Everything is Beautiful

by Eleanor Ray

  ‘Nothing,’ repeated Charles, his voice as sweet as strawberries.

  ‘I have some clearing up to do,’ said Amy. ‘I’d better be going.’

  ‘We’ll help,’ said Richard.

  ‘You’ve done enough,’ said Amy.

  ‘Quite,’ added Nina.

  Amy got up to leave. She hesitated as she walked past Nina, then placed a hand on her arm. ‘You’re lucky to have such lovely boys,’ she said.

  Nina scowled at her. ‘I am,’ she replied.

  Amy couldn’t help but feel she’d said the wrong thing.

  Amy lay on the sofa. It felt better, sleeping down here. Not that there was much sleeping going on. But if something happened, if whoever it was came back, she’d be better able to protect her things.

  Not her pots, they were beyond repair. Richard had been true to his word and had replanted her plants in plastic containers. The boys had diligently watered them with the little watering can she’d given them. She didn’t have the heart to tell them that, really, it was not the plants that mattered to her. It seemed strange that some people could be so kind while others destroyed beautiful objects for no reason.

  No reason. Amy let those two words echo around her mind. No one else’s garden had been targeted. The cars on the street were untouched. What had she done to deserve this? Amy wondered if maybe she should have phoned the police. But if they weren’t interested in tracking down Tim, she doubted they’d have time to investigate some broken pots. Jack’s words circled in her mind again. Was it possible she’d brought this on herself?

  It was ridiculous, she decided, to think it was anything other than vandals. Vandals breaking garden ornaments. She’d collected the pieces and they were stacked on the hallway floor, in the space vacated by the mail and the bottles she’d cleared out.

  The bottles. They would still be sitting in Richard’s recycling, waiting to be taken away. Taken away for ever. Broken down. Smashed.

  Amy realised she couldn’t bear to lose any more. She sat up and glanced at one of her few working clocks. The face shone in the moonlight, and Amy saw that it was past midnight. That didn’t matter. The recycling would be collected in the morning. She still had time.

  Amy got to her feet and put on her slippers. She made her way carefully through the living-room path and grabbed a coat that hung on a hook in the hallway. The pieces of pots she’d collected were piled on the floor, framed by little halos of dirt. There were still lots of bottles and several stacks of newspapers, but all Amy could see was the space where the other bottles had been. She needed to have them all. She needed to save what she could.

  She slipped her keys into her pocket and opened the front door.

  A noise.

  Amy froze. Were the vandals back, intent on finishing the destruction of her treasures? She almost closed the door again, but the image of the bottles flooded back to her. They would think they had been abandoned. She couldn’t bear it.

  She stood at the door, listening. She heard a sound again, but it was soft. Foxes sniffing around the bins, she decided. Nothing to be scared of.

  Amy stepped outside and closed the door behind her. Her things would be safe. The moon was bright and Amy walked down her garden path, trying not to look at the wilted plants lined up against the wall in their ugly plastic pots. She opened her gate and stepped onto the pavement. Her view of Richard’s garden was obscured by a privet hedge, but Amy knew he had two large wheelie bins that he kept in his front garden. One was dark grey, for rubbish. The other was a mossy shade of green and for recycling.

  Amy stopped again. She heard another noise, a gentle creak. She stood by the hedge, peering through the leaves.

  A pair of eyes peered back, shining in the moonlight. This was no fox.

  October 2005

  ‘What shall I wear?’ Amy stood in the bedroom in her mismatched bra and pants.

  ‘That’s Chantel’s department,’ said Tim. ‘I think you look great as you are.’

  ‘But she’s not here,’ said Amy. ‘She’s never here any more. I miss her.’

  ‘You’ve got me,’ said Tim. ‘And we’ve got the place to ourselves.’ He winked at her and Amy cringed. ‘How about your silky blue dress?’ said Tim. ‘That’s pretty.’

  ‘I can’t find it,’ said Amy, rummaging through her wardrobe. ‘Besides, it’s a bit low cut. I want to look respectable.’

  ‘He’s a policeman,’ said Tim. ‘Not a Quaker. And besides, he’s going out with Chantel. He can’t be that square.’

  ‘How about this?’ said Amy finally, holding up a brown turtleneck sweater dress. ‘With opaque tights?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Tim. ‘I love my tights opaque.’

  ‘You have no idea what opaque tights are, do you?’

