Best British Short Stories 2018

by Nicholas Royle

  It struck me how ridiculous we were being, how easily we were prepared to tear our little family apart. I don’t want this, I told her.

  Nor do I, she said in a heavy wet voice. You’re my favourite person in the world. All our friends always say we’re perfect for each other and we are.

  It was then Stephen came into my head, and everyone else I knew who had split up with their partners, especially where kids were involved, and I knew Trudy and I could hold it together. I told her she should go back to surfing and I should go back to writing. It would mean that our time together would be less, but quality.

  It must have been three years on, I was coming home from a writing retreat and Trudy had the car. She needed it because she was working nine to five. The kids were both at school by then and we had finally found a good design in the way we lived. We were at a good stage. The kids liked to learn and you could have conversations with them. And me and Trudy laughed together lots. It was then we were at our happiest, together and with the kids, but then I wondered, because we never really spoke, what was on her mind. We were like colleagues, in the many revolutions our relationship had taken. Although we were connected more in bed, but it was all a bit predictable. Then once in a while we would have a mind-blowing night and my head would ease for another while.

  I got a bit jealous of Trudy’s new happiness, I have to admit. She was working in the prisons and I’d expected her to hate it, but she was getting something emotionally that we didn’t seem to need from each other any more. I was working too, and writing, but it wasn’t really going anywhere. I wasn’t putting myself out there. Wasn’t seeking publication. Something always held me back.

  When Stephen collected me he asked about the retreat. I told him about the lake, how you walked around it for inspiration, how it was peaceful but I wanted to write strong stuff that really was the opposite of how it had been there.

  But you did get peace and quiet to do it?

  I did, I said.

  His name card was stuck to the dash now and it had a photo. I could see his face but still his eyes flitted to me in the mirror. He was driving another heap of junk, working for a company instead of for himself. The radio kept coming through, telling him and his colleagues where to go next. Stephen lowered the volume.

  I haven’t seen you around in ages, I said to him.

  He looked at me in the mirror. His hard thick neck tensed. I realised I wouldn’t know him out on the street. You gave me a lift in the past, I said. You were going through some things back then.

  Like what? he said.

  You were maybe splitting up with your wife, pal, I said.

  That’s right, he said but Stephen was chary. How are you doing, pal?

  Not bad.

  And what about this writing? Are you writing a book?

  I am, I said. Been writing it for years. I’m blocked.

  Ah, he said. I have a story for you. You can have it if you want. It’s about a woman who ended up in jail for stealing money from her employer and wrangled her way out of the conviction. You’ll sell millions of copies.

  He had no memory of me. Had probably told this story thousands of times since I’d last been in his cab. Instead of letting him think I’d spent all that time mulling it over, I pretended I’d never heard it. Is this a real story? I asked.

  It’s real alright. It’s my ex I’m talking about. She spent time inside, got the conviction overturned, came out and got it fixed on another poor fucker.

  Jesus, that’s mad, I said.

  Are you married? he wanted to know first.

  Practically. A very long term relationship, I said.

  You’d never believe what they’d do to you. Honest to god, you just never know.

  Sounds terrible.

  I was living in London, he said. I met this girl on the net, Ruth, and I left there to be with her. She already had three kids. Two lads and one girl. All different dads: that should say it all! I came over here to be with her. She was cute. I’ll give her that. Nice little shape to her. I talked her into moving back to London with me. We left the kids with her parents for a while to give things a go. The plan was they were going to come over too. Listen to this for coincidence, her daughter’s birthday was on the same day as mine. Tenth of May, he said. I’m one of ten kids and Ruth lived in 10 Gorse Lane. You know, you have to listen to all these signs when they’re as powerful as that.

  Absolutely you do!

  I had my own business over there, a taxi firm – he had excluded the stock broker line – and she was bored so I encouraged her to get out and work. We walked into a registry office one day and got married.

  Weren’t your family annoyed to have missed out?

