by Helen Slavin
There was a spate of burglaries, nothing serious, just vandalism really. Enough to shake her dad up. His house broken into in the middle of the night three, five times. The alarm system faulty but the engineer couldn’t seem to find the fault. ‘Intermittent,’ he said, the worst kind of fault. Now you see it, sort of thing.
The police couldn’t get there in time. And the last time, when Dad was cornered on the stairs, he fell and dislocated his shoulder.
The phone ringing out starkly into the darkness, Nathan turning over, pretending to be asleep. Jeannie left, pulling her jacket on over her pyjamas, pulling her boots onto her bare feet. He was so white faced on the way to hospital. Jeannie knew.
Jeannie had to speak. Had to say something to Nathan.
‘Stop it. Please.’ Quiet. Meek.
‘Stop what?’ He sat on the table, one leg lifted onto the chair, casual as he reached behind him for an apple from the bowl. Bit the apple.
‘Just please stop.’
He considered for a moment. Chewed at the piece of apple in his mouth, rolled the rest of the fruit around in his hand, as if it was the globe. He spat the apple onto the floor beside her, threw the rest at the sink where it cracked a new plate.
‘Beg.’
* * *
‘What’s going on?’ Dad knew exactly what he was going to say this time. Loss emboldened him. Who cared anymore? I just care about her. She is all I have left.
‘What, the hell, is going on Jeannie?’ he spoke through gritted teeth the second time. He could see her fold up before him. She dwindled visibly in the chair.
‘I’ve been so busy. I’m sorry.’
‘He won’t let you come. That’s it isn’t it?’
She couldn’t let her dad in on this. Once he knew, that would be it. The killer blow. The deadly secret.
‘Why won’t he? What is going on?’
‘He’s just careful. He cares about me. Going out on my own. That’s all.’ Jeannie could taste the lie as bitter as car fumes in her mouth. Dad looked edgy.
‘Seems to me…’ He paused as if the words were something to be coughed up. ‘Seems to me, to me looking from the outside, Jeannie…that you’re not allowed out.’ His lips were as pinched as Jeannie’s heart. All this was her fault. All this mess. She couldn’t undo the past, but there had to be some way of doing the future differently.
‘It’s because of the…of…everything. Made him edgy. You know, Dad, you know what his work is like. The stuff he sees.’
‘I don’t care what he sees. I care what he does. I worry about you.’
He wanted to say that he was frightened for her but he couldn’t make his mouth say it. Saying it would make it alive.
‘He worries too. That’s all. That’s all it is.’ Jeannie lied, more car fumes, making her mouth water to clean itself. Her own spit choked her. ‘He wants a baby and I can’t give him one and I don’t know why.’ She heard the words and thought that they must be true. That they had fallen from somewhere to fill the gap.
‘Why is it your fault Jeannie?’ Her dad spoke quietly, reasoning. ‘It might be his fault.’
They were still talking about the baby weren’t they? Jeannie’s vision tilted, she felt sick suddenly.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ she whispered then. And it seemed she was talking about the baby. Seemed.
* * *
Ray. Sitting puffing on a cigar at the tea shed. Jeannie could see him from the top terrace, could even smell his particularly bitter brand of cigar from inside the top greenhouse. She stood for a while looking down, watching him, hoping he’d go away. But he just kept sponging more cups of tea, insisting, ‘It’s free to family,’ as Irene fumed. In the end she sent one of the boys up to find Jeannie with a message. ‘Shift him or I’ll do for him.’
It was a soggy day. The rain had been heavy all morning and everything had a scratched stainless steel sheen to it. The clouds were low over town, obscuring Cromwell Park from view and in the distance the turrets and wires of the suspension bridge had vanished. There was the background noise of water, the trickling of drains, the splash of cars on the wet roads.
‘Look at the arse on that,’ Ray grimaced as he watched Irene walk back into the shed with a tray of spent tea things.
Irene halted, half turned. ‘Funny, I was thinking the same thing when I was looking at your face.’
Ray gave a tight whistle and a wheezy laugh. ‘I like you. You’ve got balls,’ he shouted.
