Half Broken Things

carefully embellished artefact that required only occasional polishing. It had never mattered very much that he had made the story up because most of the time he barely remembered that he had. He could, if he chose, reel it off to Steph. It had undergone slight variations over the years and now it went like this: Most of the papers have been lost. What I do know is that my father was a household name. He was married, and my mother was so young, and of course it was not to be. It broke both their hearts. At this point Michael was quite used to being asked who the famous father was. Of course his career would have been destroyed if the story got out, I mean this is years ago, it was a different world. So my mother refused to put his name on the birth certificate though he begged her to. But in high circles, and I mean high, my existence is an open secret. But it’s all in the past. Hey, it happens. You’ve got to move on.

Instead, he told Steph, ‘When I was eight I had to have my tonsils out. They did it to loads of kids then, they cut out people’s tonsils all the time.’

Steph said, ‘Urgh, do you mind, I’ve just eaten.’ She squirmed.

‘There was four of us all sent to the children’s hospital, we thought it’d be worse than the children’s home but it wasn’t. The doctor told me they would put me to sleep and take away the bad bit inside me, and afterwards I would get jelly and ice cream and feel all better with the bad bit taken away. Well, I was dead surprised that they even knew about my bad bit, because nobody had ever said anything before so I thought it was just me and nobody else had one or knew what it felt like to have a bad bit inside them, so I was really happy it wasn’t a secret and they were going to take it away. Only they didn’t. It was maybe ten days later I could feel the bad bit was still there, you know? I still felt bad inside but I didn’t say anything because they kept looking down my throat and saying it was fine.’

‘Didn’t you tell anyone?’

‘Nah. I just went back to thinking it was just me. I nearly told Sister Beth. She was my favourite nurse, she came to see me a lot and ask me how I was feeling. Sometimes she sat on a chair with me on her lap, one time I just put my head against her and stayed there for ages. The other three boys that had their tonsils out at the same time as me went back, but I stayed. I hadn’t picked up, they said. I was there for weeks on the children’s ward, in my pyjamas and dressing gown. We did jigsaws. And this boy’s parents brought him in this train set- with trailers and goods wagons and stuff that went in them and carriages and everything. Most of the time I just lay on my bed, though.’

‘Then what happened?’

‘Dunno, really, don’t remember. I must’ve got better.’ He hesitated. ‘Well, Sister Beth, she didn’t have her own kids, she must’ve felt sorry for me. She set it all up. She arranged to foster me, they asked me if I’d like to go and live with her and I said yes. Well, I thought it’d be great. I was miserable unless Sister Beth was on the ward. I thought it’d be wonderful.’

There was a silence except for the sighing of the gas fire. Steph asked, ‘Did you go?’

‘Oh yeah. I had to meet her husband and all that first, he was OK, friendly. Barry, he was called, he wanted me to call him Dad. The day they came to get me from the ward Sister Beth was in tears, hugging me the whole time. I was there till I was fourteen. Then they sent me back.’

‘Why did they do that? They sound nice.’

‘Oh, yeah, they were. Wasn’t their fault, I s’pose I was messing around. It just didn’t work out.’

‘Why not?’

‘Just didn’t.’ Michael stretched and sighed. ‘I just wasn’t like them. I wanted to be an actor, for a start. I always wanted to be an actor, they didn’t understand that,’ he said, trying to close the matter.

‘I’m sorry. Honest.’

‘S’okay. I didn’t become one, anyway, did I? Didn’t work out. It doesn’t always.’ He was sitting in his usual place leaning against the sofa, and now shifted his legs and tipped his head back just a little towards her. It was less than a clear sign but Steph reached with one hand and stroked his hair, once.

Michael sniffed and drew in a deep breath. ‘What about you, then?’ he asked.

