The Middle Child (2 page)

     Alex closed her eyes as guilt rolled over her.  The silence between them grew uncomfortable.  Alex had no clue what to say to a sister that she hadn’t seen in ten years.

     "Are you there?" the voice asked, softly.

     Alex searched for any trace of hostility or accusation in the few words but found none.  Inexplicably a lump formed in her throat.  Of course, there wasn’t.  This was Beth.

     "I’m here," she whispered.

    
"I have some bad news for you," Beth continued.  Alex heard the catch in her voice.

     Alex held her breath, waiting for the words to come.

     "Mother died during the night."

     Alex exhaled the breath she’d been holding.  She briefly listened as Beth quietly gave her the details of the funeral.

     Alex said her goodbye’s and gently placed the handset back in the cradle.

     She turned to Jay but spoke more to herself. 

     "Thank God the bitch is dead."

Chapter 3 – Catherine

     Catherine pulled into the narrow street and felt her stomach lurch.  Regeneration appeared to have found other areas of the
Black Country.  New housing estates had sprung up in the place of the foundries and steelworks that had once dominated the area.

     The old corner shops that she remembered had been turned into frozen mini markets or boarded up completely.  The once thriving market town of Cradley Heath had been annihilated by a shopping centre a mile up the road.  Once the hub of weekend retail it now boasted a Tesco Superstore and a string of charity shops.  An access road diverted traffic away leaving room for empty buses that rarely picked up or dropped off.

     But this street had barely changed at all.  She travelled slowly along a long flanked by long rows of terraced houses either side.  A couple of the houses were now boarded up. 

     A group of kids were gathered opposite her mother’s house; their faces caked in a mixture of jam and dirt.  Catherine felt no rush of fond memories as a boy aged eight or nine clad in only a vest and pants threw a smaller, weaker child to the ground to whoops of joy from onlookers.  It was a street where bruises went unnoticed as she knew only too well.

     She parked the car away from the front of the house, wishing for a few minutes alone with her thoughts before she saw Beth.  She had contemplated not coming to the funeral at all but Tim had insisted that she must. 

     What did he know? She wondered angrily.  He knew nothing of her past because she had never told him.  She had never told anyone.  As far as he was concerned it had been a childhood plagued with poverty and name-calling once their father had disappeared. 

     Christ, if only that was all it had been.

     She knew that she was avoiding knocking the door for a variety of reasons.  She genuinely wanted to enter that house with real emotions churning inside her but in the days since Beth’s phone call she had been unable to summon anything. 

     Within minutes of replacing the receiver she had smothered by a cloak of numbness that had extended beyond the feelings about her mother’s death.  She had functioned on remote control.  An automatic pilot had taken over her faculties and guided her through the normal daily routine.  She had cooked dinner, made lunch for the girls, cleaned the house and gone to work while all the time trying to work out how she was supposed to feel.

     She got out of the car and locked it behind her.  It was futile trying to harness genuine feelings in a few minutes when she had been unable to do so in just under a week.

     The front door had been painted dark blue since her last visit but the canary yellow paint that Catherine remembered peered through the chips from thrown stones. 

     Before her hand met with the door it opened.  Catherine smiled weakly to cover her shock.  For a few seconds she sensed that neither of them knew what to do.  The problem was solved as Beth launched herself across the years and hugged her forcefully.  Catherine returned the embrace awkwardly.

     "Come in, come in," Beth said, ushering her into the front room.

     Catherine built a wall against the memories.  Just being inside the house was bringing it all back to her.

     Beth led her past a table laden with sandwiches being stifled by cling film, to the kitchen at the rear of the house.

    
"I’ll make tea and we can have a good chat," Beth said, reaching for the kettle.  Catherine felt the awkwardness of the situation even if Beth did not.  Her sister was acting as though they had met for coffee the previous week and had only a few minor facts about each others lives to catch up on.  How much catching up were they going to do to cover the 13 year chasm that existed between them.

     Catherine swallowed the guilt that rose up and engulfed her.  She half wished she could embrace Beth properly and apologise for her absence and silence over the years.  She would like to tell her that she wanted to come back and see her but she couldn’t.  She just couldn’t.

     "Sugar?" Beth asked.

     Catherine shook her head, overcome with sadness that such a basic fact, such a small detail was not known between them.  It should have been second nature.

     Catherine appraised her sister briefly.  Her appearance added 10 years to the 26 real ones.  Her hair had been strawberry blonde as a child but it was now unkempt and dirty-looking.  It was tied in a severe pony tail exposing dry, flyaway strands at the temple and forehead.  Her face was devoid of make-up and showed an uneven skin tone.  Catherine wondered when her cheeks had last seen daylight.  The brown A-line skirt was a disaster on her bony frame and topped with a roll-neck jumper.

