by Mia Farlane
‘When? We’ve got Elizabeth coming to stay.’ May wouldn’t be able to have a shower now. There was no time.
‘We can still invite people to dinner. I can’t remember the last time we did that.’
‘It’s been winter; everyone hibernates in winter.’
‘Oh – Alison! We should give her a call! When did she say she was getting back? Is she still in America?’
‘I can’t remember. I’ve got no idea.’ Alison was someone they’d met a few years ago, during a signal failure on the tube.
‘I wonder how it went with Barbara,’ Jansen said; she was talking about Alison’s latest.
‘Mm.’
‘We could have a flat warming and invite round a few people we haven’t seen for a while.’
‘Could we settle in first?’
‘I’m not saying this week, May.’ Jansen was annoyed. ‘I was thinking the end of next month.’
‘Sue won’t want to come, if Alison’s going to be around.’
‘No, I know that – but we can invite them both, and they can decide. What about Patrick?’ (Her cousin.)
‘I don’t know. Could we talk about this later? I need to get breakfast. Do you want tea?’ May went to the kitchen.
She clicked on the kettle, got out two cups, plates, some bread out of the freezer, the butter. She could hear Jansen leisurely coughing in bed. In her early teens, May would be frantically getting ready for school while Elizabeth toddled around with her thumb in her mouth, or sat curled up in an armchair listening to nursery rhymes or stories on the record player: ‘Under a large tree in the country, Alice sat reading a history book that her history teacher had given her to read. “Ah,” thought Alice. “What good is a book without pictures?”…’ Elizabeth put her favourites on repeat. ‘Under a large tree in the country…’ ‘Under a large tree…’ On and on.
At exactly seven fifteen May left Jansen, who was now reading a Nick Hornby in the bath, kissed her on her wet forehead, pulled the front door shut, and tapped a final goodbye on the bathroom window as she walked towards the stairwell. Happily, she didn’t bump into any neighbours; it was too early to pull her face into a polite smile.
At the station, she pulled out L’Ange et les pervers; she had finished reading it. Now all she needed to do was read it again.
16
Elizabeth’s Arrival
Elizabeth didn’t arrive on Saturday; she arrived on Sunday – at 8 a.m. Once she’d hauled in a cardboard box of art books, a rucksack and a large green rubbish bag of clothes and coat-hangers, she sat down at the sitting-room table in her hipster jeans and army surplus jacket, and told May, still in pyjamas, about her journey:
‘We’re stuck at a service station. Kate’s been doing all the driving (she’s the one with the licence), but then Mark (he’s really far gone by now) wants to drive. So we just sit there, while they argue it out. My mobile was out of credit, and I wasn’t gonna risk leaving the van just to call you; they might have gone off without me. We sat there for ages, Mark’s drinking and drinking. Finally Kate’s persuaded to hand over the keys, so they swap seats… then he says, because – well, I don’t know why, just because – he says…’ (Elizabeth pulled herself up into role here, putting on a wide-mouthed slur) ‘“I’m not going anywhere until she has a few swigs of wine!” So I did, and off we went!’ Elizabeth stopped to share her hilarity over this with May. ‘After a few hiccups with the gears, the van’s shaking it along. So Kate has to mention speed cameras of course, which gets Mark really wild: “Who’s the driver?” he asks. And to prove his point, he slows right down. “Where are the speed cameras? I don’t see any. Do you?” he asks me. I said, “No.” Well there weren’t any. Then Kate gets all snotty with me, and Mark tells her to: “Leave her alone! I asked her a question, and she answered it. Control freak!” So he just about stops, he’s going so slow, and turns to her: “Slow enough for you?” he asks. That’s when – “weeroo, weeroo” – we see a police car. Aah!’ Elizabeth waved her arms around melodramatically. ‘This is where I thank you,’ she added, ‘because, apart from those two swigs, I hadn’t touched a drop, polite little visitor that I am. Anyway, we pull over, and Mark says to me, “You get in the driver’s seat! Quick!” So there I am: totalemente abstinenta! Along comes a police officer: “Everything all right?” she asks me (a dyke for sure). I give her a really sincere smile, and say, “Yes, thanks. I realize I was going slowly. I was trying to give my lousy navigators here time to work out whether we were supposed to turn off at the next junction. Is the next one the M25?” She’s really helpful with directions, brings out a map – ? – and helps us plan the rest of our route to Mark’s. I give her a grateful smile. God it was funny! She didn’t even ask for my licence! What licence? Well, here I am now,’ Elizabeth reached into the inside of her jacket and took out a tobacco pouch, ‘and I didn’t wake you up, did I?’
