by Mia Farlane
‘Hey, let’s do it!’ Elizabeth said.
‘Sounds good,’ Jansen agreed. ‘Sounds fun.’
‘That would mean a late night, though, wouldn’t it?’
‘Oh, don’t be boring, May!’ Elizabeth turned to Jansen. ‘She’s being boring again, isn’t she? All work and no play make Jill a dull girl.’
‘I’ve got school the next morning; I really don’t want a late night.’
‘We could be back by nine thirty, or ten at the latest – definitely,’ Jansen reassured her.
‘And then we have to get ready for bed.’
‘You could go straight to bed, May, if you wanted to,’ Jansen said.
‘We never go straight to bed. It always takes us ages.’
‘We’ll send you straight to bed,’ Elizabeth promised, ‘as soon as we get in.’
‘I am now looking forward to a whole week of exhaustion,’ May told Jansen. ‘You want her to leave and then you say “Hey yeah, let’s all go to Brighton”: isn’t that a double message?’
‘No, I think it would be enjoyable to go to Brighton. And it might be a good distraction for you, too. I thought.’
‘What from?’
Jansen ignored the question as she pulled off her jumper. ‘Didn’t you say you wanted to go to Brighton last weekend?’
‘With you! Obviously.’
‘Okay, well I guess you’ll have a horrible time then.’
‘I feel as if I’ve just been bullied into a fun day at the beach. I knew I had to say yes; I had no choice, did I? I have to pay now for having dropped her sculpture; that’s what this is.’ May climbed into bed. ‘It’s fine for Elizabeth; she doesn’t have to get up in the morning, does she? I can’t just decide to have a nap in the middle of the day. “Sorry, spelling is cancelled, while I go to sleep.”’
Jansen nodded. ‘I’m going to the loo.’ She picked up the newspaper on the chest of drawers.
May waited for her to get back and shut the bedroom door, and then she said, ‘Did you ask her about moving out?’ She had to whisper this, because now Elizabeth was in the kitchen, making herself another hot drink.
‘What?’ Jansen unbuttoned her jeans and pulled them off.
May repeated herself.
‘May, I can’t hear you.’
‘Did – you – ask – her – about – moving – out?’ May silently mouthed out the question.
Jansen looked puzzled. ‘I can’t lip-read, May. You’ll have to speak up.’
May ripped a piece of paper out of her diary, scrawled on it and passed it to Jansen, who took the pen from her and wrote: ‘no’; ‘why not?’ May scribbled out. Jansen shrugged, and opened the bottom drawer to get out a fresh pair of pyjamas.
‘Well, you could have.’ May decided to risk talking – softly. ‘You could have talked to her about it in the car, on your way to the pottery place. Or at the Market.’
‘And I didn’t.’
‘Because you want me to do it?’
‘Yes. I want you to do it. Correct.’
‘Why? So that I can be the nasty one? I’m already the nasty one. Why can’t you do it?’
‘If you want her to move out, you’re going to have to say something. She’s your sister.’
‘You could say something. You want her to move out, too.’
‘May, it’s perfectly reasonable. This is a very small flat. She’ll understand.’
‘Why hasn’t she moved out already then – if she’s so understanding? Why didn’t she only stay a couple of weeks or something? I don’t get it! Can’t she see this place is too small for three people?’
‘Obviously not.’
‘It’s so obvious!’
‘If you want her to know how you’re feeling, you’re going to have to let her know.’
‘You could do it. Why don’t you do it?’
‘And I would like you to tell her this week, because it’s been too long.’
‘Have I got an ultimatum? Is that another threat? My “second warning” or something?’
Jansen was in her pyjamas now. She climbed into bed.
‘I’ve got other things to think about right now. And to worry about,’ May said. ‘I can’t deal with several things at once.’
‘What “several things” are we talking about?’
Jansen drove down the Parade, and eventually found a car park in Regency Square. They walked back along the beach – the sky was brighter on the coast, sandstone-blue – towards the pier; it put them all in a cheerful holiday mood: May and Jansen hand-in-hand, crunching over the pebbles, Jansen carrying their lunch, and Elizabeth dancing around them, back and forth.
