Chapter 5
FIVE
After a fitful sleep, Nina awoke before dawn.
The boys still safely in bed, she tied her hair up with a square scarf and headed down to the basement to tape together cardboard boxes.
She brought them upstairs, slowly filling them with ornaments and lamps from her bedroom as quietly as she could, packing stealthily, without any clue as to where she would next be setting up home.
I need to rent somewhere, anywhere. I’ve probably got enough cash for a few weeks’ rent on something basic, and I need to get a job. But first, you have to pack stuff up, Nina, pack it away and keep it safe . . .
She reached her hand to the back of the drawer in her bedside cabinet and stopped suddenly.
She pulled out the fragile gold-coloured matchbox and stared at the words ‘Tordenskjold t?ndstikker’ still visible on the aged container, along with a faded picture of a rather grand-looking admiral on the lid.
There were only a couple of clear memories that stood out in her mind.
In one – she could only have been a young three, making it not long before her mother died – she was standing by a window, and there was snow on the ground outside, the image framed in her mind by the heavy red-and-white-checked curtains.
Her mum had placed a marble in the palm of her hand; she heard her voice clearly and could picture the embroidered edge of her smocked blouse.
‘This is a little world, Nina.’ Nina had run her fingers over the cool glass, marvelling at the shiny round thing with the blue wispy wave captured in its centre.
‘And if ever the real world feels too big or too scary, remember that it is nothing more than a little ball travelling through space and it fits right into the palm of your hand, and the more courage you have, the braver you are when facing it, the easier it is to conquer!’
Nina carefully pushed the little cardboard insert, taking the marble out of the small box, rolling it between her thumb and forefinger before closing her palm around the cool glass.
‘Oh, Mum. I don’t think the world has ever felt so big or scary to me as it does right now.
I’m going to take each day as it comes and not think too far ahead.
As for conquering it? I think that might be a little way off.
’ She kissed the little glass orb and placed it carefully in its cotton wool nest before closing the matchbox and placing it in the soft, navy-coloured handbag she was now using.
She made breakfast for the boys and drove them to school. Every moment she thought it might be appropriate to tell them what was happening, like during the ride that morning, she lost her nerve. She wanted to preserve their happiness for as long as she was physically able.
Back home she spent the day in limbo, packing up the study and starting on the sitting room before retreating to her bed and lying there, stealing minutes of sleep from the thoughts, ideas and fears that crowded her mind.
It was like a hundred people were all shouting at her, all at once, each of the belief that the louder they shouted, the more chance they had of being heard.
The reality was that no one thought was distinct, and all were part of the wall of noise that blocked anything coherent.
She imagined screaming at Finn, and then trying to tell the boys of their situation in a way that would not damage the memory of their dad.
It was an impossible position. And one she could barely reconcile.
It felt easier, if not vital, to shut down and nap in the grubby bed where her husband’s shape lingered.
Before she knew it, it was school collection time and once again she was forced from her refuge.
She met Declan, and the two of them walked along Milsom Street alone; George’s mum was dropping Connor at home after their rugby match on the outskirts of town.
Declan was long overdue for a haircut, and it was important that things like this were not allowed to slip, important that she kept up the standard for her boys.
Usually they went to the fancy salon where she had been a regular for years and where her curly blonde locks were kept in tiptop condition from regular trims and treatments.
Her visits there were as much a social activity as they were about keeping her unruly tresses in good shape.
She had liked to sit anonymously in the leather chair and listen to the hubbub of gossip all around her.
She had cash in her purse, but now knew how important it was to keep hold of it.
Today she was taking Declan to a barber for the first time, where his cut would be a fraction of the cost.
‘So what are we going to do for the holiday, Mum?’ Declan asked.
Shop windows screamed of discounts, and the stores all seemed to feature soft wool products and warm lighting, trying to draw people in during the lull between Christmas and Easter.
One sign read ‘Winter’s nearly done! Look towards spring!
’ but she could see no sunshine in sight.
