One Step Closer to You (4 page)

It’s Sunday, the day before Hugo goes to a special boarding school for the blind. Hugo is seven. I’m nearly eleven years old.

Hugo and I walk down to the boathouse with Dad, dressed in our bright yellow life jackets. Dad is going to take us out in the boat before lunch. Mum is cooking a special good-luck meal: roast chicken with oven chips, Hugo’s favourite.

We live in Norfolk, in a house by a river and lake. We moved here six months ago, to be close to his school. I was sad to leave London, but Mum and Dad reassured me that London isn’t going anywhere and that I can always visit my old friends. ‘Dad has a new job in Norwich,’ Mum explained. He works in an insurance company. ‘It’s a fresh start for all of us.’

When Mum and Dad drove Hugo and me to our new home for the first time I felt carsick as we bumped along a narrow
winding road. ‘Are we nearly there?’ I kept on asking. Our house was in the middle of nowhere! Granny Sue wondered why we’d wanted to live so far out in the sticks, but Mum and Dad fell in love with the house and were keen for us to have a garden to play in and room to explore.

Except Mum is always worried when we go outside to play. ‘Don’t play in the woods, there might be adders,’ she says. Or it’s, ‘Don’t go too near the water, you might fall in and drown.’

As we approach the old boathouse I breathe in the smell of bracken and seaweedy water. Dad helps Hugo onto the boat. It’s old, wooden and rocks gently from side to side when Hugo clambers in. I follow and Dad asks me to be a good girl and fix one of the oars into the rowlock. When we’re ready, Dad uses one oar to push us out of the boathouse and into the open space.

Hugo always looks so happy when he’s out on the water. He stretches his podgy arms, the sun beating down on his round dimpled face. I lean over the boat, trail my fingers in the water. Hugo copies me.

‘You know what Mum says, Hugo,’ I tease. ‘There might be huge pike and we all know pike have very sharp teeth.’ Hugo sits up straight, puts his hands on his lap.

‘We’re nearly at the sunken boat now,’ I tell him.

‘How did it sink, Papa?’ he asks.

It doesn’t matter how many times we’ve heard this story, Hugo and I still love it.

‘Well, it all happened about a hundred years ago. Two lovers …’

‘Kissy kissy,’ says Hugo, nudging me.

‘Behave, or I won’t finish the story,’ says Dad. ‘Two lovers weren’t allowed to be together. Their families hated one another.’

‘Why?’ we ask.

‘They just did, OK! Otherwise we’ll never finish the story. They couldn’t see one another in daylight so they decided to meet every night in the boat, when the clock struck twelve and their parents were in bed, fast asleep. So they’d meet down at the boathouse. It was very romantic, the lake was beautiful in the moonlight, but one evening there was a terrible storm. The girl was anxious, said maybe they should go back inside. “Where is your sense of adventure?” the boy asked, encouraging her into the boat. There was thunder and lightning, it was a wild night, the small wooden boat rocking from side to side. She begged him to stop, but he was determined to prove he was brave, that nothing could stand in the way of their being together. Well of course they lost an oar and hit a submerged tree trunk, just here,’ Dad says, as we row up to the sunken boat and look down into the murky water. It’s spooky. Even the seats are still there. I imagine the girl with long red hair, splayed out in the water, weeds coming out of her mouth.

‘And they drowned,’ Dad says. ‘And that was the end of them.’

I shiver each time I hear the story.

‘They haunt the lake, but in a good way,’ Dad continues, ‘reminding us never to take foolish risks.’

I stare at the murky water, wondering what other secrets lies beneath it.

*

The following morning, Dad, Mum, Hugo and I eat breakfast. Dad has taken the day off to drive Hugo to his new school. He knows Mum will be too upset to travel home alone. Besides, he wants to say goodbye too. ‘Please can I come,’ I try again, pushing my porridge away, lumps sticking in my throat.

Mum butters her toast. ‘You have school.’

I hold back the tears and look beseechingly at Dad.

‘No, Polly,’ she snaps. ‘We’ve talked about this.’

‘Dad?’

I try one last time.

‘Best do as your mum says.’

Why doesn’t he ever stand up to her?

‘Please can she come,’ says a small voice from across the table.

