Toffee

and cry harder

  than I have

  ever done before.

  No Answer

  Kelly-Anne doesn’t reply to

  any of my messages.

  She isn’t even reading them

  and I haven’t got her number

  to call

  so I send her my new one.

  PLEASE CALL ME ASAP.

  I’M SO SORRY. A xxxxx

  I check every three minutes

  for some sign she’s seen me.

  Where is she?

  Where is she?

  Where is she?

  The Fire

  The point of a lit match

  against a firelighter

  that squeaks and burns up like Styrofoam,

  the flame catching hold of

  newspaper fists

  beneath a scaffolding of twigs and logs.

  The fire crackles, pops, smokes

  through the empty room.

  On the rug,

  I stare into the flitting flames,

  my scar coming awake with the heat.

  I stoke the blaze,

  jabbing with a heavy poker,

  forcing the white ash from the log edges to fall

  away,

  aiming for an inferno,

  something to drink me up.

  I have never been so alone.

  Intruder

  I awake to smoulder, cinders,

  the fire cooling in the grate

  and to a clatter in the hallway.

  I stay still,

  curl myself into a ball

  like I might

  blend in with the paisley-patterned rug.

  There is muttering

  and someone ascending the stairs.

  A light.

  Quickly

  I crawl

  behind the sofa,

  try not to breathe.

  A rattling around;

  drawers in Marla’s room opened,

  slammed shut,

  wardrobes raided.

  You need to come here, Donal snaps,

  and at first I think he might be summoning me,

  but he goes on.

  I’m rooting through her knicker drawer.

  I don’t want to see my mum’s knickers.

  You’ve gotta come here.

  Or she’s gotta go to you.

  She needs a woman.

  She can’t take care of herself

  and I haven’t time for it, Louise.

  If Mary was alive I’d ask her

  but she isn’t.

  I don’t want to burden you, I just …

  He’s on the phone.

  Collecting things for the hospital.

  Donal’s here doing what I could have done

  if I hadn’t been so thoughtless,

  squandering time feeling sorry for myself

  instead of being helpful.

  Yeah, well, I’m at the end of my rope

  and I’ve been saying for a long time

  that she doesn’t need this house.

  Something has to give.

  He searches a while longer,

  clanging, banging,

  no attempt to treat Marla’s home gently,

  and then he is gone,

  not bothering to give the house

  a once over,

  but warning me nevertheless

  that my time here is

  running

  out.

  Packing

  I leave behind anything Marla gave me –

  socks and slippers,

  books and pens –

  in a pile on the end of the bed.

  It isn’t right for me to live here now.

  And anyway,

  I have to find somewhere

  before someone finds me.

  I wish Kelly-Anne would find me.

  Free-Falling

  I am not suicidal

  but up on this clifftop,

  the wind heavy-breathing against my neck,

  the foamy waves jeering,

  I imagine how easy

  a slip would be,

  how I could find a few seconds of relief in

  free-falling

  and then

  nothing.

  I am not suicidal

  but there are days when I do not

  want to

  be.

  The hanging on.

  It is so hard.

  Jazz

  Marla is watching the ceiling fan turn,

  a cannula in her arm.

  Hey, I say.

  She sits up straighter. Smiles.

  I brought you this.

  It is a box wrapped in red paper,

  cheap ribbon around it.

  She rips at the wrapping,

  opens the lid and yelps.

  Jazz shoes!

  In pink?

  Jazz shoes in pink!

  She holds one to her chest,

  kisses the toe

  like you might the nose of a new puppy.

  They’re for Christmas.

  It’s Christmas tomorrow.

  I sit on her bed,

  place one hand on her leg.

  Why won’t I see you at Christmas? she asks.

  We can have visitors whenever we like.

  I force my finger into a hole in the blanket.

  Marla puts the shoes back into the box,

  passes the lot to me and says,

  Take those home and hide them from Donal.

  When I get out of here

  we’ll get going on a routine.

  I won’t have anyone beating us to it.

  She presses her mouth to my ear.

  That’s the best present I’ve ever had in my life,

  and when I was gorgeous,

  fellas bought me diamonds.

  I had a boyfriend who died.

  He was a right old codger – too old for me.

  Sure didn’t he leave me his boat?

