‘“Tramadol. Take two when necessary.” What are these for?’
‘A headache.’
‘Pretty hefty drugs for a headache.’
I walk past him and lie down on the couch. I close my eyes and wait for the painkillers to kick in.
‘I’ll just have a look around, unless you have any objections.’
‘Do what you need to do and go.’
I hear him walking in and out of rooms and opening and shutting cupboards.
‘Aha! I think, William, that your problem has just got a whole lot bigger.’
His voice comes from the direction of the kitchen. The pain is still too great for me to open my eyes. I hear his footsteps marching towards me.
‘Have you got an explanation for these?’
I open one eye. In one hand, he’s holding up a plastic bag of unfilled capsules; in the other, the device I use to suction up the powder.
I close my eye again and shake my head from side to side.
‘William. You might want to engage a bit more. I have just found drug-manufacturing equipment, as well as bottles of pills that do not look like they come from a legitimate source.’
‘They’re not drugs.’
‘Then what are they?’
‘They’re sugar pills.’
‘You expect me to believe that you make sugar pills?’
‘No. I was just answering your question.’
MARCO
Dad walks into my room in the morning and sits on the end of my single bed.
‘How’d it go, Marco?’
‘Good. I had heaps of sales.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah. Once I moved some of your stuff around, things started selling. You’ve got too much stock in there, Dad. People can’t see anything.’
‘Where did you move it to?’
‘Out on the pavement.’
‘What did you sell?’
‘Chairs, tables, lamps.’
‘That’s great.’
He sits quietly at the end of my bed, and I sense that he’s thinking about something other than the shop.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Yeah. I’m good.’
‘I don’t think so. What is it? William.’
‘Yeah, things didn’t go so well yesterday. It’s not looking good. They want to see him again tomorrow.’
‘He’ll be fine.’
‘Hope so.’
‘He has to be.’
‘Yes. For us.’ He pushes himself up. ‘I made some soup for him. Could you run it over to him when you get up? I’d better get to the shop.’
An hour later, I bang on William’s door. Juno gets out of her bed on the porch and sidles over to me.
‘William,’ I yell and walk in without waiting for him to reply. William’s house has been my second home ever since my mother left. After school, he’d always have some fresh juice waiting for me and something sweet to eat in his tins. Even if Dad wasn’t working, I’d call in to get my loot.
He comes from the hallway now looking grey and sick, but he attempts a smile when he sees me.
‘Sorry, William. Dad wanted me to bring this over.’ I hold the pot up in front of me. ‘You’ll never guess what flavour.’
‘Mmm, maybe vegetable?’
‘Lucky guess.’
‘Come in. Put it in the kitchen and flick the kettle on for me.’
I find a pot under the sink and transfer the soup into it. ‘Actually, Dad said it’s pea and ham, but think more pea—I didn’t see much ham in it.’
‘Oh yes. I missed you when it was pea-shelling time. This year it was just me, and he had such a crop. I went to bed that night and dreamt we had to sort them into sizes and count them into bags. I was counting peas for hours.’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised if that was real life. I’d love to know how many hours we’ve wasted over the years shelling peas and stacking his stupid pumpkins. We should have sabotaged his vines years ago.’
‘Those vines have given us so much. Not just the fruit. You used to love carving pumpkins. I still remember the one featuring an image of me and Juno.’
‘I only carved them so Dad would let me have a penknife. What was his rule? You had to know how to use one before you got one.’
I nod. ‘You’re lucky you got a dad who gave you things to work towards. What about that year that he grew that gigantic pumpkin? People flocked from miles away to have a look.’
‘Yeah, the sightseers blocked the traffic on Bridge Street, and Maggie was furious because the locals couldn’t get into her shop. That was fun; especially when the pumpkin won big at the autumn festival. We won a hundred pounds.’
‘I forgot about the festival. Your dad said you helped with the gala yesterday. How was it?’
‘Okay. Same old same old. I think they raised quite a bit of money.’
‘Yeah, I heard they were going to use it to make one of those sustainable gardens at the school. I think your dad’s going to help. You know, teach kids some life skills.’
‘They never bothered to do that stuff when I went to school. It was all “sit down, shut up and read”.’
‘Every generation thinks they have it harder than the last.’
I put tea leaves in an old Wedgwood pot and take two cups to the table. I have to push plates and a vase of dead flowers out of the way. William has always set up camp around himself. There is usually at least a blanket, a book and a cup. I take a pile of papers from a chair and stack them on the floor. Most of William’s beautiful antique furniture is hidden under mounds of clothes, books and old papers.
‘So how long are you home for, Marco?’
‘Not long, hopefully. I just need to get some money together and get back to the city.’
‘What’s back in the city? Girlfriend?’
‘No.’
‘Still chasing the money, eh, Marco? My friend Seneca said, “It is not the man who has too little but the man who craves more that is poor.”’
‘I would have thought you’d have run out of friends to quote by now. I’ve been hearing from them for years.’
He smiles and then stumbles backwards. I can see that a bolt of pain has hit him.
