by Janet Ellis
His grey, grave face betrays no final agony or resolution. He is just – not here. Someone has folded his hands one across the other. It’s not a pose he’d ever have assumed in life. He does not look content. He does not simulate sleep. He is absent. His body seems irrelevant. He looks neither old nor young. He looks like Eddie.
The nurse hurries back in. She slows her pace as she approaches the bed, as if he could be disturbed. ‘It was peaceful,’ she says. She probably thinks I should have been here.
I know Michael waited till I’d gone. He was a private man, after all. He kept all his feelings from me, even his grief. Especially his grief. Not for him the last-minute confession. He had nothing to tell me. I would not have been forgiven, either. Not even at the end.
‘Did he say anything?’ I say. ‘Did he ask for his mother?’ She looks startled. I’m flustered and embarrassed for us both. ‘I mean . . .’ I begin.
‘He didn’t . . .’ she says; both of us are speaking at the same time. ‘It was very peaceful,’ she repeats.
‘He was tired,’ I say. ‘He wanted to go.’
She cocks her head at my choice of words. ‘I’ll leave you for a while,’ she says.
‘No.’ I gather my things, pick up his bag. ‘That’s enough,’ I say. I turn to Michael. His inert, passive form doesn’t need anything from me now. I took too much away from him, a long time ago. ‘Did Eddie ask for me?’ I’d said. ‘Did he say he wanted his mother?’
The door flies open and yet another unfamiliar nurse appears. Red-headed and pale-skinned. ‘Mrs Deacon? You’re here?’ she says. ‘I asked them to let me know when you arrived.’ She shoots an accusing glance at the other nurse, who begins an explanation to do with rotas and sickness. The red and white girl cuts across her. ‘I had all this ready for you,’ she says. It’s a sheaf of papers. ‘You’ll need these, I’m afraid,’ she says. ‘The certificate and so forth.’ I have seen papers like this before. Cause of Death: Post trauma haemorrhagic shock. Age: seven. ‘And there’s this.’
I recognise Sarah’s familiar handwriting. When I picture her leaning over the page, it is still her teenage self I visualise, one arm crooked to conceal her work.
‘It’s the drawings she sent, from your grandchildren. Cards and so on,’ she says. She isn’t looking for the effect her words might have.
I peer into the package. There’s an unopened envelope. I pull it free. It’s addressed to me.
‘It’s such a shame she couldn’t come and see him,’ the nurse says, ‘but of course you can’t fly that late in a pregnancy, can you?’ If she sees me flinch, she doesn’t let on. ‘These things happen. She rang, of course. We held the phone close to him. He heard her. Did she tell you?’ She looks at me with more suspicion now.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I’ll look at these later.’ I want to leave the room in case tears spill. ‘Can I wait somewhere?’ I say. ‘Until the others arrive?’
I see a flash of annoyance. We’re done here, she wants to say. There’s nothing else we need from you. ‘Of course,’ she says. ‘There’s a family room at the end of the corridor.’
We are a family of sorts. You’d find it difficult to fit our description on the door, though. The nurse sees my smile, but she does not return it.
Chapter 65
10 October
When I woke up the morning after the party, I thought I’d died. I couldn’t open my eyes properly and when I did, they hurt. Bobbie’s dress seemed to have shrunk overnight; it was lying on my floor looking very small. It was still wet. I tiptoed downstairs and put it in the dustbin. The ground was moving as if I was on a boat, which made me feel sick. It’s a good thing I was already outside when I was.
I hate going into their bedroom. I don’t like inhaling the scent of her talc or seeing his collar stiffeners in the little dish. When I opened her dressing table drawer to find the Alka-Seltzer, everything rattled about loudly. Lipsticks clunked against powder compacts. Tins of pins and tacks rolled into sunglasses. At least she wouldn’t know if anything had been moved, it wasn’t exactly laid out like Kim’s Game.
I looked at myself reflected three times in her dressing table mirrors. You can position them to see the back of your head and check your hairstyle, but I just wanted to watch myself cry. I seemed to have an endless supply of tears. I saw my eyelids swell and felt them tighten till I could hardly see. My eyes were puffy for the rest of the day, but nobody said anything.
