Nothing Left Unsaid, page 15
Wee John needs a new winter coat and Sharon wants to go to France for the school trip and to be honest I think she’ll need to walk there because I don’t have the spare money. I hear there are cash-in-hand shifts at the seafood factory near my mammy’s house, but the smell of all those clams and fish makes me sick and its freezing in there at this time of year.
Bunty said she would swap me the menage week to pay for Sharon’s trip. It’s so kind but I am just so fed up borrowing to get by.
The only thing that cheered me up today was seeing Billy Connolly back on the Parkinson TV show. I made sure I kept enough coins to slot into the meter to watch. I wish I could afford a television of my own like Mrs Bradshaw. But they cost so much.
I was up at the mansion yesterday doing the cleaning and the family are off to Portugal next week to buy a holiday home. Imagine being so rich you could fly to the Algarve in January to buy another house! I can’t imagine having that much money. It must be like winning Spot the Ball and going crazy with cash. I am looking forward to it, though, as the whole house will be empty and Mrs Bradshaw’s asked me to keep an eye on it. I can lie on her couch, feed the dogs and watch as much telly as I want. I might even wear her fluffy slippers, eat her good biscuits and treat myself to a wee half of vodka.
Met Billy at the post office yesterday. He actually wished me a Happy New Year. Donna was raging, she was standing there in a rabbit-fur coat, trying to sound posh buying stamps. Billy’s eyes were red raw as he’s allergic to rabbits but he probably hasn’t mentioned that in case he seems ‘weak’, daft arsehole. He looked like he had got that myxomatosis, which is ironic. He looked older and fatter. I honestly look at him now and cannae imagine why I thought he was sexy or interesting. I must have been off my head at sixteen years old. What was I thinking? He used to slag me off for reading books and being interested in history.
I will be watching the telly tonight, that always cheers me up. All Creatures Great and Small is on. I might get some tips about animal welfare, for if I ever pick up another pig.
Sunday
Am feeling better today. I picked up a few Reader’s Digests from Mrs Bradshaw (I love them) and read about a woman in Texas who used ‘writing her feelings down’ as a therapy for her mental breakdown, so I think this is a good thing to do, just keep pouring it all out. She did eventually get it published as a book about ‘self-help’ and became really rich and now counsels famous people in America. I cannae see that happening for me, can you imagine?
Sandra finally came over, along with the other girls. She told us Jim is being really nice to her and helping her do up the back bedroom. I always think something bad has happened when she sits there praising him, it’s like she’s ‘overcompensating’ (one of the words in the self-help article) and wants to convince herself that her life isn’t constantly in danger.
I am exhausted with her, but we all love Sandra and we are all she has got. Jim has managed to stop her family from visiting and her wee mammy is worried sick, she’s only allowed to see her at chapel. The only reason she gets to see us is that he knows if she disappears we will all be at his door. He hates us but he is playing it safe, letting her out when she is not showing any bruises.
Good news – I have scraped enough money to send my Sharon to France on the school trip. I might have to work a few extra shifts cleaning the pubs but at least we got there. My lassie will see the Eiffel Tower.
CHAPTER 23
2019
Day fifteen
Sharon
There were days when Mum’s diary lifted me up with hope and days when I realised not much had changed, especially where mental health is concerned.
Women in my mum’s day weren’t allowed to have a mental illness. I recalled Senga saying, ‘I don’t have time for depression, I have two jobs and three weans.’ What a fucked-up outlook. I was so glad she’d written things down. She was left to deal with her own problems and I think the diary did help.
Today was the day John finally got home to Glasgow. I couldn’t wait to see him, so I parked at the airport and stood at the international arrivals to see him come through the gate.
So many people were pouring through the gate looking travel-
weary and then . . . there he was. Tall and tan and lovely, our John, if not so young any more. Dressed in a fitted blue suit and pale pink shirt with a dark caramel overcoat, carrying his very chic luggage and not a hair out of place. He was definitely Senga’s son; he had her cheekbones, and those brilliant blue eyes. We hugged so tight and I could smell that familiar old-fashioned scent that he wore, like grapefruit and woodsmoke. He dropped his luggage and cried in my arms. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he whispered.
