Family of Women (38 page)

‘You sit down, both of you,’ Mrs Bray said. ‘Let me make you tea. I haven’t made tea for a long time.’ She stood as if thinking for a moment, then said, ‘You see, they did so/di `eMmething to my brain – to try and make me better. Everything takes me a long time . . .’

She was so transparently open, like someone whose skin has been removed, that Linda was disarmed and felt sorry and somehow tender towards her. She began to relax, and saw that she was helping Alan to do the same.

‘That’s all right,’ she said. ‘You take your time. There’s no need to hurry, is there?’

‘No.’ Mrs Bray gave a sudden little laugh. ‘No, of course you’re quite right. No reason to hurry at all.’

Watching her prepare the tea was agonizing. She laid out four cups and saucers with the slow deliberation of a child.

‘Sugar . . .’ she murmured, and opened the cupboard to stand staring for an age, while Linda and Alan could both see it right in front of her but thought they had better let her find it for herself. The same rigmarole went on with the refrigerator.

Just as she had found the milk and was closing the door triumphantly, Dr Bray’s voice came booming from the upstairs landing.

‘Isn’t that tea ready
yet
, Dorothea?’

The effect was terrible to see. Linda thought Mrs Bray was going to drop the milk bottle, which she had finally identified in the fridge, and she only just managed to steer it to the table. Her eyes were terribly frightened and she was all of a quiver, almost to pieces. Linda was appalled.

‘Y-yes, Arn . . . Arnold. Just a moment, please!’

Alan got up abruptly from his chair.

‘No – Alan, don’t!’ Mrs Bray protested, but he was already out in the hall. They heard him say something low and emphatic and he came back with his cheeks red.

‘Oh dear – I’m so slow,’ Mrs Bray said. ‘He does hate things to be slow.’

‘Why’s he like that?’ Alan erupted suddenly. ‘Why does he always have to be like that?’ His voice was tearful. ‘How are you supposed to get better?’

‘Don’t, Alan . . .’ Mrs Bray was weeping herself now. She was trembling all over and she went to Alan and took him in her arms, cradling his head. ‘Oh, my boy, my lovely boy . . .’

Linda watched, her insides knotting tighter and tig
hter. It was like it had been when Dad was ill and you didn’t know how he was going to react to anything, that sense of fear and dread at what might happen. She knew it was one of the things that bound her and Alan together. Poor Mrs Bray! And poor Alan! He was crying now, his sobs sounding too deep and manly for his slim body. Behind them the kettle boiled and boiled, filling the room with steam.

‘Why don’t you leave him? Get away from him – he makes you ill. You wouldn’t be like that if it wasn’t for him!’

‘Don’t say that, darling!’ She pulled him from her and took his face between her ify `iy>shaking hands. ‘That’s not true. I would. I truly think I would be. It’s how I am and it’s very hard for Daddy.’ She managed a brave smile. ‘And where would I go? Who would want a person straight out of the madhouse – eh?’

She chucked his chin, trying to be brave, to lighten things. She seemed suddenly more self-possessed.

Linda got up, shakily, and removed the kettle from the gas.

‘Oh dear, yes – look at all this smoke . . . no, steam, that’s it – steam. Like a Turkish bath!’ Mrs Bray said. ‘Thank you, Linda! What a way to welcome your lovely, pretty friend. Come on now, darling.’ She poured water into the teapot. ‘We must look on the bright side – umm? I’m home now. Now you take your father his tea to keep him happy. I don’t suppose he’ll want to come and drink it with us.’

They sat together drinking tea, with a plate of biscuits, and Mrs Bray talked about some of the other inmates in the hospital in Winson Green.

‘Some of them are really very nice,’ she said. ‘One does make friends – even in the oddest of places. But still – ’ she braced her shoulders. ‘I mustn’t linger . . . I must be here now . . . Look after my boy . . . I’ve not been much good.’

She patted Alan’s shoulder and, looking at Linda, she gave a terrible, sad smile.

‘You’ll help me look after him, won’t you?’

Three weeks later they came to take Mrs Bray away again.

Linda didn’t realize at first.

Alan was outside when she arrived that Sunday morning. It was March, sunny, but still very cold, the air whirling white with their breath, but he was outside without even a jacket on, squatting down on the front path by a very smart silver and black motorcycle. He was polishing the front mudguard, frowning sternly.

‘Blimey! Is that yours?’

