Love Story 18

      I zigzagged down the hill towards the phone box. It always smelled of pish as if somebody had used it a toilet, which they had from the damp stains on the back wall. My feet crunched on broken glass. The other panes were frosted with condensation and scored with marker pens, paint and scratches of faint numbers. My breath came away in chunks and I held the receiver in my hand. It was a ritual to search the money returns box for two or ten pences some punter might have missed. I dialled 999 not really knowing what I’d say.

‘Police, Fire or Ambulance,’ the operator said.

She repeated her request in a monotonous tone several times.

‘Is there anyone there?’ she finally said.

‘Uh-hu,’ I found myself answering, my throat full of unswallowed tears.

Her voice softened. ‘What is it you need, pet? You been hurt?’

‘No,’ I muttered, scratching a space on the window so I could check nobody else was queueing to use the phone.

‘Has somebody else you know been hurt?’

I sniffed and held the receiver away from me as I wiped my eyes. ‘Aye,’ I admitted.

‘That’s good. That’s good, pet. Let’s just take it one thing at a time.’

‘OK,’ I said.

‘I need your address to send help. I know you’re in a public phone box, but I need to know where to send the police, the fire-service, or an ambulance. Does that make sense?’

‘I didnae mean it,’ I said.

‘I’m sure you didn’t, pet,’ she replied. ‘But you need help. Take your time.’

I could hear her breathing, waiting. I spotted a man with slicked-back hair walking up the hill. He was carrying a white plastic bag and weaving along the pavement as if he was drunk.

‘102 Shakespeare Avenue,’ I shouted into the receiver and slammed it down.

I pushed open the heavy door and ran towards the huts. Circling behind them and coming out at the dump. I slid down the shortcut and climbed the hill. Slipping through a gap in the bottom of the hedges, I got my breath back when I was in my neighbour’s back green at the back of our four-in-a-block. I didn’t think anybody had seen me.

Rhododendron leaves glistened and the wire fence shone through them like a spider’s web. I felt in my pockets for the photos I’d picked up. The cold nipped my brows and my eyes watered as I listened for sirens. I darted out before they’d come and I’d change my mind. Stepped over the stupid wee wooden fence and onto the path. Street lighting meant I threw a shadow. My feet clattered too loudly on the short leash of paving at the front of Mrs Connolly’s house. I vaulted up the five steps and leaned down and stuffed the black-and-white photographs through the letterbox.

I ran back the way I’d come. Nothing had changed. The lights remained on in most of the houses, including ours. My mum was sitting in the kitchen smoking and listening to the radio. She was flicking through what she called one of her daft magazines.

‘What a day,’ she giggled, looking over my shoulder. ‘I’d no ideas that Pond’s Cream could even out wrinkles, make a mother look younger than her youngest daughter and save her complexion from the blight of unnecessary tears.’

The teapot on the ring stewed inside a knitted red caddy. A sugar bowl glimmered on the Bakelite tray, with Custard Creams, gingers snaps and three shortbread fingers on a plate as if she was expecting guests. ‘Where’s Ali?’ she asked.

‘Way up the road,’ I said.

She took a drag of her fag. ‘Did yeh tell her I’d Custard Creams?’

‘No Mum, I didn’t.’

‘Pity, that girl loves her Custard Creams.’ Smoke shadowed her face and she batted it away. ‘Did yeh tell her I was really sorry?’

‘Aye, Mum, I did.’

She peered at my face through clouded eyes. ‘Whit’s the matter wae yeh?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Come and sit here.’ She patted the chair beside her and warned me. ‘Yer no too big tae go on my lap.’ 

‘No Mum, I’m tired. I’m just going to my bed.’

‘Don’t be daft,’ she said, getting up. ‘It’s still early. I’ll get yeh a wee cuppa tea.’

‘No Mum, I don’t want tea. I just want to go to my bed.’

She tilted her head to get a final drag out of her fag before she stubbed it out and put a hand on my shoulder. ‘Yeh, look as if yeh’ve been greeting.’

I pulled away. ‘No Mum, I havenae.’

She tried not to smile. ‘Yeh sure?’

‘I’ve something to tell you.’

‘Aye,’ she said, waiting.

‘Me and Ali were up the Park and we had a terrible fight.’ I sobbed. ‘I think we might have split up.’

‘Aw, poor we soul,’ she said cuddling in and kissing my cheek. ‘I thought it was something like that. Yer eyes ur aw red and puffy. You get intae yer bed. Everything will feel better in the morning…And I’m sure yeh’ll get back the gither.’

I turned to go. ‘I think I will.’

‘Sure yeh don’t want a cuppa and Custard Cream afore yeh go?’

I shook my head and smiled weakly. ‘No Mum…Did you and Da have arguments before you got married?’

‘Aye,’ she replied too brightly. She squeezed shut her eyes and opened them again. Shook her head. ‘No really, we waited until we got married before we had our arguments. The truth is, he was all o’er me like a rash even Pond’s Cream couldn’t cure. I hud tae marry him or he’d huv had nae life. None whitsoever.’

‘Night Mum,’ I said.

She laughed. ‘Yer getting very formal in yer old age. Maybe Ali knows something I don’t?’   

‘Mum,’ I said.

‘Whit?’

I shook my head. ‘Never mind.’ I hurried through the living room before she saw me crying. ‘I love you,’ I whispered. ‘Love you too much.’