Liminal

by Bee Lewis

  ‘What?’ She followed him as he led her to the platform edge. She loved the way his smile seemed to add a quicksilver light to his slate eyes.

  ‘Do you see where the track bed is?’

  ‘Yes? The bit you want to turn into a performance space?’

  ‘I changed my mind.’

  His face was unreadable again and she had no idea where his train of thought was going. It was unlike him to be so changeable. After five years together, she thought she knew every mood, every expression, but his actions over the last year made her question her assumptions. She looked up at him, trying not to show the worry on her face.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘It’s going to be a surprise for you.’

  She felt herself tense.

  ‘I’m going to build you a swimming pool, because I know how much you love to swim.’

  She exhaled, happiness filling the space vacated by the air. Her very own pool. It was the best gift he could have given her. In the water, she could fully relax, not having to go through the automatic risk assessment she carried out internally every time she had to move. Is the surface even? Is the flooring slippery? Are there hidden trip hazards? What did she have to do to avoid falling? Her eyes brimmed with tears that he would think to do this for her. In the water she was weightless. Some days the pain in her leg was so bad that the only relief she could get was from floating. But above all, being in water meant she was equal to everyone else.

  ‘We’ll put solar panels up and rig up an air-source heat pump so that you can swim all year round.’

  ‘Really? Even in the winter? Can we afford it?’

  He nodded. ‘The coolant in the pump boils at very low temperatures, so even on chilly winter days it should be an efficient way to heat the water. It’s an interesting challenge to get the best efficiency and sustainability ratio. And of course, it will be an added draw for the guests.’

  With one sentence, he’d managed to tarnish her happiness. The pool wasn’t for her. Not really. It was a business decision and a project for him. She realised he was still talking and she assembled her best smile before giving him her full attention again.

  ‘. . . in its day, it was more important than a halt, but it was only a matter of time before stations like this closed.’

  ‘I had no idea you’d become such an expert.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘Don’t you think it’s odd that the station is so far away from the nearest town?’

  ‘It didn’t used to be. Weren’t you listening?’

  Esther circled her temple with her forefinger. ‘Baby brain. I could forget my own name at times. Remind me.’

  ‘You’re Esther.’ He laughed and dodged her playful swipe. ‘This station served Rosgill village, but the village was abandoned and flooded to make the Invergill Reservoir. There was no need for the station after that.’

  ‘It’s a bit Twilight Zone knowing there’s a village at the bottom of the reservoir, though.’

  ‘I know. Creepy, right?’ Dan wiggled his fingers in front of her face and made a moaning sound, the way a child would when pretending to be a ghost.

  Esther batted him away. ‘Actually, it’s pretty cool that you know all of this stuff. When the business starts up, the guests will love all of that.’

  ‘Well, little boys and train sets, you know. Now we own a piece of history. I’m a very, very lucky little boy.’

  He reached out for her hand, but she stepped forward and put her arms around him. She felt him tense for a second, then he relaxed into her, holding her tight against him. He smelled of soap and his jumper was scratchy against her face. She breathed him in deeply, wishing she didn’t feel like a thief stealing affection from him.

  ‘When Bump arrives, I’m buying him the biggest train set we can afford.’

  ‘And if Bump is a girl?’

  ‘Then she’ll have the biggest train set we can afford. Complete with pink carriages and people she can dress up.’

  Esther landed a playful slap on his chest.

  ‘Ow!’

  ‘Well, don’t be so sexist then. You aren’t your fath—’ she stopped, screwing her face up as she inwardly checked herself for being stupid enough to mention Eric.

  Dan let go of her, stopping short of physically pushing her away. ‘I’ll check to see if the furniture got here.’ Picking up the bags, he strode up the platform to the house.

  Esther followed him, still cursing herself and trying to ignore the creaking of the canopy overhead. She hoped that she wouldn’t be able to hear it from their bedroom.

  She pushed the front door open and walked straight into the kitchen. It all felt unreal to her. She remembered childhood holidays in rented cottages, and the feeling they gave her, like they’d broken into someone else’s life and would be caught.

