Read Bad Mothers United Online
Authors: Kate Long
Bad Mothers United (21 page)
‘Look at you,’ I said. ‘You’re busy.’
‘Make a sausage?’
‘If you want.’ I took up a ball of yellow, ready to knead.
‘No! No!’
‘All right. Don’t snatch. I thought you were asking Grandma to do it for you.’
The dough squidged out under his palms. ‘Cut it.’
‘Are you cutting it, you mean?’
‘Yeah. Cut-cut-cut-cut-cut.’ He chopped the plastic knife-blade along its length, biting his lower lip with the effort. ‘There. Put this one here.’
‘What have you made?’
‘It’s your dinner.’
‘Is it? Yum. Are you having any?’
‘This is mine.’ He prised another chunk off the table-top and put it to his lips.
‘You mustn’t really eat it. It’s only pretend.’
Will glanced at me scornfully. ‘Another colour now.’ The knife clattered down.
‘Which colour?’
‘Make a shape. Make a man.’
‘Which colour?’
‘Blue.’
‘You’re starting to know your colours, aren’t you? Clever boy.’
The blue was stuck in the pot and he had to claw it out. His lips parted and his tongue moved slightly. It was one of his little habits that made me smile. And I thought, How
can
anyone
hurt a child? How can anyone want to harm something as precious as that? You couldn’t begin to understand. Yet all across the country it was happening every day. There’d been a story in
the news this morning.
‘Grandma, see.’ Will was holding up another fat sausage length. ‘Make this a man.’
I shook my head to clear it of unhappy thoughts. ‘What, do you want to do it?’
‘No. You.’ He slapped the dough into my hand then sat back, waiting.
‘Oh, OK.’
Quickly I pinched out a couple of legs and arms, and folded the top over to make a blobby head. It was rough as you like but my grandson watched as if I was performing top-flight magic.
‘There. How about that?’
He laughed with delight and took the tiny model off me. His cheeks were still bright and hot.
‘What do you say?’
‘Please.’
‘Who is he, your man?’ I asked as Will laid the figure flat on the table. ‘Is it Fireman Sam? Is it Station Officer Steele?’
‘It’s Grandma.’
Then he took the toy tractor and began to run its wheels over and over the soft body. ‘Oh dear,’ he said. ‘Oh dear.’
It was strange, crossing the threshold of Walshy’s room again. The windowsill was still fluorescent green, the curtains still paint-marked and also mottled where
I’d tried unsuccessfully to bleach out the remaining splotches. You’d think he’d just have called his dad and put an order in for some more, but instead he’d hung them
back up cheerfully and seemed not to notice that they made the place look like a squat.
‘Eew.’ I sniffed the fuggy air. ‘He hasn’t even stripped his bed. Are you sure he’s gone?’
Gemma was walking round the room picking up rubbish. ‘Yeah, I waved him off. He gave Roz a lift to the station. Which could come back to haunt him.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, with this crush she’s brewed up on him. I presume it’s that that’s been making her all mopey lately. ’S’OK, Chaz, I won’t pry, I know
she’s sworn you to secrecy. But it’s got to be that. And one day Gareth’s going to notice and there’ll be trouble.’
You have no idea what trouble we’re in for, I thought. ‘Have you got the other earring so I know what I’m actually looking for?’
She rummaged in her pocket and drew it out: a flat leaping salmon hanging off a silver hoop. It was pretty. I could see why she wanted it back.
‘And the history book?’
‘That and the notes should be together. It’s small, standard paperback size, with a blue spine and a painting of a throne on the cover. The title’s something like
Reformation and Religion
.’
We set to, clearing the floor, moving light furniture, returning all manner of objects to their homes. The clothes were at least clean but they all wanted putting away. ‘I’m not
hanging his shirts up for him,’ said Gemma, ‘I’m not his charlady.’ So we laid them across the duvet out of the way.
The inhaler we found pretty quickly. It was inside the cardboard base of a promotional cut-out for
End of Days
that Walshy had blagged from HMV: Arnie in a long coat grasping an
unfeasibly large weapon.
‘How did it get there?’ I asked as Gemma shook the inhaler till it rattled and tried out a test spray above her head.
‘Got kicked, I should imagine.’ Tiny droplets hung in the space between us. ‘Hey, I got a kiss off her this morning.’
‘Who? Roz?’
‘Uh huh. Took me completely by surprise. I was in the kitchen, helping myself to a slice of bread, when she launched herself.’
‘What was that in aid of?’
Gemma began to root through a box of DVDs. ‘She said she was sorry she’d been so miz these last few weeks. She said it was all going to work out OK.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I said of course it was. Although I’d no idea what we were talking about. Well, half an idea. It’s good she’s getting away from Walshy for a few weeks, give her a
chance to de-crush.’