‘Elizabeth.’ May was starting her sentence with ‘Elizabeth’; it indicated that she was stepping into some sort of advisory role, which she did not want. ‘Elizabeth, I’m glad you can’t drive,’ she decided to say it anyway, ‘because if you could, you might kill someone. Also, I don’t think it’s very clever to get into a vehicle with a drunk driver.’
Elizabeth had nothing to say at first. Then she said, ‘There were hardly any cars on the road, May. I don’t think Mark would’ve driven if there had been.’
‘I still believe that if you get into a vehicle with a drunk driver, you’re condoning it. And if someone gets killed –’
‘What, so I’m supposed to say, “Thanks for getting me to this service station in the middle of nowhere. Keep the gear. I’ll just stay here all night”?’
‘That might’ve been a good idea, yes.’
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows, and pulled a lighter out of her jeans pocket.
‘Oh, could you smoke outside?’
Elizabeth gave May an actively unsurprised look, and made the considerate smoker’s exit.
May went to the kitchen, clicked the kettle on, and got three cups out of the cupboard. As she waited for the water to boil she got a whiff of smoke: Elizabeth had left the front door open. May went to shut it.
‘I’ll just close this.’
Elizabeth nodded her head as she inhaled deeply on a roll-up.
May went to the bedroom, where Jansen was sitting up in bed, the Independent spread out in front of her. She’d taken the day off.
‘Tea?’ Jansen looked up, smiling hopefully.
‘She’s smoking out there,’ May said.
‘Where?’ Jansen was on the sports page.
‘Outside.’
‘Oh.’ Jansen marked a pause. ‘Tea?’ she repeated.
‘She’s smoking outside, and she’ll be at home during the day when we’re not here, and then she’ll probably smoke inside.’
‘You’re not going to get me a drink, are you?’ Jansen got out of bed, put her socks on and went to the kitchen. May followed her, now talking softly:
‘You think I’m being horrible. I ought to be just pleased to see her.’
Jansen chose an echinacea sachet, and stood in front of the kettle, waiting for it to come to the boil again.
‘I’d have made you a hot drink, if you’d given me the chance,’ May defended herself.
Jansen poured water into the pot, and returned with it to the bedroom. ‘We invited her to stay.’ She got back into bed.
‘Yes, that was your idea – and I should have specified how long for.’
‘You could say something now. You could say, three or four weeks maximum.’ Jansen retrieved her handkerchief, which was wedged in between the mattress and the bed-base, and blew her nose thoroughly. ‘Anyway, she did say she’d be looking for somewhere else.’
Elizabeth was knocking on the front door now.
‘Can you get it?’ Jansen settled back with her newspaper.
May didn’t move. The knocking continued: tap! Tap-tap! Tap! Tap! TAP! TAP! TAP! Pause. Tap! Tap-tap! Tap! Tap
! TAP! TAP! ‘Why do I have to get it?’ she said, sending a nasty look in the direction of the tapping, which kept on cheerfully.
‘May! Would you answer the door!’
‘Why should I get it? We both invited her.’ May sat down on the bed to confirm her statement.
Jansen yanked her blankets off and went to the door.
May waited on the bed.
Jansen came back and closed the bedroom door. ‘That was really rude.’ She climbed back into bed. ‘What? Are you going to sit there now and stare at me?’
‘I was just thinking how different you and I both are.’
‘Yes,’ Jansen agreed; she clearly had her own set of examples in mind. ‘I’d like to read now.’
