Read Bad Mothers United Online
Authors: Kate Long
Bad Mothers United (11 page)
Days we’d had of hot weather. The sunlight on the concrete flags by the bins looked foreign in its brightness. Grass stopped growing. A plague of ants in the kitchen
finally made me clear out the cupboards, whizz away all those ancient tins with their laughable price labels, and in turn that had sparked off a kind of frenzy to improve the whole house. I bought
a nice patterned Will-proof oilcloth for the table, and washed all my cushion covers and touched up the paintwork round the doors. I papered over some blurred stencilling I’d done above the
picture rail in my bedroom. The old wooden knobs on my chest of drawers I unscrewed and replaced with blue and white ceramic ones I’d seen in
Better Homes
magazine.
Now the garden wanted tidying, and I’d had this idea of replanting a flowerbed I’d let go, putting in some Michaelmas daisies and maybe some pinks the way my mother used to have it.
The hydrangea near the back fence also needed replacing. There’d always been a hydrangea there as long as I could remember; as a child I used to sit under it and pick big green caterpillars
off the leaves, mad things with horns on the end and yellow flashes down their sides. Then I’d take them indoors, one hand cupped over the other, to make Mum scream. Fine, she was, with dead
rodents, but there was something about a grub she couldn’t abide. I thought it was funny to watch her cringe. Occasionally I wouldn’t even be holding a caterpillar in there, just empty
palms, and she’d still have a fit. Then one time my dad was home and he cottoned on to what I was up to. He didn’t shout, he was never one for shouting. He just led me upstairs and
said, ‘Would you like it if I turned off the light at bedtime and shut the door on you? Would you think that was funny?’ Because at that time I was terrified of the dark. And that was
it. No fuss, no lecture, he straight away made me see what I was doing wrong. He’d have made a brilliant teacher. Wasted, he was, at that paper mill.
I switched the hose to mist and began working my way across the overgrown bed, starting at the shed end and moving along, layering on moisture, quenching the grass and weeds so every leaf and
blade shuddered with a bend-and-spring-up action. I imagined the beetles and bugs underneath scurrying for shelter. Where were the green caterpillars these days? You never saw them any more. A
whole lot of things had quietly disappeared while I was growing middle-aged.
Water gathered in the hollows and trickled out onto the flags, carrying dust and greenflies with it. I let myself imagine my mother inside the house, pushing bedsheets into the old top-loader we
used to have, or shaking Lux flakes into a bowl to rinse her tights. Nowadays
Better Homes
shows wooden airers hanging from ceilings with bunches of herbs tied to them or copper pans, very
chic; when I was little, we used our airer to dry clothes. The maiden, Mum called it.
Bill, the maiden’s stuck again, fetch a chair.
Dimly I remembered her electric mangle with
marbled green rollers, and a spin dryer with an elephant trunk-style pipe you had to drape out of the window. I could almost smell the steamy laundry if I concentrated. My scalp prickled and I
thought, If I turned round now she’d be there at the kitchen window. She would. What would she be mouthing at me through the clouded glass?
‘Hullo, Karen.’
The voice came out of the blue, and in my shock I fumbled the hose, squirting my own crotch, chest and chin. Eric was standing at the fence, watching me. I tried to say, ‘Hello,’
back, but it came out as ‘Hell.’
‘Doing a bit of watering?’
‘Watering myself, mainly.’ I glanced down at my jeans, at the big dark stain across the denim. At least he’d seen how it happened, he couldn’t put it down to stress
incontinence.
‘I think it’s alive, your hose.’
‘I think it is.’ I flicked off the trigger and dropped the head on the ground. A last spiteful dribble squeezed out of the rose end and snaked towards my toe. I stepped nearer to the
fence. ‘How are you? I haven’t seen you around much.’
‘Ach, I’ve been back and forth to the old place, winding things up. There’s been a lot to sort out and it’s tricky when you’re on your own.’
‘I see.’
So no partner on the scene. That was interesting.
‘Anyhow, I called you over because there’s someone I’d like you to meet.’
Eric bent down for a second, out of view, and when he stood up again he was holding a boy-toddler under the armpits. He grinned, then with his arm round the child’s waist for support, set
him on top of the fence so his bare legs dangled over our side.
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Is he yours?’
Eric nodded. ‘This is Kenzie.’
‘Hello, Kenzie. And how old are you?’
The boy stared at me saucer-eyed. ‘He’s four,’ said Eric.
‘Is he?’ That surprised me. He was only the size of our Will. Still, you could see the resemblance between father and son: the same close-cut curly brown hair, the same set to the
mouth. I pointed to the plaster on his bony knee. ‘Someone’s been in the wars.’
