The Pull of the Moon

by Diane Janes

  While these preliminaries were being covered, I took a good look at Josser, taking in his greasy shoulder-length hair and clothes which gave no indication of a recent encounter with a washing machine. He had a noticeable gap between his upper front teeth and there was something about his smile which repulsed me, so that I shrank instinctively nearer to Danny when he looked my way. I hated the way his muddy brown eyes appraised Trudie and me from head to toe, like a greedy diner excited at the arrival of the sweet trolley.

  On our side Danny predictably did most of the talking, managing to sound friendly while being deliberately vague about exactly where we were living. Each time Josser raised the question Danny evaded him as neatly as a winger at the top of his game, but I noticed that, whereas Danny managed to appear friendly, Simon’s forced smile soon faded and at the first opportunity he interjected something about it being time for us to start back.

  At this Josser said he didn’t plan on staying in town either. ‘I only came in to buy some fags. There’s not a lot of action here, is there? Right dead and alive hole.’

  ‘We’re parked just round the corner.’ Simon waved his hand vaguely in the direction and half turned – an obvious preliminary to saying goodbye.

  ‘I bet it’s the same place I’ve left my bike,’ said Josser, cheerfully falling into step with us.

  Unfortunately this proved to be correct. Josser’s motorbike, a black monster with scarlet and yellow flames painted down the sides and a luggage box attached to the back, was parked a mere three vehicles away from ours. When we got level with it Josser began to wax lyrical on the machine’s many virtues, while three-quarters of our party edged pointedly towards the Anglia: only Trudie was taking an interest in the bike and of course we couldn’t go without her. It was impossible to decide whether she was genuinely oblivious, or just perversely determined not to pick up the collective vibe.

  ‘Ever been on the pillion of a bike?’ Josser addressed me directly, and I had to admit that I had not.

  ‘You’ve never lived,’ he said. ‘Hop on. Let me take you for a run. I love giving the ladies a ride.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ I said, so primly that I sounded (and felt) a complete fool.

  He turned to Trudie. ‘How about you?’

  ‘I’d love to,’ said Trudie.

  At that moment I could cheerfully have broken her neck. Simon and Danny exchanged looks but Trudie was immune to their disapproval. Josser had already opened the shiny box on the back of his bike and produced a spare crash helmet.

  ‘Ooh,’ said Trudie. ‘It’s got a death’s head on it.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Josser. ‘I’m a Hell’s Angel, evenings and weekends.’

  Only Trudie laughed.

  ‘We want to go back now,’ Simon told her pointedly. ‘You’re going to get left behind.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ said Josser. ‘I’ll follow you. That way no one’s held up and she still gets to ride the machine. Don’t drive too slowly now. I want to give this lady a thrill.’

  Trudie giggled. I felt so cross I could have slapped her. She turned to Josser. ‘Do I have to hold on to you?’

  ‘As tight as you like.’ Josser winked in my direction, but I pretended not to see.

  He fastened the strap of the crash helmet for her, while the three of us stood by. It had been perfectly obvious to me that Simon and Danny wanted to shake him off as soon as possible, but instead here we were about to lead him back to where we lived. He climbed aboard the bike and Trudie got on after him in the exaggerated ostrich-like movement of someone completely unaccustomed to two-wheeled transportation. She settled into position, with her long brown legs following the line of his dirty jeans. I had a sudden vision of her coming off the bike and what would happen as her bare flesh met the tarmac at speed.

  ‘Come on,’ said Simon, abruptly.

  ‘We shouldn’t have let her,’ I said, as we climbed into the car. ‘Suppose they have an accident.’

  ‘We can’t stop her,’ said Danny. ‘Don’t go too fast, Si, okay?’

  ‘You think I was going to?’ asked Simon. ‘This’ll be our slowest drive back ever.’

  I watched over my shoulder as the bike followed us into the line of traffic heading out of town. Once in open country Simon proceeded at a steady thirty-five. Josser drew up close behind us, sitting on our tail while Simon did his best to ignore him. Suddenly Josser’s patience gave out and he roared the bike’s engine, swooping round us and heading into the distance like a rocket. Trudie was past before I had time to register her expression.

