Authors: Lisa Jewell
Amitabh smiled at Toby. He had a lovely face. ‘Well, I don’t
know
Toby, but I recognize you from through the window. Good to meet you.’ They shook hands. Amitabh’s hand was warm and fleshy.
‘Who are you here with?’ said Leah.
‘No one,’ Amitabh shrugged. ‘Just me. I was supposed to be studying this afternoon, but I couldn’t face it. Thought I’d get some fresh air.’
‘Right,’ said Leah. ‘So, just got here? Just leaving?’
‘Just got here.’ He pointed at a table behind them with his tea and cake on it. ‘Mind if I…?’ He pointed at their table.
‘No,’ said Leah. ‘Why not?’
She grimaced at Toby while Amitabh went to get his food and mouthed a ‘Sorry.’
Toby shrugged, trying to look as if he didn’t care much one way or the other about Leah’s ex-boyfriend crashing headlong into the nicest afternoon he’d had in fifteen years.
Amitabh put down his cheesecake and cappuccino, and sat next to Leah. He was very solid and very healthy-looking. His skin was clear and his hair was abundant
and shiny. He had very white teeth and a high-octane personality. ‘You look good,’ he said to Leah. ‘You’re wearing make-up.’
‘Yeah, well, us single girls have to make an effort.’
He smiled. ‘So – what have you two been up to?’
‘Nothing much,’ said Leah. ‘Just walking. Just chatting.’
‘I’ve got to say, mate, and don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s kind of unnerving seeing you like this…’
‘Like…?’
‘You know –
out
. I’ve only ever seen you through the window. Me and Lee – we thought you were agoraphobic, to be honest.’
‘You did?’
‘Am!’
‘What?! I’m just saying. Yeah. It’s good to see you out. Good to know you’ve got legs. You have got legs, haven’t you?’ he grinned and glanced underneath the table. ‘Phew,’ he said, wiping his brow, ‘imagine if you hadn’t, if you’d been in a wheelchair. Shit.’
Toby smiled and tried to look as if he was amused by the idea of having no legs. He stared at Amitabh’s mouth, at the way it moved when he talked, which he did, non-stop. He watched it receiving large forkloads of cheesecake and being relieved of a cappuccino moustache by the back of his large, dark hand. He was very intense, robust, alive, full of news and chat and blather. He was slightly immature, seemed young for his thirty years and, to Toby’s mind, a bit silly. He could kind of see how he and Leah would have worked together.
They were both youthful for their years, teenage in their style of dressing, with a fresh-faced, puppyish approach to the world. But he could also see why they’d split up. Leah was ready for phase two of her adulthood. Amitabh was stuck firmly in phase one.
Toby finished his tea and buttoned up his overcoat. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I think I’m going to head off, leave you two to catch up.’
‘What? No,’ said Leah, ‘don’t go.’
‘No, really. I better had. I’ve got some stuff I need to get on with and you two haven’t seen each other for a while. I’ll see you soon, Leah. And nice to meet you, Amitabh.’
‘Oh, Toby.’ Leah got to her feet. ‘I don’t want you to go. What about our pint at the Spaniards?’
‘Another day, maybe.’ He smiled and gave her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. ‘See you soon.’
He walked away then, towards the entrance. He tried not to look back, but he couldn’t resist it. He saw two people, perfectly matched in levels of attractiveness, in style and outlook, sitting together in the early dusk, laughing and at ease with each other. He wondered how different a tableau had been painted by the two of them before Amitabh’s arrival; a preternaturally tall man with unruly hair, ungainly mannerisms, an old coat and a large nose, sitting with someone as fresh, normal and wholesome as Leah.
For a moment, for an hour, Toby had felt like just another man, out on a Saturday afternoon, out with a friend, inhabiting a world he usually only viewed as a
spectator. Until a large, jovial man in a parka had crashed into his moment of normality and reminded him that he really didn’t belong out here at all.
He headed back down the Bishops Avenue, the soulless, ugly spine of road that connected his world with this world, alone. And then it started to rain.
40
Ruby faced the door of the small terraced house. It had been repainted since her last visit, five years ago. The whole house looked improved. There were new curtains in the windows and a couple of glossy pot plants. She smoothed her hair behind her ears, adjusted the strap of her handbag on her shoulder and rang the doorbell.
A woman came to the door, small, dark-haired, busty. She was wearing a nurse’s uniform and was bare-footed. She looked tired.