‘I’m so tired.’ May attempted an apology. ‘She doesn’t bother letting us know she’s staying the night somewhere else. She doesn’t think perhaps we might stay awake all night worrying about her. It took me ages to get to sleep. And now my day is wasted; I’m not going to be able to get anything done: I’m too tired.’ May stretched across Jansen and the newspaper to reach the clock on Jansen’s side, and pulled herself back upright with it to see the time: ‘Eight-fucking-thirty.’ May found the spare key and went back to the sitting room with it.
Elizabeth had unpacked her clothes and accessories – trousers and wide glittery belts, various coloured bras, stretchy tops and dresses – and spread them out on the sofa. ‘Hey, I’m gonna have a bath, if that’s all right.’
‘I’m going back to bed. Here’s a key.’ She put it on the table.
‘Oh all right – ta. See you then. Buenas noches.’
May went back to the bedroom and shut the door. She stood the clock on the stool next to her. Then, eye-mask on, earplugs in, she lay down next to Jansen, who continued drinking her tea and reading.
A little later, May felt the bed move as Jansen got out.
‘What are you doing?’ May asked from behind her mask. She unplugged one ear, and lifted up the mask. ‘What?’
‘I didn’t say anything.’ Jansen turned off the light, and returned to bed.
May was pleased; she snuggled into her.
‘No,’ Jansen stiffened, ‘I’m not in the mood to be hugged.’
‘I’m sorry I’ve been such a grump.’ May settled herself away from her.
‘Apology accepted,’ Jansen said.
‘Now can I cuddle you?’
‘No.’
17
L’Ambassadrice anglaise
By Friday evening May had Jansen’s cold.
Damn.
No key. She’d locked herself out.
She knocked on the door.
No answer: Elizabeth must have gone out for the evening.
May checked her bag: tissues, lists of things to do, pens, telephone book, mobile, zinc-fortified vitamin C pills, loose change, crumbs getting under her fingernails as she hunted. No key.
‘It’s not true. It’s not true.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she chanted, hopelessly resigned to the fact.
No key.
She sighed.
She knocked again; maybe Elizabeth was having a bath or something. May listened through the letter flap. She knocked one last time, three loud knocks. She waited. Her chest clenched. Jansen was doing a late shift to make up for last Sunday; she wouldn’t be back until nine thirty, or nine at the very earliest. May looked at her watch: five past eight.
The door opened. ‘Oh, definitely!’ Elizabeth, the phone in one hand, the receiver jammed between her shoulder and her left ear, let May pass. ‘Yeah!’ She laughed. ‘Yep, absolutely!’ She raised her eyebrows at May, tilting her head back as a hello sign, and went to the kitchen, trailing the phone extension cord, guiding it along with her foot. May followed the procession. ‘Yeah.’ Elizabeth dropped two slices of white bread into the toaster. ‘Yeah, mm… she is! You are! Trust me, I know “adore” when I see it. She’s into you, Mark.’ Belly laughter.
May tuned out for a while. What was sickening about Elizabeth, she thought as she chose a teabag – she was making herself a lemon and ginger, since she had to give herself a purpose for being there, even though it was her kitchen – what was sickifying was that she was so cheerful. How could she be so cheerful when her life was such a mess?
Elizabeth was now squatting down in front of the fridge, ‘mm-ing’ and ‘ah-ha-ing’, continuing, as she chose a jar of marmalade, to give her full attention to her interlocutor, sounding just like a very supportive and available ‘call me at my home, if you need to’ type therapist. Back to reality: she had been registered as unemployed ever since leaving school, so that she could ‘enjoy doing nothing for a while’. Just about all she owned she now dragged around in a bin liner and a cardboard box. Indefinitely ‘on holiday’, she seemed to have no aims, except to float. Of course, she was ‘only twenty-two’ – a weak excuse; she had nine more years of flapping about nowhere, before she’d hit May’s age. Then she’d be sorry.
