What about us? (5 page)

It was during one of those
visits that I reminded her that it would be my birthday in a couple of days; a
special birthday at that.  I mean twenty-one is a milestone by anyone’s reckoning. 
She was really low when I arrived.  They’d had a big bust-up and he hadn’t been
back all night, so she was exhausted and tearful.  I should’ve known better
than to bring up my birthday; me being twenty-one made her feel old.  She’d had
me before she was eighteen, so she wasn’t even forty yet, but she looked much
older and we both knew it.

She became impossible, shouting
that no one would ever want her now she was old, that he’d been her last chance
and now he’d buggered off too.  Of course she wasn’t going to want to make any
plans to celebrate with me.

“What’s to celebrate?” she
screeched at me.  “I ruined my figure and my life carrying you, for all the
thanks I ever get.  Where are you when you’re needed? Bloody nowhere, that’s
where! Go on, get out you useless lump of lard.  I can’t stand the sight of you. 
Go on, piss off!”

I didn’t want to argue with her;
I knew she didn’t mean it, not really, so I just left her to wallow in her
misery, while I took mine off home.

I wasn’t really thinking about
anything as I walked to the bus stop.  It was dark and drizzling as I passed
the cafe where Jack had taken me after my near miss with the car.  I had a
sudden urge to go in, if only to get out of the weather.  I hadn’t eaten yet,
so I ordered sausages, chips and mushrooms and a large mug of tea and sat by
the window; looking out, trying not to think about anything, just watching the
cars and the people going past, going about their lives.

Who could say that theirs were
any better than mine? Most of them had their heads down and quite a few were
hunched.  I mean people always want a better life; everyone, not just some
people.  At least that’s how it always seemed to me, so maybe nobody really
gets the life they think they should have.  Thoughts like that never made me
feel better though.  Just because my life was a mess, didn’t mean that I wanted
everyone else’s to be too.  I had to believe that some people got a great life,
if only so that I could hope that one day it would be my turn.

I’ve always liked watching that
strange glow you get around a street lamp when it’s raining, so I think I’d
stopped watching the people and was staring at that.  It was at times like that
when I really missed my Nan.  She’d been so different from Mum and me; tiny and
as thin as a rake.  She was never able to sit down for more than a few minutes,
so her flat was always spotless.  She’d smoked the way Mum drank and always had
a fag in her hand or hanging out of the corner of her mouth.  She’d also been
my safe place.  I could always go there, she’d always been pleased to see me,
at any time of the day or night.

She’d had six kids and I don’t
think any two of them had had the same father.  Despite her small size she’d
ruled the family with an iron rod and everyone jumped when she told them to.  The
boys were older than Mum and there were always at least two of them in prison
or on parole at any one time.

“Serves ’em right.” she’d say,
“Thieving bastards the lot of ’em.  Don’t know where they get it from, not from
my side, that’s for sure.”

She said it so often, that when
I was a child I’d hoped that I was from her side, whatever that meant.

Sometimes I’d ask her about
grandpa and she’d say something like, “What do I want with a man under my feet
all the time, getting in the way and messing the place up?”

Then she’d laugh.

“You can always find one when
you need one, never forget that Grace, but let someone else clean up after
them, just take the good bits.”

She’d always had two jobs.  In
the afternoon she worked in the laundrette and most nights she did a turn at
the Rose and Crown.  I loved watching her get ready to go out; she’d transform
into a real lady, stage by stage.  Together we’d choose her dress, then she’d
lay it over the chair while she did her face and hair.  Then the perfume, then
the dress, then the lipstick and finally the shoes; always high heels.  The art
of wearing such delicate and strappy things is not something I’ve inherited.

Once she was ready, she’d do a
twirl for me, then she’d tuck me up in her big bed before she went out.   I
loved that bed, full of pillows and quilts and it always smelt of rose water.  Later,
as soon as she was through the front door she’d come and check up on me, but I
never smelt drink on her breath; she always smelt of face powder, perfume and
cigarettes.  Her dress looked as nice as it had when she went out, her lipstick
was still shiny and there was rarely a hair out of place.  Unlike Mum, who
usually came back looking like something a cat had dragged in.

She always had ‘gentlemen
friends’ as she called them, but if I was there when they arrived, she’d shoo
them away.  She had no time for my Mum when she was drunk, or for the louts she
hung out with, but for me she always had a smile and all the time in the world.

She died when I was eleven and
after she was gone the family drifted apart.  Mum had been her only daughter
and I’d been her only grandchild and I haven’t seen any of my uncles for years. 
Reason told me I must have cousins somewhere, but I didn’t really know how to
go about finding them, or even if it’d be worth all the trouble; so I never did. 
From the way the residents at the home spoke and from what I’d seen of other
people, I knew there were better ways for a family to live a life together.  Generally
speaking I didn’t miss it; after all I’d never had it, but I missed my Nan a
lot.

I didn’t realise I was crying
until the waitress brought my meal and asked if I was ok.  Of course I told her
I was and tried to smile as I took the open packet of tissues she’d fished out
of her apron pocket.  She nodded, as though she understood that I didn’t want
to talk and it was only as she moved out of the way to serve another customer
that I realised he was standing there, looking just as miserable as I must have
done.  He slid into the seat opposite me but didn’t say anything; he just
looked at me.

“I thought you weren’t supposed
to return to the same place?” was the only thing I could think of.

“Same place, but different
time.” he said quietly.

“That makes no sense and I
don’t like games.” I snapped, in a voice that didn’t sound quite like mine.

The tears that had almost
stopped when the waitress had been so kind started again and everything became
blurry.  If he’d stood up and left, I wouldn’t have blamed him, nor would I
have seen if everything shimmered again.

