The Thing About Clare Page 8

  And with that she ran for the door, leaving her family staring shell-shocked after her.

  II

  The Bliss household was no place to be with a hangover. It was always so noisy, people shouting conversations at each other rather than talking, music blaring and that blasted hoover constantly whining day and night. She could hear Anna laughing at something Miriam had said. Why were they all so bloody cheerful? Then Clare remembered. It was Christmas Day.

  She groaned and rolled over, knocking the pin in her nose as she did so. The pain was sharp and brought tears to her eyes. Still, it had been worth it to see the obvious respect of her friends last night as they gazed, open-mouthed, at her transformation. And the others, the ones who mocked and scoffed at her behind her back? Well, they could go to hell.

  Her foot hit something resting on her blankets – her stocking! She sat up more quickly than was perhaps wise given the amount of cider she’d put away and grabbed for it. It was just a little thing made of red binca and clumsily embroidered with an angel and her name but it held her earliest memories of Christmas. The stocking was a kind of taster for the main event, filled with one or two presents to keep her quiet until it was time to get up. Such a device was obviously redundant these days but her mother insisted on keeping up the tradition. It was sweet, really.

  Clare put her hand inside and pulled out a satsuma. Honestly. Who ever thought that fruit would do as a present? Diving in again she found what looked like a bottle, wrapped in shiny gold paper. Talc. It was bound to be. Clare almost didn’t open it but then she couldn’t resist. She was right and her heart sank a little. People must actually use talcum powder or else why would they still sell it? However, the only place Clare had ever put the vile stuff was on Sebastian’s bum on those rare occasions that she’d changed his nappy.

  The second present was also tube-shaped but much smaller. Lipstick. Clare pulled off the lid and twisted the perfect column until it stood as tall as its casing. It was a pretty pale pink, almost iridescent like the inside of a seashell. Clare tested the shade on the back of her hand. It was so pale that she almost couldn’t see it. She had never worn pink lipstick in her life. This must be the Clare that her mother wished for, a feminine Clare that liked pretty colours and smiled passively when people spoke to her. The actual Clare must be such a disappointment.

  Sometimes Clare would catch her mother just staring at her. There seemed to be a sadness in her eyes, as if her second child dismayed her. That was hardly surprising. Clare knew she was a disappointment to her parents and that she caused no end of trouble. She sometimes wondered if she even belonged in this family. She would play out a little fantasy in her mind in which she’d been accidentally swapped for another baby in the hospital. Maybe her real family was out there somewhere? Perhaps she’d be a better fit with them and not cause as much trouble as she did in this one. Actually, she liked causing trouble, revelled in it even, but from time to time she wondered why she couldn’t just accept things like the others did. Why was she constantly pushing at boundaries, overstepping marks? It was almost like there was something in her that made her do it, her own personal self-destruct button.

  Clare got out of bed, and as she did so she caught a glimpse of her black hair in the mirror. For a second she was shocked by her own reflection, not really understanding who it was in her bedroom with her. Then she remembered. The contrast between the Clare who used rose-scented talc and wore pale-pink lipstick and the angry-looking young woman that she saw in the mirror made her want to cry.

  By the time she got downstairs, the others were milling about in the kitchen.

  ‘Now that Seb understands Christmas,’ Anna was saying, ‘can we open the presents before breakfast? I mean, Christmas is all about the children, really.’

  ‘Nice try, Anna,’ said Clare as she strolled in.

  ‘Now then, Anna,’ said their father from the sink, where he was washing the best glasses ready to be set on the Christmas table. ‘You know the Bliss family traditions as well as I do and there will be no tampering with them, two-year-old family members notwithstanding. Presents come after breakfast.’

  Anna groaned and swept Sebastian up to sit on her hip.

  ‘Well, can we at least get on with breakfast, then?’

  Clare smiled to herself. For all that Anna was thirteen, she was still just a kid herself. Seb didn’t care about presents. It was Anna who couldn’t wait. Their mother came in and Clare saw her recoil slightly when she saw her hair, much as Clare herself had done earlier, but then she gathered herself quickly. Clearly Clare’s new hair wasn’t going to feature in the Bliss family Christmas celebrations.

