Selfish People

by Lucy English

  ‘And where were you? There was a do round at Bill’s last night, we thought you’d turn up.’

  ‘I wanted to be quiet,’ said Leah.

  ‘Declan and I are going for a picnic today, is that quiet enough for you?’

  ‘Where?’ said Leah, still not sure.

  ‘God, you’re fussy. Oh, out in the countryside somewhere.’

  ‘I’d love to, I’d love to get out of Bristol.’

  At Rachel’s Oliver was just going off to a friend’s and Declan was just coming back with the picnic.

  ‘I can’t find my shoes,’ said Oliver.

  ‘Wear your sandals,’ said Rachel.

  ‘I can’t find my sandals,’ said Oliver. His friend and the dad were waiting in their car.

  ‘Go in your socks,’ said Rachel. Oliver began to cry, ‘I might step on a pin.’

  Declan was unpacking the shopping: a bottle of gin, a bottle of tonic and a loaf of white sliced bread.

  ‘And what are we going to eat?’ exclaimed Rachel.

  The friend’s dad knocked on the door: ‘Is there a problem?’ Oliver was now wailing in the hall.

  ‘Not at all,’ said Rachel, going completely charming, ‘but he can’t find his shoes.’

  ‘Shoes, who needs shoes? In the jungle we all go barefoot.’

  ‘But I might step on a pin!’

  ‘In the jungle there’s no pins. I’m sure Freddy’s got some boots. I thought you were an explorer?’

  ‘I am,’ sobbed Oliver. The dad led him out to the car, Oliver taking cautious steps as if the whole path were prickly.

  ‘And where are they off to?’ said Leah.

  ‘To make dens in the jungle; don’t ask.’

  ‘And where are we off to?’

  ‘God knows. Look at the map.’ She handed Leah a road atlas.

  ‘I think Freshford’s nice,’ said Leah.

  It was a hairy ride to Freshford. Rachel in a bad mood drove like a fury, but when they got to the other side of Bath she quietened down. They parked the car and walked up the river. The villages of Avoncliff and Freshford looked splendid, smart stone houses reflecting the sun and gardens tumbled with flowers. Along the Avon the countryside burst with green, the river swollen by the recent rain. A dragonfly zipped by.

  They settled themselves on a grassy spot by the water. Rachel spread out some rugs and a red checked tablecloth. On this she put a tin of crackers, an assortment of cheeses, pâté, fruit, yoghurts, two packets of superior crisps, half a fruitcake, a plastic box of coleslaw, the remains of a spinach quiche, salami, a flask of coffee, the gin and tonic, lemons and no white sliced bread.

  ‘There’s nothing for lunch then?’ said Leah.

  ‘Have a gin and shut up.’ Declan poured. Rachel had also brought her best glasses; they were elegantly shaped with long stems. She cut the lemons. ‘No ice, I’m sorry.’

  They ate their way through the picnic. A church clock struck one. ‘We’ve got hours,’ said Rachel. ‘I don’t have to pick Oliver up until seven.’ They swigged the gin. Rachel got out her knitting: a summer top with a lacy pattern. Declan put on Rachel’s hat. Leah lay on the grass and did the crossword.

  By three o’clock they were half asleep and completely drunk. They lay on the tablecloth in the remains of the food.

  ‘I’m so hot,’ said Rachel, ‘I’m melting, I can’t move.’

  ‘It’s wonderful,’ said Leah, now in her bra and knickers.

  ‘Declan, put some cream on or you’ll go lobster,’ said Rachel. He was asleep.

  ‘Declan, Declan!’

  ‘Oh, is it ménage à trois?’

  ‘Is what?’

  ‘The clue, the crossword … 22 down … across …’

  ‘Go back to sleep.’ Rachel sat up. ‘I’m so hot I think I’m going to die.’

  Leah sat up too. ‘We could go for a swim.’

  ‘In that!’

  ‘It looks so cool, don’t you think so?’ and they both looked at the river flowing slowly. Rachel didn’t like swimming. ‘I haven’t got my cossie,’ she said.

  ‘We could strip off, we could, nobody’s here.’ And they both looked at Declan, red nosed in the sun. ‘I’ll cover him up.’ Rachel put a newspaper over his face. Leah stripped off and strode to the water’s edge, Rachel was more hesitant, she kept her underpants on. ‘Something might nibble me.’