‘Hello, Mum.’
‘Hello, Tracey. What are you doing here?’
Ruby shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I hadn’t been in touch for a while. Wanted to say Happy New Year. See how you were.’
Her mother narrowed her eyes at her. ‘What do you want?’
Ruby tutted. ‘Nothing, Mum. I don’t want anything.’
Her mother sighed and swung the door open. ‘I suppose you’d better come in, then. We’ll have to sit in the kitchen. The boys are on the X-Box in there.’ She pointed at the living room door. Ruby could just make out three teenage boys sprawled across a brand-new sofa. Her half-brothers. They’d been children last time she’d
seen them, full of pent-up energy, in a state of perpetual motion. Now they were adolescents, heavy-limbed, static, draped across the furniture like tendrils of wet seaweed.
Her mother filled a shiny new kettle with water from a brand-new tap on a brand-new sink.
‘Tea?’
Ruby nodded. ‘House looks nice,’ she said.
‘Yeah. Well, we’ve done a lot of work on it. It was either that or buy a new one.’
‘So you’re still with him, then?’
‘Eddie? Yes.’
‘Where is he?’
‘Where d’you think he is?’
‘I don’t know. The pub?’
‘Correct. Do you take sugar? I can never remember.’
Ruby shook her head. She glanced round the kitchen. There was a chicken wrapped in cling film on the work surface, a bag of potatoes, some sprouts sitting in a colander in the sink. ‘So, what’s new?’
Her mother shrugged, and poured water into two mugs. ‘Nothing much. We’ve done the house, got Christmas out the way, the boys are back at school. Just getting back into the rhythm of things, you know.’
‘How’s work?’
‘It’s OK.’
‘Are you still at the nursing home?’
‘No. I’m working private now, for Mrs Scott.’
‘Mrs Scott at the church?’
‘Yes. Reverend Scott passed away a few years back.
She’s living alone now. I’m there five days a week, plus Saturday and Sunday mornings.’
‘She must be paying you well?’
She passed Ruby her mug. It had the golden castle and hammers of West Ham United on it.
‘Not especially,’ she said.
‘Better than the nursing home, though?’
‘Just about.’
‘
Mum!
’ A gruff boy’s voice floated up the hallway.
‘
What?
’
‘
Can I have a cup of tea?
’
Ruby’s mother tutted and raised her eyebrows. Then she filled the kettle again and put it on to boil. A slave to her men, thought Ruby. Nothing new there, then.
‘So – what’s new with you, then? Still living in that weird house?’
‘Yup. Still there.’
‘Got a job yet?’
‘Still singing, if that’s what you mean.’
‘God, how old are you now?’
‘Thirty-one.’
‘Yeah, that’s right, of course you are. Isn’t it about time you gave up on that? If you haven’t made it by the time you’re thirty, you can forget it, can’t you? Isn’t that how it works?’
Ruby sighed and sipped her tea. She’d known it was going to be like this. It was always like this. That was why she never came back. That, and Eddie.
‘
Tommy! Your tea’s ready!
’
Tommy came to the kitchen door. He looked like
Eddie, small and stocky with sandy hair and a tiny nose. He gave Ruby a once-up-and-down. ‘All right?’ he said. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Just visiting,’ she said.
‘But I thought you said you were never coming back ever again.’
‘Yeah, well. I changed my mind.’
‘Are you staying for lunch?’
‘I don’t know.’ She glanced at her mother. ‘That depends…’
‘You’re welcome to stay. I’ve got plenty for everyone. But Eddie’ll be home for lunch. And he’s been in the pub. It’s up to you.’
‘No,’ she turned to Tommy. ‘I’ll stay till your dad gets back. Then I’ll hit the road.’
Tommy shrugged and took his tea back to the living room.
‘Look,’ said Ruby, turning back to her mother, ‘I’ll tell you the truth. I’m in trouble. I’m broke.’
‘Oh, right. Here we go.’
‘Here we go what?’
‘Well, I knew there was more to this visit than just a friendly chat.’
‘Mum – when have I ever asked you for money? I’ve been out of your hair since I was sixteen years old. I’ve made my way in the world without any help from you. All I’m asking for is a few hundred, just to pay off my debts.’
‘Get a job.’
‘I can’t get a job.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I can’t do anything. Who the hell’s going to give me a job?’
