Grace, page 3
It was their termly parents’ evening, and the mothers and fathers of the boarders had finished being given their edited updates by the teaching staff and had retired to Shakespeare for some substandard plonk and stale cheese straws made by the house chef, Colin. He was unenthusiastic about both children and cooking, and it showed. But no matter. It meant that the parents didn’t linger. She abhorred small talk anyway, but particularly now.
She felt sorry for the boys, though. In less than an hour, those parents would bid farewell to their children, who they wouldn’t see again for another four weeks. There would most likely be tears in the younger boys’ rooms later. She dreaded these evenings. She tried so hard to be maternal to console the little ones, but she feared that she was a very poor substitute for the real thing.
Amelia walked out into the hallway of the boarding house and considered heading upstairs, taking refuge behind the door marked ‘Private’.
Their two-bedroom apartment was located at the back of the large, red brick Victorian-villa-turned-boarding-house. Their private living room looked out over a granite retaining wall, which was effectively holding back the hill beyond. Amelia could only see the sky if she stood in the doorway; any closer and all she could see was a collection of enterprising weeds, dappled concrete and the little waves of damp which surged down it when it rained, like the tide.
No, Amelia thought, I don’t think going upstairs will help. Instead, she headed for the housemaster’s office, which was on the ground floor at the front of the building, overlooking the broad tree-lined avenue. Furnished with a large wooden desk, two sofas and a coffee table, it functioned mostly as a room for chats with parents, tutorial sessions with small groups and disciplinary meetings for naughty teenage boys. Piers preferred to do his admin and marking in the small study in their private apartment upstairs instead, and she didn’t blame him. The boys were always walking in here without knocking.
Amelia stood by the window, which looked out down the gravel driveway, towards the street. Cars and vans were passing with regularity, the once elegant carriage ride now reduced to a rat-run beloved by delivery drivers and shoppers seeking free parking. It was raining again, and a bubbling brook had formed at the side of the road, racing down the hill.
Suddenly, playing in the water, was a dark-haired girl of about three. She had moved into Amelia’s view so quickly, she wondered if she’d imagined her. She was clad in red knee-high wellies and a red waterproof jumpsuit. The girl began taking huge, gleeful leaps in the water, flinging her arms around in large circles, landing hard on the road surface, sending spray ricocheting around her. Amelia could see, but could not hear, the shrieks of laughter this provoked, the sound of joy causing the girl’s body to shake and her face to change shape almost entirely.
Leila would be her age now, she thought. Three.
The sight of the little girl sent Amelia’s mind in search of its most desperate desire, a desire she had been trying her utmost to suppress. After checking she was alone, she reached out her hand into the air, where it met another. Not the hand – barely heavier than a piece of paper – that she’d clung on to for hours in the hospital, aware that as soon as she let go, her hopes and dreams would disappear with it. No, this hand was strong, warm and pink. And this time, she would not let go.
‘Amelia?’
Amelia snatched her hand back and thrust it into her pocket. She turned towards her husband.
‘Sorry, darling. I was just taking a moment.’
‘He didn’t mean anything by it, you know. People just ask things like that, to be polite.’
Amelia tried to smile.
‘I know that. I should be better at dealing with stuff like that by now. Sorry.’
Piers walked towards her and took her in his arms.
‘Don’t be silly. We’ve been through hell, haven’t we? Both of us. But things are getting better. We’re on the right path now. There are things to look forward to.’
Neither of them spoke for a few seconds. Amelia focused on the ticking grandfather clock in the hallway, the whine of passing cars and the distant sound of clinking glasses. Anything to persuade the apparition of Leila to fade. She needed to move on. She knew that.
‘Mr Howard? The cake is lit. Do you want to come in and do the speech?’ Mrs Collins had arrived at the door, and Amelia was grateful.
‘Yes, sure,’ Piers replied. He was keen, Amelia knew, to get back to the crowds of parents who were all waiting to celebrate the boarding house’s fiftieth anniversary. He let go of Amelia and walked towards the door.
