She was less childlike than Marcus and Claire. She didn’t climb on him or touch him, except sometimes to lean lightly on his arm. With these nights, he was spending more time with her than he did with his own kids. Because of not loving her, he’d allowed her into his night hours and now they shared something. He felt faintly disturbed by this, and worried about his own children. But they didn’t seem bothered.
Simon was offered a place at University College Hospital in London. They made enquiries with the agency and were told they couldn’t take Elke overseas. If they went they would have to give her back. She would be placed with another foster family.
They faced up to the prospect. There was no question of not going to London. The agency suggested they hold a small farewell celebration to soften the blow, giving the child a present of a memory book and photographs. Simon and Karen whispered about this after the kids were in bed at night. They wondered what present they should give her. Karen decided she would bake a chocolate cake.
Simon said, ‘Last requests. Like the last meal on death row.’
Elke wrote down something she wanted for Christmas. She mentioned how much she liked her new class. She invited friends home. She’d put up pictures in her room, and she’d brought home a swan plant from school, planted it in the garden and stocked it with yellow and black caterpillars, in the hope that they would turn into monarch butterflies.
They gathered photographs and souvenirs into a file for her to keep. They geared themselves up to tell her that she would be moving on. It started to seem obscene.
It was Simon who suggested that they apply to legally adopt her. They arrived in London in the middle of a very cold winter. They rented a flat that looked out over an old graveyard. It was a silent place between the buildings, surrounded by brick walls, with wooden seats set among the oak trees and a path winding through the plots. The gravestones were a jumble of crooked and cracked slabs, blurred statues fallen over sideways, rusted railings. It was a peaceful place. During the day people used it as a short cut between the streets. Squirrels ran up and down the trees and sometimes a couple of drunks bickered on the seats in the winter sunshine.
Simon woke up one night at 3am. There was something different about the atmosphere; he couldn’t think what. He went to the sitting room, looked out and saw that snow was falling thickly. The graveyard was covered with white, and the hum of the city was muffled by the thick whirling flakes.
Elke came in and they stood together looking out at the silent snow falling and the old gravestones sticking up, black against the icy ground.
‘You ever seen snow before?’ he whispered.
She shook her head.
‘It’s not often this thick in London. It doesn’t usually settle.’
She clutched his arm and pointed. There was a man walking along the path beside the graves, wrapped in a heavy coat and carrying a suitcase. He stopped and looked about him. He seemed to search for something; finally he leaned down and stashed the suitcase behind a grave. He got up, wiped his hands on his coat, looked around furtively and hurried on. They watched him disappear through the gate, into the street.
‘What’s he hidden. Let’s go and see,’ Elke said.
‘Not now. In the morning.’
‘Now, now,’ she pleaded. ‘It might be gone in the morning.’
‘We can’t go down there. It’s freezing. What if he comes back.’
‘Please. I’ve got my boots and my coat in the hall.’
‘Shhh,’ he said. He glanced at the closed bedroom doors.
‘I’ll go down really quick. You watch from up here.’
He was alarmed. ‘No. Absolutely not. Don’t you think of going out in the night by yourself. Ever. You wouldn’t, would you?’
She shrugged.
He held her shoulders. ‘Tell me you wouldn’t. You don’t know what’s out there.’
She didn’t say anything. He wondered whether she was capable of sneaking out by herself. He wouldn’t be able to sleep now, listening out for her.
He said, ‘Oh, all right. We’ll have a look. I’ll leave the outside door open so we can run back in.’
They put on coats and boots and went downstairs, to the door that opened into the graveyard. Simon looked for something to prop it open. If it shut on them they’d have to walk through the streets, all the way round to the front of the building. He jammed it open with the door mat.
He took Elke’s arm and they crunched through the snow.
She said, ‘You can write about this in your night book.’
‘It’s not stories in there, it’s real.’
‘This is real.’
The streetlights cast an orange glow across the white ground. Simon looked around carefully, reassuring himself that no one would be lurking out here on such a cold night. They found the gravestone and Simon reached behind it. He brought out the suitcase and laid it on top of the grave.
