Eleven Lines to Somewhere Read online

  His father’s name was Joe. His brother’s middle name was Joe. Grandpa’s name is Joe. It is the twist in the tale for Ryan that Grandpa is his father’s father, that Grace loves him like her own and Grandpa forgets sometimes that she is not a blood relation at all. It is the twist and it is the beauty in the ugliness of it all, the way her life was shattered. No more winks, no more cans when the kiddies had gone to bed.

  Joe had walked on the pavement of the high street and let Tom run on an adjacent path, flanked by flower beds, and belonging to a long, low block of 1920s flats. It was safer that way. Tom saw it as his personal racetrack and he ran at speed, his face turned towards his father. ‘Look at me run,’ was the expression on his face. ‘Look at me, running on my own. I’m faster than the bus, I’m faster than the cars, I’m running faster than you.’ Joe smiled, sidestepped a woman with a buggy, a trio of teenagers, all the while his own head turned to watch the wind in the hair of his eldest son, one last time.

  Joe did not, afterwards, have the answers she needed so Grace would not let him look after Hana and Ryan on his own. He was angry, then sullen, then tearful, then drunk, then violent and then gone. He drank a bottle of whisky and stumbled in front of a lorry carrying frozen foods on the M6. Grace did not know why it was the M6 and she did not care. Or rather, she felt she had already lost him back in April. The details of her husband’s subsequent breakdown did not resonate until many years later and, when they did, she wept with an intense, if brief, wave of guilt. Poor Joe. It had been worse for him after all.

  She had half feared Hana giving her a grandchild, of reliving those days of nappies and tantrums and snot-strewn snuggles that would remind her of Tom, and then she had been indignant on her daughter’s behalf that Hana’s selfish husband had not wanted a child, and then relieved that such a dreadful marriage had not yielded one. Having Hana home was cosy and helpful and mostly harmonious – but it wasn’t putting a baby in the family. Now her daughter was with this Ed and she was hopeful, if nervous. For all the pain a child can bring, her daughter deserved some unconditional love, she thought, and her Hana would make a wonderful mother, she had practised, after all, for so long on Ryan.

  ‘So, Ed will come for Sunday lunch if you like,’ Hana said.

  ‘This Sunday?’ Grace said.

  ‘Yes, this Sunday,’ Hana said. ‘He’s…’

  ‘What? Is he a vegan person? There’s lots of that around and, if he is, you’ll have to help me out.’

  ‘No, he’s… really nice and he likes beef.’

  Grace was so relieved, it was only hours later she wondered what Hana had been about to say.

  Both women independently phoned Ryan to tell him to be there.

  ‘I want to come too,’ Naomi said. She was joking but, on reflection, Ryan thought it a fine idea. Her presence would remove some of the spotlight from Ed, defuse his potential embarrassment at being the centre of attention.

  ‘Have you warned Ed about Grandpa?’ Grace asked Hana as they peeled potatoes together.

  ‘No, I don’t think that’s fair, to tell people what to think. Ed might have his own grumpy grannie for all I know and by comparison Grandpa could be excellent company. So, Mam, don’t feel the need to apologize for him.’

  Grace sensed an agenda but she could not fathom what it was, so she changed the subject.

  ‘I’ve met this Naomi, you know,’ she said. ‘She’s very tall and she’s his lodger.’

  ‘And his friend,’ Hana said.

  Grace sniffed sharply. Her children were ganging up on her, she could tell, but it was hard to stay cross. It was going to be such a lovely lunch.

  Ryan and Naomi arrived first. Naomi awkwardly handed Grace a small orchid and said, ‘Thank you for having me,’ unable to stop herself sounding like she was eight-years-old. Ryan had brought a large carrier bag of booze. He had been certain beer and wine were necessities but then, as he plonked it on the table, wondered if maybe Ed was teetotal and whether he should hide it all until he found out.

  ‘Very nice smells coming from your kitchen,’ Naomi said, wondering at how roast dinners were an all-year-round dish and should have been the last thing she wanted on a muggy August day.

  ‘Hope you are hungry, my dear,’ Grace said, distracted, as Hana had left to meet Ed from the train over half an hour ago. But then the key flickered in the lock and in walked her daughter and her new friend.

