by Lucy English
Leah mixed up her food. ‘No,’ she said.
‘And is there anybody else for you?’ Sarah turned her candid blue eyes on Leah. It was impossible to lie to her.
‘I’m confused,’ said Leah, wishing she were in a padded cell and not a popular café. ‘Something’s happened …’ but I can’t say it, I can’t. I promised silence and I feel bound by that. I want to tell it all and stop feeling so lost and blank, but I can’t. She was going redder and redder.
‘And what do you want?’ said Sarah. This was a true counsellor’s question and it made Leah squirm.
‘I don’t know,’ said Leah in a whisper.
‘When you find out perhaps it will be easier.’ And Sarah smiled. They finished their lunch and stayed there for a while longer being quiet and not talking. It feels as if we’re both in a glass jar, but it feels safe and protected and I want to keep feeling this way.
Leah was comforted by her meeting with Sarah. On her day at the Project she tried to answer Sarah’s question, ‘What do you want?’, but it was difficult, with the phone ringing, Barbara losing papers and Lesley leaving hastily because Bailey was storming towards the office and Leah would have to deal with it.
‘What do you want, Bailey?’ she asked.
‘This fucking key don’t work.’
‘You have to push it up when you turn it.’
‘Sod that. The locks round here are crap.’
‘Um … I’ll bring it up at the next meeting.’
‘Nope. I want the sports hall open so I can do my class.’
‘Look, here’s Clive. Clive, can you please open the sports hall for Bailey, I’m tied up here.’ Only when they had gone did she rush to the loo and splash her face with cold water. What do you want? What do you want? I see my face in the mirror, and I don’t know.
On Friday Rachel phoned. ‘Two weeks of my parents and I don’t care who’s died. What’s the news?’
Leah hesitated. ‘Yes … Declan’s dumped Sally.’
‘That is news. Have you seen him?’
‘No, I’ve been … indoors.’
‘Come out tonight. I’ll ring everybody. We’ll go to the Cambridge.’ She sounded full of life.
As Leah walked across the park she knew Bailey might be there and she prepared herself to ignore him. In the Cambridge they were all round a table: Rachel, in grey, but with a dark red scarf and an armful of coloured bangles, Declan looking miserable and Bailey in a shiny blue shirt talking football with Bill. Next to him was Jen.
‘Have you met?’ said Rachel.
‘Never,’ said Jen. She was wearing a black leather jacket and a peaked hat. Leah had not prepared herself to see Jen.
‘I think I saw you at the Queen of Sheba.’
‘Did you.’ Jen was drinking Guinness. It was the same colour as her hair. She was a strikingly attractive woman. She looked strong and healthy as if her preferred activity was smashing a tennis ball across a court.
‘Has your love life improved in my absence?’ said Rachel.
‘Er … no,’ said Leah.
‘She’s just left her husband: what she needs is a good shagging.’
‘Don’t we all,’ said Jen.
Declan sighed monumentally. ‘I don’t know if I’ve done the right thing …’
‘Of course you have,’ snapped Rachel. ‘Sally was wrong for you. For a start she was a drip.’
‘She’s been ringing me every day. She’s hurt.’
‘She’s a drip.’
‘She’s young. I should have been more considerate.’
‘You should have dumped her weeks ago.’
‘She keeps coming round … I can’t handle it … At least Bailey’s being nice to her –’ and with one movement they all looked at Bailey.
‘… Offside! It was yards away. Fucking Jock refs, you can’t trust them. What did you think of the second goal?’
‘Set up a treat,’ said Bill.
‘He kept possession, cleared a space, legged it, straight down the front, and wham … they should have won.’
‘They should have won,’ said Bill.
Jen finished her drink. ‘Why do I bother? My last boyfriend was a bicycle nut …’ She stopped; she was referring to Ian. There was an awkward silence. ‘Sorry,’ said Jen. ‘God, it’s stupid to say sorry … you know what I mean.’
Rachel shrugged her shoulders. ‘It’s all right to mention Ian.’
‘Fuck. I’ll get some more drinks. Declan, what’s yours?’
