by Rona Halsall
With that thought in mind, she went into the kitchen, where Izzy was leaning against the worktop, two mugs in front of her, waiting for the kettle to boil. At least Izzy’s here if there’s any trouble. And that was a comforting thought.
The sour smell of rotting food filled her nostrils and as she sat at the breakfast bar, she noticed the bin, overflowing in the corner. Like the rest of the downstairs rooms, every surface was cluttered, and a sudden heat crawled up her neck, burned her cheeks. She wondered what Izzy thought of them living in such a mess.
The truth was Martha had given up trying to keep the place clean and tidy. Her mum was such a messy individual, it annoyed her that she had to spend time cleaning up after her. She’d gone on strike, hoping her mum would notice and change her ways, but it hadn’t worked and the house had degenerated into an unholy shambles.
There had been many times when she’d relented and tried to have a bit of a spring clean, but as soon as she’d cleared an area, she would come home to find that her mum’s mess had expanded into it. After numerous rows, she’d become so disheartened that she’d given up.
The assessor is coming on Thursday, she reminded herself and looked round, horrified.
‘Oh my God, there’s a bit of work to do in here, isn’t there?’
Izzy scanned the room and gave a dismissive flap of the hand. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll help you. It’s much easier if there’s two of you doing a job. That’s what I found when I was in—’ She stopped mid-sentence, her gaze suddenly fixed on the window.
‘When you were in what?’ It seemed a strange place to stop the conversation and Martha followed Izzy’s gaze, wondering if she’d seen something outside, but all she could see was the rise of the back garden and the fields beyond.
Izzy didn’t reply immediately, obviously lost in thought. She turned her gaze back to Martha and gave a small smile. ‘Oh, it was a while ago now.’ The kettle switched off and she poured water into the mugs then pulled a carton of milk out of the bag of groceries they’d bought on their way home, followed by a packet of biscuits, and came to join Martha at the breakfast bar.
‘Just menial things.’ She smiled, a funny, knowing little smile, like she was trying not to laugh at a private joke. She opened the biscuits and held the packet out to Martha for her to take one, before putting them on the worktop. ‘There was a period of time when I was… um, struggling. I had a lot going on at home and I sort of lost the plot a bit and, well…’ She shrugged. ‘I ended up in an institution for a while. We did a lot of cleaning.’ She laughed. ‘I’ve had a lot of practice at that. It was all part of the rehabilitation.’
Martha nibbled on her biscuit, thrown by Izzy’s comment. An institution? Her curiosity had been stirred. ‘What sort of an institution?’
Izzy stared at her as she chewed. Took another bite. ‘A secure institution for people with… um, what did they call it? Challenging behaviour.’
Martha shrank back on her stool.
Izzy laughed and leant towards her. ‘It’s okay. Nothing to be worried about. I’m all cured now. I was a teenager, lots of shit going on in my life that I couldn’t control, and I lashed out. Literally. So they locked me up for a while.’
Martha choked, coughing and spluttering as biscuit crumbs went down the wrong way.
Izzy carried on talking as though the last part of the conversation hadn’t happened, while Martha struggled to catch her breath. ‘This place is a shithole.’ She held up a hand in apology. ‘No offence meant, but it is.’ She looked around the room. ‘I should warn you that I can be a neat freak. If I’m going to be staying here for a while, I’m going to need a bit of… well, order of some sort.’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t do chaos like this. I really can’t. It just does my head in.’
Now the conversation had moved on, Martha didn’t feel she could go back and explore what Izzy had said without causing awkwardness, putting a focus on something that had obviously happened a long time ago. It’s in the past, she told herself as she cradled her mug. Doesn’t matter. Let it go. They wouldn’t have let her out if she wasn’t… She was thinking ‘safe’, but that was ridiculous. Of course Izzy was safe.
