Selfish People

by Lucy English

  ‘‘‘What no soap said the bear poking his nose through the shop window so he dies and she very imprudently …’’’

  ‘‘‘Married the barber.’’ You know it? You know it?’ He picked up his guitar and strummed an anthem.

  ‘My father was an English teacher,’ said Leah.

  ‘And I was at Cambridge. I got a scholarship to Trinity Hall and weren’t my parents proud.’ He stopped and opened his mouth.

  ‘You were at Cambridge?’ said Leah, unbelieving.

  ‘I lived there. Have you ever been there? Up the Mill Road on the wrong side of the railway. Respectable suburban shite, and I was going to do so well, like they never did. My dad was an insurance clerk and the other kids played football in the street but I did my homework. Clever boy. Good boy. Nice boy. I got to precious Trinity Hall and weren’t they proud. They invited the neighbours in.’ He took the stick from Leah and whacked it on the log. ‘I stuck it a year. On one side of me was Lord Snooty and on the other was the Marquis of Muck. Oh jolly good, yah, let’s go grouse shooting, and I thought what am I doing here … Second year. I got my grant cheque and I legged it. My folks thought I was in hall –’ he threw the stick into the fire – ‘but I wasn’t, I was in Amsterdam. I was stoned immaculate. I was tripped to heaven. It was a party every night. Then I went to Goa – Have you ever been to Goa? Why am I telling you this? – and bummed there for a bit, and South India and Thailand and Indonesia. I met this bloke called Barney and we legged it to New Zealand and then to Cairns. There’s a place. Have you ever been to Cairns?’

  ‘No,’ said Leah. He was twitching now and shaking his arms when he talked. ‘In Cairns, on the beach, and the reef, and I worked in a bar making cocktails. It was a party every night, I tell you, and Carolyn, her dad owned it, he was Italian and loaded, and she had an arse like a peach. We were hot, I tell you, we porked on the beach, in her car, behind the bar, in my flat. God, we were hot! … and Barney, and me and Phil and Darren, Ollie, we were a crowd. On the boats … Why am I telling you this?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Leah, alarmed now, because he looked like a runaway train.

  ‘And can you surf?’ He grabbed a plank and balanced it on the log: ‘Like this, like this, you come down on the wave … God I like doing that!’ and he laughed manically. ‘God, fucking surfing! … Carolyn! Could she cook! We got engaged. Sweet little Aussie Italian bird. Hot little bird … But what was I thinking? Hey, what about my folks, in Cambridge. I’ll go and see them. Look, your clever boy is not a hopeless runaway. He runs a bar. He’s got a fit bird. He’s happy. He’s got mates, and I went, didn’t I?’ He was shouting now into the fire: ‘Back to sodding Cambridge and up the Mill Road and this bloke opens the door and says, ‘‘They’ve gone. Went to the coast I think, where did they go darling?’’ but she didn’t remember and they never left a forwarding address, how odd … I was in the rain, up the Mill Road and I didn’t fucking know what to do. I sent them a few postcards, but it was five years since I legged it.’

  The fire was giving out great wafts of heat.

  ‘Didn’t you have relatives?’ said Leah, staring at him. It looked like he was going to topple into the fire any moment.

  ‘Who cares? Why am I telling you this?’ He sat on the log. ‘It’s shite, isn’t it? I went to London. I meant to go back to Cairns, but you can’t go back. You can’t go back.’

  ‘You can’t?’ said Leah in a whisper. ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Because it moves on without you and you move on … I thought my folks would be there, the same apron, the same pipe … I phoned Carolyn, and what did she talk about? Curtains! I mean she was a sweet girl and all that but she painted her toenails … I bet Barney married her. He fancied her.’

  ‘So you came here?’ said Leah.

  ‘I met this bird called Fiona, I mean what was I doing? She had red hair and wanted to save the planet. But it was a gas. It was a fucking party every night. There were twelve of us. Then there were nine. She fucked off. To save a tree …’ He was quieter now and started on the cider again. ‘Shite party,’ he said.

  He played his guitar. Slow loony blues. Sad music. Leah put her head in her hands and listened. You can’t go back. I hadn’t thought of it like that. She wiped the tears away with her sleeve. Axe stopped playing.

