Bucket Nut (3 page)

She's had a hard life, so you shouldn't blame her.

When you say someone has had a hard life you picture someone old. Don't you? Go on, admit it.

But actually, my mum isn't forty yet, and she'd look all right if she took care of herself. When she goes out in the evening all made up and dressed like a Christmas tree she looks pretty tasty – with the light behind her. You'd never know she was stoned out of her tiny mind and that within a couple of hours all the make-up would be smeared round her chin.

She lives on the second floor of a high rise – which is just as well as the lift never works and coming home in the state she does, if she lived any higher she'd spend most nights on the stairs.

Even so, the wind on the second floor walkway was something awful. I knocked on her door and waited.

When she came, she only opened the door a crack and peered out like a scared rabbit. She always looks scared when she opens the door, and, knowing the life she leads, I'm not surprised.

Kids whizzed behind me on skateboards and she flinched.

‘I s'pose you'd better come in,' she said, and turned away.

As she passed the bedroom door she pulled it shut. That meant she had scored last night and he was still in there sleeping it off.

Like I said, you mustn't blame her – everybody's got to pay the rent somehow.

We went through to the kitchen.

Now, you might think the kitchen would be the worst room in this tip my ma calls home. But it isn't. It's the best. And the reason for that is that she never uses it except for making the occasional cup of instant coffee. Eating comes second to drinking in Ma's life. When she gets hungry she eats burgers.

The first thing she said when we got there was, ‘If he comes in, you're my sister, right?'

I laughed, and she must have seen something in my face because she said, ‘Scrub that – you're a neighbour.'

I said, ‘Speaking of sisters …'

‘Don't start all that again,' she interrupted. ‘I've got the most awful head.'

I filled the kettle without saying anything, and made two cups of instant. She got a bottle from the cupboard under the sink and dumped some in her cup.

‘Just to cool it down,' she said. She can't stop lying, Ma.

I waited a minute or so, and then I said, ‘It's important, Ma. Have you heard anything?'

‘It's the only reason you come here,' she said. ‘Pestering me about her. You don't give a brass farthing about your poor old …'

‘Mum,' I supplied for her. She can't bring herself to use the word.

‘Don't call me that,' she snapped, looking over her shoulder at the door. She kicked it shut. Her feet were bare and dirty, and her big toes were strained over sideways from being squeezed into pointy shoes.

‘What should I call you?' I asked. I was beginning to get a mood on.

‘I've got a name.'

‘I've got a sister!'

‘Why don't you shut your face!' she yelled. ‘She doesn't want to know you. Look at you!'

‘How do you know?' I yelled back. ‘We were close …'

‘Years ago.'

‘Not
that
many…'

Just then, in spite of the screaming, we both heard the toilet flush.

Ma got to her feet. She picked up her cup and the coffee I'd made for myself. She went off back to the bedroom.

‘See yourself out,' she said as she left.

I wanted to break something.

But early training counts for a lot, and if there was one thing we learned as kids it was always to tiptoe around Ma's men. If Ma had a man in the house we either got out fast or we pretended we weren't there. Ma was never too choosy about who she brought home.

That was her downfall, really.

I went into the sitting-room. I was thinking that Ma should never've had kids.

But she did. And one of them was me.

The other one was Simone.

The sitting-room was a pit. It was thick with days of old smoke. The beer cans and ashtrays spilled off the coffee table and onto the floor. Someone had broken a bottle against the telly and a half eaten burger was mashed into the rug. All in all it looked like one of those country roads I don't go for.

If Ma had ever had a boyfriend like Harsh, I was thinking, things would've been a lot cleaner. Then Harsh might have been …

I stopped thinking about that.

What I wanted was behind the telly under the pile of Ma's old
True Love
magazines. She doesn't read that garbage any more – even Ma wises up sometimes – but, whenever she moves, she always carts the old ones along with her. She calls them her books.

Under Ma's books was an old photo album. Our nan left it to Ma when she died. There was a picture in the album I wanted to see. It was the last one ever taken of Simone and me together.

I turned the pages quickly. I didn't want to look at the ones of Ma when she was young. They always made me feel sort of choked, because Simone, when she was ten, and Ma, when she was ten, looked quite alike. Too alike for comfort.

I found the page. And there we were in our nan's front room.

I know exactly when that picture was taken. It was Simone's twelfth birthday – two days before they put a place of safety order on her and took her away. So it was two days before the last time I ever saw her.

Usually, when we got sent away, they'd send us away together. Or when we got back or bunked off we'd meet up at Ma's. Or, if we couldn't find Ma, we'd go to Nan's.

But that time, they split us up. And about a year after that Nan died.

Simone never came home again.

I heard later she got fostered out, and she must have liked the people because she stayed. Or, more likely, they liked her and persuaded her to stay.

It was hard not to like Simone, but I have to tell you, she was not a strong character. She could be persuaded. Especially if she didn't have me along to remind her of where we belonged.

I stared at her long-ago face. She was so pretty. Most people never knew we were sisters. I was taller than her even though I was a year younger. And I was never pretty.

The most important thing was to remember her face. Sometimes I have nightmares that I'm walking down the street and there's a beggar with her hand out. And I walk right by. I don't recognise Simone until she calls out to me. ‘Eva,' she says, ‘I'd've known you anywhere. But you've forgotten me.'

Well, I haven't forgotten. And one day I'll find her. It's got to happen because everyone says blood's thicker than water. For the same reason, I know that Simone is looking for me. She has to be. And she won't find me unless she finds Ma first, because a lot has happened to me since we last saw each other.

A lot has happened to Ma too, but at least she stayed in the same borough. That's what I'm counting on. And that's why I see Ma every couple of months. Apart, that is, from the fact that blood is thicker than water even where Ma is concerned.

