You're All Mine

by Ruth Harrow

  Under my feet, I let the car cruise back onto the street where I grew up and turn off the engine.

  I've thought about doing this so many times over the years. So much so, that now I'm actually doing it, it's more like I am floating through a dream. I watch my hands take the key from the ignition and slide it into my pocket.

  I stash my branded handbag containing anything else valuable – my phone and purse under the seat, tucked safely out of sight.

  My feet carry me through the gate and up to the modern red front door where an unfamiliar brass lion knocker is positioned, mouth open in a silent, but ferocious roar.

  Metal on metal, I rap three times and wait.

  While I stand on the doorstep, I glance behind me and notice that the enclosed front yard I had learned to ride my bicycle in has been transformed.

  The uneven paving slabs are gone and a neat square of artificial grass now occupies most of the space, surrounded by symmetrical ornamental pots that I can imagine in spring will contain a variety of colourful flowers. For now, they lie dormant but neat.

  Small noises reach my ears and I spin back around, sure someone is on the other side of the door.

  Some clicking noises and then the door swings open and a small overweight woman in her fifties stares at me, shock painted plainly upon her face.

  'Hello, Mum,' I say quietly.

  54

  I lead the way to the lounge down the small hallway. The layout of the house has never left my memory, but it looks so much different now. Everywhere has been painted with the same colour scheme I have adorned my own house in – white with dove accents.

  My mother had never been all that house proud before – frilly cushion covers and old fashioned china ornaments of animals used to be as far as she would stretch in terms of home comforts.

  Now, aside from the fact that the rooms are all still in the same place, the house is transformed.

  Light silver and crystal adornments are everywhere I look – eerily similar to those I have in my own house. The thinning carpet that was thinly stretched the floor when I had left is gone, to be replaced by a thick pile, topped with a deep silver rug.

  My mother hovers in the middle of the room, clearly unsure what to do. My arrival here is so unexpected she looks lost.

  After a few moments, she manages to speak. 'Please, Heather, dear. Why don't you sit down? Make... make yourself at home. I was just making some drinks, actually.'

  'OK, thanks.'

  I sink down on the sofa behind me. The shape of the room and the view out the window is so familiar that I feel as though I have come home after a very long day out somewhere.

  The quilted silver throw draped over the sofa is so much like my own that I actually check the label to see if it isn't the same one.

  It is not, but it is a deliberately close replica. I smooth it down with my hands. As I do so, I lean across and peer down the hallway into the kitchen.

  I hear the rumble of a kettle and see only one side of my mother. Her hands – like a thicker, looser version of mine – grip the sink as she stares out into the back garden. I get the sense she is taking deep breaths after the shock of seeing me.

  All of a sudden I think I shouldn't have come. I can't exactly just sneak out the door as I did sixteen years ago, however.

  I'm committed now.

  Even more so when I hear heavy footsteps on the stairs. 'Mary – where the hell are you with that tea?'

  The thick accent of my father reaches my ears, coming ever closer as he descends the stairs. 'It's thirsty work unblocking the drains, you know. You would soon complain if I had you doing it, I bet!'

  He treads carelessly past the living room, not noticing that his only daughter has entered the house; come home.

  I hold my breath and wait. Hushed mutters come from the kitchen at the same time as frantic stirring and the opening of cupboard doors and the clattering of china.

  A few moments later my mother returns with a tray of tea and biscuits. Her wide eyes never leave my face, as though worried I might disappear again if she looks away. She sets the tray down on the coffee table and perches herself nervously on the edge of the armchair.

  My father trails in behind her eyeing me with curiosity and something else less pleasant.

  I find I care very little; I only really came here to see my mother, not him.

  'You've got some nerve showing up here after all this time,' he says.

  His sharp features, I notice, seem to have faded away a little. His skin is less taught, lines are etched deeper into its paling surface.

  'Steven – don't, Love. It's lovely to see you, Heather, dear. We've missed you.'

  My father makes an indignant noise. 'If that girl is staying for tea, then I'm off out!'

  'Steven, please,' my mother begs, looking desperately between the two of us.

  He appears to ignore her and throws himself onto the bottom step in the hall and starts pulling his shoes on.

  'I was just passing by and thought I'd drop in... and say hello.'

  'It has taken you sixteen years to do that! I can't believe you have the nerve to show up here now. I honestly never thought I would see the day.'

  'No, Heather. We are really pleased to see you,' my mother insists, her eyes wide. 'We both are.' She looks pointedly at her husband, who seems to have forgotten about storming out. It seems he has compromised by hovering in the doorway with his shoes on, unlaced.

  'Your mother has spent a fortune trying to keep up with you and your bloody home improvement tips.'

  I smile, a mild lump in my throat. 'You follow my blog then?'

  'Oh yes – I love it, Heather,' she says as she smooths the fabric of her skirt over her knees nervously. 'I read every update you post. It's nice to get to see inside your house – it's beautiful...'

  'Thank you.'

  'I wanted to tell you, Heather... You were the most beautiful bride on your wedding day. I saw the photos on your Instagram. Your dress was amazing. It looked like a wonderful day.'

