Living with Joe was far from easy. Even though the authorities deemed him a responsible adult, it soon became clear to Anna that he was anything but. The most capable member of the household was definitely her. But that didn’t make her love him any less.
In the early days following their mum’s death she was too numb to notice anything much. It didn’t really bother her that the bed linen wasn’t changed or that the greasy sheets rucked up under her as she twisted and turned in the throes of her frequent nightmares. She didn’t make a fuss when she found that the bread bin was empty bar a few old, green crumbs or that the milk in the fridge had turned thick and sour. All these things seemed irrelevant when just remembering to breathe took such a lot of effort. Trying to figure out how to ‘be’ when sadness and exhaustion sapped all her energy was demanding enough.
Eventually, though, the fog cleared a little. Her body and scalp began to itch and she started to notice the disgusting state of the flat. It was then that she began to panic.
‘I’m... I’m hungry, Joe,’ she would whisper, standing in the doorway of the sitting room, which had been commandeered by her brother as his own, his old bedroom now overflowing with dirty clothes and rubbish. It bothered her less than it should. She had no desire to spend any time in the sitting room anyway, not now she couldn’t snuggle up on the sofa with her mum. Not now her mum was gone from the flat for ever.
Joe’s dirty, reclusive behaviour was the side of him that she found hardest to understand. She couldn’t reconcile it with the boy she loved so much. His grimy jeans were heaped on the floor by the side of the chair. The tile-topped coffee table had been pulled up against the sofa and was littered with long, thin strands of tobacco, cigarette papers, empty bottles of Woodpecker cider, half-crushed beer cans, blackened spoons that looked like they’d been dropped in the fire, and strips of tinfoil. There were needles and egg-smeared plates nesting on old newspapers, along with crumpled, empty cartons of John Player cigarettes and Gold Top milk bottles with rings of cheese growing inside them. The heavy red curtains were permanently drawn, making day and night almost indistinguishable.
On days when Joe was relatively with it, he would shrug off the stinky sleeping bag in which he was permanently draped, ruffle her hair, light a cigarette and shuffle into the kitchen. A morning smell lingered on him no matter what the time of day – Anna much preferred it when his teeth had been cleaned and he had showered. With his bare feet sticking to the floor, eyes half closed and gripping the countertop for support, he would heat up a tin of soup and pour it into a mug for her. Anna would take the soup into her bedroom and sip at it from under the duvet, screwing her eyes shut and imagining she was hiding from her mum, who was humming a tune in the kitchen or chasing a spider across the lounge ceiling.
On the bad days, Joe would lie immobile on the sagging sofa, letting out a strange half hum, half groan, his eyes flickering behind their lids, showing that he had heard but was unable to respond. Once or twice he didn’t acknowledge her at all and it was at these times that her fear threatened to suffocate her. With her heart beating in her throat, and picturing the large blue towel that she now kept under her bed, she’d creep into the dark room with its sour air smelling of all things adult and she’d slowly reach out her hand and cup it over his nose and mouth. Relief at feeling his breath against her palm was always sweet and instant. Moving slowly backwards, she would coo, just as her mum had done, ‘It’s okay, baby, go back to sleep...’ before closing the sitting-room door. Supper on those nights would be anything she could forage from the back of the cupboard: a couple of soft crackers, a handful of stale cereal, spoonfuls of cake mix and in one instance the hard sticks of spaghetti that she didn’t yet know how to cook.
At least there was a hot school meal waiting for her each lunchtime and for this she was extremely grateful, wolfing it down under the snickering gaze of Natasha Collins, Tracy Fitchett and their crew. She’d overheard them commenting on her once-white blouse, now grey, and now they laughed at her urgency to get the food inside her.
‘Don’t worry, Anna, no one is going to take it away from you!’
She looked up only briefly, with her loaded fork poised, noting their expressions of disgust.
‘Fucking weirdo!’
It was strange how she felt only the vaguest flicker of shame, where once she’d have been overly concerned with fitting in. Now their taunts bounced off her. She was hungry and she was sad. That was it. The fact that she couldn’t join in with their high-pitched chats about Grange Hill and who they currently fancied was just not important. Anna’s needs were more immediate. She had lost her mum, and on top of this she carried the secrets of her home life. She was wise enough to know that if the truth about Joe came to the attention of the wrong person, her life might be further turned upside down. All that mattered was staying with Joe, keeping him close.