‘Me? Oh- I’m a survivor, me,’ Steph said, automatically. ‘Nothing’s going to hold me back. I’m an art student. Only I’ve got to take a bit of time out, for obvious reasons.’ She glanced down at her stomach. ‘I’m going back, though. Definitely. When I’m sorted,’ she said. But it was no good. She petered out in simple disbelief and stared into the gas fire, remembering that she had once impressed Jace with all the survivor talk. That was when she’d just got into Bath City College, at twenty-two, to do A-level art. Jace had been doing an NVQ in something to do with building and came in one day a week on day release. When she had told Jace she was a survivor, it was not as if she had not meant it. Look where it had got her.

‘Oh, that’s all bollocks,’ she sighed. ‘I haven’t got a fucking clue.’

‘I know,’ Michael said, complacently. ‘You’re as bad as me.’

‘Bloody cheek. Who asked you?’

‘Well, not your kid’s dad, anyway. Where’s he?’

‘What’s it to you?’

‘Maybe nothing.’

Or maybe something, Steph thought. She did not dare ask if he wanted her to leave. She had been here for weeks now, and the longer something went on, the more that meant that it was all right, surely? They had worked out a kind of routine; she cleaned and shopped for food, using money that Michael left on the kitchen worktop next to the kettle before he went out in the mornings. To begin with she tended to go through it too fast and once he had complained, but apart from that not one word had been said about the arrangement, nor how long it was to last. Usually she lay down and rested in the afternoons, and Michael would be back by the time she woke up. Quite often now he cooked; he said that takeaways cost too much. At the end of each evening they would say goodnight, Michael would go to his bedroom and she would make up her bed on the sofa with blankets and Michael’s coat.

‘He’s not around, OK? If that’s what you mean,’ she said.

‘OK. So it’s not a problem, then.’

A few nights later Steph explained what the matter had been with Jace. She added a little of what had been the matter with one or two others, including the father of her first child.

‘He was called Lee. We were far too young, we didn’t know what we were doing. I left school and had her. I called her Stacey. I wanted to keep her but I didn’t have anywhere, I couldn’t get myself together, so they took her off me.’

‘Didn’t you have no family that could help? What about your mum and that?’

‘She told me to get her adopted. They all went on at me. Said I had my life ahead of me and anyway she’d be better off with a mum and dad that could look after her. They said I’d soon get over it.’

‘Sometimes the gran looks after it, if you’ve had a baby too young.’

‘Yeah, well. My mum had her own baby then, with my stepfather, my second stepfather. My Nan wouldn’t do it neither. She’s not that sort of Nan. Got her own life to lead.’ After a pause she added, ‘Besides I don’t particularly get on with any of them. They can be quite awkward. I still think of Stacey, though, most days.’

‘So what did you do after that?’

Steph shrugged. ‘Usual- bummed around, did stuff, stayed with friends, sometimes with my Nan. She put up with me on and off after my mum moved to Colchester but she don’t like it. I had jobs sometimes, retail, shops and that. I was always good at art, though. Got sorted in the end, went to college, met Jace, got pregnant. Bloody hell, I never learn, me. Told you I ain’t got a clue, didn’t I?’

‘Yeah, well. Nobody’s perfect.’ It really did appear that that would do. Not only was he not going to criticise her and tell her what she should have done instead, Michael did not even seem to expect from her the effort of pretending that she bounced back from failure all the time. The thought made her tearful.

‘I’m keeping this baby, though. No way am I giving up this baby, all right?’

Michael said nothing. Later, settling down in the sudden silence that followed the click of the gas fire being turned off, and surrounded by the smell of curry, which seemed stronger in the dark and which tainted even the stuffy air under her Nan’s blankets, Steph hugged herself and hoped that everything would be all right. Because really, she hardly knew where she stood, or even where she wanted to stand. Michael had never tried anything on with her, and while she supposed she would have been flattered by an attempt, the practicalities might have made it difficult. She was getting so much bigger. She wondered if Michael were one of those men disgusted by pregnancy. She smoothed her hands over her stomach. She quite liked it, getting so round and important-feeling,