  ‘What’s your story then? You’ve got a black eye.’

  ‘I left my husband. I was seeing somebody else. It didn’t work out.’

  ‘Usual stuff,’ said Axe.

  ‘I’ve left my children!’ And she cried into her sleeve.

  When she looked up he was standing by his caravan. ‘What you need is a good cuddle. But I’m sorry, I don’t cuddle people any more.’ He went inside.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  I have been here three weeks. I keep thinking I must go back, but what is happening to me has just started. I get up. I boil the water. I make tea. I wash. I go for a walk. I light the fire. I cook. It’s so tiny. I bought a mirror. My eye is faint yellow now. My hair has gone stiff with the sea air, but I am one person. I am not being pulled.

  I miss my children. I write them long letters in my head. I think I must write to Mama. I must write to Clive, but I don’t know what to say.

  You can’t go back is what Axe said. But I think he’s mad. I haven’t seen him. He’s avoiding me. I hear him sometimes in the night playing such sad songs. His caravan is the filthiest. The curtains are always drawn.

  I want to go back, but not to things being the same. I am afraid I might get stuck here. I am afraid I am so lost and desperate it will take for ever to feel better.

  I am afraid that I am afraid.

  She finished her breakfast. The sun was up and shining over the sea and the clifftop site. From the caravan she could see, for the first time, right across to Wales. It was blue and misty in the distance. She stopped outside on to the wet grass. There was no wind.

  When did I last see the sun? Even when it snowed it was grey up here. I’d forgotten how beautiful things are … and shadows … look, I’ve got a shadow, and that beach is sparkling. The wet rocks are sparkling.

  She pulled on her coat and went down the path to the beach. The tide was out and the flat rocks sliced sideways in silver bands. In places the dark cliff had crumbled. Clods of it lay at the foot. Some still with grass on, like surprised heads with a shock of hair.

  Near the water the rocks were slippery so she walked further in. In the hollows were pools filled with pebbles and sand and the clearest water. Each a tiny world of its own. She filled her pockets with smooth pebbles. Brown flat seaweed like rubbery spinach clung to the rocks waiting for the next tide, and seaweed with gas pockets like bubble film.

  Tom, you would love it here. See how they pop! Ben, I know you want to look for battleships, but I’ve got no binoculars. Jo wants an adventure … let’s see what we can find.

  She drifted further up the shore. A freshwater spring trickled down the beach weaving round the rocks and she followed it up to the cliff. It came out of a cave. Not a rocky one like in her dream but a muddy hollow. She went inside. The cave was about ten feet high and was as dark as the earth it was made of. There was a large boulder at its entrance, but otherwise it was unremarkable, disappointing even. The spring seeped up through the floor in sticky puddles. She stepped in one and the mud went over her boots. She jumped back and nearly fell on top of Axe who was standing beside the boulder, so still and so brown she hadn’t noticed him.

  They were embarrassed to see each other and Leah felt it. He was white-faced and haggard, and now in the daylight she saw his eyes. Grey like the sea and just as restless.

  ‘Have you been up all night?’ she said.

  ‘So what. It’s not unusual.’

  ‘I’ll leave you to it.’ She started to walk away, but he called after her.

  ‘Look … I’m sorry about the other night … I’m a churlish sod.’

  ‘You were on one,’ said Leah.

  He handed her half a joint.
‘Not first thing in the morning,’ and she handed it back. He stubbed it out and put it behind his ear. He put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the stone. ‘You were enjoying yourself just now.’

  ‘I was playing,’ said Leah. ‘I didn’t know I was being watched.’

  ‘I was watching the sea,’ said Axe. He looked so tired and weary she leaned against the stone as well. They both watched the waves stroking the shore.

  The waves empty me. They wash me out. They clean away the muck. I like this feeling. Empty and clean.

  ‘You’ve been all round the world,’ she said. ‘When you look out to sea do you think about all the beaches you’ve seen?’

  Axe sighed. ‘I woke up on the beach in Goa and I didn’t know who I was. I knew my name and all that, but I didn’t know who I was. I think about that.’

  ‘Like you’re a mirror,’ said Leah and they were both talking in whispers, ‘like you reflect everything. Like you’re a broken mirror and you reflect fragments …’

  ‘Like that,’ he said. He took the joint from behind his ear and relit it. ‘What a load of shite.’

