‘So what do you think, Ben?’ Uncle Simon broke into his reverie. Ben shrugged. ‘Aren’t you the outdoor type? I think some of the others might be going to a pottery place. Would you enjoy that more?’
Ben shrugged again. ‘Our family doesn’t normally do that kind of thing,’ he said quietly. ‘It costs money.’
Simon’s heart melted in his chest, a drooping, dripping sadness dribbled over his diaphragm. He pushed Todd off his knee and slid onto the floor, crawling across the space towards the game board and lay down next to Ben. ‘Well, d’ you know what? I can’t see your mum wanting to go canoeing tomorrow, can you? And your dad’s taking Aunty Belinda to a stately home to look at furniture and paintings and stuff. So how about you join our family for the day? Our family does that kind of thing all the time and we don’t care if it costs money, do we, boys?’ He rolled over and beckoned to Todd and Toby. They launched themselves upon him; he scooped Ben into the morass of flailing arms and legs and squirming, ticklish flesh, his voice drowned out by their whoops of excitement.
Rob, sent to tell them that dinner was almost ready, stood at the door with his mouth open. The small boys were wriggling over Simon like puppies, he was mock fighting and tickling them; they were helpless with laughter and pleasure. Rob had never seen anything like it in his life, certainly he had never played with his father in such a way - or in any way, come to that. The realisation added another layer to the festering laminate he was trying to accommodate; embarrassment and another emotion which he struggled to identify; a yearning for something lost. But not lost in any way which would imply that it had ever been enjoyed. It was absent entirely, a black hole of longing.
‘Dinner in five,’ he said loudly, into the noise.
✽✽✽
Les and Muriel paced slowly around the gravelled sweep in the darkness. They held hands. Although it hadn’t rained since lunchtime the grass was still soaking wet, overlaid now by golden leaves torn free by the wind in the night. Roger snuffled and rummaged busily, lifting his leg here and there, excited by the foreign scents and country textures under his paws. Les puffed at his pipe and enjoyed the feel of Muriel’s soft, warm hand in his, and the rub of her shoulder against his arm. He listened to her recount the day’s events.
‘…of course,’ she was saying, ‘Mother’s far worse now than when I had her with me. But she’s biddable enough, mainly. And the tablets make her sleepy. This is a lovely house, so clean, and everyone’s so kind. Do you think it would be alright if I had a bath, tonight?’
‘I’m sure it would be fine. How has June been?’
‘Cold. She’s hardly spoken. Very proud. Don’t worry,’ Muriel squeezed Les’ hand, ‘I can forgive her, now.’
Les squeezed back and they sauntered in silence for a few paces before he asked, ‘How do you find Robert? I think he’s too much for Mary. I tried to tell her as much.’
‘He’s had the stuffing knocked out of him. Not altogether a bad thing. He could be very nasty. He’s like Mother.’
‘So is June. June hasn’t a caring bone in her body. Robert could be vicious. They’re all selfish and cruel, except for you. Are you sure you’re a real McKay?’
Muriel laughed. ‘As far as I know! They’re not so bad. Robert’s children are all lovely, especially Belinda.’
‘That’s Mary’s influence. Perhaps the McKay blood will improve as it becomes thinner and more diluted down the generations. Watch out for Elliot, though. He was horrible in the pub just now. I wanted to hit him.’
‘That’s not like you,’ Muriel shivered. ‘It’s time we went in. This is turning out to be a real treat, though. I’m seeing more of you than I would do at home. And Roger likes his holiday, don’t you, pet?’ Roger appeared at their feet, wagging his rear end and wheezing happily. ‘It’s nice.’ She turned to him, and he kissed her lightly.
‘Don’t you mind if someone sees?’ she asked, scanning the windows of the house.
‘No,’ he said, ‘I don’t.’
