Tony Hogan Bought Me an Ice-Cream Float Before He Stole My Ma (24 page)

‘An' what's with the jumper apart from the fact that it's September.' I plucked at the nubby wool of her pink jumper, her black bra visible through the loose knit.

‘Black shows the baby sick.'

‘Well, at least yer underwear's still gothic.'

‘And my tits are huge now, probably the only thing about this I'd recommend.'

‘Ta, but I'll go fer silicone.'

We were sat on the beach a few yards from where Beth conceived Jade. It was either there or the car park behind Asda, and Beth chose the beach, said it was more romantic.

The bottle passed between us while Beth rocked her buggy back and forth with her left arm like she'd had a piston installed in her shoulder while she was pregnant. Her eyeliner was wonky and her lip gloss went over the edges.

‘Are yeh going tae the blind school for make-up classes now then?'

‘Yeah, they said they saw you there the other week looking for a boyfriend.'

Our laughs were swallowed by the waves and the squeak of the buggy wheels.

‘I always knew you'd get out, Janie, I just thought I'd be coming with you.'

‘I'm sorry about everything.'

‘Don't worry, if you'd got yourself pregnant and were reduced to wearing pink jumpers, I'd be on a coach quicker than it takes Michael Simpson to cum as well.'

‘I don't just mean that. I know I just disappeared on yeh when yeh needed me.'

A football flew over our heads, hit the side of the pram and set Jade wailing.

‘Stupid twats, can't you tell the difference between a baby and a goal?'

‘Aye, fuck off an' play somewhere else, dickheads!'

Beth lifted Jade from the buggy and cradled her on her shoulder. Jade was three months old but Beth looked like she'd been a ma forever.

‘Look, I'm just trying tae say I'm really sorry an' just cause I'm going away doesnae mean I'm not still yer best mate.'

She took another swig, her head turned away from Jade. ‘I know. I'm coming soon too. I'll get a council place and I'll let you stay if you do all the nappy changes and babysit while I go out clubbing with fit London lads and then we'll go on holiday to Greece, or maybe the Canaries.'

Even though she was a goth Beth was never one to hold a grudge. I leaned over and kissed the side of her hair. It smelt of baby sick and cider, a good smell.

‘Fuck, you aren't turning lezzer on me?'

‘Well, if I was I wouldn't go for a someone in a pink jumper with wonky make-up, though you do have even more massive boobs now.'

She shifted Jade to the shoulder nearest me. ‘You won't even hold her? Now, Jade, why won't grumpy Auntie Janie give you a cuddle?'

I looked away and pasted on a smile as wonky as Beth's lip gloss. ‘Naw, I'd drop her on her head.'

‘So? I do it all the time. That's why we're drinking on the beach.'

I took Jade's soft sleepy body in my stiff arms and she stared into my eyes, in a vague, disinterested way, blue on blue. She was perfect and for a minute I thought my insides were shattering. But just for a minute.

‘Aye, well, that was lovely but yeh can take her back now. That's enough for me for the moment.'

Beth laughed and we swapped, baby for cider bottle. I cradled it in my arms. ‘You've your bairn an' I've mine, an' look, I'm a natural.'

We hugged and I thought I saw tears but Beth said it was just a bit of sand.

‘I got you a present.'

‘Early?'

She threw the box to me. Mates: Extra thick for maximum protection.

‘Mates from my mate. Beth, I'm touched.'

The wind had picked up, hair blew into my mouth.

‘Just remember those instructions, extra thick is the condom not the blokes you're shagging.'

We said goodbye on a laugh.

*

The first thing I did was buy the pills. £2.74 for twelve pale blue robin's eggs in their little blister pack. It was as simple as that. I bought the ticket from a woman with a tight blue rinse, the same colour as my pills.

She had a packet of Werther's Originals on the counter next to her and had ripped off the paper in a long spiral of brown and cream. In a square of sunshine, behind the glass, they looked like art.

‘Return?'

I looked up from the packet and smiled. ‘Naw, just a single.'

She raised her eyebrows but wrote me out the ticket and handed me the waxy paper ticket along with a Werther's Original squeaking in its plastic wrapper.

*

I waited outside the gates of Tiny's school. She'd started wearing her hair in thin plaits with beads at the ends and I heard her clicking towards me before I could pick her out from the sea of red sweatshirts.

