Bad Mothers United Read online

  As though that’s supposed to cheer me up.

  Maybe it’s something he plans on asking me to do.

  I really must stop these birthday inventories. They’re much too disturbing.

  As we climbed up the stairs to Mrs Gale’s flat, I wondered what state she’d be in. Part of me hoped to catch her out, that we’d find her sprawled and raving with an empty bottle clasped to her chest. Then I could say it out loud: Your mum’s a drunk, Daniel. She’s a useless lush, see the state of her. And this is the woman who’s had the nerve to judge me over my life choices.

  But mostly I was hoping she’d be all right because then we could be in and out and on our way to Bank Top. I couldn’t stand for there to be any more delay. I had to be with my son.

  Rita must have been playing at top volume because when the door opened I was nearly blasted off my feet.

  ‘Oops, sorry,’ Mrs Gale mouthed over the din. She did this silly half-run across the room to turn off the stereo, then stood by the window with her thumbs in her jeans pockets, smiling at us. At Daniel, anyway. ‘I almost didn’t hear you knock. I was away with my music.’

  ‘No shit, Sherlock,’ I said under my breath. Dan shot me a warning frown.

  ‘Did you see I’d got you some more milk, darling? You were running low.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’

  ‘And I emptied your bin.’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘Fancy sharing a pizza tonight? You can choose the topping. We can go mad and have garlic bread, what do you say?’

  That’s another annoying thing about Mrs G: she’s developed this girlish manner, completely inappropriate for a woman her age. Since she split with Dr G she’s gone really thin and she’s grown her hair past shoulder-length and taken to wearing scarlet lipstick. Because she’s long-limbed she can almost get away with it, but it’s the body language that irritates me. Playful shrugging of the shoulders, flirty winks. It’s how you’d behave towards a boyfriend, not a son. With me she’s simply dead-eyed and flat.

  ‘Sounds good, Mum. Everything else OK?’

  ‘Fine.’ Brows well up, bright showgirl grin. No bottles of plonk hidden away behind my curtains, thank you.

  She had made the place smart, I’d give her that. According to Daniel, Dr G let her take all the furniture, whatever she wanted. I bet he reckoned it was worth it to get her out.

  ‘OK,’ said Daniel, adjusting his glasses. ‘Just wanted to check in. So, we’ll be off. Charlotte’s itching to give her mum her birthday present.’

  ‘And tonight’s a date,’ said Mrs Gale, coming forward to embrace her son. As I would have expected, there was no acknowledgement of my presence or concerns. I might not have even been in the room. Then: ‘Oh, while I remember, someone called Amelia came round.’

  Daniel’s face was turned away from me so I didn’t see his reaction. ‘Oh?’

  ‘To ask if you’d help with the concert. She said you’d spoken about it and you’d had some ideas.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘She says she has plans for you.’

  ‘OK. Like I said, we’d better get moving.’

  ‘She’s going to come and find you next week, in the lab.’

  There was this crackling charge going between us all. Got you there, madam, Mrs Gale flashed at me. You don’t know who Amelia is, do you?

  Well, I’m not giving you the satisfaction of asking, you old witch, I vibed back.

  Get me out of here, went Daniel.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, taking my arm and steering me to the door. ‘I’ll see you tonight, Mum. I’ll give you a ring when I’m setting off.’

  ‘I thought she seemed a really lovely girl,’ I heard Mrs Gale say as we closed the door on her.

  In the end I solved the frizzy hair problem by just tying it back and actually, it looked better. Will played on my bed with his Methods of Transport jigsaw while I did my make-up, took my time and went for the full works rather than the usual rush job. Then I slipped on my new dress, actually a cast-off from Leo’s girlfriend, but Alexon so I wasn’t going to say no.

  ‘What do you think?’ I asked my grandson. ‘Do I look nice today?’

  ‘Plane’s crashed,’ he said, flinging a jigsaw piece against the headboard.

  Pringle slunk past the doorway carrying something in his mouth.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, what have you caught?’ I shouted after him.

  ‘God’s sake,’ said Will.

