The New Woman (13 page)

‘Shut up. I’m not listening.’

There’s your ticket to peace. In that cupboard. You know what to do. It’ll be so easy.

‘It would be tidier all round, wouldn’t it?’ I said.

So much tidier. You’ve even got the letters in your briefcase. Shame to waste all that planning.

The next moment I’d grabbed the rope from the cupboard and was charging through the flat, out of the sitting-room door and into the garden. There was a very high wall at the end, and beyond that the railway line. I pulled back my arm as I ran, swung, and let go. It was a pretty awkward bowling action, but the rope sailed out of my hand and far over the wall. I’d never be able to find it over there.

The letters were next. Back in the kitchen, I slid them all out of my briefcase. I needed a flame . . . ah, the gas ring. The paper caught faster than I’d expected. A few charred scraps were soon left, but they disintegrated and were washed down the plughole.

Then I stood leaning against the sink, head down, exhausted but victorious.

The Thought was sulking. I’d won the battle, if not the war.

In the early hours of the morning, I wandered along to the bedroom and lay down still in my clothes. I was afraid to sleep; afraid of the dreams. My mind felt light yet opaque, like cloud. The robin was singing in Thurso Lane. I’d seen him sometimes, flitting among the branches of the sycamore tree outside the flat, his red breast dulled in yellow street lighting. His song was sweet and clear as water. Sad, too. The poor little chap should have been safely tucked up in his nest, but he had no choice. The traffic noise was so loud during the day that his complex melodies couldn’t be heard by other birds. So he had to suppress his nature and sing through the night.

I know how you feel, I thought as I closed my eyes.
What a world. What a world.

A bird was singing in the forest. We were lost, my baby and I. Howls echoed in the darkness. I made a bed of leaves in the hollow of a tree and hid in there with her.

Don’t be frightened. I’ll protect you. Nothing will hurt us.

I felt the prickle of milk in my breast, and as I fed her she gazed up at me. I was filled with perfect happiness. I’d never felt such love before.

Then horrors came. I heard the snarls of wolves, and teeth sank into my leg, dragging me out of our safe place. Their faces were shaped like triangles, like devil faces, and their tails were waving merrily. It was Charlotte they were after. I shouted and kicked but I couldn’t save my little girl. I was useless. They’d found her and pulled her out. They were tearing her apart with their terrible teeth.

I was in the flat, lying fully clothed and alone. I was sobbing. There was no baby.

After a time, a shaft of morning light found its way onto my pillow; but it couldn’t brighten the darkness of that forest. The robin had gone. There was no point in singing now. The world had drowned his melody.

Thirteen

Kate

Was she back in her tent in Israel? The sky outside her window glowed, and birds were tuning up for the bird version of the Hallelujah Chorus. Then she focused on the striped yellow wallpaper, remembered what had happened, and covered her face with Mr Polington. It didn’t matter about the birds or the blue sky. It didn’t matter about Owen.

After a time she rolled out of bed, pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt, and trudged downstairs in search of coffee. The kitchen doors were folded open. Eilish was sitting on the bench outside. She was wearing her cotton wrap, the white one embroidered with coloured flowers. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t moving. She seemed to be waiting for a non-existent train.

She looks after herself, thought Kate. You’d never guess she’s in her fifties. All that Pilates. All that gardening. She’s got a waist, and nice legs; she even has them waxed, which I’d never do in a million years. She can still fit into her wedding dress. What was it all for? Was it for him?

‘Another lovely day,’ murmured Eilish.

‘So it is.’

‘Your father rang.’

‘Any news?’

‘He wanted to know if I’m all right.’ Eilish rearranged her wrap, smoothing it across her lap. ‘I said I am. I asked how he is. He said he’s fine. He asked how you are and I said you were still asleep. He asked if he could come home and talk to me, and I said no. And then we both said goodbye.’

‘Well, at least it was polite.’

‘The politeness was the worst thing.’

Kate retreated into the kitchen, wondering what on earth her mum had been hoping for. For Christ’s sake, what conversation with Dad could possibly be cheerful in this situation? And where were the bloody coffee cups? They normally lived in a row on the dresser, with all the saucers piled up at one end. The shelf was empty, and so was the dishwasher.

‘Where’ve the cups gone, Mum?’ she called. ‘Can only find one.’

No answer. Kate gave up and fished out some chipped mugs that they hadn’t used in donkey’s years. The biscuit tin was in its usual place, though, and well stocked. She took it outside, along with their coffee.

Eilish thanked her, and seemed to try to rouse herself. ‘Have you and Owen really split up?’

