutiful husband in their big space cruiser, a vehicle which he handles with ease; they have their two children in the back, both of them obedient and trained. She wants this and now, looking at Blake’s tilted cap covering his shaved black hair, his shoulders bobbing to the beats from the stereo, she remembers why she fell for him. She liked that he was a bit of a bad boy, his practicality and his ability to cope with things she doesn’t find easy. She wonders if that was why she picked him.
Did she pick him? Despite the small amount of time that has passed, the memory of that decision is blurry. The one thing she does know is that his practical side has never really blossomed as much as she had hoped it would. He never used it to decorate her flat, much to her dad’s dismay. He moved a few boxes, dumped his clothes on the bed and told her they would christen every room, but he failed to bring home the bacon or look after her dad’s little girl in the way he should have. It was like he had fast forwarded from their teenage fling, and was now behaving as though they had been in a relationship for many years, as though their roles were now very clear, and it was totally acceptable for him to do very little.
‘Result,’ Blake announces. ‘There’s a parking space right outside.’
Hannah jolts forward, wondering if she is dreaming. She looks around, out of both windows, trying to figure which side he means. Her eyes flick between the numbers on the doors of the houses and the road until he pulls over to the left and reverses into the parking space with ease, leaning around as he does so. She catches him winking at the kids, giving a rare glimpse of his caring side, giving the impression, briefly, that he could be a good father. She sees a few exposed hairs at the top of his otherwise smooth chest. There is only a scattering but even so, they give hope that he can still become a man. She watches him carefully, his muscles tensed – her heartrate speeds up, just a little. He swings the car backwards, turning the wheel with precision as he looks around until he is happy with how they are parked. Her man got them here and took care of her and the kids, she thinks.
‘Thank you,’ she says, knowing how seldom she says these words to him.
He pulls his cap down. ‘It’s posh around here so you kids will do alright,’ he says, looking at them in the rear-view mirror. He leans over and kisses Hannah gently on the cheek.
She feels a surge of emotion rising up within her, propelling her back to her school days, the memories of them sitting together in his old VW Polo. The first time she saw his car he had just done it up and made it his own. She remembers she had just got her A-Level results when he took her for that first drive. It was the first time they made love properly, on the back seat. It wasn’t a quick, demanding blow job but proper and passionate love-making. She thinks it might have been that day that she chose him, and now she has been given a welcome, though rare reminder of what she had felt back then.
He blows air behind her ear, just where he knows she likes it. ‘Dump the kids and we’ll have time for a quick drive in the country before I drop the car back at Neil’s. We can go back to our old haunts, relive those good times.’
She leans back, staring at him, wondering what is going through his mind. She wonders how he can forget the curfew, the darkness, the grid switch-off and the kids in the back seat. ‘It might not be that simple. You realise that, don’t you?’
He shakes his head, still smiling. ‘You will make it simple; I know you will. See you around, you crazy kids.’
‘You’re not coming in?’
He quickly shakes his head. ‘They’re not my responsibility. I’ve done my bit.’
She reaches for the door, shaking her head, but knowing how easily his limits are reached. ‘I won’t be long,’ she says, not wanting to push him too far, not wanting to make him so angry that he does something stupid.
She hears Noah lean forward, his thin coat squeaking as he moves. ‘They won’t want us. No one wants us.’
Poppy takes this opportunity to start crying again.
‘Now, that’s not true. I promised you both that if they cannot take you then you will come back with us.’
‘He doesn’t want us,’ Noah says, his tiny finger outstretched and aimed at Blake.
She catches Blake looking back at him in the rear-view mirror. ‘He’s a clever kid.’
‘Let’s go, both of you,’ Hannah says, moving out of the car. ‘Don’t go anywhere,’ she says, looking at Blake who has already pulled out his handheld console, the portable extension to his regular mind numbing. She wonders what is so thrilling about it and why he wants to escape reality so often, but she knows she will never get an answer she understands.
He catches her watching him and smiles. ‘We got two hours battery on this thing and I’ll need some of that for the journey back on the bus from Neil’s.’
‘Come on, you two,’ she says, shaking her head and backing out of the car.
‘Just saying!’ he shouts, not looking up, already absorbed in his favourite world.
