Waiting for Grace (2 page)

Three

Eight Years Earlier

“
Grace Amelia Cooper,” My mother groaned from the kitchen. “Have you drunk all the diet coke again?”

I made my way silently into the kitchen and opened the cupboard where there were plenty of cans. “No.” I sighed and told her, “We started getting cans, not bottles, so they’re in this cupboard rather than the fridge.”

“Oh did we?” she asked, confused. “Were they on offer?” I shook my head, dismissing her. I just couldn’t muster a response. “I’m going to walk Mrs Jones’s dog,” I breathed, grabbed my portable CD player and earphones, and walked to the door. She didn’t say anything else, and it wasn’t often that we made that much conversation. She often didn’t wake until mid-afternoon and I was usually out of the house. We were like flat mates, my mother and I, who didn’t get on very well at all and tried to stay out of each other’s way.

I couldn’t remember my life being any different, but I knew that it had been normal, once. Irene Cooper, my mother, had a serious alcohol dependency that consumed her from the moment she got up to the minute she passed out. She was selfish and was uninterested in me; she hadn’t attended parents’ evening for years. She never asked how I was, didn’t shop with me, didn’t make my meals or care if I ate. I often wondered if she hated me, hated what I reminded her of, and hated that she had to look at me, and face all of her loss.

Irene was the second wife of my father, Jeffrey Cooper. He was a local and revered car mechanic in Poulton, Lancashire, a small town near Blackpool. It was a place where everyone seemed to know everyone else, and people were friendly, nosey, and always knew each other’s business. Jeff had his own garage and was well known and respected. His first wife, Alma, died of cancer when their daughter, Diane, was four. He then remarried Irene, who was much plainer than Alma, but reliable, available, and willing to slot easily into his life. She became a strong and dedicated mother to Diane, laying boundaries and rules that all good girls needed. She was more old-fashioned than Alma, but Jeff was happy that he was being cared for again, and that Diane had a mother figure, despite all that they had been through. They had a son, Jamie, a few years later and then for seven years she struggled to conceive another child. She was devastated and prayed for a miracle. Finally, when Jamie was ten, I was born.

Irene was a strong-willed woman who did not allow rule breaking, and who loved being a stay-at-home mother to her children. Diane couldn’t handle the strict household, and when she was sixteen she left town, never to be heard from again. I was a baby, but Irene had pictures around the house, and the very short, strained story that she had told me became legendary to me. I imagined a girl who knew her own mind, and who stuck two fingers up at her parents and their overbearing tendencies to lead her own life. I had never met Diane, but I craved her and worshipped her spirit, looking at her pictures in her room for hours.

Irene was in her forties when I was born, and so she was already an older mother. Jeff was approaching fifty. His business did very well. He had a trusted assistant manager, and took a lot of family time as he neared his milestone birthday. One night in January, when I was five, he took Jamie to watch a football match after school. They left around tea time, and I was put to bed as usual. I don’t remember the actual day, just the years to follow, and the incessant storytelling that Irene did when she was drunk. They went to the match, watched their team defeated, and then on the icy drive home, Jeff lost control of the car. In thirty seconds all of our lives changed forever. Jeff and Jamie lost their futures, and Irene slipped into a living coma. I lost everything because no one seemed to love me after that, and the worst thing was that I didn’t know what love felt like to miss it.

I existed. I went to school. I imagined what my sister was doing and didn’t have to wonder why she never came back. It was obvious looking at Irene and the Cooper Museum that had become a shrine to my dead father and brother. I knew other people’s lives weren’t like mine, and that Irene was a terrible mother. I just planned my escape and lived my life. I didn’t cry, I wasn’t upset, I didn’t have anything to miss because I had no idea what I was missing. And then I met Robert.
 

