by Hazel Prior
My answer is this: Yes, six years.
Her third question is this: So, I’m just wondering – did you use to be closer to her than you are now?
My answer is this: No. She’s always lived in Taunton and I’ve always lived here.
Her fourth question is this: Oh, all right then, did you, by any chance, ever go through a phase of not seeing her?
My answer is this: Yes, for most of 2012.
Her fifth question is this and the words are strung together so fast I can hardly catch them: Um, strange question this one, but do humour me. I’m a woman and interested in these things. Do you mind telling me: has she always been as beautifully slim as she is now?
My answer is this: No, not always. She did get a little plumper in spring 2012.
There is then an ‘I see’ and a bit of a pause. I wonder if the questions have finished but then she comes out with this one: Would you say, Dan, that it ever seemed to you that Rhoda wanted to tell you something but couldn’t quite manage it?
My answer is this: I have no idea.
Her seventh question is preceded by another pause and is this: How much do you … do you, well … trust her?
My answer is this: What do you mean?
I know it’s bad to answer a question with another question but I am not clear exactly what she means when she asks if I trust Roe Deer.
Ellie doesn’t seem clear either. She just says, ‘Oh, never mind! I have to get back home now.’ She puts the penny back on the windowsill and looks at her watch. ‘I must dash. Take care, Dan. See you tomorrow.’
She has not practised the harp today, which is an odd thing. Her smile has not come back either. Not at all.
20
Ellie
I close the front door and smooth down my hair. There’s a great deal of coughing and spluttering coming from the sitting room.
When I go in my husband is still sprawled on the sofa. My favourite picture – a Yorkshire landscape painted by my grandmother – is lying in smithereens on the floor.
‘Oh no! What happened?’ I cry.
When Clive has finished coughing (which takes some time) he explains: ‘It went crashing down. Must have been a weak nail. I’d have cleared up the mess, but – well, not quite up to it.’
He has the injured blame thing down to a T.
I run and get the dustpan and brush. I feel his eyes on me as I’m sweeping. Does Clive sense I’m not being honest with him?
The frame is obviously destroyed but I would have thought the painting would still be redeemable. Yet somehow the surface of the picture has got horribly scratched as well. I’m gutted. I loved that picture.
I chase the fragments of glass round the floor with the brush. A painful headache hovers just behind my eyes.
I can’t stop thinking about Dan’s relationship with Rhoda. He calls her his girlfriend all the time, but they can’t really be together, can they? Surely I would have witnessed something – a romantic kiss, a slushy phone call, any indication that they are intimate – by now? I harbour suspicions that it’s all in Dan’s head, but is that just wishful thinking? Just because I find Rhoda shallow and selfish doesn’t mean he does. Men – even Dan – always have a very different perspective.
What about her? What’s she hiding? And who is she hiding it from?
A shard of glass drives into my finger. I yelp with pain.
Clive isn’t sympathetic. ‘Looks like Christina will have to come round and look after you now.’
I suck my finger. ‘It’s nothing, it’s nothing!’
It won’t help with playing the harp, though, I think as I head upstairs to fetch a plaster.
‘Rhoda, may I use your bathroom?’ I ask the minute I’ve stepped over her threshold on Tuesday morning.
I’m granted a bright smile. ‘Of course, Ellie!’ She is in a scarlet jersey dress. Her hair is scooped on to the top of her head with a few blonde locks straying prettily over her brow. ‘It’s up the stairs and straight ahead of you.’
I dash upstairs, then slow my pace and look back over my shoulder. She’s disappeared. An instant later the soft sound of harp arpeggios starts drifting up from the living room. I am safe. It’s time for a good snoop.
I push open the door next to the bathroom. The room is quite small, furnished with only a bed and a chest of drawers – perhaps a spare room. I scan the walls. No photos. Just a watercolour of an elephant in an African landscape and another of trees by a lake.
