The Things That Matter

by Andrea Michael

  I shook my head, about to correct her, but I didn’t. I was sure I’d snuck him home, I remembered picking up the cage from Sharon, who found it at the charity shop for me. But I could have been wrong, I was just a kid. Some memories were just feelings, foreboding, guilt, excitement, not attached to anything in particular.

  ‘So… what happened to him?’

  ‘Oh! Yes!’ She clapped her hands as if it had just occurred to her, ‘I took him with me, wee thing. I thought he’d keep me company!’

  I’d kind of expected her to say he’d died. Or maybe that his death had started her spiral – kills her kid’s pet, thinks she’s not good enough to be a mother, disappears into the night, that sort of thing.

  I didn’t think she’d kidnapped my rodent.

  ‘Right… but you didn’t take the cage?’

  ‘Oh no, that would have made a lot of noise and was very bulky. I just stuck him in my pocket, took a sandwich bag of food for him. He was a sweetie, wasn’t he?’

  I paused, taking a breath. ‘Sorry, you didn’t take the time to write your eleven-year-old daughter a note, but you had time to get a sandwich bag of food prepared so you could steal my hamster?’

  Mum tilted her head, ‘Oh, don’t be upset with me sweetie, I didn’t think you’d remember to feed him, so it was better to take him with me.’

  ‘You didn’t even remember to feed me most of the time!’ I squawked, trying not to laugh madly at the situation. ‘You left, and you thought it was okay to leave your kid, with no word of warning, no kiss goodbye or explanation, but it was absolutely not okay to abandon the hamster? Because that would have been irresponsible?!’

  Her eyes widened, and she clasped her hands together, ‘Oh dear, I’ve upset you.’

  Why would I be upset, I wanted to pout, my mother preferred the hamster to me.

  We’d missed the teenage years, the fights and screaming and what I imagined other people had with their mothers, usually based on what I’d seen in movies. But I didn’t want to have that, I wanted to come to this relationship as a grown-up.

  I wanted to pretend it was harmless – this need to show her what I’d achieved, for her to be proud of me. But it wasn’t that. It was that part of me capable of great cruelty, dipping the tip of the arrow in poison. Back then she had raged on about how little we had, how poor we were. How we never got to go anywhere or do anything. How Dad didn’t make enough money, didn’t buy her jewellery or take her away for the weekend.

  Our home was a disappointment, and so she never bothered trying to make it nice. We had ruined things for her. We had run her chances down to none, that’s what she used to say. I never knew what that meant, only that it was bad. ‘I’ll give you a chance, Mum!’ I used to say, a moronic child with good intentions.

  ‘What happened to Hammie, Mum?’

  She frowned, staring into space as she tried to recall. ‘You know, I don’t know? I got on a train to Manchester, and I had my coat hanging over a chair. When I got off, I don’t think he was with me any more. Perhaps he found a nice little family as he wandered the train? An adventure of his own! It would be a good children’s book, wouldn’t it?’

  She tried to jolly me along, but I didn’t want to play.

  ‘I cried for a week when you left,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah, probably more for the hamster than for me!’ she bit back, that tone so incredibly familiar, and I raised an eyebrow. Yes, perhaps I had cried for my poor little pet, who had loved me unconditionally, and had been someone I could cuddle when I hadn’t touched another person in days. Not a hand on the shoulder, or a hug or a kiss.

  ‘I lost a mother and a pet in one day, you can give me a break, can’t you?’

  She huffed, ‘Look, everything is very fuzzy for me, and I can’t always remember what I did, and I don’t think it’s fair to be angry at me about it. I can’t change it.’

  I blinked, watching the change. I had been warned.

  ‘I’m sure it’s not fair to be angry about a lot of things, but it’s not really about fair. It’s an emotion, it appears as and when it sees fit. I don’t think telling you that abandoning your kid made her upset is particularly surprising.’

  ‘Well, why do you have to mention it, what does it achieve? Nothing can be undone! We just sit in the past and fester, like all these other nutcases slowly losing their marbles, trapped in their histories, reliving them forever.’

