Unbecoming (18 page)

Mum was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea and the open suitcase. ‘Well?’ she said. ‘Nice walk?’

She didn’t seem mad that Katie was late. She was clearly making an effort. What could Katie tell her? Not the truth.
I went to deliver
a
letter to Simona Williams who, incidentally, is a lesbian and who asked me out for coffee
.

‘So,’ Mum said, ‘I’ve been looking through some of this stuff.’

Katie stood in the doorway and stared at her mother and all she could think was –
coffee is a euphemism. In every movie and book, people never mean coffee
. And why did that knowledge make her pulse speed? She thought Mum might be able to tell just by looking, and she didn’t want to walk into that warm kitchen and sit opposite her mum’s sleepy face and destroy the rest of her life. So she made some excuse about how she was tired and maybe they could talk tomorrow.

Mum didn’t say anything, but Katie could tell she was disappointed. It’s not what she expected. Chris was supposed to be the moody one and Mary was supposed to be the one who was always leaving. Katie was the good one, the one who helped, the reliable one who could cope with anything.

Good old Katie, that was her.

Fantasizing about members of the same sex does not necessarily mean you’re gay. Straight people often have same-sex fantasies. But fantasizing mostly about members of the same sex is a pretty strong indication that you lean primarily in that direction
.

Katie deleted her browsing history, slapped her laptop shut and looked out of Mary’s bedroom window. Correction –
her
bedroom window. It looked pretty mundane out there – grass, litter, other people’s windows. No drama. Nothing much to see.

Surely it was just that Katie didn’t know any boys? She’d had two kisses in her whole life. The one with Esme had been far more meaningful and passionate than the one with Jamie, but that was probably because of their friendship. If Katie’s best friend had been called Eric instead of Esme, then Katie would probably have kissed him just as ardently. Nothing to do with gender at all. Although, that didn’t explain why she’d spent all morning thinking about Simona …

Katie knew from biology that to keep a memory you have to keep
having
the memory, using it, revisiting it, so that the neurons become imprinted. When Mary had her own stories told back to her, she eventually found them easier to access by herself. So neuron behaviour also explained why Katie was being haunted by
Simona. If she wanted to forget about her, she had to
stop
reliving last night’s conversation over and over.

Katie moved away from the window and over to the wall. Maybe she could do some more work on it? That would be nicely distracting. It was building up – several photos of everyone now, each with a name card above them. The map of Bisham was new, allowing Katie to plot their morning walks to see if there was any logic to Mary’s wandering. So far, the only constant was the café. Katie traced the most direct route with her finger. Approximately one and a half kilometres. She wondered if Simona was working today. She wondered if Simona would text or call now she had Katie’s mobile number.

No, this kind of thinking was not helpful! She unlocked her mobile and texted Jamie: YES. It was the second time he’d asked to meet. A walk in the park would be lovely and it was the quickest way to kill the synaptic connections between her and Simona.

Now all she needed was something to wear on a date with a boy. Katie went to the wardrobe and rifled through some of the clothes Mary had given her. The tea dress was her current favourite – moss green with pink rosebuds – a perfect combination of sexy but sedate. She crept across the landing to borrow Mum’s button jar and sewing box and spent the next hour mending a rip at the seam, a small tear on the hem and covering a button and stitching it on. She spent ages watching YouTube videos on fifties and sixties fashion and was just sorting through her very minimal eye shadow collection to see if she had a black eye liner (Audrey Hepburn’s eyes were smoking hot) when Mum opened the bedroom door. She opened it warily, like she was expecting someone else. ‘Katie?’ She shut the door quietly behind her. ‘You’ve been up here a long time.’

She sounded disappointed. Katie scooped the makeup into its bag and zipped it shut. ‘Sorry.’

‘Look what I found in the suitcase.’ Mum sat next to Katie on the bed and tentatively held out a photo. ‘It’s my parents’ wedding – Pat and Lionel.’

Katie had never seen such a miserable-looking couple. They were standing outside a church, arms stoically linked. There was scaffolding up and all you could see of the church was the door and the edge of a window and it had clearly been raining, since the ground was pot-holed and puddled. Behind the bride and groom, a small group of guests stood in a bundle smiling grimly at the camera.

‘See him?’ Mum said. ‘That’s my granddad, and these two are relatives of Lionel’s, though I don’t remember them very well.’

It was the saddest wedding in the world. Everyone looked dour and old. Except … Katie leaned closer … a baby, wrapped up in a blanket and held in one of the old woman’s arms was laughing! The only bit of life in the picture. She was reaching out a fat baby hand for something beyond the frame of the photo. Maybe the trees were waving in the wind and she was waving back.

