Peppercorn Street (3 page)

There had also been another young man killed in Afghanistan. Why did countries do this to their young
men? How many of this generation’s young women had lost loved ones in the current war? How many mothers had lost their sons?

She didn’t know whether anyone would read her diaries after she was gone, but she’d asked in her will that they be lodged with the local heritage centre. After all, the diaries went right back to her girlhood before World War II, and she’d hardly missed a day in all that time. One day, perhaps, a historian would find them useful. Look at what had happened to the Mass Observation diaries from the War. They’d been turned into some splendid books.

Nicole got up early and tackled her husband after he’d had his shower. ‘Sam, I’m getting really worried about William.’

‘He doesn’t look ill to me.’

‘He isn’t. It’s the way he behaves. I thought he was going to hit me yesterday.’

That caught his full attention, which nothing much did these days.

‘What! No, he’d never do that. Definitely not. We brought him up properly.’

‘Since he met these new friends, he seems to have forgotten all we ever taught him. He’s turning into a proper chauvinist.
Our son! A chauvinist!
’

Sam sighed. ‘Give it a break. You’re always on about women’s lib. We’re past that now.’

She stared at him indignantly. What was he talking about? She hadn’t mentioned it for years because it always led to a row.

‘William’s just going through a bad patch,’ Sam said soothingly. ‘He’ll grow out of it. Now, I have to get off to work.’ And he was gone before she could stop him. He hadn’t even bothered with breakfast today and he was usually ravenous in the mornings.

Dan Shackleton left his allotment at four o’clock on the dot, as usual. He called at the care home on the way back, to see his wife. He always did this, even though she no longer recognised him.

Peggy was going downhill fast now. Dementia was a dreadful thing. It tore families apart and stole the very personality from those who had it. She’d been such a lovely woman, kind and fun. Now she had a blank face that belonged to a stranger.

His sons thought he should still be looking after her at home. There had been a few arguments about that when he announced that he was putting her into care. They conveniently forgot that he was seventy, had his own health problems and had looked after their mother for much longer than his doctor thought wise.

He sat by the bed for a while, but Peggy didn’t move, didn’t look at him. He’d given up trying to talk to her. She didn’t respond.

‘Mr Shackleton? Could I have a word, please?’

‘Yes, of course.’

He followed Matron into her office. She got him a cup of the horrible tea from the machine in the corridor and said in a gentle voice, ‘I’m afraid it won’t be long now.’

‘I realise that.’

‘Is your phone number still the same?’

‘Yes.’

‘We haven’t got a mobile number listed.’

‘I haven’t got one.’

‘Perhaps you’d better buy one, since you’re out all day.’

‘I’ll give you my son Simon’s number. He still lives in Sexton Bassett. My other son moved away. Simon can fetch me from the allotment if …’ He couldn’t say the words. ‘If I’m needed suddenly. I’m there till teatime every day, rain or shine.’

‘You can buy a basic mobile quite cheaply these days, you know.’

‘I’m not walking round like a dog on the end of a leash.’ He realised he’d spoken aggressively and took a deep breath. ‘Sorry. It’s just … one of my little foibles. I don’t like mobile phones.’ Couldn’t stand them, actually, but people looked at you strangely if you got vehement about the damned things.

‘Very well.’ She stood up, mouth a thin line of suppressed annoyance.

He sat in his car for a while, trying to calm down. His heart was fluttering in a way that always upset him and made him feel precarious.

Eventually he drove home, hating to go into the dark, empty house. He went about his duties according to the routine he’d worked out. It was washing day. After he’d put a load on, he checked the fridge to see what was needed when he went shopping the next day. He didn’t do housework in the daytime, but went to his little hut at the allotment as soon as it was light. He had a gas ring there to make tea or heat up soup, he could chat to anyone who turned up, and it was a rare day when he
didn’t see two or three people. He did whatever jobs were needed on the allotment, read the newspaper, listened to the radio.

Only there did he feel as if his world was still normal.

He suddenly remembered the girl he’d seen looking over the gate. Pretty little thing. No, not little. She was quite tall. But young. Even the police looked young to him these days. Was she the mother of that baby? She’d looked at him uncertainly when he smiled at her, and it had taken her a few seconds to smile back and return his wave.