  I averted my eyes, feeling that familiar shame. Be invisible. Be quiet. Don’t make eye contact. Find your chance to leave. It’s better when they don’t remember you’re here.

  ‘Oh look, I’ve said I’m sorry, let’s not argue. Shall I make us some tea and we’ll share a doughnut?’ She was hopeful and I looked up at the warmth in her voice.

  She still didn’t look like my mum, the one with the pulled-back hair and the bright lipstick, the frown lines at her lips and that haggard, severe look of someone who was afraid to eat. This woman was soft, warm, gentle. The good twin.

  ‘That would be nice. I don’t want to argue either.’ She nodded and jumped up, heading over to the kettle. ‘But we still haven’t talked about why you left.’

  She paused only for a moment with her back to me, and when she turned, it was like the clouds had rolled in. ‘What? Kit, what were you saying?’

  I wouldn’t lie again, not after last time. It was tempting, especially as her forgetful moments were starting to be incredibly convenient. But I wanted answers and I wasn’t going to stop until I had them.

  ‘No, Mum. I’m your daughter Natasha, remember?’ I said, and we began the dance again.

  I made her lunch, and we sat out on the little patio, eating sandwiches. She had enough freedom here. The staff clearly weren’t worried about her having access to knives or glasses, or her own little back door that led out to the communal gardens.

  I made a note to do some more research, to learn more about what the future looked like for Nina. At the moment, it was easy to pretend she was in a nice enough hotel, the pretence only broken by the occasional nurse visiting to check on her, or the porters taking her to appointments.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ she had a smile on her face, like she was humouring me. ‘Your dad wasn’t a drinker! He never touched the stuff! His father drank like a fish and gambled away most of their money. He hated it.’

  I looked at her, her pink lips and perfect hair and tried to think back. Wasn’t he wandering through my childhood with a beer bottle hanging between his fingers? Or was I just visualising every other dad I knew?

  It was hard to picture him now, actually, beyond being tall and big and dark haired. He had a tattoo on one of his arms, a lion or a tiger, something jumping out, because sometimes he’d turn and ‘rawr!’ at me, his hands like claws, chasing me into my room.

  ‘He was a smoker though, right?’ I asked, suddenly unsure.

  Mum nodded, ‘Yes, me too. Bad habits, but couldn’t be helped. I did quit but I still sneak one with the old dear next door. Good way of making friends.’

  My mother paused, tilting her head, as if she was concerned.

  ‘Sweetheart, you know we were happy, right?’ She pressed her lips together, searching for the words, speaking slowly as if she was scared of picking the wrong one and messing it all up. ‘I know… I know I left. I was weak and unwell, I had a lot of issues I didn’t deal with and I ran, but… we were happy, once. The three of us. A little family. We used to go to the fair, do you remember? Every bank holiday we went to the fair and you carried around your huge candy-floss, trying to make it last, until it got sticky and dissolved all over your hands. Do you remember that?’

  I tried searching for that memory, but I couldn’t find it. It was nice to hear though. Nice to imagine.

  ‘What else?’

  She blinked back tears, ‘Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry I left. And more sorry I didn’t leave you with any good memories.’

  ‘It was a long time ago,’ I shrugged. ‘I have some good memories. When we ma
de the blanket fort? And you always used to share a KitKat with me. And sometimes on Fridays we’d get fish and chips from the chippie.’

  She snorted at me, ‘So all about the food, then?’

  I didn’t want to tell her that when I tried to conjure a memory or a feeling from childhood, hunger was the main one. Hunger, and this desperate need to be invisible. That being silent was the best thing I could do for myself. But how could that be true? Why had I spent my childhood sneaking across the landing on tiptoe so I wouldn’t irritate anyone, if everything was fine?

  ‘You know how your dad asked me to marry him?’ my mother asked, a cheeky smile on her face. ‘It’s a good story!’

  I blinked, ‘I didn’t think you were married.’

  She didn’t miss a beat, ‘No, we never did in the end, never got around to it. But he asked me. Right before we found out you were coming along! He jumped on the carousel at the fair, that’s why we always went every year. He came right over to my horse and held out this ring and said, “How about it Nina, we getting married or what?” and I said, “Or what!” and we laughed.’

