The Things We Learn When We're Dead

by Charlie Laidlaw

  Then her phone trilled. A text message from Suzie. Expext u want me to pik u op, obviously written in haste at crack of dawn in Edinburgh. Lorna texted back, then lay back on the dishevelled bed, not touching Joe. He’d shifted in irritation when her phone had beeped, and she had the distinct impression that he also blamed her for Suzie’s text. He was lying at the furthest extremity of the bed, the sheet wound tightly around him. Her bad dream lay between them and she didn’t know how to explain it to herself. He often told her that she was lovely, but had never mentioned the word relationship again. Nor had she, because it would have seemed presumptuous. She didn’t want to frighten him away or bind him too tight with silky words. When will you leave me? she wanted to ask, but didn’t dare, needing the reassurance that he cared, or felt something. They lay, without more words, each now pretending to be asleep.

  * * *

  Love: such a small word, encompassing so much. All emotions, good and bad, hopes and fears, squeezed into four letters. Lorna sensed in Joe a missing part of her. Is that what love is? Discovering a missing jigsaw piece and finding that it fits? Are we all born incomplete, compelled to search for the lost bit of us? Lorna only knew that she was both exultant and terrified. What will happen when he leaves? she kept thinking – an uncomfortable mantra in her head. Joe was easy-going, always smiling, always reaching out to her; but he didn’t do meaningful conversation, or talk much about his past. Lorna knew that he had been born near Sydney. His parents, both doctors, owned some land and kept horses. He had two sisters, Simone in Greece, and one in the USA – a biologist researching new treatments for malaria. She wanted him to map out his childhood, to describe the heat and dust, the names of the horses. Lorna tried to describe her own childhood, without embellishment, in an effort to encourage him, but he would shy away, change the subject. Joe was good at that, effortlessly skating back to trivia and platitude. He wasn’t being evasive; he just didn’t see the point of talking about the past. To him, it was unimportant. What had been, was gone.

  Lorna told him that she’d been born in the open air right beside the sea. I now have an affinity with the sea, she laughed. It must have been the first thing I saw and heard. He raised an eyebrow but didn’t reply. After making love one night, Lorna asked him about other girlfriends. Have you ever been in love, she asked? She’d rehearsed the question, making it sound insubstantial, without hidden meaning. Only you, she’d hoped he’d say. But he didn’t. He talked briefly about a girl called Myrtle, a cheery soul with buck teeth, but didn’t say much about her. Was Myrtle the person you first had sex with? she asked. Again, it was asked lightly. Lorna didn’t want to know about Myrtle or her poor dentistry; she wanted to know about herself, where she stood. No, he replied; that happened earlier. In the darkness Lorna couldn’t tell if he was smiling, then he kissed the top of her head, almost fatherly, like her dad used to do. But his kiss was also a full stop. He wasn’t going to talk about Myrtle, or anybody else, including her, and Lorna soon realised from his breathing that he was asleep, one arm flung wide across the duvet, the other around her shoulders, holding her close, keeping her safe.

  Was Joe missing a bit of jigsaw, she wondered? If so, was it Lorna-shaped? Or was he already complete, his own country, with impermeable borders? It was hard to tell, although it seemed likely. To him, the past was irrelevant; it may have shaped him, but it wasn’t worth the bother of describing it. It was only the present that mattered. Instead, Lorna bought jumbo boxes of condoms, in every permutation and flavour, constantly gratified by how many they were using, and hoped that the act of love could become the fact of it. That was her strategy, pure and simple, and it would have to do. It was enough.

  * * *

  To Lorna’s surprise, Nico’s whole family came to their hotel to see them off. Frowning, Lorna watched Joe kiss the beautiful Greek girl on both cheeks, his hand hesitating on the small of her back for just a moment longer than necessary. To her relief, Simone drove them to the airport. Nico was on a shopping expedition to buy a new awning for the taverna. The holiday season would be starting again soon.

  At the airport, Lorna drank a glass of retsina and took a second glass to the plate glass window overlooking the tarmac. Their plane was close to the window, the two pilots visible on the flight deck, running through a checklist. The co-pilot, with three stripes on his shoulder and a clipboard in one hand, had just said something to the other pilot, with four stripes. They were both laughing. Joe was at a table in the airport bar, nursing a beer, his mobile pressed to one ear.

