Читать книгу Coming Clean - Living with OCD - Hayley Leitch - Страница 6

STRETCHING OUT MY feet and legs, I used all my might to push my body upwards. Arching my back and dipping my head down, I did it again and again until I’d gained a little momentum. The chain of the swing was old and rusty so it took a little effort but, after four or five attempts, I suddenly began to rock back and forth until finally I was airborne. My skirt billowed out like a small white balloon and my lace socks shivered against the cool breeze but now I was sailing through the air like a bird.

‘Look everyone, I’m doing it. Quick!’ I shouted back towards the house. The swing was situated just outside the backdoor, so everyone heard.

‘I’m doing it! I’m doing it all on my own. I’m swinging all by myself!’ I called.

Even though the house was bursting with both adults and children, my Auntie Kathy came out first followed closely behind by Mum and Nanny Rose. Soon, all three were cheering me on.

‘Clever girl, Hayley,’ Nana grinned, wiping her fingers against the tea towel which she’d tucked into the top of her skirt. She lifted her hands and clapped wildly.

‘Look Steve, Hayley’s swinging all by herself!’ Nanny Rose called to Dad.

Moments later he appeared and grinned as he watched. Soon quite a crowd had built up as extended family members queued along the back of Nanny Rose’s house to watch me on the swing. I felt proud – proud that I’d finally managed to do it after months of trying – but most of all, I was proud that everyone had seen. In fact, I was so pleased with myself that I stayed on the swing until Nana called us inside for Sunday dinner. As usual, the house was a hive of activity, like a busy ship, with Nanny Rose at the helm.

‘You take the plates,’ I heard her say as I ran in through the door. I turned to the side as she handed a stack of them over to my aunt. ‘Mind now,’ she warned, as though my aunt was still a child, ‘they’re a little hot.’

Auntie Kathy nodded and dutifully lined them up along the kitchen worktop, counting them out as she went – seven plates for seven hungry grandchildren.

‘Bert, Bert,’ Nana called to my granddad, who was snoozing in his armchair. ‘The lamb needs carving. Hurry up, the kids are hungry.’

Granddad Bert peeled himself up out of the chair and strolled over to the kitchen. Seconds later, I heard the tell-tale whizz of the electric carving knife as it slid and buzzed its way through the huge succulent meat joint. The delicious aroma of lamb filled the air and made my stomach ache with hunger. I went straight over to the sink to wash my hands with my sister Lauren and our five cousins. We were all starving.

My baby sister Zara was asleep in her pushchair, tucked away in a corner of the dining room. I ran past her and took my usual place at the table. The crisp white cloth had been ironed to within an inch of its life. It was so flat that you could’ve easily turned a penny on its edge and rolled it clean across the cloth without it faltering. Silver cutlery had been polished and was sparkling, positioned in neat little lines for each child. The knives shone like small mirrors as they reflected the sunlight peeking in through the large back window. Everything was so clean, just how Nanny Rose liked it. Even though there were twice as many adults as kids, Nana insisted her grandchildren sat down to eat first. Every Sunday, everyone from the family including aunts, uncles and cousins would congregate at Nanny Rose’s house. Sunday wasn’t Sunday if we didn’t go to Nanny Rose’s.

Rose was my dad’s mother but she was also the beating heart of the family. She was a tall woman, standing at 5 feet 8 inches in stocking feet so, to a young child like me, she looked like a giant. Every Sunday she wore the same thing, a loose navy skirt and a white top, but she always kept her trademark white tea-towel tucked into the waistband of her skirt. She also kept a paper tissue, which she folded neatly between her wrist and her chunky gold bangle, in case of emergencies. Sometimes, when the heat of the kitchen became too much, she’d use it to dab her forehead. Nana had a passion for gold jewellery – the chunkier the better. I’d once been told she was the granddaughter of a Romany gypsy. Afterwards I’d spend hours picturing her as a little girl, travelling from town to town, sitting on a horse-drawn caravan selling pegs and lace. With her mystical features, short black curly hair, olive skin and her love of trinkets and crystal, Nanny Rose was the most fascinating woman I knew. Her small home was an absolute treasure trove to a four-year-old girl like me and I’d sit for hours, wide-eyed, staring into tall glass cabinets, mesmerised by all the pretty things inside. Everything was so clean and beautiful and although it was cluttered, everything had its place. From the flawless porcelain dolls and bone china figures, to the miniature Shire horse frozen in time, pulling an ornamental wooden cart along the hearth of the fireplace.