Elizabeth waved before taking her toast and conversation to the sitting room. May put her teabag in the bin, wiped down Elizabeth’s toast crumbs and followed her. The difference was May didn’t remember having had a fun time at Elizabeth’s age. She’d never been like that. She had been insecure at that age looking at older people, and now she was insecure at this age looking at younger people. She’d never, for example, looked at someone older and considered they might be envious of her carefree existence. But then, she’d never presented an image convincingly enviable; she’d never actually been carefree. Even if, while she was at university, she had attempted to maintain herself in a state of semi-consciousness, her worries swam on, frantically flailing about, yelling and screeching as she failed to drown them in red wine. No, she’d never presented an image convincing enough. And now, Elizabeth’s present lack of concern (she was chomping her toast in hearty mouthfuls, laughing and chewing as she talked) May would just have to tolerate. Wasn’t there an age at which she could start looking disdainfully at people? If she could manage it, she’d counter Elizabeth’s airy attitude. May would be her own centre of gravity. She decided to practise now, with her hot drink cupped peacefully in her hands, looking cheerfully complacent.
‘Nyet. Okay, babe. See ya.’ Elizabeth was off the phone at last. It rang as soon as she replaced the receiver. ‘That’ll be for you. Nobody’s been given this number.’ She gave an ‘all-yours’ palm-up gesture towards the phone.
May answered the phone:
‘Bonjour! C’est bien May?’ It was Francine. Phoning May.
‘Oui, bonjour,’ May said. It was the first time Francine had ever called her. ‘How are you?’ She blushed.
Francine was well. And how was May?
‘I’m fine, thank you.’
Elizabeth opened the window as wide as it could go, and leaned out with a cigarette.
‘Excuse me a moment.’ May turned to Elizabeth: ‘Sorry, but it’ll blow in, even with the window open. We’re really a non-smoking flat. It’s in the lease,’ she lied.
Elizabeth shut the window, and dropped the cigarette into a half-full Coke bottle. ‘No problemo.’ She stretched her long, jean-clad legs out in front of her. May noted a book, Corfu, My Dream (looked like the title at a glance), as she took the phone to the bedroom.
‘Sorry. I was just speaking to my sister. I’m going to another room.’ May shut the door. ‘Should I call you back?’
‘Why? I’ve just called you,’ Francine said.
‘Yes,’ May said, and then she said nothing else. She didn’t know what to say.
‘I am calling,’ Francine told her, ‘because I have a proposition to put to you.’
‘Yes.’
Francine laughed. ‘I would like to send you some information about all my work so far and about my forthcoming collection –’
‘Yes. That would be interesting,’ May said.
‘You would have to make several photocopies and send all this with a little note – that you can compose yourself – to ten
or so faculties across England, explaining –’
‘French language faculties, you mean?’
‘Or Women’s Studies or Gender Studies – both; I’ll leave that up to you.’
‘And, in the note, what should I include?’
‘I’m sure you can work it out.’
‘So, I’d say perhaps –’
‘First write it, and then, if you want, you can read it to me before you send them off. You’re simply introducing me, and providing them with an English contact.’
‘So I’d write it in English?’
‘Naturally. You can translate for me what you’ve written. Listen, if you don’t want to do this; I wouldn’t have thought it that complicated however…’
‘No, there’s no problem… I’m just not feeling very well. I’ve got a bit of a cold.’ May had left her tea in the other room.
‘I believe it would be a good experience for you; it will extend you,’ Francine went on.
‘Yes.’ May nodded.
‘You can also put them up around your own university.’
‘Yes, I could do that.’ (Perhaps she could take them to Birkbeck.)
‘And in return for this, I shall help you with your dissertation. Is it a deal?’
‘Yes, that would be fine. Thank you.’ It all sounded impossible.
‘You will have to finish a section in rough draft though, before Easter – that will give you a goal to aim towards – and then we’ll be able to look at the structure together.’
‘Even if I just brought the outline, like I was going to, that could be useful.’
‘As you like.’
The front door slammed shut. Eight forty: Jansen was home early; she opened the bedroom door, saw May was on the phone, mouthed ‘Hi’, and shut the door again to give her privacy.
‘Oh, I’d better go now,’ May told Francine. ‘Jansen’s just got in.’
‘I’ll send you the flyers,’ Francine said.
‘Yes. Okay.’
‘And you will bring me your dissertation next time you visit. We can spend an entire evening on it, perhaps two. How does that sound?’