‘Come on, Sunshine Boy, dry your eyes, we’re going to see your mammy,’ I said.
The drive was pretty quick from Glasgow Airport to the Royal Infirmary. John waited for me to lock the car and, yet again, my feet found the familiar route up the circular staircase and along the pale pastel corridors till we reached Mum’s ward.
Shirley was on duty. ‘Is this our John we’ve all heard so much about?’ she said as we passed her.
‘Yes, this is our John.’ I pointed at him and then quickly took him to the side. ‘Look, prepare yourself, she does look very frail.’
‘I just want to see her, Sharon,’ he said, pushing open her door.
His face fell when he saw Mum in that bed, just as Janet’s had. He took a big gulping breath, leaned over, kissed Mum’s head and took her hand. ‘I’m here,’ he said, and I swear, even in her sleep she smiled.
She had called him her ‘sunshine boy’ when he was growing up. John had come out in his teens, which was tough in Glasgow in the eighties, and Mum never really spoke about it. But there was no holding our ‘John Boy’ back. She’d just got on with it, as had he. I could see why he’d left the city quite young; he’d been on the gay scene in the middle of the AIDS pandemic that had dominated the media at the time, but John had just been determined never to let fear get in the way of his life. He’d charmed the soul of everyone he’d met and worked his way up and through the restaurant business in Glasgow. He’d been the best front-of-house manager in every place he’d ever worked, eventually moving to Monaco. Then he’d gone back to his first love of dancing, and now had his own dance school in Madrid. I was so proud of him.
He took off his coat and jacket, draped them over the plastic chair and knelt beside her, wrapping her head and shoulders in long arms. ‘She looks so frail,’ he said as he gulped down tears. ‘I’ve been away too long.’
And Senga opened her eyes.
My heart leapt in my chest: two sets of blue eyes staring back at each other, just like reflections on an azure pool.
‘Mum, oh, Mum,’ I cried out as I rushed to sit beside her.
John took the other side of the bed. We stared at her as if she were a new baby that had just been born. She looked at us both in turn. ‘My weans,’ she croaked. Then she closed her eyes again.
The young doctor came in and checked her notes and turned to us.
‘Your mum is still taking water, but we need to discuss her care plan going forward,’ he explained, clicking his pen incessantly. ‘She signed a DNR form when she arrived and, when the time arrives for her to go, we will stay with that instruction,’ the doctor added. ‘I just want you all to be prepared.’
‘We know, it’s OK,’ I said.
‘Can we discuss this later?’ John said. ‘I’ve only just got here.’
‘Sorry,’ the doctor said, as he continued clicking his pen.
‘You need to stop that clicking, though, it’s making me want to scream.’
Senga’s voice came from nowhere, stunning us into silence. Then the doctor laughed, we all laughed, and then John cried. As though a river had finally burst its banks, he let it all go as I held him. Watching someone you love die had you crying and laughing and screaming in regular cycles. Today was a crying day.
We spent a few hours with Mum, just chatting. John told her all his news, though she was very sleepy. Eventually Nurse Shirley came in and said, ‘Right, you two, let Senga get her rest – away home.’ We reluctantly packed up our bags and coats and left the Infirmary.
The drive back to the flat saw a beautiful sunset over the West End of Glasgow, with orange and purple streaks slashing the sky. John was staying with me at Mum’s, on the sofa in the living room. We called Janet via WhatsApp when we finally got in and had unpacked John’s bags.
‘I hear sleeping on the sofa wasn’t for you,’ John said drily as Janet appeared on the screen in front of us. ‘Are you too grand now?’
‘Ah, fuck off, John!’ she retorted. ‘I’m too old for the backache and the flowers give me a migraine. You’re looking good on the Spanish sunshine. How is Mum? I’ll be back very shortly; the play is up and running and they don’t need me any more.’
We gave her an update. John told her how shocked he had been, seeing Senga in the intensive care ward.
