The lift pinged open and I stepped in.
‘Still, you could ring them.’
‘I’ll bring your stuff,’ I said as the lift doors closed.
But he would have to go to Orkney. Once he was out of the way I could get things sorted out with Rupert and be free just to be with Charlie again, to get back to where we were before I ever set eyes on Rupert.
I wandered about the house: strange to be entirely alone in it, not even Fay downstairs. I’d always been aware of her creaking around down there. I’d hear the faint sound of her TV, the cheep of her budgie, or a gurgle in the pipes when she turned on her hot tap.
I packed a bag for Charlie – T-shirt, wash-stuff and Migratory Patterns in Common European Species – and then I went down to Fay’s. The budgie flew at me and I ducked, hands over my hair. He perched on the table till I straightened up and then fluttered up and landed on my shoulder. I had to force my arms to stay by my sides and not to bat him away. I walked slowly over to the cage. ‘Good boy, Charlie Two,’ I said through gritted teeth. She’d taken him over when a friend had died and he’d already been called Charlie. She had added the Two to avoid confusion, she said, though I don’t know what kind of confusion there could have been.
I waited and eventually he went into his cage. I shut the door quick, and he shrieked and clung to the sides with his beak and claws. He was blue with black and white stripes on his head and little flashes of purple on his cheeks, pretty when he kept still. Fay had taught him to speak a few words and he hopped back on to his perch, puffed up his feathers and demonstrated in good imitation of Fay: ‘Davy-boy,’ he said. I thought it must have been torture for her when he said that. Or maybe it was a comfort.
I found a nightie for Fay, a bar of soap, a pair of slippers – though she wouldn’t be doing much walking. The slippers were red brocade, doll-sized, moulded into bony angles by her toes. I sat at her dressing table, looked at myself in the three mirrors. The darkness of my hair made my face seem pale as milk. Before I put them in her wash bag, I picked up her silver eye shadow and did my own lids like hers and smoothed pink circles on my cheeks. Her perfume was in an atomiser with a silky tasselled bulb. I squirted some on my wrists and neck.
I picked up the book – something by Colin Dexter – that lay beside her bed. She was using a photograph as a bookmark: Charlie and Dave in their Boy Scouts uniforms, hair parted beside their ears. I stared at the two small shining faces. Our phone rang upstairs and made me jump. I hadn’t realised how loud it sounded down here. She must hear it every time and hear our feet walking across to answer it, hear our muffled voices through the ceiling.
Before I returned to the hospital I heated up a bowl of soup and ate it watching the red light winking on the answerphone. I washed up my pan and bowl and spoon before I listened: there were three messages from Bruno James, the bird warden from North Ronaldsay, who sounded not Scottish, as I’d imagined, but posh English. He needed to know Charlie’s decision this evening and if he heard nothing would assume it was no go. He said he’d be sorry not to meet him and continue their discussion about redpolls.
I phoned him back. Knowing that the call was travelling right out to the Northern Isles, I expected a faint and crackly line but I was answered by the loud clear voice of a child. ‘What?’ it said.
‘Can I speak to Bruno James please?’
‘Da-ad,’ the child shouted into the receiver.
‘I’m ringing on behalf of Charlie Martin,’ I said, when Bruno had come on. ‘I’m his girlfriend.’
‘I’d almost given up on him,’ Bruno said.
‘He asked me to ring you back; he’s tied up at the moment. He asked me to say yes.’
‘Yes?’
‘He’ll come.’
‘Oh.’ There was a pause. ‘Hold on,’ he said.
I could hear a conversation taking place through the muffling of his palm.
‘Well that’s great,’ he said, ‘Charlie does sound like our man. How soon could he get up here, do you think?’
‘Pretty soon.’
‘By mid-week?’
‘That soon?’
‘We’ve been left in the lurch.’
‘I’ll get him to ring you tomorrow,’ I said.
