‘I’ve been bored, stuck inside most of the week,’ she said, ‘so I’ve been going through a few of my outfits for you.’
She pulled out two hangers, both with complete outfits on them, and hung them on the handles.
‘This,’ she said, stroking the black top and matching narrow trousers, ‘is a bit Olivia Newton-John, but I think you’d look great in it.’
My mouth dropped open a little.
‘I can’t wear that, Denise. He’ll think I’m a… you know… a bit of a goer.’
‘Hmm. Do you reckon? Maybe you’re right. Don’t want you looking like you’re going to a fancy-dress party. The other one it is then. I’ll just visit the lav… for the hundredth time this evening.’
I took the dress off the hanger. I’d always loved it, and she knew that, and I felt teary that she let me borrow it. It looked exactly how I’d imagined it would on me. It was dark blue denim, with pale pink spaghetti straps that tied on each shoulder. It had a matching drawstring waist in a bow around the middle.
‘Oh, Erica,’ she said, as she waddled back into the room. ‘That looks lovely on you.’ She walked up to me and played around with my hair (not that there was much to play with). It was all blonde, then, and cut short, barely covering the top of my ears. It was so thick, it just went back in its place, even after Denise had covered it in hairspray. She shrugged. ‘Oh well, I tried. So when’s he picking you up?’
‘At eight. I’m meeting him outside the library.’
‘What on earth…? Why isn’t he picking you up from home? Your mother must want to meet him.’
‘I told her I was round here tonight. You don’t mind, do you? Only… I think she’ll worry too much about me and—’
‘It’s fine, it’s fine. I wondered how she’d let you out so easily.’ She kissed me on the cheek. ‘Now go and have a good time.’ She flopped onto the bed and lay on her back. All I could see was belly. ‘Tell me all about it tomorrow because I can’t remember what it’s like to have fun. I’m going to be miserable for years, I can tell,’ she said dramatically.
‘You’re going to be such a good mum, Denise.’
‘Yeah, I suppose.’
I did have a good time. He drove me to Blackpool and bought me a cone of chips. He didn’t even try to kiss me, which was good because I’d never kissed a lad before, even though I’d practised on my hand.
It was the first of many dates. He told me not to tell anyone we were courting. He said his mother wanted him to concentrate on the family business and didn’t want him out gallivanting. I knew that was rubbish, but I didn’t pry.
‘He’s probably married,’ Denise said when I wouldn’t answer her questions a few months later. Where does he work? Does my Jim know him? Does he have any brothers or sisters?
‘Do you really think I can get away with this pink lipstick?’ I said instead. Because I didn’t want to answer. I knew what I was doing was wrong, but it was exciting – a chance to escape my life – even if only for a few hours a week.
I told Mother that when I went out at night, I was working a late shift at the supermarket. She never thought to check, never thought I would lie to her face. She had no reason to doubt me – I’d always been a good girl in that sense.
The church door opens now, making me jump slightly on the hard seat. There’s a draught on the back of my neck. A woman in her eighties shuffles in.
I’d better be going anyway. Sitting in silence is bad for the soul sometimes – I don’t want to be dredging up the past. The devil finds work , and all that. I shift to the end of the pew and genuflect; some habits never leave.
‘Oh, Mrs McNally,’ says the priest, appearing from nowhere.
‘Sorry I’ve not been in for a few weeks, Father,’ she says. ‘My hip’s been playing up… and what with my cataracts… it’s been difficult to get around.’
‘Oh, we did miss you,’ says Father Peter. ‘I hope you’re feeling better now?’
What a jolly old liar he is – he thought she’d been absent for a couple of days. If God’s own servant can tell a porkie and not be struck down, then there’s hope for the rest of us.
It’s three o’clock by the time I turn on to my street. Mrs Eckersall from next door is outside cleaning her windows. So she’s not dead after all. I haven’t seen her in months. I’ve not seen anyone do their own in years. I can smell the vinegar she’s using on the newspaper and I’m a good thirty feet away.
I always think that avoiding someone’s eye will make me invisible, but it doesn’t today.
‘Good morning, Erica,’ she says, neither cheerfully nor unkindly.
I hold the key up to my front door, scanning it quickly. The sun has been on the door all morning, and I can smell the dog muck that must’ve worked deep into the cracks.
‘Morning,’ I say.
‘Nice to have a bit of sunshine.’
She’s stopped buffing her windows. I turn my head to face her.
‘Everything all right with you?’ she says.
‘Yes. Why? What have you heard?’
I drop my hand from the lock.
‘Nothing, dear,’ she says. ‘Nothing at all. I just worry about you sometimes. All the comings and goings from your house in the past few days. That girl I saw, the blonde one… I’m not used to hearing commotion from your side. It’ll be making you anxious, I expect. And I saw your Craig at the end of the street before.’
‘You don’t have to worry about me. Everything’s fine. We’re all fine.’
I rush into the house, leaning against the closed front door. I wish people would just mind their own business.
That conversation will replay in my head and I will think of a thousand sentences to improve the outcome. The trouble is, everyone around here knows my business and I don’t know theirs.
The house is silent.
‘Hello? Craig? Are you in?’
I look in the living room, in the dining room. Nothing.
Upstairs, the bathroom door is open, as is Craig’s bedroom door.
His bed hasn’t been slept in – the towel I put on there two days ago is lying at the same angle, untouched. The black bag remains under the radiator. The letters might still be in there.
Yes, they’re in the same place. I sit on his bed and take one from the middle.
1 January 2017
Hi Craig,
HNY!
Sorry about my late reply. You sent me that letter ages ago, but it’s been manic here and I haven’t been round to my dad’s in a while (you can guess why). Can’t wait till we can talk proper. Instead, I’ll just write about what’s happening round here.
Robyn in the bedroom next to mine sneaked a guy into her room last night. She put her chest of drawers against the door, but the guy must’ve been smoking pot or something because Franny McPhee said she could smell it from outside and almost broke the door down getting in. I don’t think they got up to much because Robyn was still in her high-waist jeans and corset top (must’ve been too much of a job for her bloke to get off. Esp. after the weed). Fran said she knew what Netflix and Chill means (whatever, that’s so 2015) and she should rethink her choice of outfits (and blokes) and said she’s not allowed to leave the premises for at least a week, but I can’t see that happening (‘premises’ lol). Banned her from Snapchat for a week, though. Harsh.
Jaden downstairs had his bedroom turned over by two dickheads (had Halloween masks on so the CCTV is useless). They took his hamster, which is well shitty because the kid’s only eight and he’s missing his fam. I think it might’ve got into the walls because I heard scuffling next to me last night. Freaked me out TBH. Thought it was Robyn’s pot-head boyfriend trying to get back into the ‘premises’ (who in their right mind would try to get in here?!).