183 Times a Year (36 page)

I'm suddenly filled with a feeling of deep resentment and decide to abandon ship. There's still a dishwasher to empty, washing to hang out, bins to bring in, the cat litter tray to empty, rubbish to take out (don't forget to separate the recycling) and a food shop to do. A heavy cloud is descending and I'm struggling to shake it.

Is this it? Is this really my lot in life; a meagre paid job, servitude and ingratitude from kids that hate me and betrayed by loved one's and friends? What? What the hell is in it for me? Why the fuck am I so angry and why do I feel so bloody guilty for feeling so angry?

Turning the bathroom and hallway lights off, that have –
yet
again – been left on, I descend the stairs in a manner far more controlled than I feel. The lights in the kitchen also burn brightly, despite the daylight that pours through its windows. The worktops are strewn with crumbs, cereals and god knows what else, and mugs, bowls and plates have been abandoned at will.

‘Hey Mum, what's for dinner tonight?' Connor suddenly asks behind me.

‘Mum, did you wash my white top?' Cassie demands to know shoving Connor out of the way.

‘Lend us a fiver will ya?' Maisy asks.

Please!! What's wrong with the fucking word please?

A fuse is shorting in my head. If I didn't know better I'd have said there was smoke wafting from my ears.

‘I am a person you know!' I yell. The kids look stunned and just stare at me. ‘I had a life once, before kids. I smoked and drank and danced naked in the moonlight, and I dreamed. I was, wanted to be, someone – once! But look at me now, just some robot bloody skivvy here to serve you lot. Make your own bloody dinner, wash your own bloody top, and stop smoking and save your own bloody money. I'm off.'

CASSIE

‘Stop Mum, stop!' I yell running out the door after her. ‘I need a lift, you said you'd give me a lift.' Mum's car window is open so I know she can hear me but she continues pulling out of the drive away from me. Stupid moody cow. I really need a lift, it's like sooooo important.

I stamp my foot as Mum pulls away. ‘Arrrggghhh,' I yell after her. ‘Sometimes I wish … oh why don't you just piss off and don't bother coming back.' I don't know if she hears me.

What the hell was that all about? What does she mean she
smoked?
Hypo-bloody-crite. And what does she mean she had dreams once? Doesn't everyone dream at night when they're asleep? Or does that stop when you get old? Why is she making such a bloody fuss about everything? And as for dancing naked in the moonlight – I knew she was bloody mad! She promised me a lift to college and now I'll be bloody late for bloody rehearsal for the first part of our major bloody project, which is like well bloody important and well bloody stressful.

‘She's having a breakdown or mid-life crisis I think,' Maisy says. ‘Or maybe it's the menopause?'

‘Tell me about it Mania.'

‘Don't call me Mania. My name is Maisy.'

I look at Maisy, baffled. Is everyone losing it today? ‘But you always say you hate the name Maisy?'

‘Yeah, well, I've changed my mind.' ‘Why?'

‘Because Crazee researched its meaning and …'

Maisy pauses for a moment and I grin at her. ‘And what?'

‘Well, Crazee said the name Maisy comes from the Latin ‘Margarita' which means ‘Pearl' and that Ancient Persians believed pearls were formed when oysters came to the water's surface to look at the moon. A drop of dew formed in the shell of the oyster, which was then turned to pearl by the moon. So Crazee says, no matter how far apart we are or how many miles separate us, when he looks up at the moon every night he thinks of me, Maisy – his beautiful pearl.' Maisy's cheeks flush up and she looks down, fidgeting with her hands. I continue to stare at her and smile.

It's nice to see her so happy. She looks back up at me and runs her hand through her hair. ‘Or some shit like that,' she adds, shrugging her shoulders. ‘Until we can be together again.'

‘Oh my god, that's like weeeeeelllllll romantic. He like well loves you.'

‘I know,' Maisy replies grinning.

