by M J Johnson
You possess a sizeable chip on your shoulder.
34
Sally telephoned late Friday afternoon to say she was running late. Gil was disappointed.
"I'm really sorry, darling. We're up to our eyeballs. I have to tie-dye forty shirts, surcoats etcetera for the English chorus. If it isn't finished tonight I'll have to come in tomorrow. The fittings are Monday."
"Can't be helped, price of art," he mused philosophically, "What time shall I expect you, then?"
"Ten ... eleven possibly."
She got in shortly after eleven. Spike alerted him to the arrival of her car and Gil popped the Indian meal for two he had standing by into the oven. He managed to reach the door just before she pressed the doorbell.
Spike got first attention. Sally picked him up which seemed like the only way to placate him.
"Hallo," she said to Gil, who was wearing a broad smile from one ear to the other. Sally had completed all tasks and raced for her car without consulting a mirror. Her hair was waif-like and dishevelled, she was wearing a baggy old sweater with jeans torn on both knees, not nice designer tears, and brown lace-up boots that hadn't seen polish in years. To Gil however, she looked delightful.
"Ah, yes, front door," he said, handing her a set of keys he'd deliberately left on the hall table to remind himself, "I finally remembered and got a new set made, yesterday."
While their food heated they shared a bottle of wine and rapidly told the small everyday events of their days apart.
"I haven't finished before ten once, there's so much to do. Roz has been great. We've had lots of girlie chats. If you don't mind slumming it, you could stay over for a night or two. Roz and John wouldn't mind. The flat's small, but cosy. My room's tiny but I've got a double bed," she winked to emphasise its potential and laughed. "Spike could come too."
"Okay, great. I'll do that."
"How's the writing?"
Gil nodded, "I feel I'm finally getting somewhere. I completed five thousand words this week."
"Brilliant. Will I be allowed to see it?"
"Of course."
Neither of them had eaten since lunchtime, so they sat down to their supper with enthusiasm.
"I didn't realise how hungry I was," said Sally as she mopped up the last drop of sauce off her plate with a piece of naan, "That went down without touching the sides."
"Shall I open another bottle?"
"Not for me."
"Coffee?"
"No, utterly replete I am. No longer hungry or thirsty," she replied with an emphatic crossing of arms. Her eyes began to smoulder as they engaged with Gil's, "However, a girl can experience other appetites."
Gil raised an eyebrow, "I'd better see what I can do," he said.
35
Friday 16 January
It was while at the Slade that you met Felix Blatt.
Can that really be his name?
I'm fascinated. This older man takes you under his wing and gives you the approval you've been crying out for all your life. He not only values your work but nurtures your talent and educates you, knocks off some of those rough edges.
In March 1992 your father's duodenal ulcer perforates. You attempt to be a good son and lend support to your mother, dutifully hold her hand while you both watch him flat-line.
A month later, in your hackneyed style, you wrote:
'... strange to think, how the man who brought me up, who should be a major figure in my life, passes on and leaves me feeling so little … We were like travellers in an old tale who meet by chance and are forced through circumstance to stay a while in each other's company. However, it's clear they have little in common, and when the time comes, both parties move on; indifferent as to whether they shall meet again, un-touched by their association.'
Yawn-yawn-yawn!
Of Blatt you say:
'... Felix is the warmest, most kind-hearted man I have ever known … in a recent interview for the Sunday Times, he said his books had been enhanced by his association with me and quoted increased sales to back this up. Felix is far more than a colleague. He epitomises everything I always pictured a proper father son relationship should be …'
Isn't that touching?
On the subject of your long collaboration you say:
'… Although I'd always been interested in illustration, sometimes I regret meeting Felix at the moment I did. I can't help but wonder how I might have developed as a painter if I hadn't been side-tracked into illustration. It sounds like I'm whingeing …'
Yes, Gil, it jolly well does!
