by Louisa Reid
I walked to the TV and positioned my hand, ready to turn it off.
‘Don’t you dare,’ Mum said.
I pretended I couldn’t hear. I’d stood up to Lizzy; I could stand up to Mum. I turned and pressed the button.
‘How bloody dare you, Audrey!’ Mum braced her arms on the side of the chair, ready to stand up.
‘Because I want you to listen to me. You never listen. Leo’s really nice. I swear. You should give him a chance; you’re not being fair.’ Mum pulled herself up, moved to the telly to switch it back on.
‘I know what’s best for you, Aud; you’re my only daughter. You’re not well. You’re not mentally fit to be deciding to start a relationship with a lad who’s older than you and more experienced. So you’re staying here, at home with me, where you’re safe. You may call that not fair. I call it for your own good.’
She was planted in front of me. Solid, immovable, like a slab of concrete. Concrete heart, I thought.
‘I’m not going to stop seeing him. You can’t make me.’ I realized I was as tall as her, almost. Straightening up a little more, I looked her full in the face. She held my gaze and didn’t flinch.
‘Let me tell you a few things, shall I, Audrey? Let me tell you what this boy is after. What do you know about sex?’
‘Enough,’ I muttered, trying to press past her and leave the room. My face flared red. I remembered the day at the farm, how we’d come so close, and it had all been my idea, and how Leo had seen all of me and kissed all of me and now I couldn’t think about anything else. Mum was watching me, her breath coming faster.
‘What’ve you been up to, Audrey?’ she said, stepping closer.
‘Nothing.’
‘I know what this is,’ she said, moving sideways as I did. ‘You’re planning on some dirty little romance, you and this lad. Well, he won’t be happy until he’s got your knickers down and got you in trouble. And I’m not going to let that happen. So.’
‘That’s rubbish,’ I said. ‘You’re being ridiculous.’
Her mouth hung open; her chest was heaving. ‘I bet a doctor could tell me different,’ she said, grabbing my arm and pulling me round to face her.
‘What do you mean?’ I said.
‘I bet if I got a doctor to check you out he’d tell me what you’d been up to, no problem.’
‘I don’t understand what you’re on about,’ I said to her, even hotter, scared.
‘It’s pretty easy to tell if a girl’s still a virgin, Audrey,’ Mum said, and I put my hand over my mouth and swallowed down vomit.
‘I am a virgin. Why don’t you believe me?’ I whispered.
‘Because I wasn’t born yesterday, that’s why. You’re a little slag, Aud, aren’t you? I never thought I’d say it about a daughter of mine. But you’re a dirty little slag. I can smell it on you; you stink of it.’ She stormed away, slamming the kitchen door and I walked upstairs, very slowly, like an old woman, and the room dipped and fell as I rolled on the waves of her disgust.
On Christmas Eve I went down to the kitchen, which was cloudy with steam and hot like hell. The smells had been wafting up to my room for ages and if Mum was doing the cooking I reckoned I could help. Plus, I wanted to make it up. But Mum was cooking and stirring something which bubbled and boiled in a cast-iron pan and she didn’t look up, so I watched her bashing and crashing around, her lips pressed tight, and when I spoke it was as if I wasn’t even there.
‘Mum,’ I said. She ran water into the kettle, set it to boil, her face vicious with whatever she was thinking.
‘Mum, will you listen to me?’ I asked, but she kept her back to me. ‘Mum, I wanted to tell you, about me and Leo, please.’
A lid clattered off a pan as the water boiled over and on to the stove, spitting and hissing. It was pointless trying, I should leave her, find Peter and make sure he was washed and dressed; we could maybe make up our own pantomime or head to the woods for the day. I turned to go, but the Thing barred the door so I couldn’t edge away, and in the heat a bead of sweat ran from my neck, between my shoulder blades and down my back. The Thing pushed me forward again, against the edge of the stove, and the water sloshed and spilled and bubbled and spat and burned and I screamed.
Later we sat in the back of the car. Peter whispered were we going to the panto after all, and I couldn’t answer, cradling my arm.
