Walking with Ghosts

by Baker, John

  ‘We met in Taylor’s on Thursdays. We’d been doing that for years. Lunch. Girl talk. India enjoyed it as much as I did. If something else came up I’d always put it off. Thursday lunch was one time in the week when we’d put the world to one side. By the time we’d finished it would be around three. But then, a couple of weeks before she died India wanted to be away around two o’clock.

  ‘The last Thursday I saw her was when I asked her if she was having an affair. I couldn’t understand what was so important all of a sudden. That she’d let it take over our time together. I could only think it must be a man.

  ‘But like I said, she denied it.’

  Marie had settled herself into the ladder-backed chair and listened to Naiomi’s confession without interrupting.

  ‘I didn’t believe her. She left Taylor’s just after two and I followed her. She fairly flew along Stonegate. She didn’t have a clue that I was behind her. I’m sure it never crossed her mind that I might follow her. She was so fixed, so intent on her target destination that there wasn’t room in her mind for anything else.

  ‘She went to the Coppergate Centre. It was busy in there, j people queuing to get into the Viking Museum, a couple of buskers, and children and young people running around. There were some homeless people juggling with fire clubs, and India collided with one of them, so he dropped his club and gave her a mouthful, but she hadn’t seen him, and she didn’t hear him shouting after her.

  ‘I followed her into Fenwick’s, the department store, and almost lost her there. I saw her get on the escalator, but by the time I got to the bottom of it she’d already disappeared off the top. The first floor there is dresses, suits, underwear,-and I wandered around for a few minutes, but didn’t see India anywhere. I thought she’d given me the slip, gone up the escalator and back down the stairs. I was ready to give up. But then I remembered the cafeteria, and took a peek in there.

  ‘They were holding hands across the table. India had her back to me, but I had a good view of him. He was small, dark. He was looking at her with that look that men have, you know, right at the beginning, when they’re hungry,] when they stare and shake their heads, like they can’t believe this is really happening.’

  Naiomi shrugged her shoulders. ‘That’s it,’ she said. ‘He didn’t look like he was going to murder her. He didn’t look big enough for a start.’

  ‘What did you do?’ Marie asked.

  ‘I came home. I had a couple of stiff gins and went for a jog along the beck.’

  ‘Weren’t you curious? Didn’t you feel like waiting to see what happened next?’

  ‘Yes, of course. But I was too bloody angry. India had cut 0ur meetings short to meet this man. I think if I’d stayed there I might have confronted her. Caused a scene.’

  ‘Can you remember anything else about him? Would you recognize him if you saw him again?’

  ‘Yes. He was small with dark, piercing eyes, and he had a broad forehead with eyebrows that met in the middle. I remember that because we used to say that was a sign of madness. Slimly built, I could imagine him being a dancer. But he looked vulnerable, somehow. As though life had been a disappointment. And India had walked into that disappointment, and she was beautiful, so he was confused. Those feelings, of someone who was confused and disappointed, they’re somehow stronger than the physical details of his face. Whenever I’ve thought about him since, I don’t remember his features as well as I remember the feelings.’ She walked over to the window and looked out at her garden. She looked back at Marie, who was scribbling in her notebook. ‘Oh, God,’ Naiomi said. ‘You don’t think...?’ Marie stuffed the notebook into her pocket and got out of the chair. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘But I’m glad you told me. And yes, it could be that this confused and vulnerable looking man transformed himself into the monster that killed India Blake.’

  28

  You open your eyes. Where’s Sam? Your lips clog. You ask the question but no sound comes from your throat.

  Diana understands. ‘He’s ringing the doctor.’

  The iron bar is still there, lying across your body. It has always been there, Dora. Only you did not notice.

  ‘Do you feel any better?’ Diana has layers of concern on her face. Concern and fear. You have a dim desire to communicate. If she moistened your lips with the sponge you would be able to speak. But there is not a lot left to say. After everything she loves you. You love her. That is obvious, at last. In the end neither of you has any freedom about it. You are together. All the anguish, the self-recriminations, the guilt; it was all in vain. Maya. Illusion.

