I remember too how sensitive he is, how caring. When he put our python to sleep, he sat with him for many hours until the slow metabolism finally succumbed to the overdose. Yes, he’s sensitive, a big softy who’s looking for love, for permanence.
‘Come for a walk,’ I say, grabbing the lead. When Chewy is attached to his unwelcome tether, he drags me out to the path. Robert wipes his dog-slicked cheeks, follows us across the road and down the concrete steps. It’s better here, because Diana will not hear us. Freed from his leather shackle, Chewbacca bounds away to worry a mound of blue-ish seaweed.
I cannot look at Robert, will have difficulty in meeting his eyes until the whole thing is over. The plan isn’t something I’ve manufactured – it’s just arrived by itself. And I can’t talk about it to anyone, dare not court even the most tacit of accomplices. The bare facts must suffice. ‘He’s not happy, Robert. I’m bringing him home, to Benaura. I was lying when I said I was taking him out of the country. He’s got no home except for this one. I can’t see you while Ben’s with me.’
He understands. ‘That’s OK, Laura. We don’t need to be lovers, you know. There’s more than that to life, isn’t there? As long as I can visit sometimes.’
My peripheral vision marks his stillness. If I could bear to turn and look at him, I would see a sculpture of great merit, something Rodin might have been proud to create. He’s wounded and worried, is rendered immobile by the depth of his pain. He loved Carol, kept her with him until the suffering was too much for his children. When she was away, he visited her daily right to the end. Now, he wants me to replace her. There could be no better man for me, no finer companion. I used to feel old, too old for him, but I was wrong. It’s me he needs, and that has nothing to do with anyone’s age. We’re right together, we love the same things. If … when Ben is gone, I might settle for stepmotherhood and this animal doctor. If I keep my freedom, that is, if I can live with my freedom afterwards.
I walk on, think back a few weeks to the time when Robert searched for days until he found a suitable kitten for a grieving pensioner. His face lit up that night when he brought me the mewling tabby and white tom. ‘He’s gentle,’ he said. ‘See how he keeps the claws sheathed even when he plays. Mrs Blythe will take to him, I know she will.’ He looks after his human patients too, knows that while he caters for the animals’ bodily wholeness, he also seeks balm for the human souls who depend on him. I love this man. It’s complicated, de trop, messy, but I do hope he’ll wait until …
‘Laura?’
I turn, smile at him. Will he wait until I’ve killed my husband?
‘What are you thinking about?’ he asks.
‘That’s an easy one, Robert. I’m thinking about my second chance at life. It’s as if everything has to be reassessed when you win a battle with death. Since I’ve been ill, I’ve been different, I notice things I took for granted before. Sounds silly, I suppose, but a cup used to be a cup. Now, it’s a pretty thing made by somebody’s hands. And more than ever, I’m thinking about Ben and what’s best for him.’ Robert has never been jealous, hasn’t wanted me to stop talking about Ben. ‘He’s trapped in a time before me, stuck somewhere in a place in his head. It’s as if his brain’s short-circuited and blacked out everything else. Sometimes, I can bring him out of it, sometimes I can’t. When he’s in Heaton Lodge, there isn’t always a member of staff available to distract him. So that’s why I’m having him home.’
He nods. ‘Yes, I can understand that.’
I look at Chewy, shake my head at his antics. He has found a punctured beach ball, is torturing the thing beyond death. ‘It isn’t that I don’t have any feelings for you,’ I say carefully. ‘But he has to come first.’
‘Absolutely.’ He stands on the greasy sand, points to my dog. ‘Did you know there are animal psychiatrists?’ he asks. ‘Do you want me to get him analysed?’
I laugh, take Robert’s hand. ‘Compared to humanity, that dog is as sane as God.’
He whips me round, drags me into his arms. ‘Where did you get the idea that God is sane? Would a supreme being have made this confusion deliberately? Surely the creator’s faculties must be impaired.’
