Bad Mothers United (22 page)
Read Bad Mothers United Online
Authors: Kate Long
Even from the drive I could see the back garden was in a worse state than ever. That central pile of debris, broken wood and old furniture, was now of bonfire proportions. The
grass was long, the bushes near his fence were squashed out of shape and the fence panels themselves were really sagging; I’d have to look into getting them propped up from our side. I could
see he’d still not taken the cat-flap out. ‘Trouble is,’ Eric had said last week, ‘when you’re decorating, everything looks worse before it looks better. And the
inside needs straightening before the outside.’ Which was true, except why bother doing up a place you’re only renting? ‘Because I can,’ he’d replied. ‘Because I
want it nice for me and the lad.’ Well, I could understand that. It gets you down, living in a hole.
As I rang the front doorbell, a Cabbage White butterfly landed on a knackered old wall unit and spread its wings wide against the sun.
For a minute or two I heard nothing, then Kenzie’s small shape appeared through the frosted-glass panel. I saw him run from one side of the hall to the other and back again, like a man on
the deck of a storm-tossed boat. Eric came up behind him and lifted him out of the way.
I thought, I so need you to invite me in. If I could have half an hour even, standing with a coffee in his kitchen, or sitting in the lounge where I’d last seen Mr Cottle stiffening among
his Carol Vordermans. Trivial chat was what I needed. Tune my head back into everyday matters. I wanted to rest my eyes on a pair of nice muscly arms. And there was something else at stake, too:
Charlotte had been getting at me lately, asking why I was providing all this free childminding for a man we barely knew. (
She
barely knew.
I
saw him plenty.) She said, ‘Do
you not mind that he just sees you as a babysitting service?’ I said, ‘It’s hard for him. I have your dad down the road, Maud and Ivy at a push. He has no one. I’m doing a
neighbour a good turn, that’s all.’ But her words had niggled away. Twice I’d asked Eric to take Will while I popped out, and each time he’d been ready with an excuse. He
was taking Kenzie to a birthday party, they were late for a hair appointment. OK, these things happened – I’d had to say no myself one afternoon when Will’s shoes fell apart and
we were forced to make an emergency dash to Bolton. The fact remained, in all the weeks I’d known Eric, for all the talks and cuppas we’d shared, I hadn’t actually set foot in his
house yet.
The door opened. ‘Karen!’
‘Are you busy?’
‘Well, you could say. I’ve just this minute finished knocking plaster off the ceiling in the back bedroom, and it’s everywhere.’
‘Oh.’
‘We’re in an absolute state. One of those jobs you think, Oh, it’ll be easy, this, and then you get intae it and you wish you’d never started. Dust, filth, awful. Is it
in my hair?’
‘Can’t see any.’
‘My baseball cap must’ve caught most of it. Anyhow, I’ve done the worst, it’s pretty much all off, but there’s a load of tidying up. Poor Kenzie’s been stuck
in the front room all morning with only the TV for company.’
Obviously I wasn’t stepping over the threshold today. I thought fast. ‘You’re going to be around all morning, then?’
‘Aye, I’ve to scrape it up and bag it—’
I grabbed Will’s shoulders and thrust him forward. ‘Look, I really need you to have him for an hour. I need to go somewhere.’
‘Honestly, Karen, I would if I could—’
‘I have to go now.’
‘He’ll only get himself filthy . . .’
‘I’ve got an emergency.’
‘Why? What’s up?’
My head was ringing with garbled snatches of panic: that vile greetings card, I must make sure when I went back that I buried it deeper down the bin, didn’t want anyone seeing that when
they took out the nappy sacks. And in six hours Charlotte would be home, I had the house to tidy and the bed to make up and all her foods to get in, her Edam slices and her Tunnock’s Tea
Cakes, and how long would it be before we rowed about Will, how long before she started picking holes in the way I’d been feeding him or dressing him or our night-time routine? Which suddenly
broke a dream I’d had last night that I’d found Pringle dead under Will’s bed, and I was trying to squeeze the corpse inside a little sandwich bag without him seeing. Then I
remembered a true scene, Mum holding Chalkie’s body, wrapping it in a towel after Dad brought him home from the vet’s and that was the first time I’d seen my dad cry – what
a shock because till then I’d thought tears were the preserve of us children and I couldn’t believe a grown man could weep. Snatches of angst my mind compressed into a few seconds, like
the dial of a radio tuning up and down the different stations. I heard myself say, ‘It’s Pringle.’
