Peppercorn Street (6 page)

They weren’t loving people and had shouted at her all
through her childhood for the slightest thing. She wasn’t going to become a misery like them with her daughter, she’d promised herself that.

Taking a sip of tea, she changed the subject. ‘What are you going to plant this year, Mr Shackleton?’

‘The usual. Carrots always do well, peas, beans, cabbages, lettuce – and a few flowers, just because they look pretty. My Peggy used to love flowers. See that rose bush? It might look like a few thorny sticks now but it’ll be a mass of pink flowers come the warmer weather.’

Janey let him talk, enjoying sitting in the sun which had no warmth but was bright and cheerful. She was always happy to learn more about gardening.

Millie dozed for a while, then woke up squirming uncomfortably. Janey knew the signs. ‘I’d better go now. She needs changing. Thanks for the tea. You make a good cup.’

‘Stop by any time you’re passing. I’ve always got a cuppa for a friend. Oh, just a minute.’ He vanished inside the hut then came back with a cabbage, which he gave her. ‘One of my own. Still good eating once you take the outer leaves off.’

‘I wasn’t hinting for you to give me food.’

He grinned. ‘I know that. I can tell a cadger a mile off. I only give my stuff away to people I like. You take it, love.’

The cabbage was huge. Janey didn’t particularly like cabbage but free vegetables were a big help when you had to watch every penny and she’d read somewhere that you could use cabbage in stir fries and salads. She’d have to borrow a cookery book from the library or buy one in a charity shop. ‘Thanks.’

She felt quite optimistic as she walked back. Perhaps it wouldn’t be bad living here if the locals were so friendly. Perhaps she might even make some friends her own age. She’d go to the next meeting at
Just Girls
, see what the others were like, at least.

On Sunday, Janey got up early, did all the housework and washing then found it was still only nine o’clock. She heard church bells pealing and stopped to listen. Should she go to church? Why not? She’d been brought up to attend regularly, but hadn’t gone for a while, not after her oh-so-Christian parents had abandoned her in her time of need.

She wasn’t quite sure what she believed these days but suddenly there seemed something very comforting about a church service. And anyway, it’d get her out of the flat and somewhere with other people.

She’d noticed a small church just off High Street in the other direction from the library. It didn’t seem quite as threatening as the ancient parish church, which sat squarely in the heart of the town and had a leaflet all to itself in the pile from the library.

The small church had a plain board outside that said in red letters on white, ‘All are welcome in God’s house’.

Would she and Millie be welcome? Would anyone even notice their presence?

She wasn’t sure about doing this, but the thought of spending the whole day on her own decided her. She desperately needed to be among people. If going to church didn’t work out, she’d only lose an hour or so. But you had to try everything you could till you made a new life
for yourself, they’d emphasised that all the time in the discussion groups at the hostel.

She decided to get there a little early and suss the place out, see where she could sit with the buggy, ready to make a quick escape if Millie started to cry.

But as she walked through the gate and up the path, a woman minister opened the double entrance doors and smiled at her as she fastened them back.

‘I’ve not seen you here before, have I?’

‘No. We’ve … um, just moved into town.’ She gestured towards the buggy.

‘Then I’m happy to welcome you and your baby to our church.’ She looked down at Millie who was drowsy, ready for a nap. ‘We have a crèche for the morning service. Would you be happy to leave your baby in it?’

‘I didn’t realise.’

The minister leant closer, still smiling, and said in a low voice, ‘It’s probably sexist to say so, but I’ve children of my own, so I do understand from experience how hard it is for a mother to get time to worship in peace.’

Janey let out a sigh of relief. ‘That’d be great.’

‘I’m Louise, by the way.’ She turned and beckoned to someone. ‘A new customer for the crèche, Barbara.’

An older woman with a grandmotherly air beamed at Janey. ‘How lovely! Oh, what a pretty baby! What’s her name? Millie. I love that name. And you’re … Janey. Well, come and see our facilities, dear. They aren’t fancy but they’re bright and clean.’

There was a little side room, with a tiny baby lying fast asleep in a buggy, its face pink and peaceful.

‘He belongs to Marcie, who does the flowers,’ Louise said.

Barbara came closer, touching Janey on the arm, which made her realise how rarely anyone touched her now, except for Millie, of course.

‘I used to be a children’s nurse, so your baby will be quite safe with me, dear.’