Anna continued to adore her big brother and she soon learnt how to take care of the two of them. She managed to keep the kitchen in slightly better order and she found out how to boil spaghetti. This, with a squirt of tomato ketchup – both ingredients picked up from the Spar shop – kept their tums full on many a cold night.
Joe occasionally went missing and those were the scariest times of all. She would lie there in the flat, alone and awake, too frightened to sleep, twitching at every sound that crept beneath the door or floated through the window. Even an immobile, unconscious Joe on the sofa was better than no Joe at all.
Peeking her head into the sitting room after two days on her own, her stomach bunched in anger when her eyes fell on the gap where the TV used to live. Worse still was the bare mantelpiece, once chockfull of her mum’s favourite ornaments like the china robin perched on a gold-painted branch, and the ceramic red rose inside a glass cloche, which had been her mum’s small way of having a garden inside. She’d loved finding quirky little objects in charity shops, but now they were all gone. Joe had even sold the pictures on the walls; in their place sat sooty rectangles that seemed to taunt her. Saddest of all, though, was the sight of the shrivelled brown trunk of her once thriving lemon tree. For Anna this was too much: another beautiful, living thing now turned to dust.
And then, not long after she turned thirteen, it happened. The very thing she’d been dreading most of all, the fear that had been gnawing at her ever since that most horrible of history lessons. In April 1981 Joe didn’t come home at all.
*
E... echoey.
F... Father Patrick.
G... God. God. God, help me! God, please help me. I’m scared and I miss my mum and my brother so much it hurts.
H... hymn book.
I... I... I don’t want to be here.
J... Joe... Oh Joe! No! No! No! I can’t believe it. What am I going to do now? What am I going to do?
Standing in the April sunshine, Anna folded her arms around her tiny chest, wrapped in the formal navy sailor dress she’d found at the back of her mum’s wardrobe. Hollow with grief and loneliness, she eyed the strangers who’d come to the service at St Stephen’s. A young woman with severe eye make-up was wailing loudly at the edge of the path. Anna noticed her shiny red T-bar shoes, at odds with the mood of the day; she liked the splash of colour they brought. The woman had very large top teeth that sat proud of her bottom lip. Beside her stood a man with an intricately fashioned beard and sunglasses. He was chewing gum. He pulled down his black leather cap, then patted the young woman’s back. The woman looked up, saw Anna and immediately came over, drawing her into a tight hug.
‘You’re Anna!’ she managed.
Anna nodded from within the woman’s grasp.
‘Joe was...’ The woman paused and sniffed. ‘Joe was brilliant and I loved him.’
Anna stepped backwards and looked into the stranger’s face. A stranger linked to her by their love for Joe. ‘Were you his girlfriend?’ she asked.
The woman looked briefly in the direction of the man in the leather cap. ‘Sometimes.’
‘Ruby!’ the leather-capped man called.
R... Ruby Red Shoes...
Ruby kissed Anna’s cheek and squeezed the top of her arm before returning to her friend. Anna felt an inexplicable desire to run over to her and stay with her. This stranger in red shoes had loved Joe! Ruby continued crying, more quietly now, and Anna watched as she rammed her knuckles into her mouth, trying to stifle her sadness.
Anna’s own eyes were dry; her grief was too huge and too private to be shared with these people she didn’t know. But she wondered, not for the first time, if she should be making more noise. As her mum used to say: quiet with a busy head.
She was surprised how few people were there for Joe. During the service she’d kept her eyes glued to the altar and she’d assumed that the sniffs and whispers from the pews behind her meant there was a large crowd. But now that they were all outside, she could see that there were about fifteen people at most. She didn’t know who they were, but she was glad they’d made the effort. Like Joe, most of them looked a bit down on their luck, a bit grimy, a bit broken. The fact that they had bothered meant a lot. She knew how hard it was for Joe to rouse himself on a bad day, and that Ruby and others had managed it sent a ripple of joy through the churn of her thirteen-year-old gut. She hoped Joe had known how much he was loved.
