by Morton Bain
‘I’m not sure I should share this with you,’ I begin. ‘Today’s been horrible enough without telling you about this.’
‘Nothing can make today any worse than it already is,’ Arthur replies. ‘Out with it.’
I sigh deeply. ‘Lucy . . . Lucy has been struggling with a realisation that has made her very unhappy recently . . .’
‘What? What’s she been struggling with?’
‘She . . . she recently came to the conclusion that she is attracted to people of the same sex. That she’s a lesbian.’
‘What?’ Arthur’s face is screwed up with incredulity.
‘I know. I couldn’t really believe it myself, but she insists – insisted. Obviously it was putting a huge strain on our marriage, but also making Lucy feel very guilty. We’re both of the opinion that homosexuality is considered wrong by God. I know many in the Church feel differently, but that’s how we’ve always felt. So Lucy felt she was not only in a relationship with someone she didn’t feel comfortable with, but that if she followed her heart or inclinations she’d be committing a sin. An awful bind for anyone to deal with . . .’
‘Did she share this with anyone else?’
I shake my ahead. ‘No. She could barely admit it to herself.’
‘My God. And to think I woke up this morning thinking it would be just another day. You mustn’t say anything about this to Gloria. I think it could lead to her doing away with herself . . .’
‘I’m happy not to say anything to her directly, but can’t promise she won’t find out eventually. I’m going to have to tell the police about this if they need any more information.’
Arthur exhales deeply. ‘If you must . . .’
We return to the living room and I sit in an armchair, looking at the kids. Gloria leaves the room as soon as I enter, mumbling something about preparing food. As I gaze at Ben and Chloe I can appreciate quite clearly that in murdering their mother I’ve done something that, if not wrong – I don’t really get ‘wrong’ – is not ideal. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I feel sympathy for them – again, I don’t really understand what that means – but I feel close to understanding what sympathy might be like. Ben picks up a yellow Tonka truck and holds it up for me to see, smiling. I smile back. I consider my kids in the way that a gardener might consider prized plants. I don’t love them, but I would like them to reach maturity and thrive. I might need their help in later life; they could be a source of pride. Taking the plant analogy further, in getting rid of Lucy I’ve done the equivalent of a gardener loping off the tops of his seedlings. They may survive, but I certainly haven’t done them a favour. I resolve to provide both kids with extra academic coaching as soon as they get to an age to be able to benefit from it. It’ll be something to spend my cash on, and the very least I can do.
Later we eat a meal of soup and toast. The kids and myself eat well, but the grandparents are evidently not hungry.
‘Do you think we should say something?’ Arthur asks while we’re at the table.
‘What do you need to say?’ Ben asks. He’s no fool.
I look at Ben and Chloe. ‘You’re probably right,’ I say. ‘Kids, I have something I need to tell you . . .’
‘She what . . .?’
It’s the day after, and I’ve finally got around to ringing Courtney. ‘Yep. Just threw herself off the cliff. Died straight away apparently . . .’
‘Holy Shit. How you bearing up? And the kids?’
‘I think I’m still in shock,’ I lie. ‘Don’t think it’s really sunk in yet. Same with the kids.’
‘Well, man, I’m really sorry to hear about this. I don’t blame you not phoning me yesterday. I’m sorry I called you.’
‘You weren’t to know.’
‘Have you told Joey?’
‘Not yet. Was going to ring him after I spoke to you.’
‘I can talk to him if you want.’
‘No, no it’s fine. Life has to go on. Was going to ask you what Joey wants us to do, actually. Figure it might be good for me to stay busy at the moment.’ And I can keep an eye on you, you devious fucker.
‘Just another whore pick-up. Wants us to collect tomorrow and deliver to some Turks in Hornsey.’
‘I’ll come along,’ I tell Courtney.
