Beneath The Skin Episode 31

Walt’s face felt like stone. “You think that was abusive?” The sulky girl, Michaela, hurried between them with the mop. “You should be ashamed, leaving old folk to rot like this.” He swept an arm towards the residents.

The old lady in the brown wig was laughing. Mouse’s father was struggling to get out of his chair; she was rubbing his shoulder, trying to calm him.

“If Maura has a problem with her father’s care that’s up to . . .”

“Like Maura’s going to complain. She has no choice but to leave him here, and you bloody well know it. What is it, £1,000 a week to feed them out-of-date bread and then you can’t even be bothered keeping ‘em clean.”

Rage was welling up inside him, filling the space behind his eyes, and this smug woman was still smirking at him.

“Robert!” Mouse grabbed his arm. “Enough. Don’t make it any worse. Go outside and I’ll speak to you later.”

Her jaw was so tight she could barely get the words out and her eyes were wet. He felt sorry then, and the fight went out of him. He shrugged off her hand and pushed his way out, knocking into the mop bucket so that dirty water slopped all over the linoleum.

They exited in silence, the door held open for them by Fee. She was a regular girl guide. She’d make a good psychologist, Walt thought. She already had the smile and the professional head tilt, the one that said: “Don’t worry, we can work on that next session.”

William began whining as soon as they hit the street. He was too hot, with the big parka. He was hungry, could they get chips? No one spoke. Walt risked a glance at Mouse’s profile; she looked like she was walking on thorns.

Cars streamed past and the pavement was crowded; office workers hurrying home and school kids loitering outside the supermarket. Walt led the way through a small gang of lads who were spraying Coke on squealing teenage girls.

“Can I go into the charity shop?” William said. He was peering in the smeared window of a bric-a-brac store.

The mannequins were dressed in vintage leather and paisley scarves, and behind them, second-hand bookshelves displayed all the funny little things the kid liked: old tins, clunky watches, plastic animals. William pressed against the pane, making a triangle with his nose and palms, fogging up the glass in between them.

“No. We need to get home.”

When he didn’t move, Mouse seized one skinny wrist, tugging his hand so he had to follow her. He walked slowly, eyes down, as if paddling in the sea. Walt lagged behind, watching the close-knit outline of the two of them.

Mouse’s hips swayed under the blue coat. He imagined her outrage if she figured out he was looking.

He liked to see heels on a woman, but Mouse wore staid ankle boots, flat and a little scuffed. She didn’t care about fashion, and he kind of liked that too. The on-going tension between them was pressing on his chest.

He caught up with her. The lightest touch to her elbow and she turned to him, still walking. “Maura, what I said back there – it needed saying.”

“You’re always saying it, Mum,” William piped up from the other side. “You’re always saying they don’ t look after Granddad properly – his nails and stuff. And they make him wear other people’s clothes.”

“I can fight my own battles, thank you. In a tactful way.” “I don’t do tact. I do justice.”

She stopped, right in the middle of the pavement. An old chap in a grey anorak swerved around her, tutting at her lack of direction. “When I need your help, I’ll ask for it.”

“Like today? No need to thank me for collecting your son from school.”

She shot him a venomous look. “You messed that up too.” She turned, resumed walking, faster. William whined about his shoe and started hopping. She shook his arm. “Stop that!”

“The kid wanted to see his granddad.” “Oh, you think it’s a good idea for him to see his granddad like that?”

“My shoes are too small. I need new shoes,” William said. “That’s life, isn’t it? You can’t protect him from everything.” “I can try!”

“My toes are really sore.” William went even slower, until Mouse stopped again and looked down at the kid. Walt couldn’t see her expression, but he was glad he wasn’t the one on the receiving end. “You are not getting new shoes, William. I know it’s because you want the boxes.”

“I’ve got nine boxes.” His voice was low, sulky. “I need 10.” “You don’t need 10.”

“I like 10. It’s a good number.” He raised his voice, overtook his mother just a little so he could look across her disapproval at Walt. “Walt, do you have any shoe boxes?”

“I don’t buy shoes much.” There was a brief silence. “What about socks? Do you just buy one sock at a time?” “William, that’s rude!” his mother said.

“How is it?” Walt said. “I’ve only one foot. The kid’s being logical, and you’re being overprotective again.”

“And you’re being a pain in the backside!” “Mum!” William dropped her hand. They’d reached the pedestrian crossing. They stood there uneasily, Mouse and William in front, Walt a step behind.

He was flanked by a pensioner with a shopping trolley who smelled of mint and, on the other side, a mother with a little girl in a pink jacket and woolly hat. The child was standing next to William.

They traded glances like two Jack Russells, and William’s eyes dropped to her d a i s y - p a tt e r n e d wellingtons. Wa l t suppressed a smile; he could almost see the cogs turning. They must have come in a big box.

The green man flashed up and the crossing signal beeped. Ev e r y o n e obediently stepped out onto the road. Walt waited until they’d reached the other side before speaking again.

“That lassie, she was away to give your dad a full cup of scalding tea. He’d have spilled it over himself.”

“So you managed to do that for him.” “He knocked it out my hand. Where’s the common sense? Expecting a frail old man to manage a full cup of tea.”

“He’s not even that old!” That was wrung from deep down. Her tone softened. “He’s not even seventy. It’s so unfair.”

More tomorrow.

Her jaw was so tight she could barely get the words out and her eyes were wet. He felt sorry then, and the fight went out of him

Beneath The Skin, by Sandra Ireland, is published by Polygon, £8.99. Her latest book, Sight Unseen, is out now.