‘Yes. Yours if you don’t piss off.’
Jeannie felt as if she was being stabbed with pins. Ray looked up at her.
‘What’s that face for then?’ He was smirky, very pleased with himself and the undercurrent of mayhem he was causing.
‘Just a social call Ray? Or did you want something?’
‘Bit of cake wouldn’t go amiss.’ He tamped out the cigar and began to unpeel another from its cellophane wrap. ‘Just thought I’d pay a visit. I had time on my hands. You know, us retired blokes. Thought I’d see what my daughter-in-law was up to.’
She took him up to the greenhouse to keep him from the public and Irene. He dawdled his way through the garden centre making idle chit-chat, cadging a birdhouse and a few trays of violas as they went. Once in the greenhouse Jeannie tried to continue with what she’d been doing, let him talk at one end of the potting bench until he got bored and then she could be rid of him. He made himself at home on an upturned crate. It seemed Linda and Shannon had abandoned him and he told Jeannie of his trawl for a new mate. Did she have any friends she could set him up with then? He’d quite like to get to know Irene’s arse better.
‘No kiddies then,’ he said at last, getting down to the end of his Smalltalk and his latest cigar. Jeannie shook her head. Did not want to think about that. Did not want him to bring those thoughts into the one place where they left her. Keep out.
‘I say. Not up the duff then.’
Jeannie was not attentive enough, did not catch the tone in his voice, the preamble to something. ‘You know what they say.’ She tried to sound wifey.
‘No. What’s that they say?’
‘Fun trying.’
‘Is it? Is that what they say?’ punctuated by the click-click of his lighter on a fresh cigar. There was an edge that wasn’t quite catching her. She was too busy trying to think of pointless tasks to finish until he went away.
‘No point trawling if there aren’t any fish in the sea Jeannie,’ he said, standing and looking at her. His voice was low and dark. Outside the cloud seemed to lower as if it could block in the windows to the greenhouse. Jeannie looked at him. Ignorant. Not getting it. He triumphed. ‘Mumps. When he was in secondary school. Really bad case, he was. Looked like the Elephant Man.’
Jeannie thought time stopped and only his mouth moved in the vastness of the universe.
‘He couldn’t sire one on you if he fucked you till Doomsday.’
Jeannie felt the vomit rise in her throat, saw the black stars of her universe burn more intently. The familiar dull ache she felt in her pelvis seemed to increase in intensity, as if she was rotting away from the hips down.
‘I’ve got time on my hands Jeannie. Fuck him over for once. Give me a grandchild. Only we do it my way.’
Artemisia absinthium
wormwood
a useful bitter in low dosage; too much, however, is poison
* * *
They were at Bailley’s housewarming party. Lots of people standing around her half-finished kitchen drinking bitter red wine that dried like ash in your mouth. Jeannie had found a quiet corner by a newly installed window. She looked out to where Bailley had lit tealights in the long thin garden. Jeannie wanted to be out there but had strict instructions not to move out of Nathan’s line of sight.
Bailley had started her drinking. Jeannie didn’t really want the wine, but Bailley was perched on a nearby wicker chair, intent on using Jeannie to practise her new found Victim Support skills.
‘It was Geraldine who se
t me off on this,’ she was saying. ‘If it hadn’t been for what happened…you know…I might not…might never have changed direction like I have…gone the victim support route…’
Jeannie couldn’t believe she was hearing this. Was she supposed to be delighted that Geraldine’s death had inspired such a good career move in Bailley?
Bailley topped her glass up. ‘It’s hard. I know.’
She knew? Had she read it on the back of a leaflet?
‘You don’t…I hope you don’t mind me saying this but you don’t…seem…well, a very happy bunny.’
Words were coming out of Bailley’s mouth but Jeannie found the more wine she glugged the less she heard what they were. Instead she saw Geraldine sawing away at her cello. Dunking a biscuit in hot tea. The tealights outside beckoned like a runway. Jeannie lurched upwards and outwards through the thick polythene that was standing in for the French doors.
But bloody Bailley followed. The shapes her mouth made looked like a foreign language. Jeannie was embarrassed to find she had reached out, touched Bailley’s lips closed.