Don’t be stupid, Anna, if he’d known how much he was loved, he wouldn’t have jumped.
She took a deep breath and shook her head, desperate to erase the image that filled her mind.
I’m sorry, Joe. I know it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have made you give me the music box! I hope you know that I’m sorry, and if I could go back to then...
She glanced round at the random group of strangers, the last link to her big brother, and knew it was unlikely she’d ever see them again. This brought a new burst of sadness; its tendrils snaked around her gut and pushed deep into her bowels. Within minutes they would all disperse and she would be on her way up the motorway to a city far, far away, one she could only just pinpoint on a map. Her new home.
Home... It would never be home, just a place to rest her head until... Until what? It was too much to think about.
‘Are we all set then?’
The question, which came from Aunt Lizzie, caught her off guard. It was only the fourth or fifth sentence her aunt had ever spoken to her directly. She remembered her at her mum’s funeral, remembered Joe pointing her out, skulking near the back with a lace handkerchief pressed to her face, seemingly reluctant to engage with them further. Now, as then, disapproval came off her aunt in ripples. Anna noted the impatient twitch to her fingers as she fidgeted with the handles of her Margaret Thatcher handbag. It was hard to imagine anyone more different from her mum.
Anna stared at her and gave her customary nod.
*
The car was a little too warm. Despite the sunshine of the April day, the heating was cranked up high in her uncle’s shiny, pale blue Rover. She saw his hand skirt the pale wood veneer dashboard with something close to affection.
Anna didn’t feel the need to cast a final glance at the school she wouldn’t be going back to. It didn’t occur to her to say goodbye, in fact she barely looked up as the car wove its way through the streets she had lived in her whole life. She hardly dared let her eyes drift to the corner shop, afraid she might see her mum coming out of the green door with her shopping basket on her arm and a smile on her face as she handed her younger self a little white paper bag full of mixed penny sweets. ‘You’re such a good girl.’
Anna’s heart used to lift with joyful anticipation of the sweets, which would last the rest of the day if she was careful. ‘Did you get Joe some?’ she always asked, blinking, hopeful.
‘No,’ her mum would say, running her finger along Anna’s chin. ‘I got him this!’ And she’d hold up one of his favourite music magazines, which always made Anna’s face split with happiness, knowing Joe hadn’t been left out. That was just how she liked it: everything done fairly.
Not that there’d been much that was fair about her life in the past four years. Anna scooted the tears from her cheeks with her outstretched fingers, hardly able to picture one let alone both of the people she had loved.
‘Are you okay in the back there, missy?’ Her uncle’s voice pulled her into the present. His accent would take a bit of getting used to. Birmingham. Berr-minngg-gamm. Even today, on the saddest of days, she took a little warmth from his jolliness. He had crinkles around his eyes that suggested kindness.
Her aunt answered sharply on her behalf. ‘Of course she’s okay, Alan. It’s not been five minutes since you asked her last!’ This was accompanied by an almost imperceptible tut.
‘It’s quiet where we are.’ Her uncle carried on, undeterred by his wife’s rebuke. ‘But there’s a lot of history. Do you like history, Anna?’ he asked gently, as if he understood that today everything needed to be done slowly.
She was trying to formulate a response when her aunt again interjected. ‘She doesn’t want to hear about that today!’ she said sharply.
‘I was only going to tell her about the motor industry, the pride of the Midlands. This very car was manufactured not five miles from its parking spot in our driveway. Isn’t that something?’ He squeezed the steering wheel, making his leather driving gloves squeak, and tilted his head to make eye contact in the rearview mirror.
‘Good Lord, Alan, do you think she, or I for that matter, wants to hear your trivia when we’ve just had to sit through that funeral!’
From the tone of her voice, it was crystal clear to Anna that her aunt hadn’t come to the funeral out of love for Joe, or her mum, or her. She felt a deep flash of dislike for the woman and not for the first time wished Aunt Lizzie hadn’t bothered turning up, wished she hadn’t decided to take Anna into their home, for whatever reason. An image of Ruby Red Shoes floated into her mind. ‘Joe was brilliant and I loved him.’ She heard Ruby’s beautiful words and added her own. I miss you, Joe. I miss you so much. I wish I could tell you that I’m sorry...
