by Peter Benson
They leave the main street and enter a narrow alley. The trumpet fades. A woman stares from a ground-floor window, and ignores them as they pass. A cat crosses their path. They turn a corner and stop. They look at the street name. Mother nods, and they walk on.
Another cat, and then a pool of light from a café window. The trumpet fades to a whisper. They approach the window, and stop. The world seems to stop. Jane’s mother releases her arm and peers inside. She nods again. Jane turns and says a word, hesitates, puts her hand on the door knob. Mother smiles. Jane enters the café.
The café is quiet. Check cloths on round tables, bentwood chairs, a polished counter. A cheerful owner with a cloth over his shoulder and his sleeves rolled up. A pair of lovers at a corner table, other tables in shadow.
Jane closes the door, takes a step forward, stops. The owner’s eyes swivel from Jane towards one of the shadowed tables. A hand appears from the shadow, and rests on the table. A chair scrapes.
‘Jane?’
‘George?’
The chair is pushed back and George stands. He comes from the shadow. His face is clean-shaven. Jane rushes forward. They fall into each other’s arms. The owner turns and reaches up for a bottle.
‘Darling.’
Jane’s voice breaks to a whisper. ‘Missing you was torture. Every minute was an hour…’
‘I know…’
‘… every day was a year.’ They loosen their embrace, and look into each other’s eyes. Jane says, ‘How long has it been?’
‘Too long, my darling.’
We close on Jane’s face again and it burns from the screen. The flawless face shining with tears, and the voice that comes from miles away. ‘I love you so much.’ Her shivering lips. This is how millions remember Elizabeth Green, and why. The relief and joy in her eyes are touched with doubt. For a moment she thinks about Bob, and we do, but then George embraces her again, and they kiss.
We are drifting away from the scene, away from the café, and we can hear the trumpet again. Strings join in, and a piano, and then we are on the street, leaving the lovers to themselves.
‘I saw it half a dozen times. I know it off by heart.’
‘You had me bad?’
‘I thought I could make you happy.’
‘Did you?’ She laughed, but it wasn’t funny.
‘Yes.’
She finished her food, wiped her fingers, went for her cigarettes, pulled one out, lit up, blew smoke and said, ‘You thought you could make me happy?’
I nodded.
‘How the hell could you have made me happy?’ She gave her voice an edge. ‘What did you know about me?’
I swallowed. ‘I was young. Sometimes I didn’t see a woman for months at a time…’
‘So you’d have been a lot of use.’ She jabbed a finger, crossed her legs and glared at me.
‘Please,’ I said. I wished the earth would open up. ‘I didn’t mean to…’
‘No, you didn’t, did you? You didn’t think.’
‘You’re wrong. I thought too much. Sometimes it was all I did.’
‘You thought you could be the man I needed, but an idea like that’s got nothing to do with thinking.’ She banged the table with the palm of her hand. ‘Nothing at all.’
‘I didn’t say anything about need.’
‘Isn’t that all there is?’
‘I was talking about being happy.’
‘What’s happiness got to do with it?’ She was shouting now. Her breath stank.
‘Don’t give yourself a heart attack.’
‘And I suppose you know all about them.’
‘Enough. I’ve seen a few.’
‘Caused a few too?’
‘Forget it.’ This was as angry as I wanted to hear her, and she was building for more.
‘You think I should?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Please.’ I pleaded.
She looked away and uncrossed her legs. She took a long drag at her cigarette, blew the smoke at the ceiling and held up a hand. ‘I will,’ she said. ‘No problem.’