✽✽✽
Mitch slumped in the gloom of his room. He had brought his portion of lasagne upstairs with him, the prospect of the family birthday meal had been too much, a step beyond the limits he imposed upon himself. It would have been, he told himself, an intrusion; they all would have felt it. With the baby safely in bed, Jude and Heather languorous with the day’s fresh air and exercise and no reason to expect a further sanguineous or bilious outbreak, there was nothing they could possibly need from him and no reason, therefore, for him to remain. As much as he might have enjoyed the legitimate opportunity to look at Ellie as she presided over the celebratory meal, he would have felt his his lack of belonging all the more. He wasn’t sure if he could have trusted himself in the all-too-likely event of some cutting, malicious remark from her brother. After all, he thought bitterly, it wasn’t his place to defend her.
His scheme to land Rob up to his neck in it had obviously failed. It made Mitch feel both frustrated and relieved. He would have thought it would have been enough to secure the lad’s ignominious ejection, but for some reason the plan had gone astray; maybe someone had found and discreetly disposed of the page he had planted in the bathroom. Or removed it for their own furtive enjoyment. If it had come to light it had certainly been dealt with swiftly and discreetly. His intervention had sailed him dangerously close to the wind, trampling those deliberately self-erected boundaries of passivity. Being pro-active had felt like breaking his own rules. He must, he really must, resist the temptation to become involved.
The golf on the following day would help, he thought. Spending the day with the least appealing member of the family would cure him of his burgeoning sentimentality.
Heather – A Memoir from 1978
Heather was awoken by a strange and furry tickling sensation on the pillow by her ear. By the time she had struggled to sit up the mouse was on her bed-spread, looking at her, its whiskers twitching. It had two heads, one at each end, with round blunt noses like a pig and black beady eyes and a red belt round its middle. Then she blinked and it had gone.
The room was gloomy; she could barely see Ruth’s bed across the room. In the day time, even with the curtains closed, there was enough light to see by and it was pink and sugary, like a fairy-tale. At night time, when the light was off, you couldn’t see anything at all and Heather didn’t like it and Ruth said she was a sissy. Their room was at the back of the house and behind the house there were fields with no lights at all. In the little room which she had given up to Belinda, the light from the street lamp came through the curtains all night long, because that room was at the front. But this room was dark, at night.
So it wasn’t night time and it wasn’t daytime. She was alone; apart from Boy George and Adam Ant who stared from their posters on the wall by Ruth’s bed. Ruth’s bed was neatly made with her nightie folded up on the pillow. Mummy had done that, not Ruth. Heather had a pyjama case for her nightie in the shape of a white fluffy doggie, with a zip in his tummy where her nightie lived. He was called Fluffy and during the day he had pride of place on her pillow, while the other toys had to sit at the bottom of the bed. But at night time they all came into bed with her; Fluffy and big Ted and little Ted and Doggie and Duckie and Lamby and Floppy (although the wire in Floppy’s ear was poking out through his fur and Mummy said he would have to have an operation to have it sewn up or he would poke her eye out.) Belinda said that it was a wonder there was enough room for Heather in the bed with all those toys, but there was; it was cosy and snuggly and she liked it.
Her eyes hurt when she swivelled them in her head and her body was hot and wet and her fringe was sticking to her forehead. Now that she was sitting up the hot wetness was beginning to feel cold and clammy. Her ear was crackling and popping, especially when she swallowed, and it hurt when she swallowed, and she remembered that she was poorly.
She got out of bed. It was cold and she was shivery. Out on the landing she could hear shouting from downstairs. This was nothing new. There h
ad been shouting almost every day for weeks now; shouting about money, about how there wasn’t any. Ruth had shouted the most; she wanted to go on a school holiday to somewhere on an aeroplane and there wasn’t any money to pay for it. Simon had shouted a bit, but not as much as Ruth. He had been picked to play in the school football team and he needed new boots and there wasn’t any money to pay for those. Even Mummy, who didn’t shout much and then only about things like muddy footprints on the kitchen floor or food left on plates, had shouted a little bit. Belinda hadn’t shouted at all; she never did. She was a big girl at college learning to do typing. Daddy had shouted - not as much as Ruth, but more than Simon and Mummy. He had shouted that there would be no seaside holiday next year, no new carpet for the dining room, no new toys for Christmas, no new coat for Mummy. The shouting had reached its loudest when Aunty June had arrived. That had been on Sunday last. Aunty June and Uncle Les always came on Sundays, for Sunday dinner, and after dinner Belinda had taken Ruth and Simon to the pictures but Heather was too little for the pictures at night time and anyway she had a streaming cold, and she had sat at the dining room table doing her colouring while Mummy and Uncle Les had washed and dried the pots and Daddy and Aunty June went into the lounge and shouted.
