Swallowing Grandma (26 page)

‘So Poll told me she threw this young woman out of the house straight away because she was obviously lying, she’d got herself in a fix and was just after money, and she must be scum to go bothering a bereaved mother like that. Roger would never have two-timed like that, Poll said. But even while we sat there shaking our heads, we both knew he would. He’d been spoilt, that was his trouble. Own way and a bag to put it in, from day one. I didn’t say that to her, of course. I went along wi’ it, and vowed to keep it a secret. Partly I felt really sorry for her, partly I knew it was the drink talking and she’d wake up next morning regretting having told me. We’ve never spoken about it since.’

‘But a baby girl? Cissie, it doesn’t make sense.’

‘How do you mean, love?’

So I started to tell her about Callum. I told her how he’d first appeared at the bus stop, then at the library, and what he’d claimed to be. ‘He said he’d found me on the Internet,’ I said, remembering how happy I’d been that day in Miss Dragon’s office, and now it was all spoiled. ‘He told me about his life and his interests, that he was “straightforward” – I remember that. Of course, I can’t believe a single word in retrospect. He could have been anybody, lived anywhere. And right from the word go it was all about Dad, what sort of music he’d liked, could he see a picture, that sort of thing. Pretending his real focus was my mother.’ I recalled the way he’d pored over that photo of her; God, he was a good actor.

‘And you had him in the house, on your own?’ Cissie looked grim. ‘Eeh, I think you’ve had a lucky escape. He could have done anything at you.’

I remembered him palming the beetle diagram. What else had he nicked while he was there? ‘He seemed nice at the time.’

‘Well, they do. Have you been in touch with the police?’

For all the misery of the situation, I couldn’t help smiling. ‘And what would they charge him with, exactly? Impersonating a cousin?’

Cissie huffed. ‘A phone call wouldn’t hurt. They might have his details on their records.’

I shook my head. How to explain that, despite all the lies, he’d felt like the best friend I’d ever had and I still missed him like crazy. The summer of Callum. It had been my best time of my life. I could never tell Cissie about his smell, his laugh, his eyes. That kiss. Oh God, that awful, awful kiss.

‘Are y’ all right? You’ve gone a funny colour.’

I swallowed. ‘I was still trying to work out how the two stories fit together. You say it was a girl, then this son turns up. Either Poll got it wrong, and the baby was a boy, or there’s another one out there, a half-sister, by someone else again.’

I loosed my hand and stood up, feeling as heavy as if I’d stepped out of water.
Don’t tell me to relax
said a poster next to Cissie’s bed, picture of a hairy terrier;
It’s only my tension that’s holding me together
.

‘Either way,’ I said at last, ‘my dad wasn’t very nice, was he?’

‘I think he loved
you
,’ said Cissie, looking up at me anxiously.

‘Yeah,’ I said. But I thought, she could so easily be lying, couldn’t she? It’s all just words, in the end.

I felt as though I’d lost two people. Back in my room I stared at Dad’s portrait, willing him to explain. The grin, the floppy fringe; you’d think he hadn’t a care in the world. I looked for Callum’s face in his features, saw as if for the first time the long-lashed eyes, though the jaw was different. Or was it? I wasn’t sure any more. Through the window, the sky was mostly clear and blue, with some indefinite wisps hanging over the Pike. I watched them for ages, still holding the photo frame, but in the end they melted to nothing.

It was your mother’s fault
, I imagined him saying.
She drove me away, with her mad behaviour
.

Was it my fault too, for being a difficult baby?

No, absolutely not. You were great. You were my little girl.

Poll calling from next door evaporated the fantasy. ‘I need a hand,’ she was shouting. She sounded upset.

I went through to her room and found her with her sweater up round her neck and her bra tied in knots. Her old breasts sagged down over her blown-out stomach.

‘Blasted thing,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what I’ve done.’

I tried not to look as I pulled the sweater off and turned my attention to the bra. I’d never done anything so intimate for her before and we were both ratty with embarrassment.

‘What the hell have you done to it?’

‘I don’t know. I can’t flamin’ see, can I?’

Normally she’s good with bras. At the market she chooses ones with silk rosebuds on the front, so she can still cut the scratchy labels off but she doesn’t get them inside out; or, in the event of no rosebud style being available, I sew a shirt button between the cups for her to feel. Glamorous it isn’t.

