Teach Me Dirty (31 page)

 
Helen

“You’re different.” Mum was busy preparing cranberry sauce but her eyes were fixed on me.

I carefully tipped the tray in my hands, spooning fat over the sizzling roast potatoes like I’d done it a hundred times before. “I learned to cook a little.”

She laughed. “I can see that, love. But that’s not what I meant.” She smiled at me. “
You’re
different.
You
.”

I smiled back, and I felt it. I felt so different back here, as though I’d been gone for years. “I’m just happy.”

“Happy, yes. Happy and glowing, and all grown up, Helen.” She sighed and I realised she was looking at me like I’d been gone for years, too. “When did that happen, hey? When did my little girl become such a beautiful young woman?”

These past few weeks, Mum. In Mark Roberts’ arms, and in his bed, and his heart. In the sparkle of his eyes in the morning, and his goodnight kisses. In his voice, when he spoke to me like I was
somebody
, somebody who knows her own mind, and her own heart.

“I guess it happens, I dunno.” I shrugged. “Just as well, hey? Can’t have me shipping off to university without being able to complete basic life essentials.” I slipped the roasters back in the oven. “I can cook croissants, too. And I know how to clean an iron skillet.”

“Harry taught you all that, did he?!” She raised her eyebrows. “He sounds quite an impressive young man indeed.”

I stirred the carrots, and my heart wanted to burst its banks and spill all. But I couldn’t. I knew I couldn’t. “I’m so happy, Mum.”

“Oh, love. That’s all we want. If you’re happy, then we’re happy, too.”

Christmas was different this year. It felt lighter, and more magical, like my soul was covered in fairy dust. We had Christmas songs, and after a couple of cans Dad sang along while Katie danced for us. I shared a bottle of wine with Mum while we finished up dinner, until we were pink-cheeked and giggling and laughing about silly old memories, and we all ate together, and pulled crackers and wore the stupid hats and read the stupid jokes.

It was nice. Good old fun like the earlier years, when I’d still believed in Santa Claus and flying reindeer. But I missed Mark. It tingled and pained amongst the happiness.

Dad fell asleep after too much dinner, snoring in the chair, and Katie was busy upstairs on her new karaoke machine. Mum sat and watched
It’s a Wonderful Life
while I stared out of the window towards Deerton Heath, wondering what he was doing and if he was missing me half as much as I was missing him.

It was well into the afternoon when Mum turned down the volume on the TV and glanced at Dad to make sure he was still sleeping. As if the snores didn’t tell her enough.

“Go,” she said. “I’ll handle your dad.”

I turned to face her and my eyebrows were high. “What?”

“Don’t think I can’t see it, love. You’re missing him. So go.”

“But Christmas… you said…”

“And you were here,” she said. “Now get yourself gone. Before he wakes up. Will Harry come and get you? I’d take you myself if we hadn’t polished of that bottle of wine.”

I was nodding, smiling, itching to run out of the door as fast as my legs would carry me, but I took the time to hug her instead, really tight, and it shocked her, I could tell. The force knocked her backwards in her chair and she laughed in my ear before she hugged me back.

“Thanks, Mum.”

“Just have fun, Helen. Enjoy it. You’re only young once, love.”

“I will.”

I grabbed my coat, and my phone, and threw some more clothes in my overnight bag, and left through the back garden, ducking under the gap in the fence and making my way out onto the main road. Once I was clear of the house, and more specifically clear of Dad, I called up Mark’s number and was about to press dial before I thought better of it.

He might be drinking.

He might feel obliged to pick me up.

He might be angry at me for making him do it.

So I didn’t call him. I took a gulp of afternoon air and set off on foot. Three miles, tops. Ok, maybe four. But I could do it. I knew the way.

Tarmac turned to lanes, and lanes turned to frosty grass as the afternoon light waned. My heart leapt as I hitched myself over the fence at Mark’s special place, and it already felt so long ago that he’d touched me there.

I took a break, sitting in his spot on the slate ledge, watching the brook babbling its way downstream, and I felt close to him there, close enough to feel him.

I wondered if that’s how he felt about his Anna in this place. Maybe it was a place for memories and ghosts and stolen moments.

I laughed to myself, at my melodrama, and decided to end my stupid solitary trek and call him.

He answered after two rings.

“I’m somewhere beautiful,” I said.

“And where would that be, Helen? At home, stuffed full of turkey, I hope.”

“I think you’ve worn a groove in this slate, Mr Roberts. Your ass must be a perfect fit.”

I could hear the surprise in his voice and it made me smile. “What are you doing on your own in the middle of nowhere?”

“I’m following my heart,” I said. “And it led me on a mission to the middle of nowhere.” I took a breath. “Mum let me go.”

“So you decided to trek your way back to me?”

He sounded different. Tired.

Sad.

Why was he so sad?

“I wanted to see you. I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“It is.” I could hear him walking around. “I’m on my way. I’ll be on foot, though, I’ve been drinking.”

“You don’t have to. I can make it to yours before the light goes.”

“Look up through the trees.”

I looked up through the trees, to the portion of his studio jutting out from the foliage in the distance, and the light twinkled, on and off, on and off.

“You’ll blow a bulb if you keep doing that.”