When Jen was at the bar, Rachel leaned close to Leah. ‘I do believe there’s a serpent in paradise.’
‘Called Tranmere Rovers?’
‘No, she said he’s been acting most odd.’
Bailey so far had been ignoring Leah. He now shot her a stay-away glance. Jen came back. I will not get drunk. I will not get drunk.
It was last orders. ‘Who’s coming back to my place then?’ said Bill.
‘Party at Bill’s,’ yelled Bailey.
‘Sure, I could do,’ said Declan, but not enthusiastically.
‘Oliver’s at his dad’s,’ said Rachel.
‘Mine come back tomorrow,’ said Leah.
‘… But I told you,’ said Jen to Bailey, ‘it’s a lunch do. I have to be there.’
‘Work on a Saturday. That’s naff.’
‘It’s a social. I have to go.’
‘Lunch is ages away,’ said Bill.
‘That’s not the point,’ said Jen. ‘I said I didn’t want a late one. I don’t want to turn up incoherent. I’m the team leader, it’s important.’
‘It’s mega important,’ said Bailey.
‘No, I’ve had enough.’ And Jen stood up. ‘I don’t want a late one. I want an early night. Do you want to come with me or not?’
Unspoken communications zipped between them but it was obvious Bailey wasn’t going with Jen. ‘I’ll phone you,’ she said and left, bumping into Rachel on the way.
‘I think I’ll go as well,’ said Leah.
‘Not much of a party,’ said Bailey.
A custard-coloured moon sat above the city and lit up the park with its sad light. There was no wind and everything seemed still and flat. Leah wished she was buried in bed. Beyond the halfway point she realised somebody was approaching her fast. She froze in fear. It was Bailey. They met under a large tree overhanging the path.
‘Wotcha,’ he said and she didn’t know whether she was delighted or terrified. ‘I didn’t fancy Bill’s. I fancied a stroll in the full moon.’ In the moonlight it was difficult to make out his expression.
‘Would you like a coffee?’ said Leah, feeling daft. ‘I live just down there.’
‘I know where you live. Is that thing with the beard there?’
‘Probably.’
‘No thanks. But I want to have a word with you. Come back to my place.’
They walked an odd way to Steep Street. Up back roads as if he didn’t want them to be seen. At the house he ushered her in quickly. He didn’t even make tea. She sat on the sofa still in her coat. He lit a fag.
‘What I wanted to say was, I don’t want you thinking me and Jen is quits, cos we’re not and if there’s probs, then it’s my probs and you’re not in it and I’ll make it up with her.’ He sounded quite sure. ‘And when we’re out, I don’t want you looking at me –’ he pointed his finger at her – ‘like … like …’
‘Like what?’ said Leah, defiant now.
‘Like you bloody know it all. Because you don’t know …’ He kicked the chair.
‘Know what?’
‘Know me. You don’t know me at all.’
‘I never said I did.’ She was angry too. You are trying to frighten me and you haven’t. What’s your next move? He was contemplating it.
‘I don’t know you,’ said Leah. ‘I know bits of you and what I know I’m not sure of. You’re big and you’re noisy …’ and she didn’t know how to put this: ‘and just because of your dad, I won’t let things slip past.’ I can see it now, li
ke a torch across a dark room. ‘Does Jen know? About that?’
‘What’s it got to do with you?’ snapped Bailey and Leah realised Jen didn’t know at all.
‘Why didn’t you tell her?’
‘It’s a great chat-up line.’
‘You tried it on me.’
‘I wasn’t chatting you up.’
‘It gets in the way, doesn’t it,’ said Leah, ‘it gets in the way of everything.’
‘Shut up!’ said Bailey and he was looking wild now. ‘I want this to stop.’
I am standing at the top of a hill with my mouth open and, whoosh …
Bailey walked across the room and knelt on the floor beside her. He untied her shoelaces, clumsily.
I’m zooming down with a mouthful of air and now I can answer Sarah’s question … I want to feel.
‘I want to feel,’ she said out loud. ‘I’m sick of being dead and I want you, Bailey, because I feel with you.’
And Bailey just said, ‘Shut the fuck up,’ and put his hand over her mouth and Leah’s coat was on the floor.
