The Liminal Space

by Jacquie McRae

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I was wondering if you’d be interested in selling some of my antiques. I’ll pay you a commission.’

  ‘I don’t know much about antiques—except that yours are worth a fortune.’

  ‘But you know about selling. I know the history behind them. Most of them were my grandmother’s—she inherited them from her mother.’

  ‘Some of them look really valuable. You should get someone who deals in antiques to come and assess them. There’s bound to be someone you can find on the internet.’

  ‘I don’t know about all that stuff, and I’m not keen on having strangers in my home. I’d rather have you do it.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll look into it. I better go get this stuff printed.’

  ‘Thanks, Marco.’

  I wander down to the post office and have to pay Reg a ridiculous sum of money to print my flyer and to put it into some of the boxes. No wonder he owns so much property in the area. All I need is for one person to take the bait, and my commission cheque will set me up in a new place far away from here.

  JAMES

  That evening Mum piles my plate with mashed potatoes, cauliflower and corned beef.

  ‘I can’t eat this, Mum.’

  ‘What do you mean, you can’t eat this?’ Dad says, staring at me and holding his knife and fork up like soldiers beside his plate. ‘I’ve had enough of this. What did you say you’ve been doing with your days?’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘And why is that?’

  I shrug my shoulders, but he continues to stare.

  ‘No one asked me.’

  ‘Do you know who he’s been seen with?’ he says, glaring at my mother.

  She shakes her head. ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Of course it bloody matters. It’s that lunatic up the road. The guy who hugs trees and jumps in the river. I introduced myself to the new policeman—and you can imagine my surprise when he said he’d met my son up at William’s house. The whole town’s probably talking about it.’

  I let out a sigh and go to get up from the table.

  ‘I’m just walking his dog.’ This conversation and the effort of stringing so many words together exhaust me. ‘If you don’t mind, I need to lie down.’

  ‘I do mind. You’ll stay here until I’ve finished. Have you been in his house?’

  I look down at the table.

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’

  He pushes himself up from the table.

  ‘Jesus, James. What the hell were you doing in there?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Nothing. You went to a known deviant’s house and did nothing.’

  ‘He’s not a deviant.’

  ‘Oh. You know him well, do you?’

  ‘That’s enough, Raymond!’

  ‘I’m just asking a simple question. How well?’

  I concentrate on a tiny grain of sugar.

  ‘You know what people say about him, James? What do you think they’ll be saying about you?’

  I have to get out of the room. He yells at the back of me as I leave.

  ‘I forbid you to go back to his house.’

  EMILY

  I read the instructions again, in case I’m reading them wrong. I hold the strip at the coloured end, like it tells me to, and dip the end with the arrows into a cup of my urine. I lie the stick flat down and start timing for ten minutes. I look at it sideways after only five minutes, and just like on the sample before, I see the two pink lines appearing. I sit down on the side of the bath and place the stick in my pocket.

  I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach when I think about telling Rob, but a bigger part of me feels excited. I’m going to be a mother. Rob’s made it pretty clear that he doesn’t like children—but maybe he’ll change his mind if it’s one of his own.

  Just when I thought nothing could ever be right again, I get a miracle. Even the thought of losing the manse now doesn’t feel like the end of the world. This baby is the beginning of my world.

  I lay strips of baking paper inside the muffin tins and roll out the pastry, then line the tins. I tip breadcrumbs into a mixing bowl and squeeze in the sausage meat, along with the bacon, sage and mace. I grind in salt and pepper, and wonder if I’ll get a boy or a girl. I squish the mixture in my hands, divide it and spoon it into the tins. I won’t mind either way what sex the baby is. I just know I’ll love it. I stamp out circles from the remaining pastry and brush egg over the tops. No wonder I’ve felt so rotten. As I press the pastry edges together, I wonder what Colleen will think. She’ll probably feel awful about all her meanness. I hear Rob’s keys in the door and quickly wipe my hands on my apron.

  ‘I’m making pork pies for dinner,’ I call out. ‘Mini ones so you’ll have some for work.’

  He walks straight into the lounge.

  I sprinkle sesame seeds on the top of the pies and put them in the oven. I wipe out his tumbler and pour in a double measure of whisky. I take him the tumbler. I judge by the creases in his brow that I need to give him a bit more time before breaking the news.

  I sit on a bar stool for twenty minutes and watch the pies turn brown. I wait until they’re a perfect golden colour before pulling them out. I open the hall door so the smell will snake its way to the lounge.

  I wait until he’s eaten one of the pies and is tucking into the second one.

  ‘Rob. I have something to tell you.’

  ‘What.’

  ‘We’re having a baby.’

  His head whips away from the television.

  ‘We’re what?’

  ‘I’m pregnant.’

  ‘No, you’re not.’

  ‘I checked three times.’

  ‘You’re not having a baby.’ He turns back to the television and pushes the volume up on the remote.

  ‘But … I want to,’ I say loudly.

  He pushes the volume button again and shakes his head.

  ‘You can’t even look after us properly.’

