If I Touched the Earth

by Cynthia Rogerson

  ‘Oh aye. She’s enjoying this little crisis – amazing what she can do when she thinks someone is worse off than her. Now. Tell me. Did you just wake up feeling like crap, or has something happened?’

  Alice sighs, looks at the window. ‘It’s just a crap day, Teddy.’

  Her voice swims about the place a bit, over the bed, around the floral walls. Her chin dives down.

  ‘Is it? How? Sun’s out, look at it. Don’t you like sunny days? August is usually wet, this is lucky.’ He opens the curtains.

  She flinches as if the light is painful, or his words sharp stones. He mentally reviews them.

  ‘Is today an important day in August?’ He whispers, ‘Alice? Is it an important day?’

  She nods. Blows her nose.

  ‘Ah. The fourteenth of August, was it? His birthday?’

  She nods again, her face crumpling.

  ‘Oh dear. Oh dearie dear.’

  She slumps back on her pillow. Her crying is a painful hoarse inhalation. The exhalations are silent.

  ‘Now, now,’ he says, and slides onto the bed with her. Pulls her into his side. Tucks her head into his shoulder. Teddy being gay makes this extra comforting. He reminds her of someone … but Neal wasn’t gay, was he? Obviously not. But same uncomplicated feeling.

  ‘There, there.’ And after ten minutes, he says, ‘Now tell me, Alice. What did he love doing?’

  More blubbering. Teddy strokes her head.

  ‘Come on now, it might help. Tell me. Tell me what Calum loved, pet.’

  She hiccups. ‘Playing.’ Hiccup. ‘Stupid computer games. Drinking.’ Hiccup. ‘Lager.’ Hiccup. ‘Dole day. Scary movies.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  She swallows the last of the hiccups and says, ‘Running. I think he loved running best. He said once that nothing mattered when he ran. He didn’t have to talk.’ She says all these words into Teddy’s shirt.

  ‘And his favourite foods?

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just tell me.’

  ‘Pizza. Chips. Chip butties. Those expensive energy drinks. Oh, and Snickers. He loved a giant-size Snickers bar.’

  ‘Here, use my apron, blow hard this time.’

  After five more minutes, Teddy raises Alice up, smoothes her hair and says, ‘We’ve got to go now, so get dressed. I’ll just phone the café, tell them we’ll be in after lunch.’

  ‘Who will look after it?’

  ‘Who knows? Sam’s there now, and he’s no got a place to hurry to, so he may stick around all day for the extra cash. Up you get, there you are. Look, here’s your clothes, you pop them on like a good girl. Wash your face, and I’ll meet you downstairs.’

  Alice manages to do as she’s told, but barely. Moves like an invalid. She does not brush her teeth, glance in the mirror, wash her face. She pulls her jumper over her nightie and tucks the rest of the nightie into the ugly elastic-waist trousers she’s taken to wearing. She slips her trainers on, but forgets about socks, and leaves the laces untied. She goes down the stairs to Teddy, who knows what he’s doing. He’s sorted out his mum, found a pair of trainers to wear and he’s waiting for Alice with a carrier bag. He wordlessly leads her outside.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Running, of course. I know just the park.’

  ‘Running? I can’t run, Teddy.’

  ‘We’ll only run a wee while, don’t worry. We’ll wait till we get there, and we’ll only run a wee ways, then we’ll have a lovely picnic.’

  He walks quickly as he talks and pulls Alice by the hand. Drags her on, then off the train at Hillhead Station. They arrive at the Botanical Gardens. Follow a path that leads away from the greenhouses and towards the river. Soon runners begin to pound past them.

  ‘This is the place,’ says Teddy. ‘They all come here to run. They’re all mad, like.’

  A woman jogs so close to Alice she almost trips, and Teddy holds Alice firmly by the upper arm and guides her to the grass verge.

  ‘Now. Alice.’ He looks her right in the eyes. ‘Why not still celebrate his birthday? You’re glad he was born, are you not?’ He holds her away from him, holds a hankie to her nose, waits till she blows, then without saying anything else, begins to slowly run away from her. He turns when he’s about twenty feet away, jogs on the spot and shouts, ‘Come on, fattie!’

  Alice’s tears are a torrent now, and her nose is running again. It’s as if he died yesterday.

  ‘Come on, Alice. Get a move on!’

