by G J Morgan
“Thin fucking ice, friend. Thin fucking ice.”
Then he hung up.
* * *
Dot didn’t take it well, took it personally. I assured her it was just a little break, off home to see the family, she told me she’d persuade Alfred to keep my room ready for my return, stop him filling it with another potential American. In the car park, she handed me a packed lunch, warned me of the lack of fruit, even Tripod was there too, looking even more mournful than normal. I watched the two of them disappear in the rear-view mirror, watched five legs and a waving arm say their goodbyes from the tarmac, faces forlorn and friendless, as if my escape was permanent, when in fact I’d be back within a week. Unless Vince decided otherwise.
* * *
“Where have you been? The heart of darkness?” she said ruffling my hair up. “You need shearing. Quick, get inside before you catch your death.”
They were both genuinely taken aback, took them a cup of tea and the biscuit tin for my arrival to sink in. I decided not to ring ahead, not sure that was a good idea in hindsight, not sure if Molly could grasp it all, she was speechless for a good while, kept staring at me, came over all shy, disappearing under Mum’s arms, shaking her head whenever I tried to hold her. Mum cried actually, which I didn’t expect, she wasn’t one for show, she didn’t look good in all honesty, pale and tired, said she had a head full of cold, so I made us all dinner, told her to get some rest, of course Mum questioned my sudden arrival after a month away, somehow, I put off my explanation till tomorrow.
Instead, I took Molly to bed, read her endless stories, endless kisses, she soon softened up. I did my best to not fall asleep beside her and by the time I’d got downstairs Mum was already excusing herself, wishing me a good night. I wasn’t long off bed myself, it had been a weird day and a long drive, a weird day for all of us, confusion for Molly, high temperatures for Mum, mixed feelings for me.
14
Molly was in tears, crying into my kneecaps, I did my best to make it stop, rubbed it better, bribed her with promises of chocolate in exchange for a quieter recovery. It worked, she was soon scaling the same climbing frame she had just fallen from, laughing, making new friends. I kept my eye on her as she ran off towards a see-saw, mid-spin. I looked over at Mum, she was sat over on a bench, she was watching her too, preparing for the next potential injury.
In the car on the way over Mum talked of a nursery that Molly might soon attend a couple of days a week. Mum spoke lots of industry terms, child stimulation, tailored curriculum, emotive development, Ofsted reports, even the colour of the new uniform. Mum had spent a lot of time on it, lots, bubbling over as she explained, said she had lots of emails and printouts I’d have to read. I tried my best to sound enthusiastic and appreciative, which I was, just not that particular day. We’d been at Normanby Hall for a good hour before we all decided it was time to eat, picked a nice spot under a perfect tree, opposite a perfect view, as Mum handed us foiled parcels and flasks.
“So, you were saying, Mr Secretive?”
“It’s no secret, Mum, I told you. It’s literally a week off till Lilly returns. That’s all.”
“Just seems odd Vince has let you have a week off out of the blue. He doesn’t seem the type to be so charitable.”
“Vince is Vince.”
“And is Vince happy with your work?” she said, flicking away a bug that had landed on my leg.
“He still thinks I’m a bumbling idiot, if that’s what you mean.”
“And are you?”
“He makes me feel like one, but I’m not, I just struggle with the job description, struggle to be enthusiastic. I’m doing OK, I’m not setting the world on fire, put it that way.”
“At least it gives this Lilly girl a bit of respite from the constant badgering.”
“Oh, she’ll still be badgered, just not by me.”
“How awful.”
“Mum, I don’t need your Princess Diana speech again. I’m fully aware I’m going to hell for this.”
“Here, grumpy, have another pork pie.” She offered me more Tupperware.
“Who says I’m going back anyway? I’m still undecided myself.”
“What’s changed your tune?”
“Lots of things.”
“Like?”
“Molly for one.”
“You knew what you were taking on when you accepted the job. Molly hasn’t changed. The situation hasn’t changed.”
