by Julie Cohen
‘I’ll come and get him.’ Robbie was already reaching for his car keys. ‘Where is he?’
‘Rusty Scupper. I figure you know where it is because your number was on one of our napkins.’
‘I know where it is.’
He hated leaving Adam alone in the house, especially with a storm coming, but he was fourteen and sensible and when Robbie woke him up to tell him he had to go out, he just nodded and said he’d go back to sleep anyway. It hadn’t started snowing when he set out, though by the time he reached Camden there were flurries in his headlights. The outside lights on the bar were turned off and he had to knock on the door to be let in.
The guy who opened the door was different from the barman he’d seen earlier in the day. ‘We’re closed.’
‘I’m here for William,’ Robbie said. ‘Bill.’
‘Oh yeah.’ The man held open the door for him. All the overhead lights were on, exposing exactly how grimy the walls were, how the chairs all had rips and stains on their vinyl upholstery. William was in a booth in the back, slumped over the table, asleep.
‘Hey, buddy,’ said the man. ‘Hey, buddy, wake up. Your friend is here.’
William didn’t move. Robbie, veteran of many drunken evenings and, if he were honest, afternoons – hell, sometimes even mornings – slid into the booth beside him.
‘Come on,’ he said loudly, right into William’s ear. ‘I’m going to take you home.’ He picked up William’s arm and put it round his shoulders, putting his own arm around William’s waist. The smell of alcohol was overwhelming: beer, whiskey, and sweat. William stirred slightly as Robbie pulled him out of the booth, and made an incoherent sound when Robbie heaved him up on to his feet. He was heavy, but with the movement he woke up a little bit and took some of his own weight.
‘We’re not his babysitters, you know?’ said the man, conversationally, not offering to help Robbie. ‘And this ain’t a hotel.’
‘Doesn’t he have any friends?’
‘Not around here, not any more.’
‘Does he have a coat? It’s cold outside.’
‘His stuff’s in that bag, I guess.’ The bag was on the floor next to the booth, the same duffel bag Robbie had seen him with earlier.
‘Do you know where he lives?’ He’d had the address from George, but it was in his other jacket, the lighter one he’d worn this afternoon before the storm.
‘That apartment building on Penobscot Street? I’ve seen him coming out of there before. Listen, I gotta close up.’
‘OK. Lean on me, Will.’ He was not quite a dead weight as Robbie hauled him across the bar, but nearly. The cold air and the snowflakes, falling faster now, on his face, roused him a little bit and he went into Robbie’s truck with a few mumbled words. By the time Robbie got back with his bag, he was fast asleep again.
Robbie knew Camden, but not all that well, and he had to drive around a little while before he found Penobscot Street. The snow was settling and his tyres made tracks on the road. None of the houses were obviously apartments but he drove slowly, looking at front porches, until he found a house with several mailboxes.
Robbie shook William’s shoulder. ‘Which apartment do you live in?’
No answer. He snored. Robbie sighed and searched through his pockets for a key. The two front pockets yielded a wallet, very little loose change, half a pack of Marlboro reds and a lighter, a Leatherman knife which Robbie was heartily glad William hadn’t seen fit to use in his fight with the Harker salesman. He had to push William forward to get to his back pocket and his keychain. It was attached to a promotional bottle opener shaped like a crab. Robbie saw a car key to a vehicle that was presumably still parked outside the Rusty Scupper, and a small key that could be to something like a locker. But no house keys.
He shook William harder. ‘William! What number apartment do you live in?’
No answer. Robbie regarded him. Sleeping, in the passenger seat of his truck, lit by the streetlamp down the road, he didn’t look much like the child he’d been. His mouth was open, his face rough with stubble, his eyebrows thick and dark. He’d lost his baseball cap somewhere between the stool and the booth. Robbie reached across him and opened the door to the truck, hoping the cold air would revive him again, enough for him to tell Robbie where he lived, but he didn’t get much more than a grunt.
‘Great,’ said Robbie, and got out of the truck. He climbed the stairs to the front porch. One of the bottom windows had a light on inside; he took a guess which apartment it was and pressed the doorbell marked ‘Apt 1.’ He had to wait a while and was considering pressing it again before someone opened the heavy inside door, leaving the screen one closed. It was a woman, wearing a terrycloth bathrobe and bed hair.
‘Sorry to disturb you,’ said Robbie. ‘I know it’s late. I’m taking William Brandon home and I don’t know which apartment he lives in, and I think he’s lost his keys. Do you know anyone who has a spare one?’
The woman ran her hand through her hair. ‘He doesn’t live in any of them. Dean, that’s the owner, evicted him . . . I want to say last week? He said he hadn’t paid the rent for a few months.’
‘Where’s he been sleeping, then?’
The woman shrugged.
‘OK,’ said Robbie. ‘Thanks. Sorry for getting you up.’
Back in the truck, he turned up the heating, put on the windshield wipers to swipe away the snow, and looked at William. One duffel bag. He didn’t even have a coat. Or anyone to call except for the unwelcome number Robbie had written on the back of a napkin.
He made a decision.