36
They spent Saturday lazing in bed until late morning, laughing and chatting between bouts of dozing and love-making. In the afternoon they took Spike for a walk and talked about the things that fascinate lovers but evoke yawns in the rest of the world.
On Sunday they'd been invited to Felix and Kate's for lunch. They left earlier than necessary because Sally wanted to call at her place to pick up mail and collect some things she needed.
Sally's home in Hildenborough was part of a short terrace of Victorian cottages, the outer dimensions of which appeared to be far smaller than the area within.
"The Victorians were brilliant with space," commented Gil.
"I know. I'm like Doctor Who in his Tardis. Mind you, it would fit about five times into your gaff."
"My place is too big. I only hang onto it because I'm too lazy to move."
At the end of a long but narrow galley-type kitchen was a ground floor extension, built by the previous owner who had described himself as a DVD fanatic. What had been his surround-sound TV lounge now served as Sally's work-room.
Gil had been there for coffee once but had never seen this room before. It was fascinating to see where other people worked. The large number of pins all over the laminated wood floor was the thing he noticed first. He picked Spike up to protect his paws.
"Not the best place for yoga practice," he quipped.
There was a purpose-made work table in the middle of the room and on its counter were three sewing machines with half a dozen tall stools tucked beneath. Sally often said the work appealed because of its companionability. Built under the table was storage space, packed with numerous rolls of cloth, black bin bags, their multi-coloured innards spilling, a mix of neatly-labelled plastic storage boxes and dog-eared cardboard ones branded Heinz Beans, Jacobs Crackers, Mr Muscle etcetera, scrawled over in marker pen with descriptions like 'tapes', 'braiding', 'buckles' and 'straps'.
Sally had begun to seek out the items she required by digging through an assortment of more boxes and tins that were distributed along two walls of stout shelving.
"Can I help?" Gil asked.
"I'm fine. Make a coffee if you like."
Redundant, Gil took himself and Spike off to the kitchen. From time to time they could hear Sally, whenever her hopes of finding a required object were thwarted, exclaim, "shit" or "bugger" or "fuck" even; and when a really promising box proved a giant failure, all three expletives together.
37
Sunday 18 January
Poor, poor Julia; and poor, poor Gil.
To think the love of your life was killed so tragically. I genuinely felt moved as I read your account of the crash - such a waste.
And the trauma remains with you. You take comfort from the leg-shagger and the supportive Felix and Kate. George and Marjorie, Julia's parents, have been very understanding too. Remarkable, considering you killed their daughter!
I've learnt you were on your way home from visiting them when our paths crossed.
Nothing has been the same for you since the accident, has it? How you wish you could re-connect with life. You avoid old joint friends because they bring back too many memories.
Pages and pages of your diary are constantly on about, what Jules meant to me, or my dreadful loss, or the guilt I feel.
Talk about wallowing in it! Get a Life, please!
38
An hour and two cups of coffee later, Gil loaded
two hefty boxes into the back of his Volvo.
"Sure you haven't forgotten anything?" he asked with amused sarcasm.
"Enough cheek, Harper. Just drive."
From Hildenborough, Gil took the road to Tonbridge, then turned onto the Maidstone road. Gil glanced across at Sally as they passed the Hadlow village sign. All ease had suddenly vanished from her face and only apprehension remained.
"Bad memories?" he asked.
"It fills me with dread just travelling through. These were the bounds of my prison when I was his hostage. Each day when he was expected home, I'd panic. He'd ask for details about everything I'd done. Where I'd been; who I'd talked to."
"Christ, that's so paranoid."
"Paranoid! You can ..." Sally suddenly broke off and shrank down in her seat, "Shit! His car!"
Gil misunderstood at first and glanced up at his rear mirror before realising she meant ahead. He followed her eye-line to a pub called The Harrow, which was now alongside them on the right.
"Which one?"
"Silver Merc."
"He's starting early," said Gil watching the car in his side mirror as they left The Harrow behind.
