A Life Between Us Read online

  After Tina arrived home, she ate two slices of coffee cake and she pondered. She knew she spent too much time pondering. She knew she ate too much. Both of these things were aimless and unhealthy. She supposed she ought to get a grip. She was so lonely, although she dared not admit this. She had Keaton. She had her home. She had her books. She had her baking. She had her knitting. She had her cleaning jobs. But she wanted more. She had lately admitted to herself that she had “issues”, as Keaton called them. It was time to face up to them; work them out and shake them off. But of course it was easier said than done, and she had tried hard earlier in the year to find the help that Keaton thought she needed. But the help had not helped. She was no better off now than she had been then. In many ways things were worse because the “help” had left things half-opened, half-faced. Half-arsed, in fact. Mess half-everywhere. Tina hadn’t yet managed to stuff it all back into the deep vessel it had leaked from and seal the lid, so her life overflowed with gloop. And now this new thing, this new idea Meg had put into her mind… It was too much to contemplate. The events of the day on which Meg died were neatly arranged in Tina’s memory, or so she thought. The day was set, in her mind, if not in her heart. She knew what happened. For many years she had relived it, frequently, slotting things into place, arranging them to her satisfaction. But had she got it wrong? Nowadays she tried not to think about it, not to hear that day’s words, its voices. And yet Keaton wanted her to talk about it: ‘It would be good for you, darling.’ He wanted her to pull it all apart, unpick the carefully sewn seams of her memory; as if that would help. And now Meg too, with her strange, unexpected… Tina supposed it was a revelation.

  Tina considered cutting a third slice of cake, but resisted. Meg was right about one thing – she was getting fat. She placed the lid back on the cake tin and took an anti-bacterial wipe from its packet and slowly, methodically wiped down the work surface. A few of the cake crumbs found their way onto the kitchen floor. Tina picked them up and popped them into the bin with the wipe.

  Two

  August 1952

  Mum raised herself from her pillows and presented a hideous little creature to its sister.

  ‘Lucia, this is your new baby brother. His name is William. Say hello to him!’

  Lucia stared at the baby. He was ugly with a scrunched-up face. He barely looked like a person. Her new brother had been born in the early hours of the day, while Lucia had slept on in ignorance. She’d heard nothing – not the district nurse arriving, not the moans and groans of her mother labouring, and not the nervous whispered talk from downstairs as her father and Edward sat up for most of the night waiting.

  Lucia finally said ‘hello’ to the baby in a flat and meaningless tone, but Mum seemed satisfied and gathered the creature back to her; Lucia watched in horror as her mother, her own mother, let this being suckle at her breast.

  Lucia, six years old, and the darling of her family, ran from her parents’ bedroom that smelled not of its usual violets, but of blood and baby and sweat. She ran down the stairs to get outside, and struggled with the awkward lock on the front door which she could barely reach. ‘Damn this stupid lock!’ her mother had cried hundreds of times. ‘Tom, can’t you see to it?’ But Lucia was out now, out in the sunlight, out of that vile bedroom with that vile baby! Down the steps, and into the garden where she smelled honeysuckle and the blue morning sky, pure fresh flowing air that she sucked in as greedily as the creature upstairs sucked at her mother.

  Edward rounded the corner of the house, whistling loudly and cheerfully like he always did. Edward was nice. She didn’t need yet another brother. Especially, she didn’t need a baby brother.

  ‘What’s up, Loose Ear?’ said Edward, standing before her with his hands in his pockets. His smile was genuine. It was especially for her and she liked it. She felt special. She was special, damn it.

  ‘I don’t like the new baby!’ she blurted, for once ignoring the objectionable nickname. Edward could have his fun, if he must. She didn’t care any more.

  ‘Oh, but he’s sweet. Why don’t you like him?’

  Edward was sixteen today and he liked a particular girl in the village, and in the last few weeks Lucia hadn’t seen so much of him. So here was a chance.

