‘’Course.’ Dad tugged a box of fish fingers from the back of the freezer. ‘Fuck’s sake,’ he shouted as they tumbled to the floor, packet splitting, golden breadcrumbs and clumps of ice slithering under the cooker. ‘Loads of people survive breast cancer nowadays,’ he said as he dropped to his knees and began cleaning up the mess. As he stood at the sink, rinsing the fish fingers he had picked off the floor under the tap, his shoulders shook. He looked as small and scared as Nick felt.
Later, they had cramped around the small kitchen table eating lumpy mash and charred fish fingers. A cool breeze filtered through the kitchen window, which was cracked open to release the smell of burned oil. The three of them had made stilted conversation the way people do when they are not used to each other’s company. Dad didn’t have a lager. His hand shook as he picked up his glass of water. Nick couldn’t stop watching him, watching Mum. Dad loved her. He never would have thought.
After they had pushed food around their plates for ten uncomfortable minutes, Nick offered to wash up. He stuck his head around the lounge door when he had finished. Elvis crooned from the record player that was once his grandmother’s. He didn’t know how to feel as he watched his mum and dad in an awkward dance. Feet shuffling over the threadbare carpet that once was red but now sun-faded pink. Dad’s arm was around Mum’s waist, and she rested her hand on his shoulder. The naked bulb hanging from the ceiling picked out the diamonds in the emerald ring Mum always wore. After the song had finished there was the crackle and hiss as the needle circled empty grooves. Nick’s parents didn’t move. Arms wrapped around each other. Once more the atmosphere was thick, not with bitterness this time, but with love.
They felt something akin to a family. Nick hoped it wasn’t too late.
19
Now
Farncaster is dingier than I remember. Without consciously thinking, I find myself indicating and turning into the estate I once called home. I crawl along, drinking everything in: the bright red postbox where I had posted applications to universities I didn’t want to go to; Mrs Phillips’s bungalow – she had always given me an apple as I walked past on my way to school; the cherry tree that coated the pavements with a pale pink blossom, obscuring my chalked out hopscotch. The house I grew up in appears to have shrunk. The engine hums while I study the front door, green paint peeling, the rotting wooden window frames, thick net curtains. Such a contrast to the rest of the road. What would happen if I knocked on the door? Who would answer? My gaze is drawn to the upper left window. I can almost picture my tiny childhood bedroom. The desk in the corner that wobbled if you leaned on the left-hand side; the bookshelf crammed with encyclopaedias; my long white nightgown, like something out of the Victorian era, smelling of Persil washing powder, neatly folded on my pillow. A movement catches my eye. The net curtain in the lounge billows as though it has been moved. I can make out a shadow. My pulse skyrockets. I can’t tear my eyes away from the window as I release the handbrake and pull out without looking. A horn blares for the second time today, and I am shaking as I mouth my apology to the other driver. Squeezing the accelerator, I leave, looking in my rear-view mirror one last time. The shadow is still there.
I have been seen.
Lisa’s old house looks exactly as I remembered. There is still a caravan in the driveway but it is yellow with age, the roof and windows covered with a thick green moss. Memories crowd from holidays with Lisa’s family: stamping bingo cards with red markers; arms raised in the air as we rode a roller coaster; lips that stung with vinegar and sea-salt-air, and later, from being kissed. I think Nancy must still live here and, if she does, she must know where Lisa is, but although I cut the engine and grip the door handle tightly, I can’t bring myself to leave the car.
Coward.
Even as I remind myself of what is at stake I find myself twisting the key and pulling away. I’ll start with the hospital where Lisa works, but first, I want to freshen up, to buy some mints and water. I feel a state and wish I’d taken the time to shower and clean my teeth before I left, but I’d been hesitant of waking Nick.
Afraid he’d try to stop me.
Afraid he’d want to come with me.
There are plenty of spaces in the car park behind the old cinema, which was replaced with a multiplex on an industrial estate while I still lived here. It’s sad to see the architecture crumble into ruin. I slot in between two smaller cars and squeeze my body out. I can never open the doors wide enough. I look longingly at the parent and child spaces. The High Street is half-empty but crammed full of nostalgia: HMV is now a Poundland; The Three Fishes is boarded up. It’s all so different and yet feels exactly the same; it’s as though I never left. Step on a crack break your mother’s back – my adult veneer is slipping away and I feel horribly exposed. In the doorway of the newsagents is a man. Despite his beard, the hair that hangs in his eyes, I recognise him for the boy he was. Aaron. It is almost as if the ground shakes beneath my feet. I can’t look up. Can’t make eye contact. My skin crawls. I don’t think he’s seen me as he pulls out a mobile from his pocket, shoulders hunched, anger radiating from him.
I dart down an alleyway, passing a small café called The Coffee House, and I think caffeine is just what I need. To sit. Think. My legs feel shaky after seeing Aaron. The table is rickety, covered with a red-and-white plastic tablecloth, a folded piece of cardboard stuffed under one leg. I sit with my back to the window and, ignoring the bacon that hisses and spits, I order a cappuccino. My mobile is full of missed calls and frantic texts from Nick, and I send a message telling him I am fine, not to worry, I will explain everything tomorrow.
Idly I play with the salt and pepper pots, twisting them round and round in my fingers. Engrossed in thought, I don’t look up when the bell rings again, and it isn’t until my table falls into shadow, my head rises. I see who is there and my heart sinks.
20
Now
‘Nancy!’ I almost don’t recognise Lisa’s mum. Her face sunken, grey skin stretched over her skeleton.
‘I can’t believe you’re here.’ Her words spill out with a gasp, and I don’t know if she means because of what’s taking place now, or what took place then. The last time I saw her we sat on her sofa, and I remember the feel of her hand in mine. ‘What’s happened?’ she had asked. ‘Between you and Lisa? It breaks my heart you’ve fallen out. Tell me everything.’ She didn’t know then what I had done. Neither of us knew what the fallout would be. She was so kind to me once. My eyes search hers but I can’t tell what she is thinking.
She sinks onto a chair and when she speaks again she sounds exhausted, not angry. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I saw you in that magazine. Katherine White, bit of a change from Kat Freeman, isn’t it? You’ve obviously done well for yourself?’ There’s an edge as she speaks and it sounds like an accusation, and I want to tell her that however far I move away I haven’t been able to forget.
‘You’re married then.’ She nods at my ring. ‘Family?’
She can’t know about the surrogacy, and I hesitate. ‘Not yet. I thought I was going to be a mum but—’
She raises her hand to silence me, and I press my lips together, keeping the words I want to say inside.
We stare at each other wordlessly, uncomfortably, until my drink is slopped in front of me, coffee thick and dark, and she speaks again.
‘Treasure what you have, Kat. When you’ve lost everything like me…’ She shakes her head, and I want to tell her she hasn’t lost everything. She has a daughter.
More than anything I want to reach out to her, but I don’t; instead, I start to ask: ‘Lisa?…’, but Nancy says: ‘I can’t do this, Kat…’, and heaves herself to her feet as though she is far older than she is. As she reaches the door she turns and after a beat says: ‘Take care.’
And I so want to believe that she means it, that she wishes me well, but it sounds like a threat all the same.
Seeing her has stirred up so many emotions. How stupid to think I could just come here to find Lisa. I need to say sorry. I need to make amends. I need to start with Jake.