I stood on the edge of the sea of newsprint. Then I said very quietly, One of these days I’m going to leave. I’ll just go. You’ll get back and I won’t be here. And I won’t ever come back.
He looked at me with his mouth open. As though he’d suspected I was mad but couldn’t believe it.
I sat down, closed my eyes and said I was sorry, and I’d never do that. He said, It’s all right, Mum, but I think he meant, Don’t cry, you’re only crying for yourself. I remember that with my mother, her hitting me and then crying.
I sat down in the paper.
What are you doing? he said.
I’m tired, I said. And I was, I realised. I lay down.
Mum!
Close the door, I said.
I lay there while it got dark, maybe for an hour. I thought about my grandpa and how he’d say I was having a reaction. I remembered sleeping between them, him and Nan, in their bed. In the night if I tried to get close to Grandpa he’d turn away. But I’d cuddle up to Nan’s back and a big arm would come over me and pat my bum. I’d be warm. I’d hear next door’s dog or a dog in the street howl and I’d think that’s the sound of loneliness. I’ll always remember that sound I’d think. After a while of lying there and crying I thought about how old I was now — thirty years old. I’m thirty years old, I thought, with my cheek in newsprint. It smelled cheap, the ink. I wondered if I’d have black smears on my face, or half a word. From an ad. SALE, but backwards. I was cold, and hungry, and it was dark. I needed a wee. I got up, turned on the light, picked up the paper, made us fish fingers and chips, and went to the corner shop for ice cream. I gave Jason a hug before and told him I did love him. He let me hug him and said he knew.
While I was on my way to the shop I had a smoke. I felt done in, like I’d been crying for days. I thought to myself something I often thought at that time when anything went wrong, whatever it was, and then when it stopped, at least for a bit: Well, that passed the time. And then I’d laugh, really laugh, because no one else would have understood.
12. Sunny delight
An arm out of the window, sleeve rolled up, sun shining on the golden hair. Dark glasses, a face: Claire, he said. Give you a lift?
Oh, hiya, I said.
Hop in.
I hopped in. We were off.
He gave me a big smile. Hello, sunny delight, he said.
I laughed. What did you just call me?
He smiled and pushed his sunglasses up his nose. In a hurry? he asked.
No, I said. I felt wonderful, like everything had opened up.
Let’s go for a little drive, he said.
I saw familiar things: the shop, the pub, the hill, and houses I see every day — one at the corner with an apple tree and a hedge, and a white one with a conservatory and a sharp-leaved plant near the door. But they passed by fast, and then they were gone.
In the end he parked not too far from the house, and we went for a walk in Lion Wood. Lots of couples here and there on seats. We walked through the clearing, where the sun hung in slow soft bars, and up into one of the bits with more trees, then we were alone.
Well, Claire, he said. He looked at me and smiled, waiting.
I had questions I wanted to ask, things I wanted to say, like, I didn’t think I’d see you again, how did you know when I’d be walking past, where have you been for the last month — but instead he kissed me. It was too fast. I was still thinking. His tongue was in my mouth, his hands were on my arse, then touching my breasts, in my hair, pulling it. I opened my eyes. His face looked different, blind. He put my hand on his trousers and I felt his hard-on. He sighed. Voices, and three kids came up the path. They giggled as they passed.
Casey! one said, and shoved a skinny boy.
Oh, I love you, I love you, he whined and pushed her back.
Damian moved away from me. He took out his tobacco, papers, filters, sat down and began to roll.
I sat near him and did the same. He didn’t speak, he seemed further away than he was. The sunlight fell through the trees, and got lost before it could reach the ground.
Well, he said, best be getting back, I suppose. You probably need to get back, don’t you. He seemed to have lost energy.
Not really, I said. But I did. I hadn’t said anything to Jason.
Let’s get you home, he said. We didn’t talk on the way.
When he dropped me at the corner he said, So when am I going to see you again? He said he often went to the Star, nearer town, on a Friday night. Will I see you there? he asked.
What time?
Oh, later, he said. About eight. Eight or so. So long then.
He drove off and I went towards the house, doing things to my hair.
Jason was home, with Steve. They were making tea — potato waffles, baked beans, fish fingers. He put more on. I sat at the table with a cup of tea. The kitchen was light, a good smell in the air, the back door open, summer coming in. Something white and grey flitted across the edge of my eye. I turned. The cat from up the road — it likes our garden.
Steve smiled at me. How are you, Claire? he asked. He’s a nice lad. There’s something damp about his eyes, but he has a sweet smile.
I’m all right, I said. How’s it going? How’s your mum?
I was going to ask about his plans for next year, college or what, but then I thought better. A good day, why not just let it be a good day.
13. He doesn’t look like his dad
Jason and I needed to talk about next year. I didn’t remember when we’d had a conversation that lasted longer than a few minutes and didn’t end with him walking off. I watched him eating his tea tonight, but he didn’t look at me. He knew I wanted to talk; I knew he didn’t.
He doesn’t look that much like his dad, thank God. Except his colouring. There was an age — when he was eleven, twelve — when he looked just like Pete. It was strange — the first man I’d been with appearing from time to time in my son. Pete wasn’t even a man when we started up. We were kids, but we thought we were grown up. He looked older, more like a man, around the time he left. It hurt for so long. Now I can’t believe how young we were — almost Jason’s age.
Jason’s the same build as Pete now — tall, broad in the shoulder, not like me. The same dark hair and blue eyes. But he reminds me more of Jim, Jim who isn’t there any more. I used to tell him when he looked like someone. Now I don’t bother. He doesn’t like it. He’s good at shaking things off, Jason. He doesn’t have to say anything. He just looks across, like a little bull, eyes big and direct, and gets ready to refuse.
But he did say something, just before he took his plate to the sink. Mum, some of the lads are going to Newquay in August.
Oh right? I said.
For a week or ten days. Staying in a hostel. I want to go.
Do you, I said. I find myself saying stupid things, like my mum, when I don’t want to say yes but I don’t know how not to.
Can I? For my birthday? He stopped and looked at me straight. He was properly asking.
When are they leaving?
The fifth or so.
Can’t you come back for your birthday? I was thinking of having a party. You could have your friends round.
He didn’t quite roll his eyes.
Why am I always trying to stop him, I thought.
We could have it when I get back, he said. Couple of days later.
Like the nineteenth or twentieth? All right, I said. Have you got enough money?
Yeah yeah, he said. He had his back to me. He was even washing the plate. Nearly, he said.
How much do you need?
Maybe a hundred and fifty quid.
Early birthday present, eh? I said.