  ‘He’s horrible!’ she cried, and covered her face with her hands, and sobbed loudly. Edward picked her up for a cuddle. He was warm and strong. When he put her down again he ruffled her hair and gave her a lollipop. Edward always had lollipops in his pockets. He had a sweet tooth, as did Lucia, and Robert and Ambrose, and since February all had been regulars at the village shop or the post office, buying hitherto unimagined or unremembered quantities of sweets.

  Edward told her she should try to learn to love her baby brother, and not to mind her own feelings. And wasn’t it nice that baby William shared his birthday? She tried to smile, but no, it wasn’t especially nice. It meant something to Edward; it was fun for him, but not for her.

  Lucia shrugged. ‘I don’t care about that and I don’t love him,’ she declared, ‘and I never, ever will.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Edward, unmoved, and for the first time Lucia felt he was not completely on her side, and perhaps he was not to be liked or trusted too much. He chuckled at her, and she knew she was frowning and scowling and making herself look ugly, but she didn’t care. How could he laugh at her? It was unfair and she hated him too! She sucked on the lollipop. Edward regarded her for a moment longer, then with a last ruffle of her hair, sauntered off, resuming his joyous whistling and letting the garden gate clang shut behind him.

  Lucia, alone again, wandered up to the furthest reaches of the garden and sat down under the plum trees, and thought about her rotten life. She wondered if she ought to have wished Edward a happy birthday. Yesterday, she had made him a card using her crayons and a sheet of her mother’s best writing paper. But she had not given it to him yet and now she didn’t want to give it to him at all. She slowly and thoughtfully sucked on the lollipop, until only the stick was left. She searched the ground for plums, hoping to find some that were ripe but not ruined, and prodding at them with the lollipop stick, she found three or four. After checking for wasps, of which she was not terribly afraid, she ate her plums in succulent silence. How unfair it was that she couldn’t reach the plums that still clung to the trees. Her brothers always got to the still-growing fruit before she did, leaving her only the fallen, wasp-addled and overripe.

  Lucia concluded that she should be thankful that at least it was another brother her mum had given birth to, and not a sister. A sister would have been unthinkable; it was something she simply could not imagine. She was the sister. She was the only sister, and that hadn’t changed, thank goodness. Even so, the new baby was a horrible thing and Lucia resolved not to love him. Edward could say what he liked. And Edward and Robert and Ambrose could love this baby if they chose to, but she had chosen not to, and that was her right, and she vowed to herself that she would never waver in this, not ever. She stood up, plum-gorged, and cried a little, spinning around in quiet fury, stumbling and almost falling over with dizziness, the wasps disturbed and angrily buzzing around her. She breathed quickly, and leaned back on the plum tree, feeling the solid, rough bark at her back. She turned to the tree and tried to shake it. She kicked it and pummelled it with her small white fists, but nothing happened. Her luck ran out then, as a wasp stung her on the neck and she fled towards the house, screaming in genuine pain and mock terror.

  Monday 10th November 1975

  Dear Elizabeth

  I know I haven’t heard from you yet but I want to tell you about my birthday. I had a book called Ballet Shoes which I have read already and it was BRILIANT. I watched it on telly and then I wanted to read the book and I am glad I did. Uncle Edward and Tante Simone gave me a book called A Child’s Garden of Verses which has lovley pictures. I had another book called Heidi and a Heidi T-shirt which has green sleeves
and on the front there is a picture of Heidi and a goat and a mountin. Its a bit small for me but it’s OK and Meg said can she wear it sumetimes she doesn’t like the look of Heidi but she does like mountins and goats. Heidi drinks milk from the cow it is still warm when she drinks it that makes me feel sick even though I like cows they are gentle. We have milk at school with a red straw and it is always warm the milk I mean not the straw. We dont have any pets. I would like a rabbit or a guinee pig but we’re not alowed. My mum says it will be too much work and she will be the one who ends up doing it. My dad says what harm would it do its good for children to have a pet to learn about life and deaf but that’s not why we want a pet why are grown ups so silly. Anyway you are lucky to have your dogs and there names are funny. Me and Meg wotch Laurel and Hardy on the telly and it makes us laugh a lot and its funy that one of your dogs is fat and the other is finn. Meg calls me Mr Hardy sumetimes but I dont care she cant help being mean. I like sweets best but cakes are nice too and I like frut when it is sweet. We have plums in our grannys garden that we can eat but only in the summer so not now and only if Aunty Lucia says we can because they are hers for jam she says, but actually they are Grannys not hers.