‘BSA Star Twin. Smashing, isn’t it?’ He stood up, his expression lightening a little. ‘Got her yesterday. I’ve been out a couple of times already.’

Linda thought of her dad’s old Norton, rotting away in the front garden all those years. Poor Dad. For a second she had a glimpse of the younger father she could barely remember.

‘Is it new?’ It appeared to be in perfect condition.

‘Nearly. Dad got it off someone in Sutton. Said he had a shed out the back with a whole load of them. The bloke collected them and tinkered about with them, but he hardly ever rode them.’

‘So – did he buy it for you? Just ’cause you asked him?’

Alan shrugged. ‘He’s got enough money. I can always get money out of him. He’s awa aaaaA Stay agaistopped going on about school, now he knows I’m not going to get to university like he did, he doesn’t care a damn what I do.’

She watched his face carefully, seeing how much he cared underneath all his pretence not to.

‘What about your Mum?’

Avoiding looking at her, he rubbed his cloth along the line of the handlebars, then circled it over the BSA trademark.

Linda bent down and looked quizzically into his face but he looked away.

‘She’s not here.’

She tried to make sense of this.

‘She went bonkers again,’ he said harshly. ‘They came for her – yesterday.’

‘Oh, Al!’ Mrs Bray had seemed distracted, it was true, and odd, but she hadn’t realized it was that bad. ‘What happened?’

He ignored her. ‘So – d’you want a ride, or not?’

Once he’d wheeled the bike out to the road, they both climbed on and it started up with an impressive roar.

‘Get your feet up!’ he shouted, and they sped off along the road. Immediately she could tell he was in charge of the thing, seemed naturally to know how to handle it, and she relaxed, arms wrapped round him, the cold wind rasping against her face, making her eyes sting, but she didn’t care because even on the staid roads of Handsworth Wood it felt like freedom and she just wanted to ride and ride. She let out a cry of excitement and heard Alan laugh. They didn’t go far, not this time. It was so cold, and by the time they got back her cheeks were raw and stinging.

When they jolted to a standstill outside the house again, she laughed, exhilarated.

‘That’s the
best
thing I’ve ever done!’

‘Told you, didn’t I?’ He took the bike in on to the path and started polishing it all over again. ‘Now we can really go places.’

As the spring came, the bike was like their magic carpet.

They went to Sutton Park and beyond, out into the countryside, whenever they could get away, and it felt to Linda as if everything about her life that was sad and limited and frustrating blew away as Alan rode faster and faster along the country lanes with her whooping, excitedly behind him, and the wind tore through her hair, seeming to wash her mind clean.

One Sunday he said, ‘You’ve got to let me meet your mother. It’s not fair if I never see your family.’

Linda hesitated. There was something about bringing together this dream world of Alan with home that she didn’t like. His home was not a happy place, that was true, but that was his, not hers. She could manage it with him, give him comfort. But taking him home to hers felt difficult.

‘We’d have to go on a Sunday,&str `rsquo; she said. ‘She’s at the hair salon every other day.’

‘Let’s go now then.’

They whizzed out to Kingstanding. On the way, Alan pulled up abruptly by the Maryvale Orphanage to stroke the pet donkey which grazed outside and was a friend for the children. She had never thought of him as loving animals before.

‘Never been allowed them,’ he said. ‘Mum couldn’t cope – not with anything else.’

Linda looked into the donkey’s wise brown eyes.

‘Carol would love this.’

‘When’s she coming home?’

‘Soon. They say in the next month or two.’

Alan rubbed the donkey’s face. ‘Must be nice – having other people. Brothers and sisters I mean.’

‘Sometimes.’ Linda laughed. ‘It’s better with Joyce now she lives somewhere else though. She doesn’t half get on my nerves if I have too much of her!’

It felt grand somehow, riding into the estate on the bike. Along Bandywood Road, she suddenly spotted Maureen Lister, whom she barely ever ran into these days, and waved, yelling, ‘Hello, Maureen!’ as they streaked past. Maureen got the message almost too late and Linda saw her gawping in wonder.

When they pulled up to the door in Bloomsbury Road the dogs started barking frantically. They heard Violet ticking them off, shutting them out the back, and then she appeared, in her apron. She’d been in the middle of cleaning.

