Mothers & Daughters (24 page)

And she'd go, ‘Don't be so simple, Mum. You can't
choose
what you remember.'

And I'd say, ‘Yes, you can. You just have to make an effort.'

‘Dad couldn't come, he says he's sorry,' Ian announced as I took his coat. ‘He's got a meeting.'

Ah, I thought. So that's how the land lies. How much had David told him about our last evening together? Ian didn't seem embarrassed by the message.

As soon as he saw his dad, Matty hurled himself across the living room. ‘Hey, it's the Mattster!' said Ian, picking him up and swinging him round. I took myself into the kitchen and left them to it. One of the most important skills of being a grandparent is knowing when to melt away.

After a few minutes I returned with a tray of coffee, biscuits and squash.

‘Where's Jaz today?' said Ian, as he always did.

‘Gone to the university again to have a look at some reference books. Some of those specialist dictionaries cost hundreds, apparently. She can't afford to buy them, so she saves up her vocab queries—'

‘She's been getting cash from me every week,' said Ian. ‘She's not going short.'

‘I never said she was.' I put the tray down carefully.

Ian had knelt down and dragged out the box of plastic rail track. Now he began to hunt through it, separating straight and curved pieces into bundles. At his side, Matty dug around and unearthed random lengths which he thrust in Ian's face. ‘Here y'are,' he kept saying. ‘Here y'are.'

‘I think anyway she's coming round to the idea of sorting out access,' I said.

About time
, said Ian's expression.

They made a simple circuit together – Ian constructed, Matty sabotaged, Ian repaired – and set a tunnel over one side.

‘What you need now is some trains,' I said.

‘Have a look in my jacket pocket, Carol, while I put this bridge together,' said Ian.

I went over to the chair, rummaged, and found a brand new engine, still in its packaging.

‘Well, Matty,' I said. ‘Look at this! What's this one called?'

‘It's Diesel Ten,' said Ian.

‘He doesn't look very friendly.'

‘That's because he's a baddie. You've got to have baddies.'

‘Have you?' I passed it across and Ian set to extracting it from the box.

‘There's a battery in the other pocket,' he said.

‘I'll say I bought it. If Jaz asks, I mean. Otherwise, obviously, I shan't say anything.' I felt myself blush as I handed him the battery. ‘How is your dad?'

‘Fine. He's been looking into the legal position. Where I stand.'

The phone started to ring.

‘Well. Like I was saying, we might not have to do this much longer,' I said to him over my shoulder.

It was Phil calling. ‘I can bring you some steel mesh to go over the pond,' he said. ‘I've found someone who does sheets of it. Be a lot less expensive than getting a firm in.'

‘Not now,' I told him, too sharply.

‘Why? Who's there?'

My delay told him all he needed to know.

‘It's not David and Ian, is it? Bloody hell, Carol, you've not got them round again?'

‘Ian's here, yes,' I said. ‘Not David. Look, I'll call you tonight. It's good about the mesh. Thanks.' And I put the phone down.

‘I think there's someone at your back door,' said Ian. ‘Someone's knocking.'

So I went through to the kitchen to find Dorothy Wynne's granddaughter Alice rapping on the pane.

‘Does Matty want a sunflower?' she said when I opened up. ‘Libby's grown a whole bunch of seedlings and we thought Matty might like a couple, you know, to have a race with.'

‘That's great. Yes, he'd love that, thanks. Is Libby here?'

‘Granny's keeping an eye. Libs is having a nap; she was up in the night, twice, and then she's been so crabby all morning. Let sleeping kids lie, I say. We're all worn out with her.'

‘And how are you? How many weeks is it now?'

‘Nearly thirty one.' Alice ran her hand over her huge belly.

‘You're keeping well?'

Something flickered across her face ‘Pretty much. They say I'm on the big side for my dates.'

‘Perhaps you're further on than you thought.'

‘No, it's not that. There's more fluid than there should be, or something.' She shook her head. ‘I don't know. I'm trying not to think about it, 'cause there's nothing I can do. Keeping my feet up, counting the kicks. There's a lot of kicking going on.'