     Catherine swallowed and looked away.  She knew why Beth wore her shirts that way.  She would never forget and truthfully in the depths of her conscience, she knew that was the reason that she had never returned.

     The last words ever spoken to her by her mother had kept her away initially but she had no excuses for the years she'd been an adult, and perfectly capable of standing up to her mother.  But she hadn't.

     She felt a rush of anger that would only be sated by a violent act or buried until she could deal with it.  How much damage had one woman done to them all?

     Catherine wondered if she would be able to smile bravely at the graveside whilst extolling the virtues of her mother.  Would any of them?

     She faced Beth’s gentle expression, full of grief.  Yes, Beth would, she realised.

     Impetuously, Catherine reached across the table and squeezed Beth’s hand.

    
"I’m sorry."

     Beth patted her hand. 
"She was your mother too.  We just have to help each other through the pain."

     Catherine watched as Beth’s eyes filled up with tears.  She looked at the ceiling and prayed for the strength to maintain this façade for the rest of the day.  How could she tell her sister that she couldn’t find it within herself to be sorry for their mother’s death.  She was sorry for the years and distance that had grown between them.

     "How are the girls?" Beth asked, wiping a tear from her eye.

    
"They’re fine," Catherine answered.  How could she relay the events of all the years that had passed?  Catherine had already seen the photo on the mantle-piece of her children, taken 1 year earlier.  Her bitterness at Beth’s refusal to attend the christening had long since gone leaving only a ball of regret that her daughters had never met either of their aunts.

    
"I’d love you to meet…"

    
"Mother was very ill that day," Beth offered.  "The doctor had changed her medication after the first stroke and she had a bad reaction to the tablets."

    
"It’s okay.  I understand," Catherine said and meant it.  At the time she had known that her mother’s illness was contrived to prevent Beth coming to the christening.  She had known and kept quiet.

     Silence rested between them.  Catherine could think of nothing to say.  There was no way back.

     "The food looks nice," Catherine commented, nodding towards the other room.

     Beth looked anxious. 
"Oh, I hope so.  There won’t be many people.  The doctor and a few neighbours, but I still want to do mother proud."

     Catherine nodded awkwardly.  Everything about Beth travelled back to their mother.  A place that Catherine did not wish to visit.

      Catherine was about to say something banal about the weather when the doorbell sounded.

    
"I’ll get it," she offered quickly.  She hurried to the door but paused as she passed the fireplace in the front room.  It smelt of disuse but Catherine remembered one occasion that the fire had been used.  She closed her eyes to block out the memory but the vision of frightened faces and piercing screams reverberated around her mind.  Sickness rose in her stomach and tears pierced her eyes.  "Damn that woman to hell," she whispered vehemently.

     The sound of the door brought her back to her senses.

     She opened the door and it took Catherine a few long seconds to appraise the person before her.  "Alex?"

     She nodded and smiled strangely as she entered the room. 
"Fantastic that we barely recognise each other."

     Catherine opened her mouth to respond but there was little to say.

     She noticed that Alex looked her twenty four years.  Her skin was flawless and her black hair was as spiky and short as it had been back then.

     Catherine followed her youngest sister through to the kitchen.  Beth grabbed the new arrival and hugged her fiercely.

     Catherine detected the same awkwardness of feeling like strangers in the company of your siblings.

     Jesus Christ, Catherine thought again, what had that damned woman done to them all?

Chapter 4 – Alex

     Alex stepped away.  It wasn’t the greeting she’d expected from Beth.  Recriminations, bitterness, accusations - yes.  A genuine heartfelt welcome – no.

     She took two paces back, eager to avoid any further displays of physical affection.

     As Beth moved through the rooms and she followed, Alex was conscious of not looking at anything too closely.  She averted her eyes from the fireplace. 

     Aspects of the house were different.  A fresh coat of paint covered the old patterned wallpaper that had been peeling and damp stained but it was still the same house.  She could feel it in her bones.

    
"What time exactly is the funeral?" Alex asked.

    
"Two thirty," Beth answered.

     Alex made no attempt to hide the sigh of relief that escaped from between her lips.  Only ten minutes more in this house and she could be on her way back home.

     "Thank you both for coming," Beth said, gratefully, reaching for both their hands.  Alex saw that Catherine squeezed Beth’s hand tightly in response.

     Alex looked away. 
"I’m going outside for a fag."

     She opened the door and stepped outside, reaching for a pack of 20 from her jacket pocket.  There was another pack of 20 in the other pocket just in case.