Nanny Rose lived with Granddad Bert in a three-bedroom terraced house in Tooting, London. From the outside, the house looked exactly the same as the other red-brick terraces in the street but once you pushed open the front door, it was like stepping into another world. Like a secret cave buried in a grey and colourless council estate, her home was filled with constant wonder. Plush velvet-covered sofas nestled for space against side tables adorned with ornate lamps bearing heavy tasselled shades. When they were switched off and the sunlight shone in through the window, the shades would cast eerie spiderlike shadows against the wall. Even the TV was boxed away inside a big mahogany cabinet. Once the doors were shut, you wouldn’t have even known there was a TV in the room. But it was always on when we were in the house. My sister Lauren and I would sit in front of it all day with the doors flung wide open, watching old Mickey Mouse videos on Granddad’s new VHS video recorder. When we weren’t perched in front of the telly, we’d be outside picking apples from the tree to help make one of Nanny Rose’s legendary apple pies. The tree sat neatly behind the swing at the side of the house, but it was so huge that it shadowed much of the garden because it’d been there for years.

One day, Lauren and I were busy collecting apples. I glanced down at the one in my hand. It was the brightest and prettiest green I’d ever seen, exactly the same colour as freshly mown grass. I held it up to my nose to take a sniff. It smelled so delicious that I felt the urge to take a bite. Licking my lips in anticipation, I opened my mouth and allowed my teeth to crunch into it but as soon as the juice ran inside I called out in horror. My whole body shuddered as the sour acid hit my tongue with a start. It was so tart that, for a moment, I thought I’d bitten straight into a lemon. It was the worst apple I’d ever tasted! I’d made such a racket, coughing and spluttering, that Nanny Rose came dashing over to see what was wrong. As soon as she saw my screwed up face and the half-eaten apple in my hand she burst out laughing.

‘No, Hayley,’ she giggled, clutching a hand against her chest. ‘You can’t eat them like that, they’re cooking apples. They’ll give you bellyache!’

I scrunched up my nose. It didn’t make sense. They looked just like normal apples, only a little bigger.

‘But they always taste so lovely when you put them in the pie,’ I said looking suspiciously at the offending piece of fruit in my hand.

‘That’s because I put lots of sugar in when I cook them.’

Suddenly the penny dropped. I thought about all the times I’d stood on a chair at the side of the cooker helping out. She was right; Nanny Rose always added a big bowl of sugar to the mixture because sometimes she let me help pour it in. I looked back at the bitter apple. It didn’t look as nice as before – my teeth had left small crimp marks along the edge and the fluffy whiteness inside had started to turn a horrible yellowy brown. I stepped back and dropped it to the ground. The bitter juice had left a nasty taste in my mouth. Nanny Rose knelt down at the side of me and took my hand in hers.

‘Hayley, if you want something to taste nice then you have to put the effort in – you have to wait.’

Lauren appeared from the other side of the tree and started to laugh when she saw what I’d done. I felt silly. I should’ve known they were cooking apples, that’s why we only picked them when Nanny Rose was baking. I pulled a face. The taste was still there so Nana took me to get a glass of water to wash it away.

‘Better?’ She asked, taking the beaker from my hand.

I nodded and ran back to the tree. The sun was high in the sky as Lauren and I spent the next hour collecting enough fruit to fill a dozen pies. With our basket full, we headed back inside to find Nana. She was so delighted that she pulled me over into her arms to give me a big hug.

‘These are just perfect!’

I buried my head deep into her waist and wrapped my tiny arms around her; the tea towel smelled so good that I could almost taste the apple pie.

‘Right, first one to wash all their apples gets to lick the spoon from the stewing apples pan!’

I grinned and picked up some apples. I loved Nana because she always made everything so much fun.

During the holidays, Lauren and I would spend long summer days at her house. There was never a dull moment because we were always playing with the other kids who lived on the council estate. Although I was the youngest, I always got to join in with the older kids’ games. My favourite was ‘Knock Down Ginger’, where a group of us would tap on a random front door and run away as fast as we could. Sometimes I would laugh so hard, it’d make me feel sick. If there were enough of us then we’d have an impromptu game of ‘British Bulldog’, where everyone would line up and charge at one another. Somehow, someone would always end up on the floor, dirty and with scuffed knees, but it didn’t matter because there were always plenty of kids to pick them back up again. Despite our best efforts, Lauren and I were never dressed quite right for the occasion. Instead of jeans, Mum insisted we wore beautiful lace dresses with delicate lace socks and ballet pumps. She’d brush, curl and pin up my hair but it never stayed that way for long. As soon as she’d left for work, I’d be down the bottom of Nana’s garden or out in the alleyway, getting filthy, playing rough and tumble with the other kids. Some days, Lauren and I would sit quietly at the bottom of the garden near the shed but we wouldn’t do girly things. Instead, we’d sit and line up snails so we could race them along the concrete slabs next to the back gate. It was dark and damp down the bottom of the garden and we’d always find lots of snails creeping about in the hedgerow.

