Unbecoming (8 page)

Mary played the memory game as she walked. Today’s category was: love.

She is twelve years old sitting in a cherry tree and spies a boy cleaning his bike. Blossom falls into her hair and down the back of her dress. Sunlight climbs the side of the house as she smears her lips crimson.

She is fifteen and has permission to stay at the street party until midnight. It’s not as glamorous as being allowed into London to the Festival Pleasure Gardens, but it’s better than nothing at all. A man clutches her round the waist and spins her. He demands a kiss and she proffers her cheek, but Pat pushes him off and brushes down the place on Mary’s dress where his hands have been.

‘What are you like?’ Pat admonishes.

‘You tell me!’ Mary demands, standing with her hands on her hips and her chin tipped at her sister.

What
was
she like? It became a phrase, asked of her for years.

She would never come to any good, that seemed to be generally agreed upon. She was too encouraging of male attention, too bold, too opinionated. She couldn’t be trusted with any domestic task. She broke things. Couldn’t cook for toffee. She had no control of herself. Don’t put a baby in her arms – she’ll drop it. Not a motherly instinct in her.

And the ridiculous notions she came up with! The Royal Academy of Dramatic Art? She’d clearly lost her mind if she was still on about acting. Dad would rather she dug fish from the sand every day than have his baby girl leave him. She was the apple of his eye, his treasure. Pat was very sure about Dad’s opinion on this, and when he wavered she wagged her finger and told him that being an actress was only one step away from prostitution.

What picture is this now? Ah yes, Mary’s on her way to secretarial school and a young man winks at her as he swings onto the bus. She knows she’s supposed to smile coyly at the floor, but she smiles into his eyes instead and neither of them look away. He’s there again at the bus stop the next day. Same wink, same smile. They get talking, she tells him where she’s going and that evening he’s outside the gates,
just happened to be passing, what acoincidence!
His eyes are full of something and she knows what it is – desire. When he asks if she’d like to go dancing on Saturday night, it makes her heart sing.

Is it just her? Do all women and girls possess this gift – something hot and quick that draws men to them? Has she always had it? Should she love it as much as she does? It feels like a spark that keeps tipping into flame. And it’s freedom of sorts, isn’t it? It’s something that belongs to her, that Pat and Dad can never take away. If she’s to be trapped in this little town, then why not make life a bit more interesting?

She studies other women – the angle of their necks as they sew and knit, her own sister’s tired eyes as she goes through the household accounts. She dares to ask how it is for married women, in their opinion. What are men like to live with in that way? Jean next door says,
It’s two minutes of pleasure and a lifetime of pain
. Pat says,
That sounds about right.

She confides in a girl at the typing pool, who laughs and says, ‘I
should think men do gawp at you, Mary, with that trim little figure of yours.’

She asks her friend Audrey while they stand in the queue for the Roxy. ‘Do you think there’s something wrong with me? It feels like a sickness to be thinking of love all the time.’

Audrey frowns and says, ‘You better be careful. You’re getting a terrible reputation.’

Mary ended up at an intersection. A bigger, busier road crossed the quiet one she’d walked down. Here, the world was full of traffic. Light bounced off metal, engines hummed. She seemed to recognize this place. Had she been here before?

There was a wonderful smell of coffee coming from somewhere, ah, yes – that café was open. She rather fancied sitting at one of those outside tables and ordering something to drink. But no, to stall was to forget and there was a place she needed to go. She’d woken with such certainty and already it was slipping away. She’d know it when she got there, of course, but all she had right now was the ache of it. It was like having your hands tied when you wanted to itch. It was like seeing a man you wanted to kiss and standing next to him was his wife.

She walked on a little way. She’d definitely been here before. That tree over the road looked very familiar. Was she being ridiculous? Didn’t all trees look the same? The angle of that roof struck a chord too. So did the queue at the bus stop and the buildings over there that sparkled and winked as if they knew something.

She crossed the street and that’s when she saw the number twenty-three glistening in sunshine on a gate. That’s when she noticed a neat front garden and tiled steps leading up to the door. Eight steps in all.

‘It’s here,’ she shouted. ‘I found it.’

For a brief moment she swung, one hand strapped to the gate, the other grasping air. She stepped badly, her foot at an odd angle.

Someone said, ‘Hey, love, are you all right?’

Her foot hurt. She tried to rub it, reached towards it, but it was too far away.

‘You knock yourself?’ The same voice, a man’s voice.

There were a small group of people at the bus stop. This man was one of them. They were all looking at her.

‘She by herself?’ one of them said.