  To her right, another doorway led to the stairs and the sitting room. Although it was the station master’s house, it was no grander than a large cottage with two main rooms downstairs, and two bedrooms upstairs. The old box room had been converted to a severe bathroom, but at least it had a separate shower cubicle. It would do for now, but she was looking forward to the day when the renovations were complete and most of the accommodation was on one level. The whole place needed modernising and the cottage seemed like an afterthought, tacked onto the station as it was, breaking the line of symmetry.

  Feeling for the light switch, Esther surveyed the kitchen. On first sight, she hated it. The central strip light overhead dimmed and flickered, then steadied. The pine cupboards, darkened with time and grease, were brassy ginger instead of the blonde they had once been. She’d had in her mind that there was a range cooker but now, standing in front of the free-standing gas cooker with its eye-level grill, she felt deflated. The removal men had plumbed in their washing machine, but there was no space for the dishwasher, which they’d dumped in the corner. She was glad Dan had suggested remodelling the waiting room as the new kitchen, even though it would make a big hole in what was left of their savings. It would be at the heart of the new layout, making it a focal point where the guests could gather, and it seemed to lend a more natural flow of movement through the house.

  For now, she was stuck with this kitchen and its lurid yellow and green floral wallpaper that fought for her attention. It seemed to be everywhere. In contrast, the tiled splash backs were oatmeal-brown, some with wheat sheaves in relief, but the majority were plain. She closed her eyes. The room shimmied and shifted, and she felt air rush past her as everything grew in size. The edge of the table was now at her eye-level and she had to stand on tip-toe to see over it. Her mother, Anthea, stood at the stove wearing a yellow, frilled apron, stirring something monstrous in a saucepan. Esther knew that the memory should have made her feel more relaxed, made her smile, but instead the little ball of unhappiness moved to her ribcage and pulsed in time with her heartbeat. The room shimmied again and, as everything around her shrank back to its normal size, she glanced upwards noticing the wood-chip paper on the ceiling, blooming yellow with age and grease. It would all have to go.

  They had big plans to remodel the cottage to maximise guest accommodation. The downstairs was to become three single bedrooms with a shared bathroom. The two bedrooms upstairs were a generous size already, so it would be easier to partition them and double the number of rooms. She’d picked the furniture: simple wooden bed frames with good quality mattresses, a small desk or table, a chair, and a lamp in each. For a while, she’d toyed with the idea of painting each room a different colour, but Dan pointed out that they should aim to keep everything neutral and in the end, she’d agreed. She looked in her handbag for her diary, remembering to add blankets to the list of things to buy, but it wasn’t there. She tutted to herself and looked for a piece of paper at the bottom of her bag. After a few moments of rummaging past the cough sweets, tissues, headache tablets, and lip balm, she pulled out a receipt from Waitrose. It was dated 1
7th September, the day before her 34th birthday. What had she bought? Toothpaste, tiger bread, brie, grapes, Prosecco, and a birthday cake. Her birthday cake.

  She quickly wrote ‘blankets’ on the back of the receipt and tucked it back into her bag. It had been a good birthday, overall. Dan had been attentive and thoughtful. She pictured him chopping onions, peppers and garlic, humming along to the radio as he worked. That kitchen had been her triumph in the apartment. She’d had a difficult job persuading him to go with the glossy red lacquered doors and polished concrete worktops, but when it was finished, she knew it gave him as much pleasure as it did her. It would be so out of place here. Just like she was.

  Despite its dated decor, Esther was puzzled by how clean the surfaces and cupboards were. She had steeled herself to scrub away years of dust and grime but, except for the years of grease on the ceiling, it looked like someone had beaten her to it. Dan must have arranged for someone to come in. It wasn’t like him to be so thoughtful and she smiled to herself. Perhaps she’d been too hasty to judge his motives over the swimming pool. Maybe he does mean it this time.

