by S. J. Morgan
Jakesie was already there when I walked in. He’d put on a few pounds since I last saw him and, judging by his outfit, he had more of a discount at Griffin’s Men’s Outfitters than was good for him.
‘So, what are you up to in Swansea these days?’ he asked, as we stood at the bar. ‘Are you still studying?’
‘Nah, I jacked in the course. Decided teaching’s not my thing.’
‘Fair dos,’ he said. ‘So, you got any other irons in the fire?’
I took a swig of beer. ‘Still weighing up my options,’ I told him. ‘I might ditch the study idea and get a job instead.’
He looked at me like I had a screw loose. ‘You’ll be lucky,’ he said. ‘It’s all Youth Opportunity Programmes now; part-time government schemes. There aren’t any real jobs. Why d’you think I’m still stuck at Griffin’s?’ He took a mouthful of beer and shook his head. ‘Fucking Thatcher.’
‘Yeah, I know. But she’s there thanks to people like my dad!’
‘Mine too!’ he laughed. ‘He thinks she’s the dog’s bollocks.’
We stop-started a few more conversations but it was hard to hear him over the loudspeakers, and the few snippets I heard were still about politics. I drained my glass, keen for a reprieve. ‘Another?’
‘Cheers.’
As I turned, my elbow jabbed some warm, soft flesh. I looked up and an otherwise pretty face scowled back at me.
‘Sorry,’ I yelled, as the girl flicked some liquid from her arm. ‘I didn’t see you. I’ll get you a refill.’
She shook her head and said something as she began to move away.
‘C’mon, I insist,’ I said. ‘What are you drinking? Yard of ale? Slipper of champagne?’
The frown left her face and she stopped looking for a way through the crowd. ‘Okay. Half a cider, please.’ Her voice was even more difficult to hear than Jakesie’s but I watched her moist lips form the words.
‘Half a cider, coming right up,’ I said, and I put my free hand on her shoulder to lead her to the bar.
Ten minutes later we were still there, trapped in that awkward no-man’s-land of new acquaintanceship. I was holding Jake’s beer, ready to take over to him, while Daniella – my new companion – was sipping her original cider and nursing the one I’d just bought her. I couldn’t risk a gap in the conversation in case she saw it as her cue to leave so I was tossing anything out to keep a discussion going. ‘I haven’t seen you in here before,’ I said, all Mr Original.
‘I try to get here if there’s a band on.’ She ran a long-nailed finger around the rim of her glass. ‘You’re a regular then, are you?’
Her eyes were a deep, almost violet blue and what with the surprisingly dark lashes and eyebrows, her natural features had created their own networks of attraction; little pockets of interest.
‘God, no,’ I said. ‘Must be a couple of years since I was last in here.’
She slid her eyes to me: ‘Hardly surprising you haven’t seen me then.’
Jake came over to claim his drink. He said a brief hello to Daniella but was obviously keen to make his escape. ‘The others are here,’ he told me. ‘We’ll be down the front if you want us.’
I nodded but returned to Daniella as soon as he left. ‘So where are your friends?’ I said, looking around.
‘I got a lift with my brother,’ she told me, ‘so, I was hoping to see some of my mates down here.’ She gave a sheepish smile as her eyes swept the room. ‘Probably should’ve checked first though.’
She looked particularly cute when she smiled.
‘So, are they workmates or schoolmates, these imaginary friends of yours?’ I said.
She laughed. ‘They’re real enough! And they’re mainly old schoolmates. I’m a uni student now. In Bristol.’
‘Defected to England, eh?’
‘It’s barely across the border,’ she said, waving a dismissive hand. ‘I’m studying food technology.’
‘Food technology? What’s that – poking your nose into other people’s meal choices?’
She gave me a playful slap on the arm and nodded at my drink. ‘I could give you a detailed breakdown of the crap that’s in your beer if you like.’
‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ I said, holding my pint up to the light. ‘So, are you on summer break now?’
‘Yeah, kind of,’ she said. ‘I’ve kept my room over the holidays, though: it means I can escape from my parents whenever they drive me crazy.’
