The Summerhouse

The three of them had been waiting half an hour for her.

Manda led them round the side of the house, away from the windows, down the crazily paved path and under the low branches of the apple trees. They emerged, out of sight of the house, onto an unkempt stretch of lawn bordered by overgrown hedges.

Pete looked at the wooden structure. “It’s a shed,” he said.
“It’s a summerhouse,” said Manda. She unlocked the padlock on the door, and Pete, Nev and the dog crowded in after her. They looked at the square of brown carpet, and the old leather armchairs, and the little table with the varnish scored by cup rings.
“OK,” said Nev. “It’s a summerhouse.”

That was the year Manda was ten, and it was their house, hers, Pete’s, Nev’s and the dog’s, all that summer. Manda brought Mum’s old radio down and Pete, who had an older brother, tuned it to Radio Luxemburg. Nev, who had an older sister, brought cigarettes and matches. In later years, Manda managed to forget how the summerhouse looked and why – if she ever knew – it had been put up in the first place. But she would never forget the smell of the cigarette smoke mixed with the old leather chairs, and the tinny sound of Luxemburg punctuated by whines from the old, smelly dog.

When the summer was over Pete and Nev went up to secondary school, and before long they stopped calling for Manda, and lost interest in the summerhouse. Manda’s life returned to the way it had been before Pete and Nev discovered her and her ramshackle, unsupervised garden, and her Mum who never asked questions.

Manda never asked questions either. She never asked why her new duffel coat came from a jumble sale, or her new shoes from the charity shop, or why the phone didn’t work any more. She missed Pete and Nev, not as people but as events in her life: something to watch, and think about, and remember at school. Something to take her mind, if only for a moment, from the task of not looking lonely.

She continued going down to the summerhouse after school. She took her books, she sang and told herself stories, and sometimes she sneaked the photograph albums from the cupboard in the spare room, and turned the pages, and tried to remember. As the days grew shorter she wore extra clothes under the not so new duffel coat and took the torch from the garage. On the weekend the clocks went back, she fell over the crazy paving and grazed her knees. Mum didn’t ask about the grazes, but she told Manda to stay in the house when it got dark.

Mum was going through one of her bad patches. Manda knew this without asking, because sometimes in the mornings she found Mum asleep, fully clothed, on the settee. The house wasn’t cleaned any more, there was no washing done and sometimes Manda wore the same clothes to school all week. She often had to get her own tea, but this wasn’t difficult as there was rarely much to get.

Mum never left the house. On Saturday mornings she sent Manda round to the local Co-op with a fiver to buy bread and milk and anything else she could squeeze in for the money. Every so often she slung an armful of washing in the machine and sat at the kitchen table, watching it go round and round. Manda would watch it too, hoping some of her stuff was in it.

When the letter arrived from school, Mum looked at it with an expression in her eyes that Manda recognised, but could not name.
“What have you been saying?”
“I haven’t said anything,” said Manda.
“Bloody nosey parkers,” said Mum. “Bloody gawping, prying nosey parkers. Have you had anyone in here?” She looked suspiciously at Manda.
“No.”
“This is my home,” said Mum. “I don’t want any bloody gawping nosey parkers interfering in here.”

But Mum did put on clean clothes, make her face up and go into school, and for a while things got a bit better. She started buying food again, and changing the sheets every couple of weeks, and washing Manda’s school things. But she still went to sleep on the settee with all her clothes on, and she rarely spoke to Manda beyond the necessities of telling her to eat or go to bed.

November brought a new girl at school. Her name was Eilish, she had ginger hair, and she came from Ireland. People made fun of her accent and her name; they called her Eyelash and said she lived in a bog. Eilish shouted back at them and called them names and punched one boy who laughed at her, after which she was sent to the headmistress.

Manda found Eilish crying in the cloakroom.
“What are you looking at?” Eilish demanded.
“Nothing,” said Manda. She sat down on the bench opposite. “My Dad’s from Ireland,” she said.
“Is that right?” said Eilish, as though she didn’t believe her.
“Somewhere in County Cork,” said Manda. “I can’t remember. He doesn’t live there any more. He lives in America.”
Eilish looked interested. “Whereabouts?”
“I don’t know,” said Manda.
“Haven’t you ever been to visit?”
“No,” said Manda. “I think he asked once, but my Mum wouldn’t let me.”
“Be great if it was Hollywood,” said Eilish.

A few days later Manda asked Mum if she could go home for tea with Eilish. “She’s my friend,” she said, answering a question Mum hadn’t asked.
“No,” said Mum.
Then Manda asked a question. “Why not?”
Mum looked at her, with the unnameable expression bright in her eyes. “Because you can’t. It gets dark too early now. I can’t go running about all over the place fetching you from God knows where.”
“Eilish’s Mum said she’ll bring me back.”
“And who is Eilish’s Mum, to tell me how to run my home or bring up my daughter?”
“No-one,” said Manda. “She just said she could bring me home.” After another moment she said, “She wouldn’t have to come in.”