Upstairs and in bed he was angry. He was fucking her like it was his last day on earth. It wasn’t that he was hurting her but he was trying to rid himself of something. She could feel his desperation and her sadness and loneliness were mingled with it. She was feeling all right, and it was horrible.
‘Roll over,’ he said as if he couldn’t stand looking at her any more. It finished like that with her head jammed against the pillow and the wall and Bailey pounding the last drops of badness out of him.
Bailey smoked a fag with the ashtray balanced on his chest. It was only after the second fag he managed to look round at her.
‘Well?’ he said.
‘I haven’t a clue.’ It doesn’t seem like an end, but it doesn’t seem like a beginning either.
‘I’ve got news for you.’
‘You don’t want anybody to know. I know that,’ said Leah.
‘No I don’t but it wasn’t that. I want to sleep on my own.’
‘I’m not walking home at this hour!’ She sat up.
He wasn’t going to move and she felt he would stare at her all night until she did.
‘Is Declan coming back?’
‘Dunno. He’s probably at Bill’s.’
‘I’ll sleep in his bed.’
‘Suit yourself,’ said Bailey.
Declan’s bed was cold and smelt unfamiliar. Next door Bailey played techno, loud. It was no lullaby. On the Bath Road lorries were turning out of the vegetable market and rumbling into the night. The tired moon shone through Declan’s thin curtains.
This is a dream. This is the dream about the day my father died. I’m walking back to the cottage with Ben in the pushchair. I’m crossing the ford and Al comes running down the hill. ‘Your dad,’ he says. ‘He’s dead. Your mum rang, he dropped dead in the car park at school.’
‘He can’t be,’ I say but I can tell by his face it’s true. I turn and run back to the ford leaving Al yelling after me and Jo crying and I’m running and running and I’m outside my parents’ house in Ruislip. I push open the front door and it’s all the same. You see, he’s not dead. I run upstairs to tell Jimbo, but he’s doing his Latin prep and won’t listen. Downstairs Mama’s in the kitchen cooling the baby’s bottle. The baby’s crying and she’s saying, ‘Gracious, what is the matter with that child?’ I go into the study and there is Daddy Claremont marking essays and listening to The Rite of Spring. He’s not dead, but he can’t hear me, he says, ‘No, Cooper, Shakespeare was not influenced by Milton.’ I take my favourite book and sit in the chair. I open the book and it becomes huge. I fall into the picture of a quiet room with a table and a chair. There’s an illuminated manuscript on the table and I read it. The sun comes through the windows and it’s so peaceful and quiet. Then there’s a thunderclap and a flash. A huge angel fills the room with shining rainbow wings streaming light and I’m afraid … but the angel comes close and holds out his hand …
She woke in Declan’s bed and it was early morning. There were no angels, only clothes on the floor and papers on the desk. Al was bringing the children back at midday. She dressed quickly. She had no intention of waking Bailey.
Clive was not at home. He had left a note saying he had gone to Wales for the weekend. Leah ran a bath and floating there she wondered if Al could tell she had just slept with somebody.
What are the signs? Dark lines under my eyes. Nervousness. Unwillingness to look at him. I will have to eradicate all these. By the time he arrived it looked as if she had nothing better to do with her time than arrange flowers in jam jars.
He strode in, with the children, in a purposeful manner.
‘You look well,’ she said, astonished.
‘I won’t stay. I’ve got plenty to do. I’m reorganising the house. I’m decorating your room so Jo can have it.’
‘That’s nice.’
‘And the back room downstairs is going to be a study. I’m going to need a study. I’m going back to college.’
‘Are you?’ She was still astounded. ‘Will they let you?’
‘Of course,’ he snapped. ‘I went to see my tutor and explained … my circumstances. I’m taking time off to sort things out. I’ll go back in September.’
‘What brought this on?’ said Leah at last. The children were already watching the television.
‘I met somebody from my course. They persuaded me. They said I had too much talent to waste.’ He looked smug. ‘They, too, had recently had an upsetting break-up and understood my position. It was a helpful conversation.’
