Tell That to My Heart Page 8

  Mim’s father had walked out on them when she was just five years old, leaving in a hail of bitter words. He’d returned sporadically over the years, his winning words and easy smile charming his way into her mum’s good books again. Each time, he and her mother enjoyed a cringingly passionate reconciliation, taking to their bedroom for several days and leaving Josie and Mim to fend for themselves, until the day, when Mim, aged eleven, had come home from school to find her mother heartbroken; her father had gone again. He hadn’t said goodbye, and Mim hadn’t seen him since.

  What followed was a pattern of her mother taking up with a succession of inappropriate men who were always destined to treat her badly; they’d move in, take up residence on the sofa along with control of the TV remote and, when they’d fleeced Jeanette of every penny she had – even the paltry savings in Mim and Josie’s piggy-banks – they’d dump her unceremoniously, leaving her sobbing and fit for nothing for weeks. It was hardly the best example to set two impressionable young girls. Thankfully for Josie, being older, she’d found it easier to see things from a different perspective. Early on, she’d made up her mind that she wasn’t going to follow their mother’s pattern. Her life, she’d told Mim, was going to be different. She was going to marry someone decent and kind, and even then, not until she was absolutely certain they both loved each other equally. She was going to steer well clear of the sponging layabouts their mother had favoured. Unfortunately for Mim, she, it seemed, had been too young to make such observations, and had grown to view their mother’s relationship history as the “norm”; the template for all relationships. And so far, she’d followed her mother’s example to the letter.

  To make matters worse, in the process, their mother appeared to have subtly reversed their roles; she’d become the child, the one who needed protecting, nurturing and the offering up of financial support. Mim and Josie had unwittingly taken on the role of parent, until the day their mother had pushed them too far.

  The events of eighteen months ago were something of a turning point. Jeanette had landed on the doorstep of the house Mim shared with a couple of other girls on the outskirts of York, her eyes swollen with tears, her hair dishevelled, her hands clutching two bulging suitcases, begging for a bed for the night. ‘Oh, Mim, love, can I come in? Me and Terry have split up and I’ve got nowhere else to go. Can I stay with you? It’ll just be for one night, that’s all. I’ll find myself somewhere else tomorrow, I promise I will.’ She’d broken down and sobbed, and though Mim had felt a variety of conflicting emotions – as well as a hefty dose of déjà vu – how could she refuse?

  Mim had given up her bed for her mother, herself sleeping on an ancient blow-up air bed that had all but deflated by the following morning. And, just as she had expected it would, one night became a week, and a week became a month – until the day Jeanette had been asked to leave.

  Mim had found herself in an uncomfortable position on several occasions when her housemates had grumbled that her mother had been helping herself to their food, taking all the hot water and, worse, smoking in the house when they’d asked her not to, making everywhere reek of stale cigarettes. They’d been reluctant to mention anything until things had got too bad which had made Mim feel terribly guilty. On top of that, all Jeanette appeared to do was lie in bed for most of the day, not lifting a finger to tidy up after herself or make the effort to look for a job. She’d more than outstayed her welcome.

  Up until that point her mum had spent many tedious hours explaining how her relationship with her latest boyfriend Terry had fallen apart – the usual story – and Mim had listened, her anger gradually building at her mother’s self-pity. Why, at her age, had she not begun to realise that attaching yourself to men like him was doomed to end in heartbreak? ‘We did try to warn you, Mum,’ she’d said. ‘We could see he was no good for you.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I thought he’d be different, he seemed so charming, not like the others. And, anyway, I thought you were just jealous.’

  ‘Jealous? Of you going out with him?’

  Jeanette had nodded. ‘Yeah, he told me you fancied him, had been flirting with him something shocking. Which, if I’m honest, I was a bit put out about; it’s hardly appropriate, is it?’

  ‘And you believed him?’

  ‘Well, yeah, why wouldn’t I? You didn’t have a boyfriend of your own, you’d just been dumped by that loser you were going out with, and Terry’s a bit of a dish. He said it was embarrassing how you were coming on to him, but I didn’t say anything to you because I didn’t want to cause any trouble.’ Jeanette had pursed her lips together and sniffed.

