Something Wicked Page 9

  I’d just finished rinsing my hair when I heard Mum shouting. I couldn’t hear what she was saying as I had water in my ears. I reached for the towel, swept my hair up in it to make a turban and stepped out of the bath. She was outside the bathroom door now.

  “Your mobile’s ringing, Anna! I’ve got it here.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I opened the bathroom door and extended a damp hand. She passed me the phone. It was still ringing madly. The display said it was Ritchie. I had to sit on the edge of the bathtub and take a deep breath before I picked up.

  “Hi,” I said, dead cool.

  He sounded normal, as if nothing had happened. He said we needed to meet up to discuss the dinner dance tomorrow, said he’d been thinking about it and he’d had some ideas. Could I meet him later on in town?

  I hesitated. I didn’t know whether to tell him what I saw, but if I did, I would sound so pathetic, just like any normal girl. But we would have to talk. Maybe the best thing would be if we did meet, and then maybe, in a cool way, I could mention that I saw him with a girl. And then he would admit it, and I could see where I stood. If I wasn’t happy, I’d pull out of the golf-club scam. Because I wasn’t doing it without Ritchie.

  So I said, yeah, all right, I’d meet him at nine in town. I took another towel and wrapped myself in it. When I came out of the bathroom, Mum was hanging about outside.

  “Who’s Ritchie?” she asked, smiling.

  “A boy,” I said, smiling too. I was feeling happier, see. I was going to meet him later.

  “The same boy you told me about the other day?”

  “Yeah, him. We’re going out tonight. Just me and him. Maybe to see a film – I don’t know yet.”

  “Is Ritchie his real name?”

  “No. It’s Craig.”

  Then my mum started fussing – what was I going to wear, was I going to have my hair up or down? I played along with her a bit, and promised I’d let her know how the evening went. I could always make up a suitable story later. Inventing was easy.

  This is how to tell if someone’s really got under your skin – that even if you’re planning to have an awkward conversation with them, you’re still looking forward to seeing them. All the way on the bus to town I could feel myself coming alive again. I even began to think about the golf-club dinner. Would there be a cloakroom attendant looking after the coats? Or security? I’d have to watch them, observe their movements, and calculate when the coast was clear. Even security guards are human – they pop outside for a fag, go to the gents. Maybe we ought to do some more play-acting. Ritchie could turn up in the role of my boyfriend, with a bunch of flowers, maybe, saying we’d had a tiff. Yeah. And I could seem upset, and all the while Tanner or someone could be going through the coats. Or perhaps he could pretend this Mr Singh had asked for his coat, and he could take it. Whatever. But it was hard to think of a role for the rest of the gang. They were better used getting rid of the loot afterwards. I didn’t know if I could trust them on the scene.

  The bus reached the bus station and I walked to The Broadway, where we’d arranged to meet, outside W H Smith. There was a bench facing it. I could see Ritchie was already there, hunched over his phone, either playing a game or texting her. I felt sick again.

  But when he saw me he looked OK, not as if he’d been cheating on me. In fact, he seemed in a really good mood. I wondered why. We said hello and he asked me if everything was still on for tomorrow. I nodded. He didn’t notice I was being quiet. He asked me if I could have a good look round the club premises where the dinner dance was being held, see what there was lying around, and who there was to tax. Tax. The use of that word tugged at me. It was our word. Then I realised I had a choice. I could sulk, act a bit off, until he asked me what was wrong, and then, bit by bit, giving him a mammoth guilt trip, I’d let him know. But that was game playing and not my style. I would take the other path.

  “Ritchie. Who was that girl I saw you with outside Netto’s?”

  He looked completely baffled.

  “On Thursday,” I prompted him. “When you left us in Loz’s brother’s office.”

  He seemed genuinely confused. But was he acting? Since both of us had made a career out of being totally untrustworthy, could we trust each other?

  Ritchie thought for a bit, and his face cleared. He smiled to himself. “Girl?” he questioned. “Come on. She’s nearly forty.”

