by Isla Dewar
She watched him walk up the path. He was young and hopeful and probably would become a millionaire. She noted he’d started to swagger. Well, he’d need to where he was going. She clapped. ‘Good drunken walk.’
52
Charlie Is My Darling
‘My guitar had blood on it. That’s how hard I played. I gave it everything,’ said Martha. ‘My fingers bled. My throat burned raw. I closed my eyes and let the song rip. I was lost in it.’
‘Your point is?’
‘I never gave up. You did. You ran away from Bernice.’
‘So did you.’
‘I was following you.’
He considered this. Had a small moment imagining the pair of them scuttling up the garden path elbowing one another aside in their panic to get away. ‘I didn’t run away. I walked briskly, head held high.’
They’d been sitting in the car for an hour. Across the road the party was hotting up. There were shrieks and whoops and every now and then a party-goer in pink would steam out of the front door and do a crazed, drunken, elbow-flapping Mick Jagger strut.
‘Looks fun,’ said Martha.
‘Looks like the worst party in the world,’ said Charlie.
‘Actually, we should go over there again and warn these women that they’re being conned. It’s our duty. You don’t have to stay long. Just go in there, make an announcement, tell it like it is and come out again.’
Charlie said, ‘No.’ He reached over and switched on the radio. ‘I won’t do that. Absolutely bloody not.’
‘I thought you didn’t like music on the radio.’
‘I like the music. Hate the DJs. They’re hearty. There’s nothing worse than a hearty DJ when you’ve just been humiliated. But it’s evening now, the DJs will have calmed down.’
This calm DJ said, ‘Here’s something new – a world first. An all-girl band, Mistral Annie and the End of Time. “Take Me Down Purple” is their first single and you might not think it till you hear it, but they rock.’
Martha glared at the radio. ‘Did you hear that? The world’s first all-girl band?’ She leaned down and shouted at the dial, ‘I don’t bloody think so. There was Vinnie and the Vixens. We were there long before Mistral Annie. We toured. We went down a storm at the Drop In Youth Club, Aberdeen. We rocked.’
‘Actually,’ said Charlie, ‘they’re good. Really good. In fact, I might buy that record.’
Martha punched his shoulder. ‘You bastard. You traitor. How could you buy that single? These women are imposters. I, Vinnie of Vinnie and the Vixens, was first. I demand my place in history.’
Charlie thought, perhaps you shouldn’t.
Martha got out of the car, slammed the door. ‘I’ve had enough of this. I’m sick of everything. I am a woman. I am fighting for my rights and I’m going over there to that party and I’m going to tell these women the truth. Women unite.’
Hair flying behind her, long cardigan flapping, she ran across the road and up the path to the front door. Charlie called her back. But too late. Without a backward glance, Martha opened the door and stamped inside. Cursing, Charlie went after her.
For the rest of his life pink would be more than a colour for Charlie. It would be the smell of perfume, cigarettes and cheap fizzy wine. And it would be the disturbing sound of drunken female laughter suddenly dying and the thick hostile silence that followed. If he hated pink before he went into that house, he would loathe it to the point of nausea after he came out.
As he stepped cautiously down the hall he heard Bernice say, ‘What the hell are you doing here? I told you to go.’ He didn’t hear Martha’s reply. But he knew her well enough to understand that her sudden flush of fury had abated and she was floundering in the face of Bernice’s aggression. Her mouth would be open and she’d be making soothing gestures with her hands. His heart went out to her. He would save her.
In the few steps it took to reach the living room he devised a plan. He would quietly reach Martha and stand by her side. He’d swiftly and clearly explain what was happening and strongly advise all the women to go home. He’d take Martha’s hand and lead her back to the car. They’d drive back to his place where he’d take her in his arms and tell her he loved her. It was clear. It was simple. There was nothing to it.
There was a ripple of glee as he entered the room – a small gasp of delighted recognition. Charlie later supposed it was the sort of thing that happened to Elvis or John Lennon, should one of them unexpectedly turn up in some fan’s living room. But it threw him. He blushed. Women nudged one another and whispered, ‘It’s Charlie.’ A couple waved to him, a shy ripple of fingers. He forgot his planned speech. Bemused, he spread his palms and said, ‘Huh?’
