The Things We Learn When We're Dead

by Charlie Laidlaw

  For what? she nearly asked, but swallowed the words before they could escape. Instead, with some difficulty, she prised her feet from the carpet and crossed to the window, her shoes almost sucked off with every step. Through the grime she could dimly see a row of condemned houses and a patch of grass on which sparkled broken glass.

  ‘The others are away for the weekend,’ said Austin. ‘Leo and Greg. Maybe you’ll get to meet them sometime.’

  ‘Lucky me,’ said Lorna, now realising why Austin had been so insistent on that particular weekend. A small alarm bell had begun to sound in her head.

  Austin chucked his car keys down beside the computer. ‘Dump your stuff, have a wash, and let’s hit town.’ Then he cleared his throat, not looking at her. ‘I just thought it might be nice for us to have some privacy.’

  That smallest of words. Us. Why the hell was she here?

  Bath

  They went first to a loud pub in the city centre filled with students. Music blared from giant speakers, coloured lights flashed and were reflected off glass orbs hanging from the ceiling. It was virtually impossible to talk unless you leaned very close, which was perhaps why Austin had chosen the place.

  Afterwards they went to a quieter pub that did food. The eating area was packed, but they were lucky enough to arrive just as another couple was leaving. Lorna ate fish and boiled potatoes. She was, as she explained, on a meat-free diet. It didn’t last.

  ‘But you’re skinny as it is,’ he told her, digging into steak and ale pie and mopping at it with a bread roll. ‘You’ve always been skinny.’

  ‘I’m not on a diet diet. I’m just saving a few animals from being eaten.’

  ‘But not fish,’ said Austin, looking at her plate.

  They’d moved onto white wine. Austin’s treat. He proudly showed her the label, although it meant nothing. Something French and unmemorable. They chatted on about friends and acquaintances, swapping stories. One of Austin’s old friends was in hospital having crashed his motorbike. Another had dropped out of medicine to travel round the world. Another had found God and was considering the ministry. One of his flatmates was studying law and hating it. Lorna’s friends had also scattered, although they still met up during the holidays. Lorna told him about Suzie’s modelling antics.

  ‘She’s been modelling stuff for years,’ he said.

  ‘But now she gets paid real money. All she does is put on bikinis ... sometimes in places like Ibiza.’

  ‘Maybe you should try it.’

  Lorna snorted. ‘Do I look like a model? Actually, don’t answer that.’

  She waited for him to reply anyway, and was disappointed when he didn’t. Emilio would have stared into her eyes, said something incomprehensible in Spanish, and told her she was beautiful. Complete claptrap, of course, but words she liked to hear. Instead, Austin speared a chip, dipped it in gravy and transported it to his mouth. ‘She’s always been your best friend,’ he said eventually.

  ‘So?’

  ‘So, haven’t you made new friends?’

  ‘Of course I have,’ said Lorna. ‘But that doesn’t mean that you have to dump the old ones.’

  ‘Are we old friends, Lorna?’ The waitress had placed a lit candle on the table; Austin’s breath bent the flame to his question.

  ‘Suppose so. We’ve known each other long enough.’

  ‘Primary one, to be precise,’ he said, spearing another chip and waving it from the end of his fork. ‘We’d moved down from Edinburgh. I can still remember crying because I missed my old friends.’

  ‘Poor you,’ said Lorna. ‘Personally, I don’t remember much about anything. You’ve got a better memory than me, Austin.’

  The potato was now immobile on his fork. ‘You gave me one of your chocolate biscuits on my first day at school. It meant a lot at the time, being the new boy and everything. Do you remember?’

  She shook her head. Her first recollections of Austin were from years later. He looked a little crestfallen; receiving that biscuit had obviously meant more than the giving of it.

  ‘There’s a club just along the road. Fancy it?’

  The flight, the delay, and her bad mood earlier had made her tired. ‘Do we have to?’ she asked.

  ‘Not if you don’t want to,’ he said, taking one of her hands and squeezing it. ‘In fact, why don’t we just go home? I’ve got a bottle of plonk in the fridge. To get us in the mood,’ he added, which made her inwardly squirm.

