A Dish of Stones

by Valentina Hepburn

  The headmistress frowned. As an educator she had seen into the lives of many children. Her finely tuned instinct was telling her that all was not right with Kate and Emma McGuire. “Mr. Gilmore discovered Emma with cigarettes on the school premises.” Kate frowned. “Cigarettes?”

  “You know how I feel about children smoking in school, Kate. I thought it would be a good idea to see your parents, however you sister seems to have other ideas. She thinks it would be better if I caned her instead. Perhaps you can tell me why that would be. In all my years as a teacher I’ve never had a pupil ask for the cane. That is until today.”

  Kate’s mouth went dry. She’d made no preparation for a conversation like this so remained silent. Mrs. Forsyth tried again. “Emma tells me your mother is ill. I hope it isn’t serious?” Kate swallowed hard, searching her brain to find something that would sound believable. “She’s...she had a very bad bout of ‘flu at Christmas and it’s left her feeling very weak and tired. The doctor’s given her a tonic but he said it will probably take her a very long time to get better.” She drew in a deep breath. Eventually the lie had come to her easily.

  “And your father? How is he? I would be happy to see him without your mother.”

  “He’s away on business. Abroad.” The headmistress nodded. “I see. How interesting. Where?” Kate said the first country that came into her head. “America.” She waited for the next question. Surely the woman knew everything she needed to know by now.

  “And how are you managing at home?”

  She looked Kate squarely in the eyes. Kate’s thoughts went immediately to the bruise around her eye and she prayed she’d made a good enough job of concealing the faint mark that refused to fade. She forced a weak smile and shrugged. “Oh, you know. We’re doing the best we can. Aren’t we, Emma?” She glanced down at her sister. Emma nodded.

  ***

  They walked at a dawdling pace having no wish to return home quickly, never sure how Angie was going to be on any particular day. They’d both come to realise the very bad days were far more frequent now and the better days were diminishing. Neither had said anything to the other – their acceptance of the situation was mutual. The walk home, punctuated by Emma swinging around each lamp post they passed progressed in silence.

  Kate was worried. She knew she hadn’t handled Mrs. Forsyth's questions very well and she was dreading seeing Angie. There was nothing to look forward to about going home either as it was always the same now – cold, filthy and unwelcoming. The only place Kate felt at ease was in her bedroom. Sitting at her desk wrapped in layers of cardigans to keep out the cold, and with a small transistor radio for company, she could dream of the way home used to be. It was true she’d never had the kind of relationship with Angie that she’d had with Joe whom she adored, but they’d lived together in a kind of harmony.

  She and her father had an understanding of each other. They were both dreamers and found comfort in having someone they could discuss their feelings with in the knowledge that the other wouldn’t laugh or sneer no matter how fantastic or unlikely their dreams were. Their interest in each other’s ambitions had been honest and genuine, something Kate knew she would never share with Angie.

  When Joe wrote his poetry Kate was always ready to listen. Sometimes they were so funny she would collapse with laughter; sometimes so sad they could make her cry, but she knew as she listened to her father’s words he was speaking from the heart. He meant every word.

  Kate had heard the cruel comments made by people about Angie and the inevitable questions of the whereabouts of Joe. She did her best to ignore them but it hurt her all the same. Angie hadn’t asked Kate about school for months and didn’t have the slightest interest in either her or Emma’s progress. Usually when they returned home from school Angie would be sitting in the same place as when they left in the morning. The only thing that would change would be the number of empty wine bottles lying at her feet.

  ***

  The sweet, sickly smell of cheap wine hit them as they entered the house through the back door. The breakfast things were still on the table, congealed cereal sticking to the plates. Kate’s heart sank. She told Emma to go upstairs, worried about what might be waiting for them in the living room. She gently pushed the door open, wincing when it squealed on its hinges. The room was in darkness except for the television flashing light into the room like a beginner practising Morse code. Angie had turned the volume down and left the curtains closed. She wasn’t in her usual place.