  ‘What the fuck does he think he’s doing?’ Danny thumped the dashboard in frustration.

  ‘Stupid prat,’ said Simon. ‘Ought I try to catch him?’

  ‘Don’t,’ I said. ‘If you go faster, so will he. If you don’t he’ll have to slow down, otherwise he’ll lose us.’

  ‘Trudie will be able to tell him the way,’ said Simon, grimly. ‘What an idiot.’

  We did not see them again until we reached the house. When we turned in between the gateposts the bike was standing outside the front door, arrogantly pleased with itself. The riders had already dismounted. Trudie was in the act of removing the helmet and shaking out her long hair. Josser was standing beside her looking smug. Although there had never been any suggestion of a race, there was no doubt that Josser had notched up a victory. It was also evident that Josser wasn’t planning to leave immediately – an impression confirmed by hearing Trudie’s words as we got out of the Anglia: ‘We’ve got some beer, if you fancy that.’

  ‘A beer would be great.’ His grin encompassed all of us. I hated the way his lips split wide apart, as if his teeth wanted to climb out of his mouth.

  Simon opened the front door without a word, unable to countermand Trudie’s invitation without giving way to an uncharacteristic display of bad manners.

  ‘What a place,’ said Josser, as he stepped into the hall.

  ‘In here,’ said Simon in a flat, expressionless voice, as he led the way into the drawing room.

  ‘What do you think you’re playing at.’ I hissed, as I followed Trudie into the kitchen, ‘inviting him in like that?’

  Trudie looked genuinely surprised. ‘I couldn’t leave him standing outside – not after he’d given me a ride on his bike. Anyway, he said he was thirsty.’

  ‘Of course he did. That’s because he wanted to get inside. Couldn’t you see that Simon didn’t want him coming back here?’

  ‘I thought he was their friend from university,’ protested Trudie. ‘If they didn’t want to get talking with him, why did Danny shout to him in the first place?’

  ‘He didn’t shout at him, you nitwit. He was shouting to us.’

  ‘Oh well – what’s the harm? He won’t stay long.’

  ‘Well, don’t encourage him,’ I said. ‘One beer. Don’t take bottles in – just pour him a tumblerful – then he’s got to go. Okay?’ I started to hunt around for some clean glasses.

  ‘Okay. Can you see where the tray has gone?’

  We couldn’t find the tray, so we carried the drinks in between us, me with one in each hand, Trudie balancing the other trio on a dinner plate.

  ‘Waited on by a pair of beautiful girls,’ said Josser. ‘Isn’t this the life?’ When no one answered, he continued: ‘I’d say you fellas have got it made. Place like this to shack up in, a couple of lasses. What’s the secret of your success? Or maybe it’s better not to ask – some secrets best kept, eh, fellas?’ His tone was superficially friendly, but as he took an exploratory drink his eyes tracked from Simon to Danny and back again, and his expression was calculating.

  ‘Have you seen anyone else from uni since term ended?’ asked Simon. His tone reminded me of the one my mother employed when she had decided it was time to move on from an unsavoury topic.

  ‘Nah – I went home for a bit, caught up with a few mates, but I was running short of brass, so I came down on this fruit-picking lark. Andy – you know Andy who’s on the engineering course
– said I could doss at his place. Nothing like this though. It’s a grand spot, this. Room for a few more here, I reckon.’

  ‘So,’ said Simon, crisply. ‘Do you make much money – fruit picking?’

  ‘No, it’s crap. Hardly keeps me in beer and fags. Bloody hard work, too. So what is it you’re doing here then?’

  ‘Gardening,’ said Danny.

  I sat watching everyone, saying nothing at all. Trudie was also uncharacteristically quiet. By now she had realized her mistake in being over-friendly with Josser and was probably worried about the extent to which she had annoyed the rest of us. Simon was doing his best to keep up a flow of superficially polite conversation until Josser had finished his beer, but his discomfiture was palpable. It was Danny, however, who surprised me most. I gradually realized that most of the tension in the room was emanating from him. Beneath his normal calm exterior, he was taut with anger. It radiated out of him like an invisible force field, until gradually each of us in the room became aware of it – all except Josser, who blabbed on and on completely impervious, constantly working the conversation back to the subject of our accommodation until he eventually said: ‘Tell you the truth, I’m getting a bit sick of Andy’s. Maybe I could move out here for a while. I’m pretty discreet – won’t tell tales out of school, as they say.’

