Living with Shadows (14 page)

That sense of freedom she’d felt on her first day when she left the prison, and the welcoming feeling of walking into her own home immediately afterwards had never deserted her. Some days were more demanding than others and she could only imagine it was her own self doubt that made it so. Nothing had happened to give her cause for anxiety. The week had started well enough.

She jumped at the sound of the telephone. ‘Is that Mrs Stuart?’ It was a voice she didn’t recognise and hoped it wasn’t another of those annoying cold callers.

‘This is Avis Estate Company. I’m sorry to tell you your son has fallen behind with his rent and we have you down as guarantor.’

It took a few seconds before she replied, ‘How much behind?’ Her moment of contentment faded as she waited for an answer.

‘Three months, that’s twelve hundred pounds. We need full payment within fourteen days or else . . .’

‘Yes, yes, I understand. You’ll get your money. Goodbye’. She replaced the receiver. Twelve hundred pounds. What the hell was he up to? She thought about lunch and paced around the kitchen opening cupboards and slamming them shut, all the time thinking about anything but what to eat. Jim was never here when she needed him, though realistically she knew he wouldn’t be the least bit supportive judging from past experience. She grabbed some paper and scribbled a note.
Had
to
go
out.
Back
soon
. It told him nothing. Better that way. He’d made it clear how he felt about her son’s attitude to money.

As she drove along the motorway, she realised Ben might not even be at home. It was the middle of the afternoon so he should be at work. She wasn’t sure what she was hoping to find, but she would wait. She’d wait until he got home and she would demand to know what was going on. The traffic was heavy and she found it hard to concentrate, her head so full of questions. She didn’t realise she was ambling along in the middle lane until some smart Alec undertook her, swerved in front and then slowed down. She had to brake violently to avoid slamming into his boot. He stayed there just long enough to vent his anger in a display of crude hand gestures before speeding off up the motorway. Anger rose in her. Why did people behave like that? Did it never occur to them that someone might have problems?

Kate arrived at the flats, still slightly shaken, and parked the car. She looked up at the grey windows of the high rise building, at the straight, featureless walls. It seemed ugly and uninviting, quite out of place in the new development going on around it. Its life was limited. Soon it would be pulled down and its occupants moved into smart, new houses. If Ben messed up now he wouldn’t get re-housed. He’d be out on the streets.

The side door into the flats was open. The lock had been broken, a common occurrence in this area. She entered the lift that stank of piss and stale cigarette smoke and went up to the tenth floor. She compared this environment to the prison she’d recently left when she foolishly believed her day could only get better.

Before knocking, she studied the dark metal door and gazed around the gloomy, windowless corridor. She’d forgotten just how dingy the place was. From somewhere within she heard music playing and realised Ben must be home. As she banged on the door the music faded and she heard her son’s voice.

‘Who is it?’

‘It’s Mum. I need to talk to you.’

There was a long pause before he answered. ‘Hang on a minute.’

At last the door opened and she could barely believe the apparition before her was indeed her son. His dark hair hung over his neck in long, greasy strands. His face was pale and gaunt and she could see he’d lost weight. ‘Are you going to let me in?’ she asked, trying not to show her distress.

‘It’s a bit of a mess. I haven’t had time to clear up,’ he mumbled.

She brushed past him, along the hall and into the living room where a greater shock confronted her. A dozen or so empty wine bottles lay strewn around the floor. Several ash trays overflowed with cigarette ends, and a variety of pizza boxes, some displaying the dried up remains of food, lay open on the carpet. Dirty cups and glasses, crumpled clothes and papers, including unopened mail, covered most of the surfaces. The air was stale and heavy, with no one smell in that awful concoction predominant. She felt anger rising in her as she looked from this scene of utter decadence to Ben. ‘What the hell have you been up to?’

Tears sprung to his eyes and he flopped down into an armchair. His face twisted as he tried to control his emotions. He looked so pathetic and lost that the anger in her began to subside as she waited for his answer.

‘I lost my job.’ He was unable to make eye contact with her.

‘When?’

‘About two months ago.’

‘How?

‘I was ill. They said I needn’t bother going back.’

He sat staring at the wall, leaning on one elbow and rubbing the side of his face nervously. A picture began to take shape in her mind. The scene before her was one of extravagance, a lifestyle not conducive to unemployment. But seeing him now, this shadow of the person he was less than two months ago, he certainly didn’t look as though he’d been enjoying life, only comforting himself with the things least useful to his well-being.

She shifted debris off an armchair and sat down. They remained silent for several minutes. The afternoon sun glinted through grimy windows with a brash disregard for the mess illuminated in its soft rays. She closed her eyes and imagined she was back at home wondering what she’d have done next had there been no telephone call. Probably lunch and then she would decide what to have for tea. Such a simple matter, but one she would often grumble about because it was so damned tedious. She got to her feet and leaned against the window. Instead, she had this. It certainly put things into perspective.

She turned to Ben. ‘I suppose you can guess why I’m here.’ He didn’t answer. ‘How much in debt are you? I can’t imagine it’s just the rent you’re behind with.’

‘No, there’s the council tax and the phone’s been cut off,’ he replied without shifting his gaze.

‘How could you let things get so bad, Ben? Surely, you could have got some work, anything to tide you over, stop you getting into this state. Just look at yourself. You couldn’t look any worse if you’d been living on the streets.’

He buried his head in his hands and his body shook as he wept. She realised there was no point in pursuing the matter and went over and put her arms around him.

‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ he uttered.

‘Well, I don’t suppose there’s any point in going over it now. Help me clear up this mess and then we’ll try and sort something out.’

