by Patrick Gale
Molly had made Pearce put on sunglasses because he always suffered from headaches in the summer and she was sure they were light-related. She wore some too, big, tortoiseshell, Jackie O ones that made her look at once tough and intensely feminine. The impenetrable glasses made her face utterly relaxed and impassive and he felt them do the same to his. Thus masked, he might tell her anything.
Lucy at last succeeded in shooting a can off the hedge. As Morris ruffled her hair, she turned towards the house for approval so brother and sister clapped her.
‘So what’s Eliza hoping to do up there?’ Molly asked, pouring them both more wine.
‘See her old tutor,’ he said. ‘She reckons she’s found enough material to finish her thesis. Become Dr Hosken.’
‘He’s not Cornish, is he? The husband?’
‘No. Hosken’s her maiden name. Don’t think she ever really used his.’
‘So what’s he like?’
‘He’s okay. For a Londoner.’ He grinned, as did she. He knew she was thinking of their father who always said of Londoners they think they bin and they bain’t. ‘He thought I’d like him more if he told me he listened to The Archers. He’s a bit prissy, really.’
‘Pretty?’
‘Prissy. And pretty. Handsome. He’s still mad about her.’
‘So why’d his girlfriend ask you both?’
‘You’re the woman. You tell me.’
‘Do you think Eliza’d ever –?’
‘No.’
‘All right. All right. You sound very sure.’
‘She said. I believe her.’
‘But if she’s still wanting this doctorate –’
‘– then she’ll have to go away. Living out here’s all very well if you’re content to grow broccoli or write novels but academics need to be where the libraries are.’
‘And the students. She’d be expected to teach. Would you mind her going away, Pearce?’
‘Course I’d mind. I…’ Even with the glasses on he felt inhibited. Her romantic life had proved so unromantic, so curtailed by necessity and disappointment that it felt insensitive to tell her of his happiness. Or risky, as though her unlucky glance could scorch it.
‘Has she really got to you?’ she asked tentatively.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Molly, I’m as crazy about her as Giles is.’
‘But she’s got so much baggage.’
‘You’re not the first to tell me that. And no, she hasn’t.’
‘She’s got a kid.’
‘So? So have you. I like kids.’
‘But don’t you want some of your own?’
‘Yes, but…There’s no point saying all this if they’re going away. Why not just enjoy it while I’ve got it?’
‘Because they might not go away. And then you’d have to deal with it. God!’ She sloshed more wine into their glasses.
‘What?’
‘You’re such a…such a bloke, sometimes. I forget, because I’m not married to you. You can’t just bumble along without looking ahead, Pearce. That’s why there are so many men with the wrong women. They bumble. Then they wake up and it’s the woman who gets punished for it.’
‘Yeah well she’s not the wrong woman, okay?’
‘She can’t even cook, Lucy tells me.’
‘So? You’re not exactly Gordon Blue. And neither was Mum. I’m glad. I like that she can’t cook and dresses funny. It’s because she’d rather be thinking and frankly, around here, given the sort of women I meet, that makes a fucking change.’
‘Well if you got out more, you’d meet more women.’
‘What is this? I like the woman I’ve met. Very much. I’m mad about her and if she wants to go away I’ll…Christ. Listen to me. I’ve even been thinking about selling up and following her.’
Molly was stunned into a satisfactory silence.
‘That’s how serious I am,’ he told her.
‘Does she know?’
‘Course not. It wouldn’t be fair. If she stays it has to be because she wants to and because the kid wants to, not because they feel they should.’
‘Oh don’t worry. I’m sure Dr Hosken will do exactly as she pleases.’
‘Why don’t you like her?’
‘I do. Oh, Pearce, I do. She’s great! If she walked into the library after a job I’d give her one like a flash. It’s just that she’s got a track record. She’s a liability as a…as relationship material.’
‘And I’m not. Just because I’m your brother.’
Molly looked at him flatly for a moment or two while she worked out what he was hinting at. ‘It’s okay,’ she said at last. ‘I know. I know you’re a grown-up with a love life and complications and…Sorry. I’m being a cow. I just wanted to be sure. I’ve wanted something for you for so long. You know that.’
‘Oh. Well great.’