  ‘You might step on a pin. Now I know where he gets it from.’

  She stepped into the water. Her feet sank into oozy mud and she waded out with difficulty; she turned round to see Rachel still hesitant on the riverbank.

  ‘It’s cool, oh do come in.’

  Rachel was as pale as a fish and her dark hair made her seem paler. She was wearing pink and white spotty pants. They made an odd pair of water nymphs.

  ‘My God!’ screamed Rachel. ‘It’s disgusting!’

  ‘Just keep going, it’s fine out here.’

  ‘It’s slimy, it’s going up my legs.’

  ‘Come out here, start swimming.’

  ‘I can’t, I hate it, it’s horrible!’ She was up to her waist; she began to shriek and splash, she was laughing too. She was making such a racket Declan woke with a start.

  ‘What’s happening, what’s happening?’ He jumped up and trod in the last of the fruitcake. ‘Rachel’s in the water, help, help!’ He rushed to the bank in a panic: ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘No, I hate it,’ screeched Rachel.

  ‘Start swimming,’ shouted Leah from the river and Rachel did with an almighty splash, leaving a bewildered Declan running up and down the edge.

  ‘For God’s sake shut up, Declan, I’m having a swim.’

  ‘Come and join us,’ said Leah.

  He undressed. He, too, was pale like Rachel: with all his clothes off he looked more like a schoolboy than ever. Once in the water he swam up and down, vigorously. Leah left them to scold and splash, and swam upstream. Here the water is cold, but patches of warm float near the surface. Trees touch the water, make ripples; dragonflies skim in flashes. Everything’s still.

  Declan was now hauling Rachel out of the river on to the grass. Leah scrambled out too. They crawled on to the rugs, wet, muddy and dripping.

  ‘I didn’t bring any towels.’ Rachel shook her hair like a dog.

  ‘We could run around,’ said Leah. ‘We’ll soon dry off in this sun.’

  Off went Declan, his boxers flapping like a wet flag. They ran in circles, getting hot and giggly. Leah’s hair dripped down her back. Rachel had mud right up her legs and Declan’s boxers were nearly falling off. There was a whistle from up the line: the train to Bath. The driver tooted again and the three of them waved as if it were a perfectly normal thing they were doing.

  ‘I’m getting hungry,’ said Leah.

  ‘I trod on the cake,’ said Declan.

  There were still some biscuits and cheese and the last of the gin. The fruitcake was edible and they hadn’t touched the coffee yet.

  It was nearly five o’clock. Perhaps the coffee had pepped them up, or just the feeling that soon they would have to go. They began to talk excitedly.

  ‘… of course Carol won’t stand for it,’ said Rachel. Bill was planning a bike ride on her birthday.

  ‘Who’s going anyway?’ said Declan. ‘I’m not, and Ange won’t.’

  ‘Pete and Pete, I suppose. Jen said she might.’

  ‘Sure, she won’t now,’ said Declan.

  ‘And why’s that?’ said Leah.

  ‘Because Bailey’s dumped her.’

  At Rachel’s the car was unpacked. Declan opened a can of beer and turned on the telly. The phone rang. It was getting late, Rachel had to pick up Oliver.

  ‘I’ll go now,’ said Leah. Rachel was flapping in the kitchen; she looked like she might murder Declan any moment. ‘It was a lovely day,’ said Leah.

  ‘It was,’ said Rachel, stopping for a second; then the phone rang again. ‘Declan, answer that, you bum!’

  Leah left. She knew where
she was going. She brushed off as much of the mud as she could and tried to straighten her hair, but by the time she was outside Bailey’s door she was still sweaty and dishevelled. She knocked once, there was no answer. The front room window was open: she knocked again.

  Bailey opened the door with a ‘Yeah, what?’

  ‘I’ve just been to the river with Rachel and Declan, we were swimming, it was that hot, and we just got back …’

  ‘I suppose you want some tea then?’ And he let her in.

  He was wearing pink baggy shorts and sunglasses around his neck on a lime green cord. He sat down and flicked on the telly. For at least twenty minutes they watched a black and white war film about a torpedoed boat. Leah sipped her tea. Bailey suddenly turned the telly off. ‘Well that’s all crap. So, you was swimming?’

  ‘Yes, in Freshford, in the river. Rachel went in and she screamed the place down because of the mud, Declan thought she was drowning, we drank heaps of gin, and had a picnic, it was brilliant, and what have you been up to?’

