No Longer Safe (3 page)

She led me to my room. Like everywhere else in the cottage,
it was quaint but basic. There was an old washstand on a dressing table, a
wardrobe that didn’t appear to close and a scattering of rag rugs covering the
threadbare carpet. The bedstead was the only piece out of context, with its
bold and ostentatious black cast-iron frame topped with what looked like small
cannon balls.

‘No one will bother us,’ said Karen, pulling my curtains
closed for me. A small heater on the floor was rattling, but wasn’t making much
difference to the air temperature.

I peeked inside Karen’s room. It was strewn with baby
things: a changing mat, piles of nappies, sleepsuits, lotions, bottles – and
there was a cot in the corner.

As Karen bathed Melanie, I hung up my gear, listening to the
splashes and squeals. There was a clunk followed by the swoosh of water
gurgling down the pipes, and shortly afterwards, I heard her footsteps pass my
room and a door close. She came out humming to herself, swept into my room
without knocking and flopped down on the bed.

‘She’s all sorted,’ she said. ‘I want you two to get to know
each other.’ She sat up, smiling at me. ‘You’ll be changing her nappy before
you know it.’

I bit my lip. This was Karen as I remembered her. She’d had
her baby torn away from her for months – not knowing if she was going to live
or die – and yet she was still keen to make me part of their intimate reunion.

Nevertheless, there was something about her that was trying
a bit too hard. So far, our conversation sounded straight out of a woman’s
magazine, where a celebrity invites cameras into her home and gives a trite
interview to promote her new film. I wanted her to let down this ‘everything’s
wonderful’ façade and tell me how things really were for her. I knew enough
about hiding feelings to know something wasn’t right.

I shivered and she reached out her hand, inviting me to pull
her to her feet. ‘Let’s get you warmed up,’ she said as she led me to the
stairs.

‘I want to hear
everything
about you,’ I said, as we hunched up close to the fire. ‘The baby…and…’ I
stopped short, realising I didn’t have a clue about what else she’d been up to
over the last six years.

‘We’ll have all the time in the world for that,’ she said,
rubbing my arm.

London life already felt like it belonged in my past – it
was built of a tighter, rougher fabric, where everyone was happy to elbow you
out of the way. Perhaps the back-to-basics living here would help me reconnect
with simple things. I could stretch my legs and explore a new landscape, take
photographs; I might even write some poetry. It would be like a retreat; a
chance to get back in touch with myself again. Most of all, however, I wanted
Karen to trust me, open up to me and stop treating me like a guest.

‘Let me show you the rest of the place,’ she said on cue,
just as the warmth was starting to penetrate my outer layer.

It was like visiting a museum. Under the kitchen window was
a small cream-coloured fridge and, further along, there was a low tap over a
drain in the floor. In between, there appeared to be the one concession to
modernity; a stainless-steel sink unit and draining board.

‘There’s a big chest freezer in the scullery,’ Karen said,
pointing to a door in the corner. ‘I bought a few pieces of fresh meat from the
village.’ She brushed a cobweb away from the draining rack. ‘We’ve got milk and
butter – all the essentials to keep us going. The corner shop is three miles
away.’

She swung open the fridge door and a cauliflower fell out
with a thud onto the flagstone floor.

‘Crikey – there’s enough here for the whole winter,’ I said,
taken aback. Each shelf was stuffed with packets, fruit, vegetables and jars.
She shrugged, giving a clipped laugh.

We retreated to the comfort of the dancing fire again. The
last of the daylight had been snuffed out and Karen switched on a lamp by the
bookshelf. I couldn’t help thinking, with its distinct lack of modern
appliances or home comforts, it bore rather too much of a resemblance to where
I lived in Wandsworth. Palace Gardens – it sounded posh, but it wasn’t. It was
a row of rundown terraced properties running alongside the grimy railway line.

I was twenty-seven and still lived with my parents. Dad worked
as an undertaker and mum spent most mornings serving in a book shop. She was
involved in local volunteer groups too, alternately fundraising for neglected
animals, wild birds and humanitarian crises overseas.

Neither of them had grasped the concept of twenty-first
century living; Mum still made her own clothes and Dad smoked a pipe. The most
high-tech appliance we had in the house was a television, but they still seemed
to prefer listening to the radio. Our home wouldn’t have looked out of place
re-created at the Victoria & Albert Museum – to show what living in the
tough 1940s was like.

Here, the tapestry fireguard, the broken grandfather clock,
the rickety wooden clothes horse – were all embarrassingly familiar. Bare essentials
instead of luxuries; it wasn’t going to be the least bit comfortable, but at
least Karen was here.

