Legacy (23 page)

Chapter Sixty One

Mum briefly displayed signs of life on hearing I had gained my Masters, yet ten minutes later she was sitting on the armchair absorbing the news that we would be moving again,

“How long have we got here four or five days Mum?” I asked her, I needed to know what time frame I was working on.

She didn't answer. I asked her again and still no answer was forthcoming. She was upset I supposed, so I left her and went to our newly installed phone and called the landlady. She was nasty and angry and when pressed for the reasons behind our eviction she told me that she couldn't cope with a tenant who was so demanding. I tried to persuade her to let us stay but she was having none of it. No contracts had been signed, our low budget rentals rarely came with any contracts and she would like us out in a week.

There wasn't any point in wallowing; she obviously wasn't going to change her mind, there was no persuading her. With great difficulty I swallowed my pride and asked about our deposit. She went on to confirm that if the house was in good condition we could have our deposit back on the day we left. I bit my tongue, wondering if she was talking about a different house than the one we had got. The house had never been in good condition. Due to our hard work and back breaking labour she should be paying us. We would be debt free if she refunded us for the price of cleaning products alone. She had had the place intensively cleaned for free. We had lifted the used condoms from under the beds, cleaned the strange smelling items of the kitchen floor and scrubbed her bathroom.

Putting down the phone I turned to Mum again. I called her but she was just sitting there, a cigarette in her hand staring into the distance. I followed her gaze to see what she was looking at. The wall held nothing of interest to me.

She looked so pitiful, her little hands shaking, as they had started to do recently. My heart went out to her and I gave her a little hug,

“You sit tight, and I'll get a paper, don't worry we'll find something and when we do we'll have a lovely day at Queen's for my graduation.” I grabbed my coat and went to the shop. On the way there it occurred to me that Mum hadn't answered me, in fact, she hadn't responded at all. That was the day that I really noticed that my Mum's had taken a turn for the worst.

I couldn't dwell on Mums' predicament though; I had four days to find us a new house. Plenty of rentals were available but not many were available the following week.

In the end I found one. A dark ugly terrace, in the heart of an area that left a lot to be desired. Yet for now it had a roof, so it fulfilled the basic function of any home; shelter. I would clean it up as best I could before Mum saw it and hope for the best.

One week later we had moved into our 17th home. My knowledge of Belfast was extensive at this stage, not a wonder I supposed considering we had lived all over it. I laughed to myself thinking that if all else fails I could always become a taxi driver.

This new house was the same as most of the others, smelly and damp. When I asked the electric board to come and connect us, the electrician told me that the little box that housed the electric meter was filled with woodworm. If there was woodworm there, then I could expect the place to be riddled with it he'd said. I cringed inwardly slightly embarrassed but thanked him for his observations.

In the meantime I had a deposit to collect, so returned to the old house to meet the landlady. I was so angry I would have done anything to avoid her, but if we wanted to retain our new roof I needed the money. She knew we had paid royally to arrange the move and had arranged all our affairs around this address. Yet to her she felt giving a family one weeks' notice to pack up their belongings was reasonable. That being the case I dreaded confronting her.

I knocked the door of the house that had been our home for one week and she greeted me, coolly. I knew that we had left it cleaner than we had found it. We had even made a few alterations, hanging a new shower curtain to replace the old mouldy one and to lesson our removal costs left a solid mahogany fire place in the living room. We had even left a little vase of flowers on the top.

She trotted through the house ensuring I was following behind her. I could see she was looking for a reason, any reason to refuse repaying the deposit. So far she had found none. Then we got to the living room. She appraised the room, then me from head to toe. I don't know what was stronger her disgust at the fireplace we had left, or her disgust at me. As she chewed her cud and took in all seven stone of me, I knew something was coming that I wouldn't like.

I was right, for the cow went on to swallow her cud and say,

“I want that gone,” and pointed at the fireplace “then we can discuss deposits.”

A cough came from the door behind us and I looked around to see a man standing.

“Hello,” I said to him, then to her “okay I'll have that arranged.”