  ‘No, fragments … but since I’ve been up that cliff I’ve been feeling whole, but small and tiny like –’ she took a pebble out of her pocket – ‘like this.’ She held it in the palm of her hand. A small pebble, round and seawashed. Axe looked at it curiously. Then he bent down and picked up another one and dropped it into her hand. ‘Two pebbles,’ he said.

  It was an intimate moment and it made them awkward. They walked back to the camp site. They stood by the dying bonfire.

  ‘When my gas bottle runs out,’ said Leah, feeling stupid, ‘could you help me re-fill it?’

  He looked like he was going to say something else but he said, ‘Yes.’ Then looking more surprised he said, ‘I’m going logging. Do you want to come?’

  And Leah equally surprised said, ‘I’d love to.’

  They parked the truck up the hill and walked into the woods. Axe worked quickly, pulling fallen branches out of the undergrowth and slicing them up with his chain-saw. They hauled them back to the truck. They didn’t stop until the truck was full, both of them panting and breathless. The sun shone through the tops of the trees. There was no sound in the wood apart from the clump of logs as they fell into the truck.

  ‘Are you allowed to do this?’ asked Leah. On the way up there had been PRIVATE and KEEP OUT signs.

  ‘Let’s say I have an arrangement with the warden.’ Some sort of colour had come into his face and a glint of life in his eye. ‘Let’s go,’ and they rattled down the track as quickly as they had arrived. ‘I don’t do any damage. I would never damage the forest.’ He puffed on his spliff. They screeched and swerved round the country lanes. Leah hung on to her seat.

  At the camp site they unloaded. Leah was ready to drop but Axe was now slicing the logs into smaller ones. Sweat dripped off him. He coughed and wheezed. His sheepskin coat flapped. She sat on the step of her caravan and watched. The crystal day glowed and it was already well past lunchtime. He began to build up the bonfire. Smoke rose from its black centre, and finally flames. He wiped his face with his hands leaving a black smear across his forehead.

  She heated up some soup and came out with two bowls.

  ‘What’s this?’ he said.

  ‘I made some soup.’ She handed him a bowl.

  ‘Don’t make me food,’ he snapped.

  ‘I didn’t make it for you, I made it for myself.’

  She sat down and ate hers, dipping bread into it. Axe tossed his axe on to the woodpile. ‘Oh all right.’ He sat down too and ate his with his fingers, fast, and then wiped his hands on his shirt. He caught Leah looking at him. ‘There’s been nobody here since October, except that cow in the bungalow. You forget your manners.’

  He ate three bowlfuls, belched loudly, then laughed. When he laughed it took up all of his face. He had surprisingly white teeth. He stretched himself out by the fire, still laughing. Under his coat he wore a dirty shirt and a pair of army trousers. The sole was coming off one of his boots.

  ‘Oh, my, what a day!’

  ‘You’re bonkers,’ said Leah.

  ‘You get like that here. Well, you’re better than that bird who was in the caravan before.’

  ‘Did she have an arse like a peach?’

  ‘She did not. She had an arse like two footballs in a bag. A fat-arsed dyke and she had a dog, and it had puppies and all of them were yapping and yelping.’

  ‘I bet you made their lives a misery.’ And she could understand how.

  They watched the fire and around them the brilliant day made the sky more blue and the shadows more deep.

  ‘Tell me about you,’ said Axe, lying on his back, his hands tucked under his armpits. He was nearly asleep.

  She hesitated but he wasn’t even looking at her. ‘I had Jo at college,’ she began. And she told him, about Al and the anarchists, living in Devon, Daddy Claremont dying, Bristol, Garden Hill, the Project, Clive’s and Totterdown. Rachel, Declan, Sarah, Bill and Carol: she was telling it all. ‘… Then I came to Bridgwater and I walked here,’ she said and her last words rose up like smoke. Axe’s mouth was open. He looked asleep, but he said slowly, like a man from the bottom of a well, ‘What about your lover, the one your husband hit you for.’

  ‘He was …’ said Leah. ‘We were …’ But what can I say about Bailey that makes any sense? He pushed me somewhere … I was scared and excited … I wanted so much … I was so hungry … I kept crawling back. Make me feel like that again … make me feel. It felt like being pulled down. I still want it although I know I can’t.