  ‘Nuffin,’ said Bailey.

  ‘At all, on such a glorious day?’

  ‘I’ve been in the garden.’ And he looked like he had, he was pink and flushed, almost as flushed as Leah sitting on his sofa.

  ‘I love the sun, I go brown in the end; and you, do you burn? You have got red hair.’ A breeze blew through the open window and flapped the curtains. Bailey didn’t reply, as if her questions were too inane to answer. He began to roll a joint. Leah watched him.

  You are not indifferent. Your hands do not tremble but it’s taking you longer than usual.

  Finally, he shook the thing like a thermometer and lit it. He crossed his legs and looked at Leah: it was a critical look and she hated it. He smoked half the joint rapidly and handed the rest to Leah. For a second, their fingers touched.

  ‘So you like it hot?’

  ‘Oh yes, the hotter the better.’ And she laughed because the dope was already making her feel light-headed. ‘You should have seen Rachel, she made such a fuss –’ and she waved her hands about as Rachel had done – ‘and Declan woke up and shouted, ‘‘Help, help, she’s in the water!’’ and a train went by and everybody stared.’

  ‘Declan’s a plonker.’ Bailey smiled, and all of a sudden it was as if a blind had been rolled up and the sun was pouring in.

  By the third joint everything was funny. There was a quiet moment and the curtains flapped again.

  ‘They’re like sails,’ she said and turned to Bailey, but he was looking at his watch: the mood had changed. ‘Well, I’ve got to make me dinner soon.’ He picked up the cups.

  You want me to go, but I don’t want to and I haven’t said anything about Jen. She stood up unsteadily. ‘Thanks for the tea.’

  ‘No probs,’ said Bailey.

  She was standing next to him. She put her hand on his shoulder: ‘I had this dream, I was here, and it felt real, it felt like I was here.’

  Bailey’s shoulder was warm; he looked at her oddly. ‘Did you?’ he said.

  ‘I’ve been wanting to see you for ages, since you were in my garden, but it’s like I haven’t been able to find you, but I heard about Jen today and I realised you’ve been caught up in that.’

  ‘What you going on about?’

  ‘Me and you. It was happening, but it was wrong about Jen, you had to let her go, I can see that now, because it means –’ and she knelt down, she was touching his leg, she was stroking his leg – ‘you see there are no barriers now,’ and she felt quite dizzy with it all, even though Bailey wasn’t responding.

  ‘Look, you and me is quits, and me and Jen is quits. I don’t want no girlfriends, I’ve got me sports.’

  ‘How can you believe that?’ She was still completely calm.

  Bailey raised his arms as if he were backing away from her; a trickle of sweat ran from his armpit and down his chest. She stopped it with her finger and rubbed it into his skin.

  ‘Don’t,’ said Bailey, but it wasn’t a strong don’t. She continued, still staring into his eyes.

  ‘Leave me alone,’ said Bailey softly.

  ‘I can’t,’ said Leah, lost in the wonder of it and the feeling of control, ‘and besides you want me to.’ Bailey lowered his arms. It was an admission of defeat and she knew it, but in that admission was a growing awareness of what she was doing to him.

  You were quiet but not passive and I got what I wanted. To be blotted out, to be slammed away until there is nothing left of me in this dreary world. You pushed me to a further place, it feels you are the only person who can do that.

  She lay there watching the mobiles spin on the ceiling. It was just beginning to get dark. Bailey next to her was silent. He had turned away and curled on his side, not asleep; he didn’t look happy.

  I do not feel guilty. After all, you get what you want. I want to stay, wake up the next morning, talk and laugh; you’re not in the mood for that. Nothing is still clear between us.

  ‘I’m going to go,’ she said. He didn’t respond but seemed to curl inwards into himself. ‘Oh phone me,’ she said and left him there.

  On Wednesday she was coming back from town. She put the key in the door and there was Bailey, next to her, lime green and fuming.

  ‘I want to talk to you.’

  ‘Well, come in.’

  ‘Not here. At my place at six.’ And he stormed off with his sportsbag.

  At Steep Street Bailey was unshaven, fidgety and angry. He stood in the middle of the room smoking a joint.

  ‘Well, well?’

  ‘Well, what? What’s the problem?’ ‘How dare you? You’re the limit you are, the fucking limit.’