I found Charlie in the waiting room. He’d picked up a wildlife magazine and was reading about mallards. He looked startled to see me. ‘You’re all made up,’ he said. My hand flew to my face. I’d forgotten all about it. I went straight into the toilet. I looked like a Dutch doll with the red circles on my cheeks. In the dim light of Fay’s bedroom it hadn’t looked like that. It must be why Fay always looked so gaudy. I’d have to find a subtle way of telling her when she came out. I scrubbed off all the pink and silver with a rough green paper towel.
I didn’t tell Charlie about his job that evening. He had enough to worry him. I was tired and went home for an early night. Even without him, I slept soundly. I’m good at sleeping, whatever’s happening, however bad; I can usually get to sleep. I have learnt to sleep through almost anything.
Chapter 24
^
Don’t remember much of the drive till I was turning off the A1. I stopped in a Little Chef for a cuppa and a full English breakfast. They do bottomless coffee and I was on my third before I felt I could face straightening out the screwed-up paper and looking at Isobel again. She was wearing a beret, which I’d forgotten she sometimes did, in a way that made her seem French. She was staring straight at the camera and it was like she was looking at me with a plea like don’t listen to this forgiveness bollocks and of course I wouldn’t.
Soon as I got back to my digs I showered off and changed. When I switched on my mobile it rang straight away. No surprise that it was Dad.
‘Come back here now,’ he said. ‘I’ve stalled her from calling the police but—’ and he went on and on.
‘She came on to me,’ I said when I could get a word in. I could hear the way he was breathing, laboured I think you’d call it, coming to terms with what I’d said.
‘Don’t give me that,’ he said. ‘If you weren’t my son … You’re damned lucky she didn’t call the police. Now get back here or I will.’
‘She came on to me,’ I said again.
‘What were you doing there?’
There was such a silence I thought he’d gone, then he sighed like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. ‘Why don’t you find a nice girl of your own, Mark?’ he said. ‘Settle down and forget this nonsense.’
‘I have,’ I said and that took him aback.
‘What? You never said.’
‘You never asked.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Nina.’
It was like another script unfolding in front of me, the words waiting in the wings. The more I go on the more I realise how it’s all planned out, words and all. We really don’t have a choice. That’s a dangerous way to think because it leads to the conclusion that Karen didn’t have a choice in what she did, but if that is so then nor do I.
‘Come home, son,’ Dad said, ‘you need the stability.’
‘Soon,’ I said.
‘Stay away from girls, Mark. Promise me.’
‘Promise me you will,’ I went.
The sigh again. ‘You frightened the life out of Jessica. If she so much as sees your face again … You’re lucky she called me first and not the police.’
‘If she does I’ll tell Mum,’ I said and cut him off. I pictured Mum in her chair, her little world of TV and magazines, Dad waiting on her hand and foot. I didn’t mean it, I wouldn’t upset her for anything, and the way I had it planned out, she’d never need to know.
Five-thirty on the nail Karen and the blonde came out of Green’s. She was looking bright and breezy till she saw me – then she bolted off so fast it was nearly comical. I thought she should take to wearing trainers if she was going to keep on like that. The blonde stood there giving me a funny look.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Did you get to see Cha
rlie?’
‘We had a pint. What’s up with her?’ I said.
‘She was OK till she clapped eyes on you,’ she said.
‘She’s a bit on the nervy side, isn’t she?’ I said. ‘I’d better catch her up.’
I took her into the nearest pub. She’d had her hair cut like a boy’s and darker than ever and though it’s not a look I could go for I could see it suited her – what you might term chic. She was hot in her suit, wriggling about, jigging her foot as per usual, gnawing at her thumbnail.
I ditched the wife, a complication too far. ‘Not because of me,’ she said, all flushed, pretending that she wasn’t flattered. And then she said, looking up through her eyelashes, that I was gorgeous. That’s the word she uttered, straight out, gorgeous and then started fishing for a compliment in return. It was sickeningly easy to turn her head.
‘Told Charlie?’ I asked, then went out on a limb, saying I had ways of knowing things and she should watch her back. Like, despite her lies, I knew she hadn’t said a word to Charlie.
