Sweetie (18 page)

‘Mind you, you have to take what Kelly says with a pinch of salt, she’s a proper little liar. She’s always making up stories to impress the other kids. Can’t stand her really, never works hard or does her home -

work . . . not like my Maria . . . but you’ve got to feel sorry for her. Can you imagine, finding a dead body in that sort of a state, and actually knowing who it was?

‘Apparently she was taken to the hospital for shock after she found Wayne, and that bloody useless mother of hers took so long to go and get her that in the end the police had to go and collect her. No doubt busy with yet another man!’

Mary tugged at the sleeveless blouse that was riding up around her ample waist, exposing rolls of flesh. Lizzie just looked but didn’t say anything. Her 172

daughter was a mess. If she could ever bring herself to make an effort with her looks she might just find a man . . . but then, pigs might fly! As it was, Mary looked prematurely aged and matronly even though she was only thirty-six. She had no dress sense at all, and those acrylic loon pants she insisted on wearing made her look like a pile of blubber with polythene stretched over it. Her tops were always too small, and if she had any sense of style whatsoever she would stay away from floral patterns.

She’d never had another boyfriend after Maria’s father had done a bunk, and she’d put everything into that girl. She was a devoted mother, though, you couldn’t knock her for that, Maria always came first with her. There was always grub in the cupboard and presents for birthdays and Christmas. All the same, Lizzie secretly wished that she had daughters like Gillian and Grace, spirited and beautiful.

‘It’s terrible, it really is,’ Mary burbled on. ‘I feel so sorry for Sue and Terry. How do you ever get over anything like this?’

‘You fucking don’t, Mary, for Christ’s sake!’

Lizzie answered in a raised voice.

‘OK, Mum, keep your hair on and let me finish!

You see, last night Potty turned up at mine with Lucy. Lucy had been looking after Sue’s girls round at Nanny Parks’s flat – she’s a good girl, isn’t she?’ Mary didn’t wait for her mother to answer before going on. ‘Anyway, Potty wants me to get an 173

application form for her for some cleaning shifts at the hospital. I told her that the money’s not very good, but she seems determined.

‘Sounds awful to say it, but in some ways I think that attack on Lucy has done them all a favour.

Lucy’s walking ten feet tall, getting her picture in the paper, gonna be the talk of the estate. Well, it’s incredible to think that she fought the bloke off and escaped. And Potty seems to be getting her act together at last too. You should have seen her last night – she had make-up on and everything. Haven’t seen her like it in years. Not that I think it’ll make any difference to that slob of a husband of hers.

“Honestly,” I told her, “you’re better off on your own than with a drunk.”’

Lizzie just looked at her daughter and felt even more pissed off. Her own husband had been a drunk and a bit free with his fists but she’d stayed with him, thinking it was best for the kids to keep the family together.

‘Anyway, Mum, I’ve got to go. I’m working twelve till eight today, which means I’m going to miss Maria’s end-of-term concert. She’s singing a solo.’

Mary beamed with pride. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance you can go and watch her, is there? It’d be nice if someone from the family was there. I know it don’t seem right, what with Wayne being killed and all, and of course little Chantal, but life goes on and Maria’s worked so hard for tonight . . .’

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‘I’ll see,’ Lizzie answered curtly, still smarting from Mary’s comments about being married to a drunk. In truth, Lizzie had never felt very close to Maria, and out of all her grandchildren liked her the least. Funny kid. Always had her nose in a book, and when she did look up it was only to give you a disapproving glance.

She’d said nothing when told of Chantal’s death, even though she was practically her cousin. She seemed happiest in the company of her mum and her books. She didn’t watch a lot of TV – and what normal kid didn’t like the telly? There were fantastic programmes on for kids, but Maria showed abso -

lutely no interest unless it was a play or something really boring on BBC 2. She didn’t fit in and Lizzie had no doubt that as soon as the opportunity arose, her grand-daughter would get the hell out of East London. She was only eleven and already talking about university! Of course that could just be kid’s talk, but with Maria you couldn’t be sure; she had an old head on young shoulders. Lizzie knew that she should be proud of her really, but there was something about that kid she just couldn’t stick.

