Mums Acquaintance
Mum, I whisper directly in her ear, careful not to wake Auntie Jean who is sleeping on the other side of the flimsy partition. Mum!
Shes next to me, facing away. When I was little, I used to climb into her bed late at night, huddling up for warmth, listening to my mum breathe, wrapping my arms around hers, pressing my cheek into her warm palm. Wed whisper about things that bothered meabout Jasper, the ginger tom from next door who once fell down the old well and had to be rescued, or things that happened at school. After, Mum would tell me stories from when I was tiny.
Whats wrong now, Jamie? she asks sleepily, her voice soft. I can feel every bone in her back, the sharp elbows that nudge me when she tosses and turns, her breath warm on my face when she hugs me.
I want her to go, Mum! Please, let her go! Why does she have to stay here? I nod toward the wall separating us from Auntie Jeans bed, where, through the thin plaster, we can hear her snoring. Mum! Come on, say something!
I sit up, annoyed. How can my own mum not get it?
You know Jeans house burned down, Jamie. Shes got nowhere else to go. Thats why shes staying here, love.
Shes horrible, Mum! She takes your money! I forget to whisper and blurt out my complaint in my usual clear, high-pitched voice. Mum quickly covers my mouth with her hand. The snores on the other side stop, her metal-framed bed creaks. Auntie Jean mumbles something and then falls silent again.
Thats enough, Jamie. You shouldnt say things like that! You saw her take it? You caught her with your own eyes? Honestly, Jamie! Jean helps you with your homework, remember, and now youre saying such things
But I did see her! Mum, I really saw her! I was peeking through the crack and saw her rustling about in the hall, then going through your handbag and taking your purse. I wanted to shout, but… but… I got scared. Mum, I dont like her! I want her to leave! This is our flat, yours and mine, and thats my room shes sleeping in! Why does she get it?
I pout, staring sulkily out the window.
Youre still little, Jamie. You dont understand why we have to live together just yet. Little, do you hear me?! And nothing of mine has gone missing. Now off to your bed, go on.
Mum would always shoo me off if I mentioned Auntie Jean. But she isnt my aunt, not reallyjust a friend of mums from her past. Yet she bosses us around as if she owns the place.
Sniffling, I stomp back to my room, burrow beneath the covers. On the other side of the wall, theres a shuffle, then everything goes quiet.
It all started late last autumn, when Jean Winchester arrived at our flat. She burst in, out of breath, suitcase in hand, face red and sweaty, curls sticking to her forehead. I was about eight then, and stood gazing up at her, bewildered. Across the hall, our neighbour Mr. Parker slammed his door shutI could just make out his voice calling Jean a batty old witch. Apparently, shed rung the wrong doorbell for ages, bellowing at the neighbours for supposedly squatting in our flat and threatening to call the police. Only after reading Mums letter again did she realise her mistake, barked at Mr. Parker, and dashed to our door.
She glimpsed at me only briefly before squeezing through, past the coat-stand and me, straight to Mum. She didnt wait to be invited in; next minute, she was sat in my room, tears streaming down her cheeks, blubbering.
Its all gone, Olivia, all of it! Right to the basementpreserves, spuds, everything ruined. Its heartbreaking! She would rock back and forth, face hidden in her palms. I really had nowhere else to goneighbours are crammed as it is. Then, I remembered you! So lucky I always kept your letter close to my chest. I bought a train ticket here, and oh, what a tragedy, Liv! How am I meant to go on? My husbands photohim in his seamans caplost in the fire! Only this one left She rummages out a snapshot of a man in front of a giant ship. Can I put this here? She gestured at my desk. So hell still watch over me
Jean mustve been about sixty thena long time left to live out her days, which now meant sharing our home.
Mum flustered about in sympathy, offered her lunch.
Im so hungry, after that journey! Young man! She never called me by name, just young man or boy. Lead the way to the kitchen, go on, dont just gawp at me.
She gave my shoulder a painful squeeze, pushing me ahead. I wriggled away and dashed off.
Whatever is wrong with him? Jean tutted, settling at the table. Your sons gone wild. Shows you, its always the blood! Bad blood wins out I did warn you, Olivia
His name is Jamie, I overheard Mum mutter quietly.