  ‘Shall we sit down? Now, how do you all want your eggs? I’m doing scrambled or poached.’

  The thought of an egg made Clare feel nauseous after last night’s cider.

  ‘No eggs for me, thanks, Mum. I’ll just have cereal and toast.’

  Their mother didn’t really approve of cereal, believing that her children should have a proper cooked breakfast, but since Sebastian had been born things like bacon for breakfast had fallen by the wayside. Her mother shook her head and tutted quietly but she passed Clare a box of Rice Krispies.

  Christmas Day trundled on in the way of all their Christmas Days. Presents were opened and squealed over, crackers were pulled and her mother enjoyed more sherry than she usually drank, and now they were all sitting around the dinner table half-heartedly passing the cheese board to one another. Sebastian had fallen asleep with his face on the highchair tray but no one could be bothered to move him to his bed. Miriam was recounting a convoluted tale about something that had happened at college. Clare wasn’t really listening but she tried to look as if she was. She liked these times, when they were all together and having fun. Yes, she enjoyed stirring things up and breaking a few of the pointless rules that circumvented her life, but when they were all getting along together it was easier to feel like she belonged. She hung on to those precious moments.

  When she looked round, Anna was staring at her.

  ‘Did it hurt?’ she asked.

  Clare was lost.

  ‘Your nose,’ Anna clarified. ‘Did it hurt when you pierced it?’

  Trust Anna to spoil stuff. Everyone always said that it was Clare who caused the trouble but when it all kicked off you never had to look very far to find Anna. To retain this light-hearted mood, Clare should just ignore her or change the subject, but part of her was too proud of what she’d done to overlook the opportunity to talk about it, no matter what the consequences might be.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘It hurt like hell.’

  Her mother threw her a warning glance.

  ‘Heck,’ she corrected herself.

  ‘Why a perfectly intelligent person would choose to ram a piece of stainless steel through her nose is a total mystery to me,’ said her father. ‘You’ll probably have a scar for life.’

  Clare shrugged.

  ‘And all in the name of fashion,’ he added, shaking his head.

  ‘It’s not fashion, Dad,’ piped up Anna. ‘I read an article on it in the paper. Punk is all about anarchy. That’s right, isn’t it, Clare?’

  Anna, clearly proud of her knowledge, looked up at Clare, waiting for her confirmation. Clare didn’t care about all that ideology stuff. As far as she was concerned, her new look was all about the shock factor. The politics of it didn’t interest her. However, she was smart enough to know that if she made it look like she was standing up for something her father would at least give that a grudging respect. After all, wasn’t that what he had always taught them?

  ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘It’s about breaking free, striking out against the establishment.’

  ‘Punk is basically being anti-things,’ sighed Miriam, like she was way too mature for that kind of silliness. ‘Anti-state, anti-society. I mean, what is the point of it? If you get rid of the rules, then society just collapses into chaos.’

  ‘Well, duh,’ replied Clare. ‘That’s kin
d of the point.’

  ‘I think it’s all very worrying,’ said their mother. ‘What was that awful song? The one about being an Antichrist? It made me chilled to the very bones of me, so it did.’

  ‘That would be the Sex Pistols,’ said their father. ‘Such a talented bunch of young men.’ The sarcasm oozed out of him as he spoke.

  ‘Yeah, but that’s it,’ said Clare. ‘Their talent is in having no talent. It’s ironic, Dad.’

  ‘It’s the Emperor’s New Clothes, that’s what it is. They set out to exploit the youth and now they are sitting pretty on the proceeds.’

  ‘Except Sid Vicious,’ said Anna. ‘I don’t suppose he’s looking very pretty by now.’

  Their mother’s eyebrow knitted themselves together as she struggled to follow the conversation.

  ‘He’s dead, Mum,’ explained Miriam gently.