“I should be the one organising her schooling, not you. I’m the parent.”
“I enjoy it, Tom. Gives me a purpose. What else have I got to do these days? Look, I agree that this isn’t great for Molly at the moment with you away, but look at her, not a care in the world. Yes, your job isn’t the ideal one, but there are worse ones out there. If I could magic money out of thin air I would tell you to stay here with us. But Tom, and it is a big ‘but’, we have no money.”
“We?”
“Your father’s pension pays enough for me to live a basic lifestyle. We made some money mistakes in our past, some bad investments that ate up most of mine and your father’s savings. I do my best to live frugally, but I’d be lying if I said that you and Molly moving back hasn’t stretched me slightly.”
“I’m not even making money, Mum, not yet, just promises of money. I’d rather have a normal job, with a normal pay cheque, on a normal payday.”
“Yes, but where is the fun in that?”
“I’m gambling with our future, Mum. There is no fun in that.”
“Sometimes we have to take risks, it’s part of the appeal.”
“You’re hardly the ideal candidate to offer advice. You said yourself you made bad investments.”
“They didn’t feel bad at the time. And they still don’t now. That was the chance me and your father took.”
“And it backfired.”
“Yes, but it might not have.”
“How are you finding having Molly on your own. You coping?”
“It’s tiring, Tom. She wants constant attention, but I wouldn’t change it.”
Mum coughed into her hands, several times, loud and intense.
“Just because you want to look after her, doesn’t mean you can.”
“I have a cold, that’s all.”
“I’m not talking now, I’m talking in general. You’re nearly seventy. I’m asking too much of you.”
“It was my decision, Tom, not yours. If I didn’t feel capable then I wouldn’t be doing it, I wouldn’t have let you leave.” She blew her nose. “I’m doing this because I want to, I’ve missed so much of her already, I’ve time to make up.”
“Just make sure you tell me if it becomes too hard, too unbearable.”
“Unbearable? Look at her.” Molly was hanging from a branch. “How could she ever be unbearable?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Mum poured me a coffee from the flask, and then one for herself.
“It wouldn’t make you any less of a grandmother if you changed your mind. Molly would love you the same, regardless. It wouldn’t be a failure if you changed your mind, decided it’s too much.”
“You’re worrying over nothing, Tom. Giving yourself unnecessary stress.”
“I can’t be away knowing you are here struggling on your own. You need to keep me in the loop, keep me informed.”
“I’m not the BBC. I’m not giving you daily updates. I will tell you if there is a problem, but I sure as hell don’t need to have you checking in on me. A women’s health is her own business.”
“Mum, you’re twisting my words, all I’m asking is you tell me the truth, tell me if you need help, that’s all.”
It went quiet, eyes out in front, a blank truce.
“I’m going to the doctor’s next week if you must know.”
“Nothing bad, I hope?�
�
“Just an MOT, checking for lumps and bumps, hope they might find something for this God-awful cold, it’s driving me insane all this incessant nose-blowing and coughing.”
“Well, I expect you to ring me after you’ve had all your checks.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll be first to know if I’m a write-off. For now, your daughter is safe and you are free to return to spying and gambling away our futures. You need to concentrate on your job, not me.”
“I’ll try.”
“What time is it?”
I checked my phone. “About four. We should be getting back soon if we want her bathed and in bed for normal time.”
“Enough time to show Molly the gardens?”
“If we are quick.”
Right on cue Molly was at our feet, lunch finished, demanding piggybacks.
“Molly darling,” Mum said, kneeling down next to her. “Do you want to see a secret special garden with me and Daddy? I think Peter Rabbit lives there, a few fairies too.”
“Might be an evil monster in there too, Molly,” I said, as I picked up and placed her on top of my shoulders. “We’ll have to keep our eyes peeled as he likes to eat little girls for supper.”
“Daddy is being silly. There’s no monsters.” Mum picked up our belongings, as we headed towards the Victorian walled garden across the rock pools and benches and ducks. “Go on then, Thomas, I’m all ears. Tell me about this Goodridge girl. Tell me everything.”