‘You cold, love?’ the man said. ‘You’re shivering.’

The world shifted from dream to reality and back again. As Mary opened the gate it was as if everything thickened, as if the air had density and texture.

When the man comes up behind her and asks if she lives here, she shakes her head. ‘My sister does.’

He looks pleased, asks if he might take her arm and help her up the remaining steps. It will get embarrassing when they get to the door because Pat will be furious. But never mind that. She’s going to knock, and when Pat answers Mary will take whatever consequences come her way. Even if the damn place falls down about their ears.

She glances at the man who has linked arms with her. She’ll have to get rid of him before things get tricky.

‘You OK?’ he says. ‘Am I going too fast?’

‘You can go now.’

He raps on the door. ‘I’ll just wait until someone comes.’

‘I’ll be fine.’

‘I’m not leaving until I know you’re safe.’

A woman answers. A woman Mary’s never seen before. She stands blinking down at them, says, ‘Can I help?’

‘This lady says her sister lives here,’ the man says.

‘No, love. Wrong address.’

‘Well, that’s what she says. She pointed me here.’

The woman frowns. ‘Never seen her before.’

‘Well, what do I do now?’ says the man. ‘I’ve left my missus at the bus stop.’

‘You should call the police, shouldn’t you? If she’s lost.’

The man looks at his watch. ‘I’m already late.’

‘Well, you can’t leave her with me.’

They both look at Mary, assessing the possibilities. This is ridiculous! Do they think she’s a robber? Do they think she’s one half of Bonnie and Clyde? She smiles her sweetest smile. ‘If Pat’s not here, would it be all right if I came inside and had a little peek? I’d love to see the bedrooms.’

The man says, ‘My mother-in-law’s like this. Wears a bracelet with her address on. You reckon she’s got something like that?’

The woman’s eyes soften. ‘What’s your name, darling, do you remember? Where have you come from, eh?’

This really is none of their business. Mary tries to draw the appropriate words together. ‘I’m currently living in London. I caught the train and walked here from the station. I stopped off for refreshments at the coffee bar.’

The woman shakes her head, looks doubtful.

The man says, ‘You mean the café?’

‘If you like. There’s a particular seat near the window. I watch this place from there.’

The woman frowns. ‘You watch my flat?’

‘Just to make sure everything’s the same, you know – the mantelpiece and the neatness. I have to know she’s being looked after properly, you see. Now, I’d appreciate it if you’d let me come inside.’

The woman’s eyes fill with something. Pity? Boredom? She turns to the man. ‘Why don’t you try the café? That’s probably where she came from.’

‘I’m late for work already. How about you call the police instead?’

‘Not the police,’ Mary says. ‘That really won’t be necessary.’

The woman looks sorry. ‘But you don’t seem to know where you are.’

‘I’m at Pat’s house.’

‘No one called Pat lives here, darling. And it’s not a house, it’s a block of flats.’

The panic builds slowly. It’s as if the world widens out to include things that don’t belong – this woman’s bare shoulders, the ring through her nose, the man tapping away at some gadget, a car alarm blaring, the sound of traffic building up on the road behind them.

Where is she? What year is it?

The hands are the best clue. Folded like origami round her handbag. She lifts them in front of her face to look. They are lined and dry.

She is ancient.

The world shifts once more.

The woman suggested she walk Mary back to the café. She said this was a less alarming solution than calling the police.

The man rubbed Mary’s arm in a friendly fashion. ‘Cheerio then. Best of luck.’

Mary stalled at the gate to look back at the house. It was all wrong. The window frames were some sort of white plastic and it never used to stretch so high or wide and there never used to be balconies or quite so many doors.

The woman said, ‘These flats were built years ago. Maybe
it’s a block of flats like this? Down a similar road perhaps?’

‘Did you ever find a suitcase?’

‘No, darling, I’m sorry. What was in it? Something valuable?’

But Mary couldn’t remember, so she smiled instead and they continued a slow path out the gate and along the street. Daisies were scattered on the verge. Had they been there earlier? The bus stop certainly looked familiar. Mary yearned to sit there and let the sun warm her, but the woman had her firmly by the elbow and was chivvying her along.

‘Don’t worry,’ the woman said. ‘I’ll walk you to the café and hopefully someone will recognize you.’

‘I know her.’ Mary waved at the girl who came running up. ‘She’s a bit of a relative.’

‘Thank goodness,’ the woman said.

The girl was out of breath, her hair wild, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere! You’ve never gone this far before.’ She turned to the woman, ‘I’m so sorry. She let herself out the flat before anyone was awake.’

