The Other Ida (6 page)

They ate at a bamboo table. The chairs were hard, with plastic seat covers and the quiche was full of eggshell, but nobody minded, and Tom ate four slices and two bits of arctic roll. In the corner was an electric waterfall lit by a flickering blue lamp and Tom managed to talk about it with Terri for a good fifteen minutes. Ida was genuinely impressed.

“I've got a boyfriend, too,” said Ida to the table, not that anyone had asked.

“Really? Lovely. What's he called?” asked Terri.

“Yes, what is he called?” asked Alice, looking down at her plate.

Ida couldn't tell if she was making some subtle point.

“Elliot. He's an artist and an art dealer. He lives in the East End. The East End's not like it used to be, Da, before you say anything. It's very up-and-coming now – there are loads of galleries and things. He's collected some brilliant painters.”

“Well he can't make any money, not with you in that God-awful suit,” said Bryan.

“I like this suit,” said Ida.

“Well, it doesn't seem to like you,” said Alice, looking up, and everyone, except Ida, laughed.

Even Tom was laughing and he hardly knew Ida – perhaps he wasn't as nice as she'd thought he was after all.

“Look, have you got any port, or sherry or something, I'm really thirsty,” she said, cutting them off and rubbing her eyes.

Terri half stood up from the table and looked to Bryan for approval.

“Get it for her, Terri, what are you waiting for? I think we could all do with a drink,” he said.

By the way she turned the wheel it was obvious that Alice was furious, and Tom knew better than to try to help.

Ida had drunk most of the bottle of port and was feeling better, whereas Alice, who had simply watched her drink, seemed to be feeling considerably worse.

By the time they reached Ashley Cross Ida couldn't bear it any more.

“Alice, if you want to say something to me, can you come out and say it? I'm sick of all this passive aggressive shit,” she said.

“If there's anything passive about it it's unintentional. You're a total dick. A total, selfish dick.”

Tom took a loud breath.

“Fuck this, I'm a grown woman. Can you let me out somewhere? I want to get out.”

Alice carried on driving.

“Let me the fuck out of this fucking car!” Ida shouted.

“We're on a main road, I'll let you out by the snooker hall – you can walk home or go to the park. Or do whatever,” said Alice, calmly.

She pulled over to the side of the road, and Tom got out, so Ida could squeeze past.

“Thank you,” she said to him.

“Don't be too long,” he said, bravely attempting a smile. “I'm making chilli for dinner.”

“This is the last day of fucking around, by the way, we've got the flowers and all the calling to do tomorrow, and to organise the whole bloody thing,” shouted Alice across the passenger seat.

Tom got in and Ida slammed shut the car door.

Ida had not had a clear aim in mind when she'd asked to leave the car, just a desire to be free of her sister and all the bad things she made her feel.

Now as she walked past the snooker hall where she'd gone so often when she was young she prayed that she wouldn't bump into anyone from school or any frumpy acquaintance of her mother's who would want to express their condolences. Why was not mentioning things frowned upon? Children and teenagers had it right. Death was embarrassing for all involved.

She knew she looked unusual in her airing-cupboard suit and people noticed her as she walked, a group of teenage boys shouting something she couldn't understand as they overtook her on their BMXs. She smiled, reassured that she didn't fit in, and aware that this was childish.

She walked through the gate and into Poole Park. Next to the cricket pavilion, an old man sat reading the paper, and ahead of her a little blond boy was cycling his trike towards his mum. On the other side of the pitch was a boggy pond, filled with reeds and throaty, squawking Canada geese, and around its edge curved a tiny train track which Ida walked along, taking careful steps in between the metal girders.

Hearing the train coming Ida watched as it headed straight for her. It was slow and very small but the children at the front were shouting for her to get out of the way and waving their hands about in hopeful horror. What would happen, she wondered, if she lay down right here? She supposed the driver would brake, but she would like to know what would happen if he didn't. Could her body stop a whole train? She had a feeling that it probably could.

The woman tried to charge Ida for a child's ticket as well as her own and seemed taken aback that she was travelling alone. In fact, she gave the distinct impression that she did not like the cut of Ida's jib, and for some reason Ida felt compelled to thank her effusively.