She rushes around the car, making Noah wait on the pavement as she gets Poppy out of the road side, then escorting her to safety on her first new step of many in her young life. She tries not to look at the house but in the end she can’t help herself, and it’s then that she notices a curtain twitching. She checks one more time that it’s the right place. She can’t see a street name but the number is right, and if Blake has indeed been able to find the right place then they have struck lucky. The red bricks are dark and aged but still immaculately maintained. The white brick trim looks fresh and the gate that’s central to the large porch has been touched up recently. All these people were probably getting ready for summer when things started happening; making sure everything was perfect for BBQ ’ s and dinner parties, as the chaos made this a different summer to all the others. The lawn on either side of the path is immaculately trimmed and the plants are well looked after, all signs that the good life wants to endure.
She sees another curtain m
ove, this time downstairs in a large bay window that she imagines opens onto the dining room, or perhaps the first reception room. It’s everything she hopes that one day she will have.
The gate squeaks open; it’s almost as if the sound was included in the design. She looks back once more to see that Blake is still engrossed in his game; he could be almost anywhere – a teenager who has never had to grow up. She leads the children up the garden path, towards the big wooden door. Hannah wastes no time and presses the button as soon as they reach the door, since the occupants clearly already know she is here and must surely recognise the children.
She doesn’t wait long before pressing it again. She is very keen to meet them, desperate to accelerate the inevitable rejection, with thoughts running through her mind of leaving the kids at the door and running to the car. After all, she thinks, this is a burden for the family to bear. She was only paid for a week’s work and now she has all this responsibility for nothing in return. It’s not fair, she thinks. What about me, she asks herself. Considering whatever is happening right now, she has many worries already – leaving these children with some rich family really shouldn’t be one of them.
If she just slammed the gate shut, Blake would happily start the car and she would have a precious head-start on Noah. It wouldn’t take much for Blake to speed off; he would happily tell her that she has done the right thing. He will help her numb any guilt she feels, and his inability to see that there might be anything wrong about it will help her to forget. She needs to focus on her needs – that’s the right thing to do.
But then she starts to worry that they aren’t the right family, or that she has got the address mixed up, or that Blake has driven down the wrong street. She knows that she could find another hundred reasons why she cannot leave them and so she presses the bell one more time, pushing those bad thoughts out of the way. She looks down and smiles. ‘It’s going to be okay,’ she says, holding her finger on the bell.
*****
‘It’s not like we don’t want them, she says, perched on an armchair. ‘It’s just not a convenient time right now.’
Hannah looks at her and although she has nothing to say back, at least she knows she was right: the window did indeed lead into a large reception room and a world of luxury. She wants to call it the living room, but thinks she might somehow be insulting it by doing so and she doesn’t think it’s the only one – it’s just the first and only one they have been allowed into. She wasn't able to see into any other rooms when the front door was finally opened and they were allowed in. It wasn’t a particularly welcoming greeting but Hannah was just pleased that it was them. Agnes and Simon barely managed a smile between them but they were family nevertheless. She didn’t ask if their name was really Grump, she just presented the children to them, like prize trophies they never wanted, never asked for.
Agnes took her time to look them up and down, to ask a hundred times why they were here and where their parents were. Only after Hannah forced her way in, pushing Noah over the threshold of the large step, did this woman finally give in.
‘Are you listening?’ Agnes asks, leaning forward. ‘I was just saying that this is not really a good time and perhaps you should keep them, just until Karen and Alistair get back. I’m sure it won’t be long now.’ She smiles, showing off a row of perfectly white teeth. Hannah wants to ask if they have been whitened or if they are dentures; she wonders at what age people usually get them fitted. Agnes looks too young to have false teeth; she looks as though she is at a point where retirement is still not overdue, although it would be welcome. Her grey hair is immaculate, her green blouse a perfect fit, albeit not a shade that is fashionable any more. ‘I even hear that they have temporarily re-opened Heathrow airport so that’s got to be a good sign.’
Hannah takes a deep breath, brushing back her fringe, desperate for Agnes to see the bags under her young eyes and the lines that have appeared from nowhere in a matter of days. She needs her to understand a very different view of how things are going. ‘They didn’t fly out of Heathrow, and besides we have to face the fact that they might not come back at all and that means you need to face this with me.’
Agnes doesn’t say anything, but looks around, no doubt hoping that her husband will appear and get her out of this mess.
Hannah takes the chance to look through the windows to the large doors that open into the dining room, where the kids and Blake now are. She's pleased that she managed to get Blake inside, even if he is still playing his little boy’s game.