  Opening the drawer under the sink, she spotted a set of keys on a large metal loop. They were all old, mostly of a mortise type, but there were also three or four smaller brass keys – the kind that might open a desk. She closed the drawer again and pulled open the door to the nearest cupboard. It was empty, but there was a faint smell of bleach.

  Dan appeared in the doorway carrying a box marked ‘kitchen.’ ‘Where do you want this?’

  She half-resented the inference that the kitchen was her domain, but pointed to the worktop anyway and started to unpack the provisions they’d brought with them. She opened a cupboard and was surprised to see it was stocked with tins of soup, beans, UHT milk, cereal, and jars of pasta sauce. The one next to it contained packets of pasta, rice, tea, coffee and a loaf of bread. Checking the labels, all of the food was in date. Curious, she crossed the room to the fridge and opened it to see it had been filled with milk, cheese, salad items, cold meats, a chicken, chops, mince and some vegetables.

  Looking over her shoulder, Dan pointed to the contents of the fridge. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Didn’t you organise it with the removal company? There must be a week’s worth of shopping here.’

  ‘I wish I’d thought of it, but the removal company wasn’t exactly top end.’ A shadow passed over his face and he looked like he wanted to say something else, but was silent.

  ‘It’s not just the food though. Have you seen how clean the cottage is?’

  ‘The agent might have organised it for us, I guess. The cleaning at least. The food is a little over the top – unless, of course, they know something we don’t.’

  She wasn’t sure if he was joking. Sometimes his deadpan delivery was hard for even her to read. ‘I’m sure they’ll recharge us for it.’

  ‘I’ll check the contract in the morning.’ Dan turned on the taps and began to wash his hands. ‘I can’t imagine I’d have agreed to that.’

  No, I can’t imagine either.

  ‘The rest of the furniture is here and they’ve put the bed up. There are a load of boxes in the sitting room, along with our kitchen table and chairs.’ Dan nodded over to the pine table in the middle of the kitchen. ‘I think that’ll be the first thing in the skip.’

  ‘Indeed. This place is a museum to everything that was never hip. It’s not even retro enough to be cool now. You know, it’s very similar to a kitchen we had when I was little. I can picture Mum standing at that stove.’ Esther rubbed at the small of her back. ‘I could really do with a hot soak after that journey. My leg is aching fit to burn. I bet you’re shattered after all that driving.’

  ‘I’m not so bad just now, but I’ll sleep well tonight. Did I see some towels and bedding in one of the boxes? I’ll need to find the immersion switch if we want hot water tonight. Where did you stash the kettle?’

  ‘Towels and bedding came up with the removal guys. Kettle’s in the boot of the car. I’ll get it.’

  ‘No, stay here, I’ll go. It’s getting quite dark out now and you’re bound to trip over.’ Dan shut the door behind him and as he did so, the light overhead flickered and fizzed and the motor in the fridge coughed.

  Esther listened to his footsteps echoing down the platform. She opened the fridge again, ignoring the sputtering lights in the cottage, and stared at the contents, trying to decide whether she was hungry enough to make a snack. Without warning, the hairs rose on the back of her neck and she had an acute feeling of being watched. She whipped around and looked out of the kitchen window, half-expecting to see someone looking in. There was no-one there. She laughed at herself, knowing her jitters came from the deep-rooted tiredness inside her.

  Dan brought in another box and started to unpack the kettle, some cutlery, a selection of mugs and two plates. Then, with a flourish, he pulled out a bottle of Veuve Cliquot. ‘Ta-da! We have to have it in mugs, but it’ll still taste like a celebration.’

  He was like a schoolboy showing off to a captive audience. She liked this version of him – it was a side she’d not seen much of in the last year.

  ‘Just a drop for me, please. I don’t want Bump hiccupping all night and getting a taste for booze before breast.’

  He popped the cork, the way Esther had seen Eric teach him at their engagement party, holding the cork and turning the bottle. She hated being reminded that he was more like his father than she wanted to admit. She pushed the thoughts of Eric away, in case they led to thoughts about her own father. Nothing good ever came from dwelling on him and now wasn’t the right time to raise the subject with Dan.

