Fat Girl Slim, page 14
I go into her room and sweep all the papers, cards and photographs off the bed and into the carrier bag. I stand up and pause for a moment and then go to the broken drawer and pick out all of the jewellery boxes and drop those into the bag too. This causes a flurry of louder screaming from Mother; liar, thief, just like your father, are some of the things that I manage to pick out from the screeching.
She is screaming and glaring at me but I refuse to meet her eye and I come out of her room and close the door. I go along the landing into my bedroom and shove the bag into the bottom of the wardrobe and then quickly take the watch and necklace off and change into my running gear. I jog downstairs to the dining room and pull out one of the heavy dining chairs from the table and with immense effort I manhandle it up the stairs. I place the chair backwards in front of her bedroom door, tip it backwards and wedge the back underneath the handle. She won’t be able to open it now. Mother can hear me doing this and it causes more screaming from her but I hold my tongue; I have nothing else to say to her. I’m going to have to think of a more permanent solution in case she tries to get downstairs again. Maybe a lock on her door, a padlock, possibly. I’ll think about that later; the chair will stop her for now.
I’m going for a very long run and by the time I come back Mother will have exhausted herself and will be asleep.
I need peace and quiet to think.
I go back downstairs and just to be on the safe side I pick up the handset from the telephone holder and put it in my pocket. As I let myself out of the front door I can still hear Mother screaming but I think it’s getting fainter; I think she’s tiring herself out.
All the same, I’m thankful that we live in a detached house.
✽✽✽
I run and run, trying to make sense of events. One part of me is devastated that I’ll now never get the chance to meet my father but the other part is elated that he didn’t abandon me deliberately; he tried but she stopped him.
I can’t really mourn someone that I’ve never met but I mourn for what I might have had; what might have been. I knew Mother was vindictive but to deny a father the right to see his own child takes vindictiveness to a new level, even for Mother.
First thing on Monday I’ll ring the solicitors and make an appointment to go in and see them. Perhaps my father has left me a letter or photographs? There must be some way I can find out about him, find out what he was like. I wonder if I have half-brothers and half-sisters and then realise that of course, that’s not possible. How could I have siblings if I’m his next of kin and Mother said his wife couldn’t have children. I could have aunts and uncles though, couldn’t I? I could have other family apart from Mother. Maybe they could tell me about him. Perhaps I have relatives on my father’s side who would welcome me; who would be a proper family to me.
I run past The Rise; it’s warm for early May and the late afternoon sunshine has bought out dog walkers and joggers aplenty. I nod as I pass a familiar runner whom I often see on my nightly runs and a sudden bubble of happiness surges through me. It’s so unexpected that I slow down to analyse why on earth I should feel happy.
What do I have to be happy about? My father has just died and I’ve never met him and now never will, that’s hardly something to rejoice about, is it?
No, it’s not. But I now know that he didn’t abandon me, he cared, and that counts for something. I’m no longer the fat, unhappy downtrodden lump that I was, I’m fit, slim, young, and I have my whole life ahead of me.
I can do anything that I want. Mother no longer has control over me.
I realise that I haven’t thought about Bella once since I opened the letter from the solicitor; haven’t thought about the fact that I’m not cleaning there anymore.
But it doesn’t matter, I decide, because things have a way of working out and I know, somehow, that things will work out for me.
Everything is going to be just fine.
Chapter 16
I wait for Doris at Joey’s; I’ve managed to bag the window table so while I wait I people watch through the window as the world hurries by. Tuesday isn’t our usual day for meeting up but I felt the need to talk to someone, I need to unburden myself before I explode. When I texted Doris asking her to meet I told her that my father had died but I didn’t give any other details.
The café door bangs open hitting the wall and Doris stomps in. She comes straight over to me and bends over the chair and wraps her arms around me in a hug and holds me tight.
‘Oh, mate, so sorry about your Dad.’
Tears spring to my eyes and I struggle to compose myself.
