Blood Family (11 page)

The thrill wore off. In fact, I look back now and wonder if it wasn’t more the shopping that excited me, rather than Eddie. He was so
quiet
. Not a bit like Ali’s brothers. He didn’t even move around the house much. He sort of stayed wherever he’d been left. He never argued. Nicholas would watch me mooching about, not really doing anything, just getting more and more bored, and he’d get irritated. ‘For heaven’s sake, Alice, why don’t you go out in the garden?’

I’d give him the evil eye and tell him sullenly, ‘I’ve already
been
in the garden.’ But Eddie would go out as if it were an order, even if till that moment he’d been perfectly content doing one of his jigsaws.

He adored jigsaws. Natasha asked him once, ‘What is it about them that gets you, Edward? Is it the the pictures, or getting finally to put the last piece in, or what?’

Do you know what he said? He said, ‘I like to think of all those tiny little bits going into the exact right place, all comfy and cosy and safe.’

He said it. But he didn’t bother to look up. So it was only me who saw Natasha and Nicholas eyeing one another over his head.

It was a weird look they exchanged.

I just thought he was rather odd.

I became Edward. Natasha and Nicholas didn’t exactly come out and tell me openly, ‘We prefer Edward.’ But that’s what they called me, and when I went to my new school, that is the name the teachers used. I must have seemed a little dense, taking so long to respond till I got used to it. Before, when I’d been Edward, it had been Alan ticking me off for leaving stuff about. ‘Edward James Taylor, is this
your
clutter left all over the floor? How about coming back to clear it up?’

It was what Linda, with a smile, referred to as my ‘Sunday name’. But from the start Nicholas and Natasha had used it almost as often as they called me Eddie, and once I’d moved into their house they used it more and more. The notes the teachers gave me to bring home always had ‘Edward Stead’ written along the top because I’d been advised by Rob to use that name at school. ‘It’s simpler. But you’ll keep the name Taylor for quite a time, in case you change your mind.’

He meant about being adopted, although he didn’t spell that out. He’d already brought round what he called my Life Story Box. I’d never seen it before. It was a sturdy yellow cardboard carton with flaps tucked in on top.
He dumped it on my bed. ‘Here you are. Everything except the stuff Natasha and Nicholas will have to keep safe for you.’

‘Stuff like my birth certificate?’ (I was determined to keep track of the replacement. Rob had seemed disappointed that there was nothing written in the space for Father’s Name. But I was simply thrilled to know my proper birthday at last. And Priya had assured me in front of everyone in my old class that I was a Leo. Loyal and strong, she said, just like a lion. And someone who liked changes.)

‘Yes, they’ll keep the stuff like that. But all the rest of your things are in this box, and you get to look after them.’

Prising up one of the carton’s flaps, I spotted my school report card from the term before, and one of the
Frog and Toad
books.

‘Want to go through it?’ suggested Rob. ‘Maybe show some of the things to Natasha and Nicholas?’

I shook my head and slid the box away, under my bed. Later, in private, I pulled it out and rooted through. Olly the owl, of course. (I took him out and put him on the shelf above my bed.) All of the little things that I’d been given to encourage me when I was learning to read. One or two muddy paintings from back when I was still getting the hang of rinsing my brush between colours. The photo Alan framed of me dressed as an oyster, standing between Priya and Jamie. Two cards from my
mother’s nursing home, probably written by someone else but both signed ‘Mum’. The photocopies I had watched come churning out of the machine that day with Rob in Gateshead. Some grubby birthday card a policeman found in our flat. The musty book that Rob took with us when he first led me away.

And underneath, in piles of four that neatly lined the bottom of the box to make it look far fuller than it was, all of the ancient video tapes of Mr Perkins.

But all of it was stuff I’d left behind. I was a Leo now. Priya had told me that Leos liked changes and my whole life had changed. And so I shoved the yellow cardboard carton back, out of sight and mind, under the bed.

There was no one like Miss Bright at my new school. No one to lead a crying child into the cushion corner to hear about the kitten who had been run over, the brand-new model glider whose wings had been snapped off by some rough baby sister, or details of classroom spite. No one to tell us sternly, ‘It’s only
bullies
who call it “telling tales”. Everyone else knows that it’s letting grown-ups know why someone in the class is feeling unhappy.’