     She leaned against the window ledge and inhaled deeply, feeling the sting in her throat.  It was the same place she’d stood 8 years earlier when she’d realised that anywhere had to be better than this hell.

     She remembered clasping Beth’s hand and dragging her to the bedroom.  She had begged her sister to run away with her but Beth had been horrified at the thought despite being 18 and legally old enough to do what the hell she pleased.  By that time Catherine was long gone.

     For once Beth had been resolute in her refusal despite Alex’s urgent whispers that she would die if she stayed here.  Beth had merely shaken her head and patted Alex’s hand.

    
"You go.  Go now.  I’ll cover for you."

     And Alex had.

     At the bus station she had hesitated briefly, tempted to return and try again to persuade Beth to go with her but she had known that it was pointless.  Beth’s gentleness was matched only by her stubbornness and once her mind was made up there was no changing it.

    
"Stupid cow," Alex whispered as she stamped on the butt of the cigarette and instantly lit another.

     She glanced inside the kitchen window and saw Catherine listening earnestly to something Beth said.  Alex could see the guilt hovering behind her eyes.  And so she should, Alex thought bitterly.

     Catherine had been the first to leave.  Alex remembered going to sleep each night, wishing that when she woke up Catherine would be back in her single bed in the corner of the room; sitting up, watching.

     But she never was, Alex thought bitterly.  The bed was always empty.  At least she had tried to take Beth with her, unlike Catherine who had simply chosen to abandon them both.

      "The cars are here," Beth called from inside the kitchen.

     Alex took one last draw from the cigarette and stamped it out.  She followed her sisters out of the house and into the waiting car.

     The journey to the crematorium was a silent affair.  Catherine fiddled with her hands and stared at her finger nails.  Beth looked straight ahead to the car that was carrying the body of their dead mother.  Alex's only concern was the location of the alcohol for when they returned.

     A swift calculation told her that an hour in the house was enough for the sake of appearances and that she could spend that getting quietly pissed for the train journey home.

     Alex pondered the purpose of the slow car journey.  What exactly was the point?  Was it a mark of respect?  If so the body in the casket deserved none.  Was it to stop the body thumping against the sides of the casket?  It was a picture that almost made her smile.  Alex felt the relief as the cars turned into the crematorium.

     She avoided meeting the gaze of the other mourners and lit a cigarette while the casket was unloaded.  Catherine cast a disapproving glance in her direction but Alex turned her back, frustrated at the slow-motion speed of every handling of the casket.  Why bother?  Just throw the bitch in the cooker.

     Alex briefly wondered if she’d feel differently if the casket held someone that she actually gave a fuck about, and she could count those people on one half of her left hand.

     She flicked the still burning cigarette into a clutch of shrubbery and followed her sisters into the building.

     She took a hymn book that she was handed without a word or a glance and followed Beth’s figure to the front pew.

     Droll music played in the background as the coffin was placed on a trolley contraption at the front of the building.

     Alex felt a rush of air beside her as a male reached across her to touch Beth’s hand.  She watched the exchange with interest.

     She guessed the male to be in his early thirties.  His suit was a respectful navy blue, well-cut but slightly crumpled.

     "Sorry I’m late," he offered, breathlessly, still clutching her hand.

    
"It’s fine," Beth said, blushing slightly and retracting her hand.

     Catherine moved along the pew for the unknown male to sit.  He sat between Beth and herself.  She could smell the fresh scent of pine wafting from his skin.

     Beth introduced him in a low whisper as the music began to fade away.

    
"Doctor Wilkinson," she clarified.

    
"This is Doctor Wilkinson?" Catherine said, appraising the handsome, athletic stranger.

    
"Doctor Wilkinson, Junior," Beth added, with a slight flush of the cheeks.

    
"My father died five years ago and I took over then," he explained, turning to address them both.

     Alex found his gentle affectation and good manners irritating.  He was too nice and Alex always found herself suspicious of anyone who was too nice.  It was obvious to her that the young doctor was infatuated with Beth. 

     Alex spent most of the service observing their body language and interaction.  The kind doctor clutched Beth’s hand and glanced periodically at Beth’s pinched features.  He handed her a tissue when she cried and held the hymn book for her to sing.  Yes, but have you uncovered what lies beneath that high-necked jumper, Alex wondered viciously, and will you still be clutching her hand when you do?

     Alex tore her attention from the couple as the coffin began to move through the red velvet curtains towards what Alex hoped was a fiery hell.  She had the urge to run up to the casket and kick it through the curtains at a higher speed and then stand and watch her burn.  She wondered if Beth saw the irony.

