The Aerodynamics of Pork

by Patrick Gale

  ‘What kind of car was it?’ asked Mo as she walked upstairs to inspect the escape route, wondering in passing what kind of people wanted spotlights in their bathrooms.

  ‘Oh. Hard to tell. It’s a very badly lit lane, such a back street you see, but it was definitely a small car. I could see that much. Maybe a Mini or a little Fiat.’

  Mo walked around the scene of the narrative, taking notes under the occupant’s eye. A fairy, of course. She’d known that as soon as she’d walked in. She asked him questions as she walked about, to make him feel useful. Funny the way he didn’t look anything like his photograph in the papers – not surprising, though. McEnery’s reaction had made her morning. The girl wasn’t as cool as she liked to make out. The way he looked at the two of them, pretending not to be, reminded her of the old bag in the corner shop in Hackney. Everyone a potential thief. He had the same air of good preservation with an even greater lack of anything worth the time or expense.

  ‘Well, Mr O’Leary, thank you for calling us. I’ll leave McEnery here with you to explain things to the Forensic blokes when they come, while I go back and get to hunting down your victim.’ She laughed under her breath. O’Leary opened the door for her. ‘Thanks,’ she said.

  ‘Well, thank you, Inspector. Are you sure you won’t have some tea?’

  ‘No thanks, but I’m sure McEnery here will. Just one small thing,’ she paused by the door of the patrol car, ‘those papers he ran off with, they weren’t plans for the end of the world on Friday, were they?’

  ‘How did you …’ he spluttered as she climbed in.

  ‘Just a hunch.’ She smiled.

  O’Leary laughed a dismissal and closed the door. As he swept past McEnery into the kitchen he complained, ‘It’s those bloody do-it-yourself magazines – even the dykes are at it now …’

  MONDAY one

  Seth woke to the sound of raised voices from Venetia’s room.

  ‘Well why on earth didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘You didn’t ask.’

  ‘I could scarcely have suspected …’

  ‘Oh please, Mother.’

  ‘When did it start?’

  ‘Look, I’m not …’

  ‘Yes, but when?’

  ‘The night before last, I suppose.’

  ‘You’ve got to see a doctor. Now.’

  ‘But they won’t under –’

  ‘No buts. Now.’ There was a second’s pause, then ‘Seth?’ Footsteps, and a knock on his door. ‘Seth, you must get up now. It’s ten past eight.’

  ‘Coming,’ he said, and jumped out of bed, snatching up some newly-washed clothes. Mother continued talking but Seth caught nothing save the announcement that she would go and make some breakfast. Irritated, he opened the door and called out, ‘Hang on. I can’t hear you from up here.’

  Mother was moving fast this morning. She was evidently extremely worried about something. She glanced up as Seth came downstairs.

  ‘You’ve got to get to Trenellion without me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Netia’s sick, and I’ve got to stay here until the doctor’s been to have a look at her.’

  ‘What’s the matter with her?’

  ‘Oh, nothing much. Just a tummy bug, or something …’

  ‘Then why …?’

  ‘But I’ve got to stay in case it turns out to be her appendix.’

  ‘Poor old Neesh.’ He turned to run upstairs and see her but was checked.

  ‘No, darling. Better not. It might be infectious. Look, you stay and eat your breakfast and I’ll ring up the Hall and ask if someone can drive over and give you a lift in. I’ll make apologies and so on now if I can. If no-one can make it, the bus leaves at about eight-thirty, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Yup.’ He sat down and shook out some cereal. Mother started to dial the Hall number. ‘Any post?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’

  She was lying. He could always tell. He started to eat while she spoke to Jane, the landowner’s wife.

  Upstairs, Venetia had expanded by another two inches. While Seth ate and her mother talked, she walked a little shakily to the bathroom where, leaning over the lavatory, she vomited copiously. Too much cooking sherry the night before. She brushed her teeth, wiped her lips and smiled wryly at her reflection.

  ‘And the top o’ the mornin’ to you too, Miss O’Dowd,’ she purred.

  Mother rang off.

  ‘You’d better wolf that toast down, darling,’ she said. ‘Jane said she’d try to send someone, but that perhaps you’d better go and wait for a bus at the crossroads, and take that if a car doesn’t pick you up first.’

  ‘OK. Will do,’ he said, taking his plate and bowl into the kitchen. A form appeared in the front door.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Er …’ Evelyn was all smiles, ‘sheer chaos this morning, I’m afraid. Poor Venetia isn’t well.’

  ‘Oh, the poor lamb. Nothing serious, I hope.’

  ‘Oh, no. Just an upset tummy.’

  ‘Such rotten luck. On the first day of her holiday, too.’

  ‘Yes. But the doctor’s coming now, so I wonder …’

  ‘I’ll go and hoover up there now,’ answered Mrs Pym, already on the stairs.

  ‘Oh Hell! Doctor!’ Mother exclaimed, and searched for his number. In the kitchen, Seth was holding together the quarters of a torn letter he had found in the waste-paper basket.