She didn’t think she would sleep, but she did, dreamlessly and without moving, until six. For a moment when she woke up she didn’t know where she was and she reached out her hand for Robbie, thinking sleepily that he’d got up to go to work already, and then she remembered and she sat up.
It wasn’t the same hotel room in Lowestoft; it wasn’t even the same hotel. She hadn’t been back here since 1962, and she hadn’t been sure she’d recognise the hotel where they’d stayed that one night, but when she’d parked her car in the seaside car park and walked along the esplanade, she’d known which building it was straight away. It was flats, now, with dirty windows and missing curtains.
The seafront had been nearly deserted, and many of the hotels were closed for the season. She’d found this one further up the street. The corridors were carpeted in patterned swirls of green and brown and she could smell all the ghosts of all the bacon and eggs that had been fried for all the breakfasts ever made here. But the room itself was clean and the owner, an auburn-haired woman with a strong Suffolk accent, had made her a sandwich and a cup of tea after Emily admitted she hadn’t eaten all day.
She lay in bed and remembered a pink ruffled bedspread and a view of the sea. It was too early to ring Robbie, but she remembered what he’d said about looking across the ocean at her. Emily used the kettle in the corner of the room to make herself a cup of tea, proper strong tannic English tea, and poured in two little containers of milk. She didn’t usually take sugar but today, she put in a packet. Back in bed, she listened to the seagulls arguing with each other outside. They sounded exactly the same as the ones on the other side of the world.
She missed Robbie and Adam so badly that her whole body ached.
Later, the landlady put an enormous plate of breakfast in front of her. Eggs and bacon and sausage and mushrooms and beans and tomatoes, a rack of toast, a metal pot of tea. Emily looked down at it. ‘I haven’t eaten this much for breakfast in years.’
‘You get that down you,’ said the landlady. Janie, she was called. ‘You didn’t have a proper tea last night, only a sandwich for supper.’ She hung her tea towel over her forearm; Emily was the only guest in the dining room. ‘Where’s your accent from, anyway?’
‘I’m from Blickley, in Norfolk.’
‘Don’t sound l
ike it.’
‘I’ve lived in America for nearly twenty years.’
‘That’s it. You sound American.’
‘In America, they tell me I sound English.’
Janie laughed. ‘You can’t win, can you? I’ve always wanted to live in America. You’re lucky.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I am.’
‘Still, though, I imagine it must be hard sometimes. Like you don’t know exactly where you belong. Accent not here nor there, past in one country and future in another. My gran came from Ireland and she said she never really fitted in here or back there. Never lost her accent, though.’
After breakfast, walking along the beach, she thought about her mother and her father and Polly, and about Robbie and Adam. She skirted the waves foaming on the pebbles and weighed up the two emptinesses in her heart. The two lonelinesses.
If she could have anyone with her right now, here on the beach where she had, for the first time, fallen in love, who would she choose: her new family, or her old one?
A gull swooped by her head, crying its plaintive cry, and she remembered that time in Old Orchard Beach in Maine when the gull had stolen Adam’s slice of pier pizza and he had cried until Robbie bought him a new slice. She remembered the way she and Robbie had laughed and made a protective circle around Adam with their arms as he ate it, to keep the gulls away.
She smiled. There was nothing to weigh, nothing to wonder.
She wanted to go back home, to see her real family.
Chapter Eleven
‘Who’s in the guest bedroom?’
Adam’s hair was wet from his shower and he reached into the fridge for the orange juice. He poured himself a big glass, drank it off, and refilled it.
Robbie was on his fourth cup of coffee. ‘Did I wake you up when I came back?’
‘No. I just heard the snoring. Whoever’s in there is sawing logs. Want some toast?’
‘No, thanks. It’s your brother.’
Adam put down the slice of bread he was holding. ‘It’s . . . William?’ A huge smile broke out on his face. ‘He’s here? He’s really here? You found him?’
‘He’s really here. But—’ Robbie saw the excitement of his younger son and he tempered what he had been going to say. ‘He needs to sleep, so don’t go running up there and bursting through his door.’
‘When can I meet him? When do you think he’ll get up?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I could stay home from school. We’re not doing anything important today, there are no tests or anything, and it’s snowing, maybe they’ll cancel school anyway.’
‘There aren’t more than a couple of inches out there. School won’t be cancelled.’
‘Can I stay home?’
‘No.’
‘But he’s my brother, and I’ve never met him. I’ve only ever seen that one picture. It’s way more important than school.’
‘Your mother would kill me if I let you stay home from school.’
‘She doesn’t need to know?’
‘No. You can meet him after you get home.’ If he’s still here. ‘Now have breakfast and get ready or you’ll miss the bus.’
Adam dawdled over breakfast, deliberately burning the first piece of toast and having to make another one, pouring himself a glass of milk as well as orange juice, glancing up every now and then at the kitchen door as if he expected William to appear. ‘How’d you find him?’
‘Pierre and Little Sterling Avery met him in Camden. He was working for Harkers.’
‘Nice,’ said Adam automatically. ‘You went out last night to get him?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Did you tell him anything about me?’
