Thin Air

by Storm Constantine

  Jay sat at the bar to finish her drink, staring into the mirror behind the bar, watching people come through the door. Dex was more likely to have frequented a place like this rather than The Ship. She noticed there was still a small stage in the shadows at the back of the room. He might even have played here in the early days. Jay tried to imagine him as he must have been then; mouthy, gangling, the hub of a fawning group of friends. She wished they could have come here together. He could have told her stories about his past, shown her the physical markers of it. If only she’d recognised the gap between them and questioned his reticence about his history. Their relationship had seemed whole, but that had been an illusion. Seven years of make-believe while the cracks got longer and wider, until no amount of underpinning could have saved what was left. Don’t get maudlin, Jay told herself, lighting another cigarette. This is just work.

  In the morning, Jay was woken by the landlady knocking on her door to tell her breakfast was ready. She dressed and went down to the bar, where a few tables had been laid with checked table-cloths and cutlery. Each table was adorned with a small glass vase containing a couple of scrawny pinks. They were at least real flowers. Jay was not the only guest. As she’d surmised, the others were all men, who looked like reps. Some of them knew each other, and were huddled round one of the tables talking about sales figures. As Jay sat down, she noticed there was a pay-phone on the wall near her table. Beneath it on a shelf was a dog-eared directory and a new Yellow Pages. On impulse, Jay picked up the directory. She was looking through the Bs when the landlady came in bearing a plate of English breakfast.

  ‘Oh, that’s a bit out of date, love,’ she said. It was: six years to be precise. ‘I’ve got a new one upstairs. I’ll fetch it for you, if you like.’

  ‘Thanks. That’d be great.’ Six years ago, she and Dex had been together. It felt weird. She had to look at the listing for the ‘Banners’ of the town. There were about half a dozen.

  The landlady came back, directory in hand. ‘Here we are. Now, you eat your breakfast first.’

  Jay grinned. ‘OK. Look, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but could you spare me a couple of minutes after breakfast?’

  The landlady looked flattered. ‘Of course, love.’

  ‘I need to trace these people, and you know the town much better than I do, and...’

  The landlady raised her hands to interrupt. ‘I’ll be over after I’ve got the breakfasts out. Now you enjoy your meal.’

  The woman joined Jay just as she was finishing her toast. She now felt familiar enough with her guest to tell her that her name was Bella. She offered Jay a cigarette. The men had all gone off to their work now, and the two women sat drinking strong tea, looking through the new directory. ‘I need to know which streets are on Shorefields,’ Jay said.

  Bella craned her neck, so Jay turned the directory on the table for her to see better. She wrinkled her nose. ‘Sorry, love, but none of these.’

  ‘Damn,’ said Jay, then smiled ruefully. ‘I suppose that would be too easy.’ She hesitated, then opened up the older directory again and pushed it across the table to Bella. ‘How about these?’

  Bella took the book and scrutinised the page. She frowned, then lifted her eyebrows. ‘Well, this one. Yes. Milton Close. That’s Shorefields. All the roads are named after old writers, you know.’ She laughed. ‘Tried to give the place a bit of class. Didn’t help much.’

  Jay peered at the page: Banner, J, 64 Milton Close. Could this be it? ‘What was Cora’s husband’s name?’ she asked.

  Bella couldn’t remember.

  ‘Oh well, it’s worth a try. The people who live there now might remember the Banners.’

  ‘Or they could have had their phone cut off,’ said Bella.

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘People from Shorefields don’t move much,’ the landlady said, lighting up another cigarette.

  ‘Can you give me directions?’ Jay asked.

  ‘Best keep your windows wound up, and your doors locked,’ said Bella, with relish, adding, ‘It’s only a five minute drive away.’

  Some years ago, in the depths of recession, Shorefields must have been hideous, a landscape of despair, but now, in between the more run down houses, some efforts had been made to cheer the place up. There were still a few gardens where old electrical appliances rusted in the unkempt grass and wheelless cars sagged on bricks, but mostly the houses looked fairly neat. There was a shopping centre, where a few shops were still open - or had reopened. The others, shuttered closed and boarded up, were daubed with graffiti. The post office looked like a high security prison, with iron blinds that drooped above its windows like the boozy eyelids of an old convict.