  Everyone shook hands apart from Grandpa, who had dozed off in the heat untroubled by the additional voices. Ryan suggested they sit in the garden, which was small but with room enough to cater for the five of them. Or rather the four of them as Grace meddled nervously over the hob wondering why she had been so keen to meet Ed when now she felt so timid and fearful of saying the wrong thing.

  Ed was in his late forties. This was not so ridiculous, thought Ryan, given Hana was nearly forty, but he had the air of someone who has lived a life whereas Ryan felt he was still getting started. Still, he liked the way Hana hung on his every word and how he clasped her hand from time to time, but then he wondered if Hana was too quiet and Ed too talkative. Naomi glugged back the wine with a ferocity that did not suit the suburban blandness of the occasion and as they moved inside to the dining table, Ryan felt he was in a dream where everything was off kilter.

  Naomi walked in ahead of Ed and Ryan noted that they were same height. Exactly the same height. Behind them, Hana also noticed they were the same height and she flushed with an unwanted wave of possessiveness and cursed herself for not wearing heels.

  In the seven steps it took Ed and Naomi to reach the dining table from the small patio, Naomi’s long bobbed hair brushed Ed’s chin and their limbs mingled sensuously, lightly. Hana was certain her boyfriend breathed in Naomi’s scent, no doubt an alluring mix of summer sweat and a Chanel perfume. Perhaps she had rubbed coconut tanning lotion onto her elegant neck. Hana squinted to see if there were any hairs poking out from under her bare armpits but she wore her pink vest top to perfection.

  As Ryan and Grace brought out the plated beef and the bowls of roast potatoes and baby carrots, Hana sat feeling the odd one out as Naomi spoke about her studies. There was nothing Hana felt she could contribute and what made it worse was that, although they were talking about science, Naomi made it sound like seductive poetry. She spoke of the spotted lanternfly, its love of apples and hops and how people were on constant alert in New York in case it reached the Big Apple from Pennsylvania.

  ‘Biodiversity,’ Ed said, leaving the word hanging in the air before adding, ‘I don’t think that existed when I chose my degree. Pharmacology, that was my choice, and it sounds like the strict uncle of the daring and reckless young biodiversity.’

  Naomi turned to Hana.

  ‘What did you study?’ she asked, and at that precise moment Hana hated her.

  ‘I didn’t,’ she said flatly.

  Ed covered her hand.

  ‘Hana decided to travel and she more than likely learned more doing that than we did in our laboratories and lecture theatres,’ he said.

  He was being kind but she flinched at how they were ‘our’ laboratories, ‘their’ lecture halls. Ed had not yet poured gravy over his food and he was already half of a perfect couple. She pictured Naomi and Ed flying to Stockholm or Geneva or wherever you had to bloody get to in order to collect Nobel prizes for saving the Granny Smith.

  ‘I need to travel more,’ Naomi said and she was about to quiz Hana about her wanderings but Grace and Ryan had sat down and she remembered this was supposed to be a lunch for Ed’s integration, so she took another gulp of wine and smiled benignly at them all.

  Hana had supposed she would be embarrassed or annoyed by how her mother interacted with Ed but now she was grateful for the way Grace made assumptions about them being in a serious relationship.

  ‘So, excuse a nosy mother, Ed, but indulge me and tell me how you met Hana exactly.’

  Ed threw his head back and laughed.

  ‘She hasn’t told y
ou?’ he said.

  Grace glanced between her daughter and her boyfriend. Hana flushed and looked at her plate. She did not know how he would tell the story.

  ‘I was searching, in vain – because I don’t have the knack for it – for a way to take a half-decent snap of the rocks and the sea – a very twinkly sea – and I stumble upon this woman I had not yet spoken to, although I had noticed her, and I mean literally stumble upon her because she is crouched down pulling up her shorts having found a not-so-private spot after all for a pee.’

  Naomi spluttered with laughter and Ryan smiled politely.

  ‘That sounds a dreadful way to be starting off,’ Grace said.