I wander the house aimlessly for a while after talking to Courtney. Everyone’s home, and there’s a funereal atmosphere permeating the house. Gloria still won’t look me in the eye, and isn’t saying much to me either. The kids are subdued but not visibly upset. I went and bought them some toys earlier, and these seem to be helping to distract them. I don’t really know if they get death. They haven’t had any pets that have died. Ditto relatives, though that may not be the case for much longer judging by how their grandparents are taking Lucy’s death. I don’t think they really understand. They probably think it’s like going bust in a game of Monopoly. There’s always a new game to be played the following week.
As I move about the house I keep feeling the difference between myself as an independent entity and other objects and people is blurring. My son runs towards me, and I feel like I’m running at myself. I see unwashed dishes in the sink and want to brush myself down as if my clothes are covered with gravy. I’ve heard of depersonalisation syndrome, and wonder if that’s what I’m experiencing. Maybe I’m just going mad, plain and simple. I’ve got to be a good candidate for madness, given what I’ve been up to over the last year – last forty years you could say. Maybe I’ve always been mad. I take a piss, and wonder what happened to the piss in Lucy’s body when she died. Does it just stay in her body, or trickle out? Thinking of Lucy makes me think of the funeral arrangements I’m meant to be making. I can’t really be bothered. I think maybe I’ll delegate this to the parents. I walk back into the kitchen. There’s a bottle of port in one of the cupboards, with a broken, discoloured cork in the top. I pull the cork out and gulp down a few fingers of the stuff. It’s far too sweet for my taste, but after about a minute I can feel that nice fuzziness again.
Courtney picks me up at ten the next morning. He’s got a lit joint in his mouth and he passes it to me as we pull off. The end of the joint that’s been in Courtney’s mouth is soggy, but I take a big puff anyway and pass it back. ‘Thought you might need something to mellow you out,’ my companion explains. ‘Sorry again about what happened.’
‘Saves me divorcing her,’ I say, immediately regretting I’ve been so candid.
Courtney grunts.
‘I’m thinking of getting ordained into some church,’ Courtney announces after a period of silence.
‘You what?’
‘Yeah, I’m feeling a bit left out. You guys got your church thing, I want mine.’
‘But it’s just a coincidence that we’re members of the Church,’ I say. ‘We’re the last people they should ever have let in.’
‘Yeah, but we’re the Three Musketeers, like. It ain’t right that I’m not a priest. Plus being churchmen helps you. No-one suspects churchmen of crime.’
‘Well, apart from child molestation and buggery,’ I say. ‘Anyway, you can’t just become a priest overnight. I spent three years at theological college.’
‘I’m gonna look into Rastafarian priesthood. It’s gotta be quicker than three years. They probably give me credits for all the spliffs I’ve smoked . . .’
‘Whatever . . .’ I say, wondering if Courtney hasn’t been overdoing it with the spliffs.
We arrive at the nunnery. ‘How many are we picking up today?’ I ask. Courtney’s car is big, but it isn’t a van. We probably couldn’t carry more than three girls unless we start using the boot.
‘Just two. You want to go and get them? You look more like a priest than me, and they’ve met you before.’
Out of the car, smooth down shirt, walk to main door, press doorbell. A big wait, before the door is opened. Nun looks like a dyke. She gives me an unwelcoming look before saying, ‘Can I help?’
‘I work with Father LaMotta. I’m here to c
ollect a couple of the women you’ve been kindly providing accommodation to.’
‘Come in,’ she says, with an unspoken ‘if you must’.
I’m led to the same room I’ve waited in before, and left alone with a, ‘We shouldn’t be too long.’
Five minutes pass. Then another five. Then yet another five. I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve been forgotten, and text Courtney to tell him I’m still waiting. When ten minutes later I’ve still seen no sign of the nuns I get up and walk towards the door. As I reach it the Mother Superior appears in front of me, followed by two women.
‘Ah,’ I say. ‘Thought you’d forgotten about me . . .’
‘No, no. It just took a little while for the girls to get their things together.’
Looking at the women I see that they’re both trailing wheeled suitcases.
‘Well thanks again for helping these young ladies,’ I say.
‘Our pleasure. The only thing I would say is that we seem to lose all touch with the women after they move on. We’ve often thought it would be nice to hear how they’re getting on with their new lives.’
