Should We Fall Behind, page 19
‘Honestly, Ebele, can’t you just leave it?’
‘No! I can’t relax in front of the telly with him there, watching us. I’m not asking you to do anything. Just keep an ear out, that’s all. Please.’
‘She’s a nutcase, Grace. Let’s finish the film,’ Mandy hollered from within.
‘No,’ Grace said. ‘I’ll wait here in case Tuli calls.’ She took a large gulp of wine and added, ‘Ebele, if you’re not back in a few minutes, I’ll come and get you.’
‘I can handle myself,’ Ebele replied, quietly grateful for the back-up.
She walked into the night shivering. She’d left home without a coat and to compensate she wrapped her arms tight around her body. Across Black Horse Lane, Hazelwood undulated with elongated silhouettes; inky figures dancing beneath a sepia sky. A wave of drizzle blustered towards her; she wiped her face with the damp sleeve of her hoodie and pushed the note into her back pocket. In the alleyway, the smell of rotten foliage was overbearing, festering on the air. The only sound was the thump of her feet on wet ground. It was difficult to see. She fumbled for her phone and switched on the torch, but the beam created a shower of blurred light which ricocheted off raindrops, making visibility more difficult. Bramble brushed against her cheek, making her jump. She walked tentatively towards the car and when she was close enough, she shone the torch through the back windscreen. There was no sign of the man but his belongings were there: sleeping bag rolled up on the front passenger seat and clothes laid out across the back seat and parcel shelf above it. The cardboard box which blocked the broken window was soggy. She pushed it through and poked her head into the empty gap, shining light around the interior to make sure the man wasn’t concealed in the shadows. There was an overpowering odour of dank cloth so she pulled her hoodie up over her mouth and nose and sucked in the scent of her own body. She took the note out of her pocket and flattened it across the driver’s seat but before walking away she hesitated for a moment, opened the back door, covered her hand with her sleeve and reached in, grabbing wet clothes from where they lay. She threw each item onto the muddy ground, pushing it further into the earth with a twist of her foot.
‘I just left the note, He wasn’t there,’ she said to Grace when she returned to the house.
‘He has probably left, like I said. You’d better get changed before you catch a cold.’
‘Yep.’
‘Hope you are happy now,’ her neighbour added as she closed her door to her flat.
Ebele checked on Tuli then poured out the last measure of vodka and stared at her own glowering face in the mirror above the bathroom sink. She thought about the clothes in the mud and the man returning to find them and wondered when she’d become so hard; when the scowl across her face had become so rigid. Deep down she knew it was a build-up of layer upon layer of her life’s hardships: disappointment lain across rejection lain across grief, stacked up, one on top of the other, stuck fast so even when she laughed the scowl was there. She opened her mouth wide and raised her eyebrows as far as she could, attempting to stretch away the lines which made her appear perpetually angry with life. When she relaxed her face, the lines were still there, deep-set between her eyebrows, across her forehead and around the edges of her mouth. Thoughts of her father began to collect as she looked into the mirror. She wondered if he too would have developed such a scowl after years of trying to exist in adversity? He had, from what she had gleaned, always been a genial man, even in the evenings when he drank rum and played dominoes with two or three compatriots he’d managed to seek out in the town. She wondered how much she actually looked like him; it was hard to tell from one photograph and a long-faded memory. Her skin was a shade or so lighter but her hair just as dark; her eyes the same deep mahogany – a stark contrast to the cornflower blue of her mother’s. Thoughts of her father had drifted further and further away as she struggled through life but there were fragments of him embedded so inextricably within her they had actually become part of her fabric. Phrases he’d used and little snatches of songs he’d sung came unexpectedly in reveries and dreams. She couldn’t picture him in her world but lost memory resurfaced frequently since her sessions with Tessa. She remembered times he’d sat her down and spoken to her in earnest, away from the earshot of her mother, like on the day she’d just started junior school and an older boy teased her about