by Janet Davey
The unacceptable dead and lost, where do you put them, she wondered. She couldn’t remember anyone owning up to the unacceptable dead, though there were plenty of them. Far more than the living equivalent. Death did the necessary, and people stopped complaining about the deceased’s defects. Into the Book of Remembrance they went, along with the honourable ones. The crematorium calligrapher wasn’t asked to use an identifying script. Gail Price it said. Nicely inscribed, like an A-level certificate. On the same page were other names. Reginald Longley, she remembered. It had rolled off the tongue. Her father – though father seemed the wrong word for a boy of eighteen – hadn’t been in the book. They used to go to the crematorium chapel twice a year. On the anniversary of the death and on Gail’s birthday. But the book was only open on the anniversary. She had had to wear a skirt and proper shoes.
The unacceptable lost weren’t allowed the same kind treatment. Unlike the dead, they might come back, so it was best to take the opportunity to run them down and try to put off anyone obtuse enough to have loved them. She would realise that she was better off without him. Peter had said that to her on the telephone. At least the bad ending to her love affair spared her sympathy. Those platitudes about time. As if time were ever available in advance. It was easier to manipulate distance. If Felpo had crossed the Channel on Friday evening and kept driving, he’d be over several borders by now. Greece or Hungary – Lake Balaton. He said he’d like to go there. There wouldn’t be too many hold-ups. The crowds would all be running in the other direction, back with their tanned faces and damp laundry. She had no reason to imagine him at maximum miles away in relation to hours, but that is where she put him. If he were any closer she wouldn’t be able to cope.
He hadn’t brought much with him when he moved in. His clothes came in a couple of rucksacks. Everything else had stayed in the van. He had paid the rent on his previous place until the end of the month but he let another tenant take it with money still on the clock. It had been depressing, he said – a ground-floor room in Folkestone hemmed in by the backs of restaurants with nothing to look out on but extractor fan outlets and steamed-up windows. He hadn’t taken Jo to see it.
She opened the kitchen drawer in case anything of his had found its way there. She saw knives and spatulas and wooden spoons passed on by Dilys or bought from Woolworth’s, two corkscrews – one bought in a petrol station for an evening picnic – a bottle opener from Snowdonia, old crumbs and a hair – her own. She took the lid off the kettle. The water had been there since Friday, or looked as if it had. A few inches with a rainbow film on the surface. She caught herself staring at it. She thought, knowing whether or not he had made himself a cup of tea added nothing to wisdom. She tipped the water out quickly. No one ever came back for standing water.
She left the kitchen and went to bed – Ella’s. She couldn’t face her own. It was hardly midday, so lying down didn’t even count as an afternoon nap. Ella’s room was different from the rest of the flat. Lengths of dark cloth tacked to the walls. Clothes heaped in piles. It was like being in a patchwork tent that had been wrongly put up, with surplus swathes lying on the floor. Jo didn’t mind about mess any more. Outside it was still Sunday. Cars went by making their purposeless Sunday drone. She slept on and off through the rest of the day and the following night, getting up only to pee and drink water, crawling back under Ella’s bedclothes. Her arms and legs lay at difficult angles. Without Felpo to fit into she couldn’t make them agree. She hadn’t missed him in that way on the front-room sofa. In a real bed again, she felt his absence. She gave up trying to find comfort and put her face further into the pillow, smelling Ella’s sweetish smell buried inside.
He had attacked her. To Peter and Tara, to her grandparents – had they known the story – Felpo’s sudden aggression would have been believable as well as true. No further explanation was necessary. But she couldn’t find one. They had loved each other, but jealousy hadn’t been part of love. He had said ‘Of course’ when she had said Trevor was on the phone. That was all she had to go on.
3
ALTHOUGH THEY HAD all finished eating, the wasps wouldn’t leave them alone. They liked the tomato pips that had squirted on to the table and the sweet wet rings left by the glasses. They smelled the salty crumbs of potato crisps on Annie’s fingers. Years ago wasps used to fly round plum trees but now they were scavengers addicted to ready meals. They walked sideways along the joins in the picnic table and then buzzed out to eat. There was a large ashtray in front of Ella and, in her bag, one cigarette. She wanted it but she couldn’t have it, so, to distract herself, she observed a wasp. She chose one in particular, and watched it edge its way through the shadows between the wooden slats – cunningly aiming too deep to be whacked. It got as far as the hole that was meant for umbrellas and fizzed about in the round space, getting excitable.
They were sitting in a pub yard having an early supper. Peter, Annie and Rob on one of the benches, Tara and Ella facing them on the other. It was a town pub on a street corner. There were no flowers or trees or umbrellas, but if you went inside the pub to the toilet, the door that you came back out of said Garden. Over the fence there was a real one with a lawn and a greenhouse and a swing seat. The owners were busy – a woman wielding a green hose, showering a border of roses with light spray, and a man trimming a hedge. Ella could hear that they were still there – the water swooshing, the shears whispering and clicking in regular rhythm. But she was observing the wasp.
