‘It seems funny,’ he began, then stopped.
‘What?’
‘Nothing. How’s your cider?’
‘Fine. I have had alcohol before, you know.’
‘I never said you hadn’t.’
‘What were you going to say?’
He pursed his lips and took a sip of his pint. ‘Only that it seems funny, odd, to see you out of Bank Top. Out of context, out of your environment. It’s like you belong there—’
‘Christ, don’t say that.’
Callum raised his eyebrows. ‘Why, don’t you like it?’
‘Not much, no.’ And yet I thought of the fields that stretched behind our house, the hazy moorland above Harrop, the quiet stones of the cemetery. ‘Well, I like some of it.’ Clare Greenhalgh, grown up and sleek, smirking at me from the top deck of the bus, nudging the boy beside her and pointing down. ‘Not the people so much. But Bank Top’s where I’m from, it’s my roots. The place where you grow up is part of your identity, whether you like it or not, isn’t it?’
Callum shrugged. ‘Dunno. Is it?’
‘I think so. It’s just a shame my roots are in Bank Top.’
‘It’s not that bad. At least you don’t live on a mafia-controlled estate, or in one of these mega tower blocks where the kids drop bricks on passers-by for fun.’
‘No, but it’s dull and rundown, and every bugger wants to know your personal business.’
The lights of the fruit machine played over Callum’s serious face and I thought once again how great it was to have somebody who listened to me. The next time he came to my house I was going to show him Dad’s ashes; he deserved to see them.
‘I can take or leave Nantwich,’ he said, ‘it’s OK, not a patch on Scotland, obviously. But I always got the impression you loved your village, really, and that was why you never went anywhere much. I reckon you’re attached to Bank Top by a kind of spiritual bungee cord.’
‘Oh, pur-leeeese.’
‘Yeah, because you know all sorts about it, the history and that. I know you slag it off but I thought that was affectionate slagging, like the way kids moan about their mums. Sorry. Or their grans. Even though they love them.’
Good God, he thought I loved Poll.
‘Well, I don’t like Bank Top, for the record, and if there is any sort of bungee cord in existence, it’s about to get snipped. I’m going to tell you something.’ My heart started to speed up. ‘A great big secret. Nobody knows this, or at least not all of it. Some people know bits, but nobody knows the whole picture . . . ’
‘Get on with it, then,’ said Callum, taking his tobacco out. ‘I’m agog.’
‘Well, I might not be living in Bank Top much longer.’
He paused, mid-pinch. ‘Really? What, a job or something? Oh, I get it, you’re off to uni. Where you going? I’ve kept meaning to ask where you were headed. I really need to get my arse in gear and go to some open days. I missed a load last term.’
‘I’m going to Oxford.’
‘Fucking hell,’ said Callum, breaking into a huge smile. ‘You kept that quiet. Oxford University? Fuck me. You must be well clever.’
As soon as the words were out, I regretted it. ‘What I mean is, I have a place. To read English, at University College. But I can’t go, obviously, ’cause I can’t leave Poll on her own. For God’s sake, she’s seventy and disabled, it would be really cruel. And anyway, I might not get the grades.’
‘Yeah, you will,’ said Callum, rolling a cigarette. ‘You’ll get all As, I can feel it in my water. I’ve got some module results to come, but I’m only predicted Ds. I don’t care. Mum says my education’s rounded enough, and anyway, I might take a year out. Hell, Oxford, though.’
‘But it’s a secret,’ I insisted, ‘you’ve not to tell anyone.’
He looked at me, puzzled. ‘So doesn’t Poll know?’
‘No. She knows they called me for interview but she thinks I got rejected; she told me I would before I went. The teachers at school know I was offered a place because the college wrote to them and said so, but they think I’m going in October. I put it down on my UCAS as a firm acceptance.’ I grimaced. ‘Bit of a mess, really.’
‘And has the school not told your grandma?’
‘She never goes anywhere near it. In the seven years I’ve been at the grammar, she’s never gone to a single parents’ evening. She says they’re too stuck-up.’
‘Jesus. But why keep it a secret? I don’t get this.’
‘No, I don’t either, to be honest.’
‘Are you going or not?’
‘Keeping my options open.’ I dipped my head to swing my hair down defensively, but I’d lacquered it into place and it didn’t budge. I knew how stupid I sounded.
