Selfish People

by Lucy English

  ‘I’m not sure.’ She was shivering in her dressing gown. ‘It’s a bit unreal.’

  ‘And how is …’ and Sarah gestured towards the house.

  ‘He’s in the bath.’

  Sarah hugged Leah again. She had large blue compassionate eyes and when Leah looked into them it was the first time she felt like crying. They disentangled themselves. Leah waved. Sarah drove away. Leah went inside and shut the door.

  She sat in the front room by herself. Al was still in the bath. Now I want to go. I want it to be over. He came in, in his stripy dressing gown with a cup of tea and a roll-up. They sat on different sides of the room. He had a manic look which made her feel instantly uneasy.

  ‘If the children get awful you will ring me, won’t you? It won’t take long for me to settle in. You could pop round, for tea or something, later in the week, perhaps.’

  ‘Fuck off and get dressed,’ said Al.

  By midday her things were at Clive’s. He was in a good mood and so was Tatty. She jumped and barked at the boxes. All Leah could think about was where she was going to put everything. Al was stony silent. After the last box was unloaded he dumped it in the hallway and left, with a filthy glare at Leah and Clive.

  ‘End of a marriage. Well, well. Ho, ho.’ Clive rubbed his hands. He had tidied up his house. He had moved piles of newspapers and done the washing up. ‘Celebration drink?’ He reached for a four-pack on the table.

  ‘I don’t like beer.’ They were in the breakfast room. Pale mint green with two unmatching armchairs and a large table piled with more newspapers and files. ‘Can I put my geraniums by the window?’

  ‘Of course. It’s a long time since there’s been a lady’s touch round here. It’s a long time since I had a lady.’ He rubbed his hands again. ‘Lunch? I’ve got a nice bit of liver.’

  ‘I’m going to unpack. It’s better that way.’

  They put the boxes in the larger bedroom. He had bought an old bunk bed and another was pushed up by the window. The mattresses looked stained. Tatty made herself comfortable on the bed by the window. ‘Here. Here!’ ordered Clive, but she didn’t move.

  The bedroom carpet was orange with brown swirls and Clive smelt of mothballs. He had dressed up for the occasion. He didn’t look right in a house. The Project gardens suited him, with his hat on, digging away, but in a tiny terrace with his rosy cheeks and slightly too tight best clothes it was as if he was bursting out.

  ‘I’ll be all right on my own now. Honestly,’ said Leah.

  Clive looked at his watch. ‘Time for a quick pint, I think.’

  She plunged herself into unpacking. Sheets for the beds, blankets, pillows. A wicker basket of toys. She hung up her clothes. A stripy rug looked dreadful on the brown and orange carpet. She rolled it up again. Boys’ clothes – jumpers, trousers, shirts – in one chest of drawers. Her remaining clothes in the other one. Teddies and books on top. Knitted blankets on the beds and a little red lamp. Tatty, evicted from her resting place, watched from the doorway. ‘You and me must come to an understanding,’ said Leah. ‘I hate dogs, and you’re a dog.’ She stepped over Tatty to sort out her own tiny room. It didn’t take long. A trunk in one corner with an embroidered cloth over it. Her favourite books and the china dolls. There wasn’t room for anything else. Yes, there was: her doll’s house. The boys never played with it. She put it on the trunk and replaced all the little pieces of furniture. She did this carefully. It was a town house with three floors, made by her grandfather when she was little. Her grandmother had made the furniture out of cotton reels and cardboard covered with cloth. It was no showpiece doll’s house but it had been well loved. The dolls were German with identical faces and painted hair. Some were older children and some were tiny babies. There were fifteen of them and no Mummy and Daddy. This had always fascinated her as a child. Fifteen children and no Mummy and Daddy. Leah, as she had done countless times years ago, sat on the floor and played with her doll’s house. Put the babies to bed … one in the bath … the big sister and brother in the kitchen, cooking, the others round the table, waiting. Some in the nursery. Some in the sitting room, and one coming down the stairs to open the door …

  She shut the door of the doll’s house. Her tiny room felt small and safe and she liked it.

  Clive came back, merry from drinking and laden with food to cook for dinner. ‘Well, well, well!’ he said, because his breakfast room now had a stripy rug on the floor, geraniums by the window and shelves filled up with art and literature.