“No dear,” she moooed, “you will move it now, I'm going today so won't be back and I want this house cleared.”

“Okay,” I said gulping as I looked at the girth of the fireplace; it took two men to carry it in. I just wondered how I was going to carry it out.

I looked at her looking at me and saw she wanted action immediately. Well I thought, we needed the money so by hook or crook I would have to remove this bloody fireplace. She stood back and watched me push and push, her only remark was “mind my floor dear”.

I continued pulling, pushing and tugging and managed to move the beast out of the living room and down the front steps. I was exhausted already and decided if I could get the heavy piece of furniture just to the back-lane a stone's throw away I could arrange for it to be moved later.

Tears pricked my eyes as I assessed my strength; even to get this moved around the corner right now seemed an epic task. I could hear talking from inside and glanced up in time to see her restraining her husband, who was coming to help,

That's when the tears really came. How was I going to move this thing another inch? She noticed my intent seeing the direction I was angling the piece.

“I hope you're not taking that to the back-lane.”

“Yes,” I panted “just until I can get it lifted. I can call the council and they can collect it.”

“Well in the meantime, you're not leaving that outside my back, take it to the other side of the lane.”

I looked up the long terraced street at least one hundred houses in length and knew what she wanted. She wanted me to drag this deadweight of a fireplace all the way down there. On my own, I had no choice; I ignored the glances of those walking and driving by and began dragging the lead like piece of furniture down the street. When I was halfway down, her husband must have been granted permission to assist and he helped me. He struggled himself even with my assistance, to drag and push the fireplace to the other side of the back lane.

I walked back to the house, she was now satisfied that I had been thoroughly humiliated and her property was now in order. She gave me back my deposit.

I looked at the envelope in my hand and thought, I may have lost any sense of pride I ever had and completely mortified myself in the process, but at least we would eat this week. To that end it had been worth it.

Chapter Sixty Two

The day of my graduation dawned and I was so excited, Alison and little Sarah- Jayne and most importantly Mum would be attending. We made our way to Queens' University and I donned my black graduation gown. Mum had a little tear in her eye but didn't say much. Sarah-Jayne on the other hand said lots. She laughed at all the people dressed like ghosts and was shushed too many times to remember during the ceremony.

It was only after the ceremony that Alison told me that Mum had bawled, she had said that someone was missing. We didn't go for a meal that night but we did have an Iceland party. Alison had bought lots of little party treats and we all sat together and had a lovely night. Mum talked of Dad a few times and of how proud he would have been but other than that she didn't say much.

I knew Mum was not improving; she was spending more days than usual in her bed. It was often just she and I in the house so conversation was scarce.

I coaxed her awake one day and dragged her with me to approach the Housing Executive. She hated doing anything like that, but by this stage she was so far gone I didn't believe she was aware of what she was doing. Together we sat in their offices and applied for a house. We joined the housing waiting list in 2007.

Sarah-Jayne was growing up fast, our succession of moves ensured that by the age of seven she had attending four different schools. I often wondered how this would affect her, but she was such a bubbly child she seemed she seemed to take everything on the nose.

As luck would have it I found a job and as my luck had it I swiftly lost it. Mum needed more and more care, concentrating on work and home became too much and something had to go. I let the job go.

Mum and I were once again plunged deeper into debt. I laughed when people admired my slim figure, for it was not through choice my dieting days had long gone. Instead I was slim because I existed on the few basics we could afford. We could no longer heat the home and had long ago made the choice that we would eat rather than heat.

I had my Mum and two little dogs and they became the focus of my shrinking world. As long as they were fed and watered it didn't matter about me. As a child Mum routinely gave up her meals for us, I had vivid memories of counting out what scraps we had, when I would cut them between four and Mum would say,

“Split it three ways. I'm not hungry.”

Well now it was my turn, I was now splitting the food between them and if I was fortunate I even managed some myself.