‘You what?’ Eric’s gaze swept over me.
‘He’s swallowed poison.’
‘Eh?’
My face bloomed with heat. Why in God’s name hadn’t I just said I needed a break? That it was his turn to babysit?
Just bloody take him, Eric. Take him and let me go.
‘I put some slug pellets in a dish on the kitchen shelf and he might have eaten some so I need to pop him to the vet’s for a check-over. They do an open surgery on a Saturday
morning. I can’t take Will, it’d be too upsetting for him. But if I get up there straight away . . .’
‘Slug pellets?’
‘We’ve had an outbreak round the sink. Yesterday there was a great big brown one climbing over the drainer. I thought it was a splash of gravy till it moved.’ That bit was
true.
‘Sounds odd. How are they getting in, Karen?’
‘Where the pipes come through? No idea. Now’s not the time, I need to shift.’
‘I didn’t even know cats liked slug pellets.’
‘Normal cats probably don’t. Pringle’ll have a go at anything, remember.’
Will, bored with waiting, ducked past him and tottered down the hall, Kenzie following. I had no option but to finish, and run. ‘Anyway, I’ll be home soon as I can.’
I turned my back on his doubtful frown and began to sprint down the path, my mobile bumping in my cardigan pocket.
No one else looking into this cigar box would know what it was about. Any of Walshy’s girlfriends might have opened it and seen only a collection of rubbish, maybe
trawled from the bottom of a car-door pocket or tipped out of a rucksack lining. The sticker off an apple I’d made him wear on his forehead like a bindi, a jellybean we’d kicked all
the way back from town, a beer mat I’d doodled flowers over, a flyer for a band we’d been to see at the union. In one corner was a tiny shrivelled bit of green that I recognised as a
clover he’d split for me to make it four-leaf, and I’d told him cheating like that would bring bad luck. There was a red button off my coat sleeve – I’d wondered where it
had got to – and a stripy feather I’d picked up near the Walls, that was quite recent.
I put out a finger and stirred the contents round wonderingly.
‘I really hate untidiness, don’t you?’ said Gemma from a hundred miles away on the other side of the room.
Steve met me on the corner of Aspull Road, between the church and the chippy. He roared up on his Kawasaki like some cut-price Hell’s Angel and sputtered to a halt on
Saint Mary’s car park. Watching him dismount was a spectacle in itself. Since I’d last seen him ride he’d invested in a full set of leathers and they were clearly on the stiff
side.
‘You walk like John Wayne,’ I said as he drew near.
He gave me the thumbs-up and began to lever his helmet off his face. After an effort it came free. ‘You what, love?’
‘Nice outfit,’ I said. ‘Are you not cooked?’
‘A bit. Aw, this is champion, though. I can’t believe you’re up for it.’
His face was bright with anticipation. I held up the bag containing my own helmet and he nodded approval.
‘There’s a spare jacket for you in the pannier, and gloves if you want them. Now, I won’t go too fast. The main thing is—’
‘Go as fast as you like.’
He raised his eyebrows slightly. ‘OK, whatever. Main thing, like I said, is don’t be scared. I know what I’m doing. Only you have to remember to lean when I lean – you
know, see the corner coming up and lean into it the way I do. Well, you’ll feel me go. You’ll have your arms round me.’
‘Oh, I will, will I?’
‘Course. How else are you going to stop from sliding off?’ He saw my expression. ‘OK, you can hold on to the grab rail if you want. But you still have to lean.’
It took me a while to get the helmet fastened, and I had to remove the leather jacket halfway through and then put it on again because it was too snug round the shoulders for me to move my arms.
The gloves I waved away. I nearly said to Steve,
This must be what it’s like to be mummified
. But there was no speaking any more. Like a bloody scold’s bridle, this helmet
was.
He motioned me to get on the bike, so I did. Once astride I felt as well as heard it start up, the vibrations from the engine running right through me and making my teeth rattle. Or that could
have been nerves. The seat felt slippery under my bum and I fought against the constraints of the jacket to reach the rail behind me.
