Vintage (20 page)

“Don't you have a job – or go to college, something?”

“On the dole now. Don't get on with learning. Got my bike. Good enough for my dad. Not enough jobs for everyone, Dad says. Good when someone doesn't mind – being on the dole. Then the ones that do can work.”

“What about your mum?”

“Always in the kitchen. Or cleaning. She got some cleaning jobs, but they don't last. She doesn't turn up when he's hit her.”

“Couldn't she go to a refuge or something?”

“What's that when it's at home?”

“Somewhere for women – and kids – to go when they're beaten up at home. My mum does some work at our local one – it's not far from here...” I stop.

“What planet you from? Only refuge my mum's got is the bottle, she says. She goes and stays with our nan when Dad gets out of hand.”

“But she always comes back?” Beginning to sound like my mum.

“Where else would she go?” Dave stops swinging and gets up.

Sighs.

“Then there are the little' uns. Our Bethan's only four. Got to go.”

“Shall I – see you again?”

“What d'you mean? I'm always round here, you know that.”

“I mean – it'd be cool to see you later – maybe. We could go for a walk – you know.”

“Mebbe.” He walks away. Shoulders higher now, upright. Hands deep in his pockets. I want his arms round me.

“See you.”

He walks towards the gates as I swing higher. Air rushes past my face. Muscles pull against the chains. Legs pumping. The swing jumps at the top of its rise. That moment when time stops for a second. Before gravity brings it flying down again. When you think you could swing right over the top of the bar. You want to, but you don't at the same time. Because if you did, who knows what might happen?

But it already has happened.

GET DOWN HERE – U FORGOT U R HELPING WITH BREAKFASTS? MRS L

Forgotten? She must have. Marilyn raced into some black clothes, found some shoes that would do, ran down the stairs and out of the house.

She was panting when she got to the coffee shop. The windows were misted over. There was the bitter smell of coffee and the noise of people at the tables, families with children, couples, the odd single person buried under a newspaper. It was full. Mrs L was flustered and red-faced, diving between the tables and the kitchen, ducking through the newspapers and chairs. Marilyn spotted Holly's mum and a man sitting at a table in the corner, but Mrs L grabbed her arm before they saw her. Marilyn winced; she'd forgotten the slash on her arm.

“What's up with you?”

“I'm fine. Really.”

“Then I'll get in that kitchen. The orders are on the board. Tables four and five haven't ordered yet, you can take those first. Who's that man with your mum? Ewan and Maya will be along to take over at 12.30.”

Table four was Holly's mum and the man – Martin. Marilyn picked up the order pad and a pen, took a deep breath and walked over.

“Morning. What can I get you?”

Holly's mum looked up.

“Holly! Didn't know you were working here this morning. Martin, this is Holly, my daughter.”

Martin's hand was playing with the fork on the table as he looked up at Marilyn. He was okay; old, but okay. But he wasn't Holly's dad. How could her mum be seen in public with another man?

He looked awkward. “Hi there. Heard a lot – I mean your mum told me a bit about you.”

There wasn't much Marilyn could say to that. She didn't know much about Holly, so she could have asked him and got some history. But there was no time for chat with all the tables buzzing.

Holly's mum took over. “Scrambled eggs please, granary toast, and a large cappuccino. We've been waiting ages.”

“I know, sorry, I went back to sleep. And I'd forgotten. Mrs L texted me.”

“I can tell. You haven't brushed your hair this morning.”

Marilyn put her hand to her head, and her sleeve fell up her arm. Holly's mum spotted the cut. Her face went white.

“What's that on your arm – you haven't – are you okay?”

She was on her feet, taking Marilyn's arm and pulling the sleeve back further. The cut was healing over already. It wasn't deep, and it was only a few centimetres long.

People at the other tables were looking. Marilyn pulled her arm away and tugged the sleeve back down over the cut.

“What would you like?” she asked Martin.

He shot a look at Holly's mum, then asked for a full English breakfast and a pot of tea. Holly's mum sat down again.

“I'll talk to you later, right?”

Marilyn wrote down the order, looked at her briefly and nodded.

The morning flew by. People were standing at the door waiting for tables. Mrs L covered the kitchen, and it was just possible for Marilyn to do the waitressing. She picked up a few tips as people left and she was feeling pleased with herself.

A boy with shaved hair and an earring in one ear came in to take over the kitchen, along with a girl Marilyn recognised from the club last night.

Mrs L took off her apron and smiled at Marilyn.

“Come on, we'll go upstairs and have a break – get yourself some breakfast.”

I swing in the park. Alone now. I think of Sheila, who can't imagine leaving her parents. She might stay there forever for all I know. I think of Marilyn and her sad wardrobe. Hope she gets to university. And gets laid before long. Perhaps by Dave. There doesn't seem to be anyone else around. He won't do forever, but he'd be fun for her. For a while.

