‘Rose will maybe understand that one day.’
‘Well, at the moment she’s insisting I leave.’
‘Aye, she said. I can’t understand that.’
Megan runs her bleeding fingers under the tap. ‘Oh, I suppose she thinks I’ll be dragging you off to bed given half a chance.’ She looks up at him quickly, embarrassed. ‘I’d like to apologise, by the way - for last night.’
‘No bother. It was a night of indiscretions. Your mother’s regretting hers too.’
Megan dries her hands and takes a First Aid kit down from a shelf. ‘Oh, take no notice of anything she says, Calum. Especially now. She’s just dealing with bloody Gavin.’ She struggles with a plaster.
‘Here - let me.’ Calum peels plasters and applies them to her shaking fingers.
Megan blinks back tears, fighting the urge to abdicate all responsibility and lay her head on Calum’s chest. She sniffs loudly. ‘She’ll either go mad or she’ll go into shut-down.’
‘Let’s hope it’s the latter.’
‘Either way, she wants us both out of the picture.’
‘I think in her weird way she’s trying to protect you, Megan.’
‘About bloody time!’ Megan abandons her struggle and starts to whimper. Calum folds another weeping woman in his arms and as Megan hugs him tight, he wonders who is doing the comforting. She reaches for a piece of kitchen towel and blows her nose. ‘Oh, God, I’m sorry... Look, let me get you something to eat. It will give me something to do.’
‘No, thanks. I’ll get that window fixed, then I have a pressing appointment with a whisky bottle.’
~
‘Why didn’t you tell me you were dead?’
‘I thought you knew.’
‘No... I thought I would know... if it happened. But I didn’t. I didn’t feel anything.’
‘It doesn’t make any difference, Rosie.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It doesn’t make any difference me being dead. You knowing I’m dead. It was over... You never would have seen me again.’
‘No, probably not. But I lived with the hope that I might. That somehow things would turn out all right. In the end.’
‘It was the end, Rose... This is.’
‘Is it really, Gavin?’
...
‘Gavin?...’
...
‘Gavin - are you there?...’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Standing at the foot of the stairs, Megan can hear her mother crying. She recognises in herself a familiar cocktail of anger, shame and helplessness and, in automatic response, asks herself what Gavin would have done. She starts to laugh at the thought of Gavin helping Rose cope with the aftermath of his own death, then realises she isn’t laughing, that her cheeks are wet, that she wishes, really wishes Gavin were here now to deal with her mother.
She remembers Gavin pouring large gins and climbing into bed with Rose fully clothed, mouthing to Megan over Rose’s head to put pizza in the oven. She remembers him talking, talking, non-stop, an endless flow of mental energy channelled towards Rose: Gavin describing the difficulties of a new climbing route; Gavin explaining the byzantine complexities of the plot of The Usual Suspects; Gavin singing Springsteen songs in a cod New Jersey accent; Gavin defying Rose to give up, defying her to want to die in the face of his energy, his love of life.
Megan would bring them pizza on a tray and walk away to eat hers in the kitchen, lonely but relieved not to have to deal with Rose, jealous that Gavin would spend the evening upstairs, that when he came down - if he came down - he would be exhausted. Wordless at last, he might bless her with a weary smile, maybe a conspiratorial thumbs-up, but then he’d turn on the TV and fall instantly asleep.
Megan heads for the kitchen, makes toast and tea for Rose and carries it up on a tray. She knocks and waits a moment before entering. Rose sits up in bed, red-eyed, surrounded by crumpled tissues.
‘I thought you might like a cup of tea. I’ve made you some toast and honey. See if you can manage a few mouthfuls.’
‘Oh, thanks... I’m sorry I’m being such a wimp. What on earth’s that banging noise?’
‘Calum fixing the window.’
‘What window?’
‘You threw the teapot through the kitchen window.’
‘Did I? Oh, God, I’m sorry.’ Rose looks at the tray in dismay. She sips her tea and nibbles at a corner of toast, chewing slowly. She swallows then says, ‘I don’t think I can manage this.’
‘That’s okay, I thought it was worth a try... Listen, Mum, will you please let me stay?’
‘No, honestly, I really think I’ll cope better on my own. I’ll feel more in control. I can’t cope with all the... memories with you being here, Megan. Life’s been much more difficult for me ever since you got here. I’m sorry, that sounds really unkind... I am trying to break with the past, but it’s harder with you here.’
‘But I don’t trust you to be here on your own. I’m worried that you might...’
‘Try to kill myself again? Oh, no, why would I do that? It’s not as if Gavin and I were still together. I never would have seen him again. I’ve no reason to kill myself now.’
‘There never was a reason to kill yourself, Mum, but you tried several times.’
Rose is thoughtful. ‘I suppose you’re right. I do see why you’re worried. But I can’t think while you’re here, I can’t work. And I have to work - that’s all there is. It’s work that will keep me sane.’
‘What about Calum?’ Rose is silent. ‘He seems pretty upset.’
‘I don’t want to talk about it now. Please, Megan, I’m so tired. Will you just leave me in peace?’
