by J. A. Baker
Then darkness descends, shutting her out of her own conscious thoughts, tipping her instead, into a welcome oblivion.
15
She wakes up in bed with no memory of getting there. Leah’s hands trail down her body. Relief floods through her. At least she is wearing nightclothes. The thought of collapsing somewhere and strangers undressing her fills her with horror. Did she collapse though? Was it a dream or was she actually sitting in Will’s office only a few hours ago? So many unanswered questions and they are piling up by the day, the hour, the minute, time no longer a tangible thing in her life. It spins away from her, refusing to adhere to the usual regime that she, at one time, lived her life by.
A dull streak of light filters through the curtains, filling the room with a triangular slab of ochre that spreads over the corner of the bed and the grubby rug on the floor, highlighting the ingrained filth lodged between the fibres. This place is such a terrible mess, just like her life. She is in a massive self-inflicted sinkhole from which there seems to be no means of escape. God knows she tries, clawing with her fingernails, gripping on, trying to get out, but every time she thinks she is free, down she goes again, back into the darkness.
She gets out of bed, pads over to the window, drags the curtains open a fraction and stares outside. Half of the cars that are usually parked out in the street are not there. She looks at her watch, sees that it’s 10am and realises everybody is at work. Exactly where she should be were it not for the fact she is no longer employed. Or was that a dream as well? She feels sure that awful incident did happen. The tight sensation somewhere deep in her belly tells her that it really did take place. She would rather it hadn’t, but there it is. She is unemployed, accused of violent conduct towards another colleague and aside from turning back the clock, there’s not a damn thing she can do about it.
With no idea of what the day will bring, she gets showered and dressed, aghast at how few clean clothes she has. Her laundry basket is overflowing and she hasn’t any money to go to the launderette. Grainne is at work. The house is empty. A thought occurs to her. She will be able to get her laundry done in Grainne’s washing machine without her realising. Grainne would possibly agree to it anyway. It’s just a matter of her not being around for Leah to ask permission. Isn’t that what friends do for one another? Ignoring the small still voice in her head that is reminding her that Grainne is her landlady and not her friend, she decides that needs must and attempts to wade through the mess in her room. She makes a half-hearted attempt to tidy it up on her way to the overflowing laundry basket standing in the far corner of the room but gives it up as a bad job.
She sighs, kicking items aside, tripping over mounds of fabric and discarded objects, thinking how utterly pointless it all seems, this tidying-up business, what a complete waste of time it is. Everything only gets messy and crumpled again anyway, so why bother? She gathers up armfuls of dirty clothes, wincing at the smell and turning her head away. A lump is wedged in her throat as a thought jars her, filling her head, her chest heaving as she tries to suppress an unexpected sob. How humiliating it is not having enough money to stay clean. She swallows down her misery, fighting back the tears. This is a low point in her life. The lowest. This time last year she had everything – Jacob, a decent job as an accountant with plenty of promotion opportunities, and now she is almost on the bones of her arse without enough money to wash her own clothes. A deep sense of shame eats at her as she leaves her room, makes her way into the kitchen and places the pile of clothes on the floor next to the machine. She picks up a box of washing detergent, eyeing up the brand, cursing at how rarely she can buy this type as it’s way too expensive for her budget and then hears a voice from behind her, causing her scalp to prickle. She spins around.
Grainne is standing there, hands on hips, a smug expression on her pale, bony face. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Erm, sorry, I didn’t see you. I thought you were out,’ Leah says, a scarlet web forming on her skin, creeping up her neck, a crimson display of embarrassment. The room suddenly feels terribly hot. Her cheeks flush and burn as she tries to avert her eyes from Grainne’s critical stare.
‘Clearly,’ the other woman replies, her gaze shifting to the packet in Leah’s hands then back to the mound of dirty clothes piled in a heap at her feet.
