Should We Fall Behind, page 11
‘He’s a bastard,’ she told her mother two years later as they applied make-up together in the bedroom of Brian’s semi, in preparation for the registry office wedding. The reception to follow would be in his local.
‘Well, it’s hard to find one who isn’t,’ her mother replied. It wasn’t any kind of revelation; she’d said it many times. ‘Look around you though, Ebele. We could never live in a place like this if it was just you and me. Besides, he wants me and right now it’s enough. You’ll go, you’ll disappear off somewhere soon enough, leave me on my own and I won’t be able to stand it.’
A few months later she did go, after she awoke one night to find Brian standing over her watching as she slept. At first the scream in her head was frozen. It took a moment to thaw and by the time it came hurtling out, he’d disappeared, down the landing and into the bathroom. He laughed when she told her mother what had happened.
‘You’re dreaming, girl. I went for a piss, for god’s sake, she’s bonkers. Why would I want to stand over her? She’s a bloody fantasist.’
Her mother didn’t believe her, or at least that’s what she said in front of Brian as she stood next to him yawning in her cheap pink negligee.
‘You probably did dream it, Ebele,’ she said. ‘You never were a good sleeper.’
Ebele wondered if her mother had actually taken in what she’d been told, whether she was even awake enough to comprehend the magnitude of Ebele’s words.
Brian lingered in the darkness for a few seconds after her mother crawled off to bed, and before he left the room he said in a whisper, ‘If I want something, I get it. Remember that, Ellie.’
The next day, when Brian left for work, she tried to talk to her mother again, to tell her what really happened.
‘You’re wrong. You must’ve just imagined it,’ her mother said.
‘I didn’t. I know what it was. I’m not daft.’
‘Please, Ebele, don’t spoil everything. He’s the best chance I’ve got. People aren’t meant to be alone.’
Ebele found the betrayal beyond forgiveness.
Brian built a wall between her and her mother and she had no idea how to break it down; she guessed her mother didn’t either. She avoided both of them for the rest of the day and, before climbing into bed at night, she built up a pile of random items against the door: coat hangers, a tower of books, plastic bags stuffed with dirty washing; a precarious mountain which would alert her with clangs and rustles if anything pushed against it. The next morning, while her mother was downstairs crashing about the kitchen and Brian was on the toilet, she sneaked into their bedroom and grabbed his wallet from the bedside table. She picked up her rucksack, already stuffed with clothes and make-up, tucked the wallet firmly inside it and crept downstairs as quietly as she could. She ignored her mother’s shouts from the kitchen about breakfast and front door keys and walked out into the new day. She’d never forgotten that moment. It was a raw spring morning and she inhaled a deep breath of sharp air before scarpering, away from the neat line of 1950’s semi-detached houses with their crazy-paved front paths and designated parking spaces, past the small parade of shops at the end of the road and around the corner, out of sight. Fear mixed with an overwhelming sense of freedom was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. She caught the first bus away from the small town, far away from Brian and into the only big city she knew anything about.
When she returned to her seat in the pub with her drink in her hand, the driver said, ‘So tell me about yourself, Ebele,’ as if the earlier conversation never happened.
‘I’m going after this. I’ve got a kid,’ she said.
‘Oh I didn’t realise.’
‘You probably wouldn’t have bothered with me if you had,’ she said.
‘Makes no difference to me,’ he replied. ‘I like kids. But we’ve only been here a few minutes.’
‘I’ll go when I want,’ she said abruptly.
‘Sure,’ he said, unable to conceal what looked like disappointment. ‘You’re free to do whatever.’
She watched as he slurped a mouthful of beer. He was okay: not too pushy, vaguely handsome. When he smiled his face opened up, but she’d decided long ago open faces were deceiving and such a facade of affability could never be trusted. These days, the only person she was certain was good was Tuli; Tuli and other children who were too young to wear good nature as a deceptive mask. She wanted to leave, she didn’t really know why. Discordant noise was closing in on her and she didn’t want to explain her name or a history she knew little about to anyone. The inane banter of people in the pub and the superficial conversation with the driver made her feel as if she hardly existed, like a ghost invisibly circumnavigating its way through some liminal state. Sweat broke out across her nose and brow; her hands were clammy. The drinks didn’t help, especially on an empty stomach: it was as if she’d stepped outside of herself.
