by Rita Edah
“Don’t you dare ‘hunh’ me, young man. I want to see your homework.” I was trying unsuccessfully to keep my voice firm and authoritative.
“Since when, Mum?”
Ouch! “Well, since right now.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me, mate.”
And with that, he was gone – not to his bedroom, but out of the flat.
By the time he returned at about midnight, I was in no mood to pick up the conversation, just so relieved that he’d returned all right.
Daisy’s growing bun was the main light in my sky during this period. Beauty was more withdrawn than usual. I figure Daisy’s pregnancy must be hard for her. But Daisy herself was glowing. The few times so far that Rob hadn’t been able to attend an appointment with her, she’d asked if I’d come along, as her second birth partner. I’m so chuffed. She’s confided in me that they will ask Beauty and Theo to be the baby’s godparents. And that they are thinking of naming her Sunita after Daisy’s ante-natal class instructor. I smiled, sure they’d have had so many other name options by the time the baby came along.
Daisy was also a good reservoir for my moans, groans and rants about my run-ins with Josh and Ash. And of course my renewed rilings about being left to raise them on my own.
Spring 2002
Theo
It is a good thing Beauty is becoming herself again. I know she’s always been a moody one, but the moods seem to be coming more frequently and lasting much longer. This has been the longest yet. The baby issues may have something to do with it, but like I’ve said over and over again, it’s just a matter of the mind. She is born to be a mother – if she puts her mind to it, it will happen.
Melody, however, is a different story entirely. I shouldn’t have been surprised to hear all that’s gone on with Josh and Ash. She was always so full of herself – if she’d given Nick some slack, I’m sure he’d have stuck around and that would have made a difference to the situation. Every man likes to feel that he’s the best thing that happened to his woman, no matter what. Although I admire Mel’s fierceness and sometimes wished Beauty would borrow some of it, I think Mel should mellow it a bit and accept the disciplinary presence of a man in her life. It would do her and her children some good.
I hate to think that Ash – intelligent, pretty and kind Ash – could go off the rails because of uncurbed rebellion. As for Josh, I meet so many of his type now that I’ve been moved to Neighbourhood Policing. Vital statistics as follows:
Gender – male.
Age – 14-19.
Ethnicity – black or mixed race.
Family background – single parent mum.
Status – NEET (Not in Education, Employment or Training).
Achievements – petty thievery; drug user/dealing; street terrorism; gang leadership/membership; unmarried fatherhood.
Results – drug addiction; alcoholism; imprisonment; premature death due to drug accident or overdose, drink-driving accident, gang rivalry or simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
The more I think about it, the more I think I should have been more involved in the lives of these children. If only for Beauty’s sake.
She surprises me, Beauty, and sometimes I react in a way I am not proud of. Like the other evening. I’d had a very stressful day – not that there is ever a day that isn’t stressful. One of the many incidents we’d had to deal with had to do with this delinquent who should have been in school but instead was terrorising elderly people in the town centre. And considering he wasn’t yet 10 it was a bit difficult deciding what to do with him. Finally we took him home to his obviously tired mother who said she was hoping we’d arrest and detain him. I’m sure a clip round the ear would have worked, but we can’t do that now; she won’t do it and it doesn’t look like his dad is around to do it either. So we gave him a good talking to and let him off. He promised to be of good behaviour. I’m not holding my breath…
I must still have had my head at work although my body was at home and my eyes were looking at the TV screen. I don’t think I heard the beginning of her sentence, but the end bit was “… do you think Joshua will end up in prison?”
“Why?”
“Well, you would have a clue wouldn’t you?”
“And what makes you think I’m Mystic Meg?”
“Why do you turn everything into a battle?”
“Why can’t a man come in from work and have a rest without being quizzed?”
By now her eyes were glistening. That just gets my goat. She says, “We are a family, Theo, and families talk and listen to each other.”
“And if you were listening, you would have heard that I need a break.”
“Okay,” she sighed. “Enjoy your break.”
The rest of the evening was so quiet I wished I were at work.
I really wish she would understand the stresses of my work. Perhaps if she were fulfilled in herself, she wouldn’t be so clingy. I wonder whether I should’ve encouraged her to go on the childcare course – that could loosen her up and help with her getting pregnant again. And when that happens, she’ll go on bed rest from Day One. I’ll take on any overtime going to ensure that I am able to pay for her care and the baby’s. She need not worry about money. In fact, I should start doing more overtime even right now.
That’s settled.
The first thing I’ll do on Monday will be to pick up the application pack myself. She missed the February start but she can still get in for September. I will help her dreams come true. I can’t wait for her to look on me with pleasure once again…
Spring 2002
Ashleigh (aged 12)
I don’t want to be Josh’s look-out anymore. After school today when he, Sam and Jerry started going to the old Indian’s shop, I told him I quit. The man had just recently died. His widow looked so lost. She could have been Mum. I said how would he feel if it was Mum, and some people did this to her?
“Did what?”
“Stole from her when she was still grieving?”
“They’ve done so already,” he replied
“Done what?”
“Stolen from her.”
“Who did?”