‘Needs must when the devil drives,’ Aunty June had shouted, and ‘everyone does it,’ and ‘c-o-d’ and ‘cash-in-hand’ and ‘what the eye doesn’t see.’
‘Smuggling,’ Daddy had shouted, and ‘illegal,’ and ‘tax dodge.’
‘Needs must when the devil drives,’ Aunty June had shouted again.
On Monday Daddy had gone away for a long trip. He hadn’t done that for quite a long time; they had other drivers now who usually did the long hauls. Perhaps he had gone to keep an eye on the devil. On Tuesday Heather had complained of ear-ache but Mummy had said she must go to school anyway. On Wednesday she had cried at playtime and Mrs McKendrick had let her sit in the book corner all afternoon. On Thursday she had had a temperature and Mummy had kept her off school. Today, after a night of hot sweats and nasty dreams about Daddy and the devil driving one of the lorries, Dr Wilson had come and put a cold tube in her ear and a lolly-stick on her tongue and given her some yellow medicine. That was the last thing she remembered; she must have been asleep all day.
Heather walked down the narrow stairs, her legs all quivery, holding on at both sides. The shouty voices were Daddy and Aunty June again. Perhaps it was still Sunday after all and the week she thought had happened, hadn’t. But there was no lingering smell of Sunday dinner, so that couldn’t be right. Mummy’s old coat and shopping bag were missing from the hall table, so she must be out shopping. It was Friday, shopping day, a school day. The clock in the hall said something but Heather hadn’t learned to tell the time yet. She had been given a wristwatch for her sixth birthday by Granny McKay, who had said, dangling it in front of her, that next time she saw Heather she wanted her to be able to tell the time. Heather hoped she didn’t see Granny McKay for a long while. The television wasn’t on in the lounge so Simon and Ruth must not be home from school yet.
‘I did what you wanted,’ Daddy roared. ‘It was dreadful; lurking round the backs of the warehouses, parking up in lay-bys at night time, whispering and looking over my shoulder all the time. Tampering with delivery notes, dealing with a load of shifty bastards who can’t be trusted. Stealing and cheating and smuggling! My reputation will be in tatters! This isn’t the McKay way, June. But here it is. So now what? Now what?’
‘I’ll see to it, don’t worry,’ Aunty June said. ‘Nothing simpler. Leave it to me.’
Heather pushed open the dining room door. There was no light on in the room. The day outside was almost gone, faded to grey. The curtains were open and the orange light from the street lamp, just switched on, flickered over the room. Orange was coming from inside the room too, from the electric fire. Simon had shown Heather once that the coals lifted off like a lid and underneath there was an orange light bulb with a silver hat that went round and round and made the flickering. It wasn’t real, only pretend, but the two things together, the lamp and the fire, made everything look hot and red. Perhaps the devil had driven Daddy home and brought hell with him, and it was waiting outside, with its burning fire and gnashing teeth, like they said in Sunday school. But the room was cold and Heather was shivering with it.
Daddy was standing by the table wearing his driving clothes. His hair was all stuck up on end and he had a shadow on his chin because when he went on the road he slept in the cab and didn’t shave. Heather wondered if the devil had slept in the cab too and if it wasn’t rather a squash, like her and her toys in the bed, and if the devil’s pointy horns might poke out Daddy’s eye. The light on Daddy’s face made it look like he was blushing. Aunty June sat in the armchair by the fireplace. She was wearing her smart work clothes. She was red too but then she always was. On the table was a heap of paper, all crinkly and thrown around as though it was just rubbish; but it wasn’t rubbish, it was money. Lots and lots of money. It covered the table completely and the heap was so big that some of it had slipped off the table and onto the carpet, the carpet which Mummy had said needed replacing, but there was no money for it. But now there was money on it. So much money that you could have made a money-carpet for the whole room. Aunty June kept looking at it.
