The Year of the Rat (7 page)

‘We need a pram,’ Dad says. He goes red as he says it and he can’t look the smiley assistant – Julianne, her badge says – in the eye.

‘Certainly, sir,’ she says. ‘Was it an actual pram you wanted or a travel system?’

‘Oh,’ says Dad. ‘I, um . . .’

Julianne waits, smile fixed.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Oh. Well, it depends what you’re going to be using it for really,’ says Julianne helpfully.

‘For putting a baby in,’ snaps Dad. I stare at my feet. I should never have let him talk me into coming. But he’d looked so desperate.
Please, Pearl. I don’t think I
can face it on my own.

Pathetic.And I was all ready to tell him so.
You’re the one who wanted a baby.
If it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t have to go shopping for a buggy. If he could just have
been happy with how things were . . . But then I’d had a sudden feeling that Mum might be watching from behind the curtains, or through the window, and that she’d give me an earful
about it later. So, sulkily, I’d let him persuade me.

‘Is it . . .’ Julianne pauses, her eyes flicking from Dad’s face to mine, down to my distinctly not-pregnant middle and back again. ‘Is it for yourselves?’

Dad doesn’t say anything. Along the aisle a couple and another shop assistant are applauding as a toddler pushes his chewed-looking rabbit toy along in a lurid green pushchair.

‘Oh, well done, Harry,’ the heavily pregnant woman gushes. ‘I think you and Bunny have chosen for us, haven’t you, darling?’

I hate them. All of them. Even Bunny.

‘Yes,’ I mutter to Julianne. ‘It’s for us.’

‘OK,’ she says brightly. ‘Well, let’s start with something simple. Did you want baby to be forward facing or facing towards you?’

Dad still doesn’t say anything.

‘Of course if it’s for a newborn . . .’ She looks at us questioningly and Dad nods. ‘Well then, you’ll be wanting something that can go completely flat, either with
a carrycot that fits into the frame like this one or . . .’

Julianne carries on talking. I watch her mouth move and I hear the words, but they mean nothing at all. Dad’s face is as blank as mine. And suddenly I remember the two of us in the
relatives’ room at the hospital the day Mum died. The doctor had talked and talked at us.
Pre-eclampsia. Cerebral oedema. Caesarean section.
Words and more words that meant nothing
to me.

‘Facing you is great when they’re little,’ Julianne says. ‘Helps with bonding . . .’

I can remember the doctor’s face so clearly: smooth dark skin, short greying goatee. It was a kind face. At the end he’d asked us if we had any questions.

‘. . . pneumatic wheels are great for bumpy terrain,’ Julianne’s saying. ‘But of course they do add weight . . .’

Is she definitely dead?
I’d asked.

The doctor had looked at me, surprised.
Yes,
he said at last, his eyes sad behind his glasses.
I’m sorry.

‘And of course this one,’ Julianne rests her manicured hand on the handle of yet another buggy, ‘has the option of an additional seat which can be added for a little brother or
sister if you should need it in the future.’

She beams at Dad. He stares at her, but I’m pretty sure he’s not really seeing her. He just stares and stares till it’s awkward and I have to pretend to look for something in
my bag.

‘I didn’t realize it would be so difficult,’ he says at last. His voice sounds strange. I look up and my stomach clenches. There are tears running down his face.

‘Dad!’ Christ. Please don’t let anyone see.

Julianne’s not smiling any more. ‘Are you OK, sir?’ she says.

The stupid kaftan-wearing Bunny woman looks over then quickly looks away again. I’ve got to get him out of here before anyone else notices.

‘Would you like to sit down?’ Julianne says. ‘Can I get you some water?’

‘No,’ Dad says, trying to get it together. ‘I just—’

And he walks off, leaving me and Julianne staring at each other.

‘Is he OK?’ she says.

‘What do you think?’ I mutter and then go after him. I follow him down the escalator; he’s going fast and I have to run to keep up. I finally catch up with him in the kitchen
section. I grab his arm and turn him round to face me.

‘How could you do that? How could you humiliate me like that?’