  * * *

  They took a taxi back to his place – although how he could call it home was beyond her – taking the chance that his Fiesta wouldn’t be stolen, vandalised, or clamped overnight. She sat in the living room, her feet glued to the floor (under no circumstances was she going to take off her shoes), as he found a corkscrew and lifted down glasses from a cupboard over the fridge. Through the dirty kitchen window, far off, was a glimpse of the suspension bridge.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ he said, handing her a glass.

  ‘It’s been a long time,’ replied Lorna, knowing where this was physically leading, but not what was on his mind. The alarm bell was tinkling louder. ‘The one and only Austin Bird,’ she said, holding up her glass, ‘who deflowered me and took my innocence.’

  He laughed. ‘We were both rather drunk.’

  ‘I lost a perfectly good pair of knickers because of you. I never did find them.’

  He put on music, something soft and classical, and lit a candle. No doubt this moment of seduction had been meticulously planned. Lorna sat and waited for it to unfold.

  ‘You don’t regret it, do you?’ He was fiddling with the volume control, getting it just right.

  ‘It was fun, Austin,’ she said, ‘and it had to happen sometime. Actually, I’m glad it was with you. Better you than someone fat and ugly.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ he replied, although she hadn’t meant it to be one, still hearing the alarm bell which was becoming louder.

  He finally joined her on the sofa, having arranged everything to his satisfaction. ‘I’m just sorry we lost touch. What happened to your Polish friend?’ It was said with a smile; but what he really wanted to know was whether he had territorial rights.

  ‘There’s nobody else, if that’s what you mean. Marcel left me to go back to Prague.’

  ‘I thought your imaginary husband was Polish?’

  ‘Whatever.’

  He was quiet for a few moments, frowning. ‘Me neither,’ he said eventually, although Lorna wasn’t one to be judgemental. Either you have someone else or you don’t, she thought. She didn’t mind either way.

  They finished the wine, by which time Austin’s symphony had reached a crescendo and switched itself off. He took her by the hand and led her to his bedroom. Lorna noted that the sheets were clean and another candle had been set on the table by the window. They kissed. Austin tasted of beer and beef and ale pie.

  They made love but, try as she might, she couldn’t raise much enthusiasm. She did her best, making the right noises at the right moment, but her heart wasn’t in it and his beard scratched her face. It didn’t feel right, although it did last rather longer than the first time. Afterwards, they lay side by side, watching candle-shadows on the wall.

  ‘I meant what I said, Lorna. Back then, on the beach.’

  She said nothing.

  ‘I said that I loved you. I meant it. Still do.’

  Lorna tried to make light of it. ‘It was probably a drugged choccie biscuit, Austin.’

  ‘I don’t expect you to love me,’ he said. ‘I just thought I should tell you what I feel.’

  ‘I appreciate your honesty,’ she said. ‘I’m just not sure why you think you love me. We haven’t exactly seen much of each other since ...’

  ‘It must be about seven hundred and thirty days since we last made love,’ said Austin. ‘I remember those things.’

  ‘You really do have a better memory than me.’

  Lorna lay in the dark and listened to his slow breathing. S
he’d been expecting a light-hearted weekend away, a bit of frivolity with an old friend, and hadn’t expected unrequited love.

  * * *

  In the morning she lay in Austin’s bath, wrapped in steam. She’d slept badly, feeling guilty. She hadn’t meant to rekindle emotions, to stir something that should have remained extinguished. She shouldn’t have come to Bristol.

  Austin had left to fetch his car, if it was still where they’d left it.

  And then, from the flat next door, came the sound of moaning. With a start of surprise, Lorna realised that the couple next door were making love without inhibition, and noisily. She tried not to listen, not at first, but the sounds were insistent. They seemed to come from the walls, the taps, filling the bathroom, eddying the steam. Then, having no choice, she did listen. From gasped instructions the woman was making, Lorna had a fairly precise idea what they were up to. She closed her eyes, imagining the scene being played out next door. Their pleasure was almost contagious. She’d wanted to feel like that the previous evening, Austin once more coyly slipping on a condom, his back turned. But it hadn’t happened; something had felt wrong and out-of-time. What Lorna had to give wasn’t what he wanted. The woman next door also had a cough.

