The Liminal Space

by Jacquie McRae

  I’ve never been a great keeper of time, but now that I’m running out of it, it does seem important to spend it wisely. I sense an urgency from somewhere to put things right. To put things in order is really what I mean. Some things can never be put right.

  I slide the metal box from under the window seat and take the letters out. I read the faded address, although I know it by heart. All the letters I wrote, put in an envelope and addressed but never sent. There was always such a distance between the thoughts in my head and the words that came out on paper. I thought for a while that what I had to say might be better to say in person, but I haven’t been brave enough yet.

  I take pen and paper and stare into space, hoping to find words that convey my thoughts. I stall on the starting line. How do you start a letter to someone knowing that you altered the whole course of their life? I try again and then scribble across what I’ve written. I tear off a clean sheet and force myself to write.

  It is hard to find the words to explain what’s in my thoughts, and I hope that the ones I choose don’t upset you. There appears to be no bigger word than sorry, so that is all I can offer.

  I hear a thump on the outside of my house; I’m grateful for the interruption. I put my latest offering on top of the others in the box and slide it back under the window seat.

  MARCO

  Dad’s shop sits at the bottom of High Street in an old wool warehouse. It’s the perfect spot for catching the tourists as they do the loop around town. I unlock the brass padlock and slide the bolt back. I’m breaking my vow to never work in the shop again, because I can’t watch William being poked and prodded at the hospital.

  This warehouse used to house the wool bales before they got taken to the mill. The chunky beams overhead form a peak and make the roof seem miles away, like you’re in a cathedral. The dark stained floorboards are replicated in the mezzanine that juts out over half the shop. Some of the pulley ropes still dangle from the rafters.

  The notorious Finnleigh gang were said to have hidden out in the cellar of this building when one of their smuggling operations went wrong. They were eventually found hiding in the wool bales and then hanged in the market square. I used to charge the kids from my class a sherbet or a 50p bag of sweets to come have a look at where the gang had etched their names into the stonework while they hid from the customs agents. Dad put a stop to it when he realised what I was doing. He made it known that locals were welcome to have a look around for free and offered me as their guide.

  I open the shop at ten, and at five past, the Driscoll clan traipses in. Mr and Mrs My Shit Doesn’t Stink and Clive, their entitled, pain-in-the-arse son.

  We started school on the same day, and our mutual hatred of each other lasted until we both left. On that first day, I thought we could be friends, but he made it clear that he wouldn’t be playing with a wog.

  ‘Have they run out of houses for you to sell in the city?’ Clive says, staring straight at me.

  The thought of punching him flashes through my mind, and then it’s replaced by the thought of telling Dad that I punched the first customer within five minutes of opening. I keep it together by clenching and unclenching my fists under the counter.

  ‘No, Clive. I’m helping my old man out. Were you after anything in particular?’

  His mother wobbles up to the counter. ‘We only come in for the vegetables.’ She picks up a marrow and inspects every inch of it before placing it into her wicker basket. She does the same with a tomato, and I have to turn away. I’ve never understood how the Driscolls could possibly think that owning a hardware store in some backward village elevates them above anyone else. Dad’s veggies are either amazing or cheap to get the Driscolls through his door.

  There is no arrangement to Dad’s shop. It looks like someone opened the front doors and threw in a pile of furniture—which is probably pretty close to the truth. I drag a couple of wicker chairs onto the pavement so I can move around in the shop, and within an hour I’ve sold them. The same thing happens when I replace them with two wooden ones. By the end of the day, I’ve sold a hat stand and a table lamp, and someone’s put their name down on a mahogany table that I didn’t discover until I moved things outside.

  I call into the Swan on my way home, to celebrate. As soon as I walk in, I regret my decision. Hunched over the bar with their bum cracks showing are Graham and Mark. Two of my biggest tormentors at school. My heart races as the adrenalin surges through my blood. I look for an escape route, just like I did as a boy.

