Another Life Altogether (26 page)

“Don’t blame you,” Frank said. “Me, I prefer a nice plate of meat, gravy, and potatoes. Thankfully, that’s what Mabel makes best.”

“So, Frank, how come it didn’t work out with your ex-wife, then? I mean, divorce—that’s a serious step.” Though my father might be a little less vocal than my mother in his judgments, he’d never approved of divorce.

“To be honest with you, Mike,” Frank said, “my ex, she was a bit of a bitch. Always complaining that I was going to the pub with my mates too much, spending too much on the horses, not giving her enough money to make ends meet. Nag, nag, nag.” He flapped his thumb and fingers open and shut to imitate a chattering jaw. “Finally, I just got sick of it. I miss the kids sometimes, but I can’t say I miss motormouth one
bit. That’s what I used to call her, motormouth—and a few other things besides.”

I thought of those two children smiling proudly at the camera, and of how photographs never showed more than one captured moment—how, after that picture had been taken, the tide would inevitably have come in and washed away their sandcastle, and how, at the end of that day, they’d have changed out of their swimming costumes and been driven home by Frank. I thought about how they’d have sat behind bedroom walls listening to their parents argue, and I wondered if they’d been relieved when their father walked out on them, or if they still kept hoping that he would come back.

“In contrast to my ex,” Frank continued, “Mabel’s a bloody breath of fresh air. She’s more easygoing, knows how to have a laugh. And, like I said, she’s got a nice setup there on the estate and I could use a bit of home cooking.”

“Yes, well,” my father ventured, “Mabel’s always been quite an independent type, you know. I’m not sure she—”

“Oh, Mabel knows what’s good for her,” Frank interrupted. “When it comes down to it, every woman wants a man around the house.”

“No, they don’t,” I said, moving out of the shadows.

“Aye, well, you tell that to your husband, love,” Frank said, his voice half laugh, half growl. “When you get married—”

“I’m not getting married,” I interjected. “I’m not going to be the servant of some lazy man who can’t be bothered to do his own washing and cleaning.” I had no doubt, also, that while Frank might have aspirations to settle down and be waited on in Mabel’s little council house, she would send him on his way soon enough. As my mother said, Mabel went through men the way other women went through nylon stockings.

For a moment, Frank held my gaze, the slow burn of indignation in his eyes. “Got yourself quite a little firebrand here, don’t you, Mike? Sent out to spy on us by the women in the kitchen, were you?”

“Mabel told me to ask Frank for his lighter,” I explained, turning to my father.

“See, Mike,” Frank said, laughing. “Women, they always need a man for something.”

“YOU KNOW, IT’S LOVELY
out here, it really is.”

I’d returned to the kitchen. After lighting her cigarette and taking a couple of long, hungry drags, Mabel stood by the window, looking out over my mother’s abandoned garden. In the churned-up soil, the thistles and other weeds had started to grow back, the bright yellow heads of dandelions peering through a thickening carpet of green.

“All them trees, all this nature,” Mabel continued. “And you could have a lovely garden out there if you get back to it, Ev. I mean, you’ve got so much space here. Me, I look outside and all I see is concrete and that eighty-year-old bloke across the street who likes to stand in his window in nothing but his Y-fronts. Bloody old pervert. Not a pretty sight, I’ll tell you that. But you, well, you’ve got it all here, haven’t you? You could get yourself out—maybe you could take your driving test again and …” Mabel frowned for a moment, apparently remembering the outcome of my mother’s last failed driving test. “Or maybe you could get yourself a bike,” she added brightly. “You know, cycle out on them lovely roads. Go into the village, do a bit of shopping. And let’s face it, Ev, you’ve got your work cut out for you here, haven’t you?” She gestured around the kitchen, still desperately in need of renovation. “I don’t see how you could possibly get bored.”

“Well, I am,” my mother said, dropping her teacup into the saucer with a clatter.

“Jesse’s not bored, are you, love?” Mabel said, gesturing me over to her with her cigarette. I walked to her side and she put an arm around my shoulder, pressing me into her soft, springy flesh.

“No, I like it,” I said.

