Liminal

by Bee Lewis

  She glanced down at her wedding ring. For better for worse. She softened. It had been her lack of judgement, her poor choice of words that had upset him. I really should know better by now. The two men started down the stairs, boots clumping on the wooden treads.

  She called out to them: ‘I’m going to start dinner. Mike, will you stay and have something with us?’

  Mike looked to Dan, who gave the slightest of nods.

  ‘Thanks. That’d be grand.’

  She saw her reflection in Mike’s topaz eyes. She shivered and turned away.

  ‘I’m going to walk up the track a bit with Mikey – try to see what else is around us. Do you need us for anything?’

  ‘No, dinner will be a while yet, take your time.’

  Esther nodded and watched the two men leave the cottage. She busied herself preparing dinner and tried to ignore an insistent cawing from the canopy, but it was pervasive. She called out to the cat, but there was no sign of him, so she switched the radio on, glad of the newsreader’s company. The reception was patchy, but she welcomed the sound as it filled the emptiness of the kitchen. It was the first sound from the world outside Rosgill she’d heard for days and it was a welcome relief. She gathered up the minced beef, some potatoes and a couple of carrots and set about making a cottage pie, humming to herself as she peeled the potatoes.

  ‘It’s six-thirty. And now on 4, a change to our advertised programme. Instead of the News Quiz, we have a short story, ‘The Dinner Party’.’ The continuity announcer broke into her thoughts as she browned the mince with a stock cube and some onion. The narrator’s voice was familiar – smooth and coaxing – the voice of a hundred TV adverts.

  ‘Picture the scene, dear listener. A young couple hosting Sunday lunch for an aged parent. A parent who engenders fear into them both, but for different reasons. A cruel parent, given to manipulating people through the word of God.’

  Esther snorted. This should be good. She stabbed at a potato with the tip of a knife, but it was still too hard to mash.

  ‘The young couple have something to tell the old man, but they don’t know how to broach the subject. Soon, they will have missed their opportunity as even now, his taxi is wending its way through the Bristol traffic to collect him.’

  The mince was starting to catch. She turned down the flame and gave it a final stir, standing over the water bubbling in the pan.

  ‘Esther stood to clear the dinner plates and looked at the clock. She took the plates through to the kitchen, then signalled her husband to help her. “You are going to have to tell him.” Esther lowered her voice. “Do it now, so he has time to talk to you about it.”’

  The knife dropped with a clatter to the floor as she stood, rigid. She looked around her. Was this a joke? The narrator paused, as though waiting to regain her attention.

  ‘Esther, will you please sit and listen?’ He boomed at her. ‘It’s a very good story. Where was I? Yes . . . that’s it . . .’ He resumed the narrative.

  ‘Dan nodded his head briefly. “I’ll make some coffee. Can you pour him a nip of brandy?”

  Esther had never seen her father-in-law drink spirits and raised an eyebrow, but reached for the brandy bottle at the back of the cupboard. She found a balloon glass and poured out two fingers of the amber liquid. She set the glass on the tray as Dan laid out the coffee cups in a straight line, making sure that all of the handles faced to the right.’

  Esther sat at the table, unmoving and oblivious to the pan of potatoes boiling over on the stove. Still the narrator pushed on, recounting the story of how they broke the news of their move to Eric.

  ‘It was tempting to move one of the cups, just to see what Dan would do, but Esther checked herself. She was being needlessly mean. She carried the tray through to where Eric reclined on one of the bright orange sofas and set it down on the low table. Taking a seat opposite him, she waited for Dan to appear with the coffee pot.

  “No sign of another baby, then?” Eric’s red-rimmed eyes scalded her. “I’ll pray to God for you.”

