‘Hey, Rain Man,’ someone calls out to me, which makes the others in the group laugh. I tilt my head further down and walk briskly to the hall. In class, I hear whispers and presume they’re talking about me. I can feel my body starting to tense up, and I leave before the lecture finishes.
I tell myself that it must be nerves and it’ll pass. I keep hoping that I’ll feel better and able to cope, but each morning I wake up with the same sense of dread. I have to curl up to get away from it. The light and the dark come and play on the walls.
I ignore the knocks on my door. I hear muffled voices outside but can’t make out what they’re saying. At some point, there are people beside me. Someone shines a light in my eyes, and I hear someone calling for a doctor. I take the slide into oblivion.
My name gets to be written in the family history books, as the first Farndale to be asked to leave Oxford.
EMILY
I start the pie early and have it in the oven ready to be turned on. I can’t believe it’s my second wedding anniversary already. Earl cut me a prime piece of steak and found some lovely pigs’ kidneys from out the back. Rose said the key to a good steak-and-kidney pie was to make sure the suet was well shredded. I shredded it, chopped it and then used the stick blender for good measure.
I put everything away and wipe the benches clean.
I didn’t bother telling Colleen the truth. It was easier to say that I had a dentist appointment and needed to leave work early than to say that I wanted to get home and clean up. She doesn’t understand about trying to keep husbands happy.
I set the alarm on the kitchen timer for ten minutes and slide into the bath. I lie back and disappear into the steam clouds. My skin instantly goes red, but I don’t mind. After having to use my grandmother’s cold bathwater for most of my life, a little red is a sign of victory. I wish she was alive to see that I did get a husband, in spite of all her predictions.
The pie is perfect, and my mood lifts a little as I put the plates in the oven to warm. I place a tea light in a small jar in the middle of the table and polish the knives and forks as I lay them down. I push the crystal tumbler a fraction closer to Rob’s place setting. The clock chimes seven, and I start to worry that the pie might dry out. I wait five minutes and then take it out of the oven and wrap it in aluminium foil. I baste a little egg and milk over the top of the pie at eight, and then at nine cut a sliver for myself. The grandfather clock chimes ten as I blow out the candle. I fold a piece of paper in half and write ‘Happy anniversary’ then balance the note on top of the ruined pie.
A few hours later, I hear him as he crashes up the stairs. I ignore him when he calls my name and pretend to be sleeping when he comes into the room. I bite down on my bottom lip to stop myself crying. Don’t you dare cry, I tell myself. You’ll make it worse. I press down harder.
I wake early, and I’m at the library by seven, which was the time I used to get here when my grandmother was alive. Colleen bought me my own set of keys for my sixteenth birthday. She said it wasn’t a good look to have me sitting on the stone steps every morning, waiting for her to arrive. I stayed overnight a few times, but we both pretended I didn’t. I take the feather duster from the hall cupboard and knock down a few spiders setting up house along the beams. I move a chest of drawers in the children’s room and take books off the shelves to use for a display.
‘Morning,’ Colleen calls out as she arrives. Five minutes later, she brings me a cup of tea.
‘What have you done to your lip, Emily?’
My tongue automatically runs over the blood blister.
‘I must have done it in my sleep.’
She frowns at me and sits down on one of the beds. As she sips her tea, she looks at me over the rim of the cup.
‘What’s the display?’ She nods her head towards the books on the ground.
‘I thought I’d do a medieval theme. Every second kid wants the Frozen books. I thought I’d highlight some other prince and princess stories.’
‘You know it’s not true, right?’
‘What?’
‘That a knight in shining armour comes and rescues you.’
I ignore her and spend the rest of the morning making props for my display. I fold cardboard into castles and model clay into moats. I use the metal soldiers and horses that we found in a biscuit tin under the stairs. I envy the child who was given these treasures. They must have cost a fortune; it would have taken someone hours to hand-paint all the details onto the soldiers’ uniforms and the gold lettering onto the horses’ capes. Colleen thinks that the toys are at least a hundred years old.
