Back in the Day by Deborah Zafer
Photo by Louis Hansel for Unsplash
TW: Discussion of eating disorders
OMG you will not believe what just happened.
I mean, seriously, you could not make it up.
Here I am, listening to the radio on my phone – and when I say here, I mean in my bedroom of course, because there isn’t anywhere else to go.
And this stupid radio DJ is doing a show all about the youth of today and how we are all violent and stabbing each other and what are we going to do about it?
And know-nothing old people are ringing in and saying – oh in my day, it wasn’t like that you know, we knew right from wrong, we did, and we only had one toy made of wood between all of us, we did, and we were grateful. Not like these kids today who have EVERYTHING and still want more.
It is the kind of thing that would make Nat laugh if she was here but she is not of course and if she was, I would not be listening to the radio, would I? No.
And while I am listening, I am drawing a picture to email her that says Wish You Were Here and has a picture of us; multi-coloured with makeup and enormous eyes, and I have drawn all the stupid people in our class, only they are black and white with tiny eyes like spiders.
I know she will like it if I send it. I have even drawn a heart around Matt Jones and maybe that will remind her of him and his tight jeans and maybe then she will come home.
Maybe.
—————
Anyway, I am drawing and I am listening and I am sort of laughing but the thing is nothing is really very funny when you are on your own is it?
And then this voice comes on the radio and I stop drawing because oh my god it is my nan, isn’t it?
“Mum!” I call, “Mum come here,” because even though I am not talking to her, I really want Mum to hear because we have not heard one single word from that old bag since we moved here, which is a long time ago and there has been a lot of water under the bridge during this time, so much that you could swim in it all the way to the sea and never come home, if you wanted to.
“What is it, Siobhan?” Mum asks, coming in, and I can see she is trying not to sigh when she sees all the things that are on the floor but should not be on the floor and so she just crosses her arms and puts her head on one side to show she is all ears now I have decided to speak to her again.
“Listen,” I say, pointing to the phone which is on top of the chest of drawers next to an apple core and the picture of me and Nat when we went to see Hamilton.
Her face changes. It is like in a cartoon when someone realises something and a lightbulb appears and a sound goes ‘ding’ to show they have got it, finally.
“Oh my giddy aunt,” she says and sits down on the corner of my bed next to my sloth cushion and listens and the woman that sounds like my nan and probably is her says, “the thing is what these young people need is role models to show them right from wrong and that’s where we’ve gone wrong because people today are lost and they don’t care about important things like family or country or god and they only care about themselves and getting drunk and watching that Net Fix thing or running after men or women or whatever and some of them don’t even care if their kids are doing the same because they are all me, me, me and that’s what’s wrong with all of them and all of our society and –”
“Let me cut you off there Mrs, um, Morris,” says the DJ, but he doesn’t have much luck because my nan carries on and says, “no I am not done yet because it happened in my own family, didn’t it? My daughter-in-law she went and ran off with this woman, not even a man, and now she’s living with her and what sort of example is that sending to my granddaughter do you think and no wonder those young people are killing each other or themselves or not eating or whatever if that’s the kind of thing they are seeing?”
“It sounds like you have a lot of anger Mrs Goodman,” says the host, “but today we want to talk about knife crime and youth violence. Let’s take our next caller, shall we?” and he cuts her off – dead – and goes to this other woman who does have a story about knife crime because her nephew got stabbed, which is very sad to be honest and I would have listened to it but –
Mum turns the radio off and when she does her sleeve accidentally knocks the apple core onto the floor and I know she is in shock because she doesn’t even notice and I think to myself – how long will it stay there before I remember or care enough to pick it up and will it turn into a tree?
“Siobhan,” Mum says, looking at me, “are you OK?”
—————
Natalie was there the day it happened.
Dad always used to pick us up from school on Wednesdays and take us to the corner shop on the way home and let us choose either a chocolate or a pack of crisps and I always chose crisps and Nat always chose chocolate and some days we would swap half-half which were my best days because after something salty I always want something sweet and after something sweet I always want something salty. I just always do want both.
And on that day, we came running out and we had already decided I would get Salt and Vinegar and she would get a Kit Kat which is a good thing for sharing and we would save it all up until we got home and then we would eat it in front of the telly.
But Dad wasn’t there and instead it was Mum, which was bad because Mum did not let us go to the shop and instead brought things like carrot sticks wrapped in tin foil and sometimes small pots of humus to dip them in. The worst.
