Kate Hamer - The Girl in the Red Coat

‘Can you see it now, Beth? You see that place in your head, and you must promise never, never to go there. It’s not for you, it’s not a place you’re allowed. Do you have it now?’

And I said, ‘Yes. Yes, I can see it.’

I stayed there for a long time, smoking one cigarette after another. I could hear Maria behind me, folding up the newspapers on the table, clearing space. Then quietly laying out plates and cutlery.

I turned and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. This is how life must be from now on, I thought. I decide on the next action I need to perform and do it. Step, step, step to the kitchen sink. Bend down, open the cupboard door, take out the dustpan and brush. Back to the front door. Crouch down. Sweep, sweep, sweep. The front step, be careful not to miss under the stone lip. Sweep, sweep, sweep until it’s clear.

The sound makes me stop still by the gate and my hair does a strange thing which is lifting off my head and going straight up.

Ting, ting, ting.

What is it? Not Grandad and Dorothy because their car is gone. I’ve been looking for them for ages and thinking, getting scared, about what would happen if they get squashed on the road like Mum. Thinking I’ll have to eat grass until I die. That I’ll be a ghost and trapped here forever.

Being on your own is terrible, especially when there’s noises and you don’t know what they are — though maybe it’s just a bird or an animal. Quiet as anything I creep round the back where it’s coming from and crawl behind some bushes on the corner and peep through the green stalks.

Then my hair floats down to where it normally is because it’s just Grandad there. He’s got his shirt sleeves rolled right up and he’s nailing a metal lock to a door and that’s what’s making the sound. He grunts as he works — the way old men do — and mutters something under his breath. I’m so pleased to see him I nearly jump up and say hello to surprise him. But then I remember what I’ve told myself — that I want to keep an eye on him and the best way to do that is when he doesn’t know he’s being watched, and then he can’t pretend anything.

I crouch, spying on him, until my feet start feeling pins and needlely. And I’m glad I do this because he starts singing a very weird song that could tell me a lot about him. It goes:

Are you washed in the blood,

In the cleansing blood of the lamb?

Are your garments spotless? Are they white as snow?

Are you washed in the blood of the lamb?

Ting, ting, goes his hammer as he sings. He’s got a lovely voice, he really has, but the words make me think of people washing in lamb’s blood and getting it in their eyes and up their noses and how it would smell and stick to you all over.

I must have moved because Grandad stops working and his arm — the one with the hammer — gets stuck in mid-air above his head.

‘Carmel?’ His head turns and his eyes are staring right into the bushes through his round glasses. ‘Is that you?’ His arm’s still up.

I stay put.

‘Carmel, I know it’s you. I can see the red of your coat.’

And I remember what I was going to do earlier so I jump up and throw out my arms. ‘Ta-da. Surprise,’ I say, to make him think I’m just playing a silly trick.

He frowns. ‘Child, it’s very naughty to spy on people. It’s a sign of a very untrustworthy character.’

I feel guilty then because I know he’s right — and I don’t like the sound of being an ‘untrustworthy character’. So I go and sit on the step and say, ‘Sorry. I really am.’ Then to change the subject I ask him what he’s doing.

He looks at the hammer in his hand as if he’s forgotten about it.

‘I’m securing this door. Thieves and intruders are everywhere in this world, child, and we have to keep them out.’

He carries on hammering with his face tight and turned away. I think he’s showing me he’s still cross.

‘I thought you’d gone out and left me alone.’ I feel like crying when I say that.

‘Of course not, we wouldn’t do that.’ He does one last bash with his hammer. ‘I phoned the hospital again this morning.’

This makes me jump and go ‘Oh’ because I didn’t know he was going to phone and now I feel I should’ve asked him about Mum.

‘Too busy spying to think about that, eh?’ Which is quite a nasty thing to say but the guilty feeling gets worse anyway. It also makes me think that Grandad was a lot crosser about the spying than he’d let on.

‘What did they say?’ My breath comes quick.

‘Well, do you remember that place I told you about? The place called intensive care?’

He’s talking to me like I’m a baby but I just nod.

‘Well, your mother is still there, so I’m afraid we can’t see her yet. But she is much better. Stable, in fact, that’s what the doctors said.’

‘Stable.’ I like the sound of that.

He puts down his hammer and comes and sits next to me. ‘Yes. We’ll be able to see her soon, dear. Very soon.’

This relaxes my body all over. It feels quite nice then, the two of us sitting there together even if we had a sort of argument over the spying and I think how I actually sometimes miss having a nan and grandad, even if Dorothy’s not my real one. I notice his eyes are nearly the same blue as my mum’s.

‘Where do you come from? Are you Irish?’ I ask, because I want to carry on having a talk.

‘Me and Dorothy? We’ve lived in America, dear, that’s why you might think I speak so strange. I’m not particularly from anywhere. Did you think we were Irish? That’s funny.’ And he laughs. It’s the sort of laugh you see in a cartoon with an ‘oh, ho ho’ sound coming out of his mouth. ‘But my grandfather, he came here to this workhouse when he was a boy, he used to tell us stories about it. So I looked it up when I was down this way and imagine my good fortune when I saw that part of it was to rent. I thought — perfect. That’s just perfect.’ And he laughs again.

I don’t think any of this is funny and he stops laughing after a while.

I pluck up the courage to say this for a long time: ‘Where’s Dorothy, Grandad ?’ Saying that word makes me feel shy but he seems to like it and maybe he’s thinking it’s nice to have a granddaughter because he looks at me and grins.

‘Dorothy’s gone to town to buy you some surprises.’

‘Oh. What sort of surprises?’

‘Well, that would be telling, wouldn’t it? And then they wouldn’t be surprises any more.’

We sit there for a bit in the sun.

‘Carmel, it’s going to be simply wonderful getting to know you again. It’s a crying shame your mother argued with us,’ he says out of the blue.

I think: I’m not sure what my mother will have to say about that, but of course I don’t say it because I don’t want to upset him. I suddenly feel very tired about all the arguments and falling out and shouting and clothes coming out of windows that adults do right over your head, as if you’re just the mouse on the floor and don’t understand. ‘Just a little tiff me and your mum are having,’ they say, even when their voices didn’t sound like they were having a little tiff, they sounded like they were going to kill each other with knives. Or ‘nothing to worry about’ or ‘everything’s A-OK’. Even when it’s not A-OK: very far from it. So I do a big sigh and Grandad smiles at me again.

‘C’mon. Let’s go inside and see if there’s any cookies in the cookie jar.’

And I take his big hand and we go together back inside the house, with him whistling and swinging his hammer in his other hand that’s not holding mine. On the way back I see something I haven’t noticed before.