Being Emily Read online

  Are yous ready to order?

  I could murder a bacon roll, said Patric.

  Didnae think you ate things like that any mair.

  I don’t usually, but. He looked at the menu. Can I have a bacon, egg and tattie scone roll and cup of white coffee, please?

  Sure.

  Me too.

  Patric looked round. I’ve no been in here for years – didn’t they used to have a picture of fishing boats over there?

  He redecorated a few months ago. Actually I’ve no been in since. Used tae come here with Jas sometimes.

  That’s the first time I’ve heard you mention his name since you split. D’you never see him now?

  No. I did bump intae him a month ago, but.

  The waitress arrived with our coffees. Rolls are coming in a minute.

  Ta. Patric took a sip. Good coffee. He replaced his cup.

  Fi, I wanted to talk to you about Amrik.

  What about him?

  Are you okay, about us?

  I told you I was.

  I know, but it’s different saying it and seeing us together. My da was a bit …

  What d’you expect? He never even knew you were gay.

  Course he did.

  Did you ever tell him?

  Not in so many words but I assumed.

  Assumptions.

  Assumptions?

  Jas always used tae rant about them. It’s assumptions that cause all the trouble. You assumed he knew because all the signals you were giving out showed you were gay. And that’s fine for me and Janice and all the other folk that assume that some people might actually be gay. But my da hasnae a clue. Then you start kissing Amrik in fronty him.

  I guess I’ve been away too long.

  You’re lucky. Some fathers would have punched Amrik.

  What about you, Fiona? I cannae help feeling you’re hiding something.

  Like what?

  You tell me. As far as Amrik is concerned, you guys hung out a bit and had a nice time, then moved on.

  So?

  So why do I get the feeling that’s not how you see it?

  I don’t know.

  Fiona, I’d do anything not to hurt you.

  I know. And I know you love Amrik.

  I do.

  So that’s fine.

  But I need to know, Fi. Is there something else, something more, between you and Amrik? Even if he didnae think it was important, did you?

  This was the moment of truth. I could tell Patric about the miscarriage and it would be up tae him. The weight I was carrying on my shoulders, the responsibility of no hurting him, worrying whether I should let him know what Amrik was really like – all that would go. Patric would know the truth. He could decide whether tae stay with Amrik or to gie him up for my sake. Mibbe it wouldnae even be a conscious decision. Surely when he heard how badly Amrik had behaved to his wee sister, he’d fall out of love for him. Could you really love someone once you knew things like that about them?

  And what would I feel then? If he left Amrik because of me I’d be even mair responsible. If, sometime in the future, he blamed me for lossing the love of his life?

  I looked intae Patric’s steady blue eyes. D’you really want the truth, Patric?

  Of course I do.

  I took a deep breath, treading the fine line of my decision. For once and for all, there is nothing between me and Amrik. So just be happy thegether.

  A grin spread across his face, an old Patrick grin. He put his haund across and held mines. I’m glad, sis, really glad.

  They say that the second Monday in January is the most depressing day of the year. There was this article in a paper left lying in Giardini’s, saying that after Christmas and the New Year everybody gets fired up with their resolutions, then after a week at work, miserable weather and finding that nothing is any different, they get depressed. No depressed exactly, but a bit flat, scunnered with life. I knew the feeling. Things seemed tae be happening to everyone else but the only thing in my life that could absorb me, stop me feeling as if I was luggin mysel round like a giant suitcase – my work – just wasnae working. All these great ideas about making art that was of the moment, and I couldnae figure out a way to dae it.

  Then there was Jas. After seeing him at the light festival I’d tried no tae think of him, but the phone call at the New Year had disturbed me. Did he want to talk to me or was he just being polite? And I wondered how much he knew about Amrik and Patric, and whether it had been as much of a shock to him as it had to me.

  MONA AND DECLAN, you have asked the Church to confer the sacrament of baptism on your child.

  Evie tugged at my sleeve. What’s a sacramnent?