  Darling Evie,

  This is fucking insulting, perhaps, but we have always told each other the truth. You asked me about H’s headaches. I lied when I said nothing was wrong. It’s too much to write now – better we discuss – but I watched him chez toi on Thurs evening and was scared shitless. Josh and I return Provence Tuesday next week.

  CALL ME.

  Love, Jodie.

  Jodie was a clinical psychiatrist. Seth threw the pieces back into the bin and hurried for the front door, grabbing his violin as he went.

  ‘Run, or you’ll miss it.’

  “Bye.’

  As her son sped off, Evelyn sighed, stood and lit a cigarette. She smoked rarely. When she did, the drags were deep.

  Upstairs Mrs P had finished hoovering and patted the bed to show that it was now tidied up and ready. Venetia clambered back in, making no attempt to hide her extra bulk. Then she raised expectant eyes.

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘Would I fail you, my lovely?’ asked the other and, leering, she reached down, pulled up her skirts and nylon overalls to reveal a packet of cashew nuts tucked into the top of her stockings. Family size. She gave it a little pat.

  Seth had often wished for chilly glamorous foster-parents. It was not that his family smothered him with their problems, on the contrary, they went out of their way to keep up cheerful appearances, but the blood relationship implicated him nonetheless in the emotional untidiness. A broken home implies a total, albeit jagged, break. Watching the approach of the bus, Seth decided that his home was a squashed one.

  Just as he was climbing on board, there was a bellow from a claxon behind him. He turned and saw a white MG rounding the corner, Roly at the wheel. He apologized to the driver and jumped down on to the verge.

  ‘I had dinner at the Hall and stayed for breakfast. Your mother telephoning was a good chance to escape with a good grace.’

  Seth climbed in, violin under one arm.

  ‘What a lovely old car.’

  ‘D’you like it? Wish it were mine. They let me use it to keep me from wasting money on one of my own. I think it’s about nineteen thirty-five.’

  ‘Wonderful smell of old leather.’

  ‘Kinky brat.’

  They rounded a corner then had to brake to allow some cows to cross the road. The bus drew up behind them.

  ‘I wish we were going further than the church,’ sighed Seth.

  ‘A bad day, is it?’

  ‘Well, it would be nice to go further in the car, but yes, it’s a very bad day. It’s one of those mornings when I’ve got one family too many.’

 
; ‘Well, I wouldn’t know how that feels.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I haven’t got one. My mother died in childbirth and my father when I was four. I was an only child and so were both parents. I was brought up by a nanny and a committee of Edinburgh bank managers and lawyers. There’d been something of a rift between my father and any relations he had. I think he was that sort of a man.’

  ‘Straight out of Deirdre Comstock – can’t have been very cheerful, but right now it sounds wonderful.’

  ‘It wasn’t nearly as melodramatic as it sounds. I’m an Aquarian so I like to feel special. I was too young to have known what I was missing by having no family; all I got was the occasional fantasy that I’d created myself – just materialized into a comfortable house with a nanny, and toys and a garden ready and waiting for me. Come on, darling!’

  The last cow was dawdling in front of the long white bonnet. She turned slowly and stared at Roly before rocking gently on her way.

  ‘She says she’s not your darling.’ Seth began to sweat. He felt they were trying too hard, like Neesh on an off day.

  ‘Haven’t you got a sister?’ Roly asked.

  ‘Yes. Venetia. She’s in bed with suspected appendicitis.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘She’s reading English at Cambridge. I suspect you’d say that she was ideologically unsound. My mother does, so you certainly would.’

  ‘Is your mother a Socialist?’

  ‘She tries to be, but it’s rather hard. I think she’s just a libertarian. She reads the Guardian and goes to meetings and marches, but it’s all a bit Victorian.’

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  ‘Well, she does her bit, but she eats all her cake – if you see what I mean.’ Roly laughed again. ‘Am I so amusing?’

  ‘Not really, but you’ll do. Blast!’ He had to stop again as a large flock of sheep crossed the road. ‘The whole bloody animal population seems to be on the move today. Will this make you late?’

  ‘No. I wouldn’t normally leave home for another ten minutes.’

  The bus driver cut his engine and leaned out of his window to chat up the rosy-faced shepherdess in jeans.

  ‘Were you never lonely as a child?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Roly, ‘I was very self-sufficient. It’s a big lie that only children are the lonely ones. I’d never any friends so I didn’t miss their company. I made friends at school, of course. They sent me to Fettes which was a bit grim, but I had fellows in suffering. I used to meet Nanny by inventing trips to the dentist.’

  ‘Do you still see her?’

  ‘She died in January. Bad heart. She stayed on with me right through. I bullied the trustees into paying her keep as well as mine. I’d bring friends from art college back for dinner and she’d be great value. I think people thought I was a bit odd, but it was no odder than living with an elderly relation. She was my surrogate granny.’

  ‘My granny’s mad.’

  ‘Is anyone normal in your family?’

  ‘Venetia and my father, only he gets sick headaches and frightens people, which leaves just her.’ Seth had a sudden image of Fiordiligi, mad, hanging by her teeth from his father’s finger. ‘Of course,’ he continued, ‘you were spared the parental trauma bit.’

  ‘A note of envy?’