A heart attack finished Captain Perkins. He was standing on the starboard bridge wing, watching the Liberian coast. The sun was setting beyond the trees. No lights shone on land. The place looked deadly. A week before, I had paid a woman to stub out her cigarette in the palm of my hand. He turned to me and said, ‘My son wanted me to bring him to Africa.’ A moment later he gripped his chest and lurched forward. I grabbed him, he slipped to the deck and I yelled for help. His cap fell off and I was shocked to discover that he was bald. ‘Don’t punish yourself for ever,’ he said. His eyes rolled and he suffered a massive spasm. I tried to hold him as he died but he flailed and cried out and I could not get close to him. I tried to break through the barrier of rank but that was impossible. I wanted to take his hand and let him know that I was there. I wanted to tell him that he had been some sort of father to me for three years but he died, I had no chance. Help came and stood over us but I didn’t know who. I was taken to one side while the body was carried away. I went below to drink a beer but I didn’t cry for him. A sailor must be a man. We buried him off the Liberian coast, over the Romanche Fracture.
A sailor must be a man and take his punishment, but not for ever. As Captain Perkins’s corpse flipped into the sea I felt pointless. I was thirty-five. I had nothing to show for anything. I was going nowhere. One day I could be captain but then I would be buried at sea, no one to weep for me, no home. A hole in the ocean where my body used to be, a line of men standing at the railing, nothing. I didn’t want to see the world like this any more.
The night came slowly, creeping over the ruins and my house. I lit the fire. She drank and said, ‘I wasn’t shouting at you. I’m angry with myself. You’re just the one I’m taking it out on. What you said about your scrapbook, cutting my picture out. That was sweet.’ We were sitting next to each other. She reached out and took my hand, and ran her fingers over it.
‘Is it your son?’
‘Hell, no,’ she said. ‘He’s just an asshole. No. It’s more than that.’
‘Are you going to tell me?’
‘Don’t push it,’ she said, and she patted the back of my hand.
‘Tell me. Please.’
‘Please?’
I reached for the vodka, poured and said, ‘If it helps.’
She took a long drink, tipped her head back and let her hair fall over the back of the couch. ‘How long have I been here?’
‘A couple of days.’
‘A couple of days,’ she said. ‘That’s all it ever took.’
‘What?’
‘That first walk, when you went to fetch the cab. When I was thinking that this place was great because of what it didn’t have — phones, cars, you know — and now I’m thinking it’s great because of what it does have.’ She let go of my hand. ‘You’ve got all you need, haven’t you?’
‘I think so,’ I said.
She looked around the kitchen. ‘Everything. This isn’t a nightmare at all.’
‘It’s a good dream,’ I said.
‘I can see that.’
The fire crackled, the door rattled, the cat turned over, the dog dreamt. I decided what to say, ran the words through my head once, twice, again. I rubbed my eyes and took a deep breath. I tasted vodka and then I blurted, ‘You can stay as long as you want.’
Immediately: ‘No I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
She sat up, lit a cigarette and said, ‘Why do you think?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said.
‘Forget it.’
‘Why?’
‘Michael!’ she snapped, then turned away. I reached out, took her chin in my hand and turned her back. ‘Don’t!’ She hit my hand away; I backed off. She looked at her cigarette, threw it away, drank some vodka and said, ‘Don’t!’ again.
I remembered how I used to talk to a slack crew. I deepened my voice. ‘Tell me why you can’t stay.’
‘Please…’ She slumped
and rubbed her forehead. ‘This time last week I was sitting on the porch at home having a manicure. Bob Mitchum called, we had a few drinks, talked about the old days…’ She looked down at her trousers, my trousers, and took a deep breath. ‘I was wearing Versace.’
‘What’s Versace?’ I said.
She looked at me, and the colour of her face changed from grey to pink in seconds, her lips trembled and she laughed. She leant towards me, patted my knee and did not stop.
‘What did I say?’
She laughed louder.
‘Elizabeth?’
‘Please…’ She looked away and stopped, looked at me again and started again. I reached out and took her hand, and she clasped it, rubbed it and mumbled, ‘I never met one like you.’
‘No.’
‘I should have.’
What could I say? I wanted to kiss her. I tried, ‘This is like a movie.’
‘No it’s not,’ she said. ‘This is nothing like a movie. This is more like being at the movies. Waiting for the next move.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘You tell me.’
I gave her a serious look. ‘I think Dunn’s got a special offer on shower units.’
‘What?’
‘And I’m going to finish the bedroom. I’ve been putting it off.’
