Mouths of Babes Read online

  After a while, words came back to Janine. Good morning and good night were easy. Yes please, thank you. She was polite, nice. Helpful. The drugs were heavy at first and they slowed her down, her walk, her talk. That was OK really, Janine didn’t mind the lack of speed. Things had been going too fast for a while and slow was good, it worked for her, gave her time to think, to sort things out, to make the leaps from one thought to another. In time Janine attended one-on-one therapy, group therapy, art therapy which she loved and drama therapy which she thought was a load of crap where the tutors showed off more than the patients. She talked about her childhood and her brothers and her mum and dad. She talked about primary school and secondary school and how she’d never really managed to fit in, not since big school. She talked about being picked on in class and about being hassled in the playground, about home being safe and quiet and how she liked it when her mum and dad were working and her big brother was away and her little brother was out and she was just by herself. When the time came, she went to court and did as they told her, answered the barristers’ questions, spoke slowly and carefully to the judge, listened to her doctor and the social worker, and didn’t mind when her mum started crying and had to be led out of the room. Did mind, didn’t show it. She answered all their questions as best she could and tried to do the right thing. She didn’t understand everything they were asking her, but she tried. The drugs slowed her down and the words were thick in her head, too wide for her mouth. She went back to the hospital and her group and her doctor and she became used to the fading art on the walls and the warm smell of tea and wee and time passed. She said lots of things but she never told anyone about what had happened with Sally and she never talked about that night and she never told anyone what she’d been trying to say that morning, thought she’d said that morning, hadn’t said that morning.

  Andrea Browne stayed on at school when Will left, stayed on with Will during the early part of his transition to Ross, but they broke up after his second drama school shag – the second he’d told her about – breaking his own rules about not fucking around and breaking them big. Then she counted the days until she could leave home. After the break-up Andrea said she didn’t want to bother with any of the other boys at school, after Will Gallagher there wasn’t much point. At least not in having any official boyfriend, anyone she admitted to, gave all her time to. She turned to the other side of Andrea – concentrated solely on her studies, becoming the class star her teachers had always said she could be, but had never thought possible as long as personal biology pulled her away from the book variety. At university, Andrea discovered she could have it all, mostly without ever becoming fully sober. She worked hard, played hard, drank hard, drugged hard, shagged hard. Anyone she could find. For three full years. She left with a First, a cocaine lust, and a surprise gift fiancé: he asked, she said yes, surprising herself as well as him. Then the fiancé became a husband, a carefree honeymoon became their first baby, and before she had worked out what she could possibly do with a degree in Humanities, Andrea was a fully-fledged wife and mother. One more baby and she was still unhappy, not actively searching, but inactively pining. When the teenage sex goddess of a small suburban pond becomes wife and mother to a City banker’s family, there’s only so much compensation that can be derived from the husband’s pay packet. As early twenties shadowed into late, Andrea’s husband’s best mate, Robert, offered his undying love as an alternative and she leapt at his offer. Wild child to Stepford Wife to Wicked Lady. And when she discovered that the new life with Robert offered the hope of redemption as well as escape, Andrea’s sins were washed away in the blood of her broken marriage. One more baby with Robert and the conversion was complete – a trinity of children lifted her from whore to Virgin. In public at least. As long as she remembered to keep on praying. And keep her secrets.

  Janine left the hospital and moved home with her mum and dad. She had another bad time when her mum died and went back to the hospital for a bit. A different ward this time, pale peach walls and no paintings. She wasn’t there for long and when she was ready to leave her dad explained that it was time she had a place of her own. Her dad had a girlfriend, he needed space. Janine was more surprised that he no longer needed her mum, but didn’t say so. Her key worker at the hospital found her a halfway house and she moved in there. The walls were brown and yellow, old wallpaper and painted floorboards. Janine had a front door key of her own and a part-time job with the charity that owned the house and responsibility for the upstairs bathroom, the one the women shared. She very nearly had a proper boyfriend too, but then Nicholas had one psychotic episode too many and the trustees said he was no longer safe to stay in the house and he had to move on. They kissed goodbye and she cried for three days. After that, talking seemed kind of pointless again and Janine’s words faded away. She stuck to the basic combinations of yes, no, please and thank you. It was easier that way.

  Daniel Carver made new friends, easier friends. Friends where he was the special and important one. Friends in the years younger than him, people who had not seen Ewan fall, who did not know Ewan though they’d heard his name. Daniel Carver discovered that girls, especially those in the year or two below him at school, wanted to hear his stories in a way that Will and Andrea and Sally and Ewan never really had. He told them all about how close he and Ewan had been, what good times they’d had, how long they had known each other and how very much he’d lost when he lost his best mate. He discovered a tragic hero was something to be.