You had to stand up for yourself at Tandy Lane Junior School. Nobody picked on me, but still I found each day exhausting. I didn’t know that at the time, of course. I just came home and shoved Nicholas’s great black leather-lined earphones on my head and listened to his favourite Roxy Music tracks till he loomed over me, pointing to
the time. ‘OK, poppet. Feeling better? Ready to face the world as well as the music?’

He was an architect who worked from home. Inside his office was a massive sloping board on which he pinned his drawings and plans. I used to stand behind and marvel at how he used his elbow rather than his ruined hand to hold down rulers or papers. Appointments and site visits must have been arranged so he could meet me every weekday for a while at the school gates. I didn’t realize quite how many outside appointments he must have till I got tonsillitis. In between barking coughs, I heard him on the phone over and over.

‘I can’t apologize enough. I realize you’re probably already on the way . . .’

‘I’m sorry but we must postpone the site meeting at noon.’

‘This chat about the plans. You couldn’t possibly reschedule it for later in the day? Or meet me here? You see, we have a sick child in the house, and my wife can’t get back till after five.’

And that was early for her. Natasha ran a rental agency. I never understood the business properly. It seemed to cover, not just flats and cars, but huge marquees and smart green and gold vans with things like mobile bars and giant cooking cauldrons that could be wheeled down ramps and set up anywhere for outdoor events. Sometimes, at weekends, Natasha would be gone even before I woke, and not come back till after I was asleep.
(Next morning she’d be in the foulest mood about her job. Alice and I would hear her crabbing through their half-open bedroom door. ‘Christ, Nicholas, you wouldn’t
believe
that family! Rude, arsy lot!’ We’d hear her wrenching open a dresser drawer. ‘Do you know, at one point the bride’s father even pulled out his copy of the contract and starting stabbing his stinking, cigarette-stained fingertips at one of the clauses! I could have bloody clocked him!’ The drawer slammed shut. ‘I tell you, Nicholas, that Beck family is going right at the top of our “Sorry, we’re fully booked” list!’)

She took me to see a marquee. (‘You’ve never seen one? Oh, Edward. You
must
have. Surely you’ve been inside a circus tent!’) She knew my history. Rob had assured me that he’d told them everything. But still the idea that there were a host of things I’d simply missed kept slipping out of her brain.

I quite liked that. If I was not the first thing on her mind, maybe that was because I didn’t need to be.

Maybe I was all right.

Certainly Alice seemed to think so. She welcomed me with great enthusiasm, showering me with small gifts. And even after that wore off, as it soon did, I never got the feeling Alice thought that I was odd. I can remember thinking that we were the same in some ways. Secretly I felt pleased when I heard Alice never knew her own real dad. And when she was my age, her mother had got sick.
Then sicker. Alice did have an uncle, but he’d done little more than send the occasional present and Alice’s mother clearly hadn’t thought he was the right person to take care of Alice. So in the end she’d got in touch with Social Services. I didn’t ask too many questions, but I could tell from how Natasha and Nicholas talked that they had got to know Alice’s mother well while they were caring for her daughter during the last few months.

But I was still surprised when, one wet afternoon, Natasha poked her head round my bedroom door while I was cutting out another line of grey scales for the dinosaur I had to make for school. ‘Edward, can I ask you a giant favour?’

I looked up.

‘Would you mind coming with Alice and me in the car? Nicholas can’t keep an eye on you in the house because he has to rush across town to see a client, and it’s Alice’s mother’s birthday.’

She saw my look of utter bafflement and made a face. ‘God! Sorry, Edward. I should explain. Today is one of the days that we put flowers on Tamara’s grave.’

I must have still looked confused.

‘I know,’ she said. ‘But, you see, Alice loved her very much. So it’s a nice way of remembering. We do it twice a year – on Alice’s own birthday, and on her mum’s.’ Natasha waved a hand across her face. ‘You won’t need to come close if you don’t want. I can park on the drive and you can stay in the car. We’re never there too long.’

