‘What are you talking about?’ Moira says, over her shoulder.
‘Millie,’ I say.
‘Who’s Millie?’
‘Gina’s daughter.’ Moira still hasn’t turned round. She’s directing her attention like a lighthouse beam into corners, looking for more glints of money. After a second sweep she turns back to us with a blank expression. It’s our turn to talk to her because she’s giving us her attention. Ruth suddenly dries up. With equal suddenness everything about Moira gets on my nerves. We were supposed to meet for a chat and because of her we’ve come to this place that’s making talk difficult. I’m not in the mood to make it any easier for her so I turn my attention to Ruth, and speak pointedly about Millie for the next couple of minutes, the kind of rubbish that obsesses new parents and leaves everyone else completely cold. It defeats even Moira’s talent for steering the topic back to her. ‘Kids,’ she says, knowingly, takes two bird-like sips and again, ‘kids.’ This annoys me even more.
‘I like kids,’ Ruth says. Moira looks at her blankly then looks at me, as if wanting me to agree with whatever random thought has arrived.
‘I suppose it’s not beyond the realms of possibility,’ Moira says, meaning that it’s possible for her if she wants, but not for Ruth.
‘Take my advice,’ I say to Ruth, ‘don’t listen to a thing anyone says.’
‘I thought everyone wants kids – eventually,’ Ruth says.
‘Or gets them whether they want them or not,’ Moira says.
‘Don’t you want kids, Moira?’ I pretend to be curious. ‘Your mason might have his own ideas after a hard night at the lodge with only his apron for comfort.’ She shoots an accusing glance at Ruth who shakes her head. ‘Keep your knickers on. Ruth didn’t say anything. We can all see them skulk into the hall with their little bags. Everyone knows who they are.’
‘Putting out doesn’t mean putting up with kids. Ask Lolly,’ she retorts.
‘It would seem kind of empty,’ Ruth says, ‘with your house and your husband and all your things if there weren’t any children.’
‘You planning on finding a husband then?’ She’s retaliating for the fact that Ruth’s paid more attention to me than her. The calculation in the remark leaves Ruth staring hurt at the carpet. None of the boys Ruth ever liked ever paid her the slightest crumb of attention with Moira around and we all knew it. Moira turns away to scan new arrivals. ‘Ruth with a husband and me with kids. Like I say, nothing’s beyond the realms of possibility.’
‘A child isn’t an accessory.’ There must have been something in my tone, or volume. She turns back. Other tables are staring across.
‘So you’re an expert?’
‘You don’t have to be to know a kid isn’t for decoration.’
‘I’ll take your word for it. I don’t know either way. Maybe you’ve got the maternal instinct, or whatever it’s called.’ I can tell from her tone that this is an offer to make things up. But it’s not just to keep me quiet. She loves attention, but not this kind.
‘I knew it before Millie came.’
‘I hope you’re not going to become one of those professional mothers who bores the tits off everyone just because she’s got a kid.’
A steam whistle went off in my head, while two locomotives collided to the backdrop of an atomic bomb detonating in an erupting volcano.
‘Perhaps some people are just less suited to having kids than other people. Perhaps some people just have an aptitude...’ Ruth tails off. She’s been following the exchange like a tennis umpire. There’s something pleading in her look. Moira must have seen it a hundred times and enjoyed ignoring it.
Moira says: ‘Just because someone’s life is ruled by a kid she chose to have, or didn’t, there’s no reason why it should rule everyone else’s life. Folk get jealous of other folk’s freedom. Lolly’s got the right idea.’
I say: ‘Even if you don’t choose to get pregnant and do, you can choose to live up to your responsibilities. The reason Lolly isn’t here is because she’s looking after my daughter.’
‘Good for her.’ People are staring. Her mentioning Lolly annoyed me even more. She couldn’t hold a candle to her.
‘That’s the same Lolly who turned her life upside down for a kid who isn’t hers, the same Lolly who can’t stand you.’
‘Do you want to move on?’ Ruth says into the gap between us.
‘Lolly’s a tart.’
‘Only for the fun of it. She’s not a career shagger like you.’
‘What would you know about careers? Did you see one sailing past your single-parent high-rise?’