There had been too much talking. Peter and Tara on the way back from the ferry terminal last night. Tara on her bed this morning. Tara while they were waiting for Peter to come back from London. They’d asked too many questions and because she was never going to lie again, she had replied. She had got sick of replying – but she hadn’t offered any extra information. Phil Phelps she’d called him. She’d had enough of Felpo. When Peter arrived with Rob and Annie they had changed the subject and talked of other things.
Rob had hardly said anything. He had sat as far away from her as he could and watched television. Sometimes he’d looked at her. He’d looked at Tara’s white towelling dressing gown as if to say, so that’s what you wear now, is it? Peter had tried to get a family discussion going about where they should go out to eat, but only he and Tara took part. Tara said that some place in a wood, miles away, was under new management and Peter said that it was a long time since he’d had a pizza. It wasn’t really an argument but they carried on with it for about an hour. Ella had tried smiling at Rob, just a small smile, but he had ignored her. In the end they had walked down the hill to the pub. Tara had carried a shawl thing to sit on because she was wearing cream-coloured jeans.
‘That won’t be allowed next week,’ Peter said.
‘What’s that, darling?’ Tara said.
‘Watering. The hosepipe ban will come into force if we don’t get any rain.’
‘It won’t affect us,’ Tara said. ‘Thank God for decking.’
‘You have to pay a supplement to the water rates if you have a sprinkler. I looked into it.’
‘Did you? I thought you were all for getting rid of that tatty greenery.’
‘I was.’
Tara yawned. ‘Oh. Sorry, everyone,’ she said.
‘I’m feeling a bit like that myself,’ Peter said. ‘We’d better all have an early one. How was the All Day Breakfast, Rob?’
‘Good,’ Rob said.
‘Let’s have a dessert. Did anyone look at the board?’ Peter said.
‘Pass,’ Tara said.
‘Rob?’ Peter said.
‘Don’t know,’ Rob said. ‘Didn’t see a board.’
‘Does anyone else fancy sticky toffee pudding? I’m having that if they’ve got any,’ Peter said.
‘Peter,’ Tara said.
‘What?’ Peter said.
‘No,’ Tara said.
‘Oh, all right,’ Peter said. ‘Just testing. No takers for dessert then. What about Annie? How about an ice cream?’
&nb
sp; The wasp had stopped fizzing in the hole and had started to bob across the table. Ella bent down, so that her eyes were level with the surface. On the far side was a glass smeared yellow with orange juice and Annie’s hands either side, looking blurry and larger than life-size. There were two wasps now and Ella had to concentrate to make sure she had the right one. She wanted to know whether her wasp was touching the surface. It appeared to be, but if it really were, wouldn’t it start fizzing again? It moved in jerky patterns so it was hard to track, but, she thought, in general, it missed by a whisker every time. Then, without warning, the background to the investigation broke up. Annie’s hands shot in the air and the glass toppled and rolled towards Ella. Her wasp took off.
‘Look what you’ve done,’ she said.
‘Look what you’ve done, you arsehole,’ Rob shouted.
‘Rob, pipe down. Annie, what is the matter?’ Peter said.
Annie was wailing and sucking her hand.
‘It was your fault. You made it sting her,’ Rob said.
‘I didn’t,’ Ella said.
‘You did. I was watching you. You sent it over. You willed it over.’
‘You’re just thick. How did I will it?’ She climbed out of the bench and stood up. ‘Just tell me, how did I will it?’
‘Ella, sit down,’ Peter said.
‘You out-stared it,’ Rob said. ‘Animals don’t like that. Not from someone with an evil face like yours. Fucking troublemaker.’
‘Say that again,’ Ella said.
‘Rob,’ Peter said.
‘Fucking troublemaker,’ Rob said.
‘Ella, stay where you are,’ Peter said.
She took no notice. She had already shot round to the other side of the table and was pummelling Rob’s head. He put his arms up to shield himself and then she moved on to his shoulders, one hand on each, forcing his forehead down on to the table, kneeing him in the back. He resisted. She increased the pressure. Peter shouted at her to cut it. She felt him come up behind her and grasp her arms above the elbow, enough to hurt. She struggled. He heaved. He was bigger than she was but not as angry. She carried on pushing downwards – fighting against the force that was pulling her backwards – but she lost her advantage and Rob took the opportunity to slither out of her grasp and crawl under the table.
‘Let go of me,’ she said, shaking loose.
Peter released her. He was out of breath.
‘Jesus,’ he said. ‘What have I done to deserve this family?’
‘Cow,’ Rob said, as he emerged on the opposite bench, next to Tara.
Annie climbed down from the bench and tugged at Peter’s arm.
‘I wasn’t stinged,’ she said.