  ‘You can’t, I’m afraid. We’ve made an arrangement with the owner. Numbers are strictly limited to the four of us.’ Simon didn’t look at Josser as he spoke. He made as if to take another drink, but found his glass was empty.

  Josser stretched his legs out in front of him. They reached right under the coffee table, the worn soles of his boots protruding out the other side. ‘Rules were made to be broken. I don’t suppose the ‘‘arrangement’’ includes your little harem either.’ (He pronounced it hareem.) ‘Come to that, I don’t suppose the harem know everything there is to know about you two. They’re not from the university, are they? So they won’t have heard the rumours.’

  He got no further. Danny’s dive took him completely by surprise. The dregs of his beer went flying. (The glass – miraculously intact – landed several feet away on the hearth rug.) It was so quick that I didn’t actually see the blow land. I seemed to be the only one who didn’t move. Trudie sprang to her feet with a little cry and Simon jumped between Danny and Josser before anyone had time to say a word. For a second it was like looking at a still from an action movie. The overturned coffee table, Trudie frozen with horror, still clutching her empty glass, Danny poised to strike again while Josser cowered back in the corner of the sofa, a hand curled defensively in front of his mouth. When Simon broke the silence his voice was shaking. ‘Just go,’ he said.

  Josser hesitated. When he moved his hand, I could see there was blood on his lips. Tears sprang into my eyes, not out of any sympathy for Josser, but in shock at the sudden eruption of violence. The situation was poised on a dangerous fulcrum. Josser was easily as tall as Danny and bulky with it. For all I knew, he hadn’t been joking with his intimations of a semi-wild biker lifestyle. Maybe he carried a knife – or had a lot of biker friends.

  ‘Go on,’ said Simon. ‘Piss off.’ Simon’s precise diction tended to give swear words an unintentionally comic inflection, but the message was undiluted.

  Josser rose slowly, keeping a wary eye on Danny who stood like a statue, with Simon’s restraining hand resting softly on his arm. We followed our departing guest at a distance, watching in silence as he fumbled with the front door: all four of us advancing on to the step to see him fasten on his helmet, then kick his bike into life. As he flung a leg across it, he shouted something against the roar of the engine.

  Trudie was standing next to me. ‘What did he say?’ she whispered.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Something insulting -something about poofs.’

  The guys had both turned back inside the house. Trudie hastened after them. ‘I’m really, really sorry,’ she began. ‘I wouldn’t have gone on the bike with him if I’d known how much trouble it would cause.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’ With Josser’s departure, Danny had reverted back to his usual easy-going self. ‘He’s just a wanker. He won’t bother us again.’ He gave Trudie a quick hug to demonstrate his equanimity. Simon followed his lead by squeezing her shoulder, but unlike Danny he still looked upset.

  Then Danny noticed me. ‘Hey, what’s this?’ He brushed away my solitary tear with his forefinger. ‘Don’t be upset. He’s gone now. It’s all over.’ He gave me a hug too, following it up with a kiss. ‘Come on. Let’s forget all about it.’

  Danny seemed to have no trouble putting the whole episode behind him, and the rest of us did our best to follow his lead. Simon had picked up a bottle of vodka in town and that night, after we had consumed the better part of it between us, we attempted to dance Cossack style on the lawn. Before very long I had fallen over so often that it didn’t seem worth getting up. ‘The world looks really weird from down here,’ I said. No one took any notice. Simon and Trudie were engaged in a contest to see who could whirl round and round longest before they collapsed. Danny was urging them on. The lights from the kitchen windows cast long shadows across the ground. I reached out to grab a handful of light, but my fingers closed on the cold grass instead. Simon and Trudie stumbled into one another and fell in a heap.

  Danny appeared above me – as tall as the Eiffel Tower. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s go to bed.’

