The Other Ida (16 page)

Ida took the crinkled envelope. On the front it said her name, in writing she knew to be her mother's, although it was far neater, more childish somehow, than Ida remembered.

“You might not want to open it now,” said Bryan, but Ida had already taken it out and begun to read.

You are born – May 9th 1969

Well hello Ida!

Welcome.

I'm a little surprised, to tell you the truth. I haven't got over the shock of getting in the family way, let alone having a real life ‘you'.

I was never any good at science, but somehow in my womb things I couldn't possibly name have been extracted, divided, multiplied… cell by sparking cell.

Now they've dragged you out, all lagadi, stinking of iron like some rock they've mined. I can hardly speak, and you're lying so still, staring up at me with these coal-chip eyes, knowing all these magic things you'll soon forget.

I'm jealous already. Will we be friends? God help you, dearest girl. I waited so long to have you, I wasn't sure I should. Family scares me, really. I've been so long without one.

Your father's gone for Guinness. I need to go to sleep.

(You don't look like me or her either really. Who are you, I wonder?)

Bridie xx

“I'd forgotten her funny made-up words,” said Ida. “Lagadi for dirty. She used to say ‘pi' for head, too didn't she?”

“Your mother was a bloody strange woman – bloody strange. I should have had my suspicions even back then that she wasn't a full pound. Anyway, enough of this, it's your birthday after all. Elliot, son, I couldn't borrow a fag?”

Chapter sixteen

~ 1999 ~

Something had shocked Ida in her dream, a dog bite or a fall, but within the split second it took her to open her eyes the memory of it had slipped away. She shut one eye again and tried to work backwards. The curtains were open and outside the light of the street lamp couldn't quite obliterate the moon.

She wondered if it was still her birthday.

Next to her Elliot was snoring loudly and she elbowed him in the ribs. Around her the bed was, thankfully, dry.

“Fuck off,” he muttered angrily, shifting in the bed and kicking her accidentally. He was still wearing his shoes – in fact he was still wearing his coat. She looked down. For some reason there was clingy yellow fabric round her waist, and she was still wearing tights and her heavy red boots. Digging into her cheek was the underwire from her bra – it was always coming out. She had period pains as well – bad ones – and moaned to herself.

Piece by piece the day came back to her. Lunch, then a car ride, then a detour to the pub, just her and Elliot. Then home and... attempted sex? Her mouth felt sticky and dry. She got to her feet, awkwardly pulling the dress up over her breasts and kicking off her boots while Elliot groaned at the sound.

“Shut up you baby,” she whispered loudly. “I'm getting us some water.”

She stepped into the hall. The house was still as she tip-toed towards the kitchen, past the loudly ticking sunburst clock they'd had forever. Although she knew it must be after midnight, it could still be her birthday if she chose not to look.

She filled two pint glasses and carried them back to the room. Opening the door with her hip she found Elliot sitting on the bed, his hair sticking up and his arm extended towards her.

“Fuck, I'm thirsty,” he said, yawning. “What time is it?”

“The end of time. It's my birthday forever.”

“You'll get bored.”

“Never – I'd like it. I had a good day. Maybe this is what getting old is about. Being with your family, all at once... puke.”

“Bah, you just liked the food and booze,” he said, downing the pint and putting the glass on the carpet. He pulled Ida towards him and slid his hand inside her bra.

“I like you,” she said, kissing him on the ear.

“Of course, I'm a handsome chap.”

“I love you.”

“Love from Ida Irons means next to nothing. As does hate. ‘Oh Elliot, I LOVE brie. Oh Elliot, I love dogs.' Next day you'll hate cheese and hate dogs. Day after, won't care either way.”

“Well, I love you right now.”

“And I love your tits, forever.” He kissed her neck.

Automatically she jerked her head away angrily.

Elliot pulled his hand out of her bra. “Bloody hell, you've never done that before. Must be your age. Growing into a real, grumpy old woman,” he said.

