Whistle in the Dark

by Emma Healey

  The tooth only needed to be bonded with resin, though, so there were no needles or drills, and no pain as far as Jen could tell, and when the dentist snapped off his gloves Jen could only think about how dry his fingers were underneath the latex, as if he hadn’t touched the inside of Lana’s mouth at all.

  Sightseeing

  ‘And this,’ Jen said, with a slow raise of the head, a long breath in, a flex of the toes, ‘is where your dad and I lived when we were first married.’

  A pause, convex on one side and concave on the other, slid between them where they stood on a rain-damp street. They’d left the dentist’s half an hour ago and, not wanting to go back to being menaced from corners and doorways, Jen had suggested they walk up towards the common and ‘see the sights’. Lana hadn’t seemed enthusiastic but had agreed, as long as they didn’t have to get the Tube.

  ‘Obviously, this is the site rather than the actual building,’ Jen said. ‘The houses here were pulled down and replaced by these offices ten years ago.’

  ‘Oh. My. God,’ Lana said. ‘And I thought this couldn’t be any more pointless. The house isn’t even here now?’

  ‘No, but the houses further down the road are the same as the ones that were here. So you can imagine what they might have been like.’

  ‘I could have imagined from home.’

  A line of traffic streaked past, the cars’ tyres making that long, whooshing, splashing sound of rubber on wet tarmac, as if to highlight the post-rain dismalness of the day and lend weight to Lana’s argument that they should have gone straight home. They had missed a shower of rain by a few minutes, and Lana kept looking up at the sky as they walked, checking for any stray drops, glaring at the clouds.

  ‘Okay, well,’ Jen said, determinedly bright, ‘that isn’t the only thing I wanted to show you. There’s a restaurant about five minutes away, less than five minutes away, where we had our first proper date.’ Her voice had begun to take on a pleading note.

  ‘Is this actually still in existence,’ Lana asked, ‘or am I going to be imagining again? Will we be standing outside a betting shop this time?’

  ‘It’s in existence,’ Jen said, feeling a sudden exhaustion from the burden of the love she felt for Lana.

  Why did she have to drag this love around everywhere when, sometimes, she’d like to leave it behind for a few hours? Without that love, she could float away, let her daughter’s mood improve, let her put her frown and her sharp tongue back in their still-shiny packaging. Without that love, she could be light, untethered by their shared genetics, by the memory of Lana as a baby, or by the pride she felt in her wit, even when it was aimed fiercely at her.

  Jen turned off the main shopping street, feeling the elastic connection tighten as Lana dropped further and further behind, feeling it vibrate when Lana stopped outside a curve-fronted shop on the corner.

  ‘What now?’ Jen called back.

  Lana didn’t answer but stared through the window.

  ‘Why can’t you at least answer me?’ Jen said, retracing her steps on the dank paving stones and hating the whine in her words.

  The shop was a Christian bookshop, brightly lit and warm-looking, with cards and mugs in the window. At first glance, it could have been any bookshop, except for the slightly blurry covers on most of the books, the over-reliance on pastel colours. And of course, the special offer on glow-in-the-dark crosses, which bore the words I will never leave you.

  It had started to rain again, the first few drops like fitful needle pricks on the parting of Jen’s hair, the bridge of her nose.

  ‘Can we go in?’ Lana said, still staring into the shop.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Just to look.’

  She pushed open the door and Jen followed, the smell of wood and new books replacing the petrol fumes she’d got used to on their walk. She didn’t want to shadow Lana and annoy her but couldn’t help hovering, trying to see what she was reading, what was catching her eye.

  ‘Can you stop watching me?’ Lana said, turning suddenly.

  ‘I’m not watching you. I’m looking at this.’ Jen picked up a pamphlet from a carousel. It was entitled ‘Brethren Women’ and on the cover was a photograph of three smiling girls wearing headscarves and long skirts. She flicked through the pages ostentatiously, catching sight of a sentence. Every woman praying with an uncovered head causes herself shame. She put the pamphlet back.