  An outward sign of inward grace, replied my da afore I had time tae answer. Shoosh the noo, darlin, we’ll explain it after the priest’s done his stuff.

  Evie sat entranced while Father Donaghy took a light fae the Easter candle and tapers were lit and passed round the congregation. Rona and Declan’s brother, Aiden, were godparents and they stood with Mona and Declan while we all renewed our baptismal promises. Wrapped in a white shawl, Grace looked round at all the adults as if she knew exactly what they were daeing. Even when the priest drapped the water on her heid she only gied a wee cry, of surprise it sounded like, mair than anything else.

  Did the priest wash me when I was a baby? Evie whispered.

  I placed my fingers over my lips and shook my heid at her and she turned back to the show.

  Mammy had wanted Janice to get Evie christened but Janice thought it’d be hypocritical.

  We’re thinking of having a naming ceremony. Just in the house. After all I don’t go any mair and Angie’s not Catholic, so why would we get her christened?

  It’s for Evie, but.

  I still don’t see the point.

  Lots of folk get their baby baptised even though they’re no regular churchgoers.

  Aye, but it’s just an excuse for a party.

  I didnae mean it like that. She took Janice’s airm, looked her in the eye. It’s a blessing, a very special one, and I think everyone needs all the blessings they can get.

  Janice hugged her, and they held each other for a moment. I’m sorry, Geraldine – I just cannae.

  Da had hired the function room of a nearby hotel, and we sat at tables loaded with sandwiches and party food, while young girls in white frilly pinnies served us tea and coffee. An older waitress in a black frock came round tae take the drinks orders. I was glad Mrs Kaur was sitting at our table as it meant my da was less likely to go overboard.

  Evie wandered over with a mini-pizza in her haund. Auntie Fiona, can I sit at your table?

  Sure, Evie. Have you finished all the pizza at yours?

  Not yet. She knelt on the seat next tae me. You said you’d tell me about the sacramnent.

  What do you want tae know?

  Everything.

  I turned to my da. Da, you started this, talking about sacraments.

  He put doon his sandwich. A sacrament is very special. The priest does something on the outside, like putting the water on the baby, and something special happens on the inside. He turned to Mrs Kaur. Is it the same in your religion?

  There are special ceremonies for things like marriage, naming a child. And of course the langar is very important.

  What’s that?

  We bring food to share after the service at the Gurdwara – anyone can come and eat it. It shows that all people are equal in the sight of God.

  What kind of food?

  All kinds of things. It’s very nice.

  Sounds a bit better than a cuppa tea and a biscuit efter mass, eh?

  You should come one Sunday.

  Evie had been eating her way through all the pizza on our table and now it was finished she was ready to restart our conversation.

  The sacramnent … the baptising. Did I get that?

  No Evie, you had a naming ceremony.

  At first Da had refused tae go. Look Geraldine, ah’ve stood by and
said nothing while she set up hame with a woman, then had a baby by God knows who, but I’m no condoning some heathen nonsense insteidy a proper christening.

  She might change her mind in the future, Bobby – I hope she does. But if we start gettin all judgemental on her there’s a lot less chance she’ll have Evie christened.

  So he went. We all did. But it was weird. When you go to the chapel, there’s a way of daeing things, a tradition. Even if you don’t believe in it, you’re part of something bigger. But all of us staunding round their living room while Janice held the baby and Angie recited some poem they’d made up and got us to put flowers in a circle – well it was a nice idea but it was embarrassing. Cause they were trying tae make it mean something when it didnae.

  I tried tae change the subject. What happens at the naming ceremony for babies in Sikhism Mrs Kaur?

  We have special prayers. And the baby will get its first kara, the steel bangle that Sikhs wear.

  See there’s lots of different ways to give a baby their name and your mammy chose a naming ceremony for you.

  Evie finished chewing. I don’t want a naming. I want to get a sacramnent.

  I knew what I wanted too but I still couldnae work out how tae make it happen. Usually I hated saying anything about what I was planning; I liked to go underground, think, try things out till I got something that worked. But this piece required skills I just didnae have.