I shuffled over to the bedside and peered at the dark space beneath the frame. ‘Now, do I look under here or what?’
‘Go for it,’ said Gemma.
‘It’ll be porn mag city. Oh, in fact, here they are, yum.
Razzle
,
Knave
,
Fiesta
. Lovely.’ I levered them out with the toe of my shoe.
When I looked across, she was gazing out of the window and frowning. ‘Anyway, the point is, she’s been so jumpy near me, it’s nice to think she can actually – you know,
mwah
. It’s a big step forward.’
‘I told you she’d come round.’
‘Is it really that big a deal, though? Is it?’
‘Well, it was a surprise. To be honest, I’ve felt a bit awkward at times.’
Gemma turned back to me. ‘You, Chaz? How so?’
‘I mean just because I’m in uncharted waters, that’s all. Like, you’re the only lesbian I know.’
‘Bet I’m not.’
‘All right: the only lesbian I
know
I know. And mainly I don’t want to show up my own ignorance. I don’t want to come out with anything that’s going to hurt
your feelings – you’re my friend, that’s the last thing I’d want to do. But I’m aware there might be all kinds of stupid stuff that non-gay people spout without
realising it. Sweeping assumptions, like thinking all lesbians must know each other. I don’t want to end up an angry anecdote in a pub,
My Ignorant Flatmate
. That’s
all.’
‘So, ask me.’ Gemma tucked her hair behind her ear, businesslike.
‘Ask you what?’
‘Whatever it is you want to know.’
‘Don’t want to run the risk of sounding nosy.’
Gemma picked up a scrap of paper that was lying by her feet, scrumpled it into a ball and lobbed it at me. ‘You are a daft bat, Chaz. We’re all nosy in this house, we live
together. It’s the human condition. If I was seeing some bloke, you’d ask about that, wouldn’t you?’
I nodded.
‘Well, then.’
On the cover of
Readers’ Wives Special
a blonde girl in a baseball cap simpered up at me. I pulled one of Walshy’s shirts across to cover her toplessness. ‘OK. Well,
for a kick-off, did you always know you were gay?’
‘No. Some people do; I didn’t. It was a swift conversion.’
‘Like getting religion.’
She raised her palms, fingers spread, a mime of revelation.
‘What happened?’
‘I met a girl. Off my course.’
It did feel weird to hear her talk like this, but it was only the unfamiliarity of the situation. She was right. If it had been a man I’d have been gagging for every detail.
‘And did you date her?’
‘No. She already had a partner.’
‘Were you upset?’
‘At the time I was. She helped put me in touch with some other people, though, so I could talk things through.’
I remembered Roz saying darkly,
They have these clubs, you know.
‘Are you dating now?’
‘I am. Just. We’ve had a few things to sort out but yeah, I am dating.’
‘What’s she like?’
‘Funny. Tall. American.’
‘When do we get to meet her?’
‘Not yet. Not till I’m a bit surer where I stand.’
‘Fair enough.’
So much for Roz’s theory that Gemma was after me, then. I knew it was bobbins.
‘You’ve told your parents?’
‘That’s a job for the summer holidays.’ She peeled a limp grey thing off the carpet, might have been a sock. ‘I’m pretty sure they’ll be OK. They’ve
always been cool about boyfriends so I can’t see they’re going to be any different about girlfriends. Mum put me on the pill at fifteen.’
‘
Fifteen
?’
‘She said it was for acne but we both knew it wasn’t.’
I felt a pang of envy. Oh, to have such an open, liberal household. No wonder Gemma always seemed so confident in herself.
She began to pull a chair across to the wardrobe so she could investigate what was on top. I laid myself flat on the carpet in an attempt to see what was going on under the bed.
Down in the under-mattress world was more porn, I discovered, and some falling-apart trainers and two stinky kitchen mugs and a bag containing a tracksuit. There was quite a lot of electrical
goods packaging, the remnants of expensive gifts he’d had off his dad. There was a Davy Crockett hat, a box of Quintero cigars, an empty guitar case, an abdominal exerciser bar. A biscuit
tin full of McDonald’s Happy Meal toys. A picture made of flowing sand held between two glass plates. A riding hat (
riding hat?
) full of CDs. A
Magic Eye
calendar. A box
of toy air-gun caps. Some foreign coins inside half a coconut shell. An opened packet of Trebor mints. A toothbrush with its bristles dyed saffron yellow, a half-made racing car kit. A pair of
shin-guards, a giant ampersand nicked off some shop-front or other.
‘Found my book!’ Gemma cried happily. ‘Notes inside, perfect.’ She blew away a coating of dust from the cover and stood looking at it.