  Lorna sat down and lit a cigarette. ‘Who were you phoning?’

  He shrugged his ample shoulders. ‘Just telling the guys when we’re getting back.’ He reached into his backpack and pulled out a bottle of Greek brandy. ‘We’re going to give this a try tonight.’

  Lorna had only briefly met his flatmates. Her flat was much nicer, her bed much bigger – so they usually ended up at her place. It was clear that, after several days in his company, Lorna was being excluded.

  ‘Can I ask you something, Joe?’

  ‘Sure, go ahead.’ He was sitting with one leg draped over the other. Behind dark glasses, Lorna couldn’t see his eyes.

  ‘It’s just that my parents would like to meet you.’ She watched him carefully, but he didn’t flinch. ‘Joe, they know I’m in Greece with a boyfriend. They know we’ve been seeing each other for a while now. They’d just like to meet you, that’s all.’

  ‘Understandable, I suppose.’

  Lorna ploughed on. ‘I told them that, if you weren’t busy, we could go down this Sunday. It’s no big deal,’ she finished, feeling breathless.

  His hands had settled quietly on his lap. Lorna still didn’t know what he was thinking. ‘Sure, Sunday’s fine.’

  ‘It really isn’t a big deal,’ she repeated, feeling foolish and defensive, ‘so please don’t think I’m being ... well, you know.’

  He smiled but didn’t offer any words to make her feel better. Only hours beforehand they’d made love, morning sunlight patterning the bedroom ceiling. Even then, his thoughts had been locked away.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said, planting both feet on the ground and standing up. He indicated the bookshop at the end of the concourse. ‘I’d better get something to read on the plane.’

  Lorna took a deep breath, pleased that the visit had been agreed, then irritated that she should feel so awkward about it. He was her boyfriend; she had every right to parade him in front of them. She was also their daughter and they had every right to meet Joe. When he was out of sight, Lorna unzipped his backpack, took out his mobile phone, and checked the last number dialled. He hadn’t lied: he had been phoning his flatmates, she’d been wrong to doubt him.

  Lorna swigged back her retsina, then a disembodied voice said that their flight was ready for departure.

  Lorna slept on the plane, having consumed two further small bottles of wine. Joe, in the window seat, read his book. When she dozed off, he was reading page six and when she woke up, two hours later, he was only on page ten. Although the book was open on his lap, he seemed content only to look out the window. Lorna placed her head on his shoulder and a hand on his knee. He placed one of his hands over hers then kissed the top of her head.

  Suzie met them at the airport, having spent the last week in Edinburgh between modelling assignments. Although it was freezing cold, Suzie had lowered the Porsche’s roof. Being the smallest, Lorna was squeezed into the back seat with the luggage. Suzie dropped Joe off at his flat. He gave Lorna a hug and kissed her on the lips.

  ‘Are you sure you won’t come back?’ asked Lorna.

  He shook his head. He had things to do, he said, clothes to wash. Already, still in his presence, she was missing him. It was late afternoon and they hadn’t made love since the morning, and she missed that as well; the scent of him, the press of his body against hers, the way they fitted together perfectly.

  ‘Thanks for the lift,’ he said to Suzie, hoisting his bag to his sh
oulder, a lopsided grin on his face and a lock of hair across one eye. Suzie had parked by the side of the Royal Mile and a tourist coach was impatiently waiting for them to move.

  ‘Think nothing of it,’ Suzie replied, with a sideways look at Lorna. ‘I was going to the airport anyway to pick up my rapacious capitalist friend.’ Lorna had sent Suzie a text from Crete, telling her about the job offer.

  The tour bus blared its horn, the driver gesticulating through the windscreen. Suzie smiled sweetly then raised one finger.

  Lorna sighed. ‘We’d better go.’

  They accelerated away, Suzie giving another raised finger to the coach driver, Lorna turning in her seat for a last glimpse of Joe. She barely had time to fasten her seatbelt before Suzie started in. ‘Do you know, Lorna, I didn’t realise you’re actually just like the rest of us.’

  ‘That’s a little unfair,’ said Lorna.