  I hope you will want to write back to me. I will finish now from

  Tina Thornton your cuzun aged 8 xx

  Three

  November 2013

  A few weeks ago, in his ongoing attempts at help or at least amelioration, Keaton had suggested, out of the blue, that Tina join a reading group. She loved to read, he said. She always had her head stuck in a book. Why didn’t she hook up with other readers and make new friends? It would be good for her, he pointed out. He was a sensible man. She’d promised to think about it. She’d mentioned the idea to Judy and Sandra, her other cleaning clients. They thought it a marvellous scheme. Judy and Sandra were big readers – academics. Tina often found herself gazing in awe at their dense, intriguing bookshelves.

  So a couple of weeks ago, she had gone to the local library. They had a reading group that met on the first Tuesday of every month, August aside. They were on the lookout for new blood, the librarian said, looking at Tina hopefully. Theirs was a democratic reading group, friendly and productive. Also, it was rather chaotic, but good fun. Members took it in turns to choose a book each month. There was tea, coffee and cake, sometimes wine. Did that sound like her sort of thing?

  It did, Tina had to admit to herself. So she’d said she would join, and had watched Tess the librarian write down her name and phone number carefully on a notepad. Tina promised to turn up at the next meeting.

  And now it was the first Tuesday in November and she had “forgotten” to tell Keaton about her impending night out. The birthdays and the visit to Meg’s grave and the baking and eating of cake had occupied her. Most of yesterday she’d been busier than usual at her Monday cleaning job – Judy and Sandra had asked her to “turn out” their kitchen cupboards (and how she had thrown herself into that) and the reading group had slipped her mind. Or so she told herself. Of course, it hadn’t. She just didn’t want to tell Keaton about it too soon, in case it was a mistake; in case he made a big, thrilled fuss and got too excited. She had thought to tell him on her birthday, but he’d brought home Chinese food and a bouquet of yellow roses and somehow the opportunity to tell had not arisen. She’d wanted to eat in peace and enjoy her night with her husband. She’d meant to tell him. He would be so pleased, she knew. He would be relieved. She’d text him at work, that would surprise him. She didn’t make a regular habit of texting, or telephoning, or in any other way communicating with her husband while he was at his workplace. His work was his world, as cleaning was hers.

  She could imagine his deep brown eyes widening in surprise and delight. And in pride. He’d probably tell his secretary about it. Tina had never met Keaton’s secretary. She had an odd name that Tina could never quite remember, and she’d once made Tina feel uncomfortable when she had rung Keaton at work. Tina wasn’t sure why she’d been made to feel uncomfortable; perhaps she hadn’t – it was probably just her and her silly tendency to paranoia. But something about the secretary’s voice, the manner in which she had spoken, had made her feel uneasy. Tina had avoided phoning after that, making a point of never going to the offices or the firm’s Christmas dinner.

  Over the years, she had twice read the book which would be discussed at the reading group tonight. It was one of her favourites – Birdsong by Sebastian Faulks. She felt she ought to be able to join in with the discussions. But she knew she would not – she would say as little as possible, and quietly gauge the people present. That is what she would do; that is what she always did.

  The library was bright, with all the lights on. Night crowded at the windows. Not all of the blinds were drawn, and Tina was unsettled. During the day, the library was light, airy and welcoming. Libraries and bookshops were second homes to her. Among books she was among friends, the best kind – silent, patient and undemanding.

  Punctilious and nervous, she had been the first to arrive, and Tina took her time in removing her coat, hat, gloves and scarf. She’d brought with her an orange and apricot cake, baked that afternoon. She shyly handed the vintage Peek Freans biscuit tin to Tess, the librarian.

  ‘I made it myself,’ apologised Tina.

  Tess gushed a little over the cake, and placed it on a side table which gradually became crowded with other tins, plastic boxes and plates of cakes and biscuits, as one by one the members of the reading group arrived.

