Nina Todd Has Gone

by Lesley Glaister

  Next morning at breakfast Dad was up with the lark and all spruced up again. Jeans and aftershave. ‘Mind if I pop out for a couple of hours?’ he said, all casual, looking at me over his piece of toast.

  ‘Where?’ I asked.

  He looked down. ‘Bits of this and that,’ he said, ‘errands.’

  ‘Why don’t we all go out?’ I went. ‘I think we could persuade Mum. How about Woodbridge? Fish and chips for lunch, a look at the boats.’

  ‘That would be nice,’ he said, though you could see the colour draining out of his face, ‘but you see I’ve made plans.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ I said.

  ‘Nothing much.’

  ‘Can’t you put it off then?’

  ‘Dentist,’ he said and I nearly laughed, thinking can’t you do better than that?

  ‘Not another woman, Dad?’ I said, making it come out jocular.

  He looked me straight in the eye and said, ‘And what if it was?’ I was struck dumb. ‘Would you begrudge me a bit of pleasure?’ he said so quietly I could hardly hear him.

  He poured himself out some tea and I could see the tremble in his hand. ‘A couple of hours,’ he said. ‘You take your mother to Woodbridge.’

  ‘You know she won’t come without you.’

  ‘In that case we’ll go when I get back,’ he said. He pushed himself up from the table with the flats of his hands and went out, leaving his cup of tea steaming.

  I took Mum up her magazines, a fresh pot of tea, the biscuit tin. A morning chat show on and she was happy as Larry. I told her I was going out for a bit and would she be all right and she hardly looked away from the box. I waited for him to go and followed him. His is not a car you could easily miss, an old Nissan sprayed turquoise for some reason. He drove out of town and left the dual carriageway after five miles or so. He could have seen me if he’d looked but he didn’t. We went off down a lane, leafy trees almost blocking out the light at some points, and then out into the open and he pulled into the driveway of a redbrick semi, ugly little house in the middle of nowhere.

  I had no choice but to drive straight past but half a mile or so up the road I stopped by a stand of trees and walked back past a cornfield. In front of the house were plastic toys, a football, a sandpit. I could see nothing of what was going on, of course, and I couldn’t stand around outside without being conspicuous. I walked past, then a few minutes later walked back again. I was thinking of getting Mrs Chivers on to it but then it was taken out of my hands when the door opened and a woman stepped out. It took my breath away for a moment, because just for a split second I thought it was Isobel. She had her arm lifted to keep her long black hair away from her face. She was not teenage but more the age Isobel would be now, middling sort of height, slim, curvaceous. Dad came out behind her, holding the hand of a small kid. He was about to say something to her but then he looked across and met my eye. We stood there as if we’d got stuck, like on stage when the words go completely out of your head, and then he let go of the kid’s hand.

  ‘Jessica, this is my son Mark,’ he said.

  I went closer and saw that she was dark-skinned, Asian of some sort, but otherwise she looked so much like Isobel I couldn’t believe it. Face a bit thinner, but the same dark eyes, a similar smile as she held out her hand, which I didn’t take.

  ‘He obviously thought it necessary to follow me,’ Dad said. ‘Well?’

  But I was struck dumb again; it was too much to take in.

  ‘Good to meet you, Mark,’ she said. ‘I’ve heard all about you.’

  What had she heard? was what I wanted to know.

  ‘Can I offer you a coffee?’ she said. ‘Or something cold?’

  I walked off. I could sense the turmoil I’d thrown them into and I was glad of it. That I’d ruined their morning. I heard a kid’s voice saying, ‘Who’s that, Mummy?’ but I never heard the answer.

  I went straight home to Mum who’d hardly noticed I’d gone. It was as if time had stood still in there, another chat show under way and her in the same position. I looked at her in bed, the bigness of her, her fat smooth hands on the duvet, and pictured the slim Isobel woman with her hair blowing in the wind. They were like creatures from two different planets. Dad came home soon after with his tail between his legs. We got Mum out to Woodbridge but a breeze had sprung up by then and we had to sit in the car to eat our chips, listening to the wind jostling the boats and rattling the rigging about and making a whining sound.

