Cold as Ice (Willis/Carter #2)(12)

Back at Simmons, Jazmina didn’t bother asking Tracy if things had gone well at her appointment – she could see by her face that they hadn’t. Tracy would normally have been in her element, bustling behind the busy counter, but she found herself staring out of the window past the back of the animated Father Christmas; her heart wasn’t in it; nothing felt right and there was so much to think about. Memories came flooding back: they were painful and they made her eyes well up. They were things she hadn’t allowed herself to think about for many years. She watched the mothers push their buggies up to the window and the kids waving at Father Christmas and she couldn’t help but feel devastated.

Danielle held tight to Jackson as he gripped the penguin and pushed his way around the ice very slowly. He was getting in others’ way as the older children whizzed past and swerved in front of him. He ignored it – he was happy. Danielle moved around the ice rink in a dream, trying to get her head around the meeting with Tracy. She wasn’t sure that they had really connected. Danielle had expected some sort of deep affinity, an unspoken bond. Tracy was nice enough but Danielle felt like she was being talked to as if she’d come to buy a mascara – as if she were a customer. Tracy smiled a lot, was polite, but she did what she had to and then she left as fast as she could. Danielle wondered if she’d ever hear from her again.

It was nine o’clock when Simmons finally closed for the evening. It had been slow the last hour and there were only so many ribbons Tracy could curl ready for decorating Christmas boxes on her shift the next day. All the shelves were replenished; everything was laid out in order and in sequence and in its place.

Tracy walked with Jazmina back to their bus stop where they separated and caught different buses on their opposite ways home. Jazmina lived in Camden, Tracy headed north to Hornsey Rise where she and Steve lived in a ground-floor flat that they rented. Tracy sat on the bus listening to the music coming from the iPod of the boy sitting next to her. She turned to look out of the steamed-up windows and thought about Danielle. Tracy was having a hard job understanding what had motivated Danielle to look for her. Danielle was a tough young woman, prickly – sharp-tongued. She felt let down. She had so wanted it to be wonderful. She had so wanted it to be easy. The reality was that it was awkward and difficult.

But Danielle seemed to want something from her. At the same time she was an angry young woman. Angry at Tracy and angry at everyone. It was her and Jackson against the world, so far as Tracy could see. Tracy had a lot of thinking to do. Is this what she wanted – a single parent with a Down’s syndrome child, living in a high-rise on benefits? Did Tracy need that in her life? Someone who didn’t even seem to like her very much? How was that going to work out? She could just walk away now. Maybe tell Danielle that the most she could give her was the occasional tenner for Jackson.

She could hear the sound of the television coming from the lounge as she opened the door. The flat was only a little warmer than outside – no matter how much they spent on heating it, it was cold and damp and the landlord did nothing about it. But Tracy did everything she could to make it a home. She stood in the hallway, hung up her coat and took off her shoes and examined the gap where Steve’s shoes should have been. She pulled on her fluffy slippers then went into the lounge where Steve was watching the television, the remnants of his dinner on a tray on the floor beside him.

She leaned in to give him a peck on the cheek and pick up the tray. ‘Steve . . . I don’t know why you can’t pick up your tray and take it out to the kitchen.’ Steve didn’t move. He grunted. ‘And Steve, there’s mud or some dirt walked all through the flat.’ She didn’t use the dreaded term ‘dogshit’. ‘Did you forget to put your slippers on?’ She looked accusingly down at his feet and his dirty shoes, then went back to the door and came back with a pair of Homer Simpson slippers that she’d bought him the previous Christmas. They were just meant to be a joke but she’d been really trying to have a little dig at him – it hadn’t worked. He took the slippers from her with an irritable sigh and put them on his feet. Tracy also sighed, but she hid it beneath a sweet smile as she took his shoes and put them next to the front door then she went into the kitchen and came back with a bowl of soapy water and began scrubbing the stains off the carpet.

After a few minutes Steve went out to the kitchen and Tracy paused from scrubbing to listen to the familiar sound of the fridge opening and the clink of a bottle touching another.

‘Steve, can you pour me a glass of wine please, love, and is there any of last night’s dinner left?’

Steve didn’t answer. Tracy heard the pop of the wine bottle and Steve came back in and handed her a glass while she was scrubbing at the brown stain on the carpet.

‘Can you put it on the table please, love? I’ll be finished in a minute.’

He didn’t answer as he took his beer back to the chair.

‘I didn’t hear what you said about dinner? Is there any out there for me?’ Tracy came to stand in front of him.

‘No. Sorry. I didn’t think you’d want any. I finished it off.’

Tracy finished up and took the bowl out to the kitchen. She emerged with a ham sandwich and picked up her glass of wine.

‘Steve, love, can we talk?’

Steve looked accusingly at her. ‘What about?’

‘I just wanted to have a chat, that’s all. How was your day? Is it busy at work? You haven’t told me about the Christmas “do” yet.’ She sat on the arm of his chair.