  This is why I didn’t want a cat again: it’s the associated slaughter. Pauline from school once put her bare foot in her slipper and found half a shrew laid across the insole. And I remember years ago, when I was a little girl and we had Chalkie, coming down one morning and finding this rabbit unzipped on our back lawn, innards strewn right across the grass. Headless baby birds on the doorstep, we had, mutilated frogs. Mum used to fetch a shovel and newspaper and put them to rest while I hyperventilated in my bedroom.

  I dreaded what I was going to find this time. I’d assumed Pringle was too old to catch anything, but maybe he’d stumbled across something as sick and elderly as himself. I thought, Let it at least be dead. I really couldn’t cope with tiny heaving flanks.

  When I came out of the bedroom, the first thing I clocked was a trail of horrible skin-coloured flakes coming up the stairs and along the landing. ‘Pringle!’ I yelled sternly. As if he’d turn right round and come trotting up to me. I don’t think he even recognises his name. The only time Pringle shifts is when he hears the rattle of cat biscuits.

  I checked in Will’s room, then in Charlotte’s. Couldn’t see anything at first glance, but I could make out a hawking, huffing noise coming from under the bed. When I dropped to my hands and knees, Pringle was hunkered down between two cardboard boxes, bolting what looked like a child’s limb.

  ‘Drop!’ I commanded. He carried on chewing.

  ‘Naughty cat,’ said Will helpfully.

  I laid myself flat on the floor and stretched my arm out as far as it would go. Pringle edged away, out of reach. ‘Grandma needs a stick or something,’ I said, half to myself.

  I sat up and scanned the room, but without luck. Charlotte didn’t appear to keep a stock of cat-poking devices handy. In a temper I snatched at the long Indian scarf trimmed with stiff tassels and bells that she keeps draped over the headboard, dragged it onto the carpet alongside me, then flattened myself once more and attempted to flick the cat with the tasselled end. The first flick went nowhere near but the second clipped him on the nose. He stopped eating. I flicked again and his paw came out automatically and grabbed for the scarf. ‘It’s not a game,’ I told him, tugging crossly. Pringle’s eyes narrowed. Oh ho, Mrs Cooper, I think you’ll find it is. I gave another jerk. Quick as lightning he fastened both sets of claws into the fabric and rolled onto his side.

  ‘Right, my lad, I’ve got you now.’ I began to reel him in like a fish on a line. Like a fish he threshed about, twisting and writhing and gnawing at the little Indian bells – what would Charlotte say when she saw the state of her scarf – till I’d drawn him from under the bedframe. Then, the second he was out, he let go of the material and made a dash for the door.

  ‘Cat’s fast,’ said Will.

  ‘When he wants to be.’

  With the cat out of the way, I shoved the bed over a few inches and got back down on the floor. I patted about, straining my arm and shoulder muscles and trying not to breathe in the dust of ages. Or to panic, or imagine all the nasties Pringle might have dredged up. Mum would have just rolled up her sleeves and got stuck in without a second thought.

  Suddenly I made contact. My hand brushed something soft, squashy and cold, oddly crumbly. I took a deep breath, closed my fingers and drew the thing out, dreading what I was going to see.

  Will leaned forward, blocking my light. ‘Sossy roll, Grandma.’

  ‘Good grief, so it is.’

  I heaved myself upright. Clumps of pastry came away in a shower. It was one of those giant sausage rolls, half the le
ngth of Pringle’s body. He must have had to drag it up the stairs; I had an idea what state the kitchen and lounge would be in. I thought about Sylv urging catty-euthanasia, about Steve sawing a damn great square out of the bottom panel of our back door. Next time Pringle showed his pointy face I was going to grab him by the scruff, phone that damn niece and get her to take him back. Except I didn’t have her number. Hell.

  Will was prodding hopefully at the sausage roll. I snatched it away. ‘Eugh, dirty. This is going in the bin. Then we’ll wash our hands.’

  ‘Have a Kit Kat?’

  ‘After Grandma’s cleared up, all right?’ I looked at the mangled sausage roll.

  The doorbell rang.

  If this was Steve with some daft-bollocks present, he wasn’t coming in, I couldn’t be doing with him right now. It might be one of Mum’s old friends, Ivy or Maud, popped round with a box of Quality Street for me. Eh, your carpet’s a state, love. Do you want me to run t’Dustbuster over it for you? Or perhaps it was the owner of the sausage roll who’d followed the trail of crumbs to claim back his property. Obviously he’d be welcome to that.