‘Drink up,’ said Callum, ‘and I’ll get you another. I want to hear how you got yourself in this mess.’
‘There was this wasp,’ I said, as he walked away.
*
We stayed in that house for two weeks. Vince hardly talked at all, but that suited. I made little meals that neither of us ate. In the mornings he tried to reclaim the back garden, while I had a trip to the corner shop and then did a bit of cleaning. I found the local library was only three streets away so I spent my afternoons there. I don’t know what he got up to then. And in the evenings we watched sitcoms and quiz shows. We always went to bed early.
After a fortnight, Stu came back. ‘See my chest,’ he said, pulling his shirt up. ‘Good, in’t it? Mind you, all my arms are peeling. Oh, hey, look at the garden, I never knew I had a lawn.’
Later, I saw him giving Vince a wad of notes in the kitchen. Vince said, ‘I think that’s my cue to leave.’
Stu said, ‘Only if it’s convenient. I do need to do some work on my fanzines, though. I’m planning a special with a pull-out section on bootlegs.’
We went back to Poll’s, but only to get some stuff I’d left behind by accident. The idea was to sit outside in Stu’s car till we saw her go out with the pram, then sneak in.
‘Get all your personal documents,’ said Vince. ‘You need to register yourself wi’ a doctor, apart from owt else.’ But I wouldn’t go in, in case I saw something of Katherine’s lying about. I’d had to shut my eyes while Poll wheeled her past on the other side of the road.
We went straight from there to Chorley again. I thought we were returning to Stu’s, but Vince stopped outside a row of shops. ‘I’ve a flat,’ he said. ‘Ovver th’ hairdresser’s. Come in and have a look.’
You could smell hairspray, I swear, but it was OK. A tiny TV, thin-legged chairs, saggy sofa. The bathroom suite was brown with palm-tree tiles. On the bare single bed was a pile of sheets and towels, still wrapped in cellophane.
‘Will you be awreet on your own?’ asked Vince.
‘Are you not staying?’ I said, then had a panic in case he thought it was an invitation.
‘I’ve Stu’s car to tek back. Then I’ve some business to attend to. I’ll drop by wi’ some groceries later. Are you sure you’ll not get lonely?’
‘I like being on my own these days,’ I said. It was true, although the nights sometimes gave me trouble.
He appeared at tea time with some tins, a loaf, and milk. ‘You’ve gone to skin and bone,’ he said as he watched me unpack. Before he went he gave me a phone number. ‘This is for emergencies. You can stay here as long as you want, but let me know if you’re moving on. Get signed on tomorrow with the DHSS, and see a doctor. There’s fifty quid to keep you going till your giro comes through.’ He laid it on the table and put the salt pot on top of it.
It had been quiet before at Stu’s, but it was quieter after he’d gone. That was all right. I just had to wait till the library opened next day.
While he was at the bar I watched a very slim woman in knee boots perching on a man’s knee, swinging one leg sexily. I wondered what would happen if I sat on a man’s knee; he’d probably never walk again. For a second I imagined lowering myself onto Callum’s knee, oh God oh God, think of something else quick. He did a thumbs-up across the bar at me and I had to look away in shame. But by the time he came back, I’d got myself in order.
‘So,’ he said, shuffling his chair in, ‘if it’s not a daft question, why did you apply to university if you didn’t think you could take up the place?’
‘Fear,’ I answered promptly. ‘I only put my name down for Oxford because Mrs Law told me to. I do as I’m told, mostly, plus she’s one scary woman, she makes Miss Dragon look like Shirley Temple. Then, when I got the letter inviting me down, I said to her I couldn’t go because I didn’t know what train to catch or anything. I’d never been on a train on my own, and it would be December, and dark at four. I also explained that Poll couldn’t be left overnight. I thought that would put an end to it, but Mrs Law just said I ought to try and Sort Something Out, and threatened to come round to our house and see Poll herself, which would have been like Godzilla versus King Kong. I was so petrified of Mrs Law that I went and asked Maggie to Poll-sit, which she said she’d do, bless her, but that still left the train problem. Poll said she’d been hearing about that route and apparently there’d been more fatal crashes on that line than any other, and also there’d been a rogue guard luring female passengers into his van by asking if they’d lost a Rolex, then showing them Japanese porn. I think she might have been making that up. But I was still completely rattled, so I went back to Mrs Law and confessed that I just didn’t want to go.’
