July
Monday 1st July
Adam was at work today when I heard a coo-ee and Ethel let herself in the front door.
‘In here,’ I said shouting from the living room. I’d dropped the remote control ten minutes previously, and was still trying to pick it up. However much I bent forward or sideways, I couldn’t get my arms past my bump to the floor. She came through holding another door key and a plastic bag.
‘’Ere, look!’ she said, ‘I’m psychic. I brought you a grabber!’
She pulled a long green grabber out of the bag, caught the remote in its pincers, and dropped it into my hands.
‘Thanks Ethel,’ I said. ‘Let me pay you for it.’
‘Didn’t cost me nothing love. The little dwarf lady on the ground floor popped ’er clogs the other day. ’Er relatives are all tall, so they didn’t want it.’
‘Oh, thank you. What did she die of?’
‘She fell face down in the bath and drowned. The warden found ’er. Stiff as a board reaching out towards the plug with the grabber…’
I dropped the grabber on the coffee table. She perched on the side of the sofa. ‘I brought you some bits too, save you shopping.’
I took the plastic bag and had a look inside. There was a bottle of Tabasco sauce, a packet of gelatin sheets, two slightly dented tins of sugar-free rice pudding, and a jar of seafood offcuts.
‘’Er family give me those, as well as the grabber.’
‘Thanks,’ I said.
‘Any news from Rosencrantz?’
‘I told you we couldn’t talk to him Ethel,’ I said. She looked troubled and fiddled with her handbag.
‘Coco, I’ve got to come clean about something… You know I accused ’im of nicking that twelve quid out me ’andbag?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well ’e didn’t… It were Kim Jong Lill.’
‘Who?’
‘Kim Jong Lill we call ’er. Real name’s Lily Kim. She’s a nasty old Chinese lady who’s just moved in on the fourth floor.’
‘Kim Jong Il was Korean,’ I said.
‘Was she? Anyway. Kim Jong Lill knocks on me door this morning and says ‘I’m sorry, I’ve been diagnosed as a kleptomaniac, here’s your twelve quid back.’ Hands it back to me with no shame.’
‘Why did she take it in the first place?’
‘She’s a kleptomaniac Coco!’
‘But do kleptomaniacs normally give things back?’ I asked. Ethel ignored me.
‘To think I blamed me own grandson, me own blood!’
‘You can sort it out when he’s discharged.’
‘Oh Coco, I can’t bear ’im to think that of me…’
‘He loves you Ethel. He’ll understand it was a mistake.’
‘Yes, well. That Kim Jong Lill better watch out. Other stuff’s gone missing too…’
I told Ethel not to resort to violence. It’s led to her having to be re-homed before.
Tuesday 2nd July
Last night I had terrible nightmares. In the first I had gone into labour…
I had gone into labour and the only person who could drive me to hospital was Adam’s daughter Holly. It was a dark night, and a storm was raging outside the car. Holly was in the driver’s seat, I was laid out in the back in agony and we were lost. The pain was getting worse, and the baby was coming fast.
Holly had suggested I put on a pair of tights to try and slow things down, so I’d pulled a pair on and they were very itchy.
Holly was driving very fast using one hand, and in the other she held her iPhone.
‘Siri, where is the nearest hospital?’ said Holly into her phone. There was a bleep, and it wasn’t Siri’s voice that answered. ‘Yer a long way from the nearest ’ospital love,’ came Ethel’s voice through the speakerphone.
Another agonising contraction came over me and I felt I had to push.
‘I’m going to have to push soon Holly!’ I said.
‘Siri, should Coco push?’ said Holly into her iPhone.
‘Gawd no! With them tights on, the baby will be mush, like putting fruit through a sieve,’ came Ethel’s voice.
Another contraction shot through me, the pain even stronger, and I felt a soft little head emerge between my legs and press against the tights.
‘It’s coming!’ I gasped. ‘It’s going to get mushed!’