  I peeked out of the bedroom window and saw a familiar balding head, big round paunch, denim jacket, steel toe-capped boots.

  ‘Postman?’ said Will.

  ‘No, not the postman. Someone else. We don’t have to answer the door.’

  At that moment, the balding head tilted and a pair of pale blue eyes met mine. A chubby hand waved.

  Sometimes the hardest part of childcare is the not-swearing.

  ‘So who is Amelia?’

  I’d managed to last till we were on the motorway.

  Daniel took his left hand off the steering wheel for a moment to straighten his glasses. ‘You know my mother’s just stirring.’

  ‘I do, yeah. Who is Amelia?’

  ‘A girl.’

  ‘And there was me thinking she was a big hairy bloke.’

  ‘She’s a student. Sometimes she works in my lab.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Nothing. That’s it. She’s organising a charity event, Twenty-First Century Rocks, and she’s trying to round up as many helpers as she can. She’s very enthusiastic. Goes on at you till you capitulate.’

  ‘Have you capitulated?’

  He laughed, and I thought I heard a slight awkwardness there. ‘I’ve said I’ll help sell tickets and do marketing, but I’m not taking part in any performance. I’m not the on-stage type.’

  ‘Unless they wanted a short lecture on microtubules, or whatever it was.’

  ‘Now there’s an idea. Microtubules the Musical. Do you think the world’s ready for sing-along-a-biochemistry?’

  ‘You may be ahead of your time.’

  I hugged the bag containing Mum’s jacket and thought about being with Will. His face at the window as we drew up, maybe. My scramble to get out of the car, running up the front path, leaning on the bell. His small solid body slamming into mine. He knew who his mum was.

  ‘Another twenty minutes and you’ll be there,’ said Daniel.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘How’s things at the house? How’s Gemma doing? Has Roz got over herself yet?’

  ‘Oh, that.’ I had to drag my mind back to student-world. ‘Well, sort of.’

  When I’d first told Roz about Gemma being gay, she’d seemed OK about it. Startled, yes, like I’d been, but I thought that was just because the news had come out of the blue. She too had wanted to know if there was a girlfriend on the scene, and if Gemma would be bringing her round. I said, ‘I’ve no idea. Why don’t you ask her?’ Roz had dissolved into a fit of giggles and put her hands over her face. ‘I couldn’t. I couldn’t!’ Then she said, ‘Imagine them on the sofa together.’ More giggles. She had been drinking.

  Then a few days later I’d walked in on her and Gemma having a Talk. Gemma was making toast and Roz had been standing by the sink looking sympathetic. ‘I was saying,’ Roz blurted out when she saw me, ‘how it doesn’t matter, the gay thing. If you want to, you know, date girls instead of boys, that’s your choice. It doesn’t matter to either of us. It’s fine.’

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ said Gemma.

  ‘Because at the end of the day, we’re your friends.’ And without any warning, Roz had launched herself at Gemma and given her a huge dramatic hug, Gemma mouthing, Get her off me. I was about to act when the toast popped up and broke the moment. Roz loosened her hold and I went, ‘Is that your phone?’ which sent her scuttling off. Ten seconds after that, Walshy flounced into the kitchen, smirking.

  ‘I want you to know, Gemma,’ he said in a silly high voice, ‘that if you choose to put peanut butter on your bread instead of jam, that’s fine. Not everyone likes jam, and it’s a free country. We’re all mates here. We’re cool with it. You go right ahead.’ She’d thrown her toast at him, and he’d picked it off the floor and eaten it.

  So the answer to Daniel’s question was, I didn’t really know. The house felt unsettled, but that was as much down to Walsh as anything. Walshy floating free, unattended. ‘It’s kind of hard to know how Gemma’s coping because we never see her.’

  ‘She only lives in the room under yours,’ said Daniel.

  ‘I know, but she’s really self-contained. She’s always been that way. Plus she goes out a lot, and when she’s in she sometimes puts this sign on the door and then we’re not supposed to disturb her. I’d like to speak to her about things, though. I don’t want her thinking I’m as crap as Roz.’

  ‘I’m sure she doesn’t.’

  ‘Martin says the atmosphere’ll settle down in a few weeks. He says even the most surprising things stop being surprising in the end.’

