Unbecoming (24 page)

The bus was full of people and Mary was struck by how young they all were. Every single one of them younger than her. She wasn’t sure when this happened, but she knows that it had, like the balance of the world had shifted when she wasn’t looking.

The boy sitting next to her was plugged into things, the light from some gadget shining on his face, his fingers tapping at it. ‘Mum keeps ringing,’ he said. ‘But I’m not answering. I’m just texting that we’re fine and we’ll be back later.’

He looked upset. Mary touched his arm to comfort him, but he shrank away. Sometimes she wondered if she drained energy from the world. Sometimes she felt like a hole in a plane, sucking lap trays and coats and babies at great speed out to an empty sky.

She nudged the boy again. She wanted to say,
I was your age once. Every morning when I wake up, don’t you think I’m shocked to look in the bathroom mirror and see this battered peach?

But when the boy looked up, all Mary could think of saying was, ‘How quickly it goes.’

When every damn thought was so much richer, so much more than that. Like a rock pool, she thought, with your hand plunged deep in cold water and bright fish threading your fingers and you want to catch one in your hand. You want to hold it up, trapped and shimmering and shout,
Look! Look!

The boy said, ‘Now Katie’s calling. I’m gonna turn it to silent. That’ll shut them up.’

Who was he? Mary stared at him, willed a name to pop into her head. Nothing. She nudged him again. ‘Do I know you?’

He sighed. ‘I’m Chris.’

‘How old are you?’

‘You’re always asking that. Fourteen.’

‘That’s a good age.’

‘That’s what you always say.’

Perhaps she should label things – butter, fridge, tables and chairs. That might help. Perhaps this child wouldn’t mind wearing a badge?

He tapped away at his gadget again. ‘Katie says if I lose you, she’ll never forgive me, so I’m telling her to sod off.’

Who is keeping who company? Who is looking after who?

‘Would you do me a favour,’ Mary said, ‘and tell me to go home if I look lost?’

The boy frowned. ‘Are you OK? You’re not feeling sick again, are you?’

Sick? Perhaps. Because every damn thought kept slipping away. And her head was full of memories that weren’t in any order at all. Why, for instance, did Pat pop into her mind now? Pat bending down to her saying, ‘People drown in that water. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that only paddling’s allowed.’

And now Mary as a child, in a red swimming costume and sun hat.

And now the day on the beach when Pat looked away for a moment. A beach well known for its terrible tides and its secret shifting sand.

It was so peaceful. Mary lay on her back in the water and watched the clouds spin. She was there for ages floating about.
She was a mermaid, a dolphin, a drowning princess. She only began to be afraid when a flock of seagulls settled on the cliff to watch and she realized her face was under the water.

Later, Pat wrapped her in a blanket and held her on her lap. Mary was so surprised to be alive that she couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Instead, she found a small space in the crook of her sister’s elbow and buried herself there.

‘You were so nearly lost,’ her sister whispered. ‘I will never be so careless again.’

But she was. She was very careless.

They say if you spend five days in water you start to melt. If someone grabs your dead hand to haul you out, your hand comes off in theirs. Your eyes are fish blown, your hair has turned to seaweed. You are salty and swollen, more water than earth or air. You are soaked, full as a sponge. You come out dripping and bloated and heavier than you've ever been. Your bones have absorbed it, your head is full of brine like a pickled boar. Every orifice leaks as they drag you up the beach and lay you out.

Mary sits with a small crowd in the parlour and Pat lies in her box and Jean from next door says, ‘He'll be lost without her.' And they all look at Dad, who has still not spoken a word to Mary. Who has curled Caroline's hand in his own as if it will save him.

Pat knew how to make mock cream from cornflour and margarine, a sauce from Creamola when there was no custard to be had. Pat knew how to bank a fire, how to manage a larder, how to take a pint of sour milk and turn it into a scone.

How would any of them cope without her?

That night, Mary lies in bed and listens to Caroline breathe. Then she sits up and looks at her.
You are my child
, she thinks.
You have a sweet, sad face and I am your mother. We will go back to London again together soon and all will be well
.

Outside the church after the funeral, Jean mops her eyes. ‘She was
a wonderful neighbour,' she says. ‘Always so neat and houseproud.'

