Mothers & Daughters (22 page)

In my imagination I saw the Baroness from
The Sound of Music
flick her cigarette towards Maria.

‘I knew something was up, as soon as you came in.'

‘There you go, then.'

‘As long as you're not too . . . Because whatever the circumstances, these things are always a bit upsetting. You might not realise till later what it's taken out of you.'

‘I was sick of the complications, if you want to know,' he said abruptly.

The door of the Scout hut opened and a man walked out onto the steps. I saw the flare of a lighter, then, a beat later, drifting smoke. Midges danced round the security light above. Further off, the orange glow of halogen showed through the horse chestnut trees and there was the sickle moon coming up, like an illustration from one of Matty's bedtime books.

Sick of the complications. Complications
. The word snagged.
A complicated friend
. Lurch-jerk went the Citroën, backwards and forwards.
Ian hasn't met her
. I remembered the furtive way David had held his shoulders, pacing about my kitchen with his mobile to his ear.
Not really a girlfriend
.

The Citroën shot forward into the open street, and at the same moment, something clicked together in my brain.

‘My God,' I said, ‘she was married.'

‘Well. Yes.'

‘You were having an affair with her!'

‘I appreciate it's not ideal. That's why I finished it.'

‘Not ideal?
Not ideal
?' I stared across at his handsome, serious face, trying to read what I'd missed there. His forehead was creased with dismay.

‘All right,' he said. ‘I can see why you'd be upset. What you have to say to yourself, though, is, she's an adult, making her own choices, and you don't know the background, and I thought long and hard before I got involved. I'm not about to wreck anyone's marriage. Very much not.'

‘Excuse me,' I said. ‘If I could speak from the other side. You obviously have no idea.'

‘It was insensitive of me to tell you. I should never have said anything.'

‘No, no, I'm glad you did.'

‘I wouldn't lie to you, Carol. I could have lied, but I chose not to. But you don't know her, it's not as if they're friends of yours. No one's been hurt, because no one knows.'

‘That's not the point.'

David gripped the steering wheel. ‘Look, I'd
never
have cheated on Jeanette, I've told you that already. Never.'

‘And yet you're encouraging this woman to. Bloody funny set of morals.'

‘It happened. I didn't plan it, I didn't look for it. It was just – an interaction,' he said.

‘God Almighty, I've heard it called some things! “Interaction”? I'll tell you what it is. It's lies and disrespect and deceit and humiliation. It's shoddy and low. No wonder Ian's like he is.' I reached for the door handle.

‘Where are you going?'

‘Home.' I climbed back out into the car park.

‘If I can just—'

‘For God's sake! I thought you were one of the decent ones,' I said, and slammed the door against his explanations.

CHAPTER 18

Photograph: clipping inside a wartime edition of
Housewife
magazine, marking an article called ‘Nerves: The Enemy of Youth and Good Looks'. From Carol's bureau, Sunnybank
.

Location: the foot of Tannerside Brow, Bolton

Taken by: the
Wigan Observer,
November 1968

Subject:
New Bypass Open At Last,
says the headline. Despite the promise of sleet, the morning's turned out fine and brisk and every shadow on the tarmac is sharp. Not even British weather can get in the way of progress today. Carol's dad stands shoulder to shoulder with the County Surveyor and Bridgemaster and the mayoral consort, in front of a line of traffic cones. On the other side of the picture, the mayor poses with scissors agape
.

Bob White is here in his capacity as councillor. He is proud of the bypass, proud of his village and of the contribution he and his fellows make to it. Because what a piece of work this is! The area of the new carriageway alone is 37,400 square yards. The total amount of pitching used was 14,000 tons, and before that they laid down 13,500 tons of broken stone and 800 tons of cement. 19,400 cubic yards they had to excavate, in total. Numbers like those make an ordinary man feel nothing's impossible
.

He's proud, too, of his recent promotion to foreman at work, and of his new Austin 1100 in coffee and cream. He's proud of his daughter, who'll be reading the second of the Nine Lessons at the school carol service. Even Frieda's managed to be pleased at that bit of news
.