  ‘He said I was coming on to him?’ Mim’s anger had boiled over. ‘The lying scumbag! Let me tell you this, Mum, I wouldn’t have touched that slimy creep with a bloody barge pole. And it was him coming on to me, not the other way round. I don’t want to go into any details but put it this way, there was no doubt about his intentions. What he said was so gross, it makes my skin crawl just thinking about it.’

  ‘That’s a lie, I don’t believe you! Terry would never do anything like that; he didn’t fancy you! You just wanted what I had. He was really into me – until the money ran out.’ Jeanette’s voice had tailed off.

  ‘Yeah, well, that says it all, really, doesn’t it?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Let’s not pretend it hasn’t happened before, Mum. How about Lee, or Nozza, or Stevo…’ Mim had counted them off on her fingers.

  ‘That’s not fair! You don’t know what it’s like being me. My situation is all your father’s fault. If he hadn’t left, I wouldn’t even be in this mess, with no home, no security, no one to care about me, having to do everything on my own. It’s alright for you.’

  ‘Mum, you can’t keep blaming Dad for the bad choices you’ve made; don’t you think it’s time you took some responsibility for yourself? There’s loads you could do to turn your life around. You’re attractive, you could get yourself a job, you could—’

  ‘You really don’t understand, do you? Thanks for absolutely nothing. When you were growing up, I spent all my time trying to find a man to be the perfect father figure to you and our Josie. I was desperate to replace that loser who had the bloody nerve to call himself your father; about as much use as a chocolate fireguard he was. Had to put up with loads of crap from even more useless bloody men, all for you two. Fat lot of good it’s done me.’

  Mim had shaken her head, exasperated at her mother’s response. ‘You can’t blame Josie and me either. And besides, we had Grandad, he more than made up for us not having a dad around; he was the perfect father figure for us, you know that. And Grandma Joyce, she was the perfect mo— Well, she was perfect, too.’

  Her words had hit a nerve, or rather, the words she’d almost said. Jeanette had shot her a look, pouting like a petulant child. It had only served to infuriate Mim.

  But it was true, and they both knew it.

  Whenever she thought of her grandparents, Mim felt a huge rush of love for them, followed by a feeling of guilt that she didn’t hold the same affection for her own mother. She often wondered if that made her a bad person. But regardless of that, not a day went by when Mim wasn’t thankful for the happy times she’d had staying at her grandparent’s cosy little home full of love, warmth and the lingering aroma of Grandma Joyce’s delicious baking. The handful of happy memories Mim had of growing up had all been created there, or on the long walks on sunny days when they’d taken a picnic to have in the sprawling parkland of Eskelby Hall. There was always a bottle of Grandad’s homemade ginger beer, fizzy and feisty – and just a little bit too hot for Mim, but she’d loved it all the same because it had been made especially for her and Josie. Especially for them; that simple gesture had made Mim feel incredibly loved and special. She recalled how their excitement had built as he’d got ready to pop the cork, the bottle held away from them, their eyes scrunched in anticipation. ‘Ready, girls? Let’s count, one, two, three…’ Pop! ‘Woah!’ He’d laugh o
ut loud, his eyes sparkling as he splashed the liquid into their red plastic beakers. How Josie and Mim had loved those days.

  She could clearly remember the feeling of excitement when the red and green checked rug had been shaken out and thrown down onto the uneven ground under the branches of a sprawling chestnut tree. She and Josie had pounced, eager to help Grandma Joyce set the picnic things out, a cacophony of birdsong and the hum of plump bumblebees playing in the background. Mim was easily distracted, running off after butterflies who flitted around, dancing in the sunshine, believing them to be fairies in disguise. Or if it was a little breezy, she’d jump up and help Grandad John look for stones to weigh the corners of the picnic blanket down, walking off together, her tiny hand in his huge, work-roughened paw. Afterwards, armed with their brightly-coloured fishing nets, he’d take them to the little stream that burbled through the grounds of Eskelby Hall. Mim had always hoped to catch a huge trout to take home for tea, but all they’d ever caught were tiny little minnows which they slipped back into the stream with a resounding plop, laughing as the fish wriggled off, continuing with their day as if nothing had happened. They were the happiest of times, and Mim was grateful for every single one of them.