It was a hot Sunday in June and I made my way to Mrs Jones’s house, our elderly next-door neighbour. She had known me all of my life; she kept an eye on me, gave me chocolate, and ice cream. As the years had progressed and she struggled more with mobility, I walked her dog, Jess, a black and white Border Collie, most days and sometimes if I was bored, twice a day. Mrs Jones would make me apple pies, Eccles cakes, and fairy cakes in payment, and I was happy to have something to fill my time. It was an excuse to get out of the house, and it was nice to spend time with Mrs Jones as well.

“It’s a hot one,” Mrs Jones said, as I let myself in and reached for Jess’s lead. Jess saw me and instantly began jumping around excitedly. “I made scones today,” Mrs Jones trilled from the kitchen.

“Great,” I said.

“All okay next door?” She gestured towards my house with her eyes. “Heard Irene up and about before.”

I rolled my eyes. “She’s showing some interest in the whereabouts of the Diet Coke.” I laughed. “A temporary sober moment.” Mrs Jones smiled at me. We didn’t discuss Irene’s failings, but they were there for everyone to see.

I slipped out into the sunshine, plugged my earphones into my CD player, and set off for a nice long walk. I had turned sixteen last November and could see my escape from this town, from Irene and my non-existence. I wanted to soar. I dreamt of finding my sister. She could be famous or a millionaire, or maybe a stage actress with a fabulous lifestyle in London. I imagined her in so many settings, her arms wide open for me, easing my pain, making me finally feel wanted, and being the only person to understand exactly what I had been through. I was still young, though, and had no money to start my search. I planned to get through sixth form, and work hard, save some cash, and then just set off and find her. I wanted that connection, I yearned to find the girl who looked just like an older version of me, and have her love me like no one else had before.

I had found her photo albums years ago and had taken them as my own. She must have left in a hurry, as her bedroom was a shrine to her existence as a teenager. They hadn’t changed it much, just taken down the posters and painted the walls a neutral cream. Her double bed was still made up awaiting her return, her dressing table full of her things, and her wardrobe full of clothes. She was so beautiful, her features were so graceful, and her lips pouty like a movie star. Her hair was dark and wavy, not unlike mine, except mine was lighter, and I wore it long down my back. She had hers shoulder-length and it was volumised by the eighties. She had dark brown eyes like our father Jeff and I, except hers had a twinkle in them that screamed adventure. The more I looked into her brown eyes, the more I dreamed of my own future and what it could be. She gave me hope, and I desperately wanted to be just like her one day. Of course I had no idea where she was or who she had become, but I didn’t need to know, as I had imagined it all well enough. I wanted to be the girl that I had created in my dreams, the one who had the ability to run away from this life that had me trapped.

Today I wore one of her sundresses. We wore the same size, and that made me happy because it made me like her. I loved her retro eighties clothes, and had raided her wardrobe years ago for the spoils. I was desperate for the day when I could slip into them. Today’s dress had spaghetti straps that tied on top of my sun-kissed shoulders, brown from the time I spent walking the dog, daydreaming, and listening to my music. It had multi-coloured stripes and was elasticated at the waist, pulling the dress in and leaving a billowing top half and slight puffball skirt effect. I loved it. I wasn’t tall, but I was thin, perhaps too thin Mrs Jones had said. I didn’t have much of an appetite, and I was always on the move, trying to get out of the house. Today my little legs poked out of my dress in yellow flip-flops with a sunflower on them. I wore sunglasses, and my long, wavy hair blew in the breeze.

I walked Jess through the estate and followed the winding pavements into the newer housing estate behind. I leaned my head back into the sunshine as I waltzed past the red brick, carbon copied houses, their wide driveways and adjoining garages displaying the splendour that lay inside. Our house had been splendid once and was cared for back when my father was alive, but it hadn’t been like that for years. I would walk past the houses and see fathers washing the cars or kids playing on the front lawn and look on enviously, as I didn’t have any of that. Our house wasn’t a home. It was a lofty, detached, museum that stood on a long dusty road with only Mrs Jones for company. We had other neighbours, but they were all too busy with their own lives to be neighbourly. This street was my favourite. No fences separated the houses; they all ran into each other. I imagined the families as best friends. I kept walking, falling into my daydream as Avril Lavigne sang to me through my earphones.
    