Of course, her appearance didn’t help. Plump like her mum, Maria had short hair, parted on the side, which she kept off her face with a large slide. She never wore a skirt, was always in jeans, and had looked baffled when Lizzie had given her some make-up last Christmas. Lizzie prized looks in a woman above all else. She had been very careful what she ate 175

all her life so as to keep her figure trim, and wished with all her heart that her daughter and grand-daughter would do the same. She consoled herself with thoughts of Aisha and little Trinity, though. At least they were beauties.

‘Well, not to worry if you can’t, Mum. She’s going with a group of mates, I just thought it would be nice, that’s all.’ Mary understood only too well her mother’s ambivalence towards Maria. She even suspected her preference for the half-caste grandkids, but never said a word about it. She stood up to go, straightened her top once more and gathered together her cotton cardigan and handbag. Mary kissed her mother’s downy cheek and let herself out of the flat, closing the door softly behind her.

When she’d gone Lizzie placed the cups in a bowl of soapy water and went into the bathroom to tidy herself up before going over to Sue’s. They might not be in the mood for company, but she needed to find out exactly what had happened.

Maria ran home after school, let herself in with the key hanging on a chain around her neck and made herself a couple of boiled eggs. Nothing too heavy for tea, her music teacher had told her, it affects the voice. She kept her toast unbuttered because dairy was definitely not good for the throat. It caused phlegm, and she didn’t want any to build up before her big number. Her friends from the school 176

orchestra had all been given money from their parents to eat in the café opposite the school, but Maria knew how tight money was for them and didn’t like to ask her mum. She was secretly relieved that Mum had to work; it made her nervous if Mary was in the audience. Her mum always seemed to put pressure on her, even though she never meant to, and besides, she always looked so untidy and sort of squashed into her clothes. Maria wasn’t ashamed of her mum exactly, but she always felt better when left to get on with things by herself.

She was feeling a bit spooked after hearing the news about Wayne from Kelly, though. Despite what everyone thought, she had not remained impervious to Chantal’s death, and in her mind preferred to believe she was still around. Maria hadn’t got on with her step-cousin, who was far too into boys and make-up, but her terrible death had still been a shock. She loved her Uncle Paul and Auntie Monica, but her nose had been pushed firmly out of joint when Uncle Paul met Michelle. She hated that black bitch! He had no time for his niece now, and as she got older seemed more and more distant. She still loved Monica, though. Her aunt was so clever and had always impressed Maria with her senior post in local government. One day she would hold a special job, too. She wasn’t going to bother with drunken men like her dad and grand -

father. Oh, no. She was going to be someone important, perhaps even famous!

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Maria looked out of the windows at the bright sunshine and told herself that nothing bad could happen if she stuck to the main roads where there were crowds of people. She brushed her teeth carefully then read a few pages of her book to take her mind off the evening ahead. The rehearsal at lunchtime had gone well, she had only missed one of her top notes. She was singing a lovely song from
Oliver!
by Lionel Bart, ‘As Long As He Needs Me’.

‘Breathe, Maria! Breathe. Don’t forget to breathe,’

Mrs Davy, the music teacher, had told her. Maria had a strong voice but still stumbled over the right places to stop and draw breath.

Everybody had to be in school uniform for the concert, which came as a relief to her as she didn’t have much in the way of suitable clothing. It began at 6.30. By 5.30 she was getting nervous and decided to make her way back to school. She checked her bag several times to make sure she had her music sheets, and tucked her rabbit’s foot on its key ring – a present from Uncle Paul – into the pocket of her school shirt for luck. She went round the flat making sure everything was switched off and double-locked the door before she left.

It was another steaming afternoon. Despite the recent tragedies, people were milling around on the streets. It made her feel safe to know there were so any people about. She decided to pop into Ali’s the newsagent’s and get some boiled sweets to keep her 178

mouth moistened. As usual, the bookmaker’s next-door was exuding its usual mixture of smoke and smells. It was always so noisy in there, and some of the blokes had come out on to the street for a bit of air. The flies were bad today, buzzing all around the rubbish outside the chippy further down the road.