The waiting room was packed. Little huddles of people on their phones, drunks shouting, babies crying. Mum went back and forth to the reception hatch asking, ‘When?’ and at last we were called into a cubicle. The doctor asked how it had happened as he gently inspected first the burn on my arm, then the one on my stomach. I began to hum, softly, then louder, as Mum explained. Her mouth moved. I refused to read the words. I wouldn’t put them together, I couldn’t. I looked up at him.
‘It was an accident,’ I said, ‘but it hurts.’ I wasn’t sure which bit I meant. If it was my arm I was talking about at all. Perhaps that pain stole the one from inside me.
‘We can give you something for that.’ He smiled and carried on asking Mum about my treatment and who was I seeing and that he’d follow this up.
A nurse put on a dressing, Mum talked and held my hand and the nurse looked up at her and smiled.
It was late when we got home and I took another of the pills and walked up to bed without seeing anything.
Mum came upstairs, much, much later, carrying a glass of water and a bottle of medicine. She sat beside me and stroked my hair; she was ever so gentle and calm now. When she held the spoon to my lips, I swallowed like a good girl should.
‘It’s all right, love, you’re all right now. See? See what I mean? You’re in no fit state. Poor little girl.’ And there was nothing left of me to argue. I listened to her go back downstairs, the rattle of her keys, the creak of the door as she left, and the rumble of the car as she took off into the night.
Leo
One of Sue’s traditions was to spend Christmas Eve in the pub. There were usually carollers; the landlady put on a buffet. Everyone was cheerful, rosy with the roaring fire and mulled wine. The last person Leo had thought they’d see that evening was Lorraine; their exchange of the day before still lay under his skin like the fading ache of a wasp sting. She came in with a gust of wind, her lips painted their customary red, and he saw Sue lift her hand in welcome, but Lorraine looked the other way, pretending she hadn’t noticed her.
Lorraine walked through the bar, into the snug and disappeared from view.
‘That’s a bit odd, isn’t it?’ Sue looked at Leo. ‘Should I go and talk to her, find out what’s up, do you think?’
Leo finished his drink. ‘Leave her to it. If she wants to be rude, well, let her.’
‘Maybe she didn’t see us? I don’t think she was being rude, Leo. I’ll see her later.’
‘OK. But she saw us all right.’ If Lorraine was here, then Audrey was back at the Grange. He could nip over there, quickly; just say Happy Christmas in person. He picked up his coat.
‘Where are you off to?’ Sue raised an eyebrow. She knew full well.
‘I’ll be back soon. No worries.’
‘Take the car. Quicker, then.’
‘Sure.’
Leo drove fast in the dark, his headlights on full illuminating the road, startling a rabbit, then a deer into the hedgerows. The roads were clear, not icy; the day had been mild and bright and he sang a noisy carol, grinning at the thought of this surprise – and Audrey’s face bright in the future.
Audrey
The banging seemed to go on forever. I turned, deep in sleep, trying to block it out, but the noise didn’t stop. And then a voice calling, Audrey, Audrey – the sound came so kind and sweet that tears leaked again and I turned to follow it in the dark, wondering if it would lead to somewhere brighter. If I could leave my body behind and be lifted into the air.
‘Aud.’ It was Peter now. Shaking me. I was groggy, couldn’t see well; my eyelids were too heavy to lift.
‘Au
d, wake up – there’s someone here,’ he whispered, and I reached out and pulled him close with arms like lead.
‘Go to sleep, Pete,’ I grumbled. ‘They’ll go away.’
There it was again, the banging. Peter jumped in my arms and huddled against me; this time I sat up, my head a weight on my shoulders.
‘Audrey.’ The call again, real. ‘Audrey!’ I recognized the voice at last. It was Leo.
‘It’s all right, Pete. Let me get up.’
Peter still wrapped round my waist, I opened the door.
‘Hey,’ he said. I was glad it was dark. I felt him staring, his hand on my cheek. He was cold and I shivered.
‘Hi.’ I put my hand up and held his.
‘Can I come in?’ he said, and I didn’t know how to answer because I knew I was a mess and I knew what would happen if Mum came home.
‘Your mum’s at the pub; I saw her there,’ he said, reading my mind.
‘What?’ I thought she must have gone to work. What did I know?
‘So, I thought you might be lonely.’