  An older woman? It was my turn to look baffled.

  “That was Wendy,” Ritchie explained.

  “But,” I spluttered. “But she looked … from the back … Why didn’t you say you were meeting your mum?”

  “What’s it to you?” Ritchie teased.

  I shrugged. I tried to play it cool but I knew he’d caught me out. Still, what did I care? Ritchie wasn’t seeing another girl. Everything was back to the way it was before. I was drowning in a tidal wave of happiness. And there was even better to come.

  “Wendy’s been asking about you,” Ritch said, matterof-factly.

  “Oh, has she?”

  “Yeah. You can come to our place and meet her if you like. But you don’t have to.”

  “No, I’d like to. I’d like to meet your mum.”

  “She can be a bit weird.”

  “All mums are weird,” I half joked, thinking of mine.

  “Anyway, I’ve got a surprise,” he said. He grinned at me. Ritchie got up then and grabbed my hand. He dragged me off, and he was going so fast I had to run a bit to keep up with him. We came out of the other side of the precinct, emerging into some back streets. We catapulted round the corner and came to a stop in front of an old Nissan Micra.

  “Fancy a drive?” he said.

  I couldn’t think what to say.

  “Tanner’s Dad let us have it. It’s mine tonight. It’s all right. The cops won’t pick us up if I take it easy.”

  “Where did you learn to drive?”

  “Around,” he said. He took a key from his pocket and opened the passenger door. I slid in, feeling the springs give way. The seat needed fixing. The upholstery smelt a bit musty, a bit foul. I shuddered. But it was cool to have our own car and I could always have a good wash when I got home. Ritchie revved up, gunning the engine. I put on my seat belt, feeling good. This was what I liked best, taking a gamble, playing with fire.

  Ritchie accelerated quickly and I felt myself pushed back against the seat. His driving was jerky but passable. I noticed he kept to thirty as we left the town centre, and stopped in time at all the lights. But once we were on the A road that led out of town, he picked up speed. I was a little frightened but I didn’t say anything. There was a clunking noise from the back. He picked up a cassette tape then, and shoved it in the car’s music system. Some garage blasted out. I didn’t recognise it, but it was good. It kind of got into my bloodstream.

  We didn’t talk. Ritchie drove with fierce concentration. I didn’t want to distract him, so I didn’t ask where we were heading. After a while I recognised the outskirts of Fairfield. Ritchie slowed again, and I saw the community centre and the block of flats where I’d first met the other lads. Ritchie swung into an asphalt area at the foot of another, taller block of flats. He parked in front of a garage with no door, its interior full of junk.

  We got out, and Ritchie locked up. Again he took me by the hand and led me to a lift. It was already at ground-floor level so in a moment we were lurched upwards. I wrinkled my nose at the smell. We got out at the floor below the top one. Within a moment or two Ritchie was unlocking one of the front doors along a narrow corridor that extended along the block. We entered.

  It was pretty bare, except for the boxes lining the hall. It looked as if Ritchie and his mum hadn’t done much unpacking, even though they’d been living in the flat for a few months. I noticed several doors leading off the corridor; Ritchie took me to the furthest one. He unlocked the door, and I followed him inside.

  His mum was sitting on a sofa, and it looked like she was doing a crossword. When we came in
she turned, and looked surprised to see me. She rose, and questioned Ritchie with her eyes.

  “This is Anna,” he said. His voice was level.

  Ritchie’s mum – Wendy – made a big impression on me. It was hard to say why. To look at, she was nothing special. She was thin, blonde hair – dyed blonde, because you could see the roots. Face to face, she did look her age. Her complexion was sallow and there were lines on her forehead. She was wearing a V-necked sweater and the skin of her neck in the V-shape was red and rough. Her hipbones jutted out of the black leggings she was wearing. Scarlet-painted toenails peeped out from flowered mules. Like I said, on the surface she was like any of the women you’d see around Fairfield.

  But there was something in her eyes.

