by Mia Farlane
‘It is about me though. I’m the one who’s in the hot seat right now. I’m the one who’s being told off.’ May was feeling shaky.
‘Oh God, would you grow up! “I’m in the hot seat” – where did you get that expression from? I am trying to talk to you!’
‘All right. I’m not deaf – she sounds amazing,’ May conceded.
‘Anyway,’ Jansen calmed down slightly, ‘Tamsin and I came to the conclusion – years ago – that it would never work between us; we’re like two North Poles. It just wouldn’t work, and we knew it.’
‘Until just recently, until a few weeks ago when you thought you’d try again.’
‘It went nowhere, May; that’s what I am trying to tell you. She was just slightly upset about how the interview had gone, so I took her back to her hotel, and then I went in with her briefly, because she was still upset –’
‘Oh, poor Tamsin! Still upset.’
‘And that was when she told me she liked me – please don’t interrupt – and she told me she knew I still liked her, and eventually I told her I loved you –’
‘“Eventually”,’ May said.
‘(Yes), and I told her I couldn’t stay –’
‘You couldn’t stay with me?’
‘With her!’
‘Thank you: I’m dumb. Thanks.’ May was crying now. ‘I’m stupid.’
‘You’re not dumb,’ Jansen told her. ‘And you’re not stupid. And I would even love you, even if you weren’t an intellectual.’
‘Very funny. You think you’re clever.’
‘I know I’m clever,’ Jansen said.
37
Something
It hurt to swallow.
‘I am not going to school today,’ May told Jansen the next morning. ‘I’m getting another cold. Of course. I’ve got a cold.’
‘How are you feeling?’ Jansen asked her.
‘Like I’ve got a cold.’ May sat up in bed. ‘Unless it’s going to be the flu this time,’ she said. ‘My throat hurts.’ She held her hand to her throat. ‘It feels all inflamed; it feels like sandpaper.’ She swallowed painfully. ‘It hurts to swallow,’ she said, and she swallowed again.
‘Poor you. Well, don’t swallow then.’
‘Don’t swallow? How – can – I – not – swallow?’ All this she said thickly, in almost a whisper because of her throat. ‘Anyway, I am not going to school. I refuse,’ she said. ‘Because I am not well.’ She got out of bed, found the school’s number in the telephone book, left a hoarse message on the school’s answering machine, and climbed back into bed.
‘I’m sorry you’re not feeling well,’ Jansen said. ‘Do you want a hot drink? I can make you one before I go. I can get you some Lemsip after work on the way home.’
‘Maxi strength – thank you,’ May said. ‘And some cough mixture? Could you not go out and get some before you go to work?’
‘All right.’ Jansen got up. ‘I’ll probably have it myself in a few days,’ she said, and she went off to have a shower.
On Tuesday, May rang the school again, to say she had the flu (which was what it was – or what it would become, if she went to work), and the morning after that, Jansen had it as well. ‘I think I’ve got it, too,’ she announced – ‘Whatever you’ve got.’ And she rang in sick.
They spent the rest of the week in bed together, sucking echinacea lozenges and zinc tablets, swallowing time-release 1000 milligram vitamin C pills, sharing Benylin cough mixture, blowing their noses, filling up plastic bag after plastic bag (one on each side of the bed) with tissues and – once they’d run out of that – with loo paper.
Elizabeth, discovering they had bad colds, decided to stay away a bit longer; she was okay at Mark and Kate’s, she said, for the time being; she could sleep on the sofa in their sitting room.
On Friday, Elizabeth returned with gifts: lemons and grapes, and a box of aloe vera tissues each; she made them lemon and honey and garlic drinks, and shared her handy tips for breathing. ‘What I’ve discovered,’ she said, standing in the doorway of their room, ‘is that if you lie on one side, the nostril closest to the bed will block, and if you turn to the other side, the other one will block; one of them’s gonna block, whatever side you’re on. The best thing,’ she concluded, ‘is to lie on your back. But you may just have to sit up. Failing that, you could try breathing through your mouth.’