‘I was asleep.’ It still felt as if this were part of the dream, that any second I’d wake up and realize that my mind had tricked me again.
‘You’re OK, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, come in, quick.’
He did and he put his arms round me and I knew then that it was all right. That he was the safest thing in my life and that I wasn’t disgusting or wrong and that Leo didn’t mind anything. Not my greasy hair and pale scorched skin, my thin fingers, my crooked bottom teeth, my glasses. All the things I didn’t know. None of it mattered to Leo. He was here, after all.
Leo
He’d been about to give up when Audrey opened the door, about to forget this madcap mission. And then there she was, standing before him like a ghost. Her face was confused in the dark as if she didn’t recognize him.
‘Can I come in?’
For a long time she didn’t answer and then, when he stepped inside and put his arms round her and held her, he felt her come alive, his own cold hands warming on her sleep-heavy skin. He kissed her cheek. He felt her smile.
Peter turned on the lights and before Leo knew it Peter was dragging out a game, one he’d not played in years, and they assembled themselves round the plastic square, bright hippos snapping and grabbing at little rolling balls. Audrey fierce with competition but letting Peter win, shouting with pretend despair; Leo holding hands with her, just glad to be here for a little while because this couldn’t last. That was something they all knew.
‘What time is it?’ Audrey asked.
‘It’s only ten.’
‘Oh, really?’ She walked and pulled back the curtain and looked out on to the drive.
‘We’ll hear her on the gravel,’ Leo said, and Audrey nodded and rested her head against his chest.
‘What are we going to play now?’ said Peter. ‘Hide-and-seek?’
‘No. It’s bedtime,’ Audrey told him. ‘Father Christmas will be here soon, Pete, and if you’re not asleep, how’s he going to leave your presents?’
‘Where’s Rudolph’s carrot?’ said Leo and they went to the kitchen and found a carrot and a biscuit and a glass of their mum’s sweet wine, leaving it all by the window. He’d have to come by the window, Aud explained, since there was no chimney.
‘You know, when I was little,’ Leo said, as Audrey tucked Peter in, ‘we always went away at Christmas, skiing or something like that. And do you know, Peter, one year we went to Lapland where the real Father Christmas lives.’
‘Did you see him?’ Peter sat up again. They both listened; Aud had a smile playing on her lips but her eyes glowed too.
Leo nodded, remembering quite vividly a frozen lake, huskies barking, his mother in a heavy fur coat, the stillness and beauty of winter.
‘I did. And do you know what I asked him for?’
Pete’s eyes widened. Flying saucers. Leo leant close.
‘I asked him for a little brother,’ he whispered, and then stood up and smiled and Peter smiled back.
Audrey led him back to the living room. ‘I guess I should go,’ he said. ‘I hope Santa comes.’
Audrey crossed her fingers and held them up, the sleeve of her pyjamas falling back, the light from a lamp catching the fair hairs on her arms and something else: a dressing on her arm.
‘What happened? What’s this?’
She pulled away sharply and pulled down her sleeve.
‘Nothing. An accident.’
‘What sort of accident?’
‘I was making tea. It was the kettle.’ Her laugh was small. ‘I’m always dropping stuff and making a mess.’
‘Oh.’ He could say that wasn’t true, that he thought she spun straw into gold, but instead he whispered, holding her hand again, standing close, ‘OK. Does it hurt?’
She shook her head against his chest.
‘I’ll be back. New Year’s Eve. Make sure you can get out. OK?’
She nodded. He wasn’t sure she’d heard.
‘I’ll be thinking about you, Aud, every minute. Right?’
Her eyes asked him, Really? So Leo kissed her, kissed her so she’d know just how much he missed her and wanted her and loved her. She kissed him right back. And everything he felt came bursting back at him. He loved that too.
‘I’d better go.’
‘Don’t,’ she said.
‘I have to; I don’t want to.’ They kissed each other again and this time she was the one to pull away and then bundle him out of the door as if realizing what it meant if they were found, as if the reality suddenly made sense.
‘Don’t forget,’ he shouted as he pounded down the stairwell. ‘Don’t forget. New Year’s Eve. I’ll be back.’
