by Sarah Till
'Wow! This is brilliant. Just brilliant.'
We step into the garden and I open the gate. My eyes are drawn to the bottom of the sunflowers; the soil is undisturbed, the leaves I carefully place over the spot where I buried the Grail still there. He goes outside and tries to push Daisy into the garden, but even the journey up here has exhausted him. I show him the shed, moving the hundreds of plastic bags I use as my cocoon to make a space for him, and he sits down. I go back for Daisy and wheel her through. He stands at the door watching me.
'That's it, wheel her, push her, she'll do the work on her own once she's going. Round the back there and cover her with the cammo. That's it.'
He joins me and runs his fingers over her handlebars, then her leather seat. The shape of his behind is worn into her, and he pats the indents. I touch his arm.
'She'll be OK here. For the night. Nothing will happen to her, Jer.'
He nods.
'These backpacks here. Got my stuff in them, and some valuables. Just so you know. If I'm going to be staying here, I expect you need to get to know her.'
We smile at each other and go inside. It's chilly and I light the heater, checking the paraffin, and the lamp.
'Are you hungry?'
He's coughing again, and he produces a bottle of pills from his inside pocket. I'm close enough to see that there is a sticker that includes the name and address of the hospital in Bodmin. At least he's been for treatment.
'I wouldn't mind a cuppa, to wash this down with.'
I set about making tea and he lies down on the makeshift bed.
'Shall I take your boots off?'
'Nah. I'll be OK. Keep me warm, they will. I've been feeling a bit chilly at nights. Won't do me any harm sleeping with them on. Nice little place you've got here. I was always worried that you were sleeping outside. Until I saw the paper the other day.'
I laugh.
'You could have asked me, you know. I haven't got any secrets.'
Just the one Top Secret left. But not for you, Jer. The only Top Secret I had left for him was the house and now he's seen it. He wasn't even that shocked, but I expect he's seen all sorts in his time.
'I could have asked you, I know. But it's all part of being mysterious and aloof, isn't it? If we know too much about each other, we run the risk of becoming attached. Committed. And how could I be a complete bastard if I'm attached and committed?'
He's smiling his wicked smile. I like this game.
'So how did you become a complete bastard, then?'
'It just happened, I guess. Like you just became a bag lady. You didn't decide one day, did you? It's not the sort of thing you decide, it's something that one day you just realise you are. And by then, you have started to follow the complete bastard's code of conduct.'
I burst out laughing, and he laughs, too.
'Yes. I know exactly what you mean. I have a bag lady code, too. Although I didn't know about it before, now I obviously have to follow it to the letter.'
He smiles.
'We're a right pair, aren't we?'
I nod.
'Yeah. People like us. Making it up as we go along, I suppose.'
He pats the mattress and I lie beside him. It seems different now, inside. In the cave it was exciting and unreal, somewhere to escape to with another person for a small amount of time. Now he was talking about staying here with me. Part of me is pleased, after all, he knows me better than anyone, no secrets from Jer. Apart from one. Even so, part of me defends my own territory. His belongings, tobacco, a lighter, the pills, a hat, are already starting to scatter around he shed and it feels contaminated. Who knows, maybe in a couple of days he'll ride off into the distance, when he's had a rest and remembered he's a bastard. I snigger at this, and then look at Jer. He's sleeping. His chest rattles and I gently lift myself up from the bed and go outside.
It's a clear night and I can see all the stars. The moon is fierce and tinged with pink, and the birds have gone to bed I look towards the sea, and the distant breakers whoosh white a small boat sailing across the horizon. The sunflowers throw exaggerated moon-shadows across the garden, and it looks eerie, as if it's a different place altogether than in the daylight. All the summer flowers are in bloom, perennials who mark each year by coming out to see me. The trees are full and leafy and smell of sap, and the tall hedge growing ever inwards and making the space a little smaller every year. I'm just thinking about trimming it, cutting back when I remember the note. How long had it been pinned on the door? For all I know it could have been there since yesterday. I pull it out quickly and read it. My eyes grow wider with curiosity as I follow the instructions and turn over the sheet. There's a badly drawn picture of a woman with a pram and an arrow pointing to the baby. Loopy handwriting tells me what I realise I have no choice but to do next. 'Leave it in the phone box by eight o'clock in the morning or Baby Brianny gets it.'