I turn to Ruth. ‘I always gave her the benefit of the doubt. Lolly was right – if you don’t like the look of someone there’s probably something wrong with them. Only stupid people don’t judge by appearances. You’ve got more going for you than she has. Why are you hanging around with her? She only keeps you around because it suits. Once she’s settled in her bungalow with her mason, you’ll be lucky to get a call once a fortnight.’
There’s nothing more insulting than being ignored. Ruth understands this better than anyone. She’s toying with her drink and thinking furiously. It’s a new experience for Moira to be spoken about as a third wheel. She looks as if she’s been slapped. When I lean forward to stand Ruth mirrors my movements. ‘Coming?’ I ask, hopefully. She nods. We stand. The background noise has made this a mime by now. Everyone’s watching. Moira’s furious. She doesn’t want to be a lone woman in here because that’s the kind of thing Lolly does. For the first time Ruth, her safety net, is going out a door ahead of her. She brushes past to give the impression of having taken the initiative.
‘And by the by,’ I shout to the whole room, ‘the reason we all know he’s a mason isn’t because he was spotted going into the lodge. He did a turn with Lolly last month. She put on his apron when he was asleep. Keep your eye on YouTube.’
The only response is the tension in her back. There are steps up to the pavement. We arrive moments behind her, but she’s already gone. The air’s thick with fumes of loitering double-deckers, waiting a change in the lights. They’re all going in our direction. Moira’s sandwiched herself in the canyon between two, trying to wave down taxis in the outside lane and ignoring the gestures of the driver in the rear bus. Just as he slides down his side window a taxi stops. She disappears into it. The lights change. With much grinding of gears the caravan moves on.
‘Moira doesn’t like public transport,’ Ruth says.
‘That says it all. Even if you’d never met her, that glimpse would be enough. It didn’t matter to her that she was holding up a bus load of people. She’s gambling on the driver having more patience than she did and not crushing her skinny arse flat. She’s spent her whole life gambling on the generosity of other people. Good fucking riddance.’
‘She’s not that bad.’
‘Give me one instance of her generosity.’ We stand for a minute in the dispersing fumes. People brush past. I don’t know if she’s stuck for an example or she’s just gummed up again. ‘Don’t be a stupid cow all your life. Stop being loyal!’ But she is loyal. She only sided with me because of the specific cruelty of tonight, and I can see that she’s already prepared to forgive it. She’s loyal the way Lolly’s loyal, and I like her for it.
‘Is that true about Lolly and the mason?’
‘No. But he’s a shit anyway. He tried to come on to me when I was three months gone because he thought I was desperate. Let her surf and stew. Maybe she’ll have the strength of character actually to be on her own for a while. Maybe not. Maybe it’s better if they stay. They deserve one another.’ We fall in step. I look down at her shoes. ‘I know I’m no one to talk but you really ought to do something about your appearance.’
‘Moira doesn’t mind.’
‘I don’t mind. I’m thinking of you. Moira’s thinking of Moira. You know what a foil is?’
I don’t know if she does but she stops and looks at me and I see a face that lo
oks as if it’s been pulled in with a drawstring. I know if I don’t do something to keep the momentum going she’s going to cry. I take her arm and begin walking again. ‘We could let Lolly loose on you. No – ignore that. I’m just thinking aloud. Lolly could cheapen anything.’
‘Lolly doesn’t like me.’
‘She can’t stand Moira. She doesn’t dislike you.’
‘I’ve spent my life not being disliked. You have to stand out, even a little, to be disliked. Not being disliked isn’t the same as being liked.’
I stop us and swivel her round to face me. ‘Well stand out then. Even a little. Take a risk. I like you. Lolly loves me. She’ll come round.’
* * *
‘But she’s boring.’
‘She’s nice.’
‘But she’s boring.’
‘Not when you get to know her.’
‘How would you know? It’s half past fucking ten. I sent you out at seven. You haven’t been round her for long enough to know how boring she could become. We grew up with her and she was boring then. Boringness is like having a stutter or something. It clings. And it’s catching. Moira’s a cow but at least she’s not boring.’