  “Hello, Anna,” she said, with the trace of a Scottish accent.

  “Hi,” I said, uncomfortable about calling her Wendy yet.

  She looked directly at me, summing me up. You could tell she was intelligent – you could see the way she was processing me. But when she’d done that, I saw what I thought was a tired, sad look in her eyes – even a dreamy look. You know, as if there was a big problem or something in her life. It made you want to ask her what was wrong. Because something was wrong, you could tell.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” I said, determined to be polite and not knowing whether she was more shy than me. “Ritchie’s spoken about you a lot.”

  “Has he, now? What has he told you?” Her voice wasn’t jokey. Instead I got the impression she was referring to one specific thing that Ritch should have mentioned.

  So I said, “Nothing.” I glanced at Ritchie, who didn’t meet my eyes. Instead he mooched over to a table and picked up a Game Boy. He started playing with it. He clearly didn’t want to be part of this conversation.

  “Has he told you why we’re here?” she asked me.

  “I know you moved here a few months ago. I met Ritch— Craig at St Tom’s.”

  “Yes – he told me that. Thank you for being his friend. We need all the friends we can get.”

  In the background was a silly electronic tune from Ritchie’s Game Boy. Ritchie’s mum gestured to the sofa in an invitation to me to sit down. I did so, and she came to join me. I noticed then the faint white line of an ancient scar above her brow bone. I saw, too, that a muscle jumped in her cheek. Something about her scared me, and I’m not just saying this with hindsight.

  “I’ll tell you from the beginning, so you understand properly,” Wendy said, pushing her hair back behind her ears. “I first met him eighteen years ago, when I was living in Greenock. That’s where I come from, where my family comes from. Right from the start, Anna, there was something about us. That night we met in the pub, I singled him out. He singled me out. There was no one else in the room that night. We only had eyes for each other.”

  My mind was racing to make sense of this. Who was she talking about? Obviously not Ritchie. Ritchie’s father? Her first love? Probably – because she was spouting all those romantic clichés – love across a crowded room, and so on. But what I didn’t understand was why she was telling me all this. I mean, I’d only just met her. Was she all right in the head?

  “We’d only been seeing each other for a fortnight when he asked me to live with him, but I knew, I knew it was going to happen from the off. These things are fated. Peter. Peter Duff. I call him Pete. He was a brickie. I gave up work because he was making so much that we didn’t need my money. I cooked and cleaned, and I was completely content. I spent hours making myself look beautiful for him. Anna, you should have seen me then. He’d come home at night, and we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.”

  I was getting more and more uncomfortable. And if I was uncomfortable, can you imagine how Ritchie was feeling? I glanced at him, but I couldn’t even tell if he heard what his mother was saying. He was locked in another world with his Game Boy. It was like he was cutting himself off. I was alone.

  “That was all I ever wanted, Anna, and I’m sure you’ll agree it wasn’t a lot. I just wanted to look after the man of my dreams. It’s all any woman ever wants. But he was a weak man, Anna. He was led astray. He started to want to go out. At first, he told me it was just to drink with his mates. But I heard rumours that he’d been with other women. When I asked him about the rumours, he denied them, of course. It made him angry and he lost his temper. I was sore after that beating, I can tell you, aching in every bone. But we made up. It was better than ever.”

  Wendy’s eyes were locked in the distance, and I felt as if she was reliving her past.

  “You see, Anna, he really loved me. He never meant to hurt me. Sometimes I lost my temper with him, too. We knew how to fight – it was because we loved each other so much.”

  Her face darkened now. She took my hand and gripped it hard.

  “That was when we conceived Craig. The day I told him the news, he’d been drinking. He was in a temper and he shouted, he said Craig wasn’t his. He accused me of having other lovers. Anna. I’ve never slept with another man except for Craig’s father. You believe me, don’t you? And then Peter kicked me out. I ended up in a bed and breakfast. But I didn’t give up. I was determined to get my man back. Pete was my baby’s father. I called him every day. And then he moved. I followed him. And then … Craig? I forget what happened next.”

