by DH Smith
He heard the door click.
‘Isn’t that BFG? Man Mountain,’ he said.
‘No,’ she said, ‘Big Friendly Giant is Roald Dahl. Man Mountain’s from Gulliver’s Travels. That’s what they called him in Lilliput. At least, I think so. Anyway, I don’t want to talk literature. I want to go to sleep. Where are you sleeping?’
‘Under the counter.’
‘Can I join you?’
‘I’m gay,’ he said.
‘Then we’re both safe. Look, I don’t want to make love, just a little warm company. I’ve got a sleeping bag in the cupboard. Dare I switch the light on to get it?’
‘I’ve a torch.’
‘You are the light, the centre of my universe, Zar. Go get it.’
‘I’m glad you came, Rose. I’m so miserable.’
‘If I could see you, I’d give you a cuddle. Now go and get your torch.’
Chapter 29
Liz had not slept at all. Tried for several hours and then given up. Her head was too full of Ian. What might be happening to him in the hospital. Eating into his organs, like soldier ants roaming and gnawing.
Was intensive care rescuing him or was he beyond their assistance? If she hadn’t invited Jack over, then Ian would have laid out in the park all night. And that surely would be too late for any recovery.
But she had invited the builder. And he had discovered him. And like a good knight, Jack had taken him to hospital. Much better if he hadn’t come, much better if she hadn’t needed company. Which she didn’t get, daren’t have considering the state she was in.
He would’ve seen. He would’ve guessed.
She was in this alone.
About three in the morning, Liz had got up and worked on Trees in the Park, painting and writing in the names of the species and areas of the park. For a period she was able to forget, and then it slammed back at her like a ball rebounding from a squash court.
She was a lousy murderer. She would never do it again. But doubted that would soft soap any jury. She wandered about her house, sitting here and there. Next door Ian’s father would be asleep, utterly unaware of what was happening to his son. Outside the park was completely dark. An owl hooted. Tears came. But none for Ian. Not at all. They were for herself.
For the day ahead.
At 7.15, she had a coffee. She couldn’t take food. Just the caffeine hit. She needed to act human. She washed. There were dark rings round her eyes, but she looked surprisingly well. Incredible what could be hidden behind a wash, clean clothes, brushed hair and a little make up.
All she had to do was walk straight.
She looked out of the window and yawned. It was drizzling. Never the best of days in the park. And there was a lot to do, with her in charge. Let it happen.
At the door, she put on her Wellington boots and waterproof coat. Did she need an umbrella? No, the rain would wake her up.
She went out.
The sky was battleship grey. Treetops swishing in the breeze, fallen leaves plastered on the drive like jigsaw pieces awaiting a puzzler. And clusters of them on the lawn, collected up for company. It was raining steadily, the droplets jumping into the puddles in suicide leaps.
Liz walked down the Mayor’s Avenue, head up to face the rain, like a pilgrim doing a penance. At the junction of the main drive, opposite the playground, she turned left in the direction of the back gate. Once there, she opened up, swinging the iron gate back. It had the same code as the main gate. Really, it should be changed as too many people knew it now. She almost said to herself, when Ian gets back. Which he might or he might not.
When Ian was on holiday, she opened up the park; on all other days he felt it his duty to do it. To show ownership.
Liz headed for the main gate. Past the playground, past the tennis courts. Leaves had settled again, like slippery flat fish. There were puddles in the ochre of the courts. We should get some more in and level it. Talk to Ian…
She must drop this default.
Someone was coming out of the marquee. A huge bundle of a man. Very tall and rotund. In some sort of party clothes, as if it were all happening in the tent.
‘What are you doing here?’ she called, though she hardly cared.
The man looked at her as if she were a strange being. He scratched his head.
‘I don’t know.’
She crossed to him. The big man wore a shirt of red horizontal bars on which were cartoon musical notes dancing. His pantaloons came just below the knees; they were blue check, with noughts and crosses games in some of them. He was barefooted.
‘I can’t find my shoes,’ he bewailed.