They went back up onto the promenade, found an empty bench and stared out at the murky-green sea, dark blue on the horizon. Then they ate their Brie and lettuce sandwiches, taking swigs from the half-empty bottle of organic apple juice, and ending with fudge. May felt sick now – and guilty: lazy. Elizabeth, though, who still had energy, wanted to visit ‘the Lanes’.
So they went towards the shops to walk off all the food, and to T.K.Maxx: summer was on its way, according to Elizabeth, and if you didn’t mind looking you could find some great stuff in there. Elizabeth tried on gaudy dresses à la Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, because you never knew if you didn’t try things on and she was looking for a bit of colour: did Jansen like this? (An army-type shirt from the men’s section.) Or this? (A glittering evening jacket.) May? (A short tailored jacket.) And what about this? (Pencil-lined trousers.) With this? (A light cotton blouse.) Elizabeth bought a flattering green woollen shrug in the end (for cool summer evenings), at half-price, and May and Jansen bought nothing.
A teashop break at Tallulah’s: they had scones and jam and clotted cream; May had a nutty-flavoured Colombian coffee, and Jansen and Elizabeth shared a pot of Earl Grey.
Then they wandered down the North Laines – handmade jewellery, posters and toys – May started to feel frantic with the purposelessness of the day – one-pound books and seventies-style tops and dresses – it was terrible how she was wasting her time. They wandered and wandered and wandered. Jansen went in and out of shops, patiently browsing – cards and knick-knacks and bright green kitchenware – and Elizabeth stocked up on felt-pens and glitter, and chatted at stalls with the creators of studded belts, sequinned purses and elaborate earrings.
Finally, they made their way to the Regency Restaurant, because Jansen knew May loved seafood and Elizabeth had never been there, and it was near to where the car was parked. They got a window table that looked out towards the sea, into the evening sky. Jansen ordered a large bottle of sparkling mineral water and a seafood platter for the three of them.
May smiled at Jansen: this was so lovely; in fact, it was magical. ‘It’s good to relax now and then,’ May said. ‘I think it’s good for you. For your system.’
‘And fish is good for the brain,’ Elizabeth added; she was wearing her elegant new shrug.
‘What’s going on?’ Jansen wondered aloud. They were in a traffic jam on the M23.
‘There must’ve been an accident,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Shit.’
May sighed. ‘What time do you think we’ll get back now?’ She looked at her watch. ‘It’s already nine-fucking-twenty. Fantastic. Wonderful. I’m so glad I came.’ She couldn’t be pleasant all day.
Jansen turned off the engine for a while. ‘It’s pretty bad,’ she said.
‘God! I knew it!’ May slumped back into her seat. ‘I’ve got school tomorrow, and I’d like not to be tired for the whole week, if that’s possible. I wish I hadn’t come. Damn it!’
Elizabeth yawned out a cheerful arpeggio. ‘I might stretch my legs,’ she told Jansen, who nodded and went, ‘Yeah, okay.’ Elizabeth unbuckled her seatbelt, and got out of the car.
‘“Yeah, okay”?’ May turned to Jansen. ‘It’s dark outside, and she’s walking down the motorway – in the dark. That’s not “okay”; it’s dangerous. And stupid. What if the traffic suddenly clears?’ Elizabeth was walking o
n the verge, alongside the car. May wound down the window. ‘Will you get back in, please?’
‘Yeah, when it starts to clear I’ll get straight back in. Of course. I’m not too keen on walking all the way home.’
May wound up the window again. She shook her head.
‘Time for a mint, I think.’ Jansen opened the glove compartment, got a mint out of the tin and popped it into her mouth. ‘I really liked that tearoom,’ she said. ‘What did you think of it?’
May got herself a mint. ‘Are you trying to change the subject?’
Silence.
‘It was okay. It was good. I liked the scones.’ May sucked on her mint.
The car in front of them went forward a bit; then its brake lights went on, and it stopped.
Again Jansen moved the car forward slightly.
The car in front went forward another half-metre or so, its brake lights went on…
May glanced over at Elizabeth, who waved and smiled as she continued strolling – she looked as if she were on a treadmill – alongside the car.