‘Give yourself a minute to compose yourself, darling, and I’ll see you in there, shall I?’
Amelia nodded. When he had left the room, she collapsed into the office chair, her head in her hands. It had taken all the energy she had to maintain her face this evening – she felt like she didn’t have any left to do it again.
Then her phone rang. It almost never rang. If it did, it was usually the doctor, or someone calling to try to defraud her. She pulled it out of her pocket and answered it.
‘Hello?’
‘Oh, hello, Mrs Howard,’ said the voice in the receiver. ‘This is Gloria Reynolds here. From social services? I just tried your husband’s phone, but it’s turned off. I have some news for you.’
4
October 13th
Michelle
Nineteen weeks until the final hearing
There was a thudding coming from the direction of the window. Michelle became aware of it gradually as the dank cloud which lurked over her every morning gradually began to clear. When she managed to open her eyes, pain shot through her. Sunlight, which had pierced the bedroom’s thin blue curtains, was shining directly into her eyes through a cloud of dust and stale smoke. When she recovered, she could make out the shadow of an adult behind the curtains, but whether it was male or female, she couldn’t say.
‘Piss offfffffff,’ yelled Rob beside her, opening one eye and throwing himself onto his side, the springs in the ancient mattress screaming in protest. ‘It better not be the bloody pigs again…’ he added, in Michelle’s vague direction.
Michelle’s heart sank. She didn’t want to go through that again.
The noise began once more. But now that Michelle was coming to, she realised that it was more of a tapping sound. A gentle tapping, even.
‘Nah, Rob, I don’t think so. I’ll go.’
She pushed herself up and rolled over, wincing as she hauled her legs over the side of the bed. The scars from the birth were healing, but slowly. She looked down and checked for damp patches on her chest. There were none this morning. Her milk must be drying up, finally, she thought; she had been in intense pain yesterday, with boobs the size of footballs, but she hoped her body was now getting the message.
‘Can you put the kettle on when you pass the kitchen, Chelle? I could murder a cuppa.’
‘Sure.’
Michelle stood up and walked slowly out of their bedroom and through the living room. When she reached the front door, she opened it a crack and peered outside. She didn’t want to go out in her pyjamas.
‘Hello?’ she said, as loudly as she dared. She didn’t want to annoy the woman in the flat upstairs again. They’d had enough problems with her already. ‘I’m here,’ she called out. ‘By the door?’
Her social worker Laura appeared seconds later from the far corner of the building, fresh from tapping on their bedroom window. She was wearing a padded, belted black coat and a grey knitted hat with a pom-pom on the top. She looked a bit like she might be about to head up the ski slopes, Michelle thought.
‘Ah, Michelle, there you are. I hoped you wouldn’t be out.’
Michelle nodded, unable to think of a response to this. They were almost never out. They had nowhere to go. They were both unemployed, for a start. Rob had failed to hold down a job, ever, and she’d had to give up her zero-hours job at a local delivery warehouse when she’d got pregnant. She’d been too knackered to continue.
She folded her arms across her chest and stared down at her feet, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. She shivered. It was the first frosty morning of autumn, and she was in her pyjamas.
‘Look, can I come in? Then we can both warm up,’ Laura said, marching towards their front door as she did so. Michelle felt a dart of panic. The flat was a tip, she knew that, and Laura probably lived in a detached new-build and had a weekly cleaner. But then, to be honest, they all thought she was pond scum. Why bother to try to change their minds?
‘You’d better come in, then,’ she said as she walked back into the flat, sweeping aside a pile of takeaway menus and double-glazing flyers with her feet. She shut the door behind Laura and followed her into the flat, noticing, as if for the first time, the smells that she lived with every day – tobacco, dust, dirt, fried food, old food. She saw Laura wrinkle her nose when she thought she wasn’t looking. Yep, she definitely had a cleaner. Probably one paid for by an overpaid, under-skilled husband, who felt he was indulging his wife’s desire to ‘do good’ by letting her earn a relative pittance as a social worker. If they ever did any good, which was doubtful, Michelle thought.