And then we were off. Before I’d even got myself into position Steve was steering us through the concrete bollards of the car park entrance and bumping onto the main road, into a stream of
traffic.
At first we went pretty slowly because we were following a bus and a lorry. But the bus halted to let off passengers, and there was a sudden surge of power as Steve swung the bike out and round,
then overtook the lorry, nipping past where a car would never have risked it. I closed my eyes. When I opened them, we were coming out of Bank Top and about to join the bypass.
‘I thought you weren’t so keen on the bike,’ Steve had said when I rang him. ‘What’s changed your mind?’
‘Can’t explain,’ I told him. That’s the difference with an ex, I suppose. No need to make up fancy lies for Steve. All I understood was a sudden desire to be outside and
travelling very fast, tarmac blurring beneath the flesh of my knees, the wind thundering. Blow the badness out of my head. Feel as though, for a few minutes anyway, I was on the verge of escape. We
turned onto Grimstone Lane and then he put his foot down. The Kawasaki shot down the straight and under the motorway bridge, then up, climbing towards Rivington and the countryside. His hips
pressed back into mine as the bike angled to the incline.
‘This is fantastic!’ I said, knowing he couldn’t hear me. I wondered how fast we were going. I craned my head to see the speedo and the needle was hovering on 60. Not that
fast, then. It’s just that you felt so exposed on a bike, connected to the contours of the road in a way you weren’t in a car. Ahead of us were the colours of the moor, browns and greys
and greens and purples, merging into a grey-white mottled sky. I wanted to ride into the horizon, ride and ride.
‘Sod you, Jessie sodding Pilkington!’ I yelled into the engine’s drone. ‘Sod you and whatever it was you wanted!’ What could my birth mother be after? Perhaps she
was dying and she wanted to try and make her peace with me. Perhaps she had an inheritance to pass on, or another horrible family secret she wanted to dump on my shoulders. Perhaps she’d got
religion. I couldn’t imagine what would make her suddenly pursue me when less than three years ago she’d slammed the door in my face. Whatever it was, I wanted no part of it.
‘Bitch!’ I yelled. ‘If you come after me or mine, I’ll make sure you regret it!’ Then I took in a deep breath, filled my lungs and howled into the fabric of the
helmet. I howled till I had no breath left, till my lungs were emptied. The wind was drumming round us, fierce and cooling. I took another huge breath.
Time passed, I have no idea how much. My head was now giddy with too much oxygen. But I became aware of Steve shifting and half-turning to me, trying to tell me something, and I spotted the dip
in the road ahead and the tight left bend immediately following it. ‘Lean,’ I remembered him saying. I nodded to let him know I’d seen it, I was ready. As we approached, fields
and stone walls whipped past us. The bike seemed to speed up till we were nearly flying. Then we swooped down and into the curve, and without even thinking I let go of the grab rail and fastened my
arms round Steve’s body, holding him tight as I could. Because of the leathers it wasn’t a normal hug, there was no warmth to it. This was more how embracing a tree might feel, stiff
and solid, an up-and-down trunk shape. Impersonal. We angled together as a unit, slanting ourselves against the bend and balancing out the bike’s momentum. Round the bend, the road curved
right – another lean, to the other side – and then we were on the long bridge, zipping over the reservoir with shimmering water stretching out on either side.
This was the direction of home, though. Was my time up? Surely not yet.
I bet you’ve had enough, haven’t you, Karen?
I imagined him saying.
Shall I take you back to
Will, let you get your feet on solid ground again?
No
, I urged him silently.
Please don’t let us be going yet
.
Please let me stay out here just a little bit longer.
But to my joy, instead of heading west, Steve flicked the indicator then turned and headed off round the bank of the reservoir and back up the hill into moorland again. Telegraph poles blipped
past. A flock of birds peeled away from the hedgerow. Without taking his eyes from the road he lifted his arm and gave me the thumbs-up. I signed it back.
Way in front of us, over the horizon, clouds piled high and clean. We were zooming away from trouble, into green space.
I never wanted it to stop.