Adrian Mr Cavanagh whispered into my ear last night. He held on to me. He squeezed me tightly because I was swaying. He said I’ll wait for you. I’ll be there the day after tomorrow, don’t forget. And even though it was hard to concentrate, because everything in my head was rearing up and kicking like wild horses, I knew I wouldn’t forget. I would walk over broken glass with pins in my feet to get to him.
Chapter 66
Adrian didn’t arrive until late afternoon. He switched the engine off and let the car roll the last few feet. I was at the door before he’d cranked the handbrake.
‘Oh God,’ he said, sliding on to a chair in the kitchen and clutching his head. ‘Still recovering. Bloody punch.’
‘Have you been thinking about our plans?’ I said. I meant to sound flippant, but my voice was as high as a child’s.
Adrian looked at me as if I was just coming into focus. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Silly girl, course I have. Come here.’ He buried his face in my midriff. I put my hands on the top of his head. His hair felt greasy. He moved his head from side to side against my stomach, the way you do when you want to make a baby laugh.
‘Adrian,’ I said, letting his name be everything I wanted to say. He was here, his hair under my fingertips and his big coat trailing on the kitchen floor.
‘I’m going to tell M—, everyone, I’m staying at my friend Bridget’s,’ I said.
He put his hand over my mouth. ‘Not too much information, honey,’ he said. ‘I’ll leave all that to you, it’s better if I don’t know. When did we say we’d go?’
‘Next Wednesday,’ I said. I ignored the chilly breeze of his forgetting. He read the entries on the calendar on the wall in a monotone, tracing my handwritten notes with his forefinger, like a child with a reading book. ‘Den-tist. Par-ent/tea-cher mee-ting, brackets Ed-die. Sure you can fit me in? You’re pretty busy.’
‘Don’t tease me,’ I said.
He put his arms round me and kissed my neck. How sharp desire was, when it pricked you.
‘Marion,’ said Adrian, turning me to face him and sounding serious, ‘I think it would be a very good idea if you and I went upstairs. Now.’
In my mind’s eye, I saw Michael’s dressing gown on the back of the bedroom door and his slippers standing guard on his side of the bed. ‘We can’t,’ I said. ‘I really can’t. But it’s lovely that you want to,’ I said, as if I were refusing some unexpected hospitality.
‘Don’t you want to? I’d sort of imagined this was a mutual thing.’
‘It is. I absolutely want to,’ I said. ‘It’s just that the children might be home soon. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate properly.’
‘You’re very sweet.’ Adrian didn’t appear to mind my refusal. We kissed for a while. There seemed to be enough time for that.
‘Would you like some tea?’ I said. I thought it would be a good idea if he had a reason to be there when Eddie appeared.
‘God, I’m dehydrated. I’d better just have some water,’ he said, opening the nearest cupboard. He took out a jug and held it under the tap.
‘Let me get you a glass,’ I said, watching him raise it to his lips.
He shook his head, still drinking. ‘Nah,’ he said at last, and wiped his mouth with his hand. ‘That’ll do. Bye, honey. I’ll be in touch.’
After he’d gone, I tipped the jug to drink from it myself and the last inch of water missed my mouth altogether and spilled copiously down my chin. I heard the tremulous ring of the doorbell. I pressed a cloth to my chest. It was amazing how wet such a little bit of
water could make you. Through the wavy glass, I could make out a tall shape. Tom stood on the doorstep.
‘Hello,’ I said.
He hesitated. He was half turned away from me, as if he needed to include someone else in the conversation. There was a woman at the end of the path, standing outside the gate. It was his mother.
‘Molly!’ I called to her and waved, but the figure didn’t respond. ‘Wouldn’t your mother like to come in?’ I said.
He shook his head and held something out to me.
‘The Wind in the Willows,’ I said. ‘Gosh, have you finished it already?’
He shook his head again.
‘Then keep it.’ I pushed the book gently back towards him. ‘We don’t need it back yet, Tom. Eddie’s got a copy, he told you that, didn’t he, and—’
‘Mother says I don’t want it,’ Tom interrupted me. ‘She says we don’t need your charity.’