  ‘Ah, but she was surrounded by these swaying pink flowers and long grass and it was so ludicrous that we both chuckled at the same time and I told her she was the most beautiful woman on an interrupted toilet break I had ever seen and she said, well, at least it hadn’t happened on a side street off Tottenham Court Road, and I decided there and then I wanted to complete the day’s walking with her.’

  Hana looked up. Grace was almost tearful, Ryan was looking relieved and Naomi was making patterns in her gravy with the quartered potato on the end of her fork. At the other end of the room, Grandpa made happy spluttering snorting snoring sounds.

  ‘I made her wash her hands at the first pub we came to,’ Ed added and Hana punched his arm, glad to have an excuse to make proprietary physical contact with him in front of the Amazonian Naomi (who was now bored and sleepy but had a feeling she was trapped for at least another hour or so).

  ‘That’s what they say, isn’t it?’ Naomi slurred. ‘You find love when you are least expecting it and I for one have never expected to find it while taking a piss.’

  Naomi waved her glass in the air and continued: ‘You see, me and Ryan have found love but not the toilet.’ She frowned. She had expected something wittier to emerge from her mouth.

  Grace’s dark eyes became glistening and beady.

  ‘What’s this, then, Ryan, about finding love?’

  Ryan was busy kicking Naomi under the table.

  ‘I have found nothing, Mam, nothing at all. Me and Naomi have both spotted people we quite like but don’t know very well, that’s all. I’ll help clear the table.’

  Hana spotted a denouement, a trump card.

  ‘We’ll help too,’ she said, ‘and Naomi can have a snooze next to Grandpa.’

  Naomi did snooze, but later, on the Tube ride home, her chin resting on her crossed arms over her bag. She was too tall to rest on Ryan’s shoulders. He scanned the carriage, automatically, and sighed. Even though he knew Millie to be peculiar he had not shaken off his obsession. In a way, he thought, it had become a deeper infatuation, one that was more layered, more complex. There might be a reasonable explanation for her day underground, there might be a fantastical one, but either way, it was worth knowing, wasn’t it? And what did he have to lose if he found out? He brightened. He had nothing to lose. He did not have her, did not know her. If it all goes wrong, he thought, I am no worse off.

  ‘You’re very bouncy,’ Naomi said later as Ryan zipped through the washing-up, having made them omelettes for a supper they were not hungry for.

  ‘You’re very bounceless,’ he replied.

  ‘I’m going to not drink at all next week, not a drop,’ she said. She stood to look out of the window. The children next door were playing pat ball badly in their pyjamas and the sound of it was less irritating when you could see what was making it.

  ‘There are lots of photos of you as a boy in your mum’s house,’ Naomi said. ‘I mean, loads.’

  ‘They’re mostly of Tom,’ Ryan said. ‘We looked similar so it’s hard to tell but they’re mostly of him.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ Naomi said. She knew he had a brother, briefly, but had half forgotten it.

  ‘I’m not sure I would want to be surrounded by pictures of someone who had died,’ she said. ‘I don’t mean it’s creepy, I just think it would be like a permanent advertisement for unhappiness. I mean, every day your mum is reminded of a son who has gone.’

  Ryan had thought the same for a long time but had eventually decided that for his mother the photographs did not provoke melancholy because the sadness would be with her whether there were reminders around the house or not.

  ‘It’s fine,’ was all he said to Naomi. ‘She’s a very brave woman.’

  ‘And are you a brave boy?’ Naomi asked. ‘Have you given up on your girl?’

  They both sat down.

  ‘OK, let’s brainstorm,’ he said. ‘I’ve decided not to give up, at least not until I know for sure if she is a bit crazy.’

  ‘Excellent,’ Naomi said. ‘You do realize you do not need to follow her again.’

  Naomi tapped her fingers against her lap as Ryan frowned.

  ‘I certainly never want a day like that again,’ he said. ‘She never stopped travelling. It spooked me. And it was exhausting. And I found out nothing, so why do you look so pleased with yourself?’

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘She stopped for lunch, didn’t she? Well, you can miss out the morning session of aimless Tube rides and go straight to the…’

  ‘It was a restaurant at Waterloo.’