‘Ach, he’s always getting into bother. That one he got running full pelt into a clothes prop. Week before, he tripped over a doorstep. You canna take your eyes off them for a minute
without some disaster. Well, you know yourself what it’s like. I’ve seen your wee lad.’
‘He’s my daughter’s.’ I felt a blush rise.
‘No kidding? I assumed he was yours. You don’t look old enough to be a grandma.’
We started early
, I nearly said, but bit my lip. He didn’t want to hear about two generations of slip-ups. Exactly what age was Eric? Was he much younger than me? I wondered
whether I could somehow steer the conversation so the information came out casually:
Hey, Eric, do you remember the first men on the moon? The three-day week? The night Elvis Presley
died?
‘He’s called Will. William. I have charge of him. His mother lives away, she’s a student.’
Eric nodded, impressed. ‘She’s lucky to have you to look after him, then. We don’t know where your mum is, do we, Kenzie? Disappeared without a word. We do all right, though,
mostly.’
Kenzie picked at his plaster as my heart leaped with compassion and outrage. I fought an urge to reach out and gather him into my arms. Some women shouldn’t be allowed to have
children.
‘Hey,’ I said, ‘you know what? We’ll have to get them together. Two little lads. He could come round. It’d be nice for them both.’
Eric’s face lit up. ‘It would. That’d be great.’
‘And you could come too and have a cup of tea inside.’ I imagined us sitting together on the sofa, chatting, while the boys played on the rug. I could perhaps do us a plate of
sandwiches, or a even a cake, make Mum’s drop scones—
‘Well, aye. Although I’ve a lot of work on here, everywhere’s such a state. It would be a fantastic help if you could keep him out my way for an hour or two. Then I can make a
really good start.’
‘Ah, right, OK. No problem.’
‘Brilliant. I’ll bring him round Saturday afternoon, then?’
He hauled Kenzie off the fence and set him down behind it, out of sight. Then he laid his arm along the top and winked at me.
‘I hope you don’t mind my saying, you’re a star, Karen.’
‘No,’ I said. My cheeks were tingling under his gaze. ‘Actually, I don’t mind that at all.’
‘Hey, Charlotte, come see the show.’
Gemma was in Walshy’s room, leaning against the fluorescent green window-frame, her face to the glass. I hesitated for a second, then went in and stood next to her.
On the small lawn below, Walsh staggered under the weight of what looked like a bundle of saplings, all of them taller than him. He’d lurch to one side, try to correct himself and end up
half-running in the opposite direction like a drunk waltzing.
‘Ding ding, round two,’ said Gemma.
‘What the fuck?’
She sniggered. ‘It’s a yurt. His dad sent it to him. You must have seen the big van pulling up.’
‘I’ve only just got back from a tutorial. What’s a yurt?’
‘A Mongolian tent. Don’t you know anything?’
‘We’re not that big on yurts in Wigan. I think Mum’s boss has a gazebo, but that’s about the limit. Anything more exotic and your neighbours ring for the
police.’
It became clear that what Walshy was attempting to do was to make the sticks stand up on their own. Every time he got himself steady, he’d plant them squarely on the ground and step
back, only they’d always fall over.
‘We could go out and help,’ I said.
‘We could.’
Neither of us moved.
‘What does he want a yurt for anyway?’
Gemma raised her eyebrows. ‘Partying, he says. He’s going to have lanterns and a barbecue or a mini-fridge, I wasn’t really listening.’
‘Most likely he’ll set the thing on fire. Or no, I tell you what, it’ll be like his own personal harem-space. He’ll round up all the women he fancies and herd them
in.’
As soon as I spoke the words, I regretted them. Tactless enough to speak about her ex that way, even if I hadn’t spent a night last November rolling around on Walshy’s bed with my
skirt up around my thighs. I thought Gemma must surely be able to see inside my head, see the images flashing across my memory.
‘Tim-
ber
!’ said Gemma as the bundle pitched and fell once more.
I tried to laugh, but for the moment everything was drowned out by the soundtrack of my own morbid confession:
I snogged him, Gemma. While you were at a faculty party, we got drunk on
shots and I let him take me upstairs. I let him and I enjoyed it. The fact it wasn’t total full-on all-the-way sex is no defence. Daniel’s heart would break if he knew; you’d
never speak to me again. I am crap. I am Slut-Girl
.
‘Oh, hang on, who’s this?’ Gemma craned her neck to see. ‘Yaay, it’s Roz to the rescue. Here she comes with her, hmm, towel.’
‘A towel?’
