Mothers & Daughters (48 page)

I switched on CBeebies for Matty and he settled back, sucking his thumb. ‘Who took the picture, then?'

‘Some old granny in a sheepskin coat. Do you not remember? Dad said she must have been walking round with an ice pack strapped to her vest.'

The day was a void as far as I was concerned. ‘Eileen looks pleased with herself.'

Jaz went to turn the page, but I stopped her. ‘What?' she said.

‘It's just—' Phil's real expression was hidden by the glasses. Eileen stood, honest-faced, her arm draped round Jaz's shoulder.

‘What, Mum?'

‘Sometimes I think she'd have made a better mother for you.'

Jaz glanced my way. ‘You're not serious?'

‘You got on better with her, a lot of the time.'

‘Oh yeah. You know what she used to say to me? That if I'd been hers, she'd have kicked me out on the streets. Handed me a washbag and a tenner and told me to sod off.'

‘She didn't say that.'

‘She bloody well did. She was a laugh, Eileen, but pretty useless in the maternal department. Once I asked her advice about some girls at school—'

‘When?'

‘You know. When I was getting bother, when you went in and saw the Head. Not long after this photo, as it happens. Half of that mess was Eileen's fault, because she told me to fight back so I did and I got into more trouble than the bullies. It was the crappest tip ever.'

‘You confided in her, rather than me?'

‘Only because she overheard me and Nat talking.'

‘And she didn't think to let me in on it.'

‘No,' said Jaz patiently. ‘It wasn't like that. What she made me do was promise to speak to you myself if I couldn't sort things on my own. Which I did. Jeez, Mum, what's eating you?'

‘I've been wondering about her and your dad,' I muttered, pushing the album away.

‘What do you mean? Oh!' This time Jaz laughed out loud. ‘
Eileen?
'

‘It's possible.'

Jaz was shaking her head. ‘No way. No
way
! I always assumed Eileen was gay. Wasn't she?'

‘No. She had boyfriends sometimes.'

‘Did you ever ask?'

‘Don't be ridiculous.'

‘Well, gay or straight, she certainly didn't have the hots for Dad, absolutely not. She couldn't stick him. Used to call him all sorts behind his back. If she did fancy him, Mum, she was a bloody good actress.'

‘What about if he fancied her?'

‘Makes no odds, if she wouldn't play ball, does it?'

The sick ache in my stomach eased fractionally, for the first time in weeks. I leaned over and hugged her.

‘What was that for?'

‘Being my daughter.'

She sighed, like someone who endures unimaginable provocation. ‘Big fan of yours, Eileen. Always going on about what a great mother you were and how I should be thankful, not that it made much difference . . . Hey, look at Dad, here,' she said, lifting the book up for me to get a better view. She was pointing to a group shot of herself, Solange Moreau, Nat and Phil, all crowded into the hall. Solange's suitcases were by the door; it must have been her last day. Behind Nat's head, Phil held up two black dinner plates to give her Mickey Mouse ears. ‘He was funny, Dad. Do you remember the Exploding Taco?'

‘I do.'

‘He made us laugh.'

‘Sometimes.'

‘It wasn't enough, though, was it?'

‘No, it wasn't.'

Flick, flick went the pages. I glimpsed a photo of Mum holding my new baby like a sack of potatoes; Dad pushing Jaz's
Christmas bike through tiny islands of melting snow; Prom Night, and Jaz kitted out like a trollop.

I said, ‘You know that first time you ran away, when you were still at school? Where was it you were headed?'

She didn't look up. ‘I have no idea.'

‘Please. Since we're clearing the air.'

‘Honestly. I didn't have a clue.'

‘You weren't meeting up with someone?'

‘Nope. I was bored, I was getting hassle from some girls in my class, I took off. That's all it was. Teenage dramatics. I told you at the time.'

‘You told me a lot of stuff,' I said.

She closed the book and set it down.

‘I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all the crappy things I've done to you, Mum. All right?'