  She sat on her hands to stop herself from throwing his brandy all over him. Eric dropped his gaze, as though already deep in prayer. She stood and went over to the window, a vast expanse of glass set into a steel frame. As she looked down onto the quayside below, she saw life going on all around her. From her vantage point, she counted four couples with children in buggies, on reins or tottering along, bending to inspect leaves or insects or other mysteries. A group of white-haired ladies sat outside one of the cafes, enjoying a coffee and a natter. Lycra-clad joggers and cyclists flashed along the quayside, enjoying the first sunny day of the year. For a moment, she hated the apartment and her hermetically-sealed lifestyle. She longed to run through fields and forests, following the breeze as it led her past waterfalls, crags and woods full of bluebells. And, even if she could only manage to walk, that would be enough for her. Scotland would be good for them. For the first time, she tasted anticipation about the move.

  “Dad, we have some news.” Dan set the coffee pot down on the tray and sat on the sofa, next to his father.

  Eric stared hard at his son, appraising him.

  “You know things have been difficult at work? Well, the company has lost a lot of contracts and I’ve been made redundant.”

  Esther exhaled, she knew how difficult it was for her husband to admit this, especially to his father. She knew he’d never go as far as admitting the full extent of the problem though. Maybe he never would and it would always sit between them, silently.

  “I see,” Eric said, nodding slowly.

  “I’m . . . we’re . . . going to use the redundancy money to start again, somewhere else.”

  “Somewhere else.” Eric’s intonation was not a question.

  Esther shifted in her seat, unsure of where Eric’s train of thought was going.

  “And where is this ‘somewhere else’, then?”

  “Scotland, Dad. We’re moving to Scotland.”’

  Esther was transported back to that moment, the moment where Scotland had stopped being a plan and become something concrete, something inevitable. She could see the shadows they cast on the terrifying white terrazzo floor tiles. She felt the warmth of the sun on her face as it moved around to the west and the dappled water danced in the dock below. She realised she’d never have to worry about slipping over on those tiles again. It seemed like it was another lifetime away. She stared as the disembodied voice continued.

  ‘Eric said nothing and Dan rushed to fill the silence. “There’s no work for me here, Dad. The aerospace industry is tied up by the Americans. The best I can hope for is a fixed-term contract – probably six months at a time. There’s no security in that. With my pay-off, our savings, and the equity in this place, we’ll be sitting pretty for a while.”

  Still, Eric said nothing and Esther wanted to hug Dan tightly to her, to tell him he’d said enough and could stop now. More than anything, she wanted him to stop prodding the wasps’ nest of Eric’s emotions. He was too calm and his quietness unnerved her.

  “What will you do in Scotland? What about your job, Esther? I can’t see you giving that up easily.” Eric’s attention turned to Esther, eyes misting.

  Esther, thinking Eric was on the verge of tears, softened her voice. “It’s been a tough decision – for both of us – but I think this is a good opportunity. The Writers Centre will be a new adventure.”

  “Writers Centre?”

  “Yes.” She set her chin in defiance. “We are creating a centre for writers to come up on courses or retreats. Dan’s found the perfect place for us, just south of Inverness.”

  “And what will you be doing, Daniel?” Eric’s stare returned to Dan, who looked uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

  “I’m going to write, Dad. Non-fiction. Manuals, handbooks, guidebooks – whatever comes my way. And when I am not writing, I’ll be he
lping Essie and playing host to other writers.”

  It took a little time for Esther to figure out why there was such tension in the room. Too late, she realised that Eric was incapable of any sentiment and that his eyes were brimming with bile, not tears.

  With his gnarly fingers pointing at Dan, Eric quoted from his beloved Proverbs, “Whoever works his land will have plenty of bread, but he who follows worthless pursuits lacks sense.”

  “Eric! That’s unfair. You know how hard Dan worked. It’s not his fault he’s been made redundant, and he’s not the only one.”

  She couldn’t bear to see the defeated look on her husband’s face and, although she knew Dan would be annoyed that she’d faced Eric down, she wasn’t going to stand by and watch him demolish her husband.

  Eric stared at her.

  “Eric, Dan is doing the best he can in a bad situation. Can you, for once, put yourself in his shoes? All those years of study. All those years working on MoD contracts and for what? To have them shit all over him?”

  “You are a child of God, Esther. A wholesome tongue is a tree of life: but perverseness therein is a breach in the spirit. Watch your filthy language.”

  “Dad!”