‘Is that baby you?’

Mum nodded. She looked pleased to be recognized.

‘You don’t look like you belong to them. Look at you – all joyful, while they’re all frowning. You’re laughing like Mary does. You look just like her.’

‘Is that right?’

Mum’s voice held a warning, but it was ridiculous being offended at having similarities pointed out. ‘Weren’t you even a little bit pleased to discover Mary was your real mother?’

‘Pleased? What sort of question is that? A total stranger turns up and flips my world on its head. Why would I be happy about it?’

Because Mary was lovely? Because Pat was a liar? Because it must’ve been difficult living with such dour and cantankerous-looking people? But Katie knew if she said that, Mum would walk out the door, so she smiled an apology instead. ‘Can I keep the photo? I haven’t got Pat or Lionel on the wall yet. Or your granddad.’

Mum shrugged. ‘If you like.’

Katie knew Mum was staring at her as she found Blu-Tack and put the picture up. It made her feel uncomfortable. The photo was probably meant as a peace offering. Perhaps Mum thought if she handed it over, Katie would open up about last night and where she’d gone and why she’d got back late and run up to bed so quickly. Katie gave a quick glance over to her laptop to make sure it was shut. Yes, and her phone was locked.

‘Have you been mending something?’ Mum said. ‘I see my sewing things are out.’

‘I had a button missing.’

Mum picked up the tea dress and examined it. ‘This isn’t yours.’

‘Mary gave it to me.’

‘You brought clothes from the house as well as the suitcase?’

‘Just a few things. She said I could have them.’

Mum sighed. ‘You know, it kind of annoys me that you see only the good in Mary. You think the past is some kind of romantic story and it isn’t like that at all.’

‘What’s it like then?’

‘Why are you so fascinated?’

‘It’s my history, my inheritance.’

‘Your inheritance?’ Mum shook her head. ‘I’d say that’s ten pounds and your brother. Although I might chuck in my iPad if you’re lucky.’

Mum was trying to lighten the mood, but it wasn’t funny. Katie hated it when Chris got handed over like that. It made the future lie flat, as if it was completely predictable. Much as Katie loved him, she didn’t want Chris shadowing her life, making sure she had to be sensible and well-behaved for ever. She moved over to the desk and sat on the chair. She could hear kids playing football out in the ball court. Their shouts echoed off the walls of the flats. She swivelled the chair closer to her mother and plonked her feet on the bed, making it bounce. She knew Mum thought she’d done it on purpose, but she hadn’t.

‘Do you remember when I did that project at primary school, Mum? The one where I had to draw a family tree? Dad told me Pat drowned and then you walked into the room and got upset. You even wrote a letter of complaint to the school. I ended up imagining all sorts, probably worse than anything that really happened. All these years later, I still know nothing about my own family.’

They stared at each other. For one appalling moment, Katie thought her mum was about to cry. But she took her glasses off and rubbed them with her skirt instead. ‘What exactly do you want to know?’

All of it. Every detail of every person from every year. But Katie knew that was pushing it. ‘Why did Mary show up on your doorstep when you were nine? She’d had your address for years and never used it. Why then?’

‘I don’t know why. To this day I haven’t a clue.’

‘You never asked?’

‘I was a child. I wasn’t going to sit down and interview everyone.’ Mum put her glasses back on and peered at Katie over the top of them. ‘I’ve always assumed she was busy getting on with her career and just happened to be passing by that day.’

‘Did she just knock on the door and announce herself?’

‘No, she came up to me in the street.’

‘Pat wasn’t there?’

‘She was indoors. Kids played in the street in those days.’

‘So, Mary just walked up to you and said, ‘“Hi, guess who I am?”’

‘Of course not.’ Mum smiled wearily. ‘Listen, Katie, if I tell you what happened, that’s the end of it, OK? No more meddling in the past after this.’

That was a terrible deal, but Katie nodded anyway. She didn’t want to scare Mum off, didn’t want her knowing it wouldn’t be the end of it at all. Mum was like a bird on a lawn. Any sudden movement and she’d be frightened away.

Mum brushed at her skirt, picking off imaginary fluff. ‘Well, I was living here in North Bisham, as you know. And I was happy, I really was. I had a mum and a dad and a house and garden and friends. I think that’s why I wanted to live back here – to try and capture that happiness again. Stupid, really …

‘Anyway, it was the summer holidays and I was out playing with the rest of the kids from the street when we heard the ice-cream van and we all ran indoors to beg our mothers for sixpence. But my mum was lying on the sofa with a flannel across her forehead and the curtains drawn and I knew I shouldn’t wake her. So I went back outside and sat on the gatepost and watched my friends queue up at the van and wander off with their Zooms or Treble Hits or whatever and felt very sorry for myself.