‘That’s wonderful.’ Janey explained about Millie’s needs then went back into the church. Just to sit on her own was wonderful. She could feel herself relaxing and enjoyed watching others file in. There were more people attending than she’d expected, which suggested that the church was quite popular. And everyone who sat nearby smiled and nodded at her.

She really did feel welcome here. That realisation brought tears to her eyes.

When the service started she joined in the first hymn, mumbling awkwardly at first, then getting used to singing aloud again. She’d once wanted to be in the school choir, but her parents hadn’t liked the thought of her staying late at school and ‘getting up to mischief’.

At the end of the service she slipped out to get Millie and thank Barbara for looking after her daughter.

‘She was no trouble, slept most of the time. You could get a coffee before you leave, chat to a few people. I’ll still be here.’

But she didn’t feel confident enough to do that in a group of complete strangers, so smiled and said, ‘Another time, perhaps.’

Another woman came in just then and picked up the tiny baby. ‘Has he been good?’

‘As good as gold.’

‘They always are for you. Thanks, Barbara. My
husband’s useless if Thomas starts crying, so it’s blissful to be free for an hour. I’ve changed all the flowers and I’ll be in on Tuesday to see to them.’ She smiled and nodded to Janey. ‘You’re new here, aren’t you? I hope you enjoyed the service. We’re a friendly lot, so do come back.’

Janey walked home feeling happy. Perhaps she wouldn’t be so lonely after all? Perhaps she could find a few friends here and there. That’d make so much difference to her life.

On Sunday morning, Winifred’s nephew rang. ‘I’m back in England a bit earlier than I’d expected. How are you keeping, Auntie Win?’

‘I’m fine, Bradley.’

‘I thought you might like a little trip out to the garden centre this morning.’

‘I’d love that.’

‘I’ll pick you up in about half an hour, then. And afterwards you can tell me if you’ve anything that needs fixing. Think about it.’

Pleased at the thought of an outing, she went to get ready and waited in the front room so that she could see his car arrive and not keep him waiting. He was a busy person but he did make an effort to see her every time he came back to England.

But it was two hours before he arrived and when she asked him what had delayed him, he looked at her in puzzlement. ‘I told you two hours.’

‘No, you said half an hour.’

‘You’re getting a bit forgetful. Doesn’t matter. I won’t tell anyone. You’re looking better than last time. You’ve stopped trying to do the gardening now, I hope?’

‘Yes.’ She waved a hand at the front of the house. ‘Can’t you tell?’

‘The house is too much for you.’

‘Please don’t start that again. I shan’t change my mind about moving.’

As he started his car, he hesitated then said, ‘I’ve met someone new.’

‘Oh? You mean a woman?’

‘Yes. We’re going to move in together.’

She didn’t approve of the way young people lived together without being married, but she didn’t say that. Who cared what old people thought about the world anyway?

‘Can I bring my new lady round to introduce you? I think you’ll like her.’

‘Of course you can.’

They had a pleasant half-hour at the garden centre and she bought herself a new house plant, but she could see that Bradley was getting a bit impatient by then. Well, he had no real interest in gardening. Suppressing a sigh, she suggested they go home. ‘I’m sure you’ll be ready for a piece of cake now.’

He brightened. ‘I’m always ready for a piece of your cake, Auntie Win. What sort is it this time?’

She wished he wouldn’t talk to her in that tone, jollying her along sometimes as if she was a child. She didn’t say that. At least he came to see her.

Bradley ate a huge piece of her walnut cake but Winifred wasn’t hungry. She was still thinking about all the beautiful plants she’d seen so briefly and wishing there had been time to see more.

When he’d finished eating, he looked out at the garden and shook his head. ‘I’m not going to have time to do anything this break, but next time I’m in England I’ll find someone to sort out your garden. Maybe we should have some of it paved, or covered with gravel. What do you think?’

She hated gravel and searched her mind for a reason not to have it. ‘Not gravel. It’s a bit chancy to walk on. I don’t want to risk a fall at my age.’

He repaired a drawer handle that was loose, frowned at her fridge and suggested buying a new one.

‘Oh, I think that one will do me for a while yet.’

‘You don’t want to risk it shorting out and starting a fire. Old appliances can be dangerous.’

‘This one’s never given me any trouble.’

He wasn’t fooled. ‘Not got enough money to spare for a new one?’