‘I wish she’d get back in the car,’ May said. ‘It makes my stomach clench up.’ She wound down the window again. ‘Would you please get back in the car?’
Elizabeth opened the car door, and jumped in. ‘That was fun,’ she said.
‘It was dangerous,’ May corrected her.
‘There’s a jam on the other side, too, isn’t there?’ Elizabeth said to Jansen.
The car in front edged forward, stopped.
They edged forward, stopped.
The car in front edged forward, stopped.
They edged forward, stopped.
The car in front edged forward, stopped.
They edged forward, stopped.
Then Jansen suggested they play ‘twenty questions’.
Five musicians, two actors, three writers, four feminists, two cartoon characters and the Pope later, the road narrowed from two lanes to one, and they passed a tow-truck loading on a crumpled Ford Fiesta, and, behind it, a police car with flashing blue lights.
33
The Explosion
‘Third, second or first choice. Yeah, well, they… I’m an idiot because I put Goldsmiths as my first choice because it’s supposed to be excellent, but really I prefer Saint Martin’s… yeah, but you don’t get your second choice unless your first choice rejects you… True… yeah, true… (Hiya!)’ Elizabeth mouthed at May, who had just got back from work, and discovered the shattered oyster sculpture on the sitting-room table. ‘No, yeah probably not… What about you? Yeah… Yeah… Yeah…’ Laughter. ‘No way!’
May went to the bedroom. On the pillow, next to a bar of Divine chocolate, was a note:
Hi, darling. Hope you got through your day okay. Give me a call. Jansen xx
May sat on the bed, eating the chocolate – without a hot drink, which was a stupid thing to do – and waited for Elizabeth to get off the phone. In the end, though, she had to go back to the sitting room, and say something. She said, ‘Could I use the phone? I’d like to use the phone.’ She wanted to call Jansen and thank her for the chocolate and the note.
Elizabeth held up her left hand, her fingers spread out like a starfish. ‘Five minutes,’ she mouthed. ‘She’s back, yeah. Hmm, yeah.’ Elizabeth laughed. ‘Yeah… yep… ah-hah.’
May went back to the bedroom.
‘Yeah…’ Elizabeth continued. ‘You are not! You’re not, Mark. No… No, you’re not. Yeah… yeah, well yeah! You are that – definitely, yeah. Hmm… Thanks, Mark, yeah, thanks. You’re a babe! Hmm… hmm, yeah. Cool.’ There was a silence, and then, ‘I’m off the phone!’
May returned to the sitting room.
Elizabeth was standing at the table, fingering the pieces of her shattered sculpture. ‘I brought her back by taxi this afternoon. Tragic, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘D’you want to attend the funeral?’ She carried the breadboard to the kitchen, and May followed her – not in order to attend the funeral; she wanted to make herself a drink. ‘DA. DA. Da-DA!’ Elizabeth hummed the first few notes of Beethoven’s Funeral March. ‘Clay to clay,’ she said as she tipped the debris into the bin. ‘Et cetera!’ The service was over. Elizabeth ran hot water over the breadboard, scrubbing it briefly – and inadequately – with a cloth. ‘That was nice and quick, wasn’t it?’ She put the board onto the draining rack. ‘News flash!’ she then announced. ‘I have just put in a late application to do a Fine Arts degree. And if I don’t get in, I’m gonna do an intensive foundation course somewhere, and then try again the following year. It’s all happening.’
‘Good. It’s good you’re getting on with it.’ May filled up the kettle, and clicked it on. She still felt guilty for dropping the vulva.
‘What about you?’ Elizabeth went cross-eyed.
‘Tea?’ May ignored her.
‘No, I’ll try this stuff.’ Elizabeth got the organic, Fair Trade decaffeinated out of the cupboard, and sat it on the bench. ‘And what about you? How’s the PhD going? Jansen told me you weren’t really doing it…’
‘Well, actually, I am – “really”. I’m just not enrolled, is what she meant.’ May got out two cups.
‘Yeah, she said you weren’t enrolled.’
‘I’m doing the background reading at the moment,’ May chose a camomile teabag, and put it into her cup, ‘which means that once I do enrol, it’ll take me less time to complete it.’
