Cut To The Bone (5 page)

"Shall I go?" He was already half off his chair. "Might be Dad."

"I'll take it, thanks."

Whoever it was wasn't giving up. Rita picked up the receiver.

"Who is it? Frank?"

A rough silence, then a sound like rubble falling.

"I ain't comin' back. I 'ad to tell ye." The phone box line was getting worse. Was he near a building site? Maybe one that kept going with searchlights after dark?
 
"Where are you?" Her heart now somersaulting in her chest.

"Don't make it 'ard for me, for fuck's sake, Rita..."

"We’ve just had two bills totalling four hundred and fifty quid. The rent's due on the 18th and how’s long's my twenty-one quid supposed to last with three kids - yours as well, don't forget. And your dog?" Worry became anger as his voice seemed to be moving away. "So you're not coming back?"

"Like I said, I can't. Not for a while anyhow..."

"It's Transline, isn't? You're with them. Into something dodgy."

"And you nicked me private letter. Bad girl."

Rita gulped.

"Only because I was worried. Can't you see?"

He didn't reply, and in the end, all she could think of was what sat in the oven. "I got a nice tea ready,” she said. “Chops and stuff. You always liked that." It sounded pathetic. It also sounded like he was being told to end the call. Some bloke hassling in the background. 
             

The line went dead. So did her heart, and when she got back to the kitchen, the kids' faces were turned expectantly towards her, whereupon Freddie suddenly asked, “was that Dada? Ain't 'e comin' back for your birfday?" His first proper sentence, and the man it was meant for, wasn't there to hear it.

6

Briar Bank District Council Housing Committee.

Steeple Mount Park,

COVENTRY

CV3  8FT

19th March 2009

Dear Mrs Martin,

Further to your request for emergency accommodation for yourself and your undermentioned dependants, I am pleased to inform you that following lengthy discussions, the committee has agreed to offer you first option on Flat 1 at 11, Wort Passage, Scrub End Estate, which fell vacant on the 12th inst. 

We strongly advise you view this accommodation at the earliest opportunity and to make a prompt and positive decision, bearing in mind the pressure our limited housing stock is now under. To that end, Nick Little, our Family Placement Officer will meet you at this address tomorrow at 11a.m. Please advise immediately if this is not convenient, by telephoning 01503 457852.

Yours sincerely,

Mrs Wendy Hill.

BA (Hons) MBE.

Chief Executive.

Named Dependants of Rita Jean Martin;

Jez Arthur Martin                11yrs. 2 mths.

Kayleigh Madonna Martin   6yrs.  9mths.

Freddie Francis Martin        2yrs. 

Rita re-read the letter, shaking her head in disbelief.  Scrub End Estate? No-one in their right mind ever went near the place, never mind live in it. It was SINK in capital letters. Full of cons and junkies, that's what she'd heard. Even worse than Downside or Ditch Hollow, and who knew if it wasn't crawling with extremists? Those with harm in mind?
No way.

Despite wearing two thick jumpers under her puffa jacket, she shivered, buried her head between both blue hands, knowing it didn't matter a toss what she thought about that grim part of town. There was no choice.

Kayleigh was yelling again, setting Freddie off. Her chicken pox at its height had left her red and sore all over. There'd been no school for the past eight days, nor sleep for any of them. As if that wasn't enough, more bills had mounted up unpaid - some hand-posted, until she'd sealed up the letter box. That way, the demands came via the phone which at least she could ignore. Until last Monday when BT cut them off.

Kayleigh’s din was louder than ever, and Rita yelled at her to shut up.

Apart from bad period pains, her hair had frizzled from the morning's rain when she'd nipped to Shah's Stores for something for tea. The options growing more limited with every day that passed, and like yesterday, she'd chosen a packet of dried pasta shells (cheaper than fresh) plus peeled tomatoes at 20 pence less as the tin had been bashed about. That left her exactly £3.25 in her purse.

Mr Shah had mentioned Citizen's Advice. So, chicken pox or no chicken pox, she had to give it a try. The very name was reassuring, besides, Advice was what she most needed before making possibly the second biggest mistake of her life. The first had been Frank Martin, when she'd listened only to her stupid heart.

She stopped to phone them on the way into town but a pre-recorded message informed her that the premises were being re-furbished and wouldn't be operational until the end of the month.

"Dammit."

"Mum swearing again," announced Kayleigh crammed next to Freddie in the buggy.

‘Mum doesn't know what to do,’ was what Rita really wanted to admit, but couldn’t inflict her desperation on them. Instead, she turned the buggy into the main shopping area where the police station lay set back off the road beyond a new Tarmac forecourt full of yellow and blue chequered cars.

A small queue waited outside until, on the dot of 2p.m. the reinforced door slid open to a matted area where another inner door was controlled by a young woman in civilian clothes perched at a switchboard.

"Desk enquiries straight ahead. Anything else, turn right," she said, without looking up.

Rita chose straight on and waited until the tall, sympathetic looking policeman was free and beckoned her over. According to his sign, he was Sergeant Tim Fraser and, after the usual formalities, encouraged by the fact that he actually seemed to care, she told him about Frank. While he listened, she noticed there was no wedding ring on his hand and that his gaze often strayed to her bruised cheek.

She pulled out a spare page from Jez's school Homework Book in which she'd scribbled as much of Transline's letter as she could remember, then, having handed it over, relayed her frightening experience at the depot last September.

"Before I comment, may I ask you, Mrs Martin, if your husband was seeing anyone else? Has there been any evidence of, how shall I say, infidelity on his part?"