The woman handed Mary over, told the girl she really should keep a better eye. The girl apologized many times. The woman mentioned Pat, told the girl about the coffee bar. They all shook hands. They waved goodbye. They smiled and wished each other luck.

‘Why didn’t you wake me up?’ the girl said. ‘I would’ve come with you.’

‘I didn’t want to disturb you.’

The girl gave her an old-fashioned look. ‘It’s a heck of a lot more disturbing having you disappear. You’re lucky that woman found you.’

‘I found
her
actually.’

‘Well, whichever way round it was, you completely freaked
everyone out. I’ll call Mum, let her know we’re on our way home.’

‘Let’s not hurry.’ Mary clutched the girl, relieved to have a familiar arm to hold. ‘I quite fancy a coffee if you want to know the truth. How about a little sit-down before we go anywhere? I could murder a cake.’

The girl laughed. Her face lit up with it. ‘I’m so glad to see you, Mary. I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in all my life.’

‘So, Mrs Todd,’ the man said, ‘do you know why you’re here?’

Mary looked down at her feet and silently named her bones. She started with her metatarsals and intended going up in size until she got to her femur, but was interrupted by the woman sitting next to her, who leaned over and patted her hand. Mary could feel her own body trembling through the woman’s fingers.

‘Did you hear?’ the woman said. ‘You need to tell the doctor if you remember why we came.’

The room grew pale.
If you do crosswords, if you read books, if you avoid aluminium saucepans, if you extract all metal fillings, if you …

Mary swallowed the panic and examined the woman’s face for clues. She looked very stern – all that hair tied up so tight. It looked like a snake was sleeping on top of her head.

‘You need to answer the doctor’s question,’ the woman said.

‘Why don’t
you
answer?’ Mary suggested.

The woman frowned. ‘I think he wants to hear it from you.’

Something terrible had happened, Mary knew that. A scream had shot out of her like liquid. There had been people staring, a blue light flashing.

And now she was in a room with a man and a woman and a desk. It was a small room, bright with sunshine. Through the
window there were trees with leaves as wide as open hands. Summer then.

The man said, ‘Perhaps you remember the journey here, Mrs Todd? Did you come by car or public transport?’

And over there, on a chair beneath the window, was a girl. Nothing too terrible could have happened if they were allowing a child to be here. Mary relaxed a little. She recognized this girl. She had her feet on the chair with her knees tucked up and was wearing those galumphing boots of hers. Mary gave her a friendly wave. At least she was something cheery to look at.

The girl waved back, said, ‘We came in the car, remember? Mum drove and you and me sat in the back.’

The man wagged a finger. ‘It’d be better if we let your grandmother answer.’

No getting out of it then. ‘Well,’ Mary began, ‘what precisely is it you would like to know, young man? Why we are here, or how we all got here?’

The man looked as if he was thinking about that. He eyed Mary steadily. ‘This is a memory clinic, Mrs Todd.’

‘Of course it is,’ Mary said, ‘which explains why nobody’s got a clue what’s going on!’

The girl by the window laughed. It was infectious. The woman caught it and smiled. Even the man behind the desk twinkled.

‘Let me explain,’ the man said. ‘Your daughter’s doctor got in touch with us because she’s concerned that you might be having a bit of trouble remembering things.’

Blood knocked at Mary’s temples. ‘Caroline’s doctor?’

‘Yes,’ the woman said. ‘I’m Caroline and you came with me to meet my doctor, remember?’

This was Caroline! How strange not to have recognized her.

The man said, ‘Would you say you’ve been having problems with your memory, Mrs Todd?’

‘Not at all.’

He nodded. ‘Well, let’s consider the next half an hour an MOT test, shall we? We’ll just run through a few things and check everything’s in working order.’ He opened a file and flicked through it, pulled out a piece of paper and read it up and down. ‘So,’ he said, ‘can you tell me a bit about yourself, Mrs Todd?’

‘What would you like to know?’

‘Perhaps a bit about your childhood? Do you have any brothers or sisters, for instance?’

‘I have a sister.’ Mary shot a look at Caroline. She was cross with her for talking to doctors behind her back. ‘
She
can tell you about Pat. They got to know each other
very
well.’

‘She’s referring to the fact her sister brought me up,’ Caroline said. ‘My mother was very young when she had me, so my aunt and uncle looked after me instead. They didn’t have any other children.’

‘Of course they didn’t,’ Mary said. ‘It was a marriage of convenience, that’s why.’