‘How did you get in the park?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’ He pointed back at the marquee. ‘I woke up in there. I’m freezing. I can’t find my shoes.’
She led him into the marquee.
Her cascade had been knocked down. She had a look at the blocks. No real damage. Just toppled. Then she saw the telescope in a corner of the tent. The telescope and mount were lying on their side on the ground. That was a more serious matter. Last night, she’d left it in here upright.
She went over to it, and bent down for a close look. On the grass were mirrored splinters of glass. It was clear what had happened. The hulk had knocked it over. And broken something.
‘Found my shoes,’ he exclaimed.
She turned, and saw him sitting on the wet grass, putting them on.
Take me somewhere else, she thought, wondering who was liable for the broken telescope. The big man, her, the park. Oh dear. She had enough on her plate this morning.
What did it matter.
Chapter 30
‘I saw Liz taking Man Mountain to the main gate,’ said Rose. ‘I hope she got some sense out of him.’
‘Where did you find him?’
‘At the last café in the universe… I pulled in with my rocket ship and found him trapping aliens in his laser beams.’ She stopped and smiled. ‘At a club. I’ve seen him before. He’s always stoned. I think he’s a banker.’
They were both under the counter, washed after a fashion, dressed, gear stowed away.
‘I’d murder for a coffee,’ she sighed. ‘Liz makes the loveliest Italian. I must go over there and get some clean clothes and persuade her to let me use the washing machine.’
‘Why did she kick you out?’
She gave a short laugh. ‘I have a habit of bringing people back. You might have noticed. And I’m not the tidiest person in the world… Liz is very organised. I’m a little too wild for her. I wish I wasn’t. No I don’t. Yes I do. You see – that’s me all along. Don’t know what I want.’
‘My telephone.’ He took it out of his pocket. ‘My parents texting again. I delete them.’
‘Can I read this one?’
He handed her the phone. ‘Tell me whether it’s good or bad.’
She clicked and sucked her bottom lip as she read. ‘Bad,’ she said. ‘You have been taken over by the devil, they haven’t got a son, never would they believe the filth…’
‘Stop.’ He put a hand over her mouth. ‘I don’t want to know.’
‘Right.’ She switched off the phone. Then turned over the back, took off the plate and removed the SIM card. She held up the little square. ‘Get a new one.’
‘There’s twenty quid on it.’
‘Ah.’ She put it back in and put the plate back on. ‘Run it out, then get a new one.’ She gave him the phone.
‘I was glad you came last night. I was feeling terrible.’
‘Poor Zar.’
‘I’m alright now. I’ve got the day ahead. Then after work, must find a room. Might have to take the day off tomorrow. What do you think?’
‘Try newsagents’ windows.’ She sighed. ‘Though you’ll end up in some poky little room in a family house. Or some buy-to-let rip off.’ She threw her hands wide. ‘They are the worst, I tell you. Buy-to-let landlords. One I had in Manor Park. Retired. I was his pension, he told me. So he resen
ted being asked for repairs. In fact on the second one, he gave me notice.’
‘Not noisy guests?’
‘He didn’t live there. And the other flats in the house were students, so I had competition for noise.’
‘I must find a place,’ he said. ‘Somewhere, anywhere.’
‘Time for us to join the living,’ she said. ‘I have a route. We leave by the back window, then along the hedge. Best go one at a time…’
‘You first.’
‘Can you sub me a lunch?’
‘I have to get some money out anyway. Alright. Get going.’
Chapter 31
Having opened up the park, Liz’s next port of call was to Mr Swift to give him the news about his son. She headed for Ian’s house but on the way saw Mr Swift wandering about near the playground. He was in his suit and tie as if about to go to work, an umbrella fending off the rain. She invited him to her place for a coffee.
‘Ian’s in hospital,’ she said, once they were seated.
‘What’s happened to him, where?’ asked Mr Swift anxiously.
She didn’t want to mention the builder finding him, though why shouldn’t she… No, her life was her life. What there was of it.