‘She’s twirling it into a sausage. I can’t see how that’s supposed to help.’
‘Perhaps she’s going to hit him with it.’
‘If we’re playing Whack the Walsh, I might go down and join in.’
Roz obviously had some kind of plan because she kept spreading her arms out and leaning forward. Walshy yawned and stretched and pushed his hair out of his eyes, and at one point walked over
and kicked the bundle where it lay on the grass.
I said, ‘While I’m here, I’ve been meaning to say I’m sorry about Roz. All the Well-done-on-being-gay stuff.’
‘Oh, that, yes. Having a bit of trouble, isn’t she? It’s not your fault. I should probably have kept quiet.’
‘Don’t be daft. It’s up to you whether to tell us or not.’ I mimicked Roz’s slow, earnest tones. ‘If you feel gay, you must say.’
Gemma grinned. The yurt sticks were finally stable. We watched as Roz and Walshy linked hands and also held an end of the towel each to support all sides.
‘God, it’s like a scene out of
The Wicker Man
,’ said Gemma.
‘As long as nobody takes their clothes off.’
Slowly they shuffled backwards and, as if by magic, the sticks began to ease apart in a trellis pattern to form a circular corral. Narrow and high at first, it widened out until the top edge
of the sticks finished just above head height. The structure looked shaky as hell, but you could see how it was going to work when everything was fastened down. Roz went to grab the towel
they’d dropped, and Walshy nabbed the clothes prop so he could push the roof beams up from the inside, umbrella-style. I thought how much Will would love a tent, wondered if I could afford
one.
‘Just the little matter of throwing the canvas over the top and mooring it all down,’ said Gemma. ‘And Roz’ll forever claim she built a yurt single-handed.’
There was high-fiving going on now, and stepping back to admire the result, and adjusting the footings and more admiring. Roz put her arm though Walshy’s and leaned against him. She
clearly fancied him, despite the fact she was practically married to Gareth. Last term, for instance, we’d been shifting furniture around to make more space, and Walsh had looked across at
her as she hauled the sofa and gone, ‘Hey, I never noticed before but you’ve got a tremendous pair of boobs on you.’ Instead of being outraged, or at least pretending to be
outraged, she’d only sniggered. ‘I’ll tell Gareth on you,’ she taunted. ‘Fuck, don’t do that, he’d snap me like a twig!’ Walshy said, and made such
a pathetic face he had us all laughing in the end. It was hard to stay cross with him for long because he took himself so lightly.
‘It’s funny, I just assumed she’d be OK with me coming out. I’ve known her since the first term and she always seemed cool about . . .’ Gemma waved her hand,
searching for the right word. ‘About difference.’
‘It’s her background. Roz
is
OK really, if she stops and thinks. It’s not as if she doesn’t rate you any more. It’s that you’ve forced her to
revise her world view: you know, whatever she thought lesbians were like, they weren’t like you. And that’s freaked her temporarily. Give her another month and she’ll be
fine.’
‘I suppose so. She was all right about you having a baby, in the end.’
‘Huh?’
‘Like, she was a bit weirded out by Will at first. Not by
him
, I mean. By you being a mum.’
‘Bloody hell. What did she say?’
I could see it was dawning on Gemma that she’d put her foot in it. ‘Oh, nothing much. It was only that she didn’t know any other teenage mums, just what she’d seen on
TV really, so it was out of her comfort zone. And the point is, she’s completely fine about it now. She thinks Will’s great, she really does.’
My head was reeling. This was what, in the back of my mind, I’d always worried about. Because in those first weeks as a Fresher I had been shy about mentioning Will. I didn’t know
how other students would react. Then I had a long talk with Daniel and he’d said, ‘Look, Charlotte, society’s moved on. This isn’t like the olden days when unmarried
mothers ran off and drowned themselves in millponds for shame. No one will care that you’ve got a son.’ I thought, Yeah, he’s right, and I’d got stuck into student life
and assumed they’d just accepted it. Now I realised I must after all have been the object of gossip, of finger-wagging or worse, sympathy.
Down on the lawn Walshy had started a grass fight, dodging in and out of the yurt’s framework. Roz shrieked and spun on her heel, her tremendous bosom swinging. I thought, It’s
funny, even at school, even before Will arrived I was on the outside, never totally fitted in. Perhaps the problem was simply me.
Gemma stood up, wiping dust off her jeans. ‘Everyone talks about everyone else here. That’s a given. The trick is not to think about it.’
It’s all right for you, Gemma
.
You were brought up to be confident and cool. That’s just the way your brain works.
What it must be like, not to give a damn.