Caroline reddened from ear to ear. Ha! Serve her right. ‘I actually thought they
were
my parents. No one told me any different.’

The man wagged his finger again, this time bringing it to rest on his lips. Shut up, that meant! That told her. Treacherous woman.

‘And where were you born?’ the man asked.

Ah, now – that was an easy one. ‘I was born,’ Mary said, with absolute certainty, ‘by the sea.’

Every day the wincing pain of sharp shells beneath her toes as she made her way to the water’s edge. Every day the knowledge that there was more to life than sweeping and scrubbing and counting pennies, more to the world than her father’s house
and the little town with its twitching curtains and inflexible rules. On the beach was so much water, stretching against the line of the sky. The numb fury of it kept her alive.

‘The sea was delicious,’ she said. ‘Looking at the horizon made every day possible.’

‘Which part of the country?’

‘The wet and salty part.’ Again, the girl laughed and Mary smiled over at her. ‘I’ll take you one day if you like.’

She meant it too. They could go on the train, take a picnic, kick off their shoes, run to the water, get in a boat. They could light candles and float them on the waves like they did all those years ago after the tragedy with Pat.

The man behind the desk coughed and shuffled his papers about. ‘Do you know the date today, Mrs Todd?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Do you?’

He met her gaze, his eyes still twinkling. That was a very good sign. ‘Not without looking at my watch.’

‘Exactly! You young people and your gadgets!’

She was flattering him, she knew. She guessed his age at sixty. The lines on his brow suggested too much worry and the shadows under his eyes hinted at either a love of wine or a capacity to stay up late reading by bad light. A good-looking man though, still had plenty of hair …

‘What about your date of birth, Mrs Todd. Could you tell me what that is please?’

‘Which one?’

Confusion crossed his face.

‘I’ve had two,’ Mary said, hoping to clarify. ‘The first, there was a terrible storm above the house.’
Boom!
She clapped her hands together to show how loud Pat made the thunder whenever she told the story of Mary’s birth. ‘The second, it was night – perfectly
clear, no rain at all. Although, as soon as my father got back from the pub and discovered a baby in his house, the storm clouds gathered – I’ll tell you that for free!’

The man wrote that down on his sheet of paper.

‘It wasn’t his fault,’ she went on. ‘He had such high hopes for me, that was the trouble, and he didn’t know what to do. You can’t lock a mother and baby in the coal hole to punish them, can you? It’s not that sort of misdemeanour. So, after he finished calling me every name under the sun, he stopped talking to me at all. Not a single word. Not ever again. How’s that for stubborn? He had to leave me little notes to communicate.’ She turned to Caroline. ‘You remember those notes?’

Caroline shook her head. ‘I don’t think the doctor wants to hear about that. He just wants you to answer his questions.’

The man nodded briefly. ‘Right, I’m going to say three words to you now, Mrs Todd, and I would like you to say them back when I’ve finished. Ready? Here they are … apple, penny, table. Now repeat those words back to me.’

Ridiculous. ‘Apple, penny, table.’

‘Very good. Now, can you tell me what this is please?’ He held up the thing he’d been writing with.

‘It’s an instrument for writing.’

‘Do you know what it’s called?’

‘A writing instrument.’

‘How about this?’

Mary’s stomach churned with the tea and chocolate biscuits she’d been given earlier. How easily she’d been bribed. Damn that daughter of hers! Divert this man, that was the trick.

‘Tell me, young man,’ she said, leaning forward to get a closer look, ‘where did you get that lovely tie?’

It was so sad! But also ridiculous and humiliating. The doctor was treating Mary like a child, holding up pens and pencils and watching her squirm. She was pretty good at parrying, but it was totally obvious she was stressed.

The doctor held up more random objects and asked Mary what they were. She was very inventive – a stapler became a snatcher, a ruler was a sovereign (that one made Katie laugh again because it was just so clever), pens and pencils were described as implements for composing, scribbling, jotting. She wasn’t wrong about any of them, but you needed to look sideways at her answers to see the truth. Katie sighed louder than she meant to when the doctor asked Mary who the Prime Minister was. Such a cliché. Didn’t that only happen on TV?

‘That,’ Mary humphed, ‘is a moveable feast.’

‘I agree,’ the doctor said. ‘It’s got very confusing lately. Would you like to hazard a guess though?’

‘It depends
when
you mean.’

‘I mean now. Who’s the Prime Minister today.’

