Sweets From Morocco

by Jo Verity

  ‘I’ve got work to do but why don’t you two go?’ Kirsty said. ‘Then tonight we’ll take Tessa to our favourite Italian restaurant.’

  Lewis, as usual, drove with the cautious precision of a learner driver but, for once, Tessa was in no hurry. ‘Thanks for asking me down. I was feeling a bit low. The hand thing was the final straw.’

  ‘You’re missing Dan.’ He stated it firmly, an indisputable fact requiring no reply.

  Yes, she did miss Dan – his composure, his patience, his wisdom. The sensation was unexpected and heartening.

  ‘You and Kirsty seem to be getting on well.’

  ‘Did you think we wouldn’t?’ she asked. ‘We were fine in Nice, weren’t we?’

  ‘Yes, but there was a crowd of us in Nice. And we were on holiday so it didn’t really count.’

  ‘Didn’t count? You make it sound like an endurance test. Anyway, don’t worry. It’ll be fine. We’ve agreed to share you. We’ve also pledged that, if that doesn’t work, we’ll fight to the death. Winner takes you.’

  They crossed the Severn Bridge, Lewis enthusiastically explaining the physics involved in the construction of the suspension bridge. Tension. Compression. Bending moments. What a shame to reduce the elegant structure to equations. She stopped listening and peered down at the waters of the Severn Estuary, a gigantic ooze of gravy separating England and Wales.

  ‘Lewis? Can I ask you something? And I shall know if you don’t tell me the truth.’

  ‘Why do I suddenly feel nervous?’

  ‘Have you told Kirsty about the doll?’

  ‘No.’ He answered without hesitation. ‘No. She knows what happened on the day Gordon disappeared. But I’ve never mentioned … that.’

  ‘And what have you told her about Cranwell Lodge?’

  ‘About Mrs Channing and Mr Zeal. And Blanche. And the stupid business about the police and the cellar.’

  Tessa watched the cars overtaking them. ‘Did you tell her about Morocco?’

  ‘No. That’s ours.’

  She smiled. ‘I think they must put happy pills in the Bristol water,’ she said as they took the slip road off the motorway.

  Happy families and fresh alliances. She could go along with that – for a while, anyway.

  There was a cloth on the kitchen table, the best china set out in readiness.

  ‘It’s only salmon sandwiches, I’m afraid,’ Dick Swinburne apologised but Tessa had spotted the empty tin. John West Red Salmon – her father’s equivalent of the fatted calf.

  Throughout lunch, Lewis entertained them with tales of the classroom. He was teaching in a co-educational school and it seemed that he had already become a heart-throb amongst the female pupils. ‘Heaven knows why,’ he shrugged, clearly not understanding that, lanky and open-faced, hair flopping across his forehead and gentle eyes, his unthreatening manliness was a soft target for teenage lust.

  Uncle Frank used to sit in this kitchen, amusing them with daft anecdotes, transforming jam sandwich ordinariness into something special and their mother into a light-hearted girl. Now she understood that it was more than Frank’s unremitting bonhomie that had caused her father discomfort.

  She’d visited him twice in the nine months since the funeral. On both occasions they had taken flowers to the cemetery. The first time, a mound of red clay topped with a rudimentary wooden cross had marked her mother’s earthly remains, the second time, a drab grey headstone had proclaimed ‘At Rest’. Nine months – the gestation period of a human life. Her father hadn’t created a new life in that time but he was adapting the old one to meet his circumstances.

  The kitchen now boasted two conspicuous additions – a radio-cassette player and a sleek, four-slice toaster. He was quick to point these out to her. ‘Great company, the radio.’ And, ‘No excuse to go hungry if you’ve got bread and a toaster.’

  He’d rearranged the furniture. In the living room, the sideboard was now against the wall facing the door and the television in the opposite corner. Upstairs, the beds had been arbitrarily shifted. Under their father’s roof, the old order had been slightly skewed.

  ‘You’ve shuffled everything round, Dad.’

  ‘Yes. Well, I thought … why not?’ A stickler for accuracy, his woolly reply was conspicuous. ‘I’ve got something to show you.’ He led her upstairs, groaning softly with the effort of the ascent.

