The Red House

by Mark Haddon

  I’m not being funny, Mum.

  Neither am I. It feels like a TV drama. Are you saying you’re gay?

  The words are thick in Daisy’s mouth. She cries into Mum’s shoulder. Angela can’t remember the last time she held Daisy like this. Mostly Daisy is relieved that Melissa no longer has the same leverage.

  Have you told anyone else? She remembers Daisy abandoning her in the street the other day and feels as if she has won a competition to regain her daughter’s affection, beaten Melissa, beaten Dominic. She rubs her hand in a circle on Daisy’s back. Ten years vanish. Those nightmares. I don’t mind if you’re gay. She squeezes Daisy a little harder.

  Daisy pulls back. I’m not gay, OK? Panic in her voice.

  OK. Angela is treading carefully because this is veering rapidly away from the script.

  I’m not gay, OK?

  So you kissed Melissa because …? It sounds accusatory but she’s trying to understand. A click of the latch and Benjy is standing in the doorway. Later, yeh? He backs out. She turns to Daisy. Did you join the church because of this? Suddenly it all fits together.

  That’s not why I joined the church. The old anger in her voice. Why the hell is Mum doing this now?

  Sorry, says Angela. She holds Daisy’s hands. Again a flash of Karen, real and possible daughters, the Daisy that might have been if the church didn’t have its claws in her. She should say, I’ll help. I’ll stay out of the way. Just tell me what you want me to do. But why is it any different from her being in love with a violent boyfriend? There are so many ways of crushing a human being. Are you going to talk to someone at church?

  Why would I talk to someone at church?

  What would they say?

  What has this got to do with anything?

  Listen to me, says Angela.

  Daisy puts her face in her hands.

  I love you. Maybe you’re gay, maybe you’re not. It doesn’t make the slightest bit of difference to me. But you have surrounded yourself with people who …

  Daisy takes her face out of her hands. No. Stop this. You’re not listening to me. This has got nothing to do with the church. This has got nothing to do with you and your prejudices. Where is this stuff coming from? She’s opened a bottle of something poisonous but it has no label and she can’t find a way of putting the top back on. I made a mistake. I made a stupid mistake. She stands up.

  Daisy, wait, I’m sorry.

  Just … fuck off, OK? And the door bangs behind her.

  Angela sits for a whole minute. The lopsided tick of the grandfather clock. Then she kneels and opens the door of the stove, takes an old edition of the Daily Telegraph from the basket and starts making balls of paper to place in the bed of ash. She is standing on the far side of the room watching herself. She lays a little raft of kindling along the top of the crumpled paper and takes the matches from the mantelpiece. She’s screwed up, hasn’t she, yet again. This has got nothing to do with you. A door had opened and she’d slammed it shut. Christ. Alex and Richard. She checked her watch. What a mess of a day.

  Everyone else had left the dining room so Dominic and Louisa were alone. Angela was having the conversation with Daisy that he should have had. What did he feel? Thankful that it was now Angela’s problem? Aggrieved at his exclusion? Shame at his procrastination? Mostly a return of the torpor that had laid him low before Waterstone’s, the sense of life going on elsewhere, too fast, too complex, too demanding to grasp as it swung occasionally through his purview.

  But what Louisa felt mostly was anger, anger at Richard who was meant to stop her feeling scared, anger at herself for being so self-centred, anger at the stupid timing, discovering how dependent she was precisely when she discovered how fallible he was. She thought about him not being there and she was terrified by what might happen to her.

  The living-room door opened and banged shut. Louisa jumped, thinking it might be Richard, but it was Daisy and things had obviously not gone well. Louisa disappeared into herself again. Dominic got to his feet. I’ll be back. He left the room and suddenly there was no one and the house was silent and she imagined running after him and looking in one room after another and finding them all empty and shouting and no one replying, just the sound of the wind and the rain hammering on the windows.

  They were well down the road now, past the junction, only a few hundred metres to go. The rain was easing a little, but Richard was leaning on him heavily, his steps becoming less regular and more unsteady. They fell clumsily onto a verge and Alex had great difficulty getting him to his feet. The ends of his fingers were yellow. Richard? But Richard’s words were slurred and Alex was ashamed of having imagined him being dead and because this was really starting to freak him out. Come on. Bloody walk, OK? I can’t do this on my own.