her freckled skin and coiled hair. It was the first time her father had taken her aside in this way, speaking to her as if she was much older: You have to show them they can’t beat you, he said. Even if you feel scared to death. We people have to learn to be extra strong. They mustn’t see we are weak even if inside it feels like everything is crumbling. We are a long way from home, you and me, Bel-Bel, but we can never let them know we are frightened, okay? Ebele asked him who ‘they’ were and he told her it didn’t matter. Had he still been alive he would be firmly into middle age now and she wondered how her life would have turned out if he’d been there to steer her through it. Would he be proud of the way she’d turned out? She thought of the clothes she’d just trodden into the mud and she was glad she hadn’t told Grace what she’d done; they already thought she was unstable, perhaps they were right. She continued to scrutinise herself in the mirror, pressing her fingers into her face as if the act might remould her features, reshape her existence. She applied more and more pressure until her cheeks became bloodless and sore. Slowly the thoughts of her father switched from grief to anger. She remembered the way her mother collapsed when the message came that he’d crashed his car into a tree, just like Marc Bolan she’d spluttered, explaining through her tears how Papa and Marc Bolan were the only men she’d ever loved. Ebele didn’t know who Marc Bolan was at the time; she still hardly knew who her father was. She stepped away from the mirror and shook her face until colour came flooding back, then she climbed into the bath, ducked her head beneath the hot soapy water and lay there submerged until she was forced up for air.
It was long past eleven when she phoned Daban. He answered straight away.
‘I didn’t expect to hear from you,’ he said.
‘I’m sorry it’s so late.’
‘What can I do for you, Ebele?’
‘Nothing. I don’t need you to do anything for me.’ She tried to sound neutral.
‘Okay then, to what do I owe the pleasure?’ He sounded exasperated.
‘As you say, we’ve got to work together so I wanted to let you know it won’t be awkward or anything at work. I mean, you know, perhaps I overreacted the other night.’
‘Sure. Okay. Thanks. But it would have been fine at work. It is fine. Couldn’t this have waited until the morning?’
‘Am I disturbing you? Do you have company or something?’
‘No. Not exactly. Not really your business anyway. Bye Ebele.’
Before he had a chance to hang up, she said, ‘Look, I’m sorry, okay? Let me say my piece; you’re very honoured to get an apology from me so take it in the spirit it’s meant.’ Daban laughed and she relaxed a little. ‘I’ve had a bad few days that’s all. Actually, I’ve had a bad few years. I’m not really as tough as you seem to think and, well, I’m not usually such a bitch.’ She tried to sound frivolous.
‘Apology taken,’ he said lightly.
In the background, a woman’s voice called out his name and he shouted a response in a language Ebele didn’t understand
‘Oh! There is someone there. I’ll leave you to it. Sorry.’
‘It’s my mum.’ Daban said quickly. ‘We’re watching a film. We do it every Sunday, like a routine. We always have, since I was a boy.’
‘You better get back to it then.’ Ebele was unexpectedly relieved by the information.
‘She likes Bollywood but, to be honest, I’m quite happy to escape all the crazy singing and dancing for a few minutes. It can get a bit much sometimes, plus having to read the subtitles. Not that you need them; the plotlines are all pretty similar. Have you ever watched an Indian film, Ebele?’
‘Not really. My father used to watch them when I was young. His family were partly Indian I think, but I never met my grandparents on that side. My mother hated them, the films I mean.‘
‘Does he still watch them? I could pass on which ones to avoid.’
‘He’s dead,’ Ebele said abruptly.
‘I’m sorry to hear that. When?’
‘Years ago. I was a kid.’
‘That must have been hard; he couldn’t have been very old. Is your mother still around?’
‘Probably. I don’t see her anymore.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean I left, we fell out. It was ages ago. I don’t know where she is. It doesn’t really matter. It’s history.’
‘Of course it matters; she’s your mum. They don’t become history – they are too much a part of us. Doesn’t she live in the same house anymore?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe. We’ve lost touch.’
‘How can you lose touch with your mum? Does she know she has a granddaughter?
‘You’re prying again,’ Ebele said. ‘Tuli doesn’t need anyone else. She has me,’ she added bluntly.
