by DH Smith
He put the beans on. This was his all day breakfast. Quick to cook but not particularly healthy. Lacking any greens. He had a couple of days off this week, following this job. He’d stock up on tinned greens, peas and broad beans, that sort of stuff. Get some potatoes for baking, good this time of year, and sprouts. It just took a bit of thinking ahead, something domestically he was not that good at.
Alison had run that side. A very organised woman. He’d done what he was told, until his drinking got the better of him – and he’d done nothing at all. In fact, it had undone any good habits. The people he’d met at AH, he noted, were a slobby bunch. That’s what happened once alcohol took over with its vomit and diarrhoea. Squalor became the default.
Once they’d divorced, Alison had forced him to make an effort. Or Mia wasn’t coming over. So he’d bought a second hand washing machine and plumbed it in. Even used it sometimes. He had a vacuum cleaner, and did know how to use it, but it was a chore changing the bag and it seemed to get buried in the cupboard. Besides which, dust settled only very slowly.
He set the food out on the table in the living room with the teapot and mugs. Rose came out of the bathroom in his dressing gown. She was barelegged, and from the bundle of clothing she was holding, obviously naked under the gown. She sat down at the table. Jack had already started eating. She commenced.
‘You wouldn’t have a hair dryer?’ she said.
‘Never use one.’
‘Then I’ll have to do without. I really needed that shower. After leaf vaccing all day, and the dust where I was last night.’
‘The bowling pavilion hotel,’ he recalled.
‘I wouldn’t recommend it,’ she said with a short laugh. She took a bite of toast and a bit of sausage. ‘So who’s your date then?’
‘No one you know,’ he said, head down.
‘How do you know who I know?’ She wiped the egg yolk with toast. ‘You could still cancel it. It’s not too late.’
‘Wouldn’t that be rude?’
‘You apologise profusely,’ she said, ‘and say what an awful headache you have. Brick dust. Or what is really good is the runs. No one wants you to come then.’
‘It doesn’t help courting,’ he acknowledged.
‘There’s a quaint term,’ she said peering at him, ‘but then there is something old fashioned about you.’
‘I don’t know whether to be pleased or angry.’
She shrugged. ‘I suppose it’s the van. Man with a van. And the clodhopping boots.’
‘My working gear,’ he said. ‘Not made for a disco.’
She pondered a moment and snapped her fingers. ‘It’s my sister. Your date.’
He concentrated on wrapping the toast round a sausage.
‘And what if it is?’ he said at last. ‘Do you mind?’
She screwed her lips. ‘I do actually. Liz kicked me out on Saturday. And then gets in first with a man I fancy. I would not have thought that of her.’ She ate some sausage and took a bite of toast. ‘She’s a nifty cook. And a good painter. You don’t deserve her.’
Jack laughed. ‘Too good for me?’
‘I’m more your class.’
‘I don’t trust you,’ he said.
‘I don’t trust you.’ She shrugged. ‘Sex is like that. Who can you trust?’
‘Not even your sister.’
‘Especially not your sister.’
After their meal, Jack went for his shower. Rose said she’d wash up. As the hot water ran he contemplated what was happening. A bird in a bush… He could go to the park, set up the telescope, see Mars and maybe Andromeda. Have some supper and that could be that. It never was an invitation to screw, but a more high minded invitation to look at the heavens.
He soaped himself under the arms and in the groin. He pointed his face into the jets and soaped his hair.
It had been a genuine invitation to see the stars. Meaning what? That he would set his telescope up and look skywards. But then after… Like a dinner date. You hoped it wouldn’t stop there. And sometimes it did, with maybe a kiss on the doorstep.
He could phone Liz. Tell her the telescope was broken. She might invite him anyway for supper. Then he’d have an interesting choice. But supper might just mean supper, of course. He could then say he was mid mending the telescope and wanted to finish it. Not leave it in pieces in his sitting room. His hands were greasy.
And so on.
And simply stay here, and take what was plainly on offer.
