Burning Bright

by Helen Dunmore

  ‘You can’t turn it into your life’s work, making things all right for a man like Paul Parrett. He won’t have thought twice about it, you can be sure of that. He’d wipe you from his mind like wiping a blackboard.’

  ‘He gave me his number. He said I could reach him, and he’d get back to me.’

  ‘Ooh,’ mocks Enid. ‘Even though you didn’t do what he wanted?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve got it in my bag.’

  ‘I’m surprised you didn’t write it on your hand in biro, just to be sure,’ says Enid. ‘Well, that’s something you’d better keep quiet, hadn’t you, dear? Might be useful, though.’ She pours the camomile tea and Nadine picks up her cup and sips. It’s like drinking hay. It might as well be an infusion of the rushes from the floor. What does Enid think she’s playing at? Witch, wise woman, secret-keeper with her herbs and her rushes and her tower room, watching and waiting. Making people talk to her. Nadine puts the tea down.

  ‘Don’t you like it.’

  ‘I’m not feeling too good.’

  And she isn’t. Lack of sleep, the glasses of wine drunk half a night ago, Paul Parrett’s petits fours, the smell of cigarettes, the sight of Kai’s hand on Vicki’s breast, all fight together in her stomach. The pain is sharp, like a seam of stitches being ripped open inside her. She leans forward. Her jaw aches with nausea.

  ‘Quick, Enid, I’m going to be sick.’

  In a second a yellow plastic bucket is thrust under her head. Kai’s bucket, she thinks muzzily, then the slow pulses of sickness speed up, join together and rise in her throat. She vomits up red meat, red wine, dark coffee, marzipan, the jogging of the train, Kai’s dark-haired wrist on Vicki’s tanned skin. A rush of sour yellow and brown vomit coats the bucket as Nadine retches. She is shaking so much she can’t hold the rim of the bucket straight, and then Enid’s holding it for her.

  It’s over. Her head is black inside, she’s got to lie down. Enid’s light dry hands guide her to the bed, and she lies back, her head singing, her eyes closed. She hears Enid say, ‘Just going down to empty this…;’ then the darkness in the room packs together and she lets herself go into it.

  Wet cold on her forehead, water dripping down her face. She opens her eyes. It’s Enid with a sopping flannel. The flannel isn’t clean and the dripping water is musty. Nadine pushes it away.

  ‘Got any tissues?’

  Enid has brought up the toilet roll. Nadine wipes her face and hands, then lies still again. She can’t possibly move. Her mind races. Enid’s hand, like a crisp autumn leaf that’s stayed on its twig against all the odds, strokes her forehead. It’s nice.

  ‘Nice,’ murmurs Nadine.

  Enid hoists herself up so that she’s sitting by the girl.

  ‘You want to get some sleep.’

  ‘I can’t sleep. I keep thinking of things. Everything’s going too fast inside my head. Make me think about something else. I know. Tell me about Sukey and Caro. What happened.’

  ‘I’d have to think. I can’t remember where we got to.’

  ‘Caro in the newspapers. You do remember…;’

  ‘All right, dear. Wait a minute. I’ve just had a thought. I’ve still got those sleeping tablets Dr Govind gave me. They don’t go off, do they? I’ll give you a couple, then you’ll get a proper sleep.’

  ‘But you’ve got to tell me the story.’

  Enid finds the dusty brown tablet bottle and squints at the label. ‘You ought to take three, I think,’ she announces. Nadine swallows, lies down, shuts her eyes. Enid’s voice begins to lull, sing-song.

  ‘Now where was I? You know Caro loved Sukey. And Sukey loved her too, in her way, but it wasn’t Caro’s way. It doesn’t matter, they’re both dead now. Sukey’s been dead for more than fifty years, that’s a long time. Caro didn’t die then, of course. They even let her out of prison in the end. Her hair wasn’t red any more, it was grey. I went to see her come out. There’s only one way out, so you can watch if you want to. She didn’t notice me. There was someone with her, a young woman in a fur coat. People still wore fur coats then, when Caro came out of prison. I wouldn’t have recognized Caro. She came scuttling out with her head down, but nobody was waiting. Only me, and I was walking towards the gate, as if I was going into the prison. She didn’t notice me. All Caro’s family had a lot of money. And Sukey’s too. I put flowers on Sukey’s grave the day before Caro came out. I put my name on them, so Caro would see when she came. I knew she wouldn’t be able to keep away from Sukey’s grave. It would be the nearest she could get to her. I could just picture her rolling about on the ground and crying, digging her nails into the earth. She’ll been waiting twenty years to do it, after all. And Caro never had any dignity.