  Mum heaved herself up to bed as soon as we got back and so it was just Dad and me. He was slumped in his armchair with a cup of tea. I looked down at his thinning hair and the shape of his skull underneath.

  ‘I’m leaving first thing,’ I said.

  ‘It’s not what you think,’ he said.

  ‘What do I think?’

  He put his tea down and looked up at me. ‘Sit down, son,’ he said. I sat on the edge of the settee and waited.

  ‘I’m fifty-nine. Not old. She showed an interest.’

  ‘Are they your kids?’ I said.

  He looked amazed, then snorted and shook his head. ‘I met her when I did my leg,’ he said, ‘my physio. She’s divorced.’

  ‘Are you leaving Mum for her?’ I said.

  ‘As if she’d have me!’ he said but if he thought he was going to get me smiling he thought wrong.

  ‘What then?’

  ‘None of your business, son, is it?’

  ‘It is if you get me here so you can …’ I tailed off. ‘She’s the spitting image,’ I said.

  He picked his tea up again and took a sip. ‘There’s a superficial similarity, certainly. Perhaps that’s why I felt well disposed towards her in the first place.’

  ‘That’s sick,’ I said.

  ‘Human kindness,’ he said. ‘She needed someone to talk to.’

  ‘And what did you need someone for?’

  He looked at the floor. I noticed the way his jaw had gone into pouches. An old man.

  ‘How old is she?’ I said.

  ‘Mid thirties.’

  ‘It might as well be incest,’ I said. ‘If Izzie was alive …’

  He broke me off and his eyes bored into mine. ‘If Isobel was alive everything would be different. Everything.’

  Mum called from upstairs and he got up to go to her. Before he left the room he gave me a sort of look he’d not given me before, not father to son, more like man to man, a look with a warning in it.

  Chapter 20

  *

  I was in hospital for a week. When I got out, the weather was perfect and the chestnut tree wriggled its new green fingers to welcome me home. Fay had us down for a ham salad in the kitchen. Juice from the crinkled slices of pickled beetroot soaked into the ham, but I ate it, because she had made the lunch for me. She hurried us through it and while we were still eating our fruit cocktail and top-of-the-milk she went off to get herself ready for her bridge club. She came back freshly rouged and silvered and wearing a new hat. She looked like a little figure carved on a fairground organ.

  When she’d gone, Charlie spread big towels out on the lawn and we sunbathed. I lay on my back, eyes shut and full of blurry sparkles. Charlie was reading a bird magazine; I could hear the flipping of the pages. After a long time, I took a breath and said what I’d been brimming up to say, ever since Dave died. ‘Why don’t we move?’

  ‘Move?’

  ‘Move house.’

  ‘What about Mum?’ he said.

  ‘Of course she would come too,’ I said. ‘We could all move to the seaside or something, as a family. A fresh start.’

  ‘She wouldn’t.’

  ‘She would if you wanted.’

  He closed his magazine. ‘I have seen a job,’ he said.

  ‘Yup?’ I leant up on one elbow.

  ‘Assistant bird warden,’ he said.

  I was surprised and then not surprised. Birds were his thing, after all.

  ‘Where?’ I said.

  ‘Well that’s the thing.’ He was s
itting up and I couldn’t see his face but I could see the hairs on his forearms, golden in the sun.

  ‘Where?’ I said. ‘Would it mean a move?’

  ‘Orkney,’ he said.

  ‘Orkney?’ My spirits rose like a happy loaf.

  ‘But it’s not a permanent job,’ he said. ‘Just six months or so. And it’s not exactly paid – well the pay covers board. I’d be helping out in the bird observatory … temporary assistant warden. It would be perfect for me while I get my … get my bearings back.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Perfect.’

  ‘You think so? Good.’ He squeezed my hand. ‘It might lead to something more permanent. I … I also think it would be good for us to have a break. And while I was away I’d have a rethink about my direction and then when I got back …’

  I turned on to my front. My face was beginning to smart in the sun. The grass was dry and spiky. I watched an ant labouring up a green spear.