“And did you make some friends?”

“Yes. I made a few. But my best friend is Tracey.”

“Oh, that’s that skinny lass that you brought over to my house, right?”

I nodded.

“See, Evelyn,” Mabel said. “If Jesse here can adjust, I’m sure you can.”

My mother sat back and folded her arms across her chest. “You know, I haven’t heard one word from our mother since she phoned you about getting married. Not one bloody word.”

“Well, I’m sure she—” Mabel began.

My mother slammed her hand down on the table, making the cups and saucers there dance noisily over its surface. “I just don’t understand how a woman could treat her daughter like that, I really don’t. Flitting off to another country, leaving her to fend for herself.” She pondered this for a moment, then looked over at me, watery-eyed. “Don’t you worry, love, I’d never leave you in the lurch like that.”

Mabel sighed. My head against her, I could hear her breath as it moved through her chest. I pressed closer into her, into the warmth beneath her clothes. If my parents ever divorced, I thought, perhaps Auntie Mabel would take me in. We could live in her little council house, laughing together at the neighbor in his underpants. Unlike Frank, I wouldn’t expect to be waited on. I’d even help out with Mabel’s Tupperware and Avon makeup parties if it meant she’d let me stay.

“But Jesse’s only a kid,” Mabel responded. “You were a married woman when Mam left. And she left me as well, you know. I miss her, of course. But you’ve got to decide to get on with your life—”

“But that’s not the point, is it?” My mother thumped the kitchen table again. “You’re not like me, Mabel. You know that. Nobody understands what I go through. Nobody. Not Mike, not all those bloody doctors, not even my own sister or my own mother. You should try being me sometimes. I bet you couldn’t stand it for a day.” She paused for a moment. Beside me, Mabel took a couple of tense puffs on her cigarette.
“Come to think of it,” my mother continued, “our Ted is better off than me.”

“What are you talking about, Ev? You’re just being daft now.” Mabel waved away the smoke in front of her as if she were trying to wave away my mother’s words.

“No, I’m not. At least he gets out every once in a while. Gets a bit of freedom. But me, my prison’s in here.” My mother jabbed her forehead with her index finger. “On the inside. I can’t help the way I feel, you know. I can’t. People are always saying cheer up, or pull yourself together, or other such bloody rubbish. They smile at you and tell you how it’d be so much better if you did this or you did that. Hah! That’s a bloody joke, that is!” Her voice was getting louder and her features seemed twisted, as if she were pulling something hard and painful from deep inside herself. “Get yourself a hobby, they say. Then, when I do get myself a hobby, find something I want to do, they tell me to calm down, take it easy, don’t get so overwrought. And you know what’s so ridiculous about all this?” She was yelling now. “Do you? Do you?”

Beside me, I felt Mabel shake her head.

My mother stood up, her chair scraping the floor with a shriek. “There’s not a damn thing I can do about any of it! That’s what! I mean, don’t you think I’d change the way I am if I could?” Her hands gripped the edges of the table now, her eyes wild and teary. I stepped away from Mabel, feeling the urge to go to my mother, to put my arms around her shoulders, to try to ease her sadness and her anger, as if by touching her I could let it soak into myself. But it was hopeless; she had said so herself. Her moods were as inevitable as the tides that ate away cliffs and knocked over sandcastles. I remained by the kitchen counter.

“I know, Ev, I’m sure it must be hard,” said Mabel, her voice a syrupy calm. “But I’m sure you’d feel better if you got back to your gardening.”

“I don’t give a toss about that bloody garden. I don’t give a toss about anything right now.” She dropped back into her chair.