‘She was indeed remarkable,' the vicar agrees. ‘A woman who lived a life in sacrifice and put others' needs above her own. This young lady in particular owes her a great debt.'

Mary owes her? Does she?

Oh yes. It was the younger sister's fault. It had been too much for Pat to take responsibility for a child when their mother died. Was she never to have a life of her own? It was her nerves – anyone could see. Selfish Mary. Contrary Mary. That Pat loved too much, and too hard.

And in later years, it was Mary's fault for visiting so rarely, for living so far away, for never using the telephone, even though that was why Pat had one installed (at great expense, mind you!).

‘That wasn't how it was,' Mary wants to scream. ‘Pat lied to me. She stole my baby and never let me see her. I let them be together over and over.'

Maybe that's why she finds it so hard to wrench the girl from her grandfather. They just keep holding each other, their hands across the kitchen table as she passes him tissues, her arm round his shoulder as she watches his favourite programmes with him.

In the days leading up to Christmas his tired old eyes light up only if the child is near. Caroline reads to him, something Mary's never considered doing in her life. Caroline knows how to bank the fire and stack his pipe and when he says he wants no festivities, no gifts or tree or special dinner, the girl agrees and they spend Christmas Day huddled together, looking at photos of Pat and talking about how valiant and exceptional she was. When all Mary can think is,
How dare she? How dare she steal my daughter and break her heart? How dare she die?

Mary shares Caroline's room at first, like camping, like maybe
after New Year they'll wake up and it's just been a holiday and Caroline will want to leave now.

But no, Caroline just gets on with things – goes back to school when term starts, does her homework, has her tea, watches TV, does more homework, drinks a mug of Horlicks, kisses her grandpa, who was off for a walk (again). The amount of walking that man does, he should buy a bloody dog. Or walk the circumference of England.

‘You're staying then?' Caroline says to Mary one night.

‘I am,' Mary answers. ‘If you want privacy, I'll move into the spare room, but that's the extent of my leaving. I'm your mother, aren't I?'

But claims of motherhood incense Caroline. And Mary's attempts at domesticity infuriate her more. She stalks about the house, tutting when Mary uses the wrong cups or fails to ram the lid back on the tea caddy or puts a wet spoon in the sugar or slops water on the carpet and wipes it in with her foot instead of bothering with newspaper and cloths. The day Mary witnesses Caroline mopping the kitchen lino with rags tied round her slippers, she knows it's too late. The girl belongs to Pat. And guilt will keep her there.

And Mary is giddy with missing London. She thinks of her suitcase under the bed. Her manuscript. The lines she's supposed to be learning. The panto would be over by now, and the company would have a short break then start rehearsals for
Uncle Vania
. She'd been promised the role of Yeliena. Would they have recast yet?

One day towards the end of January, Caroline politely knocks on Mary's bedroom door. ‘You may as well go back,' she says. ‘I mean, they want you in London, don't they? And really, you're no use here. I don't see the point of you. So why not just leave? Come and visit if you like, send money when you can, but you're only under my feet here.'

Was she remembering this right? Had a fourteen-year-old child said this to her?

‘Come with me,' Mary says. ‘Don't stay looking after him. The only reward will be people telling you what a good girl you are and, believe me, you can live perfectly well without any of that.'

‘He needs me. And anyway, it's what Mum would've wanted.'

She was right about that.

And Mary's failing, her very great and terrible failing, had been to listen to the words of a broken girl. She should've hoisted Caroline onto her shoulders and carried her off. Instead, she abandoned her to an old man, to his teeth in a jar, to his back bent with age, to the gip in his knee and the tremors in his hands and eventually to his incontinence and night terrors. And because she felt so guilty, poor little Caroline bent her head in acquiescence and got on with the task in hand, which turned out to be caring for her grandfather for fifteen long years.

It was like running back in time – back to the wide pavements and long sloping front gardens and detached houses of her old life. The lawns were vivid green, like in picture books and there was the familiar tang of earth, wet and dark from so many sprinkler systems. How could Katie have forgotten that smell?

She dismissed it with a wave of her hand. No, she didn’t need it. She wouldn’t look. It could all piss off. She’d come here to do one thing – get Chris and Mary and haul them away.

