by Penny Kline
He nodded slowly, taking the towel but remaining in the door-way. I knew I ought to be relieved that the paranoid babbling had stopped, but now I was irritated by his passivity. In spite of everything that had happened he owed me some kind of explanation. Instead he had regressed to the emotional age of a five-year-old. He would do as he was told but beyond that I could expect nothing.
‘After we’ve eaten I’m going round to fetch the rest of your clothes,’ I said.
He kept his head down, pretending to be studying a scuff mark on one of his trainers. ‘How long will I be here?’
‘I don’t know. Just a day or two, I expect.’
He followed me into the kitchen. ‘I missed my appointment,’ he said. ‘I was meant to come and see you on Monday.’
‘You can come next Monday,’ I said crossly.
By next Monday would he still be staying in the flat? If he was there wouldn’t be much point in him coming all the way to my office. Already I was beginning to regret my decision. After all, even though Elaine and Doug had refused to have him back, it was hardly my responsibility to find him somewhere to live.
I knew, from Janos, there were no rooms to let in the house across the road and, in any case, I had taken the trouble to find him lodgings with Elaine and Doug precisely because it was bad for him spending so much time on his own. In a few days’ time I would take him to see them, and when they realized he was perfectly rational surely they would agree to let him live with them again.
Taking spaghetti sauce from the freezer compartment, I eased it out of its container and dropped the solid lump into a pan.
‘Listen, Luke,’ I said, ‘after the accident, when they brought you back to Doug and Elaine’s, it was terrible, I know that, but how did you think pretending to be psychotic was going to help?’
His head shot up. ‘What?’
‘There was no need. It just made everything worse.’
I was watching his face, feeling a mixture of compassion and irritation. I was putting pressure on him, but only because I wanted to help. His hand had gone up to his mouth and he was tearing at the nail of his little finger.
‘All right, if you don’t want to talk about it. As long as you realize no one’s blaming you for what happened. It was an accident.’
He continued to chew his nail but he had turned his back and was staring out of the window. His hair had grown, even during the last few days. He had shaved, but not very well, and when the sun came out from behind a cloud I could see patches of straw-coloured stubble. Where his T-shirt had slipped towards one shoulder there was a line dividing his sun-tanned neck from the whiteness of the rest of his body. I wanted to shake him, to force him to break down, then to comfort him, make him better. But it wasn’t going to be like that.
‘Sometime you must go across the road and see Janos,’ I said. ‘He’s cleared away the rubbish at the back and started making a garden.’
He turned away from the window, then sat down heavily and rested his elbows on the table.
‘While you were in hospital I went to see your parents,’ I said. My voice sounded falsely unperturbed. ‘They were sorry about what’s happened. They sent you their love.’
It was untrue. He knew it was. I felt angry with the Jestys for forcing me to pretend they had shown more concern. Brigid Jesty had appeared upset but I suspected her agitation had more to do with her husband’s hostile reaction towards me than worry about her son. Or was I being unfair to her?
Luke frowned. ‘What did my father say?’
‘Your father? Oh, well, not very much really.’ I hesitated, wondering how much to tell him about my visit. ‘Your parents never met Paula, did they?’
It was the first time I had mentioned her name. I expected a sharp reaction but he just shook his head.
‘Luke, how well did you and Paula know each other?’
‘She worked in the shop.’
‘Yes, I know that, but you saw each other after work as well, didn’t you?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘You were fond of her?’
He looked at me suspiciously. ‘We used to go for a walk. It was better than going back home.’
‘Yes, I see. Did you know she used to be married?’
He nodded again.
‘She told you about it?’
‘Not much.’
Questions, too many questions, but if he was going to stay in my flat I deserved to know what had been going on. I lowered spaghetti into the boiling water. ‘Did Paula ever see her ex-husband?’
‘What for?’ he said flatly. ‘They didn’t have any children.’
‘He’s an actor, isn’t he?’
But he was thinking about something else. His shoulders were hunched up and for an instant I had a clear picture of his father bending down to avoid knocking his head on the door frame.
He turned to face me. ‘Sorry, what did you say?’
‘Nothing. I just mentioned that Paula’s ex-husband’s an actor. Someone said he was in that television series about a psychiatrist.’
‘What? Oh, that.’
I ploughed on. ‘Did he give her any money?’
‘He’s out of work most of the time. She was better off without him. Anyway he lives with someone called Liz.’
‘Liz who?’
‘What?’ He was twisting one leg round the other and his clenched fist was pressed against his mouth.
I decided to change the subject.
‘Your mother,’ I said, ‘I hadn’t realized she used to be an actress.’
‘What about it?’ The colour rose up his face. The deadpan voice had disappeared.
‘I met your brother too. He came to the office, wanted to know how he could help.’
This time he looked genuinely surprised. ‘Michael? What could he do?’
‘Well, for a start he thought you might need some money. I don’t know if you’ll want to go on working in the shop but I thought it might be better to find something else. Anyway, it’s not all that long till you start at the university.’ I pulled open the drawer in the kitchen table and pointed to the box of cutlery. ‘A couple of forks should do us.’
