Sweets From Morocco

by Jo Verity

  Flat 7, Elgin Court. He’d never imagined it would be such a dump. He rang the bell, hoping against hope that Tessa would come to the door and curse him to hell for being there. He hoped that his journey was a waste of time. He hoped that she’d been phoning to tell him that she’d started writing again or that Dan had come back or that she had decided to do anything but what she had been doing.

  A young man came to the door. Too young for Tessa.

  He glared at Lewis. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I’m looking for my sister. Tessa Swinburne.’

  ‘You’ll have to look elsewhere, mate.’ That was clearly all he had to say on the matter and he made as if to close the door.

  ‘I know she lives here. Or did live here.’ Lewis felt sick.

  ‘Her and this lot.’ Using his foot, the man dragged a pile of mail out from behind the door. He scuffed the heap, spreading it out across the doormat.

  Lewis spotted his writing on one of the envelopes. He stooped and picked it up, wanting to kick this oaf in the balls and demand to know why he hadn’t had the decency to return it. Instead he sorted through the pile and, amongst the fliers and takeaway menus, he found another of his letters and several official-looking envelopes addressed to Tessa.

  ‘How long have you lived here?’ Lewis asked.

  The man paused, evidently weighing up the implications of such a disclosure. ‘Four or five weeks.’

  ‘And you have no idea where my sister went?’

  ‘Sorry, mate.’

  Lewis held up Tessa’s mail. ‘Okay if I take these?’

  ‘Help yourself.’

  Driving towards the city centre, he spotted Marriott Hotel emblazoned across a tower block and by one o’clock he had booked a single room and phoned Kirsty to let her know what was going on.

  Despite his anxiety, he slept well – not surprising after five nights in a tent and a day shuttling up and down motorways. Before going down for breakfast, he opened his sister’s mail. He felt wretched reading his own flippant sentences, knowing that, whilst he’d been wittering on about school trips and his new car, something terrible must have been going on in Tessa’s life. The other letters were from the council and the TV Licensing people, reminding her that she owed them money. A bank statement showed that she was four hundred pounds in credit. It painted a depressing picture but there was nothing here to cause someone to run.

  He knew she worked at Boots. He would start there. There must be branches all over a city this size but, he wasn’t sure why, he’d pictured her in a large store near the centre. Maybe something she’d mentioned? The girls on the hotel reception desk were helpful and he soon had the four city-centre branches pinpointed on a map. He headed for the nearest one.

  Once inside the store, it was more difficult than he’d envisaged. He’d assumed he’d be able to find someone in charge who could tell him whether a Tessa Swinburne – he daren’t contemplate the possibility that she was using a different name – was employed there. When he eventually got hold of a junior manager, she said she wasn’t able to give out that sort of information, spouting a lot of tripe about confidentiality and ‘duty of care’ to the staff.

  He paused for a quick coffee and decided to switch tactics. In the second store he took a more direct approach, avoiding the management, going straight to the women who were working in the shop, enquiring whether they knew a Tessa Swinburne. Drawing a blank on the ground floor he went up the escalator and started again.

  Trying his best to look benign, he approached a woman in the standard blue tabard. ‘Excuse me. I was wondering whether Tessa Swinburne works in this store.’

  ‘Who wants to know?’ She was a woman of about fifty, careworn but well-groomed, and, from the way she said it, Lewis knew that he was in luck.

  ‘I’m Tessa’s brother.’

  She smiled. ‘You must be Lewis, the teacher. I’m Della.’ They shook hands. ‘Yes, Tessa did work here. But she left about, what, three weeks ago.’

  Lewis wanted to kiss her. ‘Brilliant. D’you have her address by any chance? I went to Elgin Court—’

  ‘Oh, she moved from there a while ago. Went to Windsor Street. I’m positive of that because my sister used to live in Windsor Street. Don’t know where she’s working now.’ She frowned. ‘She’s okay, is she? She hasn’t been well recently.’

  ‘I’m not sure but I think she may be in trouble.’ He felt disloyal revealing this to a stranger but he needed Della as an ally.

  They were interrupted by a hard-faced woman in a navy suit. ‘Any problems, sir?’

