The Heart's Journey

Chapter 4

Me and my posse of dogs walk around the estate and through the entrance gates to the park. There isn’t a single soul here, even on the children’s play area, which is usually full of teenagers. The grass squelches underfoot as I walk over it, towards the skateboarding zone. I unclip the three dogs and they charge off, foraging in the undergrowth and gambolling in the mud. Randolph is covered, his fur no longer white but a dark brown mess. Lucy has found a stick and is tossing it in the air with her mouth and Bertie is lapping water from a muddy puddle. I stop for a few moments to stretch my legs before setting off into a gentle jog. The mud splatters up my lower leg as I run faster. I do a whole lap of the park with the dogs in close pursuit and then come to a stop back at the entrance. My thighs are throbbing and my breathing is ragged, but I feel exhilarated and alive. I wipe the sweat off my forehead with the cuff of my sleeve and call the dogs back to me.

As I’m heading for home, I see a milk truck rumbling towards me. Darren Walker paps the horn and waves at me from behind the glass. He swerves across the road, eliciting a series of beeps from a disgruntled commuter behind him. I stop to let the dogs sniff a lamppost and watch him stretch across to open his window.

“Morning beautiful,” he flashes a sparkling grin my way.

“Morning,” I reply. He is clean shaven for a change and looking as handsome as ever. Whereas I on the other hand am aware that I look far from beautiful, more like a sweating tomato.

“What you up to?” He asks, as his gaze travels up and down my voluptuous frame.

“Just the usual,” I reply, crossing my arms across my ample bosom. “Have you finished your rounds?”

“Yep.” He grins, “delivering the finest milk to the nation’s doorsteps. You should put your name down Lou. There’s nothing better than fresh doorstep milk on your cornflakes.”

“I couldn’t afford you,” I say, smoothing back my wet hair. It’s still raining, and I’m soaked through. My toes have gone numb and the tip of my nose is ice cold. I long for a hot, revitalising shower to banish the caked mud from my ankles and soothe my aching legs.

“Well, if you change your mind I might give you a discount,” he flashes me a cheeky grin.

I can’t help the smile forming on my face, “I’ll keep that in mind.” I move back slightly, ready to leave.

“Lou!” He calls me back.

“Yes?” I wait for him to make another of his wisecracks, but he looks suddenly uncertain.

“Do you want to go out sometime?”

Ah, the words I’ve been longing to hear all my life. I look at him closely, wondering if he’s serious.

“Well sure, I’ll probably be in the Feathery Duck over the weekend sometime…”

“I meant just the two of us, and not at the Feathery Duck.”

I swallow, “you mean as in a date? Just us?”

Darren huffs, “of course I mean a date. I like you, you like me, why not?” He wiggles his eyebrows and I suppress a giggle. Why is it that I feel like a silly schoolgirl whenever he’s around?

“Okay.” My head is saying no, no, no but of course I ignore it and follow my heart.

“Yes!” Darren punches the air, “I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

“Where do you want to meet?” I try to hide my excitement, but I can feel a goofy grin spreading across my face.

“The Oriental Express, eight o’clock sharp.”

“Oh okay,” disappointment washes over me. I was anticipating a night at the movies, snuggling up next to him with popcorn, or a meal at the posh new Italian in the city centre. Instead, we’re going for an all you can eat buffet at the local run down Chinese.

Darren winks, “see you Saturday angel.” His window slides back up and I’m left peering after him, as the rain continues to lash down.

* * *

When I eventually arrive back home the house is still quiet. I bang my way down the hallway, yelling up the stairs, “Robbie you’ll be late for school.”

“I’m up!” He peeks his head round the banister.

“You’re washed and dressed?” I ask, surprise raising the inflection in my voice.

“Yup.”

“Brilliant,” I give him a bright smile, “toast or cereal?”

“Both?”

“Coming up.”

I bustle into the kitchen, fill Bertie’s bowl with fresh water, wash my hands and start on breakfast. I am dancing along to the radio, swaying my hips in time to a pop song when Robbie slides soundlessly through the door and sits at the table.

“Stop!” I spin round, laughing at the sight of him covering his eyes.

“Why are you in such a good mood?” He asks, tipping his chair back and observing me.

“No reason,” I hum along to the cheesy song. There is no way I am divulging to my little brother that I have a date. “Do you want jam on your toast?”

Robbie nods and takes the jar from me.

The door squeaks open and Dad shuffles in wearing his old tatty dressing gown. “Morning,” I say brightly, passing him a steaming cup of coffee.

“Morning,” he mumbles. His hair is sticking up in all directions and his face is darkened with stubble.

I ask him if he wants poached eggs for breakfast and he nods distractedly.

As I’m flicking the eggs with bubbling water, Robbie sidles up close to me and whispers, “what’s wrong with Dad?”

“Dunno,” I whisper back. But I do know, I know exactly what’s wrong with him.