  ‘Oh, may all the saints bless us. Don’t be speaking ill of the dead, now, Anna.’

  ‘They’re all imbeciles,’ said their father dismissively. ‘And I can’t understand why you, an intelligent young woman, would want to nail your flag to their mast, Clare. I mean, look at you. Your hair looks like something from a fancy dress shop, your clothes are basically rags and you have a nappy pin stuck through your nose. How exactly is that going to bring down society?’

  Clare could feel her anger building but she tried to swallow it back down. Using every ounce of self-restraint she could muster, she kept her voice calm.

  ‘It’s about rising up against the establishment, Dad,’ she said. ‘Look at this country. We have strikes every day, there’s no work. Do you remember when Mum had to queue up for bread? Capitalism isn’t working and your generation is doing nothing about it. It’s about time someone took action.’

  ‘And sticking a nappy pin through your nose is going to solve all that, is it?’ mocked their father.

  ‘Frank, Frank,’ their mother said, touching his arm. ‘Let’s not do this. It’s Christmas Day.’

  ‘At least I’m doing something!’ Despite her best efforts Clare was shouting now, but what was going on here? She didn’t care about the punk movement. Not really. She just liked the look and yet here she was getting herself into a massive argument defending it. She should stop, turn it all into a joke, but she couldn’t. This was just the same as everything else. No one showed her any respect. She did something interesting or courageous and instead of congratulations she got ridicule. Their father never treated the others as badly as he treated her. It wasn’t fair. If Clare was being entirely honest, she didn’t really like the way her hair had turned out and the pin was killing her. She’d do anything to just take it out and forget about the whole thing. But if she did that her father would just smile at her smugly and say that he had been right all along, and she wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of that.

  Clare pushed away from the table. She caught sight of Anna, smirking at what was unfolding in front of her.

  ‘Oh, Clare,’ said her mother. ‘Please sit back down. We’re having such a lovely day. Let’s not spoil it.’

  Let’s not spoil it? Why did her mother always do that, pretend to turn everything round so that the blame lay with them all? It was obvious that the only person spoiling things around here was her. Again. Everything was always her fault. She could never win.

  She stalked out of the kitchen and slammed the door behind her. As she stomped up the stairs she could hear a wail rising up from Sebastian, who had clearly just woken up. That would be her fault as well, no doubt.

  SEBASTIAN – 1985

  I

  ‘Are we nearly there yet?’ asked Sebastian.

  Anna, sitting next to him in the back of their old Volvo, tutted and rolled her eyes. Nobody spoke. Sebastian was feeling a bit sick, but not so bad that he might actually chuck up the Jubilee Pancake that he had wolfed when they’d stopped for lunch. It was more the kind of feeling that just sat there in the background, reminding him that they had been in the car for ever. Nobody answered.

  ‘Can I open the window a bit?’

  Immediately his mother’s head spun round and she looked at him quizzically.

  ‘Are you feeling all right, Sebastian? You’re not feeling sick now, are you? Shall I get your father to stop the car?’

  Stopping the car would be great, he thought. Then he could get out and get rid of the pins and needles that had been slowly creeping up his foot. But then if they did stop, they might never get there.

  ‘No. It’s okay,’ he said, smiling his best charming smile at his mother. ‘I’m fine. Well, I feel a bit queasy but I’m not going to be sick.’

  He liked the word queasy. It was new. He had heard Anna use it. He liked how it stretched out on his tongue and made his lips leap to attention. He mouthed it to himself now – queasy, queasy, queasy. The more he said it, the less it sounded like a proper word.

  ‘What are you saying, Pumpkin?’ his mother asked. ‘I can’t hear you. Frank, could you take these bends a bit slower? You’ll have us all green behind the gills, so you will.’

  ‘Just want to get there,’ said his father grimly, but he slowed the car down a little.

  ‘Are we nearly there?’ Sebastian tried again.

  ‘Not long now, little man,’ said his father. ‘The last sign said it was five miles. It just takes a bit longer to cover the ground on these little roads.’