I felt a stinging pain and the head came further out, but it was now huge. It kept coming, it bulged against the tights and I lay back in agony. I lifted my skirt and saw that it was Ethel’s head, squished against the tights like she was about to rob a bank. I screamed but she kept coming, the tights began to fray and ladder, and she broke through with a manic grin on her face.
I woke up screaming, covered in sweat.
‘Coco! It’s okay!’ said Adam.
‘Ethel, it was Ethel! Where is she?’ I said shaking off the covers and trying to see past my bump.
‘You had a bad dream,’ said Adam. ‘It’s okay. You’re safe.’
Both he and Rocco were regarding me with concerned eyes. My breathing slowed and I realised it had been a nightmare. I lay back and adjusted my big pillow.
‘Oh, God it was so real.’
‘I’ve heard it’s a late pregnancy symptom, bad dreams,’ said Adam.
‘I was in a car and I gave birth to Ethel,’ I said. Adam laughed. Why do dreams always sound silly when you recount them? You can never quite translate to others how real they were. I was relieved I hadn’t tried to explain the role of the tights...
He cuddled me and I drifted off to sleep again, but the nightmares came back…
It was a hot afternoon and I had some very heavy bags. I was walking home from the Tesco Metro on Baker Street. I rounded the corner to our house and saw Rosencrantz being brought down the steps by two police officers, the same two who’d been at Chris’s house the other night. I started to walk towards Rosencrantz, but the pavement became wet and sticky. I looked down. I was wading through wet cement. Red plastic barriers surrounded me. Rosencrantz was now being loaded into the police car and one of the officers put his hand on the back of his head to guide him in. I was now stuck in the cement, my feet wouldn’t move. I tried to shout, but nothing came out of my mouth. I turned and looked behind me. Regina Battenberg was further down by the traffic lights, walking along the pavement. She was dressed in her gold turban and long coat and I realised she was walking towards me. The police car’s engine started, it streaked past me, and Rosencrantz didn’t notice. I turned back; Regina Battenberg was advancing closer, her red lips curled up in a smile revealing a row of sharp teeth. She reached inside her coat and pulled out a knife. The blade glinted as she held it up with her scrawny arm…
I woke up again, with a shout. Adam woke up a second later with a jolt.
‘What? What happened?’ he asked, rubbing his face.
‘Another nightmare,’ I said.
‘What was it?’
‘I’m not telling you.’ I noticed it was half past four and getting light so I heaved myself up and came downstairs. I made some tea and sat, and slowly reality began to seep back.
Adam came down at eight thirty, just as Bonham & Son’s rang. One of the people who viewed the house has made an offer, and they want to move in as soon as possible!
I was lying on the sofa watching BBC Breakfast with Rocco when Adam came bouncing through with the news.
‘Already? I thought we’d have ages to wait?’ I said. ‘I can’t move now, what about Rosencrantz?’
‘He’s coming out of reha… of the clinic in nine days. It’ll take more than a week to exchange contracts,’ said Adam.
‘This is his home. He can’t come out and be homeless. You know how susceptible homeless people are to addiction.’
‘He wouldn’t be homeless. He could stay with Daniel.’
‘That’s a recipe for disaster…’
‘Or us.’
‘I thought you said you didn’t want to see him ever again?’
‘I’m thawing.’
‘What about his work? He can’t be an actor and live miles from London. What if he has to have more doctors’ appointments?’
‘Coco. There are three other people depending on this move.’
‘Me and you.’
‘And him,’ said Adam pointing at my stomach. He looked at me.
‘Adam, you want me to make a decision right now?’
‘Jesus, Coco! We can’t wait around. There’s no chain, it’s the asking price…’
‘What do you mean Jesus Coco? I’ve lived here my whole life, Rosencrantz has lived here his whole life, and I’m weeks away from giving birth. I can’t make this decision lightly.’
Adam stomped upstairs and got ready for work. As he was leaving, he said. ‘FYI. We had made a decision. Now you’re backtracking and affecting everyone.’