I pull away, separate dog and ball. A gull hovers above my head, reminds me that the creatures I am fostering will need feeding again. As we make for home, a picture flashes across my brain. It’s something I’ve seen day in and day out for weeks now. It hasn’t meant anything, might be meaningless even now. But it haunts me, is suddenly printed across my mind like one of those paper transfer pictures we bought as children, little cartoons that sat on the backs of our hands like tattoos. Well, mine didn’t sit for long, because Mother thought they were common, made me scrub up before tea. But this one won’t wash off, this one is permanent. Strawberry yoghurt. ‘Oh heck,’ I say aloud. ‘The answer’s been there all along. I am so stupid.’
Robert drags the unwilling dog towards me. ‘Did you say something?’
‘No.’ At the gate, he lets Chewy go, climbs into his wrecked vehicle. ‘Keep in touch,’ he says.
‘I will.’ Strawberry yoghurt. Under the birds, under the shelf where the makeshift cages stand, there are several supermarket cartons. Ben keeps things in them, tools, rags, tins of paint and turps. One of the boxes is a Kellogg’s, once held packets of cornflakes. He has mentioned cornflakes, though yoghurt has been his constant fixation. Inside that huge cereal box, there is a smaller one with Ski printed on its side. Unless I am sadly mistaken, that container also bears the legend Strawberry Flavour. The craziest thing Ben has been saying is possibly sensible after all. There is something in the boxes under the birds.
I stand in the kitchen, listen as Chewy slurps his water all over the floor. Two cats are asleep in the sink, one a huge bundle of fur, the other a tiny fluff-ball curled into the paws of her adopted uncle. Not now. I won’t go now. Nothing will change in the next few hours. When Diana has left to go to Mark’s or Audrey’s house, I shall look in the boxes. She will be staying overnight with a brother or a sister, so there will be no witness when I find whatever it is.
Ben. Shall I find you in the yoghurt carton? Oh God, I do hope so. You have been missing for too long a time, my darling.
This day is so long. It seems an age since I walked on the beach with Robert. I could not make a commitment to him, could not promise to be here for him when it’s all over. Because I could well be in prison for the rest of my days. Yes, I’m leaving this house, but I may have to go via the Crown Court.
The phone freeps quietly, it can’t be Mother. But it is. ‘May I speak to Diana, please?’
I am flabbergasted. The ring was different, the voice is softer. ‘She’s just packing a few things to take to her brother’s house,’ I answer.
‘I’ll wait.’ I hear the click of a Zippo as she lights up.
There is very little for me to say. I am standing here breathing at my mother’s expense. ‘Would you like me to hurry her up?’
‘No. I spoke to her earlier. It’s just a question of tying up a detail or two.’
I am mystified. What on earth could Liza McNally want with a girl like Diana? ‘May I ask what this is about, Mother?’
She sighs. ‘Well of course you may ask. It’s about McNally’s. It’s time for me to let go, Laura. There are some adequate people working for the company, but I want somebody young and fresh to go in and assess the whole business. Diana has a degree in pharmacology, and I think she’ll make a good manager in time. So I’m handing over to you. I urge you to employ this girl, because she’s as sharp as a razor. She is willing to take an intensive course in business studies, so she should be useful to you with all that education. It’s time for me to take a back seat.’
My ears seem to be glowing as the words are translated via ear-drum to nerve, via nerve to a brain that isn’t ready to accept an ‘improved’ Liza McNally. There must be a catch. I glance over my shoulder. A red-faced Diana is staring at me. ‘It’s for you,’ I say tersely. What has this young mad
am been up to now? More to the point, what’s Mother’s angle? I sit down, fondle Chewy’s ears, listen to half a conversation.
When the connection is severed, Diana joins me at the table. ‘I’m not going behind your back or anything, Laura. I never thought she was serious, I mean, she doesn’t even know me. So I thought I’d just forget what she said. She phoned me this morning while you were out with the dog. It seems she’s taken a fancy to me.’
‘Really?’ I pull my eyebrows back into their proper place. ‘You are highly honoured, then. She’s never been known to take to anyone before.’
Diana sniffs, her colour still vivid. ‘She asked me loads of questions about my qualifications. I think she’s offering me a job in research to start with.’
‘And the doctorate?’
She lifts a shoulder. ‘That was instead of a job. I can’t just do nothing, can I? A job’s what I need really. And she wants you to take over the firm. She talked about floating it on the market, but she says that’s up to you.’