‘Don’t give yourself an asthma attack. If I hear you start to wheeze, you’re going out.’
‘Uh huh.’
It was impossible to settle. The card had upset me and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. What I really needed was to get out of the house and be on my own for a bit, but
this was Saturday and no nursery, and Charlotte wasn’t due back till the afternoon.
Will was under the table, barefoot and playing with a punnet of gooseberries Ivy had dropped off earlier. Neither of us like them but she will keep bringing them. My fault for pretending we do,
I suppose. I don’t seem to be able to open my mouth these days without a lie falling out.
A gooseberry rolled and hit my shoe. I lifted up the cloth. ‘So, lad. Have you made Grandma that goosegog pie yet?’
Will shook his head. There was squashed fruit down his T-shirt and in his hair and smeared into the carpet. ‘Jam,’ he said.
‘I see. Mummy’s coming home today. Mummy, your mummy. That’s nice, isn’t it?’
He snorted as if this was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. ‘Jammy jam.’
‘Yes, all right. Sinky sink, washy wash. Now. Otherwise your mother’ll wonder what the heck I’ve been doing with you.’
I watched as he scrambled forward, accidentally kicking the punnet on its side. The last of the gooseberries spilled out, and when he raised his head to assess the damage, the young skin of his
cheeks was completely perfect.
The bad thoughts were gathering again. Where could I go? How could I escape?
‘Tell you what. Shall we go see if Kenzie’s about?’
For answer, he reached forward and pulled at his toes.
‘I know, shoes and socks on. But I’ll hose you down first. That way we maybe stand a chance of finally being invited in.’
A cobweb clung to my face and I shuddered, wiped my cheek on the carpet. To my right was a box of lens-cleaning wipes, some felt tips and a balled-up T-shirt. The T-shirt I
drew out and unfurled.
100% SURFER
said the logo on the front. As if there was a whole lot of surfing to be done in York. Then I thought, Wouldn’t it be handy if we all went around
ready-labelled. Not with naff boasts like this one, but with key info that was otherwise tricky to drop into introductions.
I HAVE A TODDLER AT HOME
, mine would read. Job done, everyone
in the clear. No angsting in the union bar over when to let that snippet fall, no wondering whether friends were quietly filling in my background to strangers. Get the reactions out in the open.
If people wanted to be funny, let’s have it over with straight away. Gemma could have
100% GAY
. Roz – well, Roz wouldn’t be needing any T-shirt to announce her
pregnancy before too long.
‘If I could just find this damn earring,’ said Gemma.
I reached towards the bottom end of the bed and found a mobile phone with a broken screen and a book about archaeology. There was also a ball made out of rubber bands, plus two unfletched
arrows and a headless soft toy. The toy, a rabbity thing, I recalled Walshy finding stuck on a spiked railing on his way home from the pub. He’d dismembered it for its squeaker, sawing into
its neck with a bread-knife, while I’d scolded about some child somewhere crying itself to sleep. He’d just squeaked back at me, annoyingly.
I was aware of Gemma climbing off the chair and opening the wardrobe door. Right under the end of the bed was a video camera Walshy’s dad had sent him so he could try and get one of us
on
You’ve Been Framed.
God knows what footage was on there now. Best not to think about it.
As I backed out from the under-bed space and gulped some air I realised I’d been taking these little shallow breaths, not wanting to take in lungfuls of Walshy and his train of
girlfriends. All those dead skin cells piling up.
‘Looks as though we’ve drawn a blank on the earring,’ I said.
‘They were a present from my mum,’ pleaded Gemma. ‘Sterling silver. I can’t go home without them.’
I got to my feet and started to push the various displaced items back under the bed. The magazines slid into place obediently, but the shin-guards got jammed and I had to shove. When I moved
the cigar box, it rattled. I thought, Cigars don’t rattle. So I opened it.
‘Oh, wow!’ Gemma’s voice was excited. ‘Oh, yes! I don’t believe it – yes, I’ve got it. I’ve got it, Chaz. See? It was hooked in the hem of this
sweater he’d rolled up and shoved at the back . . . he used to let me wear it sometimes. Oh, that’s brilliant. It’s not bent or anything. Thank God. Phew. See, I’m
sticking it straight in my earlobe then it can’t go anywhere. Excellent. OK, now, all we’ve got to do is put everything roughly back, there’s no need to be tidy. In fact, if we
were, that’d probably just confuse the hell out of him. What have you got there, Chaz? You need some help? Like I say, just kick it under, yeah? God, I’m so relieved.’
Her voice carried on and on, happy and high, but I wasn’t listening. What I was looking at was a box of me.