  Alice walks towards him, more to not lose him than anything, but he speeds up and begins to run girlishly away, albeit a very heavy middle-aged girl. Two shaved-headed men in pink Lycra shorts pause to watch him. Then suddenly, he’s almost gone from sight and Alice whimpers. She shifts up a gear, and runs. It’s easy at first, but quickly becomes hard. She’s out of breath.

  ‘Teddy! Teddy, slow down. I can’t do this.’

  He slows till she almost catches up, then he sprints again and is gone.

  She looks around. The park is unfamiliar. She can’t remember exactly how she got here. Somewhere a dog growls menacingly. The sun’s too bright. For a minute, the glare becomes something more, and everything reflective near Alice glows intensely – an old spoon lying abandoned on the grass, the sprinkler system, some beer tins, a large puddle. Half a dozen men in long orange robes head towards her, their voices an incoherent drone that echoes. Did Teddy spike her tea with acid? Her head begins to buzz, to ache, and she runs. This time, she is too afraid to care about anything but regaining the sight of Teddy. She is too far from herself and so afraid even her bladder trembles.

  She finally spots him sitting on a bench by a pond. He’s taking things out of the carrier bag. Two chip butties, now cold. Two Cokes, two Snickers. She collapses next to him, says nothing, only pants. When her breathing slows, Teddy opens the tins and passes her one.

  ‘Here’s to him.’

  ‘Okay,’ she whispers.

  They both drink. And then Teddy eats both chip butties because, even though this is better than staying in bed, it’s impossible for Alice to swallow food.

  Neal and Pink T-Shirt at the Indian

  Finn and William are on the same bus, sitting one row apart on the 25A to Inverness. Both, coincidentally, eating chips. Finn looks behind him briefly because someone has turned their music up loud, and he acknowledges William with raised eyebrows.

  ‘Hey,’ says William.

  ‘Hey,’ says Finn.

  ‘Alright?’

  ‘Aye. You?’

  ‘Aye, sound.’

  ‘Good.’

  Then Finn turns away again, and William looks out of the window at nothing. When the bus arrives at the station, Finn walks away first. Quickly, without looking back. He walks past The Raj, where Neal and Suzie are toasting each other with pints of Tiger.

  Life is so much better now for Neal, with Suzie and sex punctuating his days. This is the third time he has taken Suzie out to The Raj and already it feels like a tradition. They order what they always order. He has lamb jalfrezi, and she has chickpea korma. She’s a vegetarian, plus some other dietary things he can never remember.

  Neal makes an effort at conversation because Suzie has demanded it. It does not come naturally, and earlier in the evening he primed himself with conversational gambits. The earthquake in Kuwait, the unseasonal cold rain. But somehow, probably because he doesn’t really care, these subjects fade when he reaches for them now. Current news just doesn’t seem that interesting to him. He enjoys the thick hot flavours of his curry, the crisp cold Tiger beer. At some point, he becomes aware that Suzie has stopped talking. Looks up to find her watching him with an expression that has already become familiar. What exactly it means will come to him in a minute.

  ‘Lovely food here,’ he says nervously.

  ‘Yes. It is. Very. Lovely,’ she agrees.

  ‘Sorry, did you ask a question and I didn’t answer?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘A while ago, was it?’ />
  Later they go back his place. They’ve both noticed, but not commented on, certain similarities in their houses. The same curtain pattern in the sitting room. The same brands of food in the kitchen, the same cafetiere. The same CDs and tapes by the stereo, the same kind of ground coffee. They even both have fathers who are on second marriages to much younger women. Suzie doesn’t speak of their similarities because she thinks it might jinx things. Might make Neal self-conscious. Neal doesn’t mention it because he doesn’t visit many houses, so it doesn’t strike him as unusual. He feels at home at Suzie’s house but doesn’t mistake it for home.

  Look at the way they brush their teeth calmly, fold their clothes carefully, each enter the bed from their own sides. Each reads for fifteen minutes, lying next to each other, then yawn in unison. Then they have semi-rigorous sex, missionary style, till both make convincing climactic noises. After, they whisper goodnight and roll away from each other and fall instantly into sleep, like puppies. They’ve been like this from the start. They’ve skipped the stage of excitement and talking all night and not eating much. Have already settled into the kingdom of convenience and common interests. They’re good for each other. Aren’t they? Like vitamin pills.