Rita's eyes met his, hazel-grey and intense, and in that instant, felt a fluttering in her stomach. Her cheeks turning red.

"You must be joking." Yet as the possibility of Frank cheating on her grew, and to hide her blushes, she covered Kayleigh even more with the blanket, thankful Freddie was still asleep.

"That's never occurred to me."

"It's quite common, Mrs Martin. Think about it."

Rita shook her head.

"The one thing about my Frank is he's always been transparent. At least until this business..." her voice tailed away.

"OK, but was he smartening himself up? Using extra aftershave etcetera? Watching his weight?"

"No. He's that untidy," she lied. "If I didn't leave his socks out in pairs, he'd go off in the wrong ones. Besides, he said after-shave was for nonces." 

"I’m only trying to help. You don't have to cover up for him."

Her eyes met his. That same fluttering again inside her chest, but worse. "You can tell?"

A nod.

Sgt. Fraser then turned to his phone, tapped in an internal link and held the receiver to his ear while she regained her composure.

"I've a Mrs Rita Martin here, concerned about her husband's whereabouts. Can we run a quick check on the Transline truck people? See if a Frank Martin’s on their payroll?"

He began jotting down a record of her visit on his computer. Left-handed, she noticed.

"This'll take a few moments,” he said to her.

"Thanks."

“In the meantime, can we get back to you? What’s your landline number?"

Her cheeks burned once more, but this time from embarrassment. People were waiting behind her, listening.

"We're moving soon. It’s changing," she lied.

"Your mobile, then. And your address."

Rita moved closer to the desk so she could whisper them, ending with, "Flat 1, 11, Wort Passage, off Scrub Lane."

The young sergeant stopped writing, looked at her then the buggy where Kayleigh's bloodshot eyes were fixed on him. Rita didn't need to be clairvoyant to suss out what he was thinking. She turned away.

"I'll call in again when we're sorted,” she said. “And thanks for your help. Really."

She manoeuvred her youngest children through the door, feeling the copper's eyes on her. Most likely thinking pity, and just before the door opened, she glanced round to see if she was right. She was.

*

The afternoon sky darkened too early and rain fell as Rita finally reached the front door in Holly Road only to find a further clutch of long envelopes poking out from under the doormat. Their corners sodden, the ink smudged, but there was no doubting what they contained.

"'S not Christmas, is it?" sniffled Kayleigh, leaning out of the buggy to pick them up.

"They’re for me, and Jez'll be back any minute so I've got to get organised."

She let Jip out of the house to cock his leg then, having given Freddie a rusk, opened up the six folders she'd bought from Social Security Office's surplus stock sale. As she sorted URGENT from NOT SO URGENT and LEAVE FOR A MONTH, the TV news was still running the story of a missing schoolboy in Essex.

"You let your kids out in the morning, and just pray they'll be alright," said a shopper passing by in Epping. 

"That's a joke." Rita snorted while making a separate folder for the C.S.A.

She heard the front door open and slam shut, and went to investigate.

"Jez? What's up?"

"Nuffink." He shrugged his thin shoulders and charged past her up the stairs, followed by Jip who'd already sensed things in the Martin household had changed. Another slam, which set Freddie off screaming.

"Talk to me." Rita tapped her elder son's door above the noise. "See if I can help."

"No-one can. Not you, anyhow."

She sank down against the landing wall, feeling if she'd not met that nice copper she'd be trekking down to the Oxford Canal and looking longingly at the water.

"Is it school?" She ventured, letting Jip sprawl across her lap.

"Yeah."

"Look, you'll be going to a better one after Easter."

The lie stuck in her throat. “Then big school in September.”

"I won't see 'er again."

"Who?" Rita thinking girlfriend.

"Miss Landerman. She's goin’ on a course."

"You can still call in."

"What do you know about it, huh?" He shouted, making Jip tense up. "They don't let Scrub Enders near the place. Not since their Drama hut was wrecked."

There was nothing left to say. Rita fought back tears as she went into Kayleigh's room and looked out on to the dark, wet street and car lights muzzy in the rain.

"One day," she turned to pick up her daughter and held her by the window to stop her grizzling, "we'll be through all this. That's a promise. D'you believe me?"  She planted a kiss on the child's raw cheek.

"No. I want Dada back to make me better."

*

Next day, Jez refused to go to school, so Rita too tired to argue, left him in bed with Jip sprawled on the cover. At least the house was warm again. Her Benefits Giro had just about covered the gas and electric, and the landlord had let them off paying rent till the 31st, which would, if Wort Passage was acceptable to her, be moving-in day.

*

With Kayleigh and Freddie squabbling under their buggy’s plastic cover, she pushed them towards her appointment with Wort Passage. Her umbrella soon collapsed against the wind, exposing her face to the driving rain trickling down inside her clothes.

"Thanks, you, Frank Martin!" Her anger with him made her push the kids faster until she was soon a mile further on and well clear of the shops.

She glanced left at the Downside Estate and was repaid by a nasty whiff from the chicken-processing factory dominating its surroundings. At least there were a few open spaces to play in, even though Friday nights saw rival immigrants fighting over their territories. Most yelling "fuck off white bread!" if they saw you. So maybe, on balance, Scrub End had its merits.

However, these were hard to see as she left Graves Way to cut through the dismal shopping Mall towards the dark blur of trees surrounding the estate.

Here, the overloaded buggy's wheels kept getting stuck along the track, and the rotting chicken smell replaced by something even less appetising coming from the nearby brook.