  ‘Well, what am I supposed to think? The soft-centred Lorna I thought I knew turns out to be someone else. I was right, wasn’t I?’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About people having chats on golf courses. I did warn you.’

  Despite having slept on the flight, Lorna was still tired. She’d survived another journey by aeroplane. The open-top car, wind rushing in, magnified the chill. Involuntarily, she shivered. ‘That’s just stupid,’ she said, gripping the edge of her seat as Suzie swung round a corner, tyres squealing on the cobblestones. ‘It’ll be valuable experience,’ she offered, ‘and I need to qualify. Then I’ll do something else.’

  Suzie stayed silent for a while, itself something of a rarity. ‘You’ve changed, babe,’ she said, again stopping at a red light and revving the engine. A group of young men, crossing in front of the car, turned to stare, perhaps recognising someone who wore silver jumpsuits on TV. Suzie drummed her fingers on the steering wheel and pretended not to notice. ‘The Lorna I used to know would have said no to my father.’

  * * *

  The next few days were warm and cloudless. Suzie said it had rained non-stop for days and that Lorna must have brought back some Greek weather with her. The visit to North Berwick loomed large in her mind. Joe was on night duty for the rest of the week, so she wasn’t able to see him or gauge how he felt. At the same time, her parents had a right to meet the person who, they probably assumed, was sharing her bed. On the morning after coming back from Crete, she woke to find he wasn’t there, then realised he’d spent the night at his own place. Nothing wrong with that, she thought, but felt his absence keenly, then remembered her troubled dream of search and loss.

  Lorna tried to explain something of this to Suzie, each on either side of the kitchen table. Lorna was drinking strong coffee she’d brought back from Crete. Suzie was drinking a herbal tea that someone had told her was good for her complexion. Suzie, who didn’t need to diet or take exercise, was prone to taking bad beauty advice.

  ‘It was just a dream, sweetie.’

  ‘But it seemed to signify something, Suze.’

  ‘Don’t be so bloody silly.’

  ‘Suzie, I don’t think that I am being silly.’

  ‘Lorna, he’s crazy about you.’

  Lorna sniffed. ‘How the hell do you know?’

  ‘He told me, for God’s sake! You were in the kitchen with Austin doing the washing up.’ Lorna narrowed her eyes. ‘He told me he’d never met anyone like you before. He actually did say he was crazy about you.’

  ‘I suppose,’ she conceded.

  ‘I keep telling you ... don’t ever suppose!’ commanded Suzie.

  Lorna checked her emails and to her surprise, found one from Leo.

  Lorna

  Austin finally gave me your email address. Hope you don’t mind my writing. I gather that Austin was staying with you for a few days over Xmas. Him and Suzie, who’d have thought it! One word of advice: don’t ever let him cook spag bol. It’s revolting!

  He’s probably told you that I’m now in Spain. God, you’ll hate me, but an aunt died and left me some money. But the English legal establishment is probably better off without me.

  By chance, a pal of mine in Bristol is Spanish and, to cut a long story short, we’re starting a water sports business just up the coast from Marbella. Have to see how it goes, I suppose. It’s not going to be much of a business this year, but we’ve got plans! There’s good scuba diving here, so we’ll maybe do that as well next year. That is, if we can buy a proper diving boat. Carlo, my pal, speaks good Spanish (well, he’s Spanish!) so that helps. I just prance about the beach and look pretty (ha ha!)

  I’m sorry about not contacting you. Well, you know why. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.

  It would be great to hear from you.

  Love to Love

  Leo (and Samantha, who’s heavily pregnant)

  Lorna, smiling, reread his email, remembering his mane of hair, the predator who had followed her across a headland, and made love to her at the water’s edge. She looked out across rooftops to the castle. In daylight, it was attached to its rock, grey and solid and rooted in the past. Lorna looked again at Leo’s email, feeling momentarily connected to him, then printed it out. But he too was in the past, and she tore the page into pieces then drizzled them into the waste bin.

  Telephone

  On the Sunday, as planned, Lorna picked up Joe in the Porsche. She was unnaturally nervous, checking to make sure he’d shaved and had brushed his hair. Although she was only introducing him to her parents, it felt momentous, and she knew that it would also feel momentous to them. She’d never introduced any of her boyfriends to her parents. Austin didn’t count; they known him from school.