  That was enough reading, she thought, wandering over to the Church Supplies section and finding packs of those cardboard hand-guards for candles that she’d seen used at Easter and Christmas. There were boxes of gluten-free wafers for Communion, too, and sets of tiny disposable Communion cups.

  So some Christians were bothered by germs. And gluten allergies. It was reassuring and disappointing at the same time. Jen remembered a cathedral service she’d been to with Lana a couple of years ago, when they could still have a normal conversation, when she still felt like a real mother. They had been staying with relatives of Hugh’s, who’d recommended they go sightseeing while Hugh signed some papers. Expecting just to have a quick look around, they hadn’t meant to join a service but hadn’t quite known how to say no when the smiling lady (a sexton? A lector?) had explained it was about to start.

  It had been rather moving, and Jen treasured the memory.

  ‘Shall we go?’ Lana said now.

  She looked vaguely disappointed, too, as if she hadn’t found whatever it was she’d been searching for. But on the way out she dived for a soft toy and held it up, her expression suddenly bright, conspiratorial. The toy was velvety, a pale, closed-eyed bear wearing a nightshirt and cap. Its paws were sewn together in perpetual prayer and there was a push button on one side.

  Lana squeezed it.

  ‘I believe in God the Father and Jesus Christ,’ the recording began, ‘His only son…’

  ‘Shall I get it for Meg’s baby?’ Lana said, laughing. ‘We could get a pink one because it’s a girl. How much would Meg hate me?’

  ‘Bless us Lord, every day,’ the bear continued.

  ‘I’m not sure she’d ever forgive you,’ Jen said.

  ‘Amen,’ the bear finished, as if agreeing. It was tossed back on to the pile, and they left the shop.

  Cathedral

  ‘Are you ready to leave?’ the woman (an usher? A verger?) said, the light from her candles fluttering as she bent towards them.

  ‘Yes, I think we’re ready,’ Jen said, gathering her coat. ‘Lana?’

  Lana nodded.

  ‘Right you are, then. Follow me.’

  She was an elderly lady, and the candles she held were large and in heavy-looking holders. Jen deliberated offering to take one, but she didn’t really want the responsibility. What if she dropped it and the flame lit on a pew and the whole Norman cathedral caught fire? Surely the church council, or whoever sorted these things out, wouldn’t have entrusted this woman with such dangerous objects if they hadn’t thought she was up to it. Still, as she and Lana walked behind her, Jen watched the pools of light sink ever lower in the gloomy, ecclesiastical interior and waver more unsteadily. She was relieved when they were at the west door and tiptoeing down the stone steps into the lamp-lit cathedral close.

  The door closed quietly, but with a definite echo, behind them.

  ‘Well, I’m glad we stayed,’ Lana said.

  ‘It’s not what I was expecting,’ Jen said, thinking she could have meant either the service or Lana’s reaction to it. ‘It did feel sort of ancient, didn’t it?’

  Lana murmured in response, and Jen looked at the sign by the gate, checking it definitely said Church of England, wanting confirmation that this was a service they were justified in attending.

  ‘I really liked the lights all going off at the end,’ Lana said. ‘I suppose that was symbolic, but also it was just great and creepy to be in a huge church in the dark.’

  ‘Sorry I stopped you going up for Communion, only, you were never confirmed.’

  ‘That�
��s all right. I wasn’t really paying attention. I didn’t know that’s what everyone was queuing for. And no way would I have wanted to share a cup with tons of other people.’

  ‘I always think that. Not a very pious thought. They wouldn’t have known about microbes when they started the tradition, I suppose. Must have been nice, not worrying about germs.’ She stopped on the high street. ‘Are we going in the right direction for the taxi rank?’

  ‘Yeah, there’s that Italian restaurant.’

  They crossed a road with no sign of traffic. It was that silent hour on an Easter Saturday, after everyone’s stopped shopping and before the partygoers come out to take advantage of two days of hangover-recovery time. The incense from the cathedral had left its scent in Jen’s clothes and hair; she could smell it around her and wondered how long it would take to wear off.

  ‘I wish you could see the inside of more churches at night,’ Lana said.

  ‘Yes, in a way, that’s how they should be seen, mysterious and slightly frightening. Like God.’

