Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
SLOUGH
The Drop-in Centre
April 2006
Taking a deep breath, Vic took hold of the bee-shaped knocker and banged the door to the jaded Victorian end-of-terrace house. It was opened by a woman of around fifty, Vic guessed, with dyed blonde hair tied back loosely in a clip. She was wearing jeans, a navy sweatshirt with the words ‘Positive Hope’ in white on it, and a friendly smile.
‘Sorry for taking so long,’ she said in a strong Liverpudlian accent. ‘I had the blender going in the kitchen.’ She wiped her hands on the sides of her jeans.
‘Hello…’ Vic felt suddenly nervous. ‘I’m Victoria.’
‘Well, it’s lovely to meet you, Victoria – or would you prefer Vicki?’
Victoria stopped herself from visibly cringing. ‘Just Vic or Victoria is fine.’
‘OK, Vic. Well, I’m Chrissie. I’m one of the support workers here. It’s your first time, isn’t it? ’
Victoria felt her breath catch as she nodded, and Chrissie clearly noticed.
‘We are a friendly bunch here. We have a chef who comes in and does a lunch for one-ish; I was just making a cake for later, as I’m working in the office upstairs till late.’
They arrived at the kitchen door. Chrissie addressed the well-built, tattooed bald man who was stirring something on the hob. ‘All right, Doug. We have a new diner, so you best make an effort with today’s scran.’
‘You cheeky…’ The guy grinned and looked at Vic. ‘Hi. Don’t listen to this one. She boils eggs in the microwave. But welcome to Hope Cottage.’
‘Oi.’ Chrissie mock-swiped him.
‘Actually, whilst we’re in here…’ Chrissie walked further into the kitchen and pointed to the labelled canisters on the side. ‘Help yourself to tea and coffee, and there’s always biscuits or cakes in the green tin there. Actually, come on, let’s make a brew.’
With hot drinks in hand, Chrissie was then off again down the hallway, Vic following close behind. ‘Living room to your right – people just come and chat or watch television, or just sit and have some peace.’
Vic noticed a long leather sofa and armchair and a television that was showing a news channel with the sound down.
‘Between ten and three every Tuesday, fifty-two weeks a year, rain or shine, this whole place is yours to use as you wish.’ They carried on to the end of the corridor. ‘Toilet and shower room to the left, should you need it, and this – without really needing any introduction – is the dining room.’ They entered a large, airy room housing a long wooden table with mis-matching chairs. Double doors led out onto a garden, where there was a small brown shed and two bench-seated tables.
‘You’re the first in today.’
‘How many people usually come?’
‘Depends, really. Six, sometimes up to twelve. Some of the same faces have been coming for years; some just pop in immeditately after diagnosis to see what it’s all about, then drift off. Others, well, it’s part of their weekly routine.’
‘Ah, OK. So informal, then?’
‘Yes. We do have a circle session around the dining table on the last Wednesday of the month, where people come in and share whatever is on their mind. Sometimes we have a guest speaker to talk about health or wealth or whatever the boss thinks may be of use to our service-users. That’s what we call you, by the way: a service-user. You don’t have to book, and one of the volunteers usually hosts it.’
‘Ah, OK.’ Vic nodded. ‘Handy to know.’
‘You found us all right, then?’ Chrissie’s voice lifted.
‘Yes, yes. I got a taxi. Easy to find the road, though not the house – I expected a sign of some sort, I guess.’
‘Yes, we keep it low-key here now. Used to have one, but some stupid cock decided to spray paint the fence with abuse.’
Vic bit her lip. ‘I hate this side of it.’
‘Let’s sit.’ The women sat down opposite each other in the dining room. Vic noticed that the walls were blank, apart from a poster saying ‘Help yourself’ and an arrow pointing down to a huge basket of condoms and what Vic assumed must be femidoms.
‘Here at Positive Hope, we’re doing our best to stop the stigma, but it’s a tough job, unfortunately, and as we are a charity, we have to work hard to keep the funds coming in. We are always putting the message out to try and combat it, but it ain’t easy.’
‘Good for you, but hearing that makes me so angry.’ Vic sighed. ‘I keep repeating this, but if I was sat here with any other illness, people would be feeling sorry for me, not making me feel like a total outcast.’
Chrissie sighed. ‘Yes, but I do think the cause of that fear and ignorance is clear. Granted, back in the eighties, the treatments weren’t there, and a lot of people were dying, so we did need the public to be as informed and aware as possible. But although successful in its messaging, the lingering shock from those tombstone ads around the virus didn’t help. Along with the association with the gay community, the ignorance and bigotry carries on and, sadly, the path from that to the continuing stigma is well trodden, I’m afraid to say.’
‘I guess I need to just be as informed as I can,’ Vic added.
‘Or just keep away from the idiots who aren’t.’ Chrissie put her hand over her mouth as she coughed. ‘How did you hear of us, by the way?’
‘A leaflet.’ Vic thought back to how a leaflet for this place had randomly come through the door at her mother’s with a bunch of other junk mail. ‘I spoke to another lady – I can’t remember her name now – about coming today. I took a day off work. I’m staying at my mum’s tonight.’