‘Would you like a cup of…’
‘Oh no,’ Laura replied, before she’d even finished her sentence. ‘Don’t want to cause you any bother. I just had a coffee. I’m fine.’
Yeah, right, Michelle thought. You don’t even want to touch anything in here, do you? In case you catch something. Like norovirus. Or poverty.
Michelle walked into their small galley kitchen and poured water into the kettle. Laura had followed her in there, so they waited in silence as it came to the boil. Michelle found two mugs in the sink and rinsed them under the tap.
‘How are you getting on, Michelle?’
Michelle grimaced and kept washing the cups.
‘Cracking. Peachy. Perfect,’ she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘I’m fine,’ she added, after she’d mentally thrown a grenade in Laura’s general direction. ‘Fine. I don’t need you. I don’t need no one.’
‘But it’s the first contact session today, Michelle. I thought you’d like to come. You said you wanted to see Grace? I can give you a lift there, if you like.’
‘I don’t need a lift. Rob…’
‘He’s here, is he?’
Michelle nodded in the direction of the bedroom. ‘He’s asleep, yep. In there. Shall I go and wake him? He can take me…’
Michelle registered a flicker of fear in Laura’s eyes, which was hilarious. He’d never even gone near them. Except to tell them to fuck off, of course. But they deserved that, well and truly.
‘I didn’t see a car outside?’ she said. ‘Your car is usually in the parking space out front, isn’t it?’
Michelle slammed the mugs down and spun around. They still didn’t have a car, because Rob still hadn’t paid to get it back from the pound.
‘Look, you were wrong, all right? About the contact thing. I don’t want to come anymore. Because she’s not mine. She’s gonna be someone else’s. It’s done.’
But Laura didn’t seem to be listening.
‘Michelle, that’s not true. You don’t know that. If you get your act together,’ she waved her arms around her, gesticulating at the kitchen and the living room beyond, ‘there’s a chance… The courts…’
‘There’s no chance, Laura,’ Michelle answered, baring her teeth, congratulating herself for omitting the ‘Lying’ from her name when she’d spoken it out loud. ‘And you know it. And I know it. You are all full of such bullshit. Every single thing you lot’ve promised me in the past has turned out to be bollocks. Just move on from here and it’ll be the final move, Michelle,’ she said in a sing-song voice, while making a face. ‘Don’t worry, Michelle, you’ll be safe, your roommate will be nice. Michelle, it’ll feel just like home, and don’t worry, your gran will be back to see you soon…’ Michelle paused and saw puzzlement on Laura’s face, and almost felt sorry that she’d obviously burst her naive little newbie bubble. ‘If I go today, Laura, all I’ll do is… get attached. And that’s not good for her… or me. It’s best if I stay away. Start over, you know?’
Laura walked towards her and placed her hand on Michelle’s arm. She shivered at her touch and moved a step away.
‘Michelle, I know that… things have been hard for you. For a long time. What with your own mum and dad… and I wondered… whether you’d like to talk about that? We can set you up with a counsellor?’
Fucking hell, she thought. Another one. They’d tried that once, but he’d been this old guy with bad breath who’d stared at her breasts and tried to feel her up. She hadn’t gone back after her first session. She had not reported it, though, because there was no point. Nobody ever believed her.
Laura turned off the tap for her and took the two mugs from her hands.
‘Do you have a tea towel?’
Michelle knew that they didn’t.
‘No, they’re all in the wash. But there’s some kitchen roll…’
Laura scanned the worktops, found a roll and began to dry the mugs.
‘Look, Michelle. I know you don’t want to go today,’ she said, reaching for two teabags from a box on the counter and dropping them into the mugs. ‘But just in case you change your mind – and I know you feel you won’t – but just in case, you know – the judge and the children’s guardian won’t look kindly on you if you haven’t been. I am just thinking of you. And Grace.’
Lying, lying Laura, Michelle thought. You have never thought of me. You’re just thinking of your targets. But still… I do want to say goodbye to her, she thought. I want to see her one more time, just so that I can take a mental photo of her face.