When they've packed up here, he'll go back to the council offices for a celebratory sherry, and then it's on to Millie Pharaoh's for a cup of tea, a chat about the old days, and a spell upstairs. Nearly two years have passed since her husband died, eight months since they started with this other arrangement. There's no harm in it, so long as nobody knows
.

There are so many things in life just now to be grateful for
.

I've never been a fan of Good Fridays. There's always an unsettling and gloomy atmosphere to them, especially when it gets to that dead hour, mid-afternoon. Which I suppose, when you think about it, there ought to be: Jesus had a lot more to contend with than running low on milk and the shops being shut.

In between rain showers I'd been trying to set up an Easteregg hunt for Matty, because Jaz was going away for the weekend with Nat. I'd offered to keep Matty with me so she could let her hair down for once, have some fun, but she'd got all defensive. ‘Of course I'm taking him with me, Mum. Why wouldn't I? It's Easter and I want to be with him. Don't know what kind of a mother you think I am.'

So we were making like it was Sunday, and although Jaz didn't know it, some of the eggs outside were Ian's, delivered to my doorstep while I was at work.

The sun emerged thinly as I was lifting Matty from his high chair, so I parked him by the back door and grabbed the little bucket.

‘He's too young,' said Jaz, shaking her head. ‘He won't understand what he's supposed to do.'

‘I'll help him,' I said. ‘You know what an egg is, don't you, Matty?'

‘Look,' he said, pointing at the window to where the water was dripping off the top sill. ‘Uh-oh.'

‘It's only spitting, hardly even that. Here, hold the bucket.'

I knelt to zip his coat. Jaz came round to tie the strings on his hood.

‘OK, love?' I said.

‘I think I am, yeah.' She smiled, and an indescribable relief washed over me. As we stood up together, I couldn't resist reaching out and drawing her in for a hug. For about five seconds she let me hold her, then she pulled away. ‘It's a better day today, Mum,' she said.

‘Good.'

‘It has to come round eventually, doesn't it?'

‘It does.' Though there'll be times you feel as if you've gone back to square one, I thought.

Meanwhile, Matty flapped his arms and pushed against me. I stepped aside and opened the door, and he shot out onto the soggy lawn. ‘Your bucket,' I called after him.

‘Watch out for that bloody pond,' said Jaz behind me.

I caught up with Matty and tried to hand him the bucket, but he wasn't having any. Two collared doves were stalking about under the feeder like a pair of wind-up toys, and those were what he wanted.

‘Can you see any eggs?'

The doves cringed and took off. Matty came to a halt.

‘Whatever's under this bush?' I said, for all the world like someone who'd not been crouched next to it ten minutes before. ‘Look!'

His eyes swivelled to me for a second, then away again.

‘Here's one,' I said, holding it up for him. The sun caught the foil in a brilliant flash, and at last he was interested. He tottered forward. ‘Pop it in here, and we'll find some more.'

Matty took the egg, came up to the bucket and peered over the rim. ‘Let it go, sweetheart,' I said, and after some hesitation, he did.
Thunk
it went against the bottom of the bucket.

I hooked the handle back over my arm, then steered him in the direction of the fence where my stone squirrel balanced another egg in the V between its tail and its back. This time Matty spotted the prize unaided.

See, Jaz? I thought. I knew she'd be at the window, keeping an eye on us, but that was all right. Matty and I, we were fine, we were blitzing it. So much we had in store over the next few years: treasure hunts, the Science Museum, pantomimes and nature trails, growing seeds, sharing books, constructing a runway for Santa out of tea-lights. My heart contracted with anticipation.

On his way back to me, Matty paused to check out a scrap of orange netting from around an old fat-ball, then lighted on a length of cane, left over from when I'd staked out my sweet peas last year. I rattled the bucket but it failed to register. There's no getting between a boy and his stick.

‘Come on,' I said loudly. ‘Quick, before the jackdaws get them.'

A few drops of rain speckled my face and within half a minute, the surface of the pond was a mass of radiating circles, the leaves on the bushes quivering again.