‘I found him collapsed out there on the grass about 9 o’clock last night. Vomiting, cramps, I don’t know what it was, but he was obviously very ill.’ She realised she’d have to mention Jack, or get into a tangle of lies. ‘The builder took him to Newham General.’
‘What was he doing here?’
‘My guest,’ she said, hoping she’d not have to elaborate. And really there wasn’t much more to say. ‘He ran him to hospital in his van. And they took him straight into intensive care.’
‘I couldn’t find Ian this morning,’ said Mr Swift. ‘I’m an early riser, always up by seven. I thought he was taking his time opening up the park. He’s always back for a cuppa together before work. So I went out to have a look.’ He stopped, and added in some alarm. ‘Heart, do you think?’
‘I don’t know.’
Most likely liver, she’d read up on death stalk, or kidneys. She hadn’t thought of the effect on Mr Swift. Of what would happen to him if Ian died. When. Too involved in herself, to think beyond herself. But what was done was done. She’d have to ride it out.
‘He’s keen on you,’ said the old man with a smirk. ‘He bought a ring yesterday. He showed it to me. He was going to give it to you last night.’
So that’s why he’d called. The ring moment, interrupted by vomiting.
‘I never knew,’ she said, knowing too much.
A flash of complications overwhelmed her. If Ian died, Mr Swift would have to leave his cottage. It was a tied house, dependent on Ian working for the Parks Department. She’d never meant to make the old man homeless. Yesterday she wasn’t thinking clearly. Ian had sprung his threat on her. It would have been simpler, better all round, if she’d given notice and gone. Begun again somewhere else. But we are where we are. She was a host of homilies.
‘I am so sorry,’ she said, and she was sincerely. ‘It’s hard for you.’
‘What should I do?’ said Mr Swift.
‘Can you make yourself breakfast?’ she said.
He stiffened as if she was implying he was helpless. ‘I do it every morning. Cornflakes, toast and marmalade. Listen to the radio. Do you know I’m learning the ukulele?’
‘I didn’t.’
‘We’ve a band at the pensioners’ club. Thirty of us learning music hall songs. We play and we sing. This morning we get together for a practice.’ He stopped, aware he was off topic. ‘What should I do about Ian? Do you think he’ll be alright?’
‘I hope so.’
‘He won’t die, will he?’
‘He won’t die,’ she said.
She felt like a vicar patting a pensioner’s hand. But sincerely, she didn’t want him to die. Not today. When it wasn’t the end of the world, when she was aware she could have said no to Ian. And left. This is what happens when you panic. You trip over your own feet.
‘He took me in after his mother, Elsie, died. I was a bit lost then,’ said Mr Swift, adding, ‘I got so low. I was thinking, how can I manage. Then he took me in. Saved my life, in a manner of speaking.’
And if he dies, where will you be then? she thought but didn’t say.
She looked at her watch. ‘You go home and have your breakfast, Mr Swift. And I’ll arrange a lift for you to the hospital.’
‘Thank you, my dear. Ian was right to choose you.’ Then added thoughtfully, ‘But would you have had him?’
‘You’re quite embarrassing me, Mr Swift.’
‘I didn’t mean to do that. And it’s none of my business anyway. Though you had that builder over, so maybe you’ve got your own ideas.’
Too many, she thought. Impractical at that.
With a few words of parting, she accompanied him to his door. It was raining hard, the wind blowing in sheets along the drive. He had his umbrella up. She suffered the weather in the few steps to his cottage.
‘You could do worse, you know, than my boy,’ he said with a wink as he let himself in.
She had done worse. She knew that as she strode across the lawn through the downpour to the mess hut.
Chapter 32
Jack sat back in his van in no hurry, drinking tea from his thermos. He’d parked close to the gates, so as not to have far to ferry his tools. The rain was sluicing down the windscreen and rattling on the roof. No work could be done till it stopped.
He should report in though. Show willing. And his telescope mustn’t be left out. In fact, now was a good time to collect it. He couldn’t do anything else, and it shouldn’t be left, not with the public about. True, not many, but best be safe. It should be in the van locked up.