‘You’ve managed to twist every damn strap there is. God. And you’ve bent the hook, so it won’t fasten any more. That’s with yanking it. I’ll have to cut it off and sew another on, unless I can force it back into shape with some pliers. Look, take this one off and start again with another.’

I wrenched open the bra drawer and threw a new Playtex at her. She caught it as it hit her chest, and started to unravel it, feeling for the button. I went round the back to help.

‘I’m all right now,’ she snapped. ‘Go and get t’ kettle on, do summat useful.’

I thumped downstairs and made two mugs of tea, then took mine to the settee so I could sit next to Winston. I stroked his bony brow but he didn’t wake up.

‘All he does is sleep these days,’ said Poll, peering over the back of the settee as she walked past. ‘Mind, it’ll do him good. He dun’t cough while he’s asleep.’

She came in with her tea and sat in the armchair nearest me. ‘Dickie says, if he’s still coughing by Monday, we should tek him to t’ vet’s. He might have got a piece of bone fast in his throat. Or it could be furballs; he does chew hisself a lot, so it’s likely. Dickie’s been putting Vaseline on his nose to stop him getting bunged up; apparently it works a treat for cats. They lick it off and it lubricates their insides, he saw it on
Pet Rescue
. I’d have put it on Winston myself, except I’d probably have greased his back end by mistake.’ She laughed wheezily.

‘Or used Vicks, and had his nose on fire.’

‘Aye, well.’

‘I know; I should try being blind.’

‘Well, you should. Then you’d have more patience.’ Poll sipped her tea virtuously.

‘That’s the pot calling the kettle. You’re the shortest-tempered person I know.’

‘I’ve a lot to put up with.’

‘Haven’t we all.’

Winston let out a huge shuddering sigh. We held our breaths to see if he’d cough, but he only yawned and smacked his chops.

She mumbled something into her mug and got to her feet.

‘You what?’

‘I said, I’m sorry if I was a bit sharp with you upstairs. It’s frustrating, though.’

I nearly dropped my tea on the carpet.

She went on: ‘Are you having some malt loaf? I could just do with some.’

‘Let me come round a minute, I feel quite dizzy.’ She missed the sarcasm completely. ‘Yeah, all right.’ I balanced the mug on the arm of the settee and stood up. ‘But I’ll cut, you can butter. I’m sick to death of blood on my cakes.’

*

A week later I paid a visit to Dad’s. I had no key any more and there was no answer when I rang the bell. All Mum’s pots were dead, and there was post on the mat behind the letterbox. I got in through the kitchen window at the back.

I could see straight away things weren’t right. It smelt. There was food on the floor round the bin and you couldn’t see the drainer for pots. And it was a shock, because Mum always kept everywhere beautiful. I thought, he’s died. I’ll go through and find him full length on the rug.

He was lying on the sofa and he wasn’t dead. He wasn’t even asleep. He rolled his eyes when he saw me. I said, ‘I’ll make a start on the kitchen.’

When I went back in the lounge he’d gone upstairs, so I tidied round the sofa too. There was a bottle of Lucozade by one corner, except, when I sniffed it, it wasn’t Lucozade at all. I poured it down the toilet and threw the bottle in the bin.

After half an hour he came down again, and he was in fresh clothes. I carried on washing up, didn’t say anything.

‘I wouldn’t have recognized you,’ he said. ‘You’ve gone that thin.’

‘Have you any milk?’ I asked.

He just looked at the floor.

‘I’ll pop down to Haslet’s and get some. Is there anything else, while I’m there?’

I could have been a Martian, the way he kept staring.

‘I heard about your feller. Where’s the baby?’ he said finally.

‘I lost it,’ I said. Which was true in a way.

He nodded. ‘We’re out of bread and lavatory paper,’ he said. ‘You’ll want some Shreddies. I’ll make a list. Do you have a car? You could have a run to Tesco’s.’

‘No car,’ I said. ‘And I’m off Shreddies at the moment.’

‘Whatever you want, then,’ he said, and shuffled out. And just like that, I was home.

I didn’t want him near me ever again, but I wanted an explanation. Every day that passed and I hadn’t heard from Callum, I thought about destroying the wasp pendant. I imagined hurling it in the River Douglas, or burying it somewhere in the cemetery. Or laying it on the railway line so it got bent out of shape the next time a train passed. Poll used to do that with pennies when she was a girl; other children’s, not her own.