A woman he’d never seen before said, ‘We know all about you, Charlie. We think you’re marvellous. The way you’ve risen above your circumstances is wonderful.’
‘Yes,’ someone else agreed. ‘Just wonderful.’
A few began to sing, ‘Oh, Charlie is my darling.’
Charlie took a step backwards. Every single woman was in pink and singing his name. He said, ‘Circumstances?’
A woman nearby reached out and stroked his arm. ‘We know you were abducted and brought up in penury by a woman who said she was your aunt. We know how awful it was for you.’
‘Do you? It wasn’t that bad. I was fed, warm, clothed. Not a lot of money but who had money back then?’ Charlie was offended on behalf of his Aunt Ella.
There was a ripple of approval. Of course their hero would play down his misfortune. Bernice raised her hand, anxious to quell this rush of adoration. ‘Time for business, girls.’ She turned to Charlie. ‘Did you want something?’ She was dismissively icy. Cruelly disinterested. Charlie had often met receptionists who were superb at this. But they were nothing compared to Bernice. He took a step back and nearly apologised for being there.
But Martha replied for him. ‘We’ve come to warn you. You are being lied to.’ She turned to the company of women. ‘You mustn’t give her any money. You won’t see it again and you won’t see her again.’ She pointed to Bernice.
Bernice gave her a small burst of applause. ‘Oh, well done. Good story. Now will you please leave? We have business to see to.’ She flapped her hand, waving Charlie and Martha towards the door.
Martha said, ‘We’re going. But I need to tell the truth.’ She touched her throat. Swallowed. ‘I know all of you here have slept with – well, fucked – Brendan and you’re angry and you want revenge. Best revenge is to get up and go home, taking your money with you.’
A voice from the women in pink. ‘Is this what you’ve discovered from your detecting? It isn’t what any your reports says.’
‘We didn’t write the reports,’ said Martha.
Bernice clapped again. ‘Classic.’
‘Can we have our money back?’ the woman asked Martha.
‘If we’d ever got your money, you’d have been welcome to have it back. But we didn’t get any money. Bernice wrote all the reports with Brendan, we think. She also invoiced you for our fee and pocketed the payments. They’ve probably worked this scam before and are already setting it up somewhere else even as I speak.’
‘Fantasy. Fantasy,’ cried Bernice. ‘You two should be writing comic strips.’
‘Truth,’ said Martha. ‘I have a feeling you ladies are beginning to agree with me. Where’s Brendan, you may wonder. I don’t know. He’s upstairs. He’s in a pub somewhere waiting for Bernice to come with the money. He’s on a train to the new city, new lovers. The scam goes on. But I’m thinking he might be lying in a darkened room, staring at the ceiling, recovering from all the loveless fucking he’s been doing and gathering strength for all the loveless fucking he will have to do in the future.’
She turned to Charlie, who was standing slightly behind her looking puzzled. She took his hand and led him to the door.
‘I was going to say that,’ he said. ‘Yes, definitely that. Only,’ he looked back at the women, ‘how did you know
about me?’
He recognised Lucy. It was quite good to note pink didn’t suit her. She wasn’t perfect after all. ‘She told us.’ Her accusing finger pointed at Bernice.
Charlie said, ‘Ah, right.’
He followed Martha to the front door. Heard the slow buildup of voices. Women demanding answers.
Once inside the car, he leaned back, took a deep breath and said, ‘We certainly handled that well. We told them a thing or two. At least, you did. I said almost nothing. I planned to rescue you and didn’t.’
‘You saved me. I was about to run away before you turned up. I would never have spoken up if you hadn’t been standing behind me. I stopped feeling alone.’
‘That’s always a good thing.’
Martha made to start the car. ‘Time to go. We’ve had our say. It’s all been crap from start to finish. You got beat up. We got duped. We won’t get paid. Can it get any worse?’
‘I’m hoping not. But on the bright side, the sandwiches were good.’
‘What now? Fish and chips? Carbonara?’