  ‘Not a clue,’ replied Tim. ‘But you look great in everything.’ He reached his arms out to her and she gave him a quick kiss.

  ‘I should go shopping,’ she said. ‘Now I’m the senior secretary at Trapper, Lemon and Hughes I should look the part.’ Margery in the office had finally retired and Amy had been offered a promotion. She’d been in two minds about taking it; she was still hoping to be able to spend some time on her art, and more money came with more work. But she hadn’t felt inspired for a long time. She’d taken the promotion and spent the extra money on the household items she’d been craving. She wanted to work on her art. But she also wanted a proper dining table. A matching set of cutlery. A Le Creuset pan in which to make casseroles. Perhaps even a suit to wear to work.

  ‘What if he doesn’t like me?’ asked Amy, her mind going back to the task at hand.

  ‘Then you don’t have to marry him,’ said Tim. Amy glanced at him. They hadn’t mentioned the M word since the day they’d moved in. ‘Chill out,’ said Tim. ‘Spike never liked you and that wasn’t an issue.’

  ‘He did!’ objected Amy. ‘I just didn’t like him. And besides, Jack is different. I think Chantel is really serious about him.’

  ‘I’ll buy a hat,’ said Tim. ‘Come on, let’s get going.’ He heaved himself up.

  ‘You’re not going like that,’ said Amy.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Put a shirt on. A proper one, with buttons.’

  ‘Buttons eh? The big guns.’

  ‘And clean trousers,’ she added, looking at the rather dubious spots on his jeans. ‘Chantel said the restaurant is fancy.’

  ‘I don’t see why we couldn’t just go for a beer,’ said Tim, pulling off his T-shirt and replacing it with a white buttoned shirt.

  ‘You look gorgeous in that,’ said Amy.

  ‘A pillar of the community,’ he said, as he stripped off his jeans and stood in his boxers and socks, searching for a clean pair of trousers. ‘OK,’ he said, finally dressed. ‘Will I do?’

  ‘Always,’ said Amy.

  Amy was relieved she’d made Tim change. The restaurant was in town and there was no denim in sight. It was busy and a waiter with an exaggerated French accent that Amy was pretty sure was fake showed them to their table. Chantel and Jack were sitting there already, staring into each other’s eyes.

  Jack Hooper stood up to greet her, and Amy found herself in a strong handshake. The last time they’d met had been in the police station late at night. She remembered him as muscly and a bit of a hero, but she hadn’t noticed just how handsome he was: he had chiselled features, piercing blue eyes, and his shirt could barely contain the muscles underneath. Tim looked malnourished by comparison and she gave him a reassuring smile just in case he was feeling inadequate. He didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘Great to meet you both properly,’ said Jack. ‘Chantel talks about you all the time.’

  ‘And you,’ said Amy. She leaned forwards and gave Chantel a quick kiss on the cheek, then went to sit down. To her surprise, the waiter was hovering behind her chair, waiting to push it in for her. Amy sat down self-consciously.

  ‘Isn’t it lovely here?’ said Chantel. ‘It’s Jack’s favourite restaurant.’ ‘The ste
ak tartare is to die for,’ he said.

  Amy glanced at Tim, who had recently become a vegetarian. He was scanning the menu.

  ‘I remember the first time I met you guys,’ said Jack. ‘In the police station.’ He smiled at Amy. ‘You were standing up for Chantel.’

  ‘You did too,’ said Amy, grinning back at him.

  ‘I told Chantel you fancied her,’ said Tim.

  ‘Don’t tell the bosses,’ said Jack. ‘But I even slipped her my number. I was heartbroken she never called.’ He smiled at Chantel, and put his hand on hers.

  ‘I’ve said sorry,’ said Chantel, laughing.

  ‘You’ve made it up to me,’ said Jack, giving her a big kiss.

  ‘Haven’t you?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Chantel.

  ‘We bumped into each other at the gym,’ said Jack. ‘Chantel didn’t recognise me, but I knew it was her.’

  ‘At the gym?’ queried Amy. She’d never known Chantel to visit such a place.

  ‘Well, just outside,’ added Chantel. ‘I was thinking about going in and joining, when out he came, looking like a Greek god.’

  The waiter appeared again and filled their glasses with red wine. ‘The Pinot here is excellent,’ said Jack. Tim and Amy nodded, and Tim reached for a slice of baguette, then struggled to smear a swirl of hard butter over it.