He stared at the drawer as though I had asked the impossible. He seemed preoccupied, miles away.
‘Michael runs his own business,’ he said.
‘Yes, I know. Maybe you could work for him for a couple of months. That way you’d have some cash in the bank to supplement your student grant.’
He made no comment.
‘You and Michael,’ I said, trying to encourage him to talk. ‘You get on all right, do you?’
‘What?’ His hands rested on the table, the fingers clenched, the knuckles shiny white. ‘Michael’s older than me.’ His voice shook as though he was having trouble controlling some strong emotion.
‘Luke,’ I said softly, ‘I wish you’d told me about your sister. If I’d known … the accident … Paula’s accident … It would’ve made it so much easier to understand.’
He stood up and placed a fork at each end of the table. Then he looked through the window and for the first time his face became animated. ‘Aaron’s in the front garden. He’s walking on the flowers.’
I joined him at the window. ‘Oh, God, could you go down and shoo him off? That border’s Ernest’s pride and joy.’
He hesitated for a moment, then left the room and ran down the outside steps. I watched him pulling at the dog’s collar, dragging him to the other side of the road. When he let go Aaron rolled over on his back on the pavement, writhing and waving his legs in the air. Luke smiled, then glanced up at the window to see if I was watching.
‘Go and see Janos,’ I called, but he shook his head and came back across the road.
The spaghetti was good enough but neither of us felt very hungry. We did our best but a fair proportion of it had to be scraped into the bin.
‘I was going to offer you a drink,’ I said, ‘but if you’re taking tablets … ’
‘I’m not.’ He
searched in his jeans and produced a small white container. ‘They gave me these but I don’t need them.’
‘I’ll leave it up to you,’ I said, pulling open the fridge door and taking out two cans of beer.
I had made a decision not to talk about the ‘schizophrenic’ behaviour any more. If Luke wanted to explain that was his decision. If not, it was best forgotten.
‘The funeral’s on Friday,’ I told him. ‘I don’t know if you’ll want to — ’
‘Do I have to?’
‘No, of course not. Funerals are for the sake of the living, not the dead.’
It sounded trite but he nodded in agreement and seemed enormously relieved. Then he sighed deeply.
‘Paula thought the world was a horrible place. People killing each other. Millions of people with nothing to eat. She couldn’t see the point of going on.’
‘Luke, you don’t mean … ’ Why on earth hadn’t I thought of it before? Because I had seen Paula as someone who was helping Luke. Someone strong, down-to-earth.
‘What?’ He looked puzzled. ‘Oh, she wouldn’t kill herself. That would’ve been against her religion.’
I pictured them working together in the shop, going for walks on the Downs or by the river. Two people whose experience of life so far had left them depressed, disillusioned.
‘You’ll miss her,’ I said, ‘it’s going to be hard.’
He stared at the wall behind my head, then down at the table. Lifting the beer to his mouth he emptied the can in great noisy gulps.
*
Up on the Downs a boy was flying a kite with a dragon’s face. The sky was blue and the air still very warm but there was enough breeze coming up from the Gorge to lift the kite above the trees. The boy, who was only about five or six, ran forward, then stumbled and fell. His father called to him and he stood up, laughing, pointing proudly at the hand still holding the string.
I had left Luke watching television, explaining that I had to see a friend but not telling him I intended to visit Doug and Elaine. The programme was about gene therapy. Before it came on he had brightened a little and started talking about what he planned to do after his degree course. He would need a higher degree, then he hoped to find a research post. Genetics had always been his real interest. Genes were the answer to everything, not just physical characteristics but intelligence, personality, predispositions to particular diseases. Once they were properly understood it would be the end of psychology, sociology, all the social sciences. A sample of DNA would explain everything about a particular individual, or even a particular cultural group. I had argued with him briefly, enjoying the discussion, pleased to hear him sounding so enthusiastic.
Then something I said, I had no idea what, had caused him to lapse into silence again, curling up his legs on the armchair and closing his eyes.
I wondered what he would do when the programme ended. Read the paper? Poke about round the flat? Do the washing up?
My car was parked a short distance away from the wall above the Gorge. Before I drove off I stood for a moment staring at the river two hundred feet below. The tide was up and most of the thick mud was covered in murky brown water. Across the other side, in Leigh Woods, three tiny figures leaned against another wall. One of them lifted an arm and I waved back although I wasn’t even sure they were looking at me. Suddenly my knees felt weak and my head swam. How long would it take to fall all the way to the bottom? Long enough to know what was happening surely, or would you lose consciousness? I had read about one or two people who had jumped from the Suspension Bridge and landed in the mud, surviving with only minor injuries. More than likely the stories were apocryphal. Normally the jump proved fatal.