‘Have you?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘All I need to do is get busy.’
‘Busy’s good.’
‘Elizabeth?’
‘Yeah?’
‘If it makes any difference; if it does, I want you to stay…’
‘Michael…’
‘Listen!’ I raised my voice. She shut up. ‘When I came here I thought that this was it. I was happy. The house, the garden. The dog. But I suppose you don’t know how happy you are until you see how happy you could be.’
‘I’m not the person you think I am.’
‘I’m not stupid,’ I said. ‘I know you’re not straight out of Missing You. I don’t know who you are.’
‘Then why do you want me to stay?’
‘I want to find out.’
‘Sure,’ she said.
‘Think about it.’
‘I already have.’
‘And?’
She looked away from me but said nothing. Another cigarette, another log on the fire. I listened to her breathing, poured another drink and sat back to watch the lamps flicker. The kettle hissed on the back plate, the window plastic cracked. ‘And?’ I said again.
‘I can’t stay.’
14
I drove to Zennack in the morning. Daylight damages everything you think, it exposes one thought’s holes, another’s meaning. No meaning at all probably. As I was parking in the square, Mrs Bell came running with a message and a glint in her eye. ‘Her son rang,’ she puffed. ‘Come on. I’ll tell you.’ She led me to her house and sat me in the kitchen.
‘Elizabeth Green’s son?’
‘Yes. And he was quite charming.’ She poured two cups of tea. ‘He explained that his mother had a habit of… I can’t remember the exact expression, but freaking something. Like she becomes a freak?’
I shrugged.
‘And he was most apologetic. I was half expecting him to blame me.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘I don’t know. It was just a thought I had.’
‘What else did he say?’
‘Not much,’ and now Mrs Bell’s eyes widened and she gave me a huge smile. ‘Except that he’s coming down to fetch her.’
‘What?’ I felt my knees go.
‘Yes.’
‘When?’
Mrs Bell looked at her kitchen clock. ‘This afternoon.’
‘Today?’
‘Yes,’ she said, and my feet froze. ‘His name’s Jacob.’
‘I know. Elizabeth told me about him.’
‘What did she say?’
‘Enough,’ I said, and a silence settled between us. I looked out of the window and I knew that Mrs Bell’s eyes were on me. Her dog sat up and scratched. I watched Mr Dunn come from his yard and cross the square to the pub. He went inside and came out a minute later with a drink. He sat on one of the pavement benches, lit a cigarette, sipped and waved to a passing car.
‘I was thinking about what you said,’ said Mrs Bell. ‘About the cinema…’
‘Yes?’
‘Maybe we could go…’
‘I thought you didn’t think it would be a good idea.’
‘I’m sorry.’ She fidgeted with her collar. ‘It’s such a long time since I went out, and since my husband died I haven’t thought about that sort of thing. It was very kind of you to ask, and I shouldn’t have turned you down like that.’
‘Please…’
She put her hands on the table, took a deep breath and said, ‘I’d like to go to the cinema with you. We can take my car. I looked in the newspaper. You know what they’re showing?’
‘No.’
‘Raintown.’ She waited for my reaction. I gave nothing away. ‘She’s in it.’
‘I know.’
‘I would like to go. If your offer is still open…’
Mrs Bell was a very proper woman. In another life I could not have married her. We would not be growing old together. We would not be watching birds come to crusts on the lawn, or wondering about the weather. I did not want to ask her if she had a photograph of herself when she was twenty-one. I couldn’t imagine her moist. I said, ‘Of course it is. How about Saturday?’
‘This Saturday?’
‘Yes.’
She looked at me and I saw her thoughts in her face. Maybe she wanted to hold a man’s arm on a crowded street and enjoy a drink in a bar. She said, ‘I don’t know what it’ll be like.’
‘What?’
‘Raintown.’ She lowered her voice. ‘It does sound quite romantic.’
‘I’m sure we’ll enjoy it,’ I said, and the phone rang.
