Beyond Angel Avenue

by Sarah Michelle Lynch

  “I don’t have time to do my community work nowadays. I loved that work. I hate paperwork. I hate… the cases. I hate it all. I don’t feel like I’m doing any good.”

  I stroke his face and his eyes shut, soothed a little. “Ronnie coming round made you realise this?”

  “I suppose. I just… I miss how it used to be. I miss different days, not knowing what you were going to wake up to. I miss undercover work. I’m jealous! There, I said it!”

  I snigger and sneak under his arm, my chin on his chest, purring. He wraps his arms around me and it’s the safest place in the whole world. “I love you so much, Warrick. More than chocolate. More than Indian food, even.”

  “Yeah? Chuffing Nora, Jules.” He sniggers, tracing circles on my back, soothing me.

  “Baby, we’re both so tired, let’s talk in the morning.”

  He snorts and I look up, seeing him already asleep. I reach for the lamp and switch it off, snuggling deep under his arms and against his chest.

  I don’t know I’m falling and that’s how I’ve felt since the day I met him.

  ***

  Breakfast time. The twins are flicking baby porridge everywhere and I’m continually wiping their clothes, the furniture and floors. I’ve a stack of used baby wipes lying somewhere…

  Joe’s smoothie maker is so loud, I can barely think straight as it chews up nuts, berries, milk and all manner of herbs.

  He pours two drinks and when Rick comes down, they clink glasses and down their liquid breakfasts in sync.

  “Bye honey,” Warrick says, laughter in his eyes. He knows I hate him calling me that.

  “Thought we were gonna talk?”

  “Later. I was just tired last night, you were right.”

  He kisses me, throws his suit jacket on and is gone. Joe tips his head forward and asks, “Everything alright?”

  “Yeah, we… we found out some stuff about my dad. It’s legal stuff. Nothing to worry about. Not yet, anyway.”

  “I won’t ask. I’ve got coursework due in today and still a thousand words to write. I gotta go.” He picks up his bag and he’s gone, shouting behind him, “No training tonight, but I’m off to Shana’s house for tea, alright?”

  “Yeah, alright.” Shana’s his girlfriend, who he seems to spend every minute with. If the lad’s as passionate as his father, I just hope he’s being careful. He’s only fifteen.

  “Right then, you two. Let’s sort you out.” I stare at my babies and I’m reminded suddenly of the task I’ve agreed to.

  On the surface, sure, it seems all I’m doing is becoming a care worker (for as long as it takes Janice to choke). Beneath, it’s a lot more than that. I’m going to have to take myself back to the dark days of my former life, when I was a skivvy, when I was nothing but a hopeless wonder trying to blast my way out. To have gotten out, only to be going back in, is going to be weird. Somehow I know, I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.

  My phone rings and it’s Jack.

  “Hey, Jack.”

  “Jules, feeling better?”

  “Yeah, I am.”

  “But you’re not going to be in today?”

  “Listen Jack, I’m only a substitute. It’s no big deal.”

  “I just… I just keep hoping you’ll come back.”

  I have to let him down gently because I know without even being asked the question, what my feelings are.

  “Listen, Jack,” I say as I share a banana between my boys, “I rang the agency this morning and told them I’m not available to cover anymore…” because I’m going undercover, but he doesn’t know that, “and to tell you the truth, there’s something I should’ve mentioned to you when I came back from abroad.”

  “Oh, this doesn’t sound good.”

  “I’m not the same person anymore. While I was away, I got into my dancing. I can leave it and pick it up, even with years of retirement in between. My muscle memory is second to none. My mother taught me from the age of three until she died. I was seven, almost eight then. I just kind of shelved the fact that I could dance.”

  “You want to pursue that instead?”

  I take a deep breath. “I’m not a prima ballerina, Jack, by no means. I know that. I just know that my passion for teaching got replaced by my passion for something else. That’s all I know. I know if I came back to St. Clare’s full time, my heart wouldn’t be in it anymore.”

