Trio - [55]

She had done their room and next was Nina’s but she’d have a break first.

It was a system. She had learnt from her mother. It was different back then. A girl knew looking after a home and a family was the most important skill she could learn. It was expected that daughters helped out. Not now. When was the last time Nina had ever done anything with her? The pain of them rubbing along together hurt her still. It was a familiar pain. Like a tender tooth, deep and perplexing. She had dreamt of the joys a daughter would bring: shared interests, like going shopping together; up Market Street or down Deansgate to Kendals for a new coat, arm in arm. You saw people like that. She felt a prickle of sadness in her nose. Daft. She could never work out whether it was her or Nina that had set the limits, or the pair of them together, but whatever it was they just weren’t close.

In her darkest moments she would admit to herself that she despaired of the girl. Nina’s bad temper and ill grace had left her disappointed and worn down. God knows she had tried to breach the gap, countless times, knowing as she did that Nina would lash out with clever words or pull back physically and wound her anew.

I’ve tried, I’ve done my best. That was her refrain. She had fed and clothed her daughter. She had bitten back the fresh remarks and sharp retorts that sprang to mind when Nina was behaving badly. Thoughts she never shared, not even with Robert.

Thank God for Stephen. Her lovely boy. Without him… well, she couldn’t imagine. She’d have been a bad mother, wouldn’t she? Unable to bear them, incapable of rearing them. Lacking the maternal instinct. But Stephen was her rock, her touchstone. And when she felt miserable about relations with her daughter she would think of him and her heart would lighten.

She stirred sugar into her coffee, lit a cigarette. She examined her hands. Red and chafed from the work, her nail polish chipped. She laid her cigarette in the ashtray and reached for the Nulon bottle. She poured a pool into her hands. Rubbed it in. The music changed. Don’t know why, there’s no sun up in the sky, stormy weather… Beautiful voice, Billie Holliday – sang like an angel and died penniless.

She picked up the cigarette, took a puff, felt the familiar melancholy ripple through her. Funny, she thought, all the torch songs that she adored, they never made her think of Robert or any old boyfriends or even film-stars. No, it was Nina. Nina who broke her heart. Nina who was her great unrequited love.

Megan

‘We’d have to get a loan.’

‘Who’d give us a loan?’

Brendan shrugged. ‘They seem to be throwing it at people.’

‘But we’ve no assets. This place is rented.’ She saw uncertainty replace the eager expression that he’d had when he had told her about his uncle’s carpet shop. She didn’t want to spoil it for him but the prospect of further debts made her feel physically sick. ‘You might be able to get one of those schemes,’ she said, ‘job creation or whatever they call it. Has Ronnie been making a profit?’

‘Oh, aye. The trick is to get in while the stock’s still there and the reputation. Any gap and we'll lose custom.’

‘And he’s sure he wants to sell up?’

‘Definite. Belle would cuff him to the bed rather than let him work again. He knows his number’s up. The doctor made it plain too. Nice and easy, no strain. They’ll put him in for a by-pass.’

‘You’re sure about this, doing this?’

He nodded. ‘It’s not just selling the shop, there’s fitting and all, they do the lot.’

‘We’d need to talk to Ronnie. And the bank, we couldn’t do it without a loan, could we?’

He shook his head. ‘But Ronnie might accept half now and half over the next year. He knows how tight things are. I’d need to find someone to do the paperwork, the accounts, all that side of things.’

‘Who did it before?’

‘Ronnie.’

‘Can’t be that hard.’

‘You know me and forms.’

‘And figures!’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘I could have a go. If Ronnie showed me the ropes.’

He smiled quickly.

‘Ring him now,’ she said. ‘See if it’s all right for us to call round for a chat.’

‘You don’t want a bit longer to think about it?’

‘No,’ she said, ‘we’re not committing ourselves to owt, just going to see him.’

Besides, she thought to herself, if they didn’t go straight away then she’d get panicky about the whole thing and come up with a million worries about it.

‘Strike while the iron’s hot,’ she said. She looked in the mirror, pulled the elasticated band from her hair and shook out her curls. It needed a trim. Looked like a haystack, one on fire.

And what was the alternative to taking on the carpet business? Another twenty years getting poorer by the week, slogging her guts out and still having to watch the furniture fall apart and the cooker pack up and Brendan get more and more morose?

He slid his arms round her waist.

‘You always were a fast worker.’

‘I never heard you complaining.’ She pushed his hands away. ‘Go on, try him now.’

She watched him dial.

‘Won’t even have to change the sign, will we? Conroy’s Carpets.’

Nina

Nina was sick of school, sick of her stupid, boring, useless parents and sick of being fifteen. She wanted to be nineteen. Able to do whatever she wanted. Get married or go round the world or have a brilliant job and loads of money but not be so old that she was just a boring old square with nothing worth living for. God, she thought, I hope I die before I’m thirty. Be dead famous, then die. Paint brilliant pictures or be a fashion designer and dress the stars.