  ‘Yup, there you are, you go to Waterloo for lunch and sit on the same table and ask her something.’

  ‘She might never have lunch there again.’

  ‘So? If she never has lunch there again then you’ve wasted a few lunch hours. Try it a few times first at least. Don’t be so pessimistic. And I know you get a longer lunch break on Wednesdays so just go on Wednesdays to start with.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. It all sounds like I could get arrested for being predatory.’

  ‘No, no, no,’ she said. ‘I think it’s romantic and mysterious and I’m jealous. I’m all out of clever ways to woo Cappi.’ She paused. ‘Shit, I don’t even know he’ll definitely be here for the new term.’

  Ed had been gallant, Hana thought, to stay until Grandpa woke up. Grace had made gooey meringues, as they were more summery than cake, to be served with a fruit salad. The serving of them roused Grandpa and Grace led him to the bathroom so he could freshen up, maybe sit at the table for a change, meet Hana’s friend.

  As he returned, Ed stood and shook his hand. Hana held her breath. Grandpa grasped Ed’s hand firmly, warmly. ‘My, you must be Merv’s son. You are most welcome, lad.’

  Ed had subconsciously prepared himself for an old man’s casual racism but not for mistaken identity. He glanced at Hana, unsure if he was supposed to contradict her grandfather.

  ‘This is Ed, Grandpa, I met him on one of my walking holidays.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Grandpa said impatiently, ‘Merv’s lad. Spitting image.’

  Ed shrugged. His father was a distant memory but he was pretty sure he had been called Kenneth.

  ‘What the hell are these?’ Grandpa added as he bit into a meringue. ‘It’s sticking to my teeth.’

  Grace darted to her feet, removed his plate and brought a shop-bought muffin from the kitchen.

  Ed tried not to smile. Hana grimaced apologetically. He winked at her. She exhaled. Grandpa studiously devoured his cake, asked for a fresh pot of tea, peered out the window suspiciously and announced he would take a nap as if that was something unusual, then shuffled back to his chair.

  Before he closed his eyes, he called out, ‘Give my best to your family.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Ed said.

  Ed asked for extra meringue and told Grace she was an excellent cook. As he stood to leave he noticed the tears running down Grandpa’s cheeks. He was moved, believing the old man to be lost in reverie about the mysterious Merv, while also hoping he did not have to meet him again and have to pretend he was someone else’s son.

  He noticed there were many more photographs of Ryan than Hana on the narrow hall walls but then spotted one of a young Hana with a toddler and a baby. He was about to ask about it but thought twice. There had been a sadness in Grace that m
irrored the sadness of his own mother, and there had been warmth in the house but also a hollowness. He would not be overly keen to return.

  There had been a rapping at the door. It was Tilda, a neighbour, breathless and agitated. She told Grace she would stay with Hana and Ryan while Grace went to the hospital.

  ‘I’m sure he’s fine, a bad bump on the head maybe, but you’ll want to be there.’

  Be there just in case, thought Grace, and in a daze she found herself at Joe’s side, both of them staring in disbelief at the still-crumpled Tom while Tilda fed the agitated Ryan, now desperate for his banana, some chocolate from her handbag.

  If she could take it back she would. ‘How did you let him run into a freezer? What’s he doing, running into a falling freezer? Did he have to be running so fast? Why were you not holding his hand? Did you not tell him to look where he was going?’

  Grace kept the photographs out of love but also as a penance, a reminder that she was not the only one who suffered.

  Chapter 9

  Ryan mulled over the idea of spending his Wednesday lunches in Waterloo station. He decided he had four options. He could follow her again; he could give up on her completely; he could keep making little trips to Waterloo; or he could just speak to her while she was sat on the Piccadilly line with him.

  There was an oversized novelty dice in one of kitchen drawers. He decided to let fate decree what happened next. He rolled a five. Five had not been allocated a fate. Other than procrastination. He would procrastinate. His days were taken up by postgrads and professors and meetings in his labs. Soon there would be the influx of undergraduates that meant broken flasks and spilled ethanol. Soon it would be autumn and that would mark half a year of hoping to catch the same train as the candyfloss girl.