Finish his cup of tea first. He yawned, though he’d slept fairly well after Mia had phoned. But it had been a frustrating evening. No viewing, no supper, and no female company. One had gone clubbing, the other spoilt by Ian’s sickness. Once at the hospital, the medics had whisked him off to intensive care; the speed was impressive, if somewhat scary. Their almost military rigour.
He wondered if there was any news.
And then, his fallback had left him with the washing up and thirty quid short. He laughed at his dashed hopes, coming into an empty flat. She had a cheek, Rose. And he had a vision of her naked in his dressing gown while she ate. Where did she end up last night?
Quite a body. But you don’t just get a body. A person was included, with their foibles and hang-ups. He thought of Alison, her throwing-out of Tony. Sex wasn’t enough there. Not in the end. Where did he end up?
Sleeping in his own bed, alone?
He screwed the cup on his thermos, and put it in his backpack. Jack opened the van door to be hit by the splash of a passing car. He cursed after it. It was belting down. Jack got out quickly and went to the back of his van. Crawling about inside, he gathered his bricklaying gear: trowel, bucket, shovel, line and spirit level. The wheelbarrow had been left in the tool shed overnight.
He was about to lock up, when he recalled the telescope – and shifted bits and pieces to make room for it. Then made his dash to the park. Down the drive, bucket rattling, shovel and level in the other hand. And into the yard, and a beeline for the tool shed.
His hair was wringing in that short distance. He shook it like a sheepdog just out of a pond. If it didn’t clear up, this could be a day of nothing. He left everything he’d brought in the wheelbarrow, ready to begin as soon as he could.
He was standing at the door of the tool shed, when Liz came out of Ian’s office.
‘Morning,’ he called to her. ‘Got your water wings?’
‘Oh, Jack.’ She stopped undecided, the rain dripping off her hair, running down her face. ‘Something’s happened to your telescope, I’m afraid.’
‘What?’
‘Wait a moment.’ She dived back in the office and came back out a few moments later with a large golfing umbrella. ‘I�
�ll show you.’
She crossed over and they both sheltered under it. Mostly it worked, though Jack had to lean in, their shoulders bouncing against each other as they walked swiftly. As they came out to the drive Zar and Rose were running in, their hoods up. They quickly yelled ‘Morning,’ and some comment on the rain as they dashed past into the yard.
‘What’s happened to the telescope?’ said Jack as they scampered on.
‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘But something’s broken.’
‘Oh, great.’
The park was a pale curtain of rain. Mist crept about the shrubbery and children’s playground. Jack was half protected by the umbrella, his exposed hand cold and wet. The lawn was squelchy, his boots the cleanest they’d been since new.
In the marquee, he immediately spotted the telescope in one corner. And sped across to examine it. He knew at once what had happened from the shattered glass. It was a punch in the guts.
‘The mirror’s broken,’ he said, down on his knees, looking at the bits as if he might be able to piece them together.
‘Is it serious?’ she said.
‘Yes.’ He was already calculating what, if anything, could be done. ‘There was an 8 inch convex mirror in there.’ He slapped the telescope body. ‘It collects the light from the stars and planets, whatever you’re looking at. It’s the most vital bit of the telescope.’
‘Is it replaceable?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said turning up his hands. ‘Never had to do it before. What a wreck!’ He looked at the scope and mount. ‘It’s like a car without an engine. You can salvage the bits, but it’s not a car anymore.’
‘I’ll replace it,’ she said.
‘Why?’
‘I put it in here.’
‘I told you to.’ He stood up, wiping off tiny splinters of glass from his hands. ‘It’s my stupid fault. I should have put it in my van before I went to the hospital. This is what comes of cutting corners.’
‘I put it in here upright,’ she said. ‘I tested that it was standing secure. But I should have laid it down on the grass. Anyway, I was opening up this morning, when a big hulk of a guy came out of the marquee. He didn’t know where he was, how he got here. Drugs, I think. He knocked over my cascade.’ She indicated the blocks in disarray. ‘And this too. I am so sorry, Jack.’