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‘Maybe I learnt that with my real mum.’
‘Real Mum? Proper Kids?’ She smiles up at me, like I’m to know she’s not upset.
Flash of the image of my ‘real’ mum. Not the photo, but the hazy silhouette of a woman on a green settee in front of a plate-glass window. Dark wavy hair, pale moon face, big coat. That same face coming in and out as I was pushed on a swing. Back in my sub-memory before she died. It doesn’t fit the photo. I reach for my bag, wanting to check.
Why am I getting into this? I look at the time on my phone. Take a slow breath.
‘The point is, right, Ken’s kids haven’t been around. He said they like lost interest after he refused to buy his Council house. But they’ll probably show up now he’s dead and I want to get my stuff out first.’
I stare out at the weed infested patio, push-along car lying on its side. The Wendy house Dad built, faded swirls of his painted flower pattern. Empty bird feeder on the washing line pole. All so familiar, but like unreal. The colours too bright so soon after Ken’s death.
‘You’ll come back later, won’t you? Dad’s home soon, he’s been asking after you.’
‘Yeah, I’ll be back. See what new recipes he’s got up his sleeve?’ Picture him sweating the spices, not just Indian, but Chinese, Indonesian, whatever his latest craze, until he’s off and away again on some new dodgy scheme.
‘I don’t want him to know about Ken, right? Not yet anyway.’
She nods, leans to pull me into a hug. The simple thing of a hug from Mum. I can take that, I do. Inhale the smell of her sandalwood soap.
There’s a crash and screams from the living room. Mum pulls away, wiping her eyes as she rushes through.
Sandy’s looking at her watch as I arrive hot and sweating cobs.
‘Sorry, the bloody bus was twenty minutes late. Frigging hate buses.’ I wipe my face with my T shirt. Exposing tatty black lace bra.
‘Hey, don’t get me excited.’ Sandy’s cucumber crisp in her nurse’s tunic. Black hair braided tight round the sides of her head, like innocent Jamaican schoolgirl, for all she’s nearly fifty. I feel right manky beside her. Change of clothes could have been good.
First time I met her she was with that puffy old nurse who was all sniffing at the minging kitchen. Sandy was the one who properly got Ken. She visited on her own after that.
She fishes a letter out of her bag. ‘He insist I give you before they clear out the house.’
‘List of complaints?’ I study the envelope: TO JEZ written in wobbly capitals.
She smiles. ‘He was one grouchy ol’ bugger, but thought the world of you, turning up caring for him.’
‘I preferred him complaining. Maybe it’s genetic – I’m not one for getting right sentimental.’
Sandy looks at her watch again. ‘Got to go, darling. But I’m happy now I seen you. GP say his daughter been informed and she probably on her way from down south. You going to be OK, darling?’
Stomach lurches at the thought of the proper kids turning up. So not up for them finding me.
‘Do me a favour, Sandy? Don’t give anyone my number. I don’t want to be part of no family re-non-union. I’ll just grab my stuff, stash away the valuables!’
‘You be lucky!’ She laughs. ‘Well, I won’t say I seen you or nothing. What you planning now for yourself?’
‘Doss down at my mum’s? Wait for the next adventure?’
‘I hope it more joyful. God Bless, Jez.’
It’s minging unwashed clothes, burnt fat and stale fag smoke. One night away and I’m not used to it. The blind’s still drawn, the light dim. I avoid looking at the empty bed. Stick the kettle on and wash a mug. The room just as it was, but his absence like a layer of dust suffocating the life out of everything. I’m hardly breathing. The water stirring in the kettle is the only movement.
I take my coffee and sit at the table. The motorbike magazine where I left it. I can hear him ragging me about it – another life ago.
I open the letter, my movements slow, like someone else is making them. The handwriting is shaky and a weird mix of capitals and lower case. Tiny silver key taped to the corner.
Dear JEZ,
I’m not MUCH one for Words but you BEING HERE in my last Days. It Has meant a LOT to me. I’ve left You my treasure BOX under the Bed UPstairs. DON’T let on about IT, Just use it to ENJOY Yourself.