  Eric stood and turned to his son. “I’ll wait downstairs for my taxi. Call round to the house tomorrow night, Daniel, and we will talk more. In the meantime, I will be praying for you both.”

  As Eric let himself out of the apartment, Esther felt ashamed of herself for feeling resentful. Dan was doing his best. She couldn’t claim to be completely on board with all the decisions he made, but she knew he was putting her first. She resolved to be a good wife, to listen to her husband and to support him more than she had done so far. Isn’t that right, Esther?’

  The stove hissed as the boiling water splashed over. Esther stared at the radio. She couldn’t begin to explain what had just happened, or why.

  ‘It’s six-thirty. And now on 4, it’s Sandi Toksvig with the News Quiz.’

  She shivered, despite the warmth in the kitchen from the stove. She wondered if she was going mad – there were too many things happening that she just couldn’t explain. Was Dan right? Could it be weird atmospheric conditions? Or was it hormonal? Was she losing her mind? No matter how hard she tried to shrug it all off, the thought persisted that there was something else at work, something other-worldly – something that she’d never be able to make Dan accept. Even just thinking it seemed absurd.

  Once the phone line was connected, she was sure she’d feel less isolated. If only she could speak to her mother, she wouldn’t feel so foolish. Anthea would understand. Esther gave a small smile at the thought of the pile of books at Anthea’s bedside. Books about mediums, astrology, hauntings and mind-reading. The kind of books Dan openly sneered at. When she thought about it, she realised that she had stopped reading books on the paranormal not long after she’d met Dan. Listening to him talk about his ideas, she was seduced and she was an easy convert, putting her faith in science, the way he showed her.

  There were almost no recognisable signs of the life they’d led in Bristol and it hadn’t really sunk in that this was their new home; their new life. It still felt as though they were on holiday, inhabiting someone else’s cottage for a few days. If the builders ever turned up, she’d probably start to feel more a part of things, more like she was shaping her environment. Little by little, brick by brick, they’d make the changes together and build their future. Maybe then she’d be able to make sense of the world around her.

  Esther was quiet as she served up, reflecting on both the memory of that last dinner with Eric and the strange daydream she’d had about it.

  Dan poured the drinks: wine for him and Mike, and apple juice for Esther. ‘Let’s have a toast,’ he said. ‘To our new home, and new friends.’

  ‘Ah, come on now. You can do better than that.’ Mike stood, glass in hand, filling the room with his personality.

  She tensed. Dan wasn’t used to being challenged or teased, but instead of the stony look she’d expected to see on his face, he laughed.

  ‘You’re right. That was pathetic. Come on then, if you think you can do better.’

  Mike bowed and began speaking, his voice low, careful to give each word the attention it deserved.

  ‘In the shadow of each idea, in the liminal space between beginning and end, that’s where your Kingdom lies. May it shape you and keep you safe.’

  Esther put her glass down and stared openly. Her amazement showed in her voice. ‘You wrote that?’

  ‘I’m not just a culchie, you know. I’ve an education on me.’ He laughed at her obvious discomfort.

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course. I didn’t mean—’

  ‘No harm now, Esther. I’m taking the mickey. I’ve a huge appetite for everything. Food, wine, poetry, art . . . ’ He paused, leaving them hanging to see what was next on his list. ‘Sex. Life is for living and I want to experience as much as I can. Mammy says “You’re a long time dead” and all good boys listen to their Mammy.’

  ‘Come on, let’s eat.’ Dan covered her hand briefly with his, then reached behind him onto the kitchen counter for the hand gel.

  Mike glanced at Esther and she pretended not to notice, moving peas around on her plate. Even though she hardly knew Mike, she was glad he was there, and as the evening wore on, he regaled them with his wild tales. It was a relief not having to think, to have someone else do the entertaining, not to have to second-guess Dan’s mood.

  ‘. . . so, when it came to the end of the job – and I sweated my guts out cleaning that hen-house down, mind – can you imagine how pleased I was to be offered my wages in chickens?’ Mike’s eyes crinkled at the corners and he pulled a face in mock affront. ‘I lived on chicken curry for a month after that!’