‘If that’s really what you want. I’ll go tomorrow. Calum says there’s a flight to Glasgow. But I’d like to come back for your exhibition, if you’ll let me.’
‘Of course. I’d love you to.’
‘When is it?’
‘In the summer. June some time. Ask Calum.’
‘You will keep working on that, won’t you? You must. The work you’ve done so far is really good. And you mustn’t let Calum down.’
‘And don’t forget the kids. Their poems are going in to the exhibition as well.’
‘It’ll be great! And it was all your idea.’
‘Well, not really. It was a joint thing with Calum. He sparked off the idea.’
‘He’s a really nice guy.’
‘Yes. He is.’
‘He said he and Shona will keep an eye on you if I go.’
‘Yes, they undoubtedly will unless I make strenuous efforts to prevent them.’
‘He would be good for you, Mum. I know he wants to make you happy.’
‘Yes. That’s what he says.’
‘I think it’s what he means too.’
‘Maybe. Sometimes Calum seems too good to be true. Something doesn’t add up, I don’t know what it is.’
‘You don’t trust him because Gavin betrayed you. Because I did. You have good reasons not to trust people - even people who say they love you.’
Rose leans back on her pillows and studies her daughter. Eventually she says, ‘You loved Gavin more than you loved me, didn’t you?’
Megan looks at her mother and blinks. Her voice when she finally replies is an outraged whisper. ‘Mum, do you seriously think I would have done what I did if I hadn’t loved him beyond reason? Beyond everything?’
‘No. I suppose you wouldn’t.’
‘You loved Gavin more than you loved me.’
‘Megan, I loved Gavin more than life! I thought I made that pretty clear after he’d gone.’
‘And he is gone, Mum. Gone for good now. But we’re still here. I’d really like us to be friends again, if we can.’
‘Yes. So would I. But I need some time. Some space. Come back for the exhibition. We’ll talk then. Come back in the summer, darling.’
‘Yes, I will.’
‘And would you do something for me? When you get home, would you send
me one of your photos of Gavin? I don’t have any. I’d like to have one... I need one. For work.’
Surprised and relieved that her mother is planning new projects, Megan resists the temptation to ask questions. ‘Actually Simon gave me some photos to give you. I brought them with me. I was going to give them to you, after I’d told you what happened. They’re photos of you and Gavin together. Nice ones. Simon found them in Gavin’s flat when he cleared out his things.’
‘Oh... ’ Rose looks confused. She bows her head and appears to study the quilt on her bed.
‘Do you want to see them now?’ Megan asks gently.
‘No... No, thanks. But leave them for me, will you?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Megan removes the tray from Rose’s lap and heads towards the bedroom door.
‘Megan?’
‘Yes?’
‘He was wearing a helmet. Calum said.’
‘Yes. Dave thought he wasn’t. He must have forgotten.’
‘I’m glad. About the helmet, I mean. I’m glad Gavin wasn’t quite the fool I took him for.’
~
When Megan returns to the kitchen Calum is packing up his tools. He looks at the barely touched tray.
‘How is she?’
‘She’s talking about work. I think she’s planning something.’
‘You sound worried.’
‘Well, yes... If she starts working now she probably won’t eat or sleep or remember to take her tablets. And she wants me on a plane tomorrow.’
‘Don’t worry, Shona and I will make nuisances of ourselves. I’ll call Dr. Kerr out if there’s any trouble. And I’ll try and find someone to glaze your window tomorrow.’
‘Thanks.’
‘No bother.’ Calum hesitates. ‘Megan, I know you’ve got a lot on your mind at the moment, but can I ask your advice about something?’
‘Go ahead.’
‘Rose said she’d baby-sit on Friday. It’s Shona’s birthday and I was going to take her and Donald out for dinner, d’you remember?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘D’you think I should hold Rose to that? I mean, it’s something in her future, something to keep her grounded in her new life here, in the real world. And I know she feels she owes Shona. I think she probably feels she owes me too. And she enjoys spending time with the bairns... What d’you think? I’m inclined to call in the favour.’
‘Yes, I think you probably should. She hates letting people down. But I think she might have forgotten all about it... what with Gavin. You’ll need to remind her. Or I can.’
‘The other thing I wanted to ask - and this is a hard one for you to answer - d’you think she’d be safe with the bairns?’
‘You mean, would they be safe with her?’
‘Aye.’
‘Yes, I do. I’ve never known Mum harm a hair of anybody’s head but her own. She damages property and she damages herself, but never other people. In fact she used to go to great lengths to avoid me coming to any harm. I remember once when I was quite small coming downstairs in the middle of the night and finding her sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor, singing and calmly smashing her wedding china with a hammer. But all the china was inside a bin-liner... She’d done that because I was always running around bare-foot. She’d made sure I wouldn’t cut my bare feet on bits of broken china. When she goes mad it’s only mad at one level. At another level she knows exactly what she’s doing. It’s a kind of logical madness.’
‘Aye, well, that’s the best kind I suppose.’ Calum manages a wan smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. ‘Would you remind her about Friday for me?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘If she doesn’t want to do it, call me. I can easily ask someone else. I’ll be picking Shona and Donald up at seven. Fergus will be in bed by then so Rose will only have three to deal with. And,’ he adds grimly ‘They all know how to use the phone in an emergency.’