‘I know how you feel. My heart dropped to my boots when I walked in,’ Janet added. We nattered on for a wee bit, then Janet asked how my date had been. ‘You’ve got a glow about you,’ she said, peering at me on screen. ‘You’ve definitely had good sex at last!’
We all roared with laughter. Once again Senga’s weans were together, and nothing could come between us. ‘He’s texted me and asked if I want to meet up again,’ I confessed. ‘I think I might.’
I took the red diary out of my bag and handed it to John. ‘You should read some of this before you see Mum again,’ I said.
1978
February
We are all so excited to see the film Saturday Night Fever. It’s set in New York and my God, how handsome is John Travolta? Mrs Bradshaw gave me a wee bit extra for my birthday and I have put it by for the cinema.
I hear there is trouble in paradise again with Donna and Billy. It was Bunty, of course, who gave me all the gossip. Apparently, Donna and Billy had a big fight in the street and her mum dragged them both back into the bungalow. Donna’s mum can’t stand the scandal – well, she’d better get used to it. Billy is a walking fucking scandal.
Took Sharon down to Reeta’s Fashion in the Gallowgate to get her some nice clothes for her trip to France. She picked out some lovely checked dungarees and a gypsy top. She is so excited and she deserves this holiday. The passport came through last week and I had a wee pang of jealousy. I wish I had a passport and the chance to travel the world. But then who would clean the pub and Mrs Bradshaw’s big house if I wasn’t there?
Bunty took the twins to Spain on the bus to see their daddy, Jackie MacNamara. She said the bus was longer than labour pains and twice as painful but she can’t afford to fly. The kids loved the beach and she told me, ‘To be honest, I had a good time – he’s trying to make up for all the shite he left me with.’ She brought me back a big bottle of red wine and by fuck it was rough, it would have taken the paint off Davie Dunsmore’s coal van. I peed red for days afterwards.
Made crispy pancakes and beans for the kids and started my new book, Scruples by Judith Krantz. It’s about a woman called Wilhelmina Hunnewell Winthrop who’s really fat, then goes to France and gets really thin, and ends up owning a boutique in Beverly Hills. It’s brilliant.
CHAPTER 24
2019
Day fifteen
Sharon
I sat in silence as John went through Mum’s book and her photos.
He had changed into some very neat skinny jeans and a mulberry-coloured sweater. We had made a big pot of tea in Mum’s favourite rose-painted pot, with her matching china cups, and both of us were sitting on matching floral sofas.
I watched his face and reactions. It was as if we were doing Pass the Parcel with Mum’s memories and taking turns to comment and reflect on pieces of her life.
‘She was a good writer. I feel as though I’m actually in there with her. Why do you think she put it all down, Sharon?’ John asked me as he wiped away tears. I didn’t know if they were from sadness or laughter.
‘I think she just wanted to validate her feelings and to have some “self-care”, to quote some millennial-speak,’ I answered. ‘What a shitty time she had. I wish I could go back and give her money and the chance to have sex with Phil Lynott.’
John laughed and poured some tea, and said, ‘When you left for Bristol, Mum kind of went quiet. We never saw much of Sandra and her pals; they drifted off,’ he said. ‘She quit the cleaning and started working at the insurance offices in town and things changed. She still saw a bit of Philomena and Janine for a while, I think, but after she moved house to here in Govan she spent a lot of her time with Betty and Maggie,’ he replied.
‘We all left her,’ I said. ‘I feel shitty about that now.’
‘We all had to, Sharon, there was fuck all for us here, remember? She wanted us to do well, she encouraged us all to get far away,’ John said, and I nodded. He was right, but it didn’t take away the niggling seed of guilt in my stomach.
John asked me what I’d found out about the rest of Mum’s gang. I gave him all the info and theories I had gathered so far.
‘All that’s missing is one of those crime scene boards with photos and bits of string linking everyone up,’ he said.
‘Trust me, I thought about doing that,’ I said.