‘Stocks and shares haven’t been doing very well lately, so I have to be a bit careful. What do they call it? Asset rich and cash poor?’

‘Your stocks will rise again. Don’t rush to sell them, give them a year or two. I’m sitting on mine, keeping a careful eye on the stock market. And the offer’s still there. I’ll manage your stocks for you if you want.’

‘Oh, I think I’m doing all right. I enjoy keeping an eye on the prices in the newspaper.’ She didn’t say the other obvious thing: she might not have a year or two left. She tried always to stay cheerful and positive, especially when Bradley was around. So many old people moaned and complained.

That was one of the reasons she didn’t enjoy going to
meetings for the elderly. She didn’t like being called ‘aged’ or ‘elderly’ either. People talked about
care
of the aged
as if no older people could look after themselves, and
the burden of the elderly
as if they were all a cost to the taxpayer. She could care for herself, thank you very much.

She waved Bradley goodbye with a smile on her face, but leaned against the door when she went inside, feeling suddenly very much alone. Still, she might make a new friend. Oh, she did hope it would work out with Dawn’s mother!

She had a lot to be thankful for, really. Her health, most of all. Without that you couldn’t do much with your life.

She frowned, quite certain Bradley had said half an hour. He was the one who’d forgotten, not her. This had happened before and he’d insisted she’d forgotten what he said, but she knew she hadn’t.

In fact, she didn’t look forward to his visits nearly as much these days. They always seemed to leave her doubting herself.

On Monday Nicole waited impatiently for Sam to leave for work. She was up by six, but he didn’t go till half past seven, which seemed a long time to wait. He gave Nicole a reproachful look when he met her on the landing, but didn’t say anything. If he’d just spoken … tried to communicate … But he’d left it to her to make the first overture, as usual. She wasn’t going to do that this time.

Once he’d driven away, she had a quick shower in the en suite, which further strengthened her resolve. Did Sam never put anything away these days? He hadn’t even rinsed away the toothpaste he’d spat out.

She packed everything from the spare bedroom, but didn’t dare start elsewhere until she was alone.

A short time later the boys went clattering downstairs and she could smell toast. Sam had bought a loaf, butter and jam yesterday. He and the boys seemed to be living off
bread and jam, plus takeaway pizzas. She refused to feel guilty about that.

‘’Bye, Mum.’

Tears came into her eyes as Paul yelled goodbye – the only one to do so. She’d always been closer to her younger son, try as she might to love them both equally. He’d been such a sunny-natured baby, while William had been a colicky infant, crying a lot.

As soon as they’d gone, Nicole went into the master bedroom and began to pack frenziedly, praying her lists were well enough thought out. She’d already written a note to Sam, telling him she was going away for a few weeks to think about things. It had taken her several attempts to write it. One note had been spoilt by tears. She hadn’t even realised she was crying until the paper blistered. Her final effort was the best she could manage but still didn’t express all she wanted to say.

She debated jotting down her mobile phone number at the bottom, but didn’t. He should know it well enough by now! He used to call her on it quite often during the day, but hadn’t done that for months.

She was terrified William would come home while she was packing, because he’d skipped school a few times. No, why should he do that so soon after getting into trouble? Even he would have more sense. She stuffed clothes and other items into rubbish bags any old how. If they needed ironing she could do that later. She was taking the iron because she was the only one who used it.

The pile of bags mounted up in the sitting room, where the fragments of broken ornament were still scattered
across the hearth, a reminder to her and, she hoped, to them of why she was leaving.

She moved the smaller pieces of furniture she was taking into the hall and dining room, making sure she had the list handy for the bigger things she couldn’t manage on her own. She was taking the computer desk and bookcases, as well as her favourite armchair and all her books. No one else in her family seemed to do much reading and she didn’t want to lose her collection of favourite books.

When the doorbell rang at quarter to ten she jerked round in shock. Had one of the boys come home? Or Sam? What would she say to them?

But when she opened the door, she found two young guys in jeans and thigh-length overalls with ‘Mini-Movers’ written in big red letters against the beige twill.

‘Mrs Gainsford? We’re a bit early. Is that all right?’

‘Fine with me.’

They moved her things into the van more quickly than she’d expected and she had to rush out of the house to go and let them into the flat. She’d have to come back to the house to finish off.

The whole move took less than two hours. How could an earth-shattering change happen so quickly?