‘My mother is always talking about grandchildren. I’ve told her it’ll be a while yet.’ He spoke light-heartedly now, ignoring her reprimand. ‘You should reconnect with her. Before it’s too late. It’s easy to let shit fester and then suddenly years slip by and people disappear completely.’
‘Why do you always jump into the deep end, Daban? I don’t want to talk about my parents.’
‘Look, I won’t pry if that’s what you think it is. But, just so you know, I decided long ago I would get to know people for who they really are and the only way to do so is to have proper conversations. I have no time for photoshopped lives.’
‘There’s nothing photoshopped about my life.’
‘And, if we are going to be friends then that’s the deal. And whatever you say, I know you need a friend. I can tell loneliness when I see it. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.’
‘See you around, Daban,’ she said but she didn’t hang up.
‘As you want, Ebele. See you around, but you know what, you call me if you ever want to have a proper chat. or if you need help with anything. My phone is always on.’
That night, Ebele tossed and turned in her bed, thinking about the car just a few metres away from Tuli’s bedroom window.
22. TULI
Nothing happened on Monday. Not enough was allowed to happen as far as Tuli was concerned. Partly it was because of the rain but really it was Mummy who made the rules about staying in and keeping dry even though she’d promised a day out with boats on the pond and doughnuts on the way home. Tuli didn’t mind the rain, not usually. It made patterns on the window which sparkled magic light through the drops when she shone her torch on them. She didn’t understand why her mother wouldn’t find their kagoules so they could go out like other people. After all, if everyone stayed in when it rained, there’d be no milk to buy in shops, and probably no shops open in the first place to buy anything at all; and children wouldn’t skip to school and teachers would have no one to teach (but actually even the teachers wouldn’t be there so school would be locked, which wouldn’t be such a bad thing). But school was always open if it rained; only snow closed school down, and holidays. It didn’t make any sense not to go out in the rain. Sometimes grown-ups made stupid decisions. Mummy’s decisions were often stupid, like when she argued with Jamal Daddy and it pushed him away. If everybody stayed in on a rainy day, hospitals would have to close too. And what would happen if she fell down and cut her knee so badly that blood flowed like a river down her leg? They’d be no smiling nurse to stick it back together with special tape. What would happen then if it was a rainy day and no-one was supposed to go out?
Pencil scribbles across a grey sky made it difficult to see but she could just about make out people in Hazelwood park, walking quickly with hands in pockets and collars turned up, sheltering under trees while their wet dogs ran about shaking, creating showers of smelly water. It seemed only the old people had remembered to bring out umbrellas but there were plenty of people around nevertheless. Tuli wanted to tell Mummy this. To say the world didn’t need to stop because of the rain. When she was bored of looking at people, she shuffled up and down the landing with her head slung low.
‘Give it a rest, can’t you Tuli? Stomping about the flat isn’t going to make the rain go away.’
‘I can’t be stomping, Mummy. I don’t even know what stomping is. There’s nothing to do inside. I’m bored.’
‘Read one of your books or watch telly or something. Can’t you just keep yourself busy? We can’t help the weather but it does mean we’ll have to stay in, for now at least. As soon as it stops, we’ll go out. I promise.’
‘But I like rain. Why can’t I go outside now? I can just go to the garden and splash, and it’s close enough to change my clothes if I get wet.’
‘Don’t be silly, Tuli. Go and play in your room?.
‘I want to play outside. You don’t have to come. Grandy can open the garden for me.’
‘Mandy won’t want you walking through her kitchen all wet and muddy. We’ll go out when the rain stops.’
‘Can I play on your phone?’
‘No. You’re too young for phones, we’ve been through this before. Anyway, I need to make some calls.’
‘But it was a park day, together, before the rain kept coming. You’re always busy; too busy for me.’
‘Don’t be cheeky, Tuli.’