  He cooked dinner. Lamb stew and dumplings. There were candles on the table and a celebratory bottle of wine. The candles were standing in fish-paste jars.

  ‘The lady of the house!’ said Clive, whose face was redder than ever and whose eyes sparkled in the steam. In the candlelight the improved back room looked quite pleasant. Leah sat on one of the wobbly benches.

  ‘Dinner for two! Ho, ho!’

  ‘It’s very kind of you. I put some things down here. You don’t mind?’

  ‘I never mind a lady’s touch about the place.’

  He served up. ‘Three dumplings or four?’

  ‘I think two might do.’

  They discussed the Project. This was a safe topic. Clive gobbled up his stew and let Tatty lick his plate.

  ‘It was delicious,’ said Leah, and it was. It was a pity she didn’t have an appetite.

  ‘The best bit,’ said Clive. Bounding to the fridge he took out a large chocolate gâteau with cream and cherries on top. The phone rang and it was Leah’s mother.

  ‘I just wanted to know if you’ve settled in.’ She sounded tense.

  ‘Everything’s unpacked and we’re now having dinner.’

  ‘So, you’re in a two-bedroomed terrace by a railway?’

  ‘There’s three bedrooms,’ said Leah.

  ‘And Charles?’

  ‘He’s called Clive. He’s a gardener.’

  ‘A three-bedroomed terrace?’

  ‘Yes, it’s by the Project and in front of the railway.’

  ‘And Jo has got his own room?’

  ‘They’re all sharing. I’ve got the little room.’ Then she realised what her mother was on about. She stared at Clive, who was squirting whipped cream over a large slice of gâteau.

  ‘Mama, it’s not like that!’

  ‘I did wonder. And how are Digby and Ann?’

  These were Al’s parents. Al had not told them what was going on. He was going to wait until Leah had left. ‘I haven’t seen them,’ said Leah.

  ‘But you heard from them, surely, at Christmas.’ When her mother was in this sort of mood there was no escape.

  ‘They don’t know yet,’ said Leah. ‘Al’s going to tell them.’

  ‘So, they might ring me.’ Ann Ferris was excitable. When she found out her son had lost his last trace of respectability she would certainly ring everybody.

  ‘I would expect that,’ said Leah. ‘I have to go, I’m in the middle of dinner.’

  ‘I won’t keep you and I don’t want to interfere but I’ll say one thing. In my day it wasn’t the thing to walk out on one’s husband and live with a strange man. One considered the children.’

  Leah took a deep breath. ‘It’s not your day. It’s my day.’

  Mama would never start an argument but she did like to have the last word. ‘It’s highly irregular,’ she said, using one of Daddy Claremont’s favourite phrases and both she and Leah knew it.

  But Daddy Claremont was dead. He had dropped dead in the school car park with a pile of essays under his arm and his pipe in his pocket. Leah sat at the table and nibbled her gâteau. I’m grateful he’s dead. His daughter shacked up with a wastrel and now living with a muck spreader. Modern morals are very irregular.

  ‘What a nice evening we’re having,’ said Clive, pouring more wine into the dusty glasses.

  ‘I have to go to bed soon.’

  ‘Ho, ho. Bedtime!’ he said with the grin of a satyr.

  ‘Clive. I’ve just left my h
usband. I’m very tired. I wouldn’t want you to think I would want to start up anything with anybody …’

  ‘Not tonight, Josephine!’ He was still grinning.

  ‘Um, not any night. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.’

  He looked cheated. He squirted some more cream on his cake. ‘But it’s still nice to have a lady in the house.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  She took the week off work. She cleaned the house. She wondered if it had ever been cleaned. She bought flowers and fruit. She burned incense and sprinkled scent on the carpet but she couldn’t get rid of the doggy smell. She went to the housing office and the Social Security building and spent the day filling in forms or waiting to fill in forms.

  By Thursday Leah and Clive had worked out their differing lifestyles. He went to work just before nine after tumbling out of bed at quarter to, coughing and shouting at the dog who was waiting for her morning walk which lasted five minutes up to the park and back. When he came home, around six, he threw his hat under the stairs and himself in front of the telly, kicked off his boots, and remained glued there until nine. Then he fried himself dinner and went to the pub. When he came back Leah was asleep. As far as Clive could make out Leah was always either in the bath or in bed.