I have never trusted my mother, have never even liked her. ‘What’s the catch? Come on, there has to be one.’
Diana squirms in the chair. ‘We all go to Bolton and live among the Woollybacks. You don’t have to move in with her, she knows that wouldn’t work. She’s hiring a full-time housekeeper for the farm – Ravenscroft, I think she called it, and she wants me living close by, in the village. She says I’m interesting. Bolton hasn’t even got a football team, has it?’
For the moment, I’m saying nothing. There’s no point in digging up Bolton’s history. Bolton and Blackpool were on the football map while Liverpool and Everton were still playing hopscotch, but what’s the use? And we’ll be back, I say to myself. Just get some eyes in the back of your heads, lads, the Bolton Wanderers are finding a sense of direction again. I tap my fingers on the table. ‘Beware, Diana. She has never been guilty of a charitable act in her life. Anyway, I thought she liked the retirement apartments.’
The girl’s face almost splits in two as she smiles. ‘Laura, she can’t stand living where everybody’s old. She calls it a false situation. It seems that everything depends on you, though. If you don’t go and take an interest in McNally’s, she won’t sign the business over to you.’
I mull this over for a few seconds. ‘There’s a lot to consider, Di. Firstly and most importantly, there’s my husband. I’m going to bring him here, see what can be done for him. This is a difficult time for me. I’m recovering from an illness, so it’s not a good idea to make too many decisions just now. Yes, I’ll have to think about it.’ I need McNally’s at this point in time like I need a hole in the head.
‘It’s all right,’ she says. ‘If you don’t want to take over, she’ll understand.’
I laugh, though the sound is grim. ‘She’s never understood before, so that would be a change.’
Di clears her throat, seems embarrassed. ‘Laura, she knows she wasn’t a good mother. She hasn’t said as much, but I get the feeling that she’s reaching out to you now.’
It’s a bit late in the day, I say inwardly. Oh, she reached out, lashed out, terrified the child I used to be. ‘So she needs a mediatrix, does she? Can’t she tell me herself that she wants to give me something at last, that she trusts me with the business?’
Diana’s head drops. ‘No. She can’t do that. You know how old people are with mistakes – they can never own up to them. Folk get worse as they get older. But I think she’s sorry. “We never got on, Laura and I,” she said to me this morning. A clash of personalities, she calls it. Anyway, I’ve been put in this difficult position, but I’ve no opinion about it. The job would be great, but it’s up to you.’
More responsibility. If I’m good, if I’m nice, I can make sure that Liddy’s baby has a chance in life. If I’m good, if I’m nice, I won’t help Ben on his way. If I’m half human, considerably less than good, I will put him out of his misery. First, I have to live with that misery, decide whether or when he needs to die. ‘I want some peace and some time to think,’ I tell her.
‘Right. Whatever, it was nice to be given a chance of a job.’
When she leaves, I sit for an age at the table, everything running about in my head. It’s amazing that I’m not crazy again. Perhaps I am. Perhaps I have to be insane to consider what’s euphemistically called euthanasia. No-one has the right to take the life of another. I’ve always believed that, even when considering the unborn. I know women who’ve had abortions, have seen the emptiness in their eyes. To kill a man I know, a man I love … But I can’t leave him to linger in that insane place he seems to visit with monotonous frequency. That place is in a box under the birds. I don’t just know it, I sense it, feel it deep in my marrow. Oh God, I can’t face that awful dream of Ben’s just now. Not yet. Give me a few more hours, please …
On an impulse, I grab the keys, shut the animals in the kitchen, jump into Elsie. There are things I should be looking at, strawberry yoghurt things, but I can’t cope with any more at the moment. Ruth opens the door, drags me into the sitting room. ‘You look like death on a low light,’ she mutters. ‘Sorry.’ A hand goes to her mouth. ‘I’d forgotten about your friends.’ She has heard the tale of Liddy and Jimmy – I phoned her last night. ‘When’s the funeral?’
‘Soon. Diana’s sorting it out.’
She pushes me into an armchair, sits on the rug at my feet. ‘What’s up?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Come on, spit it out, Laura.’