  Daniel pursed his lips. ‘Oh, Martin says.’

  ‘Bugger off.’

  ‘Does Martin say if there are any mints in the glove box?’

  I opened the drop-down door and fished him out an Altoid. ‘Hoping for a snog later on?’

  ‘Could be.’

  Lorries roared past. The windscreen began to spot with rain. Fifteen minutes till I was with my son.

  ‘Is she nice-looking, this Amelia?’

  ‘Hideous. Foul. A face only a mother could love.’

  ‘That’s all right, then,’ I said.

  I don’t think of him as Will’s granddad, the same way I don’t think of his son as Will’s dad.

  ‘I’ve come with your cash,’ said Terry Bentham, shuffling on the step.

  ‘Not my cash. Will’s.’

  ‘Yeah. From our Paul, like.’ He reached round and took an envelope from his jeans back pocket. I knew it was out of his own wages. Paul had nothing to do with it.

  ‘You could always pay it into the bank. You don’t have to come mauling round here every month.’

  ‘Aye.’ He just stood there, waiting.

  ‘How’s Paul?’ I made myself ask.

  ‘Still up in Blackpool. It suits him, he’s near to his mum’s, he makes a fair bit in tips. There’s a lot of youngsters around his age work there.’

  A hotel kitchen washer-upper. You must be so proud, I wanted to say. But you don’t kick a man when he’s down. I noticed he was missing two buttons off his shirt.

  ‘You’re looking . . .’ Mr Bentham waved his hand but didn’t finish the sentence.

  ‘It’s my birthday.’

  ‘Oh, well. Have a nice one.’

  ‘I intend to.’

  He wasn’t showing any signs of shifting off our path. His eyes flicked over my shoulder into the hall. ‘Is t’littlun in?’

  ‘He is.’ Grudgingly I stepped back and let him four foot over the threshold, into sausage-roll hell.

  ‘Ah, I see him. Growing, int he?’

  I nodded.

  Mr Bentham swayed forward. I knew he wanted to go over, examine Will close up, but I wasn’t going to lay out the welcome mat. The way I saw it, if he’d brought up his son decently in the first place, Charlotte would never have had to go through what she did, and on her own. I mean, anyone can slip up –
I did, for one – but the point is you should stand by your responsibilities. When I fell pregnant, Steve married me, we gave it a shot. And even after we fell out and divorced he was always around for Charlotte. Paul, he just buggered off like it was nothing to do with him. Even Steve going round to his house and threatening did no good. The year Will was born, we had no help from the Benthams, not a scrap. Then, some time down the line, up pops Terry, after access rights. I said, ‘For Paul? Because he can take a running jump.’ He said, ‘No, for me.’ I said, ‘OK, you can see him, but you owe us.’ Fair dos, he put his hand in his pocket then and he’s not missed a month since. I suppose we could have gone to court for maintenance, made it all official, but Charlotte wouldn’t have it. She wanted to cut all ties. Except she’s not the one forking out for endless toddler shoes and nursery fees.

  Mr Bentham cleared his throat noisily. ‘Well. He’s a grand lad.’

  ‘He is.’

  ‘Can he kick a ball yet?’

  ‘After a fashion.’

  ‘Great, great. I’d like to see that sometime.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘So I’ll tell Paul I’ve seen him.’ He let out a sad laugh. ‘It’s quiet at home these days.’

  I turned deliberately towards the hall. ‘Anyway . . .’

  ‘Anyway. Yeah. You’ll be busy, your birthday. Tidying and that. I’ll see you next month.’

  And I closed the door on his uselessness.

  It was only when I went to the toilet afterwards I realised I had flaky pastry all down the front of my dress.

  When we arrived, she had Will stuck in front of the TV again. I’m going to have to say something. He needs intellectual stimulation while his brain’s developing. Plus I spotted straight away this chewed-up bit of old sausage roll or pie or something balanced on top of the banister. Hardly hygienic, is it? I went, ‘What the hell’s this doing here?’ and she said, ‘Oh, I forgot where I’d put it,’ and I said, ‘You’re getting as bad as Nan.’ She snatched it off me and flung it at the bin. She said, ‘You don’t know what kind of a morning I’ve had.’