‘Sssssh.’ Jeannie could hear herself now. ‘Want to know a secret?’ And then she couldn’t decide which one to tell first. There suddenly seemed so many.
Bailley was looking at the wine in Jeannie’s glass. Rather hypocritical, Jeannie thought, considering it was Bailley who’d kept it topped up. This is your fault, she thought.
‘…fault.’ She heard herself saying it out loud. Bailley unflinching, pitying. Nathan stooping as he pushed his way through the polythene.
‘Ssssssssh.’ Jeannie stumbled, Nathan caught her.
‘She’s just been telling me secrets.’ Bailley tried to make light, tried to suck up to Nathan. Oops, the look that passed between Nathan and Bailley told Jeannie she’d said that one aloud too.
‘What a Victim Support look.’ Jeannie heard herself as if she was listening to her voice on the radio. She felt her mouth move, puppetish. ‘Can’t sire one on me then, Elephant Man.’
Bailley laughed, gave Nathan a hideous twinkling look. Did she think he was hung like a trunk? Long, like the hose on a vacuum cleaner? Reaching and sucking.
Nathan hadn’t been drinking. And now she wished she hadn’t. Jeannie looked up, his face blurred for a moment into two faces and she felt a strange pang, as if Nathan might be in there. A ghost in this machine.
‘You’re yanking my chain lately. Did you know that?’ His tone was low and controlled. Very controlled. The more controlled he sounded, the angrier she knew he was. Panic.
‘How?’
She hadn’t done anything. Had she? Been careful not to speak to anyone without an introduction, without permission, from Nathan. Say nothing. Smile. Like the Queen.
‘Have I pissed off Bailley?’ she asked and heard herself answer. ‘Good.’
He was blocking her, his body filling all her sightlines. Whichever way she turned she knocked some part of herself against him. She tried to look away but he tilted her chin towards him, tender, as if she was a child. Anyone looking on would see a man being gentle with his wife, not a policeman interrogating.
‘This is the least of it. What do you think you’ve been up to?’ He was a step away and yet the words were a shove. A dig.
‘Tell me then.’ Leaning down to whisper in her ear. ‘Confess.’ Her jaw ached with what she couldn’t say. If she said it, everything would crash and burn.
‘How about you and Ray? Eh? Tell me about that. Start with that.’
There was a silence. The drink and the darkness blurred all the edges and Nathan loomed over her, tall as a building. The only landmark in the landscape.
‘He was at the garden centre,’ she said easily. ‘Drinking all Irene’s tea.’
‘Say again?’ He leaned right in close so she thought he might crack his forehead against hers.
‘He was blagging freebies from Irene.’
‘Forget that. I’m not on about that. I want to know what he’s been saying.’
Jeannie could feel the pressure now. ‘He wanted to know if I could set him up with someone new. A woman. With Irene.’
‘Did you listen to him?’ he spoke over her. Her head was fuzzing and she couldn’t let him do that. No, it wasn’t him, it was the wine. The stupid, horrible wine.
‘Listen to him?’
Nathan looked relaxed, hands easy in his pockets, looking away at the party, back down at Jeannie.
‘You believed what he told you didn’t you?’ Nathan’s voice was so quiet she had to strain to hear him. She was bargaining wasn’t she? He wanted to see how far he could push her. He was spoiling for a fight. ‘Didn’t you?’
‘About Irene’s arse?’
He gave her a very cold look and for the first time she returned it. If this was a game then she had, at last, some sort of trump card here. He was scornful.
‘You did, didn’t you.’
She smoothed at her stomach, smoothing her top down over it. Looked up at him drunkenly puzzled.
‘You’ve been machine-gunning me for years Nathan…’ She felt the spittle spattering out of her mouth as she battered lightly at him, knocking her wine glass against him, spilling wine until his hands stopped her. Couldn’t stop her speaking.