  In the morning, over breakfast, she asks if she can stay all next week at his house, as her house is being rewired, and he says, ‘Alright.’ But with such a look, she rushes in with, ‘Ach, don’t panic, I’ve no intention of moving in.’ She smiles broadly. Ever cheerful, ever light, is Suzie. ‘I love my own space, love it,’ she says. ‘I’m never going to live with anyone. I’ll be gone by the next Saturday, promise.’

  ‘Alright,’ he says again.

  Then Chrissie phones. Her voice is a jarring note, a reminder of that restless intensity, of the way he’s betrayed his quest. Suzie-sex has sedated him.

  ‘Neal! Just seeing how you’re getting on.’

  ‘Fine, Chrissie. Sorry I haven’t phoned for a while.’

  ‘Nah, don’t be silly, I’ve not called you for a while either.’

  ‘No word, I suppose?’

  ‘No. And you?’

  ‘No. Nothing.’

  ‘I wonder,’ muses Chrissie.

  ‘Wonder what?’

  Suzie walks by him, glances at him with raised eyebrows. He shrugs back.

  ‘Nothing,’ says Chrissie, noticing his voice is a little different now – more outgoing? More polite? Perhaps he’s not alone. She suddenly feels shy.

  ‘Tell me. What do you wonder?’

  ‘Just if she’ll ever come back.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘But now we know she’s alive somewhere in Glasgow, and it’s up to her now, isn’t it?’

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Why doesn’t she want to see me, though?’ Hedging her bets here, because she’s also posted this question to God. Always good to get a second opinion, right?

  Yesterday after church, she’d hung around till Henry was alone so she could speak to him. Is there something like a long-distance dialling code for praying, to get quick replies to prayers? I mean, that’s your job, right? Every job has perks, every employee knows cheats. I need to know where my sister is. If she’s, well, alive. What’s the point of religion if it doesn’t answer stuff like that?

  Henry did not have the answers she’d hoped for, but he’d answered so slowly and sadly, his voice quavering, she couldn’t be irritated. The surprise of an uncertain clergyman! It had cheered her, his transparency, his melancholy. Why should someone else’s sadness make her own sadness lessen? But it did.

  I’m not sure what to tell you, Chrissie. I think perhaps, when someone loses someone, especially a child, it’s very difficult to accept. To know how to go on. Everything they look at will probably remind them of what was, and Alison probably felt a strong desire to escape. Be where she could be distracted and begin to cope with her life. I hope your sister is alright. Let’s assume that she is, since we can’t do anything about it. That she’ll be home soon. Just hope, Chrissie, and try not to fret.

  And then they made a date for next Monday morning. Just a chat and coffee.

  Now she grips the phone too tightly, and Neal holds his phone tightly too, flinches slightly listening to the frustration in her voice.

  ‘I’m her sister. Her only family now. Why would she not think to ring me?’

  ‘I don’t know, Chrissie,’ says Neal.

  ‘Oh. Okay. I’m thinking, maybe get Kate to take me down to Glasgow, show me the exact house she saw her go into? I mean, Kate might’ve written down the wrong address.’

  Neal remembers the old lady at the door saying, I’d know if someone called Alison lived here.

  ‘You could.’

  ‘Would you come with me?’

  ‘I don’t know. No, probably not.’

  After he hangs up, Suzie comes up behind him and nuzzles his neck. At first he finds it a little irritating, a little ticklish, but then he closes his eyes and pretends she’s wearing that pink t-shirt again, from that first night.

  A Bad Night

  In the night, Alice wakes up in pain. Food poisoning, she thinks at first. Severe cramping – her period finally? She just makes it to the toilet before her bowels let loose. Hopes Janet doesn’t hear, has taken her hearing aid out. She also pees – no blood – and is momentarily relieved.

  She returns to her bedroom, gets into bed, and then the pain comes again. And five minutes later, again. And again, much sharper this time, with echoes of previous similar sensations.

  Back to the toilet to vomit. She’s emptying out at break-neck speed, she’ll be inside out in five minutes at this rate. Damn, what has she eaten? She sits on the edge of the bath and rocks back and forth as the pain rolls through her belly and back. This is it. She is dying.

  Good, she thinks.

  Good, good, good. Death, come get me. Here I am. I am ready to roll.

