by Stella Duffy
“Not that large a part babe, more sort of soft and pink and delicate…”
Molly grimaced and pulled her hand back.
“Oh please, if we’re going to do it, can we just do it? Your saliva all over my right hand is not exactly a major turn on you know and I prefer to actually have sex than to have my anatomy described to me in terms that would make a primary school teacher blush.”
“That’s not what my other lovers have said.”
“Maybe you’ve had too many school teachers?”
“OK, I’ll be brief. When I got home after my run this morning I found this on the doorstep.”
Saz took the lily of the valley out of the vase on the table.
“Flowers?”
“Kind of. In the lunch break I was talking to a couple of other women. One of them had been to a funeral yesterday and she was talking about how she thought all the flowers were a waste of money and so I told them about my grandmother’s funeral and how she’d always hated bouquets. She used to say they were a waste of good dirt in the garden when you could be growing food. So when she died, rather than put flowers on her grave, I got a tiny sprig of lily of the valley, which was pretty much the only flower she did like, and went to her vegetable garden and picked a whole bunch of things – carrot tops, greenery from the beans, potato leaves – and made it all into a little bouquet. I threw it on her coffin when they were lowering it down.”
“And this was on your doorstep?”
“Yeah, it was some lily of the valley with a bunch of weeds.”
“So one of those women must have come back this morning and left the flowers for you?”
“Well, someone did. Worst thing is that I don’t know who. There were the two women I was talking to, but one of them was Janet, one of North’s assistants and then when I was telling the end of the story, both North and Malcolm came round the corner. I don’t know if they’d heard the rest of it, but North did sort of tell Janet off for letting me talk about the past when I should have been ‘focused on the present’ as he put it.”
“So it could have been any of them.”
“Yeah. But it kind of implies that he, or someone from his lot, knows I’m investigating him. I didn’t even give anybody this address.”
“Maybe one of them is the one who’s employing you?”
“I thought about that, but there were a few Anglo-Americans there and I didn’t recognize the voice. So I feel pretty strange now. You know, I enjoyed the course when I expected to think it was shit. I even liked what North did, though I still don’t think I’d trust him. But I really don’t like this thing about the flowers. I don’t feel very safe here now and I hate that.”
“Well, that makes things easier for me.”
“Huh?”
“You weren’t the only one planning your future yesterday.”
“What did you plan then?”
“Ah –”
“Well?”
Molly sat up from where she’d been lying with her head in Saz’s lap, finished off the last dribble of wine in the bottle and then looked, not at Saz, but intently at her own reflection in the blank TV screen.
“I decided I wanted to ask you to move in with me.”
“You what?”
“You know there’s more room at my place and I know you love South London but my place does have the heath and that would be good for your running and we spend all our time together anyway and I really am getting tired of driving across London eighteen times a week and I know we’ve only been together for a few months but you wouldn’t have to get rid of this place, you could get someone else to move in and cover the rent and … well, at least you don’t have to walk up five floors of stairs at my place.”
Molly finally ran out of words, took a deep breath and turned her head to look at Saz, who just smiled and answered her with, “No, I ‘spose you don’t.”
Molly waited for more, twisting a long strand of black hair around her index finger.
“Well? What do you think? Do you want to do it?”
“Ah … God! Sorry, I’m a bit shocked that’s all. Um … yes. Yes, I’d love to move in with you. I mean, I think I’d love to.”
“I think so too. Scary eh?”
“Yep. Still, can’t be any worse than telling a hundred and eighty-nine people that you’re going to swim the Channel within the next five years.”
“I hope not.”
“Me too.”
“There’s a good pool near my place. You can start training straight away. For the Channel I mean.”
“Great. In that case I’d better remember to pack my swimming costume.”
Saz and Molly went to bed after that, Saz very carefully checking that all the doors and windows were securely locked before she turned off the lights. Their lovemaking was tentative at first, both terrified of doing something wrong after making such a big decision and not yet routine enough to be achieved on automatic. Molly fell asleep in Saz’s arms and Saz lay awake for a long time trying to work out how much Maxwell North had heard her say. When she finally slept it was only to dream of her grandmother and Cassie and North all trying to swim the Channel while she picked beanflowers from Molly’s garden and Amy flew above her, most of her body encased in a pink plaster cast. When her alarm went at six she was glad to get up and run the confusion out of her system.
In her white light studio, Caron North smashed a heavy chisel down on a new slab of stone and smiled satisfied when it split cleanly down the centre. She picked up one half and ran her hand over it, catching her little finger on a sharp edge and tearing a wedge of skin. She let her blood run down the white marble and watched it find its own pattern in the grain. Later that day she outlined the rivulet of dried blood, etching it into the stone. It would be a good starting point for her new piece.
CHAPTER 10
Max had been taking Michael through the Process yet again. At Michael’s request. At Michael’s demand. Not that Max minded. Michael was his protégé – the sad, broken child he planned to make whole as a result of his work. The one that would prove him right. Michael was his Case Study. Max, on the other hand, was Michael’s idol.