‘How could you possibly know that?’ She sounded just like Isobel at her most superior.
‘John Smith,’ I said, catching sight of the name on the beermat she was fiddling with. It was hard to keep a straight face at that point. ‘Friend of Charlie’s,’ I explained, ‘though of course you’d know that.’
‘Oh yes,’ Karen said. You can see right through her. You’d think she’d be a better liar what with her pedigree. Charlie must be, well, a right Charlie to be taken in by her.
I was tired out what with the day I’d had and all the driving. My phone vibrated in my pocket. Of course it would be Dad. I switched it off. It made me sick thinking about Jessica and sick looking at Karen who despite what she said was soaking up the attention like a sponge. I was sick and tired of women, sick and tired of their wiles and ways. I got up and walked out and, to tell the truth, at that moment I’d have been happy to give up on the whole sick business.
Chapter 25
*
We went in to see Fay before the operation. She was deeply sedated, with a drip threaded into the thin mottled skin on the back of her hand. Under the skin blood had leaked and flattened out into an oval bruise. Her face had caved in because she didn’t have her dentures. I’d never seen her without them; she had that kind of pride in herself. She wouldn’t want me to see her like that, I knew her that well.
We went and stood by the coffee machine beside the lifts. I pushed 20p’s in to get Charlie a coffee, but the stuff that came out was tainted with soup and undrinkable. He hadn’t slept all night he said and I believed him; the smell of hospital had soaked into his hair and clothes.
‘I had a call last night,’ I said. ‘It was Bruno.’
‘You told him?’
‘I said you’d take the job.’
‘Are you off your trolley?’ he said. ‘I can’t leave Mum now.’
I tried to hold his hand, but he pulled his away. In the waiting area there were two long sofas and a pile of magazines on a table. We could have sat down but there was a young Indian man on one of the sofas and he was crying. He had his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands and each sob was a soft jab in the ribs.
‘Why don’t we go out?’ I said. ‘Get some fresh air, or breakfast or something.’
‘I’m waiting to hear,’ he said.
‘Think about it,’ I said. ‘Fay’ll be fine in a few weeks and you’ll have given up this chance for nothing.’
‘There’ll be other chances.’
‘There might not.’ I traced the shape of his heart on his white T-shirt. I could feel the texture of the hairs on his chest through the cotton.
‘Don’t.’ He pushed my hand away. ‘Sorry, that tickles.’
The man blew his nose loudly and then groaned as if his heart was breaking.
‘It’ll give me and Fay a chance to bond,’ I said. ‘Isn’t that what you want?’
‘That was before.’
‘Before what?’
He didn’t answer.
‘She’d want you to go.’ We looked away from each other with a slight wince. ‘I think you should take this chance.’
‘Anyone would think you were trying to get rid of me!’ he said.
‘That’s not fair!’
‘Joke,’ he said, flatly.
A sort of laugh hacked out of me. ‘You could always come back,’ I said, ‘if anything did go wrong. It’s not as if you’d be leaving the planet.’
‘No.’ He rubbed his hand against his stubbly chin. It made an almost inaudible scrunching sound.
‘She’ll be fine,’ I said, ‘I can feel it in my bones.’ Then I pictured Fay’s thin shattered bones. ‘I mean I just have this feeling she’ll be right as rain.’
‘I don’t know,’ he said.
I could see how torn he was. He wanted to go; of course he really wanted to go and for me to make it all right for him to go.
‘You’ll be letting them down if you pull out now,’ I said. ‘And you could fly back in a few hours if necessary.’
There was one rogue hair in his left eyebrow, white and thick as fuse wire. Sometimes he let me pluck it out but not lately. It curled down over his eye. I thought it must have driven him mad but he didn’t seem to notice.
‘I’m going to the bog,’ he said. ‘You wait here in case …’
‘Of course.’
I went and sat down on the sofa opposite the man. He’d stopped crying and sat looking dazed, his hands dangling between his knees. I gave him a sympathetic smile but he didn’t notice. I picked up a magazine and flicked through. It had the soft weary texture of waiting-room magazines, saturated with boredom and stress. I read how good tomatoes are for you, especially cooked. A woman in a sari with a long white plait over her shoulder came and sat beside the man and took his hand. That set him off again.