I'm almost sure now, but I’m not taking any chances. I decide to wait until Jer's asleep, then I'll dig up the grail and take it to the phone box. Of course I will. I have to. I'm pacing around the garden, trying to think who else could possibly know my granddaughters name, when I hear Jer coughing again. I go and sit on the bed and he wakes up. He's got a key in his hand.
'Here you are, go and get me a can out of Daisy's bag.'
I sigh.
'Beer? That's not going to make you any better.'
I go and get it anyway. The key opens the side compartments and I gasp when I see them neat and ordered. The left side is like a tiny office, shelves holding documents, Jer's passport and some photographs. The right one is a small wardrobe, with shirts and underwear folded with army precision. There are four cans of beer and a bottle of brandy. I take all the can and bottles inside so I won't have to come back. I hand the key back to his, but he refuses.
'Keep it somewhere safe. I might need something else later on.' He peels back the ring-pull and sips the beer. Then he puts it down on the crate I use as a bedside table and takes my left hand. He fumbles for my third finger and slips the aluminium ring onto it. 'That means we're married now.'
I smile and touch my wedding ring.
'Nice of you to ask.'
He laughs and then coughs.
'I would have. I mean I should have. I’m sorry. But here we are now.'
I’m sorry too, Jer. It could have all been so different. He swigs the beer again, gulping it down noisily, and rolls a cigarette. I don't bother to tell him off this time, he's obviously not going to listen to me. I expect he's listened to endless doctors telling him to stop smoking and drinking, so my tiny voice wouldn't make any difference. The cigarette smoke turns the air sour, and I open the door wide for a moment and stand outside. The aluminium ring sits where my gold wedding ring used to be, and I wonder what happened to it. My mind automatically focuses on Andrew, and his frequent visits to the pawnshop with Stan's pocket watch and then his gold rimmed glasses, swearing that he's get them out again. They never reappeared.
When I go back into the shed Jer is asleep. His breathing is soft and even, and I put out the lamp and climb onto the makeshift bed with him. I feel his arm wrap around my shoulder, and I drape my body over his to keep him warm. I can feel his bones, his hips sharp and pointed, sticking out through his clothes. I count his ribs one by one and see the outline of his face, his cheekbones highlighted under the sagging skin. He's warm and I doze off, but sometime during the night I wake and his eyes are open. I try to doze again but he speaks quietly to me.
'Elizabeth. My mother used to stroke my hair when I was upset. She'd wind my hair around her fingers and hum to me. It'd make sleeping easier. I'm finding it hard to get to sleep and I wondered...'
His hand is gripping mine hard now, and another cough wracks his body.
'Are you all right, Jer?’
He chuckles.
‘Yeah. I'm just fine here. Just fine. You do love me, don't you, Elizabeth? I know it's part of the rules we're stubborn and we don't tell each other, but you d
o, don't you?'
I laugh a little. It's not the time for doubt or analysis, for weighing up the past or the future.
'I do, Jer, I do love you. I always will. I've always wanted you just for myself. Just for myself'
I pull a blanket around us tight and stroke his hair. I hum Amazing Grace, because it seems the kind of song his mother would have known, a God-fearing member of the women's institute. Eventually he sleeps, the baby snores muffled by the bags that line the shed. I rustle through some old bits of metal I found on the beach and pull out a piece of gold coloured tat, about the same size of the Grail. I push it onto the floor and stamp on it again and again until it's completely flat. Then I wrap it in a piece of silk and put it in a small gift bag. I carry it to the telephone box and push it under the shelf out of sight. Then I go back to the shed and I hum until I drop off too.