  ‘Oh, I still hated her, but you can’t go on hating someone after they’re dead. Not so easily. Once I knew Caro was dead it was like a light being switched off. But I still loved Sukey. You can love people after they’re dead.

  ‘Are you still awake? Are you listening? I’ll tell you something. It was my fault. If it hadn’t been for me, Sukey wouldn’t have died, not then. If one single thing had been different.

  ‘Caro killed her, you know. She beat Sukey’s brains out with a poker. Then Sukey couldn’t think about me any more. That’s what she thought. She would beat everything that tormented her out of Sukey’s head. But she beat out the sweetness too. All the honey in the comb. What did she think was going to be left?

  ‘Oh, yes, it was in all the papers. They wouldn’t have made as much fuss if it’d happened to a girl like me. But Caro wouldn’t have killed me. She didn’t love me enough. There’s lots more but I’m tired. Are you listening, dear?’

  What a mess. What a mess. Fancy seeing the pair of them in bed downstairs. Nadine’s too young to know about his type. He’s always reminded me of Mr Albion; funny, considering I never even saw Mr Albion. That Vicki’s well suited to him. If Nadine’s got any sense she’ll leave him to Vicki.

  Enid squints down at Nadine. Her head has fallen sideways and her mouth is open. Her skin is very pale, with a sheen of sweat on it. Her eye-sockets are stained dark brown. Enid can hardly hear her breathing. She leans close. Yes, it’s all right. She’s breathing. The pills have worked. Fine spikes of dark hair stick to Nadine’s forehead. She looks like a sick and ugly child. You’d never believe this was the girl in the white dress who came in to pose for Enid before the taxi arrived to take her and Tony to the station. She looks lost. More fool her if she’s been expecting Kai to take care of her. Her family don’t sound much good, but then who knows what went on there? Maybe they didn’t like the look of Kai. And who could blame them.

  Suddenly Nadine turns, seizes a fistful of blanket and burrows her head into the pillow, face down. Only the top of her head can be seen. Past four o’clock. Not long now till it starts to get light. Better try and get some sleep while I’m waiting. Waiting for what?

  Eighteen

  Enid doesn’t sleep. She curls herself on top of the bedclothes next to Nadine. It’s warm enough for her. She can’t stop thinking of Kai and that woman cuddled up together downstairs, dangerous as a couple of Alsatians. You can’t tame them, they’re always half wolf. They revert. Watch that light in their eyes as they pad back to the forest. What does Nadine think she’s playing at? She’s seen Vicki sleeping with Kai in her own bed, but what does she imagine is going to happen in the morning? She doesn’t even try. She vomits it all up, and then she sleeps. She’s only got a few hours left. She ran away from Paul Parrett, that’s clear, though he seemed to like her well enough.

  ‘You don’t want to get on the wrong side of a man like that,’ Enid tells sleeping Nadine. ‘You’ve made a fool of him, and of Tony and Kai too. To crown it all you go and ruin a silk dress which must have cost hundreds of pounds. Daft ha’p’orth. It’ll be fit for the rag-bag now. It’s a pity you ran off. You could have made something of yourself there. A man like that’s got connections. Influence. And he doesn’t want trouble. If you treat him right, he’ll treat
you right. There’s enough newspapers waiting for a sniff of scandal. He knows all you have to do is pick up the telephone, so he’ll make sure you’ve no cause to. He’s got more to lose than you have, dear. He doesn’t want you selling your story to the Daily Whatsit.