“What’s going on at school today?” I ask my brother, in an attempt to distract him.

“Double PE,” Robbie grimaces, “followed by English.”

Some might say that I’m lucky living in a house with two men who both dislike sport. Instead, Robbie is obsessed with music and dad with his art. I have two obsessions: reading and creative writing. It’s true to say that we are a family of obsessives.

“I loved English,” I say, as I butter the toasted bread.

loved“You say that every week,” Robbie rolls his eyes and pulls at his tie. “We’ve got a new teacher.”

“What happened to Mrs Carmichael? She was so nice.”

Robbie shrugged, “she left. Couldn’t cope with the stress and the bad behaviour. Last week she ran out of the class crying. The headteacher came in and gave us all a rollicking.”

“The poor lady.” I had met Mrs Carmichael a few times at parent’s evening. She had always been friendly and kind and genuinely seemed passionate about her job.

“Will she come back?” I wonder aloud, as I transfer the eggs out of the pan.

“Dunno,” Robbie pouts, “she’s gone on a sab… sat.”

“A sabbatical?” I take the plates over to the table and set one down in front of Dad. “She probably just needs a rest.”

Robbie pours himself a glass of orange juice, “I’d leave permanently if I were her.”

“It’s not that easy Robbie,” I sit down and pick up my cutlery, “she must have financial responsibilities to consider. You can’t just leave a job.”

“Why not?” Robbie sticks his chin out, “I’m never going to do something that makes me ill. What’s the point?”

“The point is,” I wave my fork, “not everyone has a choice. Some people have to work at jobs they hate, just to pay the bills.”

“Like you?” My little brother raises his eyebrow.

“I like my job, but I could have done better, and that’s why school is so important. If you get good grades the world’s your oyster.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Robbie yawns, “you’ve told me this so many times.”

“Well I hope it’s sinking in,” I sniff and look at Dad, who is staring into space.

“Dad, are you alright?” I touch his hand, trying to bring him back to the present.

“What?… oh yes love.” He slices a piece of toast and dips it into his runny egg.

“What are you up to today?” I ask softly.

“This and that,” he answers. “I thought I might go into the city centre.”

“Yeah?” My eyes light up at his words. “The job centre’s not far from the bus stop is it… they might have some new vacancies in… better paid ones…” I trail off as I notice him c**k his head to one side.

“Turn up the radio Robbie,” he says with excitement.

My brother lets out an exasperated sigh but does as Dad asks. Motown music fills the air. Diana Ross and the Supremes, Mum’s favourite. I grip onto the table edge as memories wash over me. I can picture her now, peeling potatoes at the kitchen sink, wiggling her body in time to the music she loved so much. I sniff the air, trying to recreate the scent of her, but I can’t smell anything but burnt toast.

“This music is so lame,” Robbie picks at his fingernails, “why can’t we listen to Radio 1?”

“This is proper music,” Dad replies, a misty look in his eyes, “your mother’s favourite.”

“Oh.” Robbie scowls and I feel of rush of sympathy for him. He was only five when Mum died, too young to remember much about her. I on the other hand have a whole childhood full of her memory.

“It’s her birthday next week,” Dad smiles sadly.

It would have been, I want to correct him, but don’t have the heart.

“How old Dad?” I mumble.

“Fifty-one. On the 7th November.” There is a silent pause.

“November already,” I shake my head, “where has the year gone?”

“I can’t wait for Christmas,” Robbie’s eyes gleam with excitement, “d’you reckon Santa might bring me a new laptop?”

“Only if you’re good,” I tease, mentally baulking at the idea of purchasing such an expensive item.

Dad clears his throat, “I thought we could go to the grave, just the three of us.”

Robbie looks down at his feet with a scowl.

“Yes that’s a nice idea,” I elbow my brother, “isn’t it Robbie?”

“I’m going to homework class every night next week,” he murmurs, not looking up.

“We can go later,” Dad insists, his tone firm, “it’s important to remember your mother on her birthday.”

“Fine!” Robbie jumps to his feet and heads out of the kitchen.

“Robbie your rucksack,” I call him back and he returns to flip it over his shoulder. “Have a nice day.”

“You too,” he mumbles and then he’s gone.

* * *

I shower and change into my work gear, which consists of a plain pair of black trousers and a blue t-shirt with the name of the bakery emblazoned across it. When I go downstairs, Dad is still sitting at the kitchen table.

“Have a nice day,” I say, kissing him on the forehead.

“Don’t work too hard,” Dad quips, “Lou…”

“Yes?” I turn around with a ready smile.

“I’ll nip in… to the job centre.”

“Thank you,” I am overwhelmed with gratitude. The bills are mounting up and we desperately need more income coming in. As I pull on my shoes and leave the house, the rain has stopped, and the sun is peeping through the clouds. Maybe it will be a good day after all.