March
Hiya Nan! I’ve picked up my stuff, sorry you werent here you must be at work. Thought you might be wondering where I was, well Jace and me have split, dont worry I wont be in your way, I’ve got somewhere to stay! Jace and me just wasnt working out, I’m staying with Michael now, he’s just a friend, he’s really nice, alot older than me, I’ll send you the address. Anyway dont worry, but you’r not the worrying kind! I am making a go of it this time, hopefully thing will work out. I took Ј10 from the draw, I will pay you back, thats a promise Nan. I’m sorry I gave you heartache in the past hopefully thats all behind me now, Luv from Steph xxxxx
ps theres also a pan, 2 blankets plus a towel they looked like they were old ones, if you want some money for them I will pay you back.
On the first few days after Steph’s arrival Michael had gone out in the mornings before she was properly awake, apparently embarrassed by her presence. Then one day Steph got up and made him some toast, and as he ate it standing in the kitchen he told her, in what felt like an exchange- information for breakfast- that he would be out trying to do a bit of dealing. That day Steph blitzed the flat and was asleep on the sofa when Michael returned in the afternoon. He made her a cup of tea, sniffing at the air that was vibrant with the smells from plastic bottles lined up on the draining board, with names like citrus cavalcade and mountain mist.
A few days later when he came back his face was tight. When Steph asked him what was wrong, the look had turned to one of slight confusion. He told her about Ken, who was worse and was going into a home. He had just come from there.
‘Aw, got no family to go to? Poor old soul,’ Steph said, putting teabags into mugs and getting out milk, in the manner of the sort of mildly compassionate, busy wife that she had seen on television.
‘He’s not old, he’s just disabled. He was in the Gulf War. Got divorced after he came back. Doesn’t see his kids and his wife’s got someone else now. He’s got emphysema, other stuff as well, he can hardly walk. He’s in a right state.’ He paused with the effort of producing so many words at once. ‘Got medals. Decorated, he was- he’s got medals. That’s about all he’s got, poor bugger.’
‘He’s got you. He’s got a friend.’
Michael frowned. He had never thought of himself as Ken’s friend although it had been a slight surprise to realise, as he was talking, just how sorry he felt about him and how much he knew about him, when he had never noticed being actively sympathetic or curious. He grunted and sipped at the mug of tea that Steph had poured out, struggling in his mind with another surprise: the strangeness of being asked by Steph what the matter was. He had not realised that his face might betray his feelings. Even less had he expected there to be someone else around to notice the look on his face and care. But he had stopped wondering, on his way back to the flat in the afternoons, if she would still be there. He took it for granted that she would be.
‘Yeah, well,’ he said. ‘Thanks for the tea. And for asking.’
‘You’re welcome,’ she said. That was the first time that they exchanged smiles. After that they did so often, enjoying first the novelty, then the habit of it.
Steph had shoplifted a set of fairy lights that she strung along the shelf above the gas fire. But the sofa was too small for both of them. In the evenings, with the remains of that night’s takeaway lying in dishes on the floor around them, Steph would stretch out along the sofa and Michael would sit on the floor leaning against it, his long legs bent in front of the fire, which was now always lit. For a while they would not speak of anything and their silence seemed meditative. Then, full-bellied in the warmth, and in the soft coloured lights and confessional flicker of the candles Steph lit, they talked, unable to see each other’s faces.
Michael told Steph the story of his fifteen-year-old mother and the children’s home. He hesitated after a few moments, when he had finished the short, true part. From the age of about six he had begun to learn that some facts required decoration; there had been hardly anyone at the children’s home whose mother was not a ballerina or a princess, whose father had not commanded a submarine or killed tigers with his bare hands. Michael had so long ago concocted his own story that he felt more its curator than its author; the adult version was by now a carefully embellished artefact that required only occasional polishing. It had never mattered very much that he had made the story up because most of the time he barely remembered that he had. He could, if he chose, reel it off to Steph. It had undergone slight variations over the years and now it went like this: Most of the papers have been lost. What I do know is that my father was a household name. He was married, and my mother was so young, and of course it was not to be. It broke both their hearts. At this point Michael was quite used to being asked who the famous father was. Of course his career would have been destroyed if the story got out, I mean this is years ago, it was a different world. So my mother refused to put his name on the birth certificate though he begged her to. But in high circles, and I mean high, my existence is an open secret. But it’s all in the past. Hey, it happens. You’ve got to move on.
Instead, he told Steph, ‘When I was eight I had to have my tonsils out. They did it to loads of kids then, they cut out people’s tonsils all the time.’
Steph said, ‘Urgh, do you mind, I’ve just eaten.’ She squirmed.
‘There was four of us all sent to the children’s hospital, we thought it’d be worse than the children’s home but it wasn’t. The doctor told me they would put me to sleep and take away the bad bit inside me, and afterwards I would get jelly and ice cream and feel all better with the bad bit taken away. Well, I was dead surprised that they even knew about my bad bit, because nobody had ever said anything before so I thought it was just me and nobody else had one or knew what it felt like to have a bad bit inside them, so I was really happy it wasn’t a secret and they were going to take it away. Only they didn’t. It was maybe ten days later I could feel the bad bit was still there, you know? I still felt bad inside but I didn’t say anything because they kept looking down my throat and saying it was fine.’
‘Didn’t you tell anyone?’
‘Nah. I just went back to thinking it was just me. I nearly told Sister Beth. She was my favourite nurse, she came to see me a lot and ask me how I was feeling. Sometimes she sat on a chair with me on her lap, one time I just put my head against her and stayed there for ages. The other three boys that had their tonsils out at the same time as me went back, but I stayed. I hadn’t picked up, they said. I was there for weeks on the children’s ward, in my pyjamas and dressing gown. We did jigsaws. And this boy’s parents brought him in this train set- with trailers and goods wagons and stuff that went in them and carriages and everything. Most of the time I just lay on my bed, though.’
‘Then what happened?’
‘Dunno, really, don’t remember. I must’ve got better.’ He hesitated. ‘Well, Sister Beth, she didn’t have her own kids, she must’ve felt sorry for me. She set it all up. She arranged to foster me, they asked me if I’d like to go and live with her and I said yes. Well, I thought it’d be great. I was miserable unless Sister Beth was on the ward. I thought it’d be wonderful.’