It was just after eight. Late enough for Doug and Elaine to have finished their meal, and for Elaine’s evening soap opera to have ended. I drove slowly past Durdham Down, turning right at the roundabout and approaching Elaine and Doug’s road from a different angle. Paula had lived close by — in a room above a shoe repair shop. It was about the only thing Luke had told me about her. That and the fact that she was vegetarian but not because she believed it was wrong to kill animals. Remembering Carl Redfern’s description I tried to picture her, alone in her room preparing her lentils and nuts. Tall, with fair hair and ethnic clothes. Perhaps she had changed since Carl last saw her. The police report said she had been wearing jeans — and Luke’s blue and white sweater. Standing on the pavement, laughing and talking, unaware that only a moment later …
I parked outside the house and switched off the engine. For the first time for ages I longed for a cigarette. Just one or two good long drags would have been enough.
Elaine answered the door. She must have seen me coming. Under her arm was a cardboard box that appeared to hold the sum total of Luke’s belongings. Socks, pyjamas, a few books and papers, a clock, an old radio.
‘Thanks.’ I took the box, then waited on the path, expecting her to justify her decision, apologize, ask how Luke was getting on.
I could see Doug hovering at an upstairs window. When he realized I had seen him he moved out of sight. Inside the house a television game show was in full swing.
‘When I say now,’ squeaked a high-pitched man’s voice. ‘When I say now you have exactly thirty seconds to … ’
‘Well,’ I said, trying to sound more friendly than I felt, ‘thank you for everything you’ve done. Am I right in thinking you don’t want Luke to come back here, even when he’s quite better?’
‘I think that’s best,’ said Elaine. She wasn’t going to invite me in. She just wanted me to go away as quickly as possible.
‘Is there a particular reason, Elaine?’
‘As I said, I think it’s for the best. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’
We stared at each other for a moment, then she turned and went back into the house, closing the front door with a quiet, controlled click. I thought I heard her calling to Doug to come downstairs but it could have been the noise from the television.
Back in the car I pulled out from the kerb, switched on the radio, then filled my lungs with air and shouted at the top of my voice. Anger, rage — the best way to prevent yourself from crying. For Luke? For myself? What difference did it make? Even though I had only known Elaine and Doug since May I had come to think of them as friends, allies. Now it was clear that they would be heartily relieved if they never saw me or Luke again. Had something happened while he was living there? Had he spent too much time with them — or too little? Had they hoped, as Doug had suggested, that he would be like the son they had never had? They’d had high hopes for him but he had let them down.
Turning into Coldharbour Road I steadied Luke’s box of belongings with my left hand as it threatened to slide off the passenger seat. I thought about my phone call to Neil, the mysterious picture framer, whose classes had never really got started. Perhaps Doug really did have something to hide.
A car shot out from a side road. I slammed on the brakes and stopped a fraction of an inch from the driver’s door.
‘Bloody idiot!’ I yelled. ‘What the hell d’you think you’re … ’
The old man in the driving seat glanced at me, then looked away, lifting a hand in what would have to do as an apology. He was so low down in his seat I doubted he could see very much at all. Stupid bugger, he was too old to drive, should have had his licence taken away. Ashamed at my aggressive response, I attempted a feeble smile. It was wasted. He was looking straight ahead, fiddling with the gears. A moment later he drove off with screeching tyres and black smoke pouring out of the exhaust.
I pulled over to the side of the road.
The cardboard box had fallen off the seat and was lying on its side. Some of the contents had spilled out over my foot. As I reached down to pick up a book about apes a folded sheet of paper fell out. About to stuff it back in the box, I hesitated. The paper was stiff and looked like a letter. I opened it out and saw that it was handwritten. Large looping letters in bright blue ink. It was private property, not
hing to do with me. I started reading.
Darling, I think about you all the time. If only we could talk properly or would that make things worse? I blame myself entirely. But you know that. Take care. Be happy. Please be happy.
‘Please’ was underlined twice. There was no signature, just a small, smudged kiss.
9
It was the first meeting of a group for compulsive eaters that Martin had persuaded me to arrange. He hoped it would turn into a self-help group but I had my doubts. Perhaps I had illusions about how important my role in the group would be. On the other hand I had run other therapeutic groups and knew how easily difficulties could arise.
Because the group was new I was not expecting a high attendance but in fact seven people, all women, had turned up. Four I knew already. They had seen me individually and I had suggested that the group might be more helpful for their particular problem. The other three had been referred by a local doctor who had tired of handing out diet sheets and was prepared to give the Psychology Service a try.
We had introduced ourselves to each other and the women were taking it in turns to describe the situations that led them to raid the kitchen cupboard or fridge. ‘When my husband’s mother’s coming to stay. She’s as thin as a stick and could eat a horse without putting on weight.’
‘When I’m bored, back from my job at the leisure centre but it’s not yet time to collect the kids from school.’
I was finding it difficult to concentrate. I thought about Luke, alone in the flat. I had told him to read whatever he could find, watch television, listen to the radio, or just sleep. He had opened one eye — he was still in bed when I left for work — and mumbled something about going for a walk. I wanted to tell him not to go down to the city centre, to take things easy and avoid brooding about what had happened. But if he wanted to return to the ‘scene of the crime’ he would. And how could he not think about the events of the last few days?
The group had fallen silent, waiting for me to take the lead.
‘I want to try an experiment,’ I said. ‘I’m going to give each of you some paper and a pencil and I want you to draw yourself with no clothes on.’