‘Jesus, Tracey, you think 99.9 per cent of the population of this country can actually
do
anything? You think I can
do
anything? You think if I had the choice I’d be round at Mrs Scott’s seven days a week? Cleaning her bum, washing her underwear? You think I wouldn’t rather be good at something, have a talent, be special? Everyone wants to be special, Tracey, but the key to growing up is
realizing
that you’re
not
.’
Ruby sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. That could be the family motto. ‘You’re nothing special.’ Her childhood had been full of expressions like that: airs and graces, little madam, too big for your boots, la-di-da. She’d put up with it until her sixteenth birthday, then she’d packed a bag and gone, moved to London with the first person to tell her that she was every bit as special as she felt. He’d only said it to get her into bed, but it didn’t matter. She’d escaped. She changed her name from Tracey to Ruby by deed poll and got on with the business of being herself.
‘Anyway, look. I didn’t come here to be reminded of my miserable ordinariness. I came here because I’m your daughter and I need help. Badly.’
‘How badly?’
‘Put it this way. My bank has made me cut up my Switch card and send it back and I owe money to other people, too.’
‘What other people?’
‘Friends, colleagues.’
‘No one dodgy, then?’
‘No.’
‘So you’re not in danger?’
‘Well, no. I’m not in danger of being mutilated by hard men, no. But I am in danger of losing a lot of friends and being kicked out of my home.’
Her mother turned her back to her and stared through the window, her hands in the pockets of her nurse’s dress. Ruby watched her. Her hair was turning grey. Her shoulders were rounder than they’d been. She had hard skin on the soles of her bare feet. Her middle was wider. She’d become middle-aged and it had happened so quickly.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I can’t help you, love. I’m sorry.’
‘What?’
‘I can’t let you have any money. It’s not fair on the boys and it’s not fair on me.’
‘Fair?’
‘Yes. I work hard for what I’ve got. Really hard. I do things you can’t imagine doing. You do nothing but flounce around like you’re something special and ponce off other people. Well, you’re not poncing off me. You’ll have to find another way.’
‘Oh, so your hard-earned money – it’s all right for Eddie to take it down the pub and drink it away, but you can’t spare a few quid for your own daughter?’
Her mother shrugged, raised her eyebrows, as if it was out of her hands.
‘I don’t owe you anything, Tracey.’
‘My God, you do owe me something. You brought that man into our home. You brought him in and you let him ruin everything. You watched him destroy my childhood, you let him belittle me and beat me and humiliate me, and you did nothing. You owe me, Mum. You owe me
big time
.’
Her mother sniffed, picked at the film wrapping of the chicken, sniffed again.
‘You know,’ Ruby got to her feet and picked up her bag, ‘I wasn’t going to come. I really wasn’t. I thought this would be a waste of time. But there was this little voice in the back of my mind going, ‘She’s your mother, she’s your mother, she’s your mother.’ Like that actually meant anything. Like being a mother was something important, something
special
. But obviously, like everything else in your tiny, ordinary, sad little life, it isn’t.’
She left the kitchen and passed by the living room. She flung open the door and regarded her brothers. ‘Don’t listen to them,’ she shouted. ‘Don’t let them make you believe you’re nothing special. Everyone’s special. Even you lot.’ Three pairs of blinking, uncomprehending eyes stared back at her. ‘I’ll see you when you’re adults,’ she said, ‘when you’re ready to get out of here.’
And then she left, slamming the front door behind her.
41
By Monday evening Damian’s men had removed one bathroom and fitted a new one. By Tuesday evening they’d removed and refitted the second bathroom. On Wednesday morning, Damian came round to check their work.
‘Nice suites,’ he said in the bathroom. ‘They look good.’ He peered into a box of limestone tiles on the floor. ‘These for the walls?’
‘Yes. And the floors.’
‘Lovely,’ he said. ‘Smart.’
‘You know about the market, don’t you, Damian? You know about the sort of people who would want to buy a big house like this. Do you think I’ve got it right? Are these the right sort of bathrooms?’
‘Spot on,’ said Damian. ‘Yeah. Just right. You can’t go wrong with limestone these days.’
‘And what about decorating? I was thinking grey walls, white woodwork, occasional flashes of blue?’
‘Occasional flashes of blue, eh?’ Toby and Damian turned round at the sound of a female voice. It was Ruby. She was wearing a slash-necked T-shirt and a tiny slither of faded denim that Toby assumed was a skirt. Her legs were pale and very thin, with a large bruise above her right knee.