Michael’s history of self-mutilation and childhood pain was well-known to everyone in the House. He had had a classic “disturbed” childhood – early parental divorce, emotional abuse from his overly religious stepfather coupled with almost no contact with his own father and on top of that, a scared mother who had always allowed the men in her life to dominate her and consequently left Michael and his siblings to fend for themselves. Michael’s sister and brother were both settled now and, despite having had exactly the same upbringing, were functioning well, employed and fairly happy. This led Max to believe that it was perfectly possible for Michael to obtain the same degree of “social stability”. Michael agreed with him, though Michael would have agreed with him whatever the diagnosis, and therefore both felt ready to allow Michael to “Process” whenever he wanted to.
What Max didn’t realize was that Michael was in love with him and had been in love with him ever since Anita first brought him home to the House. Michael believed Max was the one and only, that he could cure all ills and that if, as was plainly evident, Max was straight and would never love him back, then he would use any other means possible to get close to him. For Michael this meant that the Process, with its in-built closeness to Max and its painful climax with attendant comfort from Max, was not the “difficult yet worthwhile” experience it was for the other members of the household. It was in fact a desirable way to get Max’s attention. And the more pain Michael could put himself through, the more attention he would get.
The gay revolution had passed Michael by and at twenty-three he was both terrified of his homosexuality and completely in love with Maxwell North. Max realized Michael’s fixation on him was a little extreme, but would have been shocked to admit to himself that it was love he was receiving from Michael. And even more shocked to admit that he liked receiving that love. He sa
w himself as the Master and Michael as his Disciple. Anita tried to alert him to what was going on, but Max, still elated by what he perceived as his “victory” in winning her over to the Process, was in no mood to learn any lessons from Anita.
“Max, you’ve got to accept it. He’s in love with you. That’s why he wants to do this all the time.”
“Don’t be silly, Anita. Michael wants to Process because he benefits from it. That’s perfectly understandable – after all, you did.”
“Yes.”
“So why do you have such a problem with Michael?”
“He isn’t OK, Max.”
“This is helping him to become OK.”
“He’s glorifying in it. He thinks you find him special.”
“I do.”
“But not because you love him.”
“Of course I love him. You taught me that, I never thought it was possible to really love another man as a friend until you showed me it could be done.”
“I don’t mean like that Max. You’re deliberately missing the point. He doesn’t love you as a friend. He is in love with you.”
“Rubbish. If anything, he’s in love with the Process.”
“Only as an extension of you. He sees everything to do with you as good.”
“Isn’t it?”
“God Max, not even you are that perfect.”
“Anita – look at what we’ve achieved here. This really is close to perfect. And all of it started with you.”
“I know. And believe me, sometimes I wonder if I should feel so good about it.”
“Why? The House is amazing. Everything is growing, expanding. People are calling from all over the city to come to the weekend workshops. Our child is being brought up in an open house where she sees all kinds of people, all of whom love her. Her parents are respected, her mother is loved, her father is …”
“Adored? Venerated? Worshipped?”
Max laughed.
“It’s amazing how many words you know for a foreigner.”
“Don’t mock me, Max.”
“Come on Anita, where’s your sense of humour? You’re getting carried away again.”
Anita shook her head.
“I don’t think so. Michael idolizes you. He’d do anything you asked him to and I’m scared, because every time he does the Process he emerges even more attached to you. Sure it was good for me. And probably for all the rest of the House too. But I’ve only done it once and so has everyone else.”
“Paul’s done it twice.”
“OK twice. But Michael? How many times is this now?”
“Eleven.”
“It’s crazy Max. He used to be addicted to amphetamines and psychics, now it’s the Process and you.”
Max sat on the bed and took Anita’s hands in his own.
“I really don’t think it’s such a big deal Anita. He has great results. When he first came to us all he could talk about was his awful childhood and all the oppression – now he hardly ever mentions it. He’s really getting better.”
“I wish I was as confident as you.”
“It’s my job to be confident Anita. It’s my Process. I made it. I believe in it.”
“Yes. I know.”
“Great. So come here and show me how much you love me.”
Max ignored Anita’s warnings. Michael completed another lengthy Process and two days later while Anita and Max fucked and moaned and tortured each other with the exquisite pleasure of their barely sated hunger, Michael Yardley cut deep and lengthwise into his wrists with his own father’s cut-throat razor. As always, Anita and Max fell asleep heavy with sweat and spent sex as soon as they had both come.
Anita woke up, wide awake at 4.45 a.m.
“Max. Quick. Something’s wrong.”
“What?”
“It’s wrong. It feels wrong. Get up. Get up!”
Max rolled out of bed and turned on the bedside light, shouting at Anita almost immediately.
“Don’t look. Close your eyes. Don’t look!”
