by Lynda Stacey
Appearing in the doorway, Jackson beckoned her in, walked to her, picked up the case. ‘Hey, don’t look so terrified, come on in.’ He led her through the stark kitchen, and into a hallway beyond, where anaglypta wallpaper looked welded to the walls, shelves and doors had been thickly covered with paint that had turned yellow with age and the brown, threadbare carpet stuck to her feet as she walked.
‘In here, we’ve got some bean bags in here.’ His hand went to her arm. He hooked his fingers around her elbow, carefully manoeuvred her across the room, pushing the door to a close behind her. ‘There you go, now… do you wanna tell me what’s going on?’ He pointed to the case. ‘Or…’ His eyes rolled towards the door.
‘Who’s we? Who lives here?’ Beth asked, and afraid to touch anything she kept her hands close to her sides. She moved from one foot to the other, carefully stepped between piles of boxes and watched Jackson as he ignored her question, picked up one bean bag, then the other, Jackson cringed as the plume of dust billowed outwards which made Beth wince, seeing as everything in the house was covered in dust, including a high-back green velour chair that was pulled up in front of the hearth. The hearth, which had once been covered in tiles, was now covered in cigarette ash, mug rings with dark, ingrained dirt. A bucket sat on the corner of the fireplace, screwed and twisted lengths of newspaper lay in the grate and a log balanced precariously against a black metal poker.
Inching towards the window, Beth saw a camp bed. It leaned against the wall. A sleeping bag neatly folded up on top. Both looked out of place, much too tidy for a room full of chaos. Sniffing at the air, she wrinkled her nose, reeled at the smell. ‘Jesus Christ, Jackson, did something die in here?’ She tipped her head to one side, felt herself being ushered towards a dark brown corduroy bean bag.
Sitting down, she gingerly wrapped her arms around her knees and nervously picked at the frayed tears of her jeans with a finger. ‘I… I was about to leave, you know. When you saw me. I was going to catch the bus, to York, to live at Dan’s house.’ She took in a deep breath, watched Jackson kneel down in front of the fire where he lit a match, set fire to the curled-up twists of newspaper, threw a handful of sticks on top, along with pieces of coal that he carefully placed around the edges. Then, thoughtfully, he waited, watched for the sticks to catch light, pulled a sheet of newspaper from a pile and held it in front of the fire until it turned from white to beige, beige to scorched and then burst into flames. Quickly, he tossed it into the fire, laughed as small pieces flew upwards and into the chimney.
‘Beth, you can’t leave…’ he finally said, before standing up and facing her. Arching an eyebrow, he gave her a puzzled smile, began to pace around the room, around the boxes, occasionally moving one from place to place. ‘You need to stay. You live here now.’ He went to the closed door, leaned against it.
‘I was…’ Keeping one eye on the door, she tried to decide what to do, felt her bottom lip begin to tremble. ‘I lived at Dan’s before, with Molly.’ She paused as tears welled in her eyes. ‘He’s like a brother and… and I’m sure he’d let me stay. He just has to. ’Cause if he doesn’t, I’m not sure where else I’d go… but…’
‘But what?’ Turning, Jackson stepped back towards her, looked from Beth to the door, knelt down, took her hands in his.
‘I never thought to ask him, I just presumed it’d be okay but now I’m scared.’ Her bottom lip protruded like a petulant child. ‘What if he won’t let me stay? What if I go all the way to York and he puts me straight in the car, brings me back? Or worse, he could phone Molly. She might come and get me, and I’d have to listen to her lecture me all the way back home.’ Pausing, she brushed the hair away from her face, pressed the heels of her hands against her temples. ‘I’d better go. Our Molly, she’s already gonna ground me for a year when she finds out I cut school.’ Sitting forward, her hand went to the bottom of her jeans, the material still wet, and involuntarily she began to shiver.
‘Don’t go.’ Jackson turned, began to move things around, placed the second bean bag next to hers, sat down and took her hand in his. ‘Beth… please don’t go to Dan’s.’ His eyes searched hers. ‘I want you to stay here, with me. I’m gonna teach you how to surf, there’s your end of year prom. That would be this year, wouldn’t it? I could take you if you like?’ He nodded enthusiastically. ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’
Feeling the warmth of his hand, Beth felt herself blush, and although she’d been shivering, a heat had now begun to travel through her. Smiling, she used her other hand to pull at the collar of her jumper, to pull it up around her face where she buried her nose in the fabric, all in the hope he wouldn’t see the colour seeping into her cheeks. Nodding, she flicked her eyes up to his, then back at the fire that had begun to crackle and spit.