  At first I tried my ain sweet way. Got bits of wood at B&Q, put them thegether with glue and nails. Useless. I thought about taking a woodworking course but they all started in September and when I phoned up there was nae spaces.

  They’re very popular, always get booked up the first week, the woman said.

  * * *

  I stood in Toys’R’Us, in fronty a huge Victorian doll’s house, open at the front to reveal the maids in the attic, the children in the nursery and the lady taking tea in the drawing room. The furniture and dolls were hideous plastic stuff but the house itself was a solid wooden structure. I examined it carefully to see if it could be adapted to what I wanted. The basic shape was right but the price tag said £159.99.

  Mona, Rona and Declan stood behind me with Grace in her buggy, sound asleep.

  That’s gorgeous, isn’t it? said Rona. She’s a bit young for it but.

  I’m looking for something to help me in my work.

  Mona made a face. You’re obsessed wi toys, Fiona. First Barbies, noo a doll’s house.

  It’s no … What was the point of trying to explain? It sounded stupid when you said it out loud, probably was stupid anyway.

  I thought when you went tae Art School you’d learn how tae paint pictures.

  That’s part of it.

  Anyway, said Mona, we won’t need tae buy Grace a doll’s house – her daddy can make one for her.

  Her daddy? I looked at Declan, who said nothing but smiled shyly. Can you dae woodwork, Declan?

  Aye, learned it at school.

  He’s won prizes for it.

  That’s great.

  I did think of getting a trade in it, know, carpentry and that, but there’s nae apprenticeships, it’s a lot easier tae get jobs in the catering trade.

  This was the longest speech I’d ever heard Declan make.

  He’s dead handy. You should see the unit he made for his ma’s bedroom; exactly the right size for the space between the bed and the wall, fitted in wee shelves for her book and her specs and the remote. Even stained it tae match the bed.

  Cool.

  Anyway, said Mona, we’re gonnae get a coffee – coming?

  It took me ages to pluck up the courage tae ask Declan to help, no because I thought he’d refuse, or even because I dreaded Mona’s reaction – though I did – but because I felt a huge wave of shame surge through me every time I thought about it. Every noo and again Declan and me would be alone thegether in the living room when the twins were daeing some mysterious twin thing in their bedroom, and the sight of Declan, his placidity and good humour, opened up this enormous cavern of guilt.

  All the time Mona had been with Declan I’d practically ignored him. Since Grace had come alang, I’d been mair aware of his good qualities; that stolid patience which made me impatient while he hung around Mona showed itself as a beautiful virtue when I saw him unfazed by a young baby’s grizzly and apparently unstoppable crying. Declan would walk up and doon wi Grace on his shoulder far longer than anyone else could ever be bothered. I’d started to gie him his due, but had never tried tae find out who he was or what he liked – never even thought of him having a particular talent or skill. And now, when I needed that talent of his, how could I suddenly ask him to help me? Eventually, after a couple of weeks, I knew there was nae way round it so when Declan was helping me wash up after tea I blurted it all out. And he said, Sure, when d’you need it for?

  With Declan started on the woodwork, I could concentrate on the furnishings. I drew sketches, made furniture from matchboxes, plastic, card and anything else I could reclaim; knitted and crocheted, glued and painted till I’d got it right. I ignored all the stuff the tutor said about being ironic and leaving things unfinished or deliberately scruffy. Even got a book out the library about making furniture and costumes for doll’s houses, pored over the detail of it till I figured out my way of adapting the proper techniques. It was as true as I could make it – the only parts that were scruffy and unfinished were the parts that would of been that way in real life.

  I stayed as late as I could at Art School every night, grabbing a sandwich or some pasta at Giardini’s, then working on. I went back to the flat only in time for a cuppa tea, shower and bed. Sometimes there’d be someone in the living room watching a DVD but I hardly seen any of the others. I’d thought flat-sharing would be like a family except mair fun, but we were like planets orbiting in different paths, just every now and again finding ourselves near one another.

