Say You Love Me

by Marion Husband

  Gently he said, ‘Steven, does Danny know you’re gay?’

  It felt as though he’d slapped me. I sprang away. ‘Christ you’re a twat! Fucking twat…!’ I was too angry to look at him. I would have walked out but my jacket was in his kitchen, my keys and wallet in its pocket. I tried to get past him to fetch it but he caught my arm.

  ‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of.’

  ‘I’m not ashamed!’ I shrugged him off. ‘I’m not.’

  ‘But you haven’t told your father.’

  ‘Would you tell Danny who you were fucking? You wouldn’t tell him anything!’

  ‘That’s not the point – he’s not my father.’

  ‘Yes – he is! And you’re just like him – a fucking twat!’

  Evenly he said, ‘You’ve got a foul mouth. You should try to control it.’

  ‘Should I? Why’s that? So I can sound like a get like you?’

  ‘A get?’ He laughed. ‘You are an old-fashioned boy, aren’t you? It must be years since anyone called me a get – it was probably some corporal I’d pissed off.’

  I went into the kitchen and found my jacket. He watched me from the doorway so I turned to face him, defiant. Spitefully I said, ‘Dad wants to see you, you know. Fucking desperate to see you.’

  He looked like I’d hit him. ‘He wants to see me?’

  ‘Course he does! You’re his little angel, aren’t you? That’s what he calls you – his little angel. I think he’s expecting some six-year-old kid with wings and a fucking halo! Well, they say Hitler was sentimental, don’t they?’

  He sat down at the table like his legs wouldn’t support him any more. White-faced, he put his hand to his mouth as if some really shocking thought had just occurred to him. But he was remembering, of course, like I remember – certain words or smells or sounds triggering memories so that you have to stop and try to be still and not think. My anger died like a cheap sparkler. I was back to feeling sorry for him, like at the hospital, or the first time I saw him when he looked so scared.

  I sat down next to him. ‘Mark? It’s OK –’

  He frowned at me. ‘I want you to go. Get out of my sight, don’t come near me again.’

  ‘No – you should talk to me –’

  ‘Why? Tell me why I should talk to a foul-mouthed little shit like you?’

  ‘I’m sorry – it was the way you touched me – looked at me – you really did my head in, that’s all –’

  ‘Did I?’ He sneered. ‘I thought you liked me to look at you like that? Wasn’t my looking what you came here for?’

  ‘No –’

  ‘So you don’t want me to fuck you, then?’

  I drew back from him. ‘For Christ’s sake!’

  He looked at me, this exaggerated frown on his face. ‘You make eyes at me, do you realise that? I know that it’s an old-fashioned expression but that’s the only way I can describe it – you make big, take-me-to-bed eyes. So, what would it be like, do you think? What would it be like if we went to bed together? Maybe we’d have a moment in the heat of it all when we’d meet each other’s eyes. There’d be this deathly stillness, like we were both holding our breath. All at once we’d realise just what we were doing and suddenly neither of us would be any use to the other, dicks as shrivelled as if we were drowning in a frozen sea. We’d have to scuttle about putting our clothes back on, cringing apologies if we accidentally brushed skin against skin. Wouldn’t that be excruciating? God – your flesh would absolutely crawl, wouldn’t it? You’d be thinking Jesus Christ Almighty – I almost sucked my brother’s cock! What kind of bloody perverted animal am I?’

  He stood up, pacing like he couldn’t keep still. ‘Or maybe it wouldn’t be like that. Maybe it would be sweet and tender – you’re such a gorgeous boy after all – maybe I could somehow make myself forget the wrongness of it – maybe you could – it would have to be a joint effort, though –’

  ‘You’re not gay.’

  ‘What? You mumble and I have to strain to hear you – it’s annoying. What did you say?’

  Louder, hating the sound of my voice, I said, ‘You’re not gay.’

  He gazed at me for so long I had to turn away.

  At last he said, ‘I shouldn’t have asked you here. I don’t know why I did – I should have stuck with my first instincts.’

  ‘So why didn’t you?’

  ‘Curiosity. Irresistible, the urge to know more.’

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘I think we’ve both said enough for one night.’