‘About five minutes later, a lady appeared. I didn’t see where she came from, but she seemed to materialize as the van drove off and she stood right in front of me and smiled and said, “Hello, Caroline.” And she was just so pretty – young and glamorous and so unlike anyone I’d ever met, that instead of asking how she knew my name, or being suspicious in any way, I said hello back.’

Katie shifted forwards on her chair. ‘Why did you think she was glamorous? What was she wearing?’

‘Oh, she looked so modern. All the kids were staring. We were used to our mothers, who wore aprons and slippers and had scarves over their curlers as they went about their housework, but this woman looked like she’d walked off a movie screen with her bobbed hair and slacks.

‘She told me she’d come to take me for ice cream at the coffee bar at the end of the street. I asked her if my mother knew and she leaned in and whispered, “Does she have one of her headaches today?” I nodded, amazed that she knew both my name and this very private thing about my mother. “Well,” she said, “then she won’t miss us.” So I hopped off the gatepost and took her hand. I remember feeling so special as we walked past all the other kids – chosen, I suppose. A boy asked who she was and I didn’t know what to tell him, but Mary turned to him and smiled and guess what she said?’

Katie shook her head, her heart at her throat.

‘She told him she was my fairy godmother. And do you know, I actually believed her.’

Katie could imagine that – both that Mary would say it (she’d love the drama) and that Mum would believe it. Poor little nine-year-old Mum. And it was odd, because although Katie knew this story was going to end badly, she also felt sorry for everyone in it. Pat was the villain (although neither Mum nor Mary seemed able to admit this out loud), but she wasn’t evil – just a misguided woman who’d been desperate to keep a child she’d fallen in love with and have a different kind of life.

‘The coffee bar had recently opened,’ Mum went on, ‘and it wasn’t a place my mother would ever have taken me. It had a jukebox and little booths with Formica tables and it sold milkshakes
and coffee and snacks. It also sold ice-cream sundaes and I’d admired the pictures in the window lots of times.

‘I made that ice cream last for ages. Every single mouthful was delicious. Mary told me wonderful things about London – about plays she’d been in and parties she’d been to.’

‘Plays?’ Katie sat up straighter. ‘She got to be an actress after all?’

‘Only in rep. Small-town stuff. She never made it to the silver screen.’

‘But it was her dream. It was the thing Pat and her dad banned her from doing and she got it anyway. That’s amazing.’

Mum scowled. ‘I knew you’d be like this – all delighted that Mary got what she wanted, and never mind the cost to anyone else …’

Katie gave Mum an apologetic smile. She didn’t want her stomping off downstairs and not finishing the story. It
was
amazing though. And ironic that Mary won more freedom by being pregnant and disgraced than she’d ever gained by being well-behaved. ‘So, when did Mary tell you she was your real mum?’

‘She didn’t. I only found that out when I got home.’

‘Pat told you?’

‘She was on the doorstep when we got back and saw us coming up the street. I got my legs slapped for going off with a stranger and Mary got the door slammed in her face. It was only because she started calling through the letterbox that my mum let her in. I was sent to my room, but I crept out and stood on the landing.’ Mum ran her hands through her hair, pulling it into a ponytail, then letting it go. It wasn’t a gesture Katie had ever seen her do before and it made her look young. ‘There was a lot of shouting. My mum was afraid Mary had come to take me away. She said that just because Mary gave birth to me, it didn’t mean she could have me back.’

‘That’s how you found out? You overheard?’

Mum nodded. ‘I overheard a lot of things that day. They weren’t very discreet. I didn’t understand it all, but I certainly worked out that my mum was actually my auntie and had married my dad for convenience sake and was desperately unhappy.
Marriage isn’t what I was expecting
, she said.

‘Mary had a lot to say on that subject. She thought my mother’s headaches were my dad’s fault, that happiness was important, that divorce was no longer taboo, that my mother should get herself a job … oh, there was a whole list of things she thought my mum could do to improve her lot.

‘My father turned up from work, but instead of calming things down, he joined in. He told Mary about my mother’s funny turns, the amount of days she spent on the sofa and the amount of times he had to make his own tea. My mother started to cry and said she should never have married him. I remember thinking that Mary seemed able to make people say things they’d usually keep quiet about.