“I'm tired. And confused. And upset I suppose. You don't ‘love' my tits. You can't really love tits. I'm just being stupid when I say I love things normally. But I do love you.”

“We've been through this.”

“I know. It's fine. Well, it's not fine, but I'm tired.” She lay back down and turned away from him.

“Oh God, you nutter. I came all the way to see you, got all clean and nice, and you've gone all frigid. That doesn't seem fair. You were never a fridg'. Well, okay.”

He patted her on the thigh, lay down and within seconds Ida could tell from his breathing that he was asleep.

The backs of her eyes hurt and she knew she could cry. She refused to cry. There was no way she could sleep. She reached towards the side table and switched on the light. Elliot didn't stir and she realised she was disappointed, that childishly she wanted him to wake up and apologise or at least see that she was upset. And she knew that if she slept the morning would come, and with it the definite end to her birthday.

On the floor was her bag and she reached inside for her cigarettes and a pill to help with her cramps. Fumbling she found a crumpled note and remembered her father handing it to her. She wanted Elliot out of her bed with a sudden fury and she elbowed him again, hard.

“What the fuck?” he said, turning round to face her.

“If you don't love me sleep on the floor.”

“We're practically on the floor. You want me to get off the chair bed onto the floor? So I'll be three inches lower?”

“Yes.”

“Fine, you mad bitch.” He rolled onto the rug, grabbing two pillows, and went back to sleep, or pretended to sleep, his coat pulled up round his face to shield his eyes from the light.

But still it wasn't enough. Ida felt magical, bad magical, dangerous magical. She wasn't sure what she wanted, to break something or make something new, but she needed to do... something. Her whole life she had seen patterns, waited for signs, for God, the saints, even Satan, to intervene. And she knew this letter, it meant something, but she wasn't quite sure what.

She took the Magical Days Book from behind the bed, found a splintered biro and opened the note. She should copy the most startling phrases – the ones that needed further investigation.

‘Stinking of iron.'

Only Bridie would say babies smelled of blood. They must, of course, but Ida had never heard anyone say that before. No clean ‘new baby smell' for her ma, just the dirty, stinking facts.

‘I waited so long to have you, I wasn't sure I should. Family scares me, really. I've been so long without one.'

She shouldn't have had children. She should have trusted her gut. Not because her own parents had died young or because she'd been an only child, but because she wasn't made for it. She was selfish and bloody insane.

‘
I'm jealous already. Will we be friends? God help you, dearest girl.'

Ida circled that phrase. Talk about a warning.

‘
You don't look like her – or me really. Who are you, I wonder?'

‘Her.' Ida knew that would be about her namesake, Ida Lupino. Or perhaps she was talking about the ‘Ida' in the play. What was it she was meant to look like? Dark haired, beautiful?

She turned to tell Elliot but remembered that she'd shouted at him and it would take a good deal of making up before he'd listen to anything she'd have to say. And who else was there to tell? Alice? Alice hated her, and it would make her father maudlin to talk about it. She stabbed herself in the arm with the biro and bit her lip to fight off the tears. It didn't even bleed and it hurt so much. When she was younger she could cut herself, stub cigarettes out on her legs, and feel nothing at all. Elliot was right, she was turning into a real, normal person in her old age.

She propped herself up and drew circles on the next page of the book. She would spend the rest of the night writing everything she could remember about her strange, horrible mother.

There were footsteps, somewhere in the hall. She held her breath and listened. Alice? No, it was Tom.

She scrambled to her feet, straightened her dress, and found him standing halfway out the front door. He looked at her nervously and smiled. He was smoking.

“Rumbled,” he said.

She laughed and reached for a drag.

“I can't sleep. It happens to me sometimes,” he said.

“Me neither. Hey, you wouldn't mind looking at something with me would you?”

They sat next to each other on the sofa looking at the letter, a blanket over their knees.

“Perhaps she was spaced out on painkillers,” Tom said. “Bet they gave women loads of weird shit when they gave birth back then.”