Yes Jamie. James. Like the king! Jean burst out laughing, momentarily forgetting her sorrow.
Once stuffed, she took charge, sitting in my room.
I need a rest, Olivia, my bones are aching againrains on its way, isnt it awful? It never stops in Beechwood, rain after rain, water everywhere
Mum nodded, scooping my toys into boxes in my own room, the one this woman now claimed.
So, knee-deep in water but the house burned out? Well, odd things do happen…
Jamie can squeeze in with you, right Olivia? Ill have this spot for my little table and china cup. You do have fine bone china, dont you? She rifled through the wardrobe, plucking out my things.
No, were just used to ordinary mugs When Jamie was little, he could have broken something delicate, so I never bought any Mum sounded apologetic, as if explaining our way of life.
Well, Liv! Good heavens, in the city and not a piece of bone china? I sent you here to settle down, remember! Jean drew a finger across the wardrobe top, tutting at the dust. Youre still as thin as evermake no progress! Well, now Auntie Jeans here, things will change. Right, lad? She winked at me. I saw you as a pea-sized babe!
She pinched her fingers, as if measuring a pea. I glanced uncertainly at Mum, who was now looking for my toy box under the bed.
“There we go,” Mum stood, brushing her hands, “once I’ve cleaned the floor, you can start getting settled in, Jean. Quiet room, facing the gardens, nice and warm, no draughts.”
“Well get on with it, loveuse bleach. I do like things that smell clean!” Jean plopped onto the chair, shifting about, and suddenly burst into sobs again, wailing for her lost house and money.
Mum smoothed Jeans back with concern, told me to fetch some water from the kitchen.
That day sticks in my mindthe day I lost my snug little room, my secret sanctuary away from Mum. Now Jean clattered and clinked her new china cups in it, while my teddy bear, once the valiant knight in my mock battles, drooped sadly on Mums bed.
That was just the beginning.
Jean was everywherethe bathroom, the kitchen, our room. She took over the place, rearranging the flowers, throwing away some, bringing new potted plants, shuffling furniture about. She poked through our pans, fishing out bits of meat.
What are you staring at? shed hiss, glancing over her shoulder as she chewed. Wait til youre old like me, youll know how bad it is with no teeth! Stewed meat is soft, go do your homework! Ill check itand woe betide you if I find a single mistake!
She barely left the house, claiming she was retired, although how or where she collected her pension was anyones guess.
And her pension was never enough.
Oh Olivia, Im so glad youve got decent work! Where would you be if I hadnt helped you that time, eh? shed say, beaming as Mum poured her a second bowl of soup and split a thick chunk of bread. But, seeing as all turned out wellcould you lend me a bit of money? I need a decent coat, new boots, lost the lot in the fire
Mum would give her the money, insisting it didnt need returning. Apparently, she owed Jean everything.
Lovely. A debt paid cheerfully is a debt half done! Jean would nod, whisking the money away, off shed go, always returning with some new parcel.
Olivia, come and see! shed shout, spinning around with her new coat, trimmed with fur. Just like the one your reporter gave you, remember? Nice and warm! That’s London for youor should I say, that’s city life! You really must look for extra work, Olivia.
When could I possibly Mum would protest weakly. I already work late at the office, then I have to spend time with Jamie, make dinner
Well, youll have to manage. When you took all this ongallivanting with some journalistyou never thought how youd cope after, did you? We all deserve good lives! Youd better start doing students drawings for cash at night, get some extra quid. Just listenwinters coming, I havent a thing to wear! All I own is this dressing gown and a skirt Jean would sniff, muttering about fallen women, while I bit my tongue, desperate to shout how wonderful my Mum was.
But Mum would block my way, always shielding Jean from me. I just didnt understand.
Mum started taking drawing commissions home, sitting hunched over the table, pencil scratching away, the lamp straining my eyes so I couldnt sleep. It wasnt the light thoughit was the tension in Mums back, so thin, so tired.
Mum, please stop! Youve got work tomorrow, you should sleep. We have enough money! If Jean needs more, let her find a job herself! Id point at the snoring wall.