I feel as if I should pack. I've been here since Friday. There must be stuff to take back. But there's only the pendant Kyle gave me. I've got that on under Marilyn's clothes. And the mobile. Not much battery left, and nowhere to charge it. Even if I did have my charger, the electrics are different here. Round pins. Weird. Marilyn hasn't answered my text. She might never have got it. I so want to get home. It's hours till four. And then, I don't know what could happen. Will it work?

How am I going to do it? I won't let the thought settle. Think positive. The change has got to happen, that's all. Can't stay here another day. She can't have my life any longer. Who knows what she's doing? She could have wrecked everything.

So much to think about.

In the end, I wander back home. Eight o'clock now. Wish I'd made the meeting time earlier. But there's something about the same time. Don't know why. I get back into bed. In all my clothes. It's cold in here with no central heating. Getting comfortable, heading for my favourite fantasy, the guy across the road and me.

The door opens. Marilyn's mum puts her head round. Like I want her in my fantasy. Like I want her in my room. Like I want her in my life. She doesn't hear the piss-off noises in my head. If she did she'd be out of here.

“Sunday, church, it's time we left.”

She's wearing a matching jacket and skirt. Very red lippie with blue eyeliner badly smudged over her eyelids. Powdery stuff on her cheeks. Head scarf balancedon her hair. Pictures of peacocks or something. Terrible.

I don't move. She comes in and pulls the blankets back. I can't believe that. Open my mouth to tell her to get off me. But she's in there first.

“You've got your clothes on – in bed! What do you think you're doing? You didn't even get undressed last night. You're turning into a little slut, I told your father you would. He's too soft with you, you're spoilt rotten.”

I want to tell her she's supposed to give me unconditional love. Tell me off for what I do, not who I am. Funny. I'm starting to agree with Mum.

“How's that supposed to make me a better person? You're such a crap mother, you only think about yourself. It's all about you, isn't it?”

I'm sitting up on the bed now. Didn't mean to shout at her, but this is too much.

She almost runs across the room and suddenly she's slapping me on the face, not hard, but I'm so shocked I scream out.

“You've got to learn, do you hear? No man will take you on like this.”

She stops hitting me. Slumps beside me on the bed.

“I don't need a sodding man to take me on.”

“You might think that now, but you wait – you wait, you and your fancy ways. Don't come crying to me when you're on your own and nobody wants you. Thank goodness we've got little Andrew, he's got a sensible head on his shoulders. He'll never let us down.”

“I hope he does, for his sake.”

She burst into tears. Flings her arms round me. Smells of cheap perfume. Powdery.

“I always wanted a daughter, someone I could go shopping with and confide in and who'd love me. I don't know where I went wrong with you.”

I don't know either, not knowing the history in full, but I can make some guesses. I find myself putting my arms round her and holding on while she wails into my shoulder.

“Why can't you be normal? Happy?”

“Like you?”

Don't start.

Don't even go there.

The door opens again.

Come in everyone.

This is open house.

I put a sign out, didn't I?

Please disturb me.

It's working.

I've only seen the father behind a newspaper. Silent at the table. Now he's coming in. Face tight behind his black-rimmed glasses.

“What's going on in here?”

As if he couldn't see. Marilyn's mum draped over my shoulder. Weeping.

“Look at her, just look at her.” Marilyn's mum wails louder.

“Looks like normal to me.”

“She's gone to bed in her clothes. It's disgusting.”

“I didn't, I've been up since six, been to the park.”

“You see dear, an explanation. I knew there'd be an explanation.”

“And you believe her?”

“Why don't you come downstairs and have some breakfast? It'll be time for church soon.”

I'm beginning to like this man more. Marilyn's mum loosens her hold on me. Wipes her nose with her hand. He gives her a big white handkerchief. She blows her nose. Hard. Gross.

“I'll have to do my makeup again now.”

“Do it after breakfast, it's all ready. Andrew's waiting.”

She gets up slowly. Smooths down her skirt. Doesn't look at me.

I'm looking at Marilyn's dad.

“Come on, now.” He opens the door. Moves to let her through. She goes out. I hear her going down the stairs.

“And you, young lady…”

“I did go to the park. Honest.”

And he winks.

He winks at me and smiles. A fraction of a smile. Then he coughs. Turns round. Leaves the room. Shuts the door after himself. Whistling under his breath.

So much for parental solidarity.

I don't believe this family.

Marilyn realised she was hungry. She helped herself to eggs, tomatoes, toast and a big mug of tea in the coffee shop kitchen. She followed Mrs L upstairs. She was curious to see the room where Sheila used to hold court. The pink flouncy curtains and bedspread and the kidney-shaped dressing table wouldn't be there. That was years ago. But maybe there would be a trace of how it was.