Bloody politics! Who cared? Half the kids in Katie’s school wouldn’t know the answer. More than half, in fact. Katie slid her feet off the chair and let them thud to the floor, pretended not to notice when Mum gave her a warning look. She stared down at her feet instead and tried not to feel guilty at the reddish mud that still caked the sides of her boots from when Mary knocked on that woman’s door and they’d walked the ‘long way back’ from town.

Katie had been so relieved to find Mary safe that she’d abdicated responsibility for what happened next. She’d rung Mum, told her they were on their way home, but instead, they’d gone for lattes in a rather nice café and then embarked on a ‘morning promenade’ at Mary’s instigation.

She’d been like a dog off a lead, following scents, having
occasional convictions about directions and then being distracted by things – pigeons squabbling outside the bakery, cakes in the window (her love of sweet things was crazy), a kid’s scooter tied to a lamppost, hundreds of poppies spilling petals onto some bloke’s lawn. Katie took loads of photos. Everyday things seemed special viewed through Mary’s eyes and Katie didn’t want to forget it. It was such a relief not to think about exams or Esme or any of that stuff. They’d hung out by the river for ages (hence the mud), got a hot dog from a van, fed the ducks and ended up outside the primary school. That’s when it went wrong. It was as if spectres dragged Mary down, because she literally sank onto a bench and refused to move.

‘Totally irresponsible!’ Mum said when Katie finally dared to call her. ‘You said you were coming home. What on earth are you doing two miles from the flat?’

‘It’s such a lovely day,’ Katie told her. ‘Surely walking’s good for her?’ But Mum was only interested in being furious.

No studying had been done and Mary was over-tired and didn’t want lunch because she was full of hot dog. Didn’t Katie know that routine was what old people needed and that when she’d been sent to find Mary that morning, Mum had expected them to come straight back, not go gallivanting off on some madcap adventure?

It probably hadn’t been the best idea to mention the party at that point.

‘Absolutely no way,’ Mum said.

‘It’s after exams. Everyone’s going.’

‘At some boy’s house? Anything could happen!’

Some hope.

Over the rest of the week, Katie hadn’t gone anywhere or done anything much except study. Mary had seemed quieter, more tired, less up for adventure, and although she still wanted to walk each
morning, Katie was under strict instructions not to let her further than the gate. Once, she’d disobeyed and taken Mary as far as the high street and let her have a ten-minute sit in the café again, but that was it. She wished now she’d been braver about it, fought for Mary’s rights somehow. She thought Mary might be getting worse and she wondered if they’d ever find out where it was she wanted to get to every day. Because soon she might forget she even wanted to go.

The doctor was repeating the stupid word test. Mary had got it right the first time, but now got it dramatically wrong – snake, shilling, stable. But at least these were more interesting words than the original ones and had a satisfying alliteration. Katie must remember to point that out to Mum later – it’d be proof that Katie had actually done enough revision for English, despite turning down Mum’s nightly offers of help.

It’s hot and monotonous in this office
(assonance).
My grandmother is lost in the past
(consonance).
Do I miss Esme? Let me count the ways
(caesura).

‘Last thing,’ the doctor said.

About time.

He produced a pen and paper and asked Mary to draw a clock face. But Mary was tired now, put the paper on her lap and sucked the end of the pen like a kid.

‘I’d quite like to go,’ she said.

In the chair next to her, Mum sighed. ‘She keeps saying that.’

The doctor nodded. ‘Almost done.’

‘She doesn’t mean home with me. In fact, she means anywhere
but
with me. This is one of the problems I’m having. She’s always running off.’

The doctor pursed his mouth. ‘Itchy feet, eh?’

‘It’s dangerous, isn’t it? Her wandering about.’

‘It’s not uncommon. Maybe get her a pendant with her name and address on it?’

Mum looked dismayed. ‘That’s it? That’s your advice?’

The doctor leaned back in his chair and studied Mum for a moment. Katie held her breath. ‘I’m afraid there’s not much else I can suggest. She’s possibly disoriented in a new environment, or she might be searching for something related to her past. Try distracting her, perhaps? Or get someone to go with her?’

‘My daughter fetches her. But she’s got studying to do. It’s terribly disruptive.’

He nodded, was clearly choosing his words carefully. ‘Generally speaking, people only become more agitated if you try and limit their freedom. My best advice is to ensure she’s safe and let her get on with it. Now, I’d like to send your mother for a CT scan, that should give us a bit more information.’ He turned to Mary. ‘How about you stay with your daughter for a few more days? Try not to give her too much trouble, eh?’

‘What might happen if she went back to her own place to live by herself?’ Mum said. ‘What’s the worst thing?’