‘Hey, you moved your snail too far forward, move it back,’ Lauren said pointing straight at my best racer.

I huffed and rolled my eyes. Lauren was a whole year older, so she saw it as her job to be in charge. We fought like most sisters but deep down, I loved her deeply. Sometimes, when Mum or Dad called to pick us up at the end of the day we’d be absolutely filthy but our smiles said it all. It didn’t matter that our pretty dresses were muddy, our knees scraped or our ballet pumps wet from puddles because to have proper fun you had to get a little messy. We were typical kids.

During the summer months, we’d go and stay with Nanny Rose and Granddad Bert at Camber Sands, where they owned a chalet by the sea. Mum and Dad would come along too. I’ve many happy memories of playing badminton on the beach with Granddad, his trousers rolled up at the ankles, or sitting with Dad, building sandcastles on the shoreline. Only one person would be missing, Nanny Rose. She’d be back at the chalet, tucked up in the kitchen, her favourite room. In fact, she wore her famous white tea towel so much I was convinced it was actually sewn onto the front of her clothes. Even to this day, whenever I picture her, she’s still wearing that same tea towel.

Nana was the eternal cook and her legendary Sunday dinners became the cement holding our family together. We were a complete unit – a happy family – and it glowed from each and every one of us. The only thing I hated was the vegetables. To me, they just got in the way of the meat. Other nanas would’ve been stricter but not Nanny Rose. Instead, when my parents weren’t looking, she’d slyly slip a bottle of ketchup onto the table so that I could smother my peas and carrots with it. My plate was always slices of meat and huge red tomato mounds where vegetables had once been. The ketchup made them easier to swallow because at least then I didn’t have to taste them.

Nanny Rose was a strict Catholic. One afternoon, Dad strolled into her house with Uncle David. The men had been drinking down the pub and were tucking heartily into a couple of meat pies but when Nanny Rose spotted them she went mad. It was Good Friday, and she was cooking fish and chips because she believed Good Friday and Ash Wednesdays were days of abstinence, not for meat pies!

‘Get out of my house with that meat!’ she screamed, snatching the tea towel from her waistband, whipping them with it.

‘You can’t eat meat today, it’s Good Friday and we’re having fish!’

At first, they thought she was joking but Nanny Rose was furious and their laughter only served to infuriate her even more.

‘I said, get out, get out!’ she wailed like a demented banshee as she took another swipe at them. ‘And take your bloody meat pies with you!’

Dad and Uncle David ran towards the backdoor but she didn’t stop chasing them until she’d run them clean out into the back garden. She jubilantly slammed the door behind them, calmly tucked her towel back in the waistband of her skirt and went back to preparing the food.

‘Meat pies, in my house!’ She tutted as she turned towards the cooker.

In the end, we all had fish for supper but Dad and Uncle David were forced to eat their contraband pies outside, underneath the street lamp.

Granddad Bert had a sweet tooth but also a very deep pocket. As soon as he heard the jingle of the ice cream van, he’d dig for change and send us to fetch ice creams. We always chose screwballs because they were our favourite – the chewing gum at the bottom was like having two puddings in one. But after a while, Granddad realised just how much our treats were costing him so he hit on a novel idea.

‘When you’ve finished your ice creams, pop the plastic containers in there.’ He said, pointing over towards the kitchen sink.

‘Why?’ I asked. I was perched on a chair in the kitchen but it was high off the ground and my legs were swinging beneath me like a pendulum.

‘Because,’ he announced, ‘from now on, we’re going to make our own screwballs.’

And we did. In fact, our homemade screwballs tasted even better than the ones from the ice cream van because we got to choose our favourite colour chewing gum. Granddad Bert wasn’t tight but, with so many grandchildren, making homemade screwballs also made sound financial sense. It kept us all busy on long and wet afternoons as we spent ages scooping ice cream from endless tubs, filling up the freezer. Whatever we did at Nanny Rose’s house, we always had fun, until the day that everything changed.