* * *
Whilst the house slept I finally took the opportunity to sort out what I’d brought home with me in such a hurry. Even though I’d be repacking in a few days’ time it was a job that needed to be done, get things washed, thrown out, into some order. Most of the stuff wouldn’t be making the trip back, half the clothes I’d taken hadn’t been worn. My aim was to go back lighter, in every sense of the word, my possessions, my waistline, my conscience. On my duvet, I put all my toiletries, toothbrush, aftershave, razor, not that I’d shaved much throughout the whole process. Tomorrow I’d need to be de-haired, get Mum to clipper it all off like a sheep.
Mum would be impressed with my binoculars, I thought, taking them from their case. She liked to watch the birds from her kitchen stool, watch them eat the crusts and seeds from her nest boxes, with her little notepad, making her notes of number, time and species, sending it off somewhere, RSPB or some other conservation do-gooders, where it could be analysed and listed. Sweet really.
Stinking or creased I’d started to separate clothes into piles, clean and needed cleaning, but quickly realized that there were not many that didn’t need the washing machine, so instead of piles I threw them all in the laundry bin. Next my Ray-bans – I took them out of their case, wiped them on my jumper, attempting to remove the specks of sand encrusted on the lens. I will take Molly to the beach this week, I thought, give Mum a day off, give her time to get well. It would not be a long drive to the seaside, the coast wasn’t far away, I’d check the forecast for the rest of the week, pick the nicest day.
There was a carrier bag of books, too, that I thought I’d have time to read but I couldn’t have been more wrong. I transferred the books from bag to bookshelf, they wouldn’t be coming back with me second time around. Vince said books were a good foil, turned spying into reading, a criminal offence to a pastime.
Would I take back my diary, I thought, finding it wrapped in a pair of trousers. I hadn’t written an entry in a while. For the first couple of weeks I’d written a fair bit, made it quite formulaic, thought I could note any patterns in her habits, keep tabs on my performance. Number, type, species.
Tuesday 6th April
Frank/Sally arrive – 8:27
Frank/Lilly went on walk – 10:36–13:01
Car arrived – 14:11
Car home – 18:19
54 shots
Bring thicker jumper tomorrow. Remember power pack!
Thursday 8th April
Frank/Sally – 8:10
Car arrived – 10:03
Came home – 17:27
Wasting too much time in the Jeep (need to think smarter!!!!)
Shots – too dark/photos awful. Need Vince to show me how to use the camera settings again.
Monday 12th April
Lilly first day of filming
Garden – 7:10–9:37
Car arrived – 11:00
Car home – 14:00
Garden – 14:36–17:48
Running out of excuses! This isn’t working!
Spoke to Molly. Sang me a song down the phone.
Tuesday 13th April
Filming all day again.
*Have an idea – check it out to see if it sails.
Thursday 15th April
Lilly filming/home after lunch.
Frank mowed the lawn.
Photos of LG picking flowers in bikini (don’t show these to Vince).
Molly would love it here.
How much is the place to rent? Find out.
Could Aunty Jo come with the kids? Make it cheaper the more there are of us.
I’m bored.
Buy Gaviscon. Awful heartburn.
Miss home today.
Saturday 17th April
Big argument with Vince over dinner. Told him I was doing my best. Said he had no choice but to step in, restraining order or not. Took the Jeep and his camera.
Took Tripod for a walk to get some air.
Spoke to Mum. She didn’t seem herself.
Sunday 18th April
Vince knocked at my door late last night. Sounded over the moon. He’d snapped Lilly stumbling out of some restaurant in some awful state. Sounded pleased with himself. Last thing I wanted was this, to be proven incompetent. How long can I keep doing this? Supposed to my day off today. I’m gonna go and watch Lilly anyway. See how she takes the bad news.
Thank God Vince flies home today.
Friday 23rd April
Paparazzi have arrived. I’m guessing there’ll be more to come.