"Probably isn't in there. Trevor, the landlord, takes his keys and won't let him drive home if he's over the limit. It's only about a quarter of a mile up there," she said pointing to a lane that curved off to the left. Sally shook her head and sat back up, "The car's outside the pub more often than it's parked in his garage."
39
While Sally helped Kate with lunch, Gil went off to find Felix. He discovered him busy at the wood-turning lathe in his workshop. Spike, ruled by his stomach, had stayed with the ladies.
Felix, catching sight of Gil as he entered, lay down the chisel in his hand, switched off the lathe's motor and raised his goggles.
"Harp, m'dear," he said stretching out a hand.
"Hallo Felix. What are you up to?"
"I was just assisting this piece of walnut in its ambition to become a bowl."
"Sure it wasn't happier as a tree?"
"Had its life cut short by the hurricane."
Felix and Kate had lost two dozen trees during the hurricane of '87. Gil had seen photographs of their beloved ten-acre garden utterly devastated.
"This is the last of our old walnut."
Felix, after the pain subsided, had set about saving the timber. He enlisted a small army of helpers and every useable scrap was salvaged. The table in Gil's dining room had been a wedding gift to him and Jules from the Blatts, crafted from their most beloved oak by Felix himself.
"I remember thinking Kent would never look the same again. You must have thought so too?"
"I thought it likely I might not live long enough to see things restored," replied Felix before going on to ask, "The dear girl and little feller with you?"
"Helping Kate."
Felix placed one of his shovel-sized hands on Gil's shoulder and smiled, "Kate and I think Sally is delightful," he said, then added, "Shall we join our womenfolk and partake of a pre-lunch snifter?"
The weather was too good to miss, so once lunch was over they donned coats and hats to go walking in the crisp but glorious afternoon. They went through the Blatts' garden initially, clambered over a stile into an adjoining field then on into woodland. Felix, a keen daily walker despite carrying a stick these days, led the party with Sally, arms hooked together. Kate, preferring a more moderate pace, walked behind with Gil; Spike rushed back and forth patrolling the gap.
It was evident to anybody who had known Gil as long as the Blatts, that he was happier now than in an awfully long time. It is always difficult for a new partner to sit comfortably with old friends but Sally had slotted right in.
Kate, who'd taken a little more wine with lunch than she usually did, was in jocular spirits. As Gil helped her down from the stile she asked with a Bacchanalian gleam to her eye, "Thought about popping the question yet?"
"What question?" he disingenuously asked.
"Don't play the innocent, Harp. You know what question it is gets popped."
Gil, cheeks reddening, shook his head and laughed so loudly, that Felix and Sally, now forty yards ahead, turned to see what was happening.
"You two carry on!" Kate shouted at them, "We're talking about you, not to you!"
Felix made some off-the-cuff remark to his companion, clearly an amusing one, and they continued their walk.
"Well?"
"Isn't it a bit early days for that kind of thing?"
"I didn't ask when the happy day is going to be, I merely asked if you'd thought about it?"
"Why, do you think I should?"
"Doesn't matter what I think, Harp."
"I've thought about it," he confessed. Then, suddenly a new seriousness took hold of him, "But, before anything, I need to tell her … about what happened ... about Jules, the accident. I've tried, I'm just not able to ..."
Gil was a subject Kate Blatt was well-versed in; she knew how much the crash still haunted him. Along with Felix she had stood helplessly by as grief had overtaken his life. Kate had concluded that his wounds were beyond the skills of any human agency, and being a woman of quiet personal faith, she had often prayed for him.
She now took Gil's hands in hers and re-assured him gently, "You'll get there, Harp. I know you will."
40
Two names crop up in your diaries that alert me to some possibilities. The first is the man Owens. The other is your whore's ex-lover, Michael Chilvers.
How much would it take to get you angry?
Who knows, a few nudges and you may tip right over the edge. I doubt it though. You don't have the guts. You're too weak.