I close the door softly and try the next one. This is clearly Rhoda’s bedroom. The bed is unmade with a pair of tights strewn across it. My eyes quickly take in the silky crimson covers, a pine wardrobe, a bedside lamp in the shape of a curved crocus flower, bookshelves, a CD player. And exactly what I’d hoped for. Hanging in pride of place opposite the window is a huge wooden frame full of photos. I creep into the room, hungry for details. My heart is thumping.
The photos have been arranged in a montage. Many are professional photos of Rhoda herself together with her harp, and I recognize the same one that’s in Dan’s workshop – the one with the cleavage and the come-hither look. Nobody could accuse Rhoda of false modesty. Another photo shows her posing with her guitarist friend, the edges of their instruments just in view. He sports a goatee beard and one of those crooked smiles that’s actually quite attractive. He looks smug – the cat that got the cream. I wonder. I feel disturbed. I’m not quite sure what I’m hoping.
Then my eye falls on another photo and I know this bears no resemblance to what I was hoping. Dan and Rhoda together. Slightly younger than they are now, standing under the plum tree in his orchard. Dan has a hazy, romantic look in his eyes which are directed straight at her. Her smile is radiant. The sunshine is picking out the gold in her hair as it tumbles loosely over her shoulders. She is in a saffron-coloured dress which flows around her in the breeze. She appears to be all made up of honey-coloured light. She looks utterly beautiful.
There’s a sharp tug in my gut. The plum-picking day is sacred in my memory, something I want to wrap in tissue paper and fold away tenderly and take out often to gaze at before I fold it away tenderly again. But now it’s been polluted. Rhoda was there first, before I ever knew Dan or he knew me, before he even knew I existed. My doubts about their relationship are suddenly looking flimsy in the face of this new evidence. I fight with the feeling and push down the pain. It will have to wait until later.
Now my other suspicion looms larger. I scan the other photos. Some seem to be family snaps, many quite small. Are there any children among them? I step closer. There’s a little girl looking sweet and coy in a bridesmaid’s dress, but if my deductions are correct, it’s a boy that I’m looking for.
‘Ellie, what are you doing?’
I jump. Rhoda is peering in at me from the landing. Frowning. I’ve been so intent on my search I didn’t even notice that the harp sounds stopped a few moments ago.
‘Oh!’ I cry, leaping out of her bedroom, covered in blushes. ‘I’m sorry. I somehow lost the bathroom … and then I noticed your beautiful photos and had to have a closer look.’
She’s not amused.
‘That picture of you in the green dress is so stunning!’ I gush.
She thaws slightly. ‘Yes, it’s my favourite.’ A pause. ‘The bathroom’s right there at the top of the stairs, like I said.’
‘Sorry, Rhoda. I shouldn’t have been so nosy.’
I see from her face I’m not forgiven.
‘I wasn’t expecting to find you in my bedroom.’
I rack my brain for excuses. ‘It’s just that … I’m feeling a bit hassled today because … because I had a row with Clive. It’s still going round and round in my head. I’m in a bit of a daze. I wasn’t thinking straight.’
‘Oh?’ She looks at me curiously. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘Just money matters. I’m spending too much on petrol. He doesn’t like it.’ This is very true.
‘Are you all right?’
�
��Um, yes, I suppose so. I just get upset about these things.’
‘It’s hit you quite hard, hasn’t it?’ she says, suddenly sympathetic. She comes a step closer. ‘Have you told him you play the harp yet? Perhaps that would be a lovely surprise for him and make everything better.’
‘I don’t think so,’ I mumble.
‘Are you sure you’re OK? You look quite shaken. We can postpone the lesson if you like?’
‘Yes, I’ll be fine. I’ll just …’ I gesture towards the bathroom then dive into it, shutting the door behind me with more of a bang than I’d intended. My reflection gawps at me from the mirror, shame painting it crimson. I splash my face with cold water to try and reduce the colour. My hands are actually shaking. I am furious with myself. What’s more, the mission has been a complete failure.
Perhaps I’ve been completely wrong. But then, I reflect, the bedroom might be the very place where Rhoda is most anxious to conceal her secret, assuming she is visited there by Dan … or anyone else. I’m no longer sure what I can assume and what I can’t.
I glance at my reflection again. I am biting my lip.