Michelle did that sometimes, when a moment was particularly happy; she would stare, really take in her surroundings for a few seconds, and then close her eyes, focusing on taking in every single detail, every colour, every smell, every shape. That way, she stored it in her brain properly, so that she could relive that moment whenever she wanted. In that exclusive filing cabinet she could feel once more the warm, pink dressing gown she had clung to, and the soft arms which had gathered her into it; and a green, swirly carpet covered in Lego and Barbie dolls, and the smiling face of her companion. There hadn’t been too many moments like these in her life, so she hadn’t had to do it too often, and the memories she did have in there were regularly accessed. The storage space in her brain had plenty of room.
‘I’ll come,’ she said, before she could change her mind.
Michelle saw a look of relief light up Laura’s face.
‘Okay, lovely, that’s great. Shall we leave the tea then, and head off? The session starts in half an hour.’
‘Nah,’ Michelle replied, thinking of Rob in the next room. ‘I said I’d bring Rob one. And I need to get dressed.’
‘Okay,’ Laura replied, pouring the hot water into the mugs. ‘How about I make the tea, and you go and get changed?’
Michelle nodded and went back into their room. The curtains were still closed, but she could just make out a pile of clothes in the corner. She had last done a wash before going into hospital, and she knew that that pile at least was clean. She sifted through the clothes, locating a pair of jeggings, some pants, a bra and a pink jumper. She pulled off her pyjamas and pulled on the pants, followed by the jeggings, which were maternity clothes, and mercifully had a forgiving elasticated waist. Her stomach was still sticking out – she still looked pregnant, she reckoned – and lined with angry red stretch marks, like a Punch and Judy tent. The bra, however, was a waste of time. It had only just fitted when she was pregnant, but now it dug into her breasts, and rubbed a raw ring around her chest. She’d have to go without. At least the jumper was loose. It covered a multitude of sins. Finally, she grabbed a hairband from the floor beside the bed and pulled her long, dyed-blonde hair up into a high, messy bun.
She emerged from the room to catch Laura loading their bin with most of the contents of their kitchen surfaces.
‘… I just thought I’d tidy up a bit…’ she said, with a face that looked like a rabbit who’d just spotted a farmer with a loaded gun.
Michelle raised both eyebrows but said nothing and walked over to the steaming mugs of tea. ‘I’ll just take this in to him,’ she said, taking hold of one, ‘and then we can go.’ She leaned into the bedroom door to push it open and walked over to Rob’s side of the bed. ‘Here you go, babe,’ she said. ‘I’m just off out for a bit. Back later…’
Rob snuffled. ‘All right, babe,’ he replied.
Michelle picked a pair of trainers up from the floor, sat down on her side of the bed to put them on, and walked back into the lounge.
‘Ready?’ she said, eager to get Laura out of their flat.
‘Of course,’ said Laura, who was now washing her hands in the sink.
‘You’ll need a coat,’ said Laura. ‘It’s freezing outside today.’
Michelle looked around and saw Rob’s parka lying on the floor by the sofa. She grabbed it and pulled it on.
‘Let’s go then,’ said Laura, holding the front door open for her and walking towards her car, which was a silver VW Polo. Not a BMW, then, thought Michelle. Perhaps it’s in for a service? Michelle sat in the passenger seat and did up the seatbelt, noting as she did so that the back seat of the car was strewn with paperwork, sandwich cartons, chocolate and biscuit wrappers and half-drunk bottles of juice and water.
‘I’m so sorry about the mess,’ said Laura. ‘I don’t get many chances to take proper meal breaks. Or much time to clear out all the crap,’ she said, smiling one of her big smiles.
Michelle tried to smile back, but only managed something like a smirk. Smiling was another thing she wasn’t very good at, especially in the presence of a social worker.
The journey to the contact centre was mercifully short. Michelle only had to endure ten minutes of awkward small talk punctuated by the banality of a local commercial radio station, before they pulled onto the driveway of a large red brick building in the centre of town.