For an instant he looks so angry that I think he’s going to shout at me right there in the middle of the shop, surrounded by kettles and sandwich toasters. Then it’s like he just
hasn’t got the energy.

‘I need a coffee,’ he says wearily. ‘Come on.’

I hesitate.

‘Don’t argue with me, Pearl. Just this once.’

So I trail after him, back through the store, till we get to the huge airy coffee shop. I sit at a table next to a wall of windows, looking out over the car park while Dad gets the coffees.

He brings the tray over and we sit in silence for a while. Dad sips his coffee. I stare out over the rows and rows of cars, stretching almost as far as I can see, sparkling in the sunlight.

‘I’d pictured it all, you know,’ he says at last.

‘What?’

‘All this. Coming here and buying all the kit. Moses baskets and little Babygros. Before. When Mum was pregnant. I imagined how it would be. Mum pretending not to be excited, moaning about
her sore feet, getting all the shop assistants to run around after her. And you acting like you didn’t want to be there, texting Molly half the time, and then picking out all the most
expensive stuff. And me just . . . happy.’

He looks through the window into the distance, seeing things that I can’t, memories that never happened. It’s hot outside. Summer has arrived suddenly and everyone’s in
T-shirts and shorts or summer dresses. But in here the air conditioning is fierce and I shiver.

‘Every day is a collection of tiny little things that don’t happen,’ Dad says.

‘What are you talking about?’

He’s silent for a minute, thinking. ‘I thought I’d tidy up the CDs yesterday,’ he says at last. ‘You know how Mum would always put them in the wrong box or just
leave them lying around. And I’d have to go through them and put them all back where they should be. Used to drive me mad.’

It was true. I’d go into the kitchen and he’d be there, all red and annoyed, waving CD boxes around, saying,
She’s put her bloody Abba in with my Wagner! Again!
as if
anyone cared or even knew what he was talking about. And Mum would snort and roll her eyes and say,
Of
course Hitler was a big fan of Wagner you know.

Dad looks at me. ‘But yesterday they were all there. On their shelves in the right boxes in the right order. Just like they should be. Just how I’d left them.’

I don’t say anything.

‘You can go along day to day. You can get through it, convince yourself you’re doing OK. But it’s the unexpected things . . .’ he says, faltering.

Please don’t let him cry again.

He gives me a tentative look. ‘Do you find that?’

I look back at him. ‘I don’t know why you don’t just get an iPod.’

He blinks. ‘I’m not your enemy, Pearl,’ he says. ‘Why do I feel as though you think I am?’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I say, but I can’t meet his eyes.

We finish our coffees in silence.

We don’t go back to the Baby Department.

‘I’ll order a pram on the website,’ Dad says as we drive home.

But I can’t help feeling it’s a victory, as though fate has stepped in. As though no pram equals no baby.

Dad drops me off at home and goes on to the hospital. He doesn’t bother to ask me if I want to go with him. I get out of the car in silence and he doesn’t say
goodbye. I go up to my room and get out my revision notes to read through, but I can’t concentrate on them. All I can think about is The Rat. While she’s been in hospital, I’ve
almost been able to pretend she doesn’t exist. But soon she’ll be here, in the house, all the time.

I walk out on to the landing and stand in front of the glossy white door of her room. Slowly, I push it open and go in. I haven’t been in here since Mum died. Next to the cot there’s
an old rocking chair. Mum had painted it and stacked it with cushions that she’d covered with scraps of the old curtains from my room when I was a baby. I’d forgotten all about them
till I saw them: elephants carrying balloons with their trunks. I’d felt pleased that she would have something of mine, the plump, smiling baby with the blonde curls. I picture her sleeping
peacefully in her cot under the little embroidered quilt Molly and I had picked out, her thumb in her mouth and her cheeks flushed pink. I sit down in the chair and rock myself gently to and fro. I
close my eyes and imagine I’m holding the baby that should have been. She smiles, gurgling, reaching out her tiny perfect fingers towards me—

I stop the chair abruptly with my foot. Then I get up and leave the room, closing the door behind me.

This is her room, not The Rat’s.