When Charlie came back his face was damp and there was a little fleck of paper towel caught in his bristles. I picked it off.
The lift opened and a bride stepped out in a wide cream puff of a dress. She carried a bouquet and was followed by a small woman clutching a can of hairspray.
‘Granny wants a glimpse of the big day,’ she explained, squirting it at the bride’s head as she swanned off towards the ward.
‘That’s nice,’ I said, watching the dress crush as the bride passed through the swing doors. The man and woman stared after them and blinked. We were all left in a reeking cloud of lacquer.
Charlie and I went over to the window and gazed out at the city. The day was overcast, the sky a strange pinky-buff like a pigeon’s breast and the street-lamps, still on for some reason, prickled orange amongst the trees and buildings.
‘I wish you’d let me make my own decisions,’ he said.
‘But you would have made the wrong one.’
He gave me a look.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘but I couldn’t ring you, could I? And it had to be yes or no then and there. I thought it would be for the best.’
He swallowed and buried his face in his hands for a moment, then looked up. ‘Assuming Mum gets through the op OK, I might go.’
I spooled out my breath, slow and steady, and wiped my hand on my skirt.
I went with him to find a nurse. She phoned down to the theatre. ‘It went fine,’ she said, ‘like clockwork. She’s in recovery now, why not come back and see her this afternoon?’
‘You see,’ I said. ‘Told you she’d be all right.’ In the lift going down we hugged and this time his arms tightened around me too. ‘I guess that means you’re going?’ I said.
‘Maybe.’
‘I’ll miss you.’
The lift stopped, the door opened and a whey-faced woman wheeled her own drip inside and leant against the wall, clutching a pack of fags and a lighter to her chest. I pressed the button and we went on down.
‘And it’ll do you good,’ I said as we stepped out at ground level and made our way through the cluster of flower-clutching visitors.<
br />
‘Yeah.’ He gave me a slidy look.
‘What?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m shagged out, that’s all.’ Too tired to lift, his lips tilted down at the corners. Under his eyes the scoops of shadow were almost black.
When we got home I said that he should catch up on some sleep but the first thing he did was to ring Bruno and confirm. Hearing the suppressed excitement in his voice was hard. It was hard seeing him empty his drawers, seeing all the jumpers and jeans flung on the bed.
‘You don’t have to pack yet,’ I said, but he was too jittery to rest.
While he was packing, I stayed near the phone so that I could answer first just in case there was something bad but there was nothing. No call at all. I hovered about listening to him booking his flight: Manchester to Kirkwall via Aberdeen; Kirkwall to North Ronaldsay. I opened our atlas and looked at the north where Scotland dissolves into rags, the merest snippet of which was his destination.
On the evening before he left, I cooked mushroom risotto and opened a bottle of Chablis, though he would only have one glass. While I washed up he made calls: to Bruno, I know, finalising arrangements; and he talked to someone else, I didn’t know the name but it was not John Smith.
‘Come to bed,’ I said, though it was only about eight-thirty when he’d finished on the phone.
‘No.’ He bit the corner of his thumbnail. ‘I know it’s my last night and all but I don’t feel like … you know. I don’t feel like getting all stirred up.’
‘Stirred up?’ I looked at him. ‘Well OK.’
‘Sure?’ He held me and I rubbed my face on the shoulder of his jumper, a scratchy green thing that made me itch. ‘Ta. I ought to go and see Mum again.’ He felt light and twitchy in my arms as if he was already on his way.
‘We could stop at the garage for chocolates,’ I said.
‘Nina, she doesn’t eat chocolate,’ he said and I knew that, of course I did, it was just that I was nervous. ‘I’ll go on my own,’ he said, ‘if you don’t mind.’
I made a stupid swallowing sound as if an egg was stuck in my gullet.
Nina Todd Has Gone Page 11