She took a sip of tea, reached for another biscuit and felt a new resolve develop within her. This was a turning point in her life and one she had to take full advantage of. Despite what Izzy had told her, she wanted her to stay. Look at how she is now, not what happened in the past, she counselled herself. And the reality was Izzy had been nothing short of amazing in the way she had dashed in to offer support. If Izzy couldn’t cope with mess, then what better motivation to give the place a complete clear-out, not just do the bits the assessor would be looking at? She wondered how she hadn’t noticed before how bad it had become, but then, she supposed, you get used to things and stop noticing after a while.
Why worry about stuff you can’t change?
That had been her philosophy, how she’d coped with it, because her mum was very protective of all her stuff and got quite agitated if Martha tried to reorganise things. She wasn’t allowed to help with any sort of paperwork, even though it was clear by the mess in the dining room her mum was not on top of any of the admin. She thought about the file of unpaid bills she’d found and decided this was her opportunity to get a proper grip on their financial situation. Once she knew what they were up against on that score, she could work out how they were going to cope.
A pulse of excitement ran through her. After all the terrible events of the last few days, this felt like a positive thing to be doing, a welcome distraction. For far too long, she’d let her mother control their lives, and now that was going to stop. When her mum got out of hospital there was going to be a new regime and Martha was going to be in charge of it. With Izzy there as backup, it felt like a new beginning.
She picked up another biscuit, noticed Izzy was staring at her, that secret little smile on her face. ‘What?’
Izzy laughed and shook her head, took a sip of her tea. ‘Nothing.’
Martha checked the time, surprised it was only just after two in the afternoon. It had been a long day already and her stomach was telling her that a few biscuits wasn’t what it needed. ‘Shall we have lunch and then get stuck in?’
‘How about you make lunch while I start emptying the little bedroom?’ Izzy looked ready for action, a determined gleam in her eye as she stood. ‘I’ll just bring everything down here, then you can sift through it later.’
‘Sounds good. I’ll just make some sandwiches, okay? Then we can cook something this evening.’
‘Perfect,’ Izzy said over her shoulder as she marched out of the room.
Martha heard her feet pound up the stairs, followed a few moments later by a loud thump as the first bin bag was lobbed over the banister and came bouncing into the hallway. Martha winced, decided to let Izzy do things her way and busied herself with buttering bread.
By the time the sandwiches were ready, the hallway was filled with bin bags and Izzy had also transported some of the boxes of clutter down the stairs.
‘Wow, that was quick,’ Martha said as she went through to call her for lunch.
Izzy grinned. ‘Best to do it in little spurts, I’ve found. Then it’s not too daunting. I’ve got the bed cleared at any rate.’ She wiped the back of her hand across her brow, having worked up a bit of a sweat. That was when Martha saw the marks, rows of silver lines across Izzy’s arm, all the way from her elbow to her wrist, crossed by two wide strips, so it looked like train tracks. Izzy caught her eye and quickly dropped her hand, pulled her sleeve back down.
Martha’s gaze skimmed over the sea of black plastic bags, not sure what exactly was in them. Probably clothes that her mother hoped to fit in again one day. Or bedding and towels passed on by Anna. She had a habit of bringing something every time she came. But Martha’s mind wouldn’t focus on the rubbish; it turned instead to the evidence of self-harm, possible suicide attempts etched on Izzy’s arm.
How do I ask her? How do you even
start a conversation like that?
Izzy stacked the bags so she could get past and Martha followed her into the kitchen, where she’d put the sandwiches on the breakfast bar with fresh mugs of tea. She thought Izzy might say something, but she sat down, picked up a sandwich and started eating as if nothing had happened. Martha eased herself onto her stool, a strained silence filling the room, while her head filled with questions she couldn’t ask.
Twenty-Three
Martha
Now
Martha ripped open the first of the bags while Izzy took a fresh supply of bin bags upstairs, along with a bucket full of cleaning materials. Conversation had been sparse over their lunch, which Izzy had bolted down as though she was in a race to go somewhere, and Martha decided to wait and see if Izzy volunteered information about her scars, because that would be so much easier than asking. Plenty of time to find out, she told herself, while her mind was busy creating its own versions of the truth.
