Unbecoming

by Jenny Downham

  An angel, of course, but she wasn’t sure why. She supposed they lived near churches. That would make sense.

  The girl was staring, clinging onto her. ‘You want to throw in some earth?’

  Earth? What was the child on about? ‘No thank you.’

  ‘I’ll do it for you then.’

  The girl walked over to the man with the cloak. He offered her a scoop, but she shook her head, dipped her hand in the dish and pulled out a fistful of earth. Only now did Mary notice the gaping hole at their feet. There were chilling shadows down there. It was deep too. Mary leaned forward and caught a whiff of damp.

  ‘Bye, Jack,’ the girl said, letting the earth fall through her fingers and into the hole. ‘I wish I could have known you.’

  Jack was down there?

  The boy was offered a turn with the dish, but declined. The woman took up the scoop and had a go. The man with the cloak said, ‘We therefore commit this body to the ground. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes and dust to dust,’ and all the other men with their black suits and white gloves bowed their heads and looked very serious.

  And then it came crashing back. Jack was dead. Of course he was. Hadn’t she heard him call her name? Hadn’t she found him on the landing, his legs at odd angles? He made her pull that cord he was always telling her not to touch and it flashed red, red, red on his face. He tried to speak, to tell her something, but the pain seemed to sweep at him, like some kind of terrible tide that sank him into the carpet.

  And she’d begged him (she was ashamed to recall) not to leave her – stay with me, I can’t do it without you. Please, I beg you, Jack.

  It was only one man who had gone, but it felt like for ever, something so permanent and unstoppable that it blasted her. If she were a tree, she would drop all her leaves.

  That’s how it felt, Mary thought. That’s what she wanted to say out loud to the grim little crowd standing around poor Jack’s grave. And to all the angels with their calm sad faces. But what she actually said, half smiling so as not to scare anyone, was, ‘Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.’ Which really was just a cliché and didn’t come anywhere close to describing love. And its loss.

  That was the point when she heard Jack whistling. That was the point he walked through the cemetery gate and waved at her. It was astonishing. Shocking. Had she summoned him somehow?

  ‘I recognized you by your hair,’ he said as she raced across the grass to him. ‘My eyesight’s pretty bad these days, so I have to look for the shape of things.’

  Of course, she’d forgotten that about him – how he could only see the outside of the world and not the things in the middle. He used to tell her that he would always be able to see nature, but soon not books, not reading. Although, Mary thought, since he was actually dead, perhaps it didn’t bother him so much now, perhaps he had no use for books any more.

  She followed him to a bench by the church door. They sat together there.

  He said, ‘So, how have you been?’

  ‘I’ve been missing you,’ she whispered.

  He smiled at her curiously, glanced about the churchyard for a few moments, and then leaned back. ‘Not much of a crowd.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure anyone was told.’

  ‘It’s all right. I won’t take it personally.’

  ‘I should tell them, should I? That more people should be here. I could talk to the vicar?’

  ‘I’m not sure they let you do it twice, sweetheart.’

  And anyway, their voices were fading away. In fact, Mary wondered if they’d gone altogether – if perhaps the whole churchyard had disappeared. But she didn’t want to check. If she took her eyes from Jack, he might vanish too.

  ‘Don’t worry, darling.’ He shuffled closer. ‘Why don’t you tell me what you’ve been up to since I left?’

  Mary laid her hands flat upon her lap. What could she say? How could she explain it? I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be doing? Every morning I wake up with such certainty, and every afternoon it slips away?

  ‘I don’t like questions much,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you tell me about you instead? Are you allowed to talk about how things are for you?’

  He didn’t answer. She didn’t know what that meant, but thought it probably meant no.

  ‘I keep seeing you,’ she told him. ‘One day I saw you locking up your bicycle. One day I heard your voice in the bathroom. You often walk past me in the café and yet this is the first time you’ve stopped to say hello.’

  ‘I didn’t see you those other times,’ he said. ‘My eyes …’

  ‘Should I let you know I’m there in future? Are there rules about things like that? If I see you again in passing, am I allowed to stop you? What if I call and you don’t answer? I couldn’t bear that.’

