Unpick Me
Shutter one
Remus often wondered if he were born at all, or if he had dimly began existing when his dearest little sister was four and had knocked out three of her baby teeth after quite the tumble, and someone (who wasn’t currently laying in the floor wailing) needed to get their mum from inside.
His mother, he remembered, had almost black hair that shone brown when the sun caught it between the blinds. She hadn’t spoken in his memories, only frowned, rubbing her thumb heavily against the newly purpling bruises.
What was strangest about being placed into the care system as a child, is that you scarcely know anything about yourself. Questions beginning with why and when are entirely ignored by adults. And of yourself, of your family? Static.
When Mik and Tessa took them in they had fought for their records to be uncovered, experiencing little progress. Tess, working in healthcare, thought it pivotal for her to be aware of their parents' recreational and genetic histories. And with the records, with the files if she were dead there laid some key to a storage unit, or a friend's attic in some part of the country with their mother’s things in it. Or if she lived, every question they had ever had was ready to answer in living form. He had never seen a photo of himself as a baby, had longed to be walked through a photo album, that embarrassing task that parent-rich children would say was a bore even if it only happened a few times a decade.
Remus had laid, traced scars he couldn’t remember attaining, nasty cuts or scabs healed poorly, folded skin, burns untreated and reddened, filled with sadness and something like pride. Proof he had lived before himself, that there was a him that someone else could solely remember. Perhaps now the story of the marks lay intombed with his mother, tales as unpluckable as blackberries in the late season, winding brambles and sharp barbs protecting the sparse berries they had left. He wondered–if he could have reached, would they’ve been sweet or rotten.
————
February 17th, 2005
My office, 8:30 tomorrow.
I’ve let your form tutor know.
Mrs Williams.
Remus folded the paper and tucked it into his breast pocket, a rhythmic, drumming noise sounds out as his finger skims the top of the radiator, echoing inside. There was only so many times you could neglect to make an appointment with that woman before she started tracking you down and cancelling your classes for you herself.
It was a dreary sort of afternoon, every radiator was cranked up in response. It's stuffy. The windows are fogged towards the top, but still cold to the touch. Maybe he had a cold coming on. Really he should be grateful the school’s funding allowed for it.
Maths pushed on with fuzziness clouding his head. Was it going to be like this, dysfunctional by 3pm at sixteen years of age? He hadn’t even registered the bell’s shrill ring, the shuffle of people and pencil cases made him move automatically, closing the book he had barely bothered to open.
The hallway was already crowded, so he readjusted his bag and pressed to the wall, squeezing along it until he was back in his form room four doors down. Lola was waiting in the doorway in a sulk.
‘What got your knickers in a twist?’ He murmurs, pulling his coat off the rack at the very back wall of the classroom. She turns to lean against the frame and watches him.
‘Both my friends have left me. Completely fucked off, they have.’
‘Language, Miss Lupin!’ Says a passing teacher.
‘Woof.’ She bites, loosening her tie. She looks rebelliously thoughtful, arms crossed loosely against her chest. ‘I’ve asked every one of them to stop it. My name is Lola.’
‘They do it on purpose. Haven’t your friends started playing netball on a Wednesday?’ He asked, passing her by to rejoin the flow of people and promptly being shoved into by a passing gaggle of year nine boys. One stomped back his foot and yelled something over his friend's head. Lola just shook her head, glaring out into the crowd.
‘Sorry you can’t play.’ He murmurs, and her head snaps to him for a moment, then she pulls it away, sliding around people to keep within talking-distance of her brother in the loud corridor.
‘Shut up, you know it's not your fault. I know you’ve tried convincing Tessa. She can't budge around her hours consistently enough to promise me.’ Lola stares at nothing for a moment, then jabs him in the ribs. ‘Hey, I can tell you what you can do to be a good big brother, cheer me up,’ She jerks her head down the rest of the hallway and towards the stairs. ‘Grab me something from the tuckshop.’
‘Like what?’
‘Dunno, maybe some bonbons… blue raspberry.’ Remus shakes his head, but passes her his bag and pats his pockets for change; he has some. He pulls off his distinctly terrible striped green and yellow year eleven tie and whips the scarf from around his sister's neck. She scoffs.
‘Don’t leave without me.’ Remus declares with a stern pointer finger in her face. She gives him an amused smile.
‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’
He pushes his way through the crowd until it peters out near the front desk. He set off across the teacher parking spots and out into the road, then jogs down the way and through a ginnel. There, he slows down, scarf covering the logo of his school on the blazer’s breast pocket, he strolls past the gates of the other school; St. Justus’ Boys Grammar School. They had the same colour uniforms but instead of a rather cowardly looking lion they had a complex ancient crest that screamed oh yes; my granddaddy and his granddaddy and his grander daddier daddy came here too-
They were the only school in the area that had a tuck shop, chock-a-block with eye-rollingly cheap, subsidised by daddy’s money snacks. Bottles of original coke—not that fake plastic stuff, 60p, sweets were 20p per 100g. It felt like an elaborate child’s play shop, their parents’ feeble attempt to close the disconnect with money, but in reality the difference was only exacerbated. Still, the kids themselves were rich enough to wave around a ten for one bottle or bag. It became a thing among some of the more insufferable kids that they didn't accept change. And if you did, of course… you were poor. Change, what a filthy thing, Remus mocked. See, mummy and daddy never handed them coins–no. They had crisp banknotes and black cards. And coins, well, coins were a sign that you had actually stood there–like a beggar–and waited for someone else to hand you money. It was the principal.
‘200 grams of blue razz bonbons please mate.’ Remus asks at the counter. An instance comes to the front of his mind.
