Elisabeth Carpenter - Only a Mother

The shop door opens.

I’ve never been so glad to see Jason in my life. Brian stands slightly aside to let him past.

‘What’s going on?’ says Jason, frowning.

‘Was just telling Erica she’s not welcome in here.’

Jason turns; his face two feet from Brian’s.

‘Is that right?’

Brian pulls his head back, but his feet remain.

‘It’s upsetting, seeing her,’ he says to Jason. ‘What that evil cunt did to my daughter… my only child. You’d feel the same… I know you would.’

‘But Erica wouldn’t hurt anyone. You know that.’

Jason opens the door and ushers me outside.

‘No, I don’t know that,’ Brian hisses to him. ‘She never leaves that house… she obviously has something to hide. He must’ve inherited the badness from somewhere.’

I don’t hear what Jason says in reply.

He links his arm in mine and guides me down the road as if I were eighty years old.

‘Any time you want to go out again, Erica, I’ll come with you.’

‘Really, there’s no need. I won’t be coming here again. It’s only because…’

I was going to explain the pain in my side, but I think I’ve lost him. His eyes are glazed, focused on the road ahead. I expected Brian or the gaggle of women to be calling after me, but they don’t. It’s not like all those years ago when emotions were so raw that it was like everyone had been hurt. They were quite restrained today.

There’s someone waiting outside my front door.

It’s the girl who’s been watching the house.

She turns as we approach, rubbing her hands from the cold.

‘All right, Jason,’ she says, giving Jason a shy smile. She looks at me. ‘Is Craig in?’

So, she is real.

I look quizzically at Jason. He glances at me, slightly rolling his eyes.

‘What are you doing here?’ he says to her.

‘Who is this, Jason?’ I ask him.

‘This is Leanne,’ he says. ‘We met her in the pub the other night. She seems to have taken a shine to our Craig.’

The girl’s cheeks flush.

What is Craig doing, having a teenage girl calling for him? It’s not right. Hasn’t he learned anything from the past?

I open the front door, hoping I can close it on today and leave the horrible world behind.

‘Thanks ever so much, Jason,’ I say, ‘for the help at the shop.’

‘No worries. Any time. You know I’m always here for you.’

‘I’ll see you soon.’

I go to shut the door, but the young girl pushes it open, goes past me (she’s such a slender thing) and stands in my hallway. I wouldn’t have dreamt of doing that when I was her age.

‘Is it OK if I wait for Craig?’ she says. ‘It’s really important I see him.’

‘I’m not sure when he’ll be back, er… What’s so important that it can’t wait? You’re not in any trouble, are you?’

She shakes her head. ‘No, it’s nothing like that. It’s so nice to finally meet you.’

Finally meet me? What the devil is she on about? She holds out a hand and I shake it. Have I stepped into a parallel world? I’ve seen too many people today; I need to be on my own.

‘Five minutes should be all right, I suppose,’ I say wearily, ‘but he might not be back for hours.’

‘That’s fine,’ she says, taking off her coat and hanging it on the end of the banister.

Jason’s waiting outside.

I peer out of the door.

‘Who is she?’ I hiss at him. ‘Didn’t I see you with her earlier?’

He shrugs.

‘Nope. One of Craig’s new fans – I don’t think I’m dangerous enough for her.’ He taps the side of his head with his index finger. ‘Probably a bit cuckoo, but she seems harmless enough.’ He looks at his watch. ‘I’ll see if Craig’s down the pub. If not, I’ll give you a knock and I’ll take the kid— I mean, Leanne, home.’

‘But how do you know where she lives? Is she a relative of yours?’ I say.

‘Something like that,’ he says, walking away from me.

I look either side of the street before closing the door, but there’s no one about. I don’t want anyone thinking I’m up to any funny business, letting teenagers come into my house. I’ll have to tell Craig that he can’t do this. I’m on edge as it is. I turn to go into the living room, but she’s in the kitchen, filling up the kettle.

‘What are you doing?’ I say.

It comes out a little too forceful, but she has the gall to be so brazen in my house. I should throw her out, but she seems so young.

‘Thought you could do with a cup of tea,’ she says.

‘Did you?’

She shrugs. All this shrugging. Mother used to hate it. There are enough words in the English language to not rely on your shoulders to say it for you .

‘Were you over at Denise’s before?’ I say, suddenly.

‘What?’

‘I thought I saw you with Jason earlier.’

‘I don’t know anyone called Denise.’

‘Really? I must’ve been seeing things, then.’

I narrow my eyes, trying to read her expression, but there is nothing. Why can’t they just tell me the truth – it’s all so odd.

She pours the boiling water in a mug from the tree, then opens the fridge.

I put the carrier bag on to the counter.

‘The milk’s in here,’ I say.

She takes the bag. Why am I standing here observing while a stranger makes a cup of tea in my own kitchen? It must be the shock from at the shop, and her presence here is so unnerving.

I watch as she looks out of the window, waiting for the kettle to boil. There’s nothing much out there to look at, just the side of the yard fence, which needed repainting years ago. She tilts her head from side to side as though dancing to music in her head. I get a waft of her perfume or hairspray; it smells like White Musk. I remember it from years ago. Where do I recall that from?

She smiles at me as she catches me staring at her, but I don’t smile back. She opens the biscuit tin and peers in.

‘Oh, there’s only one left,’ she says.

‘I’m not hungry,’ I say.

‘You don’t have to be hungry for biscuits!’

She’s talking to me like we’ve known each other for years; it’s like we’re in a bizarre dream.

She tears off a bit of kitchen roll and places the malted milk on it.

This must be what it’s like to have a daughter. Pre-empting what you need before you know it yourself. Though I wasn’t that kind of daughter myself – I wasn’t allowed to be. Mother wouldn’t let me near the cooker, which I didn’t mind, really.

Craig and I have a different relationship to what my brother and I had with our mother. I never felt as though I was missing out not having a father around – she could play both roles perfectly. Stern when she needed to be, but mostly nurturing, kind, funny, although she did have her darker moments. It hurts to think about her sometimes.

Leanne carries the tea through and places it on a coaster on the coffee table.

‘You’ve a lovely house,’ she says, perching on the end of the settee, looking around.

‘Really?’

She jumps up to look at the books on my bookcase and I flush slightly. There are too many Mills & Boon, and only a few of the thrillers people like to read these days. She takes a thick book out.

‘Oh, The Thorn Birds ! My mum loved this book. Can I borrow it?’

‘Wouldn’t you like something a bit more recent? I… well… I’ve no intention of reading it again, so you’re more than welcome, but I don’t think it’s appropriate really. How old are you, Leanne?’

‘I’m nineteen,’ she says, but the little red patches on her cheeks betray her. ‘She watched the series as well.’

‘What? Who?’

‘My mum. She had a bit of a thing for the priest guy… said she liked him when she was a kid, which was weird because she wasn’t religious.’ She laughs self-consciously, brushing a strand of her blonde hair away from her face. ‘She hated organised anything – politics, the police, social workers. From what I remember anyway. She’s dead now.’