  ‘I’ll always answer,’ he said. ‘But if you see me and don’t fancy talking one day, then just ignore me. Ask yourself, what will I regret when I get home? And don’t forget, I can’t see things very well, so I won’t be offended.’

  They sat in silence. Sunlight glimmered above his shoulder. At one point he looked at his watch.

  ‘Do you need to go?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  But it agitated her, that he might be late for some appointment. It stopped her thinking of all the things she wanted to ask.

  ‘I find things more confusing without you,’ she said. ‘People get cross with me. Sometimes it feels as if all the things I want to think are hidden under layers of cotton wool, like everything’s dusty.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘that I’m not around to help.’

  ‘Although,’ she said, leaning towards him, ‘you seem very clear to me.’

  His face glowed pink in the light, his grey hair seemed thicker.

  He really looked very well, considering. He smiled fondly at her, then turned to look out at the graves. He started to hum. It was an old tune, Mary recognized it, sang along. It was about a man who’d lost his heart to a woman. A man who wanted to bring spring to her, who longed for the day he could cling to her – a man bewildered by love. She sang confidently. It was wonderful to be sure of the order of things.

  ‘Sinatra?’ she said.

  He nodded. ‘Lyrics by?’

  ‘Rodgers and Hart?’

  ‘Correct!’ He turned back to her. She wondered if he knew he was crying. ‘Mary, my love. I lost my heart to you a hundred times over.’

  ‘That song’s about me?’

  ‘Not the bit about being cold. You were never that. But the rest of it.’

  Mary rubbed her eyes with her sleeve, blinked at him. ‘I’m sorry. I seem to let people down a lot.’

  ‘No, you bewitch us all.’ He glanced at his watch again. ‘Tell me quickly – how’s it going with that daughter of yours? Did my little trick work?’

  ‘Trick?’

  ‘With the medical bracelet. I had her phone number inscribed, hoping she’d feel obliged. Have you patched things up?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I seem to upset her a lot.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ Jack’s voice was impossibly gentle.

  ‘She’s very strict.’

  ‘Poor you.’ He went to put his hand on hers, but stopped himself. Would she have felt him? Would there be weight and substance to him? ‘You were determined to find her, remember? It was important to you. There were things you wanted to sort out. Don’t let that go. It’ll make you feel better.’

  She shook her head, wondered if he was teasing her. ‘Perhaps you could write it down for me?’ she suggested. ‘So that I remember?’

  ‘I can’t, love. Not any more.’ He patted the bench soundlessly. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll get there in the end.’

  ‘Sometimes,’ Mary whispered, ‘I think something terrible happened.’

  ‘It did, darling. It’s your blue blank.’

  ‘Is that what it’s called?’

  ‘It’s what I took to calling it on the days you cried. I so wanted to co
mfort you.’

  ‘And you couldn’t?’

  ‘You wouldn’t talk about it.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Perhaps I was tired? I do get tired a lot. Sometimes I feel as if I’m a hundred years old.’

  ‘That’s the illness, Mary.’

  ‘Or maybe it’s because I’m not a good person. Maybe I don’t deserve good things.’

  ‘Now don’t start believing your own bad press. Not after all this time. You deserve wonderful things. You certainly deserve your daughter back in your life. Your grandchildren too. They’re growing up beautifully, by the look of it.’

  Mary followed his gaze. There was the girl, standing with her arm around her brother – the pair of them washed in sunshine and surrounded by churchyard angels. ‘She stirs me,’ Mary said. ‘Like she’s got the edges of a jigsaw puzzle and all I have are a few pieces from the middle.’

  ‘I’m sorry I can’t stay to meet her.’

  Mary knew he would leave now and that disappointed her. What had she hoped for? Her man back in flesh and bone? To have him sweep her up and hold her? To watch him unbutton his shirt and bare his chest and invite her to rest upon it?

  Ah, she missed the heat of him.

  She watched him stand and she knew she wasn’t ready, that this hadn’t been enough. She caught hold of his sleeve, but her fingers met air.

  ‘What is it, love?’

