Mother's Story (5 page)

Jessica looked up and stared at her husband, his tie askew, the stresses of the commute etched beneath his eyes. ‘How was your day, Mr Important Lawyer?'

‘I'm not an important lawyer yet, Jess. If I were, I wouldn't spend most of my day shuffling paper and searching for things at the request of my dickhead colleagues further up the ladder. Today was really, really boring. And long. As soon as anyone mentions the word “background” in relation to a client, I know that means me with my head in a file two inches from a screen for the next day or so.'

‘Oh, poor Matt.' She sighed.

‘Did I mention it was boring?' he asked as he dropped his briefcase to the floor, threw his keys onto the console table and slumped against the door frame. ‘Do you know how much I envy you, being able to work in your pyjamas, sip tea when you feel like it and lounge in the window seat with the radio on? You live the life of a lottery winner, not a care in the bloody world!' He smiled at her.

Jessica nodded. ‘You are right, but in exchange for my fabulous career choice as a freelance illustrator, I earn barely enough to keep me in baked beans, maybe half a tin at the most, and if I didn't have a clever, well-paid man to support me, I'd be destitute.' She shrugged.

‘There are women all over the country squirming inside their “All Men Are Bastards” T-shirts at that very statement.'

‘It's true though.' Jessica placed her pencil in her mouth and flipped the pages of her pad. She felt a surge of self-doubt. She loved drawing, it was one of the few things she knew she was good at – really good at – but if she couldn't make any money from it, what was the point?

‘I doubt you'd be destitute for long,' Matthew added. ‘Not looking like that.'

‘Look what I did today.' Jessica ignored him and turned the pad to face her husband, revealing the intricate pencil drawing of a creature, part girl, part pixie, with pointy little ears that poked from beneath the lustrous layers of her curled hair. Her eyes were vast and sat inside a heart-shaped face. Her tiny mouth was pouting and on her head sat a crown of wild flowers. ‘She's a woodland sprite and she tries to save the world from the evil wizard's spell.'

‘Wow, she's beautiful!' Matthew was, as ever, quite taken aback by his wife's talent. It was alien to him how such detail could be achieved with nothing more than shading and pencil strokes. ‘She reminds me of you.'

‘It's the pointy ears, right?' Jessica tucked her hair behind hers.

‘Yep. And the sexy pout.'

Jessica sighed. ‘What do you want first, supper or sex?' she asked matter-of-factly as she stood and placed the pad on the floor, laying her pencils on top.

Matthew pulled his tie from his collar and flung it on the sofa. ‘That depends. What's for supper?'

‘I was thinking pasta with a handful of prawns, bit of chilli, splash of cream, chunk of garlic bread, nice warm glass of red…' she parroted from the cookery show she'd caught on TV at lunchtime. As she spoke, she pulled her hair from its band and let it fall over her shoulders.

‘Oh, supper sounds good!' Matthew teased as he walked over to his wife and took her in his arms. ‘But I guess a quick round of sex wouldn't do any harm, in fact it might be the least boring part of my day.'

‘Good, that's settled then. Here or upstairs?' Jessica shrugged him off with a dry expression and removed her socks, flinging them in the air.

‘I think upstairs.' Matthew kicked off his shoes and undid his shirt buttons. ‘In fact, I'll chase you – think of me as that evil wizard!' He let out a roar as he dived towards her with his palms raised and fingers bent to imitate claws.

Jessica screamed as she hot-footed it up the stairs and hurled herself onto their bed. She hated being chased. Matthew grabbed her and nuzzled her neck until she shrieked with laughter and her face split with happiness.

With her head resting on her husband's chest, she let her breathing slow, matching the rhythm of his heartbeat. She purred at the feel of Matthew's hand stroking her hair, which lay in a gossamer sheet against his skin.

Jessica glanced at the bedside clock. It was nearly ten o'clock. ‘I rather think we've missed the supper boat. It's a bit late for pasta and plonk.' She giggled.

‘I'll get up in a minute and return with toast, honey and tea. How does that sound?' He kissed the top of her head.

‘It sounds brilliant.' Jessica propped herself up on her elbow and stared at her man, who looked decidedly ruffled, his hair stuck up at odd angles.