‘You alright Paul?’ Asked one particularly irritating looking boy, no older than fifteen. His three friends locked onto the target like hyenas waiting for him to falter. ‘Daddy’s architecture business on the decline?’
The boy shrank, going red in the face at the till. The noise of the coins falling into his palm made them laugh.
‘Remember to wash your hands, won't you?’ Another yelled as the younger student feld the shop. It had taken multiple retellings of that story to get Tessa to believe it.
He’s seen it a few times since then, and the attendant always lingered on his face a little too long as he waited for his change. He felt the coins hit his palm and turned out of the shop.
Then he was jogging again, back through the ginnel, up the street and across the road. Their foster mum caught sight of him and clenched her jaw threateningly.
‘Sorry I'm late, Tessa.’
‘You will be sorry.’ But it was an empty threat, and Lola had just slammed his bag back into his chest. He clicked his seatbelt in and sat back.
‘How’s school.’ They all say at once, the kids in a mockingly flat voice. Tessa turns to scowl at them.
‘Har har, kids. Now answer the question.’
‘The usual,’ Says Lola, looking expectantly at Remus. ‘Where are my bon bons.’
‘You didn’t get her them, did you?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Her teeth’ll rot.’
‘Free dental visits. God save the queen.’ She says as she pops one in her mouth. She makes an awkward smacking noise as she rolls it around and tries to speak again. ‘Want one?’
Remus takes one, then two, because Tessa has her hand cupped and sticking in between the front seats waiting for her own. they slow to a halt, and she casts another fiery look into the back seat as her belt unclicks. They both throw up their hands.
‘How are the posh’ens?’ Lola chimes.
‘Marvellous.’ He grumbles, taking another sweet. Tessa is standing, trying her best to look over enthusiastically happy to match the rainbow fence next to her. His foster brother wonders over, knees muddy and the dribble of toothpaste he had tried blotting out of his jumper that morning had returned with a fervour. He was nine and still as messy as he’d been as a baby. The teacher waves him goodbye, and Tessa quickly ushers him along, that faux smile fading from her face the moment she turns away. She wasn’t an unhappy person, she was a busy person with places to be and emotions to save.
By the time Sean was strapped in, Lola had hit the bottom of the paper bag of bon bons. She graciously shared out the last three, avoiding Sean. They were off, Sean garbling something about his time on the playground while Tessa eyes the mud crusting on his trouser legs. Lola’s empty bag was slowly being stuffed into the back pocket of the seat in front of her, joining the others with the most minimal amount of crinkling she could manage.
Home was a strange word for the outside of the house. He wasn’t really home yet. Tessa pulls up the gravel drive, the car’s weak suspension struggling to hide the unevenness, tyres slightly past their wear.
The house was deceivingly nice. Tessa's mother had wealth that she burnt away on bingo and cruises, but she did leave a paid off house. Tessa moved in to help her at the end of her life, and cut it in half to rent out the other side. The garden was overgrown, now unmanageable and practically a nature sanctuary.
Remus got out first, opening the passenger side door to unbuckle Sean. The front door was open by the time he’d slammed the car door shut and the headlights flashed behind him as the car locked. He shuffles his feet on the mat and forces his shoes off.
Mik smiles at him when he passes through the living room, and he tugs on his blazer to pull it into the washing pile he was carrying. Mik plucks out the slip sticking out of his front pocket and reads in quickly.
‘What’s this about?’
‘Dunno.’ He lies, rushing away as Mik was distracted by a clattering, Lola was probably in the kitchen making toast and something. Strawberry jam probably. The front door slams and the house shakes a little, Remus hears the car restart as Tessa heads off to work with her boxed up, very late lunch in tow, and everything is normal. At seven o’clock his other fosterer, Mik will start on their real dinner and Tessa will come home in her scrubs at half eight hopefully, or at four in the morning and eat it cold from a tub.
And he went to bed that night fine, full, healthy. Two years from now was scary, was unknown, no matter how good Tessa and Mik had been, he didn’t know what eighteen would look like for him. They wouldn’t pay for his university, surely? Would he have to acrew massive amounts of debt to do anything? and when he was an adult, what of his sister? finally free of her older brother, a thirteen–then fifteen year old girl becomes vulnerable. He knew the system, was housed with girls who had been through hell, who had no siblings to protect them or had thrown themselves in between danger and their own. The thought of it had dread heavy in his chest.
Mrs Williams was their career advisor, the woman paid to have the only conversation he feared.
She’ll finish stirring the sugar into her tea, tapping the final drops off into the cup. She’ll ask with a smile; What will it be? College or trade school? Do you want to do you A-levels in an extended sixthform or on a campus? Would you like to apply for a boarding school? Any extracurriculars you'd like to pursue solely?
‘How was work?’ Mik asked, taking his place at the table, still in his red chequered apron.
‘Not quiet.’ Tessa sighed, flattening the curls that had escaped her ponytail throughout the day. She had made it home slightly early and was reaping the benefits of eating dinner while the sun was still up.
‘As expected.’ Lola chimed, pushing her green beans away to stab at individual peas.
‘Remus has an appointment tomorrow.’ Mik said before another mouthful. He avoided Remus’ look.
‘In school?’
‘Yeah.’ Remus tossed a silent glare at Mik. ‘About my future.’
‘Right, so what do you want to do?’ Tessa asked gently, but Remus didn’t want to have this conversation, and didn't want to burden them. He thought for a second he’d find something to make up, but then he raised his head and soaked in the sight of Tessa, so clearly knackered and overworked, Mik, edgy and anxious, His sister who was always about to eat them out of house and home and Sean who had tonight’s dinner slopped down his front after precisely two minutes of minimal attention. When would they have time for this? Or the energy?
He shrugged quickly, finishing dinner fast.
‘Thanks for tea, Mik.’