‘I don’t know yet, darling,’ she said as lightly as she could. Forget the holiday, she didn’t know where they were going to live! How they were going to live! The realisation shattered her thoughts like a pick to the brain. ‘It doesn’t really matter, does it? We’ll have fun no matter what.’
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Connor. A barrage of screams and shouts instantly sent her heart rate soaring.
‘Mum!’ he yelled. She heard the panic in his voice and her stomach leapt into her throat, was he hurt?
In danger? It was a split second of pure agony until he spoke again.
‘There are men in the house! I thought they were burglars, they rushed in behind me and I told them I’d call the police, but they just laughed.
Where are you? I don’t know what to do! I . . .’
‘Connor, take a deep breath! Take a deep breath, darling.’ Grabbing Declan’s hand, she began to run up the street towards the car park, cursing the fact that she had not been there when he got home.
Oh, God help me. I thought I had longer.
‘Don’t go near the men. Go and sit in the garden or the driveway – I’m on my way. ’
‘They’re . . . They’re taking our stuff, Mum! What’s going on?’ His voice was shrill and childlike.
‘I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just hang on, Con. I’m coming!’ she shouted, ignoring the stares of passers-by who started at the woman yelling and dragging her bewildered eleven-year-old by the hand as she ran back up the street she had only just sauntered down.
Nina ran towards the car and after making sure Declan was buckled up, jumped in, slamming the door and trying twice to secure her seat belt before managing to connect the metal end with the slot.
Her fingers shook on the steering wheel and she cursed and yelled ‘Come on! Come on! Dammit!’ at every red light that made the fourteen-minute journey feel like a lifetime.
Declan sat in wide-eyed shock on the back seat.
‘What’s happened, Mummy?’ he whispered.
‘I think there’s a mix-up at home. Don’t worry, I’ll sort it out.’ She tried out a look of reassurance in the rearview mirror.
Nina pulled the car through the gate and came to a screeching halt on the gravel driveway, parking behind a large battered lorry with the tailgate lifted and a ramp lowered to the ground.
Connor stood to the left of the front door with his school bag and blazer in a heap by his feet and his fingers in his hair as he paced back and forth with a look of utter anguish on his face.
Declan started crying. The fear and misery were infectious.
‘Listen to me, Declan. I need you to do exactly as I tell you.’ She spoke sharply.
‘I need you to be a big boy and stay here quietly in the car, until I come and fetch you. I’ll put the radio on and I will be back.
Okay?’ She tried to hide the desperation from her voice as she pushed the button, filling the space with the tuneful chorus of an upbeat pop song; its incongruence to the situation was maddening.
‘Okay,’ he managed, pushing his glasses up his nose before wriggling back in his seat and sitting up straight, as if his life depended on it.
Nina jumped from the driver’s seat and ran to Connor, placing her arms around his tense form and trying to maintain eye contact. ‘Listen to me, Connor, it’s okay!’ she said, trying to sound convincing.
‘What’s going on? What’s happening, Mum?’ He looked and sounded like the little boy he had been only a heartbeat ago, when all manner of things from bumps in the night to shapes in the garden frightened him straight into her arms.
She released her grip and stared at him, knowing that time was of the essence.
Panic swam through her veins, but this time there was no daddy around to cushion the blows with a witty retort or the promise of a treat.
She had to take control. ‘Things are a bit of a mess. Dad had some problems with the business and we have been struggling to pay the bills.’ She levelled with him.
‘I think this might be connected with that. In fact, I know it is.’
Connor shook his head; she could see that he was in shock and this small explanation made little or no sense.
‘I didn’t mean to let them in.’ He pointed towards the house. ‘They were here on the drive when I arrived home,’ he gasped, his eyes darting towards the truck. ‘And they had this paper, they waved it at me, saying something about court. I didn’t know what to do!’
‘This is not your fault. It’s not your fault.’ She tried to reassure him. ‘I’ll go inside now and talk to the men and get to the bottom of it. You go and wait with Declan in the car and—’
‘No. I’m coming in with you. You are not going in there on your own.’