I guess my head was at least half-full of Will, as it usually is on the drive home. I tend not to say a lot anyway till we’re on the M62. Usually Daniel witters on
about the latest biochemical discovery or some piece of weirdness that’s been in the news, and I do my decompression thing and turn slowly back into a mum. Today my thoughts were also
whirling with the discovery of Walshy’s box, and what it might mean. Essentially the question was, did he have similar collections for his other girlfriends? But I’d pretty much been
through his under-bed supplies with the attention of a forensic scientist and I hadn’t come across any. And if he didn’t, must that therefore be a sort of proof that I was special to
him in some way? Maybe even that he was a little bit in love with me? If he was . . . Jesus. How was I supposed to feel about that? Mixed up, that’s what. Churned, like a washing machine.
Excited. Amazed. Appalled.
Because even though our pre-Christmas fooling filled me with shame and horror, that couldn’t dampen the fizz still between us, the little shiver that passed across the room sometimes.
However I’d tried to hide it, there was something, undeniable. Even when he was at his most irritating. But what about his take on it? What if that night had really meant something to him?
‘You know, Chaz,’ he’d once told me as we trundled round the supermarket together, ‘you’re the only person who understands me.’ I’d dismissed this as
blether because at the time he was wearing a Bill Clinton mask and also he stank of beer. But none of us
ever
knew what Walshy really thought about anything because he just talked
bullshit and flirted all the time. Under all the posturing there might be any number of emotions we’d never guessed at. Imagine if he
was
burning for me all those months, since the
snog, or even before that. It made my chest squeeze with anxiety to remember.
Again I played back that drunken walk home, the out-of-nowhere kiss on the front step, the fumble on the stairs and then on his bed. Only the bleep of his phone saving me from myself and
making me leap up and run to my own room, lock the door. Tramp that I was. Shame on me. At least, thank God it was the holidays now, and an end to temptation. But what about next term? Where did
I stand?
True to form, as we passed over the Pennines it started to rain. Daniel turned on the windscreen wipers and upped the volume on the radio to compensate. ‘Isn’t She Lovely?’
sang Stevie Wonder. Isn’t she shabby, more like. Isn’t she devious, shifty, cheap. I fought to banish those images, to focus instead on Will and how pleased he would be to see me.
‘Mummy’, he’d call me, for definite. We’d been training him up using the photo album. There wasn’t going to be any more confusion there. Mum was also on at me to
start his potty training and get his hair cut, go through his wardrobe, have his hearing checked. Plus apparently I hadn’t to make the letterbox ‘talk’ to him again because
he’d trapped his fingers in it after I left last time. I knew there’d be a barrage of demands as soon as I walked through the door. But this is a mother’s world, chores and
tasks stretching off to infinity. It’s what I signed up to.
I was thinking of Will, and then Walshy, then Will again, when Daniel suddenly turned off the radio and said, ‘What exactly is it that bugs you about Amelia?’
‘Nothing,’ I said at once.
‘Come on, Charlotte.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘You really want to know? Pff. Only that she’s had it all on a plate. I bet she’s never put a foot wrong in her short sweet life.’
‘You don’t know a thing about her.’
‘I know she lives in a mansion.’
‘No, she doesn’t. Her parents own a four-bedroom house in Wiltshire, I asked her. Six years ago they bought a small field off the farmer next door to save it from developers.
That’s all. And stop being an inverted snob. Would you like it if someone judged you on the size of your house?’
‘Oh yeah, I’ve remembered what it is bugs me about her: the way you always defend her, like you’re doing now. That’s seriously annoying.’
‘I don’t “always defend her”. I offer an alternative viewpoint when you’re not being rational.’
I’m your girlfriend, I thought. You should side with me
.
‘Well, I know your mum thinks she’s the best thing ever, and wishes you were going out with her.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘It’s not! Bloody hell, Dan. Every time we’re round your flat, she finds a way to drop Amelia into the conversation. You must have noticed. Amelia brought her some honey for
her sore throat. Amelia’s family live near where your mum grew up. Amelia’s been admiring her William Morris cushions. I said, “Hey, Mrs Gale, I love William Morris
stuff,” and she gave me such a patronising smile.
You? Get back to your Woolworths tea towels, dear.
’
Daniel’s fingers twitched on the steering wheel. ‘You could argue that Amelia makes an effort with her.’
‘God, I try my best, Dan. Your mum’s not the easiest.’ If he only knew the strain involved in just keeping my mouth shut whenever I was with the sozzled old witch.