  He moans, sort of whines in fact. “We desperately need a teacher like you. Please Jules, it’d be such a waste of all your training.”

  “No Jack. What did I ever get in return?”

  “Jesus, Jules, what about the hundreds of children who left for the big, wide world with smiles on their faces… all because of you!”

  “I’m talking about me, me. I worked my sodding socks off and you know it. Warrick and me, we talk about this all the time. Like, what if I hadn’t gone, how different would things be? The point is, I did leave and I came back somebody else. I can dance fourteen-hour days and it doesn’t feel like work, not to me. It’s my passion. I have to follow it. The other stuff, all that feels like work. It’s not fair. Everyone has a right to chase that one thing they really want, even if it ends up being in just a small capacity, I want to dance.”

  “Surely it’s too late? Surely! What are you now? Thirty-three?” He’s reluctant to admit I’m not going to change my mind, and that’s fine, but it’s not fair to criticise.

  “You can ring The Orchid Dance Company in New York and ask them if you like? You can ask them if they didn’t offer me a place as an understudy in the ballet production of Wuthering Heights?”

  “Oh.”

  “Look, I’m sorry, I mean that, but Warrick and I have given so much to this community and it almost broke us. I stepped back and realised where my heart is, and it’s in dancing… and with him.”

  “You won’t regret it?”

  “No.”

  “It’s a shame, I’m gutted if I’m honest,” he grumbles, and I hear him ripping up sheets of paper in his office (maybe a contract he was hoping I might sign?).

  “I was gutted when I left. I carried guilt for it. But you know, having your heart ripped open makes you realise a lot, about life and the things you’ve neglected, the hopes and dreams you once had. Sometimes heroes and heroines don’t do the right things, though, they don’t even do the logical thing… they just do what their hearts tell them at the time. Sometimes when a risk is in your grasp, you know in that moment you’ll regret not taking it more than taking it and failing. It’s how we know we’re alive and there wasn’t enough reward in teaching for me, there never will be. If I were Dumbledore and could extract my memories to show you what I did during those three years abroad, I would, but I can’t. If you could see the changes I went through, you’d realise why I’m not coming back. There’s more to life than one career. I’m more, that’s all I know.”

  “I wish I could see, then maybe I could understand.”

  I sigh, tired of that tone he’s taking with me. “Thank you for everything. I mean it. I really hope we can stay in touch? I know I will hear about things from Ruby and Vern, but I really hope you’ll not become a stranger?”

  “Of course, Jules. Thanks for being straight with me. I’d better get to it. Good luck, do let us know what you end up doing.”

  “I will. Thanks again, Jack. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  I cut the call and place the phone on the counter, taking a deep breath. The boys are staring agog to the side at something in the hallway and I wonder what it is they’re seeing. I peer round the corner and Rick scares the shit out of me.

  “Sorry!” he apologises.

  Clutching my chest, I demand, “How long have you been there?”

  “Long enough,” he snickers.

  “You’ve been pulling faces to keep them entertained?” I wondered why they weren’t crying.

  “Yeah!”

  He moves in and cuddles me. “Just came back for my pack-up box. Think I’m going
into work now to hand in my notice.”

  I smile. “Give me a kiss, you big dickhead.”

  He smiles as he kisses me, his lips telling me everything he’s never been able to admit – like the fact he never really wanted me to go travelling. Yet, I did and there was a very good reason. He knows that now.

  If only I didn’t have one, last piece of unfinished business yet to deal with…

  Chapter Twenty

  Jules

  What a week it has been. Warrick’s had about ten meetings with twelve different people asking why he’s quitting, why he’s giving up when he’s so good at his job. I don’t think his logic makes sense to the people he’s been questioned by. He’s told them he ‘wants to go back into the community’.

  Last night Ronnie came back to the house to brief me about care work. Apparently I have to appear to have an interview on Monday and then I might possibly start work the following Monday. It all has to seem as if I really want to be a carer.