  ‘You want a break?’

  He swallowed. ‘I thought—’

  ‘Couldn’t I come?’

  ‘There’s Mum,’ he said, ‘and it would be silly you giving up your job just for a few months’ jaunt.’

  ‘Jaunt!’ I said.

  ‘I didn’t mean jaunt.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind giving it up,’ I said. I sat up and gripped his arm. ‘I only do it for money.’

  ‘I know but I don’t think we should both leave Mum, not now.’

  ‘She wouldn’t like the idea of being left with me,’ I said. ‘She only tolerates me because of you.’

  ‘Is that what you think?’ He took my hand off his arm and examined my palm, ran his finger over the lines and the prickly imprint of the grass.

  ‘Is it because of Dave?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’ve tried and tried but she doesn’t like me,’ I said.

  ‘Maybe if you didn’t try so hard,’ he said. ‘And be a bit more …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well she thinks you’re a bit … not exactly an open book.’ He cleared his throat. ‘And you’re not, are you?’

  There were some children splashing and squealing in a paddling pool in another garden and the squealing bladed right through me. My vision blurred, a halo of light round everything, round Charlie’s brown arm and his strong hand. I couldn’t bear to look into his face, too much light there in his eyes.

  He spoke in a low voice. ‘Since you moved in here, I’ve never asked you for anything,’ he said. ‘I know you’re vulnerable but …’

  I didn’t hear the rest. Vulnerable? Who said I was vulnerable? Vulnerable, the word was sandbag thudding in my skull. Light sizzled between the spikes of grass and my left eye-socket began to throb.

  ‘Well I’m sorry about that,’ I said and stood up too quickly. He scrambled up and put his arm round me. We went inside. The house seemed dark and to my left was a swarm of sparkly blotches.

  ‘Migraine,’ I said.

  ‘You should have gone straight to bed after lunch,’ he said.

  He helped me up the stairs and I lay down on the bed. He drew the curtains but the light still stabbed through the gap.

  ‘There’s some pills in the bathroom cabinet,’ I told him. I hadn’t had a migraine for ages. The head injury must have brought it on. I lay waiting for him to come back and the word kept socking about in my head. Vulnerable? What made him think that? All right, I am not an open book, but what’s so good about an open book?

  I woke to feel the mattress tip as Charlie tried to sneak out of bed without waking me.

  ‘Don’t.’ I reached out and caught him by the wrist.

  ‘Want some tea?’

  ‘Don’t go,’ I said and he knew what I meant. He lay down again. I buried my nose in the warm crook of his neck, breathing in the soapy animal scent of him. Pear drops and sawdust is his morning smell.

  He sighed. ‘Of course I won’t.’

  But it wasn’t fair, I could feel his disappointment in my own stomach; hear it, not well enough disguised, in his voice.

  I pulled myself away and looked at him. I felt small and detached, as I always do after a migraine, a husk.

  ‘But you want to go?’

  ‘Yes.’ He sounded wistful and in the silence that followed I heard the scream of gulls. It was somewhere wild and desolate, away from everything. I saw us in a cottage perched on a cliff, white wings beating, wind rattling and, inside, a blazing fire.

  ‘If only I could come,’ I said. I knew what he would say; it would be yes. While I waited for him to say that my mind sped through my resignation, what I’d tell Rose and everyone, arrangements for Fay – she could follow us up once we were settled – even the clothes I’d have to buy. But he didn’t say yes and the smell of his sweat took on a sour, anxious note.

  ‘You don’t think,’ he hesitated. I could hear a click in his throat as he adjusted his voice. ‘You don’t think it might do us good to have a little breather.’

  ‘Breather?’ I pressed my face into his skin. If it had been possible to get through it, to creep inside him, I would have done it then.

  ‘It’s been so intense. You moving in so quickly,’ he said, ‘and terrible with all that’s happened.’

  ‘You do think Dave’s my fault, don’t you?’

  ‘I never said that.’

  ‘Fay blames me.’

  ‘No.’

  My cheek peeled away from his skin. ‘You want to break up with me?’