Two things stopped me getting rid of the pendant, though. One was, it was the only physical reminder I had of my brother, and if I threw it away, I might as well have dreamed him. And the second was to do with my place at Oxford, in case the wasps were somehow related by luck, and junking the pendant meant forfeiting the grades. I thought I’d hang on to it till after the results came out, at any rate.

The night before, Rebecca phoned in a state; said she’d had a dream that she’d sat the wrong paper, and did I think it was too late to call Mrs Clements to check? I’d been pretty cool about results day till then, but afterwards I was like something on springs.

‘For God’s sake, sit down. You’re mekking me weary just watching you,’ moaned Poll as I hovered painfully between the living room and the kitchen.

‘Leave her alone, she’s on edge,’ said Dogman over his shoulder. ‘Hey, Katherine, while you’re up can you do us some cheese on toast?’

I made it without grumbling, ate half a packet of Fig Rolls while I watched the grill. After all, he was harmless; there was no mystery about Dogman. He was disgusting, but he wasn’t about to come out with any jarring revelations. Better the Dogman you know.

That night it took me ages to get off to sleep, and when I did I dreamed I was back in the interview room with Honor asking me about my AS texts. The questions weren’t difficult, but every time I tried to answer, I found my mouth was full of chewing gum. I tried to pull it out but there was more and more, great long strings of it, until it was all over my hands and blouse, and my mouth still full. Honor looked totally pissed off with me and I knew I’d failed.

Winston woke me, hawking in my ear, at six, so I went downstairs in my dressing gown to wait for the post. Two hours later, Poll made an appearance.

‘Have they come yet?’

‘No.’

‘You’ve to phone Maggie when they do, remember.’

I went back up to have a wash, straining my ears all the time for the letter box.

‘Summat’s come,’ I heard Poll shout up. I threw the towel on the floor, pulled the dressing gown on again and thundered down the stairs.

YOU HAVE PAST, 10/10
said the note she was holding. It had been written on a piece of cereal packet. Bloody Dogman.

‘What’s it say?’ asked Poll.

Dogman tapped at the front window. ‘I’ve a doctor’s appointment at nine, can’t stop. I’ll see you later,’ he mouthed through the glass. He took a good long look at my cleavage before backing off down the path. I was delighted to see him smack into the edge of the coping stone and wince in pain.

‘It’s a good-luck card,’ I told her. ‘I’m going to get dressed now.’ But as I turned to go, I spotted the postman way off near the top of the brow. I could have run out naked, I was so desperate.

At last the letter box clunked and there was my future on the mat. I ran to open the envelope.

‘Is it here?’ asked Poll, somewhere in the background.

I let out a howl of grief and collapsed on the chair. ‘I’ve failed! I don’t believe it, I’ve failed. How? How did that happen? Oh bloody, bloody hell.’ I buried my face in the cushion while Poll swiped the bit of paper off the arm and went to get her magnifier.

I raised my head to see her standing by the window, frowning. If only she could see something different printed there.

‘I can’t mek it out, it’s too small.’

‘It’s two As and two Bs.’

‘Two As and two Bs? How is that a fail? You told me it was a U if you didn’t pass. Honest, what are you like? Histrionics over nowt. You want summat to skrike about, you do.’ She threw the scrap of paper at me and it swooped to the floor.

‘But the A in General Studies doesn’t
count
. God. I was supposed to get AAB, at least. How have I got a B in English, for God’s sake?’

‘What do you mean, you were “supposed to get”?’

I buried my face in my hands. ‘You might as well know now, ’cause I’m not going. I had a place at Oxford. I didn’t tell you because there didn’t seem any point. Well, there isn’t now, that’s for sure.’

As Poll stood and scratched her head, I ran back to my room to get dressed. I had to get out of the house, and quickly.

I must have sat for an hour or so on the war memorial. Why was my life so crap? Why couldn’t just one thing turn out right for me? I knew I was clever, and that wasn’t boasting, that was empirical fact based on years and years of exam results and coursework and reports and what Mrs Law had said to me, and God knows, I’d lived with the swot label for years and I wasn’t even going to reap the reward, it was so BLOODY unfair.

— But you weren’t going to university anyway. You know you couldn’t leave Poll on her own. You always knew that. You should never have applied in the first place.