  'It was... I regret not having you there. I had wanted to invite you, but I just...'

  Words fail me, but my father chirps up. 'You were too stubborn, you mean. Eh?'

  'Yes. I'm sorry.'

  My mother nods somewhat jerkily and I see her eyes are shining.

  I tell her every detail of my wedding, as well as about James. And I talk about my career too.

  I suddenly have the need to let my mother into the details of the life I have kept her out of for so long.

  She sits and drinks up the details eagerly. I notice she doesn't look all that much older; she has gained a little weight, lending her thin face a fuller, more youthful look than I remember.

  Now that we are talking freely, it is almost as though I have come back home after a very long day at school or college.

  The tea sits on the tray going cold; the biscuits are forgotten.

  Silence falls and the only sound audible is my father shifting position to lean on the door frame and the distant sound of traffic and children shouting. It must be nearing home time for the local school a few streets away.

  I glance at the station clock on the wall – it's almost four o'clock.

  Lilly.

  I stand up sharply. 'Oh God! I just remembered I have to be somewhere – I've got to go!'

  'Already? But you only just got here...' My mother looks devastated, as though letting me go out the door now means she will never see me again.

  'I have to go and pick up my friend's niece from school.'

  My father's voice makes me jump, speaking from over my shoulder. 'Is that so?'

  I spin around, not realising he was so close.

  'You've left that bloody late – unless it's some posh school that has weird hours.'

  'No, it's normal hours,' I say, moving swiftly into the hallway. 'I'd completely forgotten. I can't leave her there any longer – I really have to get going.'

  My mother bustles up ahead of me and opens the fron
t door. 'Yes, I understand. Lilly will be wondering where you are, poor thing.'

  'What?'

  The door is open and I can see my car parked on the street waiting for me, but I stop and stare at my mother's full face.

  'Lilly – that's your friend's niece's name isn't it?'

  'Yes – but how did you know? I didn't tell you – and I wouldn't ever have mentioned that on my blog...'

  'No, of course not, dear. Your friend mentioned that you look after a little girl called Lilly sometimes. I remembered because it was such a pretty name. If you had ever had a sister, I would have liked to have called her that. I'd have had two little flowers.'

  'Wait – friend? What are you talking about?' I shake my head, as though I've missed something.

  She glances over at my father still standing resolutely behind me before she answers. 'She popped by recently. Said she was a friend of yours...'

  'You mean Nicole?'

  'No, that wasn't it. She said her name was Lisa.'

  55

  If there was one thing I could scrub from my life it would be the day I had waited for Lisa outside school. All I had wanted – all I had ever wanted throughout my entire school career was to get her off my back. Why couldn't she have just left me alone?

  Any one of a number of outcomes could have stemmed from us being put together in the same classes in the same school. I guess people are unpredictable.

  Lisa Richards certainly was unpredictable. How was I supposed to know she was going to react like she had on that day?

  The engine roars to life upon the turn of the key and I've already pulled out and am on my way to Lilly's school before I tug my seatbelt and clip it across me.

  How could an hour and a half have passed so quickly? My mother was right – I had surely only just got there.

  Hadn't I?

  Keeping my eyes fixed on the straight bit of road ahead, I reach under my seat and rummage around my bag for my phone.

  My mother's words as I left still ring in my head, asking me whether I will go back again.

  I turn a corner and burn forward a little too fast to make it through an amber light before the traffic in my rear-view mirror slows and stops. I check my phone, eyes flicking back and forth to the road, and find I have a handful of missed calls and a new voicemail.

  I listen to the voicemail, hoping that a police car doesn't appear from a side road at any second.

  The short message is from the school, asking me to call them back as soon as possible.

  It seems to take forever to drive over to the other side of the city where Lilly's school is situated. Half a dozen obstacles that I'm sure I don't normally face in a single journey seem to arise at every turn.

  I even find myself slamming my palm on the horn when a boy-racer pulls out of a junction ahead of me.

  I'm in a total panic by the time I pull up near the gates. Parking is abundant and I jump out the car and rush straight up the stone steps to reception.

  My eyes dart around the seats of the waiting area. On the way here, I conjured several excuses to give to the seven-year-old that I forgot all about.

  But she isn't anywhere to be seen.

  'Can I help you?'

  I follow the sound of a cold voice and glance through the glass of the reception office to see an elderly secretary peering over her glasses at me. The string trailing from the frames around her neck swings impatiently.

  'Yes. I'm – I was supposed to collect a little girl here at pick up time. But I was late. Where is she?'

  'Name, please.'

  'It must have been you that left a message on my phone. Is Lilly here?'

  'I can't discuss details of any students until you first tell me your name, please.'

  I swallow down my annoyance that this woman is being deliberately difficult. How many other people didn't pick up a child today when they were supposed to? Perhaps this is the secretary's way of expressing her disapproval.

  'Well, I'm Heather Peterson and I'm here to pick up Lilly Wilkinson.'

  She clicks around on her computer, peering at the screen through her glasses and taps a few keys.