Now would have been my chance. I could speak out, tell her my side of events, tip the balance back. If she could be made to see—

I glanced at Matty, rolling his head against the sofa arm, and my courage evaporated into nothing. ‘Someone's still a bit sleepy this morning,' I said. I got up and sat close to him, so that his small feet were in my lap. ‘You used to like having your feet tickled, do you remember? You'd poke me with your toes every time I stopped. You were a devil for it.'

Jaz began to pile the albums back onto the shelf. ‘Do you think he'll turn out optimistic, like you, or gloomy, like me and Grandma? Dark and light. It's like a pattern. Each generation reacts against the other.'

‘I think my optimism's been fear, a lot of the time. Not being able to face the worst possibility.'

She pushed the last album home, then came over to the sofa and squeezed in on Matty's other side.

‘Matty'll grow up to be what he'll be,' I said. ‘And he'll be
a little treasure.' I gave him a cuddle, and got no reaction at all. On television, a man in a pink sweater waved over the battlements of a pink castle. As I watched, he became Eileen, speaking Eileen's words:
You and Phil belong together
. Then Phil:
Not even a kiss. Don't blame her
. What had Jaz said?
If she did fancy him, Mum, she was a bloody good actress
.

‘So what was it David was on about?' asked Jaz suddenly, jerking me back to reality.

‘David?'

‘What you said last night, about events not being causal. What was he referring to? Was it me?'

‘Oh,' I said. ‘No.'

‘What, then?'

‘It doesn't matter now.'

The TV showed two small girls spreading glue on purple sugar paper. One had her neck in a kind of metal brace, but she seemed to be coping all right. The children took dried leaves from a pile at the side and stuck them down randomly. Then we had a short film showing frost on hedges, trees, grass and cobwebs, while Prokofiev's Troika played in the background. When the cameras came back to the girls, they were dribbling glue on the leaves while a lady bent between them with a saucer of glitter. The next shot was a close-up of their fists against the saucer. ‘We're like Jack Frost,' said the one wearing the brace. I put my hand against Matty's leg to stop him kicking.

‘When's he back from the States?' said Jaz, her eyes on the screen.

‘I don't know.'

The lady helped the girls hold their pictures up and shake them onto paper. Swathes of glitter fell away, leaving random lines and blobs of sparkle across the brown leaves. “It's a winter picture,” said the second girl, as the camera closed in.

A sharp rap on the window made us both jump. When I looked up, Laverne was peering through the glass.

‘I've come to ask if you're around over Christmas,' she said, as I was leading her through to the lounge. Josh shuffled in behind her.

‘We're thinking of booking a mini-cruise,' she went on, perching herself on the chair arm. ‘One of these last-minute deals. Only I don't like to leave the house without someone to keep an eye on it. So, would it be possible for you to pick up my post from behind the door, check my pipes haven't frozen, that kind of thing? It would stop me worrying.'

‘Of course,' I said.

Jaz had turned in her seat and was staring at Josh. I knew what she was thinking. His outline had changed. These days he filled the doorway, and no longer with puppy fat.

Laverne was still talking. ‘I know we usually go to my sister's at Abersoch in the summer, but I think it's time for a change. Josh has never been abroad, have you, love? And all his friends go on about France, and America and – You have to keep up, these days.'

‘How's the job going?' I asked him.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. ‘All right.'

‘You're loving it, aren't you?' said Laverne. ‘And he's loving his drama group in the evenings. And he's got himself a little girlfriend. Little Kirsty. She's very nice. I know, I know, I shan't go on – he gets embarrassed – but you're enjoying this school year a lot better, aren't you? One boy he didn't like so much has left, and another one who was – You've palled up with him, haven't you? Mind you, he's not getting quite such good reports as he was, so I don't know whether that's altogether a good thing. Detention last week, his first ever. I was mortified. He wasn't, though. Took someone's rugby kit out of their bag
and filled it with lost property, so when they got off the coach, all they had—'

‘Mum,' said Josh, warningly.

I looked from one to the other. Against him, she was tiny and frail. Lines were forming round her eyes. He looked as if he could swallow her up in a single bite.

‘Not my little boy any longer, is he?'

‘That's the way it goes,' I said.

Matty sneezed, and for the first time Laverne seemed to notice him properly.