     The coffin disappeared behind the curtain completely as the droll music once again filled the space.  Alex was struck by the thought that it was the most thoughtful thing her mother had ever done by being cremated.  It meant that less of the world was to be infected by her pure and undiluted acidic body.  Although Alex had quite liked the idea of insects and earth creatures feeding on her flesh within the dark, solid confines of the ground.

    
"I’ve arranged for her ashes to be scattered near the rose bushes," Beth offered, addressing them both.

    
"That’s fine," Catherine answered for both of them.

     Alex was amazed that Beth thought that either of them would care.

     The car pulled up outside the house and Alex once again felt the suffocation stifling her.

    
"I’ll be putting the house up for sale next week once…"

    
"No," Catherine protested.  "Keep the house for yourself, or sell it and move somewhere new but I want no part of it."

     Alex opened her mouth to protest.  Unlike Catherine she wasn’t rolling in money and could use all the extra cash.  She looked at the terraced house that still rose up to haunt her in her worst nightmares.

     "Me neither," she said.  "I want nothing from this place."

     Beth appeared confused but Catherine ushered her out of the car and into the house.

     Alex hung back to observe the onlookers up and down the narrow street.  Some poked their heads through a corner of the net curtain while others blatantly stared from their front doors.  Alex fixed them all with an icy stare before re-entering the house. 

     Most of the people she remembered and felt a hostility towards them that choked her.  They must have known what was going on in this very house and yet they did nothing.  They were beneath contempt, she thought as she closed the door behind her.

     Beth busied herself removing the foil and cling film jackets from an unappetising selection of banal sandwiches.  Catherine placed glasses on the sideboard beside a few bottles of sherry and some soft drinks.

    
"I’ll make a pot of tea," Beth said.

     Alex reached for a glass and poured a generous measure of whisky from the half-full bottle hiding behind the granny bottles.

     "Can’t you give Beth a hand with the tea?" Catherine asked sidling up beside her.  "The neighbours will be here in a minute."

    
"Am I supposed to give a fuck?" Alex spat as she slugged a mouthful of whisky down her throat.

    
"Alex please…"

    
"Leave me the hell alone," Alex cried, storming out into the back garden.  She instantly lit a cigarette and slugged more of the whisky down her throat.  The heat blazed a trail from her tongue to her stomach.

    
"Alex, will you please come inside and give Beth a hand?" Catherine said, closing the kitchen door behind her.

    
"You may be able to enter into this charade and pretend that we’ve all lost our dear, sweet mother but I refuse to be a part of it."

    
"Forget her.  It’s Beth who needs us now.  It’s important to her…"

    
"I don’t give a shit.  Don’t you get it, Catherine?  You two are nothing to me.  You’re strangers.  I don’t know either one of you."

     Alex saw the hurt that flashed over Catherine’s features.

     "You don’t mean that," Catherine said, uncertainly.  "We’re sisters.  We have to help and support each other."

    
"I don’t need your fucking support.  I’ve managed quite well without it and she chose to stay here."

     Alex could see the effect her words were having on Catherine but she didn’t care.  Too many years had passed since any relationship between the three of them meant anything. 
"We’re strangers, Catherine.  Accept it and stop trying to gloss over it.  Let Beth play the grieving daughter and you help her along but don’t expect anything from me."

    
"You came," Catherine said, gently.

    
"I’m here to make sure that the evil bitch is really dead at last.  Now I’m sure of that I’m going to get on the next train back to Birmingham and resume my life, safe in the knowledge that I never have to give that woman another thought."

    
"Do you really think it’s that easy?"

    
"It was before today."

    
"So, you never thought about it?"

    
"Just fuck off back in there and play the good Samaritan.  You don’t want to dessert Beth again like you did all those years ago."

     Alex saw Catherine’s face pale and she knew she had struck a nerve.

     "Is that what you think?"

     Alex stuck her chin forward defiantly.

     "You think I just left you both?"

    
"I don't give a shit what you did to me.  I was fine.  Beth was weaker.  She needed you."

     Alex felt emotion burning at the back of her throat.  She swallowed the rest of the whisky to expunge it.

     "But I didn’t…"

    
"Save it for someone who cares," Alex spat, regaining hold of the anger and bitterness that had kept her insulated for years.

    
"Just come inside and help Beth…"

    
"Fuck off and leave me alone.  She chose to do the Florence Nightingale thing and stay with the evil bitch for all these years so she can wallow in the grief now."

    
"You can’t mean that," Catherine said, looking horrified.

    
"Of course I mean it.  She reeks of martyrdom and self-sacrifice.  She had plenty of opportunities to get away and she chose to stay."

    
"You know full well that mother had her first stroke within three months of you running away.  Beth saw it as her duty to take care of her."

    
"It was her duty to stuff a pillow over the bitch’s mouth and suffocate her."