Immediately after taking Piers to school on Monday morning, Myra went up to Graham’s bedroom and opened his wardrobe doors. She was struck by how neatly his clothes were stacked on the shelves, how his hanging items were all perfectly organised. Normally she just left his laundered clothes in a basket on his bed, never seeing inside any of these closed doors. It was his domain. Now she looked up to the very top shelf that ran the full length of the wardrobe. She was going to need the steps.
She went downstairs to get the folding steps she used to reach high-up things in the kitchen. Back in Graham’s room, she patiently made her way along the wardrobe shelf, carefully turning things, trying not to disturb anything, but desperate not to miss her goal. She peered underneath every item and eventually, there it was . . . an old Marks and Spencers’ carrier bag, in the furthest most inaccessible corner. Myra climbed down and stood on the carpet, her hands shaking, her heart thumping. She could barely see, her eyes were so full of brimming tears. She blinked them away resolutely then slipped her hand inside, fearing it might not be the right bag, but out came three baby vests. They were just as they were the day they were bought, still in their packet, folded perfectly. Her heart raced at the memory of how excited she’d been, buying those vests. The very first purchase for their longed-for new baby. Pristine, tiny, beautiful, so full of promise, so filled with hope.
Myra sat down on Graham’s bed and fingered the packet. It rustled as she stroked it, the end of her finger rubbed up a corner of the self-adhesive flap and before she knew it the vests were out of the packet and laid on her knee. One fell to the floor so she bent to pick it up; laid it against her cheek and it comforted her. Where she’d expected tears she felt relief, a closeness to their lost baby she’d never permitted herself before. It hurt, but a kind of soft glow came over her, the injustice of it all melted, the anguish gone. Tenderly she refolded them, replaced them in the packet, sealed the flap, returned it to the carrier bag and put it away right where Graham had laid the vests all that time ago. She thought of him silently looking at them for all these years and never saying . . .
The phone rang.
Myra ran downstairs to answer it, quickly clearing her throat in case she sounded choked with emotion. It was the head teacher from Piers’ school.
‘I’m afraid Piers is not at all well, Mrs Butler. Is it possible you could come to collect him?’
‘Not well?’
‘He’s deathly white and being sick, three times already, and it’s only a quarter to ten.’
‘Oh! I see.’ Myra didn’t know what else to say.
‘Will you be able to come?’
‘Yes, yes, of course. I’ll have to walk, it’ll take me ten minutes.’
‘That’s fine. He’s in the sick room with our nursery helper keeping an eye. I’ll tell him you’re coming.’
‘I’ll set off straight away.’
‘Thank you – see you soon!’
This unaccustomed state of affairs threw Myra into a panic. Any change to her routine, any shift in plans or pressure to be spontaneous was enough to send her anxiety levels skyrocketing. But she knew she couldn’t dither about leaving the house, so she pulled her coat on and headed out.
Viv was heading towards her as she shut the front door behind her.
‘I was just coming across for coffee, is something the matter?’
‘It’s Piers, he’s been taken ill at school and I’ve to fetch him home.’
‘Oh! the poor little chap.’
‘Will you come and have a look at him when I get him back? I’m not used to sick children.’
‘Of course. I’ll look out for you, it won’t be anything serious you know, not appendicitis or anything. Don’t worry too much.’
She waved Myra off as though it was quite normal, but it wasn’t normal to Myra. She was horrified that she could have been so careless as to send a sick child to school. She’d need to apologise, she really would.
The walk home after collecting Piers was horrendous. He kept retching over the gutter but nothing came up, for which she was thankful. But it was the ghastly pallor of his face she didn’t like. She held his hand for which he appeared grateful. What on earth had she done to cause this? Was it something she’d cooked? Should she call the doctor? Viv would know what to do.
As she put the key in the latch Viv came dashing across.
‘I feel awful,’ said Piers, his face twisted into a grimace.
‘Get your coat off and let’s have a look at you.’ Viv felt his forehead, asked him where it hurt, did he feel sick right now? Had he got tummy ache? If she pressed his tummy did it hurt? Piers shook his head.
Myra asked if she should give him something, but she hadn’t anything to give him. Her medicine cabinet was rarely used and full of ancient pills and bottles that would be no use for a young child.