I glanced over and her eyes had fallen shut; her belly
rising and falling under her clasped hands. I watched her for a few moments,
relishing her presence, not wanting to disturb her.

I always felt I’d let my parents down; at best I scraped
average at everything – school work, baking, sewing – and for most things I
didn’t even get as far as ‘average’. I tried hard; I just always seemed to be
behind.

By the time I was about eight both Mum and Dad had lost
interest in me, giving me menial tasks to do around the house to make up for
the fact that I never excelled. One year they asked me to decorate our
Christmas tree and I stood my masterpiece too close to the door, so when Dad
came in the whole thing fell over, smashing baubles and sending pine needles
everywhere. I can still hear the contempt in my mother’s voice when she told a
neighbour about it: ‘She can’t even get
that
right.’

With Karen, I never felt like I was a disappointment. That
thought brought another memory of what Mum had said on meeting Karen that one
time at our graduation ceremony. ‘She’s something special that young lady,’
she’d said wistfully. ‘She’s going to go far.’ Then she’d given me that earnest
look of hers and said, ‘Stick with her, my girl, she’s worth having on your
side.’

Karen got up with a start. ‘Better just check something,’
she said. I followed her into the kitchen, where she opened the door to the
space under the sink. ‘The landlady said there was a bit of a leak in the
U-bend and we’d need to keep an eye on it.’ A squashed-up cloth was already
saturated at the back. ‘Damn – it needs a bucket,’ she said, tutting. ‘There’s
one in the scullery.’

‘I’ll get it,’ I said. I wanted to show her how helpful I
was going to be; to prove to her that inviting me was the right decision. I
found one next to a sack of logs and brought it through.

She reached out to take it, but I held on. ‘It’s okay, I can
do it.’

‘The bucket’s quite tall,’ she said, as I got down onto the
ice-cold slabs. ‘You’ll need to tip it to get it right underneath.’

It was a tight fit and I strained and stretched to get it
upright in the right spot, half my body squashed inside the cramped space.
Finally, I heard a plunk as the first drip slapped against the tin base. ‘Done
it,’ I said, starting to back out.

At that moment, Karen said something, but I didn’t catch her
words. In my concern not to miss anything, I snapped my head up – and bam!
There was a stab of excruciating pain as the tap of the metal stopcock rammed
into my temple. I cried out, then felt my body dissolve under me before tiny
pinpricks of light gave way to blackness.

Karen was slapping my face, calling my name.

‘Alice, Alice…are you okay?’

I blinked, trying to sit up. I was on the sofa under a
blanket.

‘Bloody hell,’ I said taking my hand up to the side of my
forehead. A bad taste like burnt metal was clinging to the roof of my mouth. I
must have bitten my tongue. ‘What happened?’

She was hovering over me, a dripping glass of water in her
hand. ‘You banged your head getting out from under the sink,’ she said. ‘You’ll
be fine in a minute.’

I rolled my fingers gently over the tender spot. ‘It really
hurts...’

‘It’s not cut or anything,’ she said, peering over me. ‘Just
a bump. I’ll get some ice.’ She came back with cubes wrapped inside a tea towel
and held the bundle carefully against my head.

‘How long was I out for?’

‘Only a few seconds,’ she said, without concern. ‘I got you
straight in here.’

I sat up trying to convince myself I was okay. Karen shook a
packet of painkillers in front of me. ‘Have a couple of these and get an early
night. If you feel awful in the morning I’d better get you to A&E.’

That was the last thing I wanted. Poor Karen had spent most
of the last few months tramping up and down hospital corridors and I was
determined not to drag her back there for my sake. I hated the idea of spoiling
things.

I swallowed the tablets and rested my head against a
cushion. I glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece – it must have been fast.
Karen said I’d only been unconscious for a few seconds.

‘It’s just a little bump,’ she insisted. She made a cup of
tea and ladled sugar into mine.

‘Thank you,’ I said trying to hide my grimace. It felt like
I’d been in some dark faraway place for longer than a few seconds and I was on
the verge of changing my mind about A&E. I could always get a taxi and not
bother Karen. On the other hand, I didn’t want to kick up a fuss and come
across as a dreary hypochondriac. I was sure Karen would have taken me without
hesitation if she’d thought there was any serious concern.

‘So – tell me what you’ve been up to,’ I asked with fake
levity, ‘What happened to Roland?’

‘Roland? He’s been and gone. That was a long time ago. I’ve
no idea what he’s up to now.’

‘Anyone else on the scene?’ Karen always had a man in tow.

‘I’m taking a break,’ she said unexpectedly. ‘Don’t you find
relationships can be hard work sometimes?’ I smiled, but didn’t have enough
experience to be able to share her sentiments. ‘I’ve got someone lined up for
when I get back,’ she added. That sounded more like it.