  ‘Yeah. But also, it’s just weird and like a vampire movie or something.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  ‘Also, it was really peaceful,’ she said quickly. ‘Maybe I should go to church more.’

  That’s just what I need, Jen thought, someone in the family finding God. ‘The services aren’t usually like that one, you know. Mostly, they keep the lights on.’

  ‘Pity,’ Lana said. ‘I’ll have to stick to drugs, then.’ She gave her sarcastic smile and strode on to the taxi rank.

  Modesty

  It was still hot, despite the rain, and Jen hadn’t bothered to turn the lights on in the kitchen, lingering in the charcoal twilight after dinner and sitting with the French windows wide open. Overgrown nasturtiums poked their leaves into the room, and the rain hushed the garden beyond. Hugh was studying his music-theory books at the table, and Lana was lounging on a floor cushion by the windows, occasionally reaching out to paddle her fingers on the round, flat leaves, as if doing an impression of the raindrops.

  Jen had a hymn in her head, or a phrase of a hymn in her head, ‘Praise for the sweetness, Of the wet garden’, and had to stop herself from singing it over and over. She suspected she wouldn’t have thought of it if they hadn’t been to the Christian bookshop. She suspected she wouldn’t have started to find Lana’s bandana so disturbing, either.

  It looked like one of the headscarves the women were wearing on the cover of the ‘Brethren Women’ pamphlet. It looked like a statement of virtue, of innocence or virginity, and made Jen ask herself if that was the real reason Lana was wearing it. Every woman praying with an uncovered head causes herself shame. Was Lana trying to avoid shame? Was Lana praying?

  ‘Do you still need to wear that bandana?’ Jen asked.

  Lana didn’t look round or answer but put a hand up to hold the fabric closer to her head, to flatten it to her scalp.

  ‘Surely your hair’s grown over the scar now.’

  Lana shook her head, still holding the bandana.

  ‘And it looks a bit grubby. Perhaps I could put it in the wash.’

  There was a sigh. ‘Mum. It’s fine. And it’s not the scar I’m covering, it’s the hair, the bit that the hospital cut. It looks stupid. I’ve tried a bun and a ponytail, but that bit just sticks up. I look hideous without the bandana.’

  ‘I’m sure it isn’t that bad.’

  ‘You’re disregarding my feelings again. We talked about this with Dr Greenbaum.’

  ‘Am I? Sorry. So you’re just covering that bit of hair. You’re not wearing the bandana for any other reason?’

  ‘It’s not to show gang affiliation, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

  ‘Gang affiliation?’ It hadn’t been something Jen was worried about, but she’d add it to the list now.

  ‘I wish I’d thought to wear a bandana when I was younger,’ Hugh said, making Jen and Lana turn to stare at him.

  ‘Why, were you in a gang?’

  ‘Hardly. No, I got some gum caught in my hair when I was young and had to cut it out, and then ended up cutting all my hair off.’

  ‘Cool story,’ Lana said.

  ‘It’s harder than people think, cutting your own hair.’

  ‘But you’ve carried on doing it, anyway?’ Lana asked, giving Hugh’s current haircut an assessing stare.

  He laughed and rubbed a hand over his head. ‘I looked like Marc Bolan when I was younger. Do you know who that is?’

  ‘No, obviously.’

  ‘He was a musician. The lead singer of T. Rex. He died.’

  ‘Sorry for your loss.’

  ‘It wasn’t exactly a personal tragedy. And this was in the seventies. I was more into The Clash by then, anyway.’

  ‘Enough with the historical references.’ Lana pulled at a nasturtium leaf, snapping it off and releasing its peppery scent. Jen would have been annoyed, but she’d been meaning to thin the leaves out for weeks. ‘This is like being at school,’ Lana said. ‘You’re not going to make me listen to the music, are you?’

  ‘No, Lana. I was saying I had the same problem. I had long hair and ended up with a clump of it short.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘Past my shoulders.’

  Lana brought the leaf up to her eye, holding it there like a monocle. ‘Do you have any photos?’

  ‘Somewhere. I’ll have a look for them and show you sometime.’

  ‘Great. That it?’