‘And in case you were worrying about it, I wiped the address for that seedy chat room you’ve been visiting off my computer’s history files. I’m assuming it was you going there and not Lucy. Or I’ve really got my hands full.’
‘No. It was me,’ he admitted. ‘Thanks.’
‘Now you’re angry.’
He sighed. ‘No. I just wish – Hey!’ He clapped again. Lucy did a butch little victory wiggle like a goal scorer while Morris set up another can for her.
‘Would you marry her, if she was free?’ Molly asked.
Pearce looked away. ‘In my dreams,’ he said.
‘Even if she didn’t want any more kids?’
‘Has she told you she doesn’t?’
‘No. But would you care?’
‘I dunno. No. Probably not. Her decision. Anyway, Dido’d be more than enough. And it would be nice because, well…she’s not really her kid either so it would make it easier.’
‘Because Eliza didn’t have her with another bloke, you mean?’
‘Probably.’
There was a clatter from inside the kitchen as a crutch fell onto the slate floor. A muffled curse followed. Pearce winked at Molly over his sunglasses.
‘She’s such a sweet girl,’ Molly enunciated loudly. ‘But she’s got such big ears.’
‘I heard that,’ Dido said, hobbling out to join them.
‘You’re meant to be lying down resting that bone of yours.’
‘Simkin kept lying on me and I got hot. Anyway, I could hear you both even from in there. But I didn’t listen.’
‘Oh no?’ Molly teased. She pulled out a chair so Dido could sit herself more easily.
‘No. When you two talk on your own you get really Cornish.’
‘How do we sound?’
‘You sort of burble. She’s going to have a baby, you know.’
‘Who? Your Mum is?’ Molly sounded as horrified as Pearce felt. Another woman’s child was one thing, another man’s…
‘No,’ Dido snorted. ‘She’s not that stupid. Julia is. Giles and Julia. He told me on the way to the hospital but I’d sort of forgotten.’
‘Oh,’ said Molly. ‘Well that’s nice for them.’
‘Yeah,’ Pearce agreed. ‘They must be thrilled. I wonder why they didn’t say last night.’
‘Maybe it’s a secret,’ Dido said, scratching an itch inside her plaster with a fork left over from lunch. ‘He often tells me things he isn’t meant to.’
Morris was coming back with the air gun, in need of another beer, Dad-duty done for the week. Pearce showed Dido how she could scratch deeper if she held the fork the other way around. He had a picture of Giles and Julia side by side on one of the hotel sofas, because he could not picture their London home. Julia was immensely pregnant and Giles was beaming with paternal pride. Even as Pearce suspected the news would cause Eliza a certain covert pain, he felt an immoderate swell of content.
51
Pearce was driving over to Leedstown to buy spare parts for the tractor and had given in to Dido’s plea to be taken along for the ride. Filthy weather had blown up overnight and Eliza was worried Dido would get rain
on her plaster cast, had visions of the thing turning softly unsupportive, but Dido was adamant that her unstitched tracksuit bottom would be protection enough.
‘I won’t get out of the car,’ she insisted. ‘I just want the ride.’
‘I’ll bring her back the scenic route,’ Pearce said with a wink. He helped her out and up onto the back seat of the Land Rover where she could sit sideways with her plastered leg stretched along the seat.
Eliza passed up her crutches then rode in the front. She had the family Bible on her lap, wrapped in a carrier bag from the Co-op. Pearce had agreed to let her scan the madrigal onto a disk at Molly’s.
Dido was full of questions about the scans and how the university computer department could use them to find matches (or not) with the Trevescan manuscript in Dublin. ‘Could they do the same with people,’ she asked, ‘to prove who belongs with who?’
‘They already do,’ Pearce told her. ‘With fingerprints and DNA and when the police are trying to find someone they use a computer to show him with and without a beard or how he might look with different coloured hair. When a kid’s been missing for a while they can even show how they might look a year or two older.’
Dido turned back to Eliza, ignoring his contribution in the lofty way she had when she thought someone had strayed from the subject or wilfully misinterpreted a question.
‘And if they can,’ she asked, ‘and you do prove the piece is by Roger, do you get paid?’
‘No.’ Eliza smiled.
‘But do you have to become a teacher, though?’