  Della looked flustered and, not wanting to get her into trouble, he replied ‘None at all. This lady has been most helpful.’

  He walked towards the stairs, returning when the woman had gone. ‘If you give me your number, I’ll ring you later. Let you know how I get on.’

  The taxi dropped him at the corner of Windsor Street. The terraced houses, their front doors set no more than a metre back from the pavement, were neat enough and, tiny though they were, many of the properties were subdivided into flats. He was pleased that Tessa had moved here; it seemed more civilised than the shabby block he’d visited the night before. Suddenly the confidence with which he’d approached the task of finding her in the vast city dissolved. He’d cracked the difficult bit and all he had to do was knock on thirty or forty doors but, having got this far, he was terrified of what he might unearth.

  It was midday on a Saturday. People who weren’t at work were likely to be out shopping or making the most of the good weather. Steeled for disappointment, he worked his way along the street, up the odd numbers and back down the evens. As he knocked on each door, rang each bell, he could see how dodgy he must look – a middle-aged stranger wearing yesterday’s grubby shirt, enquiring about some fictitious woman. But on the whole, the people to whom he spoke were cooperative and he wasn’t too concerned that he had no luck on what he estimated to be a thirty per cent response. He decided to go back to the hotel, take a nap and freshen up. Maybe he’d buy a new shirt.

  At seven twenty-five that evening he found Tessa at number four Windsor Street. And that was only because the neighbour at number six was pathologically nosy. ‘There’s a new person next door,’ she’d confided. ‘A woman. About sixty, I’d say. Short hair. Thin. Doesn’t go out much. Listens to the radio a lot.’

  Standing in front of the drab brown door, he knew that Tessa was close by. He just knew. There were two unmarked doorbells and he rang both. To be sure, he pounded on the tarnished door knocker, not caring who came as long as someone did.

  Tessa opened the door a few inches and stared at him. She made no move to let him in, gazing at him as if he might disappear if she looked away.

  ‘I knew you’d come.’

  Tears filled his eyes, dissolving his sister into an indistinct figure. He brushed them away with the back of his hand. ‘I’m sorry I took so long.’

  Her short hair was entirely grey. She was wearing a brown sweater, several sizes too large, the wool pilled and snagged, and shapeless navy trousers. The corduroy slippers on her bare feet were grubby. She led him along a narrow passageway, shuffling ahead of him, her head, bowed slightly, revealing the tendons running up the back of her thin neck. Extending her arm behind her, she twiddled her fingers in silent instruction that he should take her hand.

  She opened a door. The room they entered was no larger than his study yet this was where she lived. It was chaotically untidy and smelled of cigarette smoke and decaying rubbish. Her ‘kitchen’ – a small sink, a miniature fridge, something that looked like a camping stove – occupied an alcove in one corner. Alongside it was a door, which he hoped led to a bathroom. Everything else – bed, table, chair, plywood wardrobe – was in that room.

  He ought to shake her and ask her if she realised how impossible it was to find a person in a city the size of Birmingham; to point out that if she’d worked in a different branch of Boots or if Della had been taking a lunch break, he wouldn’t have found her.
She would have the last word, of course – But I did work there and Della wasn’t at lunch.

  She was clinging to him, not speaking, her body trembling and he couldn’t bear to spoil that moment with recriminations.

  ‘I’m sorry, Lewis. I shouldn’t have phoned. I promised her I wouldn’t interfere—’

  ‘What? When?’

  ‘A long, long time ago. Before…’ She stopped as though she were peering into the past, unable to make out whatever she was seeing there.

  The confusion on her face distressed him. ‘Let’s not worry about that now. Put a few things together. I’m taking you back to my hotel.’

  She smiled. ‘What do I need?’

  When they got to the Marriott, he booked a second room and while Tessa was soaking in the bath, he phoned Kirsty, ignoring the coolness in her voice when he told her, ‘She’s in a bit of a state so I’m bringing her back with me.’

  Then he called Della to thank her for everything. ‘I’d never have found her without you. I’ll let you know how things work out.’

