Another Love (38 page)

‘I… I’m waiting for that letter,’ her mum stated, clearly, eloquently.

‘Oh, right. Well, the postman’s not been yet, but I’ll keep an eye out for him and if he brings you a letter, I’ll pop it straight up to you.’ She kept a singsong note to her words, as though addressing a petulant child. Waiting for letters that never came was one of Ida’s more recent obsessions. It had started one Sunday lunch, when she’d suddenly burst into tears and shouted, ‘I’ve lost them! I’ve lost them all! They were in a bundle, all my letters. I tried to keep them safe, but now they’ve gone!’ No one had any idea what she meant, but they soon found that humouring her was the best response.

‘I’ve had an idea!’ Pete shouted up the stairs. ‘What about the Leaning Tower of Pisa? I can do that with four beer cans and an empty Cornetto.’

‘I don’t want to do a tower! That’s rubbish. It’s just beer cans!’ Jonty replied. ‘Mu-um? Mum? Tell Dad I can’t just do a tower, that’s just rubbish!’

‘It’s supposed to be rubbish, you wally.’ Martha laughed.

‘Just one second, Mum.’ Jacks pulled the blankets and bedspread over Ida’s semi-naked form. She thrust the soiled nappy into an empty carrier bag and tied it with a double knot. Popping her head out on to the landing, she spoke quietly but firmly.

‘Martha, don’t call your brother a wally. And Jonty, you don’t have much choice at this stage in the game, love. Dad is doing his best to find stuff for you to take in at very short notice. Now go and eat your breakfast, both of you.’ She smiled at her little boy, who stood with his arms folded across his chest.

‘But I don’t want to do a tower, it’ll be pants.’ His eyes brimmed with tears.

‘What do you want to do then?’ Jacks spoke quickly, encouraging her son to match her pace. She had her mum to see to, the breakfast things to tidy away and only sixteen, no, fifteen minutes in which to get both kids in the car.

‘I want to make the Clifton Suspension Bridge.’ He rallied, eyes bright at the idea.

‘Clifton Suspension Bridge?’ Pete guffawed. ‘You’ll be lucky, son. I’m afraid it’s the Leaning Tower of Pisa, or the Angel of the North if you bend these three coat hangers.’ He held them up.

‘The Angel of the North isn’t even a building!’ Martha shouted as she bolted down the stairs with her jacket and bag over her shoulder.

‘Well, excuse me! We can’t all be clever, can we, Jacks?’ He winked at his wife from the bottom of the stairs.

Jacks bent low and mussed her son’s hair. ‘Your tower will be fine, Jonty. You can paint it and cover it with foil and bits and bobs. It’ll look lovely. And I think it’s your best bet in the circumstances.’

‘Okaaay,’ he mumbled, finally heading downstairs for his breakfast.

Jacks straightened up and returned to her mum’s room. As she opened the door, the smell of faeces hit her in the face, offending her nose and making her retch. ‘Oh God!’ she whispered as she placed her hand over her nose and mouth.

‘I have passed water,’ Ida stated nonchalantly, as if she was announcing the day of the week.

Jacks nodded and drew back the covers, trying not to inhale through her nose. ‘That’s okay, Mum. Quick change of plan: we need to get you into the shower for a quick once-over before I take the kids to school. Okay?’ Pulling the sheet from the bed, she wrapped it around her mum and manoeuvred her into a sitting position.

‘I’m expecting a letter.’

‘Yes.’ Jacks nodded as she helped her mum to stand, supporting her feather-like weight as she leant against her. ‘When it comes, I’ll bring it up to you, don’t worry.’

With the bathroom now thankfully empty, she used her elbow to open the door, then switched on the shower and removed the sheet and her mother’s nightie, bed socks and vest, rolling them into a ball in the corner of the room. ‘Here we go.’ She guided her mum under the deluge.

‘Oooooooh! It’s too hot! You are burning me! Help! Someone help me!’ Ida shrieked.

Jacks smiled and thrust her own hands into the running water. ‘Look, Mum! Look! If it was too hot, it would be burning me too and it’s not. It’s fine. I checked it. I promise you it’s not too hot.’ She reached for the shower gel that hung from its natty little plastic hook on the shower bar. ‘It’s fine, Mum, just the right temperature. See? It’s fine.’