Maisy
actually smiles well loads since meeting Crazee. I study her face and didn't realise coz it's happened so gradually but she actually wears loads less make-up now too. Well a lot less black stuff anyway.

‘C'mon,' Maisy says to me and Connor. ‘Let's tidy up quick so Mum doesn't have another meltdown when she gets home. Then I'll give you both a lift.'

‘Thank god for that,' I say relieved. ‘We have like major rehearsals today at college.'

‘Yeah well, don't get too used to me bailing you out. A couple more months and this car will be sold and I'll be on my way to the land down under.'

‘What's a lay-down-under?' Connor asks. Maisy and I just look at him and laugh.

‘That too!' Maisy says winking at me.

Connor looks even more confused so I just tell him to shut up and turn to Maisy again. ‘That's like such a scary thought. I still can't believe you're actually going to leave?'

‘Yeah it is scary but exciting too – I think?'

It'll only be another year for me then I'll also be leaving too to go to Uni, thank bloody god. What will Mum do then eh, with barely anything to do and only Connor to look after? She'll be sorry then that she shouted at us.

LIZZIE

‘Well, well, well, I'd recognise that gorgeous derriere anywhere, and it still looks as good as it did thirty years ago.'

I'm bent over by the shelves in General Fiction shelf tidying and unable to see the speaker of the voice behind me. I attempt to stand up quickly, dropping several hardback editions of
Gone With The Wind
in the process. Unsure whether to feel completely insulted or if I'm honest, a little bit thrilled, I turn
and
am greeted by a handsome but slightly craggy middle-aged face. His smile is broad and the hair on his head thick and dark with a good sprinkling of grey. It's the eyes that give it away though, eyes that coruscate; grey and mischievous, eyes of years gone by that bore into me and finally force the penny to drop.

‘Oh my god Nigel! Nigel Fogerty,' I say, shocked to see a real blast from the past.

I impulsively throw my arms around him – sod protocol. ‘You look just the same.'

‘I wish,' he replies patting a rather rotund belly. I laugh. ‘And these,' he continues, pointing to the lines around his face.

‘Ah well, yes. Unfortunately, we all have those,' I reply cupping my face.

Dear, lovely Nigel. How wonderful to see him. He always had a bit of a crush on me at school but unfortunately I didn't feel the same. I loved him as a friend, just never fancied him. He was to me what Luke is to Cassie I suppose? I laugh to myself because I can actually hear Mum's voice in my head, “Why don't you go out with Nigel? Such a lovely lad”.

‘So, you work here then?' Nigel asks turning his head from left to right surveying all that is the city library.

I feel my face redden a little. ‘Yep, I certainly do. Worked for the library service in some capacity or other for oooh, err … let's just say for longer than I care to remember.'

‘Okay, sick. Shit, must stop saying that. Got into the bad habit of talking like my daughter.' Nigel laughs.

‘Oh great, you have a daughter?'

Nigel's face flushes a little. ‘Yeah, Rio.' He winces, his face creasing with embarrassment. ‘I was, as you may remember, a big Duran Duran fan? And so was – as it turned out – my wife Claire and Rio, as a name, just seemed like a good idea at the time.'

‘I think it's a beautiful name. How old is she?'

‘
Eighteen.'

‘Oh that lovely age then?' My intonation is acerbic. Nigel raises bemused eyes and nods.

‘How about you? Do you have any kids?'

I tell him all about Cassie, Connor and Maisy. I also tell him about Scott and the divorce and of course I tell him all about Simon. He tells me he's sorry about my divorce. I tell him I'm sorry to hear his wife has Multiple Sclerosis.

He waves his hand dismissively. ‘It is what it is. We're still mad about each other, even after all these years. You have to be happy with what you've got. I'm glad we managed to have Rio though,' he adds. ‘We'd always hoped to have a big family but you never quite know what life is going to throw at you do you? You're lucky to have three Liz. I bet you're a good Mum too?'