The blokes chatted loudly and swore like troopers, and Maria thought how common they all were.

As usual, Michael Potts was there with a few others, boasting about Lucy. Maria thoroughly dis -

liked him. He was tall and heavy and his shirt always had stains down the front. His horrible shoes were all worn and scuffed, and he lounged about looking at her with a horrid expression on his face. God, she hated drunks like that! Quickly Maria continued her journey.

She was the first of the performers to arrive at school and found Mrs Davy snapping at the care -

taker over the positioning of the lights: ‘We’re supposed to be illuminating the performers, Mr Rush, not the audience. Ah, Maria, pop up on the stage, would you? Get in your position so that Mr Rush can train his lights on you, there’s a good girl.’

Maria climbed the stairs at the side of the stage and took up her position, staring out at the sea of chairs that would soon be filled. Her heart was beating hard now and a faint nausea was swimming in her chest, which was not helped by the choking smell from the newly polished floor of the school 179

hall. As the beam from the stage lights met her eyes Maria was momentarily blinded and realised that she would not be able to see the audience as she sang, which was probably a good thing.

‘No, not that bright, Mr Rush! Just the spotlight there, and the others aimed at the backing curtains where I have clearly marked them.’

The caretaker shook his head in annoyance and Maria suppressed a giggle. She liked Mrs Davy. A lot of the kids thought she was a snob just because she spoke nicely, but Maria thought she was a real lady. There was always a copy of
The Times
in her basket, and she called everybody by their proper name. Mrs Davy tutted and mounted the stage, moving Maria over to the left and muttering,

‘Stupid man.’ Then, louder, ‘Try now, Mr Rush, the yellow and red just here.’ When the caretaker had finally positioned the lights correctly Mrs Davy whispered, ‘At last!’

The other performers began to drift in sometime after six and a burble of excited chatter and laughter filled the hall. Mrs Davy went through Maria’s song with her one last time: ‘You take the breath there, Maria, just after the C sharp. If you can remember to do that, you’ll be fine.’

‘I’m nervous, Miss,’ Maria confessed.

‘I’m sure you are, my dear. If it’s any consolation, so am I.’

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‘What, you get scared?’ Maria’s eyes widened with disbelief.

‘Oh, all the time,’ said Mrs Davy, sorting her sheet music into the correct order. ‘You never stop feeling scared, Maria, you just learn to hide it better as you get older. Is your mother coming to see you this evening?’

‘No, Miss, she’s working.’

‘I see.’ Mrs Davy could hardly keep the dis

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appoint ment out of her voice. She felt very sorry for a lot of these children, especially the clever ones who worked hard like Maria. She understood that money was tight, but still. She had grown inordinately fond of this plump little girl with the voice of an angel, and smiled at her warmly. She knew in her heart that Maria had a real gift. With her voice, she could go on to university and study music.

‘I shall be right here, keeping time on the piano, rooting for you. Break a leg, as they say.’

A group of boys had grown very noisy and Mrs Davy went over to remonstrate with them. ‘If you cannot control yourselves, you will not take part in the concert! Is that clear?’

At that point the first members of the audience began to drift in and take their seats, waving excitedly at their children and giving them the thumbs up. Mary had said that Nan might come and watch so Maria scanned the audience but couldn’t 181

see her. She wasn’t bothered really. There wasn’t much love lost between them.

By 6.30 the room was full and people were standing at the back of the hall because all of the seats were taken. Maria took her place at the side of the stage and counted down through the songs and instrumental pieces until it came to her turn. She was seventh, the penultimate act of the evening, just before the finale. The top spot, Mrs Davy had called it.

When it was her turn she walked slowly up the stage steps, trying to breathe steadily, in through her nostrils and slowly out through her mouth, just like Mrs Davy had taught her. The opening bars of her song began and Maria’s mind went a complete blank.

Any memory of the lyric had left her head com

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pletely. All she was aware of were the hundreds of people watching her, even though the stage lights meant that she couldn’t see their faces. She looked towards Mrs Davy at the piano, who smiled, nodded, and mouthed the opening words: ‘As long as he needs me . . .’