*

Later that morning we’re on our way to Hugo’s school in Dad’s old bottle-green BMW. We play car games and Dad sings his favourite song, ‘Meet me in St Louis’. It always makes Hugo and me laugh, especially when he sings the words, ‘hoochee koochee’ and ‘tootsie-wootsie’.

When we reach the gates of Hugo’s school, Mum orders Dad to stop the car. I hold Hugo’s hand until Mum unbuckles his seatbelt and sits him on her knee in the front, stroking and hugging him.

Slowly we approach a tall grey stone building with wide, open green space on either side of the driveway. The school looks like a castle with turrets and lots of narrow windows. We approach a courtyard with a fountain, cupids spraying water. Dad turns off the engine. I notice a tall wiry man with a moustache and dressed in a suit walking down some steep stone steps and approaching our car. ‘Wait,’ Mum says. Hugo’s hands are clasped around her neck.

Nervously I step outside and look up at the imposing building, already feeling scared for my brother. I can’t imagine living here. I bet this place is haunted. Dad opens the boot and lifts out Hugo’s trunk, packed with all his new clothes to start his new life. He shakes the tall man’s hand. Dad tells me this is Mr Barry, the headmaster.

Mr Barry shakes my hand too, welcoming me to the school. He smells of cigar smoke. ‘Hello, Hugo,’ he says. Hugo rushes back to Mum. ‘I don’t want to go,’ he says, suddenly tiny and fragile, lost in her arms.

When Mr Barry tries to prise them apart, Hugo lashes out at him, hitting his arm.

‘Hugo,’ my father says tearfully, taking him to one side, ‘you’re going to be fine. You’ll be so happy here, and it’s only a few days until we’ll see you at the weekend.’

Tears are streaming down Hugo’s face; his eyes are red and crumpled. I rush to the backseat of the car and pick up Fido, Hugo’s favourite toy dog. I thrust it into his hands, ‘Whenever you feel sad, think of us in the boat,’ I say, before Dad tells me to give my brother one last hug and then we must go.

‘Matron will help him settle in,’ assures Mr Barry. ‘We’ll take great care of him.’

As we pull away, back down the long school drive, we hear Hugo wailing. Dad says, ‘Don’t turn round.’ But it’s too late. Mum and I see Mr Barry restraining Hugo from running after us. Fido is tossed on to the ground.

‘What have we done?’ Mum says.

*

That night, I can’t sleep. On my way to the bathroom I hear Mum and Dad talking in the kitchen. I creep downstairs and sit on the bottom step. My heart lifts. Maybe they’re saying they might collect Hugo tomorrow?

‘You know it’s the right thing, Gina,’ Dad’s saying. ‘The sooner Hugo can be with other children like himself, the better. We’ve got to be brave, let him go.’

‘I know, but I feel guilty. He’s only seven, he’s so young.’

‘The specialist said now is the right time. I know he’s only little, but Polly’s school could
never
give him the same opportunities.’

Mum has explained to me why he is going too. All the pupils have eyesight problems, the classes are small, and the
teachers will be able to help children like Hugo overcome barriers. The specialist had told Mum and Dad how important it was to integrate Hugo with others like him as soon as possible. The longer they waited the harder it would be, not only for them, but for Hugo too.

‘This was your idea. I took the promotion for Hugo! For you!’ Dad continues.

‘I know!’

I hear a bottle being opened.

‘Here,’ Dad says.

‘No.’

‘Come on, you can have a small one, Gina.’

‘No.’

‘For God’s sake, one won’t hurt!’ I’m not used to Dad raising his voice. ‘It’s brandy.’

‘No.’

‘Think of it as medicine. It’ll help you sleep.’

‘I don’t want it! It’s poison!’ I grip on to the banister when I hear glass shattering against the floor.

‘Gina, you’re not Vivienne!’

Who’s Vivienne?

‘Don’t you dare mention her name in this house,’ Mum shouts now.

‘Fine, but if I want a drink, I’ll have one. He’s my son too.’ He pauses. ‘It’s going to be strange without him but we have Polly to think about. She needs us to be strong.’

‘I know, but …’

‘You’re tough on her.’

‘It’s hard not to love Hugo more.’

Fighting back the tears, I jump up.

‘Polly?’ they call.

I rush back upstairs and into my bedroom, hiding under the duvet, tears rolling down my cheeks as I pretend to be asleep when Mum opens the door.