‘Are you okay?’
‘I think so.’
‘I’ll grab Dad.’
‘Don’t be silly. I’m fine. Can you pass me that?’ He points to a satchel, which rattles as I pick it up. ‘Can you get me a drink of water too?’
‘I’ll get Dad.’
‘Marco, I’m not going to die. Well, at least not in this moment. Just stay a little longer. You can distract me with talk until the pain goes away.’
I watch as he eases himself into a chair, then I pass him the water.
‘What about that new headmistress at school?’ he asks as soon as he’s settled.
‘That’s a strange question, William. Where did that come from?’
‘We were talking about girlfriends. Or your lack of one.’
‘I’m doing fine. Don’t worry about me.’
‘I just thought that she seemed nice. Why don’t you ask her out?’
‘I don’t know if she’s my type.’
‘Oh.’ He takes a big sip of water. ‘What is your type?’
‘I don’t think you want to know.’
‘I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.’
‘Okay. I like them easy.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. I don’t ever intend to keep one.’
‘You don’t get to keep people, Marco.’
‘You know what I mean. It looks like too much hard work.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘I’ve got a fair idea. Anyway, where’s your wife, then?’
‘I left it too late, Marco. All the good ones were gone. There’s a lesson in that.’
I shake my head. ‘There’s always a lesson if you’re involved. You missed your vocation. You should have been a schoolteacher, William.’
JAMES
Wil
liam is sitting on the doorstep when I arrive at nine. He looks pale, but his eyes light up when he sees me.
‘I wasn’t sure if you’d come back after yesterday. Thanks. Juno, go and get your lead.’
She runs off, and a moment later comes back with the lead in her mouth. She drops it at my feet, and I pat the top of her head as I clip it on her collar. She tugs hard at the lead and nearly pulls me over as she drags me towards the gate. Her tail wags sideways as well as rotating. She barks back at William.
‘Alright, I’ll come with you this morning.’
The air is warm, but he struggles into a long woollen coat and wraps a scarf around his neck.
‘Shall we take the walk along the old railway lines, James?’
‘Sure.’
‘I love that track. It’s like the woodlands on either side of it decided to march down and meet the train. Some fraternising has obviously taken place, as the trees meet at the top, and it’s hard now to separate the two counties.’
Juno races off as soon as we reach the woods. William appears to bow to a tree and then waits for me as I hesitate at the entrance. Tall trees with thick canopies stretch as far as I can see. You can do this, I tell myself as I step into the woodlands. Every day the simplest of tasks needs more of my effort. Getting up this morning was massive, and several times I doubted that I could do it.
William wanders off the path and weaves his way slowly through the trees. He reaches out and touches some. I’ve never seen someone in less of a hurry. I’m grateful for the silence and inhale the earthy smell of the forest. William disappears from sight, and after walking on my own for a while, I start to wonder if he’s forgotten that he brought me with him. I see him ahead and follow him up a slight incline. He stops under a massive oak tree.
‘We should sit here for a moment. It’s a good place to watch the show.’
He sits down at the base of the tree and invites me to do the same.
‘What show?’
He nods and rests his head on the back of the tree. He pats the ground beside him. ‘You’ll see.’
I reluctantly sit down. He points to the ground in front of us. ‘Look, it started without us.’
Beams of sunlight radiate down through the trees and act like spotlights on the forest floor. The wind makes the leaves above us rustle, and their shadows dance on the ground before us. Tiny butterflies flit between plants, and insects dart along the undergrowth.
William places a finger up to his lips and then smiles at me as he cups his hand around his ear.
At first, all I’m aware of is my thoughts whirling around inside my head, but after a few moments, I notice some space between them. I hear myself sigh and feel a slight breeze. The sound of running water in a nearby stream mixes with the birdsong in the trees. For a moment, I’m aware of something larger than myself. Then the tranquillity is shattered as a small grey squirrel darts out from behind a tree, Juno following closely behind. The chattering inside my head starts up again.
‘Well, that was a short show,’ William says, pushing himself up. ‘Lucky it plays most days.’
We walk in the same direction as Juno. I see her on the path up ahead; she appears to be waiting for us. When we reach her, she races forward a few feet and then stops and starts barking at the base of a conifer tree. I look up and see a squirrel scurrying along a branch. One of my last paintings was of a grey squirrel. I overheard my father telling my mother that she should stop encouraging me to paint: he said my squirrel looked more like a wolf, and painting was for sissies anyway.
We walk back through the woodlands without talking. When we reach William’s gate, his skin has a funny tinge of yellow. He ushers me in and then collapses onto a seat made from a tree stump.
‘I might have overdone it. I’ll be right in a minute. Have a seat.’
I sit down on his overgrown lawn. A shell path winds its way down to a shed draped in ivy.
‘What’s in the shed?’
‘Mainly books. A few people seem to think I might be storing bodies in there. Hmm.’
‘Doesn’t that bother you? People thinking awful things about you?’
