I used to look forward to a Tuesday afternoon thinking it was an escape – a treat – but it wasn’t. A cold cup of tea and a tasteless biscuit could never be a big enough treat to make up for life trapped here.
Now it was Tuesday again but today was going to be different. Today was for me and Larry; away from Backwoods, just me and him together, alone.
Sam was being no trouble. He obviously hadn’t seen anything yesterday in the polytunnel. Although why he’d left his bedroom in the first place I didn’t know – as a rule he was so reliable and predictable in his movements. But who knew? Maybe even Sam didn’t know.
He’d had breakfast this morning and lunch at his usual time and now he’d vanished back upstairs to do some Maths. I’d given him Maths because Maths was his favourite and that made me feel better. Calculus would keep him busy until I came back.
I’d stuffed my old sack-jumpers into carrier bags and brought them downstairs. Going to the tip was the last thing on my mind today, but I thought I’d better act normal.
Larry was leaning on the car having a fag.
‘Ready?’ I said.
He blew smoke into the sky.
‘Never more so.’
‘Where’s Duncan?’
‘Fencing behind the barn, this side of the Long Four Acre. ’
I laughed, a laugh that bubbled up and escaped without warning and I knew then it was possible to get drunk on freedom.
‘Well, what you waiting for?’ I jumped in the driver’s seat.
Larry climbed in and I turned on the radio. I wanted music-enhanced euphoria, a real-life sound track to my film-like life.
George Harrison sang ‘Got My Mind Set on You’, and I rammed the car into reverse and backed down the yard. Larry opened his window, put his arm out and tapped in time to the music on the car body.
We sang along, me doing the high lines and Larry the low ones.
‘He wasn’t daft, was he, George Harrison?’ said Larry, shouting over the radio. ‘Time and money – they’d both be good, eh?’
‘Well we’ve got today,’ I said. ‘Or at least we’ve got right now, right this minute,’ and I tapped his leg with each word. I shoved the car into first gear and bounced across the potholes and through the gate. I sang another line at the top of my voice, and was about to put my foot down and zoom up the lane when something flashed into my line of vision and I screamed and slammed on the brake. The wheels skidded to a stop with a loud crunch of stones.
There, out of breath and with his hair all over the place, tumbling in front of the car was Sam.
He must have come out of the washroom door and hurtled over the wall before almost bouncing off the bonnet. For God’s sake, my heart was going to crash through my ribs and burst out of my body. What the hell was he playing at?
His hands were splayed on the bonnet and he stared at us through the windscreen with terror in his eyes.
I couldn’t move and gaped at him as he gazed from me to Larry and back. Larry jumped out of the car and grabbed Sam’s arm.
‘You okay?’
Sam looked confused, and gasped for breath.
I let my head fall forward onto the steering wheel and rested it there. He’d done it again; he’d dragged me, kicking and screaming, from another world back to this one.
‘What is it, son?’ Larry said. ‘Do you need your mum?’
I got out of the car, strode round to him and grabbed his shoulders much more forcefully than usual. I glared at him.
‘I always go out on a Tuesday,’ I said. ‘Come on Sam, what’s all this about?’ I closed my eyes. ‘You nearly got yourself bloody killed then.’
Sam squirmed under my grip and winced. I let go and gave a sharp sigh. I could feel my temper rising.
‘Sam, be fair. I only go out once a week.’
Larry put his hands on his knees, his face level with Sam’s.
‘What is it, son?’
Sam tried to speak but only managed a gasp.
‘It might be a panic attack, Alice,’ Larry said.
‘Come on, Sam,’ I grabbed his arm and turned him back towards the house. ‘We’ll get you a map set up.’
I tried to propel him back through the garden gate but he resisted.
‘LANCASTER.’ He gasped.
‘I’ll be back in two hours,’ I snapped. ‘I’ll be back before you know it.’
‘LANCASTER,’ Sam said again over his shoulder at Larry.
‘Does he want to go to Lancaster?’ said Larry. ‘Is that what you want, son – to come to Lancaster?’
Sam nodded once. I let go of his arm and put my hands on my hips.
‘Since when?’ I said.
‘Maybe he fancies exploring a bit further afield,’ said Larry.
