by Lucy English
She wanted to tell him she was leaving, but he was already off again to the truck. He brought back a ring-pull off a beer can, a twig in blossom, two daffodils, a pair of unmatching socks. Eventually she had a pile of junk at her feet.
‘Thank you,’ she said, trying to work out what was really rubbish and what wasn’t.
‘You’re still sad. What can I do to cheer you up?’
‘I’m not sure … There’s something …’
‘There’s one more thing!’ And he went back to the truck to get it. It was heavy and wrapped in a sack. He carried it to the bonfire. ‘I found it, but I think it’s yours. It suits you, have a look.’
She did, carefully by the flickering light. It was a white marble angel, three feet high, with outstretched wings and its hands held downwards as if saying, ‘Here it is.’ The face was sad and peaceful.
She touched it all over and she was speechless.
‘Do you like it? Do you like it? And does it make you happy?’
‘Oh … Axe … he’s so very … splendid.’
‘And are you happy now?’
‘Oh yes, I’m so very happy.’ And she was. She was blissful.
They sat there and stared at it. The cider was left undrunk.
‘Where on earth did you find it? You didn’t steal it?’
‘I would never. I saw it weeks ago behind a farm and today I thought, it has to be for you. The farmer, he didn’t want it.’
‘It looks Victorian. What a wonderful tomb it must have been. We can’t leave it here. We must find a special place.’
‘You like it then?’
‘Axe, it’s the most beautiful birthday present I’ve ever had.’
She wanted to hug him but she didn’t because he put his head down and coughed. He rolled a spliff and smoked it all himself.
‘You know I have to go back to my children,’ she said, clear about it now, as clear as the stars shining above them.
‘Yes, I do know that,’ said Axe.
The moon came up and shone on the camp site and on to the marble angel which Leah had not moved her eyes from since she first unwrapped it.
‘I know,’ she said suddenly, ‘where he must go. I know the place exactly.’
‘What?’ said Axe, pretty stoned by now and creeping towards the cider.
‘In the cave on the beach. Wouldn’t it be completely perfect? He can stay there for ever at the source of the spring.’
Axe rubbed his hands in his hair. ‘Do you know how heavy that thing is?’
They wrapped the angel up again in the sack and carried it down the path to the beach. It was heavier than Leah had imagined. The weight pulled her arms. But Axe was strong. He took the bulk of it. Slowly, and without talking, they moved across the rocks to the cave, gently so the angel wouldn’t be damaged. The moon shone down. Their faces were white, their hands were white. Axe’s face was full of steady concentration as he manoeuvred backwards, looking over his shoulder, and then at Leah, coaxing her on when it felt like her arms were tearing out of their sockets. They were now on the sand, soft under their feet, moving under the cliff rising black above them.
They had to stop for a while to rest their arms. ‘Where is the cave?’ said Leah. ‘I can’t see it.’
‘I know where it is,’ said Axe. He picked the angel up himself and started to stagger up the beach.
‘Let me help you!’ said Leah, running after him.
There was the cave. A black hole against the black. Axe was panting and straining. He put the angel down with a thud on the wet floor. Leah helped him rock it into place. They were in the dark pulling at the sacking, they didn’t stop. Gradually their eyes could see more, and the moonlight was coming into the cave and shining on the angel.
His arms downwards. Here it is.
‘He is so beautiful,’ she said. ‘This moment is so very beautiful.’ And they stood there as still as the rock itself.
‘Thank you,’ she said to the moon, and the marble angel and to Axe, but he was bent over.
‘What have you done? It was far too heavy to carry it all by yourself.’
‘It’s not that …’ and he tumbled out of the cave.
‘What’s the matter, have you hurt yourself?’ But Axe wasn’t hurt, he was crying, crumpled up and hiding his face on his knees. Leah crouched down; he was creased up so tight. ‘Tell me, what is it, please tell me.’
‘It’s such fucking shite … go back to the caravan.’
‘No,’ said Leah.
He stood up, unsteadily, and wiped his face. ‘You’d better. I’m a selfish pig …’ He started to cry again and this time he let her hug him. He smelt of bonfire and dope and sheepskin coat. They stayed there, swaying in the night.