He disgusted himself. How could he have a long term relationship with anyone when he was so dishonest? You had to be open, you had to share. You couldn’t be forever calculating how to get your leg over.
He’d change tomorrow, the day after. Depending.
Sex was like alcohol. The way it worked on you, took you over, pushing everything else aside. All aspirations, promises. You craved. You lied and schemed. Fill my glass. Fill my bed.
Just a phone call. He couldn’t do it in front of Rose. But why not? She’d suggested he cancel. It would make them conspirators. She’d have one over her sister. Might make her sexier.
The towel was disgusting; she’d just left it on the bathroom floor. It was a dirty damp rag, but all he had. He bunched it up and rubbed off the wettest bits, here, under there. And finished himself off with his soiled vest.
Jack dressed. He rubbed his chin. And had a quick run around with his electric razor. A little aftershave to salve the tenderness and add to his allure. He looked in the mirror. Who would want that lying bastard?
Another lying bastard.
He came out of the bathroom. Rose was asleep on the sofa. She had a pillow from his bed under her head and his duvet over her. She looked so cosy, so innocent. So set for the night.
Half an hour later, Jack left with his telescope.
Chapter 23
The sheet of card covered most of the kitchen table. On it she’d drawn a plan of the park, and, from her rough sketch filled in by Zar, she began putting in small circles for trees. Not the names yet. With her water colour palette, she touched in the shrubbery, the grass, the bowling green, to give it some life and vibrancy. She’d leave it when she’d finished colouring; tomorrow, she’d ink in the tree names and areas of the park.
The finished work would go on an easel in the marquee for Wednesday. It would be an extra to her cascade, something for visitors to look at as they chatted. She was glad to have this project on hand. It had been convenient to give Zar a reason for going round the park searching out the death stalks – but now it had utility. A busyness. So necessary. It had been a day too long. Ever since Ian’s blackmail in the mess hut… What an age ago that was! Watching, doing her work, keeping sane. And still waiting, hour upon hour, until the poison took effect.
He thought that she’d committed herself to him. So unbelievably pleasant to everyone this afternoon, she’d almost regretted her action. But not quite. He was still Ian. He had forced her to promise to be his. To love, honour and obey. To have and to hold. For five years at least. To sleep with him, submit to his demands, cook and clean for him…
The last she’d seen of Ian was about five thirty; he was fine, beaming like a birthday boy with all his presents. No sign of anything eating away inside.
Suppose it didn’t work? In that case, her plan B was to leave. Give her notice. Go. He might then do his dirty work, knowing he’d get nothing out of it, but damning her work prospects. So be it. She’d leave and make the best of it, whatever that was, wherever that was.
If plan A didn’t work.
The builder was coming over with his telescope later. She’d skipped her class, knowing she wouldn’t take anything in. Much better doing this tree plan. And then outside with Jack. Have someone to talk to, stars to look at. Astronomy, which she confused with astrology, which she didn’t really believe in anyway. Why should the stars give a damn about us? But if it were so, their power, their influence, must be directed here, tonight. It hardly mattered what she did; it would be zoomed
into what was happening to her and to him, an inevitability ray.
That didn’t make any sense. If things were inevitable, she couldn’t do anything other than what she was going to do anyway. Which she didn’t believe.
So scrub that thought. Scrub any deep thinking. Her head was a-tumble. Just paint.
She’d promised the builder supper. Well, there was plenty left over from lunch. Did she want him to stay the night?
Yes and no. Company, uncomplicated, someone to talk to, to hold her as time passed. No – she might weep, talk too much, give herself away as events unfolded. Time so stretched out when you were waiting. With nothing to fill you but the event you wanted and dreaded.
And then? Once it happened.
Nothing perhaps. Or a funeral. Or an investigation.
Zar knew too much. Would talk innocently about the work she’d given him. She would be questioned. And be believed or not believed.
In time. Hours and hours later. In the meantime, nothing could distract her. No music, no book, no chatter. Perhaps it would be better if she suffered alone, if the builder had not been invited. Then, at least, she would not betray herself.