  Angela was kneeling in front of the open stove cupping a lit match. Richard had made the fire every day so far and it was disturbing to find herself stepping into his empty place. The paper caught. She sat back and closed the squeaky metal door. I’ve just been talking to Daisy.

  I guessed.

  Where did she start? She kissed Melissa.

  I know, said Dominic.

  What do you mean, you know?

  I talked to Melissa.

  You discussed this with Melissa?

  Talked, not discussed. Daisy wouldn’t say what was wrong, so I asked Melissa.

  When?

  Today, this morning.

  Dominic and Daisy and their charmed circle. When were you going to tell me?

  I don’t think she wanted anyone to know.

  Of course she didn’t want anyone to know, because those bloody people have convinced her she’ll go to hell. Was this what they thought at the church? She wasn’t entirely sure. And you were just going to leave her feeling shit about herself? Why were they doing this? Their daughter was suffering and they were using it as an excuse to rehash arguments that had been going nowhere for years.

  What did you say to her? asked Dominic. Just now?

  I said I loved her. I said what any halfway sane parents would say. She paused and rubbed her face and took a long deep breath. Please, let’s not do this. Dominic was staring at his feet, hands in pockets. Shamefaced? Or just biting his tongue? I mentioned the church, OK? Because I always do. She held her hands up in surrender. The clatter of a chair being knocked over in the dining room. She says she’s not gay. She says it was an accident. The fire blazed in its dirty window. Will you talk to her? Because she won’t listen to me and if she thinks she’s a bad person because of that place …

  I’ll talk to her. But what if they were wrong? What if loving God was easier than loving other human beings? Was an easy life such a bad thing to want? Later on, maybe. When things have calmed down a little.

  She looked into the flames. It was meant to be relaxing, warmth in the darkness, keeping the wolves away, but the heat-proof glass made her think of some infernal substance caged at the reactor’s core, a little fiend on a treadmill. Those photographs, her hunger to see them is so strong. She is reading a magazine or watching a film sometimes, she sees someone and wonders for an instant if it’s him. Big men, strong men, flawed but honourable, men you can rely on when the chips are down, this righteous anger they keep to hand, like a holstered weapon, ready to use as a last resort. The opposite of Dominic. All those presumptions you carry with you your whole life, about what a family should be. What a husband should be. What a father should be.

  Louisa wrestled the door open and they spilt clumsily into the hallway dragging several coats to the floor and tearing one of the pegs from the wall. Oh my God. Richard?

  I’m OK. He sounded drunk.

  She threw her arms around him but Alex gently peeled her away. Downstairs bathroom. Take his other arm. Mum and Dad were sitting in the living room doing absolutely bugger all. Jesus. Richard. You’ve got to help us.

  I should call an ambulance.

  He’ll be OK. We just need to warm him up. Would he, though? Alex wasn’t sure. But an
ambulance wouldn’t get here for, what? an hour on these roads? Whoa. Richard stumbled sideways again, Alex just managing to keep him upright this time. Get the bath running. Louisa ran ahead through the kitchen. Relief and panic, about what might have happened, about what might still happen. Almost there. He manoeuvred Richard through the kitchen. Up ahead he heard the twist and thunder of the hot tap. An image of Callum rocking back and forth on the pavement weeping, the broken end of the shin bone pushing up under the skin. Across the utility room, Richard unstable on the bumpy stone floor, like a child or an old man, the onion smell of his sweat. They negotiated the chicane of the bathroom door, into the steamy air, Louisa’s hands literally flapping. How were they going do this? He lowered Richard onto the toilet seat, put a hand behind his neck and removed the hat and the yellow jacket. Shoes. Louisa yanked them off. No way he was going to be able to remove Richard’s other clothes but it didn’t matter. This would not be elegant. He heaved Richard on to his feet, sat him on the edge of the bath then stepped in behind him, muddy trainers turning the water brown. He pulled Richard backwards and let him slip arse-down into the water, legs flopping in after, spraying brown water up the wall and all over Louisa’s shirt. Result. Alex stepped out and tentatively let go. Richard held himself upright. Go and get a hot drink. I’ll stay here. Louisa stepped out of the bathroom. The hot water continued to rise.

