Elisabeth Carpenter - Only a Mother

I knock three times, but there’s no answer.

Their letterbox is at the bottom of the door and I’ll be damned if I’m kneeling on the ground to shout through.

I put my ear to the front window and there’s a faint murmur from the television. I tap gently on it – it doesn’t take much to make a lot of noise.

‘I know you’re in there. It’s me, Erica. Can you let me in?’

A figure stands, walks out of the living room. I wait at the front door, the footsteps getting closer. It opens, but it’s not Denise who answers: it’s Jim.

‘Erica!’ he says. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I’m looking for Denise.’

He leaves the door wide open and walks back into the lounge. I step inside, closing it behind me. They’ve changed the carpet in the hallway. It used to be dark brown, the hardwearing type. Now it’s laminate – all the way through to the kitchen. It’s the same layout inside as mine, but it seems bigger. On the window sill at the bottom of the stairs is a glass vase with real flowers in. They don’t look fresh. Some of the white ones are browning; petals litter the base. Next to it are five, six photos in paper frames of numerous children in their school uniforms.

I’m waiting for Denise to appear when Jim shouts, ‘Come through!’

I walk through to their living room. It’s so modern, with its flooring and red rug near the wood-burning stove. The television’s on low, it’s a wonder I heard it. At least there’s nothing wrong with my ears.

‘Will Denise be down in a minute?’ I say.

‘I doubt it,’ says Jim.

He’s sitting on their plush grey sofa that looks as though it’s made of velvet. He’s wearing a denim shirt and black jeans. I can see that underneath his slippers, his socks don’t match.

‘What do you mean?’ I say.

I don’t think we’ve ever talked alone. He hardly ever looked me in the eye then, and he seems to be avoiding my gaze now.

‘I think she’s having an affair,’ he says. ‘She didn’t come home last night.’

‘She wouldn’t have an affair… that’s not like her.’

‘How would you know?’ He’s staring at the television. He looks so tired; there are shadows under his eyes. ‘You haven’t seen her for God knows how long. You wouldn’t know her at all, now. She’s not like she was back then.’

‘What makes you think she’s having an affair, though? What if she’s in trouble – she might’ve been in an accident.’

‘I’ve spent all night phoning the hospitals, even driving round them. Preston, Blackpool – even bloody Blackburn, on the remote chance she was unconscious and wasn’t able to give her name. I’ve rung round her friends and no one has seen her. She’s been acting weird since that new bloke started at work a few weeks ago… he’s moved on to your street, as it happens. You haven’t seen her hanging around there, have you?’

‘No. She came by yesterday, but I didn’t see her go into another house.’

‘She visited you? Out of the blue like that?’ he snaps. He leans forward, his hands on his knees as though ready to stand. ‘I bet she was covering her tracks.’

‘Did she say who it was that’d started at her work?’

He’s frowning, looking at the floor.

‘What?’ He shakes his head. ‘No… I didn’t pay much attention. She’s always yakking about something. Wish I’d listened now, though. Not that it would make any difference to you – you wouldn’t know him even if I gave you his full name, address and date of birth. Not up to mixing much, are you? What do you do there in your house all day? Why the hell stay round here when you get treated like shit by everyone? I’ve never understood that. It’s like you wanted it, like you felt you deserved to be treated like that. If it were my Jason, I’d have been long gone… and I wouldn’t have visited him in prison like you did. Fuck, no. Not if he were capable of those things.’

Jim used to be such a quiet, brooding man. This is the most I’ve heard him talk since their wedding night, when he’d drunk too much whisky.

‘I’ve got friends!’ I say, sharply. ‘You can’t possibly know anything about my life! And you don’t know how you’d react about things until it happens to your son.’

‘I can imagine. Look, I’m sorry, Erica. I didn’t want to be shouting at you. I’ve been up most of the night worrying… Maybe she’s not having an affair after all. You say you saw her yesterday?’

‘Yes, because she was worried about Jason – he was seen with that missing girl, Leanne Livesey.’

Jim stands and grabs the remote control from the side of the television and switches it off.

‘That bloody lad.’ He puts a hand through his hair. ‘He’s going to be the death of me. He’s been sent to prison three times. Three times! You’d think he’d learn. Can you imagine what that’s been like for me at work? Bloody shameful. I seriously thought of changing my name at one point. People don’t care about talking about it – even when you’re right there and they know you can hear them.’

‘I know.’

He sits down again.

‘Shit. Yeah, of course you know.’ He stands again and walks to the shelf in the right alcove. He takes a bottle of whisky from it and pours himself a glass. ‘Want one?’

‘No, thank you.’

He downs it in one, refills his glass and replaces the bottle on the shelf.

‘I remember when Jason and Craig were lads, I used to take them both fishing at the canal… nearly every Saturday.’ He sits back down. ‘Good memories. I think Jason might have preferred it being just him and me sometimes, but… you know.’ Jim glances at me. ‘I didn’t mind, Craig was a nice lad.’ He swirls the drink in his glass. ‘Denise thought Craig could do with a father figure… She worried about him more than Jason sometimes.’

‘Really?’

‘Did you ever tell Craig who his father is?’

My back stiffens. ‘Pardon?’

‘You heard me.’

‘No, I haven’t. What business is it of yours?’ I pull my coat around myself. ‘Anyway, it wouldn’t do him any good – if anything, it’d make him feel worse.’

‘Hasn’t he been curious?’

‘I said I didn’t know his name – that it was a one-night thing.’

‘Ah. So that means that the opposite is true, eh?’

I just nod. I owe him nothing – I don’t want to talk about Craig’s father any more.

‘You know,’ he says, ‘people thought it was me! As if I’d have had a chance with you.’

‘Enough! The subject’s closed.’

My face flushes. It feels uncomfortable sitting here with Jim talking like this; a dream, unreal.

He holds one hand up, the one not clinging to his large glass of whisky.

‘OK, OK. I didn’t mean any harm by it.’

I need to leave. I feel cold – the tablets must be starting to work and the fire’s not on in here.

‘Get us, eh?’ he says, obviously enjoying the sound of his own voice. ‘We’ve probably said about five words to each other in the past, and now we’re having a proper heart-to-heart. Who’d have thought it?’

I stand and do up the buttons on my coat.

‘Stay a while longer, love,’ he says. ‘We can have a right good catch-up.’ He steps closer to me and holds the top of my arm. ‘I’ve always liked you, Erica. You’ve kept your figure, too. Even though you hide under those middle-aged clothes.’

‘You’re drunk, Jim. And you’re trying to get back at Denise. What if something’s happened to her?’

‘She’ll be fine… she’s a tough one… can look after herself.’

He’s slurring his words and I can smell the whisky on his breath.

‘But something might be wrong. Can I have her mobile number?’