‘I told the babysitter I’d be back by half past. That I was working late,’ she said.
The driver glanced at his phone; It was five past. ‘You should’ve told them you were out for a drink. Everyone deserves a break. It’s Saturday night.’
She tried to steady her breathing. He didn’t seem to notice.
‘It’s a cool name, Ebele. I suppose I’m a sort of mixture too in a way, these days at least.’
She let him speak. His words washed over her. When he paused she said, ‘Daban is not exactly normal either, is it?’
‘It’s pretty normal for where my folks are from. Probably like Ebele where you’re from.’
‘Just because my dad came from somewhere else doesn’t mean I’m not from here.’
She knew she sounded more harsh than she meant to. He was clearly trying hard to rise above her scratchiness. For a moment she felt sorry for him; it would take a lot to rectify her bad mood. Brian’s leering face flashed through her head again. The driver smiled and said something she couldn’t hear; his words were drowned beneath a crushing wave of sound; she was uncertain whether it was within or around her. Her throat constricted and panic needled up her body, threatening to take hold. It wasn’t a new feeling: she thought she’d tamed these attacks some time ago and now here was one arriving out of nowhere. She tried to distract herself by focussing on the movements of the driver’s face: how the wrinkles around his mouth creased when he spoke; the way the faux-antique lamps reflected tiny sparkles into his dark eyes. He was animated, gesturing with his hands but it was as though she was watching him on mute. The background music bore in on her, like static on an untuned radio. She heard only fragments of what he said through the fuzz: about his dad who wasn’t around, his mum who struggled on her own. It was a familiar story.
‘Ebele, are you listening?’ His voice cut through the noise. ‘I was asking how long you’ve lived on Shifnal Road?’
She looked across to the birthday party in the corner. The girl with a sash was only a few years younger than she was. She couldn’t remember how she celebrated her twenty-first birthday: probably alone, with Tuli asleep nearby, Eastenders on the telly and perhaps a can or two, cold from the fridge, maybe a pizza. No phone calls or cards, not even a text. A day like any other.
When she didn’t respond, the driver filled in the gaps in the conversation himself.
‘I wasn’t born around here but I’ve been here since I was a baby. It’s my manor; know it like the back of my hand. Where were you born, Ebele? You’ve got a bit of an accent. I had a mate once, from near Birmingham; you speak a bit like him.’
She watched the birthday party girls for a moment longer as they clinked glasses of Prosecco and swigged them like shots. The din made her head and her eyes ache. She needed to get out, to feel cold air on her skin. To breathe. The driver was nice enough but she wished she’d never agreed to the drink and the forced chat which accompanied it. She stood up and steadied herself by holding on to the back of the chair.
‘To be honest,’ she said, ‘I’m knackered. I just want to get home to my child. This whole life story shit isn’t for me.’
‘It’s just a drink,’ Daban said. ‘I just thought we could be friendly, seeing as we’ve got to work together.’
‘Friendly? Really. I guess it’s one way of putting it.’
‘Putting what? I like you. God knows why,’ he said with a soft smile.
‘I know what you’re after really,’ Ebele said. ‘All this small talk is making me nauseous.’ She downed the remainder of her drink and grabbed her coat and bag.
‘Wow, Ebele. I don’t know anything about you but I bet you’re not as tough as you make out.’ She moved towards the exit. ‘Listen,’ the driver said gently as she pushed past him, ‘I really am just trying to be friendly, that’s all. Nothing else.’
‘Really!’ she said, sarcastically.
He looked exasperated. ‘No one has to be alone, You just have to see the good in people,’ he said.