‘A lecturer. I could. Maybe. Dr Goldhammer said I might get offers from universities all over the place, depending on how the thesis goes down. I could lecture. I could get more funding for research. Maybe I could write a book.’
‘But you’d have to go away? We’d have to go somewhere else?’
‘It depends.’ Eliza was acutely aware that Pearce was listening. ‘Maybe.’
‘I hate maybe.’
It was almost a relief for once to feel Dido slump back into her more usual sulk. She had spent most of the morning showing interest, humouring Eliza almost, in a way she only did when lying or breaking the rules in some way.
As they pulled down the hill into St Just, Pearce had to pull over to a verge to let a lorry past.
‘Giles and Julia go back to London today,’ Eliza said, amazed at how ordinary that sounded and how calmly she could say it.
‘Good,’ Dido said.
‘That’s not very nice,’ Eliza told her.
‘What did they do to you?’ Pearce asked.
‘Duh. Only broke my leg.’
‘You did that yourself.’
‘Yeah,’ Dido sighed. ‘But I wouldn’t have fallen off if he hadn’t been there. They’re stupid. Piles and Poolia.’
Eliza caught Pearce’s eye as they swung off the square towards Cape Cornwall. ‘You’re in for a cheery morning,’ she said. ‘Sure you can stick it?’
‘I can always play the radio loud,’ he said and flinched as Dido smacked him lightly on the back of his head.
‘You don’t have to go in the car, you know,’ Eliza told her. ‘You could always come to Molly’s with me, hang out with Lucy for a bit.’
‘No no!’ Dido exclaimed in an I’ll be good voice. ‘I want to see more Cornwall.’
‘Did you and Lucy have a row?’
‘Nope.’ Cornered, Dido had to confess. ‘Not really…’
‘What about?’
‘It’s nothing. Don’t worry. Work hard. See you later.’
‘You will, child. You will.’ She leaned across to kiss Pearce quickly. ‘Thanks,’ she told him.
‘Pleasure,’ he said. ‘Do you want to hang on so I can pick you up later? I don’t know how long we’ll be.’
‘No, it’s fine,’ she told him. ‘I can walk back or Molly can run me over. The rain can’t last for ever.’
‘It can,’ he said. ‘It does. Bye, then.’
Dido smiled at her sweetly as they drove off, happy, apparently, now that she had Pearce all to herself.
Eliza hurried up Molly’s path, clutching the bag to her chest in an effort to keep the Bible dry.
Lucy opened the door. ‘Oh, hi,’ she said and walked back to the television. ‘She’s upstairs.’
Molly emerged from her bedroom, dressed a bit smarter for work.
‘God, I forgot!’ Eliza said. ‘Have I made you late?’
‘It’s fine. We don’t open until ten. The computer’s in here.’ Her manner was strangely terse and she seemed to be avoiding Eliza’s eye.
‘Is something wrong?’ Eliza asked her.
‘No.’ Molly met her eye and shrugged, confirming that there was. ‘Luce?’ she called down the stairs.
‘She’s watching television,’ Eliza told her.
‘I know. I just wanted to be sure she had it on loud enough. Come on in.’ She led the way into Lucy’s bedroom.
The top half of a bunk was made up as a bed. The lower half was a sort of nest, draped with camouflage netting. A St Piran’s flag was pinned across the ceiling along with pin-ups of the Cornish rugby team and Gary Cooper in various Westerns. Elsewhere the room was extraordinary in its neatness. Clothes were put away, the few books stacked tidily at one end of a small shelf, an Action Man in cowboy gear sat incongruously in the lap of a brown monkey at the other. Apart from the computer and a pot of pens, the desktop was virtually empty.
Molly saw Eliza taking this in. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘Control freak. It’s one of the ways they’ve bonded.’ She sighed, turned on the scanner and clicked the mouse to open an image-handling program. ‘Give us the book, then.’
Eliza sat beside her and drew out the Bible. Practised, Molly turned directly to the back pages and flattened the soprano part out against the scanner bed. Eliza winced at the violence this did to the book’s overburdened spine but watched the screen hungrily as the scanner hummed into motion and a dialogue box announced that a scan was in progress. At last a detailed image of the page appeared.
