September Again (September Stories) (4 page)

L
iz creeps up the twisting stairs to her daughter’s attic domain, suffused with dread and determination in equal measure. She pauses to listen. She knows Zelda is in the house because of the empty cereal bowl in the kitchen. Her pulse beats strongly in some non-specific place between her ears like some primitive engine on full steam ahead. She hopes she’s not reddening. The slightest sign of weakness – Zelda is merciless, far, far worse than Liz ever was as a teen. But isn’t that true of all teens now? Their rebellion has a nihilistic spitefulness about it. God, how she wishes Jack was still alive. He’d have known how to handle her. She winces. Will her grief never end? Even a strong American woman has her breaking point. Who’d have thought their little Zelda would turn so badly against her own mother? That wasn’t what she signed up for. She advances another couple of steps.

Creak
.

She curses inwardly. That’s the trouble with ancient English houses. Creaks everywhere. She’ll never know them all
, however long she lives in Jack’s house; her house now. Think cat. Silent as a cat. She’d always had the ability to be as silent as her Cherokee ancestors before a pre-dawn attack, if she needed to be covert. She lifts her foot ever so gingerly.

Creak.

Damn, damn, damn. Perhaps she should just holler out her daughter’s name and go for it. Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead, as the saying goes. She wants to retreat, call it all off, sneak back down to the safety of the ground floor – her domain – close all the doors behind her, ignore her daughter for good, leave her to it, let her get on with it, go her own way. She hears a muffled clunk and then a muted
fuck
. Zelda weighing herself yet again. Teens! First she eats so much that she’s the size of a house. Now, the opposite. Not that she’ll ever be on the front of
Vogue
, poor girl. If only, if only, if only, if, if, if. They could be such friends, hang together, do stuff. If only she could have a bit of me in her. A tear runs down Liz’s face.

She hasn’t had any type of intimacy in so very long. No sex for such a long time, too long.
Jack, Jack, I need you, Jack Savage – more than you will ever know.

There’s a slithering sound in Zelda’s flat. The bed being pushed against the door again.

“I know you’re there,” says Zelda. “Sneaking up on me again!”

“
I only wanted to talk to you about your meds.”

“
Well, I don’t want to talk to you.”

Liz climbs the last few steps and dips her head towards the closed oak door. Why is everything so solid in Jack
’s house? Her house now. A thousand arguments have taught her to be patient, never to lash out, to try and weigh her comments. She knows Zelda is on the other side of the door, waiting to pounce, claws out. She has to be careful. Zelda is a dangerous opponent when she’s in an upswing, her intelligence fizzing with energy, like some nuclear reactor in melt-down mode. Jack’s brains. No doubt about that. Shame she doesn’t have his charm and charisma, but then, who does? She taps lightly on the door.

“
Zelda, love.”

Silence.

“Can we just talk?”

Silence.

“Are you okay?”

“
These scales are no good. I told you never to buy any more scales from that place in Truro. Can’t you get some from Harrods? You would if they were for you.”

“
That’s unfair, Zelda.”

“
I’m not Zelda anymore.”

“
Then who are you?”

“
Indie Shadwick.”

Liz winces.
Zelda always knows how to get to her with unerring accuracy. Her cruelty is almost beautiful in its exactness. She knows how Liz has always felt about how Jack was with Indie Shadwick. Sure, Indie killed herself long before Liz flew into Heathrow all those years ago. Zelda never fails. She seems to know how jealous her mother is of her dead rival for the heart of Jack O. Savage. It never fails. She sinks to her knees and sobs.

“
He loved her more than he ever loved you,” comes the voice from behind the door. “There’s no point crying about it. You can’t change how it was. It’s there for everyone to see in the things he wrote for her. Correct me if I’m wrong, but he never wrote anything like that for you.”

“
Why do you do this to me, Zelda?”

“
I told you, I’m not Zelda. I’m Indie Shadwick. And I do it because I can.”

“
That’s okay. I still love you and I always will. I’m your mom and I always will be, come what may. And I WILL love you.”

“
Do whatever you feel you have to do. I don’t care.”

“
Just tell me you are all right, baby. Please. It’s not asking that much, is it? I’m just worried about you.”

“
Oh yeah, like you snatched that e-cigarette from my mouth the other day. You cut my lip.”

“
I’m sorry, love, truly. I just lost my temper with you.”

“
Not for the first time.”

“
I just want what’s best for you, is all. And I get frustrated sometimes. It’s hard being on my own sometimes. I’m still missing your father – every day of my life.”

“
You make me sick.”

Liz glares at the door and raises a hand as if to slap it. She shakes her hand as if to
work the anger out of herself and then chews her knuckles.

“
Can’t you just open the door and let me in, please? I just want to talk to you. I promise I won’t go on about things you don’t want me to. If you don’t want to go to therapy today, you don’t have to. And if you want the e-cigarette back, I’ll go downstairs and get it now. I know I said I’d thrown it on the fire, but I didn’t. I kept it in a drawer, baby girl.”

Silence.

Liz looks at a knot in the grain of the oak door. Everything in the house is solid oak, apart from her relationship with her only child. She screws up her face. Where did she go so wrong with Zelda? Was she a bad mother? Was it Jack dying? It can’t have helped. She’d tried. Zelda had everything. She hadn’t spoilt her, but nor had she denied her. And why not? What’s the point of money if it can’t give you a good life? And Zelda has definitely had that, a good life, the best in many ways. So, no, she wasn’t about to feel bad because of an ingrate teen, especially not her own daughter. She glares at the door.