When I wake up, Jer's arm is no longer around me, it had dropped away and his fingers are skimming the floor. I don't know when it happened, sometime when I was asleep because he's got up at some point and knocked over the crate and left the door open, but now he's perfectly still. I listen for the familiar beat of his heart, but his body is silent. The beer and the cigarettes, and the empty pill bottle, are still beside the crate, a testimony to his being alive last night, and that I didn't dream it all. Our pretend marriage, our declarations of love, our dancing in the dusk light. It was all real. I ease myself away from him and pull on my shoes. I tuck the covers around him tight, I'd like to think I made a mistake and he might wake up, but the blue tinge to his lips tell me otherwise.
I walk slowly to the telephone box on the corner, dial 999 and ask for an ambulance at Coombs Cottage. The gift bag is gone and I look around to see if it's fallen on the floor.
'Is the patient breathing?' asks the urgent sounding lady on the other end.
'No. He must have died in his sleep.'
There's a short silence, where sorrow drifts between us. Then she speaks.
'The police will be with you shortly. If you could go and wait with the body.'
I replace the receiver and hurry back to the garden. I peek around the door of the shed just to make sure he is there and that I didn't dream it all. In ten minutes I hear a siren as the police car forces its way up the lane, ripping at the hedgerow. I wait at the gate so they don't assume we're in the house by mistake and show the two policemen into the shed. An ambulance arrives and a paramedic joins them. They pull back the covers and listen to his chest and feel his pulse. Then they look at me. The small paramedic speaks to me gently.
'Staying with you, was he?'
I nod.
'Yes. He turned up from time to time. He was going to sleep in the beach last night but he was coughing and...'
We all look at the blood-stained handkerchief on the crate, and the beer and tobacco. There's hardly enough room for everyone in the shed so I move out of the way. The police arrive and two policemen stand around in the garden, one of them talking quietly into his radio to the coroner’s office, requesting a car.
'Relation, was he?'
They automatically look at my wedding ring finger and I'm still wearing the ring pull. I shake my head.
'No. But we were engaged. He was my best friend.'
We all stare at the floor, and then I give them a statement, telling them that Jer Thomas arrived last night. They give Daisy a look over and try to open the boxes.
'Got a key, have you love.?'
I remember Jer's concern over Daisy and shake my head. He'd want her to be tidier before anyone looks at her.
'No. I expect it'll be in one of his pockets.'
They look at the pill bottle, the source of my latest information about him. I'd noticed Jer's surname on the label. I'd never known he was called Thomas. Jerusalem Thomas.
'Right then. These pills say they were issued by the hospital last week. They'll probably know what was wrong with him. It’s empty.'
I stare at him.
‘Empty? But it was half full last night. No. You don’t think...’
He pulls out a plastic bag and put the bottle and the beer cans in it.
‘Obviously we’ll have to do some tests. And we’ll need to speak to you again at a later date depending on what we find. There’ll be an inquest.’
I nod and stare at the floor.
We wait for about an hour, the policemen waiting in their car outside, the ambulance racing off to another emergency. Eventually, when the sun is higher, the coroner's car arrives and the assistant wheels Jer on a fold up stretcher, over my lettuce and courgettes, the wheels crushing them. I look at him in the sunlight and he looks peaceful, his mouth set as if he knew exactly what he was destined for.
'So you'll be taking him to the hospital, will you?'
‘No. He will go straight to the mortuary. They'll have to see what the cause of death was, probably natural causes, by the looks of these pills he's been bad for a long time.'
I nod.
'Why? What are they?'
'Morphine based pain killers. Very strong. Poor bugger.'