Later on I met Marika and Chris for a drink in the cafe at Regent’s Park. In this heat I can hardly walk. I’m pretty much spherical now. If it didn’t risk crushing the baby I’d seriously consider asking friends to roll me to places. We sat down at a table under some trees with iced lemonade, and I recounted the argument.
‘Everything Adam said makes perfect sense. And as he left he made a good point, we had made a decision, but all I could think was, since when do you use the phrase FYI?’
‘Eeuw,’ said Marika opening a sachet of sugar and putting it into her coke. ‘Milan said capishe the other day,’
‘You’re adding sugar to Coke? Do you know what sugar does to babies?’ said Chris in horror.
‘It’s a craving Chris,’ snapped Marika. ‘And I have two babies in here.’
‘What does sugar do to babies?’ I asked.
‘It makes them sweeter,’ said Marika. ‘Now back to you Cokes. Unlike you, I have been reading my baby books and it says that in the final weeks of gestation the mother emotionally pushes the husband away to care for her baby.’
‘I can’t stand the word gestation,’ said Chris.
‘But this is about Rosencrantz as well,’ I said.
‘Who is also your baby,’ said Marika. ‘He needs you.’
‘What was it like when you came out of rehab Chris?’ I asked.
‘Tough. I came and stayed at your house, remember? When your mum and dad went off on the QEII.’
‘See, you needed a home and you came to my house, I mean our house. Shit, I’ve only been married for eleven months. What if he leaves me…’ my voice trailed off when I realised that could be true.
‘He won’t leave you hun,’ said Marika.
‘He won’t,’ added Chris.
‘What should I do?’
‘I hate to get all businesslike Cokes,’ said Chris. ‘But I need to know if you’re going to buy Strangeways Farm. I’ve had another offer, and I need to tell them yes or no.’
We parted ways on Baker Street. I grabbed some milk in the Tesco Metro then made my way home. I waited for the traffic light to change then waddled across the road. I reached the pavement and rounded the corner to my house. I stopped. The pavement in front was being cordoned off. A van had pulled up, and some young guys in jeans and sleeveless hi-visibility jackets were unloading red plastic barriers. I watched as they placed them on exactly the same bit of pavement as my dream. I looked at the steps up to my front door in the distance, but it was empty.
‘Excuse me,’ I said to a one of the guys. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Re-surfacing,’ he said putting down the last barrier.
‘With cement?’ I asked.
‘Yeah.’
I clutched my chest in horror. ‘Since when?’
‘There’s been a sign up about it for a month,’ he said pointing to a tiny square taped high up on the lamppost. It was written in a miniature script, impossible to read. It must be a co-incidence, I thought.
I walked along a little then stopped. I had a feeling someone was behind me.
I turned.
A woman who looked like Regina Battenberg had just crossed at the traffic lights further down and was walking towards me. She wore jeans and a dark short-sleeved blouse. Her long black hair was down. The woman spotted me and started to hurry towards me. I panicked, dropped my shopping and began to waddle away like a mad little weeble.
I heard the woman call my name. I turned, and saw she was gaining on me. I hurried even more. I had an image of this Battenberg-a-like putting her head down and galloping towards me like a werewolf clutching a knife. I gave a squeak of fear and ran up the steps to the front door. I scrabbled around in my handbag for my keys… I dropped them on the floor… I was now in a blind panic. She had now reached the end of my road, just a few houses away. Any second she would appear between the gate posts. I pulled the dead woman’s grabber from my bag and lunged for the front door key…. I hooked the grabber through the key ring and hoisted my keys up. I found the right one and scrabbled at the lock until it went in. I turned the key, fought my way through the door and slammed it shut, locking the dead bolt and pushing the chain across.
I nearly peed myself when Rocco barked, I stumbled forwards, knocking a pile of letters off the hall table with my bump. I saw my sweaty wild face in the mirror.
‘It was a daydream,’ I said. I waited for half a minute, I breathed. Then the doorbell rang! I looked at Rocco. It rang again. I put the chain on and opened the door.