  ‘I thought beer would be more the copper’s tipple,’ said Tim, giving up and taking a bite of dry bread. Crumbs sprinkled the tablecloth like snow.

  ‘I like the odd beer too,’ said Jack. ‘But I do enjoy the finer things in life.’ He squeezed Chantel’s hand and she looked ready to burst with happiness.

  ‘Jack isn’t just a policeman,’ said Chantel. ‘He’s on the fast track.’ Amy and Tim nodded again, trying to look suitably impressed.

  ‘And you are in retail?’ Jack said to Tim.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The shop you work in,’ explained Chantel.

  ‘I’m in a band,’ said Tim, looking annoyed. ‘We’re just looking for a new drummer and then we’ll be gigging again. I do a bit of casual work in a supermarket, just to tide me over.’

  ‘Before you hit the big time,’ said Jack.

  ‘That’s right,’ replied Tim, his voice a little too loud. ‘Why didn’t you tell Jack about the band?’ he asked Chantel.

  ‘Chill out,’ said Chantel. She put her hand on Tim’s briefly, then took it away. ‘It’s just that you haven’t had any gigs for such a long time . . . ’

  The waiter appeared and took their order. Jack had the steak tartare, Amy ordered an innocuous-sounding fish dish, Chantel a salad and Tim an omelette. ‘You’re not having chips?’ Amy asked Chantel.

  ‘Watching my figure,’ replied Chantel.

  ‘She’s perfect just as she is,’ said Jack. ‘We’ve been working out together,’ he added. He looked at Tim. ‘You could join us sometime, if you like?’

  Amy laughed. ‘Fitness isn’t really Tim’s thing,’ she said.

  ‘I’m fit,’ said Tim. ‘Just in a more subtle, relaxed sort of way.’

  ‘Right,’ said Amy. They sat in an uncomfortable silence for a minute, then the waiter thankfully came and topped up their glasses again. ‘How’s your work going, Chantel?’ asked Amy. ‘I’ve barely seen you since you started at Opco.’

  ‘It’s good,’ said Chantel. ‘I do some admin now, not just reception work.’

  ‘That’s great,’ said Amy. ‘I miss you in the house.’ Chantel didn’t say anything.

  ‘We wanted to say, actually,’ started Jack, looking at Chantel, who in turn looked at the bread basket. ‘It seems a bit of a waste, Chantel spending most of her time with me and paying rent for her room at your place too. I’ve got plenty of space.’

  Amy looked at Chantel, who seemed fascinated by her napkin. Jack continued. ‘Of course I wouldn’t charge her rent. She could save up, get herself out of debt.’

  ‘Debt?’ echoed Amy.

  ‘Just a bit,’ said Chantel. ‘A few credit cards here and there.’

  ‘But she needs her room,’ said Amy, ‘with us. You guys have just met. Isn’t it a bit soon?’

  ‘We’ve been together three months,’ said Chantel. ‘And it’s time for me to have my life too.’ She looked from her napkin to Amy. ‘I can’t be the third wheel to you two for ever.’

  ‘You’re not a third wheel,’ objected Amy. ‘You’re the best wheel.’ ‘Maybe it’s a good idea,’ said Tim. Chantel glanced at him and then down again. ‘Some space for everyone.’

  ‘I don’t want space,’ said Amy. ‘I want my best friend.’

  ‘You’ll still have me,’ said Chantel. ‘But I’ve got Jack now, too.’

  Jack took her hand and squeezed it tightly.

  The food arrived. Amy moved her fish around her plate miserably. Chantel picked at her salad and Jack wolfed down his meat. ‘Most expensive eggs I’ve ever had,’ commented Tim.

  Chantel put her fork down. ‘I need to go to the loo,’ she announced. ‘Amy, come with me?’

  ‘Girls and toilets,’ said Jack. ‘Always need to go in pairs.’

  *

  The ladies’ room was beautiful. Soft jazz music was playing, and there was a funny little anteroom with sofas and mirrors and little pots of hand cream. ‘I don’t need the loo,’ said Chantel. She sat on one of the sofas and picked up the bottle of hand cream, dispensing some on to the palm of her hand. ‘Damn, I’ve taken too much,’ she said, spreading it over her hands and up her arms. ‘Want some?’

  Amy held out her hand and Chantel smeared cream on to her. It smelt like the roses in her grandmother’s garden. Chantel didn’t let go of Amy’s hand when she’d finished, and they sat, hand in greasy hand, until Amy started to cry.

