The Virus Man

by Claire Rayner

  ‘Someone died,’ Joe said. ‘Like you will soon if you don’t come up with something better’n this.’

  ‘It was a kid, that’s the thing,’ Simon said. ‘That’s why I think it’s a story, because I’ve heard nothing about a kid dying, have you? But they took a kid to the mortuary from Bluegates this morning. And when I tried to find out about it I got sent off with a flea in my ear, by some doctor or other.’

  ‘A child?’

  ‘Small body, you see, on the trolley.’

  ‘Well, it didn’t take me long to work that out, did it? I’m not exactly stupid, even if I don’t go rushing around the streets chasing ambulances. Saw you off, did they?’

  ‘Said I was Press, of course.’ Simon swelled a little even in reporting the incident; he’d only been on the paper six months and still couldn’t quite believe his own status as a reporter. ‘But he said I was trespassing, there was nothing there for me, go and see the hospital secretary, so I did, and he denied all knowledge. So there you are. I think it’s a story. What do you say?’

  ‘I’ll think about it. Now bugger off and write up that mother and frozen chicken story. And keep away from the police station in future.’

  ‘But this story – can’t I keep on it? Let me go back, Mr Lloyd, please! I swear there’s something in it.’

  ‘There might be. But I’ll deal with it myself. Now piss off out of it and get some real work done. I’ve got better things to do than waste bloody time with you.’

  ‘Oh, Mr Lloyd, you can’t take it away from me …’

  ‘Yes, I bloody can, and I bloody will. Now go and get your work done!’ And Simon, furious, went. There was nothing else he could do. But he found some comfort in seeing Joe Lloyd walk out of the office with his hat on less than ten minutes later. If he was following up the story himself, it must be a good one. And he had, after all, been the one to bring it in. Perhaps when Joe Lloyd had got it all written up, he’d remember that and do the honourable thing. After all, he’d been on the paper six months now. It was high time he was promoted.

  4

  Liz and Timmy were in the small garden in front of their flat when she arrived, scooping up the leaves that were swirling down from the plane tree in the adjoining garden; or rather Liz was trying to collect them while Timmy, shrieking with excitement, kicked them all up again, and June stood at the gate watching him and feeling the same degree of excitement lift in her at the sight of his fat round legs in their red Wellington boots flashing in the burnt yellow of the leaves. He was altogether the most satisfying person to look at, in every way, and she felt her throat tighten with the emotion of it.

  It was the same every time she came here, as warming and comforting to get her first glimpse of him as it had been the first time she had seen him three years ago, in the nursery at the maternity ward when he was six hours old. It was extraordinary really; whenever she saw other small children it wasn’t pleasure she felt but the bite of fury; how dare such children exist when one of her own did not? How dare other women get pregnant when she could not? It was cruel, wicked, a deliberate punishment inflicted on her by … somebody. She could never bring herself actually to rail against God, even though she wasn’t a churchgoer, couldn’t even be angry with Providence, feeling obscurely that that was just God’s other name – but she could feel hate for an unnamed someone, whoever that someone was who had decreed she shouldn’t have children. Yet she never felt that when she saw Timothy.

  It had been like that with Liz, too; usually she felt a matching hate for pregnant women, would cross the road to avoid them when she was out shopping, dropped any acquaintanceships when she heard that they had started a pregnancy, but she hadn’t felt like that when Liz got pregnant. Right from the start she had been fiercely protective of her, watching what she ate, nagging her about her smoking, her occasional drink, her late nights, but never feeling that furious hatred; and that was odd because they’d never been close sisters. There’d been a good deal of jealousy between them in their young days, yet as soon as Liz came and told her she was pregnant – that the bastard had gone off as fast as his rotten legs could carry him as soon as he knew – all that had dissolved. June had taken over, fighting Liz’s attempts to get an abortion, looking after her, paying all her bills, protecting her in every way she could – and had been rewarded with Timothy.

  But still, underneath all that, the original rage seethed. She still crossed the road to avoid pregnant women, still looked at other small children with loathing, still gave Ben hell every month when she discovered that once again pregnancy had eluded her; it really was extraordinary how she could feel as she did about Timmy, and yet keep all those other horrible feelings intact.