4
JO SLEPT FROM five until eight, when she was disturbed. The front door banged and, after a few minutes, the motorbike belonging to the downstairs neighbours revved up and went. She turned over and opened her eyes. A high and uncrossable wall had gone up since she had last heard that noise. She couldn’t get back there. Part of her, though, wasn’t sorry to be home. After Dilys’s – after years of family life – the flat was a blank space. When had she last woken up alone in a house? She had gained time to herself by frightening them all away – though she didn’t know what use to put it to. She got out of bed. Even putting her feet to the floor was a strange experiment. A bee bumped into the window. No other sounds. She went into the passage. Through the kitchen door she could see a glass half-full of water on the draining board together with the packet of painkillers that she must have taken in the middle of the night. Careless to have left them there, she thought. Then she remembered that Annie wasn’t at home. She sat down at the table with her head resting in her hands. She knew he would be gone, not just him, but anything of him. There was nothing there on the outside. She had never known anyone so thoroughly missing. They’d expect her to get to work on the inside too, scouring him out. They kept away and hoped she would recover with a dose of her own solitude. But she didn’t know how to administer it, nor where to begin.
They came back in a rush, pounding up the stairs, filling the room. Peter in his shirtsleeves, but with a tie on, dressed for work, Ella, Rob and Annie with their summer arms and legs. They stood on the other side of the kitchen and gave Jo the same look. Their expressions were related. She didn’t often see that. She smiled at them and pushed her chair away from the table.
‘Did you have a good time yesterday?’ she asked.
‘Yes, we had fun, didn’t we?’ Peter said, turning to include the kids. ‘We went out to eat in the evening. Just to the pub down the road. Picnic tables, child-friendly. You know the sort of thing. Ella didn’t want to go anywhere by car.’
‘You and Tara did?’ Jo said.
‘We’d thought about going somewhere inland with more atmosphere. But it turned out all right,’ he said.
‘Annie got a splinter,’ Rob said.
‘Did you, Annie? Show me,’ Jo said.
Annie held both hands out. She hated splinters. She rubbed her hands over any grey and grainy-looking wood until she was sure she wouldn’t get one. Jo always carried a packet of needles with her. It was no good telling her.
‘I can’t see anything,’ Jo said. ‘It must be better.’
‘It was all a bit of a pantomime but I won’t go into it now,’ Peter said.
‘Fine,’ Jo said.
‘We’ve brought some of the bags up,’ Peter said. ‘They’re on the landing. I’ll go and get the rest.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Jo said. ‘You’ll be late getting to work. I’ll come down.’
‘Like that?’ he said.
She looked down at herself, surprised. Yesterday’s T-shirt and skirt. She’d worn them in bed. She smoothed down the skirt.
‘Yes,’ she said.
She followed him down the stairs and into the hallway. Megan, the downstairs neighbour, was letting herself in. She must be taking the day off work, Jo thought. She smiled and Megan smiled back. She found it restful that they didn’t say hello – and somehow more intimate, though they knew nothing about each other.
She and Peter went out into the street. He unlocked the boot of the car and leant inside for the battered holdall and the plastic laundry bag with its handles tied together. He put them on the ground.
‘Leave them there,’ she said. ‘I’ll manage.’
‘You’ll be all right?’
‘You’ve done most of it,’ she said.
‘I meant, in general.’
‘Yes, I’ll be all right,’ she said. ‘Thanks for helping out.’
‘Ella seems to be calmer,’ he said.
‘I’m glad.’
‘Tara had a good talk with her yesterday morning. It might have made it easier for you, paved the way,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘She’ll need time to recover. Tara would talk to her again, if you wanted her to. She’s sympathetic. She seems to understand what she’s been through.’
‘Once is probably fine,’ Jo said.
‘She did her best. So did I. You didn’t see Ella, last night, down at the ferry terminal. Sitting in the café there, in the middle of the night. That kind bloke had picked her up – a total stranger. Christ, we were lucky.’
‘Yes,’ Jo said. ‘She was lucky too.’
‘Has she really no idea how dangerous it is to take lifts?’
‘She knows,’ Jo said. She paused. ‘I’m glad the man who gave her the lift didn’t tell her. She probably wouldn’t have agreed to use his mobile to call you.’
‘She was a mess. Crying, shivering. I’ve never seen her like that.’
Neither of them spoke.
‘She was crying when you found her?’ Jo said.
‘No. When she saw me. Relief, I suppose. I was bloody relieved too.’
Jo nodded. ‘What happened to the man?’ she said.
‘He had to leave to catch the ferry. He had a wedding to get to. He left her in the care of the café attendant. I thanked the
woman, of course. She made light of it all. Said she didn’t know what I was talking about. I’d like to get hold of the fellow’s address. Send him a crate of wine or something.’
Jo imagined the man on his own again after his encounter with Ella. She saw him flicking through his travel documents, leaning across to the left-hand side of the windscreen, maybe re-sticking a loose corner of his tax disc, driving up the ramp to the car deck. Peter used to do those things. Before the ferry sailed he might have looked back and seen the girl and her father in miniature before they disappeared from the terminal buildings.
Peter was prodding the near tyre with his foot, as if gauging the pressure.
‘She was frightened of him,’ he said. ‘That’s why she jumped off the train. She saw him.’
‘She told you that?’ Jo knew who him was.
‘More or less. Well, I needed some explanation.’
‘That’s probably why she gave you one,’ she said.