‘I can see something shiny by the shed. What do you think it might be?'

Matty came forward like a midget king, still clutching his cane and egg, and allowed me to adjust his hood.

‘Bucky, Nanna,' he said, and I lowered it for him.

I led him up the other side of the garden where we collected two more eggs.

‘How many have we got? Shall we count?' I said, but the shower was getting heavier. Jaz appeared at the door.

‘Don't get him soaked,' she called out.

‘It's not cold, and he's got spare socks upstairs. Anyway, we're nearly done.'

I'd set the last egg, a larger one, on top of a stone mushroom, and wedged it in place with a couple of brick shards. As soon as Matty saw it, he ran across and began whacking the mushroom with his stick.

‘Hoy, stop that,' shouted Jaz.

‘He's all right,' I said. Raindrops fizzed on the paving stones around my feet. ‘Come on, Matty, grab that big one and let's go back in.'

He turned, but in the wrong direction, and ran off down the garden once more. My grandson may only be small, but he can shift when he wants to. Jaz and I exchanged glances, then she launched herself out of the door after him, while I nipped round the other way with the idea of heading him off. Waves of rain were sweeping across the lawn, and Jaz had no coat on.

Matty got as far as the shed, tripped over his own cane, rolled against the compost heap, righted himself and turned to grin at us. I had one of those moments where your brain goes into camera mode and you know you've captured the scene for ever: his slightly bowed stance as he prepared to take flight again, the highlights on his cheeks, tiny white teeth against the pinkness of his new gums, his miniature thumb against the knobbled cane. There were grass clippings all down the back of one leg. His eyes were slits of mischief.

‘You little tinker,' I said. I held my arms open, but he went instead to his mother, and she picked him right up and whirled him round. I could hear him shrieking with excitement, even above the thrumming water.

By now, Jaz was very wet. Shining drops swelled at the ends
of her hair, and her eye make-up was smudged where she'd wiped her face with her sleeve. ‘Good heavens, the state of you,' I said as I drew near. ‘Give him to me, and run and get yourself inside.'

‘I think it's too late for that, Mum.' She was laughing, and Matty was laughing. I took his hand and she held onto the other, and we swung him between us in giant bounds back towards the house.

‘What a team, though,' I said, raising my face to the rain and closing my eyes. I imagined how we'd look from above, an aerial view of the three of us, a twisting string of family moving across a green rectangle. I wished I could've had a photograph of that.

When we got inside, I told Jaz she could borrow one of my tops while I changed Matty's footwear. True to form, it was my brand new purple blouse she came down in, a bath towel wrapped round her head. Even like that, she looked lovely.

She pulled at the cuffs, appraising. ‘This is nice.'

‘No need to sound surprised,' I said.

The television had been playing to itself all the while. Now it showed a man in a white dinner jacket bursting through a giant illuminated mouth onto a stage full of showgirls.

‘What on earth's this?'

‘How should I know?' said Jaz, dropping the magazine back onto the cushion. She came round and settled herself on the sofa next to Matty, who was lying on his side with his thumb between his lips.

The man in the white jacket raised a silver-topped cane, and H-E-R-O-D appeared above him, spelled out in lights. He wore a white carnation in his lapel, and his bow tie matched his hanky. His hair was slicked back, immaculate.

‘Huh.' She nodded at the screen. ‘You know who he reminds me of?'

‘Don't say it.'

‘But he does. Look at him. Look at the way he's kitted out.'

‘David does not dress like that.'

‘I didn't say he did. I said I was reminded of him.'

The showgirls began a dance routine, their pink dresses shimmering, their diamond collars winking with every gesture.

‘You don't still see him, do you, Mum?'

‘No,' I said, which was, coincidentally, now the truth.

‘Good,' she said. ‘Because I was beginning to wonder.'

‘Wonder what?'

‘You
know
.' Herod jumped onto a grand piano. ‘You used to do this funny little smirk whenever you mentioned him. You did. Yes, you did. But there's no way you two would get together, is there?'