Yet I held true to what I had been taught, Mum always said hold your head high. No one ever has to know what you live like, we may not be have much but we have our pride. Our father didn't plan for this life for us. He came here and faced his adversaries with his head in the air; he never let them see that they hurt him. Mum would say, “Never let this place see its beaten us Jayne, hold your head in the air too and remember this was not how things were meant to be.”

Chapter Sixty Three

Race relations in Belfast had gotten worse; many families from different ethnicities were being put out of their homes. I got scared; really sacred. In that that year I was spat on, called some horrendous names and accustomed to being greeted with “Go back home.” Some really funny people showed more creative uses for their jibes, one day in a crowded bus stop, two sober men approached and sang me a little song,

“Consider yourself at home; consider yourself one of the family.”

I didn't get the bus that day instead I walked home and hung my head in shame. Their serenade rang in my ears even hours later. I
was
at home yet these people would never see it that way. Despite the fact that I had been born here, educated here, worked here, paid taxes here and spoke in an accent from here, my skin was brown. That meant to them that I would never be truly from here.

I broke down a little that day and cried, I wanted out and for the first time ever I began to hate them as much as they hated me. Even worse I hated myself. Why did I have to be different, I was a quiet person, I wanted a quiet life, some peace. Yet it seemed my outward appearance prevented that. I realised then that as long as I lived I would always be the different one.

Perhaps if Dad had been there when I was growing up I would have felt different, I would have had his guidance and a knowledge of my culture. Without this all I felt was shame. I was ashamed of my colour and my very existence. The shame led to guilt, I had got my colour from Dad I was a part of him. I was in awe of him and in horror at myself all at once.

Often I would rage inwardly why did my parents do this to me, to my sisters? Didn't they know that we would face difficulty that they were setting us up to be discriminated against? Then reality would hit me. My parents didn't envisage the events that unfolded. After all who would have? Every time I berated my parents I castigated myself. I knew my thoughts were wrong and as such they always went full circle from anger, to guilt, to shame to sorrow.

No matter how I felt, my emotions always led me back to the same questions, why did Dad get on that train? Why did the bombers strike when they did? Instead of hating myself or my parents my hate shifted to my home.

During these times of inner turmoil and introspection I hated Northern Ireland. I hated it for not having the maturity to prevent bloodshed. I hated the IRA. In fact I hated those who had caused pain on either side. Did they realise how much they had destroyed, did they ever stop to think? No matter where my family were we would always suffer some degree of prejudice, but it would have been easier if we had been together. We would have had the full picture instead of living our lives in the shadow of a culture we should but didn't know.

Mum who was in bed got up that day to ask me what was wrong, I told her and she just nodded. I didn't leave the house much after that. Instead I focussed my attention on Mum, who in between her increasing prescriptions was acting strangely. She claimed she couldn't sleep yet spent her days in a darkened room, only really becoming animated when little Sarah-Jayne would come up saying in her sing-songy voice “Granny Bumba.”

Mum would sit with Sarah-Jayne and tell her all sorts of stories and for those moments our house was happy.

“Why is Granny Bumba so sad?” Sarah Jayne would ask and I would reply with the only answer that came to me, “because the world made her that way.”

Mum went steadily downhill. She refused to get out of bed and started to talk in a strange gibberish, I lost count of the many times I took her to the doctors in despair. Eventually after a few years we found ourselves at the Royal Hospital where Mum was to see a psychiatrist.

I waited a long time for her whilst she seen by him, I was worried sick but she came out bright and breezy. She had entered his office removed and remote and I wondered what had brought about this sudden change. This man must have been a miracle worker; I began to think I would like an appointment too! Whatever medicine he had administered had worked because Mum was looking more like her former self than she had done in years.

It was the thought of medicine that triggered a little alarm bell in my head. It stopped me in my tracks. I looked at Mum's hand to see if she had a prescription; sure enough she did. Mum hadn't been cured; no problem had been solved. As always when Mum got depressed they solved the problem by giving her yet more drugs. I felt sick, I wanted to grab her prescription and tear it in shreds. Fear of making things worse prevented me from any action, for now Mum was happy and that could only be positive.