The Rat is an imposter.

‘I can’t believe it!’ Molly squeals, hugging me as soon as we’re out of the exam hall. ‘We never, ever have to sit another exam again in the whole
of our lives if we don’t want to.’

The noise around us is deafening, everyone chatting excitedly, hugging each other or comparing notes.

‘Are you going to come and celebrate?’ Molly says, taking my arm as we all file out into the afternoon sunshine. ‘A load of us are going over to the park later.’

But all I want to do is be somewhere quiet on my own.

‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I’ve got to get back.’ I know she’ll assume it’s something to do with the baby, and I don’t put her right.

‘Oh.’ Molly’s face falls. ‘That’s a shame. Haven’t you even got time to come and have a quick coffee with me and Ravi? He’s got his last A level
tomorrow so he can’t stay long.’

‘I can’t.’

We walk down to the school gates together.

‘How is everything?’ Molly asks. ‘How’s little Rose?’

‘Fine,’ I say. ‘She’s coming home next week.’

‘That’s fantastic,’ she says.

‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Fantastic.’

She looks at me curiously. ‘You don’t sound very pleased.’

I shrug.

‘I wish you’d talk to me, Pearl,’ she says. She’s quiet for a moment, a little frown creasing her forehead. ‘Does it feel strange, the thought of having Rose with
you at home?’ she says at last, tentatively. ‘Does it make you think about your mum?’

I don’t say anything.

‘I mean, I know you must think about her all the time, but do you think it will make it worse? Having Rose with you, but not your mum?’ I stop dead still and stare at her. How does
she know that’s what I’m feeling? Could she understand about The Rat? Could I tell her?

‘You can talk to me you know,’ she says.

‘Oh look,’ I say, grateful for an escape route. ‘That’s Ravi, isn’t it?’

He’s easy to recognize even though I’ve only met him once, mainly because he’s just so tall, about a head taller than everyone around him, gangly and slightly awkward.
He’s standing by the school gates. I’d forgotten about his stupid, lopsided quiff. His face lights up when he sees Molly and she runs over and kisses him. He has to stoop down to reach
her.

‘You two haven’t really met properly, have you?’ she says, smiling as I reach them. ‘Ravi, this is Pearl, my best friend in the whole world, Pearl, this is
Ravi.’

‘Hi,’ he says nervously, looking even more awkward. ‘Pleased to meet you.’ He holds out his hand. I look at it and laugh.

‘Bit formal, isn’t it?’

‘Oh yes, of course,’ he says, looking embarrassed. ‘Sorry.’ Molly puts her arm round him.

‘Ravi’s really been looking forward to meeting you, Pearl.’

I doubt it somehow.

‘Yes,’ Ravi says, smiling. ‘I’ve heard so much about you from Molly.’

‘Oh dear,’ I say. ‘Well, don’t believe a word of it.’

He laughs loudly as if I’ve said something side-splittingly hilarious.

‘Don’t worry,’ he says earnestly. ‘It’s all good.’

‘I should hope so too,’ I say, trying to sound like I’m joking. But suddenly I can’t help wondering what she
has
said to Ravi about me. She’d have told him
about Mum obviously. Maybe that’s why he’s trying a bit too hard to be nice. But what else?
We used to be really good
friends, but . . .
But what?

. . . but we’ve grown apart?

. . .
but Pearl’s been behaving like a psycho bitch from hell since her mum died?

. . . but I don’t need her now I’ve got you?

Maybe she doesn’t even talk about me. I guess they have other things on their minds when they’re together. A disturbing image pops into my head of Ravi with very few clothes on, all
skinny legs and knobbly knees, glasses steamed up and slightly askew.

‘Anyway,’ I say firmly, trying to banish Naked Ravi from my mind, ‘I’ve got to go.’

‘Oh,’ the real, fully clothed Ravi says. ‘Aren’t you coming with us? Molly thought you’d want to celebrate. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you
properly.’ He actually looks like he means it.

‘Can’t, I’m afraid,’ I say.

‘Not even for a short while?’ Molly says. She takes hold of my hand. ‘Please?’