  ‘We got stuck,’ said Leah and Axe was surely asleep now, ‘and it hurt to pull apart. It still hurts me we couldn’t be together. It will always hurt me.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Bailey I hope you are well, because I am well. I survived you and Al and now I’m growing. I left you on your floor to wrestle with yourself. There was nothing I could do, you wouldn’t let me. Your badness kills you. Kills everything around you and was killing me.

  I think I know the moment when I will go back but every day says, stay here a bit longer. My little caravan says it. I found some brushed cotton sheets in a charity shop. I found a launderette and washed my clothes. I bought a dusty book about the Somerset coast. My money is lasting. The camp site says it. There are snowdrops in the hedge. I saw a wren, and a thrush sings in the morning. I can hear the sea from my caravan. Axe keeps bringing more wood.

  He sits by the bonfire and there is so much to talk about I’d forgotten. A shoe, a piece of wood in the fire, the shadow of the caravan. I used to talk with Jimbo in the garden. It used to go on all day, ‘Did you? Can you? Have you?’ and it’s like that. We walk up the beach and play ducks and drakes. Look at this stone, it’s so smooth, so flat. Watch it jump! … And up the road and in the woods. Look at these trees, and that ivy! Then it’s night. We cook separate dinners and eat them by the fire.

  I said to Axe, ‘Why do you make so many bonfires?’ and he said, ‘Because people come to them and tell stories.’

  Stay here a bit longer and tell your stories.

  I miss Bristol. Jo, Ben and Tom, I feel sick with missing them.

  I want them to be here and be wild and muddy with me.

  Stay here and be wild.

  It was early morning, just light and Axe was already chopping wood. Leah went outside. The mist was swirling up from the sea; where it was thin the low sun shone through like a torch under a blanket. She sat by the fire with her hands round her coffee. He was now building up the bonfire. He didn’t stop.

  ‘Today,’ said Leah, ‘it’s my birthday.’ He didn’t look up. ‘And I was thinking that today I could go into town and buy a chicken or something and tonight cook something special, and tonight we could have a sort of birthday celebration dinner, I thought.’

  Axe, in the middle of his bonfire making said, ‘What?’ He looked unslept and bothered.

  ‘It’s
my birthday. I’ll cook dinner,’ said Leah.

  ‘I don’t want birds cooking me dinner,’ said Axe.

  ‘I’m not a bird!’ yelled Leah.

  She went into town on her own. By late morning the mist had blown away. The sky was hazy blue and the wind sharp and frosty. She looked at the meat in the butcher’s shop. Chickens trussed up with their bottoms in the air. Red slabs of beef in puddles of blood. She couldn’t bring herself to buy any of it. She went to the blue café and bought a scone. The waitress recognised her but didn’t say anything. Leah was more tattered than when she first arrived but instead of being pale faced and hollow, her cheeks were pink and her hair had matted into untidy curls. She sat, grumpy by the window and didn’t care how much mud she left on the floor.

  What did I expect. Flowers and chocolates? I’m so silly. We are only two pebbles bumping together on a beach of pebbles. My children used to jump on my bed with drawings and messy things they’d made. Where is their mummy this year? They don’t even know.

  It’s time to go back. Even if I find out there’s no place for me there any more, like Axe did, but it won’t blast me, like it blasted him, because I know, I can keep going like I am now.

  By the caravans the bonfire was burning but Axe was not around. Today was her birthday and there were no presents, no cards. The people who cared about her didn’t know where she was. She lay down on her bed.

  Axe was knocking on her door. ‘I’m an oaf,’ he said, his hands in his pockets. He pointed to the fire. ‘There’s potatoes. A birthday potato, how does it sound?’

  ‘Not as good as roast chicken but I didn’t get one in the end.’

  They sat on the log. The potatoes were black and hard on the outside like huge beetles, but the insides were smooth and creamy, especially with butter and cheese spread on with their fingers. The sun was setting and the stars were coming out.

  ‘There’s more!’ said Axe, wiping his hands on the grass. He went into his caravan and came out with four bottles of cider. He opened one and gave it to Leah. ‘I’ll have the rest.’