  ‘Trouble is, he’s got too much to lose. He gave you his telephone number, did he? I hope you weren’t fool enough to give him yours. We don’t want any callers here. We’ve had enough of all that, what with your Kai and Tony and their business friends. You didn’t see the friends who came along to get rid of Jenny and the rest of them. No. You missed that. Well, they weren’t a pretty sight. As for taking the baby out of its cot and dangling it over the banisters, that was just a joke. Jenny didn’t seem to get it, though. Ever so upset she was. They told her they didn’t think this house was a safe place for a baby. Too many railings missing. ‘Course they didn’t know I was listening. Jenny stood there, she didn’t dare move. One of them had the baby by the feet. He had both the baby’s feet together in one hand, the way you’d hold a chicken. He swung him very gently, out over the banisters. The baby was purple, screaming. I’ll never forget the sound Jenny made. Like she was being strangled. She was yelling before, saying she was going, she wouldn’t even pack, she’d never come back. But they wanted to make sure.

  ‘He gave the baby back to her. He couldn’t even cry any more, he just jerked about in Jenny’s arms.

  ‘Oh, your Kai wasn’t there, don’t worry. He wouldn’t want to be mixed up in anything nasty like that. He came back later, when they’d all gone. The way that baby screamed. But then you might say it was always screaming.

  ‘I’d’ve gone for the police, but you can’t, can you? If you do, it’ll be your turn next. And the police wouldn’t pay any attention to an old woman like me. Not if your Kai was standing there in his nice clothes. “My sitting tenant. Yes, they know her well down at the Prince and Pauper. A bit of a troublemaker when she’s bad a few. Noisy too.” Oh, they’d be on his side fast enough. They know a nuisance when they see one and they’re trained not to take too much notice of old women making wild allegations. And I wouldn’t fancy your chances against the word of a government minister, dear. They have to stick together, it’s their job.’

  It’s been a long, long time since anyone turned to Enid for help. Yes, Jenny screamed out her name, but she’d have called for anyone. She must have known Enid couldn’t come down and interfere. After all, Enid lived there. Sometimes, when someone needs you, it makes you hate them. You shut your door and turn the wireless on loud so as not to hear the cries.

  A bit late to shut the door now, Enid tells herself tartly, when you’ve let her into your bed. You could say she’s not a kid, she’s sixteen past. Old enough to know what she’s got herself into. No one ever asked her to come here. She walked into it with her eyes open. Anyone could see what kind of man Kai was. The girls these days know everything. They’re not like we were. I didn’t know anything, till Sukey taught me.

  Sukey. ‘Oh, darling, you’re not washing those frightful rags, are you? Sweetheart, you don’t need to do that. It’s exactly like the Dark Ages. I’ll buy them for you every month if you can’t afford them.’ She was always giving me things. And it was so easy to take from Sukey. It didn’t make any difference. She never wanted anything back. Besides, she must have known she had everything already.

  Enid scrambles sideways and slips down under the bedclothes next to Nadine. She puts her arms around Nadine and pulls her close.

  On the white rumpled surface of the bed the old woman takes the sleeping girl into her arms. She has been waiting such a long time for her. She whimpers and covers the young smooth cold face with kisses, not minding the smell of sour breath. For more than fifty years she has been far out on the ice, waiting. Here is the head: she strokes it feverishly. It is not caved in, not disfigured, not blazing with flies. Here is the hair, short and feathery and fashionable, not matted with blood. Here are the eye-sockets, wet with tears, not empty and unseeing. The finegrained skin is not torn and battered. The body smells of sweat and stale wine and perfume, not like the entrance to a butcher’s shop. The flesh is cold but she can bring it back to life. This time she will not turn her back. This time she will warm, she will warn, she will protect.

  ‘Darling,’ she whispers, ‘darling.’

  Nadine sleeps, her face against Enid’s old parched neck. Her smooth skin touches Enid’s, which is crazed like a desert, trenched with dry rivers. Enid is small, but she is powerful. Her balding skull is packed with stories of survival. She’s been alive so long, she knows everything about staying alive.

  ‘Go to sleep, dear,’ murmurs Enid. ‘Go back to sleep.’

  The ice is cold, so cold nothing human can sleep on it without drifting seamlessly into the drowse of hypothermia, then death. The wind sings across the frozen sea, and the snow-woman walks away contented, to the place where she belongs. She doesn’t feel the sting of the snow, or the crusted ice under her feet. She has got her child back in her arms.