It’s Louis’s first day back at school after the Christmas holidays and we need to leave in fifteen minutes. ‘London’s burning, London’s burning,’ I sing, gathering his packed lunch. ‘Get the engine.’

‘
Fetch
the engine!’ Louis corrects me.

‘Pour on water, pour on water!’

Louis leaps off the sofa and clambers into his toy fire engine that somehow Uncle Hugo and I had assembled over the Christmas holidays. Our flat is open-plan. One room merges into another so I can see Louis from the kitchen putting out the fire with his party balloon pump that acts as an imaginary hose.

*

We need to leave in five minutes.

‘Sing it again, Mummy.’

I shake my head. ‘We’ll be late.’

‘What did the big tomato say to the little tomato?’

‘Don’t know. Now, come on, put your socks on!’

‘Ketch up. Why don’t we have a car?’

We can’t afford one, that’s why. ‘We have legs, Louis.’

‘Maisy’s dad has legs and a car.’

‘Good for him. Now come on!’ I say, urging him to put his other sock on.

Finally I help him into his coat. Zip it up. On go the gloves and the woolly lion hat. We gather his PE kit and rucksack. I try not to think about the chaos left in the sitting room. As we’re about to head out of the door, ‘Mum, I need the loo,’ he says.

*

Louis and I race across Primrose Hill, there’s no time to admire the BT tower or point at the pretty apricot house today. When Louis slows down to admire a small dog, asking the owner if he can pat it, I grab his hand and yank him away, terrified that the headmistress will tell me off for being so late.

Ben and Emily arrive in a heap at the school gates at the exact same time as us. I notice Emily’s coat is buttoned skew-whiff and her hair is in an odd sort of plait. ‘I used to get to the office at 6.30,’ Ben mutters out of breath as we make our way towards the classroom. A voice in my head tells me to ask him out for a coffee.

I help Louis hang up his duffel coat and put his school bag into one of the pull-out trays before he darts over to
his friends, who are sitting at a table covered in fake grass and toy farm animals. ‘Oh silly me!’ he says when he realises he hasn’t signed himself in. There’s a seaside chart on one of the walls; each child is a sea creature. Louis grabs a Velcro-backed crab with his name on it and thrusts it in the sandy section of the picture, next to all the other crabs. ‘Well done,’ I say, kissing him goodbye. ‘Be good.’

Outside the gates, mums congregate in small groups, while I talk to Jim, our stay-at-home dad, keeping an eye out for Ben at the same time. Jim has two children; Maisy, who is one of Louis’s best friends, and Theo, two years old and clutching Jim’s hand, dressed in red cords that clash with his carrot-coloured hair. Jim is slim and fit from spending hours in the gym. When his two children are older he wants to train to become a sports teacher. When he first pitched up at the school gates there was a wave of curiosity around him. When one of the mums saw him in the swimming pool dressed in his snug-fitting pair of trunks that left little to the imagination, ripples of excitement were shared at the school gates the following morning.

Just as Ben heads towards us, hands deep in pockets, head down, it seems I’m not the only one keeping an eye out for him. Gabriella, Italian and voluptuous, totters towards him in her heels and fake fur coat carrying a bright orange dish. She’s married, but that doesn’t stop her from flirting. ‘I don’t believe it,’ Jim says, humour in his voice. ‘Why don’t I get a lasagne anymore?’

Ben has attracted lots of attention for different reasons. Losing his sister and adopting his niece has made him both a subject of pity and something of a local hero. I sense this makes Ben deeply uncomfortable, and I’m guessing this is why he never hangs around, giving nobody the chance to get to know him, not even busty Gabriella.

I watch as she touches Ben’s arm and flicks her dark wavy hair as she tells him to how to heat the lasagne. Her hand rests on his shoulder as she asks him how he is feeling with a sympathetic nod. Before I know it, I’m over there. ‘Sorry to interrupt,’ I say to Gabriella, before turning to Ben, ‘but I was wondering if you’d like to join Jim and me for a coffee.’

‘I don’t drink coffee,’ Ben replies, Gabriella standing close to him, reeking of Italian perfume.

He glances at his watch. ‘But I’ve got time for a ginger tea.’

*

Jim, Ben and I sit at our usual corner table in Chamomile, a small lively café on England’s Lane, close to my flat and always packed with locals.

