Anywhere's Better Than Here (27 page)

He smiled. Thank God, she thought, he wasn't holding a grudge.

‘‘What? You mean hobos and aliens?''

He was going to be really attractive when he was older, you could see it in him. But she'd have to be careful not to be touchy feely with him again.

‘‘Ha ha,'' she said, showing him everything was A-Okay.

‘‘I think the soup's ready,'' he pointed behind her, his arm extended so that he touched her upper arm with the side of his forearm. He held his arm there and she stood and narrowed her eyes at him. He nodded at the stove. ‘‘Watch it doesn't burn.''

He withdrew his arm and, smiling at her broadly, he walked out of the kitchen.

‘‘Little shit,'' she muttered to herself.

‘‘I heard that,'' he called to her from outside the door.

For fuck's sake. Who was the adult here?

She found a tray, put three bowls onto it and ladled in the soup concoction. It would have to do. She ran the tap for a while until the water was completely clear then filled three glasses. She found spoons and chucked them on to the tray and picked it up, being careful not to spill anything. She'd overfilled both the bowls and the glasses and navigating through two heavy doors and across the uneven wooden floors was going to be challenging. Clearly no one would be making an appearance to help her.

As she neared the living room there was no clue as to what the atmosphere was like between Gerry and Jamie. At least arguing gave you something to work with: a role to fill, a side to take. But silence was difficult.

She bumped the door open with her hip. The two of them were raking through a big old cardboard box. They seemed companionable enough and she felt a weary relief.

‘‘Here we go boys.'' She put the tray down carefully on the coffee table. ‘‘And not a drop spilled,'' she said, running her finger through a spot of soup on the tray and then sticking her finger in her mouth. Neither of them looked up. ‘‘Come on! Get it whilst it's hot.'' It was no great feast or anything, but still, manners.

She tapped Gerry's back with her toe and he looked up to her blankly. She smiled at him. ‘‘Come on: soup.''

He blinked. ‘‘Yeah, of course.'' He rolled back on to the balls of his feet and stood up. He put his arms around Laurie and hugged her hard. She was glad of it and stood with him for a long moment.

‘‘Will I just help myself?'' asked Jamie and Laurie stepped out of Gerry's arms.

‘‘Yeah and here, drink this. You need to keep your fluids up.''

He smiled. ‘‘Yes nurse!''

She picked up a bowl and handed it to Gerry who was standing waiting.

‘‘There you are, now sit down.''

He sat down where she nodded and she put his water on the floor beside his chair.

‘‘Okay,'' she said, taking her own soup and sitting down.

It was okay, if not delicious. But it was hot and she was hungrier than she'd realised. For a while the only sound was the soup being spooned up and swallowed.

‘‘There are some chocolate biscuits for afterwards,'' Laurie said, remembering she'd put some in the bag with the flask.

‘‘Oh goody – a treat,'' said Jamie.

Laurie looked at him, but his eyes were on Gerry who was just looking down into his near empty bowl.

‘‘Do you want some more Gerry? There's a wee drop left.'' She wasn't finished her own yet. He shook his head.

‘‘What's wrong with him?'' asked Jamie.

‘‘Leave him,'' said Laurie with more force than was required.

‘‘What's it to you?''

‘‘Just leave him alone.''

‘‘Or what, I'll have you to deal with?''

‘‘We're trying to help you, but you aren't being all that forthcoming, or, in fact, nice.''

‘‘What? Do you want all the gory details?' Jamie asked. ‘‘Do you want me to tell you everything? Do you want me to cry?''

‘‘There's no need to be like that Jamie.'' She put her soup bowl back on the tray. ‘‘What happened?''

‘‘When?'' He sounded bored.

She persevered. ‘‘At the hospital.''

‘‘Well,'' he paused. ‘‘At the hospital I met this weird old guy who was crying and this young,'' he looked at her, ‘‘bird, who thought she knew fucking everything.''

She narrowed her eyes at him.

‘‘And then I went off with them because I was bored of my shitty mum and my shitty school and my shitty life.''

He glared at her. She glared at him. Gerry said nothing.