‘It’s just that I don’t have enough change for the machine at the launderette so I thought that if I could maybe…’ She runs out of words, out of energy. She is spent, weak and wearied by poverty. Humbled and horrified by her life. She stares at the floor, indignity at being caught digging deep into the very marrow of her bones.
Grainne lets out a protracted grunt and shrugs dismissively, shaking her head like an exasperated school ma’am. ‘Yes, okay, whatever. As long as it doesn’t become a regular thing. And I’m only here because I’ve got an appointment. I’m at work later. I’m due at the dentist’s in fifteen minutes. Just in case you were wondering why I’m still around.’ She starts to walk away and stops, her face inscrutable as she speaks. ‘By the way, Leah, your rent didn’t go into my account. It was due last week. I didn’t mention it before as I wanted to give you a few days to sort it in case there was a problem.’
Leah’s breath catches as she loads the machine and turns it on, the slight whirring sound killing the tenseness of the moment. ‘Sorry. I know I owe you some backdated money and–’
‘No, not backdated. It’s just this month that you owe. I’ll need it in the next couple of days so I can pay what I owe to other people.’ She stares at the washing machine then looks back at Leah, an accusatory tone in her voice. ‘I’ve got a gas and electricity bill to fork out for, so if you wouldn’t mind?’
Nodding, Leah stumbles away, her head full of cotton wool. She can’t think properly. Yet again everything is askew, out of kilter; her life a series of unexplainable events, emotions, memories, all mixed up and out of sync.
She heads back to her room, mumbling her apologies to Grainne and thanking her for the use of the machine. Once there she slams the door behind her and leans on it, giving herself a couple of seconds to think.
A bank statement. That will solve it. She can check her balance again and work out what the fuck is going on. Throwing bags and bits of paper out of the way, she rummages through the detritus in her room, clambering over piles of discarded clothes and old newspapers and magazines until she finds it. Her most recent statement. Flipping it open she scans it to the bottom, to the most recent transaction. She’s in the black. Just. £8.09.
She drags her fingers through her hair, thinking back to opening the other statement not so long ago, the one that said she was deeply overdrawn. The date. If she can find the other one then she can double check the dates. There has obviously been a mix up. The bank may have sent one of them out late. That’s the only possible reason for the discrepancy. Nothing else makes sense.
Another scramble ensues as she searches for the previous correspondence. Drawers are pulled out and tipped upside down, wardrobes flung open and their contents dragged out. By the time she finishes, Leah is red-faced and almost in tears, frustration biting at her. Where the hell has that last statement gone to? She didn’t bin it, that much she does know. Her room is a mess. She isn’t even entirely sure where her bin is, if indeed, she has one at all. So where the fuck is that other statement? Not that it matters that much. Her current balance of £8.09 isn’t enough to cover her rent and Grainne didn’t look like she was in the mood for delays or excuses. Her rent is almost £400. How on earth is she supposed to find the money in the next few days? And why, only a few days ago, was she asking for rent dating back more than one month? Maybe she wasn’t. Maybe it’s another implanted memory cooked up by Leah’s frazzled brain.
The dim light in the room suddenly feels unbearable, causing her to squint, to place her hand over her forehead to shield her eyes from the glare that is putting an ugly slant on everything.
There are a couple of options open to her, all of them unsavoury.
This is a crisis. She hasn’t seen or spoken to her parents in over two years, possibly even longer. Time is such a slippery thing lately, it’s so hard to keep track but the one thing she does know is that approaching them and asking for handouts will be a humiliating and painful experience. And then of course, there is Jacob. As close as they were, turning up on his doorstep, cap in hand, is unthinkable. She simply cannot begin to imagine it. And yet she has nobody else. Those are her options, whether she likes it or not. The only other thing she can do is speak to Grainne and make promises she isn’t entirely sure she can keep. It’s a possibility, not a particularly appealing one, but neither are the other two choices.