‘My mother feels comfortable with Amelia. They come from a similar background.’
‘Yes, and doesn’t she let me know it.’
Lorries in both neighbouring lanes now, hemming us in. I wondered, if you added them all up, how many hours I’d spent travelling this damn motorway.
Daniel said, ‘Are you jealous? Is that the problem?’
‘No!’
‘How about this, then. Would you like to meet her?’
That caught me totally off-guard. ‘Meet Amelia? Where?’
‘Anywhere. I thought you might like to see her face-to-face.’
‘Why?’
Daniel raised an eyebrow slightly.
My temper flared. ‘I’ve no interest in the woman. Why would I want to trail over to meet her? What’s so fascinating about her, anyway?’
He said nothing for a while. I turned my head away and stared out at the moorland and the misty outline of the hills.
Can’t bloody stop talking about her, can you?
I imagined
saying. But I couldn’t face another row. All I wanted was to get home.
‘Can we have the radio back on?’ I asked, reaching forward for the button.
‘No.’
Again I was wrong-footed. ‘Huh? Why?’
‘Because we need to talk. Well, we do, don’t we?’
‘Does it have to be now?’
‘I’d say so.’
‘OK,’ I said, without enthusiasm. Not more shit, I was thinking. Not more strife to go burning round my head.
The car slooshed past a coach filled with old ladies. They looked happy, off to some pensioner-attraction, no doubt. Nan used to go on these trips with the Over Seventies, the Edinburgh
Woollen Mill outlet store, the Tower Ballroom, Harry Ramsden’s, and she always had a whale of a time. Cup of tea and a bun and her day was complete. I thought how nice it must be to be past
it, untroubled by the urges of youth.
Daniel said, ‘How many of my uni friends have you actually met, Charlotte?’
I thought about it. ‘Well, I’ve spoken to Julian on the phone. I took a message from him. We had a really long chat. He seemed nice.’
‘So, none, then.’
‘I’ve seen loads of photos. I feel like I know them.’
‘Uh huh.’
‘Aw, come on. It’s difficult. You know it is. If I have a free weekend I need to spend it with Will. That’s the way it has to be. Obviously.’
‘Obviously.’
‘So are you saying I shouldn’t? Daniel, I’ve got to see my son. I hardly see enough of him as it is. You of all people should understand that.’
I thought I’d clinched the argument with that, but no, he wasn’t stepping down.
‘I’m not asking you to see less of him.’
‘What, then?’
He set his jaw stubbornly. ‘Just to respect me more. Think about it, Charlotte. The bottom line is, you don’t take any real interest in me—’
‘Bollocks.’
‘In my Manchester life, in anything I am outside what I do for you. You’ve no real idea who my friends are, and we never talk properly about what I’ve been up to.’
‘Gerroff. You do tell me. You told me about Julian dyeing a rose blue for his girlfriend, and Professor Jamieson talking that student down off the roof. And you’re always banging
on about science-y stuff. I know so much about what’s going on in your lab I reckon I could have sat your end-of-year exams and scraped a pass.’
‘But you don’t
listen
!’ His voice was suddenly loud in the confines of the car. ‘I talk, yes, but you don’t listen to me. I see you zoning out. Yes, you
do. You never ask me anything back. It’s as if I’m giving a lecture.’
I laughed. ‘Glad you said that and not me.’
He let out a kind of stifled groan. ‘For God’s sake. You see, you’re not even listening now. This isn’t funny, Charlotte. Always I’m in second place with you. I
know
you have a child, and before you start it’s not about that. I love Will, he’s top of my chart, too. I know he takes up your time. But this is about you taking and taking
and not giving back. I run round after you and what do I get in return? Bad moods. Your eyes glazing over when I tell you about
my
world. You don’t
think
about me.
Sometimes it’s as if my words don’t even register. The whole of our relationship’s based on me supporting you. I’m like a – like a bloody clothes prop.’
This time I didn’t dare even smile.