‘Open it,’ she said.
But there could be anything in there. Something grisly. He put it back, straightened up and said, ‘This is ridiculous. We’re going back inside.’
Her voice rose. ‘No, no. We’ve come all the way.’
‘Shut up,’ he hissed. He looked up at the dark windows, expecting to see the curtains twitch aside. He looked at his watch. It was 3.30am.
‘I’ll look first. You stand there.’
She stepped back obediently. He pulled the case out again, laid it on the grave and unzipped it. There was a metallic jumble inside. He peered in. It was full of cameras, video equipment, CDs still wrapped in their cellophane. There was a stack of magazines. He checked: porno, mostly naked women on the covers, some men.
Rapidly he zipped up the bag. What did he think he was doing, out here in the middle of the night with the little girl, the bag full of someone’s illegitimate stash. An icy trickle ran down his neck.
‘It’s bad stuff, it’ll be stolen stuff, we’ll just leave it.’
He threw the case back behind the grave. She argued, but he was beyond all that now. He hustled her towards the door, shutting her up. Now all the windows in the block seemed to lean towards him; he felt eyes staring down from every one.
They passed a man in the hall; a doctor who lived on the next floor up. Simon knew him slightly. He saw the man glance down at them curiously as he went on up the stairs.
Inside the flat he helped Elke out of her coat and boots, and hurried her to the bedroom. Marcus and Claire were asleep. He tucked her in. He wanted to say, ‘Let’s not tell about this,’ but that seemed wrong. He eased himself into bed next to Karen, and lay awake, anxious. Once he heard a noise and got up, worried that Elke was prowling again. But all was quiet in the children’s room. She was asleep. Marcus and Claire were silent in their bunks. He looked at their soft little faces. He wanted to kiss them but didn’t, in case they woke. He stood looking down at Elke. He felt exhausted and troubled. Outside, in the dreamy silence, the snow fell.
He slept and dreamed that Elke had grown to adult size. They were in the graveyard and the snow was falling around them. She pointed to the cover of one of the porno magazines and said, ‘That’s my mother.’ There was a picture of a woman posed naked except for a white scarf draped around her.
Elke said, ‘You can’t make things real if they’re not.’
Simon said, ‘But what is real?’
There was snow all around but the dream was full of heat. She had breasts, long hair, a full mouth. She was pulling him towards her. They were lying together on the stone slab. He woke in heat and confusion and thought no. No.
It was Saturday. He didn’t have to work. He put on his robe and walked through the empty flat. He heard voices from below. Karen and the three children were out in the graveyard. The kids were wearing woollen hats and mittens. Elke was directing and pointing, and Karen was reaching down into the space behind the stones. Marcus and Claire capered about throwing snow at each other. Then the four of them gathered round the case as Karen unzipped it.
She stepped back quickly, zipped it up and shooed the children away. She looked up at the window and saw him standing there. He turned away and went to the shower.
Karen and the kids played in the snow for an hour, and then came inside, the children flushed and complaining that their hands and feet were numb. Karen’s manner was deliberate. She was set-faced. There was an air of suppressed drama in her tone that he reacted against. She gave the kids breakfast, and then sent them to play table tennis in the communal games room downstairs.
She stood over him, hands on hips. ‘I get up this morning and Elke tells me about this midnight jaunt. What were you doing?’
‘She was up in the middle of the night. As usual. We were looking out at the snow. We saw the guy put the case there. She wanted to see what it was. I told her no, but she went on and on. I was worried she’d try and go down by herself. It was the only way to make sure she didn’t go sneaking out there.’
‘But to take her out in the dark. In the snow. Anyone could have been down there. The man could have come back.’
‘It was what I decided to do. I wasn’t sure, I don’t know. I didn’t want to go.’
He threw the newspaper aside. He paced across the room. He said, ‘I have to deal with her in the night. You’re always asleep.’
‘Well, you’re usually up writing in your journal. If you don’t want to deal with her then wake me up.’
