Cath Staincliffe - Stone Cold Red Hot

The weekend was a blur of domesticity. Saturday afternoon I took the kids to Castlefield. The Museum of Science and Industry were hosting a dinosaur exhibition. Tom was beside himself with excitement. Maddie kept trying to act cool about it, “dinosaurs are for babies, Mum,” but when we entered the Jurrasic environment her face said it all. The place was done out like a swamp complete with soundtrack of blood-curdling roars. The animatronic dinosaurs had both Tom and Maddie enthralled. And when one particularly nasty one actually spit at Tom I thought he’d wet himself with glee. After a trip to the shop we visited our old favourites; the steam hall with its massive engines complete with life-size T. Rex this time and the interactive section upstairs where the kids played with magnets and mirrors and shadows and sounds. By then I was too tired to take them to the Air and Space building, Appollo and the Daleks would have to wait for another day.

I had done a little bit of work that morning. I watched the video – it was blurry at times and the light wasn’t brilliant but it was adequate in terms of seeing what was actually going on. The sound was muffled, I might need to tell people what the youths had been shouting, but even without the words the pictures said it all. Reviewing the behaviour of the gang made me tense with anger again. The cruelty of their taunts and the ugliness of their behaviour revolted me. I tried to work out how they must feel about themselves to be so ready to attack others?

I dispatched a courier with the videotape for Mandy Bellows. I included a note asking her to let me know as soon as possible whether the tape was all they needed. I could then return the camcorder.

I also checked the e-mail for answers from potential Jennifer Pickerings; everyone I’d contacted had replied and none of them was the right person. The woman in Scarborough even referred to the fact that she’d been contacted before, by a member of the family. Roger, I presumed. Of course he’d have checked for her online – it was his field of work but I consoled myself that at least I was being thorough.

On the Saturday night it was dry enough to have a bonfire and burn the debris from the garden along with some scraps of wood from the cellar that Ray had no use for. There was also an old wooden cupboard, riddled with woodworm, that had been rotting in the shed. The kids took great delight in helping to break it up.

There’s an old paved area at the bottom of the garden, in one corner. I’m not sure why it was laid there as it’s no suntrap but it works fine for the children to ride bikes on and it’s ideal for bonfires. I used a couple of rows of broken flagstones to form a small circular fireplace and then I built a pyramid of scrunched up paper, kindling and sticks. I lit the fire. It was smoky at first until it burnt off the moisture then the twigs crackled and hissed and I gradually added larger pieces of wood.

I called Ray and Laura and they brought out the food; baked potatoes with cheese and tomato sauce and sticks of carrot and celery to crunch on. Maddie and Tom drank dandelion and burdock, the rest of us had some bottled beer that Laura had contributed.

“When’s bonfire night?” asked Maddie.

“A while yet,” I said.

“How many weeks?”

“Can we have fireworks,” said Tom, “very, very loud ones?”

“I hate loud ones. We should just have sparklers. Is it next week?”

“No, about six weeks.”

“That’s ages,” she complained.

“Look in the fire,” I said, “what shapes can you see?”

The chunks of wood were burning slowly, revealing their intricate grid design, charring into little squares, echoing the structure of bark. The patterns always reminded me of the fine network of lines on our skin, too.

“A witches face,” said Maddie, and a little house. There,” she pointed.

“I can see a dog being sick,” Tom boasted.

“You’re sick,” said Maddie.

“And a willy,” he found this absolutely hilarious and nearly choked on his dandelion and burdock.

We let the children carefully add wood to the fire, warning them not to throw anything on which could knock it all down and put out the flames.

Laura and Ray sat close and every so often Tom would launch himself onto Ray’s knee and wriggle off after he’d got a bit of attention.

“We used to have huge bonfires at home,” said Laura to Tom, “so big the men had to climb up ladders to put the guy on top.”

“Where was it?” I asked. I knew she’d been raised in the country and she still had a soft burr to her voice not common in Manchester.

“Lincolnshire,” she said, “middle of nowhere.”

“They’re all inbred like mad,” Ray joshed.

She punched him on the arm.

“Did you live on a farm?”

“No, my Dad worked on a farm nearby but we didn’t live there, we had a house in the village.”

“Did you have to go to school?” asked Maddie.

“Yes, and do you know how many children there were in my school?”

“How many?” Maddie’s eyes danced.

“How many?” echoed Tom.

“Twelve.”

“Twelve!” I couldn’t imagine it.

Laura shivered.

“You cold?” Ray asked her.

“A bit.”

Not surprising. We were all togged up in woolly jumpers or fleeces and Laura had a short sleeved top on.

“I’ll get you a coat.”

“I’ll be alright.”

“Don’t be daft,” he stood up, “you’ll freeze.” He came back with a woollen jacket which she wrapped round herself. It dwarfed her. She was only small, slim too. Fine featured with long blonde hair, grey eyes, a brown birthmark the size of a cherry on one cheek. Ray had met her at college, she was an assistant to their administrator.

“Tom,” Ray warned his son who stood poised to chuck a large block of wood into the fire. “That’s too big, find a stick.” I could see the flames reflected in Tom’s dark eyes, slivers of light shining on his glossy curls. He grinned and dropped the wood.

Maddie sidled onto my knee and we sat quietly for a while. Maybe it would be possible for Laura to move in with us, it would be better than Ray and Tom moving out. I’d have to get used to sharing my home with a couple, get used to their intimacy. But would she want to live like this? With Maddie and me as well as Ray and Tom, and Sheila, our lodger, to boot? Was there space? I was assuming that she’d move into Ray’s bedroom but in her shoes I’d want a room of my own; she had a flat to herself after all. Giving that up. We couldn’t ask Sheila to leave, we had an agreement. We’d have to move the kids playroom, maybe put it in the cellar – or bring their beds down, put them in the playroom. But then they’d be sleeping on a different floor, I didn’t like that idea…

“Mummy,” Maddie shouted, “can I have a drink or what!” She’d been repeating it and I was miles away – worrying.

I tried to explain myself to Diane when we met up for a drink the following evening. “I’m uncomfortable with them. Even with Ray, he’s changed. I’m not jealous, you know I’ve never really fancied Ray. It’s more a feeling of being pushed out. Perhaps it’s envy? And then I keep thinking how awful it’ll be if they move out.”

“Why?”

“It’s worked so well, especially looking after the children. Tom and Maddie are close, we’re all close. I’d miss Tom dreadfully. We’re like a family, it’s like a divorce waiting to happen.”

“Have you asked Ray?”

“Asked him what?”

“If they’re making plans?”

“You sound just like his mother,” I scoffed.

“Well, have you?” she persisted.

“Diane, I can hardly talk to him about anything at the moment, he’s gone all vague and absent-minded.”