  Her parents had slept in the front of the house, in the largest bedroom, but he took her into the one that overlooked the back garden, the one that had been Lewis’s. ‘I sleep in here now. It’s quieter. Catches the evening sun.’

  All her brother’s bits and pieces had, long ago, been transferred to Cranwell Lodge. Since then, this had been known as ‘the guest room’ although Tessa doubted whether a guest had ever slept in it. Lewis’s single bed had been replaced by a double bed with upholstered headboard and her mother’s pale oak dressing table stood in front of the window.

  Her father took a shoe box from the bottom drawer of the dressing table and handed it to her. ‘Look through these, if you’ve got a minute. Take whatever you fancy.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I’ll give your brother a hand with the dishes.’

  She sat on the bed. The metallic taste of tinned salmon lingered in her mouth. Cutlery tinkled downstairs. As she tipped the contents of the box on to the candlewick bedspread, the past came tumbling out in a cascade of trinkets.

  VI

  1980

  Chapter 29

  Lewis checked the clock above the door. One-twenty. Over an hour until visiting time although he wasn’t expecting anyone to come. The ward was too hot and the air stale, as though it had already circulated through dozens of sickly lungs. It smelled of the lunch they had been served at eleven forty-five – mashed potatoes, mince, tinned carrots – and illness. He ached from lying on his back but he was reluctant to roll on to his side in case he disconnected the drip that was taped to his left hand. When he attempted minor manoeuvres, the bottom sheet slithered on the rubberised mattress and he ended up in the same position but with the additional discomfort of elbows grazed on the starched cotton. His fellow patients were asleep, or pretending to be, and he closed his eyes, longing to join them and escape from the whole sorry business.

  It was probably nothing – one of those freak one-offs that might never be explained. He felt fine now but it had been terrifying at the time. It must have been because he hadn’t argued when the Head insisted on dialling nine-nine-nine. Then, when the ambulance men turned up, he’d passed out for a second time, not so much with pain as with the relief of seeing them. ‘Tests,’ the doctor had said, breezily. ‘We’ll keep you in for a couple of days. Take a good look at you.’ That was yesterday morning and, although very much the ‘new boy’ in Churchill Ward, he was already learning the ropes, guided by its other inmates.

  Beyond the tatty swing doors, above the clatter of trolleys and squeak of rubber soles on buffed linoleum, he heard raised voices. Registering that something interesting was on the cards the dozers roused and by the time Tessa flounced through the doors four pairs of eyes were focussed on her. She glanced around the room and Lewis raised his hand, afraid that whatever was wrong with him might have altered him beyond recognition.

  She frowned, striding towards him, shaking her head. ‘What a load of cretins. They tried to stop me coming in. I explained that I’ve just flown in from the States and I’m not intending to hang around for hours—’

  ‘You were in America?’ Lewis interrupted.

  ‘No, of course I wasn’t. But that’s not the point.’ Tessa bent to kiss him, the whiff of peppermint failing to mask the alcohol on her breath. Perching on the bed, she made a show of inspecting his face. ‘You don’t look too bad. A tad pale, perhaps. I thought I’d best come and see what all the hoo-ha was about.’

  A nurse bustled in, stern-faced and officious. ‘I’m sorry, miss, but visiting time doesn’t start ’til two-thirty.’

  Before Tessa could launch another salvo, Lewis switched o
n what Kirsty called his ‘little-boy-lost smile’. ‘Please, please, nurse. My sister’s only going to be in the country for a day or two. And I haven’t seen her for … years.’ The nurse’s expression softened and he pressed his advantage. ‘I promise we’ll be as quiet as mice.’

  As the young woman retreated, Tessa whistled softly, ‘That was impressive.’

  ‘Maybe. But we won’t be able to pull that one again.’

  ‘I suppose not. Will we need to? How long are they keeping you in?’

  ‘No idea. “Tests,” that’s what they said. All they’ve done so far is siphon off copious quantities of blood and check I’ve still got a pulse.’

  She pointed at the bag of clear liquid dangling from the stand next to the bed and the tube leading from it to his bandaged hand. ‘What’s that in aid of?’

  ‘Everyone gets one of those. It’s the NHS’s version of a ball and chain.’

  Gingerly, she fingered the sleeve of his hospital gown, ‘God, this is pretty basic.’ She leaned back and squinted. ‘Actually, you look rather sweet. Like a gigantic baby.’

