Single Mother

by Samantha Hayes

  ‘Really?’ Mel says, making a mental note to call the pest control man. ‘What about other cupboards around the hotel?’ Mel asks. ‘Do you think we’ve got an infestation?’

  Rose turns to face her, hands on her wide hips. ‘Oh no, definitely not. They’re after the food, not a kip in the towels.’ She laughs then – a deep, throaty sound, almost like a growl – giving Mel a lingering look.

  ‘OK… well, good,’ Mel says quietly, frowning, knowing she didn’t tell anyone about the dead mouse she’d found in her towels. ‘I’ll call someone out anyway to set some humane traps. Oh, and the decorators are painting in here tomorrow, so if you could get it cleared out by the end of today, that would be great. I’m happy to bribe with cake or alcohol!’

  ‘My kind of bribe,’ Nikki says, her face beaming.

  ‘We need this kitchen gleaming and functional. I’ve got lots of online things planned to promote our new menu before the launch. Rose, you’re a great chef, and Nikki, you’re excellent in the bar and serving. We’re going to rock this opening and bring Moreton Inn back to life,’ she says, with a sharp nod of her head. ‘We’ll have customers flooding in, you’ll see.’

  ‘Aye aye, captain,’ Nikki says, giving a salute from the ladder, grabbing on with her other hand as she wobbles. Rose doesn’t say anything, rather stares at Mel for a moment, her expression giving nothing away, before she lowers herself back under the worktop, making a groaning sound as she drops to her knees.

  Mel goes back to taking down the curtains and, with another armful of ancient and mildewed curtain fabric, she heads out to the skip again, feeling grimy and hot. She’s lost count of how many times she’s been up and down the stairs today and wants nothing more than a cool shower. It must be one of the hottest days of the year so far.

  ‘Nooo… ohh… stop!’ she suddenly cries, jumping back as the freezing water hits her face and neck. The curtains fall from her arms as she gasps for breath, shielding her face. Instead of moving away from the source of whatever’s spraying her, all she can do is stand there, frozen, trying to work out what’s happening. Water runs down the neck of her T-shirt on her bare skin and she feels her wet hair dripping down her back.

  ‘Christ, careful, Nige,’ Tom calls out sternly from the trench. He leaps out, running over to turn the tap off. Then he pulls off his check shirt, offering it up to Mel.

  ‘You OK?’ he asks her.

  Mel nods, wiping her face. ‘Yeah, thanks.’ Her heart skitters when, beneath the scent of laundry detergent on his shirt, she catches a vague hint of fresh sweat.

  ‘Sorry,’ Nige replies slowly, flicking the trigger on the nozzle gun several times, while staring at Mel. ‘Accidents happen. The catch must have got stuck.’

  ‘Oh dear, I look a right state,’ Mel says, laughing, catching her bedraggled reflection in a window. She gives Tom back his shirt. ‘But wait,’ she says, going up to Nige and taking the hose from him. She inspects it, pulling a puzzled face. ‘It was working fine earlier.’ She trails the hose over to the tap and turns it on. ‘Let’s test it, shall we?’ Mel points the nozzle directly at Nige, who’s now only a couple of feet away and, before he can react, she presses the trigger and a jet of water shoots out all over him.

  His hands come up to bat away the water, coughing and spluttering as he lunges to grab the hose off her. But Mel is too quick and darts backwards, laughing and waving the jet all over him, making certain most of him is drenched.

  ‘Oops, sorry,’ Mel says, finally releasing the trigger. ‘I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the hose gun at all,’ she says, laughing. Though she falls silent when she sees Nige’s red face, his angry expression, the glare he’s giving her.

  ‘You got me good,’ Nige says, his voice flat as he folds his arms tightly across his body. ‘Women aren’t to be trusted. I’ll be sure to get you back.’

  For a second, Mel freezes – hearing Billy’s voice instead of Nige’s, recognising the same pent-up look on his face, the twitch in his jaw.

  Can’t you take a joke? she wants to say but decides to keep quiet. She’s learnt the hard way that answering back only ever made things worse.

  ‘I… I’m sorry,’ she says, dropping the hose.

  Nige makes a grunting sound, wiping his face on the bottom of his T-shirt. He goes back over to the trench, grabbing his shovel and slamming it into the earth over and over, all the while his angry stare fixed on Mel.