Ivy bustles in and heads straight for the kitchen to make herself a coffee. She seems to have got things a bit twisted since she became chairperson of the church committee. Colleen says you’d think she personally owned the library the way she carries on. I watch now as Colleen follows her into the kitchen, and I wait for the fireworks to start up. It takes just a few minutes.
Ivy comes storming out.
‘I’m sorry, but we have no choice.’
‘What nonsense, Ivy. We always have a choice.’
I have to sidestep Ivy to avoid a collision. She scowls at me as though I’m the one rushing around like a bull.
‘You should get rid of those weeds too, Emily.’ She nods towards the wild flowers that William so thoughtfully left on the porch. ‘Some of them look poisonous.’
I’d love to tell her that she’s the only poisonous thing I see, and that she could do with being a bit thoughtful herself.
WILLIAM
The nurse dabs at the blood trickling from my head wound. Relief floods through me as she ushers me into the cubicle. A waiting room is the worst place for someone like me. The space between myself and other people can get blurred. My body mirrors the sensation or pain in someone else. I feel their broken arm in mine, or the tightness of their breathing in my chest. I have to quickly shift my focus to stop feeling the sensations the other person is feeling. I’ve learnt some skills to protect myself, but if there are too many people at once, I can get overwhelmed. I felt a seismic shift as a child when I discovered that not everyone viewed the world in quite the same way as me. I was thrown to the edge of the world, and I’ve been waiting to fall off ever since.
‘Take a seat, William. I’ll check your blood pressure and clean out that wound before the doctor sees you.’ She wraps a cuff around my upper arm and looks at the gauge, then looks back up at me. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here?’
‘No. You wouldn’t have.’
‘120 over 80. Perfectly normal.’
I’m wondering if there’s such a thing as imperfectly normal when a doctor pulls the curtain back.
‘Hi. I’m Doctor Barnaby. I’m filling in while Doctor Moore is on holiday. I hear you’re a lucky man.’
I nod. It seems a funny thing to say to a man who’s just been hit by a van. He flicks some surgical gloves on and peers at the gash.
‘This looks fine. Just give it a couple of butterfly stitches,’ he says to the nurse. He pulls an ophthalmoscope from his pocket and examines my eyes.
‘Your son said you lost your vision for a moment?’
‘He’s my neighbour’s son. I lost it for a second.’
‘Mm-huh.’ The doctor keeps the light shining into my eyes. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, but I’d like to run a few more tests.’
‘What is it you’re worried about?’
‘Well, the optic nerve looks a little swollen. Have you been having any headaches before this accident?’
‘A couple.’
‘Best we rule out a few things. I’ll make a referral, and a nurse will be in touch with you. For the moment, just go home and rest.’
I gather my coat. I’m surprised to see Marco still sitting in the waiting room. He stands up as soon as he sees me and heads towards the door.
‘Excuse me, William,’ the girl behind the counter calls out to me. ‘We need a few more details.’
Marco grabs my arm and shepherds me out. In a few minutes, we’re parked in his dad’s driveway.
‘Thanks again, Marco. Tell your dad I’ll talk to him later.’ I get out and slip through the hole in the hedgerow. I cut a space out of it when Marco was little so he could come and go between our houses.
The smell of white sage and rosemary greets me as I open the front door. The familiar smells comfort me. I put another log on the fire while Balthazar and Juno supervise. I brew a pot of peppermint tea and take it into the lounge. The light streams in through one of the windows as I place the typewriter on a coffee table in the sunshine. I pick my words carefully; cradle them for a while before I set them down on paper. I stop typing when my thoughts become foggy and a pain between my shoulder blades means I need to stretch. Juno comes over and rests her head by my knee. I stroke the back of it.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll be fine.’
MARCO
I see Dad through the glass door, sitting in an old tartan chair, a cup of tea on a side table and the newspaper folded in quarters across his lap. I have to bash on the door and yell for ages before he turns around and notices me.