  Sam’s hand on your cheek, then he disappears. Diana watches the panic in your eyes. She takes your hand. ‘It’s all right,’ she says. ‘He’ll be back in a minute. He’s gone to the bathroom.’

  Yes. It is all right. He is back with the sponge. He holds it to your lips. His free hand brushes the wisps of hair from your forehead. The iron bar shifts a little, recedes.

  ‘Did you get through?’ Diana asks.

  Sam glances in her direction, but his eyes come back to yours when he speaks. ‘Yes. He’s out. They think he’s on his way.’

  ‘God,’ says Diana, impatiently. She looks at her watch. ‘It’s been hours.’

  ‘The doctor,’ Sam explains. ‘He’s on his way.’

  You shake your head. You don’t want a doctor. You don’t want anything to do with doctors. You speak through the sponge, and Sam withdraws it. ‘No hospital.’

  He smiles. ‘No,’ he says. ‘No hospital. Don’t worry. I won’t let them take you.’

  Diana stands. ‘Shall I make a drink?’

  ‘Yes.’ Damn that croak, Dora.

  ‘Fruit juice?’ asks Sam. Then to Diana. ‘Dora wants fruit juice, I’d like coffee.’

  When she has left the room he leans forward and kisses you on the forehead.

  ‘Wait.’

  He leaves his face close to yours.

  ‘Sam, when I’ve gone—’

  ‘Dora. Dora.’

  ‘When I’ve gone, Sam. You should marry again.’

  ‘OK,’ he says. ‘Three days of mourning, then I’ll pop round the marriage bureau.’

  ‘Don’t joke. You should marry.’

  He shakes his head. You have planted a seed in it, Dora. You have planted a seed in his head, and he tries to shake it out. ‘I love you,’ he says. ‘You’re not going to die, Dora. I love you.’

  ‘Yes.’ It is true, Dora, what he says. He does love you. But you are going to die. That iron bar is never going to dissolve. It is time for the reckoning, time to face everything that never needed to be faced before.

  Sam has been a gift to you, a blessing. He came to sweeten the last months, to fulfil the girlhood dream of a man, a real man. You are a medium, Dora, a witch. You conjured him into existence. You let the dream go, and allowed it to be born.

  No more fears, now. He was a gift to you, a blessing. And it is only through you that he can find his way back to life. You can show him the way. You have shown him theway.

  29

  Going to work on the morning of his honeymoon was not exactly what Geordie had envisioned. That kind of thing probably didn’t happen to too many people. But then again probably not too many people had their honeymoon at home, and if they did have their honeymoon at home they probably didn’t have their mother-in-law with them in the same house. And, and this was the final probability, if they did have their mother-in-law in the house, it was probably a mother-in-law who liked them. Not a mother-in-law who hated them and spent every moment of her life looking for mean things to say and do.

  ‘I don’t want to go to work on the first morning of my fuckin’ honeymoon,’ he’d said to Janet. ‘And that’s swearing.’

  Janet had gritted her teeth. Looked as though she might cry. She wasn’t going to give in to it, dissolve into wimpishness, but the desire to do it was shining in her eyes. She’d pulled her jeans on and fastened the zip, but she was barefooted and bare-breasted. Her weddin
g dress of the day before was hanging over the back of a chair. ‘Geordie, if you stay at home that stupid old woman will make our life a misery. Just give me today, and I’ll get rid of her.’

  The prospect of life without Janet’s mother was almost too sweet to contemplate. During the three days of her visit Geordie had been transformed from an optimistic extrovert to a cowering, almost speechless recluse in his own house.

  ‘If I’m here I can help,’ he’d protested. ‘You’ll have to get her to the station, carry all her suitcases.’

  Janet had reached over and put two fingers against his lips. ‘She’s my mother, Geordie. I know her of old. I can manage her. If you’re here she’ll divide us, and then it’ll be twice as hard. On my own I can manage her.’

  Geordie thought about it. ‘But it’s my fuckin’ honeymoon, Janet.’

  She shook her head. ‘And it’s my fuckin’ honeymoon as well, Geordie. I want you to go to work. And when you come home tonight she’ll be gone. I’ll get some beer in, and we can slob out in front of the television. Not answer the phone. Pretend we’re the only ones left in the universe.’