‘Right,’ Molly said. ‘There you go. Page one of four. You can adjust brightness and definition like so, crop it if you need to like so then save it to your floppy. You can do the rest yourself, can’t you?’ She stood.
‘Molly, what’s wrong?’
‘Nothing. I’ve got to go to work.’
‘It’s not quarter to yet. What is it? I feel as if I’m in trouble and I’m not sure why.’
‘It’s not you.’ Molly sat down again. ‘It’s…it’s just everything.’
‘Morris?’
‘Yeah.’ But she was lying. ‘No. It’s Lucy. She had me up half the night having nightmares. I know she comes across as tough but it’s all a front really. But she hasn’t had bad dreams for months. Not since Morris lost the farm and we moved out.’ She started to stand.
‘Sit, Molly. What about?’
Molly sat again, reluctantly.
‘What about?’ Eliza repeated.
‘It was daft really. I mean dreams always are in the morning, aren’t they? She thought her face was changing shape. Melting. Like wax. I had to have her in my bed in the end and she was still tossing and turning. At one point I even woke to find her staring at herself in the bathroom mirror. Checking. She wouldn’t talk about it at first. Clammed up. Pretended I was exaggerating. But I had a go at her over breakfast and she cracked and told me. Showed me, really.’
‘What?’
Molly glanced at her watch then clicked with the mouse to bring up a series of saved images.
‘I promised her I’d wipe them off. She’s scared to death of them but she can’t stop going back to look. I thought they were just playing up here downloading pictures, playing around with scans and games but, well…You look.’
The first image was familiar, the crumpled dressing room snap of Dido Eliza had been missing from her wallet for several days. Molly clicked impatiently to move on to the next. This too was familiar. Moominmama, not unlike the repeated
sketch she had seen on the pad the other day, the hippo-faced creature with her signature black handbag. Molly clicked again.
Eliza felt slightly sick with anticipation. Dido had cunningly blended the elements of the two previous pictures so that her own smiling eyes and unruly hair sat behind Moominmama’s face. Eliza forced herself to laugh. ‘I didn’t know she’d learnt how to do that. They’re just messing about really. You’re saying this gave Lucy nightmares?’
‘No. I think this did.’ Grimly, Molly clicked again. ‘Look at that. I mean, I know I should feel sorry. I do feel sorry but…However you look at it, that’s a monster.’
They both stared in silence at the image. For some reason, the mention of the Internet perhaps, Eliza had been bracing herself for pornography of some kind. This was so complete a shock she was frozen, unable to speak.
‘I’ll wipe it off now you’ve seen it.’
‘No.’ Eliza caught Molly’s hand before it reached the mouse.
‘It’s horrible.’
‘It’s my sister.’
‘What?’
Deep breath, Eliza.
‘It’s my sister,’ she repeated. ‘Dido’s mother. It’s Hannah. Cover the lower half of the face and you’ll see the likeness to me and Dido. Here. Let me.’
She held a piece of paper over half the screen. Even allowing for their slight protuberance, Hannah’s eyes were hers and Dido’s, as were her forehead and ears.
Now Molly was reeling almost as much as Eliza. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘I thought she died in a climbing accident.’
‘She did. She did. It was a trek for the charity she worked for. They look after people whose faces are damaged or…or like this.’
‘Jesus.’ Molly looked back at the page more closely. Eliza could tell she was looking for the humanity beneath the monster mask; it was a look she had seen so many times before, on startled Jehovah’s Witnesses, on friends who came to play.
‘It’s a very rare bone disorder,’ Eliza said, ‘thank God. But it doesn’t kill you. Cherubism. A kind of cherubism in her case because it didn’t conform to the medical stereotype. I mean it’s so rare that every case adds a bit to the slender sum total of their knowledge. Sorry. I’m rabbiting.’ She took a deep breath, looking at the photograph for inspiration. Where to start? ‘It didn’t show up until she was about nine. Ten. By the time she’d stopped growing she could have had operations to correct it a bit.’ She checked herself, hearing Hannah’s indignant rebuttal of the word correct. ’Reduce the jawbone. Things like that. But she refused. She was amazing, really. She said, “This is who I am. I’m happy with it. I’m different. Get used to it.”’