She is trapped. Nowhere to turn. Thoughts of Jacob flit in and out of her mind, the sight of his face warming her cold flesh, tugging at her heartstrings. Making her wish she was back in his flat, back in his arms. Her life is cold and empty since their break-up. She is living a 2D existence in a pointless world. And now she is also unemployed and penniless. Her life is in tatters. Her mind lets her down every single fucking day. She feels certain she is going mad, losing her tenuous grip on reality. How much more is she expected to take?
With a headache creeping its way in, Leah lies back on the bed, doing her utmost to ignore the stale musty smell of unwashed sheets that wafts up from beneath her. How long has it been since she changed the bed linen? She has no clear memory of doing it recently. She has no clear memory of anything.
Despite oversleeping, the tiredness that seems to sit with her permanently these days, wins over. Her eyes are too heavy to keep open, the light fading as exhaustion drags her away once again, into the deepest, darkest corners of unconsciousness. First a floating sensation, next a heaviness too overwhelming to ignore. Then nothing.
She is standing, crying in Grainne’s kitchen. Her shoulders are shaking, her chest heaving. Snot and tears are rolling down her face. It looks different to when she visited it earlier. The washing machine is empty. Grainne is wearing different clothes. Leah has no memory of getting here. She cups her hands and places them over her eyes, sobs wracking her body, convulsions rippling through her as she attempts to control her growing hysteria and pull herself together.
‘I said last time that I needed the money, Leah. We’re now nearly two months on and I’ve given you plenty of time. I realise you’re having a tough time and I know you said you were waiting for your parents’ inheritance to come through but I can’t keep subsidising you! I’m not the cruel bitch you think I am. If that were the case you’d be out on the streets by now, but there comes a point when enough is enough.’ Grainne is standing in front of her, hands on hips, her slim frame seeming to fill the entire room. Her shadow is an eerie elongated shape spread out over the floor, not dissimilar to the images Leah has seen of The Slender Man. She shivers and tries to ignore the monstrous silhouette splayed over the beige lino next to her, creeping its way up the bare wall. Thoughts wrestle their way into Leah’s brain, one memory in particular standing out above the rest.
It was another rainy day. Grainne had once again asked for the overdue rent, yelling that she wasn’t prepared to put up with any more late payments and was seeking legal advice on how to evict Leah, and in desperation, Leah had told her that she was grieving, that both of her parents had just been killed in a road traffic accident and she was struggling to manage. Silenced and remorseful for shouting, Grainne had hugged Leah, the colour escaping from her face in one rapid rush. Leah had even explained that she was on her way to the funeral home to make arrangements for their burials.
Grainne had looked outside to the dreadful downpour, pulled on her coat and offered to give her a lift. It wasn’t often that she used her car as parking in the city was a nightmare but, on that occasion, Grainne had grabbed at the keys, linked her arm through Leah’s and gently led her to the small white vehicle parked outside.
With a pounding head, Leah had climbed in the car, trying to work out what to do next, desperately hoping Grainne wouldn’t take it upon herself to accompany Leah into the funeral parlour. ‘It’s the Co-op,’ Leah had said numbly, wondering why she had chosen to spin such a tale. ‘The one in the city centre. So rather than park up, if you could just drop me off at the bottom of Gilesgate, I’ll be able to hop out and make my way over from there.’
Grainne had looked at her, sympathy and compassion for Leah’s plight obvious in her expression. ‘I can come in with you if you’d like?’ Leah had felt her heart start up in an irregular patter, bouncing around her chest; had sensed her eye beginning to twitch and blinked hard to stop it. Grainne going in with her to the funeral parlour to arrange a service for her parents who weren’t actually dead was absolutely the last thing she had wanted.
‘It’s fine, honestly. Thank you anyway. For the lift and the offer of help. I really appreciate it.’ Grainne had grasped her hand and smiled a warm, genuine smile that had pierced Leah’s conscience and spiked her heart. Why had she told yet another lie? A dreadfully disrespectful one at that. It was as if she had no control over her mouth, over the stupid thoughtless things that came out of it time and time again.