‘You’re right, you know nothing about me,’ she replied. ‘See you around, driverman.’
On the table beside them, an older couple with the same receding silver-streaked afros stared open-mouthed at her.
‘What are you two looking at?’ she said. ‘Got bored with not having anything to say to each other the past fifty years?’ The old man looked wounded but the woman tutted and retorted calmly,
‘Perhaps the world would be a bit nicer to you if you showed a bit of kindness, young lady, to yourself as well as to others.’
Ebele rolled her eyes and the woman sucked her teeth so loud other customers turned to look in their direction.
‘Sit back down, please,’ Daban said, touching her elbow. ‘We’ve only just got here. It’s been a bad start. No-one should refuse a friendship.’
Deep down she wished she hadn’t been so rude. The panic attack had startled her and she just wanted to escape; she couldn’t say any of this to the strangers surrounding her and instead declared her exit.
‘I’m off. I’ve got to get back for my kid.’
From the doorway she looked towards Daban: he sat with his head in his hands, hunched over his half empty glass. She seemed to have developed a habit of pushing people away and she had no idea how to stop it. Next to Daban, the old couple sat in silence, holding hands across the table.
When she picked up Tuli from Grace, her neighbour said,
‘Did Mr Makrides say anything about the guy sleeping out back? We’ve left him a message. I’ll try him again tomorrow. We’ve got guests tonight. It’s our turn to host the book group!’
Ebele was angry for not remembering about the tramp and as soon as Tuli was asleep she dialled Makrides’ number herself; it went straight to voicemail.
Later, the sound of entertaining rose up through the floor: the cackle of laughter mingled with bassy jazz was grating and Ebele’s headache returned as a throb. She poured herself the dregs of a bottle of cheap wine from the fridge and sat on the edge of the sofa bed skimming through images on her phone, trying to ignore the noise. People she’d long lost contact with popped up on the screen with stage-perfect grins against backdrops of beaches and parties, their arms flung around others she’d never met. She clicked away from them and instead hovered over her mother’s profile picture. It was always the same, old and grainy, of her as a babe in the arms of her young mother who smiled straight at the camera, proudly showing her off to the world. She wondered what her mother looked like now, after nearly a decade had passed by: dyed hair, middle-aged spread, the strain showing in an ageing face after years with Brian? She quickly swiped the picture away. There was no access to any others. She changed into her pyjamas, flung her clothes onto a nearby chair and re-dialled Makrides’ number. Still voicemail. She climbed into bed and returned to Facebook.
A few minutes later the bell to the downstairs flat rang. It was half past nine. There were voices in the hallway but it was late for arrivals; by now Grace and Mandy’s dinner parties were usually in full swing. Then her phone buzzed, it was Grace telling her the visitor was for her; she’d told Mandy not to knock on the door as it may disturb Tuli. She was always the more considerate of the two.
‘It’s one of your male friends,’ Mandy said dismissively as Ebele edged open her door. Mandy grimaced at the sight of her in faded Bart Simpson pyjamas and she grimaced back in return. Mandy’s brightly patterned jumper made her look more frumpy than usual. Behind her, Daban was leaning on the frame of the open front door. He held up a bottle of vodka, swinging it close to Mandy’s head.
‘It’s not what you think,’ he said, directing the comment to both Mandy and Ebele at the same time. ‘I just thought maybe we could have another drink, that you’d be more comfortable at home, knowing your child is okay.’
Mandy looked at Daban suspiciously. ‘Keep it down Ebele. You’ve got a kid up there.’
‘Piss off, Mandy. And you keep it down too.’
‘One drink!’ Ebele said to Daban. ‘On the basis you are just being friendly like you say, and then you can piss off as well.’
He laughed.
Ebele watched Daban scan her living room: clothes strewn across furniture and Tuli’s supper plate still on the dining table alongside a small puddle of milk. The room was always cluttered and untidy but it wasn’t usually dirty. She disappeared into the kitchen for glasses and a dishcloth to wipe up the spill. When she returned, he was standing by the mantlepiece holding a wooden frame; it was Tuli’s first school photograph.