‘Um . . . I’ll have a word with Father LaMotta,’ I reply. ‘He’s the administrator, keeping phone numbers and things like that. I’ll ask him to give you a ring.’
‘That would be greatly appreciated.’ I’m gifted with a beaming smile.
The five of us make our way to the front door, and after an exchange of kisses between the woman and a cheery wave from the Mother Superior, the two girls and myself walk towards the car. Courtney gets out of the car and loads the suitcases into the boot while I try and gauge how much English the girls have. ‘I’m Adam,’ I say to them. ‘Have you enjoyed your stay here?’ This is the first time I’ve taken a proper look at the women, and I’m immediately struck by the shorter of the two. She looks Indian, not European, and has a beauty that I find mesmerising. There’s more to my reaction than just an appreciation of her appearance, however; she’s me I feel, as strange as that sounds. It feels like I’ve always known her, or at the very least always known that I would know her.
The other woman replies to my question, but I don’t hear what she’s saying. I’m transfixed.
We drive away. Courtney tries to engage me in conversation, but I’m too busy looking in the rear view mirror at the angel sitting behind me to be able to respond coherently. Is this love at first sight? I wonder. Probably not, because I don’t do love, but it’s got to be something similar. Infatuation at first sight, maybe. My mind starts spinning. I can’t handle the thought that this woman is going to be imprisoned in some hovel of a massage parlour shortly, taking dick from any ugly, sweaty bastard who happens to have sixty pounds spare. Then it all falls into place. No Lucy, kids need someone to cook for them, me thinking about getting a live-in nanny.
‘Courtney, how much . . . er . . . money has been promised for the cargo we’re currently transporting?’ I don’t want to give the game away to our passengers.
Courtney glances at me with a look that suggests he thinks I’ve gone mad, before saying, ‘Five each.’
‘Is that all?’
‘We paid two each, so not that bad . . .’
‘I’m going to take one of them,’ I announce.
‘You what?’
‘Just what I said. One on the left. She’s mine. I’ll pay the money.’
‘But you can’t do that. The guy we’re on the way to is expecting two girls. He’ll hit the roof.’
‘We’ll just have to make something up,’ I say. ‘Tell him there’s another one coming.’
Courtney shakes his head. ‘What the hell do you want a Babylon woman for? You gonna put her to work?’
‘Not like that. Remember Lucy’s gone now. I’m going to need some help at home.’
‘Well you better call Joey and tell him about this. And tell him I told you you was crazy.’
I ring Joey. I think he might be in bed with someone, as he sounds out of breath and distracted. Probably not the best time to put my proposition to him. ‘You wanna do what?’ he says, clearly confused and irritated.
‘I want to take one of the pieces of merchandise. That’s right. I’ll pay whatever the other guy was due to pay.’
‘You can’t man. The guy you’re dropping off to is a good customer. If we start messing him around we’ll lose him.’
‘Lucy’s dead.’
‘What??’
‘Committed suicide a couple of days ago. This isn’t a good time to say “no” to me Joey . . .’
There’s a long pause, before Joey says, ‘Are you kidding me?’
‘No, I’m not.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I just have.’
‘Jesus man . . . Okay, take the broad. She’s on the house. But what are you going to do with her? Get her working?’
‘No, I’m going to take her home with me. Get her to help look after the kids.’
‘Well you’d better get Courtney to drop you off first. Tell him to tell the guy we’ll have number two for him within a few days.’
‘Okay, will do.’
‘You take it easy buddy. Sorry to hear about Lucy. I’ll come over to see you tomorrow or the day after . . .’
‘He’s cool about it,’ I tell Courtney after ending the call. ‘Pull up here, so I can explain what’s happening to my lady.’
Courtney does as I ask, and I turn around to face the Indian. ‘Sorry I don’t know your name?’ I say.
‘My name is Chanda,’ she replies, with a trace of a smile.