  He looked up then and saw her, and she felt her face crease into a wide involuntary smile, and she pushed the gate as he made a move to start forwards and come to meet her, just as Liz looked up and put out a hand to restrain him. And a trickle of chill moved into June’s throat as she pushed the gate wider and, locking it carefully behind her, went up the narrow brick path towards them.

  ‘Hello, Liz. Hello, Timmy,’ she said as easily as she could, and Liz leaned on her rake and stared at her, her face unsmiling.

  ‘I didn’t think you’d come here again today,’ she said. ‘Third time this week!’

  ‘Auntie June, Auntie June, Auntie June!’ Timmy was tugging on her coat, and she bent to hug and kiss him and didn’t have to answer. Liz was going through a bad patch, that was all; just reverting to the way she’d always been, scratchy and awkward. It didn’t mean anything, nothing was going to change.

  ‘I was shopping,’ she said as easily as she could. ‘Saw they had a sale at Hammond’s and found this, so I thought I’d bring it over.’ She reached into her bag and brought it out, the cheerful red plaid trousers with the matching braces that had cost her a great deal more than she would dream of admitting to Liz, and which certainly hadn’t been in the sale. ‘I thought they’d look rather good with that yellow sweater I made …’

  ‘He doesn’t like it,’ Liz said, and bent over her rake again, drawing the rustling gold towards her in long sweeps. ‘Says it makes his neck itch. Told you not to make a polo neck, didn’t I?’

  ‘I can fix that easily,’ June said, and the cold in her throat increased, made her voice turn thin. ‘Unpick it, make it crew neck. Would you like that better, Timmy? A different neck on your sweater?’

  ‘What else, what else, what else?’ Timothy carolled, and began to scrabble in her bag, and June felt the warmth begin to come back into her. ‘What do you mean, what else, wicked one?’ she said and laughed. ‘What else should there be?’

  ‘Whatever it is, he’s not to have it,’ Liz said sharply and stood up, her face flushed with her exertions. Or something. ‘Really, June, this is getting ridiculous. Third time you’ve been here this week, and brought something for him every time. Do you want him to stop looking at your face and only at your hands? You’re behaving more like a half-witted grandmother than ….’

  She stopped and stared at June and then shrugged and took a sharp little breath in through her nose. ‘You know what I mean,’ and she bent her head back to her raking of the leaves. ‘Don’t want him spoiled.’

  ‘I won’t spoil him,’ June said, and uneasily pulled her bag away from Timmy. The chocolate was at the bottom and he hadn’t found it yet; better if he didn’t, after all. She could keep it for him till next week. ‘I just happened to see the trousers at the sale, that was all.’

  ‘Yes,’ Liz said. ‘Well, yes … all right. Thanks.’ And the grudging sound of her voice hung in the air between them as thick as the leaves still falling in the boisterous wind.

  Please don’t let her get awkward, a little voice gabbled inside June’s head, don’t let her get awkward, make her go on needing me, make it go on as it is, don’t let her change, please don’t ….

  Not that it could change. She tried to quieten the chatter of the little voice with sensible thoughts as she watched Ti
mmy start kicking up the leaves again, his face rosy with the excitement; how could it change? Liz had always been bad with money and she could never live on her Supplementary Benefit; not the way she wanted to live, eating and drinking the way she enjoyed, wearing the sort of clothes she liked. The rent of the flat alone took most of the income she got from the Welfare people; without June’s regular allowance she’d never manage, and without June’s extra gifts Timmy, and she, would go short of a great deal.

  And without my help she’d never be able to see Nick, June whispered to herself, and that’s got to be the most important of all to her. Who else would turn out to baby-sit at a moment’s notice, who else would take Timmy off her hands any time she wanted?

  And it slid even more deeply in her mind, the hope and dream that filled her more and more these days. Nick wanting to marry Liz, instead of just sleeping with her, Nick wanting to set up a proper home of his own, Nick not wanting Timmy, telling Liz she had to choose between them and Liz of course choosing Nick; why shouldn’t she? She needed a man in her life, always had, and she could always have more children; why shouldn’t she let Timmy go to the aunt who loved him so much, go away, start again, put the past and her child behind her – it was a picture that June never grew tired of contemplating.