  They all laughed at the idea. Esther hadn’t seen her husband so relaxed since before the redundancy. She reached out to play with the short hairs on the back of his neck and he leaned in to her touch. She wanted to blow a bubble around this moment, to preserve the memory. She allowed herself to wonder if this was the real Mike, or whether it was an intricate cabaret act that he dusted off from time to time as he seemed so rehearsed, trotting out story after story. Keep ’em laughing, then they won’t ask questions. And she had so very many questions about Mike.

  The anecdotes kept coming. ‘I could tell you a thing or two. I’ve seen plenty in my time.’ Mike continued. ‘Like when I was seventeen and had just finished my Leaving Cert. The summer was hot and the days long. It was good to be outside after being cooped up all year in classrooms. I started work on a farm in Roscommon, it was harvest time and the hay needed to be brought in quickly before the weather turned. It was hard work, back-breaking.’ Mike paused, remembering.

  ‘Every day, we’d stop around midday for soup and sandwiches brought down from the farmhouse by Clodagh, the eldest daughter. She was a grand girl. Big . . .’

  Dan snorted, and Esther wondered what Mike was going to say next. She was learning quickly that he had no filter; whatever came into his head came out of his mouth.

  ‘. . . doorstops of soda bread and home-made cheese.’ He winked, as though he could read their minds and indicated the thickness of the bread between the spread of his thumb and forefinger.

  ‘Then, about two days before we were due to finish, the youngest daughter brought lunch instead of Clodagh. She was the finest girl I’d ever seen, with her long, red curls and olive eyes. Her name was Cara. Well, one thing led to another and I got Cara to agree to meet me after we’d finished work for the day.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ Dan smirked.

  ‘I shared the caravan with three other fellas. Her virtue was safe. Well, as safe as anyone’s around me.’ Mike laughed.

  Esther shifted uncomfortably in her chair. There was an undercurrent, something in his intonation that seemed off, like he was only telling the parts of the story that made
him look good.

  Mike continued, ‘So we got talking and she said she wanted to do something wild. I had some mushrooms in my pocket from my early morning walk and we decided to make tea with them. She put on the water to boil and I chopped them up and added them to the boiling water. Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever had mushroom tea, but it’s godawful tasting.’

  Esther and Dan both shook their heads. She was intrigued at the thought of it, and oddly pleased that Mike thought it might be something she’d do, but the reality was that she was too straight to ever see it through. She wasn’t so sure about Dan. She could imagine him experimenting, but he’d see it as a scientific venture, recording the sensation meticulously and it would most definitely be a one-off.

  ‘So we threw a coupla teabags in, brewed it a bit longer and strained it. I didn’t know how Cara was going to be after drinking it, so we went to the barn and shimmied up the ladder to the hayloft. The hit comes quicker if you drink it and I wanted to be somewhere safe. When it came, it was magical. Colours whirled and spun from my fingertips and I was like a human paintbrush: everywhere I pointed, I left a trail of colour. We lay on the bales of hay and I watched as they formed two columns, rising to fight each other, like Roman legions. Then it seemed like a good idea to take our clothes off, so we did.’

  Esther tried to rid herself of the image of a younger Mike, naked and supple, with perfect skin and athletic limbs that he’d not quite grown into. She shifted in her chair, uncomfortable at the direction her thoughts were taking her. The only man she’d seen naked was Dan and she had never thought about anyone else that way.

  ‘Cara was the most beautiful girl I’d ever met. Her skin felt like rose petals and I’ll never forget the way she bit her bottom lip, it was such a come-on. I left trails of colour all over her body as I traced patterns with my fingertips.’

  Dan and Esther sat spellbound listening to Mike as he talked.

  ‘I can’t tell you how beautiful this girl was. And the effect of the mushrooms just intensified her beauty. It was like I’d never seen her before, like she’d only been as real as a photograph of herself. As you’d expect, I was quite worked up.’ He shrugged as though gently embarrassed. ‘I wanted every part of this girl, to taste her, smell her, feel her body rising up to meet mine. God, the effect she had on me.’