‘‘We were only trying to help Jamie,'' she said, trying not to lose her temper.

He shrugged. ‘‘I don't know why.'' He spoke quietly, his head drooping forward.

‘‘Because we were worried about you.''

‘‘It was Gerry that was really worried, eh?'' he said. ‘‘If it had been up to you, you would have left me with Ed.''

‘‘That doesn't mean I wasn't worried by what you said.''

‘‘Not worried enough to do anything though.'' His voice was flat.

‘‘Well that's the difference between me and Gerry,'' she said. ‘‘He's a man of action.''

They both looked at Gerry who was staring at the box the two of them had been going through when she came in.

‘‘That's right, isn't it Gerry? You're a man of action, aren't you?'' What was she doing? Gerry wasn't in a care home.

He nodded but kept looking at the box.

The boy's face had lost its insolence and he had a similar expression to the one she was surely wearing. This was all so difficult. She couldn't keep up with Jamie's twisting moods. What on earth was she supposed to do? She wasn't equipped to deal with teenagers. And Gerry was turning out to be of no real help.

She couldn't even drive them back if Gerry lost it. She wondered if Jamie could drive. She sat and watched the boy who was also staring at the cardboard box. Perhaps she should try distraction.

‘‘What's in the box?''

‘‘It's Christmas decorations. He got them down for you.''

‘‘Oh good,'' she said and dropped on to her knees beside the box.

It was an old Dewar's whisky box. She saw a pen knife lying next to it.

There were several brittle, yellow layers of tape that had been cut neatly open. The top of the box had balls of crumpled up newspaper acting as a protective layer and some of these had been tossed on to the floor – no doubt by Jamie. She paused before reaching a hand into the box.

Amongst twists of newspaper she felt various softly spiky flat objects. It was like that Halloween game where you felt around in a dark box and there were things that felt like eyeballs or intestines. Except here what she was feeling was like nothing so much as hardened stars and pieces of bone.

She pulled one out and looked at it. It was a snowflake, or a rough approximation of one at least. It was made out of a flattened star of porcelain that had been painted a pearly ivory. Little daubs of glitter had been touched on here and there. It was clearly old and a bit chipped in places, but Laurie felt a strong desire to keep it in her pocket to touch at times of stress. She held it in her hand and turned it over a few times, stroking its points.

She laid it on the table and then reached into the box and took each of the ornaments in the box out in turn. They were all snowflakes. Each of them was the same dusky white, but they had slightly different shapes. There were twelve in total.

‘‘There should be another one in there,'' said Gerry who was sitting watching her.

‘‘Really? I couldn't feel anything else.'' She reached back into the box and ran her hand through the newspaper.

‘‘It's probably near the bottom.'' He kneeled down beside her and reached into the box. His hand glanced against hers in the box and she turned and looked at him. She leaned her head forward and touched his forehead with hers. They blinked at each other and she would have kissed him if Jamie hadn't been sitting on the chair in the corner watching them.

‘‘Found it,'' said Gerry, stroking her hand in the box with his thumb.

He pulled what looked like a saucer out of the box and gave it to Laurie. It was wrapped in tissue paper.

‘‘She's thorough your mum, isn't she?'' She smiled at Gerry. It had to be a woman who'd taken such care with these small items.

‘‘She had to be – they're fragile.'' He sat back on his heels. ‘‘Go on, unwrap it.''

She carefully peeled back the paper to reveal the porcelain star inside. It was obviously for the top of the tree, but it was like no tree-topper she had ever seen. It was about the size of her hand and the six points of the star were rounded and short. The back of the piece had a cone shape of porcelain fitted to it to attach it to the tree. What was remarkable about it was the way it had been decorated. It was the same white as the snowflakes, but it had a tiny painting taking up most of the front. She recognised the picture straight away. It was the mountain from the dining room. There was more snow cover on it, but it was the same mountain.

‘‘I know this, don't I?'' she asked Gerry. ‘‘Is it that painting? Well, that mountain?'' She pointed over her shoulder to the kitchen.

He nodded again. ‘‘She's very thorough.''