  I feel the blood rush to my face. I pick up his lunchbox from the floor and take it into the kitchen. I open the lid and see that the lunch I made him hasn’t been touched. My hands are shaking. And then something inside me snaps. All the tension of the last few weeks races through my body. I march back into the lounge.

  ‘Rob, I want to have this baby.’

  ‘I can’t hear you.’

  I grab the remote and push mute. He glares at me.

  ‘What’s got into you? Give me that remote.’

  I put it behind my back.

  For a while, he doesn’t answer, but then his jaw juts out and his lips spread tight across his teeth.

  ‘I’ll give you three seconds to give it back.’

  WILLIAM

  Juno pulling on the end of my sleeve wakes me up. I squint hard and press the palm of my hand against my temple. When I try opening my eyes, one of them takes a lot longer. I’m starting to see signs daily of parts of my body not responding to messages. I feel a sloppy lick on my face.

  ‘Okay, thanks, Juno. I’m awake.’

  I push the blanket off and myself up from the couch. I open the windows and sip in a big breath of air. It’s getting harder each morning to get moving, but I’m so grateful to be given another day. I gulp down some water and take two pills from my pocket.

  Juno bounds across the lawn to James with the lead in her mouth. Judging by his body language, he looks as bad as I feel.

  ‘Morning, James.’

  ‘Hi.’ He sits down on the porch step, and Juno comes and licks his hand.

  ‘Not today, Juno.’

  ‘Are you alright, James?’

  ‘No. I’m sorry, William, but I can’t do this any more.’ He scratches under Juno’s chin. ‘I’m going away in the next few days.’

  A vision of him under the bridge pops into my head. I ease myself down onto the step next to him and feel constriction around my heart. I leave a gap between us and nod my head but don’t say anything. I hope that h
e might carry on talking, but he doesn’t.

  ‘James. I have to tell you something about myself.’

  He doesn’t look up but continues staring at his feet.

  ‘When I was your age, I went to study medicine. A career that I should never have chosen—for lots of reasons, but I chose it because I knew it would make my father happy. I wanted him to be proud of me, I wanted to please him. I spent seven years studying for someone else’s dream.’

  I look across. Although he hasn’t moved, I can see that he’s listening to me.

  ‘I worked long hours in cold, dark hospitals and hardly ever saw the sun. I hated my job, but I had no idea how to change it. The longer I was a doctor, the more disillusioned I became. I was convinced that one of the biggest influences on a patient’s health and recovery wasn’t what we prescribed them, but their belief in their own wellbeing. I did my own sugar pill trials and felt like I was getting close to some truth. I was starting to see some positive signs that my theory was right.’

  He looks up at me for a moment, but then he drops his head again.

  ‘The hospital found out what I was doing, and I was struck off and narrowly avoided jail. My father never spoke to me again, but I did receive a letter from him, telling me that he no longer had a son and would prefer it if I did not use his family name. I’d worked out by then that I was never going to please him anyway. I actually felt a sense of relief when I gave myself a new name.’

  James draws lines on the dirt with his feet.

  ‘Why are you telling me all of this?’

  ‘I’m making the point that, in letting go of the person I thought I should be, I stumbled on a more truthful version of me. Someone I could live with. I kept thinking I needed to be a better me, but I just needed to be. I believe you’re struggling with the same things, James.’

  He doesn’t say anything, but I see the tears pool in his eyes. I want to reach out to him, but I keep the space between us. The pain inside my head feels like something is about to explode. I close my eyes to get away from the light. The thumping is constant. He swipes away a tear, and I feel a heaviness in the pit of my stomach as he goes to leave. I will myself to stay seated as he pushes himself to stand. I want to hold on to him and beg him to stay. I keep swallowing, hoping to find more saliva, but there is nothing in my mouth. I need water, but I feel like I might fall if I stand. He slowly walks away. When he’s gone from sight, I crawl back inside. Juno stays by my side and licks my face when I stop for a rest. I spend the rest of the day slipping in and out of sleep when the painkillers offer me respite.

  MARCO

  I meet the restaurateur and his accountant outside the building at 2 p.m. The restaurateur is feigning disinterest and lets his accountant do all the talking. I can see from his eyes, though, that he’s taken with the beautiful Tudor building before we’ve even entered it. I took a gamble on placing a few costly advertisements in a London paper; within twenty-four hours, I’ve reeled in my first bite.

  ‘There’s a few people involved with the sale of the building, and it’s a bit contentious at the moment, so I need you to be discreet.’ I push open the oak doors into the library. I’m grateful to see that it’s empty except for the forlorn-looking girl behind the counter. I’ve seen her around the village, but I have no idea what her name is. I’m relieved when I spot her name badge.

  ‘Morning, Emily. These gentlemen are thinking of moving to our village, so I’m just showing them around.’

  She nods but doesn’t really look at us, and disappears behind a bookshelf. Upstairs I get a chance to tell them about the timber that was cut from the surrounding woodlands and point out the pressed ceiling and ornate fireplace surrounds. The man is trying hard not to smile as he listens to the history of the building. He’s already planning his new restaurant.