She looked at him, properly. He was wearing a red hand-knitted jumper, the sleeves over his hands, and his Toni and Guy haircut was sticking up around his head. He had lovely eyes – brown with flecks of orange and green. She couldn't tell him that. “I like your jumper,” she said. “Did my sister knit it? She seems like she might be a knitter.”

“No, my mum,” he said. “She's always knitted. Any excuse. If she hears anyone's pregnant down the road she'll knit about five thousand booties before the baby's even born.”

“You get on with her?”

“Yeah. She's great. There are four of us, and there was never much money, and my stepdad was a prick, but she's alright. I was the first one of the family to go to uni and she was well proud of me.”

“I bet,” said Ida, resisting the urge to stroke his head.

Ida woke up with Alice standing over her, holding out a mug of tea. Light poured in through the window and her eyes hurt. As she struggled to sit up her Magical Days Book fell off her chest, and she saw the open pages were covered in a manic biro sprawl.

“Here, I thought you might need this,” Alice said.

“Thanks. Where's Elliot. He hasn't left?”

“He went for a walk with Tom, said they wouldn't be back until late. Did you have a fight or something?”

“No, no. Nothing like that. He just likes going out if he has a hangover.”

“I hope they'll be okay. The wind's picking up. Right. I've made some lentil soup for lunch. And I've got an appointment with the bank to close Mum's accounts. Don't get excited, think she had about five pence.”

“Do you need me to do anything?”

“You could wash? And buy some clothes for the funeral. Terri has given us fifty quid each for a new outfit – she slipped it to me yesterday when Dad wasn't looking. I've got something to wear but she wanted to be fair. Please don't spend it on something mad. Go straight to Beales.”

Ida didn't speak but sat blowing on her tea. She remembered the desperation she'd felt in the night, for it to stay her stupid birthday. She really wished it was still her birthday.

“You look so miserable,” said Alice. “Post birthday come down eh?”

“I wish.”

“I was going to keep it as a surprise but it might get you out of bed – Peter's coming tomorrow.”

“Really?” Ida felt such an enormous burst of joy she irrationally suspected it was some kind of trick.

“Yep, he was going to come for Tuesday but managed to change his plans – had some radio ad he was meant to be doing. He said he wants to help us. There's always stuff to do the day before.”

“It will be brilliant to see him, it's been years.” The last time he'd rescued her from hospital but Alice didn't know about that.

“Well, get to Beales, get some clothes. You could even buy some make-up. You'll need to make a bit of an effort or he'll do you up like a drag queen.”

Ida ignored her sister's annoying remark and looked out of the window. Pine needles were blowing everywhere, like weird spiky rain and in the distance the sea looked furious.

“He always comes with the wind, like Mary Poppins,” Ida said.

Alice didn't ask what she meant.

“Beales, not the pub. Alright?”

Chapter seventeen

~ 1987 ~

There was a loud creak, then a second or so of silence before the huge, juddering thud of something falling into the square outside.

The wind was whipping its way round the house, rattling the broken sash windows while the other women screamed with delight. It seemed as though they'd been awake for a while, giggling and gasping, while Ida had stayed fast asleep.

She lay as still as she could, her eyes closed while she concentrated on her breathing. The wind quietened slightly and the women walked back across the room chatting or laughing, some pacing and swearing, one of them uselessly clicking the light switch over and over again.

This was it then – the culmination of all Ida's dreams and fears – the thing she supposed she'd always been waiting for.

“Fuck me, fuck me,” Nikki repeated from the near corner in her smoker's voice.

“We're all going to die,” Adelaide said contentedly to herself in the next bed.

Ida opened her eyes and looked at her. She looked back and winked, her wrinkled hands in her lap, her white cotton nightie done up to her chin, her little walnut face totally serene.

“We're the ones who understand,” she whispered, leaning towards Ida, “that this is our time to go. This is Jesus' doing and there's no point working yourself up into a frenzy about it.”