‘Was she pissed off?’
‘She wasn’t very happy.’
She’d gone mental with me. She said I was one of the brightest students they’d had through the school in her time there, and what a total waste it would be not only of my own talents, but of the dedication and interest of the staff, if I ducked out of higher education simply because I lacked the wherewithal to read a timetable. I’d started to cry, which threw her, and her efforts to talk me round after that ended up with me sobbing hysterically. In the finish, she’d had to go and get matron to help calm me down.
‘But you were still too frightened to refuse?’ asked Callum.
‘No, I think I’d have bottled out of going even despite Mrs Law, but then I had this stroke of incredibly good luck. Because, at the last minute, Mrs Law said she happened to be travelling down that way to her brother’s to drop off some Christmas presents, and she could give me a lift. There
and
back. I mean, how lucky was that? Maggie said it was Fate, and I agreed with her. And although it was pretty weird sitting in the car with Mrs Law for all those hours, it wasn’t as bad as I thought because she turned out to be quite funny one-to-one. She didn’t expect me to talk at all, just told me stories while I listened.
‘She told me about her childhood and going to a convent school where you had to curtsey to the nuns, and how kind they were to her when her father died suddenly. She said they were kinder to her than her own mother, who spent the wake leaning on men and drinking bourbon, and never even gave her daughter one hug. I kept glancing across and trying to imagine Mrs Law young; I couldn’t, though.
‘When she’d talked for a long time, she began asking me about life with Poll. I told her the practical things I have to do for my grandma, and how she can be moody with me. Then I went on to Dogman and Maggie; some of that made her laugh. Finally I found myself describing what happened with my parents. Just before I got out of the car, I asked Mrs Law if it was all in my confidential file at school and she said, “Only the basics.” So I begged her not to repeat any of it and she said, in this haughty voice, “Do you honestly think I would?” and went straight back to Scary Teacher mode.’
‘That’s teachers for you. You can’t ever make friends with a teacher, however they suck up to you. So what was it like then, the interview? Were they all dead posh?’
‘I stayed in my room most of the time because I didn’t know what to say to anyone. I did try, in the morning. I thought I’d go down to breakfast and listen in to what the others were saying, see if I could pick up some tips. So I went down and it’s all dark wood panelling and narrow little stairs, into this sort of ante-room with a wall of carvings and a door cut into it. A sign next to it said
BREAKFAST
. Students were going through the door, so I waited a minute and I went through too. But when I got on the other side, it was pitch black. The door was on springs behind me and once it had closed, I couldn’t make a damn thing out. I thought it was a joke, or a test. Like, they might be watching me with infrared cameras to see if I panicked.’
‘And did you?’
‘Oh yeah. I put my hands out in front of me and felt around but I couldn’t make anything out and my chest started to go tight as though I was having an asthma attack. It was dusty, like a secret corridor. Then, I suppose it was only a few seconds later, another door opened right in front of me and there was the dining hall, and this young man peering in at me. I barged right past him to get out into the light. When I looked back, I could see it was a sort of double wall with a space between. I don’t know what it was in aid of, but they could have done with a few candles in there or something. So by the time I sat down to breakfast I wasn’t in any state to listen or eat. I thought, if there’s any dons in here having their Weetabix, they’ll have been watching me and thinking, Christ, she’s too gormless even to walk though a door.’
Callum was smiling as he took out his tobacco tin again. ‘Trust you.’
‘I know. If there’s a way to fuck up, I’ll find it. Then what happened at the interview itself, that was bizarre and surreal too.’
‘Bizarre and surreal? That doesn’t sound like you, Kat.’
I kicked him gently under the table (me! kicking a boy! in a pub!).
‘I’ll ignore that. What happened was, I got taken along to this old room full of books and there were two academic types sitting behind a huge desk, a man and a woman. The woman had a look of Honor Blackman, and the man was the spitting image of our newsagent, Mr Porter, but without the tattoos. I was pretty strung up with nerves, not because I especially wanted to get into Oxford, because I wasn’t sure I did. I just hate talking to people I don’t know.’
‘You talked to me all right the first time.’
‘Yeah, but that was different. You were family, we were on home territory.’ And there was something special about you from the start.
I looked across at him playing with his pendant and wondered what would happen if he could read my mind.