We walked along the deserted pier and swung our legs off the edge, drinking cans of Coke and eating Smarties. We talked about her project on the Vikings; she showed me her Paddington Bear book. I tucked thirty pounds into the pages; I kept one of Ma's tens to buy myself her present, and said she should take Ma to the pictures and for a fish-and-chip supper.

‘It's our secret for today, alright? Now yer so big yeh can keep a secret.'

‘You'll be back though, Christmas an' that?'

I didn't answer, just rippled my fingers through her braids to hear them click, which made her giggle and give me a sticky kiss on my cheek.

That night I crept in and curled myself around Ma's back, tucked my knees up in the bend of hers. Tiny came in in the morning, still soft and stupefied with sleep, and made herself into a little ball pushed into Ma's front. There we lay; Tiny, Ma, me. Ryan Women, with filthy tempers, filthy mouths and big bruised muscles for hearts.

*

I didn't want another row, or more bitter words and names to swallow, so I left a note. She'd said herself she thought I might not get the chance to say goodbye. Still, it was a cowardly note, telling Ma not to worry, that I loved her and to look after Tiny. Inside the envelope I put the Sellotaped glossy squares of the baby picture, but it wasn't the same, if you looked closely you could see the rips.

I took two of the robin's eggs pills and got settled down in the familiar chemical air and scratchy chairs of the coach. It was the first time I ever got off a coach without the taste of vomit in my mouth and all for the bargain price of £2.74.

*

The Victoria Line spat me out at Oxford Circus. A sea of people moved around me in the dirt and heat of the evening. I thought the man in a blue T-shirt, skinny and sunburned with yellow hair, was selling something till I heard him shout into his megaphone.

‘Sinners, all of you sinners, put down your shopping bags. They're empty! Empty like your life. Turn to the Lord and ask to be saved sinners!'

I suppose he was selling something. People rolled their eyes while he paced, picking people out of the crowd who looked more sinful than the others.

‘
Standard
! Get your
Standard
!'

I pushed through and stood on one of the corners of the crossroads. I had my school bag, still with Tipp-Ex hearts and skulls, over my shoulder, and a soft roll of twenties getting damp inside my left bra cup; just to be safe.

I smelt frying onions and someone's breath, bitter with stale coffee, just over my shoulder and pushed forward. I didn't want to start this new life pushing through but it seemed to be expected.

Beyond the crush I started walking, looking in shop windows and at people grey with tiredness. Was this what I'd come for? Red buses and black cabs and new-wave punks spitting on the pavement? It didn't feel any better than Great Yarmouth except it was just me, without Ma or Tiny or Beth.

I walked towards a building towering up ahead with its sad fountains, which no one was looking at, gushing murky water. My mouth was dry from the tablets and I lumbered myself up onto the wall of the fountain. I just needed a minute. I'd make a plan.

‘Alright?' He wore a leather jacket and a band T-shirt. His Vans were ripped along the edges. I looked at his squinting eyes, brown and green mixed together and his floppy almost ginger fringe. ‘What's your name?'

He smiled and his teeth had a sharp, yellowish look about them. I said nothing, pulled my rucksack against my stomach and fought the urge to bring my hand to my left breast.

‘Listen, you look a bit lost. Do you need something?' Still smiling, he kicked his wrecked Vans against the wall, fingering whatever little bags he had inside those leather pockets.

The 37 bus went past, and I imagined it winding through the streets to tall white houses with fat, furry cats and pale porridge-coloured rooms. I looked back at him and considered the something he had for me in his pockets.

‘My name's Jane Ryan and no, I don't need anything. Thanks though.'

My mother's daughter, I had a plan. I hopped down from the wall and got on the 37, just for a bed for the night, for a catch-up, maybe a few answers.

The rain started through the last of the pale autumn light and the road unfurled ahead of me, a shining grey ribbon full of possibility as each new twist revealed itself.

THE BEGINNING

First and foremost my thanks go to my wonderful agent Juliet Pickering at AP Watt and my brilliant editor Becky Hardie at Chatto & Windus. Both championed the book from the first and I am enormously grateful to them for making the publication of this book an absolute pleasure from submission to shelf.

*

Thank you also to: Fiona Murphy, Vicki Watson and the rest of the Chatto team, Clare Elliot, Judi Bennett, Helen Rosner, Suzie Ostrove and my beautiful godson Xander.