‘We should talk about something more uplifting,’ her aunt said, looking out of the window as if this was where inspiration for a suitable topic might be lurking. Turning her pink face towards the gap between the seats, she smiled as she asked, ‘What do you think her dress is going to be like? I can see her in a fishtail, with a lace veil and a train that goes on for miles.’
Anna stared at her. Dress? What dress?
Her aunt sighed again, whether with impatience or disapproval it was hard to tell. ‘The wedding dress!’ she said. ‘Lady Di’s! Good Lord, the wedding of the century. I would have thought it’s all you young girls could think about. A proper princess marrying her prince – now there’s a fairy tale if ever I’ve heard one, a true love match, it’s so obvious. I bet she’ll make a stunning bride. My friend Shirley and I were going to travel up for the day, camp on the Mall, but to be honest, after today’s shenanigans, it’s more than put me off. I think I’ll just get out the best tea service and wave a flag in front of the telly.’
Anna sank further down against the upholstery. On top of everything else, she had also apparently managed to spoil the royal wedding for her aunt.
Turning her head to the left, she pictured her mum sitting next to her on the back seat. She was wearing her favourite white T-shirt with a rose pattern on the front and her faded jeans. Her chestnut-coloured hair was loose about her shoulders. She looked pretty. Anna placed her hand on the grey leather piping and watched as her mum cupped her palm over it. She smiled at her briefly, taking comfort from the contact that flowed between the world in which her mum resided and her own.
It seemed like hours later that the car pulled into a cul-de-sac where lawns were small and neat and children’s bikes were propped against garage doors. A white dog barked from an open porch and two little girls played jump rope on the raised kerb.
Anna sat up straight. Her heart was beating fast.
‘Here we are then, love. I know this must all feel very strange for you today, but it will get easier as you settle in, you’ll see,’ her Uncle Alan spoke softly.
Her first impression of the house was that it was like a box or a cell. There were no surprising curves or patterns, no porches or fancy windows, no shutters or adornments of any kind. It was almost fully detached, except for the room above the garage, which was connected to a similar room above next-door’s garage. The whole road was like that, with the houses linked together in a row.
Uncle Alan drove the car onto the narrow concrete driveway and ratcheted the handbrake. Her aunt Lizzie scrambled awkwardly to release her seatbelt as she waved to a man arranging a brown tent on next-door’s front lawn. ‘That’s Mr Dickinson,’ she said eagerly. ‘He takes minutes at council meetings, which is a very important job. He’s party to all sorts of sensitive information – you’ve got to be quite the keeper of secrets to work for the council in that capacity.’
Anna swallowed her lack of interest and watched her aunt heave herself out of the car.
‘Hello, Mr Dickinson!’ Aunt Lizzie waved coyly, reminding Anna of the way girls in her class acted when they talked to a boy they fancied.
She noted the irritated flicker that passed across Mr Dickinson’s face. He returned the wave nonetheless.
‘We’ve just got back from London.’ Her aunt hovered with her wide bottom pushed against the car door, waiting for Mr Dickinson to respond. She continued regardless. ‘We’ve just buried my nephew. A terrible business.’
Anna felt a trickle of ice in her veins. She didn’t want her life discussed in this way, casually, as if it was just a piece of gossip. A film of sweat formed on her brow.
‘Oh.’ The man looked more than a little embarrassed. ‘I’m very sorry to hear that.’
‘Well,’ Aunt Lizzie continued, ‘he wasn’t without problems. Drugs. Like his father, I’m afraid. My sister, she...’
A... Aunt Lizzie.
B... blue.
C... car.
D... died. Joe died.
Anna listened, her blood pumping loudly in her ears, as her aunt paused and then after a snort of laughter added, ‘Let’s just say she never made very good choices. We’ve brought our niece back to live with us. But don’t worry...’ Again she let slip a small laugh. ‘She’s a different kettle of fish. Wouldn’t say boo to a goose and is rather bookish.’
‘I really must...’ Mr Dickinson resumed unfurling his tent.
‘Going somewhere nice?’ her aunt pushed.
‘Yes.’ He spoke with his head down, thus ending the awkward conversation.