  Twenty-Five

  ‘Micky… oh, Micky, how I’ve missed your face…’ Mel says in a silly voice, flopping back onto her pillow, her wet hair wrapped up in a soft white towel – one of three dozen she’d ordered for the hotel that had arrived that morning. The rest of her is clad in a soft waffle bathrobe – again from a batch she bought for the guest rooms. ‘I can’t believe how long it’s been since we spoke.’ She draws up her knees, resting her arm on her leg to keep the phone steady as she FaceTimes Michael, feeling exhausted but satisfied. ‘I want to know all your news. Like, now.’

  ‘Correction,’ Michael says, also dressed in his favourite robe – a tatty burgundy thing Mel knows he’s had since for ever. He’s at home, sprawled on his saggy dark green sofa, a gin and tonic to hand in what looks more like a bowl than a glass. ‘I want to know all your news. Like now.’

  Mel laughs, soothed by his voice. He’s always felt like a brother to her, right from the moment they’d met in the children’s home. His calm but assertive manner, his positive attitude, even aged only eight, had taught her how to have her own inner strength, unaware way back then how much she’d one day need to draw upon it.

  ‘Oh, Micky, Micky, Micky… you wouldn’t believe this place,’ Mel says at the screen with a laugh and a sigh. ‘It’s absolutely lovely, but I’m working so hard. It’ll be worth it, though. I’ve got the decorators in at the moment, and the extension footings are under way. But…’ Mel lowers her voice, ‘there’s a woman in room twelve. She’s very strange.’

  ‘Whoa, slow down there, my lovely,’ Michael says, taking a long sip of gin before lighting a cigar. For a moment, the screen is filled with grey-blue smoke as he draws and blows out. ‘Who’s very strange, apart from yours truly, of course?’

  ‘Miss Sarah,’ Mel replies quietly. ‘The woman who has the right to live here. Seems she also has the right not to speak to anyone. Not a word. And no one seems to know why. Not Nikki or Rose, or Tom… or anyone. Well, I mean, they’re the only three I’ve asked, to be fair, but—’

  ‘Wait, you mean the person mentioned in the Letter of Wishes doesn’t say anything?’ Michael’s face pinches with concern as he lays his cigar in an ashtray, suddenly sitting upright, looking tense. ‘That’s not right, Mel. I… I really didn’t expect that. Have you tried talking to her?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve tried several times but I get nothing back. It’s freaking me out. Kate is absolutely loving life here and I don’t want anything to upset that. God, and what’s worse, Tom said he saw a man earlier. In a red van, and it’s made me think that Billy’s found us. You know how paranoid I get. But then I also thought that old man in the village, Walter, was Billy from a distance, so I admit my mind is working overtime. I’m just exhausted, Micky. Oh, and we’ve got mice.’

  ‘Oh, darling,’ Micky says. ‘What a lot to deal with. Anything else?’

  ‘There was glass in my soup,’ she says, laughing. ‘I hadn’t got the heart to tell Rose, as I’m sure she’d have been mortified if she’d known. She’d spent the entire morning making it from scratch. At least there weren’t any customers in.’

  ‘That could have been really dangerous, Mel.’

  ‘I know,’ she says, raising her eyebrows. ‘There must have been a breakage in the kitchen and she hadn’t realised where the pieces had ended up.’

  Mel takes a sip of the wine she’s poured for herself. The hotel is all locked up and she needed something to help her relax and sleep. Wine and a chat with Michael seemed the obvious medication. But Tom’s words have been playing on her mi
nd all day. He looked a bit unsavoury…

  ‘I’m so pleased to hear Katie is getting on well,’ Michael says after Mel fills him in on her new school, telling him how she’s already made a friend – Chloe – and how she’s getting involved with after-school clubs.

  ‘It’s as though she’s found this new confidence, like a new Kate – or perhaps the real Kate – who was there all the time, but just hiding.’ Cowering, Mel thinks. ‘She and Chloe hit it off right away. They’re into the same things and have even started a fossil collection together. They love nothing more than digging about in the garden and… well, and just being kids. Anyway, once I’m a bit more sorted with the bedrooms, you must come down and stay. Will you be bringing Grindr Kev, or have we moved on now? The few guest rooms I’m tackling are shaping up beautifully. Wait, I’ll send a pic, hang on…’

  And Mel quickly switches screens, firing off a couple of work-in-progress shots to Michael.

