Chapter 23
THIRTY-NINE YEARS AGO
The ninth anniversary of Mum’s death fell on a Sunday and I wondered if I was the only one who’d even registered the date.
I’d risen early to make Dad a cooked breakfast as usual, which he’d eaten in silence before pulling on his work boots and heading out.
As the door slammed shut, I sank into the seat he’d vacated, pushed his plate aside and lowered my head into my arms.
Even though Dad was out and Marianne was in her bedroom, I could feel the heavy atmosphere of despair closing in on me.
If it hadn’t been for Cliff, it might have pulled me under.
His friendship had been the only brightness in an otherwise dreary and monotonous existence.
His home next door had become my retreat.
We talked, played Scrabble or cards, watched television or read books in companionable silence.
But all that was about to change. Cliff had secured a new job working for a kitchen fitter in Keswick and it made no sense for him to commute from our hamlet every day so he’d sold the cottage and bought a terraced house near Keswick town centre.
The sale and purchase were set for completion next week.
I was dreading it and wished I could leave home too, but I didn’t have the financial means and I feared I never would.
I’d turned twenty-one in January and was feeling more trapped than ever.
My job didn’t pay well enough for me to leave home, especially when Dad insisted on me handing over half my wages to cover my keep.
By the time I’d paid my bus fare to work from the nearest village (which I had to cycle to and from) and covered an occasional trip to the cinema with Cliff, I had very little left so there was no way I was ever going to manage to save enough for a rental deposit.
I didn’t need anything flashy – a small bedsit would be better than here – but I couldn’t see a way of it happening.
‘Wish you were still here, Mum,’ I muttered before reluctantly pushing my chair back and clearing the table.
Dad never talked about Mum. He barely talked full stop. He was an advocate of real men don’t cry but I knew he did it in private. I’d shed enough tears of my own to recognise the redness of his eyes, the haunted expression, the hunch of his shoulders.
We had a roast with all the trimmings every Sunday lunchtime and Dad insisted on us sitting down as a family to eat.
The whole thing was a joke as there was no conversation – just the scrape of cutlery and the occasional request for someone to pass the salt or gravy.
On today’s menu was roast lamb and I’d already prepared the meat and vegetables.
I usually put the oven on while I was peeling the potatoes but my thoughts of my final months with Mum had distracted me and it was only when I opened the oven door to insert the roasting tin that I realised I’d forgotten.
Cursing under my breath, I closed the door and switched the oven on but the wait for it to get up to heat made me feel restless.
The door between the kitchen and dining room was open and the piano enticed me.
Playing a couple of Mum’s favourite pieces would soon pass the time.
* * *
I was so lost in Beethoven’s ‘Moonlight Sonata’ that I didn’t even hear the kitchen door opening and closing.
‘What the hell’s going on?’ Dad’s voice was loud and gruff as he burst into the dining room. I stopped playing and stared at him in horror. Why was he back? It couldn’t possibly be lunchtime.
‘Why’s the lamb on the side?’ he demanded.
‘I erm… I lost track of time. It’s Mum’s anniversary and I was playing her favourites.’
My fingers were still poised over the piano keys as Dad strode across the room.
‘Why? She’s not here to hear them, is she?’
That was harsh. ‘I know, but I still wanted to…’ I gulped.
My brain told me to stop talking and make a dash for the kitchen to cobble some lunch together and have the lamb for tea instead, but my fingers sought out the keys and, in a moment of insanity, I played the chorus of Simon & Garfunkel’s ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’.
‘Are you taking the piss?’ Dad yelled.
I continued to play. ‘It was one of Mum’s favourite songs.’
He lunged for the piano and slammed down the lid over the keys. If I hadn’t had speedy reflexes…
Even Dad looked shocked for a moment as I held my hands up, palms towards him, fingers splayed, shaking but intact.
Moments later, he unleashed what I suspected was years of pent-up fury on me.
I was still reeling from what had just happened and barely took any of it in but certain words and phrases jumped out at me between expletives.
Useless, unwanted, ruined my life, needy, stupid, worthless.
Then he was gone, slamming the door behind him so hard that it felt as though the whole building shook.
I was still sitting on the piano stool, my arms crossed over my body with my hands tucked protectively under my armpits, when the door from the lounge opened and Marianne appeared.