I nodded. ‘Most of the time then, presumably?’
‘Exactly!’
As I took a drink, Daniella glanced past me. ‘All right, Dani?’ I heard someone say. I turned and caught a glimpse of a dark-skinned guy with a ponytail.
‘It’s Daniella,’ she corrected him. ‘I’m good, thanks.’
‘Yep, you’re sure looking good.’
There was a certain pointedness in the way Daniella quickly returned her attention to me and her tone hadn’t been friendly. I checked behind me again and caught the guy’s eye, immediately wishing I hadn’t. I looked away.
‘Friend of yours?’ I asked Daniella as soon as he left.
‘Phil? He’s just a mate of my brother’s.’ She gave me a wry smile. ‘And, unfortunately, most of Mike’s mates are dickheads.’
We shared a laugh and even though a pause sneaked its way in, Daniella didn’t take the opportunity to leave. Instead, she edged forward on her stool. ‘And what do you do?’ She looked me up and down with that cool gaze of hers. ‘Are you a doctor? Lawyer? Rocket scientist?’
I smiled. ‘Yeah, I can see why you’d think that. Actually, I live in Swansea,’ I said, neatly sidestepping the question. ‘I’m just here for the weekend visiting my folks.’
‘Swansea?’
‘Yeah, I was studying there but now I’m...not.’
‘Well, I guess it’s a good a place as any to...not study. You’re about as far away from Cardiff as me then; just in the opposite direction.’
She had quite a low voice – calm but with a bit of assertion to it. It sounded like a voice you could trust. A voice that could tell you the sky was green, and you wouldn’t even have to look up to check. What with that and the long legs and steady gaze, I figured she could land someone like me in deep shit.
‘Shall we grab that one?’ she asked, as a table freed up nearby.
I didn’t need to be asked twice.
We were an unlikely looking pair: that was obvious even to an optimist like me. I was in my faded, stretched T-shirt and jeans and there was her all la-di-da in her lacy peach dress and high heels. She was what Mum would call ‘well turned out’.
The brother and his mates, meanwhile, were knobheads in their crisp, puffy shirts and ankle boots, supping on spirits.
Daniella groaned when ponytail guy stood up and headed in our direction with his empty glass. There were plenty of free spots at the bar, but he chose to stand at the end nearest our table. He ordered a whisky and his eyes drifted to us as soon as the barman took his glass.
‘I was trying to remember your name,’ he said to me. ‘We were in the same year at school, weren’t we?’
‘Were we?’
Daniella was having trouble stifling a smirk as she and I locked eyes.
‘Yes, we were,’ he said. ‘Westchurch High. Your name was on the tip of my tongue. Then I finally got it. Xander Johnston. Local man of mystery – if your reputation is to be believed.’
I gave an unconcerned smile, willing him away.
‘‘Course I was mates with Kev Mitchell,’ he said, eyeballing me. ‘Jill’s brother. Always two sides, eh?’
‘Right.’
I wiped the sweat from my top lip. It was a long time since I’d had to face anyone from school. Let alone someone in the know.
His butt nudged my chair as he reached over for his drink. ‘Cheers,’ he said to the barman. He squeezed past us, even though he could’ve gone the other way. ‘Watch yourself with this one,’ I heard him say into Daniella’s ear.
; There was a fleeting drop in her expression but next second, we both rolled our eyes and laughed.
Thankfully, Daniella was far too polite to even question what he’d meant.
Hers was a big, kick-ass house in one of the posh neighbourhoods just outside Cardiff; all wide archways and terracotta tiling. It wasn’t far away from us in terms of miles, but it was a world away in every other sense. While her folks’ view was of the water, and the English coastline, Mum and Dad’s backyard nestled against the main trainline into Cardiff city.
I parked on their gravel driveway and turned off the engine, the awkward goodnight-moment upon us.
‘Why don’t I give you my address in Swansea?’ I said, rifling Dad’s glove box for a pen and paper. ‘Just in case…y’know, you’re ever passing.’
‘You realise Bristol’s the opposite direction?’ she said, laughing.