We decided we definitely had to find Sandra. Mum needed her wee gang of women around her before she went. John said he would do another social media search for Sandra and her extended family. I wolfed down some biscuits, drank more tea and texted Bunty to ask if she’s heard anything more. We even talked about Davie Dunsmore – could he still be alive, and would he know where Sandra was?
1978
February, Tuesday
Woke up to the radio blaring somewhere in the house. The Bee Gees were singing ‘Staying Alive’ while we were nearly dying because Janet was cooking. I had to run quick into the kitchen and, sure as fuck, the place was billowing with smoke. Sharon was off to school early and wee John was making a pot of tea. I am not worried about him, he’s careful. It’s Janet I fear, as she doesn’t pay full attention to a hot frying pan.
Managed to clear up the mess, get them out the door, get Laddie out for a pee and set off for work. Mrs Bradshaw has friends round tonight and she wants all her Doulton dishes cleaned and set out for the dinner party.
Sandra was round last night. She told me she thinks Jim might have been selling stolen cars as the cops were round asking questions and she was terrified of saying the wrong thing. Jim is giving her a bit more freedom now he is more preoccupied with the Devlins and whatever he’s doing on the side. That’s been good for Sandra and me as we can meet up more. She’s still taking my pills.
Isa brought up a suitcase for Sharon’s trip to France. It’s a good one with a wee lock. Sharon is off this Thursday and I am so excited for her, she has a camera and a new purse with her French money in it. She has been up every night this week counting it out and picking all her clothes and sorting them over and over again. Mrs Bradshaw gave me a pair of soft leather sandals, a French dictionary and a pair of sunglasses for Sharon that belonged to her daughter, Stella; we are lucky to have nice people around us. It’s taken a monumental effort to get that kid on this trip but I want her to travel and see the world.
Thursday
I took Sharon and her new suitcase to the school gates today and waved her off. My heart leapt watching her with all her pals, piling on the bus. She looked so happy. It will take at least a day to get to France by bus from Glasgow so God help those teachers with all those teenagers on that trip. Rather them than me – a full crowd of raging hormones, picnic bags and vomiting kids is my idea of hell. But what an experience for them all! Sharon has her camera and promised to take lots of photos.
Got the electricity meter reader man coming round; Bunty spotted him on his rounds and shouted up to my window to let me know, so I have the meter all prepared (took the X-ray paper out and made sure the wheel is turning fine). One day I am going to be able to afford electricity, a colour telly and a big fuck-off fridge. I wish I could go on that TV show The Generation Game and walk off with all the big prizes. Knowing my luck, all I would remember is ‘a cuddly toy’.
Frank downstairs said he has a mate who is selling a new twin tub washing machine really cheap and he can bring it up for me. So, I am hoping I can get it this week as that old one I have is on its last legs and as much as I like it, the steamie is so hard to get to in winter. Mrs Bradshaw has a front-loading washing machine and tumble dryer in her utility room, it’s the absolute height of luxury. Sandra has a twin tub too.
Spent all day wondering how Sharon is getting on with her big trip to France.
CHAPTER 25
2019
Day fifteen
Sharon
We stopped reading at the bit about the trip to France, which was brilliant. I remembered I felt so sophisticated as I walked about Paris in my new sandals and sunglasses. What an amazing trip I had.
John told me he cried for a day when I was away.
‘You did not,’ I said.
‘I did, I was so jealous of you going to Paris, and Janet was rubbish at looking after me when you were away. I was traumatised.’ He faked a big sad face.
John shut the book and I stowed it in my bag. We grabbed our coats and headed out of Mum’s flat as quietly as possible so Maggie and Betty couldn’t pop over for a Q&A. They would have held John hostage until they’d got his entire life and back story if we’d met them on the path.
We headed into the coffee shop, and Clyde was there, all smiles and geniality. We’d been texting today and he’d asked me out again, to dinner, whenever I was ready. I introduced him to John as we waited for our coffees. I blushed, of course, and gave the whole game away.
‘So, he’s the big ride,’ John said as he pulled off his coat and folded it neatly over the arm of a tan sofa.
Flushed with embarrassment, I pushed him into his seat. ‘Shut up, John,’ I hissed.