  She looked over at Ritchie. Obviously he had been listening because he supplied the answer.

  “You weren’t well. You were in hospital.”

  “I was in hospital,” Wendy repeated. “Then I went to another hospital and had the baby and they wouldn’t let me have him at first. So I got myself better. And I worked at nights. I tried to make a new start and we moved to Sheffield. I met Bill in Sheffield. We lived with him for a while, but it didn’t work out. I’m the kind of woman, Anna, who only loves once – and for ever. But I wasn’t ill again. I can control myself, and I will control myself, for Craig’s sake. I hope I’ve been a good mother. But the lad needs a father. I’m sure that’s why he’s got in with the wrong crowd. I do my best for him, Anna. I look after his education. I buy him books.”

  She pointed to a unit full of paperbacks. It was an incongruous detail in the otherwise bare room.

  “Then at the end of last year I was on the bus and I saw a van, and on the side it said, Peter Duff, Builder. A white, modern van. Peter Duff, it said. And a telephone number. I memorised it, Anna. I learnt it off by heart. I went straight home and I rang the number. ‘Is that Peter Duff, the builder?’ I asked. A woman’s voice said it was. ‘Can you give me your full postal address?’ I asked. The fool did. It’s just five miles from here. That night I said to Craig, we’re moving here. I want to give it one last shot.”

  I just nodded. There was nothing I could say. She was in the grip of an obsession.

  “I made sure Craig got in to a good school. I care about him, Anna. He’s all I’ve got. I started work as a barmaid. I’ve pulled pints in more pubs than you’ve had hot dinners. Then after a few weeks, when I was ready, I took a trip to Pete’s yard. He’s done well for himself, bloody well. There was a BMW in the yard, it’s his. I saw him leave his office and get into it.” She squeezed my hand tight. “He looks older, Anna, but he hasn’t changed. He’s still my Pete. He has a new family now, and I’m not saying I want to spilt them up. I would never do that. There are children, you see. But I just want to talk to him one last time, Anna. He’s got to meet Craig. He has to admit that Craig is his son. Look.”

  She got up from the sofa and was soon scrabbling around in a cupboard, then brought out a newspaper cutting. She thrust it at me. It was one of those pictures where a person is handing over one of those huge cheques to a charity. The person receiving it was a woman; the person handing it over was the dead spit of Ritchie. The caption identified him as Peter Duff, local builder and property developer.

  “They do look alike,” I said.

  “All I want him to do is acknowledge his son,” Wendy said. “Is that a lot to ask? I want them to meet
. Craig is a clever lad. He’ll go far. He should go to university. He needs money. Peter’s never given us a penny in all these years. I’ve struggled alone. Not that I mind, I love my son more than life itself. I do, Anna. Which is why I’d do anything for him. There’s no escaping your destiny. I knew it the night I met Pete. It was in the pub. I was there with a friend—”

  She’d reached the end and was about to start again at the beginning. I reckoned her drama with Ritchie’s dad replayed itself constantly.

  Ritchie cut in at that point. “Do you want a cup of tea, Wendy?”

  She started at the sound of his voice. “No, I’ve just had one. Sorry, Anna, I know I do go on. But these things eat away at you. Craig, put the kettle on for Anna.”

  “It’s all right, Mrs Ritchie,” I said. “I’ve got to go home now. My mother’s expecting me.”

  “I’ll take you home,” Ritchie said.

  “That’s a good lad,” Wendy commented.

  So it was relatively easy to get out. We all said our goodbyes and in a few moments Ritch and I were standing by the lift.

  “She’s not well,” Ritchie muttered.

  “She seems, like, a bit obsessed?” I hesitated. It’s hard, talking to someone about their mother.

  “Yeah, well, it hasn’t been easy for her. He left her without a penny. It’s not fair. So sometimes she gets a bit …”

  “Yeah,” I acknowledged.

  “She just …” Ritchie’s voice trailed away again.