  I looked to her left hand, where she wore a ring. ‘Was that… or did you get married to someone else?’

  My mother shook her head, ‘No, there was no one else for me. No other life or other family. I left my first, I didn’t deserve a second.’

  Well, that self-judgement sounded familiar.

  ‘What about Kit? Did you come and stay with Kit when you left… Luton?’ I’d gone to say ‘us’ and stopped myself.

  ‘No… I knew my sister would judge me for what I’d done. She wouldn’t have welcomed me. I was her annoying half-sister after all, she never wanted to be around me. Our mum used to force her into taking care of me when we were kids. And then as soon as she was old enough, off she went! Disappeared. She sent the odd Christmas card out of obligation, but…’

  ‘Well, at least you’re getting that time together now?’ I offered, smiling, and she narrowed her eyes at me, as if I’d said something wrong.

  ‘You really like her, don’t you?’

  I nodded, ‘She’s… honest. There’s no games, no ego. She says what she thinks, if it’s necessary. She doesn’t hurt people but she doesn’t sugar-coat it either. It’s just… easy. Life everywhere else seems so complicated. Here it seems simple.’

  ‘I’d be careful, love. Kit’s got secrets of her own too. And how honest is she when she’s pretending to be Scottish and selling her bits and bobs to tourists?’ My mother offered a raised eyebrow and knowing smile. ‘I came up once, wanted to see her but bottled it, so I joined a tour I knew was going through. It was a shock to see her that way, all cheer and silly stories and that over-the-top accent. Everyone’s a liar if the pay-off is big enough.’

  It was those words that went round and round in my head as I lay in bed that night. Everyone’s a liar if the pay-off’s big enough. It was true, obviously. We all had lengths we’d go to, lines we’d cross. Reasons we’d lie, so it could be justified. A job, a living, a loved one. Safety, security, fear of losing someone. Lies were a part of life, but I had the terrible feeling that my mother had seen right through me.

  She’d looked at me and told me I was a survivor, that she knew I’d do anything to get what I wanted, and even more to keep it. That I was just like her. She patted my hand and smiled, this peculiar, unwavering smile, like she knew just who I was.

  Like she knew what I’d done.

  As if she could know that fourteen years ago my perfect boyfriend had started looking elsewhere, stopped holding my hand. Hadn’t met me in the library after school, the text messages fewer in number and syllables. That there were suddenly endless shiny-haired girls who didn’t wear their brokenness so openly.

  So I did what I had to do to keep him.

  Later I dreamed of candy-floss, melting as it touched my grubby little hands, how I clenched the stick and refused to let it go. How I let the tiniest bit dissolve on my tongue, but the rest I would save. I would have candy-floss for days! I’d ration it out and eat pink clouds for ever, even as it made me sick.

  I was on my father’s shoulders, high above the crowd, looking down at everyone. He patted my knee, ‘You alright up there Tashy?’

  I patted his head in response, with my sticky fingers and he didn’t get cross or say anything at all. He just carried me through the crowd so I could see, the queen of all I surveyed.

  ‘What did you do, Tashy?’ my father’s voice asked me, but I wouldn’t answer, stuffing more and more candy-floss into my mouth so they couldn’t make me talk.

  ‘She did what had to be done!’ my mother’s voice called out, and I saw her swinging from the horses on the carousel, all brightness and joy. I kicked and wriggled and made my dad put me down so I could run to her, but by the time I reached the carousel, she had disappeared. And when I turned back to see my dad, he was gone too.

  I clung to the wooden horse on the carousel as it started moving, and it was only when I read the name on the painted armour said ‘Winston’ that I jolted awake, gasping for breath.

  Chapter Nine

  The memories haunted me, things I hadn’t remembered suddenly too real. That ache in my chest where I missed my dad, or missed who he might have been, entangled with the guilt of his death. I could still feel the candy-floss on my fingers from that dream, and I kept wiping my palms on my pyjama bottoms, but the feeling wouldn’t leave.