Jamie, shush! Mum would plead, gently. Jean helped me when I was desperate. Now its our turn to help her.
We dont owe her anything, Mum! Nothing!
Turning to the wall, Id hear her softly weeping, then gasping as her tears stained the technical drawings, crying harder yet always quietly. Only her shadow, trembling, neck bent, shoulders drawn tight as if bracing for a blow.
Later, from Jean herself, I learned the truth. One day, whenbuoyed by the Guy Fawkes festivitiesshed had a nip, I told her stealing money from Mum was wrong. It all poured out: Jean hollered that my mum was good-for-nothing, a ruined girl knocked up by some roving journalist, and that I shouldnt even exist. She only helped Mum out because a man paid her not to write to the newspaper about him, and shed pocketed those pounds while Mums own mother, a nurse, struggled on tiny pay, washing neighbours linen and selling veg to scrape by. Jean would sell the enormous marrows only once theyd grown monstrousbig, respectable, fetch more at market. Mum always went along, weighed down with the bags. Youre ruined, marked out, keep your head down! Jean would sneer.
When Dad found out Mum was expecting, he was furious, beat her. Nana found her in a ditch at the edge of the village and gave her an addressJeans. Shell help, but dont ever come home, child. Heregive her my earrings, say its a gift
Jean had allowed Mum to stay only after seeing the jewellery, found out who the childs dad was, threatened him and wrangled a payment. Then disaster: Jean struck Mum, she went into early labour, and I was born thin and weak. Panicking, Jean packed Mum off to London, to recover with a friend at a hospital. In time, Mum improved, studied part-time, got her diploma, and a kind boss made sure she was eligible for a council flatquite the stroke of luck.
Jeans not told me all thisshe left it at, I took your useless mother in, you ungrateful boy.
When I tried to defend Mum, Jean would shout, hands flapping, so that Mr Parker from across the hall came round to check what was going on, only for Jean to slam the door in his face.
I stood there, red-faced, panting, staring at Mummy lovely, gentle, beautiful mum. I havent climbed in beside her for years; she no longer sings lullabies. Were like separate planets now, only occasionally brushing orbits.
I shake my head fiercelyI never stole money, never touched a knife, nothing Jean claims.
Mum nods at me. Youre imagining things, Jean. You must be tired. Lets all get some rest, she says, passing Jean without a glance, closing the door behind her.
That year, to avoid going home after school, I joined every club at the community centrescouts, woodwork, model makingeverything but art or dancing, thanks very much! Id stay out until after dark, only returning when Mum came to fetch me. Wed walk home slowly, side by side.
One day, Mum caught a terrible cold. I remember her waiting for me outside the scout hut, cheeks flushed, coughing. I ran to her, pulling my woolly hat down.
Mum, lets hurry, youre burning up! I whisper, feeling her hot hand in mine. Ill make you some tea with jam, your favourite!
But love, theres no jam left. Jeans had it all ages ago, Mum shrugs.
I remember bursting into the kitchen once, catching Jean mid-mouthfulspoon deep in the jar, smacking her lips, grinning.
Ill nip round to Mr Parker, bet hes got a jar or two stashed away! I say.
But Mum smiles sadly and replies, Lets take a walk, Jamie. Get some fresh air, shall we?
You dont want to go home to her either, do you? I ask.
She doesnt respond.
Just as we leave, my model-making teacher, Mr. Martin, catches up with us.
Jamie! Glad you havent gone far. Here, best take your biplane home with youbeautiful bit of kit, if I say so myself. Oh! Beg your pardon, maam, I didnt get your name
Mum smiles faintly. Thats alright, Mr. Martin. Jamies told me all about you. Youre a brilliant teacher.
And you do technical drawing, dont you? he asks, fired up as ever. Id love to have you in the workshop one weekendshow the lads how to read blueprints properly. They could make so many things if only they understood!
Hed joined the community centre recently, used to work in aeronautics.