She ran faster. The breeze lifted her hair and her legs began to burn and she could feel her own sweat, could taste salt on her lips, but she was going to keep running until she got there and when she got there, Chris was going to be in such trouble. She was going to yell at him. She was going to do more than yell at him, in fact, because how come he couldn’t do one thing right? And how come whatever happened for the rest of her life, Chris would be her responsibility? Had she asked for it? No. But Mum went on about it all the time –
Look out for your brother, Katie. He’s not as clever as you. He doesn’t have your opportunities
.

Well, that could all piss off too. Because this was the last time, the very
last
, that Katie would look out for anyone other than herself. She’d been on a date! She’d been trying to be normal! Well, tonight, when she got home, she’d tell Mum that yes, she would in
fact like to go to the Oxbridge Summer School, and after that she wanted to spend the rest of the holiday studying. Mum would be a total hypocrite if she refused. She’d have to look after Chris and Mary herself and Katie could get away from them all, pretend she was going to the library and then sneak off and have a regular teenage life.

She had the beginnings of a stitch. It was so hot it looked like water was beaming at her from the horizon. She slowed to a walk and laid a hand over the pain, trying to breathe deep. A long hedge packed with pink flowers lined the fence. Peonies. She’d forgotten about them too. How they’d be in bloom at this time of year. Blowsy, Mum used to call them. Two white butterflies chased each other through the leaves.

There was the gate ahead of her. The gate that always clicked or squeaked, that her dad could never silence no matter how much oil he put on its hinges. It used to sing in the night if it wasn’t secure on its latch.

Katie could feel her blood pounding, her breath coming quick and shallow. She was utterly aware of the house and its windows and the front door and the shadows stretching across the lawn. It was so familiar and yet it felt like the one place in the world she shouldn’t be.

There was Mary! On the bench under the holly tree, gazing up at the house. She was alone, which meant what? Chris was inside? No, there was Chris lying on the grass on the other side of the front garden. He was doing his pattern thing, waving his hands in front of his face and watching the light through his fingers. Katie checked all the windows – they were blank, the front door was shut, the garage was closed, no sign of life. Maybe they’d get away with this after all.

She lifted the latch and pushed the gate. Chris looked up
expectantly as it squeaked and then collapsed back on the lawn.

‘Get up!’ she hissed.

‘Get lost.’

She marched over and rammed his leg with her boot. ‘Before anyone comes!’

He slapped her away. ‘I’m not leaving.’

‘You bloody are.’

‘I’m waiting for Dad.’

‘Do you know how much trouble you’ll be in?’

Chris looked at his watch. ‘He gets back from work at six, so I’m waiting for that.’

‘Are you insane? Have you had some kind of breakdown? You can’t just camp out in Dad’s front garden.’

‘I want to see.’

‘See what? His girlfriend? The baby?’ She kicked him again. ‘Come on, get up.’

‘No!’ He slammed his arms over his face. God, he was infuriating.

‘He won’t want to see
you
, Chris, that’s the point. It’ll be really embarrassing and he’ll call Mum and yell at her for not keeping you under control and you’ll get taken to that counsellor again.’ She knew she was being a cow, but she didn’t care. He’d ruined her date! One thing she’d asked him to do, just one – look after Mary for three measly hours – and he hadn’t even been able to manage that. ‘Please, Chris, come on! They’re probably on holiday anyway. It all looks very quiet. They’ve probably gone somewhere lovely where we’ve never been – the Caribbean or somewhere.’

She looked down at his too big body sprawled on the grass and the way he just lay there hiding under his arms, like it was perfectly routine to get on a bus and come and see Dad and if he hid his face, he’d just be allowed to get on with it, and he suddenly seemed
to have it easy. No responsibility for anything! How great that must be. No exams, no revision, no school. You couldn’t call Woodhaven a proper school when all they did was cookery, tech and art. If Chris concentrated for one whole day, spoke up in class and was friendly to the other kids, he got treated like some kind of superstar and came home clutching a certificate of merit. He probably wouldn’t even be told off about coming here if Mum found out – Katie would!
I left you in charge! I thought I could trust you!
Well, maybe instead of apologizing, Katie should start screaming and bang her head on the floor like Chris used to before he could talk. What would Mum do then?