  The front room was Clive’s domain. He had files up the walls. There was a tipsy table lamp on a chest of drawers filled with tools and seed packets. There were some gardening books and a collection of empty beer cans. The telly was massive, on its own legs and with a video. There was also a dead plant. Clive always sat on the sofa so he could put his beer on the chest of drawers. One easy chair belonged to Tatty and was fluffy with dog hairs. She sat there with her head under the curtain and her nose on the window watching the street outside.

  The phone rang and it was Rachel.

  ‘How does freedom taste?’

  ‘A bit odd.’

  ‘Do you want to come out? There’s a crowd of us going to the Wolfpack.’

  ‘The where?’

  ‘The Woolpack. It’s in Totterdown.’

  Dressed in red and black and with plenty of red lipstick Leah ran across the park. It was a blustery night but she didn’t care. She was Leah and she could do what she liked. The Woolpack was in the middle of Totterdown on the end of a terraced street. She could hear music from halfway down the road. As she came closer she could smell the beery smell and at the moment it smelt like excitement. She burst into the bar. In one corner was a round squat man in a silly hat sitting behind a DJ’s deck surrounded by plastic plants. He was playing along to the music on a trumpet. On the walls were photographs and posters of bands. It was busy. She pushed her way in.

  ‘We’re over here!’ They were by the door. It was the quietest place.

  ‘I’ve never been here before,’ said Leah. ‘I went to the Cambridge.’

  ‘The Cambridge is dull,’ said Rachel. ‘This is the Wolfpack and he’s totally mad, Frank. Some nights he plays nothing but the Wurzels.’ She was still thin and dressed all in grey. With her were Carol and Ange, Bill the bike, Declan and a young woman. There was no Bailey. Leah sat down next to Ange. Ange was large and florid, she had short brown hair and a shirt with great big flowers on it. She and Carol were giggling like schoolgirls.

  ‘You remember Leah,’ said Rachel.

  ‘You must excuse us,’ said Carol. ‘When we get together we’re always like this.’

  Bill and Declan were stuck into football. The other girl, next to Declan, looked bored and fed up. ‘That’s Sally,’ said Rachel in Leah’s ear.

  ‘What’s up with her?’

  ‘She’s Declan’s girlfriend. She’s on the way out.’

  ‘I didn’t know he had a girlfriend.’

  ‘That’s the problem.’ Sally was about twenty. She was plumpish and sporty looking in a tracksuit and trainers. She had thin light brown hair pulled up into a top knot. She was not pretty but she had fresh unblemished skin which made Leah feel like an old grandma. ‘She’s very young,’ she said.

  ‘She’s a simpering miserable drip bucket,’ said Rachel, and then across the table, ‘How’s college?’ Sally turned her mournful face towards Rachel who was smiling sweetly. Like marshmallow-covered razor blades.

  ‘Oh, I’m not sure if I’ll get through the second year or not. Next term they’re sending me to the Blessed Martyrs …’

  ‘Are you at Redland?’ asked Leah.

  ‘Yes,’ said Sally, looking more glum than ever.

  ‘Then you must know Al Ferris.’

  ‘Of course. He had to leave because of his wife.’

  ‘Oh, I’m his wife.’ Leah was embarrassed.

  Sally eyed Leah. ‘He’s brilliant, you know.’

  Leah said nothing. Al’s brilliance was not his problem. Sally turned away and tried to join in the conversation with Declan and Bill. ‘Stupid cow,’ said Rachel.

  Declan was now attempting to get to the bar. He had dark lines under his eyes and his hair was more ruffled than ever. ‘… a cider, a gin, four Guinnesses and a lager, no, two Guinnesses, two lagers, no, five Guinnesses, one gin …’ Ange and Carol watched him, giggling.

  ‘He hasn’t had any sleep,’ said Carol.

  ‘And why’s that?’ said Rachel.

  ‘It’s Bailey. He’s been doing it. Declan said he can’t sleep because he can hear them doing it all night. He said he came back one evening and they were doing it on the sofa.’

  Rachel caught Leah’s expression. ‘Didn’t you know? Bailey and Jen.’

  ‘No. Who would tell me?’

  ‘I thought he might. Aren’t you pals?’

  ‘Hardly.’ And she gulped her drink. Jen was the woman in the leather jacket at the Queen of Sheba.

