The Other Occupant

by Peter Benson

  ‘Come on!’ I said.

  She smiled. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry.’

  ‘I didn’t know you had a gun.’

  ‘There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.’

  ‘What do you use it for?’

  ‘Protection,’ she said. ‘The garden needs protection. Wait till those beans come up and you’ll see what I mean.’

  ‘The garden?’

  She helped herself to cereal. ‘Yes. Nature’s wild. Tooth and claw, you know?’

  ‘I noticed.’

  She sat down and ate slowly. She pointed to my neck with her spoon. ‘How’s Sadie?’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Are you going steady?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  I shrugged, made some toast and asked her, ‘Did you ever live with anyone?’

  ‘A long time ago,’ she said, after a pause. ‘Before the war.’ Another pause. ‘We thought everything was going to be different for us.’

  ‘What was he like?’

  Marjorie laughed then, louder than I’d heard her laugh before, but with a scary rattle that vibrated through the laugh and swamped it. Then she had a coughing fit and spat into a handkerchief I fetched.

  I said, ‘What’s the joke?’

  She drank some tea, put her hand on her stomach, winced and said, ‘Nothing’s funny, Gregory. That’s the trouble. It’s not even funny any more.’

  ‘What’s not funny any more?’

  ‘I’ll tell you later,’ she said, but never did.

  I parked in a convenient parking space with a view of the fields and woods around Bridport, and we began the slow, hard climb to the top of Hardown Hill. It was deserted, and the nature different from any I’d seen before. ‘Ancient places,’ Marjorie said. ‘Real old heathland, this place. The blasted heath…’

  ‘It’s windy,’ I said.

  ‘Blasted.’

  The view from the top telescoped and circled out to sea and inland. There was an old burial mound we stood next to.

  Hardown Hill is owned by the National Trust. It was ‘Open to the public (subject to the by-laws on the back of this notice). Please avoid leaving litter, lighting fires, damaging trees or plants.’

  By-law 13: ‘No unauthorised person shall pitch, erect or permit to remain on Trust property any tent, booth, windbreak, pole, clothes line, building, shed, post, fence, railing or other erection or obstruction whatsoever.’

  Just below the summit of the hill, a huge aerial and a fake stone-clad building had been erected. ‘Look at it,’ Marjorie said. The aerial was for people with car phones. A sign on the door stated, ‘This building is occupied by Racal Vodafone Ltd, The Courtyard, Newbury, Berks, RG13 1JL.’ Another sign shouted, DANGER HIGH VOLTAGE. Three clad coaxial cables led from the building to the aerial. The installation was surrounded by high chain-link fencing, topped with barbed wire.

  ‘Do you trust the National Trust?’ Marjorie said.

  ‘Who are they?’ I said.

  ‘You must know!’

  I shook my head.

  She thought that was funny.

  We found a seat and sat down. The wind was stronger than ever, and blew Marjorie’s hat off. I fetched it, and handed it back to her. Her hair was streaming out.

  All the fat had left her face, so her nose looked like a chip of ice. Her cheeks were hollow and her mouth was pinched. Little spots of dried blood sat along the top of her bottom lip. Her eyes were wide open against the wind. She had a blister on each of them now, and they were absolutely dry. I put my arm around her shoulder and said, ‘Warm enough, Marjorie?’

  She nodded, but didn’t look at me.

  We sat for an hour. My heart played a slow tune, more like words than music. She was saying goodbye, so I didn’t say anything. It was a painful, bitter wind, but after a while I didn’t notice it. I felt like I was being washed. The car phone aerial whistled all the time.

  A kestrel struggled to keep steady, hovering over a field below us, but level with us.

  ‘It’s a bloody shame,’ she said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think about the future. I’m happily making plans - I forget…’ Her voice trailed away.

  ‘There’ll always be—’

  ‘I’ve always made plans,’ she said, ignoring me. ‘I used to love thinking about what I was going to do next. Where I was going. I used to lie in bed before I went to sleep, deciding, deciding…’ She sucked her lips in. ‘It’s funny. I was coming here with you. No one could have predicted that, could they?’