I hurl a bottle in and listen with satisfaction as it shatters. Then another. Breaking things is great therapy. Thank God for recycling centres. Thank God Clive drinks lots of beer these days. There are plenty more bottles to go.
I hate her. I shouldn’t. But I do.
I feel like a caged animal gnawing at bars. My eyes are raw and watery. I pause to take a deep breath then reach inside the polythene bag for another bottle. I smash it into the bin with all my force. Three more follow, blasted to smithereens, the noise roaring painfully through the air. Then I stop and breathe again.
Late shoppers are scurrying past on their way to the car park. I glance upwards and suddenly notice the sky. It is a vast, gleaming landscape above me. Bright tiers of copper-edged clouds drift across the deep, silky blue. I let myself imagine for a moment that I’m swimming among those clouds; I’m bathed in light, gliding along to the sounds of harp music. Dan is gliding by my side. Guilt, my constant companion, tells me to stop being an idiot, to banish the romantic image. I don’t want to banish it though, I want to keep it treasured right here in my heart. I let my eyes linger on the sky for another few moments, then remind myself of Rhoda. I smash another bottle.
I am desperate to get to the bottom of Rhoda’s secret. If my theory is correct, it has monumental significance for Dan, and he has no idea. But I’m lacking proper information. If I was closer to her I could come straight out and ask Rhoda, but I’m not close to her and don’t think I ever will be.
I head back to the car, lost in thought. I’m a slave to my own curiosity. It just keeps on thrashing away at the same questions. Until I get answers I’ll have no peace.
Miaow looks calm and thoughtful. Christina doesn’t. She’s fluttering about the kitchen like an anxious butterfly.
‘She’s Swiss, so will probably want to eat funny things. Do you think I can get away with nut roast for Christmas dinner? Alex says she’s easy-going, but Alex is not the greatest judge of character. And he’s seeing her through love-struck eyes.’
I try to reassure her. It’s surely a good thing that her son wants to bring his girlfriend home for Christmas.
‘But what if I hate her? What if she hates me?’
‘Nobody could hate you, Christina!’
‘I so wish that was true!’ She reaches for a cigarette, her face puckering slightly. Underneath her cheerfulness I sense there’s a thick, dark lump of sorrow. She recently tried online dating and met up with a string of unsuitables and losers. Then, to try and fill the emptiness, she decided to get in touch with one of her exes – only to be greeted by the words: ‘Christina. I don’t want you in my life. Get lost!’ I don’t know why she’s so unlucky with men. She’s attractive, exotic even, and fun to be around. Perhaps she’s just too much for them to handle.
‘Anyway, let’s talk about you!’ she cries, settling into a chair at last. ‘Have you told Clive about your harp yet? Do you still want me to lie about my very dangerous tin-opener?’
‘Yes, please keep lying,’ I say. ‘And no, I haven’t told anyone about the harp except you.’
She looks flattered. ‘Miaow,’ she says, scooping the struggling creature up in her arms and nearly singeing her with the cigarette, ‘she hasn’t told anyone except me!’ Then she eyes me suspiciously. ‘Not even your sister?’
‘No. Vic would tell her husband and it might get back to Clive somehow.’
‘And if it did?’
I take a deep breath. ‘I need to tread carefully. You know what Clive’s like!’
‘Yeah, I know: sweet and sour. Good when he’s good, but when he’s narked …’ An extra note of worry leaps into her eyes. ‘Ellie, you’re playing with fire, you know. Clive isn’t going to like it. And you can’t keep it a secret for ever.’
I don’t want to talk about this. I don’t want to think about consequences.
‘Talking of secrets, I’ve found out something about Rhoda,’ I tell my friend. ‘Well, I think I have.’
‘What sort of something?’
‘Something big. But I’ve got some investigating to do. I may need your help.’
‘Tell me more,’ she says.
21
Dan
I make eight sandwiches. I cut them into diamond shapes because Ellie says variety is the spice of life.
Over the sandwiches she asks me if I know about Roe Deer’s concert next week.
I tell her yes.
‘Are you going to it?’ she asks.