Clutching the pink raffle ticket that had cost her 60p, Ida boarded the train, jamming herself into the seat that was meant for two children. It was the last train of the day and was almost empty apart from a stern-looking man wearing socks and sandals with two young boys that she supposed were his. The younger one turned round and stared at her and she waved at him and stuck out her tongue. The father smacked the boy on the knee, giving Ida a suspicious sideways glance. She put her feet up on the opposite seat and clutched the sides of the carriage.

The train began to move very slowly indeed. Ida watched two girls playing football and a mother holding up her baby's chubby fist, making him wave, his arms stiff in his coat. Ida waved back and the child giggled. She waved at the geese, the sky, and even at two teenage boys who were smoking behind a tree, and who swore back at her and spat.

As they neared the end of the track Ida noticed the ends of her fingers were tingling. For a few minutes she hoped it was the cold, but by the time the train came to a creaky halt and she had warmed her hands in her armpits, she realised that the tingling was nothing to do with the temperature. Instead, it was the alarming, magical feeling that always came when something big and surprising was about to happen.

Chapter six

~ 1975 ~

Ida hit her head on something – her wardrobe or the wall – and warm liquid began trickling from her forehead. She put out her hands and felt the pointed plastic roof of her Sindy house and the dusty top of her chest of drawers. There was no use shouting out – her parents could sleep through most things – so she fumbled for the door handle and walked out onto the landing. A light was on downstairs.

Ida bit her lip, sucked in her tears and gripped the banister, feeling her way down each step, with her eyes still almost closed. Someone was on the phone in the hall below and they sounded really cross.

Only babies were frightened. She would try not to be frightened.

She reached the bottom of the stairs and stood with her arms out, waiting for someone to notice her.

The phone clattered onto the table and she felt her da's hands around her.

“Jesus, darling, what on earth? Is it a full moon or something?”

“I don't know,” she said. “I didn't wet myself.”

“No you didn't, darling. Look – you must have hit your head trying to get to the loo. Want to see?” He lifted her up, took her over to the mirror and held her in front of it.

Ida's tears came all at once. The girl in the mirror was covered in blood. It was on her chin and in her hair and all over her nightie.

“Shit. I'm sorry,” Bryan said, putting her down. “I didn't know you'd be scared. I thought you'd be interested.”

“I am interested, Da,” she said in between sobs.

He started wiping her face with his hankie. “I thought your mother was bad enough. What a night. There, a small cut, just lots of blood. You're going to be fine.”

“Where is she, Da?”

“I'm not sure sweetie, I'm trying to find out. Let's clean you up and put you back to bed.”

“No,” Ida said. “I want to stay here.” She'd never said no to Da before and she wasn't sure what he'd do.

“Alright,” he said. “Why not? Do you know how to put the kettle on?”

Ida didn't know how to put the kettle on, so she'd made tea with the hot tap, and they sat drinking it – the teabags still bobbing in their cups – as they waited for the police to bring back her ma.

She wished she and Da could go out and look together, down through the woods with torches, but he said they couldn't. He said they had to stay in for Ally, but Ida knew that he was frightened. Ida certainly wasn't, she had learnt to love the woods and the dark. She was Mowgli and the chine and the beach were hers.

She had never been up this late and they were having fun. Da didn't understand the kitchen any better than she did, so together they'd made a tray of unusual, brilliant snacks – unwashed carrots, two slices of white bread, and the last bit of a tub of Neapolitan ice cream that had been re-frozen so many times it went to powder in your mouth.

The road was quiet at this time of night and any car they heard was likely to be the police. Ida knew Da was worried, but she was excited. Things were nearly always fine, and if they weren't at least it would be an adventure.

There was the sound of a distant car, and Bryan sat up to listen. It got nearer, slowed, and pulled into the drive.

He ran into the hall and unlocked the door.

Coming up the steps was her mother, wearing a blue kimono and no shoes, sandy and shivering, with two policemen holding her arms. “I wanted to make it all better, Bry. Why won't you let me?”