‘I'm really happy.' She smiled.

‘Well if I'd known the offer of toast and honey was what it took, I would have offered you some a long time ago.'

Her face was suddenly serious. ‘I mean it, Matt. I knew I loved you and wanted to be with you, but I had no idea what being married would be like and I feel…' She plucked at the plain white Egyptian cotton bed linen, trying to find the right words.

‘You feel what?' he encouraged.

‘I feel very safe and secure.'

‘That's good. That's my job, to make you feel that way.'

‘I feel relieved that I know where my life is going and that I don't ever have to get tarted up for a date again. Apart from dates with you of course!'

‘Of course.'

‘I sometimes wish I could crawl inside you and stay there forever, just curled up into a little ball, inside your tummy. I think it's the closest to you that I could possibly get and I'd like that.'

‘I have to say, I rather like having you outside of my tummy. It would be very difficult to shag you and I don't see how you could cook supper.' He laughed. ‘Not that you do cook supper much. And when you do, you're hardly Nigella!'

‘I'm trying to be serious, Matt. I didn't know how different it would feel being Mrs Matthew Deane, but it's very different, in a good way. I feel safe.'

‘You are safe,' he whispered. ‘I would never let anything happen to you.' He ran his thumb along the inside of her arm, following the purple vein as it meandered under her white skin.

‘I know we are young, and it might sound stupid, but I used to worry about getting old. I couldn't imagine what it would be like. But now I don't worry any more. I know that if I'm with you then everything is okay. Even if that means being old and wrinkly and smelling of wee.'

‘I shall still find you sexy when you are old and wrinkly and smell of wee.'

Jessica laughed and kissed her husband full on the mouth, feeling a rush of love for the man and his body. She rolled on top of him and kissed him again. The toast would just have to wait.

29th August, 2012

The long, long days of summer are nearly over. I can't see the trees or smell the flowers on the breeze, except for forty minutes each day, not nearly long enough for me. I stand and gulp in great lungfuls of wonderfully fresh air that hasn't been filtered through the air-conditioning system.

It's not my favourite time of year – that would have to be autumn. Even though it was an autumn day all those years ago. The air smelt like Bonfire Night, earthy and damp, a scent I have always loved. It was five o'clock. Cars had their lights on even though it wasn't quite dark; it had been raining and everything was a little hazy, dazzling. I zipped my coat up to my neck as I was a bit chilly. Up until that point, there was nothing to mark the day in my mind; it was just a regular school day. But I can still remember the littlest details. I remember sitting on the bus wondering if I could get my homework done while I watched
Malcolm in the Middle
or whether Mum would make me go upstairs to my room.

I sat alone halfway up the bus on the left-hand side, pushing my foot against the floor to keep steady as the driver swung the vehicle around the corners. I heard the hiss of his brakes and stood up just before the bus pulled over, ready to retrieve my rucksack from the wire rack overhead. It was heavy. I was watching it fall, making sure my hands were positioned just so to stop it crashing down on top of me. My arms were raised high when the doors scraped open, then I heard the noise. A prolonged screeching followed by a high-pitched squeal of rubber on tarmac, then smoke and a smell that was like a mixture of fish, chemicals and something burning. Someone was screaming. I remember that too.

Then I was in the back of the police car. The light swirled a purple-blue beacon across the houses, though they turned the siren off. When it pulled into the quiet road where we lived, just the presence of a police car there was enough to get the curtains twitching. The driver and his colleague put their helmets on and walked up the path to our front door. I wondered if they had forgotten about me and was about to knock on the window when one of them turned and gave a tight-lipped smile. I knew then that they had left me there on purpose.

My mum opened the door and stood wiping her wet hands on a tea towel. Who'd have thought that small orange and red striped thing would shine so distinctly in my memory.

I wound down the window and breathed in the cold night air. They didn't know I was listening. I picked at a loose thread on the hem of my skirt, watching the seam unravel as I pulled it.

The policeman said, ‘There's been an accident,' and I heard my mum say, ‘Not Danny?' and then she gasped. I can hear it perfectly even now, over a decade later. Something stopped me from rushing out of the car, stopped me running into her arms and burying my face in her chest, letting her hold me tight.