‘Where do you work? Where do you live?’ I asked.

‘Well – in the last few years, I’ve been working in West
Hollywood as an au pair for a film star – did I tell you?’

‘What?
The
Hollywood?’

‘Yeah,’ she pulled a funny self-congratulatory face. ‘I met
this amazing actor over there and things were going really well, but then,’ she
shrugged, ‘I got pregnant.’

‘Right.’

‘He was too high-powered, you know,’ she rolled her eyes,
‘so I couldn’t tell him.’

‘Who was he? This actor. Would I know him? Tell me.’

She took her eyes away, ignoring my questions. ‘It was only
a fling for him and we split up. I wanted to keep the baby so I came back to
Britain. After Melanie was born, I worked from home doing telesales and was a
doorstep rep for a make-up company. Then I needed more flexibility, because Mel
kept having to go to hospital. Things got really complicated when she was moved
to Glasgow. I’ve been doing the odd bar shift near the hospital up to now.’

I wanted to ask why, with a first-class degree in Anatomy
and Human Biology, she’d settled for doing au pair work in the first place, but
I didn’t want it to sound like a criticism.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ she said. ‘I could have done
a lot better for myself. But au pair work gave me the freedom to live my life.
I didn’t want to be stuck in an operating theatre with brown-nosing high-fliers
– all that cut-throat rivalry.’

Except that was the Karen I knew in a nutshell – she was
ruthlessly competitive and always took the lead, out manoeuvring anyone who got
in her way.

‘You seemed so ambitious at Uni, talking about medical
school and becoming a surgeon.’

She laughed, scoffing at her old dreams. ‘I realised, in
practice, it was going to be a long arduous slog to get that far.’

‘But you were so keen – you couldn’t get enough of
dissection. I thought that was what you wanted – the challenge of learning…saving
lives…’

‘People change, Alice,’ she said sweepingly. ‘I’m glad I
gave it up – now I’ve seen the daily grind inside a hospital rather too often,
with Mel. Then there’s all the funding cuts and pressure. I made the right
choice.’

I dropped it. ‘So, what made you decide to go to America?’ I
asked.

‘Oh – there’ll be plenty of time to tell you all that. It’s
pretty boring really.’

I was disappointed. She was fast-forwarding through all
those missing years too soon. I wanted to be the judge of whether I found her
life interesting or not. There was a hole – six years deep – since I’d last
seen her and I wanted to find out what was inside it. What did she do? How had
she changed? Maybe it was too early to go deeper. Like she said, there would be
plenty of time to find out more. All the same, I had the feeling she was
shutting me out.

At that moment a harsh wail broke through the baby monitor.
Karen excused herself and went upstairs to check on her daughter. She crept
back ten minutes later. ‘Sorry about that,’ she said. ‘She’s been waking up all
the time. It’s all so new – being outside the incubator at last and back in the
real world.’ She sank down beside me on the sofa. ‘Where were we?’ She spoke
again before I could answer. ‘I know. Jobs. What about you? What do you do?’
she said.

I fiddled with my hair, tousled from my scramble under the
sink. ‘Oh – I just do office admin at the moment. At a college near St
Pancras.’ I glanced down.

There was a short gap before she spoke. ‘Good for you.
Sounds great. Do you enjoy it?’

I decided not to gloss over the truth. ‘Not really. I’m
looking for something new. I’ve been on self-development courses and had
life-coaching. I’ve got goals now.’ It came out sounding rather pompous.

She didn’t seem to notice my self-righteousness. ‘To do
what?’ She sat forward, looking impressed.

‘I’m going to train to be a primary school teacher. I’ve got
a place at college.’

‘Hey – I can see you doing that. What a good idea.’

In spite of the bad head, I found myself sitting a little taller.

‘So you’re in Wandsworth?’ she went on.

‘Yeah.’ I toyed with a loose thread on the arm of the sofa.
‘With my parents,’ I added, wishing straight away that I hadn’t.

‘O-k-a-y.’

‘But, I’m moving out soon – they’re driving me bonkers.
They’re so old-fashioned – more like grandparents. I’m going to share a flat or
get a bedsit. How about you?’

‘After these months up here, I’m going back to Brixton.’ She
didn’t seem to want to elaborate.

‘My parents expect me to be married by now,’ I said, hoping
to draw more from her. ‘At Sunday lunch, Dad says things like:
Time’s ticking on, Alice, you don’t want to leave it
too late before you settle down and start a family
, then he’ll suddenly
pitch to one side as Mum kicks him under the table.’

She laughed, but didn’t offer me anything personal in
return.