  Kay Baxter is serving drinks behind the bar.

  ‘Hi, Marco,’ she calls out, which makes them turn and look my way before I have a chance to leave.

  ‘Well, if it isn’t Fidel,’ Graham says, sneering and elbowing his brother.

  My shoulders automatically hunch up by my ears. I’m reminded how I used to try and make myself look small in the hope that they wouldn’t notice me. I quickly weigh up my options. I’m a grown man, and I’ll look like an idiot if I run. I acknowledge them with a tilt of my head, and stroll to the far end of the bar. Kay walks its length to serve me.

  ‘I didn’t think you were hanging around?’

  ‘I’m not.’ I place a ten-pound note on the bar. ‘Bourbon and coke, no ice.’

  I feel the brothers’ eyes on me and pretend to check my phone. Kay saunters off and takes forever to pour my drink. She leans over so I can see down her top as she places the drink on a coaster in front of me. I keep my head down and pretend not to notice her. I raise the glass to my lips and take a leisurely sip, although I want to down it and run.

  ‘What are you doing back here?’ Graham asks.

  ‘Yeah, slumming it a bit, aren’t ya, Marco?’ They both laugh at their lame joke.

  ‘Just got a bit of business.’

  ‘Right. Of course you do. Big stuff, no doubt.’

  I take a few more swigs of my drink and then pretend to check my phone.

  ‘Can I shout you another one?’ Kay asks as I put my empty glass on the counter.

  ‘I’m good.’

  As I walk out, one of them yells out to me. ‘See you later, DW.’

  It catapults me back to the school playground, where the chanting of dumb wog accompanied me most lunchtimes. All I ever wished for as a child was for another immigrant family to move to the village—or at least someone who was poorer than us.

  Dad is sound asleep in his chair when I get home. His false teeth sit on the side table next to him. I think about waking him and telling him about the shop sales, but I’m not in the mood to talk. The joy of the sales evaporated in the pub. I hate that those arseholes made me feel small and feeble again. I’ve got to find a way to get out of here.

  JAMES

  A dark shadow appears under the bridge, and it takes a moment for me to recognise the shape of Juno. God, not again. I look up the bank and expect to see William, but I don’t.

  ‘Where’s your master?’

  She grabs the end of my jacket with her teeth and pulls it.

  ‘Let it go.’ I tap at her nose, but she won’t let go. I have to tug hard on the jacket before it releases. She walks halfway up the bank, stops and looks back at me. When I don’t move, she barks at me and then walks back down and sits in front of me.

  ‘Go on home.’

  She still doesn’t move. ‘Go on, Juno.’

  She pats at me with one of her front paws.

  ‘Go on, go.’

  She swats at me repetitively.

  ‘God.’

  I push her sharply, and she walks up the bank. She stops at the top, turns and looks down at me and starts barking.

  ‘Shh. Shut up, Juno.’

  I shake my head and go behind the boulder. In an instant, she’s back down beside me and pulling a rope from my backpack. I go to grab her, but she’s too fast and races up the bank with the rope clenched in her mouth. I chase her along the path, snatching at the rope dragging behind her, but she’s too quick.

  When we get to William’s
gate, she ducks under it and leaves me standing on the other side. William’s up a ladder throwing leaves out of his gutter and onto the lawn.

  He turns and smiles when he sees me.

  ‘I wondered where she’d gone. She took off when I got the ladder out. Where’d you find her?’

  ‘Under the bridge.’

  ‘I thought she might be there. It seems to be her favourite place at the moment.’ William climbs down. A striped pyjama top is visible under his jersey.

  ‘Thanks for bringing her back. Actually, it’s good timing. I need a hand carrying something in from the garage. Would you mind, James?’

  I nod and follow him around the back of his house. I shorten my step to imitate his.

  In the garage, he moves boxes aside until he locates a tea chest along the back wall. We take a side each, but it’s heavy, and we have to put it down several times as we carry it into his lounge. The smells of peppermint and incense fill the air.