‘It was a joke … get the angel bird an angel … cheer her sad little face up … make her laugh … don’t I always make them laugh … You came here and sat by the fire like a lost angel with a black eye. You’ve been so … sweet … When we were carrying that thing you meant it, you were serious and I was playing along, like the stupid shite I am … keep the bird happy … but in there, when the moon came in … it meant something. What did you say in there?’
‘This moment is so very beautiful,’ said Leah. ‘It was.’
‘It was,’ said Axe.
‘It still is,’ said Leah. He put his hands on her face and she touched them. Their fingers slipped into each other’s.
‘This is what is difficult to take,’ said Axe.
They walked back to the camp site hand in hand as if they daren’t let go of each other. By the bonfire were the pile of Leah’s rubbish presents and the cider bottles.
‘I think I need a cup of tea,’ said Axe.
They went to his caravan. It was dingy and filthy with beer cans and dirty clothes on the floor. He picked up the kettle and waved it about but he was still holding her hand so they sat on the bed. There was a stained duvet and several grimy pillows.
‘It’s not … I’m not … shite, absolute shite! What now?’
‘I’m not sure,’ she said and they sat there looking at each other.
Under the dirt and the stubble and your jumping eyes, you are very beautiful. ‘Can you be still?’ said Leah because Axe was jittering and shaking the bed. He tried. Their hands squeezed tighter. I was going to leave, but here it is.
‘God, I want to pork you now,’ said Axe. ‘What do you think about that?’
Like the sea that has washed me clean. ‘Like a rock,’ she said, ‘and the sea washes over it right through the night.’
They had barely seen each other without their coats on but now they were undressing. Axe’s grubby clothes piling up on the floor. Leah took off her boots awkwardly, her jeans and her long-johns. Jumpers, shirts, vests. They were naked under the duvet. His bed felt gritty and lumpy. They held each other. He kissed her and words kept coming out and getting lost halfway: ‘I’m not … I haven’t for ages … you have … sweet thing.’ He kissed her more and they stroked each other as if they were both made of something precious.
He wasn’t muscular like Bailey but slender and graceful. He moved slowly and deliberately. Shudders ran up and down him.
Your eyes are open. Don’t be scared to be so close. You are taking me there, not in a blast like Bailey but like walking with our eyes open.
‘Don’t close your eyes,’ she said, and he didn’t but it was difficult.
Axe lay on Leah with his head against her neck. He had no weight on him at all. ‘I’ll sleep now,’ he said and was soon breathing in her ear. Outside she could hear the sea on the shingle. She stroked his hair. It was soft like a child’s.
This is a dream of the angel. Tall now and giving out light. At his feet the water spurts like a fountain, but it’s the black water. I’ve dreamt this before. I kneel by the wall. I’ve done this before. I taste the water, so sweet, so sweet I want more and cup my hands and plunge them in. Fill me with sweetness.
My face in the water and I see you swimming.
&n
bsp; I pull back and he grabs me. I am pulling. I am pulling.
I fall into the water and fall. Afraid, and I can’t scream, can’t breathe. Try to breathe and the water fills me. I am breathing water.
He is holding me and pulling me down. We are going down through a tunnel. The walls press in. Don’t let go of me now.
The water pushes us through in a roar, in my ears, with such force and we crash in a wave on the beach.
Lying on the sand I can hear the waves. Holding your hand I didn’t let go.
I look up and the beach is empty and beautiful.
I look at you, but it isn’t you. It isn’t Bailey.
She woke with a jolt and she was in Axe’s arms.
‘It’s you,’ she said.
‘It’s me,’ said Axe.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The rain came in from the sea and hit our caravans. Sometimes hard, so water dribbled in through the windows and down the chimney of my stove. Sometimes soft, a clinging wet film outside and inside. My clothes are going mouldy. The site is ankle deep in mud. The truck is stuck up the field. The bonfire has gone out.
In a cave on a beach is an angel I remember white in the moonlight. I have not been there in the rain. I have not been anywhere.