‘You want to come to Lancaster?’ My voice rose in disbelief. ‘Really?’
Sam gave a kind of a nod and he looked at the car.
Larry shrugged. ‘I’ll get him in,’ he said, glancing down at Sam’s bare feet. ‘You get him some shoes.’
I didn’t move. ‘Really?’ I said.
‘Come on, son.’ Larry put his hand in the small of Sam’s back to nudge him towards the car. Sam took a stumbling step and stopped. Larry opened the car door and waited for him to climb in.
‘He’ll not manage it,’ I said, feeling the panic rise. ‘It’ll not work.’
Sam gazed into the car. The floor had two aerosol cans and three tattered magazines cluttering it up and the seats were covered in bits of straw and crumbs and the two lolling carrier bags with the old jumpers spilling out. The one with the yellow sunflowers gaped from the bag; Sam clapped his hand over his face.
‘He won’t go,’ I said. ‘It’ll be a disaster.’
Sam steadied himself with the car door.
‘It’s okay, son, jump in,’ said Larry.
Sam kept his hand clamped over his eyes.
‘It’ll be a bloody disaster,’ I said again.
Sam let go of the car door.
‘She is correct,’ he whispered. ‘I can never get in the car.’
‘I didn’t mean that, Sam,’ I said, ‘I was only – ’
‘Sam, we can help – ’ Larry spoke in a low tone. ‘We can – ’
Sam took a great gulping breath and gabbled: ‘I am only two steps from the car and ten miles from Lancaster but it is not possible.’
Shrugging off Larry’s hand, Sam spun round, jumped the wall and ran like the wind back to the house.
Without speaking to Larry, I turned the car round and parked it back in the yard. There was no trip to Lancaster today, not for Sam, not for me, not for anybody.
I felt sick.
I could fool myself that life was fun and exciting or even just normal from time to time; but it wasn’t. I was trapped at Backwoods and I might as well be being kept here under lock and key.
Larry was in the kitchen.
‘Are you going up to him?’ he asked.
I shook my head. ‘What can I do that’ll help?’ I slumped on a kitchen chair. ‘There’s nothing I can do. I’m useless.’ I put my face in my hands. Larry stroked my hair.
‘You’re not useless, Alice. Far from it.’ He kissed the top of my head.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s sit in the sun.’
He took my hand, tugged me out of the chair, and led me outside.
I sat cross-legged in the orchard and Larry lay next to me and squinted up at the sky. He was chewing a long piece of grass with seeds on the end and he kept touching my face with it. I couldn’t even smile; I wiped it away.
I felt like I had the day Sam stopped breathing on the way to town; today I’d heard the portcullis come crashing down for a second time.
I told Larry about Sam’s early years, about my fear that he was too different to survive in the real world, about the isolation of not being like other families, about the loneliness of asking for help from doctors but not getting it, about the pain of seeing Sam shunned and judged by the world, about how Duncan couldn’t face the reality of Sam and blamed me, about the terror of thinking I’d be trapped at Backwoods forever and never be able to leave.
I poured out everything about Sam’s tantrums and his silences and his obsessions and the stopping breathing. About my struggles to home-school and about the friends who gradually dropped away and about weeks going by when I hardly spoke to anyone and only escaped for a cup of tea on a Tuesday afternoon.
About how I’d tried to make myself feel better by secretly emptying the house of all the stuff that was choking it and in the process trying to loosen my ties to Backwoods Farm – even though I knew that the ties were getting tighter not looser. About how I cried for a week when a mad old woman buying biscuits in a supermarket said I wasn’t fit to be a mother.
It sounded pathetic. But I couldn’t stop talking, and Larry listened without interrupting.
As the sun sank in the sky he turned onto his stomach. He carried on chewing the grass but did not tickle my face with it. It was such a relief that he didn’t judge me. He didn’t roll his eyes or say I must be exaggerating, or worse still, laugh. He listened, really listened, nodding every now and then and letting me talk.
The words poured out. I rarely talked to Duncan about Sam because it would only start a row. He’d criticise Sam and get mad and rant about how it was time Sam started acting his age or how he should pull himself together and bloody well grow up.
Then he’d hint that it was all my fault. Or sometimes he wouldn’t hint, but come right out with it: What had I done to make him like that? What the hell was wrong? If I wasn’t so soft with him perhaps he’d be a bit more bloody normal.
