Unbecoming (15 page)

‘You all right, Mary?’

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘You know where we are?’

‘Absolutely.’

It was tempting to check that she actually did, to ask her the name of the street or to see if she remembered why they’d got the train in the first place, why they’d walked up the hill from the station, what they were here for. But direct questions with only one correct answer were Mum’s speciality and were beginning to seem cruel.

The keys worked, and there was no alarm. They went into the hallway and shut the door behind them, standing in a little bundle as their eyes adjusted.

‘Are you sure it’s not haunted?’ Chris asked, peering into the gloom.

Katie gave him a warning nudge.

He frowned at her. ‘Why’s it so dark then?’

‘It faces north,’ Mary said sadly. ‘However, if you go through to the back, you’ll find a different story.’ They followed her down the hallway and into the lounge. Mary went straight to the curtains and whipped them open, ‘That’s better.’

The room came into focus. The fireplace, the mantlepiece with
all the trinkets, the armchair with its blanket, the wing-back chair with its tapestry cushion.

Chris sank onto the sofa in front of the TV. ‘Does it work?’

‘I don’t see why not,’ Mary said. ‘You just help yourself.’ She beckoned Katie over to the window. ‘Look at this.’

Katie went to stand beside her and looked along the stretch of her arm. Outside, a set of traffic lights moved from red, through amber to green. It was shockingly bright out there – Mary had been right about that. Light bounced off the houses opposite and off the slow-moving cars. It looked like water on the road, a strange oasis shimmering on tarmac.

‘There’s a whole row of shops,’ Mary said. ‘You can get anything you want – newspapers, sausages, you name it, they sell it.’ She laughed loudly, pressing her cheek against the window and steaming up the glass. ‘And there’s the garden, just the edge of it. You have to go through the kitchen door for that one.’ She beamed at Katie. ‘You want to go out there?’

‘What about the suitcase? Shouldn’t we look for that first?’

‘If you like.’

But Mary didn’t move. Chris gave Katie an I-told-you-so shake of his head as he flicked through channels with the remote.

Katie had imagined Mary like a hungry animal roving through rooms, foraging for the case. She’d find it in a wardrobe or under the bed and recognize it immediately. She’d produce a key from the depths of her handbag and open the padlock. It would be full of cash or maps or the deeds to a castle. But Mary was different from their last visit. Then, she’d been interested in the house and all it contained. Today, it was as if the outside world bewitched her – the street, the shops, the garden.

There was treasure to be found, Katie was sure of it. But how would she recognize it without Mary’s help? Katie tried to recall the
names, softly spoken by Mary last time they were here, each one an incantation, like words from another language. That was a Welsh dresser over in the corner, she remembered that – made of pine and very trendy in the seventies. And the armchair favoured by Jack was G Plan. The long low sideboard was teak and made in Scandinavia. That was a cocktail-cherry coat rack on the back of the door, very popular following the Festival of Britain and inspired by molecular models used in chemistry.

A strange excitement thrilled Katie as she recalled the details. These things were so alien, yet they were also part of her somehow, some long line of history that she’d now inherited. She grazed a finger across the top of the music box and lifted the lid. The plastic ballerina rose from her spring and wobbled drunkenly. Katie smiled as she wound the key. Mary, this house, even the tinny music coming from this box – for a brief time, maybe just for a few more days until Mum got a care home sorted, Katie had a stake in them.

‘Shall I look for the case, Mary, if you’d rather not? Do you think it might be upstairs?’

‘“Greensleeves”,’ Mary said. ‘I can name that tune in one!’

Well, that sounded like permission.

The stairs creaked. Katie crept up holding the handrail tight and tried not to think about Jack lying on the landing and all the stuff that might’ve leaked out of him. She hoped there wasn’t a stain. That would be too much to bear.

There were three doors, all closed. She was beginning to feel like Goldilocks. A suitcase was big. It would be easy to find.
Just keep breathing, Katie, you can do it.
The first handle she tried led to a bathroom – a bath, a loo, that was it. The second opened up into a small box room, and after a furtive glance under the bed (dust and a roll of carpet) and inside the fitted cupboard (rows
of shoes, shelves of jumpers), it was obvious there was nothing.