  ‘For one night means you want to talk to me again.’

  ‘I need to think about that.’

  ‘I’d like us to be able to talk.’

  ‘Yes, I know you would.’

  ‘I don’t want anything from you. Don’t think I’m on the scrounge.’

  ‘I don’t think that.’ He sighed. ‘Listen – I’m sorry. Sometimes…’ Shaking his head he said, ‘Sometimes…well – sometimes I lose control.’

  Like Danny , I wanted to say, and it was as if he knew what I was thinking because on a rush of breath he said, ‘I try to behave.’

  I could hardly look at him. ‘Yeah. I know.’

  ‘All knowing, aren’t you?’ He laughed like he was in despair. ‘If you know so much then maybe you’ll forgive me.’

  He saw me to the door. He said, ‘Goodnight, Steven, thank you for coming,’ as if all the things we’d said to each other hadn’t been said at all.

  I walked through the cemetery and stopped at Carl’s grave. The flowers in the urn were wilted and I put them in the bin. He’d told me not to bring flowers, but to save my money. I told him flowers didn’t cost very much, although they do. If he’d been a saint the flowers wouldn’t die and his body wouldn’t decompose and in a thousand years they would dig him up just to check and he’d be just as he was when I kissed him goodbye in the funeral home. I made a mental note to buy flowers the next day. There were other things I could save on.

  Chapter 19

  Doctor Walker said, ‘Ah – Annette, there you are! Dusting my mother’s horrible sideboard! My dear, leave that and come with me a moment, would you? I need you to hold on to a curtain pole while I fix it to the wall.’

  She followed him into the dining room with its oil painting of dead birds and rabbits lying limply next to a jug. Looking away from the rabbits’ glassy eyes, she noticed the box of books and toys on the floor. She hoped he wouldn’t press more of them onto her. She would have to put them in the waste bin outside the cemetery. That’s what she would do. She felt relieved to have come up with a plan.

  The doctor said, ‘Annette, could you hop up on that chair, do you think? It’s quite sturdy and safe.’

  She took her shoes off and climbed up on to one of the chairs he’d pulled away from the dining table into the bay. The chair was big and solid, made from some glossy black wood, fruit and flowers carved into its back. Annette felt the sawdust padding of its seat give a little beneath her feet, like wet sand on a beach. She stared out at the garden. She thought of Mark slumped against Danny’s shoulder as he carried him to their bed.

  Doctor Walker said, ‘Now then. Now, is this going to work? No, I rather think not. I’m so sorry, Annette, I’m wasting your time – I really don’t think you’ll be able to hold it on your own, the wretched thing is too long.’ He held out his hand to her. ‘Hop down, my dear.’

  As he helped her down she swayed a little. He frowned. ‘Are you still feeling poorly?’

  ‘No!’ He went on frowning at her so she said quickly, ‘I’m fine, really.’

  He nodded but she knew he wasn’t convinced. All the same he said brightly, ‘Do you know what day it is today?’

  ‘No…’

  ‘My dear – don’t look so worried! You haven’t forgotten anything! No, you haven’t, but everyone else has and I’m feeling particularly sorry for myself – it’s my birthday, and this morning – when the postman neglected to call – I thought, blow it – I’l
l buy myself a cake! So I did. Chocolate sponge. I’d be delighted if you’d share it with me.’

  ‘I couldn’t…’

  ‘Well I’m insisting! So, down tools. The cake calls.’

  Danny had dressed Mark in his school uniform. He’d carried him downstairs and sat him beside the sink and rubbed his face hard with the dishcloth. Timidly she’d said, ‘I’ll wash him, Danny. Let me see to him.’

  He’d glanced at her from wiping Mark’s hands with the same, grey cloth. ‘You have nothing to do with him from now on, you hear me? If you go near him I’ll kill you.’

  ‘But Danny…’ She stepped towards him and he spun round.

  ‘I said that if you go near him I’ll kill you. Isn’t that clear enough?’ He grabbed a piece of bread from the sliced loaf on the table and thrust it in to Mark’s hand. ‘I’m taking him to school now. I’ll pick him up this afternoon. Don’t go in our bedroom, don’t you dare.’