  ‘This space would make a great meeting room, or a place to hold small functions. There are separate toilets on this level, and there is already a dumb waiter that connects to the downstairs kitchen. This area, with its wonky buildings, has become quite the little hotspot. Just last week, it was featured in The Guardian as one of the best villages close to London for a weekend away.’

  We get to the Swan at three, and I’m glad to see that the place is pretty much empty. I take them to a booth at the back by the stone fireplace and away from prying eyes. I place some paperwork on the table, and we get straight down to business.

  ‘How long is it going to be before the existing tenants can move out?’ he asks me.

  ‘The church owns the building, along with a lot of the other buildings in the village. The council pays them a fee to house the library. Three of the five committee members have agreed that they should sell the manse, but on the proviso that the library is given the time it needs to find new premises and relocate.

  His brow creases. ‘So, what time frame am I looking at?’

  ‘Maybe a month—at worst maybe two.’

  ‘Well, why don’t you come back to me when you have an empty building to sell. If I haven’t found something else by then, perhaps I’ll still be interested.’

  ‘The property isn’t on the market as yet, but I can assure you that the moment it goes on, there will be a lot of interest. I think if we placed an offer on the table now, it might help the committee speed up their thinking and keep you ahead of the pack. Let me know, and I can draw up a contract.’

  JAMES

  At the end of the riverside path, I step over the trunk of a fallen elder and into the meadowland that borders the river. The cold, murky waters soak into my trousers and come halfway up my shins. I use the bank to support me as I wade downstream. The increasing current forces me to climb back up the bank. I know this corner well; I nearly drowned in it as a child. There’s a hidden hole where the depth of the water changes from knee high to over your head in an instant. The only thing that saved me was the roots of an elder that had fingered out over the water and then tucked back in on themselves. I clung to them and was wondering how much longer I could hold on when a man punting down the river saw me and rescued me. I was wrapped in river weed and stank of mud as he pulled me onto his punt. The local newspaper ran a story about my rescue and the dangers of young people playing by the river.

  Walking in the woodlands with Juno and William reminded me of my childhood refuge. The place I came to every chance I got, until my near drowning got me banned from going near the river on my own.

  I wander along the narrow path, hoping that some part of the ruin survived. I slide back down the bank when I see the edges of the bricks. I pull back some fallen branches and bracken. Some of the bricks have crumbled a little, but the main structure of the Second World War pillbox still stands strong. I instinctively walk around to the left and guide myself along the wall. I crawl into the space at the back of the ruins and use my hands to pull myself through the tunnel made by fallen bricks and trees. It opens up into a bigger area, but it’s still cloaked in darkness. I take a few more tentative steps along the wall. I used to come here and dream about how great life was going to be when I grew up. I wish I could go back and tell that boy to enjoy the moment. Some of those days turned out to be the best.

  In the corner of the structure, I feel around until I touch the edges of a wooden box. I’ve gouged my name along the top of it. James Farndale. Famus artest. The catch is stiff and comes off in my hands as I open it. Inside is my metal paint tin. The paints inside are rock hard; nearly all are empty. I see my small fingerprints on the tubes where I pressed down hard to get a little more paint out. No amount of squeezing will bring these paints to life now. My sketch pad has been nibbled by vermin, but evidence of my secret paintings is scattered at the bottom of the box. I pick up a handful of the colourful scraps and let them fall like confetti.

  I walk to the spot where a shaft of light shines down and illuminates the dirt floor. I know it like an old friend, and the earthy smell comforts me as I lie down in this space. The only sound I hear is my breathing. In this stillness, it
feels like everything drops away, just like it does in the woodlands. I cup my hands behind my head and look up into the sky. I used to believe that I’d found the portal to another world here; all I had to do was find a way to climb up the light. There is only my breath and the vivid blue sky above.

  I hear the voice inside my head start chattering, but I feel a distance from it. There is a me that is lying on the ground observing the thoughts like an outsider. I watch and listen as a new thought comes in. For a second, the world freeze-frames. Are there two of me? I’m so shocked by this thought that for a moment I can’t move. I feel a separateness from my thoughts. Is it possible that the voice inside my head is not real?

  EMILY

  There’s a moment when my eyes open, and before the light seeps in, that I feel whole. My hands reach for my stomach and then I feel a chill as I remember where I am.

  He told the nurse that I’d fallen down the stairs, but I don’t think she believed him. I said it was the truth when she asked me the first time, and I lied again when she repeated her question when Rob was out of the room. All I wanted was for them to stop asking questions and save my baby. They said it was nature’s way when they couldn’t, which makes no sense at all. I’d already hugged that baby in my arms. Watched her smile and breathed in her scent.

  Every time I wake up, Rob is sitting beside my bed. He’s hardly left my side and just keeps saying over and over how sorry he is. How things got on top of him again, and he didn’t mean to. He said he’ll get some help. He said that, as soon as I get out, we’re going to book our tickets for our holiday. He brought in some maps of Scotland, and has stuck them on the wall where I can see them each time I open my eyes.

  I want to believe him so badly.

  He goes to get himself a coffee, and a moment later William arrives, looking like one of the patients. His face is a pale shade of grey, and he’s leaning heavily on a walking stick. He sinks down onto a chair next to the bed, and I can hear his laboured breath.