  ‘Alas, Grindr Kev is no more,’ he replies. ‘But you know me, my little black book is stuffed with contacts all over the country. I’ve taken your advice and looked up one or two blasts from the past.’ He laughs, then checks out the pictures Mel sent. ‘You’ve done an amazing job, Mel. Where did this interior design goddess come from?’

  Mel smiles, pleased he approves. ‘I’ve been doing loads of online promotion, too. I’ve set up a Facebook page and plugged it on loads of holiday sites. I’ve got some enquiries already. And the restaurant and bar area is already looking like a new place. The locals are positively salivating from the flyers I’ve distributed. It’s all kind of snowballing, Micky, and I’m so bloody excited, I can’t tell you. But…’ She trails off, having another sip of wine, flopping back onto her pillow as she feels something dangerous bite deep inside her.

  ‘But you’re hardwired to self-sabotage anything good that may actually happen to you for no other reason than… it might actually be good?’

  Mel gives a silent nod. Stares directly into Michael’s bright blue eyes. If nothing else, she’s adept at fighting back the tears now. Has been for as long as she can remember.

  ‘Only weak people cry like babies…’ Billy had once said, his hand around her throat, his knee pressed hard between her legs. She can’t even recall why he’d got her pinned up against the kitchen wall of the little terrace in Birmingham they’d rented together just a few months earlier. A home for them and the baby growing inside her. They’d been together a year by that time, and she hoped things would get better.

  He’d slammed her head back against the wall then, making her see stars as she tried to work out what she’d done wrong.

  Billy had adored Kate from the moment he’d set eyes on her. But soon after the birth, Mel became disposable again. A piece of trash. It was what she’d grown up learning, after all. And the familiarity was some kind of comfort.

  ‘He’s got more red flags than a communist rally,’ Michael had once told her when Mel described her new boyfriend to him, a few weeks after meeting Billy at the bus stop. He’d begged her not to go out with him, but she’d not listened.

  ‘I never saw them myself,’ Mel whispers to herself as she lies on the bed now, having finished her call with Michael. ‘I never saw Billy’s red flags.’ She sips her wine, wondering how she’d been so completely colour-blind.

  Twenty-Six

  When she wakes, Mel feels refreshed – as though she’s been asleep for a hundred years. She breathes in deeply, her eyes adjusting to the sunlight streaming in through her curtainless bedroom window. The new ones still haven’t arrived.

  She stretches out, remembering the call with Michael last night before she fell asleep. It was good to talk, she thinks, sitting up and glancing at her phone to check the time. The window is open a few inches and she feels the fresh sea air wafting gently over her skin.

  Shit!

  ‘Kate!’ she calls out. ‘Katie, it’s twenty to eight!’ She leaps out of bed and grabs her robe, wrapping it round her, fumbling with the belt. She knows how long it takes her daughter to get going in the morning, plus there’s the ten-minute walk to the school bus stop. If she misses it, Mel will have to drive her, and she’s got builders to see to first thing.

  ‘Kate, you’ve got exactly fifteen minutes to be up, washed, dressed, fed and your sports kit gathered,’ Mel calls as she flings open her bedroom door. She’s about to call out Kate’s name again when she stops.

  She hears voices around the corner on the landing.

  Two female voices, whispering.

  Mel halts, straining her ears, catching the odd word or two.

  One voice certainly sounds like Kate’s – there’s no doubting that. But the other voice she doesn’t recognise at all. It could be Nikki, she thinks. The girl’s so keen, she wouldn’t be surprised if she’d arrived at work early. But no, it’s too old-sounding for Nikki.

  Pulling her robe around her, Mel heads down the corridor and around the corner. She suddenly stops, her bare toes curling into the carpet, her hand reaching out to the wall.

  ‘Kate, love?’ she says, her eyes flicking between her daughter and Miss Sarah, who is standing about three feet away from Kate. The woman’s arms are folded across her small chest, her shoulders bony and protruding beneath the cream blouse she’s wearing. It’s the first time Mel has seen her in short sleeves, and she’s surprised by how muscular her forearms seem, despite their thinness. And her skin is smooth and pale – making her appear much younger than Mel had originally thought.