After the men had gone, she stood in the living room of her new flat, surrounded by piles of bulging bin-liner bags and a jumble of furniture, tears rolling down her cheeks.

When she was a little calmer, she went back to the family house to make a final check, gathering together more of her little treasures, in case those got smashed as well. She
tiptoed round, feeling like an intruder in the place that had been her home for nearly twenty years, jumping at every noise.

Working quickly, she went into each room, taking extra small items now, a cushion, another pillow, a Persian rug that had been her grandmother’s. She raided the kitchen cupboards systematically, taking spices, herbs, a few of her special jars and tins. It wasn’t as if the others were going to be doing any fancy cooking, after all.

As an afterthought she went into the garage and took a few tools: a hammer, screwdriver and some bits and pieces for cleaning the car. She was shocked at how dusty things were there. Sam couldn’t have touched his workbench for months, though he’d still been coming out here. What had he been doing? Why had he changed so much?

Carrying the final few things in a bucket, itching now to be away and done with what felt like pillaging, she walked out of the house, nearly jumping out of her skin when she saw her neighbour of ten years looking over the fence.

‘Oh, it’s you, Nicole. I was just checking. I didn’t see your car in the drive and thought you’d be at work. You can’t be too careful these days, the number of burglaries there are.’

‘I took my car round the side to load things, because … I’m leaving.’

Her neighbour’s mouth dropped open. ‘No! Oh, my goodness, I—’

Nicole didn’t linger to explain or discuss it. They weren’t close friends, after all. As she put the bucket into the car boot and slammed the lid down, it occurred to her
that the reason she wasn’t better friends with any of their current neighbours was because Sam didn’t like getting too close to them. And lately he’d been avoiding social events altogether, saying he was tired, even with their long-time friends.

He’d not looked well, but had refused point-blank to go and see the doctor so she was helpless to do anything.

Getting into the car, she backed out down the drive. When she hit the gatepost, she yelped in shock and jumped out to inspect the damage. Fortunately she’d been going so slowly there was only a small dent and a scratch. Sam would have gone mad at that. His car was his most treasured possession, a glossy, well-polished beast. She wouldn’t bother to get this tiny bit of damage to her car repaired.

She was thoughtful as she drove to her new home. And sad, so very sad. It was as if leaving Sam had opened the lid to problems she’d been avoiding dealing with for a long time. She hadn’t stood up for herself as she should have done. Compromise was one thing, giving in to your partner was another thing altogether.

Sam was late home that evening. He was sick of meetings and yet more meetings, and beyond reason tired. His head was aching again. It seemed to have been aching on and off for weeks. Perhaps Nicole was right and he should see the doctor, or start taking vitamins … or something.

It had been a hell of a day and he’d had to stay behind after the meeting to catch up with an important project that simply couldn’t wait because he’d had to go to
William’s school yet again. Couldn’t his damned son stay out of mischief even for one day? That had robbed him of most of the afternoon.

He hadn’t passed on the job to Nicole because she’d not been getting on with William lately. His older son seemed to be deliberately looking for trouble, challenging the boundaries in every direction.

And William hadn’t been at all repentant after the interview, had offered him only a mouthful of cheek and had been highly reluctant to see the counsellor! Only the threat of a complete withdrawal of his allowance had got him to agree to that. Sam had to make an appointment to see the counsellor, too, but he couldn’t do that without his work diary so he’d told them he’d ring later.

For two pins, Sam thought wearily, he’d take off into the wide blue yonder, go somewhere he could be peaceful and quiet, and only spend time with people he really cared about. Families seemed to sap your energy, especially teenagers. And Nicole was too bossy. William was right about that. It wasn’t an attractive trait. She’d been much softer when she was young. She’d changed a lot. And why she hadn’t done something about the kitchen, he couldn’t understand.
She
didn’t have to work such long hours.

Paul was in the kitchen, eating a sandwich.

‘Is your mother home?’ Sam realised he’d not even noticed whether her car was in the drive.

‘No, she’s not. Um, Dad – there’s an envelope on the mantelpiece.’ He pointed.

Sam turned round and saw his name scrawled across it
in Nicole’s oversized writing. Why would she be writing to him?

He picked it up, staring at it, making no attempt to open it for a few seconds then, suddenly apprehensive, tearing it open.