And then he smiled that annoying ‘I know something I can’t tell you’ smile. I stamped my foot. “Who stole from her when she was grieving? If you don’t tell me then forget it! I will not look out for you! Really, I’ll shop you in myself!”
“You wouldn’t do that.” He was still smiling.
“Why not?”
“Because you love me too much to let me rot in jail.”
I hate to confess that he was right.
In under three minutes they were out, pockets bulging. I hope their teeth rot and fall out in the prime of their lives. I remained rooted to my post as they filed past. When Josh saw I wasn’t following, he came back and said, “Come on then.”
“You guys go ahead. I think I’ll go hang out in the park for a bit before coming home – and don’t save me any sweets, I’m sick to the stomach of this.”
For a brief moment he kinda looked sad. Then he was back to his annoying self, grinning, “Well, have it your way. And thanks, bruv.”
It’s so unfair – I am not his mother.
His mother, who happens to also be my mother, she said I should have told her. That Josh was bunking off school. And mucking about when he bothered to stay. And about the letters that he never gave her. And about the nicking. About taking other kids’ lunch money. About saying he would slay Sophia’s dog if she didn’t go out with him.
So she went mental on me. Why did that surprise me? She’s always mad at me, forever complaining about this, that or the other. Even stuff that Josh does somehow manages to be my fault. So unfair.
Now she’s saying that one day she’ll run away from home. She can do what she wants, I can’t be bovvered. I’ll probably run away before her – she won’t be able to leave Josh behind.
Sometimes I wished she’d just given me up at birth. Or that my dad had taken
me when he left. But I’m sure he couldn’t be bovvered either, else he’d have stayed.
Oh, well. Whatever…
CHAPTER 8
Summer 2002
Melody
When Esther at work first told me about the Arise and Shine conference, I listened out of sheer courtesy. It was one of those times when our shift ended at the same time and we walked to the bus stop together. She’d taken an interest in me when I first joined the shop team and has since kept up with the ups and downs of my life. I felt comfortable confiding in her, often feeling better just for the talking. She radiated a warmth that I found quite soothing. And she allowed me to just carry on and on and on…
This day, however, she asked me if I had anything lined up for the summer. “Apart from being available for Daisy’s delivery, I’m pretty much a free woman,” I replied.
“When is her expected date of delivery?”
“27th July. Why? Are you also a midwife?” I couldn’t resist another opportunity to tease Esther.
“You never know,” she smiled. “I’d like you to think about coming to a Salvation Army conference.”
I knew she sang with the Salvation Army at Christmas and I’d attended some of their carol services, but attend a conference? No thanks.
“Think about it. You have nothing to lose. And if you gain nothing, you will at least have had a well-deserved break. Much better than running away from home.” She winked with the last remark. I took the literature she handed me and promised to read it on one of those nights when sleep played ‘hide and seek’ with me.
And that’s what I did. I merely scanned the information regarding speakers, worship leaders and workshop facilitators as none of them made any difference to me. I only knew a number of local vicars and curates, none of whom were present in this jazzy six-page A4 booklet. The trees did capture my attention though, as well as the blurb on Ashburnham Place, its history and facilities. However, what took most of my time and attention were the reviews from others who had attended in previous years.
One of the shortest testimonials read in part, ‘Although many people had significant spiritual experiences, I just had simple rest for my body and soul’.
Simple rest for my body and soul. Away by myself, no children, no sister, no friends (well, apart from Esther, but she’ll be busy anyway), no guys, no thinking about guys – hopefully. Just myself. The longer I stayed awake that night, the more the idea grew on me. I don’t know exactly when I dropped off but I awoke with the fluorescent flyer nestled close to my chest.
Then it hit me. What about the children? I know they’d love to be home alone, and to be honest, a few months ago I’d have had no qualms in letting them look after themselves for the whole weekend. They wouldn’t want to come with me, and if they did, it would spoil it for me. I went around the rest of the day like a wrung-out tea towel until Daisy came up with an idea.
“Why not send them away somewhere?”
“What, like a weekend away for each of them? That has financial implications and I hadn’t quite planned for this.”
“How about to friends and/or relatives?”
“Of course! But I wouldn’t want to be a bother… in your condition, you don’t need rebellious teenagers to give you high blood pressure.”
Daisy wouldn’t let me back out of it. She offered to chat with Beauty and Theo about them having Josh while she and Rob had Ash for the weekend. That way, they also would have a break from each other as together they seemed to be as thick as thieves.
“I think Beauty wouldn’t mind,” I mused. “But what about Theo? He can be quite unpredictable sometimes.”
“I don’t think he’d mind either. If it’s a problem, we can find a plan B,” Daisy insisted.
That was four weeks ago.
By 6pm on Thursday both couples had come to pick up their ward for the weekend.
I had never woken up to a quiet house before – apart from when they’ve both been still asleep. This was the first time I could remember waking up without either of the children being at home. Suddenly having the bathroom to myself for as long as I wanted lost all the pleasure I had packed into it. Is this what an empty nest feels like? As my headache intensified, I began to seriously consider cancelling the whole thing and calling for my kids to be returned home to me.