He laughed. “Keep walking,” he said. “Straight ahead, over the shallows of the brook, and up. You’ll see the points of the fences I cross. I’ll meet you halfway.”

The thought thrilled me.

The fields were steep on the approach, and the fences were awkward and made me feel a fool as I scrambled over them. It was cold, too. My breath was frosty and my hair was crisp from the winter chill and the light drew in quicker than I expected.

And then there was a twinkle in the distance. A twinkle that was moving.

The relief flooded me, and my heart jumped in recognition of its missing piece. My legs found reserves of enthusiasm and my lungs felt bigger and stronger, and I pushed on, faster and faster, until Mark’s outline was visible and his torchlight found me.

And I ran.

I don’t even know how I had the energy left, but I ran.

His arms were waiting and they ate me up, and his breath felt so right against my cheek and his lips felt so right as they pressed to mine. My heart found its home again, and it soared, but then it fell. It fell as I felt Mark’s sadness.

I could see it in his eyes, even in twilight. I could feel it in the air around him, in the strain in his breath, which smelled of scotch.

“What?” I said, “Is something wrong?”

He didn’t speak, just took the bag from my grip and hitched it over his shoulder, and reached for my hand. His fingers squeezed so tightly, but he wouldn’t look at me, just kept walking, staring into the distance as we climbed the field to his.

“Mark?”

“We’ll be home soon. Don’t worry.”

I pulled back until he was forced to turn to me. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing,” he said. “Nothing to worry about.” He tugged at me. “Let’s get home, Helen. It’s cold and dark, and your legs must be like jelly.”

“Not just from the walk,” I said, and trudged along.

He tried harder with conversation, spouting off a load of questions about my day and my presents and how good my turkey was, but my heart wasn’t in any of them. My mind fluttered and whizzed, panic dashing through all the things I may have done, or may not have done, or may not have been. Shit.

“Did I do something?”

The question made him stop dead. “God, no. Helen, of course not. I just… I didn’t expect to see you…”

“I can go,” I said. “I didn’t mean to… I thought you’d be…”

“Happy?” he said, and he pulled me into him. “I
am
happy. I’m very happy.”

“Then why are you so sad?”

“You’ll see,” he sighed.

***

Mark’s house had boxes everywhere. Some were full and taped up tight, some were half-empty and surrounded by things – all kinds of things, trinkets and photos and old films, and books, and an old sewing machine.

I looked up at the mantelpiece and realisation dawned. Anna’s picture had gone.

“Why?” I said. “You didn’t have to…”

He picked up the sculpture of us and placed it in the empty spot, and it choked me up to see it there. Me and him, in her place. So beautiful and so sad, all at the same time.

I felt tears, in my throat, just waiting. “Mark, you don’t have to do this… not for me…”

“It’s for
me
,” he said. “I just… I didn’t expect company. I didn’t want you to have to see this, Helen.”

“See what?”

“Me,” he sighed. “Like this.”

“But I want to,” I said. “I want to see you like everything, no matter what that everything is.”

“You shouldn’t have to.” He dropped to his knees, packed more photos into the box beside him. “This isn’t something you need to deal with.”

“Mark, please,” I said. I joined him on the floor, shuffled over until my hands were on his. “Don’t shut me out. I’m right here. I want to be right here.”

I looked around, picked up an old snow globe. It had hearts in it, hearts and snow and scrawly font on the bottom.
My Darling Wife.

He took it from me and shook it, holding it up to the light as the hearts swirled. “I gave her this at the beach, one rainy Christmas when we were first together. She liked silly novelty toys, and desk ornaments, silly random things that I never saw the pleasure in. But I did see the glint in her eye when she spotted this amongst the tat in one of those cruddy souvenir stores.” His eyes were wistful, and he laughed and the sadness in it hurt my heart. “ She wasn’t even my wife then. You’d think I’d bought her the earth the way she reacted.”

“That’s really nice,” I said.

“And gone, Helen. It’s over.” He put the globe in the box with everything else. “Nine years and it’s still like she never left. She’s everywhere. Her stuff and mine, still mixed up together so I wouldn’t have to face she was never coming back. I couldn’t bear the thought of her not coming back, Helen. It was easier to be weaker, easier to let her stay.”

“That’s not true…” I said. “You’re just… you miss her.”

“I’ve been living in a tomb.”

“No…”

“At best it’s a museum. The Anna and Mark museum.” He sighed again and picked up a handful of old postcards. “Her friend, Dawn, used to send her one of these every holiday. Anna would do the same in return. Always stupid ones, nothing to do with the location.”

He flicked through them and his hands were shaking. “I didn’t think this would be so hard.”

“It’s ok,” I said. I reached out a hand for them, hoping, just hoping he’d let me in. “I can help. I want to help.”

“I wasn’t going to pack up everything, but everywhere I looked there was more. Always more.”

“It’s ok,” I said again. “Really. I can help.” He looked at me and I risked a smile, just a little one. And he let go of the postcards, gave them up to me. I put them in the box, neatly and safely, tucking them in beside some other letters.

“She was my whole life,” he whispered, and it was a horrible hollow sound. “Everything. When she died, I died, too. I just didn’t realise it.”

“But not now,” I said, and my voice sounded strange and hollow, too. “Not anymore.”