Perfect Daughter (7 page)

Jacks heard her speak once, pulling up outside school in her car. She had rolled down the window of their chunky Volvo estate and shouted in Swedish at Sven. Jacks of course had no idea what she was saying – it was simply a rapid staccato of V- and Y-sounds followed by a volley of long Os. But judging from Sven’s face and the slope of his shoulders, it was the same things being shouted in Swedish as in English: ‘Hurry up, Sven! I haven’t got all day! Your brother’s got to get to Cubs and your dad needs his tea cooking!’ At least that’s what Jacks imagined.

Now, on the first day back at school, Sven stared at her as he approached, concentrating on her alone, as was his way, and speaking unabashedly as though there was no one else around. ‘I dreamt about you last night.’

‘You did?’ She shrank backwards and looked left to right to make sure no one was listening.

He nodded. ‘We were running on sand, across a wide, pale beach with palm trees, and the sun was hot. It was wonderful. I stopped and said to you, “Where shall we go next?” and you said, “Anywhere, as long as it’s with you.”’ He walked forward and stood close to her so they were almost touching. ‘And you would say that, wouldn’t you?’

His lips brushed her cheek. She nodded and stared at him. Yes. Yes, she would.

7

Jacks prodded the rice with a fork to check on its progress. Still unsure, she burnt her fingers as she dipped them into the murky boiling water, pulled out a couple of grains and bit; they were still gritty and firm.

She listened as Martha chatted to her mate Stephanie in the hallway by the front room, a room Jacks hardly ever entered, not because the house was so vast, but because it was where the family congregated to socialise and watch TV, neither of which she had much time for. With its sagging couch and two comfy old armchairs, the room was already mismatched and cramped before her mum had moved in, and now some of Ida’s clutter, items too precious to be discarded or stored in Gina’s garage had been assimilated into the mix. The shelf above the gas fire held a clutch of ornaments, including china birds that her dad had lovingly collected over the years and a couple of badly hand-painted Harry Potter figures that Martha had made at primary school.

Sometimes, while waiting at the supermarket checkout, Jacks browsed the pictures in interior magazines. Flicking through the glossy pages, she marvelled at the sleek coordination of matching fabrics, shiny, dust-free surfaces and not a cardboard box in sight. She wondered how you got a house like that, deciding that the answer was probably to remain childless and not to allow your design influences to be whatever Pete fancied the look of in a skip, supplemented by a biannual trip up the motorway to Ikea.

‘Come on, Martha! Don’t be so boring! It’s nearly Halloween and it’s a right laugh out! Let’s just go and hang out on the pier and if we see them, great, and if we don’t, we can just come back and chill out.’

‘I can’t, Steph, I’ve got to write these notes up for Mr Greene’s essay.’

‘You’re such a swot. Can’t you just give it a rest for one night?’ Steph tutted.

‘Not if I want As and to get into Warwick.’

Jacks beamed.

‘It doesn’t matter what uni you go to. Uni is uni and I don’t think I could be arsed if it meant having to revise every minute of every day.’

Martha gave a small laugh. ‘I think it is important. I want to start off right, get the grades, get on my course, study business and law and be a millionaire by the time I’m thirty.’

‘Money’s not everything, Martha!’ Stephanie’s tone was indignant.

‘True. But imagine earning so much that you can do anything you want. Anything! Money gives you choices and that’s freedom, isn’t it? You know, like, oh, I’m cold, think I’ll go get some sunshine, and so you just make a call and jump on a plane! Or you get invited to some snazzy do and you go to your big walk-in wardrobe and there are three or four things that you could wear, because you have clothes for all occasions. Or knowing you don’t have to do something you don’t want to because you can afford not to. And never having to share a bedroom again – unless you want to of course!’ Martha giggled.

‘Of course!’ Stephanie replied.

They had the excited air of girls who had so much yet to experience and Jacks felt a flicker of envy.

‘Wouldn’t it be incredible, though, to be in control of your own life like that, to be so comfortable and for things to be that easy?’

Jacks braced her arms against the sink and looked out into the long, narrow garden, invaded in places by Angela and Ivor’s overzealous planting. She remembered a conversation about living in a place so huge she wouldn’t be able to see the boundaries. Wouldn’t that be something. Her daughter’s words swam in her head and danced on her tongue like a sweet-flavoured prayer that Jacks sent straight up to heaven.
Hear that, Dad? That’s my girl!