Leah smiled as enthusiastically as possible, glad he wasn’t questioning her about her activities.
‘I’m going to make changes. I can see now I must deal with my feeling of anger. I think I’ll join a men’s group.’
‘Did your friend suggest this as well?’
‘No she did not! I knew you’d be cynical. What I do with my life isn’t your business any more.’
‘I know, I know,’ said Leah.
‘I’ll say goodbye to the children,’ and he left, managing to slam the door on the way.
On Sunday Rachel invited them for lunch. This was a treat, she was a good cook. The children ate the lot without complaints. There was even chocolate mousse and ice-cream.
‘And now,’ she said, dividing the last portion of mousse, ‘you can all go and play upstairs.’
Leah and Rachel sat in the sitting room. Rachel was a keen decorator. The room was colour washed in apricot. She collected driftwood and the most twisted pieces were on the mantelpiece. Over this was a large mirror with a shell-embossed frame. The floor was polished. Rachel, in an armchair, was a perfect ornament to her room. She wore grey silk trousers and a long cardigan. They listened to jazz. She was knitting a jumper for Bath, in lilac mohair with pink roses. It was a complicated pattern and she had to keep referring to it.
‘I’m going to decorate the loft,’ she said. This had been Ian’s room. He kept his beer and loud music up there. His Liverpudlian energy had never quite fitted in with Rachel’s palace of art. ‘Eggshell blue, marbled, and I’m going to open out the fireplace.’ She made it sound as easy as making a sandwich. Leah smiled. Rachel frowned at her pattern. Upstairs Ben, Tom and Oliver were playing cars on the landing. The music stopped, but Rachel didn’t change it, she was still concentrating on her knitting.
‘… no, I’m the ambulance. You’re the police car, and he’s crashed and I’ve got to come in and take you to hospital.’ This was Ben.
‘Am I dead?’ This was Tom.
‘No, you’re just squashed up, wham, you’re all right.’
‘Ne, nah, ne, nah.’ That was Oliver.
‘Not yet, we haven’t crashed yet … now!’ There were crashing and exploding noises, courtesy Oliver and Ben.
‘I want to be dead,’ said Tom.
‘Oh no you don’t. Dead is horrible,’ said Oliver. ‘Ian died. You get buried when you’re dead.’
Ben
said, ‘Did he die here?’
‘He was in hospital. He was sick. He had cancer.’
‘Is he a ghost?’ said Tom.
‘No, he’s dead.’ Oliver sounded heated. ‘But he was getting better and then my mum had an argument and she said, ‘‘I hate you, I hope you hurry up and die,’’ and then he went into hospital and he did.’
‘Umm,’ said Ben and Tom together. Rachel looked up from her knitting and they both listened.
‘My mum, my mum,’ said Ben, ‘had an argument, and she made my dad so cross he beat her up.’
‘She had a black eye,’ said Tom.
‘And he smashed up the whole house, and he broke the plates …’
‘He cleaned it up again,’ said Tom.
‘… and you could hear my mum screaming right down the street, I know, I heard it, I fell out of bed.’
‘My mum screamed at Ian, she broke a vase and four cups and one was mine …’
‘… and my dad,’ said Ben, ‘won’t live with my mum now and won’t talk to her, he says she’s so horrible and upsets him and …’ At this Jo came bolting up the stairs. He had been reading in the kitchen. ‘Shut up!’ he yelled. ‘Shut up Ben, you’re not to talk about Mum and Dad.’
‘Why?’ said Tom.
‘You’re not to, that’s why.’ And at the top of the stairs a fight broke out. Rachel and Leah looked at each other in horror. Their children had just revealed their darkest secrets. Rachel was quite pale. She put down her knitting. ‘I’ve made a mistake,’ she said.
‘It won’t show,’ said Leah. The children were still fighting.
‘They could watch a video,’ said Rachel.
‘I’ll tell them,’ said Leah.
The fight was stopped. The children chose Bedknobs and Broomsticks even though Oliver had seen it eighteen times. They were settled on the sofa. Rachel and Leah went back to the kitchen, but staring at the dirty plates was even more depressing.
‘Let’s wash up,’ said Leah at last.