‘Jesus, Dad, get a friggin’ doorbell or some hearing aids.’
‘Nice to see you too, Marco. Your mother would die if she heard you talking like that.’
I shake my head. Dad talks about Mum as if she’s just popped out for a moment, but she ditched us years ago. He’s been trying to cover for her ever since. I think the silly bugger still hopes that she’ll come back. I wouldn’t cross the street to say hi.
In the kitchen, I flick the kettle on to make a coffee.
‘Do you want one?’
‘I’ve got one, thanks. How’s the big city?’
‘Same. Big.’
‘And your job?’
I pretend not to hear and make a production of banging things around on the bench.
‘I just brought William home from the doctor’s,’ I say as I take a seat beside him.
‘Our William?’
‘No. Someone else’s William. Of course our William. He stepped in front of a van outside McCarthy’s.’
‘God. Is he alright?’
‘Yeah, apparently he will be.’
‘Ooh. What a thing to happen.’ Dad shakes his head in disbelief. ‘I better go see him.’
‘He said to let you know that he’s fine and that he’s having a rest. I had to wait at the doctor’s for over an hour.’
‘That’s nice of you, Mijo.’
The term of endearment is my cue.
‘Dad, I need your help with something. I need to borrow some money.’
Dad sits back in his chair and looks directly at me.
‘What for, Marco? Doesn’t your fancy job pay you well?’
‘The market’s pretty slow, but I’m sure it’ll pick up. I just need to borrow some money to get me through.’
‘Don’t you have any savings?’
‘No, Dad, I don’t; that’s why I’m asking for the loan.’
I have to get up and move around, as his questions irritate me so. I take the cups back to the kitchen.
‘How much do you need?’
‘About 2000 pounds should do.’
‘I could live off that for a year. What do you need that much for?’
‘Rent’s overdue on the apartment, lease on the car, gym membership. Jesus, Dad. Can you loan me the money or not?’
‘It’s not about the money, Marco. Maybe you need to look at some of the choices you make.’
I have to bite down on the side of my gums to stop myself from having a crack.
‘I didn’t come for a lecture. I’ve got to get back to the city. Can you do it or not?’
‘I need to think on it.’
The screen door closes behind him as he goes out to his veggie plot. When Mum left, he dug up the entire back garden and put in vegetables. Kids at school teased me that my mum hadn’t left but was buried at the back of our house. Whenever Dad needs to think, he gardens.
I look around at Dad’s pathetic lot. The salmon-coloured couch that he picked up from the side of the road was one of his favourite finds. ‘We now have something to sit on,’ he said, beaming, as he dragged the ripped thing into our lounge. Every pathetic prize I’ve ever won is on display in a special cabinet that he got from a gala day. He paid a pound for it, and even though it was missing its glass front door and every panel on it was a different colour, it was the focal feature in our lounge.
Dad’s penchant for picking up other people’s throw-outs became a business. For the past fifteen years, he’s had Arlo’s at the bottom of the main street. You’d have thought he’d won the lottery when he signed the lease on the shop. He sells second-hand goods and veggies.
I slump down into Dad’s chair and unleash a hit of Cuban cigar smell. I guess I’m not getting back to work today.
JAMES
Mum comes into my room and pulls the curtains back.
‘Good morning, James,’ she says in a fake cheery voice. ‘Come and have some breakfast.’
I drag my clothes from the floor and struggle into them. Dad’s seated at the table and halfway through his morning cup of coffee. He’s the only lawyer in the village and clerk of the parish council. He’s dressed, as always, in a dark suit, a white shirt and a dark tie.
He looks at me over the top of his newspaper. It’s weeks since I came home, and I can still catch traces of a certain look on his face. The look he had when he came to collect me from school.
I do feel sorry for him. I was meant to be brilliant, or at least have some sporting abilities. His line ends at useless.
I move the crockery around the table and force myself to spoon in a couple of mouthfuls of cereal. As we pass butter, honey and pleasantries, I see my mother’s eyes searching mine for signs that I may be getting well. I widen my mouth into something like a smile and hope that the gesture eases some of her suffering. I see her face relax a little.