Well I hardly have any spare time really, Mum protests again, but it does sound interesting
Exactly! Mr. Martin grins. Olivia, isnt it? Mrs. Williamsplease come Saturday with Jamie! But goodness, youre really coughing badly. Jamie, take her hand, come with me to the car. Ill drive you both home.
He strides toward his old Morris Minor.
No, reallywere not in a rush Mum starts.
Nonsense! You want to catch pneumonia next? he huffs. Whats the story, then?
We um theyre painting the flat, I blurt out. Mum gives me a grateful glance.
Painting, eh? And thats dangerous fumes, maam! Honestly, let me take you homebut failing that, youll come to mine. I live with Mum, shes lovelymakes top-notch tea and stacks of crumpets. Gooseberry jam, too. Deal?
I mouth, Say yes, please! to Mum.
Soon were sat in a cosy sitting room with Mrs. MartinNana Ninaserving us crumpets fresh off the griddle, honey, tea, the works. She fusses, piling my plate high, adding honey to Mums tea. Shes a tiny, gentle lady, always smoothing her greying hair, never wanting to look unkempt before guests.
Mum relaxes bit by bit, cheeks glowing with warmth and kindness as Mr. Martin nattered about planes. Later, she glances at her watch and panics, whispering, Jamie, its latewe need to phone, let Jean know where we are.
I frown, shaking my head.
Where are you off to at this hour? Nana Nina exclaims. Kostya says youre having your flat done up! Youll have to stay the night. Ill make up a bed, dont worry.
She insists, even raising her voice a little, and Mum immediately hunches her shoulders, ducking her chin.
Sorry, love, Nana Nina says kindly, rubbing Mums back. Didnt mean to scare you. Here, let me pack you up some food at least
On the way home in Uncle Kostas Morris, Mum dozes in the back while I watch the road.
Tough at home? Mr. Martin asks, peering at me.
I nod. Not family, just Mums acquaintanceshe moved in years ago after her house burned down. Mum says we owe her, but she does nothing, steals Mums money, and Mum has to work all night to keep up.
Why not chuck her out?
Shes got nowhere else to go. House is gone, were all she hasturned up with a suitcase, said it was for good.
A suitcase? Out of a fire? Kosta smirks. Bet she saved her papers and valuables, too, eh?
I pondered that, suddenly wondering myselfhow did she manage such a smooth escape?
Jean is waiting in the dark hall. As soon as we walk in, she slaps Mum across the face.
Traipsing about again, are you? Up to your old tricks? Just when things get settled! Out of my house, you tramp!
She stops, startled, when Uncle Kosta storms in, flicking on the light.
And you are? Jean splutters, stepping back.
And you? Show me your papers, now! Inspection, he snaps.
Jean flusters, stumbles to her room for her passport.
Kosta turns to Mum. Still think its habitable here, Olivia? The walls are still wet! Sure you want to stay?”
Mum nods, hand on her cheek.
Then off to bed. You need your rest!
Ive got to finish this order, its due tomorrow
“Nonsense! Health first! Kosta wags his finger for emphasis. He leafs through Jeans papers, leans close and bellows in her ear, “How long have you lived here without registration?”
Oh, Im only ever a guest! she squeals, Ill pay if you like! Oi, Olivia! I told you this would end badlyyour mucky kids ganged up on me! Bring me my money!
Silence! Kosta thunders. No one leaves. Ill be back in the morning to sort this! He wags a threatening finger. Try to run and Ill see you in the cells!
Jean rushes to her room and falls silent.
Kosta whispers to me at the door: Be ready tomorrow. Were inspecting her burnt out house.
I nod eagerly
Mum has nightmares, murmuring and tossing. I get up over and over, tucking her in. Her nightdress, with little blue flowers, is soaked through. I beg her to put on something dry, but she hardly hears me.
From Jeans room comes her muttering: Hear her moaningjust like when I clocked her, clutching her belly. Well, now shes empty and ruined, that one. And thinks she can set the coppers on me? Ill show her!
I keep vigil over Mum all night, trembling with anger that Jean had actually hit my mother. How could she? I cry helplessly, twelve years old and powerless.
In the morning, the Morris beeps outside. I dress in a rush. Mums at the table, drawing.
Where are you off to? she asks quietly.