  I shuffle around impatiently, noticing how the rubber-edged rug I'm standing on is peeling up at the corners, exposing black scuffs on the pale school corridor underneath.

  'Ah yes, Lilly Wilkinson. Yes, we tried to contact you when you didn't arrive to pick her up. We had been informed that you were designated to collect her today.'

  'Yes, I know – I completely lost track of time. I don't know what happened.'

  The secretary's head snaps sharply in my direction, eyeing me in a shrewd, bird-like kind of way. She purses her thin lips. 'It is lucky Lilly is such a good girl – she had the sense to come into the office when she found that no one was there to collect her.'

  'Yes, I know she is. I feel terrible. Will you please just tell me where she is?'

  'Official school procedure is to continue down the list of designated contacts and make alternative arrangements for pick up when situations like these arise. We contacted the next person on the list and they picked up the child.'

  'And who was that?' I lean forward, closer to the glass screen. 'If I am even allowed to ask?'

  The receptionist gives an obvious scoff and clicks around on her computer.

  'The person who arrived to make the pick up was a James Peterson.'

  56

  Back in the car, I pull out my phone and hastily call James. I have an icon to speed dial his number, but I'm shaking and sweating and it takes a few attempts to initiate the call.

  I take a deep breath as I hear the dialling tone.

  Abruptly, it gets cut short mid-ring and goes straight through to the flat monotone of the answer machine message.

  I drop the phone into my lap and lean my head back against the headrest, screwing up my eyes as a barrage of images rushes over me. My parents' faces, their house – a weak imitation of mine inside, Nicole's brave determination to carry on with her pregnancy despite the fact per partner is gone all flash through my mind.

  The imagined disapproval James surely exhibited when he heard what I've done this afternoon. Or rather – what I've failed to do.

  I attempt to pull in more deep breaths, but they do absolutely nothing to calm me down.

  A broadly built man walking along with a pug in a tiny pink jacket strolls past and gives me a searching look through the windscreen.

  My phone buzzes with a new text and I snatch up my phone. It is a text from James.

  I've got Lilly with me. I've taken her back to your house for now. We will see you later when you've finished whatever it is you are doing.

  I fire the engine up immediately and pull away from the school gates. As I pass, I'm sure I see the slatted blinds of the reception office snap back into place.

  This morning my heart would have soared to see James's car parked in the driveway again. Now, however, I pull in next to his vehicle and slide out my key with a rising sense of dread.

  I shut the front door behind me and find myself facing a flushed-faced Nicole.

  'Nicole. What are you doing here?'

  She huffs. 'What are you doing here more like?! You said you were going to pick Lilly up from school. You said you would do it! I was relying on you, Heather.'

  'I know – I'm so sorry, Nic. I just lost track of time.'

  She shakes her head. 'Everything you do is so important to you, isn't it? You forget that other people have lives too.'

  'That's not fair. I do understand that other people have lives, Nicole. I just went out to run an errand and something came up. I forgot what time it was – I'm really sorry.'

  James appears in the kitchen doorway. 'Now you're both here I think I'll get going.' He moves into the hallway where he picks up his coat trailed over the bannister. He carefully avoids my eye as he slides his arms into his sleeves.

  'You know, Heather. It was lucky James was around – I thought you told me he was away on business?'

&nb
sp; James focusses carefully on his zip and doesn't look up. 'Yes, I just happened to be in the area.'

  Nicole gives me a scrutinising gaze.

  I feel a rush of gratitude towards James that he hasn't said anything to her. I would be mortified if she ever discovered the truth after I have tried so hard to keep it locked up tight.

  Nicole stares at James. 'So, James. Did you say you were you on your way home from a trip when the school called you?'

  'No, I didn't say that,' he replies shortly. 'I had to cancel a meeting in my office though.'

  'I'm sorry,' I say, again looking between them. 'I don't know what happened – the time just got away from me.'

  'I understand, Heather,' James says as he adjusts his striped scarf. 'Your work always comes first, doesn't it? I'll just reschedule my own meeting. Don't worry about it.'

  I feel my face flushing, but keep my face as set as his.

  'Don't blame Aunty Heather.'

  We all look around to see Lilly in the kitchen doorway, a tall glass of pink milkshake in her hand.

  'I told you it's probably not her fault – the tablets might have made her forget things. They made Mummy forgetful when she took them too.'

  'Oh, yes.' Nicole throws me a look. 'She saw them in your drawer when we were looking for straws. 'Lilly, I told you not to mention those to anyone.'

  I glance across at James and see him eyeing me strangely. I've never seen that look on his face when looking at me before and it startles me.

  The only time I'd ever seen his features form that expression was when we were Christmas shopping in Birmingham once and a homeless man lunged forward out of his dirty blankets and attempted to grab hold of James's ankle as we walked past.

  We'd walked away in silence as the man had called after us, 'Hey, don't I know you?'

  It makes my heart sink to see the same expression on my husband's face now. He turns to Lilly, ignoring Nicole and me. 'Anyway, I'm just glad that little people are safe now. Bye, Lilly.'