‘Ooh, look at this young man here. Hello, Matty. Are you watching television? Who's that? Is it La La?'

‘Wrong programme,' said Jaz.

‘And did he enjoy his birthday party?'

‘He did, yeah. He loved the Talking Thomas: thanks.'

‘It's nice to have someone small to buy for. They're not babies long. You need to make the most of every minute.'

Laverne and I exchanged the glances of women who've been through it, and know.

She stood up. ‘Well.'

‘Have you heard any more about how Alice is getting on?' I asked as we got to the front door. Josh made good his escape, slipping through ahead of us.

‘Oh, yes. The baby's home.'

‘He's better?'

‘Better than he was, but he's still needing all sorts of specialist care. Tanks of oxygen, tubes. They're seeing how he goes.'

‘And long term?'

‘I don't think they can tell yet. Connor, his name is. Bonny little boy, really blond hair. Has Dorothy shown you the photos?'

‘No.' I pictured again her young, scared face. ‘Oh, poor Alice.'

‘I keep thinking, you know, if it was me, I'd never manage.'

‘If you had to, though. If it was your child. Maybe when the absolute worst happens, you do just get on with it.'

We stood in silence, two mums trying to imagine how we'd cope if fate had charged to us a desperately poorly baby.

‘I suppose—' Laverne hovered on the step, frowning as she tried to frame some idea of a way forward, some positive comment where almost nothing positive can be said, ‘I suppose all she can do is love, and hope.'

Which is really all any of us can do, I thought, when it comes to it.

I shut the door against the world, and went to sit with my family.

CHAPTER 38

Photograph: unnumbered, part of a postcard-sized wedding album, wrapped in a tea towel inside a Fox's biscuit tin

Location: St Stephen's C of E Church

Taken by: Imperial Photographic Studios, Chapel St, Adlington, Lancashire

Subject: Frieda and Bob's wedding day. The couple stand in the centre of the picture, flanked by family from both sides. What an abundance of middle-aged women there are, too, all in their hats and gloves and long flared coats. ‘Smile,' Frieda's mother hisses from time to time, when she thinks no one's listening, but once again she could do with taking a leaf out of her own book
.

If I'd been able to talk to you, thinks Frieda furiously, I wouldn't be in this situation. I wouldn't have accepted an offer of marriage I didn't want
.

Has it been poor nutrition, or stress, or simply being under-weight that's caused Frieda's periods temporarily to stop? In these post-war days there are girls so slender they move in and out of fertility, the way the sun passes through clouds. Since no doctor's been involved, they'll never know. At any rate,
when her monthly visitor does show up again, it's much too late to cancel the church
.

‘You'd better not mention this to anyone,' says her mother when Frieda hands her the laundry basket with its bloody news. ‘Just be glad. You've been lucky.'

‘But I don't want to get married,' says Frieda hopelessly
.

‘What's wrong with Bob all of a sudden?' says her mother. ‘You liked him before.'

‘Nothing. I just don't want to get married. Ever. To anyone.'

‘Don't talk soft,' her mother snaps, shaking the dirty clothes into the tub. And with that, the subject's closed and Frieda finds herself prematurely vaulted into womanhood. She must put away her girlish dreams of – what? It doesn't matter now. A life circumscribed by Windolene and Brasso awaits
.

For now, she's a vision in white, clutching hard at the arm of a young man who has no idea the world is anything but grand. On her other side stand Aunties Edie and Flo, her mother and her grandmother, like a set of disapproving Russian dolls
.

‘Where's Matty?' I asked as Jaz climbed into the Micra.

‘With Nat. Brewing up a cold and pretty grouchy about it; I didn't think any of us would enjoy ourselves if he came along. Plus it's forecast snow. He's better staying in.'

‘Is he OK to leave?'

‘It's a cold, Mum. I've got my phone.' She unbuttoned her thick coat and pulled the seat belt across her body, slotted it home. ‘Have you got your camera?'

I'd had an idea to make an illustrated family history, with Jaz, for Matty. He'd appreciate it when he was older, I'd said to Jaz. And if she helped, it'd be her chance to get the story down right.