  Kate went upstairs. The door to Angie’s room was slightly open so she peered around it expecting to find her mother on her bed. It was unmade; the sheet crumpled and strewn across the bed. Kate guessed it had been like that for weeks. She frowned. This was something new. Even though Angie was in a mess the thing they could usually rely on was her being at home when they returned from school. If she went out it was only to replenish her stock of bottles and that was usually at lunch-time when the off-licence opened. Kate ran downstairs to the kitchen. If Angie had gone out to buy more drink she would know because the cupboard under the sink would be empty. She always kept her stash in there.

  Kate opened the cupboard door to reveal three bottles of wine and two of vodka. She went slowly into the hall and leant against the wall. Then she noticed Angie’s coat hanging on the peg by the door. It was bitterly cold outside and the overcast sky had threatened more snow. It was already dark. She went to the front door and opened it. The promised snow had begun to fall. Fog gathered above the town and clung to the rooftops, swirling ghost-like around the gardens. Only the yellow light from the street lamps was distinguishable, shimmering with an incandescent light as the mist turned the outside into an eerie place. Kate shivered and a grain of fear began to creep into her thoughts. She’ll freeze to death in this, she thought.

  Hugging herself to keep warm she went back inside. There was work for her to do and she had to prepare an evening meal of sorts. She made gravy with an Oxo cube in water, adding some chopped vegetables and large chunks of potato. This was all they had to fill their stomachs before they went to bed but it had to do. She’d lost count of the nights she’d been kept awake by a rumbling stomach complaining bitterly with lack of food and she knew Emma was often hungry. Angie ate so rarely Kate was sure if the drink didn’t kill her she would die of starvation. If they could afford anything half-decent to eat she always offered it to Angie first though it was often refused. She seemed to survive on a diet of drink and cigarettes.

  “Mum, where are you?” she said out loud.

  “Who are you talking to?” Emma startled her, jerking her mind back to her chores. “I thought you were talking to Mum,” said Emma. Kate shook her head. “No.”

  “Where is she then?”

  Keeping her head down, Kate tried to concentrate on what she was doing and leant across to the stove to stir the soup. Emma waited. “Have you gone deaf?”

  “I don’t know where she is, Emma.”

  At that moment a key was pushed into the front door and they both ran into the hall. Angie pushed the door open so roughly it banged against the wall, the vibrations reverberating loudly and echoing around the house. She stood in the opening allowing the cold air from outside to whistle by her and rush into the narrow hall turning it into a wind-tunnel. A swirl of snowflakes tossed about by the wind in myriad directions highlighted and shaped the beam from the street lamp behind her. It gave her a ghostly aura, the golden light forming a halo around her head.

  As she crossed the thresh-hold she staggered and fell forwards, sprawling across the hall floor. Kate rushed towards her. She bent to help the struggling Angie to her feet but she pulled her arm away and shoved Kate forcibly across the hall knocking the mirror sideways. The string holding the mirror snapped and it crashed to the floor. Splinters of shattered glass glistened like shards of ice on the floorboards. Emma attempted to help her sister but Angie barred her way. “Don’t go near her,” she screamed, saliva flying from her mouth in her anger.r />
  There was silence while Kate and Emma waited for her next move. Angie straightened herself, pulling her unkempt clothes roughly into place until she was satisfied. In her drunken state she’d fallen over outside and sprawled across the pavement. Blobs of congealed blood speckled her knees. She turned her gaze towards Kate whose heart sank. Her immediate instinct was to run out of the house. Angie’s teeth locked together in readiness for a fight. “What've you been sayin’, girl?” Kate shook her head, her eyes wide with fear. “Nothing.”

  Angie’s eyes narrowed and she began to walk towards her daughter. She came within inches of her then stopped. Raising her hand she slapped it hard across Kate’s face.