We lie in bed and listen to the shipping forecast and eat chocolate. I read a book. Axe sleeps all day sometimes. We had a shower together and screamed because it was so cold. The bungalow woman scowled at us as we ran up the field in boots and nothing else, to a boiling kettle and a warm stove. He made pancakes and we ate them with butter and syrup with our fingers. He is awake all night sometimes. He sits at the end of my bed and plays the guitar. I hear him in my dreams.
It is still raining. I remember in Bailey’s garden in the hot sun how thoughts could split us open. How we pushed each other. How his body blotted me, eclipsed me. I remember sometimes when Axe touches me and I wait for the push, but there isn’t one. There’s a soft mouth on mine and a movement like a whisper. It feels like sweetness pouring over us.
Today he is asleep on my bed with his boots on. One arm-stretched out. I make porridge. I sweep the floor. I stoke up the stove. I sit on the bed and move his legs. It doesn’t wake him. I eat my porridge and watch the sheets of rain sweeping in from the sea.
What Al wanted with me but I couldn’t feel it.
What I felt with Bailey but he kept pushing me away.
But we feel it. Here it is.
I touch your leg. When you wake up there is so much to tell.
Here it is. I was leaving but I didn’t go.
In the middle of the night Leah was in Axe’s bed. He had promised a meal four hours earlier. He was cooking and singing now at the top of his voice, his back to her, in his long-johns and boots, his shirt off. Tossing eggs, bacon, tomatoes, onions into the frying pan.
‘… ‘‘Mrs Robinson …’’ I busked in Sydney and the Oz birds didn’t they love that one. They always wanted that one. ‘‘Here’s to you Mrs Robinson, heaven holds a place for those who pray, hey, hey, hey …’’.’
The fat sizzled and popped. ‘Christ, that burns! I sang it once, I sang it a hundred times … ‘‘Hey, hey, hey …’’ Ozzy birds … they’re a gas … long legs, tough skin, they’re like horses … Oh, oh, oh … Christ, I’m starving.’
Bacon and eggs frying and the smell of it filling the caravan, filling the house at Clive’s, he’s downstairs and I’m in bed. It’s summer and I can hear the children talking to each other through the wall. My children. I love to hear them chattering when they’re in bed. What do they talk about? I never want to know. A train rumbles past and rocks the house.
Axe dancing now – ‘‘‘Put it in the pantry with your cupcakes’’,’ shaking the caravan – ‘‘‘Hey, hey, hey.’’’ Not Clive’s, but here up a cliff, through the wall is the wind and the rain and the sea. Not my children.
He spun round with a big grin and two plates of fry-up. ‘Dinner! … What’s up?’ She was crying.
He sat on the bed and Leah sat up too. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘You don’t want any of this then.’ He tipped her food on to his and ate the lot, more slowly than she’d seen him eat anything. He burped and put the plate on the floor along with the other debris. ‘What’s occurring?’ He slid his hand under the duvet to find hers.
‘I’ve only paid until April … my money is running out …’
‘Who cares about money! … I’ll sort that cow out … When it gets warmer it’ll be a gas. There’s Rocky and Jazz. They come down and a bloke called Ed. After Glastonbury it’s a party every night … you’re still crying.’
‘I miss my children,’ said Leah.
‘We’ll go to Bristol and get them.’ He bounced on the bed. ‘They’ll love it, they can have the big trailer, they can play on the beach. We can go fishing. I know this bloke with a boat …’
‘Axe … I walked out on them three months ago. I don’t know what’s going on there …’
He was kneeling on the bed and holding her hands. ‘Your hubby won’t mess with you if I’m there. I’ll sort him out. We’ll get the kids … Look, I know I’ve never met them, it’ll be OK, it will, what am I saying? … Oh shite, you’re going to leave, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Leah.
He held her tight and she cried on to his skin. ‘I know you say you can’t go back, but I have to, I’ve left it so long. I came here to be strong and now I am … I promised them … I didn’t know you then.’
‘I don’t want it to be like it was before. It was shite.’
‘I don’t want to go either, but if I don’t I’ll be so sad I couldn’t bear it.’
