Kate Tempest - The Bricks that Built the Houses

‘Just relax,’ Miriam tells him. ‘They’ll love you. You’ll love them.’

And she touches his face and David feels the familiar orchestra striking up in his chest.

Pete looks at his mother and sees a quietness in her that he isn’t used to. No one has said anything for a few minutes. Pete looks pointedly at his sister. Harry feels his eyes but doesn’t look up. David is staring out at everyone, smiling, trying to catch someone’s eye, pushing his glasses up his nose.

‘The chicken’s great, Mum.’

Miriam looks at Pete, grateful that someone has broken the silence.

‘Thanks, love, I just did it the way I always do. Just the usual.’

Pete smiles at her. Harry shudders inwardly.

David sees his moment. ‘So, erm, do you do much cooking then?’ He pushes his glasses up his nose.

‘I wish I did more, David,’ Pete says. ‘Can’t seem to get past beans on toast these days.’

‘Oh yes? I make a good beans on toast myself!’ David pushes his glasses up his nose again. He speaks all sentences as if they have an exclamation mark at the end. ‘I like to sprinkle some grated cheese on top! Or sometimes underneath! You know, before you pour the beans on? Makes it melt more thoroughly!’

Harry stares at David, his thinning hair combed through with gel, silvering at the edges, face like an empty bowl, gazing dumbly, wondering what else he could say about beans. She can feel her lip crawling up into a sneer. Harry’s dad is in her mind. Him and his silent, difficult ways. Him and his lofty conversation.

She feels like an impostor when she’s around Pete and her mum together. She becomes aware of everything about her that she got from her dad. Shrunken and difficult next to her shining, rose-lipped brother.

‘Yeah, I’ve done that. I’ve put cheese on top before. It’s nice, yeah.’ Pete could be saying anything, just words. As long as words are being said then it’s fine, his mum will feel better.

Each nervous second pushes against the next one. David’s urgent eyes seek out something to remark on. Miriam breathes quietly, wonders how she can calm him down. Her eyes find his but he can’t read the gaze.

‘And how’s work, Harriet? Recruitment, isn’t it?’

She flinches as she always does when people call her Harriet. It feels like someone else’s name. A constant reminder of all she gets wrong. But her mother won’t call her Harry. I gave you a name for a reason, she had said. You are my daughter after all .

‘Yeah, that’s right, David, it is. It’s fine, thanks, trucking on. Moving up towards a more managerial role. I’m working with a good team, you know, good prospects.’ She rattles off the usual.

‘Oh, sounds great. That’s what I did, worked my way up. Best way to do it, if you ask me.’ David takes a large handkerchief out of his trouser pocket and blows his nose without breaking eye contact with Harry. Harry stares at him, unsure if this gesture is meant to be significant in a way she doesn’t understand. David finishes, puts his handkerchief away and urges Harry to keep talking with an eager smile and a slight nod of the head.

‘It’s a good job,’ Harry says, a little shaken. ‘Steady. And I can’t complain, you know, jobs are hard to find at the moment.’

‘That’s right. You’re right there. That’s very true. I think a lot of people are struggling these days to find anything at all, ain’t that right? My boy, my Dale, he’s been lucky, he works for his mother’s partner’s firm, been there since he was sixteen. Scaffolding, he does. He’s very good at it. You’re looking for work at the moment, aren’t you, Pete?’

‘I am, yeah. Well, I’m signing on,’ Pete says.

‘And what is it you’d like to do? Ideally? Your mother says you’re very bright.’

‘He is!’ Miriam smiles at Pete. ‘He’s always been a keen reader. Very bright, aren’t you, Pete?’

Harry glances at her mother. Her heart feels like it’s squashed up underneath the table leg, keeping the surface steady.

‘To be honest, Dave. ’ Pete lets his knife and fork rest in his hands. ‘I don’t have a clue, mate. I mean, I thought I did. But now. ’ Pete trails off, defeated.

‘Oh dear. That is a shame!’ David says cheerfully.

‘He hasn’t worked in years,’ Harry explains. ‘Thinks it’s beneath him.’

Pete narrows his eyes at Harry, protests slowly, but with feeling. ‘I don’t think it’s beneath me, I just can’t do it, I can’t do minimum wage and zero-hours contracts any more. Working all hours and still can’t make the rent, still can’t save a penny. I want a career like anyone else.’

‘Yes! A young man must have a career!’

‘I’ve been all sorts. Handyman in a hotel, I’ve worked in a shoe shop, I’ve cut ham at Asda’s meat counter, I’ve couriered packages, I’ve poured pints. I’m hardly workshy. But I’ve got a degree , David, in international relations of all things. I thought I wanted to go into politics, but it means nothing. It means, excuse the expression, fuck all . I’ve no prospects, no security. I can’t trust myself. I have no fucking future in the workplace. Look at me. I’m nearly twenty-seven, I live at home with my dad, I’m skint, I’m signing on. That’s the reality for me, David, I’m afraid.’ Pete breathes heavily, phlegm growls in his chest. Surprised at himself for the outburst.

‘Well,’ David offers, ‘things might pick up!’

Pete’s cutlery starts to rattle against the plate. He puts his knife and fork down and clenches his fists on the table top. ‘I could study more, keep going with university, but I’d need to get sponsored, I’d need full sponsorship, and there’s no way I’m bright enough or my ideas are interesting enough to get that. And for what, anyway? What’s the point of learning if it can’t put food on my table and a roof over my head? I mean, I’ve thought about teaching.’

‘I’m sure you’d be a great teacher!’ Did that sound sarcastic? He didn’t mean it to. David listens as eagerly as he can.

‘I might be one day, but right now, if I went into it, I’d be as bad as those teachers I had who I hated. You need passion for a job like that. Otherwise you’ll end up one of them.’

‘Perhaps you’d like to come and work at Bright Eyes with us?’ It fell out of his mouth before he’d realised what he was saying and he watched it fidget on the table like a frog on a hot pavement.

The first day miriam walked in, David had seen something in her, some longed-for hint of dignity he hadn’t seen since his mother passed. She was elegant, in a straightforward kind of way. She came in smiling and looking around properly as someone should, taking in the rows of neatly stacked spectacles, the colour of the carpets, the giant pair of glasses suspended above the till, the entrance to the eye-testing room, the chairs lined up outside, the framed black-and-white poster of iconic glasses-wearers, the headed notepaper on the desk by the tills that said Bright Eyes and had a small sketch of a pair of glasses with the right lens twinkling.

‘Hello,’ she said. ‘My name is Miriam Chapel and I haven’t had a job in twenty years but I’m a fast learner. I’m committed, and I’ll do any odd job that needs doing. I’m sociable, I enjoy people’s company. I mean, I like to help people, I really do. And I’ve worn glasses all my life so I really understand how important it is that people choose the right frames. And I’m wondering if you need any help here?’

She was dressed in a grey pullover, a navy coat, dark trousers, flat shoes. Her hair was neat and soft and curled around her ears and her face was sparkling, just sparkling like that. He smiled deeply, from the soles of his feet, beneath them, from the carpet of his shop, and he extended his hand.