Run, Mummy, Run (20 page)

In the lounge she suddenly realized how cold the house was and felt the radiator – it was stone cold. Of course the heating would be off, she thought, Mark had it set for an hour in the morning, while he washed and dressed, and two hours in the late evening for when he returned home. The rest of the time the house was freezing; in winter she and the children had often worn their coats to keep warm.
Not anymore
, she thought,
here’s something I can change now, and without any fear of a beating!

She went into the kitchen and to the boiler mounted on the wall at the far end, and peered at the programmer. It was a digital display, with the time showing on a small Perspex screen, and three buttons on the right. It wasn’t immediately obvious how to alter the settings, she’d never been allowed to touch it and she had no idea where the instruction sheet was. Then she spotted an additional little button on the left of the box, marked ‘Constant’.
That’s it
, she thought,
constant.
Constant heat, constant hot water, and even constant peace might all be possible now. She pressed it, the boiler fired, and she heard the radiators creak as the pump sprung into action and the hot water began to circulate. At the same time a familiar angry voice came from behind and made her jump: ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? Switch it off. Now!’

She nearly did. Aisha found her finger poised, ready to push the button to switch the boiler off again, before she realized. ‘No,’ she said out loud, spinning round and confronting the empty space. ‘I won’t and you can’t make me.’

Leaving the programmer on constant and ignoring the boiled kettle and last slice of brisket, Aisha hurried out of the kitchen and into the lounge. What she needed now was sleep more than anything else; she was physically and mentally exhausted. In the lounge she dragged the armchair away from the centre of the room and to one side, where she backed it flat against the wall so that nothing could get behind it. She flopped down. She would sleep now and then tomorrow after she’d slept she’d be able to think what to do. All the lights were on, the children’s bedroom door was open so she’d hear them if they woke, and the house was warming up.
Tomorrow
, she thought,
tomorrow … when I’ve slept.
She rested her head back and stared at the ceiling as it swam in and out of focus before her eyes closed and she drifted into a fitful sleep.

‘Y
ou haven’t got his will?’ Aisha asked shocked. ‘But you’re his bank.’

‘Yes, but it hasn’t been deposited here, I can assure you, Mrs Williams. I have looked personally.’

‘Well, can you at least tell me what’s in his account, so I’ve got some idea? I’m desperate.’

‘I’m sorry,’ the girl on the other end of the phone said. ‘Until we’ve had sight of Probate or Letters of Administration, I can’t release any details. Our hands are tied.’

‘What am I supposed to do? I’ve got two children and no money!’ Aisha pleaded.

‘I’m sorry,’ the girl said again. ‘If you had an account with us then we could perhaps have arranged a loan. All I can suggest is that you contact the Citizen’s Advice or the DHSS. There really is nothing we can do at present.’

‘All right,’ Aisha said defeated and put down the phone. Of course Mark’s bank would want Probate or Letters of Administration before discussing his account with her. She would have known that from all her years in banking had she stopped to think about it. So where on earth was his will then? If he’d even bothered to make one, that is. It was typical of Mark to leave his wife so ill-provided for, she thought. Her mother knew exactly where her father’s will was, together with all the paperwork, and £100 emergency money, should he meet an untimely end. Now here she was with no money, and no hope of getting any in the foreseeable future. What was she supposed to do?

Aisha looked at the phone on the hall table as if it was to blame and then turned to her coat on the hall stand. Rummaging first in one pocket and then the other, she pulled out the monk’s crumpled five-pound note, plus two twenty-pence pieces which was the change from her bus fare. ‘Five pounds and forty pence,’ she said out loud.

She knew it took months to process a will, even longer if there wasn’t one, and Letters of Administration had to be applied for. How were she and the children supposed to live in the meantime? There was nothing in the house apart from half a packet of cornflakes and the uncooked vegetables on the stove. Worried sick and with a pounding headache Aisha stuffed the money back into her coat pocket and went through to the lounge. Sarah and James were spread on the floor in front of the television where they’d been all morning. Much to the children’s amazement – for their father had forbade it – Aisha had switched on the television for them when they’d got up, and here they were still watching two hours later, mesmerized by the colourful cartoons. ‘Could you please turn the volume down a little,’ she said, ‘I’m not feeling so good.’

‘Sorry Mum,’ Sarah said and took the remote from James.

‘Thank you. Keep it low, please. I haven’t finished on the phone yet.’

Aisha returned to the hall and slowly picked up the handset. There was nothing else for it, she was going to have to phone her parents and ask them for a loan. She daren’t waste her last £5.40 on bus fares to and from the DHSS, apart from which she wasn’t feeling at all well. Her head throbbed and she ached all over, probably from the restless night spent in the chair. Despite the heating being on constant, she’d been so very cold. Perhaps she was sickening for something, she thought, that’s all I need!