  Richard is frightened, endorphins spent way back, cold at the base of his spine, in his pelvis, under his ribs. His teeth are still chattering. Alex says something but Richard is not sure what. He has an abscess, he needs to tell someone this before they put him under. Come away, fellow sailors, your anchors be weighing. His father stands in the doorway, arms crossed, that surly expression, letting the tension mount. Richard wonders if he is going be picked up and slapped across the legs. The smell of cigarette smoke and Old Spice. God, this hot water stung.

  The ping of the microwave and the clicky slam of the plastic door and Louisa reappeared with what looked like a mug of warm milk. Made Alex think of waking up in the night when he was a child. He can smell honey, Louisa doing her folded napkins and hospital corners even now. She kneels and offers it to Richard. He takes it in his hands, which is a good sign, though he clearly can’t move his fingers independently. Christ, what a strange picture. Richard in his clothes in a bath of oxtail soup, Louisa leaning over in a flowery shirt, muddy footprints over the white fluffy mat, like some grubby dogskin carpet. He sees the bloody graze on Richard’s hand and looks down at his own scabbing knuckles. Louisa takes the mug and puts it down on the corner of the bath and starts to remove Richard’s running vest. The bath almost full now. It feels uncomfortably intimate, watching her do this, the hair on Richard’s chest, pudgy man breasts, the sheer bulk of him, pathetic and threatening at the same time. Alex feels he should leave but he can’t. He imagines Louisa on top of Richard, naked. Is it stupid not to ring an ambulance? He turns and sees Mum and Dad in the doorway. Louisa is oblivious but Angela says, quietly, How is he? Alex simply shrugs to punish them for being so fucking useless.

  Can we do anything?

  Food, says Alex. He remembers an episode of Born Survivor. Have we got any chocolate? Something soft and sugary. Though his intention mostly is to get them out of the bathroom, because he has earned his place here in the centre of the drama and they haven’t.

  I’m on it, says Dominic.

  It never occurred to Melissa that Richard might be in any kind of danger, he being the person who sorted out other people in danger, but when she came downstairs to make herself a mug of coffee she found Dominic heating a tin of soup and Angela said, He’s in the bath, and Melissa wondered who the hell she was talking about.

  Alex brought him back, said Dominic.

  He’s going to all right, said Angela.

  We hope.

  And then it dawned on her, but Alex had appeared in the doorway, sopping wet, still wearing his trainers. We’re out of the woods, I think. He went to the bread bin and cut himself a two-inch doorstep. I need a shower. Melissa, can you go and grab some warm clothes for Richard?

  She bridled but now was clearly not the time. Sure. Sweetness and light. She turned and headed back into the dining room.

  Alex took a large bite of bread. Give me a shout if you need help, yeh?

  Then he, too, was gone and Dominic felt proud of his son. The young taking over the world; maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.

  * * *

  Daisy stepped on to the landing and saw Melissa disappearing like a hotel chambermaid bearing a folded pile of clothes. Then Alex appeared in his towel, with a chunk of bread in his mouth. Bit of an adventure downstairs.

  Yeh?

  Twisted his ankle. Touch of hypothermia. He’s in a hot bath. He gently moved her aside. Now I need a shower or I’m going to go the same way.

  Suddenly she couldn’t bear the idea of being alone any longer. Can I come into the bathroom with you?

  He raised his eyebrows. If you really want, I guess. Because, after all, it was the kind of day when the normal rules had been temporarily suspended, so they went in, she shut the door behind her and sat on the toilet. Vosene, Miracle Moist, Louisa’s chequered pink washbag. He turned the shower on, took another bite of bread, placed the remaining crust on the rim of the sink then dropped the towel and stepped behind the big plastic panel, turning away from her to protect his modesty. Dints in the side of his bottom, the muscles in his back, unexpectedly at home without his clothes. She remembered how she felt about her body when she was swimming, not caring what it looked like, just enjoying the way it worked. They felt like the children, again.

  So you’re a bit of a hero, then?

  I wouldn’t go that far. But she could hear the pride in his voice. God, this feels good. His pleasure in the hot water oddly more intimate than the sight of his body.

  She liked being in here together, hiding almost, comforting and secret. But he’s all right now? His silhouette blurred and fogged behind the steamy plastic.