‘I didn’t really get a chance. It was late.’
‘Please can I stay home?’
‘The bus is here in five minutes. Go brush your teeth, and don’t go into William’s room, OK?’
‘Aw, Dad.’ But Adam went. He was a good boy. He played by the rules, like Emily did. He wanted to please the people he loved. Their sunny, blond-haired boy.
Robbie wished he had Emily here to help him.
William didn’t emerge till nearly noon. Robbie was outside, splitting wood, trying to let the rhythm of the task take the worry away from his mind. He saw movement from the corner of his eye and Bella bounded out on to the snow, followed by William. He didn’t have a coat and his shoulders hunched immediately. It had warmed up, as it often did after snow, but it was still cold enough.
Robbie leaned his maul against the block. Bella ran up to him, panting and pressing her shoulder against his leg. He pulled off his glove and scratched her ear. ‘Morning,’ he called to William.
William was lighting a cigarette. ‘Where’s my truck?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Robbie. ‘Where did you leave it? Outside the bar?’
‘It’s got all my stuff in it.’
‘We’ll find it later.’ He walked over. William looked pale, dark shadows under his eyes, stubble on his chin. He’d slept in his clothes; it had been too much trouble for Robbie to remove them and besides, he didn’t think William would thank him for it. Robbie could smell the sour scent of hangover on him, the lingering booze seeping from his skin and into his breath, and he remembered the days he’d woken up like that and gone straight to the bathroom to shower and brush his teeth to hide the smell. It had never hidden very well. He wondered if William remembered smelling it on him, if he remembered Daddy’s morning headaches.
‘I’ll make some coffee,’ Robbie said.
The dog came in with him, but William didn’t follow until he’d finished his cigarette. He stomped the snow off his boots and rubbed his arms with his hands.
‘You can borrow a coat and gloves,’ Robbie said. ‘Mine will fit you.’
‘Why am I here?’
‘They found my number in your pocket at the Scupper. Apparently you didn’t have many friends left to call. I tried to take you to your apartment but they told me you’d been kicked out.’
‘I don’t need your charity.’
‘It’s not charity. Do you remember who I am?’
‘I remember.’
Robbie poured him a mug of coffee and put it on the table. William grudgingly left the mat near the back door and sat down at the table, his boots still on and dripping on the floor.
‘Do you remember me from when you were a kid?’ Robbie asked, pulling out the chair next to him.
‘No,’ he said, but it was too quick. He looked down at his coffee.
‘I remember you very well. I remember teaching you how to use a hammer and throw a baseball.’
‘I don’t.’
William’s headache and hostility were written all over him. Robbie shelved the questions for now.
‘You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like. Do you want some breakfast?’ He glanced at the clock. ‘Lunch?’
‘I’m not hungry. I could do with a drink if you’ve got one.’
‘Coffee and orange juice is all we’ve got. Milk, too, though I need to pick up some more. Emily has a big store of English Breakfast tea if you like that.’
‘I meant a drink drink. Something to take the edge off.’
‘Sorry.’
William glanced at him. ‘You’ve been gone for my entire life and now’s the time you pick to get fucking judgmental?’
‘I’m not being judgmental. I don’t have any alcohol in the house.’
‘Oh man, you’re not a religious freak too? I got out of all that.’
‘I’m not religious. I’ve been sober since the seventies. I was drinking when I was with your mother. I drank a lot.’
William subsided into his coffee. ‘Why am I here?’
‘It looked like you didn’t have anywhere else to go. George said he’d fired you
, and your former neighbour was pretty sure you’d been sleeping in your truck.’
‘You’ve been checking up on me?’
‘Seems like you can be angry with me for not being part of your life, or angry with me for being too interested in your life, but it’s not fair to be angry about both at the same time.’ He said it sharply.
William dug his hand into his pocket. ‘Give me some money. I don’t have any.’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’ He scowled. ‘You owe me enough. I never saw a penny from you when I was growing up.’
Robbie opened his mouth, then thought better of it and took a sip of coffee instead.
‘I didn’t know where you and your mother were,’ he said instead. ‘Marie never answered my letters and your grandparents sent them all back.’
‘Well, you can make up for it now. Give me some money, take me back to my truck, and we’ll call it even. You’ve done your fatherly duty and you can feel good about yourself.’
‘No.’
William swore. ‘Why not?’
‘Because if I give you money, you’re going to go straight to the nearest bar and drink it all away.’
‘I don’t have a job or an apartment. I need money.’
‘It’s like I said. You can stay here for as long as you need to. I can find you work, too, if that’s what you’re looking for. George said you were good with your hands. But nobody wants a drunk boatbuilder.’
‘It’s my own business whether I’m drinking or not.’
‘Maybe. But I’d just as soon you were sober when you met your brother.’
He straightened, looking a bit panicked. ‘I’ve got a brother?’
Maybe it was perverse, but Robbie was glad to see something other than pure hostility on William’s face. ‘He’ll be home in a couple of hours.’
‘Shit.’
‘He’s dying to meet you. Do you . . . have any other siblings?’
William shook his head.
‘How’s your mother?’
‘None of your business.’