  He offered a hand and I pulled myself upright. The house was still stuffy with summer heat. ‘I won’t be able to sleep,’ I protested.

  ‘Who said anything about sleeping?’ he said.

  We were woken at around one in the morning by a loud shattering of glass, the echo of which was followed by a motorbike roaring away. A speedy reconnaissance revealed that a pane in the drawing-room window had been smashed. We gathered round in various states of undress, staring at the half brick which lay in the centre of a pool of broken glass.

  Simon looked at Danny. ‘Josser,’ he said.

  ‘Unless Murdered Agnes—’ Trudie began.

  ‘Don’t start all that crap,’ said Danny, a trifle more sharply than usual. ‘Not unless you expect us to believe she’s taken to riding a motorbike.’

  ‘It has to be Josser,’ said Simon.

  ‘But why should he bother coming all the way out here?’ I asked.

  ‘I assume we’re looking for something more sophisticated than to get back at Danny for thumping him,’ said Simon sarcastically. ‘But I don’t think we’re likely to come up with anything. There’s nothing clever or sophisticated about Josser. He’s just a nasty piece of work – that’s all.’ He saw the way Trudie was looking at him and continued more calmly: ‘There was a guy last term – Josser thought he’d found out some stuff about him and threatened to spread it around. He made this guy’s life a complete misery . . .’ His voice faltered unexpectedly.

  Trudie and I both stared at him. ‘It was a good mate of Simon’s,’ Danny said – far too quickly. I wondered what Josser could possibly have found out about Simon, which he would want kept quiet.

  ‘I’ll get the bugger when term starts,’ said Danny.

  ‘I doubt if he’ll be going back,’ said Simon. ‘He’s probably failed his exams. He hardly ever turned up for lectures.’ The thought seemed to cheer him.

  ‘Well, he’ll be sorry if I ever see him again,’ said Danny grimly

  The night air flooded in through the broken pane, making me shiver. ‘What are we going to do about the window?’

  ‘Leave it for tonight. It only needs a piece of glass cutting to the right size and some putty,’ said Danny. ‘I know how to do it. I helped my dad fix that broken window, after we put a cricket ball through it.’

  ‘After you did, you mean,’ said Simon.

  ‘It was your fault,’ grinned Danny. ‘You bowled a googly.’

  ‘You leave my googlies out of this.’

  ‘I’m going back to bed,’ Trudie announced and as if on
cue the three of them all moved towards the door.

  ‘Are you sure we ought to leave the window like this?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah. We’ll sort it out in the morning.’

  I hung back doubtfully, but when no one else seemed minded to do anything about the broken glass on the carpet I scuttled after Danny, not wanting to be left alone with the hole. The blackness outside menaced me. I felt as if more than fresh air would come creeping in, given half a chance.

  Back in bed, I couldn’t get the broken window pane out of my head. In my mind’s eye I saw Josser silencing his motorbike a good way down the lane before creeping up to the house and reaching in through the jagged hole, his dirty fingers pawing around for the window catch. The next thing I knew, Danny was comforting me in the darkness. ‘Shh, shh, what is it? Come on, Katy. You must have been dreaming. There’s nothing to be scared of. Just cuddle up next to me.’

  FOURTEEN

  I don’t ask Mrs Ivanisovic how she is. It would be futile, pointless. I let her make the conversational running – which clearly costs her an effort, every sentence like climbing a mountain, leaving her exhausted and breathless.

  ‘I hardly recognized you,’ she says. ‘You’re still very pretty.’

  We both know this isn’t true, but I let it pass.

  ‘Are you still teaching?’

  ‘No, I took early retirement, after my mother died.’

  She inclines her head a fraction, the acknowledgement with which the very elderly greet tidings of death. ‘And your father?’

  ‘He died quite a few years ago.’

  Another nod to the inevitable. There is a pause while she gathers herself for another effort, so I fill the gap, telling her about my brother and his family; mentioning by way of an afterthought that my sister has been divorced twice. I cannot honestly be sure that she ever met them – I think they attended Danny’s funeral, no more connection than that – but she is clearly grateful for my attempts to carry the burden of conversation.

  When I fall silent she says: ‘You never married.’