‘I hate school. Not even sure I want to go to prom. It’s not like I’ll know anyone.’ She paused, kept her eyes down. ‘Apart from you and, if I’m honest, I don’t want to go back to that school, not ever. But our Molly, she’ll make me go,’ she said and, ever thoughtful of the time, she pulled her phone from her pocket and looked at the screen. Took a moment to imagine herself in a pretty dress and the most beautiful shoes. Holding onto Jackson’s arm she’d feel like a princess, but knew how little money Molly had and that buying a dress would be a luxury they could live without. Automatically, her hand went to her pocket. To the money she’d taken from Molly’s room, felt another bout of guilt flood through her. Now, she wished wholeheartedly that she hadn’t taken it, that she hadn’t thrown bacon away that they could barely afford and vowed to put it back, to use her own money to replace the bacon.
‘Aww, every girl has to go to the prom. It’s a tradition, a bit like your dad walking you down the aisle and all that.’ Letting go of her hand, Jackson sheepishly turned, picked up the log, tossed it on top of the coal. Then, with the poker in his hand he waved it around in the air. ‘And talking of your dad, you’ve never really said. Do you get on with him, visit? You could go and live with him, couldn’t you?’ He tipped his head to one side, nervously looked over his shoulder and into the hall.
‘I don’t think that’d be a good idea,’ Beth said, puzzled. She thought back to the continual messages she and Jackson had shared since their meeting on the beach, felt sure that at some point she must have mentioned her dad, but couldn’t for the life of her remember when. ‘My dad. My relationship with him, its complicated.’ She tried to explain, rolled her eyes. ‘And to be honest, he just got out of prison. My mum was scared of him, told me that I should be scared too.’
Coughing, Jackson began to rattle the poker noisily in the grate. Grabbed the bucket. ‘I’ll just go and get some more coal. Get the place warmed up for us.’
Ignoring his outburst, she slid forward, held her hands out in front of the fire. ‘Who lives here?’ she asked. ‘’Cause I know someone does.’ Her eyes shot to the door. ‘Is someone else here?’
‘No. Don’t be daft.’ He jumped up, and with the bucket in his hands he walked back to the door. ‘Place used to be my grandad’s. He died a few years ago and my dad couldn’t bear to sell it. So…’ He paused. ‘He stays here sometimes. Just to keep an eye on things and on a weekend, he lets me come down here, sleep over. It’s close to the beach and I throw the surfboard in the hallway, come and go as I please.’
Watching as he walked out of the room, Beth stood up and moved to the door, saw his surfboard like he’d said, standing in the hallway with his wetsuit hung on a peg beside it. His neoprene pumps had been dropped by the door along with an odd pair of older, tatty looking shoes, an overcoat. They were much too big for Jackson and creepily, she wondered if they’d belonged to his grandad. Whether they too were something his dad had held onto.
Catching his eye as he walked back towards her, she smiled nervously. ‘What’s down there?’ She ducked past him, her fingers grazed the door across the passage, the door began to swing backwards.
‘Beth, don’t…’ He jumped backwards, stood in he
r way, held his arm across the door, his fingers gripping the jamb, to block her route.
Feeling uneasy, she held her breath, furrowed her brow, spotted the edge of a rolled-up carpet. It was distinct, noticeable and matched perfectly in colour to the tufts that were still attached to lengths of gripper in their hallway. ‘What’s that doing here?’ She pointed to the carpet, felt a breeze gush down the hallway towards her, took a step back apprehensively and eyed the closed windows and door that stood beyond him. ‘It was down the back of our shed the other day. Came from the hallway in our house.’
‘What, that?’ Chewing his lip, he pointed to the carpet, shook his head. ‘As I said, it was my grandad’s house, all the stuff here belonged to him and if I remember rightly, he bought that from a door-to-door salesman, he was going round with rolls of it on the back of his van. Maybe the bloke who owned the house down there bought some too.’ He nodded convincingly. Hooked his arm around her shoulder, walked her back to the room at the front of the house.