‘Well, I’m going to see if I can find the boys. Sure you don’t want to come?’ Stephanie pleaded.

‘No, I’ll stay here. Text me later, though, tell me what happened!’

‘Course. Bye, Jacks!’ Stephanie called from the front door.

‘Bye, love. Take care!’ Jacks walked into the front room and leant on the doorframe, wiping her wet hands on a tea towel, watching as Martha sank down on to the sofa and opened her notebook before picking a pen from a stash in the front pocket of her backpack. ‘When did you get to be so smart?’ She smiled at her beautiful girl.

Martha shrugged. ‘Dunno. Guess I take after my mum.’

Jacks pulled back her shoulders. ‘I don’t know about that.’

The bell rang from the upstairs landing, followed by Ida’s call. ‘Someone, please! I need some help!’

‘Sounds like you’re needed,’ Martha said sympathetically.

Jacks sighed and headed for the stairs.

‘Someone! Toto?’ Her voice was louder this time.

‘I’m coming, Mum!’ Jacks shouted as she took the stairs two at a time.

Hurrying, she pushed the door open wide and found Ida crying. Big fat tears fell down her mum’s cheeks, turning her eyes blood red and making her nose run.

‘Oh, Mum!’ Jacks sat on the side of the bed and plucked a tissue from the man-size box on the windowsill. ‘What’s this all about? Come on, let’s dry those tears.’ She pushed the thin wisps of grey hair from her mother’s forehead and gently mopped at her face. ‘There, there, it’s okay. Nothing can be that bad!’ She smiled, feeling slightly repulsed by the proximity of her mum’s face to her own, and then instantly guilty because of that.

‘I need my letter,’ Ida wailed. ‘I need it. He promised. Being here on my own is no fun, none at all and he promised me! I don’t know where he is. He went to dig up oil.’

‘It takes a long time for letters to get back. And if he promised, then I’m sure it’ll be on its way.’ Jacks swallowed the lump in her throat, wishing her dad
were
the man of his youth. Before her arrival, he’d worked on an oilrig somewhere foreign, making his way home across Europe, writing the odd letter as he went.

‘I miss him.’ Her mum sobbed once again.

Me too…
Jacks tentatively placed her arms around the thin shoulders and pulled her mum towards her. Cuddling this woman, even in her hour of need, still felt alien and awkward and was in some ways harder than giving her more practical attention, cleaning and tending, which could be classed as medical, necessary. ‘Sssshhh…’ she cooed as her mum clung to her arm. It would twist the heart of any onlooker, seeing this frail old lady so broken and confused. But Jacks was not any onlooker. She had a filter of memories to wade through, memories that were hard to remove and that complicated every interaction with her mum.

She remembered being small and listening to her dad come home from work, followed by the sound of her mum shouting and then crying. It made her tummy flip, not wanting her mummy to cry, not wanting to feel frightened just before she fell asleep. Her dad would come into her room to tuck her in as he always did, always putting her first. He’d bend low and kiss her forehead, Jacks smelling his familiar scent of beer, cigarettes and his favoured musk-based aftershave.

‘Sweet dreams, my little Dolly Daydream.’ He’d then creep backwards from the room and she’d hear the creak of the stairs as he went downstairs.

The odd word of her parents’ rows used to float up the stairs. ‘This is unbearable… I just can’t cope… You have made this situation and it’s unfair. I’ve never met anyone so selfish!’ She wished they would stop.

Jacks rocked her mum back and forth, trying to put the memories from her mind. She often wondered why her mum had felt the need to be so sharp, judgemental. Her anger seemed to come in bursts, often followed by bright smiles and acts of kindness intended to wipe the slate clean. A sneering laugh at what she considered to be a minor achievement of her husband’s could be countered by an apple pie, freshly baked for tea. A sharp dig in the ribs as Don leant in for a cuddle or a kiss was made better by the knitting of a scarf and matching hat, delivered with a wide smile. And as far as Jacks could see, these peace offerings did the trick. Her dad would beam and nod, as if grateful for his wife’s benevolence, the status quo restored. If only Jacks could find it that easy to forget.

The front doorbell rang. ‘Back in a sec, Mum. There’s someone at the door.’

Jacks released her gently and trod the stairs, only to see that Martha had abandoned her studies and beaten her to it. She was standing at the open front door. Jacks hovered halfway down and stared at her daughter, watching her in profile. She felt her stomach sink. Call it a mother’s intuition, but though Jacks observed her for no more than five seconds, what she saw filled her with fear.