  ‘Maybe that’s what the problem is. I’m morphing into a baby,’ he grinned.

  ‘I don’t know why you’re so chirpy. It’s very inconsiderate of you to be ill, Lewis. You know hospitals give me the heebie-jeebies. Ughhh,’ she shuddered, ‘the whole place is full of sick people and germs. Disgusting. And you must have noticed how they warp time.’ She pointed at the clock, ‘I’ve only been in here for ten minutes, and I’ve already aged ten years. You’d better pull yourself together and get out before we both shrivel up and die.’

  ‘Yes, miss.’ He saluted. ‘How’s Dan? Every time I open the Sundays, there he is. “Dan Coates in his stylish East End studio.” Quite the man of the moment.’

  Lewis was delighted that Dan was successful. He liked the man and was enormously thankful that he had stuck with Tessa. A few years ago, when they’d been in Nice, he and Dan had strolled along the beach. The others had gone off to the Casino but, full moon reflected in the flat calm sea, it had seemed too magical a night to be indoors. They’d had a good meal, drunk several cognacs and the two men had opened up to each other. ‘Why d’you put up with my sister?’ Lewis had asked. Dan had launched a pebble in to the indigo night, waiting until it plopped in the sea before replying, ‘I’m surprised you, of all people, need to ask me that. You know Tessa better than anyone else in the world.’ Lewis had nodded, ‘Yes, I think I do. That’s why I asked. She’s selfish, impatient, intolerant and unreliable. Which suggests to me that you’re some kind of masochist.’ Dan had laughed, ‘Maybe. But she’s also clever, funny, irreverent, fearless and never, ever dull. It breaks my heart to see her thrashing around, lashing out at anything and everything, hurting herself more than anyone else. Okay, we have some pretty dire moments but all I have to do then is remind myself what she – both of you – went through when you were kids. If that happened now, your whole family would get professional help. God knows how you came out of it so sane, Lewis, because it’s damaged Tessa profoundly.’ ‘That still doesn’t explain why you put up with her,’ Lewis had persisted. ‘To be truthful, I have walked away a couple of times but when she wasn’t there I felt sort of … anaesthetised. Unable to function. Does that make sense?’ ‘You love her,’ Lewis had replied, ‘and no one has yet come up with a rational explanation for love.’

  ‘Dan’s fine,’ Tessa said. ‘Of course he makes out that he hates all the publicity, but it’s certainly good for business. He tells everyone that his success is entirely due to me. Apparently I’m his inspiration and his muse. We get invited to some very swanky parties. I don’t think the Great and the Good would be so keen to meet me if I were a stripper rather than an artist’s model. In both cases it boils down to taking ones clothes off for the general public to gawp. It’s a fine line between fame and infamy.’

  Visitors started dribbling in, nodding diffidently around the ward.

  ‘Is anyone else coming to see you this afternoon?’ Tessa asked.

  ‘It’s Thursday, remember? Everyone’s at work. Kirsty’ll be in this evening but I’m not expecting anyone else. I certainly don’t want Dad driving over here in the dark.’

  ‘Good. I’ve got you all to myself.’ She shrugged up her shoulders and smiled like a child anticipating a treat. ‘We can have a proper conversation.’

  She took the blanket from the foot of Lewis’s bed and, curling up in the bedside chair, she draped it over her legs.

  Lewis gave a puzzled frown, ‘And what is it we need to have a proper conversation about?’

  ‘C’mon, Lewis, don’t play dumb. Tell me again about the mystery woman. You only gave me half the story on the phone.’

  Lewis explained that the previous Sunday he’d been summoned by the current tenant of Cranwell Lodge – an American lecturer on a year’s sabbatical – to sort out a couple of problems. Before returning to Bristol, he’d called on his father only to find him sitting in the kitchen with a woman Lewis had never seen before.

  ‘Did he seem embarrassed?’ Tessa asked.

  ‘Slightly. I usually phone if I’m going to call, so that in itself would have wrong-footed him.’

  He replayed the scene, his father sheepishly smiling and talking too much, keen to tell him that ‘Barbara was just passing’; the woman knowing exactly where to find the tea bags and the biscuits.

