‘Hi,’ I said.
‘Fuck.’ He clutched his chest. ‘Nearly gave me a heart-attack.’ He grinned as if he was really pleased to see me. I looked with interest at his grin. Funny how that contraction of muscles, that naked slash of teeth, means happy, means friends.
‘This is where fountain goes.’ He walked across the mud and pointed. ‘And then a kind of stream leading down to pond. Here.’ I stood there staring at him. He was moving like a puppet but you couldn’t see the strings. ‘With goldfish,’ he said and squinted at me. ‘What’s up?’
‘I’ve been talking to your mum.’
‘That where you’ve been? And maybe a little bridge across. Or would that be too …’
‘Proper talking,’ I said, ‘about everything.’
‘Oh yeah?’ He ground his fag out in the mud. ‘Come here.’ He held his arms out but I didn’t move. His eyes were naked metal in the sun. I could have stopped there. He was just a grinning puppet but the grin was falling off. I looked past him at the mound where Norma was buried. I saw he’d made a cross with twigs and poked it in the earth. Words shrivelled in my mouth.
‘What?’ he said.
My lips moved for a moment before I could speak. ‘You. You killed your brother?’
He didn’t look down or away when I said it, he kept his darkening eyes on mine.
‘Yeah, she read all about it in the papers,’ I said. ‘They call you the LOVE-HATE Man.’
The scars on his knuckles showed shiny through the frayed cuffs of his sweater. His shoulders rose. We just stood there as if time had stopped and the weird thing is I had a sudden vision of the fountain. The fountain, the stream, the pond, even a flicker of goldfish. Just how it would be.
‘Didn’t mean to kill him,’ he said in a flat voice. ‘I was off my head. Didn’t mean it.’
‘K,’ I said, ‘if you say so. What was all that about a knife? All that stuff you told me, about revenge? You called me a liar!’ I couldn’t stop myself from shouting when I got to that.
‘Lamb …’
‘I’m going to get some milk.’
I don’t know if we even needed milk, all I knew is I couldn’t bear to be near him a moment longer. I walked fast with that smoke taste rising in my throat again. I didn’t give a toss where I walked, I didn’t even look, just let my legs scissor scissor scissor, slicing the air to rags.
I ended up in the park. I didn’t notice where I was until it started raining, soaking through my clothes, but I just kept on walking. Trust. I had trusted him. Trust, the word gone dull, the rusting T of truth. Thinking about burning. Of all the people in the world for me to fall in love with, someone who’d done arson. Foul word, like arsey person. I stopped and spat to try and get the taste out of my mouth. And he had lied to me. Called me a liar. Falling in love, yes that is what I’d done. And trusting and he had lied to me. Worse than that. I had believed him. The river was tumbling towards me over its stones, dragging its ripped-off roots and branches, a lost football bouncing madly on the top.
I couldn’t stop walking until my head was sorted and if it never got sorted then I’d walk till I dropped. And who would care? People were panicking about as if they thought it would kill them to get wet. The rain turned to hail and the hail stabbed cold needles in my scalp and face and tiny nuggets bounced up around my feet. Good. It stung, good.
How can you ever know another person? Or even know yourself. How can you trust? The hail turned to sleet and it was like walking through interference on the telly, long white streaks rushing at my eyes. If you can’t trust then you’re alone. I had to blink even to see and a runner came past, face wet red, stuttering through my lashes. But you can never trust.
My fingers vanished, my scalp froze, my boots squelched, bubbles squeezing out between the laces. But it came suddenly clear to me. Like light filtering between my ribs. I wanted him. The liar. I wanted him. Whatever. We were both liars, so? At least we knew that. Most people don’t, do they, most people, you, you lie and think you get away with it. Don’t you? Don’t you? At least I know with Doggo now. At least he knows. He must not go. He might be gone already or be going now.
I swivelled and ran back the other way. Spikes of ice lashed at my back. There was no one else out. The swings swung empty in the playground. The swollen yellow river hurtled past and I ran to keep up.