  The house is empty but for the sleeping wolves, Enid in her room, and Nadine. What are they going to do in the morning? Will that woman have the sense to leave? Or will she hang on for a slow breakfast and the newspapers in bed, knowing that Nadine’s in London and can’t possibly be back yet? What if Nadine sees them through the door, all toast crumbs and crumpled sheets, handing one another bits of the newspaper? Even worse than seeing them at it. I wonder if Caro ever saw us. I suppose I’ll always wonder. She had the key to Sukey’s house all the time. We’d never have known if she’d crept in one afternoon when at last we’d fallen asleep. She’ll have seen the stains where we’d rolled on the grapes we kept dropping on the sheets. Sukey used to drop them into my mouth, but she always missed. Purple stains, drying to brown, like blood. The wistaria tapping on the glass, and Caro looking, looking, then going away without saying a word. And I saw nothing. I knew nothing. The monkey again. Why didn’t Sukey change the lock, or put a bolt on her door? None of it might have happened. The trouble was, she never used her imagination about Caro. She was careless. Just the way Kai’s been careless, bringing that woman here.

  Enid strokes Nadine’s cheek. She’s not even pretty any more. Certainly not beautiful. No competition for that one he’s got downstairs. Enid looks at her clock. It’s nearly six. It’s not going to be a nice day today; she can tell from the quality of light coming through the thick dark curtains. They said on the news last night there’d be scattered showers. Nadine’s undrunk cup of camomile tea has an oily film on it.

  ‘I’ll make her some proper tea when she wakes up. She’ll want something. She looks washed out. Bugger it,’ she remembers, ‘I finished the milk last night.’

  Enid has to buy her milk fresh every day, or it goes off. The all-night shop at Texaco will be open. She gets her milk there. Quietly, Enid dresses in her narrow black slacks and a pink Oxfam jumper, crams her beret on her head. Not a sound from Nadine; well, let her sleep it off. Pound coins, raffia shopping-bag, front-door key. An adventure. And someone to come back to and tell all about it. It must be like this all the time when you live with people. Nadine is deep down in the bedclothes, almost invisible. Only the dark top of her head shows. Very gently, Enid eases the doorknob round and sets off down the stairs. Nothing moves.

  Nineteen

  Vicki and Kai wake up comfortably. Vicki doesn’t like sex in the morning: she’s funny that way, always has been. What she likes is a pot of really hot fresh tea – Indian, none of your China or Earl Grey muck, a jug of silver-top milk and four digestive biscuits. Yes, she knows they’re full of calories, but what the hell. She never eats breakfast, and she’s going to the gym later on, with Lila. And Kai, give him his due, does make a really good cup of tea. She nudges him with her elbow, and when he groans sleepy protest she digs hard into the fleshy covering of his ribs. He rolls over.

  ‘That’s the way,’ she says, satisfied. ‘I thought I was going to have to wait all morning for you to wake up.’


  He gropes for his watch on the floor beside the bed. ‘Jesus, Vick, it’s only quarter past six.’

  ‘Yes, but you’ve got a lot on today, haven’t you? Big day. Besides –’ She doesn’t go on, but he knows she’s thinking of the morning train back from London, with a bleary Nadine on it. Vicki handles his relationship with Nadine as she has handled all his relationships with other women. Her tact is perfect. It’s as if he’s suffering from an illness which will run an entirely predictable course, known only to Vicki. She does insist that Kai wears a condom, but that’s fair enough. These days, as Vicki says, you can’t be too careful. You never know where people have been. Nadine moving into the house must have been a blow to her, but she kept quiet about that too. Vicki had liked the look of the house herself, and had had plans for interior decoration. She’ll come to look round the empty shell with him, and he’d known what she wanted. Nothing was said. Vicki was never one to make trouble, that’s why she had lasted all these years with Kai. She just mentioned what she’d do with this room or that, and of course Vicki had a real eye for colour, you had to give it to her. If you liked that sort of thing.

  ‘I know it’s nothing to do with me,’ remarks Vicki now, obliquely, ‘but I still can’t help wondering if you ought to of chosen plain brass. Lacquered is nicer.’ Kai doesn’t reply. His urge to stay in bed curled up against Vicki’s neat brown flanks fights his need to pee. And then if he gets up he’ll have to make her tea…; He groans again and swings his legs over the side of the bed, stands up, yawns hugely and scratches himself under the arms.

  ‘Good boy,’ says Vicki, snuggling back into her pillow. ‘Do you get the paper delivered?’

  ‘I’ll go down the corner for you,’ he says with conscious magnanimity. ‘Daily Mail?’