  He was alarmed to see how his sister had let herself go. She looked and smelled better once she’d bathed but scented water failed to wash away the melancholy that clung to her. She gave him a disjointed account of the last few months. She’d obviously suffered a breakdown of some kind but, recognising how fragile she was and fearful of exacerbating things, he didn’t press her for details. There would be plenty of time for that.

  Tessa slept most of the way back. Lewis drove steadily, rarely exceeding sixty-five miles an hour, as though he were transporting a frail cargo which would disintegrate if jolted. He felt irrationally happy and more than a little pleased with himself. He had succeeded in his undertaking and he wished that he could remain forever in this moment.

  Not far from home, she woke up. ‘Do you believe in God, Lewis? I don’t think I’ve ever asked you before.’

  ‘It all depends…’

  ‘Yes or no?’

  ‘I don’t think I do. What about you?’

  ‘Of course I don’t. It would make life unbearable. The idea that we might be called to account – as if we haven’t already gone through the mill down here. It would be like being charged twice with the same offence. And what could be worse than ending up in heaven with all those people we never gave a stuff about? Then having to pretend we liked them all along and were sorry for … whatever terrible things we did.’ She paused. ‘D’you suppose we’ll recognise Gordon? Will he be called “Gordon” or will he use the name he was given by the people who stole him?’

  There was an encouraging hint of the old Tessa in the inconsistency, an echo of the games they used to play, although he was in two minds whether to distract her from Gordon and the pitfalls surrounding him.

  She persisted. ‘What d’you think?’

  ‘Christopher. That’s what he’d be called. But we’ve just agreed, haven’t we? There is no heaven. Or hell, come to that.’

  ‘“Hell is other people.” Who said that?’

  ‘Oscar Wilde? It usually is.’

  So what does that make heaven? Ourselves?’ She frowned. ‘That can’t be right.’

  Chapter 41

  Had Lewis passed his sister in the street, he would not have recognised her. The skin on her face resembled a sheet of crumpled tissue paper, and one deep vertical crease bisected each cheek. Veins, visible beneath the translucent skin, snaked across the backs of her hands. Her hair had thinned. She was scrawny. In fact her whole frame had shrunk.

  Lewis could accept the physical changes but it was her state of mind that concerned him. One moment she was commenting on their new kitchen and asking after his daughters, the next sunk in silence, picking at the cuff of her sweater, humming to herself.

  Their GP agreed to see her first thing next morning as an emergency patient. Lewis notified the school that he wasn’t feeling too good – perfectly true – and took her to the surgery.

  ‘I can give you something to help you get through the next few days, Miss Swinburne, but you need to see your own doctor as soon as possible.’ He glanced towards Lewis then back to Tessa who sat silent and disengaged.

  ‘Thanks,’ Lewis said. He hadn’t thought beyond today let alone when Tessa might return to Birmingham.

  Kirsty was courteous towards Tessa but kept her distance. Lewis knew that his wife was reserving judgement, waiting to see how things would develop. He hadn’t tackled her about some promise that she’d apparently extracted from Tessa. He didn’t like the sound of it but now wasn’t the moment for confrontation. He was standing at the fulcrum of a see-saw, maintaining equilibrium, making sure that neither Tessa nor Kirsty was catapulted to disaster, and this required every ounce of his energy.

  ‘You can’t watch her all the time. You’ll have to go to work tomorrow,’ Kirsty said as they were getting ready for bed. ‘She’s doped out on tranquilisers. She’ll sleep all day.’

  Next morning, as he was leaving, Lewis took Tessa a cup of coffee. ‘I’m off now. Don’t forget to take your pills. I’ve left the school number next to the phone if you need me. I won’t be late back.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She pushed herself up in the bed. ‘Thanks for everything. I’ll be fine. I’ll have a slow start; a soak in the bath; read the paper. A few days of country air and I’ll be good as new. Off you go.’

  It was years since Tessa had been there but she had no difficulty in finding her way to the village. The shop was remarkably well-stocked considering the size of the place and, seeing the range of goods, it was obvious that it catered for an affluent clientele.