  The crunch came with her mother when Mim’s housemates had asked her to meet them at the local coffee shop; they needed to speak to her, they’d said. Mim had a horrible feeling she knew what they were going to say: it was time for her mum to leave. And she’d been right. Her friends had worded their grievances as kindly as they were able, but it was still glaringly obvious that Jeanette had taken horrendous liberties with their good nature. But it still didn’t make it any easier for Mim to tackle.

  Jeanette had responded with a spiteful rant; didn’t she know how selfish she was, how she didn’t deserve to have a mother.

  “Well, not one like you.’ The words had flown out of Mim’s mouth before she’d had time to stop them.

  ‘You ungrateful little bitch!’ Jeanette had followed up with a stinging slap to Mim’s cheek before storming out of the room.

  That had been the last exchange between the pair.

  By the time Mim had returned from work the following day, her mother had gone. As had the small stash of money she’d kept hidden in her knicker drawer. Worse, cash, perfume and expensive makeup products had all disappeared from the bedrooms of her housemates. Mim shuddered at the memory.

  As she continued on her walk, her eyes fixed to the ground, thinking about the conversations she’d had with her mother about her poor choice in partners, it gradually dawned on her that she’d had similar conversations with Anna-Lisa and Aidey about her own disastrous relationships. Granted, they weren’t exactly the same, but there was a familiarity in the pattern which couldn’t be denied. It made Mim feel inexplicably angry with her mum and even angrier with herself. Why couldn’t she be more like Josie? She sighed and kicked a stone, watching it bounce along the track. But this new relationship with Caspar felt different.

  Once again, she ignored the annoying little niggles at the back of her mind; she was going to prove them wrong.

  Conscious that thoughts of her mother had dampened her mood, she picked up a stick, whistled for Herbert and threw it. ‘There, you go, Herbs, fetch!’ She smiled as he bounded after it, large velvety ears flapping behind him; “fetch” was his favourite game, one he was happy to do till the cows came home.

  In a moment he was in front of her, the stick between his teeth, a victorious look on his face. ‘Good lad,’ she said. He dropped the stick at her feet and looked up at her expectantly. ‘You want another go?’ He wagged his tail and gave an excited whimper. ‘Go on then, fetch that.’ She put all her strength into throwing the stick so it soared through the air, laughing as Herbert tore after it, picking it up and giving it a thorough shaking. You couldn’t be anything other than happy around that boy, she thought.

  In the distance she noticed a woman jogging towards them and, judging by the long, blonde ponytail and purple and black running gear, it was her friend Amy.

  ‘Hiya,’ said Amy as she approached Mim. Herbert trotted over to her. ‘Hiya, Herbs.’

  Amy jogged on the spot when she reached Mim, her ponytail swinging from side-to-side. Her cheeks were flushed and her breath was coming out in puffs of condensation in the cool air.

  ‘Hi, Amy, gorgeous day,’ said Mim.

  ‘It is, especially after all that rain we’ve had.’

  ‘Tell me about it. Are you going to be at Carly’s next week?’

  ‘Sure am, I’m looking forward to it. Will you be there?’

  ‘Yep, though I should probably warn you that Carly’s been joking that it’s actually a kinky underwear party; purely for the benefit of Pat Motson and her cronies.’

  Amy threw her head back and laughed. ‘I love it. When did she do that?’

  ‘The other night when I was collecting Herbs.’

  ‘Fabulous! The way that woman’s gob works – Pat’s I mean – it’ll be all round the village now, and half way round Ellerthorpe as well.’

  ‘Well, let’s hope the vicar doesn’t hear about it since Gemma’s going to be there. I’m not sure he’ll want his parishioners thinking his wife’s been buying a load of kinky stuff to liven up their bedroom antics!’

  ‘Hah! That would be hilarious. Though I wouldn’t want it to put Gemma off joining us; she seems lovely and a bit of a laugh,’ said Amy.