  We’re all out tonight enjoying a pub meal at The Minerva overlooking the estuary and while I’m finishing dessert (something Joe and Warrick never have), they’re busy bouncing each twin on their knees. We’ve eaten outside on a bench and now the sun’s just starting to go down, there’s a slight shimmer to the brown water and a mixture of lavender and green hues in the sky.

  “I can’t believe you actually want to wipe people’s arses,” Joe says.

  We’ve told him I have an interview – but he doesn’t know about the other stuff.

  “I just, look,” I stop eating my banana split and look at him seriously, trying my best Good Samaritan act, “I heard how those women looked after my father and I want to give something back. Me and your dad are just so sick of being controlled by The Man, aren’t we dear?”

  I flick my eyes to Warrick for support and he adds, “We’re both tired of paperwork, bureaucracy and budget cuts. We’re doing it our way. If Jules wants to do this, it’s up to her… besides, I think she will be promoted very quickly and you never know, she may realise her new calling in life.”

  Joe senses the wooliness of our argument and stares at me, shaking his head. “I think you’re both mad. I think sleepless nights have cracked the pair of you!” He chuckles, all in good humour, but a part of me wonders if he’s right!

  One of the things Ronnie warned me about was keeping the undercover operation between me, my husband and him. We can’t tell another soul. I understand Warrick’s predicament when he was doing this work – you have to go it alone otherwise the wrong person could find out what it is you’re up to. Humans generally aren’t very good at keeping things to themselves.

  I reach across the picnic bench and pat Joe on the shoulder. “We’re just waiting for you to get signed and then everything will be good and you can look after us.” I wink and he scoffs, shaking his head at me again. I sniff and wink at Warrick.

  “About that,” Joe pipes up after a pause, “if they offered me it, I wouldn’t take it.”

  Did we just hear right? I say to Warrick with my stare alone and his shoulders jump up, shocked.

  “What, son? What do you mean?”

  We both try to wait patiently for his response and I can see Joe trying to break it to us gently.

  “I… don’t want to be a footballer, not as a career. Sure I like the game, I know I’m good at it, I could get signed by either City or another team, but I just can’t imagine myself being content with playing football and nothing else. I want more. Since I joined the youth team, I guess I’ve changed.”

  Warrick raises one eyebrow. “So, you have some other ideas?”

  Joe nods steadily. “I really want to be a psychologist. I just do.”

  I stare, taken aback. If my feet weren’t firmly planted on the ground beneath me, I’d probably be knocked right off them.

  Warrick takes a deep breath. “But… why? You never mentioned it before?”

  “Yeah, but it’s what I want to do,” Joe argues, defensiveness rising in his voice.

  “What made you change your mind?” I ask Joe. “I mean, you’re still young yet. You could change your mind again.”

  “Mum,” is all he says, and his lips turn down like hers do. “I also watch you two and I know the difference you make and I want that. I don’t want to be a pin-up or in the spotlight. I don’t like attention and I don’t want to be moved about. I like it fine round here.”

  Like father, like son. They couldn’t be any more similar if they tried.

  “Well,” Warrick clears his throat, “you’ll have to keep that money, Jules. If the boy here wants to go to uni, he’s going to need it.”

  Joe suspects us, I can tell, but I can’t help but blurt out, “It’s dirty money!”

  “What?” Joe laughs. “Because he had a pig farm?”

  I eye Warrick and he eyes me. We keep our mouths shut.

  “I hate it when you both communicate like that. I feel like I don’t have a clue what you’re saying to each other,” the youngster complains, handing Charlie over to me.

  I pepper kisses in Charlie’s wild hair and coo over my gorgeous baby boy.

  I try to gently tell Joe, “We always figure stuff out, don’t we? I’d just really rather not take his money, if I can help it.”

  “Two minutes ago, you were just telling me you’re doing care work in honour of the people who helped your dad!” Joe points an accusing finger at us both as he sups the pint of lager-shandy Warrick lets him have whenever we come out to the pub. He can tell there are holes in our scheme and I know Warrick is anxious to shut this down.