She lay back on the bed; she was very tired and he tucked the duvet around her. He picked up his guitar. He wasn’t going to go to sleep. He began to play.
‘Can you play a happy song?’ said Leah.
‘I couldn’t possibly,’ said Axe.
We walked up the beach and the rain had stopped. The world was so wet. The cave was dripping and water gushed out of the spring. I had not seen it like that. The angel was still there. You cannot see it from the beach. You have to know. We stood there for so long.
You said, ‘Let’s go to town and get that chicken. You can cook it. You want to. I want you to …’ and you stopped. You didn’t have words for the rest.
I have words. I said, I love you.
I love you.
On Saturday morning he took her to Bridgwater station. They sat in the truck and waited. He was fidgety. He hadn’t slept. He rolled a joint. It was the fourth one that morning.
‘… and don’t let your hubby push you about.’
‘I won’t,’ said Leah.
‘… and that other bloke, don’t get messed up in that again.’
‘I won’t,’ said Leah.
‘… and what was his name, you never told me?’
‘He was called Bailey,’ said Leah.
Axe stuck his joint behind his ear. ‘Bailey? That’s a stupid name.’
‘Axe is a stupid name,’ said Leah.
There wasn’t much time. ‘Don’t ask me to come to Bristol. I hate cities.’
‘I won’t,’ said Leah. She had only one small rucksack. She had left her caravan as she had made it.
‘But … when you get to Bristol and if it doesn’t work out, and you’ll know, I tell you, you’ll know in ten minutes, if you can’t see your kids and all that. I sometimes think I should have got on a plane and legged it back to Carolyn. I left it, and then I didn’t want to … God, what am I trying to say? … You can come back here. You can,’ he said with an effort. ‘Would you want to?’
‘And live with you in a higgledy mess for ever?’
He was becoming misty and wet like the windows of the truck. She rubbed her eyes.
‘If I’m not back by midnight I won’t be back and if I’m not back you’ll know it’s gone all right … for me. And you?’
‘The site is my home,’ said Axe. He put his hand on her shoulde
r and stroked her neck.
‘And if at midnight I’m not back, can you … can you make the biggest bonfire you ever did and take all my stuff out of my caravan and chuck it on.’
‘Oh my,’ said Axe. They were hugging now.
‘Make it really big. Make it really burn.’
The train rattled in. The two-carriage train to Bristol.
‘Here it is,’ said Leah, and it was all going so fast. Their fingers were touching.
‘I never cared about anybody,’ he said in a rush. ‘I didn’t even care about myself.’
But she could see it, it was right through him. He was a man pierced with love.
Bristol was grey and full of concrete and cars. She walked along the road to the Project. Everything was the same, but it looked different as if she had a new pair of eyes to look through. And I am different. I am strong and sad and quite clear.
In the Project gardens she could see Clive’s hat bobbing up and down between the bushes. The gardens were filled with daffodils and spring flowers. The air was still and moist, smelling of blossom and car fumes. She went to Brewery Lane. She still had the key.
Tatty sniffed her and began to bark. Clive’s house was the same as ever and Debbie came running down the stairs in overalls.
‘Who is it? Who? My God …’
‘Hi,’ said Leah. Debbie stared. Leah was dirty. Her black coat was fringed with mud. Her hands and her face were brown from the weather, but her eyes shone.
‘Oh my God, it’s such a shock. I have to sit down.’ Her hair was up in a scarf. She was wearing paint-stained clothes. ‘Dear me, we didn’t know, we hadn’t a clue.’
She was so embarrassed Leah said, ‘I just came to see about my things.’
‘Oh, your things are still here. What else could we do? Clive said he would give it one more month … he has to rent the room, you see.’
‘He always had trouble with his lodgers.’
Debbie laughed, ‘Look at me, what a mess! I said I’d give a hand with the decorating …’ She became embarrassed again. ‘I have to tell you, your husband came and took away … you know … we thought it would make a nice spare bedroom.’
‘Can I see?’ said Leah. They went upstairs. Her room was as she’d left it. China dolls, her clothes, the Indian rug, her doll’s house. All a bit dusty.