Ida walked over to the stairs and sat part way up, watching. She had never seen her mother cry.

The policemen lifted and pushed her ma into the hall but she tried to run back out. Bryan held onto the kimono while all three men prised Bridie's fingers from the doorframe. They slammed the front door.

“Let me get you a drink, let me get you a drink,” Bryan was saying over and over again. “If you still want to leave you can go after that.”

Bridie sat on the floor with her head in her hands as she rocked backwards and forwards, wailing like a cat.

Ida's head was starting to hurt.

Chapter seven

~ 1999 ~

Despite having cooked dinner, Tom insisted on doing the washing up, while Ida helped Alice in the sitting room, rooting through Bridie's disintegrating address book and phoning people about the funeral. They hadn't mentioned the incident in the car since Ida came back to the house and Alice appeared to have got over it. In fact, she was making a list of people for Ida to call tomorrow – all the particularly boring ones who'd sent the nastiest flowers.

“We've got no family to ring,” Alice said. “And hardly any friends. She pissed off everyone she ever met.”

“Well, at least a few of them are coming out of the woodwork. It's horrible to say, but if it hadn't been in the paper who would have known?”

“Mrs Dewani from the offy?” They both started laughing.

“We shouldn't laugh,” said Ida, “the poor cow's going to go out of business.”

They laughed until their stomachs hurt and they both took deep breaths, rubbing their eyes and trying not to look at each other or they knew they'd start again.

“Will you go and help Tom?” Alice asked. “I can't do this phoning with you sitting here, I'll wet myself.”

Ida nodded, grateful to be able to leave the room. Despite the occasional laughter it was depressing and boring hearing Alice on the phone, putting on her telephone voice and smiling like a twat, saying the same things again and again.

She walked into the kitchen where Tom was sweeping the floor. “You okay?” he asked. “I think I found more mouse droppings under the cupboard. I'd buy traps but Alice won't let me.”

“Oh, don't worry about the mice, they've been here longer than we have. God, we're gross aren't we? Must be weird being thrown into all of this – the situation, and, you know… us.”

“It is a bit odd, I've only been seeing Ally seriously for two months or something, and then to find out her Mum had died... You know I saw it in the paper before she even had a chance to tell me. I rushed down as soon as I heard. I can't imagine how hard it must be for you, being on the news so soon. It's horrible.”

His face showed genuine concern and Ida realised it was years since anyone had looked at her like that.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, picking up a plate to put away. She had grown up with obituaries; the hard-living friends of her parents died young more often than most. In fact, she had written her own mother's obituary so many times in her mind that seeing the actual thing wasn't much of a shock in the end. But the look he gave her was a surprise. Not pity, really. Actual sympathy, she supposed.

“I don't know. I'm surprised it hadn't happened sooner,” she said, “and anyway, I mean I've never responded properly to things. I get upset about weird things, not the things I'm meant to get upset about. It's like how I've always remembered strange stuff. You know, there are certain things that happen to you that you know you're going to remember for the rest of your life.”

“Like births and deaths? Or your first snog?”

“No, no, the opposite. I don't mean events, everyone remembers events, I mean certain points in time when everything suddenly stops and I think, ahhhh yes, here I am, this is me, here now, and it kind of links me to all the other points where I felt like that. You know? I don't know if this is coming out right. I mean, I had one the other day, just before Ma died. I was standing in Sainsbury's, when it started raining. That wouldn't normally be a big deal, I'm in London after all, but the way it started raining was with this massive devastating roar, y'know? It had been so sunny and then, bam! And it didn't just rain, it hailed too, and there were these winds. It was like we were on some tropical island or something. It was so weird, in London! So everyone stopped and faced the windows, and I could tell that everyone was thinking, well, this is it... this could be the end of the world. It sounds ridiculous now but I know that was what they were thinking. And we were all elated and free-feeling and smiling at each other because we were all in it together, like we were in some air raid shelter. I thought, am I going to die here? Among these people with their fat, shiny faces, and their wanky expensive shoes? If I really have to stay here, and we're the last people on Earth, would I have to have sex with one of these men to ensure the future of the human race?”