41
Sally awoke with the feeling that there was something important she'd forgotten to do. The sensation was not uncommon, especially when starting on a new show. She sighed, turned over and stretched her arm towards Gil. It came as a surprise to find his side of the bed was empty. The clock told her it was 3.07 am. The bathroom was dark, but she noticed a sliver of light beneath the door to the landing.
A clear-skied day had been succeeded by an icy cold night, and as she left the warmth of bed the temperature-drop caused her to shiver. She put on Gil's old dressing gown and opened the bedroom door. It was immediately apparent that the only light was coming from the door to the loft, left slightly ajar. The seeming oddness of this discovery in the middle of the night caused Sally's heart to miss a beat.
She recalled asking Gil when he'd given her a tour of his house, "What's up there?"
And his casual reply, "Just storage stuff and junk."
"Gil?" she called tentatively.
There was no reply. She started to ascend. As she approached the landing her eyes were drawn and momentarily blinded by the powerful halogen work-light. She nudged the door open with her hand. Then as her vision returned to normal she saw Gil. He was sat quite still on a paint spattered chair before the easel which supported the portrait of his wife, its dust-cover in a heap by his feet.
Sally suddenly felt like an eavesdropper.
She assumed he hadn't heard her either calling or climbing the stairs.
However, this uncertainty was dispelled, when Gil, not averting his attention from the portrait, said, "I was driving."
Sally took two steps; she knew this was not a moment when any words were required from her.
"It was September, a beautiful autumn day," Gil recalled with a grim laugh. "Bright and sunny with just enough chill in the air to let you know it wasn't still summer. We thought we'd drive about, not plan a route … find a pub for lunch." He sighed. Averting his gaze from the portrait for the first time, he dropped his head, "I'm sorry. Did you wake-up and find me missing?"
"It doesn't matter," said Sally. She took another step and put her hand on his shoulder, "I'd like to know."
Gil sighed and lowered his head again.
"I'll go downstairs and make a hot drink," she said, "Why don't you come and talk."
In the kitche
n, Sally warmed some milk. Gil arrived just as the cocoa was ready and took a seat at the table. Sally set a mug down before him and another for herself opposite.
Gil lifted his drink and blew softly across its surface before testing with his lips. "I like cocoa," he said, "Didn't know I had any."
"Warm and soothing, isn't it?" she replied, but immediately felt irritated by her own words, she hadn't meant them to sound like a lead in.
"Did Felix or Kate mention the accident to you?"
"No." Sally paused then added, "And I would never have asked."
Gil smiled, he liked her integrity. He took a deep breath, "Jules was expecting a baby."
Sally wasn't able to suppress her gasp, "Oh Gil, I am so sorry."
"The pregnancy had run almost full-term. The baby was due in three weeks."
"That's appalling," she felt his pain so palpably it required great effort to hold back her tears.
"The bump was very big. We were convinced it was a boy … I don't know why, we were both certain. We used to joke about what a bruiser he'd be. Jules had reached the stage where carrying the baby was uncomfortable, even some of her maternity dresses were too tight. Every time we went out in the car, she kept fidgeting with the seat belt, trying to position it so it didn't cause her discomfort … I thought it would do her good to get out in the sunshine," Gil paused as if to punctuate the irony.
"I think she'd have been happier sitting in the garden. After driving around, we found ourselves about a mile from Tunbridge Wells. We had lunch in a place near the High Street, and afterwards we looked round some shops. I bought her a new maternity dress." Gil smiled as he remembered his wife's little foibles, "Jules had a vain streak; she loved to be well turned-out. There was no way she would've set foot outdoors without make-up, even heavily pregnant. Anyway, after shopping, we headed for home. The day was still nice, so we detoured. We thought we'd explore … cut across country."
Gil broke off, bit down on his lip and turned his face to avoid the look of compassion in Sally's eyes.