The Other Ida (3 page)

Alice was still crying, and kicking now too. She was lying next to Ida on the back seat, twisting and turning, the tell-tale signs she was about to throw a fit. Ida started to sing a song about tigers' feet she'd heard in the playground.

“Not pop music, Ida, please,” her father said. Ida was confused. Pop music was about love, not tigers, wasn't it? If that was pop music was ‘Old MacDonald' pop music too?

“Sing ‘Daisy' again,” he said.

But she suddenly couldn't, there was water in her mouth and her tummy felt odd. She put her hand over her lips, but her stomach jumped and sick came through the gaps between her fingers. It went all over her kilt, right down her legs and into her patent shoes. She tried hard to be quiet.

Alice stopped crying. “What's happ'ning Ida? What's happ'ning Ida? Sing ‘Daisy' Ida,” she said over and over again.

“What's that smell?” Da asked and glanced at them over his shoulder. “Jesus.”

Ida could see her sicky face reflected in his sunglasses.

“Sorry,” she said.

He took a red handkerchief from his pocket and thrust it back at her. “Here, darling. God. Don't let your mother see you like that.”

Ida brushed the worst of it onto the floor, wiped her mouth, and stuffed the hankie in the ashtray while her father lit a cigarette. He was either angry or nervous, she couldn't quite tell which.

Although it was sunny it felt cool and dark in the car. They were kind of in the woods even though there were houses about.

“We're here,” he said as they turned sharply into a driveway, gravel crunching under the wheels.

Normally Ida would be desperate to escape after a long drive but something made her sit and wait. She looked out of the window and saw trees everywhere, with some steep stone steps leading up to a house.

Da walked round to the door and pulled it open. “Come on then sweetheart, what are you waiting for?”

She climbed out. There were bushes either side of the narrow path, so overgrown that even skinny Ida couldn't imagine a way through.

“You'll have fun playing in there, won't you?” said Da.

He sounded happy, and Ida nodded although she felt scared. Dead things and monsters, she bet they were everywhere.

The house was enormous and totally flat, with lots of small windows. Their real house, their house in London, had decorations on it, stone bits over the windows, but this one was as smooth as a piece of paper.

“Is this a hospital?” Ida asked.

“This is our new house – you know that. Are you coming down with something?” He touched Ida's head to feel for a temperature.

“But it looks like an advent calendar.”

She was serious but her father laughed loudly.

“It's 1920s,” he said. “You'd better like it. And please don't let on to your mother if you don't. That's the last thing we need.”

He switched on the camera and started filming as the van drove up to the house.

Ida shuffled from foot to foot. Now she needed a wee.

“Look,” he said and pointed towards some birds flying overhead.

“Pigeons?” she asked.

“Seagulls.”

“Up, up,” said Alice, holding her arms out to Ida.

The van stopped and the two men jumped out and opened the doors at the back.

“Ready girls? Follow me,” said Da, running halfway up the steep steps then turning round to shoot them with the camera. “There's a surprise at the top I hear.”

Ida held Alice's hand and helped her up to the front door.

“Now turn around,” he said.

They did as they were told.

“Glorious,” he said. He sounded as though he'd opened a present.

Ida felt sick again. From where they stood they could see over the houses and all the pine trees, right down to the sea. Only it didn't look like the seaside sea in Brighton, it looked like something horrible, everything big and grey and mean. She could see the wind, pushing everything in the same direction, all the trees and the boats and the people.

“Ten minutes through the woods and we'll be at the beach. Marvellous, eh?” he said.

She couldn't speak. Tears hurt her eyes and throat until she couldn't stop herself and let them out with a loud sob.

“My goodness, you funny little thing. Let's go inside,” he said as he fumbled with the key.

Ida didn't like this house. She didn't like the garden or the scary woods or the horrid view. She was glad that after the summer she could go back to London and see all her friends and her cat. She thought about that and tried to be brave.

“Voila,” said her da.

They followed him into the dim hall as he patted the wall to find a switch. “What an adventure. God, it smells funny.” There was a scuttling noise and he whooped. “Say it, Ida! Say it!”