‘No. It only matters what I think of myself, and that changes on a daily basis.’ William tilts his head skywards and closes his eyes. ‘Life’s too short to be worried about that sort of stuff, James. Besides, when I don’t react to what people are saying, it stops it there. There is no more story.’
‘I suppose.’
I hear William inhale sharply. Juno looks up.
‘Could you get me a glass of water?’
‘Sure.’
As I’m walking across the lawn, he calls out to me.
‘There’s an envelope on the kitchen bench with some money for the dog walking. It’s on top of a white book with silver writing on it. That’s for you as well.’
I find both the book and the envelope. I don’t count the money, but I see twenty-pound notes in the envelope—it’s way too much for walking a dog. I fill a glass with water and take it back to him.
‘This is too much.’
‘I haven’t managed to find anyone else yet. I was hoping you could do the week for me.’
‘I’m not sure. I’m still planning on going away.’
‘Oh, I understand. I’ll sort something. Could we just go with tomorrow?’
I think of Dad and his computer work. ‘I’ll see. I don’t need the book. I have heaps at home I haven’t read.’
‘You can never have enough books, James. I think of them as medicine. I prescribe at least one dose a day.’
I slide the book into my jacket pocket.
EMILY
The library is the starting point for the walking tour around the village. This morning I offer to escort Fred and Maureen, some tourists, around. Usually, I’d sell them one of the maps that we keep under the counter and point them in the right direction, but this morning I’m keen to get away from Colleen’s prying eyes.
I walk slowly, and they potter along beside me as we head towards the old wool store. My thoughts are all over the place.
‘Are you alright, dear?’ Maureen asks.
‘Yes. I’m fine.’
‘It’s just that you keep sighing.’
‘Sorry. I didn’t have a good sleep.’ I’m keen to move the talk away from me, and point to the excessively large church in the middle of the village. ‘The church was completed in 1525. The tower stands at one hundred and forty-one feet. This makes it the highest village church tower in Britain. It was paid for by Thomas Moir. The locals often refer to it as Thomas Tower. Moir made his fortune by trading the wool that the village was famous for, and he had no family, so he left all his money to the church when he died. His remains are buried in a crypt beneath the church floor. This landmark can be seen from Bellingford, which is over thirty miles away. Do you have any questions?’
Maureen smiles and taps my hand. ‘No, you’re doing a great job. It’s all very interesting, isn’t it, Fred?’
‘Yes, dear.’
‘We’ve been married over sixty years, you know.’
I fake smile and keep walking.
‘How long have you been married?’ she asks, nodding towards my wedding band.
‘Two. Now, up ahead you’ll see the timber-framed guildhall. It’s Grade 1 listed and was originally set up as a meeting place for the wealthy wool traders. Over five centuries, it has been used as a prison, a workhouse, an almshouse and even a pub. US troops used it as a social club during the Second World War. It is open every day and run by a group of volunteers.’
Maureen nods her head like she was listening to my spiel but picks up her conversation exactly where she left off.
‘My philosophy for a happy marriage is to never go to bed mad. Isn’t it, Fred?
‘That’s right.’
I think of last night and wonder if Maureen would have forgiven Fred if he raped her in the hallway before going to bed.
We have to walk through a narrow lane that goes past the b
ack of the pub. The smell of rotting food coming from the bins makes me retch.
At the guildhall, I push open the wooden doors into a massive entrance hall. On display are stories about the people who once lived here. The wax models are dressed in the woad-dyed woollen cloth that helped make the settlement one of the wealthiest in England in medieval times. Fred ignores the models and makes a beeline to a mummified cat that was found in a chimney cavity.
‘Some people believed that it was good luck to bury a cat when you were building,’ I tell him. ‘Lots of homes built in that time had them.’
I take them upstairs to a room where exhibits of broken toys and bottles of remedies for things like lice and ringworm sit inside glass cabinets. The ingredients—peacocks’ dung, pork lard, crabs’ eyes and the dried roots of rare plants—are remnants from the workhouse days.
‘When the guildhall was used as a prison, one of the youngest people to be locked up here was an eight-year-old girl.’
‘Goodness. What could an eight-year-old have done?’ Maureen asks.
‘She stole some food and was charged with being an incorrigible rogue. She had no relatives or anybody else to vouch for her, and she was found guilty. They shipped her to Australia.’
‘How awful. What happened to her then?’
‘No one knows, although there are documents that show that she made it to Australia. I like to think that she found a really nice man and maybe even had some children.’
‘Do you have any children?’
‘No.’
‘We had one, but she died.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Thanks, but it’s just God’s way.’
I wonder about ‘God’s way’. It’s hard to believe in a way that takes away children and mothers and leaves behind grandmothers and husbands who hate the sight of you.
‘Our daughter was born with lots of challenges, but she made it through to her fifth birthday. We treasure the time we had with her. Isn’t that right, Fred?’
‘Yes, dear.’
My mind keeps dragging me back to last night. I’m thankful for Maureen’s prattle as we wander among the displays. Outside, I show them the walled garden where woad and other plants that they used to dye cloth still grow. She keeps talking even as we climb the steep hill to the church.
The Liminal Space Page 8