  It took Jay about twenty minutes to find Milton Close because the estate was a maze. What would the distinguished dead writers who had lent their names to the streets think of this aspect of immortality? Glancing up Shakespeare Road, Jay assumed that the most literary people around were those who could read the tabloids.

  She paused on the corner of Milton Close before turning onto the road. Her heart was beating quickly. She realised that a small part of her suspected Dex might be here. For a few minutes, she sat smoking a cigarette, chewing the skin around her thumb nails. A group of young girls with babies in push-chairs walked past, a gaggle of pre-school age children gambolling around them. The girls looked contented enough. They laughed together brightly. Who am I to judge? Jay wondered. She started the car again and turned onto the close.

  The road was flanked by flat-faced houses. Some had trellising out front, and garish robes of Virginia creepers shed their skirts upon the front door-steps. Bare clematis strangled itself like incestuous wires. 108. Not far to go. A poorer family must live here; the short front garden was overgrown with dandelion and wild, untramelled tresses of yellowing grass. 96. These people must’ve bought their house. Pity about the fake stone front and the Austrian blinds in blinding pink. 70. So near now. Children singing. Not these children, lounging belligerently against the sagging fence, decked out like miniature adults in a temper, but ghost children from the past, from the years of Dex’s childhood. Jay imagined an old Beano comic skittering down the road. There it is: 64. The family home. The curtains were dingy, half an inch too short, like an unfashionable skirt, and coloured acid yellow. Never a good colour for curtains.

  Jay’s hands were damp upon the steering wheel. She felt observed, as if eyes moved behind the dingy nets of number 64 and hands twitched uneasily. What would she say if the Banners still lived there? Hi, I’m Jay. You’ve never met me, but I lived with... Dex. Should she call him Dex? Perhaps it would be better to use the name his mother had given him, the one that had been imprinted upon him at the font? She had a vision of women in their Nylon best huddled in the dusty sunshine of a Sixties-built church, and Dex, a faceless infant, silent in the passing arms. What would Cora Banner look like now? Would vestiges of her former glamour still cling to her?

  It was more likely that the family had moved on. Jay realised she should have been more organised and, instead of haring off eagerly, gone to the local library to check the electoral roll. She should have made deeper enquiries, visited the offices of the local paper. Her investigation of Dex must be treated like any other job. Still, she was here now. She would leave her car, walk up the short, cracked pavement to the door and knock upon it: three times, like fate or death.

  Her knocking elicited no response, but Jay could feel a stillness about her, which told her someone was watching and listening. The Banners must be sick and tired of people coming to the house. She could understand why they wouldn’t open their door to yet another stranger. She took a few steps back and stood with her hands on her hips, gazing up at the bedroom windows, where she sensed the most concentrated area of scrutiny.

  A neighbour had also taken an interest. After Jay had knocked again, a young woman emerged from the house next door on the left. ‘What do you want?’ Her voice was hostile. She was quite hefty and looked capabl
e of flooring Jay with one punch.

  Jay adopted a conciliatory smile. ‘I’m looking for the Banners. Do they still live here?’

  ‘What d’you want with them?’

  Jay hesitated only a moment. ‘I’m a friend of Christopher’s.’

  The woman sneered. ‘Yeah? Well, you can fuck off! Julie doesn’t want to see anybody. Why can’t you people leave her alone?’

  ‘Look,’ Jay said calmly, but the woman would hear no more. She trundled aggressively towards Jay, her eyes fierce. Her hands were bunched into fists.

  ‘I said fuck off and I mean fuck off!’ An air of violence poured off her like steamy sweat.

  ‘OK,’ Jay said, raising her hands. ‘I hear you. But just tell them I called, will you?’

  ‘Fuck off!’

  Jay got back into her car and moved off swiftly. Glancing into the rear view mirror, she saw the protective neighbour standing on the pavement with her arms folded across her chest and her chin stuck out defiantly. Before Jay could speak to the family, she’d have to get past the guard dog.

