Читать книгу Once Lost - Ber Carroll - Страница 13

Chapter 8

Emma

Mum has two spots of colour on her cheeks when she opens the door. She’s excited about something. Not only can I tell from her face, but I can hear it in her voice, which sounds breathless and jittery.

‘A sight for sore eyes.’

She speaks in clichés, my mother. If Isla and I are not a ‘sight for sore eyes’, we’re ‘rays of sunshine on a gloomy day’. Jamie was ‘bad news’ but I’ve ‘struck gold’ with Eddie. Rather like the clichés, my mother’s view of life is simple. Sometimes, more often than I care to admit, I envy her this.

Before Isla and I go inside, I can’t help throwing another glance in the direction of Louise’s old flat. The door looks worn and neglected, and seems to imply that it is empty inside, which it is not. A sullen woman and her equally sullen ten-year-old son are the new tenants. The flat has had a string of occupants since Louise and Simon. Mum hasn’t liked any of them.

It’s always a relief to shut the door on the sour-smelling corridor. Mum’s apartment has changed little over the years. I remember the day the patterned maroon carpet was fitted — I was nine or ten and couldn’t stop marvelling at the plush feeling underfoot. It’s far from plush these days. I remember the curtains being hung, and the time we had an extra few cupboards built in the kitchen. Home renovations were rare, so the times when they did occur stand out in my memory. Everything has more or less stayed the same for the last ten years. Except for Dad. His absence has been the only change. A huge, unwelcome alteration.

Mum puts on the kettle without asking if I want tea. She makes a glass of orange cordial for Isla, and whips out some cream biscuits from one of the cupboards. My brief glance establishes that the cupboard in question looks rather bare, and this observation brings a jab of sadness with it.

‘How’s Eddie?’

She always enquires about Eddie before she asks about me or Isla. It’s a reassurance of sorts. If Eddie is well and happy, then all else must be good.

‘He’s grand. Working hard, as usual.’

She nods approvingly.

I stir my tea with a teaspoon that should have been thrown out years ago. The plastic handle is warped — it must have fallen against a hot kettle or one of the rings on the cooker. Mum finds it hard to throw things out. No matter how battered and damaged, if the item is functioning it’s a waste to let it go. Warped cutlery, cracked plates and mugs, blackened roasting dishes, she keeps everything, and the cupboards — other than the food ones, it seems — are bulging at the seams.

‘And how’s school?’ Mum’s gaze switches to Isla, who is always next on her welfare enquiry list.

Isla has nibbled around the edges of her biscuit and is regarding her handiwork. ‘We’ve nearly finished the alphabet, Nan. We’re up to Walter Walrus.’

‘That’s wonderful.’

‘Wonderful is a Walter Walrus word,’ Isla points out after a moment’s thought.

‘Yes, it is. You’re a clever clogs, Isla.’

‘It’s clever cat,’ I correct Mum dryly, and she laughs as though that’s the funniest thing she’s heard in years. Her laughter sounds girlish, at odds with the rest of her. Mum hasn’t weathered the years particularly well. The lines on her face are etched deeper than they are on other women her age. This, I strongly suspect, is due to me.

I sip my tea, which is strong and bitter, how Mum and I like it, one of the few things we have in common. We make small talk about all the usual stuff, while I wait for her to reveal whatever it is that has caused the tell-tale brightness on her cheeks. Has she met another man? Some kindly old fellow at the church? Or maybe she’s simply wound up about some impending breakfast, afternoon tea, or other fundraising event. There’s always something going on, money being raised for this or that good cause.

‘I’ve got something for you,’ she announces. ‘A surprise.’

‘I didn’t know it was my birthday.’

‘I’m your mother. I don’t need to wait for birthdays. And when I saw this, I simply couldn’t resist …’

What is it? Some clothes? A scarf, handbag or earrings that she was particularly taken with? We don’t have the same taste, Mum and I, so I brace myself to be polite no matter how awful this unexpected gift might be.

She skips away to her bedroom, and returns with an envelope. I shoot her a questioning glance before I open it.

Beginner’s ballet.

‘Is this for Isla?’ I enquire, turning over the gift voucher to see if I can garner any further information from the small print on the back.

‘It’s for you.’

‘Me?’ I splutter.

Even as I’m thinking she’s lost the plot, I read the word ‘adult’ on the voucher.

Beginner’s ballet for adults.

‘Mum, I—’

‘It’s something you’ve always wanted to do,’ she exclaims, wringing her hands in excitement.

Yeah, I did want to do ballet. I remember asking, begging.

‘That was when I was six or seven, Mum,’ I point out as gently as I can. ‘I think we’ve missed the boat on this one.’

‘Dad and I didn’t have the money back then,’ Mum continues, obliviously. ‘And it broke our hearts. So when I saw this class being advertised, and realised that they actually take adults, well I simply had to put your name down. You can go on either Wednesday night or Saturday morning. Of course, I’ll mind Isla for you.’

This is a bad idea. I do not want to go to a beginner’s ballet class with other adults either on a Wednesday or a Saturday. I cannot think of anything more humiliating or pathetic, or anything that could even come close as a waste of time and money.

But Mum looks inordinately pleased with herself and I realise how much it hurt her to say no to me back then, when I was little more than Isla’s age. Speaking of Isla, she’s watching all this with wide eyes.

‘Thanks, Mum,’ I say with difficulty.

It’s preposterous. I will feel like a complete fuckin’ fool, prancing around on my tiptoes. Please, please don’t tell me I have to wear a tutu!

I’ll go for one reason only.

Mum is so giddy and excited that I simply cannot bear to disappoint her. I’ve let her down so many times before. Now that I’m older, and know that I’m the cause of those lines on her face, that slight shake in her hand, the fact that she looks older than she should, I don’t have it in me to let her down ever again.