‘Your parents were never the most broad-minded people,’ she
said.

I rolled my eyes. I’d had to fight to go to University; my
parents saw it as a hot-bed of temptation that could only result in debauchery.
Instead of a degree, they thought I’d emerge with twisted values; depraved and
morally corrupt. Mum gave me ‘the talk’ several times before I went, but it
turned out to be another in a long series of mixed messages. Apparently, boys
between the ages of thirteen and thirty were ‘dangerous and to be avoided’ – so
how I was expected to get married without meeting one was beyond me. Perhaps
they thought I ought to marry an overseas pen-pal.

‘Listen. Are you hungry?’ Karen said.

‘Well…’ The nausea I’d felt when I came round was still
bubbling at the back of my throat. ‘I’m sure I’ll manage something.’ I tried
standing up and shuffled behind her into the kitchen, trying not to move my
head.

‘I’ll make supper – I don’t want you to do a thing,’ she
said, realising I was having difficulty walking in a straight line. ‘You sit
here and talk to me.’

As she took two pieces of cod out of the fridge, I spotted
the clock on the kitchen wall; it said the same time as the one in the sitting
room. Later than I thought.

Karen set about frying the fish and I insisted on preparing
the vegetables, but as I chopped the carrots, I kept having to stop and shut my
eyes. I didn’t say anything; I didn’t want her to see how bad it was.

She asked me about boyfriends and I admitted there hadn’t been
a great deal of action in that regard. ‘I met someone on a meditation course,’
I told her, ‘and we dated for a few weeks, but I think he was really looking
for someone to take care of his children. There was a guy at work, but I found
out he was married. And also a sweet guy at Dad’s church, but he’s moving to
Spain to teach English.’

‘Have you joined any dating agencies, gone online?’

‘Yeah – I have. I’m sick of being single.’

‘Go for it, Ally.’ No one but Karen called me that. ‘There’s
someone out there for you. I know there is.’

‘I’ve still got the book,’ I said, sensing she’d know
exactly what I meant. In our first year at Uni, Karen and I had what was, for
me, a risky and challenging chat about sex. I thought I was the only virgin in
the entire place and trusted her with my mortifying secret. She bought me a
tasteful ‘manual’ and shared her own experiences with me; explaining about
condoms and foreplay and all the basics. She was never once condescending or
patronising. It was one of the most wonderful things she ever did for me.

Another three months went by and I was able to tell her my
good news: ‘You’ll be pleased to know I’m no longer as pure as the driven
snow!’

She’d squealed and asked me for all the details. ‘I’m so
proud of you – I knew everything would work out. You needed time, that’s all.’

Karen had her back to me, browning the fish in the frying
pan, turning round every so often as if checking I was still there. She licked
the spoon and smiled, taking me back to yesterday evening, before I’d packed,
when I dug out my photos from our Leeds days, eager to hold Karen’s face
clearly in my mind. In every photo she appeared in, she shone. Parties,
barbecues, sunbathing, our trip to see the tennis at Wimbledon.

There was the weekend in the second year when we went to
Brighton. She took me to my first comedy club (an eye-opener) and Salsa dancing
(my hips
actually
had rhythm). It was
during that weekend when we were on the beach and she was goading me to go into
the water, that she found out I couldn’t swim. So that became her project for
the following term.

‘You
will
float,
Alice Flemming,’ she said. ‘Not only that, but you will glide through the water
like a mermaid.’

One of the best things about Karen was that she believed in
me.

She was right too. She became my dedicated personal trainer
at the University pool and after seven weeks I was doing doggy paddle – it was
splashy and uncoordinated, but I didn’t go under. A few weeks after that I
mastered breast stroke.

Without warning, Karen came over from the stove, wiped her
fingers on her apron and gave me a broad hug. ‘I’m so glad you’ve got all these
plans and are doing so well.’

‘A lot of it’s down to you, you know.’

‘Don’t be silly.’

‘It is. Honestly. You took me under your wing at Leeds and showed
me what was possible.’ I stopped there. I didn’t want to embarrass her.

But there was something else.

She was saying all the right things, but none of it felt
quite genuine. Karen had been my glorious vision of the person I dreamt of
being and I wanted her to be that person again. The strong, intrepid woman who
spoke her mind and relished a challenge. What wasn’t she telling me?

When she dished up I tried to look pleased, but I wasn’t the
least bit hungry. I felt like someone was boring a pneumatic drill into my head
and was still waiting for the tablets to kick in.

I glanced up at the clock again. One thing was clear. Karen
had been mistaken about the time earlier – or maybe she hadn’t wanted me to
worry – but I hadn’t been dazed for only a few seconds. I’d been out cold for
at least twenty minutes.