‘If it’s catching then how come Moira didn’t catch it? Because you’re talking crap, that’s why. By the way, I told Moira you couldn’t stand her.’
She makes that irritated flicking gesture. She cares even less for Moira’s opinion than she does for Moira.
‘Why her? Why Moira? We’ve always known what a selfish cow she is. Your first night out in ages and you choose her.’
‘I’ve been asking myself that since seven o’clock.’
‘Half past fucking ten! Three and a half fucking hours! I wanted you to come back tomorrow morning, rogered senseless by Mr Right.’
‘You don’t find Mr Right in three and a half hours.’
‘Mr Wrong then.’
‘People have different ideas of what a good night is.’
‘Something’s happened. You caught the wrong bus, got contaminated by those old bingo trolls and came back sixty.’
‘Until I started talking to you I actually thought the night had been okay, because of what I salvaged.’
‘What?’
‘Ruth – of course.’
‘I swear to God if there was a poker round here I’d beat you to death with it.’
‘She said she would come round and babysit so that we can go out.’
‘If tonight’s anything to go by I don’t know if I can keep up.’
But I knew she was pleased at the thought of a night out. I think she thought it was going to be the way it used to be and I didn’t want to put her right – yet. Ruth was as good as her word. I thought she might go back to being one of Moira’s satellites, but she didn’t. She stopped being frightened of Lolly when she saw her with Millie. There’s nothing more irritating than someone who tries to worm their way in by being nice to other people’s kids, but Ruth took to Millie the way Lolly took to puberty.
My first night out with Lolly I go for a first pee at half past nine, and come back to find her with a man who wasn’t there two minutes ago. He’s stretching to put a casual arm round her waist.
‘This is Tam.’
‘At this rate I’ll be home even earlier than last time.’
‘Tam’s got pals.’
‘I’m sure he has.’ And looking round I could spot them. All hormones and bravado. But I couldn’t complain. She’d toned down her behaviour for long enough, and it suited me not to be within half a mile of the epicentre when Tam found one of her many G spots. She didn’t want to let me go home alone, and I didn’t want to spoil her night, so she hit on a compromise by pointing at one of Tam’s pals and telling him across the room to see me to the taxi rank. He looked like Tam, typical Lolly fodder. I didn’t know his name. What’s sadder, I didn’t want to find out. With the speed he jumped up he obviously thought him walking me to the taxi rank would have the same ending as Tam walking Lolly.
The rank was full of the usual hoi polloi you see everywhere: trogs wanting to fight; a hen party pumping out oestrogen like nerve gas, the bride-to-be wearing L plates and hiccupping like a metronome; more students, still putting the non-matriculated world to rights; a posh bird on her mobile at a volume that even drowned out the students, who kept saying ‘Ciao’ till she silenced the phone with a poke, only to start all over again till I wanted to slap her.
The truth is that there wasn’t anything wrong with the queue any more than normal. It was me. I never wanted what Lolly wanted and somehow tonight made me feel that although, with the exception of Millie, I didn’t know what I wanted, I was further away from it than ever before. Tam’s pal was leaning against me in an unnecessary way, talking about his car or job or something, some crap attempt to impress, when suddenly I thought if that girl says ‘Ciao’ one more time it’ll take an archaeologist to retrieve my shoe from her arse. The taxi arrived just in time. I body-checked him, climbed in, called out the address and watched his disappointed face slide past. We crossed the river, the strung lights on the embankment mirrored wavily in the dark water. All over this city, under this dark sky, people are eating meals, or holding hands, or being ecstatic or just watching telly and being companionable. Maybe there’s a given quota of happiness, like cinema seats or minerals, and it’s all booked up or mined out at the moment. I don’t know what I looked like when I got home, but Ruth took one look and said ‘cry if you want to,’ and with no intention of doing it – I did.