She no longer panicked when her mother yelled that she was getting scalded, even though her heart still leapt at the tone of Ida’s shrieks. She was used to it, even expected it. And now that she’d explained to their next-door neighbours Angela and Ivor that they might hear this on a regular basis, she no longer felt the lurch of fear that she might get into trouble. She tried not to look at the dark clots of waste that gathered in the plughole of the shower cubicle where her children stood. Instead, she concentrated on building a lather between her palms and covering every inch of her mother’s skin as quickly as possible.

With four minutes to spare, her mum was returned to a clean bed, smelling of talc and wrapped in her fleecy bed jacket with Radio 4 on for company.

Pete knocked and entered, carrying a tray with a cup of tea and three Rich Tea biscuits on a saucer. ‘Morning, Ida. Here we go, a nice cuppa for you.’ He placed the tray on the bedside cabinet.

‘Thank you, Toto. So very good to me.’ Ida patted her thin hair into place.

‘Thanks, love.’ Jacks smiled at her husband, whose small acts of kindness when time was at a premium made all the difference.

‘Toto?’ Ida called from the nest of pillows on which she was propped.

‘Yes?’ Pete stopped in the doorway and turned. He didn’t mind being confused with Ida’s long-dead brother. Toto had been in the RAF and, truth be told, Pete quite liked her thinking he had a more dashing career than laying patios up on the new estates that were springing up all over the place.

‘I need to see that letter.’ She looked at him, concerned.

‘Ah, don’t you worry. If it turns up today, we’ll be sure to run it straight up to you.’

‘Mu-um?’ Jonty shouted.

‘Yes, love, coming! I’ll be back in a little while, Mum, to get your breakfast. Okay?’

Ida reached for her tea, made with chilled milk, and ignored her daughter.

It was a day like any other.

Nineteen Years Earlier

Her dad was outside, as if waiting to greet her. ‘What time do you call this then?’ His voice was stern, but his smiling eyes gave him away.

Jacks laughed at him as he stood in the middle of the grass, his shirtsleeves rolled high above the elbows, leaning on the handle of the lawnmower and pulling his serious face. The smell of cut grass was intoxicating, reminding her of sunshine and lazy, school-free days. The grass as ever looked immaculate, as did the straight, weedless borders. He never tired from telling her that, like a good haircut, his lawn required regular attention.

The summer holidays were right around the corner and she couldn’t wait! Six whole weeks when she would never be out of shorts and wouldn’t have to wake to the dreaded alarm clock. It was when Weston-super-Mare sprang to life, tourists filling the B&Bs and unfamiliar faces adding variety and excitement as they strolled along the Marine Parade. It was the time of year when everyone seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. Money came in as people queued for ice cream, chips and donkey rides. Laughter and the scent of suntan oil floated in a pungent cloud that settled in even the grimmest of corners, lightening the mood all round.

She looked at her watch. ‘Nearly 5.30!’

‘Good day at school?’ he asked as he lit a cigarette and drew heavily on it, inhaling deeply like it was fresh air and flicking the match twice to make sure it was extinguished, as was his habit.

She nodded; it had in fact been an exceptional day. A bubble of excitement floated from her stomach up into her throat.

‘How did netball go?’

‘We won! Despite the umpire being really rubbish. She was totally on their side. I was trying to shoot and their goal attack made contact, loads of times! She just overlooked it! And it was right in front of her. I wanted to go mad, but I knew I’d get into trouble so I didn’t say anything.’

‘But you won anyway?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, there’s a lesson there then.’ He nodded sagely.

‘What lesson?’ Jacks pushed up the sleeves of her cardigan.

Her dad scratched his chin. ‘I’m damned if I know, probably something like, it’s good to think before you act, keep a calm head, that kind of thing. But you won anyway, so who cares!’

He trotted over and placed his cigarette-free hand around her shoulders, pulling her towards him and kissing her scalp. He then showered her with a handful of cut grass he’d gathered for the purpose.

Jacks shrieked and jumped backwards, shaking her long hair as she patted her shirt and skirt. ‘Da-ad!’ She instinctively looked towards the kitchen window, where her mum stood at the sink with pursed lips and a straight back. Jacks felt the disapproval dripping off her.

‘Ooh, look, the fun police are on patrol.’ Her dad jerked his head towards the house and pulled a wide mouth. ‘No spontaneous laughter, you have been warned!’ He winked at her.

She wanted to laugh, to come back with a retort, but the feeling that she was being disloyal to her mum kept her silent. It had always been that way. As an only child she regularly felt like a referee, caught in the middle of their daily, long-drawn-out battle.