Audrey
The next morning Peter woke me up early and we opened our stockings, sitting on Mum’s bed. The night before seemed a dream and I tried to see out through the window across the fields to the farm, but the glass was fogged with condensation. Turning back to the moment, I stared at the gifts. Mum had gone mad with the shopping, as usual, and she lay back against the pillows watching us, still half-asleep. She hadn’t come back until one.
Mum’s room was a bomb-site. It wasn’t just the presents; there were piles of clothes and shoes and jewellery. Bags and boxes, unopened parcels full of things that I guessed she’d forgotten she’d even ordered. Maybe I’d tidy it for her some time, fix it up nicely. It would be something I could do, at least, to tell her I was sorry for us fighting, sorry that she was angry. Peter was working his way through the parcels, ripping through paper and assembling a pile.
I’d bought Peter a chef’s hat and a set of kids’ cooking utensils, plus a recipe book. It had been cheap, all I could afford, but he didn’t care.
‘Awesome, Aud, thanks,’ he said, tearing open the box, handling the whisk and the wooden spoon. ‘I’ll make us breakfast in a minute,’ he declared, all serious and important. I hugged him and Mum handed me her gift. It was a box, beautifully wrapped in shining gold paper. I almost didn’t dare open it, couldn’t imagine what it might be. Half of me thought about a typewriter, old-fashioned, elegant, but didn’t dare even imagine it. Or perhaps a globe. Maybe a huge box of books. It wasn’t heavy enough for any of those things and I swallowed down my expectations.
‘Go on,’ she said. ‘The suspense is killing me.’ The expression on her face told me I needed to love it, whatever it was.
I peeled back the paper. Stared. A Madison baby doll smiled up at me from behind her plastic casing.
‘She’s brilliant, isn’t she?’ said Mum, taking the box, releasing her from her manacles, careful not to rip the packaging. ‘Look, you can pose her in different positions.’ She started rearranging the thing’s limbs, straightening her gingham romper suit and matching bow. ‘She’s adorable. I thought you could start your own collection, Audrey. She’s good quality, Ashton Drake, like some of mine.’ She gestured at the shelf behind the bed, the dolls arranged in perfect lines. I tr
ied never to look at them, their faces freaked me out. ‘She’ll look good in your room.’
‘Thanks, Mum. She’s nice. It’s really kind of you. Thanks.’
I leant across the wrapping-paper mountain. Kissed her on the cheek. Her face tasted of stale make-up. Breath sour. She grabbed me and hugged too hard. I squirmed away, putting the doll to one side.
‘What? Don’t you like her?’
‘Yeah, but, you know, it’s not really my thing.’ I was trying to be honest. Not the best policy.
‘Well, that’s bloody charming that is, isn’t it?’ She sat back, folded her arms, refused to open anything else or to eat the breakfast Peter made.
After that, things went flat. Later Mum decided she couldn’t be bothered with the turkey after all. We had jam sandwiches on our knees in front of the telly, pulled crackers. Laughed fake laughs at the jokes. Not even the EastEnders special or the Mr Bean film could lift our spirits.
Mum shifted on the couch, tapping her fingers on the arm of the chair, checking her phone and then casting looks my way. Then she started.
‘You know, without me, without the doctors, you won’t manage.’
‘What?’ I said, not looking at her. I leant over and helped Peter fit another piece into his new jigsaw.
‘You think things are bad now?’ Mum went on. ‘Imagine what you’ll be like when you can’t get out of bed, can’t eat, if you’re hearing things, seeing things. You let your voices get any worse, Aud, and that’s it – you’ll be at breaking point. You can’t cope alone.’
‘Mum. Stop it.’ I stood up, fetched a glass of water and stood watching her from the doorway.
Mum heaved herself up and came over. ‘Let me see that arm,’ she said, grabbing at me, wanting to check the burns.
‘No, stop it. Leave it.’ I pulled away.
‘I’ll do the dressing. It might be infected,’ she said, snatching again at my arm. Her fingers grabbed right where it hurt.
‘It isn’t.’
Mum folded her arms. The way she looked at me, like Lizzy looked at me. Like I made her sick.
‘You should go to bed, Audrey,’ she said eventually – it must only have been half past five. ‘It’s time you went up. You’re not well.’