  ‘I agree, but I do like the thought of winding Pat Motson up, especially after she tried to contact our Josie to tell her I was making a mess of her house and had never had the hoover out, or swept the garden path.’

  ‘Miserable old bag, she’s got too much time on her hands.’ Amy flicked a look over her shoulder. ‘Anyway, I’d better get off. See you later, hon.’

  ‘Yep, see you,’ said Mim.

  Mim decided to turn back once she’d reached the style in the drystone wall. It was caked in mud and looked even more rickety than when she’d last climbed over it. The temperature had dropped, making her nose feel chilly and her fingers and toes numb. And, judging by the way he was panting, she figured Herbert had enjoyed a good enough run around for the last hour and a half so wouldn’t be too reluctant to go home. She’d nip into the butchers en route so she could pick up the bone she’d promised him. She turned and whistled for him as she pulled her gloves out of her pockets. ‘Come on, Herbs, let’s head home.’ The Labrador came bounding over, his tongue lolling, his tail swishing happily.

  They were three quarters of the way back when Mim’s mobile phone pinged. She furtled about in her pocket and retrieved it to see a text message from Anna-Lisa.

  Are you free this afternoon? Do you fancy meeting up? We could take Herbs for a walk. Ax

  Mim tapped out a quick reply.

  Am free, would love to meet up. Just on a walk with H, too knackered for another one! How about a drink at the pub? Been invited to Carly’s for a drink tonight. You’re welcome to come too. You can stay over at my house if you like. xxx

  Anna-Lisa’s reply landed almost immediately.

  Fab! Sounds great! How about lunch at the pub instead of a walk? Ax

  The thought made Mim’s stomach rumble; she hadn’t eaten much the previous evening and had only had a couple of slices of toast for breakfast. She typed her reply before the notoriously capricious local mobile phone signal had chance to slope off.

  Ooh, yummy! If they’re still serving. Is 2ish okay? xxx

  Again, she didn’t have to wait long for Anna-Lisa’s reply.

  Perfect! See you then! Ax

  Once back in the village, Mim headed towards the main street where the little cluster of shops were located on the edge of the well-tended village green. She passed old Billy Stainthorpe, wrapped up tight in his dark grey overcoat, a thick woollen scarf tied snuggly around his neck, his flat cap pulled down low on his head. He walked badly, as did his equally ancient wire-haired terrier Rinty, whose whiskers were as grey as his owner’s. The pair looked at Mim with equa
lly rheumy eyes. ‘Now then, Mim.’ Billy raised his wooden walking stick at her in a friendly gesture.

  Herbert ventured across to Rinty, pleased to see a familiar friend. ‘Morning, Billy, morning, Rinty. How are you keeping?’

  ‘Fair to middlin’, lass, can’t grumble.’

  ‘That’s good. And it’s a lovely day.’

  ‘Aye, it is that. It’s a right good ’un. Best enjoy it; it’ll be winter before we know it, and I can feel it in my bones that we’re going to be in for a bad ’un.’

  ‘Oh, no. That’s not good news. Anyway, I hope you and Rinty enjoy your walk. I’ll see you later.’

  ‘Aye, cheery-bye, hon.’

  Mim stopped outside the neat Georgian building that was Finkel’s butchers, a mouth-watering display of homemade pies, sausage rolls and plump joints of meat set out in the window display. She bent to fasten Herbert’s lead to one of the hooks on the wall. ‘Here we are, Herbs, your favourite shop in the whole wide world. You wait here, while I nip in.’ The Labrador’s eyes were fixed firmly to the line of juicy game birds that hung from meat hooks above the window.

  ‘Mim, save yourself the trouble, love. We were expecting you to call in so we got me laddo’s bone ready.’ Keith Finkel, owner of the shop, came out waving a white plastic bag at her, his butcher’s hat pushed back on his head.

  Herbert whimpered, shivering with excitement as drool started to form at the corners of his mouth.

  ‘Oh, thanks, Keith, that’s really good of you. As you can see, he knows exactly what’s in there.’