Tuesday 27th April
Another morning off (Lilly filming). Helped Alfred with guttering.
Late night. Lilly in garden till midnight. Keeps looking towards me. May need to change position. I swear she knows I’m here.
After unpacking I went downstairs, tried to watch television but nothing was on, read the paper, felt unusual to have my own time, I was used to early starts and late finishes, time to myself felt foreign. I preferred not having it, it left too much room to think.
In my absence Mum had decorated the house with all things Molly, her scribbles and paintings, photo frames on every wall. Mum and her camera had been busy, Molly in the garden holding a marrow, Molly with a fishing line, Molly with a lamb.
Even I’d made the wall, photos I’d hidden away that she’d dug back up somehow. Skydiving in Auckland, elephants in Chiang Mai, Cassie playing pitch and putt, Molly naked in the garden. Made me think of home, our little backyard with its mango tree, a string of old garden lanterns, Paulina passing us fresh gortidas from over the fence, Cassie chasing Molly with the hose.
I thought I’d be OK with seeing Cassie’s face again, I’d avoided it for so long, but I wasn’t as ready as I thought, not yet. I was sure Mum would be OK if I took them down, replaced them with something else so her walls didn’t look bare.
Outside across the shine of the pond I could the see the glow from our local pub. Alcohol was the right thing to do. I grabbed my wallet and my coat, twenty yards later I was ordering my first drink.
The last pub I’d gotten drunk in was Little Tokyo on First Street, $2 a glass of Sapporo, crab cake sliders, game five on every screen, Laker fans going wild as they took home the Championship, yellow jerseys flooding the street, a wild night. Nothing like this, the opposite of this.
The Nag’s Head was old and
stale and even though small it still felt empty, just the three of us, including the landlord. All attempted small talk, but they didn’t get any talk from me. I was surprised it had taken me this long to be drowning my sorrows, looking for answers at the bottom of my glass. If I’d had to envisage my breakdown after Cassie I’d have thought alcohol, or worse, would’ve sounded about right, rather than the reverse. My decline was quite a composed one, no binging or hookers or gambling or drugs, just went mute for a little while. This is when things would get interesting, I thought, where I really started to unravel, rather than a car crash and a dead wife, it just took an actress I’d never met to lead me toward addiction.
I was talking silly, too many pints doing the thinking for me.
I should have never gone to Devon – drunk or sober, I knew that much. It had never felt a good idea, even from the start, but Vince always had a way of persuading me, my evil twin, devil on the shoulder. But I couldn’t blame him entirely, I was a grown man capable of making my own decisions, it wasn’t his fault I was in this predicament, and if I’d actually done my job and taken the goddamn photos, then he could’ve sold them for vast amounts of money, just like he’d planned. We would all be happy, everyone would win, everyone would get the money, everyone would get to go home. Except Lilly, Lilly wouldn’t win, though why should that matter? People like Lilly Goodridge had already won, so why should I care about how she ended up in all this? Regardless of what Vince did next, whether we succeeded or failed together, or if he went out alone, Lilly would finish her work here regardless, go back home, do another film, bigger and better probably, more photos, more intrusion, if it wasn’t me or Vince it would be someone else with a camera, who was behind the damn thing was irrelevant, the ending would be the same.
The barman came over and grasped my empty glasses between his fingers.
“Last orders, fella,” he said, as I left a handful of loose change, took my coat off the stool. Outside the temperature had dropped, not that it mattered much seeing as I could point out my front door. It looked nice from where I was standing, the centre of the village, the pond lit up with lamp posts, the ring of houses and their chimney smoke. It wouldn’t be a bad thing if this was home, my permanent home, there were worse places I could end up, living where you grew up wasn’t failure, it didn’t mean I’d given up. It was the drink talking yet again, whether I’d look at that view tomorrow with a similar optimism I’d not like to say. All I knew was it’d be the same headache, different hangover, neither cured by tea or tablets.