‘I suppose I’ve always known it,’ he went on. ‘That was the basis on which you let me be your boyfriend, right from the word go. Right from that day in the sixth-form
library when I asked you out and those girls were giggling on the table behind and you were looking at me as if I was completely mad. But you were kind to me when you could have laughed in my
face. You became the first real friend I had at that bloody school. My best friend. You shared your secrets, you asked my advice. And then when we started seeing each other properly, it was like
everything came right for me. My parents warring, it didn’t matter. We had each other. You made me laugh. You were beautiful, you were clever. It was a privilege to be by your side, and if
people wondered what someone like you was doing with a geek like me, I didn’t care. I was just on top of the world. So if there were times I worked a bit harder in the relationship, I was
prepared for that, it didn’t seem too bad, you know? There’s always one person in a couple who does more accommodating. It was OK. Until lately, and this ridiculous reaction over
Amelia – don’t, let me finish – that brought it home how little
respect
you have for me. It’s as though I can’t have friends of my own unless you approve of
them, even if you never actually take the time to meet any of them. Suddenly you decide to take a dislike to someone I mention, what, once or twice, and then every time her name comes up,
it’s open season.’
‘Well, you shouldn’t go on about her so much.’
‘I don’t “go on about her”. I don’t mention her in any other context than
Twenty-First Century Rocks
, and the reason I talk about that is because
I’m enjoying it, it’s taking up a lot of my time, it’s important to me. That’s all. Do you think I fancy her or something?’
I shrugged.
‘For the record, Charlotte, I don’t. I like her a lot, she’s fun, she does an efficient job, that’s as far as it goes.’
‘What if
she
fancies you?’
‘It makes no difference. Sheesh. I can’t believe you genuinely consider her a threat. And lately it’s struck me how bloody unfair things are between us. See, I would never
tell you who to hang round with, or sneer about them, or question your motives. Your friends are your friends. I trust you to choose them and I’m happy for you to get on with it.’
A picture of Walshy flashed up before my eyes and there I was, skewered on my own hypocrisy.
Yes, that’s the reason you’re so twitchy about Amelia
, went my conscience.
He trusts you and look how you’ve repaid him. Trying to judge him by your own slack morals. Trollop.
‘Honest, it isn’t like that,’ I said feebly.
‘But it is, Charlotte.’
Where the hell had all this come from? Ten minutes ago we were bowling along as normal. Suddenly, out of nowhere, he’d brewed up a crisis. I just hadn’t seen it coming. Daniel
didn’t really do Angry, it wasn’t his style. Stoic, he was. Level. Constant. For as long as I’d known him.
‘This sniping at my mother,’ he went on.
‘She snipes at me.’
‘Get over it.’
Now I was righteously indignant. ‘Hang on a minute, she started it! She’s always looked down her nose at me. I was never good enough. And I hate the way she acts with you,
she’s too controlling. Banging on the floor every time she wants you, and you springing to your feet and running up to her flat straight away. For God’s sake. You need to stand up to
her more.’
‘She needs support.’
‘Yeah, stop her falling over drunk.’
He swallowed. ‘That was low, Charlotte.’
‘She is an alcoholic.’
‘You think I don’t know that?’
‘Then why pretend everything’s OK? Why not
do
something about it?’
‘What do you suggest?’
‘There are groups. The AA.’
‘Oh, thanks. That never occurred to me. When I get home I’ll just strap her to a gurney and wheel her to the nearest branch against her will, shall I?’
I’d have protested but he carried straight on.
‘All right, she’s over-reliant on drink. But look at what she’s been through. She’s not a strong woman. You’re so much stronger, and you have so much more in your
life than she does. You could afford to be generous, let the odd jibe go. Because ask yourself how I am with your family. Ask yourself about the effort I put in with your mother, with your
father, with Will, your nan.’
Again he had me. It was all true. His treatment of Will alone made him a saint, never mind the way he fielded my bloody mother. I was officially the worst girlfriend in the world.
‘So what are you saying, Dan? What do you want me to do?’
‘I’m saying, I deserve better.’
The knife twisted in my guts.
‘I don’t think you love me,’ I said outrageously. It was the clumsiest kind of emotional blackmail but I was getting desperate. I only wanted him back to normal, back to his
usual mild and tolerant self. Why wouldn’t he behave? Why now all this resentment and chafing? I looked at him, willing him to tell me it was actually OK. If I wished hard enough, perhaps
any minute now he’d sigh and say he’d had a bad morning, or he just needed to get things off his chest, and then I’d come in with some concessions of my own.