‘What?’ I looked towards his mother. She was too far away to see clearly but I could feel her fury, even at this distance. ‘It’s not charity, Tom. Eddie just wanted you to have it. He’s enjoying it at school, you see, and he thought that you would, too.’
‘Mother says you think I’m an idiot. I told her you said my head’s not right, and she said we shouldn’t talk to you any more and we should certainly give you back your perishing book.’
‘Tom.’ I felt weak. ‘I didn’t mean . . .’ I couldn’t finish the sentence. It was like trying to translate my thoughts into a foreign language. ‘What about your sponsored walk?’ I said. ‘Have you done it? Shall I give you your money?’
‘She says you’re very high and mighty for someone who goes gallivanting about in the fields with strange men.’
Molly Spencer stood at the end of the path with her arms folded and her face set. There was no point in striding out to confront her, there was no point in trying to defend myself, either. I must stay calm, I thought, that was the best thing to do. ‘Please tell your mother that I never meant to upset either of you,’ I said. ‘I’m really very sorry if I did.’
He stared at me, his hazel eyes unblinking.
‘Tom,’ I said quietly, standing directly in front of him so that he blocked his mother from my view. ‘Did you like the book?’
He nodded his head with the tiniest movement.
‘Look,’ I said, ‘I’ll leave it outside the back door. There’s a little ledge by the window. You can take it and read it whenever you want. Just put it back there afterwards, instead of taking it home. If you say anything to anyone, though, I’ll be in trouble and I’ll have to stop and then you won’t be able find out how the story ends.’
I took the book from him, making sure his mother could see me do it. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said.
In the kitchen, I sat down and leaned back in the chair. I wanted Adrian. He’d said nothing about what I meant to him. Had he even looked at me when he idly picked the date? It didn’t matter. When I was a little girl, I’d been picked to play a party game by the birthday girl’s older brothers. ‘Watch carefully,’ they’d said, and they’d put a pile of cushions into the middle of the room. They added a waste-paper basket on its side, an upended chair, a glass vase. Then they’d blindfolded me. In my muffled, woolly darkness they’d guided me over the obstacles. ‘Careful, you need to take a really big step now,’ they’d encouraged, holding my arm. ‘A high jump here and you’ll be safely over,’ they’d said. I’d obeyed. I’d finished panting and dizzy from holding my breath in fear. But I was elated that I hadn’t tripped and fallen or broken anything. When they’d undone the blindfold, giggling to each other, I saw that they’d removed all the hurdles. Nothing was really out of place. I had been leaping over empty spaces. They’d howled with glee at my humiliation.
I had my eyes open this time. I could step over everything in my way, whether it was there or not.
Chapter 67
11 October
Adrian Mr Cavanagh was leaning back in the car with his eyes closed. I watched him for a while because I wasn’t sure what to do. In the end, I knocked on the window. He wasn’t startled, he just stretched like a cat. He looked as if he had been woken in the middle of an especially satisfying dream. He wound down the window. He said he was going to ask what I was doing here but of course it was my school, too. I had this shivery feeling, like when you’re asked a question in class but you haven’t really been listening and everything goes quiet. I felt big and small at the same time. I said I thought we were going to the studio today. I thought you were going to paint me. I said you told me to be here. My voice was getting high and wobbly. I felt stupid, standing in the street, wishing he’d behave like he did before. He shook his head as if he needed to clear it. He said, honey, listen, people get drunk and say things, right? Then he said some things so terrible that I can’t write them down.
Bobbie came up behind me. I jumped away as if I’d been caught doing something wrong, which was unfair because he was the bad person. She said are you feeling better but she didn’t look as if she really cared one way or the other. Adrian Mr Cavanagh said do you want a lift and I said no. She said just as well, it wasn’t really on their way, was it. I said I was just saying hello. Bobbie got in and slammed the door shut. As they drove away, she waved at me as if she was pretending to be the queen, her hand flat and stiff.
I wished the car would crash into something in front of me. I am too weak to punish him alone. I am too powerless to stand in his way. I’ll find someone to help me. I know exactly who that person will be.