‘Don’t worry, Calum. If she agrees to do it, she’ll be fine. It just depends what happens between now and Friday.’
~
Megan packs her few belongings into her rucksack then orders a taxi to take her to Benbecula airport in the morning. She takes the photos of Gavin and Rose out of their envelope and examines them. They must have been Gavin’s favourites. Simon said he’d found them with Gavin’s mountaineering photos. He appeared to possess no family snapshots. Megan had been disappointed to discover that Gavin had kept no photos of her, not even as a child.
All the photos are of Rose, or Gavin and Rose pictured together. In all of them Gavin smiles, his perpetually tanned face creased with laughter lines. Pictured sitting on a wall in Crete, relaxed in tight white jeans and a muscle-revealing white T-shirt, the sun setting picturesquely behind his blond head, Gavin is dazzling, gilded, god-like. Rose ignores the camera - and Megan who was taking the photo - and gazes up at her Apollo.
Megan tries to remember how old she was on that holiday. Fourteen? Fifteen? Jesus, she thinks, was it really any wonder?...
She replaces the photos in their envelope, labels it clearly and puts it in the centre of Rose’s worktable. She looks at her watch. It is only eight o’ clock but she feels as if she has aged years in the last twelve hours. She gives up the struggle to stay awake and falls into bed exhausted.
~
Some time in the night Megan wakes to see a beam of light slashing the darkness. She thinks first of the lighthouse, then realises that it is a torch wielded by her mother who is padding around the workroom in her nightdress.
As her eyes adjust to the darkness, Megan can see that Rose carries a basket over her arm, that she is collecting items from the table and shelves and dropping them in. As she does so she mutters to herself in a voice too low for Megan to catch.
Megan cannot decide whether her mother is sleepwalking or has taken leave of her senses. She watches for the gleam of sharp objects going in to the basket, listens for the chink of glass, but Rose selects paper, pencils, books, pieces of cloth, tiny boxes that rattle. Megan wonders if the boxes contain pills, then remembers the bead and button boxes she played with as a child.
It is 3.00 am and her mother is working.
Rose leaves the room as quietly as she entered and Megan listens to her steady footsteps as they mount the stairs, hears the creak of her iron bedstead as Rose climbs back into bed. Then silence. Megan switches on the light and looks around the room, checks the worktable. The dressmaking shears, scalpel and rotary cutters are still in place.
The envelope of photos is gone.
~
white cream bronze gold
beads buttons pins pearls
silks satins linen scrim
.
Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall
.
cut tear slash rip
dazzle sparkle twinkle shine
.
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall
.
speckled freckled burnished bleached
crumpled
crushed
.
All the King’s horses
.
gold lace
gold thread
.
All the King’s men
.
cutting threading stitching pressing
putting you back together again
golden stitches mend your body
.
couldn’t
.
pale dead
beads red
blood shed
.
together again
~
Rose’s week settles into a routine of brief morning visits from Shona and even briefer evening visits from Calum. Shona finds a variety of excuses to call, delivering magazines, home baking, one of Eilidh’s old party dresses for re-cycling. Calum makes no pretence at informality and each evening stands gravely on the doorstep, observing Rose closely. She comes to the door clutching scissors, sometimes a half-eaten sandwich.
Rose doesn’t invi
te Calum in and answers his questions with a distracted air. She appears edgy and pre-occupied, but since she is clearly working hard Calum draws no negative conclusions. Festooned like a Christmas tree with sparkling threads, scraps of gold cloth and the odd sequin here and there, her hair awry and dark smudges under her eyes, Calum thinks Rose has never looked lovelier. He consumes more whisky than usual that week, especially in the small hours when he looks across from the caravan to Rose’s house and sees the light at her workroom window. He wonders if she is sleeping at all, hopes she has in fact fallen asleep at her table. He thinks about going to check up on her, pours another whisky instead.
It is Calum who wakes to find his head on a table.
~
On Friday evening Rose sorts out some sewing to take to Shona’s. She packs a torch and Calum’s anthology of poems, Emotional Geology, now much the worse for wear and littered with post-its. With chemical assistance Rose has slept all day since Shona’s morning call, feels rested, but still tense. She has eaten a proper cooked meal, one that even included vegetables and as a precaution she has taken a tranquilliser.
She is heading for the front door when Calum knocks. He is dressed in a dark suit and Mickey Mouse tie in honour of Shona’s birthday celebration and is freshly shaven, his hair brushed and shining, although the curls are already beginning to reassert themselves.
‘Good evening, Rose. Are you ready?’
‘Still checking up on me? Yes, I’m ready.’ Rose arranges her mouth into a bright smile. Calum registers her lack-lustre eyes and looks a question. ‘You don’t miss a thing do you? I’ve taken a tranquilliser to be on the safe side. I didn’t need to, but I thought you’d be happier if I did. I’m fine, Calum, I’ve been fine all week. I’m taking a minimal dose of meds and I am working hard. If I look awful it’s because I’m knackered.’
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