“
There’s no point in getting pissed with me,” says the voice behind the door.

She blinks in amazement. It’s as if Zelda can read her mood. Not for the first time
, Liz resents her intuition as well as her intelligence. No, she will not feel second-rate to her own daughter.

“
Zelda, darling, I’ve been thinking about your meds.”

Silence.

“I think we can look at the dose, if you like.”

Silence.

“I know how it is on meds. I’m with you on that one, at least. I know what it is to have to take meds when we think we know better than the experts. I felt exactly as you feel now. But.”

She knows her line of argument is a spurious one. They both know that the meds are to quell Zelda’s appetite for rebellion. Liz feels bad about forcing her to take them. But what could she do? Zelda was at risk from her own nature
- sectioned twice and self-harming. The meds had to be. She can’t win. They both know that her hint on the meds is disingenuous, a cheap shot to curry favor. She steels herself for another approach.

“
Your father.”

“
Leave my father out of this.”

“
Why?”

“
Because he loved me.”

“
Go on; you may as well say it.”

“No, I won’t say it just for you to imagine you’ve proved some stupid point. Even if it does happen to be true.”

“
I often wish it had been me who died of lung cancer and not your father.”

“
I’m not falling for that one. Firstly, you don’t mean it. And I don’t need a secondly. Firstly will do. You’re just sick. And you can’t beat me in an argument because you’re not as smart as I am. So what do I care?”

“
You cared when Spider brought you back from London not too long ago. ‘Mum, I’m sorry,’ you said. ‘I love you,’ you said. What was all that about, then?”

“
I was hungry and tired. You took advantage of me.”

“
Who was it who lied for you when the police came knocking?”

“
I didn’t ask you to.”

“
But I did. I lied my butt off to protect you after your little escapade over those ashes.”

“
Show a little more respect, please. They were not just any old ashes; they were Indie Shadwick’s ashes.”

“
And what exactly were you and your partner in crime planning to do with them?”

“
We were going to go to Beachy Head and end it all.”

Liz looks at the door in the purest horror. She knows her daughter is not joking.
She winces at an inner image of Zelda and Tyrone, her geeky boyfriend, flying through the unresisting air, arms and legs flailing wildly, Tyrone’s death black Goth coat flapping like some broken kite. She knows she has to be careful what she says next and that her daughter knows it too and is waiting. She imagines Zelda clutching the urn with Indie’s ashes. The lid goes its way and the ashes follow it, smudging the air for the briefest moment before vanishing. The urn rotates furiously as it falls. She forces her mind to go blank, not to see the bed of mixed geology onto which Zelda and the ashes tumble. Too much information. Silence. Zelda’s turn to sweat. Not for the first time, she curses the memory of Indie Shadwick. Yes, she will regret it, yes, yes, yes, okay! But right now, she curses Indie for casting her mad shadow into her life and that of her daughter. Damn it!

“
What are we going to do with you, Zelda? Jack and I were so happy when you came along, I can’t even begin to tell you. I always thought the happiest day of my life was when I met Jack, but it was when you came along. And that’s the truth. I remember how proud your father was when he carried you from the hospital in your cot. He said it was the happiest day of his life and I know he meant it. We were so in love, your father and I. He was the sweetest of men. Nothing was too good for me, or you. There was nothing that man would not do for us. I lucked out all right when I met Jack – ain’t that the truth. Everyone loved your father. Oh yes, the whole world loved your father. I just shared him. But that was enough for me. I knew I could never replace Indie and I didn’t try to. She was a troubled soul. But you know all that. I know Jack loved her. But he loved me too. God, did he love me. Fierce and gentle Jack O. Savage was. God, I miss him to this day, every day, every minute of every day. A big part of my life ended when your dad died – you know that’s the truth. I know I’ve not been the best mother to you. I know I lost my way a bit when your dad died. But who wouldn’t?” Liz fiddles with the engagement ring Jack gave her, which she still wears on her left hand. “He was a big man, your dad. He filled my life with the beauty of his being and talent. And I loved him for it. Life was all smiles with your dad. He loved everything he did, never dissed anyone in all the time I knew him. A real gentleman, your father was. And what a poet! The things people said about him! God, I was proud of him when I read what people said about him. Not that it helped. It really only made things worse. To lose someone like him. *Sob* It only deepened the hurt.”

Silence.

“Zelda?” Liz sniffles and taps on the door. “Zelda?”

Liz looks at the door in puzzlement. Was that a snore?
Had her daughter fallen asleep on her?

“
Zelda!”

She slaps the door with the palm of her hand.

“Can’t you take a joke?”

Liz glowers at the door.

“No, I cannot.”

“
Shame.”

“
Okay, Zelda, what is it you want from me? How do we solve this thing? Because we can’t go on like this. You do know that, don’t you?”

“
These are my terms.”

“
Terms! Who the hell are you to have terms?”

“
Fine, if that’s how you want to be. F O A D.”

Liz bites her lip
. “Okay, I’m listening.”

“
These are my terms: no more meds. I don’t need the meds. They depress me. I get desperate and do stupid things to remind myself that I’m alive.”

“
I’m listening.”

“
You should know how I feel about the meds from what you’ve told me.”

“
It was different when I was a kid. I wasn’t like you are in all sorts of ways.”

“
Yeah, like tall and blonde, the cheerleader that everybody falls in love with. Do me a favor.”