  ‘I really like him,’ said Chantel, tears forming in her eyes too. ‘He’s different. He’s the first guy I’ve been out with who’s not a mess. You know the losers I usually go for. I can’t believe I’ve finally found a good one.’

  ‘He seems nice,’ sniffed Amy.

  ‘He is,’ said Chantel. ‘You’ve had Tim for ever and I’ve had no one. I want to make a go of this. God knows I’ve screwed up enough in my life.’

  ‘You’re OK,’ said Amy. She let go of her friend’s hand and hugged her instead, her lotion-coated hands smearing the back of Chantel’s top. ‘And you know you’re always welcome back, any time you want.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Chantel. She laughed. ‘I’ll not be too far away, you know. Just a ride on the 383 bus. You must visit all the time.’

  ‘Try to stop me,’ replied Amy.

  ‘God, Amy, you gave me the fright of my life. What are you doing creeping around our front garden at night?’ Nina was using one hand to push aside the branches of the hedge. The other she used to quickly close the lid of the grey bin. The movement turned on the sensor lights and Amy suddenly felt as if she were on stage.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Amy. ‘Richard said I could put some stuff in your recycling bin.’

  ‘At midnight?’ questioned Nina. ‘Where’s your rubbish?’

  Amy felt herself grow braver at the mention of the word rubbish. That was not what it was. She stepped into the garden. ‘Actually, I put some stuff in there yesterday, but I’ve changed my mind. I want it back.’

  ‘You know you’ve got a problem,’ said Nina. ‘You should get help.’

  ‘Can I just get my things?’

  ‘Be my guest,’ said Nina, stepping aside. Her hand still rested awkwardly on the grey bin.

  ‘What were you doing, out here?’ asked Amy, watching Nina’s hand on the bin.

  ‘Not that it’s any of your business,’ said Nina. ‘But I was taking out the rubbish.’

  ‘It’s late,’ said Amy.

  ‘I’ve been busy,’ said Nina.

  ‘Can I see?’ asked Amy. There was something in Nina’s face that worried her.

  ‘Can you see my rubbish?’ queried Nina. ‘You want our junk as well as your own?’

  ‘May
be,’ said Amy.

  ‘Well you can’t,’ said Nina. ‘Get out of here.’

  ‘I need to see what’s in the bin,’ said Amy, feeling determined. ‘If you don’t show me now I’ll wait till you’ve gone to bed and then look.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Nina, stepping aside and muttering something under her breath.

  Amy opened the bin and was greeted by a typically rancid smell. She peered inside, then leaned in further and grabbed something yellow. She pulled it out.

  ‘This is Charles’s excavator,’ she exclaimed. ‘His favourite one.’ ‘It’s broken,’ replied Nina. ‘Now, will you go back to your house, please? I need to get to bed. Richard will be missing me.’

  ‘Does Charles know you’ve thrown it away?’ asked Amy.

  ‘Of course,’ said Nina. ‘Is that all?’

  Amy paused, thinking of her own possessions. How upset she’d be if something had been thrown away that she’d wanted to keep. How often she’d changed her mind about letting a treasure go. What if he regretted it later? The bin men would come tomorrow; he’d have no second chance. ‘I think I’ll look after this for him,’ said Amy, dusting off the toy. ‘Just in case he changes his mind.’

  ‘For goodness’ sake Amy, let it go!’ said Nina. She reached out to grab the toy.

  Amy stepped back, holding the excavator out of Nina’s reach.

  ‘Give me that,’ commanded Nina, her voice rising.

  ‘No,’ replied Amy.

  ‘Why can’t you just keep your nose out of our business and leave us alone!’ Nina was shouting now, her voice echoing around the empty street. ‘It’s not like you haven’t got problems of your own,’ she continued. ‘Look at you.’

  ‘I just want—’

  ‘What’s going on?’ A sleepy-looking Richard was standing in the doorway. Daniel was in his arms peering at them. ‘You’ve woken up Daniel.’

  ‘And me,’ said Charles, following behind. He blinked at them then frowned. ‘What are you doing with my excavator?’

  ‘I thought you might change your mind,’ said Amy. ‘Broken things can be fixed, if you keep them.’

  ‘Broken?’ queried Charles. He rushed forwards into the garden, bare feet on rough stone. He snatched the excavator from Amy’s hands.