When Cherry had called her mother to ask, haltingly, if she could stay temporarily, Wendy had known better than to ask too many questions.
“There’s always room for you here, love,” she said kindly; but to Cherry, the open words just sounded like a trap she could never escape. She’d mentioned something vague to her mum about redundancies, and Wendy had tutted, saying, “Bad luck.” She had been extra sympathetic about Cherry losing her boyfriend and then her job in a matter of months. It was a real hard blow.
Cherry had been living there four weeks now and showed very little sign of getting a new job and getting out. The truth was, she didn’t know what to do. She would spend her days walking, down past Reeves Corner, where the ground was still flattened by the fire damage started in the riots, past the nail bars, the betting shops, and the ninety-nine-pence stores, with their tartan plastic holdalls dangling overhead as you walked in. In the heat, the pavements themselves seemed to sweat, giving off a sour, sticky aroma.
She walked incessantly, waiting to be inspired: an idea, a plan, something to tell her what to do. She wanted to feel driven again, to regain the focus and ambition she’d had eighteen months ago when she’d started out at the agency. She walked until her mind went round in circles, past boards outside recruitment offices taunting her with offerings such as administrator at eight pounds per hour. Dull, dead-end, menial jobs.
Even Central Library couldn’t motivate her. It seemed to be full of the unemployed and loafing students with big ideas, but no willpower. She shouldn’t be here with these freaks, these failures; she should be in a flat in Kensington, planning an engagementparty. She burned with the unfairness of it all, the waste, the lost opportunity.
She left the library and stood hopelessly outside, watching the buses accelerate past her. It depressed her, being aimless. She considered going farther, across George Street and down toward East Croydon station, but then what? She couldn’t afford to go anywhere, and where would she go, anyway? She was trying to escape from herself. She turned back and started a slow walk back to the flat.
* * *
Cherry tried to be home before her mother returned from work. Not to welcome her, but because she felt she should earn her keep as she wasn’t paying anything and she needed the free board and lodging. She’d scour the fridge full of her mother’s markdowns from the supermarket and make something for tea. Wendy always complimented her efforts too much, something that annoyed Cherry, for she knew it was an attempt to buoy her up.
“Ooh, what have you made today?” she’d say, opening the oven door and sniffing dramatically. “You do spoil me. You’ve no idea how nice it is to have something cooked when you’ve been on your feet all day.”
They sat down and Cherry made sure the conversation was geared around her mother’s day at work: how many staff had turned up sick, what Holly’s daughter was recording on YouTube, (a ballad on guitar apparently), and whether the saucepan promotion had brought in more customers. Usually, after this, Cherry washed the dishes while her mum watchedEastEnders.Cherry hated to be in the room while it was on. It was another thing to drag her down to the lowest-common denominator and she preferred to be alone.
Tonight, however, Wendy came into the kitchen.
Cherry looked up in surprise. She could hear the theme tune coming from the living room.
“Aren’t you going to watch your program?”
“In a minute, love.” Wendy looked awkward and alarm bellsrang loud in Cherry’s ears. Was her mum going to ask her to leave?
“I was thinking . . . you spending all day here, alone. Can’t be good for you. Especially with, you know, Daniel so recently gone.”
Cherry stiffened and her mother hurried on.
“I hope you don’t mind, I took the liberty of speaking to my manager, told him a bit about you, how clever you was and all that, and, well, there’s an opening coming up at work. In the Technology and Gaming Department.” She said this last bit as though it was a real coup.
Cherry recoiled.Work in a supermarket?Was that all her mother thought of her?
Wendy spotted her face. “I know it’s a bit different from what you was doing before, but you don’t have to stay there for long. It could be a stopgap.”
She was supposed to be engaged to a doctor with a trust fund and heir to a multimillion-pound fortune and a villa in the South of France.
Wendy took her silence as encouragement. “Or you could work your way up, you know. They recognize talent and promote people pretty quickly.”
She’d rather die than work in that supermarket. Her confidence knocked to an all-time low, she dried her hands. She had to remain calm and civil, or living here would become intolerable.
“Cup of tea, Mum?”
“Lovely. So . . . what do you think?”
Cherry pretended to think it over. “Maybe. But I want to try some other avenues first.”
Wendy smiled. “Course. But if you want to talk to him, I can set you up a meeting”—she snapped her fingers—“like that.”
“Thanks, Mum. Why don’t I bring your tea in, you’re missing your program.”
Wendy did as she was bid, and as soon as her mum left the room, a tear rolled down Cherry’s cheek. She quickly brushed it away—red eyes would only prompt questions. Taking the tea in, she feigned a headache and said she was going to lie down in her room.
She lay on her bed and realized she’d reached rock bottom. Maybe you had to get this low to get your fighting spirit back, because she knew now she had to get out of there. The first stage was to forget about what might have been: stop looking back and thinking about where she’d be now, if Daniel hadn’t died. A vision of his flat came into her mind again, but angrily she pushed it out. She was done with it. It was time to forget about Daniel, once and for all. He was gone. What she needed was closure.
34