  ‘Love, you’re going to be late for—’ But Mel stops, seeing that Kate is fully dressed in her uniform, her hair brushed and neatly tied back, and she has her school bag in one hand and her sports kit in the other.

  ‘I’m all ready to go,’ Kate replies breezily. ‘And I’ve had breakfast.’

  Mel touches her head. ‘I overslept. I’m so sorry, love. I should have woken you.’

  ‘That’s OK, Mum. I set my alarm.’ She flashes a little smile at Miss Sarah, whose blank expression doesn’t change.

  ‘Well… well done, love. Why don’t you go downstairs and unlock the front door so Rose and Nikki can get in?’

  Kate nods and heads off, giving a last glance to Miss Sarah as she goes.

  Mel crosses her arms, mirroring the frail-looking woman standing in front of her.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Sarah,’ she says, once Kate is out of earshot. She takes a step closer, offering a smile in the hope it will elicit something. It doesn’t. ‘I can’t help wondering,’ Mel continues, ‘if… if I just heard you and Kate having a little chat. I mean, that would be wonderful if you were. Kate’s a lovely girl… but it would seem…’ She pauses, making a pained expression. However she says it, it’s not going to come out right. ‘It would seem a little… perhaps a little strange that you don’t speak to anyone else. I’d love to have a chat with you, too. Get to know you. Perhaps we could have breakfast together?’

  Mel waits, studying the soft, powdery skin on Miss Sarah’s face. Hardly a line or wrinkle – which figures for someone who’s most likely never made a facial expression in goodness knows how long. But unless her ears just deceived her, then Mel knows she is capable of speaking.

  Nothing. Miss Sarah remains silent.

  It’s just as Mel is turning to go, letting out a barely audible sigh of frustration, when she catches sight of a tiny glimmer of a smile – barely a twitch – on the older woman’s lips.

  ‘Bushed. Done in. Knackered. Beat. Fried. Pooped and worn out.’

  Just home from school, Kate giggles, dumping her school bag on the bar before giving Mel a big hug. ‘Poor old Mum,’ she says, giving her a squeeze. ‘Shall I make you a cuppa?’

  Mel pulls back, looking at her daughter for a moment. ‘Are you feeling OK?’ she asks, giving her a quick tickle. ‘That’d be lovely. Thank you. Then… then I was wondering if we could have a quick chat.’

  ‘Sure, Mum. Why don’t we sit outside? It’s a lovely day.’

  As Kate heads off to the kitc
hen, Mel unwraps a few more of the new glasses that arrived earlier in the day, ready to be washed and put away in the freshly painted bar. She can’t help the occasional glance around the restaurant area, seeing everything taking shape.

  ‘Coming,’ Mel calls out in response to Kate a few minutes later as she squashes down another empty cardboard box. She grabs several others and heads outside, chucking the cardboard into the recycling skip as she passes. ‘Just what I need, thanks, love,’ she says, taking the tea and perching on the wall next to her. ‘Good day at school?’

  Kate nods eagerly. ‘It was ace. I got picked for the relay team and we did dissection in biology. And I had chicken, chips and salad for lunch.’

  ‘Sounds like a good day indeed, then,’ Mel says, building up to what she has to say. ‘You know this morning, on the landing, when I overslept? I… well, I couldn’t help overhearing you talking to Miss Sarah. At least, that’s what it sounded like.’

  Kate bows her head, picking at her fingernails.

  ‘What was she saying, love? She never says a word to me.’

  Kate shrugs and sips her tea.

  ‘I think you’ll agree it’s weird that she lives with us but doesn’t speak. I mean, she literally could be anyone – from someone really vulnerable to a serial killer.’

  ‘She’s not a killer,’ Kate snaps back.

  ‘Oh? How so?’ Mel says in a coaxing voice. But she knows Kate, knows how she clams up when pressed. ‘Did she tell you that?’

  Kate shrugs again, then gives a little nod. ‘I guess.’

  ‘It’s important you tell me what she said, love. After you’d gone downstairs, I tried to talk to her but she didn’t reply. Can you remember what she said to you?’

  Kate stares up at the sky for a moment, tracking an aircraft, watching its disintegrating vapour trail. ‘She… she said something about being just like me once. Or liking me. I can’t remember. Her voice was very quiet. But…’