  ‘Just a breathing space.’

  ‘Do you still love me?’ In the pause I noticed how grubby the sheets were. Today I would wash them. It was bright again, a good drying day. I could hear the glassy sound of a bird outside the window. I would feel strange today, hollowed out, but strange was normal in this case.

  ‘It’s nothing like that,’ he said. ‘I need time to take stock, that’s all. After everything.’

  ‘So everything’s OK then? With us.’

  ‘Okey-dokey.’

  I breathed in, a good long breath. We kissed, hot dirty morning mouths, and made love and as I came I cried, tears mixing with the sweat. If I’d met Charlie when I was sixteen, if it had always been him, then the past would not have happened because he was faithful and true and the sex, the love, was such a way of letting go, a sparkling charge, such a soft explosion, it did sometimes make me cry.

  I dozed off tangled wetly in his limbs until he moved and woke me.

  ‘Dead leg,’ he whispered, pulling it out from under mine. He stood up and hobbled about for a minute, stamping his foot, then went downstairs, naked, to make tea. I wondered what he’d do if Fay came up into the kitchen, grab the tea cosy I supposed, that made me laugh but really I was laughing with relief. I lay in the damp sheets that certainly did need to be washed now, watching the dust shift and glitter in the light. I needed to get up and pee and shower but I could hardly bear to move.

  In my softened-up state I saw that he was right. He had never asked me for anything. I had not thought of that before. I could see that it would do him so much good to get away, not from me, but from home, just for a while. From the situation.

  He was obsessed with birds; the shelves packed with books about migratory passages, plumages, nesting habits. At weekends he often went off with his binoculars and his fellow twitchers. I never minded one bit. I liked to feel the house settle around me, peaceful and safe. I liked the gurgle of the pipes, the creak of the stairs, the feeling of the wires threaded through the walls that ran like veins.

  When he came back, I hauled myself up and sat back against the pillow.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, putting extra warmth and meaning in my voice.

  He shrugged and handed me my tea. My favourite mug, the plain white one, so thin the sun shines through.

  ‘I mean thank you for everything.’

  ‘Nina, there’s something I want to ask you about,’ he said.

  ‘I think you should go,’ came out of my mouth, before I had a chance to stop it, and it swerved him a
way from whatever it was. I could hear interference in the air, the crackle of his disbelief. He took a sip of tea.

  ‘You mean it?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘I have to let them know soon.’

  He put his forefinger on my nose and stroked from the bridge to the tip. ‘It’s healing well,’ he said. ‘I wish I could have seen your real nose though,’ and then he paused before he said, ‘The real you.’

  ‘This is real,’ I said, slapping my hand against my chest and making a sort of laughing choke.

  ‘But … don’t you even have a single photo?’

  ‘They all went up in the fire. I told you.’

  ‘How did the fire start?’

  ‘Some sort of electrical fault. Look, Charlie, this is my life now. I can forget all the … sad mess.’

  ‘I’d like to hear about the mess. I’m curious …’

  ‘Why now all of a sudden?’ I pulled the sheet up to cover me.

  He narrowed his eyes. There were sharp little rocks of sleep in their corners. ‘Are you serious? About me going?’

  I picked up his hand, that still smelt of me, and kissed it.

  ‘Sure?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Ta,’ he said, ‘that’s ace.’

  I went back to work on Friday. It seemed a good plan, one day at work and then the weekend to recover. The first thing I noticed was the bear on Christine’s desk – and then the grin on her face.

  ‘Lucky charm all right,’ she said. ‘Met a new fella and won a juicer since I got him.’ She looked at my bruises. ‘You should of kept him.’

  ‘Ha ha,’ I said.

  ‘Come to the park with me, lunchtime,’ she said. ‘It’s a lovely day.’

  I looked at her. Her eyebrows were fine and pale, her lashes invisible. She blushed easily, the freckly skin filling up like a wine glass.

  ‘That would be nice,’ I said, ‘only I’m having my hair done. Another time?’

  ‘Yup,’ she said and bent over her work. ‘Oh by the way that guy rang again. I think it was that guy.’