  When Daniel left school he transported himself to Australia for a girl and a film production course. Neither lasted, though the girl was dumped sooner than the course. Then he tried America where he discovered a British accent to be exceptionally useful in chatting up young ladies, and quite useful for larger tips while waiting on tables, waiting for his break, He took a part-time film degree, a scriptwriting course, made three low budget films with a dozen mates. And then, just like that, he had his hit. Surprise hit, shock hit, overnight indie and underground success, morphing into big-time possibilities – none of which Daniel actually had the skills to follow up on – followed swiftly by overnight fall. He grew a little older and his bald patch appeared and as the days since his success lengthened, home became ever more attractive. The education system welcomed him with open arms and a full grant to study teacher training for year – English Literature, Drama and Film Studies. And then he went back to the school where Ewan had died, houses were cheaper round there, his mother made him dinner every now and then, he’d always been a star in her eyes. He found a nice, quiet pub. The concrete steps had been demolished nine years earlier; in their place was a Portakabin classroom for the new refugee kids who spoke almost no English but had to go somewhere. The local authority thought a Portakabin would just about do. The local kids were adept at taking the piss in a variety of eastern European accents. Daniel Carver didn’t get on too well with his fellow teachers, they weren’t all that interested in his stories of world travel and the New York film scene. The students, on the other hand, thought he was quite cool. In an ageing-letch sort of way.

  When the halfway house had to close because of funding problems Janine stayed with her father for a month until her new stepmother kindly and carefully explained that it was all very well, but they had a life of their own now, and Janine must understand there simply wasn’t room – after all, she was a grown woman, surely she wanted a place of her own, a life of her own. She went to stay with her little brother for an even shorter time, but he was living in a shared house himself and there simply wasn’t space for Janine. Not when she couldn’t be bothered to make conversation with his flatmates, lay on the sofa all day. They had proper jobs. If she was going to stay the least she could do was make herself useful.

  Janine did like the idea of being useful, only she wasn’t sure how to do it. She wondered about going to Germany to see her big brother, still in the army, still sending a card every Christmas and birthday. But the wondering turned to conf
usion and Janine couldn’t work out where to be next, how to be next. Too long in a place where they looked after her and she made none of her own choices, too long not knowing what she would choose if she were asked. Another month and it was warm spring and easy to be on the street anyway. Light and cool, and she found her way back to school, hung around the gates a while. The gates were higher now, the fence bigger. Some of the kids laughed at her, one or two threw coins, that was nice of them. A teacher came out once and asked her what she wanted, said she really couldn’t stay there. Janine was fine until they threatened the police and then she stayed away from the school in the daytime, only went there to sleep. Spring nights with showers followed by cool clear skies, sleeping facing the stars and the deep orange sky.

  Then they shut up the school for the Easter break and the kids were really happy and no one came to ask Janine to move on and the buildings were all closed and yet that Portakabin was so easy to get into. And Janine Marsden was back at school with no one else there, in the easy dark, behind the walls and high chain-link fences. The wide playground was all hers. All that space, all that silence. She liked it there.

  Sally left school as soon as she could persuade her parents to let her and had a succession of boring jobs. Then she had a succession of interesting jobs. None of them appealed enough to stay with them. She signed on and signed off. She drank too much for a while, drank too little for another while, had a major heartbreak. And another. Then another. Carrie was the worst. She was celibate for a while – intentionally. She began to work for herself. She had good friends and ex-lovers who became good friends. She met Molly and they fell in love and had a baby. And if it had been hard work being Sally, it was mostly all right being Saz.

  THIRTY-SIX

  I’m excited now, scared but excited. I’ve been longing to see you all. I’m really touched you’ve made the effort. You see, even though none of this was really my idea, even though – like everything else – it’s become bigger than I meant, there is something I want to say.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  They went to Will’s home. An unmarked off-street entrance and a non-smiling, perfectly beautiful housekeeper in pencil skirt and zip-fronted shirt, who showed them through one big white sitting room into another, almost identical but for the slightly softer shade of nearly-white. Saz figured Will was paying the housekeeper for the privilege of not having her wish them a pleasant day. Or a pleasant anything. The young woman asked what they wanted to drink, nodded as each one spoke and then turned on her heel and stalked off. Off-white walls, off-white carpets, off-white sofas. As Daniel whispered once she was out of ear-shot, “Mmm, nice décor. All Janine needs to feel right at home is a padded cell.”

  The über-cool housekeeper came back with drinks and told them that Ross would be down shortly. She was going out, wouldn’t be back until the evening, anything else they wanted, they’d have to help themselves. She didn’t seem too happy about leaving, or the idea that strangers might go through what she clearly viewed as her own place, but apparently she also had no choice. Will came in and glared at her.

  “Still here, Anna?”

  “No. Gone already.”

  She left, slamming the front door behind her.

  Daniel smiled, “So hard to get the staff these days, isn’t it?”