Jansen laughed, and then she coughed and coughed and blew her nose; Elizabeth laughed, too, and then she smiled, like a nurse on duty, before shutting them in with their germs.
Cigarette smoke; it was seeping under the door. May picked up the clock: it was half past two in the morning. Elizabeth was up smoking a cigarette – at half past two: unbelievable. May would have to get up and ask her to put it out, but she was too tired to move.
‘Can you smell that?’ she whispered.
No reply.
‘Are you asleep?’
Jansen said nothing.
May would have to get up. She would have to get up now anyway. Because now that she was awake, of course, she couldn’t breathe. She would have to get up and make herself a Lemsip; she wanted to be able to breathe, she wanted to be able to go back to sleep, and her nose was completely blocked – the skin just under it was all crusty and peeling – and her throat was dry. She got out of bed.
The light was on in the sitting room: Elizabeth was up – half-finished cigarette in mouth – sculpting something on the new breadboard. When she saw May she stubbed out the cigarette on the bread-and-butter plate she was using as an ashtray. ‘Sorry – could you smell that?’ she whispered. ‘Mark’s broken up with Kate,’ she added, pointing over to a lump lying on the mattress.
‘Your smoking woke me up.’
‘Hey, your sense of smell’s not too bad then, is it?’ Elizabeth observed. ‘Don’t worry too much,’ she said. ‘He’s pretty good at sleeping through anything; he can sleep with the light on – amazing!’
‘You’re sculpting something on the new breadboard.’
‘Yep. I don’t know what it’s gonna be yet. “Something” – that’s right.’
May’s stomach tightened. ‘You could ask,’ she said.
Elizabeth looked blank.
‘As in: “May I borrow your new breadboard?” – perhaps.’ All this whispering was hard on her throat.
‘Oh, I thought you meant as in: ask the muses, or whatever,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I wondered what you meant.’
May half closed her eyes; she couldn’t keep them open anyway; the light was too bright, and she was still asleep.
‘So you’re not doing the PhD now?’ Elizabeth stopped working on her sculpture.
‘Not for now, no.’
‘You’re still thinking it over.’
‘Not right this second, no; it’s the middle of the night.’
‘That can be the best time, you know.’
‘I’m going to make myself a Lemsip,’ May said.
‘A coffee for me would be great – thanks.’ Elizabeth returned to her chunk of clay. ‘Hey, have you thought about asking the muses? Perhaps they could help you out.’
‘Have you thought about looking for somewhere else to live?’ May replied.
‘I think you’re both past the contagious stage by now.’ Elizabeth crossed her fingers. ‘But, thanks for your concern,’ she said.
May was still feeling heady; her nose was tickling and dripping; her eyes were watering, and her left ear was blocked. ‘I really, really, really need space,’ she told Elizabeth. ‘I really need to have the house to myself sometimes.’
‘Oh, yeah, I understand that,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I need my space, too, but generally I get tons of space, when you and Jansen are at work, so I s’pose it’s less of an issue for me.’
‘No-o…’ Was Elizabeth being deliberately thick? ‘What I meant was: would you please start looking for another place?’ May said. ‘Jansen and I would like you to start looking for another place; we would like to have the use of the sittin
g room back: is what I am saying. And four is too many people.’
‘Oh, right. Sure. This is a tiny flat,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Got it.’ She went back to her sculpting.
‘So could you start looking for somewhere else?’ May asked.
‘Message received.’ Elizabeth did a thumbs up. ‘Roger! Over and out,’ she added, making a static ‘khirrr’ noise as May went off to make the drinks.
May climbed back into bed. She sat there in the dark, drinking her Lemsip.
Jansen coughed, and coughed; she sat up, leaned forward and hack-coughed some more. Then she clicked on the little light behind her.
‘Do you want me to get you a Lemsip?’ May asked.
‘No, it’s all right. I’ll just have some of this.’ Jansen poured herself a tablespoon of Benylin, drank it, switched out the light again, and lay down.
‘Mark’s here,’ May announced.
Jansen coughed. ‘Hmm.’
‘I’ve asked her to move out,’ May said. ‘And I said four was too many people.’