  Juno sidles up beside him. William appears to jolt backwards. I look at Juno and presume she’s knocked him off balance.

  ‘Are you alright, William?’

  ‘Yeah. I just overdid it. I need to sit down.’

  I help him into a chair.

  ‘Sorry this is becoming a habit, James.’

  ‘Do you need anything?’

  ‘A cup of tea would be nice. Maybe you could have one with me. Just until my vision sorts itself. It’s all a bit fuzzy at the moment. The tea is on the bench, and the mugs are in the cupboard above.’

  I follow where he’s pointing. Strewn along the bench are small containers and glass beakers, like in a laboratory. It takes me a while to find the pot, the tea and two clean cups. I take them into the lounge and search for somewhere to put them. The room is filled with furniture, and every surface has something on it. Books are stacked up to near toppling. Candles in saucers in various states of decline are dotted around. A coffee cup teeters on the edge of a bookcase.

  ‘Just move those paintings off there.’

  William points towards a little table covered with papers. I pick up the intricate watercolour paintings; I recognise the indigo blue and rich Venetian red from a set of Winsor & Newton paints I had as a child. An image of my mother sitting on the riverbank, waiting for me to finish yet another painting, flashes through my mind. I rub my fingers gently along the textured paper.

  ‘Did you do these?’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘They’re beautiful.’

  ‘Thanks. Don’t you paint, James?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Funny, I thought I remembered seeing you painting down by the river. You were much smaller, and your mother used to sit on the bank beside you.’

  ‘I used to paint.’

  ‘Why did you stop?’

  I stack the pictures carefully on top of another pile of papers. ‘I guess I grew up.’

  ‘Oh, you don’t want to do that in a hurry.’

  I notice him rubbing his temples, and he notices me watching.

  ‘I’ve got a tumour growing, James. That’s why I’m wobbly.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘You don’t need to say anything. I’m letting you know because I need another favour.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I need to pay someone to walk with me on the days I can, and to take Juno for walks on the days I can’t. I wondered if you’d be interested.’

  ‘Umm. Sorry, I don’t think so. I’m not really good with dogs.’

  Juno turns around and looks directly at me.

  ‘Well, she seems to think otherwise.’

  ‘I’m not sure how long I’ll be around.’

  ‘Are you going somewhere?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m not here for long.’ I stand up and take my cup back to the kitchen.

  ‘Well, maybe you could just do tomorrow morning for me. I’ll find someone else soon, but it’d really help me.’

  ‘Okay,’ I hear myself saying and then start thinking of ways I can get out of it.

  ‘Thanks, James. What time would suit you?’

  ‘Umm, do you have a mobile phone? I could ring in the morning in case something else comes up.’

  William winces and closes his eyes as he leans back on the chair.

  ‘Sorry, James. I don’t have a mobile phone or a computer. Shall we say nine or ten?’

  ‘Umm. Maybe nine. But if I’m not here, it means something else has come up. I’d better get home.’

  ‘Thanks. I wouldn’t ask, but Juno goes crazy without a walk. You’ll be extending the lives of lots of plants and shoes.’

  All the way home, I wonder how I can get out of it. I mean, it’s not my problem that he’s dying. It’s not my dog.

  I just won’t turn up.

  EMILY

  I cross my fingers on both hands as I race along the river walk home, but then remember that two is bad luck and uncross one. Please let him be held up somewhere. The curtains are drawn, and a shaft of light at the bottom of the lounge window forewarns me that he’s made it home before me. I make my way straight into the kitchen and see the bottle of whisky out on the table. My stomach does a somersault, and I jump when he comes up behind me.

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’

  ‘I had to drop some books off at William’s on my way home. I forgot the time.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be anywhere near that old fucker. I hear he’s got a thing for young girls.’

  I want to defend William, but I see the look in Rob’s eye and keep my mouth shut tight. I take the leftovers from the fridge.