  She wandered between the shelves. A horsey woman in waxed jacket and fancy wellington boots was dropping items into a wire basket, things Tessa hadn’t tasted for years. A tin of anchovies; a jar of duck pâté; a bottle of olive oil that cost half of Tessa’s food budget for the week.

  Checking how much money she had in her pocket – money she’d scooped off the kitchen windowsill – she calculated that she had enough to buy a Chelsea bun and a bag of treacle toffees.

  By the time she got back to the house, she was looking forward to the coffee she would have with her bun. As she was hanging up the jacket she’d borrowed from the hallstand, she felt something hard in one of the pockets. It was a minute tin of caviar. While the kettle boiled, she went upstairs to her bedroom and pushed the tin to the back of the drawer beneath her bed.

  ‘I went out for some fresh air this morning,’ she told Lewis later when he asked how she had spent her day. Tossing the toffees towards him, she smiled. ‘All the way from … the village shop.’

  The house was empty when she woke next morning. Kirsty had stuck a Post-it on the fridge door, inviting her to help herself to anything she fancied. The fridge was full, the bread bin contained two loaves and a packet of croissants, the fruit bowl was piled high with grapes, plums, kiwi fruit, even a mango. Confronted with so much food, so much choice, she felt bewildered.

  She wandered through the empty house, sipping black coffee. There were mirrors everywhere. In the hall; the bathrooms; above the fireplace; on each wardrobe door. Too many mirrors. And as she moved from room to room, a woman, gaunt and sexless, stared back at her from every one of them.

  What a shame that she’d not been there to keep an eye on what was going on. Kirsty had gained such a hold over Lewis. There always had been something creepy about her. For one thing, how come she never looked any older? Tessa pictured her sister-in-law – white teeth, smooth skin, lustrous hair. And then there were those penetrating eyes. Ruthless. Icy. From the very start Kirsty Ross had set out to freeze Lewis’s heart.

  By the end of the week, a jar of peaches in brandy, a packet of dried porcini mushrooms and a bottle of truffle oil had joined the caviar under Tessa’s bed. It was as well to have a few bits and pieces in, just in case.

  ‘I might have a look around York tomorrow,’ Tessa said as they were watching the Sunday evening news.

  Lewis frowned. ‘I’m not sure that’s such a good—�
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  ‘The bus goes from the village,’ Kirsty chipped in. ‘The timetable’s on the pin board.’

  Lewis reiterated his reservations. ‘You shouldn’t overdo it. Why not wait until I can take you? We could all go together next weekend.’

  Kirsty looked up. ‘Tessa might not be here next weekend. And it’s very straightforward on the bus.’

  Tessa nodded. ‘I’ll enjoy a bus ride.’

  What did she need? A jacket. And some cash – enough for the bus ticket and a coffee. There was a cache of change in a brass ashtray on the chest of drawers in Kirsty and Lewis’s bedroom; another on the mantelpiece in the sitting room. Her best find was a five pound note in the pocket of Lewis’s gardening trousers. Nine pounds forty. That should be enough.

  As the bus carried her away from the village, she found it progressively more difficult to regulate her breathing. Her heart pounded and there was a tingling in her lips as though she’d had a tooth filled and the anaesthetic was still wearing off. She tried counting cows in the fields next to the road but the bus was speeding along and she kept losing track.

  She took the bottle of pills from her handbag. Had she forgotten to take one this morning? Was that why she was feeling so jittery? She unscrewed the top and shook two pills on to her hand, studying them – pink, round, conspiratorial – lying there between her life and love lines.

  The bus terminated near the city centre. She felt better once she was in the fresh air. More relaxed, less edgy. The early morning rain had blown over, bringing everyone out. The pavements were thronged. She walked briskly along, acclimatising to the city ambience, getting used to being surrounded by strangers. The smell of coffee reached her nostrils, dark and inviting, reminding her that she’d had no breakfast. There were numerous cafés stitched in between the high street stores and she slowed down as she passed each one, peering in, trying to make out what was going on in the shadows. How to choose? How could she know which ones were safe? She solved her dilemma by buying a coffee from a kiosk in the street. As she walked along, sipping from the polystyrene beaker, she felt pleased with herself for keeping a cool head