Chris said, ‘I was all right until I rang the bell and then I felt sad.’

‘What did you expect? Cosying up to Dad and his new family is hardly a recipe for happiness.’

‘I’m not cosying, because he’s not in!’ His voice was muffled from talking under his arm. ‘And it’s my fault.’

‘That he’s not in?’

‘That he left.’

‘Your fault? Where the hell did you get that idea from?’

‘Josh told me.’

‘And who’s Josh?’

‘A boy at school.’

‘Well, since I’ve never heard of him and since he’s clearly never met Mum or Dad, I don’t see how he’d know anything about it.’

Chris rolled away from her as if the subject was closed, but she wasn’t having that. She stepped over him and sat on the grass by his head. ‘It’s not your fault, Chris.’

‘You would say that.’

‘Because it’s true. Dad left because he found a younger woman. It’s a total cliché and nothing to do with you.’

‘She can give him good babies.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

Chris looked at her briefly, then closed his eyes again. ‘Nothing.’

‘Is that what Josh said? That you’re not good enough? He sounds a total prick. Next time I come to your school, you point him out and I’ll break his neck.’

‘I can fight my own battles,’ Chris said stoically.

It crossed her mind this might be why he was so often reluctant to go to school. Then it crossed her mind she should probably hug him, but she was still angry and didn’t want to. She leaned over instead and tried to get him to open his eyes by blowing on them, but he rolled away again.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘if you ever change your mind and want me to kill Josh, you just let me know …’

‘You can go now actually.’

‘I’m not leaving without you.’

‘And I’m not leaving until I see Dad.’

‘Well, you’re not getting the bus on your own again.’

‘I wasn’t on my own.’

Katie wasn’t sure that being with Mary counted as adult supervision. She cast a quick glance at her over on the bench. She was still staring at the house as if it was totally fascinating. ‘I can’t believe you brought her here.’

‘You take her to places all the time.’

‘I’m supposed to. Mum’s paying me. God, why are you so annoying?’

‘I dunno. Why are you so mean?’

Katie slumped on the lawn next to him, burying her face in the warm grass. It made her feel heavy thinking of Dad walking in and catching them here. The girlfriend would probably be with him,
and she’d be all glam and look at them with pity in her eyes, and the baby would be gorgeous and Mary would come bounding over to coo at it and Chris would start asking awkward questions and Dad would phone Mum and there’d definitely be shouting.

She rolled onto her back and stared at the sky. A tiny silver aeroplane was making its way across the blue, its wings glinting.

Katie sat up to look at the house. It blushed with warmth on such a sunny day, even with its shut curtains and the ivy gathering up the brickwork. Later, the sun would sink behind the garage roof and the tops of the trees in the back garden would be washed with light. She’d thought she’d never see it again. She’d thought it would be sold and Dad would move, probably abroad, and that’d be the end of it.

The garden seemed smaller and shabbier. The paint on the swing was peeling off and the seat was lopsided. Had it always been like that? She supposed Dad would get a new one when he eventually moved house. Probably a slide as well. Maybe a climbing frame.

‘You know, Chris, I dreamed about the baby one night.’ He didn’t answer, but she thought he might be listening. ‘I was at a railway station with Dad and his girlfriend and they asked me to look after the baby while they went to buy tickets. She was older than in real life and toddled off and I just let her. I remember thinking I didn’t want to fuss about everything like Mum does. I wanted to be cool and impress Dad. So they came back from getting tickets and asked me where the baby was and I pointed to the platform and the girlfriend clapped her hand on her mouth and said, “You let my baby near the trains?” And it was suddenly really obvious from the crowd and the silence that the baby was dead and it was all my fault.’

Chris turned to look at her. ‘Shit!’

‘I couldn’t get it out of my head all day.’

‘Did Dad get mad at you?’

‘I don’t know. I woke up.’ She turned to smile at him. ‘I miss him too, Chris. It’s horrible that he lives here and we don’t. It feels like some terrible joke.’

Chris sat up. ‘If you think about the word “forever” a lot of times, it does your head in.’

‘I don’t want to think about it.’

‘I do it all the time. I can’t help it.’