  I couldn’t keep it.

  Told the lawyer to give it to his son

  and then didn’t I find out he had a wife.

  A wife!

  So she got the bloody boat.

  Dirty old bastard.

  How did you know I liked to dance?

  I chew on my thumb knuckle.

  Allison? she says.

  How did you know?

  I Am Allison

  I am Allison.

  I am Allison.

  I am Allison.

  And the world still spins.

  She Will Know

  I

  buy

  a tree

  so that when

  Marla comes home

  she will smile and know it is

  Christmas. I buy a tall tree and cover it in

  baubles and coloured lights. For when Marla comes

  HOME.

  The Other Side

  I watch Mary Poppins,

  eat frozen pizza

  and listen to the sounds

  of Christmas coming from outside –

  carols through car radios,

  families drunk and happy by noon.

  And

  when it’s afternoon visiting hours,

  I go to the hospital,

  where Marla is wearing a paper hat

  and watching the Queen’s Speech.

  Lizzy got very old, she says.

  And she needs a decent bra.

  With all the money

  you’d think someone would find her

  a bit of support.

  A nurse smiles.

  Peggy saunters in.

  It’s you again.

  Don’t you have a home to go to?

  No, I admit.

  Peggy shrugs, hands Marla a gift.

  Would someone turn that claptrap over?

  Bake Off is on the other side.

  Boxing Day

  His energy is in the lift.

  I can feel it on my way up.

  And there he is by her bedside
,

  berating her.

  Do you have to make that

  noise through your mouth?

  I interrupt.

  Do you mean her breathing?

  Would you like her to stop?

  I laugh. It is fake.

  Donal does a double take,

  lifts his chin.

  He has fluff in his beard.

  Hey, Marla!

  I got you a bag of strawberry laces.

  They’ll rot your dentures.

  Who are you? Donal demands.

  Me? I’m Allison.

  And I know all about you, Donal.

  Lovely to meet you.

  I do not think he can tell I am a teenager.

  Perhaps my tone

  suggests social worker.

  He stands. Downs something

  from a polystyrene cup.

  Money is up on my parking.

  I’ll be back in a few days, he says.

  See you later, Mum.

  Marla watches him walk away.

  Your son, I remind her,

  is a bit of a bastard.

  Kelly-Anne Calls

  And all I can do is cry.

  It’s OK, she says over and over.

  It’s OK,

  it’s OK,

  it’s OK.

  Is it?

  The Sun-Up Bakery

  Kelly-Anne pulls apart an almond croissant,

  hands me one half

  though I’ve a muffin of my own –

  blueberries oozing from its crusty lid.

  So, she says.

  Yeah, I say.

  I’m sorry, she says.

  I’m sorry, I say.

  He’s the one who should be sorry, she says,

  pushing my hair back from my face.

  Did he do that? Did he?

  Pastry drifts into my lap.

  Kelly-Anne gently brushes the crumbs away

  from my skirt.

  Her fingers are swollen.

  Where are you living? she asks.

  I’m fine, I say.

  I was worried, she says. I came to find you.

  I almost went back to Tottenham.

  He’d have killed you, I say.

  I don’t know whether or not

  I’m being dramatic.

  I might mean it.

  When are you due?

  I finally glance at her tummy.

  Next week.

  I’m terrified.

  Do you know how big a baby’s head is?

  I lay my hand on her bump.

  The baby swims around

  inside her like a

  jellyfish,

  turning the surface of her tummy

  into moving mounds.

  How did it get there? I find myself saying.

  Kelly-Anne grins,

  doesn’t understand the question.

  But I am thinking of my father.

  How did something as beautiful as a baby

  happen without anyone getting hurt?

  You only legged it once your kid was at risk, I say.

  I am trying to explain how she let me down.

  She touches my chin. I have a place. Come with me.

  Bedsit

  Kelly-Anne’s bedsit is smaller

  than Marla’s sitting room.

  The kitchen is a sink,

  microwave on the draining board,

  a shelf above

  with one mug, one glass, a plate.

  It smells of nail varnish.

  Don’t say it’s nice.

  I know it’s awful.

  She winces,

  grips her tummy.

  You can’t stay here, I say.

  I have somewhere we can go.