  ‘My dad’s an alcoholic, Joe.’

  ‘You’ve told me.’

  ‘So, if he takes you to the pub, which he might well do, you mustn’t allow him to drink anything.’

  ‘I can hardly stop him, can I?’

  Suzie’s Porsche was growling, eating up miles. ‘Then, Joe, please try. Oh, and don’t tell them I still smoke. They think I’ve given up.’

  ‘Maybe you should.’

  Lorna was still running through a check-list of do’s and don’ts. ‘My mother’s also quite religious, Joe. So don’t tell her any nun jokes.’

  He looked pained. ‘I don’t know any.’

  ‘She might also want to say grace before we eat. So please don’t do anything stupid like snigger.’ Her mum had always said grace before meals, her father winking across the table.

  Joe was looking at her sideways, noticing her grim concentration. ‘Anything else?’

  But, working through worst case scenarios, Lorna wasn’t really listening. ‘Not for now,’ she told him. ‘Just behave, OK?’

  ***

  The door to her parents’ flat was already open by the time they reached the landing. One of them, probably her mum, would have been watching the street and seen the Porsche throb to a standstill. Her father was brushed and groomed, and had put on a grey suit and tie. Her mum had laid the dining table with the best cutlery. Three wine glasses had been set out. In the centre of the table was a lit candle. Lorna couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen a lit candle in the house. Candles were for church or power-cuts. Her parents obviously saw significance in the visit.

  ‘It’s nice to meet you at last,’ said her mum to Joe. Inwardly cringing, Lorna recognised her mother’s best telephone voice: the voice she cultivated when posh people came into the bakery, the voice that was the perfect accompaniment to lit candles and their best cutlery. ‘Lorna’s told us so much about you.’

  Joe kissed her mother chivalrously on the cheek, then shook hands with her dad. ‘Nothing scurrilous, I hope,’ said Joe, which made her mum laugh rather too loudly and her father look uncomfortable.

  ‘And what is it that you do, Joe?’ asked her dad once they were seated in the living room. Her father, of course, knew exactly what Joe was doing, so didn’t have to ask. It seemed to her a question designed to winkle out Joe’s long-term prospects, Lorna’s toes cu
rled inside her shoes.

  ‘At the moment, working in a bar. The Rose and Thistle, on Rose Street, if you know it,’ said Joe. Bracketing her father with a bar was not a good idea and her toes curled further.

  ‘But I’m trying to get into radio,’ continued Joe. ‘That’s what I really want to do. I’ve got a couple of interviews lined up. Next week,’ he added, looking at Lorna.

  She hadn’t known this. He’d not mentioned anything about interviews. He hadn’t even told her he was looking for a proper job. As far as she knew, he’d been planning to return to the other side of the world, but not telling her when. Now she didn’t know what to think. Did this mean that he might stay? With her?

  ‘That’s nice,’ said her Mum. ‘I like listening to the radio.’

  ‘What kind of radio?’ asked her father, who listened only to the TV.

  ‘On the production side, ideally. But I did a bit of DJ-ing back in Oz, so I can do that as well. Anything, really,’ he concluded, smiling engagingly, ‘that gets me experience.’

  ‘It does count,’ said her father with some vehemence. ‘Experience, I mean.’

  Lorna was sipping at a glass of white wine and soda. Mostly soda: she was driving. Joe was drinking a glass of beer. He usually drank straight from the bottle but had poured his beer into the cut-glass tumbler that Lorna’s mother had given him. Every time he picked up his glass, Lorna willed him to replace it on the plastic coaster on the side table.

  ‘I hope you like lamb,’ said her mother.

  ‘My absolute favourite!’ said Joe, laying it on a bit thick for Lorna’s liking. ‘Your daughter’s been telling me what a good cook you are.’

  This made her mother flush. ‘My daughter talks rubbish, Joe. Although you probably know that by now, don’t you?’ She chuckled. Joe smiled back. As far as Lorna could remember, she hadn’t told Joe anything about her mother’s cooking. Like a ham actor, he was making it up as he went along. She shot him a warning glance that he chose to ignore.