‘Steph said you weren’t coming out?’ The boy spoke with a strong Weston accent. He was gripping a motorbike helmet in his hand and let it bounce against his thigh. He was broad and tall, taller than Pete, slim, wearing jeans and a fitted grey T-shirt that hugged his toned physique. His glossy straight hair sat on his shoulders, his fringe partially obscuring his right eye. He sounded assured, comfortable. This clearly wasn’t the first time they had met.

‘S’right.’ Martha twisted her legs as she nodded with her head tilted to one side and her mouth breaking into a smile. They stared at each other during the silent pauses as if they carried a secret.

Jacks heard his easy laugh from the other side of the step, a laugh full of meaning, anticipation and happiness. She didn’t know who he was, but she instantly hated the way Martha looked at him, disliked the shy, coquettish slant to her daughter’s head as her eyes gazed up at him through voluminous lashes, her lips pouting and her gentle blush screaming out,
‘Like me! Love me!’
Jacks wanted to slam the door shut, take her daughter’s head in her hands and twist her face away from him, screaming,
‘Not him! No! Not anyone from here! You need to wait! Wait for that boy you will meet at university who will be smart and well read, someone who will become a professional and who will take you to the south of France on a camping holiday and who will buy you a conservatory!’
Instead, she smiled, tripped down the stairs and stared at the boy in the leather jacket with the long hair and perfect teeth who stood on the front-door mat.

‘Hello there!’

The boy raised his hand in a confident wave and Martha rolled her eyes as if apologising to him.

Jacks ignored her daughter and stepped closer to them. ‘Nice to meet you, but I’m afraid we’re all about to have tea, otherwise I’d invite you in.’

‘Oh, no worries, Mrs D, I was off now anyway, just wanted to see Martha.’

‘And now you have.’

Martha smiled as she bit her bottom lip.

Jacks wasn’t sure she liked being called Mrs D, but she had to admit the boy had charm.

‘Later,’ Martha mumbled as a blush rose up her cheek. When the door closed behind him, Martha threw a pointed look at her mum, as if daring her to say anything as she flounced up the stairs, a small smile playing around her mouth.

Jacks placed the bowl of chilli in the middle of the table and the saucepan of disgustingly overcooked rice next to that.

‘Let me get you some tea.’ She lifted Ida’s plate and placed a small mound of rice on it with a scoop of chilli, not too much. ‘There we go, Mum. Don’t worry, it’s not too hot.’ She smiled, trying to pre-empt any shouts about being scalded.

‘Do you want to hear my joke?’ Jonty sat up straight, wiggling his bottom on the chair in anticipation.

‘Oh yes, I love a joke!’ Jacks nodded as she dished up for Pete and placed his food in front of him.

‘I don’t like kidney beans!’ Martha commented as she gripped her fork.

‘Just pick them out.’ Jacks sighed as she put the plate of chilli in front of her daughter.

‘Are you ready for my joke, Mum?’

‘Yes, sorry, Jonty. Go ahead. I’m listening.’ She loaded up her mum’s spoon and helped her guide it to her mouth.

‘There’s too many to pick out, they make me feel sick. Can I just eat the rice?’ Martha prodded the gelatinous lumps with her lip curled.

‘For God’s sake, Martha!’ Pete shouted as flecks of rice fell from his lips. ‘Firstly, your mother’s cooked it for you, so just eat it. And secondly, your brother’s trying to speak!’

‘Can’t I just have some toast?’ Martha whined.

‘No!’ Jacks and Pete shouted in unison.

‘Can I become a vegetarian? Then you can’t make me eat this!’

They ignored her.

‘Go ahead, Jont.’ Jacks nodded. She watched as her little boy took a deep breath.

‘What happens in space when they want to have a party?’ He beamed.

‘Don’t know!’ she and Pete chorused.

‘They planet!’ he shouted.

‘Ah, very good!’ Jacks chortled.

Martha winced and placed her head in her hands. ‘That’s bad, Jonty. You are talking out of Uranus!’ She grinned.

‘Oh, please!’ Pete sighed. ‘Eat your chilli, Martha. I can tell the moon has eaten all his tea up tonight because he’s full!’

‘Oh, Dad!’ Both kids groaned.

‘And you’re certainly not getting pudding,’ Jacks added sternly. ‘Although if you are good, I might fetch you a Mars Bar!’