Mumbersons and The Blood Secret, The (2 page)

His Dad had said, ‘You could leave a message with the office.’

‘Dad, it’s not the same. They might forget to tell you.’

‘It’s their job to tell me. As long as it’s something important.’

‘But what if they don’t think it’s important, Dad?’

‘Well, then, it probably isn’t.’

But he got him a cellphone anyway. And once he got it, Olivia texted him constantly, sometimes even when they were sitting in the same room. Like now.

‘What yr Dad say re factory Wednesday?’

Billy sighed, and chopped up the rest of the potatoes before putting them in the pot. ‘Don’t text me when I’m in the same room, Olivia. It’s stupid.’

‘I can text as fast as I can talk,’ she said, demonstrating.

‘I can’t text at all. Not when I’m trying to get tea sorted.’ He cleared up the potato peelings and put them in the bin. ‘What does your text mean, anyway?’

‘Can’t you remember anything?
Yesterday your Dad was going on about something happening at the Factory.’

‘Can’t remember.’

‘He was talking to you. Don’t you listen to your Dad?’

‘He’s always going on about the Factory. I switch off.’

‘Told you he was a whiner.’

‘You said he was a grump.’ He flicked a bit of water at her.

‘I made a note about what he said on my phone,’ she said, searching. ‘I’ve decided I need to be more organised.’ Billy said nothing. ‘I think I’ll be a reporter when I grow up, did I tell you?’ Billy shook his head, not really listening. ‘Here it is. Your Dad said...the management was restricting and he hoped he wouldn’t be restricted.’

‘What does that mean?’ Billy picked up another pot, for the carrots. ‘Wait a minute. Not
restricting
. He said
restructuring.
If you’re going to be a reporter you’d better learn to write things down properly.’

‘So what’s restructuring?’

‘How would I know?
I don’t use big words.’ He began to peel the carrots.

Olivia stood up. ‘Have you got a dictionary in the house? I mean, like in a book? My phone doesn’t have WiFi.’

‘In the lounge. Top of the bookcase.’

Twenty seconds later, there was a crash from the lounge, books tumbling off the shelf. ‘Sorry! I’ll pick them up in a minute.’ Olivia came back into the kitchen. ‘Here it is.
Restructuring:
 
to effect a fundamental change in, to reorganise
. I’m not sure what that means, are you?’

‘Haven’t a clue. I’ll ask Dad tonight.’

‘I’ll stay and then you won’t have to repeat it all back to me.’ She sat down and began to read through the dictionary, one word at a time. ‘I’ll pick up those books before he comes home.’

‘He comes home in five minutes.’

Olivia frowned at him, closed the dictionary and went off to the lounge to pick up the books. She gave a running commentary from the other room on what Billy and his father did and didn’t have on their bookshelves. Their library was small by comparison with the one in Olivia’s place, where books filled a whole room, as well as being scattered haphazardly around the rest of the house. She’d been able to read since she was three and a half, and her parents let her read anything she found.

Once he’d finished with the carrots and broccoli, Billy got the electric fry pan out of the pantry, switched it on and put some oil in. The meat was minced beef, as it often was. He chopped up an onion and a clove of garlic, let them sizzle in the pan for a minute or two, then threw in the mince. The room was soon filled with an enticing aroma, and Olivia came out of the lounge, her nose up in the air, breathing it all in.

Stevedore had stayed in the kitchen. Mince has a more interesting smell than books.

‘You could show me how to cook, Billy,’ she said.

‘I could, but Dad wants to be able to eat his tea, not give it to your dog. He’ll be here in a minute. You’d better get off home.’

‘I’ll go and wait for him, and wave to him as he walks up the street.’ She ran out the front door.

‘He’ll love that,’ said Billy to himself.

Billy’s Dad, Jerry, arrived not long after. By then the potatoes and carrots were boiling with gusto, and the meat, now mixed with tinned tomatoes and flavouring, was simmering more sedately.

‘All in order, Billy?’

‘Yes, Dad. Shouldn’t be too long.’ Olivia came in behind Jerry, as though she’d shepherded him home because he wouldn’t have otherwise found his way.