Then they both saw Heather, standing in the doorway, trembling and sweating with cold. Aunty June leapt to her feet and began to scoop the money off the table into carrier bags.
‘I’ll see to it, I’ll see to it,’ she kept saying, as though she was talking about laundry; as though she was taking their dirty washing home to put into her posh new machine.
Daddy strode across the room and picked her up. He couldn’t look at it, the dirty laundry-money, and he snatched her out of the room quickly. But when they were out in the hall he said, ‘Back to bed, my lady,’ not unkindly, and Heather began to cry, because she was poorly, and only six years old.
Up in the bedroom Daddy put her back into bed and covered her up. He sat on the edge of the bed and reached into his pocket for his handkerchief. As he pulled it out a tightly rolled sausage of money with a rubber band round it plopped onto the bedspread, just exactly in the place where the mouse had been earlier. They both looked at it, the two-headed money-mouse. Its appearance seemed to shock them both. They both shrank back from it. Then Daddy wiped her eyes and put his handkerchief on her nose and said, ‘Blow,’ and she did, but it made her ear pop and it hurt and she cried a bit more. Next time she looked the money-mouse had gone and Daddy got up and said, ‘Back to sleep now, there’s a good girl,’ and he didn’t look at her when he left the room.
Often, after that, Heather would reach into her Daddy’s pocket to see if there was another money-mouse in there but there were only ever sweeties. And they would look at each other and they would both know about the money-mouse but they never said. And, after that, there was no more shouting about money.
Monday
The morning was dull and overcast. But there was a spirit of determined optimism amongst the family which overruled any damp squib the weather might try to inflict. Simon restrained Belinda from producing cooked breakfasts.
‘Cereal and toast only,’ he said, imperiously, shutting the fridge door firmly on the bacon. ‘Look, those croissants we brought haven’t been touched yet and that organic bread will need finishing too. It doesn’t have the preservatives of ordinary bread you know, so it doesn’t stay fresh.’
‘Oh well,’ Belinda said, ‘if you put it like that...’
‘I do.’ He rubbed his hands together vigorously.
She made a last, half-hearted attempt to object. ‘We’ll need bread for lunch though, I was going to make soup…’
‘Lunch will be out, today,’ James said, pouring flakes into a bowl for Ben with a flourish. ‘You and I are going to that stately home you wanted to see.’
Belinda was conscious of a delicious, reckless, inner thrill at the prospect, its potency undented by t
he rest of James’ sentence. ‘I hope we can persuade Mary to come with us, Muriel too, if she’d like to.’
Ben rolled his eyes at Todd, ‘Boring!’ he mouthed, through flakes.
‘I would so like to,’ Belinda gushed, but she caught herself up short. She could not afford to allow Elliot to feel left out of things. ‘But what about… everyone else?’ she finished.
‘Really, Lindy, you mustn’t worry about it,’ Heather said, misreading the direction of her sister’s thoughts. ‘You’re like a mother hen, trying to keep all her chicks together! We’re not helpless, you know. We all manage to feed ourselves quite well as a rule, one way or another.’ Across the room Mitch was mashing a banana into milk for Starlight.
Miriam looked up from one of the Sunday supplements she was reading. ‘The men formulated quite a workable plan, last night at the pub,’ she said, ‘amazingly enough, considering they were absolutely without female guidance. Simon and Jude are taking the boys to an activity centre. Heather and I are going to take the girls to a pottery. She found a leaflet in the hall cupboard. You can throw a pot apparently, and paint it, and then they fire it and you collect it in a day or so. You and James will go and soak up some culture. Les and June will stay here to take care of Granny and Robert. I’m absolutely certain that June is equal to a pan of soup. You see? Everyone is happily catered for in every way.’
Belinda took a sip of her coffee. ‘What about Elliot?’ she asked heavily.
‘Elliot was fully consulted,’ Simon said, stiffly. ‘He didn’t seem to want to do anything. But I believe that Mitch has agreed to a round of golf so perhaps he’ll do that. I’ll put these croissants in the Aga to warm, shall I?’
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