What had happened to make the poor kid so wary? He couldn’t imagine anyone being afraid of a skinny old chap like himself.

Nicole admitted to herself that she was starting to dread going home and that made her angry. What she was really dreading was another encounter with William.

As she walked into the kitchen she caught him drinking directly from the milk carton, something she’d forbidden him to do several times. She hesitated, then anger took over and she surprised them both by rushing across the kitchen and snatching it from his hand.

‘How many times do I have to tell you not to do that? It’s a filthy habit.’ She started pouring the milk down the sink.

‘Let me finish it off, then. You’re just wasting it.’ He tried to grab it from her and the milk splashed the front of her blouse, so she shoved him away hard. As he staggered back with a shocked look, the final dregs glugged out.

‘I’ll do that every time I catch you drinking from the carton,’ she snapped. ‘The rest of us don’t want to share your germs, thank you very much. And by the way, we now have no milk to put in our tea and coffee because I forgot to buy some, so you’ll have to have it black, unless you care to get off your backside and cycle down to the shop.’

‘No.’ He turned to leave the kitchen.

‘Wait! Have you emptied the dishwasher yet?’

‘No. And I’m not going to. How are you going to make me?’

Once again the moment was fraught and he looked so ready for battle, she didn’t dare challenge him further. ‘Clearly I’m not able to make you,’ she said wearily. ‘But I’m not doing it for you.’ She picked up her handbag and hurried out of the house.

‘What about our tea?’ he shouted after her.

‘You keep claiming you’re grown-up now. Act like it. Feed your bloody self!’

She bumped into Sam on the way out and yelled, ‘They’re your sons as well as mine.
You
deal with them!’

‘Not again. Do you have to have these confrontations all the time?’

‘Unless you want to live in a filthy pigsty, yes. And I’d appreciate a little support from you.’

‘I’m tired, Nicole. I just want to rest.’

‘Well, poor you! I’m not tired after being on my feet all day, am I?’

He turned away. It was too much. She yelled after him, ‘I’ve had it with the lot of you. Feed yourselves or go hungry.’ She got into her car and drove away.

She went to her usual refuge, the open space down by the ruins of the abbey. It was a beautiful place in summer, but rather spooky at dusk in winter, with bare trees scratching the sky around it. There was no one else nearby, so she locked the car doors carefully then let herself weep.

Since Sam had started his new job, he’d become very withdrawn. He stayed out late at night and said he was working. As if. No one worked till midnight.

She’d smelt perfume on him more than once. He said she was being ridiculous and how could he do anything if the receptionist wore a lot of perfume?

Of all the lame excuses, that took the cake.

He was unhappy at work, she knew, but he couldn’t leave until he found a new job, not if they were to continue paying off the mortgage. The trouble was, he wouldn’t even look for another job, said he couldn’t face writing all those applications again.

He didn’t touch her in bed and when he did come home early, spent most of the evening staring into space. He didn’t help her in the house like he used to, either, not unless she nagged him.

And since he’d stopped helping, so had William. Paul was still doing his chores and hadn’t defied her openly but he rarely said a word. Where were the two little boys she’d loved so much? How had they turned into these aliens?

What the hell did her family think she was? Their unpaid servant? She had to do something about that! Only what?

It wasn’t the first time the idea of leaving home had occurred to her. She might actually move away, just for
a few months, to give them a shock, bring them to their senses.

This was the first time she’d contemplated it seriously.

Only where would she go? How would the family manage without her?

How would she cope on her own?

When she got home, she slept in the spare bedroom. And Sam didn’t come to look for her or ask what the matter was. That hurt so much.

The following morning Nicole got up, stared at the mess in the kitchen, which no one had bothered to clear up, and got ready for work in grim silence. She was out of the house before anyone else came down. She’d buy breakfast for herself in a local café.

Because she was angry at Sam for behaving as irresponsibly as the boys, she’d made no provision for their breakfast or lunch, and she didn’t intend to make tea for them, either, not unless they started helping in the house. Let them manage for a bit without her shopping and cleaning for them! If that didn’t bring them to their senses, nothing would.

And then what would she do?