Deep in thought, Beth plonked herself back down. Thought about the carpet, about what Jackson had said, seemed to remember her mum once buying a carpet in the same way. A traveller had pulled up on the street, his van full of everything from carpet to microwaves. Smiling the thought of the way her mum had haggled, getting the small bedroom carpet down from a hundred and fifty pounds to just sixty. ‘Bargain,’ she’d announced, as she’d dragged the carpet up the path, into the refuge. ‘We can put this in the bedroom, make it all snug and warm.’
‘Penny for them?’
Shaking herself back to the present, she once again pulled her phone from her pocket, stared at the time. ‘Damn, Jackson, I have to go…’ She realised how late it had got, fixed her eyes on the door, could hear each breath she took, knew she didn’t have time to get back to the house and change back into school clothes. ‘Molly, she’ll be waiting.’ She paused, felt her bottom lip begin to tremble. ‘She’s gonna kill me for skipping school.’
Pondering her words, Jackson pulled her into a hug, his hand gently pushed the hair away from her face and for a few seconds, she thought he was about to kiss her. Instead, he rocked her back and forth. ‘Please don’t leave.’
‘I have to. Molly, she’ll be parked outside and already she’s gonna see me come out of this house; she’ll freak out at me for leaving school early and I probably won’t see you for the next six weeks, while I’m banished to my bedroom.’
Laughing, Jackson leaned back. ‘No, silly. I meant don’t leave, don’t go to Dan’s.’ He pointed to the case. ‘We – we’re just getting to know each other and if you left, you’d miss out on learning to surf.’ He nodded, placed his hands on both of her shoulders, looked directly into her eyes. ‘Let’s make a plan. You could sneak your things out, few bits at a time. Then, when you’re sixteen, when they won’t arrest me for it, you could move in.’ He let go of her, spun on the spot. ‘We could make the place real nice, spend our days on the beach.’
As he gave her a smile that melted her heart, Beth couldn’t work out if her stomach had flipped with excitement or relief. What she did know was that she had a plan. They had a plan. A reason to stay.
24
With a cautious glance at Carol Cooper’s house, Molly was immediately aware that something was wrong.
There was a Qashqai parked on the drive and three pints of milk all scattered on the doorstep. One glass bottle that still looked fresh. Another leaned against the step, half lying down, its silver top pecked at by birds, the milk inside vastly diminished, and the third had completely toppled. The milk had spilled, and a ginger cat was crouched beside it, licking hungrily at the spillage. As Molly pushed at the gate, the cat sped across the drive, found a safe place to hide below the car, and eyed her suspiciously.
‘Who you lookin’ for?’ An abrupt Yorkshire voice came from a man in the next-door garden who limped toward the fence with his woollen hat pulled down over his ears and his scarf wrapped tightly around his face, leaving only the inquisitive look in his eyes for her to see.
With colour rising to her cheeks, and for something to do with her hands, she waved her phone around in the air, pointed to the screen, read from it. ‘Carol Cooper? I was sent her address,’ she lied, ‘I believe she lives here.’
‘Urgh,’ he huffed, ‘she certainly does. But you’ll have a job. No one’s seen her for days. I’ve been feeding her damn cat since last Friday, I have.’ He shook his head with annoyance. ‘If she’d said she was going away, I wouldn’t have minded. But to just up and go, well…’ He kicked out at the fence, stamped down his path, pulled open the wheelie bin lid and dropped a handful of rubbish inside. ‘It isn’t right, is it? If she was going away, she should have told me, left me some cat food, but this time, I’ve had to run up and down to the shop, and buy it myself and I haven’t got a car like she has, although,’ he looked thoughtful, ‘don’t know where the hell she’d have gone without the car.’
With a sense of unease, Molly waved a thank you, felt her legs begin to weaken. The man’s words, ‘No one’s seen her for days,’ played over and over in her mind. She remembered what Tasha had said, that Carol Cooper was always on time, that she’d never missed an appointment. Not until now. Grabbing hold of the car door handle, Molly dragged it open, felt her legs finally buckle as she dropped inside, locked the doors behind her.
Staring at the house, her head began to swim with a tidal wave of emotions as the ginger cat came from under the car, strolled towards her. It gave off a shrill and high-pitched squeal, arched its back. It was obviously loved and cared for, which made it even more improbable that Carol would have abandoned it.