‘You let it out, Al, let it go.’ She thumps my back with her childlike hands and I surprise myself by bursting into tears.
We stay in this awkward position for several minutes while I sob hot, messy tears and my nose runs. When my sobs start to subside, Doris stands up and pats my hand.
‘Sorry, mate, gotta stand up it’s doing me fuckin’ back in.’ She puts her hand in the small of her back and leans back and stretches. ‘Don’t fink these shoes are helping neither.’ She looks down at her feet, ‘They looked great on the shelf but they fuckin’ kill.’ She slips her feet out of them one at a time, stretches her toes and slips them back on, the back of both heels have plasters on that nearly cover the angry looking blisters.
‘Got to break ‘em in, nearly through the worst of it now.’ She winces, ‘Right, how about a cuppa? Fings always look better over a cuppa, as me mum says, or maybe she meant vodka.’ Doris looks puzzled for a moment then goes on. ‘Anyway, two teas coming up.’ She clip-clops up to the counter in her four-inch-high, sling-back wedges.
I fumble around in my handbag and by the time she comes back I’ve blown my nose and composed myself and, surprisingly, I do feel a whole lot better. Unburdened.
‘Joey’s gonna bring ‘em over.’ Doris slides into the seat opposite me and wiggles around and I guess she’s taking her shoes off again. ‘Ah, that’s better. Be sorry later when I’ve gotta put the fuckers back on.’
‘Sorry for blubbing all over you.’ I sniff.
‘No worries, you gotta let it out or else you’ll go nuts. Do you know when the funeral is? Or ave you got to sort it all out?’
The funeral? I hadn’t even thought of the funeral; how self-centred am I? I hope I don’t have to do it, I wouldn’t have the first idea where to start. I’m sure the solicitor will tell me the arrangements when I have my meeting with him tomorrow, surely, he’ll sort it out won’t he? Come to think of it I don’t even know the date my father actually died. I wonder who else will be there? Will I meet all of my father’s side of the family? I drift off into a little daydream where I’m wearing a chic black dress and a hat with a veil and am introducing myself as my late father’s mysterious daughter. I won’t tell them I’m a cleaner, I decide, something more glamorous, an actress maybe. I could probably be an actress.
‘Hmmph.’ Doris coughs politely.
‘Oh, sorry,’ I say, ‘lost in thought.’
‘The funeral?’ prompts Doris.
‘Oh, yes, I don’t know,’ I admit. ‘I don’t know anything but hopefully I’ll find out tomorrow when I see the solicitor.’
‘So when was the last time you saw your dad?’ asks Doris.
Joey interrupts us and deposits two cups of tea on the table and makes a swift exit when he sees the state of my face. I feel much better but must still look a wreck.
I contemplate Doris’s question as I pick the teaspoon up and stir my tea; pointless as there’s no sugar or milk in it. I really wanted coffee but don’t say anything as I don’t want to seem ungrateful. What version of the truth am I going to tell her? She knows my father isn’t around but I’ve always been vague on the details.
‘I’ve never met him.’
‘What?’ Doris gapes at me, ‘What, never?’
‘Nope. He cleared off, as Mother puts it, before I was born.’
‘Christ, that’s shit.’ She shakes her head in disbelief.
‘It is. I don’t even know what he looks like.’
‘What, you’ve never even seen a photo?’
‘No. He could have passed me in the street and I wouldn’t have known him.’
Doris looks puzzled. ‘What a bastard.’
I don’t say anything and stir the tea that I don’t want to drink.
‘Sorry, Al. I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘It’s okay,’ I say sadly. ‘No worse than what Mother’s called him.’
Doris looks truly shocked now and I realise I’ve slipped up; the mother that I’ve described to her is a genteel, sweet little old lady who wouldn’t hurt a fly.
‘But of course she’d never use that word,’ I go on. ‘She calls him a cad and in her book that’s the very worst thing she can say.’
‘What’s a cad?’
‘A bastard. Same thing but more polite.’
‘Oh. I see.’ She says, even though she doesn’t.