A splash of sunshine appeared on the landing and disappeared just as quick, like a torch flashing from the sky as Katie stood outside the last door. It startled her. What if someone was in the final room? What if Jack really was a zombie and that’s why Mary kept seeing him? Or what if he’d been killed by a psychopath and they’d come back to finish off everyone else?

Don’t be ridiculous, Katie. You can do this!

Yes – this was the master bedroom – a messy double bed (the last place Jack ever slept, but don’t think about that now), a dressing table covered in trinkets, a wardrobe and an armchair. She whisked the curtains open to let light completely flood the room and took a big breath before kneeling to look under the bed (slippers, more shoes, more dust). The wardrobe doors slid open easily, to reveal nothing but rows of men’s suits. She stroked the plastic covers, relieved and disappointed all at once. She considered the possibility of letting Chris know there might be some serious vintage up here, but dismissed it as soon as she thought it. Chris in a suit? When would that ever happen? And anyway, it would just make him think of all the men who were missing from his life.

She sat on the bed and closed her eyes to consider the options. Clearly, this was a stupid idea. They’d come all this way and were bound to get bollocked and Mary had probably made up the suitcase, and even if she hadn’t then Mum had already gone through these rooms, so anything interesting or valuable would’ve been noticed. If the suitcase even existed, it most likely had boring stuff in it.

Mum had a fireproof steel box to keep all her important documents safe. She called it her life box, because it had her birth certificate in it, also her medical card, bank account details and marriage certificate.
Everything important in one place
. Katie knew
that in the event of an accident or Mum being incapacitated in some way, in the box there was an envelope with a hundred pounds in cash, the local bank manager’s phone number and Mum’s life insurance documents. Katie wondered if this was also the place where Mum stored all the divorce paperwork she was refusing to sign, but that conversation was off limits. So was the box actually. The key hung on a green thread on a hook in Mum’s bedroom and she was deadly serious when she said it was not to be touched unless there was a dire emergency.

So, Mum’s life boiled down to some paperwork in a box and Mary’s to a mystery suitcase.

What would Katie choose to keep? Family photos were on her phone, she didn’t care about any of her clothes except Mary’s silk dress (was that even hers to keep?) and her boots (and she’d probably be wearing those). Books, she’d be sad about, but that’s why libraries existed. It shocked her to realize that there wasn’t a single thing she owned that she cared about very much.

It was that thought that made her slide the wardrobe doors in the opposite direction. Because if there were men’s clothes in there, perhaps there were women’s in the other half and she might find something else worth saving.

It was the range of colour that was so surprising. None of Katie’s clothes at home were turquoise or spicy orange or dark gold. And it was uncanny how things suited her complexion when she held them up to herself, as if Mary understood some secret about pale skin and red hair that Katie just didn’t.

Several dresses were hand-made, they had to be. The bodice of this one was constructed of separate pieces of material woven together so it twisted into the waistband. A button was missing on the sleeve of this tea dress, but that would be easy to fix with a piece of the same fabric from the hem and a new button covered
to match. The side zipper of this skirt worked well. Katie unzipped it, zipped it up again.

There was also labelled stuff – not just Marks and Spencer, but Biba, Mary Quant, and here was an actual little black dress by Givenchy. Some of these things were probably worth a fortune.

Would it hurt to try something on? Was it wrong?

Katie Baxter always wore jeans and jumpers and dreaded hot weather because it was more exposing. Katie Baxter wished her hair was a little less red and a little less wild. But this girl in the mirror looked confident! This olive shift dress totally complemented her hair. It felt exciting, the colour auspicious. Surely no harm could ever befall her if she wore clothes like these?

‘Shoes,’ Mary said, appearing suddenly at the door.

‘Shit!’ Katie’s face rushed to blood. ‘I didn’t hear you come up.’

‘Spare room, in the cupboard, down at the bottom.’

‘I’m sorry, Mary, I should’ve asked.’

‘What size are you?’ She crossed the room and peered at Katie’s feet. ‘I think mine will be too small. I’ve got Alice shoes, patent court shoes, all kinds. Just help yourself.’

‘I’ll wear my boots, they go with anything. Are you saying I can borrow some of these clothes?’