‘Sure. I could set off a bomb and you wouldn’t wake.’
She said steadily, ‘I look after her all day. If she bothers you in the night, call me and I’ll take care of her.’
‘She doesn’t bother me. But I had to work out what to do. Anyway, what’s the harm.’
‘Well, it’s a bit weird isn’t it, running around in a graveyard in the snow with an eight-year-old girl in the middle of the night. What if someone saw?’
Simon stared at her. He was furious. ‘You wanted her. If she creates weirdness it’s not my fault. I just have to deal with it — with your charity case, your whim …’
‘My whim?’
He raised his voice. ‘She’s a little girl. She’s real. What did you think she’d be, a doll? Something you could just play with? You think it’s all so simple. Just go out and shop for a kid.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘You want to be the charity worker, and then when there’s a problem you call me weird. I am not fucking weird. I am just dealing with her. While you sleep.’
They blazed at each other. They lost track of the argument, said hurtful things. They hadn’t argued so savagely since the first years of their marriage, when they used to fight, jealous after parties, or irritated after a boring encounter with in-laws, yelling in bed, tearing strips off each other, before making up in the morning with blistering sexual energy.
She put her hand over her mouth. Tears welled up. ‘You don’t want her. You never did.’
‘That is just bullshit.’ For a moment he hated her. There were some things you could never make her understand. Then he was sorry. He put his arms around her.
She said into his chest, ‘I’m going to call the police.’
‘What?’ He pushed her away.
‘About the suitcase. It’s obviously stolen stuff, and there are all those dirty magazines. We should tell the police.’
‘All right. Do that.’ He released her. ‘Tell them to pick up the bag. And then let’s forget it. We’ll work on getting her to stay in her bed. That’s the only real problem.’
He called her Elkie. LK. Little Kid. She was tough. The children went to an inner-city school that was full of rough kids from the local housing estate. At first, all three children were teased for their accents and their unstylish provincial clothes. Claire especially was mocked for her haircut and her boyish shoes. Elke took action. She got Karen and Simon to take them to Oxford Street one weekend and fit them out with shoes with heels and the right style of jeans. Claire was reluctant and miserable. Elke breezed out of the changing room looking like a local. She got Karen to take her to the hairdresser, and had her hair layered and flicked. She started to round out her Kiwi vowels.
Claire came home in tears. She had worn her new London shoes with thick striped socks, and had been mercilessly teased, the kids surrounding her in the playground, chanting and laughing.
Elke said, ‘Well why did you wear those socks?’
Claire turned on her, furious and miserable. She shouted, ‘Adopted bitch.’
‘Claire!’
Elke leaned against the door, trim and pretty in her outfit, with her layered hair. She had bought herself a cheap silver chain with a little strawberry on it. The strawberry had a smiley face. She looked expressionlessly at Simon.
He went to the bedroom. Claire was crying angrily. The provincial socks were lying on the bed. Her face was round and red and hot. She had put on weight and her legs were shaped like his — not slim like Karen’s, but heavy and ungainly. Her hair stood up in dowdy spirals.
He sat beside her and crushed her in his arms. He wanted to protect her from everything. The fact that she was plain and awkward and unhappy made him burn with love for her. She had set out with high hopes that morning, wearing the new shoes and the gaudy, naively coloured socks. Even he could have told her they looked wrong. His poor, clever, innocent girl.
Elke sidled in. She said, ‘I’ll tell you what to wear. Then they’ll leave you alone.’
Claire’s face blazed with hatred. Simon frowned over Claire’s head, silently telling Elke to leave it for now.
Elke shrugged and went off to the games room with Marcus.
Karen came in and sat down on the bed. She said, ‘Claire. That thing you said to Elke. You mustn’t.’
Claire made a growling sound, her head in the pillow. She said, ‘You love Elke because she’s cute and pretty. Everyone likes her more because she looks nice.’
Karen said, ‘That’s not true. We love all three of you equally. Don’t we, Simon.’
‘Don’t lie. Fuck off,’ Claire shouted.