She could claim a headache. Not so far from the truth. A terrible migraine. She would be oh so apologetic, but really she couldn’t… Did he mind?
Her bell rang.
It couldn’t be Jack. Too early, and he didn’t know the gate code. Though Ian might have given it to him as he had to come and go. She went to the door and looked through the spy hole. It was Ian. The man she’d promised herself to. Still standing upright. There was no point not answering the door; she was obviously in, with the light on in her hallway, kitchen and sitting room.
She opened the front door.
He beamed at her like a shy suitor.
‘Might I come in?’ he said.
She thought a moment and then said, ‘Let’s go for a stroll, Ian. It’s mild out and I’ve a bit of a headache. Fresh air might clear it.’
‘Oh dear,’ he said. ‘I’ve a bit of a tummy ache myself.’ He rubbed the area. ‘I don’t know what it is.’
‘Worry about the ceremony,’ she suggested.
‘Probably.’
She took her outdoor jacket off the hook and slipped it on. She felt for her keys, always necessary now she lived on her own again. Though she had a spare set under a brick, just in case.
She closed the door behind her, and ushered Ian along the path and out of her garden gate. She joined him on the drive and took his hand. He squeezed hers. They were enclosed in darkness.
‘Can we walk a little slower?’ he said. ‘I feel a bit twingey. It comes and goes. A sort of stabbing.’
‘No rush,’ she said. ‘We’ll go at your pace.’
They slowed. She couldn’t see his face but through his hand felt him wince every so often.
‘I am a worrier, Liz. Do you think I’m getting an ulcer?’
‘It’s said to be a stress thing,’ she said. ‘Just walk slowly and remember, everything is in hand. And I am your backstop.’
‘Thank you, Liz.’ He stopped and rubbed his stomach. ‘I would love to walk with you, but it’s no good. Not tonight. I think I should go home. I don’t feel well at all.’
‘Let’s get you back then. Tuck you up with a hot water bottle.’
‘Oh! That was a kick.’ He stopped walking, and hunched over clutching his stomach with both hands. He was breathing quickly, the two of them still on the drive. ‘It’s as if I’ve swallowed glass. Can we stop a while?’
‘Of course, Ian.’
She stood a little way from him. He was a dark shadow against the deep purple sky. A bat flipped past like a constricting handkerchief a little over their heads. They were on the main drive by the playground, the swings and roundabout silent and dead, barely visible in the gloom.
‘I enjoyed today,’ he said, the words coming slowly as if he were frozen. ‘Our lunch especially. And the cake at tea was a jolly thing. Everyone coming together.’ He suddenly recoiled and grabbed her arm in a tight grip. ‘My stomach is turning like a washing machine.’ He winced again.
‘Would you like to sit down, Ian?’
‘That might be a good idea. Thank you, Liz.’
She led him slowly to a nearby bench where they sat side by side. He rubbed his stomach with both of his hands, his breathing rapid and thick.
‘Ooh! Where did that come from? It’s like I swallowed a brick.’ He rocked backwards and forwards. ‘I don’t know what’s the matter with me, Liz.’
‘Acid indigestion,’ she said. ‘It can be very painful.’
‘No, no, more like…’ And he kicked one leg out, then the other. ‘Bloody cramps. It’s like metal bolts up my legs… Oh my God!’ His arms were thrashing.
All at once his head shot forward and he vomited, a forceful gush that flooded out in a splash. Bent over, he continued heaving.
‘There’s something the matter inside,’ he moaned. ‘This is awful.’ He retched again. ‘Help me, Liz.’
‘Stay where you are,’ she said. ‘This is serious. You don’t want to be moving. I’ll get an ambulance,’ she said. ‘Could be appendicitis. I’ll phone from the house. Don’t worry. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
She left him and walked quickly to her cottage. She let herself in, closing the door on the park and the man on the bench. She leaned her forehead against the cold glass. It was happening. She must not intervene.
She did not phone. She did not go back.