  ‘OK. I’m giving in. You can do it your way. But if that silly old bag is still here when I come home tonight I’ll set the dog on her. I don’t like her, Janet, and I’m glad I don’t, because if I liked her I’d have to let her stay, and I’d just hate it.’

  Sam was at the office by himself. ‘Didn’t expect to see you today,’ he said to Geordie. Barney put two front paws on Sam’s leg, and waited there until Sam had finished fondling him. Then he walked slowly over to his basket. Looked worn out, like his mother-in-law had come to visit.

  ‘I wish you hadn’t, Sam. I wanted to stay in bed all day with Janet, but we’ve got a crisis on with her mother.’

  ‘Celia rang in. She’s staying at home, thinks she might’ve eaten something bad at the reception.’

  ‘It was the dope,’ said Geordie. ‘When you’re using it you think you’re sorted, but then it carries on sorting you when you get in bed and try to sleep. In the morning you’re so sorted you sort of wish you hadn’t started in the first place.’

  ‘The boy’s a poet. I’m going down to Betty’s. Get some decent coffee. If you wanna talk mothers-in-law I’ve got about an hour.’

  They got a window seat in Betty’s, and the waitress brought them a pot of coffee. There was a small tray with milk and cream and sugar, and Sam pushed it away. Geordie retrieved it and added all three to his coffee. ‘Dunno how you can do that,’ Sam told him.

  ‘Dunno how you can do that,’ Geordie replied, indicating Sam’s cup.

  ‘Looks like an infection.’

  ‘Christ. This is my honeymoon, Sam.’

  Sam smiled. ‘Didn’t expect to spend it with me, eh?’

  ‘No. And I didn’t want to. I still don’t want to. Specially if you’re gonna be sarky.’

  Sam sipped at his coffee. Sighed. ‘OK. Sorry. I can see I’m no substitute for Janet. Tell me about the mother-in-law.’

  ‘What I don’t understand,’ Geordie said, ‘is why she’s like she is. I mean my mother pissed off with the landlord and left us behind, not a word, just a note I couldn’t even read. And now all my life from that day I’ve been wishing she hadn’t done it, or that she’d come back, because everybody else in the world except me’ve got mothers that look after them, or that you can give a card to on Mothers’ Day. You can buy flowers for your mother, even after you’ve left home and got married, you can visit her on Sunday afternoon, have some roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. Hell, Sam, you know what I mean.’

  ‘Yeah. It’s a dream. It’s a load of old bollocks, and you know it’s a load of old bollocks, but you dream it anyway, because it’s a substitute for not having a mother.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s crap when you haven’t got a mother or, even worse, when you had one but she didn’t think enough about you to stick around. Not even enough about you to send you a card, ever, in your whole life. A postcard with a second-class stamp on it and two words: “Hello. Mum.” Not even that. I mean, what’s the good of a mother like that? I tell you, Sam, there’s times when I think it would’ve been better if I’d come out of a test tube. Then at least I wouldn’t have all these thoughts in my head, like can I remember what she looked like, or am I making it up, grasping at ideas of what she might have looked like if she’d been a proper mother?’

  ‘You’re not gonna get morbid on me, are you?’

  ‘Fuck off, Sam. It was your idea. You said you’d listen for an hour. We haven’t had ten minutes yet. If it’s too much, you can get up and walk away.’

  ‘Sorry. I’m all ears.’

  ‘So when Janet said her mother was gonna stay with us, I thought it’d be like my mother as well. That we’d get married and sort of share her. You know what I mean? But what happened was Janet’s mother came and she didn’t look at me. I was there when she got off the train and she looked at Janet and didn’t even glance at me, and it was obvious she’d made up her mind that I was a pile of shit before she’d even met me.’ He picked up a sugar lump and crushed it between his thumb and forefinger. ‘It brings it all back, for Christ’s sake, all the things I used to think about my own mother, but since I met Janet I haven’t been thinking about her so much. Now it’s all come back. There’s been times these last three days when I’ve thought about breaking her scrawny neck. It’d be so easy. I could do it with one hand.’