  Tina studied the circle of chairs, and singled out the seat she guessed would be the furthest away from Tess’s. She wanted to be as invisible as possible. Group members said hello, and nodded to her as they took their seats. Tess introduced her individually to each member as they arrived. There were many smiles. Tina fought the urge to push her chair further back, to disappear into the blackness crowding at the windows. She had always been shy and tonight she felt the pain of it more than ever.

  By a quarter past seven, all the seats were filled bar one, on Tina’s immediate right.

  ‘We do have another new member joining us tonight,’ said Tess, ‘but she did say she would be a few minutes late. Shall we begin?’ Tess rummaged around in her oversized yellow handbag, finally retrieving a battered copy of Birdsong. Everybody murmured in agreement: Yes, let’s begin.

  Tina didn’t know what she was doing here. Why was she here? It was such a good idea on paper, like all her ideas, in her head, in advance. But in reality it was a mistake. And now that she was here, in the cool stench of reality, among strangers in the bright library inside the black night, she asked herself: why was she so stupid? What on earth made her think she could do this sort of thing? She realised how little she trusted people. Here was the proof. It was all so illogical. These people didn’t know her. They knew nothing about her – about her secret, her shame, her guilt. She was perfectly safe here, sitting among kindly strangers, intelligent people, who meant her no harm whatsoever and who were, in fact, warm and welcoming. Her heart tripped its treacherous beats, her head pounded and she clenched and unclenched her fists, then clenched them again. She felt sweat forming in the small of her back. She was going to pass out! She began to push herself up from her chair and felt a few pairs of eyes flicker towards her, people aware of her movement, when the main library door opened and in flew a bright blue coat, a head of purple-ish hair and a flamboyant wave. The blue coat was removed and hung up with the others in the lobby and the hair was dramatically shaken about, and through the turnstile the woman came. She was tall, vibrant in her movements. Tina stared. She lowered herself down again.

  ‘Ah, Kath, good evening,’ said Tess. ‘Everybody, this is Kath. Our other newbie.’

  Kath took the empty seat alongside Tina and offered her hand. Tina took it, dumb. Kath’s grip was brisk and firm and enthusiastic. Tina smiled. She knew she ought to smile.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ said Kath to th
e room. ‘I had a bit of a debacle with the kids’ tea. But I’m here now.’

  The group murmured its greetings. It took up the discussion of Birdsong again.

  Tina listened as members said what they thought of the book. Some liked it and some loved it, an awful lot. Like her, many had read it before. Tina remained silent, even though a large part of her was desperate to join in. She loved to talk about her reading and she supposed as a child she had bored people with her endless book talk, particularly poor Meg, who had not been much of a reader.

  Kath cleared her throat and spoke up. ‘I thought it was fabulous, all apart from the sex scenes,’ she said.

  Tess looked surprised. ‘Oh?’ she said, failing to disguise the defensiveness in her voice. Tina looked at the floor.

  ‘They’re not sexy,’ said Kath in a mock whisper. A flutter of laughter flew around the circle, and Tess reddened. Tina smiled to herself. Kath called a spade a spade, obviously. Tina liked that. Tess said she found the sex scenes extremely “successful”. Another reader chimed in, agreeing with Tess. Tina saw Kath redden. Oh, how awful, how embarrassing for her, and on her first night too. Nobody seemed to know what to say next. Oh God. She ought to… should she?

  ‘Actually,’ Tina heard herself say, leaning forward, a hard thudding at the base of her throat, ‘I agree with Kath. I didn’t think the sex scenes worked that well either.’ She felt the sweat leap from her back to her neck. She knew she was reddening too.

  Tina heard Kath sigh in relief. Tina leaned back in her chair. The conversation about Birdsong continued, but Tina and Kath contributed nothing further.

  Soon, much sooner than Tina had expected, the book discussion ground to a halt. A couple of kettles were boiled in the small, white kitchen off to the side; somebody peeled the lids from the tins and tubs on the table. Tina sensed that the true business of the meeting was about to begin.