‘What happened to your hair?’ Jerry said. ‘Did you cut it yourself?’

‘It was a different barber, Dad. Never seen him before.’

‘Different all right. Looks like he’s into abstract art. What’s wrong with your ear?’

‘The barber tried to chop it off,’ said Olivia, giggling.

‘I see you’ve invited yourself and your smelly dog again,’ said Jerry, sitting down at the table and skimming through the morning paper. ‘Been a bit of a crisis in the lounge?’

Olivia gasped. ‘I forgot to pick them up!’ Off she ran. Soon there was another running commentary. But at least this time the books were being put away as well.

‘Hard to concentrate on the paper with all that muttering in the background,’ said Jerry.

‘Dad, what’s
restructuring
mean?’

Jerry put the paper down on the table. ‘It means that people who have all the money think their staff can be shuffled around like pieces in a board game. That’s what it means. The famous Triple W Sisters who took over the Factory last year have decided they can do without half the staff. I could lose my job.’ He sniffed. ‘Watch that meat. Smells like it’s burning.’ He picked up the paper again.

Olivia appeared. ‘So when will you know about your job, Mr Mumberson?’

‘Don’t you ever go home?’ Jerry asked. ‘Don’t your parents wonder where you are? Do they send you to other people’s houses to eat their food because they can’t be bothered to cook themselves?

Olivia said nothing, which was unusual.

‘Dad, she doesn’t eat anything here.’

‘I had a biscuit,’ said Olivia. ‘There was only one left.’

‘A biscuit here, a biscuit there. Soon I’m eaten out of house and home.’ He glanced at Olivia. ‘I suppose you thought you were going to share our tea as well?’

Behind his back, Billy mashed the potatoes within an inch of their life.

Olivia ran out the front door without another word.

‘Don’t forget your dog!’ shouted Jerry. Stevedore slunk along the passage, his tail between his legs. Billy let him out. ‘That’s one way to get her moving,’ said Jerry, stretching his legs out over the space Stevedore had been occupying. ‘Isn’t tea ready yet?’

Billy drained the carrots. He turned off the fry pan. He got dinner plates from the cupboard. He was serving out the food when the front door bell rang.

‘If that’s her back again, I’ll boot her down the street,’ muttered Jerry. He opened the front door. Billy peered around the corner of the kitchen door to see who it was. An old man and woman stood there. Strangers. Their hair stood up on their heads; the man had leaves in his. They were dressed in filthy, torn overalls, and were shivering. Their boots had holes in the toes, were down at the heel, and the shoelaces were broken and too short. They looked like they could do with a wash, and even from the kitchen Billy sensed a smell that didn’t belong to the evening meal.

‘What do you want? said Jerry. ‘Who are you?’

‘We’ve come home!’ said the man. He pushed past Jerry, flattening him against the passage wall, and marched into the kitchen.

‘And I can’t say I think much of the welcome,’ said the woman, slamming the front door behind her, and giving Jerry a withering look as she followed the old man.

Jerry stayed flat against the wall for almost half a minute, his mouth open. It was only when Billy called out that he straightened up and came into the kitchen.

The old man was eyeing the food greedily. ‘Got enough there for a couple more mouths, young feller?’ he said, sitting himself at the table.

The woman went straight to the bathroom and turned on the shower. ‘Where do you keep your clean towels?’ she shouted. ‘Why aren’t they in the bathroom cupboard?’

‘Stop!’ said Jerry, finding his tongue again. ‘What are you doing?’ He grabbed the two steaming plates from the table and moved them to the bench. ‘Who are you?’

The woman came out of the bathroom. ‘I know it’s been a long time, Gerard, and we’re a bit older than when we saw you last. And dirtier.’ She glanced at Billy. ‘I suppose this is our grandson...’

‘Grandson?’ said Jerry and Billy simultaneously.

‘What’s your name, boy?’ asked the man. He took advantage of Jerry’s shock to stand up and grab a plate. Next thing he was shovelling food into his mouth.

‘Billy.’