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  She dropped the leaf. ‘Is that all you wanted to say?’

  ‘Erm. No, there’s more to that story.’

  ‘Go on, then. You and Mum are both on a nostalgia kick today.’

  Jen found she’d been doodling on the edge of a newspaper, a series of birds wearing different sorts of hats.

  ‘I did it over the bathroom sink,’ Hugh said, ‘and then, when I was finished cutting, and the sink was full, I thought the best thing to do was to wash the hair down the plughole.’ He turned to Jen. ‘It’s sad to think that, now. I should have kept a lock of it, at least. What you don’t appreciate when you’re young, huh?’

  ‘Dad, what is this, a mid-life crisis in real time?’

  ‘Okay. Well, obviously, washing the hair down the sink was a bad idea, because it blocked the pipes. A kind of soapy scum rose up into the sink whenever the tap was turned on. My mother was furious, but she didn’t know what had caused the problem.

  ‘Eventually, I knew I had to do something. It was only a matter of hours before she realized it was me who had done the damage. I mean, I’d had hair and the sink had been fine, then I had less hair and the sink was blocked. It was only Mum’s joy and relief at no longer having a “long-haired oaf” for a son that had stopped her putting the two things together already.

  ‘I tried vinegar and bicarbonate of soda while she was out at a WI meeting, but the effect was minimal, so I sneaked out of school the next day and went to the library and borrowed a book on plumbing and, when I got home, I sat under the basin with a bucket and removed the U-bend and poked a screwdriver up the pipe.’

  ‘Thanks for the plumbing lesson,’ Lana said. ‘What are you getting at?’

  ‘There was a lot of hair in the pipe,’ Hugh said, ‘but there was also a ring. A woman’s ring.’

  Jen gave one of her birds a smiling beak and put her pen down. ‘Your mother’s ring?’

  ‘Her engagement ring.’

  ‘From your dad?’ Lana asked.

  ‘Obviously, from my dad. Who else would it have been from?’

  ‘So had she deliberately chucked it down the plughole?’

  ‘No, Lana, she’d lost it.’

  ‘Oh oh oh.’ Lana knelt up on her cushion. ‘And she knew she’d lost it down the sink. That’s why she hadn’t told you off about the hair. She thought it was just the ring that was causing the problem.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Hugh said.

  ‘Would your dad have been angry if he’d known she’d
lost it?’

  ‘Livid, I expect. And anyway, she hates to lose things.’

  ‘So what happened when you gave it back to her?’ Jen asked.

  ‘Well, I cleaned it up first…’

  ‘What a good boy.’

  ‘And I just put it down next to her while she was on the phone.’

  ‘Did she think you were proposing?’ Lana said.

  ‘I’m glad you’re finding so much to amuse you.’

  ‘Sorry. What did she say?’

  ‘Nothing. She just slipped it on to her finger and squeezed my arm.’

  Jen reached out and patted the first bit of Hugh her hand fell on. ‘No wonder your mother thinks you’re her shining knight.’

  Hugh grinned. ‘What can I say? I have a habit of saving the day. You’re lucky to be married to me, really.’

  ‘I know,’ Jen said, ‘especially as you’re so modest, too.’

  Seeing the light

  Jen wished lying awake and worrying was an Olympic sport; that way, she would be training for glory every night and might have a chance at being hailed as a hero by her nation. If you needed ten thousand hours to become an expert at something, she was surely a senior apprentice, at the very least.

  When being in bed became too frustrating, she wandered around the house, put their books into alphabetical order, made shopping lists and kept an eye out for the housebreaking cat. Sometimes, she paced up and down the hallway, where the light from Lana’s bedroom spread under the door – since their return from the Peak District, Jen had found her daughter’s overhead lamp was almost always on at night. Once, during her pacing, she heard a repeat of Lana’s words in the hospital.

  ‘I’m here,’ she called. ‘I’m underneath.’

  But when Jen gently opened the door, she saw that Lana was sleeping.

  ‘Can you stop creeping into my room in the middle of the night?’ Lana said the next day, after breakfast. ‘It’s really weird, and it’s an intrusion.’