With the phone in her hand, she went to key in her parents’ number and then realized with a stab of guilt that she’d forgotten the area code; it was so long since she’d phoned them – so long since they’d spoken. Heaving out the telephone directory from under the phone she flicked through the pages to the list of area codes. She ran her finger down until she found her parents’ code and then stopped. What on earth was she going to say to them, suddenly phoning after all this time? What would they say? What would they think? She knew she needed to apologize, but after that, what?

Taking a deep breath she braced herself and carefully keyed in the code followed by her parents’ telephone number. She could hear the children’s cartoon on the television coming from the lounge. Her heart raced and her stomach churned as the phone rang and rang but no one answered.
Perhaps they’re out?
she thought.
Or perhaps they’ve even moved house? Would they have told her?
She thought they would.

Cutting the line she tried again, pressing in the numbers slowly to make sure there was no mistake. This time it was answered immediately. ‘Hello, 5644.’ It was her mother’s voice, hesitant and out of breath. Her mother’s voice. Tears sprung to Aisha’s eyes. She had almost forgotten she had a mother, let alone one she could phone. She tried to speak but nothing came out. ‘Hello?’ her mother said again.

‘Mum,’ Aisha finally said. ‘It’s me, Aisha.’

‘Aisha?’ her mother repeated, unsure.

‘Yes Mum. It’s me. I’m sorry it’s been so long but I need your help. Mark’s dead and I haven’t any money. Do you think you and Dad could lend me some?’ She knew it was coming out all wrong but she hadn’t the presence of mind to put it differently – more politely. It went quiet on the other end of the phone. ‘Mum? Are you still there?’

There was another silence and then her mother’s small, uncertain voice again. ‘Aisha? Is that really you?’

‘Yes, it’s me. I’m sorry it’s been so long, but Mark was killed in an accident yesterday and I haven’t any money. I’m desperate. Can you help?’

‘Killed? In an accident?’ she repeated in the same faltering voice. ‘Yesterday? Are the children safe?’

‘Yes. They are. They’re all right.’

‘And Mark is dead, you say?’

‘Yes.’

It went quiet again. Aisha heard the phone clunk as it was set down and then again as it was picked up. There was a short silence followed by her father’s voice, authoritative and demanding. ‘Aisha, is that you? What’s going on? Your mother is in tears. You say Mark is dead?’

‘Yes, Father, he was killed in an road accident yesterday. The children and I are unhurt, but I haven’t any money to buy food, can I borrow some? Please.’ She could have simply thrown herself on her parents and asked for help, but having spent so many years obsessed and worrying about money to feed and clothe the children, this single thought still dominated.

There was a long pause during which Aisha could hear her mother crying quietly, then their muffled voices, before her father came on the line again, formal and direct. ‘Aisha, if as you say, you have been widowed, we have a duty to help. We will give you what you ask for. But our grandchildren, Aisha? Why did you reject us and not let us see them for all these years?’

Her heart clenched. ‘I don’t know,’ she said lamely. ‘I really don’t know now. I think it had something to do with Mark. I can’t think straight at present.’ She stared into space and searched for the answers, but now Mark had gone so too had his threats, intimidation, and the reason she’d behaved as she had.

She heard her father’s sharp intake of breath as he used to do when she had displeased him as a child. ‘We will help you. How much do you need?’

‘I’d be grateful for anything. You don’t have to see me if you don’t want to. You could put the money in the post.’

‘Aisha,’ he said firmly, ‘we will come to your house. I will give you some money and we will see our grandchildren at the same time. I appreciate you have been bereaved and are not yourself, but I expect you to show us the same civility as you would any visitor. Is that clear?’

Visitor?
she was about to say,
we’re not allowed visitors, didn’t you know?
But she realized that was no longer true. ‘Yes, Father, thank you so much. When?’

‘We’ll be there in an hour. Goodbye Aisha.’

‘Goodbye,’ she said, and put the phone down.

She stood still for a moment, trying to take in the conversation she’d just had with her parents after all this time, and then went into the lounge where the children were as she’d left them, on the floor in front of the television. ‘Sarah, James,’ she said, ‘your grandparents are coming to see us; they are on their way. You’d better get dressed quickly.’

The children looked up at her from the floor with a mixture of surprise and delight. ‘Grandma and Granddad?’ they said together. ‘Coming here?’

‘Yes, you know – my parents,’ she clarified, unsure if they remembered who they were.

‘Have I met them?’ James asked.

‘Yes, but it was so long ago, you probably don’t remember. You were only little.’

‘I can remember them, just,’ Sarah said. ‘I liked them, they were kind.’

‘Yes, they are very kind people.’ She swallowed the lump rising in her throat. ‘Now go and get dressed, please, and make sure you have a wash.’