Charlie shook his head. ‘Not yet. I need to stay here. I need to watch what is going on in that house. Something horrible is happening in my head. A vile notion is intruding into the placid pleasant place where my thoughts live. It is too awful to contemplate.’
‘What is it?’
‘It’s the worst notion I’ve ever had. I think I might cry.’ He stopped speaking and watched a pair of trousers soar out of an upstairs window of the house. They spread into the air and tumbled to the ground. Next came a blue shirt, then a pair of socks. ‘Scissors.’ A screech from above. ‘Cut them up first.’
He jerked his thumb at the pile building up on the lawn. ‘Brendan’s stuff.’
Martha nodded. ‘Hell hath no fury and all that. Only there’s a whole bunch of scorned women taking revenge. That’s fury too hellish to think about.’
‘It’s a nightmare. These women cutting up clothes. All the pink. And that dreadful woman Bernice. How could she check up on me? I could hardly check up on myself. I stumbled upon me. Nobody could have found out about the abduction. It wasn’t reported anywhere. It happened and only two people knew for sure. Auntie Ella and my mother.’
A slow drizzle started. Tiny soft droplets covered the car windows and the world beyond blurred. The women in the upstairs room across the road fell into a rhythm of work and started to sing. Their soft sweet voices did nothing to ease the nastiness of their intentions. ‘Snip, snip, throw, throw, and out you go.’ The song echoed through the damp air.
For a moment the rhythmic movement of clothes emerging from the window and the singing distracted Charlie. ‘Lot of stuff, Brendan has. I never saw him wearing any of it.’
‘A man about town,’ said Martha. ‘A dandy and a dude. He’d need a lot of gear to attract women.’
He sighed, ‘Yeah, he would. Some really cool things. I wonder if Bernice is helping.’
‘I doubt it. I think she’ll be planning to get away.’
‘I’m going to have to confront her. I’m going to have to go in there and talk to her. And I don’t know what to say. She’ll probably call me Norman. I hate that.’
‘Why would she do that?’
He opened the car door. ‘It’s my name,’ said Charlie.
53
Be Kindly
He got out of the car, leaned in, saying, ‘Think about it. Bernice picked me. She knew about me. That bloody woman is my mother.’
He stamped off to confront her. He didn’t want to, but couldn’t stop himself. There were too many things he wanted to know. He had to ask why she hadn’t looked for him. Didn’t she want him? Had she even thought about him at all? What had she been doing all this time? Had she married? Produced children? He paused on the garden path to watch ruined clothes tumble onto the pile. A pair of red-and-yellow socks stripped of their toes drifted down. Perhaps, he thought, I have a brother or sister somewhere. Someone as lost and bewildered as me. God, there goes a pair of really lurid socks.
Behind him Martha got out of the car and called, ‘Be kindly.’ Familiar words but they gave him a jolt. He hadn’t given kindliness a thought.
Bernice was in the kitchen zipping up a large leather holdall. She shot him a tight smile. ‘Thought I’d get away out the back door before you twigged.’
He said, ‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t apologise, Norman. You do that too much. You’ll get trampled like Ella.’
‘It’s true, then?’ asked Charlie.
‘Yes, it’s true. I am your mother and you have just ruined a very nice little scam that took some time to set up.’
‘I’m not Norman. I’m Charlie.’
‘I know. And I’m not Bernice. I’m Mairi. Of course, I’ll have to get a new name when I get busy again somewhere else. Not telling you where.’
‘Have you always been like this? Lying, cheating?’
‘Yes. I’m afraid so, Charlie. I’ll call you Charlie, it’s what you’re used to. Though when I thought of you, and I thought of you often, I thought of Norman. My little Norman. Anyway, I’m afraid your mother isn’t very nice. She’s nasty and she does nasty things. I did one good thing. I let you stay with Ella. I knew she’d taken you and I knew she loved you. I let you have love. I didn’t have you for long, but I knew you’d need it. Ella had love in her. I didn’t. Not really. I could have had the police onto her, but why do that? She was a silly soft old bat but she had a heart. I envied her that. Did you have a good life?’
‘It was OK. Yes, she loved me. We lived quietly.’