Lauren and I were due to go to a car boot sale in the middle of Tooting, with Nanny Rose and Auntie Tina. As soon as we arrived at Nana’s house I ran into the kitchen to say hello but she wasn’t there. I dashed from one room to another until I found her, pale and quiet, sitting in the front room in an armchair. It was odd to see her sitting down because usually she was far too busy looking after everyone. Although the adults had followed me into the room, no one said a word about Nana being sat down. Mum left for work and Auntie Tina wheeled something through the door – it was a wheelchair – Nanny Rose’s wheelchair. I felt uneasy because I knew it meant something was wrong with her. I started to worry.

Why did Nana need a wheelchair, she’d never had one before?

It felt odd, walking along the path with Nanny Rose because, up until that point, she’d been the strongest woman I knew, but now there she was, slumped inside the wheelchair as if she was broken. I tried not to fret; there must be a good reason for it.

Maybe she was just tired? Yes, that was it. Nana was just tired. She’d soon be up on her feet again.

As Auntie Tina pushed her along, I tried to think of the positives. A wheelchair was a novelty – it also meant a free ride on Nanny Rose’s knee. But my cousin Kerry was the smallest so she got to go first. Kerry had been born prematurely and was small for her age. My aunt had said that Kerry was so small at birth that she’d even made it into the Guinness Book of World Records. Even though we were a similar age, my cousin was as petite and fragile as one of Nanny Rose’s porcelain dolls. But now I was annoyed because Kerry was hogging the treat for herself.

‘When’s it going to be my turn?’ I complained at the side of the chair.

It was taking too long to walk to the car boot sale and the back of my legs were aching.

‘Soon,’ Nanny Rose whispered pulling me close. She winked at me to let me know that it was alright, she’d sort something out.

But another five minutes had passed and I’d still not had my turn. In protest I stopped dead in my tracks and folded my arms angrily across my chest.

‘It’s not fair!’ I huffed.

Nanny Rose chuckled. It was good to see her laugh because I’d been so worried about her and the chair. She uncurled her hands from Kerry’s waist and asked her to jump off because now it was my turn. I grinned as she pulled me up into prime position.

‘Better?’ she whispered in my ear.

‘Yes,’ I nodded.

And it was, because everything was better when I was with Nanny Rose. I loved being up there because it felt great to be sat on the knee of the most important person. I shut my eyes as the wheelchair rolled along the path and imagined being on a fairground ride. I felt so safe and secure that I never wanted to climb down again. All too soon we reached the car park of the car boot sale. The place was packed with what seemed like hundreds of people milling around looking through other people’s knick knacks. Nanny Rose called it all rubbish but she still bought us all an A3 colouring board. There were lots of different pictures to choose from but mine had a picture of a bunny. I couldn’t wait to get back to Nana’s house and make a start on it but she wanted to have another look round so we did a second circuit of the boot fair. I thought how odd it was, selling off little pieces of your life to strangers. I could never imagine Nana parting with her treasures like that. My Nan spent the whole time sitting, smiling away in her chair but deep down I knew something was wrong. Something had changed overnight. It wasn’t something I could see, touch or taste but something was there and I knew that ‘something’ was slowly taking my Nanny Rose away from me.

The next time we visited her house, Nana was upstairs resting in bed.

‘Is she tired?’ I asked Mum, my face crumpled with concern.

She glanced down at me but I could tell she didn’t know what to say. Instead she just nodded. As she did, Dad turned his face away as though he was upset about something.

‘Why don’t we go and say hello to her?’ Mum suggested brightly.

Lauren and I dashed through to the hallway, flung our coats over the banister, and ran straight upstairs to Nana’s bedroom. As soon as we entered, my eyes widened. Nanny Rose looked even paler than I’d remembered. Now she had dark purplish rings underneath her eyes. But as soon as she saw us, those same eyes shone with love as she stretched out her arms in welcome.

‘Well, don’t just stand there,’ she called, ‘come and give your Nanny Rose a kiss.’

We instinctively ran over to her but as I wrapped my tiny arms around her, I was amazed at just how far they stretched around her back. I felt the bumps of the bones underneath her skin – as thin and fragile as a baby bird – she looked and felt different.

‘That’s enough girls,’ Mum said after a few moments. ‘We don’t want to tire Nanny Rose out now, do we?’