Jim and I discover Ben lives in Chalcot Square, a cluster of imposing houses, each painted in different shades of pastel. Ben apologetically tells us he used to be a broker in the City, back in his twenties. He’s thirty-six now. ‘It’s fine, you can hate me.’ He shrugs. ‘I know we’re world-wreckers. To be honest, I went into the City because I didn’t know what else to do. No imagination.’ His mouth curls into a
slight smile and I decide there’s something attractive in his manner but looks-wise he’s definitely not my type. I’ve always preferred blonds.

‘Well someone has to run our economy,’ admits Jim.

Ben shrugs. ‘You know, it wasn’t all that bad but I had to give it up in the end. The lifestyle wasn’t for me.’

Is that why he was at AA?

‘What do you do now?’ I ask.

‘Accountant. Deeply unglamorous,’ he says with that dry smile, ‘but I like being freelance, being my own boss, and I work for some really interesting clients, a lot of them in the creative industries. To be honest it’s useful now, working from home. I need to be around for Emily.’

‘How’s Emily doing?’ Jim asks.

‘The headmistress told me she’s quiet, subdued, which isn’t surprising. As I’m sure you know my sister, Grace, Emily’s mother, died last summer.’

We nod. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I say, trying hard not to do that sympathetic nod. ‘I’ve wanted to talk to you for a while, but wasn’t sure you …’

He stops me. ‘It was sudden.’ Ben gives nothing away in his eyes as he tells us she died from hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, a heart condition that causes enlargement of the heart muscle. She had no symptoms; they didn’t even know she was unwell. She died in the early hours of the morning. ‘Emily had gone to wake her up. Poor child.’

Jim and I remain silent.

Ben explains that he is Emily’s only living blood relative. ‘Grace and I were close. When she had Emily, she made me promise I’d be her guardian if anything happened to her. Of course I agreed at the time, believing that if anything bad was going to happen, it was going to happen to me. You see, Grace was fit and happy. She was an acupuncturist, worked from home. Unlike me, she’d barely touched a drink or smoked in her life. She lived in the country, didn’t believe in polluting the environment so cycled everywhere and meditated each morning. She was only three years older than me. Ironic thing is she’d kept on joking about not wanting to turn forty. She died only a few days before. Why does the world behave in this absurd way? I should be the one in the grave.’ He shrugs. ‘I’m not married, have no commitments, I’m all she has, so I owe it to Grace to be there for her, but to be honest I’m not sure I’m cut out to be a dad. I’m not even a dad, am I? I’m Emily’s uncle, but now that Grace is gone, it’s like she doesn’t even know me anymore.’

I wait for Jim to say something. He doesn’t. I’m about to, but Ben beats me to it. ‘Sorry, bet you wished you’d never asked me out for a coffee now.’ He grabs his pack of Marlboro Reds, saying he’ll be back in a second.

*

Five minutes later Ben is still smoking outside. Jim opens the lid of the lasagne dish to take a peep. ‘Gabriella once made me a tiramisu. Her husband must be the size of a
house.’ He pauses. ‘What do you think happened to Emily’s dad?’ He doesn’t wait for an answer. ‘Poor Ben, he must be …’

‘Shut up.’

Jim looks up. ‘You shut up.’

‘He’s coming,’ I mouth.

‘Oh.’ The lid slams back on as Ben returns to an awkward silence. ‘Please don’t stop talking about me.’ He sits down, tosses his cigarette pack on the table.

‘I’m sorry. I was just saying to Jim,’ I improvise, ‘that I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but being a single mum I do sort of understand the pressure and I’m happy to look after Emily any time.’

Jim backs me up. ‘Me too, mate. If there’s anything I can do.’

‘Well, there is something.’

‘Yes?’ both Jim and I say.

‘Those muffins look pretty good.’ Ben gestures to the glass cabinet filled with cakes and pastries.

Over muffins, Jim tells Ben about Violet Reid, head of the PTA. ‘She thinks I’m a weirdo not working. I love to wind her up, tell her I’m busy all day with a feather duster.’ Jim pretends to dust our table. ‘This one time, right, before a meeting I overheard her saying to one of the other mums …’ Jim prepares himself to mimic Violet with her la-di-da voice, ‘“I’m all for men being more hands-on and changing the odd nappy, but if my hubby suddenly started walking
round the house in a pinny I swear I’d lose all respect for him!”’