  ‘Just as well she’s going home then.’

  ‘So what is it with mothers? Celia told me in Islam they say paradise is under the feet of your mother. Where does that put me, Sam? I’ve only met two real mothers in my life, mine and Janet’s, and both of them were crap. I look at these pictures they have in galleries, Christ and his mother, motherhood, fuckin’ angels flutterin’ around them, and it’s like a huge confidence trick. Same as the Tories. Or any governments.

  ‘All these painters, Reubens and Raphael and all those old guys, somebody must’ve paid them to paint angels around mothers and babies, because I reckon it never happens in reality. What happens in reality is your mother ups and goes with the fuckin’ landlord as soon as he gives her the eye. Or if she doesn’t get the eye she hangs around for ever and makes your life a total misery. There’s no paradise under her feet. There’s nothing under her feet. She might have shit on her boots. That’s a possibility. But no paradise. That's what I think.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Sam.

  ‘Yeah, what?’

  ‘Yeah, I don’t agree with you.’

  ‘Nobody’s allowed to agree with me. I know nobody’ll agree with it, because everybody’s been brainwashed with the fuckin’ propaganda. First of all history’s full of it, with the painters and the angels, like I just told you. And that’s in place, waiting for you even before you’re born. Like an animal trap, that one. Then when you’re born she’s there. Your mother. Got to be, right? Like most of the time I bet if she didn’t absolutely have to be there, at the birth, your mother’d be absent. There’s a million places she’d rather be. But she’s got to be there, so she is. So that’s the first thing you see when you open your eyes. And from that moment on she and everybody else you ever meet in your life is gonna tell you what a wonderful woman she is, and how she’s your mother, your best friend, and that as long as you live you’re always gonna remember her. If you grow up and go off to war and get killed, your dying words will be “Mother”.

  ‘I mean you can say your country is shit, like England is the shithole of the world, or whatever country it is you live in. You can say that and there’ll be some people who agree with you. And the people who don’t agree with you, they’ll forgive you. Maybe. Unless they’re fuckin’ crazy nationalists. “My country right or wrong.” Patriots with loony attitudes like that. But if you say the same thing about mothers, you might as well kill your self.'

  ‘Can I say something now?’

  ‘Yeah. What do you think, I wanna monopolize the whole conversation?’

  ‘What you
’re doing, you’re taking something that’s specific to you, your experience of your mother and Janet’s mother, and you’re trying to apply that to the rest of the world.

  ‘So?’

  ‘You’re not allowed to do that. Most of the people I know in this town are alcoholics. I try to go to an AA meeting thrice a week. Sometimes, when I’m really down I go every day. They’re all alcoholics. But that doesn’t make me think the world’s full of alcoholics. Just because my world, the world of my experience is peopled by alcoholics, it doesn’t prove that there isn’t anything else in the world.’

  ‘What does it prove?’ asked Geordie.

  ‘It proves that there are some people in the world who, if they take alcohol, just one drink, they won’t be able to stop. And if they don’t get some help they’ll go on drinking until they kill themselves. Governments and organizations have taken that on board, and some of them have tried to ban alcohol because of it. But that isn’t the way to deal with it.’

  ‘Hang on,’ said Geordie. ‘I’m trying to apply this to mothers, but what happens is I see my mother and Janet’s mother with corks for hats. Like bottle-shaped women.’

  Sam laughed. ‘I’ve had bad experiences with drink,’ he said. ‘I can’t handle it. You’ve had bad experiences with mothers. I’ve had to force myself to recognize that not everybody has a bad time with drink. Some people drink in moderation, and they have a good time with it. They’re not addicted. They don’t get drunk or spend the whole family budget on it. They manage their lives reasonably, and they drink. It’s a fact of life. It’s not part of my experience, but it happens.’

  ‘OK,’ said Geordie. ‘So there are mothers who act like real mothers?’

  ‘I’d think it would be a fairly safe bet to say that, wouldn’t you?’

  Geordie nodded reluctantly. ‘What, they take care of their kids, and look after them when they’re small?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And later on, when the kids’ve growed up and got married, the mother’ll come and visit and act normal and be nice?’