I give her this answer. I say that in the past I used to go to all of Roe Deer’s concerts because she was keen to have my support, and that she made such wonderful music it was always a pleasure to listen. However, the thing that was not such a pleasure was the fact that there were always lots and lots of other people at her concerts.
Other people are fine when they are sitting in rows and quietly listening to harp music. But they are not fine when they suddenly surge around in a cacophony of roaring words and sentences, as happens in intervals. I get shredded by it. So whenever I went to Roe Deer’s concerts I always used to reserve the seat nearest the back if I could. I nipped in at the last minute, nipped out just before the interval to go and sit in my Land Rover, nipped in again just when the second half began, then I nipped out as soon as the concert had finished. All that nipping was quite exhausting. And I had to be very exact in my timing, and so did she. Only sometimes she wasn’t. Which led to a problem or two.
Eventually Roe Deer said not to bother. It was costing me a lot of effort and she explained that she didn’t actually need me there any more. In fact, my presence was beginning to stress her out. It was not good for her to be stressing just before going on to perform with her harp in front of an audience.
So I haven’t been to any of her concerts for five years now.
Ellie contemplates one of the diamond-shaped sandwiches. It has hummus inside. She picks it up. Then she says an odd thing. What she says is this: ‘Tell me, Dan, is Rhoda really your girlfriend?’
I blink.
‘Don’t be offended,’ she hastens to add, ‘but you don’t see very much of each other considering you are geographically not that far apart. And she doesn’t even seem to want to come here for my harp lessons; it’s always in Taunton now. I would have thought it would be nice for her to have another excuse to come and see you, but no. And when you were shot she didn’t come to see you at all to check that you were all right.’ Her eyebrows are drawn very close together. ‘I just wondered. Boyfriends and girlfriends usually make a bit more of an effort to meet up.’ She waves her sandwich in the air and a bit of hummus drops out and lands in her lap. She gets a tissue out of her pocket and scrubs at it. ‘Sorry, Dan, it’s none of my business really, but I can’t help wondering.’
I do not say anything but I put down the sandwich I am holding and I start thinking.
‘Another thing,’ Elli
e says, then she stops. I am too busy thinking about Roe Deer to lend her much attention but I sense she’s examining my face intensely. ‘No, that’s enough for now,’ she mutters.
Twenty minutes later I hear her say that she has to be off now and take care, Dan, and she pats me on the shoulder and off she goes. I am still sitting there, thinking.
I think for a while longer.
After this I get myself downstairs. I am supposed to be starting on the Fifi harp because the pushful man called Mike Thornton has brought the apple wood to the Harp Barn now and he wants me to give him weekly progress reports. But I don’t feel in the mood for starting a new harp. I thread twelve strings on to my nearly completed Kestral harp instead and tighten them bit by bit and I carry on thinking hard. I think especially about boyfriend and girlfriend definitions.
Two hours later I ring up Roe Deer and ask her if she is still my girlfriend.
‘No, Dan,’ she says. ‘No, I’m not.’ And her voice sounds very clear, clear as hailstones. ‘Not for many years now.’
I was sad. Sad with a sadness I’ve never felt before. The sadness chewed me up and swallowed me bit by bit. I was so sad I wanted to spend the whole day walking and looking at trees and gathering pebbles, but I couldn’t. My leg wouldn’t let me.
I also wished that Roe Deer had told me this news before. If she has not been my girlfriend for many years, why didn’t she inform me of the fact earlier? As far as I remember we did not go through a break-up and I’m sure I would remember something like that. I don’t watch TV except when I go and visit my sister Jo, but when people on TV split up, they shout and throw plates at each other. Roe Deer has never once shouted or thrown plates at me. I have never shouted in my entire life, or thrown anything at all. That is, I have sometimes skimmed stones across water, and I did throw a tennis ball once when I was a boy, but I don’t think that counts. I didn’t know Roe Deer then anyway.
Roe Deer said, when I asked her on the phone why we weren’t together any more, that relationships weren’t my forte. That it wasn’t my fault. That I was just made of the wrong ingredients.