Once I’d been so furious when he said such a thing I flung my fork across the breakfast table, hitting Duncan’s plate which broke clean in two. Sam had slid onto the floor curled into a little ball, moaning, as I sat with my face in my hands and Duncan knocked his chair backwards and stormed outside.
I could feel the sun warming my shoulders and I wanted to lie down beside Larry and feel his arms around me, strong and comforting. I longed to rest my head on his chest, listen to his heartbeat, feel his voice rumble in his chest when he spoke, telling me everything was fine; Sam was fine, I was fine, every single thing was fine, because if Larry said it, I might believe it.
I didn’t lie on the grass because if I did the temptation to rest against him would be too great. I’d have to bury my face in his neck and breathe him in and feel his warmth seep right into me.
‘I admire you for sticking by Sam and doing your best for him,’ Larry said. ‘Not everybody could have done it, Alice. No way.’ He thought for a minute. ‘I’ve never been tested like that. I’ve had a free life, a selfish life really, drifting here and there as the fancy takes me, never staying anywhere long enough to grow roots or get bored.’ He looked at me intently. ‘The two weeks I’ve spent here have been the best I’ve ever had, I love being with Sam. He’s a great kid. He’s imaginative and creative and intelligent.’ He touched my arm. ‘You’ve done a fantastic job with him, Alice.’
My eyes welled up. No one had ever told me I’d done a fantastic job with Sam. Never. On the contrary, my husband, the health visitors, crazy old ladies at the shops – everyone had said the opposite.
‘You’ve done a great job.’
I swallowed hard. ‘Thanks. That means a lot.’
‘Well, it’s true.’
Confiding in Larry had opened a huge well of loneliness in me and made me realise how sad and empty I felt about Sam and our isolated life here. It was a sadness so vast I could sink and drown in it.
Larry smiled at me; I tried to smile back but my mouth wouldn’t let me.
‘You’re a strong woman, Alice,’ he said. ‘A fighter. That’s one of the things I love about you.’
My heart flipped.
Warmth flooded through me. I realised that since Larry came to Backwoods I’d felt transformed. I’d felt younger, years younger and attractive for the first time in a decade. I felt alive and excited about every day. Sam had been getting braver too; possibilities had been opening up. Even his idea to go into Lancaster today – although crazy without proper planning – was a leap in the right direction. And it was all down to Larry. He’d come into our lives like a gypsy and worked his magic like a wizard. He couldn’t leave. How could I go back to my old life? It was unthinkable.
I touched his fingers, stroking the rough skin, the cuts and the gnarls, and the nails, broken and discoloured from digging and planting.
‘I love you being here,’ I said.
I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to eat him up.
I smiled and went to stroke his hair, then noticed Duncan standing by the back door staring at us, arms folded. I ran my fingers through my own hair instead. How long had he been watching?
‘Duncan’s there.’ I muttered. Larry didn’t jump up or do anything suspicious; he stayed where he was, eyes fixed on the summer house, and said nothing.
Knowing I’d seen him, Duncan turned and went inside. I made a show of looking at my watch – Duncan was probably still spying on us from the washhouse window – and I stood up and dusted off the legs of my jeans.
‘I’d better go inside,’ I said. ‘Thanks for listening. It means a lot.’
‘Don’t thank me. I’m always here,’ he said.
I walked towards the door and glimpsed Duncan backing away from the window.
Sam was watering the plants in the washroom, putting the water on drip by drip.
‘Are you all right?’ He didn’t reply. ‘Sam?’
He shook his head. ‘I will lose count of the drips on the magic grass.’
In the kitchen I glimpsed Duncan leaning so far back on his chair he was as good as lying down. Usually I told him off for that but today I didn’t bother.
‘You were back early,’ he said.
‘We never went out,’ I whispered. ‘Sam was upset.’
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Where’s Larry?’
I filled the kettle. ‘Don’t know,’ I said. ‘Gone to his caravan, I suppose.’
I knew full well he wasn’t in his caravan. I knew he was still sitting in the orchard smoking one of his roll-ups, staring at the house and thinking about me, and I wished with all my heart I was out there with him.