  *

  It was one-thirty. Janine was due at two. She didn’t arrive. Two ten came and went, and two fifteen. Will drank whisky, cutting heavily into the new bottle Anna had opened; Daniel stuck to iced water. Neither Saz nor Andrea wanted anything. Until two twenty-five, when Will poured more whisky and the other three started on the wine. Will was the most obviously nervous, pacing the tiled floor, checking his mobile, his watch, the TV for local news, the radio for tube and traffic reports. He went to and from the kitchen half a dozen times, bringing back more bottles of water than they could possibly need. By two-thirty he was furious.

  “This is ludicrous. Stupid bitch. She’s probably got the wrong fucking street, got lost because she’s too much of a loser to find her way here.”

  “Mmm. Or she’s just not coming. Have you thought of that?” Andrea was tired of Will’s anger. “Maybe she’s having a laugh at our expense.”

  “I know what she said when we spoke yesterday. I’m not an idiot. She was perfectly serious.”

  Andrea pushed her mouth muscles into a version of a smile. “Or maybe she’s only laughing at you. For an actor you don’t hide your feelings very well, do you?”

  “What?”

  “You’re making this into such a big deal, Will. Calm down.”

  Will Gallagher wasn’t having that. “Piss off, Andrea, it is a big deal. If Janine Marsden goes to the tabloids with her story, you’ll be in as much shit as me. Maybe not public shit, but you might have a few tricky questions to answer to your husband – second, is it, or third? I mean, I know it’s not as if any of you have a career.” He looked around the room at the three of them, warming to his theme now. “Clearly it’s my living that’s on the line as well as my relationship, but I don’t think any of you can pretend this doesn’t matter. Or you wouldn’t be here, would you?”

  “Yeah,” Daniel countered, “As you say, none of us is the huge success you are, Will. None of us is planning to sell our wedding photos so they can be displayed in doctor’s waiting rooms for all time. You’re so amazing. Which we all know. Have done for years. But you said Janine wanted to see all of us, right? Well, here we are. You may think you’re the most important person here, but clearly Janine doesn’t. And for a mad bitch, that makes pretty good sense.”

  Will sat down, drank a deep mouthful of his whisky. Daniel smiled, pleased with himself for putting their case so clearly, grinned at Andrea, hoping for her praise. She ignored him and picked up the phone to call Robert, telling him she’d be home on a later train than they’d planned.

  Saz looked around the room. They were such an odd group. In retrospect they probably always had been, but it hadn’t been so obvious when they were younger, orbiting around the whims of Will Gallagher, pulled this way by Andrea’s moods, pushed in another direction by Daniel trying to usurp Will, she and Ewan struggling to keep up, juggling each other for fourth or fifth position. The dynamic they had all put up with in the past no longer held them so tightly. Andrea didn’t need Will Gallagher’s attention. She knew she was a good-looking woman, the years had simply added to her attractiveness, and the fact that she no longer seemed to need the men to fancy her made her still lovelier. Meanwhile Will’s current fear diminished his past status, and his nerves left him looking physically worn. While he looked great on TV, in the flesh he was slightly too thin, his lack of body fat scratched the worry lines deeper into the lightly tanned skin of his face. Certainly he had the public kudos and wallet to match, but in this room, at this moment, Will was weaker than she’d ever seen him. Daniel, on the other hand, looked the most comfortable of all of them. Certainly she’d never before seen him revel so blatantly in Will’s discomfort, but then she knew there were other secrets Daniel wasn’t yet telling. For her part Saz just wanted to get it all over with.

  They were quiet for a few minutes then, while Will checked his answerphone, his agent, and then another answer service in case there were any other calls he’d missed. There were none. And Janine Marsden was forty-five minutes late.

  Andrea looked up from the glossy coffee-table book she was studying. “It’s probably some stupid tube strike they’ve just decided on for no good reason, or a taxi that refused to go north of the river or whatever. I am so glad I don’t live here anymore.”

  Saz said, “You used to love the city. When we were kids all you went on about was moving further in and higher up.”

  “True. But I was misguided, I didn’t yet know how ghastly London is. And dirty. And badly managed.”

  “Shut up, Andy.” Will was with Saz on this one. “I get so sick of you people who move out, as if your country idyll isn’t paid for by Londoners’ taxes, by the people who are prepared
to keep on working here, by the people who can’t afford to sell up and sell out like you.”

  “Yeah, Will, you certainly understand selling out. And I’m sure you really know so many of the little people, the ones who really matter. When was the last time you even went on the tube?”

  Will smiled, he could do this, he might be at the end of his tether over Janine Marsden’s late arrival, he might be finding Daniel’s apparent calm unnerving, but he could always put Andrea Browne in her place. “Fuck off, babe, you’ve always wanted to be what you’re not. You wanted to be the best lay in school, when we were sixteen, yes? But guess what?