‘What do you mean,
Grandson
?’ asked Jerry. ‘Stop eating our food!’

The old man ignored Jerry and sat down. ‘If your fool of a father would get his brain into gear,’ he said to Billy, between mouthfuls, ‘he’d tell you that we’re your long-lost grandparents. On the Mumberson side, that is.’

Jerry peered at the old man. ‘I don’t believe you.’ He stared even more closely. ‘You don’t look anything like my father.’

Mr Mumberson, carrying on eating, glanced at his wife. ‘Told you he’d have forgotten us.’

‘It was me who said that, not you,’ she snapped. ‘You claimed he’d
never
forget you.’ She took hold of Billy’s shoulder, and marched him down the hallway. ‘You look intelligent. Where are the clean towels?’

In a daze Billy took her to the linen cupboard in the hall for the towels. ‘The linen cupboard. Of course. I’m confused.’ said Mrs Mumberson. ‘Have you got anything in the house I can get into after I’ve had a shower?’

‘Mum’s probably got something that’ll fit you.’ Billy led her next into his parents’ bedroom where some of his mother’s clothes remained. Her perfume still hung faintly about them. There was a dressing gown there, and Mrs Mumberson took it, then poked around until she found some other items of clothing. ‘I’m sure your mother won’t mind. It’s only for a few days.’

‘She...’

‘That’ll do for now, thanks!’ said his grandmother, vanishing into the bathroom

When Billy got back to the kitchen Jerry was putting Mr Mumberson’s now empty plate in the sink. ‘Great,’ Jerry said to his father, ‘you’ve eaten my son’s dinner.’

‘I was thinking of starting on that second helping next. I guess that’s
your
dinner.’ Jerry grabbed it out of his way. ‘I’ve hardly had a thing to eat in days. It’s taken us over a week to get home. We had to go the long way round because that stupid witch flooded the Blasted Terrain.’

‘Witch?’ said Jerry.

‘Three days getting off the mountains. Three days! Snowed on day two. None of us had coats, except for young Toby.’

‘Toby who?’

‘Another three days traipsing through the wilderness, picking berries off the few bushes we could find. Two more days walking down the highway. No one would give us a lift because we looked so filthy. Actually, we are filthy.’ He stood up, filled the electric jug, and turned it on. ‘Hope you’ve got enough water in your cylinder for another shower. Never used to be enough when we lived here.’

‘We had it fixed,’ said Jerry. ‘My wife used to complain about it.’

‘So where’s the little woman then?’

‘Madeleine. Her name is Madeleine.’

‘Mum’s gone,’ said Billy, hoping his Dad wouldn’t eat the meal he was still holding. ‘We don’t know where she went.’

‘Gone, eh?’ said Mr Mumberson. ‘Hardly surprising.’ He glanced at the meal that was getting colder by the minute. ‘I hope you’ve got enough dinner left for Mrs M. She’s even more famished than I am.’

‘We’ll start again then,’ said Jerry, with a set look on his face as though his teeth were stuck together. He and Billy set about preparing more food while Mr Mumberson scoffed the meal on the second plate.

Getting another dinner distracted Billy from the weirdness of having two total strangers take over the place. Strangers, even if they were his grandparents. By the time everything was ready, Mrs Mumberson had finished in the shower. Her husband took her place and proceeded to sing, completely out of tune, at the top of his voice.

Mrs Mumberson sat down at the table wearing clothes that belonged to Billy’s mother. They fitted well enough, because Mrs Mumberson was extremely thin. But it made Billy feel odd. His own mother should have been sitting there. He was desperate to ask his grandmother all sorts of questions, but his Dad didn’t look like he was in the mood for any discussions. They ate their meal in silence, and then Mrs Mumberson made herself a cup of tea as though she owned the place. In her mind, she still did. Now she sat with the steaming brew in front of her, quite relaxed. ‘So good to be home, Gerard.’

‘Don’t call me
Gerard
. You know I hate it. This isn’t your home. You abandoned it. You abandoned
me
.’

‘
Abandoned
you,’ said Mrs Mumberson. ‘That’s rich. As if we had a choice.’