But it was too late. Anita had already seen Michael, sitting on the chair at the bottom of their bed. He was wrapped in the quilt Anita’s grandmother had made for her when she was fifteen. The quilt he’d taken from where it was usually folded at their feet, the quilt which was drenched in Michael’s blood.
Max lifted the body on to their bed.
“I’ll call an ambulance.”
“It’s too late, Anita.”
“I’ll call the police then.”
“No.”
“I have to tell someone.”
“No! You have to tell no one.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You must tell no one Anita, do you hear me? No one needs to know about this. It will ruin things. We will tell no one.”
“What about his family?”
“They don’t love him anyway, you know that.”
“But they have a right…”
“What rights do they have? After the way they treated him? They did this to him. They killed him.”
“He did this himself Max. He killed himself. Look at him.”
“No. They did. They did it.”
Max stood beside the bed and held Michael’s head in his hands.
“He told them you know.”
“Told them what?”
“That he was homosexual.”
“He did? When?”
“A couple of days ago. After his Process finished.”
“Did you tell him to call them?”
“He wanted to.”
“Did you tell him to do it?”
“He wanted to.”
“For Christ’s sake Max,” Anita screamed at him. “Did you make him call them?”
“Yes.”
“Fuck! You idiot. You stupid damn fool.”
“He wanted to be honest.”
“You wanted him to be honest.” Anita got out of bed and turned on the bright overhead light. “And what did these reactionary Christian fascists have to say when the little boy who only wanted them to love him told them that he was a homosexual? Huh? What did they say?”
Max looked back blankly at her, stroking Michael’s hair.
“Well? Did they say ‘Darling we love you?’ Did they Max? Did they say it was all OK and they were going to be a good loving family from now on? Or did they tell him to go to hell? Well, Max? Which one was it?”
Max just looked from Anita down to Michael’s body in his arms.
“Right. They said for him to go to hell, huh? Or maybe they actually told him he was already in hell. And what did you tell him Max? What comfort could you give him?”
Max was crying now, trying to pick Michael up, trying to make a little boy bundle of the grown dead man.
“I didn’t know what to do. I left him to deal with it himself and then tonight I went to talk to him and he wanted me. He was upset and wanted me to hold him. So I did. Like I do with everyone, just hold them until they stop crying. To comfort them. But he wanted to sleep with me Anita and I didn’t know what to do. He wanted me to kiss him, to hold him – hold him properly”
“So what did you do Max?”
“I came to bed.”
“You left him? You came here to fuck me and left him alone?”
“I told him it would be fine. I told him he was tired, he should sleep. I told him he should put it all away. I took him to his room. He was tired.”
Anita looked at Max, Michael in his arms, hands shaking from fear and exhaustion and pain.
“God Max. What have you done to him?”
“I didn’t do this.”
“What do we do now?”
“I’ll think of something. Leave it to me.”
And Max carried Michael back to his own room, stumbling both with the dead weight and the dry sobs racking his body.
CHAPTER 11
By 6 p.m. the next day, everything had been taken care of. Max carried Michael back to his room, calmed himself down and formed a plan
of action that would have made his father proud. He cleaned up both the bloody mess and the body, bagged all Michael’s clothes and possessions and locked the dead boy securely in his room. He showered, woke Anita from where she’d fallen asleep on the floor of their bedroom and went downstairs to make French toast for all the household.
After breakfast he told the other members of the House that Michael had decided to leave after his last Process and that they would not be seeing him again. And, ignoring their questions, he sent them all out to the coast for the day, with plenty of cash and instructions not to be back before nightfall.
“It’s about time you all had a House outing – without Anita or myself. No, listen please, I have my reasons.”
“But what about Michael? Didn’t he leave us a note or anything?”
“No. He left nothing. And I think, now that Michael has left us, we need to look at the group dynamic here and see where maybe we’ve gone a little wrong and how we can improve. I also think that perhaps it should start with all of you rather than coming from Anita or myself. Please – you don’t need to discuss Michael, really you don’t. You need to discuss us. Our household, our family. Let him go and let us get on. It’s past. He’s past. Paul will take care of everyone’s needs today, won’t you Paul?”
“Um – yeah, sure.” Paul answered with rapidly growing assurance, aware that without Michael, he was now the “Number One” disciple.
“Good. So – go out, have a great day. We’ll see you tonight and well have a House Meeting then.”
When the House was empty of all but Anita, Jasmine and Michael’s cold body, Max made a single well-placed telephone call. It was to an old varsity friend now lecturing in anatomy at the University of San Francisco. A lecturer who readily agreed to take the body off Max’s hands. Fresh, healthy, young corpses are fairly unusual and make by far the best case studies for blossoming medical students, but they’re very hard to come by and if his old Ivy League buddy could assure him that this kid had no family or friends who were going to make a fuss, then he was more than willing to help Max out of a tight spot. Max gave the required assurances and a van arrived to pick up the body in the early afternoon.