He reread the note with a sick feeling of shock, collapsing on to the nearest chair because his legs had suddenly gone wobbly and his vision had blurred. It had done that a couple of times lately. Stress, he supposed. Well, there couldn’t be much that was more stressful than your elder son going off the rails and your wife leaving you.

‘Dad?’

He became aware of Paul leaning over him.

‘Dad, are you all right?’

‘Not really.’ He thrust the letter at his son. ‘Read that.’

Paul scanned the letter quickly, then read it again more
slowly, wishing suddenly that he’d been more supportive of his mother. He didn’t want her to go.

He looked at his father for guidance. ‘Did you have any idea she was thinking of leaving, Dad? Had you discussed it, splitting up, I mean?’

‘No. We’ve not talked much at all recently. I’ve been a bit … um, busy. Where’s William?’

‘In his room.’

‘Fetch him.’

Paul hesitated then went upstairs and poked his head round the door of William’s room.

‘Get out!’ his brother yelled.

‘Something’s happened. It’s bad. Dad wants to see you.’

‘It’s probably that thing from school. They’ve suspended me again, just because I wasn’t taking shit from anyone, and they couldn’t get Dad to answer his phone.’

‘What the hell have you done now?’

William shrugged. ‘Refused to listen to that sports teacher who thinks she’s a man.’

Paul rather liked the sports teacher, but he knew better than to say that. ‘Well, this isn’t about you at all. Dad hasn’t even looked at the letter from school yet. It’s Mum. She’s left us.’

William gaped at him then scowled. ‘That’s all I bloody need.’

Paul didn’t wait, but went back down, worried about his father. He felt even more anxious when he saw that his dad’s face was chalky white. He hadn’t moved, was just sitting in the same place, staring at the floor. He’d been doing a lot of that lately, looking dopey and spaced out.
Was he on drugs? No, of course he wasn’t. Not Dad. But he didn’t look well.

Something was wrong with the whole family. Mum was right about that.

William shoved Paul roughly out of the doorway and he didn’t try to shove back because his brother was a lot bigger than he was, and getting more muscular with it. That was because he was taking steroids. Paul had seen them. Stupid twit!

‘Dad?’

Paul watched. His dad didn’t seem to have heard William, didn’t stir, let alone respond.

In the end Paul took the letter out of his dad’s hand and passed it to his brother. ‘She left a note.’ It was eerie that his dad still didn’t move.

William read it and threw it on to the table. ‘Shit!’

‘Is that all you can say?’

‘What else is there to say? The bitch has bailed out on us.’

Paul waited for his father to tell William not to speak of their mother like that and when he didn’t, found he couldn’t let it pass. ‘She’s not a bitch. And I don’t blame her, actually. We’ve left everything to her. You don’t even pick up after yourself.’

‘Well, I blame her. She got a family, and it’s her job to look after it.’ He kicked a chair to one side and it fell over with a clatter.

Paul glanced at his father, but he still didn’t move.

‘These damned feminists have changed the whole world,’ William went on. ‘And for the worse. It’s up to us men to take charge again.’

‘You’re just saying what those weirdos tell you. And you’re not a man yet. You’re still at school.’

His brother looked at himself in the mirror and smirked. He’d been doing that a lot lately, as if pleased with what he saw. ‘I’m a man physically. I’m bigger than Dad now. And my friends aren’t weirdos. They’re
real
men. What they say makes sense.’

‘They’re thugs – and worse. That’s where you’ve been buying your stuff, isn’t it?’

William shot a quick glance at their dad and muttered, ‘You keep your big mouth shut about what I do.’

‘I have.’

His brother left and Paul wondered what to do next. His dad stood up, but he didn’t say anything, just pushed his chair back so violently it fell over on top of the other one. He went upstairs, slamming the bedroom door behind him.

Was that all Dad could do? Hide in his bedroom?

Suddenly Paul wished desperately that Mum was here. This was way too heavy for him to deal with.

He picked up the letter, but it didn’t say where she was going. She’d still be working at the library, though. Surely she would? He’d go there and talk to her tomorrow, promise to help more in the house, even if he had to do some of William’s share, beg her to come back.

He definitely didn’t want to be left alone with his brother, who had that angry look on his face again. As William usually took that out on someone, Paul went upstairs to his bedroom, shooting the bolts he’d fitted inside the door.

But he didn’t feel safe there, didn’t feel safe anywhere at the moment. His world was falling apart and at fifteen he
couldn’t manage without at least one parent around. The last few days had shown him that.