Cold Boy's Wood by Carol Birch (if you liked this book TXT) 📗

chuck the lot. When did he ever look at any of these pictures anyway? What did they mean? People made much out of these things. What’s the point when things are gone? All they do is make you feel bad. A sheaf of pictures spread out on the filthy old table top. His dad he never knew. Died in an accident, something horrible involving steel and machines and negligence at work. She’d got money from the accident and came back here. There were no wedding photos of his mum and dad and none of them together. No pictures of the Brooms, his father’s people, at all. Just these. It used to mean something but it didn’t any more. His dad on a long flat grey and white beach with a bilious sky and the sea line in the distance. Just a bloke.

She used to say: your dad –

your dad used to say

your dad had one of those

your dad loved kippers

He pushed his dad aside. There was his mum all smiling and blowsy in very bright sunshine, a girl. Then a couple of really ancient snaps of the back steps with him an unimaginable serious semi-baby, a monstrosity, he thought, almost afraid to think that that thing had been him. Fair hair (that didn’t last), frowning brow and a silly little white collar. Gran. Never looked at these things. Couldn’t say he enjoyed it when he did. They just mouldered away in these drawers occupying stale space and not affecting him in any way. He scooped the lot into a pile on the table and left them, thinking: there, I’ve made a good start.

Is she still up, I wonder? That woman?

What’s the time? Past midnight.

He opened the back door and looked out. Dark as hell. Not going out in that.

Next morning, nine sharp, his phone blared out something that sounded like ‘Where Did You Get That Hat?’ played on a xylophone. It had been on the phone when he bought it off Eric and he hadn’t got round to changing it yet.

It was Madeleine. ‘I talked to the daughter,’ she said. ‘I think she’s quite nice. The mother should be taking medication, that’s what she’s worried about. She said she’s all right as long as she stays on that.’

He wished he’d never got involved.

‘Actually,’ she said, ‘it was really interesting. I found out a lot. The poor woman’s off her head. Awful story.’

What was he supposed to say?

‘Dan?’

‘Yeah.’

‘So anyway she’s coming up from Birmingham tomorrow, and she’s bringing some of her mother’s medication with her.’

Oh God, he thought.

‘So could you take us and show us where she is?’

‘I’ve got a lot on,’ he said.

He could hear her thinking on the other end of the line.

‘It won’t take a minute,’ she said. ‘Say, twenty minutes of your time.’

Cats. Fucking cats, scratching at the window, scratching at the door. Fuck off, he wanted to say. I’ve done my bit. No more.

‘Well, you can’t just go barging in,’ he said. ‘I’ll have to go in first. She knows me.’

‘Of course. If you think that’s best.’

‘Is it just you and her? The daughter? No one else?’

‘Of course.’

Oh Christ oh Christ oh Christ. Confrontation. Scenes. People getting all het up. No.

‘OK,’ he said.

‘Good. Look, I’ll check back with her and give you a definite time later. Probably sometime late afternoon. Is that OK?’

‘Yeah.’

Fuck.

*

A woman with heavy eye makeup, sitting on his sofa drinking a mug of tea. The heavy eye makeup out of place on her. She had a soft round face with a thin turned-up nose and a curved smile, long grey hair falling over her breasts. Her clothes were dark, plain and forgettable, her shoes sensible. She sat with her hands loosely linked and comfortably resting in the place beneath the roll of her waist.

‘She’s off her meds,’ she said calmly.

Oh yes, this one would take charge now, he thought. Rain thrummed down outside, pinged up from the windowsill in bursts of silver.

‘It’s not that I mind people being able to do what they want,’ she said, ‘live any way they want. But what do you do when someone’s a danger to themselves? And she is, or may be. There’s the fire risk, for a start. It’s a potential furnace in summer round here. And what if she fell or had an accident all alone out there, a woman of her age? I mean, think about it.’

They talked away, her and Madeleine. It seemed to be going on for ages and he just wanted them to go. Fuck off please, the pair of you, just go.

‘Don’t you get driven mad by all these cats?’ said Madeleine.

‘Yeah,’ he said.

‘You know, if you’re going to have them all around, you really ought to get them seen to. If you ring Animal Rescue they’ll come and check them out. They’ll do it for free.’

‘No, they won’t,’ he said.

‘They will!’

‘Oh, this rain!’ said Harriet. ‘I don’t think it’s letting up.’

‘What does she do when the weather’s like this?’ asked Madeleine.

‘No idea,’ he said.

‘I mean, what’s she actually got out there? Do you know? What sort of a set-up?’

‘I don’t know. She’s got a tent. Tarpaulin and stuff.’

‘Yeah but…’

‘It must be awful,’ said Harriet.

‘I know.’

‘Give it another half hour,’ Madeleine said. ‘Then we’ll make a decision.’

‘They should never have closed that place,’ said Harriet. ‘Just put them out on the street and in these horrible places. I mean, what do they expect?’

Madeleine stood up. ‘Can I use your loo, Dan?’

‘First door you come to going up,’ he said.

He’d scrubbed it, knowing they were coming.

When they were alone, Harriet looked straight at him and said sadly, still faintly smiling, ‘I don’t know what she’s said to you. I don’t know if you realise. My mother’s a funny woman. You can’t believe a word she says.’

‘So I imagine,’ he said.

‘She’ll say anything. It’s all in her head. She can come across as fairly normal sometimes but scratch the surface...’

He offered her a cigarette but she shook her head. ‘So she’s