‘You don’t live around here, then?’
‘Does that matter?’ Vic replied, more defensively than she meant to.
‘Not at all. Hope Cottage is an open house.’
‘I live in London. At the moment, anyway. I did think about going to the Lighthouse but I liked the idea of this being small and personal, and it’s not far from Mum’s, so…’
‘Well, it’s a big well done for coming. I can’t imagine it’s easy. Do you want to tell me your story?’ Chrissie looked Vic right in the eye.
‘I was diagnosed just before Christmas.’ Tears hit the back of Victoria’s eyes. ‘Condom split. The guy I slept with didn’t know he was positive.’
Chrissie tutted. ‘Oh, Victoria. That really is a tough one to swallow.’
‘Yeah.’ Vic let out a huge sigh. ‘I always try and see the good in a situation. Like there’s a reason for everything, you know? But I’m struggling with this one.’
‘Trust in the timing of your life, Victoria. One day, you’ll see, and I’d bet good money on that.’
‘I like that.’ Vic smiled and repeated, ‘Trust in the timing of your life.’
‘Are you in a relationship now, Vic?’
‘No. He left me when I told him.’
Chrissie’s face dropped. She put her arm on Vic’s. ‘Oh, love. You really have been through it, haven’t you.’ Her voice then lilted. ‘All I can say is, don’t rush to find love, because I can imagine that’s a lot of what’s on your mind right now.’
‘Yes and no. Nobody will want me. I have to face that.’
‘If you think like that, then of course they won’t. Be patient. Love is blind. He’ll walk through the door when you’re least expecting it. I bet you.’
Vic raised her eyebrows. ‘I didn’t put you down as a romantic, Chrissie.’
‘Romantic, nah, just a realist. This game of happiness is formulaic. Stop rushing around and looking for it, then – what is it they say? It’ll have a chance to sit on your still shoulder like a butterfly.’
‘Aww. You’re sweet,’ Vic crooned.
Chrissie let out a loud, dirty laugh. ‘I’ve been called many things before, but that ain’t one of them.’
Vic smiled. ‘So did anyone come and sit on your shoulder, then?’
‘I’m not supposed to say, but yeah, that bald-headed auld fella in the kitchen. Moved down here, minding my own business and he’d been in that kitchen waiting for me all along.’ A grin formed on the blonde woman’s face.
‘Aw, that’s lovely to hear.’ Vic took another slurp of coffee. ‘There could be a chance for me yet.’
‘Keep the bigger picture in mind, girl. You’re going to be just fine. Right, I better go and help my Doug, before he starts kicking off.’
Vic sat and looked down the garden. Maybe the only reason she had come here today was for Chrissie’s wise words. Because right now, she had a sudden urge to flee this building, which reminded her of everything she didn’t really want to be talking about to complete strangers – not today, anyway.
She checked for messages on her phone and, finding none, closed her handbag and stood up.
Chrissie noticed her walking past the kitchen and followed her to the door. ‘You’re off already?’ she asked gently. ‘Was it something I said?’ She smiled, seemingly keen to show she wasn’t offended.
‘It was everything you said, actually.’ Vic paused. ‘In a positive way, I mean.’
‘Good job I’m not in charge of service-user retention.’ Chrissie grinned, but on noticing Vic’s downturned lips, put her hand on her shoulder. ‘We are here, every Tuesday. No judgement. It’s not as hard as you think to open up to strangers. I mean we did all right, didn’t we?’
‘Thanks, Chrissie. And yes, we did just fine. And just knowing that is enough – for now, anyway.’
As Vic arrived back home in Windsor, Kath came to the front door with Chandler at her feet.
‘I didn’t even hear you leave. Are you OK, love?’ Kath looked concerned. ‘Been somewhere nice?’
‘Just into Slough, I… er… needed to take a top back that I bought last week.’ Wishing that was what she had been doing, Vic leant down and ruffled Chandler’s ears. Despite – and indeed because of – her mum going through a sober patch, she just wasn’t ready to worry her and cause an explosion of drama by telling her. Not yet.
They walked through to the kitchen.
‘It’s been lovely having you home more lately. And I’m so glad you told me about Nate, love.’
Despite it being months since Nate had left, the time had only recently felt right for Vic to tell her mother.
‘You can’t be going through that on your own. So I’ve made a vegetable soup this morning, for your lunch. Full of goodness, it is, and I’m just off into town to get some fresh bread. There’s a sliced loaf in the bread bin if you can’t wait.’ Kath put her hand to her daughter’s chin and moved her face from side to side.
‘Mum! Stop it!’
‘You look much better than when you arrived. Good, good. See you later on.’ Kath fixed Chandler’s lead to his collar. ‘Our Albie is coming round for his tea tonight. In fact, I’ve seen a lot of him lately. He’s been helping Joti out with odd jobs as well as me.’
‘I’d heard.’ Vic was finding the obvious change in both her mother and sibling quite unnerving.
‘I told you, he’s a good lad, really. Oh, that reminds me: I need to get some mince. I’ll do a lasagne, shall I?’