‘You would. Ella would have been terrified of being discovered. But look at you. You’re sane. You don’t do drugs and you’re taller than me. That’s parenting at its best. Even if I didn’t do it.’
Charlie nodded. ‘Did you have a good life?’
‘Highs and lows. Highs were high enough to see me through the lows. I survived.’
This wasn’t right. This was not how Charlie had envisioned his first meeting with his mother. He’d had many imaginings of this. He’d thought the encounter might be awkward, or loving or even shy. There might be tears, a tender reaching out for one another. It might take place in a quiet bar, or a tiny cosy tearoom. A park would have been good. Anything, anything, but not this forbidding sterile kitchen with its beige Formica worktops and only a polished kettle on show. And this woman was not what he’d longed for. She was hard, embittered, and, he realised, lonely.
‘It’s hello and goodbye, I’m afraid,’ Bernice said. ‘I have a feeling the law might be along soon-ish. The ladies have gone on the rampage.’ She pointed to the din coming from upstairs. ‘It’s all got out of hand. I’m more than a bit pissed off, to tell the truth, Charlie.’ She picked up her case, gave Charlie a polite little wave.
‘I have a question.’
‘I bet you have more than one. But no, I didn’t remarry. I’m meeting Brendan. Won’t give you details. And no, I didn’t have any more children. You are the one and only.’ She opened the door.
‘My question,’ said Charlie, ‘is did Brendan have any red-and-yellow socks?’
‘Good heavens, no. A gentleman should only wear black socks. I don’t suppose Ella would have told you such things. Life’s finer details slipped past her, but she made excellent stew.’ Bernice opened the back door, stepped out, beetled along to the side of the house and disappeared through the garden gate. She probably had a car somewhere nearby. Charlie let her go. She was his mother, after all. He was sure she’d get caught one day. ‘Take care,’ he said. It was as kindly as he could get.
He walked back up the hall, opened the front door and stepped out into the evening. On the lawn lay a large tangled pile of soaking snipped clothes. In houses across the road, families had gathered at windows to watch the display. One of them, Charlie was sure, would have called the police. The goings-on here had all the makings of rum doings – a party, a lot of drink, women impersonating Mick Jagger, shrieks, loud music, clothes getting thrown out of
a window, vandalism. Holding his breath, listening, he was sure he heard a siren in the distance.
He stood on the grass and looked up at the women in pink. ‘Ladies,’ he called, ‘you’ve got to stop this.’
‘Charlie,’ they shouted back, ‘come on up. We’re having fun with Brendan’s things.’
Charlie shook his head. ‘No. Got to go. I think the police are coming. You should all go. This isn’t Bernice’s house.’ He waved his hand at the heap. ‘These aren’t Brendan’s clothes.’
Several women shouted, ‘What?’
‘These clothes belong to the man who owns this house. They’re not Brendan’s. You have to get out of here. Do you all understand? You’re cutting up the wrong man’s clothes.’
This was all too awful. It was noisy and a little bit scary and he had to get away. In the car, Martha was bristling with anticipation. ‘Well? How did it go? You weren’t away very long.’
‘I had nothing to say. I’ve waited all my life for that moment. And when it came I sort of stood there thinking, this isn’t right. She wasn’t the mother I wanted her to be. It wasn’t how I planned. I had no control. I will always remember myself standing with my arms dangling by my side and my mouth open.’
Martha took his hand. ‘It’s all right. It’s not your fault.’
Charlie said, ‘I’m a mess. I’ve lived my life so far wondering about meeting my mother. Well, it’s happened. So now I’ll live the rest of my life wondering why I let it go so badly and why the only question I asked her was about socks.’
‘Socks?’ said Martha.
‘Yes. And all that’s left is a tangled knot in my stomach and a feeling like I want to cry. Only I don’t cry. I think we ought to go. I definitely hear sirens. Just drive slowly. Act like we’re a couple off for an evening at the cinema.’
‘I know, pretend we’re real people. We’re good at that.’
The sex when they finally got round to it was comfort sex. They returned to Charlie’s flat and discussed without any real interest what they should eat. They agreed that there wasn’t a meal that could follow the bizarre events of the evening.