I waved away her protest. ‘Ah, you could drive to Swansea in no time.’
‘We’ll see,’ she said. ‘Anyway, give me your address – you never know.’
I continued to hunt in the glove box but all I uncovered was a couple of prescriptions, a Swiss army knife and a Woolies carrier-bag – which presumably constituted Dad’s Plans B, C and D.
Instead, Daniella handed me a pad and a pen from her purse. ‘Here you go,’ she said.
I scribbled down my details and passed the pad back to her but instead of writing her own address, she looked at what I’d written then put everything away.
I was about to move in for the goodnight kiss but was put off my stride by headlights streaming through the rear window.
‘They’re back early,’ Daniella said, glancing up.
The car door slammed and Mike and three of his mates marched across the front lawn, giving us a few rude gestures as they went.
‘Funny that you and Mike’s friend were at the same school, eh?’ Daniella said.
‘Not really. But, like I said, I don’t remember him anyway.’
‘You must have made a bigger impression on him than he did on you.’
‘Naturally.’
Daniella’s glossy pink lips stretched into a smile, giving me sneak peeks of those perfect white teeth. She leaned in and planted a long, slow kiss on my lips. She tasted of apples and lipstick and I could have stayed there, enjoying her mouth for a very long time. However, an additional security light turned on and a silhouette appeared at the front window.
‘The curse of the vigilant father!’ Daniella said, with a sigh. ‘Sorry.’
She left me with a final kiss then unfolded her long legs to get out of the car.
‘Want to meet me for a drink before I go back tomorrow?’ she said, resting on my open window.
‘Sure.’ Nice and casual, I sounded.
‘Come over at twelve? We could get some lunch.’
‘Well, there goes my lie-in,’ I said, sucking in a breath. ‘But seeing as it’s you...’
She blew me a kiss before heading for the house and closing the door behind her.
And as I shifted the car into reverse, I thanked my lucky stars for spilled drinks and soft flesh.
Chapter 10
The following day, I stood considering the limited contents of my wardrobe. I didn’t know where Daniella wanted to go for our lunch date, but I figured I’d need to look decent, wherever it was. Unfortunately, my old wardrobe was full of all the clothes that hadn’t made the grade for joining me in Swansea, so pickings were slim. I reached in for a black shirt and gave it a sniff under the pits: yes, it was musty, ancient and probably on the tight side, but I figured it’d have to do. I pulled on my black jeans, put a few quid in my wallet and opened the door to negotiate another car favour from Dad.
But it was Mum standing there, blocking my way.
‘All right?’ I said, waiting for her to move.
‘Sorry, love,’ she said, staying where she was. ‘I’ve been on pins all morning. I couldn’t sleep. I was drinking tea at four.’ She looked me up and down and I spied a hint of approval somewhere in the wrung-out tension of her features.
‘This look all right?’ I said, gesturing at the shirt.
‘It looks lovely,’ she said. ‘Nice that you’ve made an effort.’
The comment caught me off guard: I didn’t remember telling her about Daniella.
‘Cheers,’ I said.
It was only when I saw Mum’s ironed trousers and dry-clean only jacket that realisation whacked me in the face. ‘Oh yes,’ I said, ‘the cemetery.’
Mum rubbed at a mark on my cheek. ‘All set?’ She turned to go downstairs.
‘It won’t take too long, will it?’ I said. I tried my best to make it sound casual, like an afterthought, but Mum spun around to me.
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s just that I have some other things to do – before I go back later,’ I said.
‘Today?’
‘Well...I warned you it was a flying visit.’
‘You’re going back to Swansea today? Today of all days!’ Her voice became more shrill with each word and, as she took a deep breath, her features seemed to fold in on themselves. ‘Why am I the only one who cares?’
‘Mum. It’s not that...’
‘First him. Now you! Why doesn’t anybody care anymore?’ She put her hands up to her face, her body rippling.
I reached out, but she shrugged me off. ‘No. I don’t want to hear it, Alexander.’
She swivelled on those Sunday best heels of hers and barged past me into the spare room, slamming the door so hard that the phone in the downstairs hallway chirruped on its rocker.