The woman stood facing me on the doorstep. She had on flat tennis shoes, blue jeans, the aforementioned black blouse, and a canvas bag slung over her shoulder. She looked to be in her sixties; her long hair was dyed black and hung loose, but she had a pale face devoid of make-up
‘Hello, Coco dear,’ she said. ‘It’s me. Regina Battenberg...’
I looked her up and down. Her eyes were very tiny, her lips were thin.
‘Don’t you recognise me dear?’ she said.
‘No.’
‘Good. I’m going incognito. Can I please come in?’
I opened the door and she came in. She took her shoes off.
‘Would you like a drink? I think I’ve got some nice white wine in the fridge.’
‘No thank you, but a soft drink would be fandabidoze,’ she said. She seemed nervous. We went into the kitchen, and she perched on a stool at the breakfast bar whilst I got a jug of lemonade from the fridge. I watched her cuddle Rocco, her red nails disappearing into his pale fur. My mind was whirring, it was all so bizarre.
‘Regina. You’re going to have to help me out,’ I said putting down the jug and pulling two glasses out of the cupboard. ‘Why are you here?’
‘I’m here to say sorry,’ she said, but first I have to give you this. She opened her bag, pulled out a little white envelope and slid it across the breakfast bar. On it was written “MUM x” I tore the envelope open and inside was a note from Rosencrantz.
I looked up at Regina who was watching me closely. I leaned across and tried to hug her but my bump nearly knocked her off her stool. She laughed and came round to hug me from the side. The shoulder of her blouse smelt of lavender.
‘Are you okay dear?’ she asked.
‘No. Not really all that fandabidoze…’ I grinned. ‘Thank you for doing this.’
‘He’s a lovely lad Coco. I’ve seen him somewhere before…’
‘He’s my son.’
‘Oh, I know that. Was he in a play, or was it a film?’
‘He was in Chasing Diana Spencer: The Musical, at the Edinburgh Festival… Remember? You had a show up there too.’
‘Of course, yes. So many things are a blur…’ she took a sip of her lemonade and looked off into the distance, contemplating.
‘So, you were in Pathways with Rosencrantz for?’
‘Alcohol? Yes. My name is Regina Battenberg and I’m an alcoholic.’
‘I always thought you were a bit eccentric.’
‘I am dear, but I’m also a swallower when I should really be a spitter.’
‘What?’
‘Wine Coco. When I started out I only used to have a dri
nk with my supper. But Window Box Winemaking changed everything. There were product launches, and television shows, personal appearances at vineyards. I grew up very poor Coco. Spitting out perfectly lovely wine was abhorrent to me, so I swallowed. I swallowed an awful lot…’
‘But you’re better now?’
‘Yes. I experience every day with an alarming clarity.’
‘Are you writing a new book?’
She laughed.
‘I don’t know if there is much market for a teetotal holocaust denying wine connoisseur.’
‘You didn’t deny the holocaust.’
‘I can barely remember what I said Coco. But that is not why I’m here. I’m here to apologise to you, for my ninth step. I’m very sorry.’
‘Thank you,’ I said.
‘I knew you were eating Pippin’s dog biscuits…’
‘That’s okay.’
‘And I stole that slot on ‘This Morning’ from you…’
‘You did?’
‘And do you remember when you came to watch my show at the Edinburgh Festival?’
‘Yes.’
‘And I called you up on stage to do that bit where an audience member stomps on the grapes in the bucket.’
‘It was a bowl…’
‘Yes a bowl. Well I planted that corn plaster in the bowl.’
‘I know you did.’
‘I could see how embarrassed you were when I held it up to the audience.’
‘I was.’
‘I’m sorry… You have such nice feet Coco. I kept seeing you around Edinburgh wearing such elegant sandals.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Look at my feet!’ she said pulling off the socks she was wearing. Her feet were lumpy and swollen with a prominent bunion on each toe. ‘I’ve got such horrible feet.’