  Austin, arriving back with his Fiesta in one piece, was hugely apologetic. ‘It’s Bill and Monica,’ he informed her, biting his lip and trying not to smile. ‘They’re at it all the bloody time,’ although he couldn’t keep the admiration from his voice.

  * * *

  After she was dressed, and after he’d apologised again about his neighbours, Austin offered another apology. After a bit of sightseeing, he told her, he had to play rugby for his college. The engineers were playing the chemists. This hadn’t been mentioned in any of their pre-weekend planning.

  ‘Look, I’m really sorry,’ he said with a hangdog expression. ‘But if I do well this year I might get into the university team.’

  ‘You could have said something.’

  ‘I’ll cancel if you want me to,’ he said. ‘Say I’m ill or something.’

  ‘There’s no need,’ she said quietly.

  It wasn’t the best of mornings. Austin knew he should have mentioned the rugby, and clearly felt guilty. From Lorna’s perspective, she couldn’t help but wonder whether he really was in love with her or just thought he was. For different reasons, she also felt guilty. He tried once or twice to hold her hand, but she shied away from him. She’d wanted the kind of pleasure that had come from the neighbouring flat: uncomplicated, with no meaningful words attached. She realised she still had another night to get through, another night of faked noises and listening to words she didn’t want to hear.

  She watched him play from the touchline, a vile wind whipping in from the Atlantic. Apart from her, there were only three other spectators; all girlfriends of the opposing team. Lorna hadn’t expected wind and rain, or to be standing on touchlines, and was consequently underdressed. She stood, cheered to keep warm, and shivered. By half-time, the engineers were so far ahead that the game was effectively over. When Austin had the ball, or when he dived for a tackle, his face still contorted in the way she remembered.

  She’d watched him play enough rugby games in the past. But that had been for their school; her school as much as his. She’d wanted the school to win, wanted him to do well. Now, she didn’t care about engineers or chemists. She was from a distant place and had no connection with what was going on. In the dying minute of the game, Austin scored a try. Lorna had been thinking about something else, and missed it, then made the mistake of telling him. He didn’t look pleased: his moment of glory had passed unnoticed.

  Afterwards, in the clubhouse, it seemed as if he was avoiding her. The team were joking and laughing and Lorna was relegated to the periphery, making small talk with the other girlfriends. None of them seemed remotely happy either, and kept looking at their watches. Lorna realised that they were there as drivers, appendages to chauffeur their boyfriends back into town. She felt sorry for them, and then couldn’t think of anything else to say to them.

  Rounds of beer followed rounds of beer. It was quickly clear to her that an etiquette was in play: first the home team bought the beers, then the opposition reciprocated. Everyone had to contribute a tenner, even Lorna – which she thought was a bit rich – and nobody could leave until all the money was used up.

  Somebody started a bawdy song and everyone joined in. Then, another batch of beers appeared. Austin thrust a large glass of white wine into her hand. It was warm and the glass felt sticky, like his carpet, as if it hadn’t been washed properly. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘but it’s the best we could find. Not much call for wine in a rugby club.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she replied. ‘Anyway, what are we going to do this evening?’ Over Austin’s shoulder, she saw his team-mates pointing and jabbing each other with their elbows.

  ‘We thought that curry might be a good idea.’

  Ah, we. ‘But I don’t like curry, Austin.’

  ‘It’s ... well, it’s traditional. When we win, we have a curry together.’

  Lorna remembered that Austin’s parents always had a carry-out at the weekend, a tradition that seemed to have passed to their only son. ‘I still don’t like curry, and I don’t much like being leered at.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about them,’ said Austin, turning to look over his shoulder. ‘Lighten up, Lorna. They’re just having fun.’

  ‘Well, I’m not,’ she said, although he didn’t hear this. Austin had returned to the bar and had his arm around one of his team-mates. They were both laughing about something and had new pints in their hands.

  At that moment, Lorna felt like an intruder without hope of rescue. By not reciprocating his love, she had offended him. By not joining in with his fun, she was making him seem small. The weekend was fast becoming a disaster, and her plane wasn’t until the next afternoon.