Chapter 24
Jack took the telescope mount out of the back of his van. He put it down on the pavement. And took out the telescope itself which was wrapped in a blanket for protection from the tools and oddments in the back of his vehicle. He laid it carefully on the pavement. It was quite an operation, as this 8 inch Newtonian weighed fifteen kilograms. Not made for carrying about. Something he should have considered before he’d bought it. He didn’t have a back garden, so was always travelling to sites away from city lights. A favourite of his and Mia’s was up a hill by Epping Forest. Once, it had clouded over even as they were climbing up to the viewing point, arriving at the top with all that weight, simply to have to carry it down again.
Tonight, though, was reasonably clear. Some cloud, but plenty of sky between. Mars, he’d already spotted, and hopefully the Andromeda Galaxy would be out of cloud. In his backpack, he had his camera; he’d try for some photos, plus a head torch to help set up. It was easy to drop things on dark nights.
Jack locked the van and thought of Rose out like a log on the sofa. Just as well he was here. No complications. He’d enjoy a session under the night sky – with no lies to tell.
He took the mount, then the telescope to the locked gate. And phoned Liz.
When she answered, he said, ‘It’s me, Jack. I’m at the gate with my gear.’
‘I’ll let you in.’
The gate buzzed. He held it open with his shoulder and brought the gear in. The gate snapped shut behind him. The mount was over his shoulder, the telescope he carried in his arms like a mother with an overweight baby. Jack had decided earlier where to set up. Just outside the marquee. It offered wind protection and shelter if needs be. They’d be looking south at the ecliptic, the line that sun and planets took from east to west, which was unobstructed in the park.
Past the wall he’d been working on today, barely visible in the gloom. In the faint glow of streetlights, the park trees were like black cut outs against inky sky, pinpricked with stars, amidst cloudy islands.
The plan was to set up, then go and collect Liz.
He crossed onto the lawn and could make out the outline of the marquee. Somewhat forbidding in the dark. An owl hooted. Underfoot the ground was soft, dew settling. In the two cottages, the lights were on, fortunately with the curtains closed, so not too polluting.
Jack put down the mount. And then the scope, carefully on the blanket to keep the moisture off. He took out the head torch from his backpack and set it onto his forehead
to light his setting up. He hoped Ian knew he was here – or he might, on seeing the beam, come out yelling, Get out of my park! or whatever.
Under the headlight, he assembled the telescope and mount. And switched off the torch, being careful on the battery. Also, it was best practice to get your eyes dark adjusted before viewing. Should he take a quick look before getting Liz? Make sure he could find things. The confident astronomer.
He looked into the heavens. There was the Square of Pegasus, three of the four corner stars clear and bright, one in cloud. He followed the left hand corner star, alpha Andromeda, along a couple of stars and then up. That’s where the Andromeda Galaxy should be. In non light-polluted areas you could just make it out with the naked eye. At two and a half million light years away, it was the most distant object visible without magnification.
No, he wouldn’t start yet. He’d bring Liz out. Share the discovery together.
He left the assembled telescope and walked towards the cottage. He’d ask her to make up a thermos of coffee. Maybe bring out a couple of folding chairs. It was good to have a house close by.
It was then he heard the groaning. Jack stopped, unsure what it was. An animal? He listened. A low moan. And tried to catch where it was coming from. Somewhere in the direction of the playground. He set off that way, switching on his head torch. And in the beam saw someone on the ground, rocking.
When he’d got to him, Jack saw it was Ian, the park manager. He was lying on the grass, plainly in agony. Jack knelt down to him. The manager’s eyes were screwed tight as he writhed.
‘What is it, mate?’
The only reply was a repeated moan with hands clutching his stomach.
Jack loosened Ian’s tie and undid his collar buttons. There was little else he could do. He took out his phone and dialled Liz.
‘Liz. It’s Jack. I’ve just found Ian out here, near the playground. He’s very sick.’
‘I’ll be right out.’
While waiting for her, Jack considered what to do. He could phone an ambulance or take him to hospital himself. The man was writhing and groaning, plainly something was very wrong. There was Liz in his beam, coming out of her gate at a run, her coat open.