  But what about Janet? She better warn Teddy.

  ‘Teddy,’ she says when he finally answers his phone.

  ‘Is it Mum? Have you rung for an ambulance?’

  ‘It’s me, Teddy.’

  ‘What’s you?’

  She starts to tell him about dying, when the pain makes speech impossible.

  ‘What’s happening? Is that you moaning? Fuck. Fuck. I’ll be right over.’

  But she doesn’t hear any of this because she’s dropped the phone and is on the floor.

  ‘Dying!’ she moans with grim satisfaction. Makes her way back towards her bedroom, but for no reason goes into the airing cupboard instead. It’s small, dark, warm.

  Outside it’s raining. Teddy arrives with the rain still running off his bald head. Looks for her downstairs and upstairs.

  ‘Alice? Alice!’ softly.

  ‘Teddy!’ she calls softly back. ‘In here, Teddy!’

  ‘Where’s here?’

  ‘Teddy!’ she calls in a half-scream. The last syllable of his name gets the most emphasis, so he hears EEEE!! Races to the cupboard, where she is curled up under the towels.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing in here?’

  ‘Help me.’

  ‘Aye, well I’m here.’ He sits with her. Puts his arms around her.

  ‘I’m dying, Teddy,’ she whispers in a pause from pain. ‘I just thought I should tell you, like.’

  ‘No, no, darling woman.’ He smiles. ‘You’re not dying, it’s only a baby you’re having.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A wean, Alice. How could you not know you were having a wean?’

  ‘A baby? A baby? Are you off your friggen head? How can I have a baby, I don’t even have a friggen boyfriend! Plus, I’m friggen menopausal! Frig!’

  Alice never swears. Alison is rearing up again, but she’s out of practice, and it’s a few minutes before she can say fuck.

  ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’

  Another severe spasm; a moan so low, so guttural, three walls away Janet sits up in her bed. Just sits there, trying to work out an explanation. Street stabbing? G
host?

  ‘There, there,’ Teddy says soothingly, since it’s obvious Alice must be humoured. ‘Maybe it’s an immaculate conception. That’s what it is, sure.’

  A9

  Among others, today the A9 is used by a lorry driver taking shellfish to France, a farmer taking ewes from Wick to the Dingwall market, two housewives from Bad Caull wanting to choose some new curtains at Arnott’s in Inverness, a Harley Davidson biker from Germany seeing the sights, and one seventeen-year-old who was going to wait till he passed his test, but then just couldn’t.

  Drivers who notice Calum’s memorial, well, they continue driving. Roadside shrines are not common, but they’re instantly recognisable for what they are. Thoughts of death pass through these drivers for a second, and maybe one or two of them make different choices later in their day.

  Tonight Zara is invisible, even to herself. It’s that dark. Not a scrap of moon. She reads the ground and the plants like brail, her gloved hands moving roughly over them. She nods as she finds each thing she planted last January. They are all still there, just playing dead to trick the oncoming winter. The rose bushes, the birch trees, all leafless already. But what’s this? A few Seraphim red roses, which she feels very gently. The petals feel like skin, cold but alive and vulnerable. Between the Seraphims and the yellow Cherubims, there have been roses blooming here for seven months.

  She’s exhausted and she’s shivering. It’s the coldest night since last April. ‘Well, Calum, will you look at this place now,’ she whispers triumphantly. She stopped apologising altogether a while ago. Just continues as if he has forgiven her and they are practically an old married couple now. She even bickers with him sometimes. His death has not succeeded in ending the relationship after all. It has a little while to run yet. Some days she feels just plain bored with him, and annoyed. ‘I told you twenty times: I am not bossy, I’m just speaking my mind. What, you want me to keep my mouth shut? Piss off, you.’

  And then Calum’s car slides off the road again and again, and his surprise is always fresh. His eyes widen and his face trembles like a newborn. As vulnerable as a human face can be. Comprehension dawning, just, and his heart leaping in protest. Not yet! Not now! Over and over, his phone rings, he reaches for it, hopes it is her, the sun glints off the road, and over and over again, the crows on the wire, the broken bottles on the verge, the Mum! yanked from his throat. The ear-splitting metallic crunch and sense of leaving the surface of the earth momentarily. All this, all this, all this. Then nothing, nothing and nothing.