Kit de Waal - My Name Is Leon

They have to wait for ages and ages before Maureen comes. He hears it first. He hears a car pull up outside and he runs to the door. Maureen is getting out of a black taxi. She has a suitcase with little wheels on it and Leon runs to get it.

Maureen opens her arms wide.

“Here he is!”

She grabs Leon and squeezes him hard and he squeezes her back.

“Stop it!” she whispers. “Stop growing so tall! You’re going to be a giant and we won’t get you through the door.”

She doesn’t let him go.

“Oh, I’ve needed a good hug, I have. That’s better than all the pills in the world.”

Then Sylvia comes and Leon has to move out of the way.

“Get the bag, Pete,” she says. “Come on, Mo, come on. Inside and sit yourself down. You shouldn’t be pulling that suitcase.”

Sylvia bosses Leon around and makes a pot of tea. She’s bought a round cake with sprinkles on top and jam in the middle. She puts it on a plate and cuts it into slices.

“Get you!” says Maureen and she winks at Leon. “Have you gone all fancy while I’ve been away?”

“This,” says Sylvia, “is your last piece of cake, Mo. You’ve got to promise me about your eating and drinking.”

“Me? Drinking?”

“Eating then, sugar, cakes. You know what I mean.”

“All right, all right, don’t go on, Sylvia.”

Leon likes it when Maureen uses her no-nonsense voice with Sylvia. They are all quiet while they eat the cake. Then Maureen gets up and cuts herself another slice and looks at Sylvia while she does it.

“Do you want a bit more, Pete?” Sylvia says.

“Who’s Pete?” asks Maureen. “Why you calling him Pete all the time?”

“Oh, it’s a joke. Crazy Rose started it.”

Maureen looks at Leon and raises an eyebrow.

“She’s a bright spark, is Rose. Did she fall asleep midsentence like she usually does with her tongue hanging on her bosom?”

Maureen makes such a funny face that Leon begins to laugh and then Maureen and Sylvia join in. When nearly all the cake is gone, Leon asks if he can go out on his bike.

“I’ve heard a lot about this bike,” says Maureen. “Where do you go?”

“The park,” says Leon.

“What park?”

“The one with the railings.”

“All parks have railings, Leon. How do you get there?”

“Up the road.”

“Hmm,” says Maureen, “you can show me this park tomorrow. Bathroom first, wash your hands and face. You’ve got crumbs everywhere.”

Leon goes down the hall and opens the door to the bathroom but he doesn’t go in. He stands quietly near the living room. Sylvia is talking.

“… good kid, all in all. No trouble at all. Got used to having him here.”

“Where’s this park he keeps talking about?”

“Oh, it’s up there on the main road. You pass it on the bus. He’s all right, Mo. Look at the size of him. He can take care of himself. You should be worrying about yourself.”

“He’s gone a bit quiet,” says Maureen.

“Kids are like that at his age.”

“He’s going to be six foot and then some, that one,” Maureen says, “and good-looking.”

Leon smiles and feels the muscles at the top of his arms. Then Sylvia starts again.

“Listen, you and me have got to have a talk about the future, Mo.”

“Not again, Sylvia, for God’s sake. I’ve just got here.”

“And you’re staying here. You’re moving in with me. It makes sense. I can keep my eye on you. Neither of us is getting any younger. You haven’t got a guy, neither have I now. Two of us could halve our bills. I’ve got two bedrooms going spare. No stairs to climb. I’ve thought about it a lot and it’s for your own good. You don’t want to have another stroke, Mo. It’s nearly finished me off. You’re moving in with me.”

“Am I? You’ve decided, have you? That’s nice. I’ve got no say, I suppose.”

“Then, well, we don’t have to stop here. What’s keeping us from moving? Nothing. Mo, what do you think about Hastings?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Sell it all. Pool what we get. How much do you think we’d get? We’d have enough for a two-bedroom cottage, that’s for certain. The sea, Mo. You love the sea.”

“Hastings?”

“By the sea.”

“If only.”

“Why not? You love the sea, Mo.”

“It’s been a good long while since we had a proper break, I know that much.”

“What’s stopping us?”

“I can think of a few things.”

“Just give the idea a chance for a few minutes, Mo. Stop thinking of why not all the time.”

Sylvia’s getting loud and Maureen doesn’t say anything for ages and then when she does her voice is different, it’s all soft like when she used to tell Jake a bedtime story.

“I do love the sea. I’ve always wanted a place by the sea. Walking on the beach. Them lights that they put around the pier. A little springer spaniel or something. I’d lose this weight, wouldn’t I, with all that walking? I love that curve in the bay, great sweeping curve, like a giant smile. It’s mild down there even in winter and you’d have the sea to look at. To listen to. What is it about the sea? What is it when you look out at the sea and feel calm? Hastings, though, it must have changed since we were there.”

“Just me and you, Mo,” says Sylvia.

“Or a Lakeland terrier. Or a… what was the dog the Turners had?”

“Bedlington.”

“Pedigrees are expensive though, Sylv. And Bedlingtons can be a bit bouncy as well. We could get a rescue dog. I’d rather have a little mutt. A little crossbreed, quiet, well behaved. If it was up to me, I’d have beams in the ceiling and a stable door at the back. I don’t like cobbled streets, though, not with my ankles. I’d like it to be at the bottom of a little lane with hollyhocks on both sides. They’re the tall ones, aren’t they? Don’t want much of a garden when you’ve got the sea and I’ve never been much good with plants. Local pub. Local fish-and-chips shop. Sound of the waves at bedtime.”

“Just you and me, Mo.”

Leon walks into the bathroom and flushes the toilet. He watches the water swirling around, turning blue and then settling in the bottom. He flushes it again and spits into the water, watching his saliva dissolve and disappear. He wipes his hands down his trousers and goes into his room.

Jake looks at him from his photo with his hand stretched out, trying to pull his hair or take his truck or sit on his lap. Leon lies on his bed, closes his eyes, and puts his hands on his stomach in case he’s going to be sick. He feels all his blood turning to clay, feels Sylvia’s plans settle like an anchor on his chest, squeezing his throat into a narrow iron tube, filling his lungs with her sour perfume, her intimate odor. On his palms, he feels the squeeze of his mother’s fingers, her secret messages, her physical decay, her distractions, her stained fingers, brown as rotten fruit. And, deep in his brain, he can hear something screaming and wailing, the new realization that Maureen is just like everyone else.

He picks up his backpack to feel how heavy it is. Yes, he will be able to carry it on his bike all the way to the allotment. Yes, he can put the heaviest things in the empty shed. Yes, he’s good on his bike and strong. Yes. Castro won’t have found his hiding place. Yes, he can do it. He can. So long as no one else finds his halfway house and steals his things while he’s away. Yes.

When he goes back to the living room, they are still talking about the seaside and when Maureen sees him she takes his hand.

“Think I’ll come with you for a little stroll up to the park,” she says.

“I’m not going now,” he replies and sits down in the armchair.