The clubs meeting, I lie. No idea when Ill be back. Its good Im on break! Mum, dont let Jean in your room! I know shes hit you before, dont ever let her back!
Mum looks frightened; I shake my head firmly.
Uncle Kosta drives silently all the way to Beechwood. He stops to ask some elderly neighbours about Jeans house. They wave us to a plot behind a sagging old fence.
Looks thoroughly burnt down eh, Jamie? he murmurs. Jean Winchester, the great survivor
Inside, Jean recoils at Kostas entrance.
Pack up, now! he orders.
Why? Jean trembles.
Youve been allocated new lodgingas an honorary resident of London, youre getting a new flat. Get moving. And hope the authorities never find out youve squatted here without registering! he hisses.
Jean snatches at her things. Is it far, this new flat?
“You cant see it from here!” he replies.
Well! Justice at last! A place of my own, finally! Jean crows, squeezing into the back seat. Her bundle with the fur-trimmed coat pokes out of the bag; the old, ratty cloak she leaves as a gift for Mum.
She recognises the street at once when we arrive. She starts wailing, then tries to open the door for a running leap but is too afraid of scattering her precious bags.
You ingrates! Siding with Olivia, are you? She does dodgy jobs for studentsshould be locked up! Ruined after Jamie, shell have no more kidsmark my words!
Kosta slams on the brakes, leaps out and dumps her luggage in the road, soaking half in puddles, half in slush, as Marchs thaw is well underway.
And dont come backunderstand? He fixes Jean with a look that makes her teeth chatter.
Alright alright! I get it
Thats that, then, Jean mutters over her things. Was never meant to live well. And Oliviall never have more children, youll see!
Six months later, Kosta married my Mum and moved in. Now theres a shelf for all his wooden model planes, and sometimes Mum comes to help at the model club.
We often visit his mum, Nana Nina, whos now my gran, too. Mum and she chat quietly in the kitchen.
Dont fret, Liv, Kosta says to Mum. My mums a doctor, shell help us if we ever need it. Besides, whats there to fret about? Weve got Jamiewhat more could we want?
I hear everything, and I wait.
And next autumn, I get a baby sisterIris.
My gentle, beautiful, ever-so-thin Mum is standing on the hospital steps, beaming. Dad and I greet her with flowers and a box of chocolates, which he says are for the nurses. Shyly, I hand them and the carnations to the laughing woman in white.
“Thank you, Liv! Thank you so much!” Dad whispers, hugging Mum tightly, kissing her. I hug her too.
I love themMum, Dad, even the wailing Irisso much I feel as if I could burst with happinessAs we walk to the car, Dad bouncing Iris gently in his arms, Mum leans on my shoulderjust a little, but enough that I feel taller, proud. The sun slices through the clouds, lighting her hair like spun gold. I promise myself, right there on the hospital steps, Ill always take care of her, and Iris, and even Dad, if hell let me. The nurse waves us off, calling, Come back soon! We like your smile, Olivia!
In the backseat, Iris yawns, tiny fists fluttering. Mum laughs, almost a song, and Dad grins at me through the mirror. Behind us, the hospital falls away, replaced by rows of red brick gardens and the city thats ours nowno Jean, no more shadows chasing us out of our own rooms.
Later that night, when the world is quiet and Iris is asleep in her cot, I hear pieces of laughter drifting from the kitchen. Toast pops and Mum calls softly, Jamie, come and try thisDad found gooseberry jam, just for you. We sit together, elbows bumping, watching the kitchen fill with lamplight. Mum squeezes my hand. Her smile is tired but brighter than Ive ever seen.
I know things will never be perfectMum still gets sad, sometimes her eyes flick to closed doors, and she holds us close and long, like she might lose us. But now, in the little flat, there are voices and warmth, the scent of crumpets and fresh-cut flowers, Dads model planes suspended above the table, and the soft, new sound of Iris burbling in her sleep.
Someday, Ill show Iris my old room, where once I hid from the world, and explain how we made spacefirst for trouble, then for love, and finally for family. And for the first time, I believe theres enough room for all of us, in a home thats entirely our own.