Mrs Bell went to answer it, but while she talked I didn’t think about going to the cinema. I didn’t remember how moist one woman was, and how another was dripping. I wanted to go home. I wanted to tell Elizabeth Green that her son was on his way but that I would stand up for her. I would say no to him and warn him off my property. She could stay at Port Juliet as long as she liked. I could plaster the bedroom and plumb in one of Mr Dunn’s special-offer shower units. I got up, and as I passed Mrs Bell in the hall, I whispered ‘Goodbye’ to her, and she put her hand over the mouthpiece and said, ‘I’m sorry. It’s a booking.’
‘I’ve got to go. Thanks for the tea.’
‘You’re welcome,’ she said, flustering and twirling the telephone cord.
‘Saturday. I’ll call for you.’
‘Oh.’ She almost dropped the phone. ‘Yes. If you’re sure…’
‘Saturday,’ I repeated, and I let myself out and crossed the square to the post office where I asked Mr Boundy for sixty cigarettes.
‘Still with you, then, is she?’ he said.
‘I don’t know,’ I said.
Boundy twitched his moustache and his right eye closed slightly. Mrs Boundy dropped something in the back room. He didn’t flinch. He put the cigarettes on the counter. ‘She must smoke like a chimney.’
‘Must she?’ I said, and I showed him my teeth. He backed off. ‘How much?’
‘Six ninety-six.’
I put the money down, collected my change and left the shop.
My tractor does about twenty miles an hour. I drove in fourth all the way, startling sheep in their fields and a man on his bicycle. As I slewed down the road to Port Juliet I saw Elizabeth sitting on the beach, and she waved when she saw me. Her hair was down and she had tied her scarf around her neck. I parked badly and went to meet her. ‘Your son’s coming to fetch you.’
‘When?’
‘This afternoon.’
She looked at her watch. ‘You’re kidding.’
I shook my head.
She stood up, walked towards me, stopped, w
alked back and turned to look at the sea. ‘How do you know?’
‘He phoned Mrs Bell.’
‘Mrs Bell?’
‘At the guest house. You stayed there…’
‘Sure,’ she said. ‘I remember.’
‘So I didn’t order the cab.’
‘Okay… This afternoon?’
‘Yes.’
She came to me now and said, ‘Let’s walk.’
We took the path away from the ruins, and as we climbed towards the point she took my arm. The sky was clear. She smoked. The wind was fresh and I felt anxious. I hadn’t felt anxious for years. I looked at my hands, and they were shaking. The touch of her fingers and everything; I took deep breaths and breathed the clouds of her cigarette smoke. The sea wound itself up below us. The sun was high, our shadows short, and the grass waved all around us. A rabbit crossed our path, and an old ewe watched us pass. ‘This is like a movie,’ she said.
‘Dangerous Brew,’ I said. ‘That was the first of yours I saw. I wanted to watch it for ever. I remember, it was like this. Like I want to see the world like this for ever.’
‘Yeah,’ she mumbled. ‘Exactly. Exactly what I thought. Exactly like Baja.’
‘What happened there?’
We reached the end of the path, and sat down on the slabs of rock that slope down to the point. ‘After the film wrapped I drove south, ended up staying in a hotel on the coast. Hotel… I’m not sure that’s the right word…’ and she stopped for a moment to watch a flight of gulls swoop towards the offshore stacks. ‘It looked derelict but the bar was stocked, and there were sheets on the bed. It was owned by an old army guy. Bob. He was like you.’
‘How?’
‘Big. Quiet.’ She looked at me and blew smoke. ‘Knew what he wanted to do. I booked in. The phone didn’t work, the water didn’t run but after a day I didn’t care, after two days I was loving it, after three I wanted to stay. Then I got scared.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I wanted to stay.’
‘Did you?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘You know why not.’
‘Okay.’
‘But I always regretted that decision. I was never very brave. I still wonder what would’ve happened. It’s what my mother did when she left this place. She cut all her ties. I wanted to do that but I couldn’t.’ She finished her cigarette and flicked the butt into the wind. ‘It’s still something I want to do.’ She looked back towards the ruins. ‘I want to learn how to grow vegetables.’