‘What happened?’ she asked, her voice small.
‘I forgot to put the lamb in the oven.’
‘Oh.’
‘And Dad slammed the piano lid down when I was playing it and he nearly—’ I burst into tears as the reality hit me of the damage he could have inflicted if I hadn’t moved my hands quickly enough.
Marianne crossed the room and, for the first time ever, gathered me in a hug. And then she let go and left, making me wonder if I’d imagined it.
I didn’t know what I was expected to do about lunch.
All I knew was that I didn’t want to be in the cottage when Dad returned.
I pulled on my coat and boots and walked up to the field Mum and I used to lie in when spotting shapes in the clouds.
There’d been a lot of rain recently so the field was boggy.
Dad apparently thought I was stupid but I wasn’t daft enough to lie down, no matter how much I wished I could.
A drystone wall ran around the perimeter and there was a section in need of repair where several stones had fallen over, creating a seat. I hadn’t been there long when I spotted a figure coming towards me. My stomach clenched, fearing it was Dad until the figure waved and I realised it was Cliff.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked when he reached me.
‘No.’
I shuffled up a little and he squeezed in beside me.
‘I heard shouting. He hasn’t hurt you, has he?’
I told Cliff what had happened and he took my hands in his, shaking his head as he checked for scratches.
‘How did you know I was here?’ I asked.
‘I heard you playing and then I heard your dad shouting and wanted to check you were okay. Nobody answered the door but I knew what date it was so figured you’d be here with your mum.’
‘How is it you remember the date and my dad and sister don’t? Or act like they don’t. Mind you, they’re both so down all the time that I doubt I’d notice the difference.’
‘It’s getting worse at home, isn’t it?’ Cliff asked.
‘I don’t know how much more I can bear. I wish there was someone out there who wanted to marry me but there’s fat chance of me meeting anyone.
I work exclusively with women, we’re not allowed to talk at work, and I can’t get to know them after work because I have to run for the only bus that comes anywhere near home. ’
‘You’ve never talked about wanting to get married before.’
‘If your only role models for marriage were my parents, would you want to walk up the aisle?’ I exhaled heavily. ‘I don’t know, Cliff. Right now it feels like it’s my only way of escaping and that scares me because I can’t see it ever happening. You know what my biggest fear is?’
His eyes met mine. ‘What?’
‘That I’ll still be here in ten years, twenty, thirty and I’ll have turned into my sister. It’s no way to live. I don’t really want to get married but I need to.’
I nearly added how much I was dreading him moving away and how I feared our friendship would dwindle when he was no longer next door, but I didn’t feel it was fair to lay any guilt at his door.
He was doing the right thing for him and I was fully supportive of his move – just envious I couldn’t do it myself.
* * *
The following Saturday, Cliff took me to a matinee showing of The Color of Money at the Alhambra in Keswick.
He insisted on paying for my ticket and told me he’d purchased the film poster for me to put up with the Top Gun one he’d given me last year.
To thank him, I bought us both a bag of chips afterwards and we sat on the pebbly beach at the edge of Derwent Water, eating our chips and discussing the film.
‘I liked it but I preferred Top Gun,’ I said.
‘Yeah, Top Gun wins for me too. You know you said you didn’t want to get married? I bet you’d change your mind if Tom Cruise came along and swept you off your feet.’
‘Funny you should say that because he did turn up at home this morning wanting to whisk me off into the sunset, but I told him I had a cinema date with my best friend so I’d have to politely decline.’
Cliff laughed. ‘I’m your best friend, am I?’
I gave him a gentle nudge. ‘You know you are. Best friend. Only friend. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.’
He put his arm around me and I rested my head on his shoulder. ‘You’re my best friend too.’
We sat there in silence for a while, watching the gentle lapping of the water on the shoreline, but darkness was falling and the temperature had dropped so we agreed it was time to retreat.
As we walked back towards town to where Cliff had parked, his pace slowed. He fiddled with the cuff on his coat and then his watch strap.
‘Are you okay?’ I asked, stopping and facing him. ‘You seem nervous.’
‘I’ve been thinking a lot about our conversation on Sunday – about how desperate you are to get away from your dad and sister and how marriage feels like the only escape plan. I… erm… well, there’s something I want to ask you.’