  She was shocked by the steady blue gaze that met her own. ‘I know it sounds stupid,’ she said, ‘and I’m sorry if I seem different, but I can’t let you go until I know what to do. All those things you said about Caroline – I’m going to forget them, I know I am. My head isn’t right. Most days I feel as if I’m sliding off a mountain into the dark. How am I ever going to manage?’

  ‘You want my advice?’

  Mary nodded weakly. ‘Something like that.’

  He smiled. ‘Well, that’s a first!’

  Mary fumbled in her handbag, found a pen amongst the mints and hankies and held it out to him. ‘Help me.’

  ‘You do the writing,’ he said.

  He told her what to write, and in big blue letters on the wrinkled skin on the back of her hand she wrote: I am Mary Todd.

  ‘There you go,’ he said. ‘That’s all you need.’

  Mary looked up, confused. ‘That’s it?’

  He nodded. She saw the hint of a smile. ‘Didn’t you always tell me it took courage for people to be themselves?’

  ‘I don’t know. Did I?’

  ‘You used to say, “It’s a life choice, Jack, and we only get one life.” You were an inspiration, Mary.’

  Again he went to go, and again she stopped him. ‘What if I can’t remember who I am any more, Jack?’

  ‘That’s why you’ve written it down.’ He smiled sadly at her for a moment. ‘Give Caroline the suitcase if you need to. Pat’s been dead long enough. It can’t do any harm now.’

  ‘Suitcase?’

  He nodded at the children. ‘Ask for help if you need it.’

  She wanted to ask him to sit back down and kiss her. She wanted to breathe him in. But she didn’t dare suggest it.

  ‘Bye, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘Take care of yourself.’

  At the gate, he blew her a kiss. Mary followed his journey to the end of the street. He didn’t wave and he didn’t look back. At the corner he simply melted into the horizon.

  She looked down at her hand. So what if she was Mary Todd? What difference did that make to anyone? Most days she could barely remember those eight letters herself. The only thing she ever knew for sure was the ache she felt inside, which she wished would go away. Was that important? She took up the pen and wrote her name on the bench. Perhaps repetition would help her understand what Jack meant. She wrote the word courage next to her name. Then she wrote: Pluck. Valour. Guts. Audacity. Ah, all those crosswords he’d encouraged her to do for years were paying off. Jack seemed to have reminded her brain about synonyms. Next, she wrote a string of words that came into her head. Things that required the aforementioned courage, perhaps? Pat. Suitcase. Caroline. Blue blank. It felt like a child’s game suddenly and made her smile.

  The girl, who appeared from nowhere, wasn’t smiling. ‘Mary,’ she hissed, ‘what’re you doing? You’re a total vandal!’

  ‘I was reminding myself of things,’ Mary said, offended.

  The girl sat on the writing and tucked her legs under the bench and nodded at the boy and his mother, at the vicar, and at the men with the gloves who all came over to offer condolences before going off and standing in a little group outside the gate. She shuffled along the bench, demanded Mary’s pen and scratched the words out. ‘What’s a blue blank?’

  Mary shrugged. ‘Search me.’

  ‘What suitcase?’

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘Then why have you written this stuff down?’

  ‘I don’t know. Didn’t Jack mention a suitcase? Don’t I need to fetch it?’

  The girl gave her a quizzical look. ‘You mean the one at the flat?’

  ‘A different one.’

  ‘Fetch it from where?’

  ‘Home, I suppose.’

  The girl asked Mary questions she didn’t know the answer to, like, Why didn’t you get it the first time? And, What’s in it anyway?

  The girl said, ‘So, let me get this right. You want to go back to your old house again?’

  Mary nodded. That was exactly it. A day trip, that’s what she wanted! ‘Yes please.’

  The girl thought about it. She made it look difficult. She made it look as if she would say no. She bit her bottom lip and looked over to the gate. ‘Mum won’t want us going that far.’

  ‘Let’s not tell her.’

  ‘We might have to bring Chris. He’s got PE tomorrow, so he’ll try and pull a sickie and Mum’s bound to let him.’

  ‘The more the merrier.’