‘Well then. I'm sure it'll be fine,' I said, trying a reassuring smile. ‘And Libby's OK?'

‘She's great, yeah. No time to sit and worry while Libs is around!'

As Alice waddled back down the side of the house, I thought of the last months of my own pregnancy with Jaz, and the nightmares I'd been plagued with. Even now, so many years on, I could remember scenes from them. The fear starts before your children are even born, and it never, ever lets up. That's something nobody tells you till it's too late.

In the living room, Matty was staging more crashes and Ian
was building an extension to the circuit so as to use a set of points he'd discovered.

‘My neighbour's granddaughter,' I said.

‘Uh-huh.' He carried on slotting sections together.

I found myself glancing at the clock, calculating how long it would be before the visit was up. Still another hour and forty minutes. It definitely wasn't as easy with David missing from the scene. Say what you liked about him, he made things flow.

I turned on the TV for some background noise and it was the news, with a story about a divorced father who'd abducted his children and killed them, before shooting himself. Hastily I flicked through the channels till I found CBeebies, and picked up my coffee, which was now cold.

‘Actually, would you mind turning it off, Carol?' said Ian.

The heat rose to my cheeks again. ‘Oh, all right. Sorry. Why?'

‘Because the time I get with my son is too precious to waste. I want to be able to play with him, properly play with him, and I can't do that if he's gawping at
64 Zoo Lane
.'

My mouth fell open with a mixture of dismay and outrage. I don't have to do this, you know, I could have said. I don't have to have you in my house, behind my daughter's back, with all the hideous stress and guilt that costs me. You should be damn grateful I'm letting you across the threshold at all, my lad, never mind dictating.

Fortunately the doorbell went before I could say any of this, so I simply handed the remote over and went to see who it was.

Laverne. ‘Hi,' she said, from the step. Which isn't usual for her; she normally trots straight in.

‘Everything OK?' I asked.

‘I just wanted to let you know.' She tossed her hair back and clasped her hands in front of her. Even in her casual moments
she moves like a dancer. ‘Just wanted to say, Carol, term starts on Monday—'

‘Yes, I've got it on my calendar. Josh all ready, is he?'

‘He, well, he won't be needing a lift in. So you don't have to bother.'

‘Is he poorly?'

She gave an awkward little smile. ‘He's, no, we've had a chat and he wants to start going on the bus. I mean, it's time, probably. He's at that age.'

Behind me I could hear Matty squealing, and Ian's voice saying over and over, ‘No, you don't.'

‘That's fine,' I said quickly. ‘Yes, of course. No problem.'

‘Because it'll be easier for you in the mornings.'

‘It will, though it's never been a bother, Laverne.'

‘And we're so grateful for all the years you've done it.'

‘It's been a pleasure. He's a smashing lad.'

‘I wouldn't want you to think we didn't appreciate it.'

‘No, really, it's been great.'

As I closed the door I thought, How desperate must Josh be not to come in my car with me any more? The realisation set up a horrible pressure against my breastbone. I wanted to run straight away to their house, apologise, explain that I was only trying to help when I confided in Laverne about the bullying. Because it's what they always say to do: tell someone. She could go down the school now and sort it, and everything would be all right.
Yeah, same as we did with Jaz?
came Phil's sarcastic voice.
I warned you not to get involved
, added David in my head.

Back in the lounge, Ian had the cushions off the sofa and Matty was rolling about on them.

‘Sorry,' I said, out of habit. ‘It's like Paddy's market here today.'

‘No, I'm sorry,' said Ian. ‘I shouldn't have, you know, the TV
thing. Anyway, I'm going to take him outside. Have a kick-about while it's fine.'

He didn't invite me to join them, and I didn't ask. I sat myself near the window and watched Ian's big hands close round his son's small body, Matty squeaking and wriggling and jerking his short legs as he was lifted in the air. It was a different approach from mine and Jaz's. Rougher, more direct. Lads and dads. And I felt a sudden rush of vindication. If Jaz walked in here now and saw them, I'd simply say, ‘This is why they need to be together. Look. Look at Matty's face.'

