mother thought this was so. But it was not. Graham, red-eyed and stumbling blind through life, was a stranger to both of us. My mother told me later that she was afraid of him. As for me, I didn’t know him, not anymore. After our brief and precious return to closeness, he had once again vanished from my side. And perhaps I had lost hope that he would ever come back.
But with the passing of summer came a breakthrough. My brother turned eighteen. There was a sense of things looking up. Graham announced that he had got a part-time job, cash in hand, at the Esso garage up on Clifton Road. I was in the living room with my mother when he told us, his face brighter than I had seen it in years. As autumn progressed, he came home at night more often, seemed to mention his friend Barry less, was less black around the eyes. I can remember my mother still complaining that he had left all the lights on, the electric ring glowing orange on the hob, the smell of burnt toast up the hall. But at least he wasn’t as aggressive and seemed at last to want to work, to live well. The year turned. A little after, we found out he had a girlfriend. Her name was Tracy. She was quiet, with brown hair, as unremarkable as it gets. That sounds uncharitable, but she was so young – she had not left school – was not, in fact, that much older than me, and like me, she had not grown into herself. She was an ordinary girl, but with her, Graham appeared to finally be settling and my mother could not, would not argue with that. And I think because of that, she finally found the confidence to call Jim.
She was not to know that whatever peace Graham had found, it would not last.
Forty
Carol
1987
After a few faint ticks, the phone rings loudly in her ear, and then quietly in Scotland: near and far, near and far, over the hills and far away. She runs her nail down the frame of the mirror and sucks her teeth. Come on, Jim, answer. Near and far. A click. She inhales deeply, pulls in her stomach.
It’s a woman’s voice. Another woman; she should have known. She’s about to put the phone down when she hears what the woman is saying. ‘Please leave a message and your number after the beep.’ The voice is electronic-sounding. A machine, not another woman at all.
Beep.
‘Oh.’ Her own voice is high, startled. ‘Hello. Erm, this is Carol Green … I mean, you know me as Watson … I mean Carol, anyway, leaving a message for James MacKay, sorry, Jim MacKay, I mean Jim. My number is one five one, seven two nine, three five six. Thank you. That’s the message. Thank you now.’ She hesitates, puts down the phone and feels the heat of a blush spread to the roots of her hair.
Her hand is still on the receiver. She picks it up again and dials Pauline’s work number.
‘ICI Human Resources, Pauline speaking, can I help you?’
‘Hiya. Can you talk?’
‘Aye, go on. Make it quick, though, I’ve got a BO case in five minutes. Last warning, smelly bastard’s killing us by stealth.’
Carol giggles. ‘I called him. Jim, I mean.’
‘You never?’
‘I did.’
Pauline gives a squeak. ‘Get you, scarlet woman.’
‘Don’t.’
‘So what did he say?’
‘It was one of them answering machines. I nearly died.’
‘Did you leave a message?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well bloody good for you, love. Well done. I hate them things.’
Carol smiles to herself. ‘Well, I mean, I was thinking, you know, our Graham’s been so settled recently. I mean, he’s almost cheerful sometimes. And Nicky’s busy with exams and that.’ She gives a little excited chuckle. ‘And so I just thought – what the hey-ho, you know?’
‘About bloody time. Listen, love, I have to go. Niffy Nigel’s here and I’ve got to tell him how to use a bar of soap. Thirty-bloody-two, you’d think he’d’ve figured it out by now.’
‘Righto – off you go, love.’ Carol laughs, though she’s disappointed not to be able to chat. ‘Ta-ra.’
‘Ta-ra, temptress.’
‘Give over.’
* * *
The following Saturday morning, Carol is halfway through spring-cleaning the kitchen cupboards and thinking about a quick cup of coffee and a cigarette. Five minutes later, she’s sitting in the armchair by the window with a cup of Mellow Bird’s and a B&H.
Bliss.
She pushes her bottom back into the chair, closes her eyes and tries not to think