Anjali Joseph - The Living

This morning I couldnt open my eyes. It was light, mind you. Sunrise is that early now. But I wasnt waking up. The alarm went at a quarter to six so I could have tea, roll a fag, look at the sky, put on the radio quiet, take a shower. I left cereal on the table for Jason, and some fruit. Itd be there when I got home. Getting back at five Its hard to imagine, like a place at the end of a walk, across fields, a river, a bridge, a forest, hills, and a motorway. Its a long way from the morning till the end of the day, a long long stretch.

Late. I flew down Plumstead Road, and up the inside way. My hair was wet, I was breathing too fast. By the time I came up the hill, the cathedral spire behind me, turned in at the factory shop and hurried through the gate it was a minute off seven thirty.

The morning had got brighter, real daylight. I came through the first door, and the second, up the little slope, through the double doors, hurried to my table, put away my bag and sat looking calm, trying not to breathe hard as the first bell went. From the corner of my eye I saw Janes head move. She was stood talking to John near the heel attacher but her hair swung as she turned towards me. I put my head down and started checking the first box of Audrey, a vintage sling-back with a bow on the vamp. I got out my black wax stick and fixed a scuff on the toe. The roughing machine was on now and that first smell of leather was in the air, sweaty and sweet and sharp from the spray the men use in the lasting machines. The windows at the closing end were bright but high up and far away. The lights were on, theyre always on, and it was warm, like it always is, from the machines, and there was the sound of the machines, the humming. I carried on checking the shoes, making sure they paired, and writing down how many times Id done it and I heard the radio and other peoples voices and felt everyone around me at their machines or their station and Jane moving about to check on things and that busyness there always is as the shoes move around all of us a busyness where each one is doing the same thing over and over but fast enjoying being able to do it smoothly but thinking too or in another place and it was like Id always been there, never left, never gone home or done anything else, and thats how it always is.

Mum, Jason was saying. I pulled myself out of a dream. I was on the sofa. What time is it? I said. It was eight thirty. The telly was on.

Ive turned into one of those people who fall asleep on the sofa, I said. At thirty-five. All I wanted to do was go back into the dream, one of those tired ones where youre always on the move looking for something just around the next corner.

I was saying, Gran phoned today, Jason said.

Oh God, I said. I rubbed my face. When?

Before you got home.

Of course she did. No flies on her.

Mum, he said. Dont start. He was frowning.

Im not starting, I said. Definitely not. I chewed on my bottom lip. What did she say? I asked.

She wants me to go round and see them. She said Granddads not been well.

What did she say it is? I asked. Jasons face was in between, talking to me, but vulnerable too. She knows how to make him feel guilty.

He leaned against the doorway, dug a hand in his pocket. She said hes short of breath, he said, gets tired all the time. He watched, waiting to see if I was going to be unreasonable. I felt the nap of the sofa under my hand, fucked old velvet, and thought of the dream again, inescapable, like heavy water.

Okay, right, I said. How much was she making up, I wondered. I started looking around for my tobacco. Did she say hed seen the doctor? I asked.

She said he says hes fine, but shes worried. Theyre getting older, he said.

Yeah, I said. I sometimes regret letting those people near him. Especially her. The way she behaved when I was pregnant. I licked the gum strip and stared at the end of my cigarette.

Here. Jason lit it for me. Mum, he said. Dont get into all that again, all that stuff from the past. His eyes held mine, blue and steady.

Okay, I said. I smoked, and felt depressed.

He straightened up. Anyway, he said, I told you. He squeezed my shoulder and went out.

You did, I said. I got up. Better do the washing-up, I said to no one. I did it carelessly and felt like the clattering dishes were harassing me. Afterwards I wiped up and cleaned the counters. I made my sandwiches. I had a shower and went to bed, but knew I wouldnt fall asleep for a while. My neck ached, and my shoulders. And I knew itd be there, waiting to swallow me up: the humming of the machines, the smell of the aerosol, the leather dust, the lights, the heat. I wouldnt think about it when Id got going and all day Id be on the shop floor but something would be leaving me and at the end of the day I wouldnt even remember what it was.

I thought Id forgotten the phone call but it came back. I thought about it on the way to work, then decided I wouldnt think about it any more. Mum in her flowered apron in the kitchen making tea, her eyebrows raised, saying something, complaining. No one ever does things right. Ill have to tell him, she says. Why do you have to? Dad says.

I dont even know what they look like now. Ive seen them since I left, now and again. They used to come and take Jason out for the afternoon. Before Christmas theyd come round with his present, and something for me. A scarf, a bath set. The presents made me angry. Everything about them makes me angry. Dad because he doesnt say anything, he just lets her go on. And her because

I got to work on time and smiled at Tom. Hes one of my favourite people. Hes in his late sixties, over retirement age, but he keeps coming in. He likes it. He says he doesnt want to stay home, find ways to fill the time. He told me about his wifes grandparents once. They used to be the loveliest couple, but when he retired things changed. They started bickering. Youd look at them and think, Thats not you. And about the retired men where he lives. He doesnt live this way, hes the other side of town. Theres a man who goes out for his paper the same time every day, he says. An Indian gentleman, Mr Singh. You could set your watch by him. Every day he goes for a walk, but so slowly, because hes got nothing to hurry for. Id hate to be like that.

All right, lass? Tom said. You look better today. He smiled.

I grinned at him. Better than what?

He looked down. All the while, his hand was working, pulling tight a last with the pincers. You were a bit at sixes and sevens, like, yesterday, he said.

And today? I said. Fives and tens?

He smiled, and hammered down the last with the end of the pincers. I like the way he still looks like a boy, small, his head neat.

I worked without thinking till it was near first break. Theres a watchfulness about us all, like animals that measure time. When it gets near break we stop chatting or passing the time and finish as fast as we can. Then when the bell goes its silent. People walking across the floor to the coffee machine, or a few of the men John, Tom, Derek sitting down near it. I took my coffee to sit with Helen in the closing section. I like the older ladies. Jane was talking to Cathy near her machine. Cathy had the paper open. Karen was doing her puzzle, head down. You could hear the silence and peoples heads humming. I had my book but I didnt read. I stared at the same part of the same page and thought about the spring when Id moved into Nans house, and all the things my mother said before I left. Dont think about it, Nan said. Shes always been like that. My mothers face, her mouth drawn tight then opening to spit out something poisonous. Dont think about it, I thought. I thought about it furiously.