  ‘Is that it?’ he asks.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘No apology. No kiss my arse or nothing.’

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t think it would matter.’ I move towards the stove, but he grabs my shoulder on the way past.

  ‘Everything matters, Emily. When you’ve had a hard day, you don’t expect to come home to a cold house with no dinner on while your wife is up the road at another man’s house.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Your dinner just needs heating.’ I go to move, but he pushes my shoulder harder into the wall. I close my eyes, but they spring open when he thrusts his other hand between my legs.

  ‘What were you doing up there, Emily?’

  ‘Nothing, Rob. I was just dropping off some books.’

  ‘Do you like old men, Emily?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Is that what turns you on, huh?’

  ‘No, he’s my friend.’

  ‘I heard he likes watching you.’

  ‘He’s lonely. We talk.’

  ‘You talk to him, do you? Does he make you wet?’

  ‘No.’ I try to wriggle out of his grip, but he’s way too strong, and he pins me to the wall with his body. I smell the alcohol on his breath. He spits some more words at me, but I’m not listening. My mind’s racing. He’s already past the soothing stage, so I try to work out how to get away. He pauses for a second, and I make a dash for the door, but he throws a leg out and trips me up. My head hits the floor with a thud. I feel his full weight pressing me to the floor. I see the bulge in his pants just as he starts unbuttoning them. I turn my face towards the wall, but he grabs my jaw and pulls it back.

  ‘Look what you make me do.’

  ‘Please, Rob. Don’t.’

  ‘Shush.’ He puts the palm of his hand over my mouth.

  My begging is distorted by his hand, and it sounds like a noise that a wounded animal would make.

  I close my eyes and plead with myself to not move. Do not make a sound. He’ll forget you’re here, and in a few minutes, it’ll be over.

  I get up when he’s done and leave him fumbling with his trousers. I edge my way to the bathroom. I lock the door and walk into the shower fully clothed. I turn the tap to hot and wait to feel nothing.

  I sleep in my old room, and in the morning, I leave the house without laying out his breakfast things. I let the front door bang behind me.

  WILLIAM


  I see his uniform through the trees as he comes down the path towards the shed. He’s waving a piece of paper in his hand.

  ‘Morning, William,’ he says with a smug look on his face. ‘I told you I’d be back.’ He pokes his head inside the shed. ‘Renovations?’

  ‘Huge renovations. I moved a flower vase and changed some cushion covers.’

  ‘I’ve had a report about some lewd behaviour from you.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous.’

  ‘Well, this complaint says otherwise. You were seen taking your clothes off down by the river.’

  ‘This is stupid.’ I shake my head and walk back towards the house.

  ‘I wouldn’t walk away, William. Do you deny taking your clothes off?’

  I stop on the path and stare back at him. ‘Some days, if it’s hot enough, I jump in the river pool on the way back from my walk. I find it easier to swim without my coat on.’

  Juno starts barking, and I turn to see James coming in the gate. He hesitates as he looks at the policeman and then at me.

  ‘Shall I come back?’

  Sergeant Norris waves him in. ‘Come.’

  James walks reluctantly towards us.

  ‘Sergeant Norris. And you are?’

  ‘James.’

  ‘What’s your business here, James?’

  ‘Umm.’

  ‘He’s my dog walker,’ I say to the sergeant and then turn to James. ‘Come with me, and I’ll get her lead.’ As it’s clipped on to Juno’s collar, she starts tugging James towards the gate.

  ‘Sorry, but would you mind going on your own today?’

  ‘Okay. But where shall I take her?’

  ‘She’ll probably drag you across the meadow into the woodlands.’

  I watch them with envy as they disappear along the river walkway. The thudding in my temple becomes more insistent, and my tongue searches inside my mouth for saliva. I walk inside to get a drink. The sergeant follows me so closely that I can feel his breath on my neck. I drink some water and swallow a pill. He takes the pill bottle from me and reads the label.