Read Bad Mothers United Online
Authors: Kate Long
I turned the taps on full and stared out the window at the back lawn. It was raining hard, water streaming off the coal-shed roof and puddling in the broken flags by the downspout. It had been
pouring down the day Steve came home. I’d had to go out with an umbrella and hold it over his chair as they wheeled him in. But at least you know where you are with rain. It’s a known
factor, it’s not storing up any kind of disappointment for later. Rain doesn’t show up the smears on your glass or the dust on your furniture the way sunshine does. I watched the garden
spring and quiver greedily under the onslaught. At the far end of the lawn was the new row of larch lap fence panels I’d made Eric install before he left: that had been one of my
conditions.
‘I didna start off meaning to do it,’ he’d said, finally collaring me as I wheeled the bins out through the ginnel.
‘I don’t want to hear, Eric, I’ve told you. Go away.’
But he just carried on. ‘Maria really did leave me, I really had no idea where she was. That was why I moved. Then she decided to come back. Only by then she was set up, y’ken
– she’d got her own flat and she was claiming housing benefit and council tax and Job Seekers’ Allowance. We sat down and worked out how much we’d lose if we told the social
she’d moved in again, and we realised we just couldna manage. No way. But she’s Kenzie’s mum. I wasna going to shut the door on her.’
‘So she’d arrive after dark.’
‘And leave early.’
‘Not the morning I came round.’
‘She’d slept in that day.’
‘Nice for some! And she always came and went through the back, didn’t she? Across my fence.’ So bloody obvious now what was going on, but I suppose you don’t see what you
don’t want to see.
‘Not every night, Karen. A few times a week. But they call that living together and they take your benefits. They have these vans, hidden cameras. They go through your bins. They watch
your house. She had to park on Pinfold Lane and walk round. Because everyone’s a spy, y’ken. You’d be amazed how many busybodies are queuing up to report you.’
I could have smacked him for his self-righteousness. ‘Is it any wonder?’
‘Ach, come on. You know what it’s like trying to cover the bills, all these demands coming through the letterbox and kiddies to clothe and feed. I thought you’d understand.
Everyone cheats a bit where they can. Bit of cash-in-hand here and there. It’s not the crime of the century.’
The smell of something rotting rose up from the bin, and I gripped the handle tightly with both hands.
‘I’d say you’ve been a sight more organised about it than that, Eric. Do you know how hard I’ve had to fight to claim the Disability Living Allowance we genuinely need
and are entitled to? I’ve had to jump through bloody hoops while people like you are ripping off the system. Entangling me in your lies, how dare you! How could you spin me all those lines
about being on your own, a single parent? Bloody hell, I bet there wasn’t even a Little Beavers nursery. You were dropping Kenzie off at hers, weren’t you? Don’t bother trying to
deny it. In fact, why did you ever need me to babysit?’
‘Because sometimes a job came in and it was short notice. And sometimes she was out—’
‘Working?’
He said nothing.
‘While she claims JSA? How many scams have you got going, Eric?’
‘I’m just trying to scrape by, like you.’
‘No, not like me! Good God. Apart from anything else, I would never take advantage of a friend the way you did. What a very low opinion of me you must’ve had, using me as your
stooge. And I was stupid enough to think—’
Think what? That he’d had feelings for me? Most likely he just couldn’t resist exercising his own charm.
‘I told you, it wasna like that. I really admire you, Karen. You’ve been a pal.’
‘Personal information I shared with you. Really personal.’
‘I know, and I tried to help. I did help, didn’t I?’
That I couldn’t bring myself to answer.
‘Karen, I’m no’ a bad man. I just backed myself intae a corner.’
‘I’ll put you in a bloody corner,’ I said, ramming the bin in his direction so he had to jump aside.
I began to trundle it down to the entrance, but he ran after me. ‘Please don’t report us. I’m begging you. Think of Kenzie. Me and his mum, we could go to prison.’
‘Don’t be so dramatic.’
‘We could. They bang people up for fiddling benefits. Especially if it’s not your first offence.’
There was genuine fear in his voice. I thought, He’s right, I hate what they’re doing, but I don’t want to be responsible for separating either of them from their child.
I halted the bin and turned to face him.
‘OK, right. I am thinking of Kenzie here, because somebody needs to. Straighten yourselves out – I’m not asking, I’m telling. Move Maria back in if that’s what you
want, but then you go speak to the DSS, adjust your finances, and give that lad a chance to settle in a normal, open atmosphere. No lies, no secrets. I don’t know exactly what you’ve
told him; he knows something’s odd in the way the house works but he doesn’t understand what and he’s terrified to speak in case he lets something slip that he shouldn’t.