  Instead, she took herself outside, back into the freezing wind, and phoned the kindly lady at the airport. Then, before she could change her mind, she walked to the main road and flagged down a passing cab. At the airport she made her way quickly through security, just in case Austin had set off in pursuit. Her things were still at his bijou flat, but they didn’t amount to much. A change of clothing, nothing more. Everything of importance was in her oversize bag, which was over her shoulder.

  Back in Edinburgh, there was a voice message on her mobile.

  You bitch, Lorna! How could you do that? Just ... walk out. You didn’t even say goodbye! Austin sounded very drunk and very angry.

  Lorna stood outside the airport terminal and waited for the city bus. She didn’t want to speak to Austin, but knew she had to, even if it ended in a drunken tirade. He would probably have kept drinking and God knows what state he’d be in by now.

  Thankfully, his phone was switched off.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Lorna to his messaging service.

  The two words sounded lame and inadequate but she didn’t know what else to say. She thought about it for a few moments then ended the call.

  T-Shirt

  ‘Hiya’

  ‘Hi, Lorry.’

  Tom was sitting up in bed and already pulling up his T-shirt. On his face was a lopsided grin.

  ‘Wow,’ said Lorna. ‘Is it sore?’

  ‘It’s fine,’ said Tom.

  She was fascinated by the dressings that were probably covering the little stitches holding her brother together. Someone with a sharp knife would have cut him open. Clever hands would have reached inside to untangle his intestines. A specialist in sewing would have sewn him up. Or would all those things have been done by the same person? She didn’t know, and Tom would have been asleep so he wouldn’t know either. ‘When are you getting out?’ she asked.

  ‘Why, are you missing me?’ Tom had put on a little-girl voice.

  ‘Not even a teeny-weeny bit.’

  ‘Tomorrow, with any luck,’ interjected their mum, who was carrying a plastic bag full of sweet
s and cans of Coke. ‘In the meantime, this should keep you going.’ She emptied the bag’s contents onto his bed. Tom immediately made a grab for the bar of chocolate, knowing it was Lorna’s favourite.

  ‘Maybe Tom isn’t allowed to eat yet,’ she quickly suggested, her eyes on the pile of goodies on the bed. ‘Maybe sweets are bad for him.’ Her mother was forever saying that sweets weren’t good for them. According to her, they made you fat and rotted your teeth. But if that was true, why did so many people, including grown-ups, eat sweets?

  ‘It’s OK,’ said her mum. ‘I checked with the nurses.’

  Her father was at the end of the bed. His lips were pressed together and he seemed to be tunelessly whistling. He had his hands clasped in front of him, locking and unlocking his fingers. ‘You look good, son,’ he said.

  ‘I’m fine,’ repeated Tom.

  ‘Did it hurt?’ asked Lorna.

  Tom was looking at his sister with his eyes half-closed. ‘They gave me an injection,’ he said. ‘It made me go to sleep.’

  ‘Did you have dreams?’ she asked. Lorna often had dreams, usually nice ones, because nothing really bad had ever happened to her.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Tom, mocking her. ‘You only have dreams when you’re really asleep. Not when you have an injection.’

  Lorna nodded; she supposed that made sense.

  Her dad had cleared his throat. ‘It’s called anaesthetic, Lorna. It means you don’t feel anything when you have an operation.’ He seemed pleased to have added another word to her vocabulary. ‘Anyway, we’ve been here long enough. Come on, we really should be going.’

  It seemed to her that they’d only just arrived. She looked at her mother, who smiled; they both knew how much her dad hated hospitals. Mum kissed Tom and ruffled his hair, which Tom had always hated. ‘We’ll pick you up tomorrow, lovey.’

  Her father was looking happier now they were leaving. ‘Be good for the nurses, Tom,’ he smiled, twining his fingers behind his back. ‘No giving them trouble, do you hear?’

  Tom had again lifted his T-shirt for Lorna’s benefit. Her mum looked away, not wanting to see the evidence of his illness. ‘Of course I’ll be good. Don’t have much choice, do I?’ he said, pointing to his scar. ‘Oh, and Lorry ...’