  Jay drove back into town and went to a beach front cafe for a mug of tea. Here, in the humid warmth, she reconsidered her tactics. Once she’d got her foot in the Banner door, she anticipated no problem, but how could she do that? Some reconnaissance was in order.

  Jay returned to Shorefields and drove around the estate. She found the local junior school and parked up, then walked around for a while to get a feel for the place. In a park area near the school, she sat on a bench, her jacket collar up around her ears. It was not a warm day. Young children yelled and ran about, playing on swings and slides. Young women sat in huddles around the edge of the play area, all chatting animatedly.

  At lunch-time, Jay went to a pub called The Albion and had a sandwich in the bar. When she asked the bar-man if he knew the Banners, his response was guarded. ‘Yeah, I do, and they’ve been through enough.’ He went immediately to serve another customer. Jay couldn’t help feeling slightly amused by the reactions she was provoking in Shorefields. Was it so obvious she was a journalist, or did people think she was an obsessive fan?

  She went to order another drink, and tried again. ‘Look, I’m a friend of the Banner family. I really have no sinister motive for coming here. Perhaps you could...’

  ‘If you’re that much of a friend, why are you in here asking questions?’ snapped the bar-man.

  Jay drew in her breath.

  ‘What can I get you?’ said the bar-man.

  ‘Another gin and tonic,’ Jay said. He’d tell her nothing.

  The pub closed at three o’clock. Jay had sat there for several hours, being observed covertly by the suspicious bar-man. She went out into the waning afternoon, looking down towards the school. Mothers were gathering at the gates. Jay moved a little closer. This was a long shot, but she had a hunch it would pay off. After a few minutes, she saw the Banner’s statuesque neighbour come strolling down the road. She was alone. Jay’s shoulders slumped. She’d been convinced Julie Banner would have a young child. Her instincts didn’t often let her down. However, this did mean that the Banner house was unguarded. She could at least try to gain entry again.

  Jay hurried to her car, hoping she wouldn’t be spotted by Julie’s neighbour. She drove the long way round to Milton Close, so she didn’t have to pass the school, and then took the precaution of parking a few doors down from the Banner household. A young couple wearing Dex T-shirts were standing on the pavement, and looked at Jay with interest as she approached. Jay didn’t speak to them, although she was initially tempted to. She wasn’t surprised that people still haunted the house of Dex’s childhood. Some obsessions took a long time to wane. She heard the two talking about her as she knocked on the door again. Perhaps they even recognised her.

  Jay could hear music inside the house; it sounded like a radio station. Whoever lurked within could not hide that someone was at home, but again they didn’t answer the door. Jay sighed impatiently, uncomfortably aware of the curious scrutiny of the fans behind her. She knocked again, repeatedly. Nothing.

  Jay took a deep breath, and pushed her fingers against the letter box, which opened stiffly with a squeal. ‘Julie!’ she called into the house. ‘Julie, if you’re there, please answer the door. I have to speak to you.’ She could see nothing but a narrow wedge of hall-way, although she had a feeling someone stood just out of view, very close. A smell of burning pizza wafted towards her. ‘Julie, I’m a friend of your brother’s. I’m not here to make any trouble or bother you. I just need to talk.’ Jay’s spine prickled. She was sure that at any moment, another neighbour would intervene, or worse the Amazon from next door would arrive. ‘Julie, he talked about you to me. Please let me in.’

  She could almost hear breathing now, an oppressive sense of someone stooped just to the side of the letter box. ‘Look, I know you’ve been hassled. You’ve had to deal with fans and reporters and whatever else, but I’m almost family, Julie.’ The fans were laughing now. Jay closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the door, speaking more softly. ‘Julie, I’ve lived with Dex. I slept with him every night when he wasn’t on tour. I’ve woken up with the smell of his sweat on my sheets. Julie, I...’

  The door opened a crack, secured by a safety chain.

  ‘Please,’ said Jay. ‘Please.’

  She heard the chain rattle and then the door opened swiftly. The fans uttered excited sounds and were already halfway up the short path. An arm shot out from the hallway and dragged Jay into the house, before slamming the door behind her.