She concentrated on the contents of the bag, which, as she’d suspected, was stuffed full of clothes. She dug out a jumper and held it up, wondering when her mum had ever been that size. It looked like something Anna might wear and guessed it could be clothes that she’d passed on. Never going to get worn, she concluded and took the bag outside and into the garage, where she could store rubbish and recycling to take to the tip.
One down, twenty to go, she estimated and was about to rip open another bag when her phone rang.
‘Hello,’ she said, wincing as she realised she should have checked the number before answering.
‘Hello, is that Martha Taylor?’ A woman’s voice, local by the sound of her accent.
‘Yes,’ she said, cautiously, the muscles tensing in her shoulders.
‘This is the intensive care unit. I’m just ringing to tell you that your mum’s come round, so if you want to come visit later, she’d love to see you.’
Martha sagged onto the stairs, her heart beating to a strange rhythm.
‘She’s still a bit groggy,’ the nurse continued, ‘but we’ve found family visits really help to lift a patient’s spirits and she’s already been asking for you.’
She’s okay. Martha couldn’t speak for a moment, and when she tried, an unexpected sob burst out instead of words.
‘It’s okay, love,’ the nurse said, her voice soft and kind. ‘I know it’s a difficult time. Can I tell her you’ll be here later?’
Martha sniffed and swallowed. ‘Yes,’ she managed to say before her body convulsed into proper ugly crying. She hadn’t let herself think about how poorly her mum was, a case of denial being the only way she could cope. But the thought of losing her made her sob even harder, which was stupid when she’d just been told she’d come round.
‘We’ll see you later, then,’ the nurse said before ending the call.
Martha sat on the stairs, her head in her hands, elbows resting on her knees while she rode the storm of her emotions. That’s where Izzy found her a few minutes later when she came downstairs with another box full of stuff for Martha to sort through.
‘Hey, are you okay?’ Izzy squeezed past, put the box down and came and sat next to her on the stairs.
Martha leant into her, resting her head on her shoulder while Izzy’s arm pulled her close.
‘What is it, hun?’ Izzy gently kissed the top of her head, something her mum did so often when they hugged, and it threatened to start her off all over again.
She pushed away, wiping her face on her sleeve. ‘The hospital rang.’ She took a deep breath, her words stuttering out. ‘Mum’s come round, and she’s asking for me.’
Izzy rubbed her arm. ‘Well, that’s good news, isn’t it?’
Martha nodded, her voice trembling when she spoke. ‘I thought she was going to die. I really did.’ She puffed out a breath, the shock of good news making her head buzz with disbelief. ‘I know she can be difficult and living with someone who’s got an addiction is hard going, but she’s my mum. Whatever she does, I can’t help but love her, you know, it’s so deep, it’s…’ She shrugged. ‘It’s part of who I am, and the thought of her not being around…’ She gulped, unable to finish the sentence.
Izzy’s eyes welled up and she looked away. Martha grabbed her hand, remembering that her mum had died when she was young.
Izzy’s voice cracked when she spoke. ‘I still miss my mum every single day.’
A lump grew in Martha’s throat.
‘When she died, it was one of the most difficult times of my life. My dad had left us a few years before, just walked out of our lives and we never heard from him again. We had no idea if he was alive or dead.’ She glanced at Martha. ‘I should have told you about Dad before, but… well, I didn’t want to make things about me, when you needed to talk about your problems. I suppose that’s why I could understand your situation – I’ve been through it myself. Mum took it pretty hard. Well, all of us did.’
‘All of you?’ Martha frowned. ‘So, you’ve got siblings?’
‘Yeah.’