Anna looked over her shoulder, squashed her face against the seat leather and peered out of the window of the fancy car, trying to figure if it would be possible to walk back to London and how long it might take. She could sleep in the shed at her old address that belonged to the middle-floor flat. She could sleep in the park in the gap under the slide. She could find Ruby Red Shoes and ask if she could live with her. She could sleep anywhere, anywhere other than here.
Uncle Alan opened up the hatchback and gave her a little wave. With her mouth hidden by the seat and just her eyes peeping over the upholstery, she felt like a wild creature submerged in a river. She didn’t bother trying to find a smile. Her uncle lowered his hand. He hauled her large suitcase from the boot, across the path and into the hallway.
‘Out you pop!’ he called over his shoulder.
She followed slowly, knowing that once she was inside, that would be it, she’d be there to stay.
‘Shoes off!’ her aunt instructed, slipping her own small, chubby feet from the beige, heeled court shoes she’d teetered about on all day.
Anna stepped out of her navy blue pumps and looked down at her toes. She wiggled them against the biscuit-coloured carpet. She thought about a morning not long before her mum had died when they’d been outside by the little bin store, shoving last night’s potato peelings and an old newspaper into the metal bin. Her mum used to take her time over chores like that, relishing the chance to be outside. Suddenly, caught by a gust of wind, the front door had slammed shut.
‘Oh no!’ her mum had screeched, rattling the handle and pushing on the door with the flat of her palm, as if this might encourage it to miraculously spring open. ‘I’ll have to go and get Maura’s Dave.’ She snickered. ‘I never thought having a friend whose bloke had been inside for breaking and entering would be so useful!’
‘What’s breaking and entering?’ Anna had asked.
Her mum had stared at her, blankly. ‘You haven’t got any shoes on!’ she said, pointing out the obvious.
Anna had wiggled her toes against the stained, cracked concrete, feeling the cold seep through her thin socks.
‘Right, hop on!’ her mum commanded, gesturing at her own feet. Anna had duly hopped on: facing her mum and placing her feet on top of her slippers, they gripped each other’s forearms. It was in this dance pose that they sidestepped down the street, laughing until tears rolled down their cheeks, ignoring the quizzical looks of people at the bus stop. Anna knew she’d never be as happy as she had been that afternoon, walking all the way to Maura’s house, clinging on to her mum for dear life and giggling fit to burst.
‘You might want to go up and see your room,’ her aunt said, nodding towards the ceiling as she shrugged off her wool coat. ‘Your cousin will be back from youth club soon. Funny how you’ve never met.’
Anna wasn’t sure how she was expected to respond. She trod the open stairs slowly in her stockinged feet, taking in the magnolia-painted woodchip wallpaper and the three small prints that hung symmetrically at the top of the stairs, pictures of ladies in crinolines each holding a lacy parasol at a different jaunty angle.
Uncle Alan had placed her heavy case on the end of a single bed in a small room at the top of the stairs. The bed was narrow but fancy, covered in a lacy counterpane on top of a pink duvet; a matching valance skirted the carpet.
‘Shall I close the curtains?’ he asked as he reached up towards the abundance of peach-coloured faux water silk that hung at the window.
‘No!’ She reached out her hand, aware that she had raised her voice. ‘I... I don’t like the dark and I don’t like small spaces. I like a breeze.’ She whispered the last few words, curling her hand against her chest, seeing a burst of anxiety in her uncle’s eyes.
‘Righty ho.’ He coughed. ‘We’ll have supper and then we can help you unpack, how does that sound?’ He pulled a white handkerchief from the pocket of his brown suit trousers and dabbed at his red face.
‘Thank you,’ she managed, her voice no more than a squeak as she dug deep and tried to mask the thoughts that raged. I don’t want to unpack because that means I’m staying here and I don’t want to stay here!
‘Ah, that’s a good girl!’ He smiled. ‘You get settled, love, make yourself at home, and I’ll give you a shout when supper’s ready. Jordan is looking forward to meeting you. He’s a good lad.’ He walked towards the door. ‘And just for the record, Mr Dickinson takes minutes in meetings about extended opening hours for pubs or whether someone can close a road for a street party or not. The way your aunt speaks about him, you’d think he works for MI6. Still, I expect you’re not really interested in all that right now.’