  ‘So, can I open the window?’ he asked again.

  ‘I suppose so, if it’s entirely necessary,’ said his father.

  ‘No,’ said Anna at the same time.

  Sebastian ignored his sister and turned the handle round half a turn so that a two-inch gap appeared at the top. He sat up in his seat to try to get the breeze to hit his face but the fresh air was running over the top of his head. He turned the handle again. Another two inches of air appeared.

  ‘Mum. He’s got the window wide open. It’s freezing and it’s messing my hair up.’

  Sebastian looked at Anna’s hair. Her fringe was combed so that it stood upwards and she had so much hair gel and spray on it that he was sure he could wind the window right down and it wouldn’t even wobble. Anna raised her hands to her fringe and began teasing the roots with her fingers. Sebastian loved Anna’s hair. When she’d had a bath and it was clean, it hung down her face, a chestnut curtain all shining like a mirror. But when she had finished ‘doing’ it, the shine was all gone and the fringe stuck up from the top of her head like a bird’s nest. Sometimes Anna tied a spotty scarf around her head and pulled the towering fringe out. He liked that too. Today, though, her hair was plain.

  ‘Sebastian, could you just put it back up a bit, there’s a lamb?’ his mother asked gently.

  Sebastian turned the handle the smallest amount that he thought he could get away with. The glass crept back up the door frame. Anna threw him a look that said ‘I’m on to you. You’d better watch out!’ but she didn’t speak.

  The car slowed down and his father swung into a left turn. Sebastian recognised the hoardings along the road now. They showed pictures of caravans with hills and lakes in the background and an over-smiley family with rosy cheeks and blond hair. They really were nearly there. Around the next bend and there were the familiar white gates. Sebastian always thought it looked a bit like a fort with the archway over the road and the little wooden box where the man who checked who was coming in and out sat.

  Daddy pulled the Volvo up at the window and spoke to the man.

  ‘A very good day to you, Charlie. We find you well, I trust. Is it busy yet? We set off early to beat the crowds but I’ll bet that old devil Thornbury has beaten us to it.’ His father was laughing as he spoke to the security man.

  Charlie ran his eyes over the list in front of him.

  ‘There are a few arrived already, the Thornburys included. You’d have to get up early to beat them, Mr Bliss.’

  His father laughed.

  ‘Right. We’d better get this show on the road, get unpacked, all shipshape and Bristol fash
ion and what have you,’ his father said. His mother raised an eyebrow. It was her that did the unpacking.

  ‘Can I get out here and walk down to have a look at the lake?’ asked Anna.

  ‘What about the unpacking?’ his father was in the middle of saying, but his mother put a hand on his arm and said, ‘Yes, Anna. That’s fine. Don’t be too long. I’ll need you to go to the shop for a few bits once we’re sorted.’

  Anna nodded her head without smiling and then she flung the car door open and set off down the road towards the trees at the bottom. His father tutted.

  ‘Leave her be, Frank,’ his mother said. ‘She’ll perk up once we get settled in. It’s not much of a holiday for her with us and her little brother. It’s a miracle she’s here at all.’

  ‘Well, there was no way she was staying at home by herself, not after last time. And now that Clare’s gone . . .’

  His father stopped talking and looked down at Sebastian.

  ‘Let’s not start all that again,’ said his mother. Sebastian was disappointed. He wasn’t really sure what had happened the last time they’d visited the caravan and left Anna at home and no one seemed prepared to tell him. He would just have to keep listening.

  Dad pulled the car away from the gate slowly and at the first fork in the road turned right, which was the way to their caravan. Sebastian was sure that he could find it blindfolded. You followed the road down, past the patch of grass with the pond, and then took the second turning on the right next to the copper beech tree and then up the hill to the fourth van on the left.

  ‘There she is,’ said his mother as they turned at the copper beech and the caravan came into view. ‘Oh, may the saints preserve us! Just look at that roof! We’re going to have to do some cleaning whilst we’re here, Sebastian.’