Agnes leans forward and touches Hannah’s leg. ‘Little one, they are both very resourceful adults and I’m quite sure they will find their way back soon. I do believe you can fly out of one London airport and back into another. Well, at least you can as a gold member, other classes I’m really not sure about.’
‘I know that!’ Hannah shouts and then stands up. ‘I’m not that stupid.’
Agnes sits back and brushes her skirt, trying to remove fluff that isn’t there, picking at anything she thinks doesn’t belong. ‘Oh, well, I’m sure you’re not,’ she says, staring over at Blake. ‘It’s just that you and your partner don’t seem too used to flying, that’s all. I know there are those cheaper airlines now, so I assumed their rules are probably a little different.’
‘Whatever you think,’ Hannah says, now pacing around the living room, or whatever it is. She stands on the rug, feeling how cushioned it is, wanting to ask Agnes where she got it but knowing that there will probably never be a right time to do that. She knows it’s expensive – she almost definitely didn’t pick it up in a sale. ‘I don’t care about flights, what I care about is when they will be back. And don’t you think that if Karen and Alistair were able to fly then they would have been back by now? Or, if they could make contact, don't you think they would call to check their children are okay, either with you or me? I mean, have you not heard anything and are you not a bit worried?’
Agnes sits still and runs her fingers through her hair. She stares downwards, no doubt looking for any sign of dirt on the rug, but she doesn’t seem to be giving the question real thought. After taking what seems like minutes to think of an answer that should take less than a second, Agnes sort of shrugs her shoulders. She should be able to offer more but she can’t seem to find any words to put it in context.
Hannah watches in astonishment, feeling the tears build in her eyes as the wave of confusion somehow lifts. She has been exposed to the true horror of real families, and how having the same name and the same blood, can sometimes do nothing to keep them together.
Agnes eventually holds out her hands. ‘You really do look like you are judging me so perhaps you need to ask the father, the one who is actually related to these children. You see, I’m not actually family and so I really have very little interest.’
Hannah steps off the thick padding to get closer to Agnes, and as she does she sees that her grey eyes are genuinely lacking in any emotion. ‘Those two children have lost their parents. You’re a woman, a human being, but you say that you have “very little interest”?’
Agnes stands up, pointing a finger at Hannah. ‘Now, you can judge me all you like but I have children from my previous marriage. Simon and I both fell in love at the start of our second lives and since we had already raised our own children we both decided we were going to start afresh together.’ She suddenly grabs hold of Hannah’s blouse and starts leading her to the door. ‘Life is about us now and I won’t have you coming in here and railroading our happy retirement. There has been enough of that happening lately and we really do have far more pressing things to be doing right now. They chose to fly at a very strange time and now they are living with the consequences. I’m sure you understand.’
Hannah grips both sides of the doorframe, anchoring herself in position. ‘No, I really don’t understand. I want to speak to their grandfather, to Simon, your dear husband, who disappeared the moment we arrived.’
Agnes shakes her head, looking at Hannah
’s face and then at her fingers. They look ripe for picking off the frame, sending her flying to the floor. ‘Look, he feels the same, so it’s time you were on your way.’ She suddenly grabs Hannah’s hands, trying to pull them away from the doorframe.
They both struggle, both trying to say their bit while also outwitting the other, looking for any chance to win, any chance to physically injure the other without starting a proper fight. Just as Hannah contemplates head-butting this woman who is more than double her age, she hears a door open in the hallway and sees Simon walking in. At first she thinks this must be part of some plot; that he has been listening at the door, letting his wife do his dirty work. She soon realises he has no clue what is happening: he is walking towards them, a tea towel in his hands, talking absently. ‘Sorry for taking so long but it was worth it, the rear windows and back door are now completely sealed. Nothing will be getting through those buggers.’
He eventually looks up to see Hannah and his wife at the doorway to the living room, still in their standoff poses. ‘Agnes, is everything okay?’ He stares at them both. His eyes look weathered but still young. The tissue around them looks healthy, and there are no bags: he obviously gets plenty of sleep.
Agnes lets go of Hannah and steps away first. ‘Well, I was just saying that perhaps they should be leaving. After all, we have the Higgins and Laithwates coming around shortly to discuss the new security precautions across the street.’
Simon holds out his hands, pushing both of them back into the living room. ‘Well, let’s not be hasty: we need to check everything is okay first.’