Trials of Love, page 2
Then we were there.
The beach was noisy and crowded with everyone shouting, screaming or throwing things to one another. We ran along the sand, which was more like mud than anything else. The sea seemed miles away. We finally reached it, and we swam, talked, raced in the water, threw things to one another and laughed. Lots of laughter.
Eventually we came out of the sea to eat the lunch that we had brought with us. Afterwards, Matt suggested, “Let’s go for a walk over the bridge.”
It was while we were stood on the bridge, watching a rubber dinghy float past, that Matt turned to me and dropped the bombshell. “Come on, Emily, let’s get married.”
I looked at him as though he was mad.
“I don’t mean in a church with a ring and things, I mean a pretend ceremony to show that we are the best boy and girl friends that we can be.” He slipped an imaginary ring on my finger and said, “Do you, Emily Austin, agree to marry me, Matt Bishop?”
I looked at him and said nothing.
“You’re supposed to say, ‘I do,’” Matt whispered.
“I do.”
“Your turn,” said Matt.
“Do you, Matt Bishop, agree to marry me? I mean, marry Emily Austin?” I knew the correct words from television programmes, but they seemed oddly out of place.
He leaned over very nervously and awkwardly kissed me on the lips. I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing, and started to walk back to where Matt’s grandma and Dennis were sitting. I hoped desperately that they hadn’t seen the kiss.
Then Matt asked loudly, “Where shall we go for the honeymoon?”
I felt the blush spread across my face like wildfire. “I don’t think – I mean, I’m only ten.”
Matt looked at me and laughed. “I’m only joking.” He said this so often that I went through a phase of calling him Joe King until I got bored with it.
We raced back to the others, giggling furiously. In the afternoon, we swam some more; then wandered off to the arcade, where our hopes of turning our small amounts of money into something larger were quickly dashed. Later, our stomachs were filled with the best fish and chips I’d ever tasted. Then it was time to go home. We returned to the car and set off on the two-hour journey home.
It was not long before I fell asleep, but I remember feeling enveloped in a warm glow of happiness that stemmed from being wanted. Matt’s words earlier had done that; they had made me feel like someone who mattered and not simply an onlooker to everyone else’s more interesting life.
Chapter 5
Matt
It had been a long day. Not so much when we were in Weston – that seemed to fly past. But the journey back home seemed to go on forever. On the way there, at least there had been the promise of the day ahead. Now that had gone, there was only tiredness and the warmth of the day’s memories. Emily had soon fallen asleep with her head on my shoulder and we delivered her to her doorstep before the nine o’clock curfew. She gave me a tired but special smile as she waved us goodbye.
At home I regaled everyone with all the things Emily and I had done during the day, excluding the marriage and the kiss of course. Within five minutes they had all lost interest and returned to watching TV and playing records. As usual, what I had to say about my day was ignored – dismissed as irrelevant. Annoying, yes, but whatever. Their loss.
The months flew by and I got interested in gymnastics, which I loved and was really good at, if I do say so myself. At home, we rarely saw Roger. He had recently bought a scrambler motorbike and was always out with friends, returning only to eat or when he had run out of money. Polly had now got over a difficult spell she’d been having at school. For a while she had lost interest in learning, because, as she put it, “Who likes a super-smart girl?” Now she was studying with a vengeance. I overheard her telling Mum that she wanted to be a teacher.
Wow, I thought. Children beware. At this time, I was probably more in awe of Polly’s cutting tongue than Roger’s flying fists when arguments got out of hand, which was quite often.
Michael’s passion was football and he wandered over to the local playing fields nearby whenever it was light and dry enough. There was always someone around to kick a ball with.
But away from what we saw as the importance of our own interests and passions, we all sensed the growing anxiety between our parents about money, the extent of which we were kept very much in the dark about. Mum had a little mobile hairdressing business, which involved travelling around Worcester, working at the customers’ homes. This meant that she could fit it in around her role as our mum. Dad worked at a ten-pin bowling alley, which meant he was often out in the evenings, something he most definitely did not enjoy.
One evening we were all at home, except for Roger who was out with his mates as usual. We were all enjoying a Doctor Who programme, except for Mum and Dad who were slumped at the kitchen table over a folder containing lots of important-looking papers, many of which were written in red.
Our enjoyment of the battle between the Doctor and the daleks was interrupted by a wail from my dad. “This can’t go on! We can’t exist like this! Everything is crumbling around us!”
Mum quickly hushed him, but later as I lay in bed I remember feeling frightened. How could my big, strong dad, who always had the answer to any problem, sound so full of despair? I never found the answer, and I was to hear many similar sounds over the next few weeks.
*
My friendship with Emily continued in a way that seemed to suit us both. I would prattle on about things that affected me and she would listen, and probably without realising it, calm me when I got out of control. She often helped me see things in a different way. I felt that we could talk about anything, and there were no secrets between us.
One Friday afternoon on the way home from school, Emily asked, “Hey, Matt, I want to go into town tomorrow. Will you come with me?”