And so we went. As usual, Alice raced ahead to bag the car’s front seat. ‘Careful!’ Natasha warned. ‘It’s flowers you’ve got there, not an entrenching tool. Don’t bash them all about.’

Alice just stuffed the bright bunch in my hand. ‘You take them. More room in the back.’

I knew that a real brother would have said, ‘No. They’re
your
flowers.
You
sit here.’ But I’d already learned to do what Alice said. In any case, the flowers weren’t for her. They were for someone dead.

You wouldn’t have thought so. All the way across town, Alice was prattling cheerfully about some spendthrift friend of hers who was called Mary. ‘So it turns out she’s bought
another
locket, and there was nothing wrong with the one she had except that it kept falling open, and that could have been fixed, and Sarah says . . .’ On she went, on and on, while I amused myself by clouding the rain-stippled window with my breath and drawing faces till Natasha swung the car between two massive gate posts.

Slowly she drove around the gracious curves between the lines of gravestones. Then she stopped.

Alice twisted her head to order me out of the car. ‘Come on, then.’

Natasha tried to rescue me. ‘I thought that Edward might prefer to—’

But Alice wasn’t listening. ‘Be careful with the flowers!’ She’d already left the car, slamming her door shut behind
her. Slavish as ever, I followed her across the soggy grass to the grave. Once there, as if obeying some invisible order, Alice burst into tears. Natasha slid an arm round her shoulders and the rain poured down. All about was gloomy green dark. I’d only brought my thin school waterproof and I was cold, standing there waiting for Alice to finish dabbing and sniffling. The bunch of flowers was getting heavier by the minute. I hadn’t realized it was gathering rainwater until a sudden creak of cellophane released a stream of it onto my foot.

Too late, I jumped to the side. Seeing me, Alice sighed. ‘Here. Hand them over. Honestly, I’m all right now.’

Natasha steered me away, but when I turned to look, though Alice had her back to us, I knew that she was talking to her mum, under the ground.

Natasha ushered me into the front seat beside her. ‘I know you’re frozen. But I don’t want to start the car in case Alice thinks we’re rushing her.’

Another small thing learned. To use the heater in a car, you have to start the engine.

‘That’s OK.’

Natasha patted my knee. ‘You’re a good boy.’

I waited, trying not to shiver, till Alice came back. She must have been halfway across the grass before she realized she still had the flowers. Back she rushed, to dump them against the headstone before running back to wrench the car door open on my side.

‘How come Edward’s in the front?’

Natasha, who had only that moment turned on the engine, said, ‘Just to be near the heater.’

I took the hint. Alice stepped back to let me out. It took an age to warm up on the long drive home.

The dead seemed to be closer than the living. Natasha never once mentioned my mother. But every now and again, Nicholas would steer me quietly into his office where, even if he left the door ajar, we’d not be overheard. ‘What about you, pal? Feel like visiting your mum?’

I’d shake my head.

‘But you will tell us when you change your mind?’

I nodded, determined to pretend I hadn’t noticed he had recently changed from saying ‘if’ to the more threatening ‘when’.

He’d ruffle my hair. ‘Your call. I was just checking.’

He’d let me scramble past and up the stairs. So I was happy enough living at Fairhurst. Rob’s visits became shorter, almost peremptory, as if he had more pressing things to do than check on me. Linda and Alan gradually backed off, with postcards and small gifts taking the place of visits. The weeks and months went past. I grew out of my clothes, and in and out of others. I learned to rollerblade, to kick a ball into goal, play ‘Planet Attack!’ as fast as anyone in my class, and even dive off the springboard at the local pool. I learned the layout of the streets around the house, and which of the dogs and cats I saw
about the place belonged to which of the neighbours.

Fairhurst had gradually become my home.

I wouldn’t say that he was anything special. Bright, obviously. And he did the work. But if you’d asked me, after he’d been gone from us for a few years, I’d never have been able to put a face to the name.

Except for that one day. I’d had a sleepless night and wasn’t in the best of moods. I set them all to do a piece of written work. Usually I give them choices, but on this one occasion I just scrawled on the board the first thing that sprang to mind.

Ladybird
.

Normally, I would have noticed the hush that fell across the room. I expect I thought the kids had picked up on my ratty mood and had the sense to keep their heads down.