‘Datdatdatdatdat…no fucking baby. But that’s not my fault…no. Not my fault…’cause you’re the Elephant Man!’ Her face was betraying her, she couldn’t stop it stretching into a laugh. Her face seemed to think she had escaped. Was free. She felt herself tilt towards him, felt his body lean into hers, shoring her up. His eyes all over her, and she couldn’t tell if he was disgusted or lusted up. And that was nothing to do with the wine. That was the…what did you call it…what was the phrase? The status quo. He lolled her head between his hands, smirked.
A couple of the other guests were wandering in their direction, glasses sloshing wine. One of the women tiptoeing barefoot through the grass saying, ‘I’ve lost my other shoe…I’ve lost it…in the pond…’ and laughter. Nathan leaned in towards Jeannie’s face and kissed her on the mouth pushing his tongue between her lips. A hand sliding down to lift her skirt. A signal to the others who giggled and turned back towards the house. Jeannie heard sssshhhh and sniggers of laughter. She didn’t try to stop his hands. She wanted to catch him. The wine was making her reckless.
‘I know what you did,’ she said at last, lifting her head to whisper into the side of his face. How she had loved the curve of his cheekbone, the wavy line his hair made across the top of his forehead. No, not him, someone else in his skin.
He traced a finger down her neck, her shoulder, down to her elbow.
‘You did it, didn’t you. Sssh. I know it.’ She heard her voice splintering.
‘Did I?’ He was challenging, his eyes capturing the burning orange flickers from the tealights. ‘Tell me what I did.’ His voice was low, easy, calm.
‘You punished me, you did.’ In her mind’s eye she could see Geraldine, sitting in the sun, her glasses perched on her nose. A glass of wine. White, not red.
He had caught her neck in his fist, was holding her head as if she were a doll. ‘Tell me how I punished you.’
He was leaning close and she could feel the resonance of every word on her skin. And in that moment she knew for certain what he had done. She opened her mouth.
‘Ssssssssshhhhhhhhh.’ It was a long low foolish sound. Her mouth close against his ear. She felt his hand move to the small of her back, knew he thought she was too drunk, that she could be taken home in half an hour and fucked over. No. Not tonight.
‘Ssssshhhhhh. Hit and run.’
She did not see the punch coming and to anyone looking on it appeared, for all the world, as if Jeannie simply fainted. Her wine spilled down her front, staining her top, and Nathan, looking concerned, simply picked her up and carried her back towards the house. A vague wine-hazed sensation that she’d been here before. That this was the real Nathan come to take her back.
Jeannie remembered vomiting on the half-finis
hed patio. It landed half on the crenellated pattern of the incomplete paving and half in the soft golden sand of the foundations. At the farthest edge there were spatters on black shoes. A woman. Tall. High heels. The woman helped her to the bathroom to clean herself up. She could hear how everyone was so kind. Especially to Nathan. With his barren wife who’d had too much to drink. Heard Bailley use the words ‘sad’ and ‘troubled’ and ‘tough time’.
Jeannie knew then that he had built a story of babies. He had backup, a battalion of lies. Even if she leapt from his arms and tried to tell them all, begged for help, no one would listen. It would embarrass them all. They would have to look away.
If she had thought that the last year and a half had been a dream and there was a chance she could wake up now, the dream descended. All the lights went out.
‘Please Nathan. Please.’
‘Please?’
‘Don’t…please don’t…’
‘Don’t? Please? Don’t what? What am I doing? Spit it out Jeannie. Or swallow it.’ His eyes flickered from the road to her face.
‘Please don’t. Please.’
He gave another snort. ‘What the fuck have I done? Look at you. Off on one. You’re a fucking nightmare.’
Jeannie’s mind scuppered and reeled. ‘I’m sorry.’ She ought to laugh now, stupid, careless and mad for thinking she could win. ‘I’m sorry. Sorry.’
For drinking the wine as if it was courage. For giving him what he wanted, an excuse. It was her own fault. Once more, she was to blame.
‘Sorry…sorry…sorry…Take me home. Let’s go home.’ The shirts were clean and white weren’t they? Clean and white and she’d bought the lavender water so they wouldn’t smell like the iron. Only then he hadn’t liked the lavender smell like a fucking old lady and she’d had that image in her head of the old lady astride Nathan. An old lady in thigh length boots. Knitting with his pubic hair.