‘There’s a meeting in the library tonight to discuss the church restoration,’ Mum says as she flicks her napkin onto her lap. ‘Apparently, the footings are all collapsing. It could cost thousands of pounds to fix them.’
‘They should have thought about that before they wasted money on those ridiculous stained-glass windows.’
‘Beth Stone donated most of the money for the windows.’
‘Buying her way in will be the only way that woman will get to heaven. Anyway, I’ve still got no sympathy for the church. I told them that money would be better spent on a brass plaque with the names of our forebears, but they didn’t listen to me.’
‘What do you think, James?’
I sense Dad watching me across the table.
‘Sorry. I wasn’t really listening.’
‘Mmm. I think, James, that it would be a good idea for you to start participating in a few things.’ He nods his head in agreement with himself. ‘Maybe start with some exercise.’
He stares at me, and I wonder if he’s expecting some kind of enthusiastic response.
‘Perhaps running. Obviously, you’ll have to start with small distances, but it’s something you could start today.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Did you have something else on, James?’
Most things seem to float above Mum, but even she flinches.
‘No, but I don’t feel that great today.’
‘Well, I’m sorry about that, but I think getting moving may help.’
‘Right.’ I can’t think of anything else to say.
‘Maybe a walk to the river,’ Mum says enthusiastically. ‘You used to love the river.’ I see her smile, so full of hope. I want to give something back to her.
‘Yeah, maybe.’
‘I could come with you this morning,’ she says.
Dad throws Mum a look. I’m not certain what it means, but I know
that he doesn’t think it’s a good idea.
‘I’m fine, Mum. I can go on my own.’
WILLIAM
The bell above the post office door clangs loudly as I enter. Reg leans over the counter as he talks to his wife Maggie, and his voice drops to a whisper when he sees me. It’s rare to see them apart, and their oranges and reds bubble together like molten lava rushing down a mountainside. Maggie used to have a little gift shop in one corner of the post office, but it’s slowly taking over the shop. There seem to be more crocheted hats, cushion covers and stuffed animals every time I come.
Reg straightens himself up and fires mail into the wooden post boxes that line the wall. He avoids making eye contact with me and sets his mouth into a tight-lipped grimace. Maggie takes herself off to the other side of the shop and arranges a family of knitted mice on a shelf while still keeping an eye on me. I see the way she does the body scan, from my scuffed leather brogues all the way up to my unkempt beard and tangled hair that hasn’t seen a comb in years. Her eyes tell me that she finds me lacking in some way. I flick through my mail and crumple up a blue flyer. Reg slips church propaganda into the mailboxes most days. I toss it in the waste-paper bin on my way out. They’ll be talking about my express pass to Hell as soon as I leave the shop.
I step onto the pavement, and Juno immediately stands up and takes the lead. I smile as she bustles her way up the high street. She heads for the meadow behind the library. Up ahead I see Mrs Ester glance my way, and I’m happy when she crosses the street. Any contact with her feels like fingernails being dragged across a blackboard. I pause for a moment at the old railway bridge and look out across the tree-fringed meadow. The lichen-covered post with the sign marking the way has fallen over into the long grass. We walk for a few minutes beside the hedgerows until we come to an embankment. I climb over it, Juno following, and half walk, half slide down the other side. At the bottom, by the river, I take off my shoes and roll up the hem of my trousers. I leave my shoes on top of a rock and amble across the ancient ford. The cold water seeps into my trousers and bites sharply at my toes. I wrap my frayed coat tightly around me. From here you can see three of the tributary rivers flowing into the Athena. I fill my flask from a spring that trickles down a ravine and then settle beside a lone black poplar. Juno lies down beside me. I take my notebook and pencil from my pocket and scribble a few lines. I lean back on the grass and close my eyes. The soft rumble as the water tumbles over the rocks lulls me to sleep.
The Liminal Space Page 3