The next day Eilish said, “Can you come to tea, then?”
“No,” said Manda.
“Why not?”
“I just can’t,” said Manda.
“But there must be a reason,” argued Eilish.
“I just can’t.”
“I thought you were my friend,” said Eilish, “but you’re just like all the others.”

It was hard, having found someone, to lose them again, and Manda had to concentrate even more on not looking lonely.

Mum’s improvement did not seem to be holding. The washing was piling up again and the food was running out. On Sunday morning, when Manda went downstairs, she could hear the sound of Mum’s snoring from behind the closed sitting room door.

Manda washed a bowl and a mug and got herself some cereal and a drink of water. She washed and put on the same underwear as the day before, finding a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, not too dirty, in the overspill from the laundry basket on the landing. Then she went back into her room to read.

At ten o’clock the doorbell rang.

Manda knew you were not supposed to answer the door. She knew you were meant to keep very, very quiet until whoever was there had gone away. She was keeping very quiet, up in her bedroom, but she could not resist a peek round the edge of the dusty curtains.

It was Eilish. In her surprise Manda forgot herself and clutched at the curtain, and maybe Eilish sensed the movement and that was why she looked up. She waved at Manda.

Manda crept down the stairs as quickly as she could, and managed to reach the door before Eilish could ring the bell again.

The two girls looked at each other over the doorstep.
“We’re visiting friends in Ullswater Road,” said Eilish. Ullswater Road was where Pete and Nev lived. “Dad said I could go to the Co-op for sweets. I remembered your address.” She was already peering past Manda, into the hall with its threadbare carpet and stacked newspapers, through to the kitchen with dishes piled on surfaces and carrier bags and old wrappers on the floor.
“My Mum’s not well,” said Manda.
“Can I use your toilet?” Eilish asked. “Only I’m desperate. I won’t make it back to Ullswater Road if I don’t.”
Manda looked at the door handle and said nothing.
“We could be friends again,” said Eilish.
“You’ll have to be quiet,” said Manda, as she led the way upstairs.

On the landing she waited for Eilish to step over the pile of dirty washing. She gestured at the bathroom, avoiding Eilish’s eyes, and crept away downstairs. A few moments later she heard the toilet flush and the bathroom door open.

Eilish had nearly reached the bottom of the stairs when Mum’s voice said, “What’s going on?”
She stood in the sitting room doorway, looking blankly from one to the other, as if she could not understand the sight of two girls where there should only have been one. Then she said, almost in a whisper, “You’ve been upstairs.”

Eilish ran down the remaining two steps and bumped against Manda. She looked back at Mum, in her creased clothes, and hair, and skin. Manda saw that the look in Eilish’s eyes was exactly the same as the look in Mum’s. Seeing it in someone else, she could finally name it. Fear.
“It’s just Eilish,” she said to Mum.

Mum looked at Eilish for a moment. Then she smoothed her hair with her hand and stretched her mouth in a smile. “There’s no need to run away, Eilish. I’m sorry. I was having a lie down. I didn’t realise Manda was expecting you.”
“I wasn’t,” said Manda. “She’s going to the Co-op, for sweets.”
“Your parents don’t know you’re here,” said Mum.
Manda opened the front door, and pushed Eilish towards it. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said.
“That’s not very sociable, Manda,” said Mum, “when your friend’s come to see you.” She came across the hall, stretched out her arm and took hold of Eilish’s hand. “ Eilish, why don’t we show you our summerhouse? I’ll get the key.”

They were half way down the crazy paving path when Mum said, “Manda, will you go and fetch an extra cardigan from my bedroom? It’s colder than I thought.”

Manda stood on the path. Eilish was just in front of her, her hand still in Mum’s. The two sets of eyes, with their identical look, turned towards her.

Manda ran into the house and through the dirty kitchen, her feet crushing bits of food and plastic wrapping. She ran up the carpetless stairs, and into Mum’s bedroom.

Manda could not remember the last time she had been in Mum’s room. She looked round, inhaling the sour odour of unwashed clothes and bed linen. Particles of dust gathered and separated in the light, disturbed by the unaccustomed intrusion. The floor was littered with clothes, used tissues and soiled cotton wool balls, and in the open wardrobe she could see empty hangers and odd shoes lying on their sides. On the floor of the wardrobe was a jumper.

Manda grabbed the jumper and ran back down the stairs. She was out of the back door and on the crazy paving path when she saw Mum coming towards her.
“Where’s Eilish?” Manda asked.
“She had to go.” Mum walked to the back door, ignoring the jumper.
“I didn’t hear her go,” said Manda.
Mum stopped, and turned round.