  Dazed, Jay leaned back against the door. She felt drained, bleeding. A woman stood opposite her, staring. She was a council-estate archetype; bleached hair lividly dark at the roots; a tired, papery face old before its time; deep lines between the badly-mascaraed eyes; a thin mouth rimmed by a trace of lipstick, which had insinuated itself into the fine cracks that laced her skin. She held one hand against her face, gripping a damp-looking cigarette. Her nails were bitten to the quick, panthered by the remains of silvery-blue varnish. This could not be Cora: too young. Perhaps the mother was lurking somewhere deep inside; a worn out woman in black, still mourning the loss of her son. This must be Julie. A girl child hugged the woman’s knees, while in the background, came the peevish cry of an infant.

  Jay held out her hand. ‘I’m Jay Samuels.’

  The woman stared at Jay’s extended hand, until it felt burned and she had to hide it against her jacket. Jay fixed what she hoped was a pleasant smile on her face. ‘Thanks for seeing me. I would have phoned but...’

  ‘We haven’t got a phone anymore. What do you want?’

  ‘I want to speak to you about Dex, about Chris. I used to... I was his girlfriend.’ The term sounded alien on her tongue, but it was a language she felt this other woman would understand. ‘Partner’ would sound too urbane here.

  The woman drew herself up straight, folded her arms and wriggled her shoulders in a hostile manner. ‘He’s gone.’

  ‘I know,’ Jay said again. ‘Are you Julie?’

  She nodded. ‘You lived with him, you say?’

  ‘Yes, for seven years.’

  ‘That’s a bloody long time.’

  ‘It was too short,’ Jay said. She paused. ‘I feel I should have come here before now.’

  Julie shrugged. She pointed to an open doorway. ‘Go on into the front room. I’ll make some tea.’

  Jay did as she was directed and placed herself gingerly on the fragile sofa - which felt as if it might tip up from her weight. The matte black TV and video were large, and clearly quite new - probably rented. A satellite or cable TV box was perched on the table beside the imposing set. Other than that, the furniture seemed temporary and disposable; veneered and flimsy. Beneath her feet the carpet was a hideous riot of colour from two decades before, although it seemed scrupulously clean. The house reminded Jay of all the bedsits she’d occupied in her youth. Her upbringing had been comfortably middle-class, but her student days and later band fol
lowing had been based in rooms like this. Dex had grown up here. Atoms of him must still pervade its walls, its air. Jay’s legs tingled. She shuddered. Was there a sense of him here?

  Julie came in from kitchen, carrying a Formica tray. Her young child was still attached to her legs and stared at Jay with the open curiosity of a calf or a lamb. The invisible baby was no longer whining. ‘Get off!’ Julie said to her daughter, adding, ‘she’s been off school with a cold. Back tomorrow, though. Kylie, get off!’ Julie laughed, shaking her leg, and the girl slunk away to perch herself on an armchair. ‘She’s a bit nervous of strangers,’ said Julie.

  Jay smiled tolerantly. ‘I’m glad I found you. All I had to go on was the address in an old phone directory. Lucky the hotel still had it.’

  Julie sat down on the carpet and placed the tray on a coffee table. She did not look up from her tea-pouring duties. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘I lost the phone a couple of years ago when Mum left. Couldn’t afford it.’

  Jay nodded sympathetically. ‘You must think it’s strange I’ve come here after so long.’

  ‘A lot of people came before,’ Julie said.

  ‘I would have done too, but Dex didn’t talk to me about his family much.’

  Julie expelled a dismissive snort. ‘I’ll bet. ‘He just wanted to forget about this lot.’ Her eyes swept around the room. ‘Bet your place is a bit different, eh?’

  ‘Well...’ Jay didn’t know what to say.

  ‘I hope so,’ Julie said wistfully. ‘He deserved it.’

  Jay fought a sudden compulsion to invite Julie down to see the flat. It would be so easy to suggest it, but she knew this was a move entirely inappropriate and to be regretted at a later date. Julie might accept. ‘I’ve come here because,’ Jay began, ‘well, because I’d like to know what happened to Dex.’

  Julie just stared at her, nibbling a fingernail.