They push him into the ambulance and close the door. I watch as the vehicles push through the hedgerows, taking Jer away. My instincts want to call them back, tell them they've forgotten Daisy and Jer's lighter, tell them to be gentle with him. But I can't. So I go back into the shed and put the kettle on. I look into the shard of the mirror and it's exactly like Celia said. Every day I stay here I grow grubbier and meld into part of my environment. I sit here drinking my tea and imagine myself eventually becoming invisible, camouflaged by the leaves and the sky and the dirt. Then I laugh out loud. Isn't that what happens to us in the end? Ashes to Ashes, dust to dust? We're reclaimed. That's what's happened to my Emma, and that's what will happen to Jer. I look at my hand and the aluminium ring. Silly really, but I think I'll wear our wedding ring for a little longer. I hardly had time to love him all to myself.
CHAPTER 27
I sit for a while wondering if all this really happened, and then I walk along to the telephone box to ring the hospital, and just to check that the piece of worthless metal I placed in the phone box hadn't dropped onto the floor again. I search the phone box and it's nowhere to be seen. It's occurred to me that something will need to be done about Jer's funeral, and I'm not sure if it's me who will be organising it or someone else. One of his women in every town, maybe? The woman I saw him with on the beach? I look at the aluminium ring again and wonder if it was just a joke, just a bit of fun? Or did he really mean it? Anyway, I have to do this. I find the number and dial.
'Bodmin Community Hospital. Can I help?'
'Yes. My friend has passed away he was brought to the mortuary. I just need to know what to do next.'
The line clicks off and another line begins to ring.
'Mortuary. Helena Dawson speaking. How can I help?'
'Oh. My friend died this morning and you have him. I wondered what I have to do next?'
'Have you contacted an undertaker?'
I sigh. Of course.
'No. No I haven't. I'm not sure what he wanted. It's Jer Thomas. Jerusalem. '
I hear her rustle around for a while.
'Right. It appears that Mr Thomas gave us everything he needs. We have his undertakers as Lees and Co. Bodmin. On his hospital records. Shall I give you the number?'
Of course. He’d been ill, hadn’t he?
'Yes, thanks. Will you be organising anything? Or will I have to do it?'
She coughs and pauses.
'It's usual for a friend and relative to organise the funeral. Mr Thomas' file doesn’t indicate any next of kin. But that must be you, right?'
'Yes. It is. I'm Mrs Nelson.'
'OK. If you ring Bodmin 254896 then the undertaker will help you.'
'Thank you. You've been very kind.'
I put the phone down. No next of kin. Perhaps his women meant nothing to him after all. I dial the number for the undertaker and a man answers.
'Hello. I need to speak to someon
e about my friend who has passed away. I understand that the arrangements are to be made through you.'
I can hear soft music in the background and somehow it makes me feel calmer.
'Could I ask your friend's name please?'
'Jerusalem Thomas. He passed away this morning.'
The man paused for a moment.
'Oh dear. So soon. That's very sad. He was only here the other day, arranging for the fittings and paying for it. Said he was going away somewhere, but he’d be laid to rest here. I'm very sorry.'
I don't know what to say now. I pick at my fingers and wait, but all is silent. Eventually, I ask the inevitable.
'So what did he want? Will he be buried or cremated? And what will I have to do?'
Again, the rustling of paper and he's back.
'He's requested that he be cremated at Glynn Valley Crematorium. Is there any particular time you would like?'
I panic now. I look around outside, up to the sky, down to the town. I don't know what day it is. I really have no idea. Again.
'Erm, when do you think will be best? And when is convenient for you?'
'Shall we say Monday at ten? And would you like to bring in some of Mr Thomas' clothes and any belongings he will be buried in or with? Then you can see where we are. There will be a car to take you to the crematorium, it will go from here. It's all been arranged.'
I stare at the glass, at my reflection.
'When did he arrange this? I'm sorry, he didn't mention anything to me.'
'He began to make the final arrangements some time last year. Mr Thomas has been ill for a long time. I've no doubt you are aware that he has spent some time in hospital receiving treatment. But we really didn’t think it was terminal. As I say, he came in last week to give us the final arrangements. As I said, he said he was going away for a while, after he had collected something. I'm sorry, could I trouble you for your name?'