‘What the hell’s all the racket about? Oh – it’s you. Nice of you to put in an appearance,’ she said to Linda.
You’re never here
, she was forever saying.
For all I know you could be lying in a ditch somewhere. I mean you never know
. . .

‘Hello, Mrs Martin,’ Alan said. Linda heard how polite he was, how he could put that on when he wanted. Somehow she felt proud of him, although she was anxious about him being here. She became aware just how desperately the front door needed a new coat of paint.

‘Brought you out of hiding then, finally, has she?’ Violet said. ‘I was beginning to think she was making you up.’ But her tone was friendly.

‘Can we come in?’ Linda said, trying not to sound irritated. She didn’t know what it was with Mom these days. Sometimes she felt really sympathetic to her, what with being a widow after all that had happened to Dad and Carol being in hospital and everything. At other times it was as if devilment rose in her and she couldn’t stand anything about home and her mom and all she could think of were rude, bad-tempered things to say.

‘Course you can. Aren’t you going to introduce me first?’

‘This is Alan,’ Linda said, grumpily.

‘Come on in, Alan,’ Violet said. ‘I"ju `’ll put the kettle on, shall I? We’ve got some cake over from yesterday, haven’t we, Lin? We’ve always got cake, with her working at Wimbush’s.’

She turned and smiled at them and Linda saw her suddenly.
Mom’s pretty
, she thought. Maybe she always had been and she’d never noticed. She was certainly more relaxed and happy-looking than she had ever known her.

‘Where d’you work, Alan?’

‘Nowhere.’ A hunted look came over Alan’s face. ‘Not at the moment.’

‘Oh well – ’ Violet put a plate of sponge slices on the table. ‘Never mind, love – you’ll find something soon. Plenty of jobs about if you’re ready to knuckle down, aren’t there?’

‘Well – yes,’ Alan said. And Linda saw him relax. At home he felt a failure, but Violet accepted him just as he was.

She watched him getting on with her mother. He asked her about Carol and her job and then if he could see the dogs.

‘Oh – you don’t mind if I let them in again then?’ Violet was delighted. ‘Some people don’t like them – Mr Bottoms next door doesn’t, does he, Lin? If you’re all right with them, I’ll bring them in.’

Alan loved the dogs and made a big fuss of them.

‘They like you,’ Violet said. ‘They can tell when someone really takes to them, can’t they, Lin?’

Once Alan had ridden away that afternoon, though, Violet said, ‘Seems a nice enough boy. Bit posh for you, though, isn’t he?’

Without answering, Linda left the room and slammed the door.
Trust Mom to want to drag me down as usual!
she thought, thumping up the stairs. She’d keep Alan well away from here, she decided. They were better off without anyone telling them what to do and who to be – just the two of them.

The next Sunday was a bright day and they rode right out to the countryside and sat out of the breeze behind a blackthorn hedge, looking across a sloping field where tiny shoots of green were sprouting like hair. Clouds came and went across the sky.

‘Smoke?’ He held out a packet to her.

Linda took one and enjoyed the trail of it on the fresh air. They were huddled, side by side. She fished out ham sandwiches and they munched in silence for a time, alternating with puffs on the cigarettes.

‘Here – ’ Out of his bag he pulled a bottle of Bell’s whisky.

Linda wrinkled her nose. ‘Don’t like it much. Got anything else?’

‘No – go on. It’s Dad’s. It was in the cupboard in his office.’

‘Won’t he want it?’

‘Probably. He&roye `Msquo;ll just have to get some more, won’t he? Get out on his footsies and buy some for himself.’

She unscrewed the bottle and took a swig, gasping as it burned down.

‘It’s horrible!’

‘You get used to it.’ He drank himself, grimaced, then wiped his mouth.

‘D’you know what?’ He was full of indignation suddenly. ‘The damn film censors . . .’ He swigged again.

She pushed her fingers through the dropped stitches in Carol’s scarf. The smell of the damp earth rose up between her knees. ‘What’re you on about?’

‘That movie – the one Stanley told me about? It was
Hot Blood
– the one about the bikers, Marlon Brando . . .? They’ve renamed it
The Wild One
. But they’ve banned it – they aren’t bloody well going to show it over here! The mealy-mouthed reactionary bigots in this pathetic small-minded country won’t let us see it because it’s too
controversial
for us. As if we’re kids and can’t make our own minds up! God, I was
dying
to see that. I was looking forward to it. Stanley’s got a leather jacket – like the guys in the movie!’