‘Well, you know where I am if you want me. Just shout.’ Grainne had sat, watching her, waiting, smiling softly as Leah had crossed the road, weaving her way between the parked cars and the stream of pedestrians that snaked along the pavement, until she entered the building with no idea of what she would say when approached by the receptionist.
Leah had plonked herself in a chair in a thankfully busy reception area, watching out of the window until Grainne’s car eventually moved out of sight. She then arose from her seat and left before the lady behind the desk had even had a chance to speak to her.
Sometimes, just sometimes, luck was on Leah’s side. But only sometimes. And definitely not today.
Now Grainne stands, her face like thunder, anger pulsing out of her in great waves. Leah can’t seem to think straight. She has no idea what to say, how to drag herself out of this situation with her self-respect still intact. Turning away, she focuses on staying upright, making sure her legs don’t buckle and fail her as she walks back to her room and slams the door behind her.
16
2005
His mother had received the call from the school an hour before, telling her about the fight and now sits at home waiting for him to return, her stomach clenched, tight with fear and anxiety. Will this thing never end? That day, that bloody stupid, awful day at the beach is going to stay with them forever.
If they don’t sort it out, it will ruin them all, tear their family apart, and she can’t let that happen. She has to heal their rift.
It’s an unspoken truth between her and her husband that their daughter, their troubled and permanently unhappy daughter, has unleashed a demon amongst them, doing what she does best – causing trouble.
Fighting back tears, Chrissie waits, watching the hands of the clock as the minutes tick by, second by painful second, until eventually the door opens and the girl spills in, her face set in its usual frown, her limbs locked in a stance of anger. She’s alone. No brother with her. Just herself.
Disappointment undulates through Chrissie’s body, her blood stilling as she suddenly realises her boy is over forty-five minutes late. It isn’t unusual for the girl to come home at all hours after hanging around outside the corner shop but he is always on time. Always. Punctuality is his middle name. He would never not come home without letting them know where he is. Except for that time, that one godawful time, when everything became too much for him and he ran away. Chrissie shakes her head at the memory. And even then, he left a note. He didn’t just up and go without a word. It was understandable after what he’d been through. Perfectly understandable.
They didn’t shout or rant when he was found by the police and the mountain rescue team. They were just relieved he was safe and were desperate to have him back home, back in their family fold. So where is he now? What has happened to their son this time? Not another bid to escape. He can’t have. Hi
s belongings are still here, his clothes still in his wardrobe, his travelling bag still there, his favourite watch given to him last Christmas still on his chest of drawers next to his bed. All there, all still at home. Unlike him, her beautiful boy, her sad, dejected boy. He is out there somewhere, on his own. And now she needs him back. Chrissie needs to have her boy home.
It was just a fight. All young lads fight at one time or another, don’t they? It’s no big deal. Except it is, and she knows it. It’s a very big deal. Her boy isn’t a fighter. Sometimes troubled, but never violent. He’s a teenager after all. Aren’t all teenagers full of angst?
This is different though. Something has happened, something to set him off. And now he hasn’t come home after school. He could be anywhere, anywhere at all. The world is a big scary place and he is a vulnerable young kid. Not tough enough to cope.
‘Where’s your brother?’ Chrissie tries to keep her voice calm, to keep her fears under wraps and not show her growing alarm to the girl.
‘Dunno. How should I know? I’m not his keeper.’
Chrissie tries not to bristle at her daughter’s words, at her harsh tone. She’s just a child, hurting and currently disinterested in the world around her. One day she will realise how much time she has wasted on anger and resentment and hatred. And she will regret her brutality and black moods, she is sure of this fact. Since her discovery of that certificate, that damn certificate that should have been hidden away and not left lying around in the bureau, things have deteriorated. Her daughter (because despite what the girl thinks, she is their darling daughter and always will be) had been in there looking for a pen and stumbled across it. Since that time, she has felt marginalised, set apart from the rest of the family. And the mood swings. Dear God, the mood swings fuelled by hormones and a feeling of not belonging; they are so hard to deal with.