She frowned, not following.

‘‘My mother,'' he smiled.

‘‘Do you mean your mother made it?'' She pointed at the snowflakes laid out behind her on the table. ‘‘These?''

He nodded with a shy look of pride.

She was impressed. She hadn't pictured the doctor's wife as so artistic.

‘‘You seem surprised,'' he said.

‘‘I am, I suppose.'' She held the mountain star closer to her face and scrutinised the picture. For such a small item, it was very detailed. Up near the top of the mountain she thought she could make out a stag. ‘‘These are beautiful.'' She put down the mountain star and picked up a snowflake and tilted it to run the light over its sparkly surface. ‘‘Did she make all of them?''

He nodded. ‘‘She wanted to be an artist.''

Laurie frowned. ‘‘She's obviously talented enough. Did she end up working as an artist?''

‘‘No,'' he smiled.

‘‘Why not?''

He shrugged. ‘‘Different times.'' He reached over and picked up the star. ‘‘She had my dad to look after and then me, of course.''

‘‘Look after?'' Laurie tutted. ‘‘Why? Was your dad disabled in some way?'' Immediately she really hoped he wasn't.

Gerry sighed. ‘‘Things were different then, weren't they?''

‘‘I suppose.'' She turned the snowflake over in her hand so that the glitter caught the light. ‘‘It's a shame though. These are great.''

‘‘They are. I remember when she made them.'' He examined the mountain star. ‘‘Well, when she started to make them.'' He held it up to the light. ‘‘She did one every year from when I was five until I went into the army.''

‘‘What's the story with the star?''

‘‘I'm not sure really.'' He put it down.

‘‘Haven't you ever asked her?'' She had a cheek lecturing him on how to communicate with your family, but he didn't know that.

‘‘She worked on that off and on for years. She changed it a little bit every year.'' He motioned towards the dining room. ‘‘It was the same with that painting. She did a bit here and there. I don't know if she's finished it yet.''

He walked out into the hall and came back a moment later, carrying the painting. Jamie and Laurie watched him take it over to the fireplace and lean it against the wall on the mantelpiece. He stood back and looked at it.

‘‘It's kind of spooky,'' said Laurie.

‘‘I used to think that, but now I'm not so sure,'' said Gerry, hands in pockets, leaning back slightly to study the painting.

Laurie got up and stood next to him. ‘‘I like it. I really like it.'' She reached forward and gently ran her fingers over the crest of the mountain. There was no stag near the summit on this painting, but there was a smudge of white in amongst the trees near the top that could have been a person. The more Laurie looked at it, the more she felt sure that it was a person – Gerry's mum. She thought of staying this but kept quiet. If he hadn't noticed it, then he didn't deserve to be told about it.

‘‘Is your parents' house full of her paintings?'' she asked.

‘‘Oh no. She didn't do anything else. She didn't have the time.''

‘‘That's all she did?'' Laurie was shocked. ‘‘God, what a waste!''

‘‘Maybe she's gone back to it now she's older. I don't know.''

‘‘How come?'' asked Jamie. Laurie had almost forgotten he was there.

‘‘How come what?''

‘‘How come you don't know what your own mum's doing?'' The boy sounded quite angry.

‘‘Who do you think you're talking to?'' asked Laurie, turning to face him.

‘‘It's okay Laurie.'' Gerry patted Laurie on the elbow. He turned to Jamie. ‘‘I never really got on with my parents and then when I left it was under a sort of cloud.'' He shrugged. ‘‘And now I don't see them much.''

‘‘Do they even know you're back?'' The boy sounded outraged.

‘‘Back?''

‘‘From the army? Back in town.'' The boy stared at Gerry.

Gerry shrugged. ‘‘I phoned them when I came home. Like I said before, I wasn't well.'' He crouched down by the coffee table and picked up a snowflake. ‘‘I left the army …'' He turned the snowflake in his hands.

‘‘What? Under a cloud?''

Gerry half-laughed, but the boy wasn't joking.

‘‘Sort of.'' Gerry looked at the snowflake.

‘‘What was that all about?''