“Great. Should be fun. What time?”
We met up at eleven as agreed, and wandered into town with me chatting merrily as usual. Emily bought the new Beatles record, ‘Twist and Shout’, and an exercise book that she needed after Bottomley had accidentally spilt Coke over the original.
She then surprised me by leading me towards the railway station. Stopping by the photo booth, she said, “Do you want to go first or shall I?”
I looked at her, nonplussed.
“OK, I’ll go first.” And she handed me her bag to look after. Moments later she reappeared clutching a photo and placed some coins in my hand. “Your turn.”
I entered the booth, put Emily’s coins in the slot, had my photo taken as instructed and handed it to her. “No,” she said firmly, “I have an idea. Let’s get a milkshake, then I can tell you about it.”
We sat at a table in Woolworths’ café and Emily said awkwardly, “Remember that day in Weston when we walked over that bridge and you said, ‘Let’s get married’ and we had a sort of ceremony and you kissed me?” She blushed when she mentioned the kiss.
“Of course I do,” I answered brightly.
Emily continued, “Well, I think we should sign the photos of ourselves and exchange them to confirm our marriage.”
I stared at her. “Wow! What a fab idea…” Before I could finish, she had quickly written, To Matt, my very, very best special friend, and passed it across the table to me. I read what she had written and looked up at her in surprise with a feeling of pride and warmth. She snatched the photo back and added her signature and the date: the 23rd August 1980.
“It’s your turn,” she said emphatically, passing me my photo.
I wrote, To Emily, my girlfriend, thought, then crossed it out and instead put, To Emily, my special, special friend, the only girl for me, and added the date and scrawled my signature.
As we walked home with more silences than usual, I sensed all was not right with Emily. We reached the end of her road and she turned to me, looking more serious than I had ever seen her.
“Matt, if we get parted, can we agree to meet up again sometime in the future?” Her face was clouded with sadness and uncertainty as she looked at me.
I was confused. “Why should we be parted? You’re not moving, are you?”
“Just say a time in the future, please,” she implored, looking utterly miserable.
“Two weeks,” I said quickly and in a light-hearted way, in an effort to restore a more normal tone to the conversation.
“No, no,” Emily almost stamped her feet, “I’m being serious.”
“Fifty years.” I said the first thing that came into my head.
“Oh, fifteen years it is then,” she said resignedly, as she misheard me. “I thought we could meet up at Weston, on the bridge where you first mentioned…” she stumbled; then added, “marriage.”
“Yeah, alright then.” I was completely lost in this conversation. All I knew was that this was not the Emily I knew. “Emily, what’s going on?” I tried again, but she ignored me. Instead she leant across and kissed me lightly on the lips, and then, embarrassed, she turned away, brushing away the tears she hoped I hadn’t noticed. Then suddenly she turned back and said, “The only reason for not turning up is if we are dead.”
I gazed at her, horrified at this thought. Then she was gone.
It was a deeply troubled half-mile home. Emily was so very unhappy. I resolved to tell my mum about my worries and hurried on, putting the photo of Emily safely in my top pocket. But things seldom turned out as expected, and certainly not at the Bishop household.
*
Roger was stamping around the kitchen, brandishing a letter and shouting, “Yes! Yes!” at the top of his voice, and when he shouted, everyone listened. The letter was from Gordon’s Motors, a small, privately owned repair garage that was just a five-minute scrambler ride away. They were offering Roger a three-year apprenticeship starting in two weeks’ time. Exactly what he wanted. He couldn’t contain his excitement and didn’t try.
From upstairs came the sound of giggling as Polly’s friend Sophie helped her reorganise her bedroom – lots of laughter and little work. Downstairs there was the non-stop chattering from the telly on full volume as Michael watched yet another episode of Doctor Who.
It was pointless trying to speak to Mum, and later that evening I went to bed unusually early. I left my parents huddled over papers that I presumed to be bills and tapping furiously away on an adding machine. It took me some time to fall asleep. I couldn’t shake off a feeling of uneasiness as I thought of the promises I had made to Emily. What lay behind it all?
Chapter 6
Emily
I rarely saw Dad any more, and I assumed he was with her, whoever she was. On the few occasions I did see him, he was different. I could no longer see his love for me when I looked up into his eyes. Now he was remote and distant, and never laughed.
One day as I returned from school he met me at the doorway. By his side was a suitcase. Mother stood behind him, and it was clear that she had been crying.
“Your father is going for good,” she sobbed. “He’s going to that…that whore, but he said he had to see you and tell you himself because he loves you so much.” The last six words were spat out with a bitterness that she had clearly struggled to contain for far too long.
Dad moved towards me and just for the briefest of moments I could see real emotion in his face. I couldn’t help doing what I did next. I instinctively took a step backwards, and immediately his expression changed. I felt awkward and wanted to run and hide, but without another word, he turned and left.
It was some months before I learned that ‘the whore’ had been pregnant by my father at the time he left, and would later become the second Mrs Austin, though not before the baby was two years old, something my mother was insistent upon. She wanted the world to know that the ‘whore’ and her husband had been ‘at it’ before they should. It was many years before I was to see my father again.
