‘More? Okay, fifty pounds?’ She raised her hands and let them fall on to her blanket.
‘Much more, Mum. I got a hundred and fifty pounds! A hundred and fifty pounds on top of the money for my shift. Can you believe it?’
‘Oh, my goodness!’ It was a huge amount and Lisa felt a rare flicker of joy on behalf of her daughter. ‘I’ve never heard anything like it.’
‘It was from Mrand MrsKelleway. They came in to celebrate their ruby wedding anniversary and the whole night was like a party. I’d probably have worked for free just to be there! And then as they were leaving, Lawrence – and I’m not being rude, he said “Call me Lawrence” – came over to say thank you and he put the cash in my hand.’
To hear his name in her daughter’s mouth made her wince. The thought of Lawrence being flash and handing out the money raised a grim image. The boy next door who had always believed he could fix just about any problem, smooth anything over, with enough money to throw at it. He had always been that way.
‘I shoved it in my apron pocket and didn’t count it till they’d gone. I was freaking out, like it must have been a mistake or something. I thought about running after him, but Gia said I’d earned it and it’s not as if he can’t afford it, is it? They were calling him MrMoneybags and now I’m MissMoneybags!’ she squealed with delight.
‘I’m happy for you, Daisy. I really am.’ She spoke with a tightening in her throat, feeling discomfort at how impressed her daughter seemed with the Kelleways. Lisa knew there was so much moreto life than the acquisition of stuff, and having seen the family next door at close quarters for most of her life, she knew that what lay beneath the shiny exterior wasn’t always what it seemed. Her mother used to call Winnie ‘smiler’ on account of the fact that she always grinned when she stepped over her threshold to face the world, as if everything was always perfect. Lisa knew more than most that this was not real life; perfection did not exist, no matter how hard Winnie tried to convince the neighbourhood otherwise.
‘Anyway, it’s late. I just wanted to let you know, Mum.’
‘Thank you, darling. I love you.’ She meant it; the words, as ever, filled her throat with a flood of emotion. How she loved her! How she loved them all and how wretched she felt that she didn’t show them more.
‘Love you too. I’m going to bed – not that I can sleep right now. I’m too excited! One hundred and fifty pounds! I can’t believe it!’ she repeated. ‘It’s brilliant, isn’t it?’
‘It is, darling. Have you seen Dad?’ She wondered if Marty had been similarly regaled with the news.
‘The telly’s on in the front room; he’s probably asleep on the sofa.’ She spoke matter-of-factly and it tore at Lisa’s heart that this was the norm. Her husband, too, finding it difficult to bound into the room, jump on to the bed, relax in her presence. This thought that she held the whole household in the grip of her sadness was as debilitating as it was a pressure. She wished she could smash her way out, throw off the blanket and let air into the place! Knowing that her family, like her, just needed to breathe ...
‘And Jake’s in his room. Shock horror!’ Daisy came over and kissed her sweetly on the cheek. Her small kindness and show of affection again almost moved her to tears – it was far, far more than she deserved.
‘Night night, my sweet girl. Maybe ... maybe tomorrow we can go into the garden and pull up some of those weeds. Maybe wecould plant some of the flowers you talk about and try to get the garden straight.’ She did this often, her mouth writing cheques her body knew she had no hope of cashing, but it felt necessary to do so, as if she believed that if she made them often enough, one day, they might come true. ‘And maybe you’re right: we should write that letter, complain about the threat to the tree, get involved. If everyone wrote, itmightmake them reconsider chopping it down.’
‘Maybe.’ Daisy’s tone told her that she didn’t believe a word of it, and it wounded her, ladling guilt on to the low self-esteem that living this half-life fed.
I’m sorry, my darling girl. I am so, so sorry. I want to be better...but it’s like living on a knife edge...waiting for my whole world to come crashing down...