  ‘Spot on.’

  ‘And I suppose you used to fantasize that one day your true parents would come along to claim you from the family in which you’d been placed at birth to teach you humility?’ Seth nodded guiltily. ‘You are cliché-ridden.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I’ve never worried about the coming-out bit.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It lays too much accent on who you make and not who you are. I just bumble on and if people arrogantly assume that I’m like them, it makes the revenge the sweeter when they find that I’m not.’

  The last sheep were rounded up from the hedgerow by the girl, who waved her thanks as Roly started the engine once more.

  ‘When did you finish art college?’

  ‘I didn’t. I left. I’d a bit of a revelation when Nanny died and saw that it was all a waste of time. I already knew what I wanted to do and people were already showing some interest, so I skipped the last two terms and sold the house.’

  ‘What about the trustees?’

  ‘Powerless. I’d reached my twenty-first last year. The summer’s a misleading time to go studio-hunting, as the light’s too good. I’ll stay on here and find somewhere in London in September.’

  ‘We could put you up while you looked,’ Seth volunteered automatically. ‘Where do you want to live?’

  ‘Not Hampstead.’

  ‘I might have guessed. Perhaps somewhere off the Portobello Road?’

  ‘Warmer.’ Roly smiled briefly. They drove on in relaxed silence. There was a steady wind from off the sea. Beneath a surly sky, the spry bell-tower of Trenellion Church came into view.

  ‘Didn’t someone famous say that that tower looked like a rabbit peeping over the corn?’ asked Roly.

  ‘Ronald Barclay.’

  ‘The churchy Laureate. They read something of his on the Today programme this morning. Did you hear about the poisoner on the news?’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Rushed brekker?’

  ‘Very.’

  ‘Well they’ve arrested this man – the archetypal quiet civil servant. He worked in some unexciting post in an unexciting corner of the Water Board, or whichever branch of the Civil Service deals with water. It seems he was caught trying to feed cyanide into the whole Inner London water system.’

  ‘God! Why?’

  ‘Religious crank. He saw himself as the instrument of God, a sort of latter day Tamburlaine.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Never mind. Middle Eastern tyrant.’

  ‘How did they catch him?’

  ‘Pure chance. Some security guard saw that a man’s uniform had gone from its place, even though he was meant to be off sick. His suspicions were aroused and he found the Scourge of the Lord fiddling around up at the reservoir. Apparently they searched his flat and found bottles of poison and all these incredible maps and diagrams. He’d got access to all the right data. Knew exactly what he was doing.’

  ‘But that’s horrible!’ Seth shuddered and thought of Jodie’s letter. ‘I’ve always been scared of maniacs. Vampires and werewolves are too fantastic, but axemen and poisoners really happen.’

  Roly slowed the MG and turned to Seth with a sickly expression on his face.

  ‘Then I suppose the time has come to break the news …’ he intoned.

  ‘Oh, stop it!’ Seth laughed. ‘But how could anyone find the privacy to do a thing like that?’

  ‘No-one bothers with minor civil servants. Bureaucracy spreads the information so thin that, unless they club together, they don’t often get hold of anything that could endanger the State.’

  ‘Just the whole of the Inner London water-drinking population. You’d have thought his family would notice something.’

  ‘We don’t all have families.’

  ‘No, I suppose not. Oh, sorry.’

  ‘Are you going to have one – a family of your own?’

  ‘I used to think I would, but no.’

  ‘Too many mornings like today?’

  ‘Partly.’

  ‘Well, look out. You might start being unspeakable in secret, with no-one to watch over you.’

  ‘I shall have a good, upstanding man to watch over me. You don’t have to be straight to set up home.’

  ‘I can just see you settled on Primrose Hill with the Good Upstanding Man, a Great Dane, a tabby, and canaries in the conservatory.’

  ‘Who knows. We might even adopt a little refugee.’

  ‘That use of the word “little” speaks volumes. It so patently had nothing to do with size. I’ll bet your mother talks about “little men” to avoid the rank snobbery of “tradesmen”.’

  ‘Sorry. Sorry. We’ll try to be a better fa
mily, we promise.’

  ‘You stay just the way you are,’ Roly said, as he pulled up outside the church. ‘I’m going to the lighthouse for some more breakfast.’

  Seth saw Jemima smiling vaguely from the path.

  ‘Shall I see you at lunchtime?’ Roly paused and looked away for a moment. Seth wished he hadn’t asked.

  ‘OK.’ He looked up and drove off. Seth wanted to eat a second breakfast with him. He turned to Jemima.

  ‘Wotcha, cock,’ she said, and hooted.

  Doctor Fielding was a strong man, wholly unacademic, who played rugger. Evelyn trusted him. As he blew his nose he watched her hands fidgeting with the piping on a sofa cushion. He finished and put away the handkerchief.

  ‘Well?’ she asked.

  ‘Evelyn, Neesh isn’t sick. More importantly, she isn’t going to have a child. She’s not overeating and I can’t prescribe any useful pills.’

  ‘How can you possibly tell she isn’t pregnant? You haven’t had time to do a test.’

  ‘There wasn’t any need.’