‘So what I don’t get is why didn’t he contact you before he died?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I’ve asked myself the same question many times.’
‘You’ve never, y’know, been tempted to try and find him?’
‘Thought about it. Should have done it but it’s too late now isn’t it?’
‘Well, you weren’t to know he was going to snuff it were you? And anyway,’ she goes on, ‘you’ll find out all about him when you see this solicitor bloke.’
‘Hopefully.’
‘Do you fink,’ Doris leans forward, looks around the café and lowers her voice, ‘he’s left you somefing?’
I plaster a puzzled look on my face.
‘You know, a house or some money? ’
‘God,’ I say as if I’ve only just realised what she’s getting at, ‘I haven’t even thought about that. I don’t know. Maybe.’ An outright lie because of course I’ve wondered about it. I’m only human.
‘You could be a millionaire.’ Doris sits back and beams. ‘You could tell old Ronnie to do one, no more cleaning houses for you.’
‘Yeah, imagine her face.’
Doris and I laugh at the thought of Veronica’s shock. I doubt somehow that my late father was a millionaire; in fact, I’m sure of it because if he was Mother would have found some way to rip him off. More than anything I want to know what he was like, what sort of man he was, what life he had and why he didn’t come and find me. But if he has left me something that’ll be a bonus won’t it? Like I say, I’m only human and I certainly wouldn’t turn my nose up at an inheritance.
‘But, seriously Al, if you need some support, you know, at the funeral, I’ll come wiv you.’
‘That’s so sweet of you, Doris. Thank you.’ I smile. I’m touched, I really am. She’s such a good friend.
But I wouldn’t take her.
And I feel a bit bad even thinking it.
Because she’s a bit low rent.
✽✽✽
It’s very quiet in the solicitors’ waiting room, the tap of the secretary’s keyboard the only sound. I’ve arrived way too early and as I cross and uncross my legs for the umpteenth time I wonder if I’m a bit overdressed. I didn’t want to turn up in jeans and jumper. I thought somehow that I should mark the occasion, so I’m wearing the green dress that Bella gave me, okay that I stole, with Grandmother’s cocktail watch and her emerald necklace. I also have on a pair of new green suede court shoes with kitten heels. I didn’t have shoes that did the dress justice, so I splashed out a hundred-and-twenty pounds on them. They’re so worth it though, absolutely gorgeous and I can’t stop admiring them. Every time I cross my legs I twist my calves this way and that; my legs look pretty good too. Anyway, Mother paid for the shoes, a very small compensation for Friday’s horrific episode.
As expected she was fast asleep when I got home after my run, exhausted herself with her shenanigans. I’d been out running for nearly three hours, on and off. Running and thinking. Imagining different versions of my father, older than Mother, younger than Mother, handsome, ugly, fat, thin; you name it, I’ve thought of it.
The weekend passed quietly and no mention was made of Friday’s episode; the broken drawer now pushed shut, the gaping hole where the lock should be the only reminder of what had occurred. Neither Mother nor I mentioned my father again. I cooked her meals and helped her to the bathroom and did all of the things that I’ve always done and even spoke to her quite normally. And she spoke to me, too, as if Friday’s events had never happened. Only please and thank you and would you like a cup of tea , that sort of thing, no real conversation. But we never have conversations anyway; she used to tell me what to do or call me names but conversation? No, never.
I did make sure to put the back of the chair under her door handle so she can’t get out and I think that’ll do, actually. There’s no way she can get the door open with the chair wedged there so I’m not going to bother with putting a lock or a padlock on.
As soon as nine o’clock came on Monday morning I was straight on the phone to the solicitors to make an appointment. The call was answered by Eunice, Mr Thompson’s snooty sounding secretary who informed me that Mr Gerald was out of the office until Wednesday. After the crushing disappointment of having to wait two more days I spent the next five minutes asking her questions about my father which she refused to answer. She seemed to enjoy telling me that only Mr Gerald could tell me any of the details and that unfortunately I’d have to wait until Wednesday. I don’t know how but somehow, I managed to rein my temper in as she graciously said that she would make me an appointment for today.