He was not in the garden and not downstairs. The dogs were there and on the table a bit of paper, I thought it was a note but it was just an address. I picked it up. Underneath written My gran. Nothing else, nothing personal, nothing about love, not even my name. I thought he’d gone. Just gone. Leaving me to take Gordon back. Leaving me alone.
But even if he was here I’d be alone because I could not trust him. There is nothing for it but to be alone. You’re no less alone if someone’s with you. You only think you are. That is what a voice was saying. I didn’t know if it was true, is it true? Please, is it true?
No. I wanted him. He was a wanted man. We were both liars and we knew it. So that was OK. That was a kind of trust. We’d always know that we were lying. That is more honest, I think. I stood at the bottom of the stairs and yelled his name over and over again. I would have yelled for ever, yelled till I dropped dead, but then the front door opened behind me.
I felt so stupid, the echoes of my shouts shuddering in the air. I turned round as he stepped in and banged the door shut. He flicked the Yale lock down and stood with his back against the door as if he was keeping someone out. His curls had turned to glittering tendrils. Gordon pattered past me to welcome him back.
We stood there for a minute our breath all foggy in the air. ‘So?’ I said in the end.
‘Thought you’d fucked off,’ he said.
A hectic shiver ran up my spine. ‘Thought you had.’
We stood there, water running off us and pooling on the floor. A green stain from the fanlight tinged his hair and his face was shadowed so I couldn’t read it.
‘Where’ve you been?’ My teeth were chattering. A drop of water slithered down between my shoulder blades.
‘You’re fucking freezing,’ he said. ‘Come on.’ He got hold of my arm and pulled me through into the back room which was hot and orange from the fire. He turned it up as high as it would go and a drop fell from his hair and sizzled on the metal edge.
‘Where?’
‘Botanics.’
‘Botanics?’
‘Fucking well looking for you, weren’t I.’
‘Oh,’ I said. Then, ‘Why did you lie to me?’
He looked down. There was nothing he could say. Nothing he needed to say. Of course he couldn’t have told me what he’d done. There are things too awful to be told. Things too awful to believe you’ve done yourself, to live with. Lies you have to tell. Every word of me a lie, to start with.
He looked up. ‘You should get that off,’ he said, nodding at my denim jacket which was black with wet. ‘Before you fucking die of cold.’
‘Trying to scare me with all this swearing?’ I said.
He half smiled, his shoulders raising a fraction. He was wearing his new jacket and I bet he was dry inside because it was such a good jacket for this weather. ‘Will you … will you stay here?’ he said.
‘Why? Where you going?’
‘My mum’s.’ He said it as if it was a normal and every-day thing for him to say. But I caught the tension in his cheek and knew the effort it was taking to keep his expression bland. I do know that feeling when your throat bulges and your mouth twists down. I looked away. Doughnut was flopped in his usual position on the floor, one ear turned inside out so you could see the pink silk lining.
‘Don’t,’ I said.
‘I can’t fu … I can’t leave it.’
‘Don’t,’ I said again, but I knew he would and that he had to and that it was the right thing for him to do.
‘I’m off,’ he said, turning again.
‘I’m coming with you,’ I said.
‘No.’
&nbs
p; ‘I am. You can’t stop me.’
He shrugged and a drop of rain trickled from his hair into his beard.
We didn’t take the dogs for once. The rain gurgled in the gutters and surged up with every passing car, sloshing the pavement, splashing our already soaking legs. We held hands. The rain made them slippy but we both clung on, our fingers intermeshed.
He speeded up the nearer we got and I know it was in case he lost his nerve. He didn’t even pause at the gate but went right on up the path nearly dragging me. He let go of my hand and lifted his finger to the bell. ‘Sure?’ I said. His eyes met mine and I jumped at his expression. His finger trembled as he pressed. We listened to the soft sugary ding-dong and then nothing. Not a stir from inside.
‘She’s not fucking there,’ he said.
Let’s go then, I wanted to say. But I knew she would be there. After the state she was in over lunch. She would be there.