It was obvious I should have insisted on getting Daniella’s number. Belt and braces, and all that. But I hadn’t and, with Dad busy with the car and Mum having a minor meltdown, it looked like this was one romance destined to fail before it was off the starting blocks.
I left it as long as I could, but it didn’t seem like Mum was coming out of that room any time soon. I listened outside the door and gently tapped.
When there was no response, I turned the handle.
Something heavy stopped the door moving and, as I shoved it open, I heard the slide and rustle of paper. I stared across the floor. It felt like I’d just stumbled into Santa’s storeroom, except this was more of a down and dirty Christmas scene: Mum, the abandoned toy, sitting amongst the packages with her legs splayed.
Last time I’d been in that room, we’d just painted it. Two years ago, Mum and I had spent the weekend before college started rolling two tins of magnolia over Gina’s unicorn wallpaper and covering the pink carousel border with sensible white. The whole room, when we’d finished, was the vision of order and restraint, an anal-retentive’s kingdom of glory: a place for everything and everything in its place.
Now it had morphed into a Salvador Dali nightmare. There were clippings over every surface of the wall – pictures of kids in hospital beds; headlines of doom; warnings about every infant illness under the sun. The shelves, the carpet, the bed – they were riddled with sheets and papers. And peppering it all, plastic carrier bags stuffed to the gills with bright-coloured clothes, bursting out the top like they were gasping for air.
‘What is all this?’ I said.
‘It’s my...’ Mum waved an arm impatiently as if she couldn’t work up the strength to think about it. ‘It’s my life, I suppose.’ Her hand dropped into her lap as the comment landed. She said it like the admission was of no consequence, as if it was somehow natural or expected, like getting old.
As I stepped over piles of magazines, bags and boxes, I found it hard to reconcile the scene with the mum I knew. The mum who was sitting beside me, smartly dressed, perfumed and powdered; straight backed, strait-laced.
I moved a few carrier bags to squat down on the floor beside her but, even with those shifted, my hip was still crushed against hers.
‘I…don’t understand,’ I said.
‘Well, that makes two of us.’ She looked into her lap and from the corner of my
eye, I saw one or two spots soak into her trousers as tears escaped.
The only sound, when it eventually came, was the sharp click of my elbow as I reached across to hold her hand. Maybe it was surprise – or just awkwardness – but the gesture seemed to bring her to life. She lifted her head and looked around the room, like she was seeing it for the first time.
‘It’s since your dad retired,’ she said. The sinews in her neck bulged and a tissue was balled so tight in her other fist, her knucklebones shone. ‘Not because of his retiring, just…since. And I know it looks morbid with all these pictures on the walls, but it isn’t. It...it helps somehow.’ She chewed her lip, sucking it between her teeth like she was grinding her thoughts.
I couldn’t think of any way to answer. I sat, trying to get a crease out of my jeans. ‘Does he know?’
Mum mirrored my hand movement, smoothing down her trousers. ‘Dad? Not really.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means...’ She shrugged and it took her a few moments to gather what she wanted to say. ‘Your dad doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself anymore,’ she said, ‘let alone what to do with me. He’s a bit… lost, I think.’
It was like I’d accidentally peeled back the band-aid of their marriage. The scab was starting to come off and I needed to press it back down again.
‘Well, whatever’s going on with him,’ I said, ‘he needs to be here for you now.’
‘He is, love.’
I gave her a sidelong glance. ‘I mean really here, not just…in the house.’
‘Oh, he’s always been here for me,’ she said. ‘For all of us. Even when he was away.’
I took in the headlines splattered across the walls. The room hardly looked like the hideaway of someone with a sympathetic soulmate. ‘C’mon, Mum, you know that’s not true.’
The drone of a vacuum started up in the garage: Dad doing his weekend clean and declutter of the car.
‘How can you say that, Alexander? He’s always had our backs.’
‘Actually, he hasn’t always had mine.’
The discussion spluttered to a halt and Mum pressed her fingers against her eyes. ‘Why must it always come back to that?’ She turned to me, tears welling up: ‘And why dredge it up, today of all days?’