‘You can sit there,’ she said, snatching the photo away. Daban perched awkwardly on the edge of the sofa bed with his elbows on his knees and his hands on his chin.
‘Can we put some music on?’ he said. ‘Quietly so we don’t wake your little one I mean.’
Ebele poured vodka into tumblers without answering. She topped them up with juice from a carton and remained standing.
‘Cheers!’ She knocked the drink back and poured out another.
‘You should slow down,’ Daban said.
‘Thanks for the vodka but maybe this is a bad idea. I’ve had enough of people telling me what to do. I don’t need you to start on me too.’
‘Listen, Ebele, we got off to a bad start. I’m sorry. I just think you seem like you could do with the company, nothing more.’
‘What makes you think I don’t have enough friends already?’
‘You said you were on your own. Must be hard with a kid.’
‘It’s none of your business. I do alright. I survive.’
‘We all need a bit more than survival though, don’t we? Life has to be more meaningful than just getting through it.’
She couldn’t quite work him out and the vodka wasn’t helping.
‘Oh, I get it, if it’s not my body you’re after, what is it? God Squad?’
‘No!’
‘You sound like it.’ She sucked her teeth like the old woman in the pub.
‘I’m not, okay? My mum’s a believer but I gave up that shit long ago. When you walk around these streets and see what’s going on it’s hard to keep the faith, any faith!’
‘It’s all bullshit,’ she agreed, and the atmosphere warmed a little. The vodka burned in her stomach and made her forget about her headache. Daban smiled. ‘Yep,’ she continued, ‘Even thick-headed, thick-skinned girls like me have enough learning to know what religion is all about.’
‘When I was small I used to love it at the mosque, all the ritual and the praying and the camaraderie,’ Daban said. ‘Even the most skeptical amongst us would find it hard to believe there wasn’t something celestial in those places sometimes. But it’s not for me.’
Ebele felt her limbs loosen as the driver spoke. When he paused she said, ‘You’re oversharing. You did it in the pub too. I didn’t ask for your whole life story.’ This time she said it with a small smile.
‘Oversharing? I’m just making conversation. It’s what people do when they want to get to know someone.’
‘Why? Why do you want to know me?’
‘Can’t a person just be nice?’
‘There’s no such thing. Why would someone just be nice for the sake of it? What’s in it for them?’
‘You need to chill out, Ebele. Not everyone has a bad motive.’
‘I don’t need to chill out. There’s nothing wrong with me. Look, what is it you want?’
‘Okay,’ Daban said. ‘I’ll come clean. I don’t know why but I just like you. I think there’s a lot more to you than a pretty face and the hard-nut mask you wear.’
‘What the fuck? You don’t know anything about me! What are you, a shrink or something?’
‘You’re a challenge.’
‘Now we’re getting to the truth of the matter.’
A frostiness returned to the room. Ebele grabbed her jumper from the back of a chair and cloaked it over her shoulders.
‘Truth? What do you mean? It seems like you’re always trying to push people away,’ Daban said.
‘You’ve only known me five minutes. What do you know about what I’m always doing? You talk like you can see through me or something.’
‘The way you spoke to your neighbour. The way you’re talking now. The way you speak to Mr Makrides. All of that is about pushing people away.’
‘Mr Makrides? What about the way he speaks to me? Have you heard him?’ Even the vodka couldn’t halt the agitation which bubbled inside her. ‘Listen, I didn’t ask you to come here. I left the pub because I knew it was a mistake going for a drink with a stranger. You lot are always after something – control or conquest or whatever. I don’t need it!’
‘Us lot? Really? All men or just men like me?’
‘Just men. All of them – makes no difference in my experience. Look, maybe it’s time to leave, I don’t want Tuli waking up because of all this. It’s bad enough with the bloody book group dinner party nonsense downstairs.’