Behind Manda, at one end of the path, was the summerhouse. In front of her, at the other end, was Mum, her eyes dulled, devoid of even their familiar expression. Manda sat down, suddenly, on the cold path, hugging the jumper to her.
“Eilish,” she shouted.
Mum reached out and grabbed her arm. “She’s gone. She didn’t want to see you. She’s just a nosey parker. They’re all nosey parkers. Is that what you want, a bunch of nosey parkers crawling all over your home, picking holes and telling you you’re no good?” She dragged Manda to her feet. “How dare you bring her here. Nosey parker. Why don’t you bring the whole school next time? Bring them all to have a look. Why don’t you?” She pushed Manda inside, shut the back door and locked it. “Go to your room. Go to your room and stay there.”

At five o’clock, the doorbell rang.

This time Mum didn’t ignore it. Manda heard the front door open; she crept across her room and opened her own door the tiniest crack.

The two male voices were outside and she couldn’t hear what they were saying. But she could hear Mum’s replies. “Yes, I know her. She’s a friend of my daughter’s. Oh, how terrible. No, not today. Not at all. I didn’t think she lived nearby… I’m sorry, my daughter’s out at the moment, visiting another friend. Yes, of course I will. No, we don’t have any outbuildings. Well, just the garage, and you’re welcome to look in there if you like, but it’s always kept locked. I don’t have a car, I just use it for storage…”

Manda watched from her window as the two policemen moved on to the next house.

Mum called her down about half an hour later. She gave Manda toasted cheese and a glass of milk for tea and sat in the dining room with her, watching silently while she ate. When Manda had finished Mum cleared away the plate and glass and washed them up straight away.
“You won’t be going to school tomorrow,” she said. She twisted her head to look at Manda, and the expression was back in her eyes.

Manda knew that Mum had not always been frightened. In the photograph albums Mum’s eyes smiled and laughed, her clothes looked clean and pressed, and her hair fell softly round her shoulders. There were other people in the photos as well, other people in Manda’s house, sitting on the settee, or round the dining room table, or in deckchairs on the lawn by the crazy paving path.

And in the middle of all these people Mum, and Dad from County Cork who now lived in America, cuddled the baby Manda, and tickled her, and held her out proudly for the camera.

After tea Manda lay in the darkness in her room, thinking and trying to push her thoughts away.

Mum was waiting for her when she got up, at her usual school time. “I told you, you’re not going to school today. Go back to bed and stay there.”

At eleven o’clock the doorbell rang. It rang again, and again, and then there was hammering on the front door. Manda got out of bed and ran onto the landing.

Mum was in the hall. She waited until Manda reached the bottom of the stairs, then she knelt and put her hands on either side of Manda’s face, and smoothed back her hair. She smiled, a proper smile, and leant forward and kissed Manda, and Manda closed her eyes and pressed herself against the kiss. When she opened her eyes, Mum was looking straight at her; the familiar, nameable expression had gone, and something else, something Manda did not recognise, had taken its place.

Mum stood up.
“No,” said Manda.
“It’s all right,” said Mum. She caressed Manda’s cheek with her fingers, and looked down, still smiling. “It’s over now.”

She opened the door, and the policemen came in. Mum told Manda to wait by the stairs, then she led the policemen through the hall and kitchen, into the garden. She pointed down the path to the summerhouse.

It was Pete and Nev who had told them. The police had been back to Ullswater Road, retracing Eilish’s steps, and either Pete or Nev had said, “Perhaps she’s kipping out in Manda’s summerhouse.” The policeman had asked them where that was, and it happened to be the same policeman who had come to Manda’s house yesterday, and been told by Mum that they had no outhouses.

When the policeman carried Eilish in she was crying, a dry choking cry which changed to a high, thin screech when she saw Mum. There were marks on Eilish’s face where Mum had hit her and told her to be quiet or she would hit her some more. Eilish smelt from wetting and soiling herself, and she buried her face against the policeman and would not look at Manda.

Manda sat down on the bottom stair. A policewoman came and stood beside her. Mum said, “Her father’s address is in the top drawer of the desk in the dining room.” She was still smiling, and then Manda remembered the photograph albums, and she could put a name to the new expression in Mum’s eyes. It was happiness.

In time, Manda managed to forget a great deal. She forgot the exact sound of Eilish’s cry, and the expression on the policemen’s faces when they looked at Mum. She managed to forget, eventually, the pictures in the albums, and the way that baby Manda was proudly held out to the camera. She knew that, whether she wanted to or not, one day she would forget the sound of Mum’s voice, and the touch of her fingers, and the feel of her kiss.

But she would never forget those eyes.