‘Got any homework?’ he asked.

‘A bit. I’ve got to read a scene from Oscar Wilde’s
An Ideal Husband
. And I have to draw a graph for business studies.’

‘An ideal husband? Well, I can help with that. It was probably written about me!’ He leant back and laughed loudly.

‘Not sure Mum would agree.’ Jacks pulled her bag up on to her shoulder and made towards the house.

‘Love, if I said black, your mother would say white. She doesn’t agree with anything I say.’

Jacks ignored him and pushed open the back door. Not wanting the seesaw of emotions to spoil this wonderful day.

‘Tea’s nearly ready.’ Her mum spoke quietly as she poured a steady stream of salt into a pan of boiling water, into which she would tip the carrots she had peeled and sliced. ‘You’ve got a few minutes if you want to take your stuff upstairs and get settled. I’m just going to lay the table.’

Jacks nodded, her eyes wandering over the mess that her mum always created when she prepared the evening meal.

‘What were you and Dad laughing about? I saw you larking about in the garden.’ Ida smiled briefly as she gathered the knives and forks and the tomato ketchup bottle.

‘Nothing.’ Jacks shrugged, feeling her cheeks flame as though laughing with her dad was not allowed.

She climbed the stairs, kicked off her shoes and pushed her over-the-knee socks down, rubbing where the tight elastic had cut into her thigh, before flopping down on her bed. She stared up at her poster of Take That before pulling her notepad from her bag. She wrote the word for the first time, encircling it in a heart.
Sven. Sven.
This was the word that danced in her mind and sat on her tongue.
Sven.
He had been at school for the last six months, but apart from her having noticed his shock of blonde hair and rather nifty home-knitted jumpers, they had had little contact. He was one of the clever kids and was in some of her classes, and she had listened and smirked with her mates at his pronunciation of certain words, which often left a lot to be desired. She had watched in the dinner queue as some of the boys in the football team had asked if he was a member of Abba and if his mum and dad owned a Volvo. He had responded quickly that they were being ridiculous, of course his parents didn’t own a Volvo, but, yes, he was in fact Agnetha, from Abba.
Sven.
She wrote it again and then wrote
Jackie Lundgren
by the side.

‘Tea’s ready!’ her mum called up the stairs. Jacks shut her notebook and placed it under her pillow, ready for further doodling in later.

She slunk down the stairs, pausing at the hallway mirror to push up under her boobs, which she wished were bigger. Her friend Gina had massive boobs, although comparison was probably stupid as she and Gina were about as opposite-looking as they came. From the side they gave a slight bump to her shirt, but head on, she looked flat.

‘What you looking so glum about Missus?’

She looked up at her mum. ‘Nothing. Just wishing I looked a bit more like Gina.’

‘Gina?’ Her dad laughed. ‘You’re kidding! I’m not being mean, but if ever there was a girl that had to rely on her brains, it’s her. You, on the other hand, can do like the rest of the family and use your good looks to get you far.’ He batted his eyelashes.

‘Don’t flatter yourself. Your side of the family maybe, but my dad was very clever.’ Ida muttered as she put the plate in front of her daughter. ‘He was quite high up at the Gas Board. A very astute man, had a small fortune in Premium Bonds.’

Her dad pulled a funny face. ‘Oh yes, the mysterious Premium Bonds! Tell you what, Ida, if they really existed, we’d have cashed them in years ago and had a couple of weeks in Tenerife! But until I see evidence of their existence, it’ll be a week in the caravan as usual.’ He laughed.

Jacks studied the carrots, peas, boiled spuds and individual chicken pie that had puffed up on top, just the way she liked it.

‘Cor, this is lovely!’ She watched as her dad, with his mouth full, winked at his wife and she saw the way her mum’s face split with joy at the compliment he gave. As if she couldn’t help it. Jacks chased the peas around the plate and wondered what Swedish people ate for tea.

‘Penny for them, Dolly Daydream?’ Her dad reloaded his fork with gravy-rich pastry and a couple of carrots.

‘Huh?’ Jacks hadn’t been listening.

‘You’re miles away, not still brooding over your biased umpire?’

She shook her head. ‘No. I was just wondering what Swedish people have for their tea.’

‘Ryvita probably. That’s Swedish.’ Her mum nodded, certain of the fact.

‘And fermented herring,’ her dad added. ‘I remember a bloke I worked with on the rigs telling me about it. They let the fish go off in a tin and then eat it the next year, or something like that.’