Someone has to keep this family together.

The noises coming from Ma's bedroom sounded like someone having an asthma attack.

I knew I was safe to nose around in the sitting-room for a while. I didn't often get the chance. I closed the album on Simone's face and I started going through the rest of the pile of books looking for letters.

You see, with Ma, you never knew. She threw away unopened letters because she was afraid of bills and summonses.

‘It's only trouble,' she'd say. ‘It's trouble come with a stamp on the envelope.'

Sometimes, after she's had a few too many she'll just kick aside anything that comes through the door. She could have won half a million on the pools, or be up in court the next day for defrauding the Social Security. She'd never know.

I went to my nan's funeral with a social worker. They let me out for the occasion.

Ma wasn't there. She said she was too emotional, but if you ask me, she was too horizontal.

I went because I thought Simone would be there. And – you'll think I'm a right cow – I was quite grateful to Nan for providing a time for me to get out of Youth Custody and see Simone.

But Simone wasn't there either.

It was a big question to me, afterwards – why? Why hadn't Simone come?

Ma didn't know. She got really pissed off with me asking all the time.

Months later, when I finished my sentence and I was back at home, I found a letter. It was from Simone's social worker, and it said that after a great deal of consultation with Simone's new family it was felt it would not be in the best interests of the child to expose her to such a fraught occasion.

In other words they'd stopped her.

If Ma had told me that she'd have saved me months of worry and disappointment.

But Ma hadn't even opened the letter.

See what I mean?

‘In the best interests of the child' – now there's a phrase. There was a joke that did the rounds when I was a kid. It went – What's the difference between a pit-bull terrier and a social worker? Answer – the pit-bull terrier gives the child back.

I had to stop myself thinking about the old days because I was getting a bit choked.

But thinking about social workers gave me an idea.

It was years since I last went to see Simone's foster family. Maybe I could find their address and pay them a visit. They wouldn't like it. They hadn't last time, but that was when I was still a kid and hadn't learned discipline and a relaxed mental attitude.

The asthma sounds from Ma's bedroom died away. In the silence that followed I got to my feet and went to the door.

Then a loud voice said, ‘Where's me fuckin' wallet?'

I should have left earlier.

Ma said something I couldn't hear.

Then he said, ‘Give us it back, slag!'

And then the trouble started.

Ma came storming into the sitting-room with her hair all over her face and nothing on. She went behind the sofa.

He came in, still pulling up his zip, with no shirt to hide his tattoos.

Ma said, ‘You must've left it in the club, you must've dropped it in the club, you must've…'

But he wasn't quite that stupid. He said, ‘I didn't drop nothing nowhere. Gi'ss it back, slag.'

‘In the car then. On the stairs…'

‘Shut it!'

‘I'll help you look …'

He reached over the sofa and grabbed her wrist giving it a nasty twist.

‘Bastard,' Ma screeched.

‘You thieving mare!' he said and balled up his left fist.

I caught him by the hair with one hand and the seat of his strides with the other. I set my feet the way I do in the ring and then yanked and lifted at the same time.

He flew away from Ma and landed on his backside by the door.

Ma got pulled over the back of the sofa and fell in a heap on the cushions. The sofa tipped over.

She had obviously stuffed the bastard's wallet under one of the cushions, because, with the sofa on its side and the cushions all over the floor, I could see it clearly.

Ma could too, because she shut up screeching and sat on it.

I felt great.

The git on the floor said, ‘Who the fuck're you?'

‘On your bike, mister.'

He started to get up. But I kicked his arm and he went over again.

He didn't want to fight. Which was a pity because I really felt like it. He got out of the room sort of slithering on his arse. In the passage he scrambled to his feet and was out the front door like a hound out of the traps.

I went to the bedroom, took up the rest of his clothes and went after him.

He was shivering in the wind on the walkway. Tattoos aren't much good at keeping out the cold.

He said, ‘She pinched my wad.'

‘You heard her,' I said. ‘You dropped it. Now move it before I go down and jump on your motor.'

You can always beat a man by threatening his car.

He picked up his clothes and went away.

When I got back in, Ma was still all of a heap on the floor. She'd found a bottle somewhere and was tipping the contents down her throat.

She said, ‘He hurt my arm. He really hurt my arm.' Whining like a little kid.

I said, ‘Get some clothes on.'

I was pumped up, but I didn't like the fact that Ma was all undressed. She looked so weak and wobbly.

‘Get dressed,' I repeated.

‘My arm hurts,' she said, sucking the neck of her bottle. ‘I think I'll go down the doctor's.' She just sat there.

I decided to leave, but as soon as I got outside and slammed the door I remembered about Simone's old address. I knocked and waited. Then I knocked again.

‘What?' Ma yelled from behind the door.

‘That family,' I yelled back. ‘The ones that fostered Simone. Where do they live?'

‘You're a pain in the bum,' she said through the letter box. ‘You know what? You're a right pain in the bum.'

I waited, thinking that just this once she might do something for me. But nothing happened. So I went away.

Men have been hitting Ma ever since I can remember. Not that I blame them. Sometimes I feel like hitting her myself.

What I can't understand is why she never did anything about it.

All you have to do is go to the gym and get a bit stronger. If you are strong, men won't take liberties.

Nobody hits me any more – not unless I'm paid for it.

I hope Simone is strong. If anyone needs to be strong it's a pretty girl.

Of course, I was born with an advantage. I was born big. But big, in itself, isn't much use. Everybody knows big weak people.

No. Take a tip from me – if you want respect in this world – get rid of the wobbly bits.

I spent the next couple of hours at the gym lifting weights.

Harsh uses Sam's gym too, only, that day he was still in cabbage country.