‘What did she say?’ Jansen asked.
‘Do you want to know? Or do you just feel obliged to ask?’
‘May, I’m not feeling very well,’ Jansen said. ‘What did she say?’
‘Nothing – she made a few stupid jokes. She’ll probably hate me now. Just like you’ve probably never forgiven me for losing the pewter bear.’
Jansen sat up again and had a sip of water. ‘She’s not going to hate you.’
‘She said she’d start asking round.’
‘And as for the pewter bear, I forgave you long ago – you know that,’ Jansen said.
‘I don’t like the idea of him being lost and alone in that garden.’
‘He’s probably having an adventure.’
May drank the dregs of her Lemsip.
38
The Surprise
‘Was that a real surprise?’ May followed Jansen around the flat. They were both completely recovered from their colds now, and had been back at work since Monday. It was Wednesday early evening, and May was back from school. She’d just had a look at the new summer exam paper, in the afternoon, which wasn’t that different from the last one; and so she was feeling more organized – as far as ‘non-life’ was concerned, in any case. Also – as far as real life was concerned – there were only six weeks to go until the end of the school year, mid-term break was two days away, and May had arranged something special, a surprise. ‘Was that a surprise?’ she repeated, following Jansen around the flat. ‘When the post arrived, and there they were just lying on the floor?’ May laughed. ‘You were surprised, weren’t you?’
‘Yes, May, I was. I was surprised.’ Jansen nodded, tolerating the question once more.
May laughed again. ‘Fantastic, isn’t it? How I managed not to tell you about it. I’m really pleased.’ May beamed. ‘I’m so looking forward to it. We’re going to do something exciting! Why don’t people do that more often?’ she wondered. ‘Just – you know – make something happen?’
Jansen nodded again, distractedly. She was rifling through some bits of paper on the sitting-room table.
‘And I promise not to bring any books or anything,’ May said, ‘to work on.’
‘You don’t have to promise me that.’
‘No, I do: I promise. We’ll shake on it.’
‘Okay.’ Jansen shook hands with May, and returned to her searching.
‘Are you looking for something?’ May would help her find it.
‘Elizabeth’s left you a note.’ Jansen looked under the newspaper on the sofa. ‘Where is it?’ she said, and went to the bedroom. ‘That’s weird.’ She flipped through papers and letters on the stool next to her side of the bed. ‘Oh here it is.’ She passed her the note:
Bye-bye, May. See you round. E xx
‘She’s gone?’
‘Yeah, she’s gone to stay at Mark’s.’
‘What do you mean? Is she coming back?’
‘Yes, May. What are you looking like that for?’
‘Well, she didn’t say goodbye.’ May looked at the note again. ‘“See you round”: is she trying to make me feel guilty?’
‘You asked her to move out, and so she has.’
May dropped the note onto the bed. ‘But it somehow doesn’t feel very good. Maybe she hasn’t forgiven me for dropping her sculpture, and now she’s really annoyed with me because I asked her to leave.’ May sighed. ‘I wish you’d asked her.’
‘She’s only gone to Mark’s – his number’s on the other side. Kate’s gone to stay at her sister’s, apparently.’
‘Hm.’ May picked up the note again.
‘Elizabeth said she’d pop by at the weekend – Saturday morning, she said.’
‘Okay.’
‘Thank you for asking her to leave,’ Jansen added. ‘Are you all right?’ She gave May a hug. ‘Booboo!’
‘I try to be a good sister!’ May said. She was also trying hard to be a better person around Jansen.
‘You are a good sister.’
May nodded through her tears. Sometimes she could be.
‘She wants to know if she can stay while we’re on holiday,’ Jansen said. ‘By the way.’
May looked up.
‘Does that make you feel better?’ Jansen asked.
May shrugged.
‘And thank you so much for the tickets. It’s a lovely idea. Are you feeling better?’
‘You’re looking forward to it, aren’t you?’ May said.
‘Let’s find out whether I can get the time off.’ Jansen took her diary with her to the sitting room.
May followed her. ‘You’ll be able to get the time off, won’t you?’