Ida knew what he meant – their favourite line from
The Railway Children
. “It's only the ratttssss,” she said in a hissy voice and he laughed as he walked to the end of the corridor and switched on a light.

They were in a long hall with a staircase at the end. From the ceiling hung a glass lampshade, all black inside with dust and dead flies. The rose-patterned wallpaper was peeling in places. Near Ida's head some naughty child had drawn a picture of a dog with a green crayon.

“Look Da,” Ida said, but he'd gone into another room.

“So through here is the kitchen,” he shouted. “Bloody hell, it hasn't been touched since 1950.” He ran out and up the stairs. “Okay girls. Let's choose your rooms,” he called down to them.

“Come on, Alice,” Ida said.

Alice went first up the bare wooden stairs. Ida noticed her bottom was wet, her nappy had soaked through her trousers.

“Be careful, Ally,” she said, patting her sister's hair. “There might be splinters.”

He met them at the top. “I've worked it all out girls. I'm going at the back, your mother can go over there, and you two are next to each other.” He pointed to the left. “Ally baby, you have the little one, Ida, the big one is for you.”

Alice sat down. Her face was red and she was rubbing her eyes which meant she was tired.

Ida felt she shouldn't ask, but she needed to – she'd waited all day long.

“When's Uta coming, Da?”

He touched her hair. “Try not to think about her. You've this marvellous house to play in after all.”

“But who will change Ally's nappy?”

“Your mother will have to do it I suppose,” he said.

He leant down to Alice and picked her up under the armpits. Alice looked bewildered.

Ida stood on the landing. She still needed a wee. Downstairs there was lots of banging and loud, deep voices as the men started to bring in the sofas and the boxes and things. How long before she could have her books and toys? Why wasn't Uta here? She turned to a door her father hadn't said was a bedroom. It was small inside, the floor made up of black and white squares. Her first thought was
good for hopscotch
, and she felt excited, before noticing the brownish loo that stood in the corner with dust all over its seat.

Round the bath was a shower curtain with red and blue fish swimming up and down it and Ida summoned her courage and pulled it back. The bath was the same as the loo, cracked and sort of brown, but at least her bottom wouldn't touch the bath. Climbing over the edge, she rolled down her knickers, and watched her pee snake through the dirt and go down the plug.

She took off all her sick-covered clothes, left them in a pile on the bathroom floor and walked across the landing to the room that Da had said would be hers.

It smelled of dust but was bigger than her room in London, with peach wallpaper and two tall windows that looked out towards the front. The carpet was soft and red and like nothing they had in their old house; it was like something a king would have. She walked into the middle and lay down. The deep pile felt lovely between her fingers and on her naked body. She wished Uta was there to read to them and sing Swedish songs, and plait their hair with her cool, white hands. Ma had said she'd gone on holiday, but when would she be back? Ida never imagined that her holiday would last all the time until they moved.

She shut her eyes. She could hear the wind outside and tried to ignore it. So this was her new house. The house Ma said was probably just for the summer. At least the carpet was nice.

From the corridor downstairs she heard the sharp sound of high heels and knew her mother had arrived.

Ida stood up, closed her bedroom door as quietly as she could, and lay back down on the floor.

Chapter four

~ 1999 ~

“Fuck me, come in then,” said Alice.

Ida had forgotten her voice – shaky, high pitched, and still slightly posh. A softer version of Bridie's. It was the voice that Ida had worked so hard to drop. She turned around.

“God,” Ida said.

Alice had changed. The mousy fourteen year old was now a slim woman, her wavy hair tied up into a messy bun. Her features were still small and neat, like their da's. She wasn't wearing make-up and looked clean and toned, an immaculate dark blue tracksuit revealed a slice of flat stomach. Ida pointed at it and raised her eyebrows.

“You've got those diagonal lines going down to your fanny, those muscle things – like you're in
Gladiators
.”

Alice didn't laugh but put her finger to her lips and pointed upstairs to indicate someone was sleeping, beckoning Ida through the dark hallway towards her mother's study.