I reached the end of the street, which was my favourite part. A large open field that was miles wide, perhaps land that was meant to be built on eventually, was Jess’s and my playground. The grass was so long that it wilted, and the expanse was wide enough so that Jess could run free and I could laze in the grass. I could be anyone here. I could be the girls from my favourite childhood films, and I could imagine who I would be one day, who I should have always been before this life held me back. I let Jess off the lead and turned my music up louder. I ran with her and sang loudly to Avril’s Complicated, and then when we were both breathless, I fell back into the grass and gazed up at the sun as Jess curled up by my side. We lay there for a few minutes, and I closed my eyes, breathing deeply until suddenly I was attacked from the side.

I screamed and Jess yelped. My music was ripped from my ears as I was thrown across the grass. I heard my own voice echo through the empty field and the screech of metal as I struggled to get my bearings. Jess was growling and barking and something heavy was lying on top of me.

“Shit,” someone said. I looked around confused to see a bike surrounding me, and a boy approaching me quickly. He yanked the bike free and held out his hand. “Shit,” he said again, straightening himself up and trying to help me. I brushed myself off and took in the scene.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, ignoring my standoffishness and grabbing me by my hand. “I didn’t see you until it was too late; I tried to brake,” he explained as he motioned to the bike. “But I almost ran straight over you and when …” he panted and wiped his brow, “when I hit the brakes I went flying over the handle bars and the bike went straight for you.” 

He looked me up and down. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” he asked. I couldn’t speak; I was in shock.

“Erm.” I looked down at myself. I was in tact, no injuries, just in shock. “You ride through here?” I asked, shocked to see anyone else here. I hardly ever did.

He nodded. “Yes, shortcut to tennis practice,” he said as he motioned to his matching white polo shirt and shorts. “Sorry.” He smiled again.

“Where’s my CD player?” I said, looking around.

“Oh God, it must be in this crazy long grass somewhere.” He looked concerned. “We’ll find it, I’ll help.” He started to scan around, “What’s it like?”

“It’s … erm … blue, thin, small,” I said nervously to this stranger who had appeared out of nowhere when I was vulnerably alone. The coincidence was not lost on me, and I kept my eye on Jess in case I needed her to attack. She was already sniffing the boy and seemed to have forgiven him for his abrupt arrival.

“I can’t see it!” he shouted as he waded through the grass, pushing it aside. “You really shouldn’t lie in this shit,” he sighed. “It’s probably full of gross little creatures.”

“Thanks for the concern,” I said sarcastically. “But the most dangerous thing to have happened to me here is you.” He looked over to me and nodded, laughing.

“Ah!” he exclaimed and reached down. “Here.” He held my CD player above his head and smiled broadly. He was taller than me in my flip-flops and he towered over me. He had a lovely smile of straight, white teeth, and strong features. His hair was sandy blonde and in need of a cut; it blew around in the slight breeze, and his eyes were sparklingly blue. He walked towards me and handed it to me. Jess got between us again and yelped.

“Wow, he’s protective,” he said. I smiled and nodded.

“She,” I corrected. It seemed this boy was exactly what he said and not a murdering rapist. I couldn’t take any chances though and distanced myself from him as he approached.

“Well,” he said picking up his bike, “I’m Robert.” I gave him a tight smile. “And you are?” he asked, as I had missed my etiquette cue.

“Oh, Grace,” I said.

“Well, Grace,” he held the bike up, “wanna walk back to civilisation together?” I looked at him questioningly. “I don’t bite, and to be honest it’s not too safe for pretty girls like you out here all alone.”

“Oh yeah?” I asked with a smile. “A lot of bikes on their way through?”

He looked behind me, “Nope, but I bet plenty of psychos would love to find you out here. You’re a sitting duck.”

I laughed. “Well in that case, I’d better take you up on your offer.” His face broke out into a wide smile again, and I grabbed Jess’s lead and walked next to him towards the red brick estate.

“So how old are you?” he asked.