  Not for ever.

  But for tonight.

  In Marla’s House

  It would do no good

  to tell Kelly-Anne the whole

  truth

  and nothing but the truth,

  so

  instead

  I make her tea and

  change the bedcovers

  and vaguely mention Marla’s

  hospitalisation from a fall and not

  from her confusion.

  She isn’t a weirdo, is she? Kelly-Anne wonders.

  Unlike Lucy,

  Kelly-Anne avoids touching things,

  won’t lean against the walls

  for the first hour.

  You sure she wouldn’t mind me staying?

  I say no because it’s the truth.

  I don’t think Marla would mind.

  Even so.

  I keep the lights low and the curtains drawn.

  Always

  Marla is sitting up in her hospital bed.

  Kelly-Anne shakes her hand

  hello

  and when I see in Marla’s eyes

  that she has forgotten me

  I shake her hand too

  and say,

  Did they hard-boil your egg again?

  Hard-boil it?

  They baked and varnished it.

  Probably cos of salmonella.

  Kelly-Anne smiles.

  They’re just trying to needle me.

  I overheard a nurse saying I was tricky.

  Anyone would think I was a magician.

  Tricky?

  They wouldn’t know what to do if

  I got difficult.

  Is that a baby you have in there

  or did you have a big feed for breakfast yourself?

  Kelly-Anne doesn’t seem to hear.

  She leans back into the chair suddenly and

  whistles, her eyes wide.

  She breathes hard through clenched teeth.

  No, I say. No, not now, please.

  Now isn’t that tidy?

  If we were in a film you’d roll your eyes.

  Marla presses the call bell.

  Make sure they give you plenty of drugs.

  Don’t be a hero.

  Kelly-Anne starts to cry.

  I’m so alone, she says.

  We all are, I say.

  But now we’re alone together.

  Demi-Sister

  When I hold Helena’s kitten-body

  close,

  feel her saw-toothed spine

  against my arm,

  I can’t remember how I ever

  lived without her.

  Louise

  Peggy is talking quickly

  while Marla looks at the wall.

  Here’s your pal.

  Peggy scoots her chair sideways

  to make room for me.

  I was just talking to Marla about how exciting

  it’ll be to move to Portsmouth.

  Louise is down there.

  Peggy lowers her voice.

  She’s Mary’s girl.

  I don’t know whether you knew she had children.

  I’ve come across Donal.

  Marla pulls at the IV line.

  I told you already. I like my house.

  I need new carpet on the stairs,

  that’s all.

  Peggy leans in.

  It isn’t immediate.

  We’ll get you packed up

  and take all your things down there with you.

  Marla reaches for me.

  Her eyes are sad.

  I only just got you back

  and now we have to say goodbye again.

  I can’t say goodbye again, Toffee.

  Forever

  No goodbye is forever

  unless you can

  erase everything you ever

  knew about a person and

  everything you once felt.

  I left Dad a few months ago

  and decided

  that was it –

  I was drawing a line under

  knowing him.

  But sometimes I wake with his voice in my ears

  and his maybe-love in my guts

  and I remember everything good about

  him w
hich has been left behind

  and forget the bad,

  and it makes me so sad

  I wish I had the courage to call him

  and beg for him to be better.

  Mum has been dead my whole life

  and not a day goes by when I don’t think

  about how we would have been together –

  all the spaces left empty where

  she should have stood.

  No goodbye is forever

  unless you can

  erase everything you ever

  knew about a person and

  everything you once felt.

  Marla Is Home

  Kelly-Anne came back with Helena

  and made them a nest in the room that was mine.

  I have to confess something, I told her a few days later.

  She threw a rattle at me

  when I explained

  what was what.

  We’re squatters! she shouted.

  We hide in the shed

  the day Marla comes home,

  the three of us like fugitives,

  until we are sure Peggy and Donal have gone

  and Marla is alone again.

  Blank

  The line of daylight drops down out of sight.

  I take Kelly-Anne and Helena in the back door.

  Marla is playing scrabble with herself,

  tiles of letters littering the table.

  Is ramrod a word? she asks.

  Kelly-Anne snickers.

  Helena wails.

  Marla straightens up.

  I don’t know why you’re so pleased.

  Have you seen yourself?