  Ah, no, I’ve been married before. They’re not bothered. My mother never liked Ruth anyway.

  Why not?

  All the kids.

  He pulled up into town. Fuck sake, there’s an accident up ahead, he said. I’m going to have to turn and go back the long way, that okay with you, pal. I’ll cut the meter here sure.

  He’d become impatient like the rest of them.

  I appreciate it, I said.

  I took those kids on like my own, you know. I told everyone they were mine. Now they won’t even see me. You got any? he asked.

  Two, I said. Seven and five years old. My girlfriend was expecting the little one the last time I was in your cab.

  I wouldn’t remember that, he laughed. God knows how many fares I’ve had in here in the meantime.

  I’m sure, I said.

  No. Ruth hated London. I had a good job over there, making good money, a fleet of motors, holidays to Dubai. The money was unbelievable. It would shock you. I got a bit materialistic, I’m not afraid to say. We were taking out loans and living like king and queen, then it turned out she was being sly.

  How so?

  Writing fake invoices. Saying they were from court witnesses using my cabs. The cash was going into an account she’d set up. She was using fake names, the lot. She got time and wormed her way out of it. By that time we were back here, and me left with nothing. The shirt on my back and little else. Think how ashamed I was to go to my mother and tell her she was right all along.

  Sure you can’t help who you fall for, I said. You were decent, taking on her kids and giving them that lifestyle.

  He frowned. Yes, he said. Then the bitch got out of it because the taxi firm was mine. She framed me.

  God, what happened then?

  I had to do time, didn’t I! Stitched up like a kipper, you know. Million quid scam. They couldn’t account for the whole of it.

  That’s awful!

  He nodded, he pulled into my street.

  How long did you get?

  Six years, out in three. It’s shocking what someone you once loved and trusted can do to you. I hope you have better joy with your missus.

  Just over here, I said and he pulled up.

  I recognise this house now, he said and he looked it over. Your fascia, he said, don’t you find that a ball-ache?

  What’s that? I said getting my wallet out of my back pocket.

  The wood. Wouldn’t you be better getting the uPVC? You don’t have to maintain it, it’s just . . . you paint that, and then in between being arsed, it looks like shite, you know?

  I bit my tongue. There you go, hold on to the change, I said.

  No, no, he said and searched for a few coins, his hard thick neck tensing.

  Trudy was ready to head out to the water, just for a walk. I told her about the accident and she said she’d leave the car at home. Do you remember I met this taxi driver years ago? I asked her. She didn’t. Well he was giving me a lift there and he was saying he’d been framed for fraud.

  They’re all framed, she said.

  He got six years and now he blames the wife.

  Don’t you all, Trudy said and she grabbed her coat and left without so much as a kiss on the cheek, shouting back that she’d be an hour or two.

  The kids were outsid
e on the trampoline. There was a net surround but the zip had never worked from the get-go. I made myself a salad and ate it at the window, waving out to them.

  The girl came in straight away. Did you write your book, Daddy?

  I wrote a bit of it, I said kissing her on the top of the head. The boy soared out, hitting his head on the corner of the boiler house. It was only a nick but it was deep. Holding a cloth to his head I tried calling Trudy. Her phone laughed like church bells on the counter.

  I got the kids into the car and we headed to A&E. I forgot about the tail-backs in town. They were moving the bashed-up car. There was an ambulance at the side of the road, a woman in her seventies sitting with a blanket and paramedics around her.

  Trudy, where are you? I said, thinking we might pass her.

  You should have left a note, Daddy, my daughter said.

  We’ll be home in no time, I said.

  Once we got to the hospital I managed to get through to Trudy at home. I’m taking a taxi, she said.

  I told her it was a waste of cash, that it was a small hole and we were getting seen next.

  Okay, she said, sounding emptied.

  We were at the hospital for three hours. They put glue in his head and gave him stickers.

  What happened here? the doctor asked my daughter.

  I noticed the bruise under her eye. What did happen to you? I asked.