‘What do you call men like us?’ Ben looks at Jim, a tiny glint of humour now in his eyes.

‘Stay-at-home-dads or lazy sods, according to Granny-in-law,’ Jim says. He goes on to tell Ben what his wife, Camilla’s family, think about their swapping the traditional roles and how Christmas with them en masse is always a challenge. ‘Truth is Milla wasn’t cut out to be a stay-at-home mum and missed being a lawyer, and she earns more too. I was hating my job with the local council so it made complete sense to us, but Granny doesn’t see it like that. Christmas Day went from bad to worse,’ Jim continues, enjoying the captive audience. ‘Not content with calling me a lazy sod, she says, “I mean, what do you
do
all day? It’s not right my daughter has meetings up to her eyeballs while you fanny around eating muffins!”’ He picks up his blueberry muffin and takes a large deliberate bite, making Ben and me laugh.

‘Jim, I wish I could clone you,’ I say. ‘Seriously, most men are too proud to do what you do.’

If only they knew about Matthew. Jim knows my relationship went badly wrong and he’s aware I go to AA, but that’s only half the story. I shudder hearing his voice. ‘
If I hear that baby crying one more time before I’ve had a coffee I swear I’ll throw it out the window
.’

‘He does everything, Ben,’ I carry on, wishing I could
wipe away those memories. Rub them out like a teacher rubs things out on a blackboard.

‘It’s not a hardship,’ Jim declares. ‘It’s a choice and a privilege. I think it’s fine having someone look after your child when they are so tiny, like puppies in your arms that you feed and rock to sleep, but I wanted to be around when Theo said his first few words. I think it’s important that one of us looks after our children. Sorry, that was crass,’ he says to both Ben and me. ‘I wasn’t thinking.’

Ben nods. ‘What I’m struggling with is how do you know the right thing to do, the right way to bring them up? At night I’m lying awake thinking this girl, this little person, her happiness now rests in my hands. It terrifies me.’

‘Me too,’ I confess.

‘This morning she asked me to plait her hair,’ Ben continues.

‘Ah, the hair thing,’ says Jim. ‘It gets easier with practice.’

‘I’ll give you a lesson,’ I suggest.

‘You and me, Ben, we’re in the minority, so we need to stick together.’ He raises his mug to Ben’s.

‘To stay-at-home-dads-slash-uncles then,’ Ben says.

‘And single mums,’ Jim adds.

I join in. ‘So stick that up your pipe and smoke it, Granny.’

*

When Jim heads off to pick Theo up from nursery, Ben and I leave the café.

We walk along the pavement, quiet in our thoughts until I pluck up the courage to say, ‘Ben, do you mind me asking … ?’
Tell him you saw him at the meeting
. I wimp out. ‘Where’s Emily’s father?’

‘Oh, right. Him. When Grace told him she was pregnant he did a runner. She wrestled with the decision, but she’d always wanted children.’

‘Your parents, are they around to help?’

‘Mum is no longer with us and my father died when I was four. My stepdad’s still around, sadly.’

‘Anything “step” is never the easiest of relationships.’

‘Forget the title,’ he says sharply. ‘It’s about the person, the man, and in this case he’s a horrible jumped-up little man.’

We turn into Chalcot Square.

‘Right, well I’d better get to work,’ I say, feeling that conversation was killed. ‘It was great to …’

‘Are you around tonight?’

‘Tonight?’

‘I wouldn’t mind taking you up on that plaiting lesson. Emily keeps asking for a fish plait?’

‘French plait?’

‘Yeah, maybe that was it. Who knows, but you sound very clued up in this area, so if a French plait is something you can teach me, I might earn brownie points and Emily might be a bit happier.’

He mentions her name with little emotion, which unsettles
me. ‘It’s a date. Well, not a date
date
.’ Oh put a sock in it, Polly.

‘Shall we meet after school? We can eat Gabriella’s lasagne,’ he says, gesturing to the orange dish. ‘You’d be doing me a favour. She’s cooked enough to feed the south of England.’

‘I’d like that.’ I’m not so sure Gabriella would, mind you.

‘Good. Well, I’ll see you later.’ And for the first time that morning his smile reaches his eyes and I catch a glimmer of the man he could be, underneath that mask of loneliness.