Spending some time in each of their bedrooms was meant to be an antidote. And it worked – in a different way than I intended. Josh’s bedroom was a carpet of jeans and t-shirts sprawled over trainers and socks. Hardly any uncovered space on the floor, or the bed or the desk. How he manages to find his stuff, I don’t know. I must pull him up on this when I get back.
I found Ash’s bedroom, however, to be relaxing in her pastels and cushions and stripy bits. She still loves her Cinderellas and her delicate perfume lingered in such a soothing way – just what the doctor ordered. Sitting on her bed to extend the experience, I pick up and cuddle her pillows. Purposely inhaling her, my eyes are drawn to some scribbling on her otherwise immaculate wooden bed frame. I lean in to see better.
Line 1 said: ‘Q: who do I hate more than my mother?’
Line 2: ‘A: My stupid self that’s who’.
I don’t know how I made it from the flat to Stratford station thereafter. My fear of travelling on the tube on my own took a back seat. To Ash. My Ashleigh. She hates me. And she hates herself. Why does that surprise me? I know we’ve had our issues, but surely that will pass and our relationship will be good again. Is this part of the transition? Is this a rite of passage? Or is it deep-rooted? And to hate herself, poor child, she is so accomplished, so loved. Why would she hate herself?
Perhaps it’s to do with her dad. I should have told her. I should have told them. I should have ensured there was a father in their lives. So really, she should hate me, and me alone. For it’s me who’s failed her, and Josh. And I don’t know how to put it right.
The whole journey was very nearly uneventful. My train from Victoria to Bexhill through Battle was due to leave in a few minutes when I arrived at the station. I practically flew through ticket barriers, glad for having travelled light. Missing it would have meant another hour of wandering round Victoria and probably putting more shopping on the plastic that is already buckling. No, I no longer loiter in areas of temptation.
Relieved that I made it, I plugged into my MP3 player and was surprised when I awoke with a shock to see an inspector who’d obviously been speaking to me. He looked like a tired, patient man.
“Ticket please, Ma’am.”
“I certainly got a ticket.” I smiled to cover up my panic when a foray into my jacket pockets delivered nothing. I hoped I hadn’t dropped it in my marathon sprint, I thought, as I delved into the back pockets of my combats and found it.
Whatever relief I felt disappeared when he intoned, “You’ve got the wrong ticket, Ma’am.”
“That’s not possible.” I’d made it clear to the telephone travel advisor that I needed an open return to Battle, and that’s what I got – and I’d given myself a pat on the back for booking 21 days early to get a good discount. What I’d forgotten to do in my hurry today was to check that I was in the right section of the train as it splits at Tonbridge. The kindly advisor had stressed this to me when he realised it was the first time I was travelling this way.
“I got a valid return to Battle. Am I in the wrong carriage?”
“Not only are you in the wrong carriage, this will take you to Folkestone. But you are also in the first class coach while your ticket is for economy.”
The prickly heat inched its way rapidly from my shoulder blades, through my neck to my face. I felt like I was reeling, even though I remained seated. “I do beg your pardon, it wasn’t intentional,” was all I could mutter.
“I can see that, Ma’am. Unfortunately, that doesn’t really matter.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You are liable for a £50 fine for being in a first class coach without a valid ticket. However, as I’m wearing a
black tie today, I can waive it. If it were a green one, I’d have had no option but to book you.”
I mumbled my thanks, then snaked and bumped my way through six carriages to get to the right one in the midst of the tannoy announcement ‘…be sure you are in the right coach for your destination…’
I spent the next 25 or so minutes staring at the countryside, totally unplugged, wondering whether I’d really been saved from a fine by the colour of a tie. That was much easier than thinking about some other aspects of my life.
As the taxi from Battle station drove me through the tree-lined Appian Way into the reception courtyard of Ashburnham Place, the daunting view into infinity was tempered by the soothing smells of freshly cut grass and welcoming woods.
Summer 2002
Ashleigh (aged 12, nearly 13)
I thought she was off her rocker. I didn’t want to go spend any time with anyone else, thank you. I liked my own bed. My own room. My own stuff. And no, I didn’t want to take Bertie for company. Come on, where has she been?
The other option was to go with her to her camp thingy. No way. Why couldn’t she just leave us home alone? After all it’s just for three days. She was like, “Not an option. I don’t trust either of you.”
Yeah, thanks Mum. Neither do I trust you. But I only said that in my head. I didn’t want another big thing. I just wanted to stay in my bedroom. If she didn’t like it, she could stay home. And I told her so. We were in the middle of it when Aunty Daisy turned up.
Seeing her tummy nearly on her thighs, my heart skipped a beat. “Are you having that baby now?” She stroked her bump tenderly. “Oh no, not for another four weeks yet. Will you please come shopping with me? There’s so much I need to do, time is short, it just helps to have somebody trendy help with the tricky decisions.”
“What, like right now?”
“No, I’m too tired to go shopping tonight. But if you would come with me, I can show you the nursery, what’s been done, what’s left to do and what bits we need to buy.”
I knew what she was doing. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to play along. I’m getting very stressed with all the fights with Mum. And she never takes me shopping with her.