  A boy in class hit me, she said.

  I’ve been away, I explained. I was only in through the door and my partner had to go out. She never said. She left her phone behind. And to my daughter, What did the teacher say? Did you tell your mother?

  She looked at the floor.

  Why did this boy hit you? I asked her.

  I don’t know, she said.

  I bet he likes you, said the doctor giving her a sticker too.

  I sent the kids ahead, told them to wait at the main door. I said to the doctor, I hope you aren’t treating my daughter when she’s older because some boyfriend is knocking her about.

  He looked at me singularly. I wanted to say more but I let it drop.

  At home Trudy came out to meet us in the driveway, she lifted our son into the house. Come here till I see my brave soldier.

  The boy sat with us past bedtime to make sure he wasn’t concussed. Trudy put our girl to bed and met me in the kitchen. I think it was an accident, Trudy whispered, but I’ll go and talk to her teacher tomorrow. I’ll find out more. I’m sorry I left my phone here.

  It’s almost like you didn’t want to be found.

  I didn’t know that would happen, she said.

  They’re still young, I said. They still need us a lot.

  We all still need each other, Trudy said.

  And that is what we proceeded to do for the next five years, pull apart and come together. The kids grew. They didn’t need us much at all. It was a slap in the face how fast it happened.

  ❦

  I rarely used cabs any more. The last time I saw Stephen I was in the back of his. Trudy and I had separate cars by then. Mine was in getting a new clutch. In his photo he’d aged a lot but his eyes looked the same. I was mindful of the fascia we’d got reconditioned. He never looked at it. We dropped my son off. Stephen watched as he walked into school.

  I’ve three myself, he told me. All getting big now.

  Yes, I said, it isn’t long in happening.

  I hadn’t the same time for him. Only as a story, you understand. He had something bitter in him that wasn’t pleasant to be around. You married? I asked him.

  I was, he said, three times believe it or not.

  So you’re on the market?

  Nah, he said, I’ve given up on all that. Once I had the ring on my finger I would get claustrophobic, he said. You know how it is.

  But sure if you love someone, isn’t it worth it?

  That’s not my experience.

  Sure it’s hard no matter who you are and what you have, and who you’re with.

  I’ll have to take your word for it, he said. My kids were all with the last wife, Ruth. None with the other ones. Ruth doesn’t let them see me any more. Haven’t seen them in years.

  That’s tough, I said.

  You’re telling me.

  What age are they? (I knew they’d be adults by now.)

  Hmm . . . (He couldn’t remember.) The grandparents won’t allow them to see me.

  Sure it isn’t up to the kids.

  But the grandparents have them and they’re loaded. The kids know which side their bread is buttered, don’t they? Ruth’s parents badmouth me in front of them.

  Why’s that? If you don’t mind me asking.

  No, I don’t mind at all, said Stephen. They loaned me money to start up a taxi firm in Chelsea. They had the kids while we got sorted, then the business went belly-up and they never let off me with it.

  Shit!

  They fucken accused me of stealing from them, then it was investigated and they found out it was an account in Ruth’s name. Their own daughter was doing the stealing.

  That’s awful, I said.

  It was awful. To be honest, it wasn’t that bad for Ruth. She got out after a while. It was someone else, someone, a business partner of ours who was really framing her.

  Who was this?

  I’m not going to name names.

  I respect that, I said.

  I was very disappointed in him. He was a tool. They put that fella away. He made a lot of mistakes but he did his time.

  (Of course I’d looked Stephen Kent up. I knew there was no taxi firm. That he and Ruth had both worked for CPS. That pride of his was so thick it was unswallowable.)

  And so were you and Ruth not able to put it behind you, after?

  She had someone else by then. She was always gorgeous. People would think I was her da. They’d all look at her when we were out anywhere. I’d be proud as punch.

  Wouldn’t you move heaven and earth to see your kids?

  I have. I always had that fatherly thing about me. My parents had ten kids. I’m the oldest.