‘Try again,’ I said.
He pressed and made the bell go dingdongdingdongdingdong. The rain clung in his beard. His eyes, fixed on the door, were that strange sky grey. No shades today. We stood there frozen in the streaming rain. A bird sang, a sudden crazy streak of sound. Then we heard movement inside and the door opened and she was there.
Her face was blotchy red from weeping and her hair standing on end. She looked from Doggo to me and back again. A ripple passed across her face. Her mouth opened and then closed. She breathed in sharply and grabbed his hands in both of hers as if she would pull him back inside her and then dropped them as if they burnt. Her fingers flexed and fought with the urge to embrace or the urge to tear apart.
I looked at my feet and felt the moment stretch and ache until it was not bearable. I sneaked a look at her face and wished I hadn’t. It was as if all the invisible secret things, the inside things, the things no one else should ever be allowed to see, had crept out and were crawling over her features. It was not fair to look.
‘I’ll go,’ I said. ‘Doggo … Martin …’ My teeth were chattering so much I could hardly make the words. ‘See you later …’ But no one was listening. Doggo looked nowhere but his mother’s face.
I left them. I walked away back down the path and heard the door click shut behind them as they went in.
Thirty-nine
When I turned the bath taps on the room filled up with steam. Taking off the wet clothes was like peeling off dead skin. I gasped as I stepped into the scalding bath but made myself slide right down. The water held me like a cradle or like arms. But I could not relax with all the helter pelter skelter in my head.
I was thinking that we would have to run. When he got back from Marion’s. Whatever happened there. Whatever was happening. She wouldn’t shop him, call the police, I was pretty sure of that. But Sarah … we would have to go before she turned up again or sent another stupid threatening letter. We would have to run. What was up with her trying to mess everything up? It would be OK, on the run, together. Me and Doggo. It would be fine.
The rain was streaming down the windows and the grey light mixing with the steam ran down the mirror and the walls. Tears ran down my face, mixing with the wetness in the bath and in the air. I don’t know what I was crying for. I didn’t want to. I didn’t mean to. Crying is no good, it only makes you ugly and wet – but in all the wetness what difference would a few tears make? I lay and watched the world get dark.
I do not want to be alone. I’m not alone with Doggo there. Even if we do nothing else but lie.
I thought, what if he does not come back?
I knew I should get up and pack my stuff and as soon as he returned we should go out into the horrid night. Go out, go anywhere. But while my mind thought that my body just lay there in the cooling water.
Of course he would come back. He had to. And after a long time I did hear his feet come stomping up the stairs. He came right into the bathroom and put the light on. I slid under the water, deep as I could. He said nothing. I couldn’t stand the dripping quiet. Something needed to be said.
‘Could you put the hot on?’ He turned the tap, sat on the end of the bath and stared at me. I stared straight back. ‘So?’ I said.
He looked as if he’d been crying again but who was I to talk? He sat there for a minute, dabbling a finger in the water. ‘Can I get in?’
‘I’ll call you when I get out.’
‘No, with you, I mean,’ he said.
‘With me?’
His fists were loose, his hair was long, his face was so so sad. I thought, why not? The water was hotting up again and he turned off the tap. Then he took off his clothes and I tried not to stare at how beautiful he is. And that is true. Beautiful to me.
He stepped in and his skin was cold against mine at first and it was strange and squashed, with knees and elbows everywhere and water spilling out and sloshing on the floor. He got behind me and I lay back, my head against his chest. His heart boomed through me. We lay there as if we’d gone into a trance but in the end I had to ask what happened.
He didn’t answer for a moment. The tap dripped circles that broke and warped when they hit the angles of our knees. He started telling me what I didn’t even want to hear. About how he hadn’t meant to kill his brother. How he’d been off his head. How he’d been going to see his mum when he first met me to tell her he was sorry.
‘And now you have,’ I said.
‘Yeah.’ He took a long breath in. ‘Sorry, that’s such a … such a crap word, isn’t it?’ he said.
‘No,’ I said.