She heard Daisy’s bedroom door close as Jake’s opened and she listened to the rhythmical padding of his feet on the wooden stairs. Sometimes she considered that it might be better to have a turnstile fitted instead of a front door; there was always someone coming in or going out. Everyone, it seemed, lived their life behind closed doors, nipping out when they needed air, light, sustenance or interaction. Holding secret lives close to their chests. Keeping emotions in check. Doing what they had to do to get through the day. One child in, one child out. Husband leaving for work, husband back from work. Daisy off to her shift at the restaurant, Daisy home. And Jake, her lovely, quiet boy ... God only knew where he slunk off to in the early hours or just before sunup.
These were the markers in her existence, the interludes to her long, dull days; the squeak of a bedroom door hinge, the creak of the stair tread, the rattle of the letterbox as the front door closed, and the key in the lock when it opened. The click of the kettle, the chink of the china mugs. The ping of the microwave. The flush of the loo, the sound of water hitting the tray in the shower. She waited for them, was alerted by them, and knew that as long asthey continued to bash out the symphony of life all round her, then that was good enough. It meant the engine of family life went on, even if she had stalled. The truth was she often lost track of where everyone was and on some days would hear the front door and think Marty was heading off to start the day when a quick look at the clock told her it was nearly teatime.
She didn’t want to live like this. Who would? This hidden existence where she preferred the feel of a blanket up to her chin to anything else. A life devoid of hope and enthusiasm for whatever lay ahead. A life lived in fear. Because that was the truth: she was very, very afraid of things over which she had no control. It was rotten, like living with someone else holding the reins, steering her life, and she woke every day drenched in guilt that if this was how it was for her, what must it be like for her kids? Having to tiptoe past her sleeping form, make their own supper, wash their own clothes ... This thought was enough for her to pull the blanket over her head, unsure what she was hiding from. She wanted to be better for them, wanted better for herself, but goodness, the pull of the mattress and the lure of a darkened room was, at that point in time, far stronger than she.
One hundred and fifty pounds...
The air in the bedroom was a little stale. Aware that the bed linen hadn’t been changed for a couple of weeks, she vowed, again, to do it tomorrow. Embarrassed that her daughter had visited and had to endure this less than fragrant space. It was easy, making suggestions and promises in the dark, suggesting they start the weeding, get planting, write letters to the council to try to save the tree. And in the moment she voiced them, all these things felt possible, edged with something close to excitement. But in the cold light of day the same ideas would sit like rocks tethered to her body, trailing behind her, tying her down, weighting her spirit and making even standing up feel like too much.
It was hot. The air a little stifling. Discarding the blanket, she slowly shuffled off the mattress and walked to the window where blobs of dark mould gathered in the corners of the ancient, once white UPVC. What would her lovely mum, who had had a strict routine of daily, weekly, and monthly chores, have to say about the state of her once pristine home?
‘I’m sorry, Mum.’ She closed her eyes at the familiar lament.
Pulling the drapes, she opened the window wide and let the cool night air wash over her face. It was a nice feeling, instantly uplifting, contact of sorts with the world outside her house, which had in the last three years become both her home and her prison. With her eyes closed, she became aware of the sound of laughter and her heart jumped. The Kelleways, of course. Outside and making merry on this June night. Celebrating a ruby wedding and flinging vast tips at Daisy as if the paper were no more than confetti.
‘It’s all out there, waiting...waiting for us. A big wide world and we can grab as much of it as we want!’ She shivered at the memory despite the warmth of the evening.
Something caught her eye on the side path and as her gaze adjusted to the dull outside light, she became aware of a shadowy figure standing next to the fence, staring up. Staring at her.
‘Oh God, no!’ Her heart raced as she jumped behind the curtain.
It was him. And he was in their spot. She would know him anywhere: his shape, the exact space he took up in the world, a form that used to fit so perfectly against her own it was like they were one.
‘Lee!’ he called, and her hand shot over her mouth, as if she might be able to mentally convey her will for him to be silent, that and she feared she might scream.
‘Lee!’ he called again. He wasn’t going to give up. She had no choice other than to act.