  “What if I asked you not to question this?” I state, giving him a serious look, “and just trust us, because you know we’re good for it, don’t you? Hmm?”

  Joe licks his lips and nods slightly. “I know something is going on.”

  Warrick rubs his fist in Joe’s little bit of crew-cut hair. “That intuition of yours… it’s what makes you my son. As long as you don’t make a big deal of what Jules is doing, not to anyone, we’re all good okay?”

  Like father, like son!

  “Okay.” Joe stands and shakes out his legs. “I still have some energy to burn off so I’m going to jog home. It’s a nice evening.”

  “See you in a bit and be careful,” I tell him.

  He sets off along the path following the riverbank and we both watch as his track-suited figure disappears out of sight. He’s had training this evening and a full dinner and still has energy for more.

  I stare at Warrick and ask, “Who wanted him to play for City?”

  He mumbles under his breath, “Might have been me.”

  I nod, knowing more than I’ll say. “He’s a bloody good kid, you know?”

  Many kids don’t feel they can stand up to their parents and tell them what it is they want from life, in fear of upsetting them or letting them down. It’s a great thing that Joe knows he can talk to us.

  Warrick gulps. “No idea where he gets it from, nor how he keeps himself straight.”

  “Oh… I think I know.” I grin, standing and gesturing to Warrick we get back to the car and head home with our sleepy babies.

  ***

  Monday morning. William Barker’s office.

  Ronnie’s briefed the man and he knows I’m not really here to become a world-leading care worker, using all my training as a teacher to excel in this field. He knows the deal. However, from the way his white beard moves chewing that gum in his mouth, I don’t think he’s happy about this.

  “You are Julian’s daughter?”

  I stare at him, feeling like I’m in the headmaster’s office. I think it’s being back here, the wrong side of the water, which makes me feel ill at ease.

  “You knew Julian?”

  He sniffs. “Everyone did. Sometimes he was the life and soul of that pub he used to frequent, you know?”

  I nod slowly. “I think you know why he was, eh? Full of it, wasn’t he?”

  Pity me and my mum were the only ones who had to dea
l with him on his downers afterwards. Nobody ever saw that side of him but us.

  My legs are crossed and my hands are folded on top of them, my nervous form dressed in smart trousers and a blouse, making me feel like I am back to square one. I want my woollen dresses and leggings back. Why did I travel thousands of miles around the world, for this? To end up right back here?

  “Have you got any experience that will help you?” His dark eyes narrow on mine.

  “Well, I have twin boys. They’ve tested me, let me tell you.” I mentally count all the poo explosions, and having had two boys, it’s always been double the fun. When one gets sick, the other does, and when one cries, so does the other.

  He nods. “What about, otherwise?”

  I look away from him, trying to think. “I–I, well, I don’t know.”

  “I don’t have to put you in there. Ronald Fitzgerald doesn’t control me,” William Barker asserts, his eyes assessing my reaction carefully.

  I sit up straighter and stare at him. “Well, if you tell me more about what’s expected of me…?”

  “Can you clean? Can you keep good time? Will you remember to fill in your log books? Will you hold your tongue when they get mouthy?”

  “Who will get mouthy?”

  He chuckles slightly. “Probably all of them.”

  I cough. “Well, I was Head of English at my old school. I know all about care in the community, spotting child negligence, supporting those with low self-esteem… and when I was saving up for university, I worked in a café where truckers used to try banter with me everyday and occasionally pinch my bum. Not to mention all the deadheads I had to deal with as a barmaid.” I smile sweetly. “Also, I survived a grotty childhood during which my mum died of an overdose and my father kept getting high while I walked to school in rags. That qualify me to deal with people and wipe their arses?”

  William Barker stares, dumbstruck. He wasn’t expecting me. He chokes a little as he says, “Head?”

  “Head, yes. Mopping up shit really isn’t that big a deal compared to some of the fucking bollocks I’ve had to shovel over the years.”