  Emma screamed and stretched her hand out to Kate. Angie half-turned towards her. “Go to your room and stay there.”

  Emma stood motionless; defiant. Shaking her head she refused to move and Angie screamed at her. “Are you going against me, you little cow? Get up them bloody stairs unless you want the same treatment.” Emma turned and ran up the stairs.

  “Well, bitch. Answer the question. What have you been saying?”

  “I don’t know what you mean, Mum.” Angie felt stronger now and she had Kate right where she wanted her. “I’ll tell you what I mean. I had a visit from the school inspector today. Not that I spoke to him. I managed to give him the slip out the back door. He called me through the letter box, nosy git. Accusing me of all sorts he was. He said he knew I was ill and he asked if I felt well enough to speak to someone from welfare about the well-being of my daughters while my husband was away on business. There’s only one person he could have got that from, and that’s you.”

  She began to walk with faltering steps towards the kitchen. Kate backed herself against the wall, desperate not to let Angie get too close.

  “Well? I’m waiting.”

  “Emma was pulled up for smoking today and Mrs. Forsyth said she wanted to see you. I didn’t think you’d want to go to the school so I said you were feeling ill and that Dad was away on business. That’s all I said.”

  Angie didn’t hear Kate’s explanation of the events leading up to the inspector’s visit. She wasn’t interested. She was intent on punishing her, and blaming her for her miserable existence was the easy way out. The situation to her was plain when Joe deserted them. She’d known she’d had a choice – sink or swim. It was his fault she was like this and it made her feel better when she beat Kate. It got rid of the tension. And anyway, why should she try. She was only human, wasn’t she? So she had a weakness. So what? So did lots of other people. But then they didn’t have a bitch of a daughter like Kate to deal with. She was only giving her discipline after all. All girls need a bit of discipline now and then. How was she supposed to overcome the problems of a teenage daughter unless she used a bit of clout? Everyone else did it. Why should she be any different?

  Seeing the chain belt she’d given Kate for Christmas on the kitchen table, she lunged for it. A wave of satisfaction coursed through her as she held it high above her head. Kate could see the glinting flight-path of the flailing belt even before Angie had swung it towards her. With all her strength Angie swirled the belt like a whip towards Kate’s face. Kate didn’t have time to cry out. All of her reflexes came into play as her hand shot out and held onto Angie’s wrist, ducking the belt at the same time. She held on for all she was worth, digging her nails into her mother’s skin. “You’re not going to do that to me, Mum,” she said. “I won’t let you do that to me.”

  She stared at Angie, narrowing her eyes with a look that didn’t waver. Her face still smarted from the slap with which Angie had started her assault and in her mind was nothing other than to prevent her mother from hurting her again. She could feel her heart fluttering wildly with terror but she remained strong, willing Angie to give in.

  After a few moments she sensed Angie’s arm go weak. Kate warily released her grip on her mother’s wrist. She knew she couldn’t trust her and that she could turn on her again at any time. Angie averted her eyes from her daughter as she rubbed her wrist where Kate had held it. Then she raised her face, her eyes filled with malice. Kate was shaken to the core by the strength of emotion conveyed to her in just one look.

  Angie began a slow faltering walk down the hall to the foot of the stairs, leaning against the wood panelling to keep herself upright. She paused and turned towards Kate. Kate's overwhelming sorrow at the sight of a woman engulfed by demons she couldn’t control completely threw her. In that strange suspended moment she realised her mother didn’t love her. Tears threatened at the thought that somewhere in their life together she’d lost any chance of experiencing the special bond a mother and daughter should share. She inhaled deeply, prepared to take the risk. She had to say the words. “I love you, Mum.”

  Angie pursed her lips, her eyes remaining on her daughter. A silence fell between them. She sighed and began a slow walk up the stairs, holding onto the rail for support. Kate watched her every step of the way. When she reached the top, Angie looked down at her. “Don’t love me,” she said firmly. “I want you to hate me. If you hate me then I won’t have any guilt about hating you. You stopped me this time but there’ll always be another and each time is your punishment. You took everything from me, everything that ever meant anything. Give me back my life and then tell me you love me. Then I might believe you.”