‘Are you ever going to enrol?’ Elizabeth tipped an estimation of a spoonful of coffee into her cup.
‘Next year, yes,’ May lied. This was what she hated about Elizabeth, and why she didn’t want her around: she was so perceptive sometimes, she was almost psychic.
‘And what does the French woman you’re besotted with think about that?’
‘A French woman I’m “besotted with”?’ May put on a puzzled look.
‘Yeah, well, whoever it was you were blushing at on the phone that time – the one you keep visiting in Paris…’
‘Oh, that’s just someone who’s been helping me a bit with my research – I hardly know her!’ It was like living with a spy. ‘Why would she think anything about when I enrol? Anyway, I make my own decisions.’
Elizabeth shrugged knowingly.
‘What does’ – May shrugged – ‘mean?’
‘As long as you’re doing it because you want to do it; not ’cos you wanna please some woman who you’ve decided is better than you, that’s all.’
‘I’m not a child,’ May said.
The water came to the boil, and May poured it into the cups. ‘I’m going to take my tea, and go and make my call now,’ she said. She got the telephone from the sitting room, took it to the bedroom and shut the door.
‘Hi, May!’ Jansen was in a cheerful mood.
‘Why did you tell Elizabeth about Francine?’
‘I didn’t.’
‘You didn’t? Well, how come she seems to know all about her?’
‘I haven’t mentioned anything to her about Francine,’ Jansen said.
‘You have told her about “a French woman” though, that I’ve been visiting in Paris and who I’m apparently “besotted” with?’
‘May, Elizabeth has been living with us. She’ll have worked that out by herself.’
‘How?’
‘She’s not stupid.’
‘So you didn’t tell her?’
‘No.’
May nodded.
‘Is that all you rang me about?’ Jansen said.
‘But you did tell her,’ May continued, ‘that I wasn’t really doing the PhD. Why did you have to say that? I am doing the PhD, as you know; I just haven’t enrolled yet.’
‘Yes, that’s what I told her: I said you hadn’t actually enrolled. Why do you have to be so secretive?’
‘I haven’t been secretive; it just didn’t come up.’
‘Oh. Well it came up when we were talking,’ Jansen said. ‘And, as the subject came up, I told her the truth. I’m not going to lie.’
‘Than
k you so much for telling her that I am not doing a PhD – not that I ever wanted her to know that I was doing a PhD, even though I am doing one.’ She was supposed to be thanking Jansen for the chocolate; instead she was on the phone being horrible again.
‘Until you have enrolled on a PhD, May, you are not doing a PhD,’ Jansen said. ‘And I don’t think you should be pretending – to yourself, or to anyone else – that you are doing one.’
‘I am not pretending to be doing a PhD,’ May corrected her. ‘In fact, I’ve told Francine that I’ve deferred, as you know, even though I have been working on the PhD and I am still working on it.’
‘Have you been doing a PhD, or not?’ Jansen asked.
‘I have been constantly working on it, as you know – worrying about it – and I’ve been doing background research.’
‘Are you enrolled on a PhD, or not?’ Jansen asked again.
‘Am I in court?’
‘I think you’re in denial, May.’
‘I’m “in denial”? I think you’re in denial.’
Jansen laughed. ‘Would you like to know why I told Elizabeth about the PhD?’
‘No, I wouldn’t.’
‘No, of course you wouldn’t. I told Elizabeth you weren’t doing the PhD –’
‘I am doing the PhD.’
‘Okay, fine – I told her about your PhD “quandary” because I felt she needed to know that your behaviour, destroying her art-work, for example, wasn’t all about her.’
‘Oh? Because it’s about me – I’m the failure?’
‘I wasn’t saying you were a failure, May. That’s not what I –’
‘What were you saying then?’
‘I thought she needed to know it wasn’t all about her, and –’
‘You thought she needed to know –’
‘And, and – before you interrupt,’ Jansen said.
‘You interrupted me!’
‘Just listen, May! Listen!’
May hung up.
‘For your information,’ May spoke angrily at the telephone. ‘Last week – if you want to know – I saw a post advertised in the Times Higher Education Supplement: research fellow, six hours teaching, eighteenth- or nineteenth-century literature.’