  He poured the Champagne into the mugs and raised his. ‘To our new baby, to our new life, to our new home . . . and to a new us.’

  Esther clinked her mug against Dan’s. At the mention of their new home, the ball of unhappiness dislodged from its hiding place behind her ribcage and rose upwards to nudge her heart. It would take a long time for Rosgill to feel like home.

  ‘Evening.’ A man-monolith stood in the doorway, blocking the fading remains of daylight.

  Esther and Dan both jumped, startled. Esther glanced from the stranger to Dan, then back to the doorway. She thought she caught a flash of recognition in Dan’s face and waited for him to speak first.

  ‘Hi, I’m Dan and this is Esther.’ In what seemed to her to be a flanking manoeuvre, he strode across the kitchen and shook hands with the stranger.

  ‘Sorry to startle you both. I’m Michael – Mike – O’Rourke. I live up the glen; about two miles north-west. I’m probably your nearest neighbour as the crow flies,’ he said, stooping so as not to bang his head on the lintel.

  Dan, who had seemed to have been holding his breath, relaxed. Taking her cue from him, Esther motioned to Mike to sit down, pulling out a chair for him at the pine table. He crossed the kitchen with feline grace, folding his long legs under the table in a fluid movement. He glanced at her leg, the metal pylon plain to see, poking out from under her skirt.

  In that moment, Esther could tell what kind of person he was. Over the years, she’d had the whole spectrum of reactions from people. Empathy, sympathy, embarrassment, condescension, curiosity. Almost everyone acted differently once they’d noticed her disability. Some people spoke to Dan instead, while others shuffled from foot to foot, unable to focus on anything except her missing limb. Most of the time it bypassed her as something other people needed to learn to deal with, but the worst people were the ones who wanted to know what had happened to her. Forcing her to relive the accident. No matter how kind their questioning, she was always left feeling sullied, invaded by their ghoulish desire for detail.

  Mike’s eyes locked on hers and she saw no judgement, no condescension or sympathy. She knew he saw her for who she was, not as a wounded creature to be cared for or pitied. His eyes were magnetic, drawing her in. She couldn’t decide w
hether they were hazel or amber, and they seemed to shimmer as he returned her gaze. They were darker in the middle, reminding her of tiger-eye stones, fringed by long, black lashes. His whole expression implied mischief, of his own making, but also as though he was daring her to relive all her rebellions too. His dark hair curled just above his collar, longer on top, and he used both hands to push it back off his face, strong fingers raking through it. Dark stubble contoured his face and he gave off the scent of mountain forests as he moved.

  Aware that she was staring, Esther felt heat radiating in her cheeks and, turning her back to them both, filled the kettle with water from the sink. She could see Dan and Mike reflected in the kitchen window and saw Mike reach a hand out towards Dan, before withdrawing it abruptly as the strip-light overhead dimmed and quivered. A tight silence fell over the men at the table.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me dropping in on you like this? Did you have a good journey up?’ Mike’s soft Irish burr bent his words in the air.

  ‘Well, it was a long journey, alright. We set off yesterday and stayed in Edinburgh overnight.’ Dan fiddled with his wedding ring as he spoke.

  ‘You’re not Scottish?’ To her own ears, her question sounded shrill, accusatory.

  ‘Neither are you.’ He winked. ‘I’m Irish, from County Clare, but I’ve lived a long time here, and other places. And where have you come up from? Bristol, is it?’

  Dan reddened and nodded, but said nothing.

  How could he know that? Esther couldn’t put her finger on it, but something was out of kilter between the two men. She felt almost as though she was intruding onto a conversation that started some time ago. ‘Have you two met each other before?’

  Dan and Mike spoke at the same time.

  ‘No.’ Dan was emphatic.

  ‘Yes.’ Mike nodded.

  Esther stood, hands on hips. ‘Well, which is it?’

  ‘I saw yer man up here when he was after looking to buy the place.’ Mike’s explanation seemed to trigger Dan’s memory.