Sarah and James jumped up and scampered off upstairs, chattering excitedly about the forthcoming visit of their grandma and granddad. Aisha looked at the mess they’d left on the floor: cereal bowls with crumbs from the cornflakes they’d eaten dry; half-drunk glasses of water, the cushions from the sofa dotted on the floor where they’d sat watching television. She sighed; they were only children but at present everything was such an effort. She stooped and picked up the cushions and returned them to the sofa, then collected the bowls, spoons and glasses, and switching off the television, carried them through to the kitchen. She dumped them in the sink together with her mug of half-drunk black tea, and returned to the lounge and sat on the sofa.

Sarah and James reappeared, washed and dressed, and looking as presentable as was possible in their worn-out weekend clothes. The children went to the bay window and stood side by side behind the net curtains watching passing cars and looking out for their grandparents. Every so often James called out, ‘Is it a black Mondeo? A green BMW? A red Astra?’ wanting to be the first to spot his grandparents and showing off his knowledge of cars.

‘I don’t know, love,’ Aisha said over and over again, exhausted. ‘Wait until a car stops outside the house and then call me. I’m going to close my eyes for a bit. Wake me, if I fall asleep.’ She rested her head back and massaged her temples to try and ease the throbbing. If she could just sleep for a while, perhaps her head would clear and then everything wouldn’t seem such a burden. She heard the children’s hushed tones continue their commentary and then fade as her eyes closed. A little while later, she came to with a start as James squealed with excitement.

‘Mum! It’s a blue Ford! They’re here!’

‘He’s right, Mum,’ Sarah added. ‘They’ve parked outside.’

Aisha hauled herself to her feet and running her hands over her hair, joined the children behind the net curtains at the window. She should probably have brushed her hair and had a shower but the energy required for all that was beyond her at present. At least she’d changed out of the bloodstained cardigan she’d been wearing the day before. She couldn’t remember doing it but she must have taken it off when they had got back late last night – it was still lying on the bathroom floor.

The three of them watched as the doors to the car slowly opened and her parents climbed out. Aisha’s heart lurched at the sight of their once familiar outlines now distanced by the passing of time. How they’d aged, she thought, how different they seemed now, she would barely have recognized them if she’d passed them in the street. Her father was dressed in a suit and tie; he never wore casual clothes when he left the house. Her mother was wearing a dark green sari under a three-quarter-length coat. As Aisha watched she saw her pick up the hem and shake it free in a quaint little gesture that she now remembered from her childhood. Once they were out of the car her father went round testing all the doors, a habit Aisha had once found irritating but now seemed strangely comforting. She watched him offer his arm to her mother and they began slowly towards the garden gate. Her father was much thinner, and his usual upright shoulders were now slightly stooped, making him appear even shorter. Her mother had gained weight, but walked slowly and seemed to be using her father’s arm for support. And her black hair, which always used to be plaited, was now grey and knotted in a tight bun on her neck. She was carrying a shopping bag, and if Aisha wasn’t mistaken, it was the same bag she’d brought with her to the hospital when Sarah had been born. How long was it since she’d seen them? She really had no idea. They’d seen James as a baby, but not at hospital as she’d only been in one night. Did they come here? She thought maybe once, perhaps when James had been a toddler. Then there was their unexpected visit when Mark had sent them away, and they’d never been again. Aisha couldn’t remember exactly when that was, for like most of the last seven years, it had blurred into a fog of beatings and survival.

Aisha waited until they rang the bell before going to answer the door. Her mother was standing just behind her father in the porch; they both looked sombre, lined and small. ‘Hello,’ Aisha said as lightly as she could, trying to raise a smile. ‘Good to see you, please come in.’ She stood aside to let them pass. She wasn’t sure if she should kiss them, but they made no attempt to kiss her so she didn’t.

Her father nodded stiffly as he walked by her into the hall. ‘Aisha,’ he said formally and that was all.

Her mother followed him in and glanced in Aisha’s direction, her face pained and lined; then she looked at Sarah and James standing awkwardly further down the hall.

‘Say hello to your grandparents,’ Aisha encouraged as she closed the front door.

‘Hello,’ the children said and smiled shyly.

Her father went up to them and leant forwards so the children could kiss his cheek. Her mother joined him and kissed Sarah and James unselfconsciously. ‘Hello loves,’ she said in the same small voice Aisha had heard on the phone. She sniffed and Aisha wondered if she was crying, but she had her back to her so she couldn’t see.

‘Shall we go into the lounge?’ Aisha said, and nodded to Sarah to lead the way.

Once in the lounge, they all stood about awkwardly, avoiding each other’s gaze. Aisha thought how strange it was seeing her parents in the house after all this time. ‘Would you like a drink?’ she offered. ‘I’m afraid it can only be water or black tea. We haven’t anything else.’

‘No, thank you,’ her father said tightly. ‘We don’t need a drink.’

Aisha shrugged. ‘Well, sit down then, won’t you?’ She waved to the sofa. ‘Shall I take your coat, Mother?’