“Nothing about you makes any
sense.” I blubbed, in-between sniffs.

“I can see why you
might think that, but
honestly, I can’t
explain.  It’s not about you, you have to believe me.”

He pushed the plate to one side
and pulled my hands away from my face.

“I’ve wanted to come back so
many times, I’ve missed you so much.  If things have changed for you, if
there’s someone else in your life now, I’ll understand, but I just had to see
you again.  I’m sorry if now is not a good time.  Should I go?”

He spoke quickly, as though he
wasn’t choosing his words carefully this time, as though he just wanted to tell
me his real thoughts and feelings.

I had so many questions, but I
knew from my own reaction to people demanding answers from me, that it wouldn’t
get me anywhere.  If he wanted to explain, well he would, but in his own time
and in his own way.  So all I said was, “Don’t go, at least not yet anyway.  I’m
sure you’ll have to soon, but...”

“Why so sad?” he asked softly. 
“Is there someone else? Have you had a row?”

That was the second time he’d
asked that question.  Obviously he needed to know the answer.

“No, there’s no one else,
there’s never been anyone; just the memory of you.”

His eyes looked pleased, yet
still sad.

“I had a big bust-up with my
mother about my birthday...” I babbled and lots of other things came pouring
out too.

I told him about missing my Nan
and then had to explain a little bit about my Mum.  Not too much, but enough so
that he’d get an idea.  I told him things I’d never told anyone before, things
that I wasn’t even aware I thought about.  Words just tumbled out and they kept
on coming.  Eventually I realised what I was doing and ground to a halt mid
sentence, feeling embarrassed.

“I’m sorry...” I said and tried
to pull my hands away.

They were resting on the table
and he was still holding them.

“Don’t be sorry Grace.  When is
it your birthday?”

As he spoke, he laced his
fingers through mine.  It felt nice and I relaxed a bit.

“The day after tomorrow.” I
whispered, knowing there was no chance he would be around for it.

He nodded, but said nothing for
a while.  Then he spoke in a deeply sad, quiet voice.

“Hmm... September 10
^th
. 
I’m supposed to be in New York for the 11
^th
, but that isn’t going to
be good and it will always be there.  After all, I have time.”

He laughed, but it sounded
hollow, even bitter.  I just looked at him; I didn’t understand what he was talking
about.

“I’m due some time off,” he
said slowly.  “How about we go away for a few days, could you do that?”

He looked at me and smiled.  I
knew he wasn’t just being kind; he actually wanted to spend time with me.  And
more than anything else, I wanted to spend my birthday, that birthday of all
birthdays, with him.

“Yes Jack, I could do that.” I
said, smiling back at him, feeling as though I was going to burst.

Now he was there and we’d
spoken, the darkness had lifted.  He pulled the plate back between us and
helped himself to a sausage.  Feeling much lighter, I picked up the other one. 
We chatted about nothing for a bit while we polished off the food, taking turns
with the fork to eat the mushrooms, but eating everything else with our fingers
and sharing the mug of tea.  I could see that the waitress didn’t mind him not
ordering anything, because whenever she looked our way she smiled at me.

“So, birthday girl.  Where
shall we go to celebrate? City, sea, countryside, or even Paris, what do you
fancy?” he asked, grinning, wiping the last chip through the smidge of ketchup
still on the plate.

Suddenly I felt shy.  Since my Nan
died, my birthdays had always been low-key.  One or two had been ok, when Mum
had been in a good mood for most of the day, but they were childhood birthdays. 
For the one about to arrive I was going to be twenty-one.  I looked down, while
I thought about it.

“Well...” I said slowly, “Paris
is out, I don’t have a passport.” Although I wasn’t entirely sure one was
needed anymore.

Then it came to me.  “The sea,
let’s go to the seaside.”

Jack and the sea went together,
or at least they did in my mind.

“The sea it will be.  How about
Dorset? Lyme-Regis specifically?” he asked, with a big smile on his face.

He had a lovely smile and you
couldn’t help but smile back at him.

“Sounds good to me.” I replied
happily.

I’d read about the place once
in a book and it sounded pretty and old fashioned.  I’d never been that far
from home before and it would be a perfect way of celebrating the start of me
being a real and proper adult.

Then I remembered my Mum and
the bad state she was in and wondered if I could trust her not to do anything
stupid.  I sighed and he looked at me, but he didn’t say anything or ask any
questions.  I suppose he knew that I needed to square it in my own mind, in my
own way and that I had to do it myself.

He was right.  Slowly I came to
a decision.  I was going to be twenty-one and it was about time I had a life of
my own, one that didn’t include me always putting her first.  I took a deep
breath and for the very first time in my life I put what I wanted, what I
wanted very much indeed, ahead of what she might need from me.

I smiled, looked up and nodded
at him.

“It’s a bit late to go now, we
will have to leave early in the morning, but err, I haven’t got anywhere to
stay tonight.”

He looked very sheepish at this
confession.  I though, was more than happy with this state of affairs.  I
wanted to keep an eye on him and I didn’t want any more shimmering taking him
away from me, at least not until it was absolutely necessary for him to go.

“That’s ok, my landlady’s alright
about people staying over and I have a big armchair, more of a small sofa
really, so we’ll be fine.  If you don’t mind...”

I could feel the heat of a
blush creeping over my face.  I’d never invited anyone back to my room, much
less a man.

“That would be great.” he said,
waving to the waitress for the bill.  “That way we can be at the station for
the first train and make the most of it all.”

As we left the cafe he took my
hand again.  It was warm and I felt safe as we walked back to my little attic
home rather than wait for the bus.  It was still drizzling a little bit, but
the wind had dropped and it was actually really nice.