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

take her into your house or anything like that obviously, but you do see that your opinion counts in this.’

Harriet shook her head and held up her hands in a strange supplicating way. ‘She had a place,’ she said, ‘she was OK. They closed it down. Care in the community! Hah, that’s a joke.’

‘I know,’ said Madeleine. ‘They put them in horrible B&Bs in grotty seaside towns and leave them to flounder and then wonder why they have problems.’

‘Exactly. This is the problem. Whose responsibility is she? Whose actual responsibility?’

‘Is there absolutely nobody else? No other relations?’

‘She’s got a brother,’ said Harriet. ‘He’s in Australia. He’s a solicitor.’

‘Well, in the end,’ said Madeleine, ‘if she’s not a danger to herself or anyone else…’

‘I’ve got no other family to share this with,’ said Harriet. ‘It’s not really fair to lumber my partner with all this.’

And on and on they went, discussing law and morality and the practicalities of the situation, and as he poured hot water onto instant coffee, he looked out of the window and saw Lorna lift the latch on the gate coming in from the wood.

‘She’s here,’ he said.

Harriet put her head in her hands. ‘Oh fu-u-uck!’ she crooned.

Madeleine stood up.

‘No no,’ she said, ‘this is good, this is what we came for.’ She went to the door.

‘Some ways,’ said Harriet to Dan quietly when she’d gone out, ‘I wish this stupid woman hadn’t dug this whole thing up. They could have just left her buried out there, who fucking cares?’

Oh, this was all just such a nuisance to her. He knew how she felt.

‘Can’t do it though,’ he said apologetically.

‘I don’t know,’ she said, ‘I don’t know what to do about any of it. I need to know whether I can go home.’

33

Up on the heights, I kept thinking there was someone there with me, and if I could only hear, tune in like a radio, but when I did I wished I hadn’t because it was just all the same old crap from the whisperers, about the fool I am and all the stupid things I’ve ever said or done when I make a fool of myself. But then it stopped raining and I saw the car and knew, just knew, that’s Harriet. And I had to run down, didn’t think, just did it, couldn’t pass up the chance for another look at her.

The ginger-hair woman met me at the door.

‘You must be Lorna,’ she said. She was very nice, one of those sweet genuine smiles that illuminates the face and doesn’t give a toss about the wrinkles. ‘I’m Madeleine. Hello!’ A funny greeting, as if we’ve met before perhaps by telephone or email or whatever, and already know each other. But we don’t, not at all.

‘Hello,’ I said.

‘Your daughter’s inside,’ she said.

‘Harriet.’ What could I say?

‘Yes. She’s in the kitchen. Are you cold?’

‘No.’

‘Anyway, come in and have some coffee. Are you hungry?’

‘Not really,’ I said.

‘OK.’ Smile smile. ‘Well, come in.’ As if it’s her house.

Dan was leaning on the sink, glowering. Harriet standing, facing the door.

‘Look now, why don’t you sit down, Lorna,’ the woman said. ‘Would you like some coffee? Tea?’

You know the way they made me feel? Like I wanted to say, no, fuck it, give me whisky, give me dope, give me anything but you lot. Let me go.

‘Tea,’ I said.

‘Tea.’ She moved towards the kettle but Dan gestured her away and set to with cups and spoons and things. I sat down, and Harriet sat down on the other side of the table, and we looked at each other in hopeless stalemate. I looked and looked, she was so fundamentally of my life, so rooted. Couldn’t see that child, the gap tooth, the anxious little face. Looked in her brown eyes for a sign. God knows what she saw, I hate to think. And before anyone had a chance to breathe she said, ‘Well, Mother, here we go again.’

‘Hello, Harry.’

Looking at me like I’m trash.

‘It’s me,’ I said.

‘I know,’ she said and almost smiled. ‘That’s the trouble.’

A mug of tea appeared on the table and the ginger woman said pleasantly, ‘Now, you two just have a talk. We’ll leave you to catch up for a bit, then we can all…’ She had a deep tote bag into which she delved and brought out a packet of Hobnobs. ‘Have you got a plate, Dan?’

He opened doors, clanked about. A plate appeared on the table and Madeleine offloaded a mound of biscuits from the packet. ‘There,’ she said. I looked at Dan. His eyes were bleak and old and angry. They left us somehow, closed the door softly.

‘They called me,’ she said eventually. ‘It was kind of a relief. I knew you were off the grid, of course. I got a call from Marion.’

Which one was Marion? Those people. Always calling. Strangers, sizing me up, part of their working day. Kindly, unwanted, troublesome. All on first name terms with me though I could never remember theirs.

‘Have I broken the law?’ I asked.

‘Well, you tell me, Mother.’

‘I don’t think I have.’

‘You know,’ she said, ‘this is just trouble for an awful lot of people.’

I’d forgotten how pointless it always was to talk to her.

‘All these good people having to run round after you.’

‘They don’t have to,’ I said.

‘Oh, come on! You know they do. This is the real world, Mother.’

I couldn’t look at her enough but it would never work, she and I just couldn’t cope with one another. There was a time she wouldn’t bring her friends home because of me. Before she left. And she blamed me, she always blamed me for what happened. It must have been horrible for her.

‘I don’t know what to do about you any more,’ she said, ‘you’re getting older now, you can’t just carry on…’

‘You don’t have to do anything.’

‘I do. They ring me up. They hassle.’

‘Well, I don’t ask them to.’

‘But they do.’

‘Fuck ’em,’ I said.

That didn’t help at all. She took a