TAINTED LOVE Read online

  We drove straight home, which was a relief. Probably not about Gran then – Gran never came to our house.

  When we pulled up in the drive it was empty.

  ‘Where’s Dad?’

  ‘Playing golf.’

  Dad worked Monday to Friday, often ten hours a day. Came home, went out again to play squash or poker. At the weekends, golf, extra business meetings, car track days. He didn’t know what went on in our house – thought that was my mum’s domain. And that’s the way she liked it.

  ‘Put your bag down, Alicia,’ Mum said in the kitchen.

  ‘I’ll take it up to my room.’

  ‘No, just put it here for now. We’ve got something to show you.’

  When we were small and Emma was excited about something she used to hop from one foot to the other like she needed a wee. She was finding it hard to keep from doing that now. She was sort of lurching from side to side.

  ‘Come with us. Upstairs.’

  They both went ahead of me and turned left on the landing. Towards my room. I reached the top step and Mum’s hand was on my door handle.

  ‘Close your eyes, Alicia.’

  Emma was openly grinning now, right across her face like a split peach. I wanted to smack her hard with the back of my arm. I closed my eyes.

  ‘Da da!’ Mum sang.

  She flung the door open and I could hear it crash back against the wall, which meant my giant teddy wasn’t there where it should be. The giant teddy Dad gave me when I was three and he won it in a raffle at work.

  ‘Open your eyes now, Alicia.’

  I so did not want to look. I wanted to curl up and lie on the floor right there on the landing, with my lashes firmly glued to my cheeks in comforting blackness. I wanted to go to sleep and wake up to find this wasn’t happening.

  I opened my eyes.

  My room was completely transformed.

  All the furniture was new. There was a platform bed with a ladder up to it, covered in brand new bedding in purple and black. Underneath the bed was a squidgy sofa covered in black plastic and a long furry purple rug, There was a desk and a chair and a computer, and a set of drawers and cupboards in black with wiggly lines where there should have been straight ones. The walls had been painted a pale violet and the woodwork was silver. There was black carpet on the floor.

  I stood and stared at it. Mum and Emma were both looking at me. Mum thought I’d be pleased; Emma knew exactly what I’d think. They were both waiting for me to say something.

  ‘Where are my things?’ I said eventually.

  ‘We’ve got you new things,’ Mum said. ‘You’re nearly a teenager now, and I realised that all your things were kids things. Toys and kiddie books and all your old school books from primary school. Emma’s got rid of all her old stuff, and I realised that you needed new things now you’re at a new school. Emma helped me. We got rid of all the old junk, and we’ve got you a computer – with loads of games on – and some books for teenagers and school stuff as well. We went to IKEA and chose all this especially for you. Emma thought you’d like it.’

  ‘It’s a bit emo,’ Emma said, ‘like you.’

  I looked at her and I could see the lights dancing behind her eyes. This was her moment of triumph. She’d been waging a lets-wipe-Ali-off-the-face-of-the-planet campaign ever since I’d been rude enough to upset her equilibrium by being born, and now she’d finally won. This wasn’t my room. This was the slightly troublesome – but hey, let’s indulge her – younger sister’s room. This was a room for a cliché, not a person.

  I smiled at my mum.

  ‘Thanks Mum,’ I said.

  I didn’t go in. I walked back down the stairs and picked up my bag and went to Gran’s house.

  Gran couldn’t do anything of course. She had no say in our house, and all my stuff had gone to the tip anyway. But she put her arm around me and let me cry, and understood when I told her how I always said goodnight to my giant teddy and I’d missed him while I was on the trip, and now he was gone and I didn’t even get to say goodbye.

  I didn’t want to go home, ever. But Gran told me that I’d have to. That until I was sixteen Mum and Dad were my legal guardians and that was my home, and that even if they let her, she couldn’t have me come and live with her, because she was finding things harder these days, and she wasn’t up to taking care of another person as well as herself. I didn’t want to hear any of this, especially the last part. Gran gave me a glass of milk and some chocolate cookies, and then she disappeared upstairs.

  When she came back down she gave me the ring. It was her engagement ring and she hadn’t been able to wear it for years because her knuckles had got too big. She said it was for me, something to keep as my very own. I didn’t have to tell anyone about it and, although it wouldn’t replace the giant teddy, she hoped it would help me feel better.

  I held it in the palm of my hand and hugged her tight until she said I was hurting her and I had to let go.

  I pulled the thong out from under my shirt and held the ring out to show Sally.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ she said.

  We were having a cup of tea in the kitchen before going back out to work in the garden. Sally had given me some jobs to do.

  ‘I’ve got an engagement ring,’ she said, ‘but mine has rubies.’

  I looked at her hands holding the mug of tea and saw she was wearing a wedding ring, though it looked like it was made of silver, not gold.

  She saw where I was looking and stretched her hand out in front of her, spreading her fingers and moving the finger with the silver ring.

  ‘Yes, I was married,’ she said, although I hadn’t asked her. ‘My husband left me seventeen years ago. He went to live with my sister, Cassie.’