He’s at school now, with all the pressures that brings, and it’s not fair. You’re the adults, you take responsibility. I’ll not stand by and see a child suffer.’
‘Ach, Kenzie’s not doing so bad. Children are very adaptable.’
‘And that’s one of the biggest lies going. I won’t say it again, Eric. Put yourself on the level or I will report you.’
He was trying to keep his body language casual but his face had gone pale.
‘Ok, I’ll deal with it, Karen, I swear.’
‘You’d better.’
I’d left him leaning against the entry wall, looking shell-shocked. He could tell I wasn’t bluffing.
Two days later they did a midnight flit. God knows where they’d gone to this time.
Now the house stood empty again, the grass lapping at the doorstep and the windows blank. As soon as I realised they’d left, I went round and superglued the cat-flap shut, to prevent any
more Pringle episodes. At least there was nothing for me to explain to Charlotte and Steve. Eric was just gone, full stop. I thought how far I’d come since the day I tried to give Mr Cottle
his windmill back, how many areas of my life had changed. Steve home, Mum quiet in my mind. No more Daniel. Things I’d never have believed, for better or worse. Every day some shift, some
adjustment, even if it was only Will learning how to get the lid off the biscuit barrel himself, or Charlotte running me a bath without being asked because she thought I looked tired.
I could hear her now, giggling with her dad over some daft tale in the paper. Late last night, on her way to bed, she’d paused in the doorway and said, ‘I wonder if we’re one
of those families who need a crisis to work properly?’ And Steve had laughed and I went, ‘For God’s sake, don’t say that, Charlotte.’
She could have been right, though. To be honest, I was too knackered to tell.
I had intended to drive – drive! – to nursery to pick up Will, but the rain slackened off and Dad started getting tetchy and tired and Mum said we should have a
walk, give him some space.
‘He has his mobile in an emergency,’ she said. ‘But really he needs his painkillers to kick in and a nap. He had a bad night.’
She’d put on one of Nan’s plastic rain-hoods. I thought she looked hilarious.
‘Blimey. It’ll be a Pac-a-Mac next. You’re turning into your mother.’
‘There are worse ways to go,’ she said crisply.
I didn’t know whether she meant that I should be happy to grow like her in my old age, or she was happy to become Nan. Then I thought, Isn’t it fantastic she just assumes
that’s where she’s headed, how it never crosses her mind to consider the influence of that other mother, the one she doesn’t know and who we must never mention. I’d
studied Mum, really studied her since my trip to London, and there was nothing of Jessie in her that I could see other than the colour of her eyes, an arch to the brow. Nothing that mattered.
Some nights I still had dreams about that tatty flat, about the little girl Emma, and sometimes in the dream I was trapped in a room and sometimes Jessie was crying and sorry. Then the next
morning my head would be so full I felt ready to burst with the memory. I knew I’d never breathe a word, though. How much of genuine love rests in the words you hold back as the ones you
speak.
I felt so protective of Mum as we turned onto Church Street that I almost put my arm through hers. I didn’t, though, because then she’d have asked what was up and I’d have
had to fib or come out with something soppy. We traipsed past Spar and the butcher’s and the beauty clinic and the library. It started to rain again, thick blobby drops on the verge of
sleet.
Mum suddenly said, ‘Will you be coming back to Bank Top when your degree’s over?’
I laughed because that same question had just been forming again in my own mind. Probably it was the walking past the library that had sparked a bit of nostalgia in both of us. I’d spent
half my life in there as a kid.
‘Well, will you?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘I haven’t liked to ask much because you’ve been that distracted. I suppose you’ve had a lot to deal with lately. But you do need to be thinking about it
now.’
‘I do think about it. All the time.’
‘And?’
‘Oh, useless. I get nowhere. Everyone’s been telling me how to run my life for so long, and now it’s “Right, Charlotte, over to you”. But I seem to have lost the
ability to make decisions. I’ve absolutely no idea what I want to do in the future. I can’t
see
it.’
‘Come on, Charlotte, you must have some clue. What made you choose an English degree?’
‘I think you chose it for me.’
She turned, ready to be indignant. Then she saw I was smiling. ‘Cheeky madam. What does your tutor say?’
‘I’ve not asked him. He can’t solve all my problems for me. I’ve been to the Careers Department, though, had a look at their profiling stuff.’