I look into the earnest little face. I trust this woman and she trusts me. ‘It’s Ben.’
She puts her head on one side. ‘It’s been Ben for some time now. What’s different? Pangs of conscience about Robert again?’
‘No.’ It isn’t as simple as that. I wish it were. ‘He’s worse. You see, he remembers some things very vividly. I’ve told you before about the shouting, and you’ve seen him at his worst.’
She nods, kneels, takes my hands in hers. ‘It’s a silly old saying, but what can’t be cured really has to be endured. Nothing can be done. You have to accept that. He’s in the right place with qualified people—’
‘I’m not worried about his physical maintenance, Ruth. It’s the mental suffering.’ I swallow, feel the rough dryness of my throat. ‘Something really terrible happened to Ben before I knew him. It’s been hidden all these years. We had a pact when we met, a fresh start was what we agreed on. I was glad to wipe out my past. Ben even forced me to face Tommo, made the whole thing as ordinary as possible. Though I wouldn’t have gone had Tommo not become less dangerous. Ben’s past is elsewhere, too far away to be contacted.’
‘Yes.’ She tries to rub some life into my icy fingers. ‘But where? When I mentioned his origins, you didn’t want to discuss the subject.’
‘Because I had no information. But he told me the other day that he is Greek. And I think I know where the answers are.’
She falls back onto her heels, thinks for a moment or two. ‘Will the answers help?’
They won’t help. Ben cannot be reached, cannot be comforted. But I have to know what he’s going through. ‘I can’t let him suffer on his own. This time, I have to share his past.’
‘And … you think you’ve found the answers?’
I jump up, pace about the floor. ‘I’m scared. I don’t know what I’ll find and I’m scared. Half of me hopes that this is some kind of wild-goose chase, and the other half wants to get at this truth of Ben’s. Have you noticed how everybody’s truth is different and that there are degrees of truth, kinds of truth?’
She sighs, stands up. ‘Laura, don’t go all poetic on me. What do you want me to do? Shall I come and be with you when you unearth whatever this is?’
I shake my head. ‘He wouldn’t want that.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘I just am.’ I shouldn’t have come. Like a child, I have run away from whatever’s new and difficult, am trying to hide behind Ruth’s skirts. The man in the park suddenly appears befo
re my mind’s eye, that stranger who gave me sweets and told me to be my own keeper. I have to stop hiding, I must cope alone. ‘If … if I get upset later on tonight, I’ll phone you.’ There has to be someone there, someone who will help me through the aftermath. Even the park man would understand that, I’m sure. ‘Anyway, I could be wrong, I may not find anything.’ I will. It’s there, in those boxes. And I have to be alone.
* * *
I still haven’t gone home. Soon, I’ll be needed as a disher-out of catfood, dogfood, kitten slops. And another tin of pilchards must bite the Just before I sleep, or the imprisoned gulls will be mortallious. I am sitting in Elsie outside the George. The George is one of those schizophrenic pubs, civilized at lunchtimes, bulging with teenagers every night. They are spilling into Moor Lane, shouting and laughing, advertising their youthful silliness. A policeman approaches, so I move on, anxious not to be caught in a no-parking zone. I wish I could work out why I’m here.
Elsie knows her way around, so I give her her head, finish up outside Confetti’s refuge. A girl with a swollen belly leans against a lamppost, cigarette smoke making her eyes narrow as it floats upward from her mouth. Smoking is not allowed inside Confetti’s place. Through a lighted window, I see my old friend. And she is old, seventy if a day. She is folding towels, is having an animated conversation with someone who is out of sight. Her hair is grey and thinning, and she is still wearing those awful clothes. She would tell me not to think of helping Ben to leave the world and all its horrors. She would tell me that life is valuable, no matter what its quality. She would sentence Ben to live right to the bitterest of ends.
I pass Robert’s house, park across the road, see one of his dogs shambling about the front garden. Robert is in his daughter’s room. He bends over, is probably kissing her good night. He’s been a good parent, an excellent mother-cum-dad to those kids. What would you say, Robert? How many sick animals do you release from pain each week? My Ben has rights, too. He cannot be allowed to continue incontinent, tormented, afraid.
September Starlings Page 58