Anna waited until he’d left the room before sitting in the small space on the bed next to her suitcase. She knotted her fingers through the gaps in the lace counterpane and listened to the muffled stream of conversation in the kitchen below. She couldn’t make out any words, which was probably just as well.
The room was sparsely furnished, apart from a pink velour chair and a white melamine dressing table placed between two built-in wardrobes on the opposite wall. The wardrobe handles and mirror frame were all picked out in gold.
‘What would you say about this room, Joe?’
‘Looks like a granny room. Probably smells of piss!’
‘I miss you,’ she whispered, as fresh tears fell. ‘I don’t want to stay here. I don’t like Aunt Lizzie and I don’t like this house. I want to go back to London.’
She laid her hand on the suitcase, knowing her mum must have touched the exact same spot at some point.
She leant back against the wall and sobbed quietly.
Pressing her palms against her forehead, she screwed her eyes shut, as if trying to hold her thoughts together. ‘How could you do this to me, Joe? You knew that I was already as sad as I could be, and now...’ She gasped again, trying to steady her breathing. ‘I love you and I miss you, but I am mad at you too. You were all I had, Joe. You were everything, my brother.’
‘Tea in ten minutes!’ her aunt called up the stairs.
Anna wiped her eyes and sat up straight. She unzipped the suitcase and began rifling frantically through her clothes and possessions to find the thing she was looking for. With a sigh of relief she placed her hands on the shiny surface of her notebook. She held it briefly to her chest, before gripping the pen. Raising her knees, she rested the book on them.
Hello Fifi and Fox,
I was sitting on my bed thinking about you, which I haven’t done for a while now. This is going to sound weird, but you are all I have now.
I like that no one knows about you apart from me and Mum. It’s like even though she isn’t here, you are still our secret thing.
I wanted to tell you that you will never have to worry about anything because I will always be there for you to talk to about anything that is worrying you.
And if I can’t be there for you to talk to, then I will make sure there is someone else for you to talk to because when there is no one to talk to it can make you feel very lonely. You can talk to each other or I will find someone that will listen to you.
Like if you don’t like sweetcorn there will be someone you can tell so you don’t have to eat it and pritend you do.
I am so sad that my whole body hurts. My whole body.
I told you long ago that you would not meet my mummy Karen and now you will not meet my brother Joe, the one I told you about, my big brother.
He died too.
But don’t worry about this.
Most people don’t die and you will be fine.
When I am older I will teach you the alphabet game, it really helps, and I will take you to the seaside and you can eat as much ice cream as you want and I won’t even mind. And when you come home I won’t make you take your shoes off in the hall and I won’t make you eat sweetcorn if you don’t like it.
And make sure you don’t take drugs. Don’t ever take drugs. Please don’t do that. I will make everything better for you.
Anna Cole
Anna sat back and thought of the million ways Joe had made life better for her when he was having one of his good days. He used to come home bouncing with energy and optimism and present her with a box full of goodies – mismatched odds and ends of used make-up, a white embroidered lavender bag. Best of all had been the music box, covered in red leather and with a worn brass lock. When she lifted the lid, a skinny ballerina with a melted face had popped up on a tiny spring. She was wearing a white net tutu and had a painted-on bodice. She pirouetted on a little stick to the sound of ‘Für Elise’.
That music box... He’d wanted to get rid of it, but she’d pleaded with him. ‘Please, Joe! Please can I keep it!’
Her tears came again.
She made herself look round the room to distract herself.
L... lamp.
M... mirror.
N... nightstand.
O... ornament.
P... pillow.
Qu... qu...
‘Anna, your tea’s ready! Ham, egg and chips, don’t let it go cold now!’
She jumped at the sound of her aunt’s yell and stood tall, trying to stem her sobs. She concentrated on breathing in a normal rhythm, ignoring the way her heart thudded in her ears.
Quiet.
Quiet – apart from Aunt Lizzie’s shouts. It’s so quiet – no street noise, no buses. I don’t want to feel this sad, it makes me tired all the time. I don’t want to go and have tea with them. I don’t want to meet Jordan.
I wonder how long I can be here before something cracks.