‘But it sounds so … you do … you do terrible things … and then you say sorry like you think everything will then be OK.’
‘What did she say?’
‘You know how Catholics confess?’ he said. ‘I knew a Catholic guy inside. You’re not Catholic, are you?’
I did know what he meant. It is a sweet lie, make-believe, a funny sort of fairy-tale, that you can ever be forgiven. If we could believe that maybe we would be all right.
‘But what did she say?’
‘I’m turning myself in.’
‘No.’
‘She’s coming with me. Tomorrow. Going to stand by me. Pay for a brief and that.’
My heart was jumping. I could see it through the wet skin between my ribs. ‘She’s forgiven you?’
‘Nah. How could she?’
The phone rang and I nearly shot out of my skin. I’d thought it was unplugged. He must have plugged it in while I was out. We lay and listened until it stopped.
‘Doggo, we have to get away from here,’ I said. ‘Now.’
‘Nah. Like I said. I’m turning myself in. I’ve had enough. And I promised.’
‘Promised who?’
‘Her.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Don’t. Please. She’ll understand.’
‘Sorry.’
‘No, Doggo. You can’t. You don’t have to do that. We can go away somewhere. Please. What about me?’
‘If I give myself up that’ll go good for me. I can’t hide out for ever.’
‘You can,’ I said. ‘Of course you can.’
‘I’ve had enough.’
But I would not let him. There was no way.
I tried to get out of the bath but he started soaping me. First my arms and every finger and under my arms and then my belly and my tits, round and round making them glitter with all the suds. He stroked the scars on the insides of my wrists.
‘Don’t ever cut yourself again,’ he said. ‘Promise?’
‘K,’ I said. True or not, who knows?
His hands carried on down me, soaping and stroking until I got a feeling in my belly like I have never felt before. Even though I was under the water it felt like flames. I started to melt then thought, he touched her like that. He touched Sarah there.
‘Come on,’ he said. He got out and I went under for a minute and came up blinking. He held a towel up for me, it was cold and damp. The air was bitter on my skin. ‘Let’s get upstairs,’ he said.
The lighthou
se room was flickering bright and warm. The wind was roaring in the trees outside and sounding like the sea. He put me on the bed. He lay on top and kissed me. I thought, this is the same place that he lay and kissed Sarah and didn’t only kiss her either. I waited to turn to stone. I let him kiss me, let him touch. This was now and it was me. My head was so tired with the thoughts. The way he was touching was really getting through to me.
And then we did it. My body did not stop me. I didn’t get turned on enough to lose myself, who wants to lose themselves? But I watched him and felt him, the weight of him, the heat of him, the bucking strength against me, inside me. I breathed his breath, his film of sweat wiped off on me. And it was making love, him making love. Really. To me.
He came with a groan like being killed. I held him tight. My heart was beating. This was what I wanted, me and him, and this was what I’d got. A bird shrieked outside the window and made me start.
‘Frigid, eh?’ he said. He grinned and kissed me on my forehead. It was useless to explain. He was hot and heavy like someone drugged. He soon fell asleep. I slid down and put my head on his belly. The flesh was like a hammock slung between the hips. I lay there looking at his cock curled up like a mouse in a black nest and breathing in the sweet and scuzzy stink of sex.
I knelt up and gazed at his face. The long lashes, the pale jag of scar through his eyebrow. His sleeping throat was white and smooth. Beneath the line where the black beard started, shockingly soft, tender as a baby’s skin. In his sleep he stirred and smiled. I was lulled by a lazy pulse beating by his collar bone. I touched it with my finger and he woke.
‘I’ll get some tea,’ I whispered.
In the kitchen I looked at knives. Mr Dickens’ terrible blunt bent knives. I picked one up and pressed my finger against the blade. Nothing but a dent. That was Doggo’s lie. He didn’t really stab. Why did he say that? Burning would make more sense. Zita burnt and Mr Dickens. Doggo’s brother burnt to death. If someone burned Doggo it would be revenge for that. In some societies that would be considered right.
Now You See Me Page 24