‘No, I’m not.’
‘Then leave it to an expert. I like to be well taken care of, so I always make sure that I am. For you, I . . .’
Bill turned down the hob, studying the wavers in the flame, while his hand reached out and stroked along Tom’s cheek. The quick lightness of the touch made him start. Still watching the gas, Bill found Tom’s hand and held it.
‘Are you better now?’
‘I . . . don’t know.’
‘Are you better now?’
‘I’m happy.’
‘Are you better now?’
‘There’s stuff, things I don’t have to do any more. I mean, I’m just happy.’
Billy turned.
‘You’re happy.’
‘Uh hu.’
‘Sorry about the lager.’
‘It’s OK.’
‘It so happens that there isn’t any more. We’re what you might call a dry house now.’
‘You know what, Billy?’
‘No, what?’
‘You’ve got green eyes.’
Tom felt his hand gripped tighter and then softly let fall.
‘I’ve always had green eyes. They’re one of my best points. Did you never look before?’
‘I suppose not. I might have forgotten.’
The kettle squealed quietly while Bill shook his head, ‘Well, now that you’re back, Tom, will you join me in a cup of tea?’
There was something pleasantly clumsy about their preparations for the night. They were turning in early, the comfortable heat of the gas fire and the still dark muffling the windows seemed to have slowed them all down to a stop. They yawned and stretched and snuffled, abandoned their final card game in an easy muddle. Tom had first turn for the bathroom.
‘On you go, Tom. You’re the visitor – you don’t want to have to follow Phil to the sink. The man is a pig.’
‘You’ve been living on your own too long, that’s your trouble. Chuck us another biscuit, Bill, before I have to clean my teeth. And mind you put your sterile gloves on, Tom – Bill here is on the surgical side of houseproud.’
‘Like I say – a pig.’
The caravan rocked as he shuffled along the passageway, cautious in his second best socks. Once he’d agreed to come up here he’d bought a sponge bag and a soap dish and a towel, even pyjamas, for fuck’s sake – in a panic because he had nothing to go away with. They would have lent him gear, but that wasn’t the point, he should have his own. Everything was rolled together now in a bundle under his arm, all his.
He could hear Phil and Billy, still happily bickering, as he snibbed shut the bathroom door and surrendered himself to the cold. He filled the sink with the hottest water the tap could manage and shuddered and scrubbed and shuddered, splashing the carpet and awkward – banged his arm.
He felt better once the pyjamas were on and his sweater over the top, the softness of flannel and the dry smell of new cloth. Peering through the water steam and the flurry of his own breath, he watched himself lather his face with new shaving soap and begin easy, easy strokes with a new razor. He couldn’t have waited till morning to try it out.
For a moment in the cloudy mirror he could see his face young. He had the memory of his mother begging and harrying all of them into bed and safe out of the way. When Pa came home they had to be asleep, they must be sleeping. He felt himself lying frozen with his eyes shut, hoping there would be no voices in that paper-walled house, hoping for no noises, no crying and no footsteps suddenly storming to turn on their light. When he was a boy he’d always been hoping.
He finished the shave and towelled his cheeks, checked in the mirror – not exactly a boy, but not in bad shape. And another day almost over, made it again, that deserved a smile.
Tom woke into a numb dark, silent and absolute. He forgot where he was, forgot the caravan and its shape, and could find nothing to help him in the windowless black. He lay sweating inside his sleeping bag as the last of his nightmare tipped down over him like a scream.
Rolling and fighting to free his limbs, he dropped from the bunk to the box room floor and stunned himself fully awake. He sat for a time he could not later measure, opening and closing his eyes and finding no difference in what he could see, but trying all the time to think. He was afraid of something he didn’t know, also of dying and of falling asleep.
In the end, he unzipped the sleeping bag and wrapped it around his shoulders, stood up and calmed himself enough to open his door. Afraid of the dark – that was no use. He had to be firm with himself, there, and trust there was no reason for the fear.
Once he was moving down the passage, he felt more normal. Outside a night-time animal called and made the world a little more convincing before he eased back the curtain on the big room. It was still slightly warm in there. A dim shape moved to his left.
‘What’s up?’
‘Sorry.’
‘What’s the matter? And mind Billy, he’s on the floor.’
‘Eh? Oh. Sorry, I didn’t know –’
‘It’s all right, Phil, he knows where I am now.’
‘Couldn’t you sleep, sir?’
‘I slept, but I woke up. I had a dream.’
‘We heard.’
‘Well, I’m going for a piss now I’m awake. Mind out, Tommy, I think you’re still standing on something of mine.’
‘Sorry, Bill.’ A dim blur coughed past him. ‘Um . . . sorry.’
‘Don’t just stand there whispering sorry, sir, get some kip.’
‘I know, but . . .’
‘OK, OK. Wait until Bill gets back and we’ll sort something out.’
‘I feel a right idiot.’
‘So what’s new?’
They were all shivering by the time they finished the arrangements and turned off the lamp again. Tom had been slightly wary at the feel of his sleeping bag, tight against his shoulders, but then the warmth of his own self gathering around him seemed to help him relax. He almost felt drowsy. Phil and Billy were settling themselves, one on either side of him – all the brothers uncomfortable together on the floor. Phil sat up and punched the cushion wedged under his legs.
‘God’s sake. Here we are, then. Just like the fucking Waltons. Well good night brother Billy and good night brother Tom. Try and sleep, eh? Or we’ll kill you.’
Billy wriggled. ‘Sush, Phil, I was nearly away then. Goodnight all. And take it easy, Tom. Tom?’
‘Tom?’
‘I’m sorry, I . . .’
Phil twisted round in the dark.
‘Shut up. We’re here and it’s all right now. It’s all right.’
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Epub ISBN: 9781446401958
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Published by Vintage 2005
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Copyright © A.L. Kennedy 1994
A.L. Kennedy has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified as the author of this work
These stories previously appeared in the following publications: ‘A Perfect Possession’ In Chapman Magazine; ‘Warming My Hands and Telling Lies’ and ‘On Having More Sense’ in NWS 9 & 10; ‘Failing to Fall’ in Granta 43; and ‘Friday Payday’ in Original Prints 4.
First published in Great Britain in 1994
by Jonathan Cape
Random House, 20 Vauxhall Bridge Road,
London SW1V 2SA
The Random House Group Limited Reg. No. 954009
www.randomhouse.co.uk/vintage
A CIP
catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 9780099457114
Now That You're Back Page 16