  Doctor Walker said, ‘I’m pleased to say Joy – my wife – is much better. We’re hopeful that she’ll be home in a few days.’

  Dully she said, ‘Will you still want me?’

  ‘Of course – even more so. And I’ve told Joy all about you; she’s pleased we’ve found someone so reliable.’

  Annette looked down at the brown, sticky looking slice of cake he had handed her. Cake twice in two days – more than she had ever had. The idea of eating it made her feel sick. She wished she could wrap it up and take it home to Ben. It would be too dangerous to sneak some to Mark.

  Mark hadn’t looked at her that morning. He had stared at the floor. When Danny had lifted him up to take him to school he had only gazed over Danny’s shoulder blankly.

  Doctor Walker cleared his throat. ‘How are your boys, Annette?’

  ‘Fine.’

  He was about to say something when the doorbell rang. He got up. ‘Annette, why don’t you pour us another cup of tea while I go and see who’s calling?’

  Simon limped along the hallway to the door as the bell sounded again more insistently. He tried to go faster and his leg throbbed. Feeling his temper rise, he called out, ‘All right, I’m coming!’ It was his birthday. Although he knew it was childish, he still expected this day of all days to go well. So far it hadn’t. That morning he had woken and wondered where on earth he was, so disorientated that for a moment he expected his mother to come barging in to demand why he was still lazing in bed. Remembering, he had been filled with despair. Here he was – his life changed beyond all sense. As his mind cleared further he remembered Joy. He remembered his baby was lost. He rolled onto his side and pulled the bedcovers over his head, determined not to get up at all. Joy was due to come home in a few days; the house was still in a horrible state and he couldn’t face its squalor and chaos. But then he had remembered Annette, and it was thinking of her that drove him to get up. He would put on a cheerful face for this girl; he would have to behave himself in front of her.

  He paused before opening the front door, wanting to compose his expression so as not to give his pain away. He heard a woman’s voice say, ‘Isn’t this a nice big house, Mark? Isn’t this exciting!’

  Simon swung the door open hastily.

  A smart, pretty young woman smiled at him. ‘Doctor Walker? Hello – My name is Miss Wood and I’m this little chap’s teacher. I took him home just now to his mummy but the neighbour told me she was here, working for you? I wondered if I might have a word with her…?’

  ‘Oh, of course! Do come in.’

  He stood back and held the door as wide as it would go. She stepped past him, her hand on the little boy’s back, steering him gently. She smiled at the child. ‘Well, here we are, Mark. I told you we’d find her, didn’t I!’ More quietly, she said, ‘I’m afraid he’s been quite poorly this morning. I really don’t think he should have even been at school but his daddy said he was fine. As you’re a doctor perhaps you could…but I don’t want to interfere… Oh, dear, I don’t know…Mrs Carter is here, isn’t she?’

  ‘She’s in the kitchen, why don’t you both come through?’

  Annette said, ‘Mark!’ She stood up and her hand went to her mouth, her eyes widening in distress. She made no move towards her son. His teacher said, ‘Mrs Carter – Mark has been terribly unhappy today. I’m sorry, but I really think you should keep him at home until he’s feeling well again.’ She glanced at Simon. ‘I really have to go back to school – my class… I’m so sorry to trouble you like this.’

  ‘It’s no trouble. I’ll see you out.’

  When he went back in to the kitchen Annette was holding her son on her knee. She looked up at him at once. ‘We’ll get off home. I’m sorry about this, Doctor Walker, I’m sorry you’ve been bothered.’

  ‘Annette, your son being unwell isn’t a bother to me, I’m concerned. Would you like me to see if I can find what’s troubling him?’

  ‘Oh no, no – he says he just has a tummy ache. Best I just take him home, tuck him up in bed…it’s just a tummy upset.’

  Simon sat down next to her and the child hid his face in her breast. He said, ‘Mark? Mark, my name is Simon and I look after children who aren’t feeling well. I can make them feel better again – I bet I can help make all that nasty tummy ache go away if you let me have a look at you. How about that?’

  Annette said, ‘Sometimes he won’t respond – I’ve told him it’s naughty…’

  ‘Annette, would you turn him round to face me?’