I don’t know if crying in front of Ruth was a watershed or not, but it seemed to work wonders for her confidence. Lolly noticed it and said I was responsible for turning her from a doormat to a lippy cow. The drawback was that they began to compete for my attention, and Millie’s affection. I arrived with groceries to find them at either side of the sofa, Millie in the middle, both calling her name. She was watching the telly, ignoring them both, but that’s not the point. I showed the wisdom of a Sunday-school Solomon by dropping the bag, covering her ears, and telling them both to get the fuck out my flat. Bad temper has no more effect on Lolly than bad language. We’ve fallen out with one another three times a day since Primary One. But Ruth looked shocked. She went out, going back to that apologetic crouch she used when following Moira around. Lolly slammed the front door with a bang that rattled the letterbox. I could hear her rage on the landing, saying they should let that ungrateful cow stew in her own juice, and is this fucking lift still broke? When she paused for breath I could hear Ruth say she could see my point. Lolly started again as they walked down, a rant halted by stops for breath. I’d had a change of heart by the time they reached the fifth landing, but I wasn’t about to tell them that. I took a peek from the balcony. By the time they’d reached the street they looked companionable.
Lolly came round the next day with a packet of chocolate digestives, which is code for an apology. We didn’t mention last night. I didn’t hear from Ruth for a week. She sent me a letter. I’d had bills but I’d never had a letter before. Lolly was more touched than I was, not by the prose but the effort. This represented a strain on the attention span she could only guess at. Lolly thinks punctuation is embroidery, and I could see that Ruth came from the same school of thought. The letter was one sentence long, which wasn’t an attempt at style, and must have cost her as much effort as it would have done Lolly. She was sorry she hadn’t been as good a baby-sitter as she should have been and she understood why I was angry and she hoped Millie wasn’t upset and she hoped I could see my way to letting her try again and she could understand if I’d rather not and she hoped Lolly and me would make up because she didn’t want to be the cause of a friendship that long ending and I was to kiss Millie and forgive Lolly for her and it limped on like that with an ‘and’ at the beginning and end of every line till it wheezed itself to a standstill. Lolly, who can’t read without moving her lips, began reading it out loud till she got to the part about kissing Millie and forgiving her. Her voice broke, she bur
st into tears and threw herself on the sofa to more catastrophic noises. I packed Millie in the pram while the purging waterworks continued. I come back to the living room to find Lolly brandishing the crumpled note.
‘I hope you’re satisfied. That poor – Where are you going?’
‘Ruth’s.’
‘Can I come?’
‘No.’
I left her consoling herself with the chocolate digestives. Ruth lived with her parents in a stone-built terrace in Cathcart, two miles as the crow flies, light years socially from the pre-fab high-rises most of us grew up in. It was eleven in the morning when I got there. The place had a pleasing solidity to it, not like mine, occupying a space that birds flew through thirty years ago and will again when the structural faults turn chronic. I stopped to drink it in, this perfume of leafy suburbia, when I noticed the upstairs curtains twitch. A woman, maybe sixty, looked down. She had an expression like she’d trod in dog shit and was obviously annoyed at being caught peeking. I was staring up at her staring down at me when the door opened and Ruth, whose face only ever seemed to hold back some secret worry, smiled like a sunflower and fell on Millie with an avalanche of kisses. I enjoyed watching it run its course.
‘So are you going to invite us in?’
I’m shown into the parlour, as I’ve heard they used to call them, with Millie, while Ruth disappears elsewhere. There are net curtains, flock wallpaper and the full nine yards. One minute you’re in Cathcart, the next you’re in the 1970s. God knows I’m no snob, couldn’t afford to be even if I wanted to, but I’m looking for string pictures and plaster ducks, symmetrically receding. I’m distracted by a movement from the hall and I see Ruth’s mum, with her back to me, put something in her housecoat pocket. She does the same thing again and stands aside. Ruth comes in carrying a tea tray. There’s a bowl of hot water to heat Millie’s bottle, which is thoughtful, two mugs of milky tea and a big plate with two Bourbon Creams. Two. From her upstairs assessment the old woman has decided we aren’t important enough to merit more. I feel inclined to walk out there and then but that would have defeated the purpose. Besides, walking out had already separated Ruth from Moira, and it’s not as if Ruth has a social life to fall back on. Looking around I felt quite bad when I realised that depriving her of a distraction, even if it was Moira, had probably condemned her to spending more time in this museum. No wonder she was keen to babysit.
Four New Words for Love Page 5