Lee Weeks - Cold as Ice

She could hear the sound of the television coming from the lounge as she opened the door. The flat was only a little warmer than outside – no matter how much they spent on heating it, it was cold and damp and the landlord did nothing about it. But Tracy did everything she could to make it a home. She stood in the hallway, hung up her coat and took off her shoes and examined the gap where Steve’s shoes should have been. She pulled on her fluffy slippers then went into the lounge where Steve was watching the television, the remnants of his dinner on a tray on the floor beside him.

She leaned in to give him a peck on the cheek and pick up the tray. ‘Steve… I don’t know why you can’t pick up your tray and take it out to the kitchen.’ Steve didn’t move. He grunted. ‘And Steve, there’s mud or some dirt walked all through the flat.’ She didn’t use the dreaded term ‘dogshit’. ‘Did you forget to put your slippers on?’ She looked accusingly down at his feet and his dirty shoes, then went back to the door and came back with a pair of Homer Simpson slippers that she’d bought him the previous Christmas. They were just meant to be a joke but she’d been really trying to have a little dig at him – it hadn’t worked. He took the slippers from her with an irritable sigh and put them on his feet. Tracy also sighed, but she hid it beneath a sweet smile as she took his shoes and put them next to the front door then she went into the kitchen and came back with a bowl of soapy water and began scrubbing the stains off the carpet.

After a few minutes Steve went out to the kitchen and Tracy paused from scrubbing to listen to the familiar sound of the fridge opening and the clink of a bottle touching another.

‘Steve, can you pour me a glass of wine please, love, and is there any of last night’s dinner left?’

Steve didn’t answer. Tracy heard the pop of the wine bottle and Steve came back in and handed her a glass while she was scrubbing at the brown stain on the carpet.

‘Can you put it on the table please, love? I’ll be finished in a minute.’

He didn’t answer as he took his beer back to the chair.

‘I didn’t hear what you said about dinner? Is there any out there for me?’ Tracy came to stand in front of him.

‘No. Sorry. I didn’t think you’d want any. I finished it off.’

Tracy finished up and took the bowl out to the kitchen. She emerged with a ham sandwich and picked up her glass of wine.

‘Steve, love, can we talk?’

Steve looked accusingly at her. ‘What about?’

‘I just wanted to have a chat, that’s all. How was your day? Is it busy at work? You haven’t told me about the Christmas “do” yet.’ She sat on the arm of his chair.

Steve eyes went back to the telly as he drank his beer. He looked irritated. ‘Can we talk later? I’m watching the match.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Tracy got up from the chair. ‘I’ll go and do something else if you don’t mind – you know how I hate sport of any kind.’

He grunted his agreement and Tracy walked into the bedroom. She sat on the bed and smoothed her hand across the cover, so silky and creamy white – such good quality. She was lucky to get a thirty per cent discount at Simmons. That meant she could afford the luxury brands. Since Steve wasn’t keen on holidays any more, or even going out anywhere, Tracy found herself buying for the home. She took another couple of bites out of her sandwich before abandoning it and just drank her wine instead. The cold wine hit her almost empty stomach. She lay back on the plump pillows and thought about the events of the day. All afternoon she had mulled over the meeting with Danielle.

She shouldn’t blame herself for feeling disappointed: she had thought everything would be perfect. She couldn’t be blamed for feeling shock about Jackson even; Tracy knew nothing about Down’s syndrome. The minute that thought came into her head she scrunched her face and frowned. No… it wasn’t that simple. It wasn’t about that – she was just anxious, that was all. She didn’t want to let anyone down – not again. But – she needed to take it further. It wouldn’t be right to say ‘no thanks’ until she gave it a chance.

She took out her phone and stared at Danielle’s last text message telling her she would be bringing her four-year-old son Jackson. She smiled as she thought of Jackson with his toy from Father Christmas. She took another large gulp of wine and then she rang Danielle’s number. She was just about to hang up when it seemed like no one was going to answer, then Danielle came on the phone, breathless.

‘Sorry. Jackson is taking ages to go to sleep.’

‘I expect he’s excited about Christmas after going to the Grotto today and getting his little pink pig.’

‘Yes. He loves Peppa Pig.’

‘I could see – very sweet. Danielle – it was lovely to meet you today. I just wanted to tell you that. It’s not easy for me.’

‘I know. I appreciate that.’

Tracy closed her eyes and clutched the cold glass. ‘It was never an easy thing, you know, to give you up?’

‘No?’

‘No. It wasn’t easy, in those days.’

‘You’re not that old. You make it sound like it was the Dark Ages, not the Eighties.’

‘No. You’re right. But I was only fifteen. My parents were conservative. They thought it was for the best… But I want you to know something… I loved your dad.’ Tracy heard her voice quiver. ‘I don’t know why I’m telling you this.’

‘Telling me what?’

‘He was my first love. True love. Do you understand?’

‘So you’re telling me you weren’t a slapper.’

‘No, of course not. I mean yes – that’s right. I wasn’t. I was in love… for the first time.’

‘Why didn’t he want to keep me?’

‘It wasn’t as easy as that, Danielle. He was the same age as me. We had no idea how to bring up a baby. We talked about it. We cried about it, but both sets of parents were adamant that we had to give you away.’

‘You could have had an abortion.’

‘I left it too late.’ The words hung in the air and Tracy regretted them instantly.

‘So you would have done if you could?’

‘Yes, maybe.’ Tracy shook her head as she held the phone tight. She hadn’t meant it to come out like that. She opened her eyes, smiled, clenched her fist in her lap and dug her nails into the palm of her hand. ‘But who knows? Maybe it was just meant to be. I thought I was doing the best thing for you, Danielle. I thought the Fosters, the couple they found to adopt you, were lovely.’

She heard silence. She heard Danielle breathing.

‘Gerald? He wasn’t much of a dad – when I was little maybe. But he became a complete psycho when I hit my teenage years. Nothing I did was right. He shouted all the time, kept me locked in my room. I know it made Mum sicker than ever hearing all the constant rowing. It turned me into someone like him: always shouting, always angry – bitter. Until I had Jackson, that is – then things changed. They do, don’t they? When you have a child? Yeah… well… it doesn’t matter anymore. Jackson asked about you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He likes you. He doesn’t like many people. He doesn’t often take a shine to someone but he likes you.’

Tracy was mid slurp of wine when it caught in her throat. ‘He’s a lovely little boy.’

‘Yeah… he has his moments.’

Tracy relaxed a little. ‘Shall we meet again?’ she asked.

‘I’d like to.’ Danielle’s voice was quiet.

‘I have a half day tomorrow. I can meet in the morning, about eleven?’

‘Okay. Can we meet near my home? Finsbury Park is just across from me. I can meet you at the main entrance?’