‘And?’
‘Nothing sounds right.’
‘You always told me the beauty of English as a subject was that it could take you anywhere.’
‘Perhaps that’s the trouble. Too much choice.’
We passed the Health Centre and the council offices.
‘Actually,’ I said, ‘the real issue is, I’m petrified. It’s so scary, stepping out into the real world. All the things you have to manage, and how
do
people manage? Is there some kind of class you can go to, to learn things like mortgages and pensions and tax codes and how to get your car serviced? I just don’t feel ready for any of it.
I know it’s pathetic of me.’
I waited for the lecture I was sure was coming.
Don’t be ridiculous, Charlotte. You’re twenty-one, that
is
grown-up. You’ve a university education behind you,
which is more than I ever had. You’ve savings in the bank, a driving licence, the world’s at your feet. Buck up.
Instead she said nothing, only frowned and pulled the strings on her rain-hood loose, re-tying them tighter in the face of the sleet. Then she said, ‘Well, I’ll let you into a
secret: it is scary. It’s always scary, and that never stops, no matter how old you are. There’s no magic age where you’re finally on top of everything and in control. You think
I
know what I’m doing, day-to-day? I race about, trying to look as if I have a clue. Sometimes I feel like a pinball pinging round the place. At night I lie awake worrying and
making lists. And honestly, the only way through is to get on with things. Pretend to yourself and everyone else that you’re coping, and then somehow you do. But it’s a scramble. I
might be heading towards forty but there are moments I still want just to turn to your nan and ask her to sort it out for me.’
This time I did reach across and squeeze her arm. ‘Oh, Mum.’
‘Now Nan was a good mother.’
‘Don’t say it like that.’
‘Like what?’
‘As if we aren’t.’
Mum snorted. ‘Pff. You’ve called my maternal skills into question on a few occasions, if I remember rightly. Oh, yes, you have, don’t look like that. At least I’ve
tried to put things right. Every mother makes mistakes, we’re all failed mothers, to some degree or other. The minute your child’s born you join the club. Because there’s always
something you shouldn’t have said, or something you should, an innocent decision that leaves its little scar. Life’s too random for that never to happen. But it seems to me the best
mums are the ones who admit when they go wrong and attempt to make amends. I have tried to do that, Charlotte, however it’s come across to you.’
‘I know.’
She stopped and stared at me, her eyes searching mine. Wet hair clung to my cheeks and my nose was moist with the cold.
‘It’s important you do, love, because one day all children turn round and call their parents to account. You might not believe me, but they do. And you need to have your answers
ready.’
She’ll be standing where I am in a decade or two. She thinks she won’t because she lets Will stay up late and she makes his socks talk to each other in funny voices
and she sticks spaghetti-hoop eyes on his mashed potato, everything for fun. She’s so determined he’s going to be 100 per cent happy. But wait till he’s on her hands full-time and
she’s forced to lay down some serious rules. Then there’ll be tears. Sometimes you have to let your child hate you a bit, even if it breaks your heart.
The sleet was piling down now and I began sneaking sideways glances at the rain-hood. Shoddy as Mum was, at least she was dry. That’s one advantage of getting old, of
course: you don’t have to bother what you look like any more. I thought that might be quite nice in some ways. Let yourself go, stop worrying about boyfriends and stuff, a whole layer of
hassle peeled away. My thoughts flashed onto Walshy for a moment, and I sighed. Why had I ever let myself get tangled up in that daft business? It was time on my own I needed, get my head
straight, not Walsh-minding and general foolery. So there would be that to dismantle at some point. Further joy on the horizon.
We turned onto the lane leading to nursery. It was slightly more sheltered here if you kept close to the terraced houses. Mum moved in front of me to keep off the worst of the sleet, and I
lowered my head and forged on. The next thing I knew, I’d run straight into her. She’d stopped without warning under someone’s porch.
‘Listen,’ she said. ‘I need to ask you—’
‘Eh?’
‘While we’re on our own. While you’re pleasant.’
‘For God’s sake, Mum. What?’
‘Don’t get stroppy with me, but I have to know. Is it completely over with Daniel?’
That very nearly floored me.
She said, ‘I think I know the answer, but I need to hear it, then I can put it to bed. It’s just, I was so fond of him. He was like family. And then to drop away like that. Would
you not at least consider taking him back?’
I leaned against the pock-marked bricks while I tried to gather my thoughts.
‘I don’t want to talk about it. You’ll just be angry.’