‘What shall I do?’ She rung her hands with helplessnes.
‘If I were you I’d let him sit in a warm room reading or better still watching telly, to take his mind off it.’
‘Is that all?’
‘Give him a warm drink, not hot, just warm so’s not to aggravate anything. What’s your favourite, Piers?’
‘Hot chocolate.’
‘Good idea, perhaps with just a bit of sugar, Myra. And Piers you must sip it gently, just see if you can keep it down.’
‘Right.’
‘Give him a bucket just in case it comes over him again. I’ll come across in an hour or two to see how he is. Lots of TLC.’ She winked at Myra and left for home.
Myra couldn’t think what on earth her wink meant but then forgot about it as she busied herself with her tasks. She switched the TV on, put a rug over Piers knees as he seemed to be shivering, made him a hot chocolate and one for herself and sat down in the other armchair to keep watch. She’d strategically placed a bucket with Dettol in the bottom, a glass of water and a box of tissues . . . just in case.
The two hours Viv was away passed without further incident, which made Myra wonder what on earth was going on. Was he sick? Well, he had been at school, they said so. But it was all over it seemed and Piers was looking, quite frankly, rather sparkling.
Viv knocked and walked in at the back door calling out, ‘Come to see the invalid. Oh! You look better. Thank goodness.’
‘He’s not been sick again.’
‘Well, that’s an excellent sign. Any coffee going?’ Out of Piers’ eyeline she nodded her head towards the kitchen. Mystified, Myra went with her to put the kettle on.
Viv quietly closed the kitchen door. ‘If he’s not sick again it might not be a bug, you know. I reckon he might just be homesick.’
‘Homesick? For his real home you mean?’
‘No. For here.’ She pointed at the kitchen floor.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I don’t think he does either. I bet he just wants to be sure it’s still here while he’s at school.’
‘But of course it is, where else would it be?’
‘When you think about it, he’s never had a mother that he’s known, his dad’s been dying while he’s been looked after by that horrible Delphine and now he’s living somewhere where, quite honestly, he sensed you didn’t want him. So he’s panicked and all he needs is some comfort to reassure him all’s OK. You’re not the only one who lives on their nerves!’
‘That is ridiculous. I’ll take him straight back to school, we can’t have this.’
She handed Viv her coffee. She would, she’d take him back and apologise for his foolishness. He’d have to brave it out. She wasn’t putting up with this kind of nonsense.
‘A few hours off school won’t set his career back believe me. He won’t learn anything if you do take him back, he’ll be too upset. It’s what he needs. He needs to sit with you playing Ludo or something, anything to give him the feeling that you care.’
Myra decided she wanted her own way about this. This was what being a mother was about she felt. Making sure they toed the line, did as they were told. There’d be no end to this caper if she didn’t, he’d end up being off school every other day. Viv could see this in her face and said, ‘Please, Myra, one day off won’t hurt.’
‘He’s in my care and I say he’s going back to school straight after lunch.’
Viv got up abruptly and left, a look of thunder on her face, still holding one of Myra’s coffee cups. Myra called after her, but Viv didn’t, or wouldn’t, hear her,
Myra prepared lunch and the two of them sat in the kitchen, Piers chattering away and Myra answering him as best she could while wondering how to phrase what she had to say. He appeared perfectly fit judging by the eagerness with which he was eating his lunch. If he got upset well then he got upset. Not that she cared if he was upset because he was being naughty fancying a day off school, otherwise he’d have been sick at home as well as school.
His reaction to the news was more like an explosion than anything, but she didn’t care. He was going back to school even if she had to carry him there, someone had to discipline him and it was going to be her. He screamed and cried, flung his chair to the floor, overturned her chair and the two others, his mug joined them and smashed as it landed on the tiles.
She put her coat and gloves on, forced him into his outdoor clothes including his hat, which he pulled off three times before he gave in, and they struggled out of the front door with Myra gripping him hard.
Crossing the main road was the hardest, as soon as the lights went red he redoubled his efforts to escape homewards. While hanging on to him on the pedestrian refuge in the middle of the road waiting for the lights to change, Myra ran out of energy and in the split second she took to regroup herself he slipped from her grasp and was scooped up onto the bonnet of a passing car. The screech of its brakes and the screaming of the driver were to stay in Myra’s head for years.