I think about my earlier behaviour and cringe. ‘Hummmph, I'm not so sure about that.' Poor Connor, his little face looked so upset. So did the girls come to think of it. Must make it up to them all later. ‘They're still alive if that's what you mean!' I laugh. ‘I try to be a good Mum I suppose, but I don't always feel very good at it. I swear both the girls hate me.' I'm being serious now but Nigel just cocks his head to one side and laughs at me.

‘They're just being teenagers. It's their job to keep you on your toes.'

I ask him what he's doing here and to my surprise he explains that he's checking in with us reference arrangements for his book reading at the library tomorrow afternoon. My lower jaw lapses suitably enough to show my shock.

‘Oh my god! You mean you're Jules J. Clarke, the science fiction writer?' Currents of unease surge through me infused with small sparks of envy.

‘Yeah,' he blushes. ‘Prefer to use a pseudonym. Not really into all that fame malarkey.' Nigel pauses and casts another spurious eye on our tired surroundings. It's been a while since
the
Library last had a makeover. ‘I always imagined you as a writer Liz, what with your love of books and everything. Not that there's anything wrong with this of course.' He runs a hand through his hair. His intonation is apologetic. ‘You are working with books after all. But, well, you should give it a go sometime. Writing I mean. If I can do it anyone can. I was a plumber before I started writing and I swear to god my first book – if you deconstruct it – is all about plumbing in a science fiction setting. Give it a go sometime Liz. Just put pen to paper and see what happens.'

We exchange contact details and I agree to meet him tomorrow for lunch after his book reading. As he leaves I experience yet another hot flush and sense of unease and disappointment. His imprint on the world is notable and worthy. What – if indeed I have made any impression at all – is mine?

Chapter 33

THE LAST SHELTER OF THE INCOMPETENT

LIZZIE

God, it's been such a busy morning but there she is again. That must be the fifth time Amber has come in today. She looks awful. Her hair is limp and greasy, her complexion pale and her tired eyes are bloodshot. She hovers nervously, watching me like a hawk, waiting for an opportunity to swoop down on me. I don't think I can deal with her today; I've had more than my fair share of awkward customers and I'm still upset about the way I left the kids this morning. I do love them all but why do I have to become a raving lunatic before anyone listens to me?

‘Oi, scuse me Miss.' I turn to see a man, one of our customers, talking to me. ‘Do you know that bloody machine isn't working again?' He's clearly as irritated as I feel.

‘Yes, we are aware,' the exasperation rather too evident in my voice. ‘If you see my colleague Raj over there, he'll be able to help you.' Raj took a couple of weeks off work citing gastric flu as the reason for his absence. He seems okay, but who knows what's really going on inside someone else's head? The irritated customer picks up the irascibility in my voice and intuitively backs down.

‘Bloody technology eh?' he replies half laughing. ‘Great when it works?' I respond with a nod and a tight-lipped smile as he wanders off towards Raj.

Amber
has seen her opportunity and seizes it.

‘Lizzie,' she pleads. ‘You ave to help me.' She cradles both arms around her now very noticeable bump. ‘He said he's gonna take my baby from me when it's born and sell it for god's sake.' I sigh heavily and look at Amber's pasty, almost alabaster face and deadbeat eyes. She reeks of cigarette smoke.

What kind of home are you going to provide for that baby Amber?

‘Who is, Amber?' I reply.

‘Travis, my boyfriend.' Her eyes bore into mine, racked with desperation. ‘Look,' she continues. ‘He just wants some money. So, I was finking if maybe you could lend me some and I give it to him, then he'll leave me and the baby alone.'

‘How much were you thinking?'

Amber is quiet for a moment then lowers her eyes and slumps towards me. ‘Dunno.' She shrugs her shoulders. ‘A couple of thousand?'

‘Pounds?' I ask in disbelief. ‘I'm sorry Amber, we just don't have that sort of money.

‘Liar,' she shouts. ‘I've seen where you live.'