  ‘Actually it felt a bit disturbing, seeing another woman on Mum’s territory.’

  ‘Too bloody right. And what was your gut feeling? Did you take to her? If you dare say “I don’t know” I’ll wrench that needle out of your hand.’ She reached out towards the tube and he knew, without a doubt, that she would do it.

  ‘There was nothing about her not to like.’

  ‘Mmmm. Neat avoidance of the question but I’ll let you off for now. And how did they behave towards each other?’

  He pictured the chubby hand, nails coated with pale pink varnish, resting briefly on his father’s shoulder; the lingering eye contact.

  ‘They seemed pretty easy with each other. Like old friends. Not surprising, seeing as they’ve been working in the same office for – what did she say? – six years.’

  Tessa chewed her lip. ‘So this might have been going on while Mum was alive.’

  Lewis shook his head, ‘You know that’s not what I meant. Seriously, I think we should be pleased that he has some company. You wouldn’t like to think of him spending the rest of his life on his own, would you?’

  Tessa ploughed on. ‘Describe her. How old is she? What was she wearing? Is she well educated?’

  ‘How old? Fifty-ish I’d say. Short brown hair. Clothes? Smart but certainly not flashy. Educated…? I’m hopeless at this kind of thing, Tess.’

  ‘She sounds like a gold-digger. Why else would a smart fifty-year-old fuck an old cripple?’

  Lewis screwed up his face and put a finger to his lips, ‘Shhhh. For heaven’s sake. Must you make everything so crude? We have absolutely no evidence to suggest that they’re … together in that way.’

  ‘“Together in that way”.’ She lowered the pitch of her voice, mimicking his. ‘You do realise, don’t you, that if he marries her, she’ll get the house and the money when he dies?’

  ‘You make it sound as though he’s a millionaire.’

  It had crossed Lewis’s mind that his father might re-marry, not with regard to the inheritance he might lose, but as a reminder that anyone’s life, can, at any moment, veer off course and hurtle into uncharted territory, dragging a handful of other lives along with it. The notion scared him stiff.

  ‘Let’s forget all that for a bit.’ Tessa closed her eyes and pulled the blanket up to her chin. ‘Talk to me, Lewis. Tell me things I ought to know.’

  She yawned and leaned her head back, closing her eyes as if to concentrate on the revelations he was about to utter. He watched her as she teetered on the brink of sleep. Wide mouth, heavy eyebrows, square-ish chin, she was handsome more than beauti
ful. Bold-faced and fearless. It occurred to him, not for the first time, that she would have been more at ease, more fulfilled, had she been a man.

  ‘Okay. I bet you didn’t know that light emitted by—’

  She frowned and sighed. ‘Not that sort of stuff. Who cares if … I dunno … the average something generates so many somethings?’ She heaved herself up in the chair and yawned. ‘Tell me things that will help me make sense of my life.’

  He smiled, recognising his sister’s tactic to extricate them from the dreary confines of the ward and transport them to a place that was theirs alone. But he was tired, his wits refusing to dance to her command. ‘That’s a tricky one,’ he muttered. ‘Can I get back to you on that?’

  She took his hand. ‘No worries. Anyway, it probably boils down to the old maxim.’

  ‘What’s that then?’ He closed his eyes, rubbing his thumb across the cool skin on the back of her hand.

  ‘You know. “A leopard can’t change its socks.”’

  ‘Mmmm. I expect you’re right.’

  He drifted into sleep.

  The previous evening Kirsty had phoned Tessa from the hospital. ‘He complained of a sharp pain in his back and then fainted. Apparently he was out cold for several minutes. They’re talking about a mild stroke or an epileptic fit. Obviously they won’t know until they’ve run tests.’

  ‘But surely he’d be paralysed if it were a stroke. Or bitten his tongue if—’

  ‘I’m only repeating what they told me.’

  ‘But he’s okay? He’s not … gaga or anything? You’d tell me if he was—’

  ‘Tessa, I’d tell you if he were gaga. But I’m not going to pretend he’s fine when we don’t yet know what we’re dealing with.’

  ‘I’m coming down. I’ll get a train first thing in the morning.’

  Tessa had expected Kirsty to tell her that there was no need and, when she didn’t, her anxiety increased. ‘You will let me know—’