When they'd gone out, I went and sat in the bay and had five minutes with my eyes closed. Jaz materialised in the chair opposite, as she'd been when she was recovering from her depression, dull-eyed and subdued.
I've always given you trouble, haven't I?
Oh, I told her silently, but you were worth it, in spite of everything.
Honestly?
Then came Eileen's voice:
Raising Jaz has been like swimming upstream all the way; that's what you told me
.

Another, younger Jaz interrupted, swinging through the door:
Hey, Mum, why did the hedgehog cross the road?

For all the grief with Phil, if I could have snapped my fingers and gone back in time, I would have done. I'd have given anything at that moment to see Jaz when she was little, have that period of my life over again.
Guess what
, said a newly pregnant Jaz.
They gave me a copy of the scan. Do you want to see?

Before I'd even thought about it, I was out of that chair and kneeling on the carpet, peering at the shelf below the window, looking for my past.

Just before I got married I'd gathered up all the photographs I could find lying around Pincroft. Some were in a biscuit tin in the back bedroom wardrobe, there were a few loose in the bureau, I had my own little cache I kept in my jewellery box. But when I flicked through, there seemed to be a lot of gaps.
‘Where are the rest?' I said to my mother. ‘Oh, we've never bothered much,' she'd replied. ‘We're not a family who takes photographs.' A fact which became self-evident when I began to go through them properly. ‘Did you even have a wedding album?' I said. ‘Oh yes, we've got one of those,' she said. ‘It's in the back room somewhere. Don't ask me to go searching for it.'

In the final count there'd been a couple of dozen of me/us, a few odd ones of my parents from when they were younger, plus a set of very small black and white holiday snaps of castles, mountains, swans, piers, coaching inns, formal gardens, etc. These became my first collection, pasted into a modest ring-bound album with stripy vinyl covers. I don't know why it felt so important to draw the family history together like this, but it did. ‘Don't you mind me taking them away?' I'd asked. ‘If you want them, love, you have them,' said Dad. ‘No,' said Mum.

My next album was bigger, with a hessian front; it began with Early Marriage and ended with Jaz on her first day at secondary school. The camera we owned back then had been Phil's, but after some pestering I'd got him to show me how to use it so that, by the middle of this collection, probably three-quarters of the pictures had been snapped by me. Which was good, because Phil was a careless photographer who regularly missed people's feet off, forgot to prime the flash, let the strap flop over the shutter at the last minute. He never composed a background in his life. Often I had to load the film for him because his fingers weren't patient enough to guide the tiny plastic spokes into the celluloid slots. Finally I got my own Instamatic, and from then on I was official family photographer. I became the person who decided which memories to keep, and which to discard.

My fingers moved along the bookshelf, touching spines for the pleasure of ownership. Here was album five, a posh job in
burgundy velvet covers, and pretty much every one of its pages devoted to Matty. Number four – gilt-edged navy leather – was mostly experimental stuff from when I did my evening classes: studies of my father's hands; light through different types of leaves; still-life sequences where I kept changing the shutter speed. I was proud of that collection. It came out of a bad time, but I'd made good.

The album I most needed to look at right now, though, was number three, charting Jaz's older years. I wasn't sure whether Ian had ever seen it. He might be interested. We might all be able to look at it together sometime in the future, when all this was sorted.

The first picture, which I'd stuck onto the inside cover, was a portrait I'd taken of her when she was about twelve. We'd gone to a local folly and climbed a tower there. Then I'd asked her to lean her arm on the stone windowsill and look out across the countryside as though she was lost in thought. Corny, I know, but it made a lovely shot; the skin in particular was amazing.
And this was pre-digital, so there was no enhancement going on
, I imagined telling Ian.

On the next page was a Christmas scene, Jaz and Eileen dancing a waltz across our lounge, both of them wearing false moustaches. ‘I've told you about Eileen,' I'd say to Ian. ‘My best friend. Jaz's unofficial aunty.'
Among my many other accomplishments
, went Eileen. I flipped the pages.