  I think so. He bent down to clean the mud off his ankles. He was pretty far gone when I got him back to the house. Squirting shampoo onto his hair. What a pillock.

  I saw he’d bought loads of new running kit.

  Not looking very new now.

  She sat quietly for a while. He turned the shower off and stepped out, turning away from her to pick up his towel and dry himself. Like a model, but like a little boy, too. He put the last piece of bread in his mouth and said, Right. I need to pee at this point in time, which feels kind of weird so you might want to, like, stand over there and look the other way.

  I think I might be gay. As if someone else had spoken on her behalf, as if someone had pushed her off that top board. Time stuck, rippled banners of light on the water’s surface way below, the ring of cold and the blue silence.

  You think? He really had knitted his brows, as if he were struggling with a crossword puzzle.

  Does that sound totally insane?

  A bit. Lesbian. Christ. He’d never met a lesbian, never really thought about them outside porn, except they weren’t really lesbians. Too good-looking. Or was that being prejudiced? Does this mean you’re not a Christian any more?

  I’m scared, Alex. She was going to cry. And now you have to say something. Please?

  He had to think about this and it was complicated. If she was male it would freak him out, trying not to picture the sex part. But this? He imagined her having a girlfriend which would be sort of like having two sisters. Unless the girlfriend was horrible, or ugly.

  Please?

  He tried to sit down on the toilet seat beside her but it was too small, plus he was half naked, so he knelt beside her and gave her an inelegant hug.

  I kissed Melissa.

  What?

  I kissed Melissa.

  Holy shit. Is she a lesbian, too?

  It was kind of an accident. She ripped off four squares of toilet paper and blew her nose.

  He moved to the edge of the ba
th. I kissed her, too. She wasn’t too keen on that, either. He expected Daisy to laugh but she didn’t seem to have heard. She is pretty fit, though.

  She called me a fucking dyke.

  And suddenly he got it, why she was terrified. The shit she was going to get. Losing all her friends because of the church, those sanctimonious arseholes kicking her out, maybe. He wanted to slap Melissa’s face. Is this, like, a new thing?

  No. Yes. I feel like such an idiot.

  They were silent for a few moments. This flatness. Surely the moment deserved more, mariachi trumpets, a thunderbolt striking her dead. I told Mum.

  And …?

  She was crap. As usual.

  Christ, said Alex. This is one bizarre day. Daisy looked offended. Bizarre in a good way. You know, Richard not being dead after all, and you … What? You not being dead either?

  Alex? Dominic was calling from downstairs.

  Alex stood up. OK, now I really have to pee. Go and tell Dad I’ll be down in a couple of minutes, yeh?

  She didn’t move. He felt it, too, a sense that the event should be marked in some way. But how?

  Dad shouted again. Alex …?

  He lay on the sofa, big jumper, mug of sweet tea, left leg up on Louisa’s lap. She put the bag of frozen peas aside and began winding the elderly bandage around his ankle. First aid box under the sink from circa 1983. The door of the fire was open so that he could feel the heat on the side of his face. Franck in the background, the violin and piano sonata, Martha Argerich and Dora Schwarzberg. There, that should do it. He felt a little queasy on account of the Mars Bars Alex had forced him to eat in the bath, that jittery fatigue and joint ache like when you had flu. Louisa fastened the bandage with a safety pin. Little waves of anxiety rose and fell, the body’s alarm system saying, This is not right, though he knew, objectively, that he was recovering. Just clipped the edge of severe hypothermia, if he remembered the textbooks correctly. Louisa lifted his ankle and slipped a cushion under it to raise it a little higher. Paradoxical undressing and terminal burrowing in the final stages. Always unnerved him that image, the body of the old man naked in the cupboard. Bit of a shock to find that dying might be unpleasant after all. He’d always assumed that the brain shrank to fit the little door you left by, Montaigne being knocked off his horse and so on. Die in a hospital, that was the lesson. Decent morphine driver. But it felt good, being looked after like this. Louisa laid the frozen peas back over his ankle and picked up her Stephen Fry. Ridiculous that it should take such a big adventure to make them do this, simply sit next to one another doing nothing. But that pillbox, the one behind his father. They went inside, didn’t they? He and Angela. He can remember the smell of urine and a smashed Coca-Cola bottle. Camping or caravan? Chips out of newspaper, trying to surf on a blue lilo.