Katie sighed. ‘We can’t stay here, Chris. I really don’t want Dad to come back and find us, it’ll be horrible. And I really don’t want to leave you on your own. How about we get the bus home and I promise I’ll help you come up with a plan?’

‘To get them back together?’ He sounded excited, as if she were capable of miracles.

‘No, of course not. A plan to see Dad. Properly see him. How about it?’

She turned to look at him and found him smiling right at her.

He held out his hand. ‘Deal.’

The corner of the garden where Mary sat on the bench was so dark it looked damp. Walking into shade from the sunshine made the skin on Katie’s neck tingle. ‘We’re going now, Mary.’

‘I keep hearing noises.’

‘What kind of noises?’

‘Crying.’

‘Well, I can’t hear anything. Let’s get you off this bench and into the sun, shall we?’

Katie put out her hand to pull Mary up, but she shook her head like an old horse troubled by a fly. ‘I’m not going without saying goodbye.’

‘Goodbye to who? There’s no one in.’

‘Up there.’ She pointed to Katie’s old bedroom window. ‘See the curtains shivering?’

‘I think it’s you that’s shivering, Mary.’

Chris came over. ‘I just looked through the letterbox and there’s loads of post on the mat.’ He looked up at the window. ‘Is someone in?’

‘No,’ Katie said. ‘It’s just shadows.’

‘Maybe it’s a burglar. Or maybe Dad’s girlfriend’s holding him hostage.’

‘Or maybe it’s Mary’s imagination.’ Katie was beginning to get a headache. Why wasn’t anything easy? ‘Right, let’s get to the bus stop. I think the newsagent’s will still be open, so if you’re lucky, I’ll buy you both a choc ice.’

But Mary was making a soft noise, like the whimper of an animal. It was horrible. And her eyes were bright and strange.

‘She’s been here before,’ Chris said. He nibbled a fingernail as he gazed up at the house. ‘She said it when we arrived.’

‘That’s impossible. We moved here when you were tiny and she never came to visit.’

He shrugged. ‘I’m only telling you what she said.’

Mary talked nonsense. Mary thought she’d been everywhere. She probably thought she’d been to the moon if you got her on the subject of space travel. But still, it stirred something in Katie, because imagine if it was true? Imagine Mary visiting for lunch on a Sunday or picking her up from school or coming to a birthday party. Jack could have come too. It would’ve been great. Maybe everything would have turned out differently.

Katie plonked on the bench next to Mary and stroked her arm. Chris sat on the other side and stroked her other arm.

If Dad walked in now, they’d look insane. Three stooges. Three monkeys. Three sad idiots.

It was very quiet suddenly.

A memory of Simona flashed into Katie’s mind. Why now? A vision of her laughing, the gleam of skin at her throat. Last week, was it? It felt like a clip from a film. Yes, they’d been at the café and Simona had brought Mary a samosa and Katie a can of cold lemonade. Mary had asked Simona to join them. ‘Don’t worry about the boss,’ she’d said. ‘I’ll tell her you’re my sister.’

It was wonderful, the three of them laughing. Simple and lovely.

OK, this was definitely a sign of sunstroke. Katie pushed the memory away and gave Mary one last rub on the arm. ‘Time’s up. Let’s get out of here.’

Mary turned to Katie in absolute amazement. ‘I know what this place is. I can place this place – what house this is, what town. I know where the railway station is, the post office. I’ve had such a busy time. It’s been very overcrowded.’

‘We need to get the bus.’

Mary shook her head. ‘I don’t want to be inside anywhere at all, but I don’t want to leave. I feel it everywhere – even in my hands.’

Katie took a deep breath. This was awful. It was like Mary had gone away and been replaced by someone else. Not a word of that made sense.

Chris looked at Katie, wide-eyed. ‘She wasn’t like this before.’

Katie held out a hand and Mary took it. She gently stroked Mary’s fingers with her thumb. The skin was so thin she could see the blood pulsing underneath, the purple knot of veins near Mary’s knuckles, the brown age spots, like gravy splashes, over the back of her hand. ‘I don’t know what to say about any of that, Mary. I’m wondering if you’re feeling ill? Do you think you might need a glass of water or something?’