“Oh, Evelyn,” Mabel said. “Honestly, I don’t know what to say. And comparing yourself to Ted, well that makes no sense to me. I mean,
you’re out here with all this space and countryside and he’s stuck in some poky little cell. Mind you, he’ll be out soon enough. He wrote to me last week, said they’re releasing him early next year. Cheeky bugger, wanted to know if he could come and stay with me. Fat chance of that! Hey, did I tell you what he did last time I let him kip at my house, Jesse?” She took an eager puff on her cigarette, then gestured toward me with it. “I made the mistake of saying I’d help him get on his feet. Well, the telly went on the blink, so he goes out and gets me another one. I was pleased as punch, I was. Pleased, that is, until Mrs. Waverly from down the street comes in to borrow a cup of sugar, sees my new telly, and tells me that it’s the one she’d had nicked from her house just the week before. Of course, it had been our Ted.” She shook her head. “Took months before I could hold up my head on my street again. You’re nothing like our Ted, Evelyn. Not one jot. He’s got real problems. You—well, you’ve got a nice house and a lovely family. You couldn’t really want much more than that.” She beamed at my mother, but my mother simply stared into her empty teacup. Mabel stubbed out her cigarette. “So, what do you think of Frank, then? Bit of all right, don’t you think?”

“How should I know?” my mother said, pouring herself another cup of tea.

“Well, I mean, you did see him in the altogether, didn’t you?” Mabel said. “You’d have as good an idea as anybody.”

“I’d rather not be reminded about that, if you don’t mind,” my mother said dully.

“Sorry.” Mabel looked at me and pulled a guilty smile.

“Not all that glitters is gold, you know,” my mother said with a sudden spark of energy, pulling the spoon from the sugar bowl and pointing it ominously at Mabel.

“What the heck is that supposed to mean?”

“I’d have thought you’d know full well. Let’s face it, you’ve kissed a lot of frogs and you’ve not found yourself a prince yet, have you?”

“To be honest with you, Ev,” Mabel said, “I gave up on finding a prince long ago. These days, I’d settle for a decent-looking frog.” I felt tempted to make a joke about Frank resembling a frog in his green suit and shirt, but I didn’t want to hurt Mabel’s feelings. And I certainly didn’t want to give my mother any more ammunition to hurl at her.

“Yes, well,” my mother said, gesturing toward the hallway, from which we could hear the reverberating bass of my father’s and Frank’s voices. “You certainly haven’t picked Prince Charming this time. I’ve never heard a story about a prince that works in a sausage factory, who’s divorced, and has abandoned his poor little kiddies.” She dumped a couple of spoonfuls of sugar into her tea and began stirring it so vigorously that I thought she might break the cup.

I expected Mabel to make some sharp and funny comeback, to repel my mother with a loud, strident joke. Instead, she took another cigarette out, lit it, and took a thoughtful drag. “You know, you might be right, Evelyn,” she said, her words enfolded in smoke. “But as you’ve said yourself, I’m not getting any younger. And, despite my Platex Eighteen-Hour Girdle and Cross Your Heart Bra”—she planted a hand on one of her breasts—“things are heading more south than north these days. So, while I’ve got a little bit of spring in my step—and in a few other places—I’d better play my hand. Otherwise, I’ll be all washed up and this”—she jiggled her breast with the hand that still rested there—“won’t do me one bit of good.”

I felt my stomach lurch. I hated the defeated tone in her voice, the way it suggested that she was going to have to settle for something far less than she’d hoped for. I sidled back up to her and wrapped my arms around her broad waist, hoping that by pressing myself against her I could will her to remain herself. “You don’t need a Prince Charming, Auntie Mabel,” I said. “You don’t need any man. You could call yourself Ms., like my teacher Ms. Hastings. She thinks if you get married you just become some man’s property.”

Mabel laughed softly. “Crikey, the things they teach them at school
these days! Next thing I know, you’ll be telling me to burn my flipping bra, Jesse. I can just see myself walking into the Snail and Whippet on a Saturday night with my boobs down to my knees. Ooh, I’d be the talk of the town, I would.”

“I wouldn’t care about what other people said about you, Auntie Mabel. I’d love you if you didn’t have a man
and
you didn’t wear a bra.” I clasped my arms tighter around Mabel’s waist, as if the fierceness of my grip on her could seep all the way through the thick armor of her underwear, down into her flesh. I had the dreadful feeling of something slipping away from me, something I needed to hold on to to keep me afloat.

“Bleeming heck, Jesse, you’re going to squeeze me to bloody death if you carry on like that!” Mabel said. “I can hardly breathe.”