  ‘He might blab. He hates breaking rules.’

  ‘We’ll bribe him. Boys are easily bribed.’

  The girl smiled. She was extraordinary when she smiled – something knowing and a little bit dangerous flickered in her eyes. ‘I think you might be a bad influence on me, Mary.’

  ‘We’re the same, you and me,’ Mary told her, stroking the girl’s arm. ‘Somewhat foolish and somewhat brave.’

  ‘Brave? I don’t think so.’

  ‘What did you say your name was again?’

  ‘Katie.’

  ‘Well, Katie, you definitely remind me of me. I was younger than you when I fell in love for the first time. Night after night, when my sister was asleep, I climbed out of my bedroom window to meet him – out into the dark, running down the street holding my shoes.’ She smiled at the memory, so vivid she could see the swirl of her skirt as she ran, could almost smell the Arpege she’d sprayed at her throat. ‘Robert borrowed a car and we drove to all sorts of places – supper at a hotel, or a dance hall. Sometimes we just went to his caravan. I thought I could get away with anything.’

  ‘And could you?’

  Memories flickered. Her father looking right through her as if she were a ghost, as if he’d decided she no longer existed. Pat being forced to translate every damn thing he had to say. The baby crying on and on.

  ‘No, actually. It turned out that I couldn’t.’

  The girl eyed her for a moment too long. Perhaps Mary shouldn’t have said anything – she didn’t want to scare the child.

  ‘OK,’ the girl said eventually. ‘Let’s do it.’

  Eighteen

  ‘Mum’s going to kill us.’

  Katie turned from the departures board to scowl at her brother. ‘Not if you don’t tell her.’

  Chris bit his lip, like he might not be able to stop words tumbling out of him. ‘It’s a crime scene. It’s probably illegal.’

  ‘How can it be a crime scene if there wasn’t a crime?’

  ‘It’s a death scene then.’

  Katie flicked a glance at Mary, sitting on the bench halfway up the platform – her eye
s shut, her face turned to the sun like a flower. She didn’t appear to have heard. Katie lowered her voice. ‘Is it Jack you’re worried about?’

  Chris shrugged, scuffing his shoe in the dust.

  ‘Because there’s no such thing as zombies.’

  He looked unconvinced. ‘How come she sees him everywhere?’

  ‘Because she misses him.’ Katie cupped his cheek with the palm of her hand so he’d be forced to look at her. ‘Don’t you sometimes see Dad about the place?’

  ‘He’s not one of the undead!’

  ‘He’s not in your school canteen either.’

  Chris yanked his face away from her. ‘You don’t know that!’

  ‘What I do know is that mooning about Dad all the time is going to piss Mum off a lot more than us going on a little day trip, so how about we agree to keep some secrets?’

  He knew it was blackmail by the scowl he gave her. ‘Mum told me to text if I felt better.’

  ‘You weren’t sick in the first place!’ Christ! It was hard enough to do daring stuff without Chris undermining her. ‘Send her a text saying you’re out of bed and doing your homework, then turn your phone off. It’s going to be fine. We’ll be back before you know it.’

  ‘And what if we meet any weirdos?’

  ‘Then you’ll fit right in.’ He rolled his eyes at her and she laughed. ‘Nothing bad’s going to happen, Chris. What else can go wrong? Dad’s buggered off, Mum’s a dictator, Mary’s forgetting everything she ever knew and you and me are freaks. It can’t get any worse!’

  She had to stay strong. This new confidence of hers was tidal – coming in waves of strength this morning, but bound to retreat later, leaving her breathless with anxiety all over again. She didn’t want to be afraid any more. She grabbed her brother’s arm and linked her own through it.

  ‘This suitcase is really important to her. Imagine what might be in it – maybe thousands of pounds!’ She cast a last glance at the departures board as she steered him to Mary. Two minutes to go. ‘Finding it might change all our lives. Mum could leave her crappy job and buy a massive house somewhere and we’d go to new schools and have exotic holidays and get new wardrobes and new friends and amazing new lives.’

  Chris looked doubtful. ‘What about Dad?’