Tuli skulked to her bedroom and closed the door. When she came out to go to the toilet, Mummy was putting school clothes over the radiator in the hallway. She ran back into her room with her hands over her eyes, shaking her head and trying hard to hold in the wee. She picked up a book from the floor but the words were too close together and the pictures were all the same so she threw it across the room. It landed beneath the bed. She could hear her mother’s voice shouting into her phone at the man called Makrides, the boss of Mummy’s work and the boss of their home too. He was ugly and bald and had yellow crooked teeth but Tuli felt a little sorry for him; he always looked sad, like he would cry as soon as no-one was looking. Mummy was always being mean about him, just like Finn was mean to her at school. It was no wonder Mr Makrides was sad. She picked up Froggy from the floor and looked out of the window to see if she could see Storyman through the rain yet.
The next morning, the reflection of raindrops on her carpet was replaced by an oblong of light in the middle of the bedroom floor. She wanted to sit in it and feel warm sunshine on her skin but her mother was calling so she pulled the covers over her head and pretended to be invisible.
‘Tuli get up,’
The thought of going to school made her upset; she started crying.
‘What’s wrong, baby?’ Her mother knelt at the side of her bed. Tuli found it hard to speak through her tears.
‘I don’t want to go. I want to stay here. The children at school are horrible. I have friends here, Froggy and you know, story friends.’
‘Oh Tuli, we can’t go through this every time, not again. Sometimes we need to learn to play with real friends, not imaginary ones. You have to go to school or I’ll get letters telling me I’m not looking after you properly.’
‘Nothing is worse than school.’
‘Yes it is. School is the least worst thing in life. Come on sweetheart, get up or I’ll be late for work. I’ll take you all the way in if you want me to, I won’t just leave you at the gates, I promise.’
Tuli wanted to say, you promised we could go out to the park yesterday but she held her tongue. She didn’t want to be angry. Her mother had enough anger for both of them. Instead, she popped her head over the covers and sat up, rubbing her sore eyes with her knuckles.
‘Do I have to go to after school club? It’s the worst bit, Mummy.’
Ebele paused. Tell you what,’ she said after a moment. ‘I’ll see if Grace has any meetings after school today. Perhaps she’ll bring you home with her. How about that? But, no messing with Mandy’s things and you’ll have to say sorry about taking her books the other day, okay?’
Tuli nodded as her mother handed over a pile of clothes, still warm from the radiator. She pulled them on under the covers while Mummy opened the curtains and looked around for what seemed to be a very long time. Tuli held her breath and prayed Storyman was well hidden.
‘Right Tuli, two minutes to breakfast,’ Mummy said as she left the room. Tuli jumped out of bed, filled her cheeks with air and peered through the window. When there was no sign of Storyman in the car, she exhaled with a loud sigh.
When her mother shouted again, Tuli twirled around but quickly returned to the window for another look.
‘Tuli. Come on, we’ll be late.’
Just as she was about to give up hope of seeing him, the car door swung open and Storyman appeared. She let out a small squeal and began to wave. Storyman, Storyman, look this way. She was careful to keep her words silent. She jumped up and down with her arms above her head but still he didn’t look. When she heard her mother’s footsteps coming towards her down the landing she jumped away from the window and onto her bed just in time.
‘What’s all the thumping about? You should be getting ready for school.’
‘Nothing. Just playing. With Froggy.’
‘Okay but this isn’t the time for playing: you’re going to be late for school. Please Tuli, get a move on.’
She was glad Mummy didn’t look out of the window .
Tuli was made to sit next to a new boy at school. He smelled of fried onions. She hated onions and just wanted the day to end so she could go home with Grace and speak to Storyman. When the teacher said Tuli, it’s your job to show Victor around. You can be buddies, she shook her head but nobody took any notice. She didn’t want to be anyone’s buddy but everywhere she went that morning the boy was right behind her. When playtime came and the teacher said show Victor where to put his coat; show Victor our work drawers; show Victor the way to the school hall, Tuli hid in the toilets instead. At lunchtime, she stood behind the bushes near the school gates and watched as he sat on the ‘Friendly’ bench with his chin in his hands, swinging his skinny legs.