  She said it matter of factly, like she was talking about the weather or something, but her hand was shaking a bit.

  ‘Bitch from hell.’ She said this so quietly that I wasn’t even sure if I heard it right. I looked at her face and it was really still, her eyes focused on her held out hand.

  Then she looked up and smiled, lifted her mug and swallowed the last of her tea.

  ‘Shall we get back to work?’ she said.

  Sally had a patch planted with carrots and beetroot which were ready to dig up. She wanted me get them out then dig the ground over ready to sow a crop of winter lettuce as green manure.

  I nearly asked her what the fuck she meant, but I didn’t know if I could be bothered with the answer, so I just got the spade and started digging round the carrot plants.

  She didn’t show me how. She’d gone off to another part of the garden to do something else. I’d never done any gardening before. The first time I put the spade in too close and sliced straight through a carrot. Next one I dug a bit further away and a great clod of earth came up. I could see the carrots there in the soil, but they’d got dirt all around them. The orange finger shapes showing through the dirt made me feel a bit icky, so I dumped the whole clod on the side of the path and went to the next one.

  Soon there was a heap of earth and the ground had loads of holes in it. I wasn’t sure I was doing it right, but I carried on anyway. There were worms in the soil, and other creatures. Long black slidey things with millions of legs, fat white slugs, red ants, woodlice. I’ve never been scared of creepy crawlies – not like Emma, who would scream the house down if she ever saw a spider – but these weird things suddenly appearing in the soil made me feel strange. Like there was this whole world of life just there in the ground, right next to my feet, which I don’t normally see. The digging was disturbing it, bringing it to the surface and I didn’t like it very much.

  When I got to the end of the row I leaned on the spade and looked up. The garden sloped up behind the house, and from here you could see over the roof and across the valley. On the other side there were woods about halfway up, then bare land. Not fi
elds with cows or anything, but brown land with rocks here and there and nothing on it. I supposed it was the moors.

  Along the side of the carrot patch there were apple trees. I looked at them to see if they were good for climbing. I’ve always loved climbing trees. They’re great for hiding in. People never seem to look up so, even if the leaves don’t completely hide you, they hardly ever notice you’re there.

  It was Emma’s twelfth birthday and she’d had a party. She and most of the girls in her class had been bowling, then they’d come back to our house and hung around having milkshakes and cake and putting on make up. I’d been at Gran’s earlier but she’d had to go out, and when I got back there were still some of them hanging around so I went out to the garden with a book and climbed my favourite pear tree.

  I was nearly at the end of the book when I heard Mum and Emma.

  ‘Have they all gone now, love?’

  ‘Yeah. Sophie’s dad just came for her.’

  I looked down through the branches. Mum was collecting up things that had been left in the garden – empty ice-cream bowls and glasses, sweet wrappers. I’m sure if I’d left stuff like that in the garden I’d have been in trouble. Emma was bending over backwards, her blonde hair hanging down to the ground, her hands holding the back of her calves. She was good at gymnastics.

  ‘Mum.’ She walked her hands up her legs and back to standing.

  ‘Yes love?’

  ‘Did you see what Gran gave me for my birthday?’

  I’d been there when she opened it at breakfast time. It was a book of traditional Yorkshire recipes. Gran had written inside it that she hoped Emma would enjoy making some of the things she used to eat as a girl, and how it was good to keep the old traditions alive. Emma was not impressed. She’d flung it aside and grabbed the next present on the pile.

  My mum sighed and put the things she was carrying on the garden table.

  ‘Your gran’s lonely here, love. She misses her friends and she misses Yorkshire. She lived there all her life until she moved here, you know.’

  ‘Why did she move here then?’

  ‘To be near us. We’re her family. I sometimes wish she hadn’t. It was easier when she was further away: we could visit her on our own terms then, rather than feeling we have to include her all the time.’

  ‘Do you miss Yorkshire?’

  ‘God no! I never felt at home there. This is my place. Yorkshire’s your gran’s and maybe she should have stayed, but seeing as she’s here we have to make the best of it. Perhaps you could make something from that book for her one day.’

  Emma snorted and threw herself forward into a handstand, walked a few steps, then flipped gracefully over into a crab.

  ‘Do you think Ali would like Yorkshire?’

  My mum considered this for a moment.

  ‘Probably. She’s a lot like your gran. Strange, really. I can’t see any of me or your dad in her.’

  They went in after that but I stayed in the tree, thinking. I wished I could make something for Gran from the book, but it was Emma’s book so I’d never even be allowed to look at it. I knew what Mum meant about not belonging, but I’d just thought that was life. It hadn’t occurred to me that there might be somewhere I did fit in. I wondered if I could get Gran to take me to Yorkshire.

  A tree seemed like the natural place for a hideout. After they’d shut the door in my face I scanned the road, walked up and down for a bit. There were trees planted all along the pavement. The colours were thinking about turning, but they hadn’t started properly yet and the trees still had loads of leaves. The problem was, they had been pruned so the branches didn’t start until quite high up the trunk, and there was no way I could shin up without someone noticing me.