  I woke to a message from Dan, another photo of a drawing. It was a cartoon of three men sat at their desks in the office. They all had thought bubbles above their heads. One was thinking about money, one was thinking about a stripper, and the one that was clearly Dan was thinking about me. He’d drawn me in the thought bubble, and labelled himself ‘Dan’ below, just in case I hadn’t realised. I snorted.

  He was trying. We had both been trying to find our way back to each other through this.

  But it was never really his choice.

  I burst into tears, snotty, loud wails that I tried to muffle with my hands. Oh God. I’d done this. Everything that had happened, everything that brought us to this moment was because of me. Because I was a scared, unloved teenager who thought her perfect boyfriend was going to leave her.

  Some people will do anything not to be alone. To be loved.

  You’re a survivor, just like me. You do what needs to be done to get what you want. That’s what Nina had said, and she was right. I was just like her. Twisting things, making it so I got what I wanted. And I had wanted Daniel.

  So I lied.

  I had lied and he had believed me. He had stayed with me, so desperate to save poor little Taz from the estate, with her big bully of a father and those bruises on her wrist.

  But my dad was a good man. He’d always been a good man. He’d loved me, he’d loved Mum. He would have done anything for us. It was clear now.

  She’d made me remember just how much I’d twisted it all in my mind. I had lied to keep a boy’s attention, and my dad had ended up dead. Daniel had gone to prison, estranged from his parents, and he’d turned to me, he’d loved me and depended on me and made me feel like I would never be alone. He’d never leave me, because he needed me.

  A girl who bruised easily and a boy who wanted to save her.

  I needed air, I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Nothing but the same words over and over again on repeat. You lied, you tricked him, he never picked you.

  I pulled on my clothes and headed out to the farm, marching past people with a determination. I wasn’t sure where I was going until I got to the stables and saw Winston. Winston, the friendly giant of a horse, who had protected me and kept me safe. Who could get me away from everything. I headed straight into the stables and led him out, struggling to get up on his back until he dropped down to help me.

  And then we were off, walking, then trotting, then galloping.

  He didn’t choose you, you tricked him.

  Your selfishness killed a man.

  Daniel would n
ever forgive you. You made him stay. Made him lose his freedom.

  Your poor father, judged and dismissed. You’re scum.

  You’re worse than your mother.

  I galloped faster, kicking my heels into the horse’s muscled torso to speed him up. I tried to keep my legs strong, move with him, but all I could think about was that horizon, going as far and as fast as I could. Outrunning the voice with the sound of the wind.

  I heard yelling from behind me but I ignored it, desperate to get away. And then I felt the saddle slip. I felt myself sliding even as Winston tried to slow down, even as I clenched my thighs and tried to stay upright.

  When I fell I hit my head. It was more the ‘thunk’ noise than the pain. And then everything was quietly, gloriously black.

  ‘Well hello there,’ a soft voice said as I opened my eyes. Sarah’s red hair was the first thing I noticed, and she raised an eyebrow. ‘And how are we today, Lady Godiva?’

  ‘Is Winston okay?’

  ‘Aye, he’s a big boy. Well used to chucking wee beasties off his back,’ Sarah smiled, patting my hand. ‘Do you want some water?’

  I shook my head. ‘What happened?’

  ‘You stole a horse like a mad woman, didn’t check his saddle, or sit on him properly, and then disappeared into the distance like a very badly organised bandit.’ She shook her head. ‘So go on then. Tell me.’

  I looked around the room, ‘Where’s Kit?’

  ‘Looking after Lachlan. Probably using him to sell a few titbits to the tourists, no doubt. I’ve told her I expect a commission.’ Sarah smiled at me again, that gentle smile. ‘It’s just us here. I’ve never seen someone move like that before.’

  Sarah sat on the edge of the bed, handing me a glass of water even after I said I didn’t want it. She had a little tray with a cup of tea and a few biscuits. She sat, just watching me. It reminded me of all those school counsellors, who just sat and watched, waiting for you to make the first move, like it was a battle of wills.

  ‘Did your husband leave you?’ she suddenly asked, point blank, and I blinked in surprise.