  One night I came back about ten tae find Clytemnestra in the kitchen, concocting some mush out of mung beans and alfalfa sprouts.

  Hey, Fi. Gosh I haven’t seen you about for ages.

  I’ve been working late at Art School.

  The muse flowing?

  I guess. I just keep working anyway.

  I must talk to you about this some day – you know, the creative process and all that.

  Oh, sure. I opened the fridge for some milk. Stuck tae the door were cards wi words on them, arranged in squiggly lines:

  who sees purple balance

  green scale

  psychedelic black

  red

  I pointed. What’s this?

  When someone comes into the kitchen they can change some of the words and make a new poem, building on the first one. Collaborate. Have a go, Fiona – the box is beside the toaster.

  On the lid was printed ‘An Artist’s Poetry Kit’. I pulled words out the box, spread them on the counter: best, then, do, fiery, impression, monument, chisel, symbol. What on earth is ‘latex’ daeing in here?

  Clytemnestra giggled.

  You know, Fiona, I was thinking it would be fun to have a party on Saturday.

  Cool.

  It’s my birthday, well actually it’s not the day on my birth certificate but you know I was a premature baby. She paused as if this was a publicly known fact, the kind of thing you’d be embarrassed not tae know, like the date of Bannockburn or something.

  Oh.

  Six weeks early – I was tiny. She made a shape with her haunds about the size of a mouse. My therapist’s encouraging me to celebrate the date I should have been born. See I’m Aquarius but I should have been Aries and there’s such a big difference between the signs it’s like my psyche has its wires crossed.

  Oh well, any excuse for a party.

  What’s this about a party? The front door opened and Sanjeet clattered across the hall and entered the kitchen.

  I’m having one on Saturday, said Clytemnestra.

  Cool. Hey, you picked a good weekend to come down, mate.
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  Just behind Sanj, Jas hesitated in the doorway.

  This is Jas – Clytemnestra, Fiona.

  Hi, said Jas.

  Hi.

  I’ve told Nicole about the party and she’s going to bring some people, but I haven’t seen Eric for days. Nicole says he’s been staying over with his new girlfriend.

  Sanj was at the sink filling the kettle. I seen him today down Byres Road. He’s got a job as one of those charity muggers.

  Charity muggers? Clytemnestra looked blank.

  You know, they come up to you with a clipboard, try to get you to sign a direct debit for some charity. The sight of Eric’s hairy legs in baggy shorts made me want to run a mile. And the way he was smiling at people. Sanj mimed a hideous rictus. God knows how he got the job. Who’s for tea and who’s for coffee? He set out four mugs on the counter. Clyte, d’you want one of these herby things?

  No thanks, Sanj.

  Jas? Fi?

  Tea, please.

  I should head, Sanj, Jas said.

  Have a cuppa coffee, man.

  Jas looked at me, then, hesitantly, sat doon at the table.

  Sanj planted the mugs in front of us. So, Fi, how’s the art coming along? Fiona’s our resident artist, Jas.

  Jas looked at his mug. Fiona and I were at school thegether.

  Cool, said Sanj.

  I turned my mug round and round. How d’yous two know each other?

  My cousin is on Jas’s course in Aberdeen. We met when I was up there one weekend and, you know, now when Jas comes home … we hang out. When he’s no studying. Works too hard. Like you. Sanj swigged his coffee. Were they all like that at your school?

  What d’you mean?

  Workaholics.

  Well there’s no chance of anyone calling you that, Sanj, said Clytemnestra.

  Nope, replied Sanj. Everything in its place. Work is all very well but you have to chill.

  Jas finished his coffee. And I have to go.

  I’ll get that DVD out my room for you, said Sanj.

  Jas stood up, nodded at Clytemnestra. Nice to meet you. See you, Fiona.

  You need to change something in the poem before you go. Clytemnestra handed him the box of words. Jas sorted through them, laying words out on the table. When Sanj reappeared he put the box doon, lifted his jacket fae the back of the chair.