  ‘What have I done?’ She still didn’t know.

  ‘I don’t believe you. You come round here, stride in, then you make me … you force me …’

  ‘Oh that –’ and she laughed. ‘Bailey, I was just a bit drunk.’

  ‘You don’t understand. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I keep thinking, how could she, how fucking could she?’

  ‘Bailey, you are a dunce. Has nobody ever fucked you when you didn’t quite want it?’ The moment she said it she realised. Bailey sat down. There was a silence in the room as thick and slimy as river mud.

  ‘You know,’ said Bailey. ‘I told you and you still did that.’

  ‘I didn’t connect it.’ She felt appalling now. ‘I didn’t think.’

  ‘It felt like this with me dad. I can’t say I don’t want to, I can’t say it, don’t you understand, don’t you know nothing?’

  ‘I am so sorry.’ She moved towards him.

  ‘Get away!’ screamed Bailey. ‘Don’t you come near me, don’t you ever come near me. I don’t want you to touch me, you are evil, you are a witch. I didn’t want to see you but I thought, I have to tell her to keep away. Do you get that? Keep away from me. Do you get that now?’

  Leah stared at Bailey. I feel sick and polluted. I didn’t see it like that, how bad you would make it. Dozens of times you used me and felt no shame.

  His distress was evident: he was pale and shaking, she couldn’t ignore it, but there was something else she was grappling with.

  ‘Then you must keep away from me.’

  ‘Don’t you turn it,’ shouted Bailey. ‘You twist and turn things. It’s you. You pull me in, you start saying things, and don’t you fucking stare at me like that!’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like you’re doing, all wide eyed, you pull me in. I don’t want you. I don’t need you. Get out.’

  ‘Can’t we sort this out?’

  ‘I’ll sort you out! Now get out. Fuck off!’ He stood up and grabbed her arm; he pulled her towards the door, he was quite hysterical now. ‘Don’t talk to me, don’t come near me, don’t look at me.’

  ‘Or what?’ said Leah. Bailey’s answer was to open the door and push her out. She stumbled into the street and the door slammed. She stood there in Steep Street churned up and furious.

  Something has been ripped off me and thrown
over a wall and what I want to do is scramble over there in the filth and grab it back.

  She stayed there for some time staring at the house. Bailey drew the downstairs curtains and then the upstairs curtains. The whole house was closed off and shut to her and so was he.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Trains into the night, like thoughts between people. This thought going nowhere, up a siding, I have done the wrong thing again. Phone calls won’t make a difference, letters won’t make a difference, I want a thought rumbling past, shine lights in your room, shake you, like this house, Clive’s house shaking now. I did not mean to, I did not mean to … remind you of your hurt hidden. Is desire that bad you have to push me out? I wanted to feel, I want to feel. Your body does that to me, is feeling for you so terrible? You are arrogant, you want to shut out feelings … You are vulnerable, you cannot.

  Leah, in bed at Clive’s. A hot night, heavy like a goods train, she could hear each carriage. Leah stuck with sweat, sleepless.

  You said, witch, evil. Desire feels dark, hidden crimson. I do pull you in, dark velvet, I think of you and I start to tug. You, you, my life I wanted, my own life. I will see you but not for you to shout at me, get out. My own life must not be shouting. Al was all shouting. In this dark, I do not know how small I am, I do not know how big I am, I cannot find myself in either.

  Near the morning the sun rose behind the trees in the park. A shell on a beach, the sun touches it. Fine pearly inside skin. Has lost its host, once stuck to rocks, now on the sand, white sand, lost the sucking pink crimson, am now pearly white.

  It was Monday, she had a week of work and Clive. I want my children, thought Leah, smudgy faces and noses to wipe. I can cook, I can clean, I want to fold shirts, read stories, see three faces all listening, even Jo who was pretending not to, but now, the wolf at the third pig’s door. I’ll huff and I’ll puff. It’s the house of bricks, they know he can’t blow it down, but he might, this time he might. I’ll huff and I’ll puff. They are all listening. I’ll blow this house down. Will he? Of course he doesn’t, they are relieved. My children, who fill me with stories, can come into my shell, not crimson dark, but rose pink, rosy pink, sun on blond eyelashes, sun cheeks, smells sweet, like Ribena, ice-cream, marshmallow. She was asleep.