  I shook my head. It was cold, and I was cold deep down, like ice caves had opened in my belly and yawned at my organs and bones, and my blood.

  ‘Maybe I’m still going somewhere…’ she said.

  ‘To a better place?’ I said.

  She shook her head. ‘There couldn’t be a better place than the earth.’

  I snorted.

  She smiled. ‘There’s nothing like dying to concentrate the goodness in things.’

  ‘Isn’t there?’

  ‘No. I think it’s underrated.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Dying. I’m quite enjoying it.’

  The kestrel gave up. It was caught by a gust that met us a moment later, and blew it up in a huge arc. It tumbled out of this and disappeared behind a hedge.

  We walked back slowly. She leant on me all the way, and we had to stop a few times, but when we crossed a muddy patch in the path that sloped too far, she slipped, I slipped, and we lay in the mud together. I laughed, but when I sat up and looked at her, she was crying. ‘Look at me!’ she said. She propped herself on her elbows, but couldn’t get up any further. ‘And I’m stuck.’

  I stood up, put my arms under her shoulders and lifted, but when she tried to stand, she slipped into the mud again.

  National Trust By-law 22: OBSCENE LANGUAGE. ‘No person shall on Trust property use any indecent or obscene language to the annoyance of any person.’

  I had to carry Marjorie. She was freezing, wet,, muddy and crying. ‘No fucking dignity!’ she cried. ‘That’s the only thing I can’t stand!’

  ‘Marjorie,’ I said. ‘You’ve got more fucking dignity that anyone I’ve met before.’

  When we reached the car, I helped her into her seat, and when she turned to thank me, I saw Dad’s face in hers. This startled me, and when I was sitting in the car and the wind wasn’t blowing, I felt light, and then suddenly very heavy. I couldn’t move for five minutes, but Marjorie didn’t ask why. She just sat and stared at the scenery.

  ‘Once more,’ she said eventually. ‘Drive back through Birdsmoorgate.’

  I stopped beside the cottage we’d parked by before. She didn’t want to get out of the car, but she wanted to be on her own for a while, so I pointed up the road and said, ‘I’ll walk to the top.’ It was starting to drizzle, but I didn’t mind.

  When we got back to the lodge, I sat her by the Rayburn and she said, ‘I don’t think I can walk any more.’

  ‘Of course you can—’

  ‘I said,’ she rattled, ‘that I can’t walk any more.’

  We had some tea before I ran her a bath, carried her upstairs and sat her in the bathroom. ‘Shout if you need me,’ I said.

  ‘I won’t,’ she said, and didn’t.

  When I took her breakfast in the morning, she looked as sick as I’d seen her. I left the tray on her bed, opened the curtains and said, ‘Take your time.’ She scratched her face, straightened her hair and nodded, but didn’t say anything.

  I went back half an hour later. The tray hadn’t been touched. I offered to pour her some tea, but she shook her head and said, ‘I feel very tired today.’

  ‘I’m going to call the doctor,’ I said.

  ‘No, you’re not,’ she whispered.

  ‘I will—’

  ‘I won’t let you.’

  ‘You can’t stop me.’

  ‘I can!’ She tried to sit up, but couldn�
��t.

  I went downstairs.

  ‘Gregory!’

  I phoned Dr Thubron. He was surprised I hadn’t phoned earlier, and came as soon as he could. By that time Marjorie had seen sense, but wasn’t happy when he insisted on admitting her to hospital. ‘Even if it’s just for a fresh plaster,’ he said. He shivered at the cold. ‘It’s freezing in here.’

  ‘We live in the kitchen,’ I said. ‘Maybe I should make a bed for her in there.’

  ‘Gregory,’ he said. ‘I doubt very much that she’ll be coming home this time.’

  ‘She’s—’

  ‘Has she got any relatives?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Mmm,’ he said.

  ‘Is it important?’

  ‘Not really. If it’s not to her…’

  ‘I don’t think it is.’

  ‘I’m not surprised.’

  ‌15

  Mum didn’t enjoy dying, but she never had Marjorie’s ideas. Marjorie never had children. She never worried about what other people thought. Mum was more worried about what neighbours would think if they saw her dribbling than she was about her own comfort. I told her to ‘Screw the neighbours. They know sod all.’