‘Yep.’

‘What about your flat?’

Kate dunked a biscuit into her coffee. ‘He’s the tenant. My things are all in bin bags by the front door. Look, it’s okay. Really. Owen’s the least of our problems now, and I can always . . .’
Oops
. She’d been about to suggest that she sleep on her father’s sofa bed in London for a week or two. ‘Um, I could stay here for a while, if that’s all right with you. Save me a lot of rent. Term doesn’t start until September.’

‘But you’ve work to do.’

‘I’ve got to write a report on the dig, and I want to start thinking about my dissertation, but there’s no reason I can’t do that from here. I’ve got my field notes. I’d really like to stay until this mess is all sorted out.’

Stupid thing to say. It made the whole disastrous situation sound like a cutlery drawer that needed reorganising.

‘Then stay,’ said Eilish. ‘I’d like that.’

She sank back into a reverie. She was looking out at Charlotte’s tree. A breeze had sprung up, and was tugging at her wrap.

‘How quickly things can change,’ she said. ‘And for you too, I know.’

Kate nodded. ‘Friday morning, I woke up in a tent. All I’d thought about for six weeks were: one, the implications for Judaeo-Christian traditions of our finds; two, how frigging hot it was; and three, whether a scorpion was hiding in my shoes. I was looking forward to a flight home, a nice long bath, and a sloppy reunion with Owen.’ She blew on her coffee. ‘You’re right. A hell of a lot can change in three days.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be sorry! How can this be your fault?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Eilish. ‘Perhaps I just wasn’t woman enough.’

‘Woman . . . ?’ Kate smacked her hand to her brow. ‘Mum! Have I taught you nothing? It is not the role of any woman to be
woman enough
for a man!’

‘Why not? I expected Luke to be man enough.’

‘No, you didn’t.’

‘I did! Of course I did. I liked him to smell of coal tar soap, not Chanel. I loved the five o’clock shadow on his jaw when he came home in the evenings. I liked to see biceps when he took off his shirt. I wanted him to stride along in brogues, not totter in six-inch heels. I wanted—’ Eilish looked towards the front gate. ‘Oh, no. Please, not now.’

A red car was meandering up the drive.

‘You shoot upstairs and hide in the shower,’ offered Kate. ‘I’ll field Granny.’

‘I can’t do that,’ said Eilish, as she got to her feet. ‘He’s her son. I can’t imagine what that would be like. I hate to think, if Simon turned out to be . . . I have to face her, and she
has to face me. It won’t be the first time she’s seen me in my nightie.’

Meg pulled on the handbrake and almost fell out of the car. She wasn’t her usual sprightly self.

‘Kate, love,’ she cried. Shock was spilling from her in a breathless rush of words. ‘Oh, my poor girl. Such a terrible thing, Eilish, such a terrible thing. I could tell things were in a mess, but this is . . . Oh, you poor girls.’

‘Come inside,’ said Eilish. ‘There’s a wind getting up.’

The yellow roses were hanging their heads. Meg sank into a chair while Eilish drooped against the kitchen counter. Kate felt rattled. These two women were the unshakable ones of her childhood. They weren’t allowed to fall apart! Tea, she thought, and reached for another mug. A nice strong cup of workman’s for Granny, with extra sugar; that’s what she used to dish out when I was upset.

She was dropping a teabag into the bin when a flash of red and yellow caught her eye. She looked closer, saw what it was, and wanted to cry. She’d solved the mystery of the whereabouts of her parents’ special coffee cups. Not cups anymore, though. Just a pile of broken rubbish. She reached in, retrieved the largest piece and slipped it into the pocket of her sweatshirt. A memento; a jaunty souvenir of normality before everything was smashed.

‘Luke told me you found some of his secret things,’ Meg was saying. ‘Must have been terrible.’

‘It was so . . .’ Eilish shuddered. ‘Meg, you have no idea.’

The older woman looked away, out into the garden. She sipped her tea. Then she said quietly, ‘That’s where you’re wrong.’

Kate and Eilish both stared at her.

Eilish spoke first. ‘You mean . . . sorry, Meg. I must have misunderstood. You don’t mean to imply that you
knew
?’

‘I hoped he’d changed.’

‘No, Granny!’ Kate felt bewildered. ‘No, no. You can’t have known he was like this. You would have said. You would have warned us, wouldn’t you?’

Meg seemed to shrink into herself. ‘It isn’t as easy as that. These things aren’t cut-and-dried. I only had the one boy, remember. Just the one. Just my Luke.’