  Sometimes she elaborated the dream: sent Nick and Liz to Australia or South America where Nick could really make a fortune, a hard-living ambitious man like Nick, or discovered that not only did Nick not like Timmy, but that he already had a couple of other children of his own somewhere and told Liz that she’d be lumbered with them if she insisted on holding on to Timmy; once or twice she had even played with the thought of Nick and Liz out in that big noisy car of his, the Porsche he boasted about so much, and going too fast and the rain making the road slippery – but she had never been able to carry that one through. Thinking that way would be like being angry with God or Providence. Not to be allowed, it might turn round on her, make something dreadful happen to her, instead of to Liz ….

  ‘Doing anything this weekend?’ she asked, as casually as she could. The plan she had made this morning, lying in bed after Ben had gone to the hospital, lurked inside her head, a hopeful, joyful plan. ‘Nick going to be around?’

  ‘Not this weekend, he isn’t,’ Liz said, and went on raking. June’s spirits began to lift. When Liz avoided looking at her it meant she wanted something. ‘He’s got some sort of deal he’s sorting out. Might manage to come over for supper Sunday, but that’s all – it’s an important deal. Car parts, I gather. For Spain.’

  ‘Spain,’ June said carefully, keeping her voice colourless. ‘Really? Will he have to go there?’

  ‘Might,’ Liz said, and raked more industriously than ever, to Timmy’s noisy delight. ‘On the fifth, he said.’

  ‘That’s not long now, is it?’ June said, and bent to take the leaf that Timmy was pushing into her hand, smoothing its wetness to admire the pattern on it that had caught his eye. ‘That sounds nice for him. Will you … er … will you go with him?’

  Liz stopped raking and bent to Timmy to brush the leaves off his coat, holding him firmly as he squirmed between her hands. ‘Well, he did mention it.’

  ‘Whereabouts?’

  ‘Majorca. They do a lot of business there, it seems.’

  ‘Lovely in November there, I should imagine. You ought to go with him, you know. It’d do you good. You’ve been looking a bit peaky.’

  ‘Have I?’ Liz threw a quick glance at her and then looked back at Timmy, brushing his hair out of his eyes. ‘We’d better go inside, darling. It’s beginning to rain again.’

  ‘Like it raining, like it, like it,’ Timmy shouted, and pulled away from her and ran back to the leaves, stamping on them.

  ‘It isn’t good for you,’ June said, and went over and scooped him up and held him high in the air. ‘You’ll catch a horrid cold if you get wet. Let’s go inside and I’ll play Lego with you and we’ll all be dry. Come on.’ And she turned back to Liz.

  ‘Look, Liz, why shouldn’t you go to Majorca with Nick, if he wants you to? Timmy can come to me, or if you’d rather I’ll come and stay here with him. You need a holiday – do you all the good in the world.’

  ‘Well, I suppose it would be nice. I could ask Nick if I could take Tim with us, of course ….’

  ‘That’s a thought,’ June said as casually as she could. Easy, easy, her little voice whispered. Don’t say the wrong thing, don’t block her, easy does it … be careful ….

  ‘But you know how he is,’ Liz was clearly unhappy, clearly in a genuine dilemma, and for a brief moment June felt compunction for her streaking her concern for herself. ‘It’s not that he doesn’t care for Timmy, of course. It isn’t that.’

  ‘Of course it isn’t.’

  ‘It’s just that – you know, small children – and he’s a hyperactive type. Timmy always was.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ June said fervently. ‘Bright, that’s the thing. Bright children are always a handful. It’s lovely.’

  ‘Yes, lovely,’ Liz said, and made a small grimace. ‘It’s no use kidding myself. Nick isn’t crazy about him, never did like small children, Nick. He’ll get better about him as Timmy gets older, of course, but right now … and a holiday would be good. I know he’d take me.’

  ‘So why not go? It’d be no trouble to me.’

  ‘I know,’ Liz said with a sudden blaze of savagery in her voice. ‘That’s the bloody trouble, isn’t it? And for Christ’s sake, don’t look at me like that. He’ll have to learn sooner or later that people swear, and I’m his mother and I’m people, okay? I’m his mother and the sooner he knows what I am the better. If you had your way you’d rear him on Christopher Robin and Mabel Lucie Atwell and is there honey still for tea and all the rest of that sentimental crap. This is 1984, ducky, and people swear in front of children these days, and do a bloody sight more too, and the sooner you get that into your head the better for all of us.’