  That’s a lot.

  I thought I’d be a dad, but just two kids, because our folks had no time for us you know. They just popped kids out. My father was a prick and my mother, she let him give her dog’s abuse, you know.

  You couldn’t get away with that now.

  No, you can’t, said Stephen. My mother always hated Ruth. I found it strange when I saw the two of them as being so alike. The shit they’d put up with from men. I wanted to give Ruth and the kids everything. They didn’t have much to begin . . . well, the kids weren’t mine biologically. They were, I don’t want you to think badly of her, but they had different dads.

  Ah, no, sure it’s not like I know her. I’m not about to judge the girl.

  Ruth’s parents were very tight with her, said Stephen. She really deserved a lot more than she had. We all do, if I’m honest. We should have more than our lot and not feel bad about wanting that. We give up enough, don’t you think? If we ever had it to begin with. I want for nothing these days. He pulled up outside my work, scratched the side of his hard thick neck. Anyway, Ruth has someone else now. I hope he knows what a lucky bastard he is.

  WYL MENMUIR

  IN DARK PLACES

  THE BROWN STREAM falls into the rocks. Rich water draining in from the limestone heath. The hole is a pinprick eye staring out, wet in the undergrowth. Far above, two buzzards float on a thermal, one following the other. They trace an elliptic path across a sky that is cloudless and of the palest blue. On a branch in the brush by the cave entrance a small bird looks on, its head cocked.

  They pushed aside the branches, shirts stained with sweat, ready to give up by the time they found it. They whooped and embraced and argued over who would get to go down first. They drew lots and the loudest one won. All four of them were loud, but he was the loudest. They sat around and unpacked sandwiches, pasties, fruit and chocolate. After they ate, they lay on the ground, stretched out, their limbs overlapping, looke
d up at the sky and imagined the depths they were to plumb. They were hazy in the sunlight, shimmering and smiling and young. Here’s to being the first, the loudest one shouted and the others raised their water canteens and repeated his words. The first. They may have been the first. It is doubtful. They laid out ropes, helmets and torches, checked and rechecked them all before they descended the rocks, slick and calcifying. They abseiled into the depths, into the perfect darkness. Four of them, disappeared into cracks that opened long ago. They pressed themselves into thin fractures in the crust, just for the sensation of the weight of earth against their chests. Felt the rocks constrict around them and laughed as though it was new love. They crawled and swam in rivers and pools long buried. Pushed through sunken passages and were rebirthed into silent caverns that they filled with their shouts and laughter. They woke us with their heavy footsteps and their echoes, while, far above, clouds that were not there before gathered and rain began to fall.

  There were once people who walked lightly. Who heard, in the space between their footsteps, reverberations and echoes of the fissures and caverns that lay below. Otherworlds and underworlds. Places that spoke to them. They did not dive into the openings they found, nor cross too far beyond the thresholds over which might spill a horde of monstrous cats, or ravenous birds, released for a short while onto the thin surface to feed. Depths into which one might be dragged and from which there was no return. They respected this was the case. Ventured no further than they needed. Things change though. It is the only truth.

  I want the full works, the man is saying. We’ve come a long way for this.

  The caves here are an ancient house in which no one has bothered to count all the rooms. A house to which there are many entrances and fewer exits. It is a house in which the rooms change shape and location, that flood and collapse, expand, contract, disappear entirely. In which the passage of time and water carves out yet more rooms to replace those that are now gone. Entire wings are cut off from one another, separated by water or by rock fall. The roof’s many domes and cupolas are polished into smooth whorls. There are ballrooms here too, state rooms and sunken parlours, forgotten attics and cupboards so small you can barely bury a child in them. It is a house in which arcuated corridors, striated and scalloped, confuse and mislead, run back on themselves or taper into paths too narrow to follow. There are signs at one of the entrances now. This entrance, close to the valley floor, has a café and an office that sells tickets. A man and a woman stand at the turnstile.