Nan smiled and rested her head back on the two huge pillows propped beneath her. Mum gently guided us away towards the door but something made me turn back and wave.

‘Bye,’ I whispered.

Nanny Rose looked up and smiled but she suddenly looked old, as if a light had gone out inside her. Her skin was paper thin, almost translucent, and her face grey and haunted. I didn’t want to leave her there, all alone in her bedroom, but Mum insisted Nana needed to rest. However, before we left, I popped back upstairs to say goodbye properly. Nanny Rose gave me and Lauren lots of kisses but, this time, it was Mum who looked upset. It unnerved me. Later that night I tried to sleep but I couldn’t shake off the uneasy feeling or rid myself of the knot twisting inside the pit of my stomach. Something was wrong. The following Sunday, I expected to see Nanny Rose back in her usual spot in the kitchen.

She’d had lots of sleep; surely she must feel better by now?

But by the time we arrived, it was Granddad Bert doing all the cooking. He looked odd and out of place standing next to Nanny Rose’s cooker. There were a dozen aunts and uncles fussing around him, laying the table and helping to serve dinner, but Granddad looked as helpless and as lost as a small boy. As usual, the children sat down to eat first but when it came to the adults there was one empty space at the table – the most important person was missing. With each Sunday that passed, so the same pattern followed until I almost became used to the space at the table where Nana had once sat. Instead, my beautiful Nanny Rose withered away upstairs until one day, I never saw her again. At first, I didn’t understand what had happened. I wanted to know why the adults looked so upset and why some were crying but no one would tell me. In sheer desperation, I turned to my older cousin.

‘Why’s everyone upset? Where’s Nana?’

I begged her to tell but she was frightened she’d get into trouble.

‘I’m not allowed to.’ She replied. ‘Besides, it’s so sad that if I did tell you, you’d cry and everyone would know it was me who’d told you.’

‘But I won’t.’ I vowed, crossing my heart with my fingers. ‘I won’t cry, promise.’

‘Promise?’

I nodded my head just to keep her happy. My cousin dramatically checked over each shoulder and then behind her to make sure no one else was listening.

‘Nanny Rose got burnt!’ She said her eyes wide with horror.

‘Burnt!’ I gasped.

My hand automatically shot straight up to my mouth to try and stop my shocked cries from escaping. She was lying, she had to be. Tears pricked at the back of my eyes, I willed them to go away but it was useless because soon they came thick and fast, until they spilled out and down my cheeks.

‘Shush!’ she hissed, putting her finger to her mouth. ‘You can’t cry, you promised!’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said wiping away my tears with the back on my sleeve. ‘Anyway, I don’t care. Not really.’

It was a lie because crying was all I wanted to do. I wanted to scream and shout. I wanted to wail and howl because my beautiful Nanny Rose had gone and now, life would never be the same. My cousin was so annoyed that she stormed out of the room and that’s when I really broke down. Once I’d started, I couldn’t stop. In the end, Auntie Sue passed by the doorway and caught me sobbing in the corner.

‘It’s Nanny Rose,’ I wept, ‘I know she’s gone, forever.’

Auntie Sue tried her best to console me.

‘It’s true Hayley,’ she said taking my hand, ‘but she’s with the angels now. They’ll look after her.’

Later that night, I looked out of my bedroom window and up towards the blackened sky trying to picture Nanny Rose. It made me feel a little better to think of her with the angels but try as I might, I couldn’t imagine anyone else looking after her because that was her job. It was selfish but I didn’t want her up in heaven where I couldn’t see her, I wanted her back down on earth with me. Overnight, my idyllic childhood had been ripped to pieces because, after that day, nothing was ever the same again. Granddad Bert still cooked Sunday dinner for us all but it was as though everyone had lost their appetite. Without Nanny Rose, I couldn’t even stomach it anymore. I was only five years old, but her passing left a huge gaping hole in my life and it frightened me. The thought that someone as strong as my Nana could be there one minute and gone the next was so utterly terrifying.

It wasn’t until many years later that I learned she’d lost her life to breast cancer. The pain I feel today is still as raw as it was back then. Up until that point, losing Nanny Rose had been the biggest thing to happen to me and her death had a profound and lasting effect because I loved her so much. Her death made me doubt everything because if something could take her away, then surely no one was safe? It triggered a deep-rooted fear which made me question everything. When I was alone I’d sit there and worry about everything and everyone. I didn’t realise it then but my life would never be the same again.