On arrival at the solicitors Eunice greeted me: late fifties, peroxide blonde hair with grey roots, hair-sprayed and coiffed into an elaborate beehive, thick pan stick make-up and matching orange lipstick which makes her teeth look yellow. Not what I was expecting at all. She was icily polite as I came in and spoke in such an affected, posh accent when she asked me to take a seat that it was all I could do not to laugh. I could feel her eyes on my back as I walked across to sit down. She didn’t even try to hide the downward sweep of her eyes as she took in what I was wearing. I willed myself not to be so obvious and do the same to her although it was hard to miss the bold, sixties style black and white geometric shift dress she was wearing and the white, block heeled open toed sandals. Maybe she wore it all the first time around and kept it in her wardrobe for a sixties revival.
To stop myself from looking at my watch for the umpteenth time I pick up one of the many Peoples Friend magazines from the table and flick through the pages, staring at them unseeing. I expect Eunice keeps the office supplied with all of her old magazines. I will Mr Thompson to hurry up, I feel like I’ve been waiting forever but it’s my own fault for being so early. I jump as the telephone on Eunice’s desk chirrups; my nerves are in shreds and I need to get a grip. I’ve thought of every possible scenario for this meeting since I got the letter on Friday.
‘Mr Gerald will see you now.’ Eunice speaks so quietly out of the corner of her mouth that I only just catch what she’s saying. I think she does it on purpose.
I chuck the magazine on the table, stand up and smooth my dress down, put my shoulders back and head towards Mr Gerald’s office door which is behind Eunice’s desk. Eunice doesn’t lift her head as I strut by and I ignore the please knock sign on the door and fling it open and march straight in, nose in the air to show that I’m not happy at being kept waiting.
Even though I was early.
I was expecting Mr Gerald to be ancient, but like Eunice he surprises me, but in a much nicer way.
‘Miss Travis, good to meet you. I’m Gerald Thompson.’ The man getting up out of the chair and coming round to greet me is mid-thirties, very tall and as Doris would say, well fit . Short black hair tops a handsome, tanned face and when he smiles he reveals perfect white teeth. His hazel eyes openly appraise me but unlike Eunice I can tell that he likes what he sees.
I shake the proffered hand which is warm and dry and twice the size of mine.
‘Hello,’ I manage to mumble.
‘First, may I start by offering my condolences.’ He carries on and I nod and say nothing; for a moment I can’t for the life of me remember why I’m here. Pathetic. A good-looking man is polite to me and I turn into a jabbering mess who forgets what she’s supposed to be doing.
‘Please, take a seat, Miss Travis.’ He indicates the chair positioned in front of his desk as I stand gawping at him.
He goes back behind the desk and sits down and I sit down opposite him and cross my legs in what I hope is a seductive way. Hussy. I’m here to hear my father’s last wishes and I’m flashing my legs for all I’m worth.
‘Call me Alison,’ I purr over the desk at him. God, I’ll be licking my lips in a minute.
‘Alison, I’m so sorry you’ve had to wait until now for an appointment but I’ve been away.’
I’m guessing skiing; the tan, the athletic build. He looks the action man type; he doesn’t look the sort to laze around on a beach.
‘Catalonia, water-skiing,’ he says with a smile.
I nod and smile, as if I know all about it and go water skiing every week. I was nearly right; I bet he does ski but it’s probably too late in the year for snow now.
‘Anyhoo, to the business in hand. The sad news about your father must have been quite a shock as I understand you didn’t have any contact with him? ’
Anyhoo. Normally I find this intensely irritating and creepy but when he says it I don’t mind. I actually find it very attractive.
‘No, none at all, Gerald.’
He nods gravely and opens the beige folder in front of him; it’s a good couple of inches thick, pages and pages of it. He brushes his hair back with his hand and I have the feeling that he’s not sure where to start.