‘I’ll be looking like a lasagne soon,’ said Vic fondly, overtaken by the warmth of love from her mother.
‘Well, if your old mum can’t feed you up with your favourite food, then who can? See you later, darling.’
Vic was sure her mother had tears in her eyes. She found it so heartening to see the change in her, and if Kath carried on like this, Vic would have no hesitation in confiding in her about her HIV. Because a sober Kath Sharpe was a tour de force and a mother like no other – two things that she could really do with right now.
‘Bye, Mum. ’
Vic was just about to shut the door behind her when Joti pulled onto the drive. As she lifted her hand to wave at her, Vic noticed that she was crying. Not wanting to pry, she turned to go inside again.
‘Vicki? Have you got a minute?’
Joti handed Vic a steaming mug of tea and sniffed loudly. ‘I’m being stupid. I’m all right now. It’s just, it would have been my dad’s birthday today.’
The magical sound of birdsong coming from the apple tree at the bottom of Joti’s garden gave relief to the mood for a second.
‘It’s so lovely to be sat outside, at last. But no wonder you’re upset. Gosh, with you being the age you are, I’m assuming your dad must have died fairly young?’
‘No, he was eighty-eight when he died a year ago – my mum was much younger than him.’ She let out a little laugh. ‘Ironic that a heart surgeon should drop down dead from a heart attack, but a good way to go, I reckon. Instant; no suffering. At a ripe old age.’ Joti’s voice tailed off. ‘Sadly, unlike my mum.’
‘Oh no. So your mum has passed, too?’
‘Yes, she died in a car accident in Sydney, just two years after I was born. I was in the car and survived without a scratch. The headline was: “Miracle Baby Survives Horror Crash”. My one claim to fame.’
‘Oh, Joti, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what else to say. You’ve lost your dad, your marriage has ended and you’ve moved to the other end of the country in the space of a year.’
‘I know. Some days I don’t know how I put one foot in front of the other, and now, well… What is happening today is just, well, on a different level.’
Vic was beginning to think that maybe being HIV- positive wasn’t the worst thing in the world, when put into the context of other people’s lives. ‘Oh shit. What is it?’
‘Can I show you something, Vic? It’s personal, but I feel I can trust you.’
‘Of course.’ Vic took a sip of her tea.
Joti ran inside, then came out holding a letter. ‘My dad’s solicitor in Australia gave me this when he read his will. And I’d like you to look at it, as it is the reason I chose to live in Windsor.’
The beautiful writing on crisp white paper caused Vic’s thoughts to turn to Jerico Flint for a fleeting second. ‘It is so him, another Mister, just like my ex-husband. Mister Jonathan Selfish Adams this time, and the brusque bedside manner he was so famous for.’ Joti huffed.
Vic began to read.
Dear Joti, my beautiful daughter,
If you are reading this, then your stepmother and I must be dead. I felt the time was right to tell you that I am not your biological dad. Never doubt that I have loved you as if I was, as did Katy.
‘Katy was your stepmother, I take it?’ Vic asked. Joti nodded. Vic carried on.
But maybe if your real father is still around, he will want to meet you and you won’t be all alone in this world.
I loved your mother dearly. Who wouldn’t? She was kind, gracious, undeniably beautiful and so much fun, but she could never love me like she loved your real father. Never. I knew that.
He sent a letter, you see, to our house in Australia. Your mum never knew I read it, of course, even though I had discreetly torn through the PO box number, so she couldn’t reply. So all she had to go on was that he was sober and missed her, and that he probably lived in Windsor and had signed off as JT. And despite him professing to be a friend, she had mentioned a Jake, and when she had said his name her whole being lit up. I could feel the love through the pages. I also worked back the dates of when you were born and I knew you couldn’t possibly be mine. When she told me that she was taking you to see a great-aunt in England, I knew where she was going. She was going to him. She’d packed for weeks, not days. I’m not stupid. You were a mile from the airport when the accident happened. Like I’ve told you so many times, your mum wouldn’t have suffered and I still can’t get over the absolute miracle that you survived. Even more reason that you must know where you came from. As must he. You are a special girl, Joti. You really are.
You have reminded me so much of her all my life. And even though you moved away, you gave me such joy when you came over to see me and Katy. You really did.
I am so sorry for only sharing this with you now, though, my darling. I didn’t want to confuse you. But if I’m honest, more selfishly, I didn’t want to lose you.
Please forgive me, my cherub, but most importantly, be happy.
Please be happy XX
An open-mouthed Vic put the letter down on the garden table.
‘Mad, isn’t it?’ Joti smiled.
‘Wow. Just wow.’ Vic’s voice was now shaking. ‘So you are taking the chance, that this… this Jake is still in Windsor, I guess? ’
‘It’s a long shot but a good start to make enquiries, and quite frankly it’s all I have. And it was easier than putting a pin in the map when I knew I wanted to get out of Edinburgh.’
Vic then had to ask the question. ‘What was your mum’s name, Joti?’
With tears in her eyes, Joti replied, ‘Malini. Her name was Malini.’