  Kate was stunned. She leant against the panelling in the hall and closed her eyes. Her mother had said so much more than she wanted to hear yet had told her nothing.

  Chapter 5

  “So, ‘ave you slept with ‘im yet?”

  “Martha!”

  “Well have you?”

  “Mind your own business.”

  “That’s a yes then.”

  “As I know you won’t stop sticking your beak in until I answer...yes.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “Was it worth waiting for?”

  “It’s meant to be a private thing between two people in love. I don’t ask you about Brian, do I?”

  “What’s to ask?”

  “He’s your husband and he thinks the world of you. Brian's a nice bloke.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if he was lying on top of you with his saggy belly flapping against yours, huffin’ and puffin’ like Billy Goat Gruff. He’s all hot air and no action. I need someone with a bit of go in ‘em. That’s what I need.”

  Angie opened her bedroom door and went inside, leaning heavily against it until the metal catch clicked shut. A dull cloak of exhaustion overwhelmed her. She held her hands out in front of her and studied the grazes and the dried blood. They trembled as she surveyed the ingrained dirt and the cuts on her palms where she’d put her hands out to save herself when she’d fallen. She felt like crying but didn’t. She never cried. I'm not a weak shit, she thought. Not like some.

  She went over to the unmade bed and collapsed on to it, not bothering to pull the crumpled sheet over her. Her head started to spin and nausea welled up into her throat. These feelings were well known to Angie and soon she would have to find her best friend, the one that would help her forget. Drinking helped to dull her pain, blunt her senses and fog the past. It was the fastest route to sleep if she drank enough, although she needed more and more to achieve it these days. Angie needed alcohol and no one was going to stop her having what she needed.

  She often allowed her mind to replay old events; repeating scenarios, mostly truthful, some imagined. These were moments of hurt or embarrassment she tried to forget but she wasn’t strong enough to push them away. As painful as it was to her, in her weaker moments she allowed them to take over and afterwards hated herself for ever thinking of Joe in a nice way. These were the feelings she didn’t want. He didn’t deserve it, she would tell herself. The beautiful memories of him weren’t real. Underneath it all he was a bastard; a pain in the arse like all men. He was a good looking so-and-so it's true, she thought, and he had a way with him that could melt even the hardest heart. Bu
t she knew deep down that his charming ways were just a façade he’d put up in front of her to keep her gob shut.

  Many of the dreams hurtling her back in time were those where he had been unkind to her. In her tormented mind she reconstructed those excruciating moments of injury and humiliation that could still make her squirm. She would scold herself saying “once was enough, Angie” but she couldn’t stop playing them out again and again, and in a perverse way she wanted to relive them. It meant she could inflate her hatred and find justification for her negative feelings about Joe. She sighed deeply, tiredness making sleep irresistible as exhaustion overtook her.

  Turning onto her side she began to search her memory for one of those times. It was his fault she was the way she was, she thought. Him and his precious bitch of a daughter. They’d conspired against her, whispering so she couldn’t hear what they were saying. They were always cuddling in front of her, him pretending to be the doting dad; deliberately trying to make her jealous. Joe had always loved Kate more than he'd loved her she was sure of it. She would make the cow pay for destroying her life. The day Joe wanted to come back, crawling on his knees and begging her for forgiveness, she’d kick him in the teeth and reject the bastard the way he’d rejected her.

  ***

  The invitation said fancy dress. Martha, Angie’s best friend, and her husband, Brian, were due at seven. It was Martha’s idea for them to get ready together. They arrived at Angie and Joe’s late. Martha was giggling as usual as she stood in the doorway.

  “You been on the jungle-juice already then?” Joe asked her, winking at the others.