  ‘Mrs Harris is captain of a Scrabble team!’ she protested.

  ‘Mrs Harris only gives you the time of day because you’re dying. She wants people to think she cares.’

  ‘She—’

  ‘Everybody knows she doesn’t.’

  The doctor offered Mum a Zimmer frame, but she pointed to me and said, ‘Can a Zimmer cook breakfast?’

  The doctor shook his head.

  ‘He can,’ Mum said, and slapped me on the back.

  One evening, we watched television until closedown. Mum prodded Bruce when adverts for dog food came on, but he didn’t watch them. He was satisfied with fresh meat.

  She said, ‘I wish I’d got away more, in my life…’

  ‘What do you mean? Where?’

  ‘I always fancied America.’

  You never said.’

  ‘What was the point? We couldn’t have gone, anyway. It was just a dream.’

  ‘Those sort of dreams are only sent to worry you. You wouldn’t have enjoyed it if you’d gone.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I know you, Mum. You’re only happy at home.’

  ‘Do you take after me, Greg?’

  ‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘I like a home.’

  I drove Marjorie to Dorchester Hospital, and sat with her on the ward. A nurse plumped up some pillows and said, ‘What have we been doing with ourselves, then?’

  ‘Trying to get on with our life,’ Marjorie croaked.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said the nurse.

  ‘It just won’t do, will it?’ Marjorie said.

  She had caught a cold. Her gut was burning a hole in her body, and she had a headache all the time. Her arm was broken in two places and she couldn’t walk. She laughed at the nurse, but the woman wasn’t offended.

  I wanted to stay, but Marjorie said, ‘There’s work to do.’ I didn’t want a sermon, so I went home, but I left a piece of my heart with her.

  When I visited in the morning, she pleaded with me to get her out. They had put her on strong drugs, and she didn’t want to end up like a cabbage.

  ‘They’re just for the pain,’ I said. ‘My dad had stuff just like it.’

  ‘I don’t care what your dad had!’

  ‘He—’

  ‘Just get me out of here!’

  ‘If you asked, they’d discharge you without—’

  ‘I already did.’

  ‘And?’

  She shook her head. ‘They want me to die here. They like to keep all the messes in one place.’

  ‘Marjorie!’

  ‘Get me out of here,’ she hissed.

  ‘All right. But how—’

  ‘I don’t know. Think!’

  ‘OK, Marjorie.’

  I saw this in a film: two people and a dummy in a wheelchair visit a patient. Behind curtains drawn around the patient’s bed, the two people swap the dummy for the patient and steal him away. On the way out of Dorchester Hospital, I saw a row of unattended wheelchairs.

  On the way to the lodge, I called on Sadie. Her mother answered the door. I explained who I was. Her mother said, ‘Oh, yes.’ She looked up and down, leant towards me and said, ‘Sadie hasn’t stopped talking about you.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said.

  ‘No! Don’t sound so glum!’ She grinned. ‘I haven’t seen her so happy for ages!’

  Sadie’s mother was in control. She pointed towards a yard behind the house. ‘She’s milking. I’m sorry I can’t show you the way, but I’ve got my hands full.’ She held them up. ‘Marmalade.’

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘Thanks.’

  The milking parlour smelt of clean water. The cows weren’t interested in me. They moved slowly and were bigger close up than they where when you saw them in a field. There was nothing dangerous and bad-tempered about them, but I kept my distance. Every one was different.

  The noise of the machines was echoed by rhythmic jets of milk that shot along pipes which ran up and then down into large glass jars lining the walls. I watched for a minute before Sadie saw me.

  She worked quickly and confidently, occasionally patting the side of an animal’s leg, or gently prodding an udder. I said, ‘I’ve never been in one of these places before.’

  ‘We had some school kids once’, she said, flushing a pound of feed into a hopper, ‘who thought you had to kill them to get the milk out. They wanted to know where the knives were.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘It’s true! Honestly.’ She yanked an overhead lever and let three cows out. ‘You’d be surprised. Some people can’t put two and two together.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  ‘You bet it is.’