‘Keep them. What’s mine is yours.’ Mary leaned over and smoothed Katie’s hair. It was perhaps the most intimate thing she’d ever done and it made Katie stand perfectly still. ‘No need to look afraid.’ Mary twisted a strand of Katie’s hair between her fingers. ‘You’re always biting that lip of yours. It’s Pat’s fault, poor sod – always expecting the worst. She got numb. Like when you sit on your own leg. There’s no purpose or meaning to that kind of life now, is there?’ She rootled through her handbag and pulled out a lipstick. ‘It’s an old stub of a thing, but you’re welcome to it. It’s all you need to brighten that smile.’

It was ancient, all mashed at the end. Mary prodded at it with her finger and dabbed Katie’s mouth. Katie tried not to think about where Mary’s hands might have been and when she may have last washed them. She liked the taste though. It was waxy like candles, but tasted hot, like the burning red colour it was.

‘You look like a Copper Top with that halo of hair.’ Mary smiled at her. ‘Now, let’s get some sun on our faces.’

Katie got the key from under the sugar bowl and opened the door to the garden. It smelled fresh and earthy despite the heat. A bird with a bright yellow beak looked at her from a branch with its head on one side like it was saying,
Who are you?

‘Good question,’ Katie said.

Mary brought out a chair and found a patch of sun right in the middle of the grass and sat in it. She named the flowers, although Katie wasn’t sure they were the right names. ‘Jack grew the lot,’ Mary said. ‘Like little poems, all of them.’

Katie sat on the doorstep. She pulled up a clump of grass and sprinkled it on her lap. She found a twig, snapped it in two and planted both halves in the dry earth.

‘Maybe they’ll grow,’ she said when she caught Mary looking.

‘Best hope for rain then.’ Mary held her palms to the sky as if it would surely never rain again.

‘Are you worried about the garden, Mary? There’s a bucket there. You want me to water Jack’s flowers?’

Mary nodded benevolently. ‘If you like.’

So she did. It was the least she could do in return for the clothes. Back and forth into the little kitchen, watering the flowers pail by pail, Katie felt like a kid. She had a sudden memory of filling a paddling pool like this once, under the summer sun with Dad sitting in a deckchair watching. There’d been a table with glasses of lemonade and a jug. It seemed a long time ago.

Mary sang as she watered. ‘K-K-K-Katie, beautiful Katie, you’re the only g-g-g-girl that I adore. When the moon shines over the cowshed, I’ll be waiting at the k-k-k-kitchen door.’

And it was fine. So fine. Better than anything. Katie felt like she lived there. They’d stay for ever, watch the flowers grow, sit on the grass, talk. Later, they’d go into town and check out the nightlife. Mary would be up for that. It’d just be a case of persuading Chris to leave the TV behind.

Mary lit a cigarette as Katie watered. She blew smoke up into the sky. ‘Nancy, Nora, Norman, Nelson,’ she said. ‘Now your turn.’

‘Norway,’ Katie said. ‘Netherlands, Namibia, Nicaragua.’

‘Ha!’ Mary cackled. ‘Very good. I can name millions. Towns, villages, flowers. You ask for it, you can have it.’ She smiled contentedly. ‘I could give those people on TV a run for their money.’

‘I think it’s easier to remember stuff when you’re here, isn’t it, Mary?’

‘Easy? I call it blooming marvellous. I call it summer arriving!’ She waved her cigarette. ‘You can stick that in your pipe and smoke it.’

It was wonderful. Like a veil had lifted.

‘What about the suitcase, Mary? You wanted it and I looked for it and I can’t find it. You remember it now?’

‘Absolutely. Come with me.’

She went down the path to the shed and pulled on the handle, but the hinge was broken and the bottom of the door scraped the ground. Katie helped her – with both hands she lifted it and hauled it open. She was half expecting wild animals inside – cats, foxes or even something ridiculous like a tiger. She wouldn’t put anything past Mary.

‘Jack’s den,’ Mary said as they stepped in. ‘He comes here to smoke and look at ladies.’

‘Ladies?’

Mary raised an eyebrow coquettishly and pointed to a picture tacked to the wall. It was a woman – a curvy, fifties, black and white woman smiling at the camera.

Katie leaned in closer. ‘Wow, is that you?’

She was stunning. Her hair in dark waves, her skin glowing, her eyes huge and full of ‘come-hither’ fire as she posed, one hand on her hip as if saying,
I will stand here for this photo, but only because I choose to
.