“What about my room?” Ida asked, unable to hide the hint of panic her voice.

“Your room?” Alice said. “It's been my room for ten years or something. You'll have to go in here.” She opened the door.

“It smells different,” Ida said, trying not to look around.

“No fags,” said Alice, as she folded out the chair bed in the corner.

“Can I light one?”

“No.”

She lit one anyway and Alice threw a cushion hard onto the floor.

“What?” Ida laughed. “It's what she would have wanted.”

Alice turned, her face screwed up with irritation, her hands punching the air by her sides. She was whispering so hard her voice sounded raw as she began to chuck quilts and pillows onto the bed.

“Don't tell me what she would have wanted, don't you dare. I can't stand any of your fucking bullshit. Are you pissed? You're slurring your words and you stink, Ida. You can sleep in here, wash your clothes, or throw them away. You can take some of Mum's from the airing cupboard here. No drugs or booze in the house.”

Ida laughed but she was taken aback.

“You never used to swear.”

“What the fuck do you fucking expect? I've had it.”

Ida smiled at her sweetly, her palms held up in mock defeat.

“Oh, fuck off, you big stupid cow,” said Alice.

Ida roared with laughter. “Brilliant, Alice, you've surpassed yourself. You look like some Bournemouth High Street nightmare. Nice tracksuit by the way.”

Alice took a deep breath and stepped into the doorway. “Get whatever you want from the kitchen. I can't talk to you about this today. Go to sleep, you look terrible and you're drunk.” She closed the door.

Ida kicked the side of the bed. She usually loved conflict, excelled at it in fact and was angry with herself for the tracksuit thing, she'd been doing so well up ‘til then. She unzipped her boots, pulled down her shiny gym shorts, took off her damp jumper and threw them all on the floor. She had no knickers on – she rarely wore them – so stood in just her falling-to-bits bra as she looked around the room, feeling her squishy curved stomach with her hand. How did you even get a stomach like Alice's? Why exactly would you want one?

In the corner, to her right, was her mother's old oak desk, piled with books and unopened post. Bills mainly, she imagined. She sat on the bed, unravelling the quilt her sister had thrown there, and took the things from her Tesco bag – a box of diazepam, Prozac, Marlboro reds, whisky, Wrigley's Extra – and put them under her pillow. Then she reached for the pills, swallowed two, lay down, and stared at the ceiling. The streetlight from outside made an orange arc against the paper, and in the unfamiliar quiet she hummed to herself. Near the window a spider spun a web, and behind him a damp patch had made the wallpaper curl, revealing the edge of a rose petal pattern and causing her throat to once again itch with the taste of something she couldn't quite place.

It was so light, the bed was so near the floor, and the birds were singing so loudly, that for a second Ida assumed she was sleeping outside. She was cold, almost naked on top of the covers, her neck hurt and she found it difficult to stand.

She picked up her cigarettes and wrapped herself in a sheet as she opened the door to the hallway and walked towards the kitchen, touching the chipped paintwork as she went. The walls were lined with pictures and photographs, dark frames from floor to ceiling, and a marble-topped table held bunches of white and yellow flowers among the dusty plants and handmade pots.

The kitchen looked like it always had, long and dim and narrow with 1950s units and a quarry-tiled floor. It seemed older of course, far more decrepit, but Ida was pleased to see her mother had relented and bought an electric kettle. She put it on and opened a cupboard, searching for coffee, and codeine, if she was lucky.

“If you're looking for pills I chucked them all away.”

Alice was standing in the doorway, looking pretty and dishevelled in a fluffy pink dressing gown and a nightdress printed with teddies and hearts. The tracksuit wasn't her pyjamas then, she actually wore the tracksuit out.

“I – shit, you spoilsport, Alice.” She had been going to deny it but she'd never win that way. “Do you want a coffee? I'm sorry I didn't get in touch – I didn't have any money for the phone.” Her hand went to cover her mouth, aware of the cold sore on her top lip.