Karen’s voice rose. ‘Don’t swear. This jealousy, Claire. It’s something you have to conquer. It’s something bad in yourself.’
Simon reacted against Karen’s tone. It was the hectoring note she struck when she was ‘dealing with a problem’. It was the strict voice a little girl would use when telling off her teddy. He saw how it left Claire bereft, hearing that her feelings were something bad in herself.
He said to Karen, ‘You go and check on the others.’
He soothed her out of the room and then he sat with Claire and told her how much he loved her. It seemed wrong, indecent, to go against all the rules of good behaviour, but he couldn’t stop himself.
He told her, ‘I love you more, I love you most. You’re my little darling. Ever since you were born I’ve loved you with all my heart. And Marcus too.’
She knew what he was saying, that he loved her more than Elke. She knew it wrong to say it. She was shocked, soothed, gratified.
‘Okay?’ he said. He hugged her.
She sighed, turned over on her back, picked up one of the striped socks and hit him with it languidly. He went out of the room, troubled. He felt as if he’d done the right thing by his girl and at the same time he had a faintly cloying, disgusted feeling, as though he’d committed a crime.
Before they went back to Auckland, they flew to Australia. Simon did a short stint as a locum at Bundeberg Hospital, where they were short of obstetricians. At the end of the month they went up to Port Douglas for a holiday. They stayed in a hotel in the town, and Simon spent a lot of time on the phone making arrangements for returning to his practice in Auckland.
There was a connecting door between Simon and Karen’s room and the children’s. Both rooms had balconies that opened straight onto the pool. You could walk out of your bedroom and plunge straight in. Karen worried that Elke would get up in the night and go in the pool. Simon got hold of some wire and tied the kids’ gate shut at night, and Karen piled things
around it after the kids were in bed, so it couldn’t be opened without a lot of noise.
After being cooped up in London for months the children were wild about the pool and the white sand beach that stretched mile after mile, fringed with coconut palms. It was winter, which meant the days were hot and clear, and you could swim in the sea without having to wear a full lycra body suit to ward off marine stingers. In Port Douglas, summer brought rain and extreme heat and the stingers, tiny jellyfish that could kill you if you were stung badly enough.
They took a tourist boat out to the Great Barrier Reef. They were given body suits, since there were marine stingers on the reef, and they all went snorkelling.
Simon swam away from the group and dived in water so clear that the colourful fish seemed to hang in the brightness. He dived down and lay on the bottom. Above him tiny fish veered in bright schools and the sky wavered, chrome blue above the skin of the water. He felt the cold London months washing away from him. He swam up a rope, a buoy bobbing at the top of it like a balloon. The fish swirled around him and the light danced in rings and spirals on the white sand. He came up and saw Karen surrounded by the children. She was spitting on her mask and laughing. He swam towards them.
Karen took holiday photos. Elke was svelte in her lycra suit, Claire was dumpy and brave.
Claire stood on Marcus’s foot and he shoved her hard. She slipped and fell over.
Claire got up and hit Elke.
‘Why hit her. Hey.’
‘She laughed,’ Claire said.
Simon grabbed her wrist. ‘Just get over it,’ he hissed.
She pulled away from him. All the way back on the boat she sulked, and he felt bad, but he was too exhilarated by the sea and the sun to care all that much.
One morning they set out to walk to the end of the beach. The sand was strewn with coconuts. The palms waved and the surf crashed, sparkling onto the shore. Simon walked with Marcus, drawn to the boy’s silent, uncomplicated presence, a relief from the undercurrents, the feminine warfare.
He and Marcus walked fast and soon they were a long way ahead. When they looked back the others were three bright blobs in the wavering heat. Marcus bowled coconuts into the sea. The bush along the shoreline made a shimmering green wall against the sky. After an hour they came to the last stretch of beach where a reef ran out into the sea. The water was shallow and bronze in the sun, shirred by the wind. There was a group of windsurfers on the beach, and the sails skimmed over the water, shooting delicately over the waves.
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