I watched her face as the words filtered back to me. ‘Your son was in a hurry to get off the school bus, he ran out from behind… It was getting dark… Car braked… but… Oldchurch Hospital.'

I have replayed those two words so often, over and over inside my head, trying to figure out why they caused me so much pain. ‘Not Danny? Not Danny?' she said, bringing her hand to her chest with the tea towel scrunched inside her palm. And then the sharp intake of breath.

And back then I was so sure she was right. Danny was golden. I was like the consolation prize, bronze at best. Later on, Matthew would often call me his golden girl. That was before I ended up in here, of course. I don't know what he would call me now, if he were here to call me anything at all.

Jessica paid the cab fare, shoving the scrunched-up tenner at the driver in her haste to get inside as quickly as possible. ‘Thank you!' she shouted, waving over her shoulder as she skipped across the pavement and fumbled in her bag for her front door keys.

‘Evening, Mrs P!' Jessica regretted the overfamiliar greeting the second it left her lips. ‘Got anything planned for Halloween? You can have these if you like!' Jessica held out the white plastic vampire teeth that she and Polly had been wearing all afternoon.

Her neighbour ignored the offering in Jessica's outstretched palm. ‘It's
Mrs Pleasant
,' she uttered before disappearing inside with a disapproving shake of her head.

‘Waaaaaaagh! Matt! I'm so sorry. Oh my God, I've had a complete mare!' Jessica hollered as she let herself into the house, dropping her handbag behind the front door as she raced along the hallway's stripped-wood floor. She came to an abrupt halt in the light, airy kitchen that occupied the glass-roofed extension at the back of their home.

Matthew was sitting at the breakfast bar in his dinner jacket, white shirt and black bow tie, his newly polished shoes resting on the bar of the stool and his glasses on the end of his nose. He was scanning his iPad, reading the day's papers while sipping on a gin and tonic infused with plenty of lime. He looked up and sighed.

‘Well hello, Mr Bond. I believe you have been exthpecting me?' Jessica lisped through her ill-fitting vampire teeth. ‘No! No! No! Please don't be in a huff. I'm sorry, my love. I know you hate being late.' Jessica pulled out her teeth and held up both her palms as if she were directing traffic.

‘I'm not in a huff,' Matthew countered a little coolly, lightly tapping his fingers on the counter top.

‘You are a little bit, I can tell. Because that was funny and you didn't laugh, not even slightly. Plus you have the beginnings of your huff face. But I promise I'll get ready at super-speed and let's see if we can't turn that frown upside down!' She grinned.

Despite his irritation, Matthew smiled at his effervescent wife as she babbled.

‘It's not even my fault I'm late! I'm so sorry, baby,' Jessica continued as she pulled her cowboy boots from her feet and flung them into a heap in the middle of the floor. ‘I was out with Polly and Jayne in a pub down by the river and I
told
them I had to get back for your very important lawyery-night thing and Polly even set an alarm so I could head off in plenty of time and it was only while we were sharing a massive Eton mess, which was delish actually, just the right mix of cream and strawberries. Anyway…' She swallowed. ‘Jayne asked what I was planning on wearing tonight and I remembered I'd sent my dress to the cleaners and hadn't collected it. So I left, didn't even pay my share, which no doubt Polly will slate me for, even though she never gave me the money for Max and Drew's civil partnership gift, do you remember? The ugliest teapot in the world that we got from Greenwich Market? Well, we were supposed to go halves with Polly. Anyway…' Jessica rolled her hand in the air. ‘I hailed a cab, but when I got to Mayflower's on the Goldhawk Road, guess what?' Jessica finally drew breath as she slipped out of her jeans and flung them, inside out, over the back of a dining chair, before shrugging her arms from her jersey and tossing it over her head.

‘They were closed?' Matthew offered as he powered down his iPad and decided instead to watch his wife strip in the kitchen.

‘They were! Bastards. And I just accidentally called our neighbour “Mrs P” and I don't think she was that chuffed. Ooh, I need a drink. Do you think I have time for a quick one?'