Her shift finished at midday and she sat in the staffroom, staring into a mug of coffee, wondering what to do with herself for the afternoon. She wasn’t going back and clearing up that pigsty. No way. She left a message on Sam’s mobile to say he must come home on time tonight. She needed his support. Strange that he wasn’t answering.

Her friend and colleague Helen came in, took one look
at her and sat down beside her. ‘Something’s wrong. You’re usually off as soon as your shift ends.’

Nicole nodded, tried to speak and gulped back tears.

‘Look, why don’t you come back to my place for lunch and tell me about it? I can offer you some true gourmet fare – sandwiches and tinned soup.’

When she walked into Helen’s neat little flat, Nicole sat down and stared at her hands, trying not to cry.

‘Tell me.’

She looked at her friend and began to sob as she told her what was happening. ‘If I had somewhere to go, I’d leave them to it. I’ve had enough.’

‘You don’t mean that.’

‘I do. I’m not going to spend my life like this. Sam hardly seems to notice I’m alive and the boys look at me so scornfully, you’d think I had an IQ of minus 10. Families are supposed to care about one another but mine’s unravelling fast.’

‘I didn’t realise it was so bad. Look, you can come here in an emergency, but the flat isn’t large enough for long-term dual occupancy, I’m afraid.’

‘I’d not do that to you, Helen. I know how you value your privacy.’

‘Well yes, I do. You’re one of the few people whose company I enjoy. At fifty-eight I’ve given up pretending to be a social animal. I’m definitely a loner.’

Silence fell and Nicole tried to laugh as something occurred to her, but failed and another sob escaped instead. ‘Amazing what a small thing it takes to push you over the edge, isn’t it? A carton of milk, dammit. It ought to be something more important than that, don’t you think?’

Helen reached across to squeeze her hand sympathetically. ‘When I split up from Frank, it was shoe polish on the new carpet that was the final straw. But trouble had been brewing for a while. And it has with you, I think.’

She sighed. ‘Yes. Things have been going downhill for a year or two.’

William got home from school a bit later than usual. He stopped just inside the kitchen to stare round in annoyance. He’d been expecting to see his mother cooking tea, but she hadn’t even cleared up the mess. He opened the fridge, his hand already reaching out for the carton of milk, then jerking back. There was no milk in the fridge door. In fact, there wasn’t much food in the fridge at all.

His brother Paul came home shortly afterwards, looked at the kitchen and said, ‘Isn’t Mum back yet? She was supposed to be on early shift roster.’

‘Not a sign of her. She must be working extra hours.’

‘Well, I need to get something to eat quickly. I’ve got a rehearsal tonight.’

‘Be my guest.’ William gestured towards the fridge. ‘There’s sod all in it, though.’

‘Mum’s a bit edgy lately, isn’t she?’

‘Yeah. Must be her age.’

‘You should have emptied the dishwasher yesterday. It was your turn.’

‘I’m not into women’s work and I’m not going to get into it, either, not when the world is full of unliberated chicks itching to do things for me.’ He smirked at the
thought of one particular chick. ‘Anyway, Dad doesn’t do much either. He’s wised up, I reckon.’

Paul rolled his eyes. ‘Heaven preserve me from arrogant shits who think the world is there to wait on them hand and foot!’

‘I didn’t see you volunteering to empty the dishwasher.’

‘I did it when it was my turn. I’m not doing yours.’

‘I’ve heard women go strange when they get older. She went ape about the milk yesterday. Tipped all of it down the sink.’

‘I don’t blame her. I don’t like it, either, when you drink from the carton.’

‘Whose side are you on?’

‘My own.’ Paul went to the freezer. ‘Oh, sod it! We’ve run out of bread, too. Now what am I going to eat?’ He went to the pantry and peered inside. ‘Tins of fruit, tins of soup, tins of baked beans.’

‘If you’re making something to eat, make me something too.’

‘Get it yourself.’

‘I’m older and bigger than you. Do it.’

Paul shrugged. ‘Nope. You can beat me in a fight but you still can’t make me wait on you. I’m not a member of the William Gainsford Fan Club.’ He found an apple, a chunk of cheese and opened a tin of baked beans, scarfing down the lot.