  June stood blankly listening as Liz, still shouting at her, pushed open the front door of the flat, and then followed her in. Not a word, take it easy, she’ll blow it out, not a word, her inner voice whispered. Just be quiet.

  ‘I know you think I’m not fit to look after him, but Timmy doesn’t, does he? Who loves Timmy?’ Liz whirled and seized the child beneath the arms, tossing him high into the air so that he squealed and June watched with her eyes wide and her lips clamped tightly shut. ‘Who loves Timmy?’

  ‘Mummy loves Timmy!’ the child roared. ‘Mummy loves Timmy!’

  ‘And who loves Mummy?’

  ‘Timmy loves Mummy, Timmy loves Mummy!’ bawled Timmy obligingly and shouted with laughter, and Liz pulled him close and hugged him tightly, staring at June over his shoulders with her eyes glittering. ‘Timmy loves Mummy,’ she said and it was an insult aimed at her and meant to hurt, and June knew it and felt the intended pain. ‘Timmy loves Mummy.’

  ‘Of course he does,’ June said equably. ‘Do you want some tea? I’ll put the kettle on,’ and she moved across the cluttered kitchen towards the sink.

  ‘No, goddamn it,’ Liz shouted, and put Timmy down so abruptly that he began to cry. ‘Whose goddammed kitchen is it? If I want tea, I’ll make it myself.’

  June stood very still and then turned back to the kitchen table and silently sat down. Timmy was standing in the middle of the floor whimpering and it took every atom of self-control she had not to go and pick him up, to croon to him and hug him and make him happy again.

  Behind her Liz crashed among the pots on the stove, and then filled the kettle and came back, pushing past June to get to the dresser in the corner where the mugs were.

  ‘Damn you, June,’ she said viciously as she went by and thumped her shoulder, painfully, but June sat tight, saying nothing. ‘You’re the only person I know can make me act this way, you know that? The only bloody person. Even if lousy stinking Barry walked in here I wouldn’t get so mad at him as I get at you.’

  It was safe to talk now.
June knew the pattern of Liz’s anger, knew how fast it blew itself out. ‘I know, love,’ she said, and looked over her shoulder at her and tried to grin, and Liz looked back at her, her face twisted with exasperation. ‘It’s hell needing people, isn’t it? I need you and Timmy, and there are times I could kill you for that.’

  ‘Yes,’ Liz said. ‘Yes. So could I. The way you look at Timmy wears me out. And it isn’t going to get any easier, is it?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ June said, and bent her head, and her hair moved on her neck, parting to show the vulnerable nape. ‘I don’t know. How can I know?’

  ‘Make the lousy tea,’ Liz said brusquely. ‘Bloody kettle’ll boil in a minute.’ And she went to Timmy, still standing snivelling in the middle of the room, to take off his raincoat and sou’wester and Wellington boots.

  The afternoon slid into its usual pattern, with Liz sitting at the table reading the paper while June helped Timmy make a Lego building, and then June washing up the tea things and discreetly tidying the messy kitchen while Liz sat on reading bits to her from the paper and talking about the people in the flat upstairs and the noise they made, and Nick and his business, none of which June really listened to; she didn’t have to. Liz just needed to talk at her as much as she needed to be in the same room with Timmy as often and as much as possible.

  She said not another word about the proposed visit to Majorca, nor about the plan she had devised that morning to persuade Liz to go away for a few days on her own. She didn’t have to; for once events were conspiring on her behalf rather than against her. Liz would go to Majorca and leave Timmy to be looked after by June. There was no doubt of that. Liz knew too; that was why she had become so suddenly, furiously, angry. All June had to do was sit tight and say nothing, and she’d have Timmy to herself for a full week. The idea was so exciting she couldn’t even look at him.

  5

  ‘Truly, there’ll be no problems,’ Jessie said. ‘Peter has a committee meeting tonight, and Mark’s never at home these days – lives at his girlfriend’s place mostly, as far as I can tell – so my time’s my own. I want to stay. I’ll be livid if you won’t let me.’