Kate felt the ground shift under her feet, and abruptly sat down. A gust of wind shook the folding doors. She had a vague idea that she ought to get up and close them.

‘He never wanted to be a boy,’ Meg was saying. ‘Two years old, he wasn’t like other boys. He just wasn’t. If we went shopping he always headed straight for the girls’ department. He used to love the pink princess clothes.’

‘I’ve
never
dressed up as a princess,’ protested Kate.

‘True, love. True. But you had a choice, you see? You could’ve if you’d wanted. And it was all my Luke ever wanted. One time I lost sight of him in a department store, and when I found him he’d got a basket. That basket was almost as big as he was, and it was so full he could hardly carry it. He’d put in a ballet dress and a diamond tiara and a wand. He was overjoyed with it all; I remember his face was one great smile. It’s just about the happiest I’ve ever seen him in his life. And you know what I did?’ Meg was very close to tears. She had to stop and swallow more tea.

‘It’s okay,’ said Kate, wanting to comfort her. ‘Don’t worry, Granny.’

‘I smacked his bottom! I was so frightened, you see? Can you see that? I snatched his precious basket out of his hands and I dragged him out of that shop by one arm. His little heart broke. He wailed all the way home. He begged me please please
please
could he have the tiara for his birthday. He was turning three. He didn’t want anything else, just that.’

‘I suppose you didn’t get it for him?’ asked Kate.

‘How could I? We gave him a cricket bat. He cried again when he saw that bloody thing. I sent him to nursery school because I hoped he’d play with the other boys and be, you know, normal—but it backfired, because he was one of the girls, played dress-ups and dolls. They accepted him without question,
especially Janey. D’you know her, Eilish? Janey Patton, that was. She’s Janey Jamieson now. I think she was at your wedding.’

‘I’ve a vague memory,’ said Eilish. ‘We get a Christmas card from her every year.’

‘In those days, Janey and Luke could have been twins, wouldn’t be parted for the world. He was hardly out of nappies, but he was always borrowing her sparkly clips and putting them in his own hair. And if he got the chance at home, he’d go into Wendy’s room and dress up in her things.’

‘He told me about that,’ said Kate.

‘Did he? He remembers, then. When I growled at him he looked all confused. He used to say . . . he used to . . . Oh dear, I’m blubbing again. I’ve been blubbing since he told me, it’s all so . . .’ Meg pressed her knuckle to her mouth. ‘He said to me, “But I want to look
pretty
.”’

That last word was too much for her, and it turned into a sob.

‘Shh, Granny. Don’t cry. It’s all right,’ Kate begged, anxiously rubbing her grandmother’s arm.

‘It’s not all right, love. It’s not. It’s not.’ Meg pulled a tissue from her pocket and mopped her eyes. ‘Gail kept saying he was a little freak. But he wasn’t a little freak. He was my son, and I loved him. Anyway, what was I meant to do? I’d never in my whole life heard of such things! I’d have believed in mermaids before I believed in boys who were really girls.’

‘Didn’t other people notice, though?’ asked Eilish. ‘What about the nursery school?’

‘“It’s a passing phase, Mrs Livingstone.”’ Meg imitated the singsong tones of some long-ago nursery teacher. ‘“He’s a bright wee fellow. He’ll start running around with toy guns and yelling ‘bang-bang-bang’ soon enough.”’

‘Did you believe them?’

‘I had to.’

‘And later—when he started real school?’

Meg shook her head. ‘He stopped trying to be a girl, but he also seemed to lose all his joy. I don’t think it ever really came
back. He became sort of colourless—that’s the only way I can describe it. He never smiled anymore. He wouldn’t talk to me about what was wrong; he wouldn’t talk to anyone. I was worried. That’s why . . . oh dear. I’d better go. I think I’ve said enough.’

‘Go on,’ prompted Eilish. Her face was chalk white. ‘We need to know. We need to understand.’

‘All right. Well . . .’ Meg took several breaths. ‘He had this den in the attic. And in the den he had a tuckbox. He kept it locked, but I found the key hidden among his socks. One day when he was about . . . fourteen? Yes, he was fourteen . . . I climbed up the ladder and I unlocked the box.’ Her mouth was shaking so much that she could hardly form the words. ‘I knew I shouldn’t. I knew I had no business prying, but I was so worried, and he used to look ashamed when he came down, like he’d been doing something dirty. I
hoped
for girlie mags. Girlie mags would’ve been just fine! Maybe cigarettes. Even a bottle of whisky.’