‘I hope so.’ Jansen picked up the receiver, and started dialling.
‘You hope so?’ May sat down on the sofa. ‘Tell them you were given some tickets.’
Jansen waited for someone to answer the phone.
‘Tell them you’ve got leave owing –’
‘Oh, hi, Louie. It’s Jansen. Is Ben in? Thanks. Hi, Ben. How are you? Yeah, well, I know this is pretty last minute, but I was wondering whether I could get the fifth to the tenth off… yeah, and start back on the eleventh…’
‘The eleventh? That’s the day we get back!’
‘I’m up on time, yeah, and I’ve got leave owing…’
‘Say the twelfth, make it the twelfth,’ May hissed urgently.
‘What was that?’ Jansen focused on her call.
May got up and wrote: ‘make it the 12th.’
‘Okay, great.’ Jansen ignored the message. ‘Thanks, Ben. Monday, yeah. Bye.’ She put down the receiver.
‘Did you make it the twelfth?’ May was annoyed.
‘He said I could come back on the fifteenth, if I wanted to. I’ve got lots of time owing, and I’m supposed to use it up.’
‘Yay!’
‘Please don’t interrupt me when I’m on the phone. It’s really annoying.’
‘I was trying to get a message to you!’
‘It’s very annoying, May.’
‘So, are you taking until the fifteenth off?’
‘Yes.’
‘Yay!’
Saturday. The smell of cut grass wafted up to the fifth-floor balcony where May stood just outside the front door in the early morning sun, sipping a large cup of hot milky coffee, while she waited for Elizabeth.
Someone was mowing the housing-estate lawns; May could see him, the mower, in his blue overalls and cap, holding an electric cord in one hand, floating the mower over the grass with the other. Someone was sweeping the concrete in front of the block of flats. May smiled. She was feeling tranquil; in fact, she was feeling almost poetic, because it was the first day of her mid-term break, and she and Jansen were going on holiday in a couple of days.
She looked at her watch: ten fifteen; Elizabeth would be here soon.
Or she wouldn’t. May went back inside.
Elizabeth turned up in the afternoon. Mark was with her. His
hair needed combing; he stood outside the door, in loud unassuming silence.
‘Hi,’ Elizabeth said.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘How are you?’ He smiled.
‘Hello. Fine,’ May replied in her telephone voice.
‘Shall we come in for a bit then?’ Elizabeth turned to Mark.
‘Sure. Is that okay with you?’ Mark asked May.
‘Of course.’
They stepped inside.
‘I’ve got this for you.’ Elizabeth handed May something in a plastic bag as she passed her in the hall. ‘It’s your breadboard – and a couple of other things. You’re not allowed to look at them yet.’
They all went through to the sitting room.
‘Would you like something to drink?’ May offered as she put the plastic bag down next to the sofa. She wished Jansen were there.
‘I’ll make it.’ Elizabeth went off to the kitchen. ‘You want coffee, right?’ she tilted her head back at Mark, and then at May.
Now May had to socialize. She sat at the table.
Mark sat down on the sofa. ‘Sorry we were so late,’ he said.
‘Oh, no that’s fine. I wasn’t going anywhere.’
May would rather have been making the coffee. ‘How long have you and Elizabeth known each other?’ May filled the silence.
‘She came to one of my gigs about a year ago; I was playing up in Cambridge. And the first thing she told me when we got talking in a break was that she was an artist; she was all relaxed about it, and I thought, “That’s cool,” ’cos most people are either really secretive or defensive, aren’t they?’
Elizabeth came in with two cups of coffee. ‘I’m using up the rest of your fruit,’ she told May. ‘I’m making us all a yummy fruit salad.’
Mark took his coffee – ‘Thanks!’ – and put it down on the floor. ‘But now that I know her better’ – he waited until Elizabeth had gone back to the kitchen – ‘I know she’s not the slightest bit relaxed,’ he whispered to May. ‘She’s extremely serious, and I think bloody good. What do you think?’
‘What have you seen of hers?’ May flipped back at him; she ought to know her sister a little better perhaps, take a bit more interest.