  Opposite there was a place set back from the road – a square building like a low block of flats. There was a car park at the front, and a wall around it with iron gates. The sign on the gates said Restview Residential. I did a bit of a recce. There was no one about. The wall was about four feet high, and a couple of the trees from the street had branches that reached right over. It seemed like the best bet.

  I pushed one of the gates and it swung open. I closed it quietly behind me and made my way along the edge of the wall to the furthest tree. The trickiest bit was getting onto the wall. Four feet doesn’t sound that high, but there wasn’t much of a toehold between the bricks. It was a case of pulling myself up with my hands and making sure the momentum didn’t send me hurtling over the other side. Effort versus balance. But I was soon up, and I used the branches of the tree to steady myself as I got up on my feet. I looked back at Restview Residential. There was an old guy standing in one of the windows watching me. He didn’t look too bothered. I smiled and waved at him and he waved back.

  After that it was easy. Me and trees, we’re old friends. Through the branches on the other side I had a great view of the front of the house. And surrounded by leaves, eight foot up in the air, there’s no way anyone was going to spot me.

  I didn’t have to wait long, either. It was only about half an hour before the woman came out, still wearing the grey trousers and navy jumper, now with a matching grey jacket. She clicked the car remote and a black Mini on the kerb flashed into life. Before she got into it the man rushed out of the flat after her. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but I could tell that they weren’t in agreement.

  It seemed like he was pleading, or coaxing, or at least asking for something. She turned and snapped at him angrily, then he became angry too. Because they were out in the street they were trying to keep their voices down, but their body language told me all I needed to know.

  She got into her car and drove away and he went back inside. As he walked through the door he lifted his hands to his head as though he was pulling at his hair and I nearly laughed. Five minutes later he came out with a jacket on and carrying a briefcase. He paused for a moment in the open doorway and looked back. Then he slammed the door, got into a red Nissan and drove off.

  I waited ten minutes, then jumped down from the tree and headed back into town.

  7. Lauren

  The day had been humid and at about four o’clock there was a fully fledged downpour, the sort that makes you want to dance in the grass and soaks you to the skin in seconds. It rained like that for about an hour and then it stopped, and I asked if I could go and play with Peter. Dad was upstairs marking and Mr Lion said yes, so I went into the woods and all the plants were singing together, like a choir, but they were so excited that some of them kept going off on their own melodies, screeching with exuberance. I sat on the stone waiting for Peter, and by the time he arrived I was crying with laughter.

  He said, ‘What’s funny?’

  ‘Listen,’ I said, ‘The Himalayan balsam’s completely out of tune.’

  He looked strangely at me.

  ‘Can’t you hear it?’ I asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘They’re so funny,’ I said, ‘and so loud. You must be able to.’

  ‘Lauren, plants don’t make a noise, no one can hear them.’

  ‘But they do, they’re always telling me things.’

  I looked at his face then and knew he was telling the truth. We both looked at his goat legs and we held hands. I think we must have been about seven.

  I opened my eyes and closed them again. It wasn’t light, not properly. Why was I even awake? My alarm wasn’t set to go off for ages and I never wake up before the alarm. I turned over and curled around my pillow, pulled the covers up over my ears.

  Then I opened my eyes again and sat up. There was a noise. I sat still and listened. The house was silent now. Maybe Beauty was moving around downstairs – but that didn’t usually wake me.

  It came again, and now that I was awake and paying attention I could tell what it was. Someone was throwing gravel at my window. I pulled back the curtains and looked out. It w
as grey and misty and the sun wasn’t up yet.

  I opened the window and leaned out.

  ‘Peter?’

  His face was turned towards me and I could just make out that he was smiling.

  ‘Get dressed and come down,’ he called in a loud whisper. ‘We’re going for a walk.’

  The dawn air coming through the window was freezing against my bed-warm skin and I could feel the seductive draw of the duvet.

  ‘I’ll wait at the front,’ Peter called, and then he disappeared. I took a deep breath and the air that came into my lungs was damp with mist. The plants sighed and settled. I wondered how long he’d wait if I didn’t appear, whether he’d come back and throw more gravel.

  Five minutes later I was shivering at the front of our house in jeans and anorak. Peter threw his arm around my shoulders and kissed me. He wasn’t wearing anything.

  ‘Aren’t you cold?’ I shrugged up against him. He didn’t feel cold. His skin was warm and damp with sweat.

  He took my hand and set off along the street pulling me after him.

  ‘Me and Dad have been up all night,’ he said. ‘He’s off to Greece later today to stay with Mum. We ran up to the Dales and only just got back.’

  They do that sometimes, go night-running. They can run for miles with their strong hind legs, and they cover ridiculous distances. I’ve asked once or twice if I can go with them but, although they smile and say maybe, I know I can’t. Not the way they do it. There’s no way I’d be able to keep up.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Just to the woods.’

  We went in through the bottom path and the mist was even thicker. I could see Peter next to me, but beyond him the trees were dark shapes looming and fading. They were silent.