Page 21 of This is Where I Leave You

“Yes, I want baby.”

Magda grinned.

“We having baby then! I clean now yes, then we go to doctors. And shopping, oh the shopping. What fun we shall be having!”

She was up off her feet now, swilling out the cups and reaching for the hoover. George sat still at the table. Magda placed a ball of tissue in front of her and started singing as she went to hoover the lounge. George opened the ball to stare at the test. On the LCD screen one word was visible. PREGNANT. She couldn’t wait to tell Ben.

***

Looking at the address in her hand a second time, she asked her driver “Is this really the right address?”

Simmons, her devoted and burly employee peered out of his window and said, “Afraid so, madam. Shall I drive you home?”

Priscilla nearly squealed “Yes Simmons, and don’t spare the horse power,” but instead she simply smoothed her hair, clutched her Radley bag to her and asked him to open the door.

Getting out, she surveyed the scene. The housing estate was glum to say the least. Most of the houses were quite neat, gardens fenced in and flowers blooming, but this small corner had a dark gloom about it. And she knew why. It was this house; it emanated a dark aura that seems to permeate through to the other houses. The fence was just a few sticks now, the rest knocked down. Broken plastic toys in gaudy colours were strewn across the tufts of earth that passed for a lawn, the front window was broken and held together with masking tape, and the letter box was nailed shut. Everything was coated in a layer of grime and dirt, and there was a smell that Priscilla was sure would never come out of her Wool blend coat.

Picking her steps, she gingerly walked to the front doorstep. Loud music blared out from the house, and she had to bang loudly for some time in the end, all the while casting nervous glances back at Simmons, who was now out of the car and stood by the open boot, probably with a tyre iron in his white gloved hands. Suddenly, the music stopped and shouting came from inside. The door banged open and a waft of fried food and cigarette smoke greeted her nostrils. Resisting the urge to pull out her smelling salts, she smiled at the woman before her. Tracey was clad in a tatty grey dressing gown that Priscilla guessed was once white, and had a small grubby looking infant, wrapped in a heaving nappy and day-glo pink t-shirt. Tracey’s bottom lip was stuck out, a fag perched on it, and her scowl was made all the worse by the smoke that drifted up into her eyes.

“Yeah?” She looked at Priscilla in her finery, and eyed the driver with the flash motor behind.

“You the social? Don’t look like it. Anyway, I told yer on the phone, cheque is in the post for the rent, and I ‘aint paying the arrears off till I get a four bed. Little Tyrone and Brittany are cramped in that little box room, poor bleeders, and with one on the way…”

Priscilla’s mouth dropped open.

“Er..actually Tracy, I’m Priscilla, Richard’s mother. I have come to talk to you about Cady. She is in a bit of a mess…”

Tracy snorted loudly, switching the infant to her other hip and screaming behind her. “Lennox, turn that bleeding shite off! Cady, why, what’s wrong with my little princess? Perfect life chaffing her perfect little arse is it?”

Priscilla continued over the din of the house.

“No, but with the baby coming and Richard passing, I.. I thought…”

She realised what a mistake she had made. No wonder Cady never spoke of her parents. Her mother obviously did not care about her daughter’s wellbeing at all.

Tracy was eying her now, and shoving the infant into the arms of a man stood behind her in nothing but a pair of grey boxers, she smiled slowly, showing yellow teeth.

“Richard died, did he? And Cady’s having a bairn? Why didn’t you say so love? I’ll get me coat.”

As Priscilla bundled Tracy and her 3 kids into the car much to Simmons’ bemusement, Richard looked down at the strange tableau before him and suddenly felt so angry. He never realised that Cady’s mum was like this. To be fair, he had never met her parents, or even knew she had siblings. Did Cady even know? She felt sure that Cady would not ignore brothers or sisters should she have known. What a shmuck he was. No wonder Cady wanted a family of her own, a nice home. She never did anything wrong, really. She just turned from an independent party girl to a devoted housewife, which was just what he wanted really. And while she had allowed her light to be dimmed slightly day by day, year by year, he had taken the limelight and done just what he wanted, including sleeping with whomever he wanted. And now his mother, albeit with pure intentions, had released this woman on Cady. And Richard had a feeling it would not end well. Turning to Gerty, he pointed at the car.

“Can I use my rage now? I don’t want that woman near my family, if Cady doesn’t want it.”

Gerty smiled and walked over to him.

“Let’s see what we can do, eh child?”

Pulling up at Cady’s house two hours later, stressed, tired, hungry and dishevelled, Priscilla and her entourage were just glad to get there. It was dusk now, and the wind picked up suddenly, sweeping the rubbish and leaves from the pavement straight into their dirty faces. Having had car trouble, with Simmons’ and the AA man bemused whilst tinkering under the hood, Priscilla had been left to talk to Tracy, while she moaned about her piles, back ache and peppering her with questions about Cady. Strangely, she never asked how Richard died, or how Cady was, or the baby, she seemed more interested on what Cady would do about work and the house now she was a widow. Priscilla realised that she had made a big mistake. She had been trying to help, I mean, everyone needs their mum in situations like this, right?

Looking at the house bathed in light from the downstairs windows, with the neat front path and fragrant window boxes, she realised that Cady was doing ok, and she would be a better mother than she had perhaps had as an example.

Priscilla sighed and walked to the door.

Cady heard her mother before she saw her. With one ear to the door as she made a spaghetti bolognaise, she could pick out her mum’s screechy tones before the doorbell went. Turning down the CD that was playing Nina Simone in the background, she considered turning off the lights and pretending that she wasn’t in, but with Marcus due to arrive to help her clear out the study, she couldn’t risk them meeting at the door.

She straightened her white blouse over her black skinny jeans, and glimpsing her pale panicked expression in the hall mirror and pulling a face at her own reflection, she opened the door.

“Hello mother. To what do I owe this….Priscilla?”

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