The house reeked of unhappiness and I know Matt was concerned for me because most mornings I was distracted and quiet. He tried hard to be cheerful. However, one morning he was so worried about me that he put his arm around my shoulder to comfort me, before hastily removing it. I didn’t mind; the gesture was strangely reassuring and meant a lot to me. Later, on the way home, I suggested the trip into town on the pretext that I wanted to buy the new Michael Jackson record and an exercise book.
I had hatched the ‘photo exchange’ plan the previous night after lying awake worrying about a telephone call I had overhead between my mum and, judging by the way she was shouting, my father.
“Well, put it up for sale, then. I hate this place. It reeks of you!” She slammed the phone down and disappeared upstairs, with tears flowing freely.
*
It seemed clear to me that my life was about to change, and I was desperate for normality. For me, walking to and from school and chatting about anything with Matt was normal. It gave me something my home life did not. If we had to sell the house I would probably end up living too far away to meet Matt in the mornings.
The idea of a meeting in Weston at a date in the future had come to me completely out of the blue, as I sat motionless in front of the camera in the photo booth.
Fifteen years, he had said. So far into the future it was another lifetime, unimaginable, unreal. I was so distressed that I had said, “The only reason for not turning up is if we are dead.” Matt’s face had filled with absolute horror as I said this. I turned and hurried away.
As I approached my house a few minutes later, through my tears I could see a sign in the front garden. Without looking at the words written on it, I knew what it would say. ‘FOR SALE’. I felt sick. I stomped into the house to confront Mum.
Before I could utter a word, though, she announced, “We are going away on holiday for a week, so put your things out that you want to take and I’ll pack them.” I could tell from her expression that this was not the time to argue.
The thought of going on holiday soon changed my stroppiness into excitement tinged with suspicion. “Where are we going, then?” Then I suddenly thought. “But what about school? You know I start my new school on Monday.”
“Which question do you want me to answer first?” she snapped. “We are going to your nan’s, and don’t worry about school. I’ve telephoned them and explained the situation.”
“What about Matt? He’ll be waiting for me at the bottom of the road on Monday.” My voice displayed my concern. “Can I ring him?”
“No, you can’t. Don’t worry, I’ll speak to Mrs Bishop. Now go and sort your clothes out and anything else you want to take.”
Nan lived by herself in a small bungalow in Gulval, just outside Penzance in Cornwall. My granddad had passed away after a sudden heart attack two years earlier. She was small and jolly, with a face that always looked ready to break into a smile and a laugh that would shatter any possibility of quiet.
There was never any doubt that she loved to see me and would spoil me rotten if Mum let her. So the prospect of a holiday there was a welcome relief from the strained atmosphere at home. It would probably be good for Mum as well.
We left the next morning at the ungodly hour of four o’clock. The drive went on forever, but my tiredness disappeared as we arrived in Gulval and I saw the sea! It reminded me of my day in Weston with Matt. Then we pulled up outside Nan’s. She went straight to Mum and gave her a comforting hug. Then she turned to me and lifted me off the ground before spinning me round – a bit over the top for a twelve-year-old.
The next few days followed a familiar pattern. My mother would spend much of the day lounging around the house and then disappear during the evening to visit an aunt or uncle. I would spend my time shopping with Nan as she spoilt me rotten, buying me any amount of new clothes. Or she would wait in record shops as I flicked serenely through numerous record albums. The evenings were whittled away watching television or playing card games, or when I tired of them, I would retreat to my room and read a book.
The week drew to a close.
“We’re staying another week,” my mother announced on the Saturday.
“But we can’t,” I implored, “I have to start my school and there’s—”
“Look, everything is taken care of. We’re staying, so stop being so selfish. It’s time you grew up and started to think of others.”
“What about Matt, can I ring him?” I knew I had started to whine but couldn’t stop myself.
“No!” she snapped. “Leave it. We’re here another week and that’s final.”
The second week dragged by, and although Nan did her best to keep me occupied, any enthusiasm I had for my holiday had gone. Even worse, I had a bad feeling about things. If it was alright for us to stay for two weeks, why not three or even four? What would Matt think?
One morning I woke and slowly made my way downstairs to breakfast and was surprised to see my mother already up, dressed, and talking earnestly to my nan. As soon as she saw me she stopped and looked uncomfortable. Nan got up to fetch me a drink of juice.
“Sit down, Ems. There’s something I want to discuss with you.” Mum hadn’t called me Ems since I was about seven or eight. I instantly woke up and was on full alert.
“As you know, your nan has been on her own since your dear old grandpa died two years ago.”
“Yes,” I replied, not sure where this was going, but feeling worried.
“She’s lonely, Ems, so I’ve told her that we will move in here permanently.” She gazed off towards my nan, seeking support. “For a while at least,” she amended as she saw my crestfallen face. My tears began to flow as I raced out of the kitchen and back to my bedroom.