“Alright Mrs G?” Nat asked but actually you could see mum was not alright and so I said, “where’s Dad?” because I thought – probably – he must have died the way her face was and also that is the kind of thing that happens in a TV show where the kid is coming out of school and thinking everything is normal, but actually their whole world has ended.
“I’m taking you today,” Mum said, “not you though, sorry Nat. Your Step-Dad is coming to collect you and I’m taking Siobhan and the two of you will see each other tomorrow.” And I look at Nat because like duh, obviously we will see each other tomorrow and every day and she says, “OK” and “Bye” and gives me a weird look like – grown-ups, what are they like – and I shrug back, yeah, I know.
And then Mum takes me to this café which has very loud music and big red booths that are comfortable to sink into and sits me down and says Siobhan I am leaving your Dad forever from today and you are coming with me and I am in love with your art teacher Mrs Penny and I didn’t mean it to happen but it did and your Dad understands because for a long time we haven’t really loved each other just been like friends really and that’s just something that happens but we both care for each other and we care for you and want you to be happy and are you happy, are you OK with this, I know it is a lot?
And I think wow, that is a lot I have to tell Natalie tomorrow and then I order a piece of cake and there is not a carrot stick in sight.
—————
Back in my bedroom Mum and I are looking at each other and I notice my hand is trembling.
“Your nan was always a bit, you know,” Mum says, shrugging and making a face that probably is code for racist/homophobic/angry/sad/Brexit.
“It’s just been ages since I heard her voice,” I say, which I think explains the trembling. “And what was she going on about, you know, all that stuff about young people today and you know, not eating and hurting themselves?”
What does she know, is what I am really asking Mum, but also not asking.
“Well, it’s a small town, isn’t it?” says Mum, “and probably lots of people know about Natalie and all that.”
“I guess,” I say. I guess they do.
—————
I did see Natalie that next day and I said to her, oh my goodness Nat you will not believe what happened my Mum is leaving my Dad to go and live with Mrs Penny who is also called Ann and I am going with but it is OK because I will still go this school and I will still see you every day and next week Dad will start picking us up again when he has had some time apart from Mum to just get his head straight and –
I stop talking because she is ever so, ever so quiet.
“Can I come with you?” she asks and I think at first it is a joke but then I see it isn’t a joke at all and I notice she has a mark on her face under her eye that wasn’t there yesterday.
I’m only a kid though. Only a kid, that’s all.
And there is so much going on that day and every day and we get swept up in the day and then it is the next day and the next day and Dad comes back and he says right girls are we going to the shop today or what? I missed my date with my two favourite girls and Natalie says thanks so much Mr G but I am not hungry today so Siobhan can have mine as well and Dad isn’t really listening because – probably – he is thinking about how he has just been left by his wife of seventeen years and so he says, “sure, sure” and that is how I end up eating the salty and the sweet things, both of them, all on my own every week and never saying a word about it.
—————
“You can go and visit her, you know?” Mum says, patting my arm.
“Who, Nan?” I ask, surprised, because that isn’t exactly an enticing prospect given what we have just heard.
“No, not her,” Mum says, shuddering, “God, no – unless you want to, of course? No, I meant Natalie. She’s only down the road in the unit. I could take you?”
The Unit.
I’ve never been inside it but once a week they take the girls into town and when we saw them, without ever saying anything, Nat and I would always cross the road to avoid them and their terrifying thinness.
“Thanks,” I say. I know she means well but I know I can’t do it. Not yet, but soon, I think I will.
“Maybe Nan is right?” I say to Mum.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, maybe the youth of today are all rotten and wrong and maybe it is all your fault for making us like that?”
“Maybe,” she says, “maybe it is, who knows? Just don’t go stabbing anyone, that’s all,” and she hits me on the head with the sloth cushion and then we have a sort of hug and make a sound like ooooofffff as we hold each other tight, then pull away and look at each other and smile.
“I won’t,” I say. I know now that there are many ways to hurt someone and not all involve blades.
Maybe tomorrow I will be ready to go and visit Natalie. Maybe.
I lean down and pick up the apple core and put it in the bin. I know it will never grow into a tree.
I knew it all along.
Deborah Zafer
Deborah Zafer (she/her) lives in London where she works in local government by day, writes by night and looks after her family and rabbit in the hours between. After many years of solitary writing, she has finally decided to be brave and start submitting her work to see what happens and join in the conversation.
She can be found on Twitter @deborahzafer or at www.deborahzafer.com.