Chapter 68
‘I think I might stay with a friend next week,’ I said, as we sat at supper.
Michael frowned. ‘Who?’ he said, just as Sarah said, ‘Why?’
‘Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!’ I raised my hands as if I was being held at gunpoint. I turned to Michael. ‘Bridget,’ I said. ‘Friends do stay with friends, you know.’
‘You don’t,’ said Sarah.
‘Apparently I do.’ I sliced a chunk of meat from a pork chop. ‘Any more questions?’ I looked round the table as if it were a classroom.
‘When are you going away?’ said Eddie in the ensuing silence.
‘I’m going away on Wednesday,’ I said.
‘Wednesday is when Mummy leaves us.’ Sarah reached across the table for the ketchup.
I said, ‘It’s all right, Eddie. Mummy’s only going to be away for one bedtime.’
‘One night?’ Michael said. ‘I thought she lived miles away. Yorkshire, isn’t it? One night isn’t long enough, is it, if you’re going all that way?’
‘Now Daddy wants me to leave for ever.’ I felt stupid as soon as I’d spoken, it was too much.
Michael put one hand over mine, something I thought people only did in films. He smiled at me gently, as if I was armed and he needed to remove the weapon. ‘You go,’ he said. ‘We’ll be fine. All I meant was that if you did want to go for longer, we’d understand. Wouldn’t we?’ He looked across at Sarah. She glared back at him. ‘Eddie,’ he said, still holding my hand, ‘Mummy is only going to be away for one bedtime.’
‘And one bathtime,’ Eddie corrected.
Inexplicably, I wanted to cry. I’d have preferred them all to be angry with me. Instead, Michael seemed to be suggesting I’d been overwrought and that some brief time away from my duties might restore me. I pulled my hand out from under his.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I’m glad I’m allowed to make one decision for myself, at least.’ Michael had his puzzled puppy look again, which made me feel better.
‘You are so selfish,’ Sarah said. ‘Have you any idea how unhappy you’ve been making Daddy?’
‘Sarah,’ Michael began, but she got up and left without speaking. ‘She doesn’t seem to be able to leave the room in any other way,’ Michael said.
‘Why’s she cross?’ said Eddie.
‘Oh, she’s just a bit tired,’ Michael said.
‘Why doesn’t she have a bedtime, then?’ Eddie said. ‘I have to have
a bedtime, why doesn’t she?’
‘Because she’s fourteen and you’re seven,’ I said with some force. ‘Shut up and finish your supper, Eddie. It’s nearly your bedtime, whether you like it or not. You stupid little boy. Shut up.’
It was harsher than smacking him. He began to cry. ‘I don’t want it.’ He pushed his plate away.
‘Come on, Eddie,’ said Michael, looking helplessly across at me. ‘Mummy didn’t mean it.’
‘I’ll go and talk to Sarah,’ I said.
Eddie collapsed into his grief, hurling himself away from the table. He looked at me as if I were a changeling, a cruel simulacrum of his kinder parent. I stood outside Sarah’s room for a long time before knocking. The silence from within was enormous. I wondered if she was close by, just on the other side of the door, listening to my breathing and waiting for the sound of my departing footsteps.
‘Sarah?’ I said. I heard the squeak of bedsprings then the door opened a crack.
‘What do you want?’ said Sarah. I could only see a sliver of her face. I heard the thickness of recent crying in her voice.
‘Bolting out of the room is no way to finish a conversation.’
‘I hate the way you talk to Daddy,’ Sarah said. It was unnerving to hear the same measured politeness in her voice as in mine.
‘That’s up to me and him,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t criticise the way you talk to your friends.’
‘You would. And anyway, it’s not the same. You’re always banging on about being polite and listening properly and respecting people, but you talk to Daddy as if he’s stupid and he doesn’t matter and as if you don’t even like him.’ Sarah’s voice rose and broke.
‘Don’t be silly,’ I said. Sarah didn’t reply, but her visible eye reddened.
The shrill of the telephone startled us both. In the second that I turned towards the sound, Sarah closed her door.