Izzy was quiet and Martha wondered if that was all she going to get for now. Then she started talking again. ‘A couple of years before Mum died, my sister moved away, though. Abroad somewhere and she didn’t keep in touch. And then Mum died, and I was on my own.’
‘Oh, Izzy, that’s so sad. Is that why you… when you…?’
Izzy rolled up her sleeves, held her arms out in front of her, the scars even more shocking close up. ‘I suppose it’s obvious, isn’t it? My past is something I can’t get away from with these reminders. Yes, I was at rock bottom. Yes, I tried to kill myself. And they sectioned me, and I lived in a mental health unit at the hospital for a few years.’
Martha was shocked into silence, no words to form a fitting response.
‘And then I…’ She sighed. ‘Ah, that’s in the past. All water under the bridge. The point is hard times come and hard times go, and life has a habit of coming full circle. You know that saying? What goes around comes around? That’s what happens.’
Martha was confused, had no idea what she meant and was a little shaken by the reason she’d been sectioned in the past. How stable is she now? she wondered. Then she decided that was unfair. Izzy’s mum had died a long time ago and she was sure she must have come to terms with what had happened by now. She’d held down a responsible job for years – or at least she said she had.
‘Wow, that must have been really tough, losing all your family in such a short space of time.’ Martha cringed. Tough was an understatement, but what on earth did you say to someone with a situation like that? She had no idea, no experience to draw on. She found Izzy’s hand again, could feel the tremors shaking up her arm as Izzy clasped her hand tight and realised she was on the verge of tears.
‘Hey, cry if you need to.’ Martha managed to wriggle her hand from Izzy’s and turned to look at her friend. Her face was crumpled, eyes red and glossy, brimming with tears, and she looked so forlorn, so lost, it broke Martha’s heart. She’d thought her own life had been a bit of a struggle, but it was nothing compared to Izzy’s and she had no idea how to console her.
Izzy grabbed the banister and pulled herself to her feet before starting to walk back up the stairs.
‘I need to go to the hospital,’ Martha called after her.
Izzy turned, frowning.
‘Would you…?’ Martha grimaced, not entirely comfortable about asking, but she’d missed the only bus that would have got her there that afternoon. ‘Would you be able to give me a lift?’
Izzy stared at her as though she’d asked her to take her to the moon. ‘I think I’ll stay here and carry on clearing out, actually. There’s an awful lot still to do, and if I’m being honest, hospitals make me very anxious. It reminds me…’ She shrugged. ‘You get the picture.’
Martha sighed. ‘But I can’t get there if you don’t give me a lift.’
Izzy delved into her pocket and pulled out her keys. ‘Take my car. I don’t mind.’
Martha looke
d at her, mouth dropping open, stunned by the suggestion. ‘But I haven’t passed my test.’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t.’
Izzy huffed. ‘You said you’ve had loads of lessons. You know how to drive. And it’s only a little car. Dead easy.’ Their eyes locked and Izzy raised an eyebrow. ‘Who’s going to know?’
Martha chewed her lip. ‘I’m not sure if I should. What if I get caught?’
Izzy’s voice hardened, impatient. ‘Look, Martha, the thing is… I have driven hundreds of bloody miles over the last couple of days and I really don’t think I can face driving any more today. I’m tired, I’m emotional and I just want to get my bedroom sorted out so I can lie down and have a rest. If you want to go and see your mum, you’re either going to have to drive yourself or get a cab.’ Izzy threw the keys and Martha caught them. ‘Sorry, but there it is.’
Martha swallowed, looking at the keys. Will anyone know? She supposed Izzy was right. And she did know how to drive. It was her nerves that had made her fail the test, not her lack of competence on the roads.
I’m going to have to do it. Because who wouldn’t go and see their mum in intensive care, if they had the means to?
You’ll be fine, she told herself as she walked outside, opened the car and got in the driver’s seat. Hands shaking, she turned the key in the ignition. Absolutely fine.
Twenty-Four
Martha
Now