  ‘I think it’s really nice that Bailey has a new girlfriend,’ said Sally. ‘It’s just what he needs and why shouldn’t they make love, that’s what happens when you first get together with somebody, isn’t it?’ Her cheeks were getting red. Carol and Ange were giggling again. Declan came back with the drinks, not quite what everybody ordered. He sat down and drank his, a moustache of froth over his lips.

  ‘What’s all this about Bailey keeping you awake?’ said Sally.

  He laughed. ‘Every time I open the fridge door he’s doing it in the butter dish.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me? You could have stayed at my place.’

  ‘Sure, you know …’ and he smiled like a scolded boy.

  ‘And where is he tonight?’

  ‘He’s cooking her dinner. They’re probably doing it in the kitchen. They’re probably doing it right now.’

  ‘Why don’t you come back to my place?’ said Sally, looking hot. ‘And leave them to it. I could drive you to work … in the morning.’

  ‘Sure, I could do …’ said Declan but Bill said, ‘West Bromwich? What do you think?’ Sally knew nothing about football and it was obvious.

  The pub was hot. The trumpet man had now moved to early rock and roll. Up at that end people were singing along and jiving in whatever space there was. Carol and Ange were having a television/clothes/haircut conversation and Rachel was washing herself away with gin. ‘Bailey’s an animal,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry about him.’

  ‘I’m not,’ said Leah. But I am. I thought something was happening, something was starting … I’m getting drunk and I can’t think straight … there’s Sally’s desperation and Rachel’s unhappiness and Carol and Ange all glances and nudges. I want to go home.

  Rachel said, ‘Declan, thank you for coming round the other night. It was good to talk about Ian.’

  ‘You never told me you went to Rachel’s,’ said Sally, ignored.

  ‘It was nice to talk about Ian as well,’ said Declan. ‘He was my best friend.’

  ‘Come another time,’ said Rachel and smiled.

  ‘Sure, I could do,’ said Declan, smiling back, but Sally diverted him because it was last orders and what would he like?

  ‘Come back for a coffee later,’ said Rachel to Leah. ‘I do
n’t want to be on my own.’

  ‘I’d love to,’ said Leah who didn’t want to be on her own either.

  ‘What’s this?’ said Carol. ‘Coffee at your place?’

  ‘We could do with a party,’ said Ange.

  ‘You mustn’t get miserable,’ said Carol.

  Rachel sighed, ‘Oh all right. Party at my place. But don’t wake Oliver.’

  Totally mad Frank was playing the last post. People were going home. Carol was making sure her friends had the right bags and coats. Declan still had nearly a whole pint to drink. Sally was saying, ‘I thought we were going to my place,’ and Declan was saying, ‘We’ll go to Rachel’s first.’

  Then they were outside and Bill was holding up Declan and Rachel was singing at the top of her voice. They swayed up the road, the rain was pelting down. Leah bumped into Ange and dropped her purse. When she picked it up they were up the street and she had to sit on a wall to steady herself. They were turning a corner. ‘Wait for me!’ she called but they didn’t hear and she ran after them splashing in the puddles, but she couldn’t see them. She sat on another wall. The rain dripped down her face and hair. Up the road in Steep Street Bailey is bonking Jen. On the sofa, in bed, off the bed and he’s not my friend, he told me about himself and something might have happened but it didn’t and now it never will. I don’t want a party. I want to be by myself. She walked home. The street lights were shining in the puddles and wobbling in the rain. Her eyes were bleary with rain. She walked into the park and climbed the hill. Like I did that night I went out with you and if that hadn’t happened I might still be with Al. What were you doing? What were you playing at? I won’t get the chance to ask you now. And now I feel alone.

  The next day Rachel rang. ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘Tired and emotional. How was the party?’

  ‘They found my whisky and out came the dope. Declan passed out. Sally went off in a huff. Bill was sick. Oliver woke up and we all had a jolly good time. Ian would have loved it.’

  ‘And how are you?’ Rachel sounded as feeble as Leah.

  ‘I want to die. Everything in this house reminds me of Ian. I can’t stand it. I’m going to stay with my parents. A few weeks of that and I’ll be desperate to get back …’ She paused and managed a laugh. ‘Declan fell asleep on the sofa. I had to scrape him off and get him to work this morning.’