  ‘Doctor, honestly – it’s all right, he’s just –’

  ‘Please, Annette, do as I say.’

  She bent her face to Mark’s ear. ‘You be a good boy and tell the nice man your tummy hurts. Sit up now and face the doctor.’

  Mark kept his gaze fixed on the floor and Simon ducked his head to look up at him. ‘Hello, there. Now then, can you tell me where your pain is?’ He didn’t look up and Simon put a finger beneath his chin and tilted his head back a little. There were dark rings beneath his eyes, making his complexion seem even paler. He noticed how dirty his clothes were and how his elbow stuck out of his sleeve, the waistband of his shorts held together with a safety pin. He smelt unwashed, of urine that had dried on his clothes, and looked half-starved, like one of the ragged refugee children he’d come across during the war. Simon frowned at Annette – he’d imagined Mark and Ben as lively little boys, well-cared-for and loved. She avoided his eye and for the first time he felt angry with her. It seemed to him that she had cause to be ashamed.

  Smiling at her son he said, ‘Mark, won’t you tell me what the matter is?’

  Lifting Mark off her knee, Annette stood up. ‘We have to go now. I’ll get him to bed and he’ll be fine – no need to worry. He’s fine – he’ll be right as rain.’

  She looked at him defiantly, the first real spark he’d ever seen her show. Suddenly he felt too weary to argue with her. Her children were her own concern and he had concerns enough of his own. Briskly he said, ‘All right. Would you like a lift home?’

  ‘No – no, we’re fine.’

  ‘Perhaps if he’s not feeling so bright tomorrow you should take him to see your GP.’

  ‘Yes, I will – but he’s all right, really. He’s just a bit highly strung.’

  He nodded. ‘Take care of him, Annette. Keep him warm, give him some good, clear broth if he can manage it.’

  She lifted Mark into her arms and kissed his cheek. ‘I will, doctor.’ Smiling at Mark she said softly, ‘He’s my sweetheart, my very best boy.’

  He saw them to the door and watched them cross the road and walk towards the cemetery. The child held on to her hand and after a moment she stopped and lifted him into her arms, kissing his head again. He thought of his own mother, who had never kissed him, not even on his birthday, and wondered what was more important to a child, love or care. The sense of gloom he had woken with that morning deepened. Closing the door he went back to the kitchen and threw the remaining cake on the lawn for the birds before pouring himself a very large scotch.
>
  Danny came home with Ben. He said, ‘Ben, go outside and play.’ He sat beside her at the kitchen table. Lighting a cigarette he blew smoke down his nose, frowning at her as if something puzzled him. She couldn’t think straight. Already she could feel her face burning in anticipation of the lies she’d have to tell him.

  He reached out and pressed his hand against her cheek. ‘You look scared. I’ve told you about looking scared, haven’t I?’

  ‘Yes, Danny.’

  ‘So what are you looking scared about?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Nothing!’ He laughed. ‘Where’s Mark?’

  ‘He’s upstairs, asleep. His teacher brought him home poorly.’

  ‘Try again, Annette. Try again with the truth. His teacher brought him where poorly?’

  She felt like she might pass out with fear. She imagined curling herself up in a ball on the floor, not even trying to stand up to his blows, just lying down and waiting, her head tucked in, protected by her arms.

  He blew smoke into her face. ‘Annette, I know where his teacher took him. Now – are you going to explain what you were doing at that doctor’s house?’

  ‘Cleaning.’

  ‘Cleaning? All right. That’s good. Give me the money.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The money he gave you for doing his cleaning. Give me it now.’

  ‘He pays me at the end of the week…’

  ‘Oh. Pity.’ He grabbed her arm, twisting the flesh in a Chinese burn. ‘Was the Doctor at home when you were there? Did you let him touch Mark? Did you let him anywhere near?’

  ‘No! I took him straight home, Danny, I promise. I just took him home, as soon as he arrived.’

  ‘I don’t want any fucking doctors looking at him, do you understand? Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes Danny. I understand.’

  He let go of her. ‘Good. Good girl. I won’t hurt you if you do as I say. You don’t have to be scared if you just do as I say. Obedience. It’s not much to ask, Annette. Now, he’s upstairs in bed?’