Things were no better in the kitchen but by now she knew what to expect. She opened the fridge and reeled back from the stench. Whatever was in there, though it was very little, was in an advanced state of decomposition. The water was stone cold because, as she had already realised, the electricity was off. The first thing was a new card for the meter, and some food as there wasn’t a scrap of anything edible in the flat.

Altogether, his debts amounted to just over sixteen hundred pounds. She discovered he’d sold quite a few personal items, many of them birthday or Christmas presents, for food, drink and cigarettes. Food had been least important of the three, and it seemed unimaginable that he could waste money on drink and cigarettes instead of paying his debts. He must have known the heartache it caused when that happened. He’d been there, listened to the rows, witnessed the tears and frustration when there hadn’t been enough money to buy food, never mind pay the bills. As much as she needed to know why he’d ended up in this state, she didn’t think this was the right time. If she started to probe he’d probably get all defensive, tell her to leave him alone, that he’d ‘sort it’, and she’d go away wondering when the next phone call would be. So she sat down with him and went through every item of money he owed and worked out a plan of action. She would lend him the money to pay off his debts and he could pay her back a realistic amount each month once he found himself a job. She scribbled out a flurry of cheques and worked out a monthly repayment plan. It all looked so simple and manageable on paper. If he earned x amount of pounds, then he could pay her back y amount of money per month over z number of years. The problem was, algebra and human nature don’t have anything in common.

On the drive back she went over the events of the day, knowing that things were not so cut and dried as she’d like to imagine. The relief she’d felt on walking into her home had dissolved into a hazy blur, replaced with a nauseating weariness. Though she had resolved Ben’s immediate problems, she was very much aware it might not be long lasting. She remembered all too clearly the state of him and his flat when he opened the door. It didn’t seem that long ago when, full of pride, he’d invited her and Jim round to see their newly decorated flat. She was as sure as anyone could be that he and Marianne would eventually marry. If he continued to behave irresponsibly, it was unlikely anyone would want to marry him. She also doubted whether Marianne really had asked him for a thousand pounds for a deposit. They hadn’t been apart long but already he had reverted to his old ways and somehow she knew that a few cheques wouldn’t put things right. Yes, they had sat down together and devised a plan of action but it was hers, not his.

As she drew nearer to home, another thought weighed on her mind. What was she going to tell Jim? How could she justify what she had done without having consulted him? She had deceived him once but this time she would have to tell him. She already knew what his reaction would be and she shuddered at the thought of a long, drawn out argument. ‘Throwing money at him . . . no solution . . . needs to sort out his own problems . . .’ Her mind became choked with questions but no answers, and it was with an aching dread she turned into the drive.

She went in through the back door and into the lounge where Jim was sitting reading the paper. He looked up and smiled at her and she was glad he seemed in good humour.

‘Hi, how was your day?’

‘Good. It’s going well. She’s pleased with the work so far. Anyway, where’ve you been? I was beginning to get worried.’

She crossed the room, sat in an armchair opposite him and swallowed hard before answering. ‘I’ve been to see Ben.’

Jim put down the paper and turned to look at her, his dark eyes narrowing at the mention of Ben’s name. ‘Trouble?’

‘Sort of.’ She looked at the clock and realised it had gone seven. ‘Have you eaten?

‘What “sort of”?’

‘He’s in a bit of a mess. He and Marianne have split up and now he’s lost his job.’ Jim got to his feet and stood by the mantelpiece where he used to keep a packet of cigarettes before he gave up. This was one of those occasions she bet he wished he hadn’t.

He stood with his back to her, hands resting on the wooden ledge. ‘I see. So you dived over there to bail him out.’

She hated the meanness in his voice. ‘What else was I supposed to do, leave him without food or heat?’

‘I thought we’d been through this.’ He paused, and she anticipated his question. ‘How much this time?’

‘It’s a loan. He’ll pay me back as soon as he gets a job.’

‘How much?’

‘It doesn’t matter. I’ve told you, I’ll get it back. All right?’ She was angry at being forced to defend her actions yet it seemed the more she insisted the debt would be repaid, the less convinced she became. And guilty. Jim always made her feel guilty about helping her son.

‘You know, Kate, this has got to stop. You’re not helping him. He has to stand on his own two feet. Good God, he’s not a kid.’

‘He’s been through a lot. They both have. You didn’t see him, Jim. How terrible . . .’ She stopped, remembering the empty bottles, cigarette stubs and squalor.

‘We’ve all been through a lot but there was no guardian angel to help me when I lost my job. I had to find something else, and so should he, and the sooner the better.’

She knew there was no hope of winning the argument. It was all too familiar. After leaving home for university, it wasn’t long before Ben was up to his eyes in debt, lost his digs and thrown in the towel with studying, even after all the help he’d been given. Money slipped through his fingers like water through a sieve.

‘You’re right. I know you’re right, and it will stop. I promise this is the last time I help him.’

Thankfully, the phone rang before Jim had time to throw that back in her face and she went out of the room to answer it. ‘It’s Angela for you.’

When Jim returned he seemed more relaxed. ‘They’ve invited us over next weekend. Angela’s fortieth.’

‘And?’

‘I said we’d be there.’

‘Good. A break will do us good.’ Except for the venue, she thought, but she kept that to herself, grateful to Angela at least for her timing. ‘Do you fancy going out for something to eat?’

‘This better be the last time, Kate. I mean it. Do you want me to speak to him?

‘Give it a few weeks, Jim. Once he’s got a job, we’ll go round together, see how he’s doing. Now do you want to eat, or not?

He walked over to her, lifted her from her chair and pulled her towards him. ‘Provided you’re paying. It’ll be your penance.’

‘Whatever you say,’ she complied, while thinking her true penance was to suffer a weekend with Angela and Tim.