Molly considered going to the shop, buying some food, even if that was just to save the old man from doing it. With her indecision, she began to twist her fingers together, wishing for pain. At least with pain, she’d feel alive, she’d feel something other than this monotonous spiral of emotion that poked at her heart and penetrated her thoughts.
Then suddenly, an involuntary sob released itself from her throat, in a loud, audible moan. ‘History’s gonna repeat itself, whether I like it or not…’ she wailed, ‘and there’s nothing, nothing I can do to stop it.’
25
Pressing on the brakes and with her foot tapping anxiously against the pedal, Molly looked down at the clock. Even with her diversion and subsequent meltdown, she’d managed to arrive at the top of the lane in good time. Taking a moment, she noticed the twenty plus cars that were all parked near her. Parents sat in them, patiently waiting, tapping at steering wheels, snoozing or staring aimlessly at the coastline, which told her that the school bus was running ever so slightly late.
Trying to calm her thoughts, she wiped at her eyes, picked up her mobile. Went to the keypad and considered phoning the police. She had no idea what she’d say. How she’d even try to explain that Carol Cooper was missing. What she suspected, or how much of a lunatic she’d sound if she accused her stepfather of being involved, the same stepfather she hadn’t seen for the past ten years. Nervously, she began to press the numbers, then, with thoughts of Beth and of how she’d feel if she climbed into the car halfway through the conversation, she stopped. Couldn’t allow that to happen, not today. She’d already been in a mood that morning and the silent treatment she’d thrown around the house hadn’t been appreciated. Milk had splashed up and out of the plastic container as it had hit the worktop with force, her cereal had been eaten at speed, the bowl tossed into the sink and the front door slammed so hard behind her that the old rickety windows had once again shaken in their frames, which had been another unwelcome reminder of how much work needed doing to the house and of the bottomless money pit it would take to make it right.
Ready and waiting for another moody onslaught, Molly began flicking through her phone. The Wi-Fi still hadn’t been connected at home and she took any opportunity she could to grab a connection without draining her allowance. Tapping on her bank app, she began to mentally calculate what she still had to p
ay out that month but looked at her balance and blinked repeatedly at the screen. Screwing up her eyes, she squeezed them together, then opened them again, took another look at the screen and felt an unexpected wave of relief as she took in the new, higher balance. A numbness spread through her, like a wave rolling in. She didn’t know whether to feel happy or sad and, eventually, she came to the conclusion that she felt neither. The poison chalice that denoted all of her mother’s savings, insurance policies and the tiny amount of private pension were now all in her account, minus the solicitor’s fee. A sum of four and a half thousand pounds was all that was left of her mother’s life.
‘Oh, Mum,’ Molly whispered to the phone. Swallowing, she began adding up the cost of repairs. Tried to work out how much a carpet for the hallway would be, curtains for that huge picture window, anything to make the house warmer and more homely, in the hope that Beth might eventually feel happier about living there.
Taking in a deep breath, she thought about selling. ‘It’d be easy. We could sell and we could run,’ she whispered to the car, knew how easy running would be. It was something she’d done for the whole of her life, something her mother had done for years and, with a determined flick of her hair, she stared ahead. Knew that if she ran, if she let Charlie win, she’d always be running. ‘You’re not chasing me away, Charlie. Not this time.’ As she spoke, she nervously eyed the crowd. Wondered if he was there, if he was watching, wondered what she’d say to him if he came near her.
Checking that the car doors were locked, she leaned back, closed her eyes, concentrated on her breathing, tried to compose herself before she saw Beth. With long intakes of breath, she felt the pressure of the day begin to diminish. Over the past few months and on top of everything else, she’d had no choice but to keep working. To take all the stress that came with being a dentist, which always included the one or more treatments a day that would turn into the unexpected. A toothache that would turn into a filling. A filling that would turn into a root canal. And then, lo and behold, a root canal that she hadn’t had time to do in the first place would turn into a simple extraction, a surgical extraction, suturing, packing, X-rays. Depending on which tooth and how badly decayed it was, the extra treatment could put her back by anything up to an hour. Every time this happened, every patient that followed would tut, look at their watch and comment about how long they’d been kept waiting. Meaning that on most days, she’d simply pray for ‘damage limitation’ and that the ‘unexpected treatment’ would occur at the end of the day, rather than at the beginning.