‘Hi Chanda. Well this is going to sound a little strange, but it turns out I need someone to help me at home – I lost my wife recently – and I was just wondering if you’d be interested in doing that? You’d get your own room, and I’d pay you as much as you’d have earned in the . . . hospitality business. Are you good with kids?’
Chanda looks at her companion. ‘Just me?’
‘Yes, just you.’
‘I suppose so. But I would need to meet your children first. To make sure that they like me . . .’
‘That’s fine. We could even say, give it a try for a couple of weeks. If you’re happy you stay, if you’re not you can do the hospitality work.’
Chanda nods her consent.
‘Okay, we’ll go to my place now.’ I look at Courtney, who starts the car.
The next challenge is going to be explaining my new servant to Lucy’s parents. They’re still staying, and showing no signs of being in a hurry to leave. We pull up outside my house, and Chanda, Courtney and myself disembark. Courtney gets Chanda’s suitcase from the boot, then gets back into the car with a ‘good luck!’ by way of farewell.
‘Well here we are,’ I say. ‘My wife killed herself two days ago, and her parents are staying with us at the moment. They won’t be expecting you, and they may seem a bit jumpy, but we’ll get over that. I have two children – Ben who is five, and Chloe who is six. I think they’ll like you, and I hope you like them.’
Chanda says, ‘I understand. I’m sorry about your wife.’
I open the front door, and standing before me in the hallway is Gloria. She’s obviously been crying, and holds a crumpled tissue in one hand. ‘Hi there,’ I say, stiffening up. ‘I’d like you to meet Chanda . . .’
‘Who is this?’ Gloria says with menace.
‘This is Chanda. She’s going to be helping out around the house.’
‘Arthur!’ Gloria shouts. ‘Arthur, come here now!’
Arthur emerges from the living room and looks at Chanda and myself for a few seconds before saying, ‘Yes, dear?’
‘Adam has brought this . . . this person home. Tell her she must go.’
‘What are you up to Adam?’ Arthur says. ‘Is this the time to be bringing strangers home?’
‘Chanda has been introduced to me by the nuns at a convent my church has a relationship with. With Lucy gone I’m going to need an extra pair of hands around here, and I think Chanda could be very helpful.’
‘But that’s what we’re here for!’ Gloria shrieks. ‘Have you been carrying on with this . . . this thing behind Lucy’s back?’
‘Gloria . . .’ Arthur says in an admonishing tone.
‘Well it’s all a bit odd . . . ’
‘I think what you’re forgetting is that this is my home,’ I counter. ‘As much as I appreciate your help, it is I who decides who does or doesn’t stay here. Chanda will be staying.’
‘Well if she’s staying, I’m going,’ Gloria says, before breaking into a sob.
‘So be it.’
The kids come down the stairs at this point to see what’s causing the commotion. ‘What’s going on?’ Ben asks.
‘Ask your father,’ Gloria says. ‘I’m going to pack.’ With that the woman barges past the children and starts making her way up the stairs.
‘I think your timing is unfortunate,’ Arthur says. ‘No disrespect to your . . . friend, but we’re still all in a state of shock here.’
Chanda steps forward and kneels in front of Chloe. ‘My name is Chanda,’ she says softly. ‘And you are Chloe?’
‘Yes,’ Chloe says with a smile. ‘And this is my brother Ben, and he stinks.’
By the following morning Arthur and Gloria have left. Arthur maintained a fatherly neutrality throughout his last hours under my roof, but Gloria alternated between hysteria and rage. With the kids at school, I finally have some time alone with Chanda. She spent most of the previous evening in her room, unpacking and keeping out of Gloria’s way.
‘So you think you’ll be okay here?’ I ask. We’re sitting in the kitchen, sipping tea.
‘I like it here,’ Chanda replies. ‘You have two beautiful children. Much better than working as a prostitute.’
I come very close to spitting out a mouthful of tea.
Chanda smiles at me. ‘You think I didn’t know what a “hospitality” job involves?’
‘Then why did you agree to travel from India?’
‘I knew my fate awaited me here. As my guru says, “if your heart is pure, circumstances can’t harm you”. My body is just flesh. It will melt away one day.’