  I’d never seen a cow being milked before. I wasn’t embarrassed, but like a film you’re told is great and you think it is until you see it, I was intrigued until I got bored. The parlour was noisy and wet. Cows didn’t look before pissing or shitting - Sadie was expert at keeping an eye out.

  When the last cow was done, I helped her sweep the holding yard before asking if she would help me.

  ‘Why?’

  I explained the plan.

  ‘Excitement!’ she said.

  ‘Yes. But we’ve got to think it through. No mistakes.’

  ‘No mistakes,’ she said.

  We made a dummy out of pyjamas stuffed with straw, a white stocking filled with straw for the head, bandages, a hat and a blanket. I went back to the lodge and stoked the Rayburn, fed the cats, tidied Marjorie’s bedroom, put bottles in her bed and washed the dishes. I picked Sadie up after she’d had some tea.

  Her father came out to meet me. He was a small man with a bone-crushing handshake. He wore a frayed hat, hadn’t shaved and drove a BMW. He said, ‘Weren’t you skittling with Nicky tonight?’ to Sadie.

  ‘Tell him I’ve got something important on.’

  ‘Please?’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘You didn’t say anything about Nicky,’ I said.

  ‘He doesn’t own me. You said that.’

  The dummy was in the boot. I drove carefully, while Sadie said things had been so exciting and romantic since I’d arrived in the Vale. The less I said, and the more I tried to disagree, the more exciting (and romantic) it was for her. I couldn’t win. She put her hand on my thigh but I slapped it away. ‘Later,’ I said. ‘We’ve got to get Marjorie home first. Concentrate on one thing at a time. That’s the first rule of coping with excitement. OK?’

  ‘OK,’ she said, and smiled.

  ‘Good.’

  At the hospital, I fetched one of the unattended wheelchairs. No one was watching them. I just strolled past a photograph of Prince Charles and helped myself. We took a lot of time arranging the dummy to look right. We tucked the blanket around its feet, and bowed its head. The hat covered the features
it didn’t have. I pushed. Sadie took my arm.

  We took a crowded lift to the first floor. The people with us sniffed the air - a doctor said, ‘I can smell sheep,’ and looked at a colleague. ‘Can you smell sheep?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the colleague, and looked down at the dummy. I shook my head. The doors opened, we wheeled out, turned left, passed a wall of modern paintings and I held the doors while Sadie pushed the chair on to Marjorie’s ward. ‘Wait in there,’ I said. There was a visitors’ waiting room. ‘I’ll check with the nurses.’

  Two of the nurses were undernourished, three wore glasses and the sixth was busy. I explained about Marjorie’s friend being in a wheelchair, but the two women had been friends for over sixty years, and she’d insisted on coming in. ‘Five minutes,’ said the chief nurse. ‘It’s past visiting hours…’ She looked at her watch.

  ‘That’s very kind of you,’ I said.

  One of the nurses offered to close the curtains around Marjorie’s bed. I said, ‘No. We can manage,’ and fetched Sadie.

  No one looked twice as we wheeled the dummy into Marjorie’s room, and closed the curtains. It had been a busy day in Dorchester Hospital. I woke Marjorie gently.

  ‘Who?’ she croaked.

  ‘Ssh,’ I said, and pointed at the dummy. ‘We’ve come for you.’

  I pointed at Sadie. Sadie smiled. ‘Hello,’ she said.

  ‘Who?’ said Marjorie.

  ‘Sadie,’ I said. ‘And Gregory. Come on.’

  She was very weak, but strong enough to understand what she had to do. I got her out of bed and sat her on the edge while Sadie took the dummy out of the wheelchair and arranged it realistically under the sheets and blanket.

  Marjorie didn’t want to wear the dummy’s hat, but I explained that it was essential. ‘You want to go home, don’t you?’ I said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then wear it.’

  ‘It’s filthy!’

  ‘Wear it!’ I hissed.

  She put it on, but scowled at me.

  As we were leaving the ward, I said to the chief nurse, ‘She’s asleep.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Marjorie.’

  ‘Oh. Yes…’ She looked at me and then down at the wheelchair. Marjorie didn’t move. ‘How’s her friend?’