‘No, Charlotte, I promise I won’t. One thing your dad’s accident’s taught me is what’s worth getting wound up about and what isn’t. So tell me, please.
I’m not judging, only listening. Is there any chance we’ll be seeing Daniel again? I’d like to have said goodbye.’
‘It’s not up to me,’ I said at last.
‘What do you mean?’
‘
He
finished with
me
.’
Now it was her turn to gape. ‘Never.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘But he thinks the world of you!’
‘I know.’
‘Whatever did you do to him?’
Straight away it was on the tip of my tongue to come back with,
See, here you go, all ready to pin the blame.
But as the grey flakes whirled around us, cocooning us in that one dry
spot, I found I wanted to get it all out. Tell her and have done.
‘Daniel said I wasn’t interested enough in him.’
Mum’s eyes widened.
‘He said the bottom line was he loved me more than I loved him, and he’d realised it was always going to be that way and he needed to get out now before he got hurt any more
deeply.’ I couldn’t meet her gaze. ‘He said I should have made the time to meet his friends and be nicer to his mum and ask him more about his Manchester life. Plus there was
this girl from his department buzzing round him, sucking up to Mrs Gale, asking him to various social events and generally hanging on his every word. I don’t think he fancied her exactly,
but he must have felt it, the way she paid him so much attention while I was all wrapped up in my own stuff. He might even be going out with her now I’m off the scene. She seemed pretty
persistent.’
Again I saw that photocopied image from the
Twenty-First Century Rocks
booklet, Amelia’s glossy hair and bright, clear smile.
I said, ‘I tried to make him give it another go, I really did. I promised I’d see his uni friends, make more of an effort there. I said I’d be more tolerant of his mum, even
though she patently hates my guts. It wasn’t any use. He just wasn’t having it.’
‘Was there – a boy in York?’ Mum ventured. I could see she was genuinely keyed up, so again I didn’t snap, I didn’t blurt out anything smart.
‘Not one that split us up. It’s true I’ve dated someone since, but he’s nothing, which is why I haven’t told you about him. He’s keen on me but he’s
not interested in Will. Obviously that’s going nowhere.’
‘So you’re going to finish that?’
‘I am.’
‘It’s not the boy who you’re renting off, is it?’
‘Mmm.’
‘Oh, Charlotte. Will he not throw you out on the street?’
That made me laugh. ‘No, course he won’t. Good grief, Mum. He’ll just go, “Ah well, fun while it lasted,” and move on. That’s what he does. I bet
he’ll have another girlfriend lined up before you can say Millennium Dome.’
‘I hope you’re right.’ Then she said carefully, ‘I do think sometimes you were quite snippy with Daniel.’
I nodded sadly.
‘I know I was. I could hear myself. The trouble is, I’ve just not felt as close to him this year. I feel like I’ve changed but he hasn’t. Because, I know he cares about
Will, but basically his life’s carried on being more or less the same, an ordinary student life, while mine seems more and more laden down. I find it hard to relax the way he does. So,
like, he tends to witter on about ordinary student things, which is OK except sometimes when I’ve a lot on my mind I can’t be doing with how trivial he sounds. You know what
he’s like, you know the type of freakiness that fires him up. Super-size bacteria and bioluminescent mice. Nothing relevant. It’s tiring, I don’t always want to hear it. And
then I get fed up with him because I think, How does any of this matter? And he thinks I’m being dismissive of
him
.’
She was frowning at me like someone working out a maths puzzle. ‘It’s put a lot of pressure on you, being away from home so much.’
‘I’ve
hated
it, Mum. It’s nearly done my head in. I know it had to be, and that it’s nearly over, but bloody hell, it’s been awful parting from Will each
time. Like wrenching off a limb. Nobody seemed to understand and you all assumed I was coping.’
Rain had pooled in the creases of Mum’s plastic hood, dribbling off in a defeated way onto her mac and leaving dark patches across her shoulders. For a moment I could see the old lady
she’d one day become, lined, stooped, confused by the world.
‘I thought we were doing all right. I did my best, with Will and that. I’ve really tried, Charlotte.’
‘I know.’
‘When you came home each time . . . I thought you were just being stroppy for the sake of it. You’ve not really said anything.’
‘What was there to say? You knew I hated leaving my son, no point repeating myself there. Plus you were so down over Nan. No, don’t – I’m not blaming you for that. I
miss her too.’ We stood and looked at each other while the sleet dropped around us in a steady curtain. ‘It’s just been a really shit year, Mum.’