Ellie & the Shadow Man

by Gee, Maurice

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘I’ve offended Mr Neil Hicks. I haven’t read him.’

  ‘His name is Higgs. And he hasn’t read you.’

  ‘The bugger.’ Miriam washed her hands. She peered in the mirror. ‘Who’d look at me if I didn’t write?’

  In the corridor Ellie stopped at Fan’s painting again.

  ‘Yes,’ Miriam said, ‘it’s rather good. Very Matisse.’

  ‘It’s very Fan. I know her. Fan Anerdi.’

  ‘Do you really paint?’

  ‘I play around,’ Ellie said. She could only think of the phrase she’d used to Derek: ‘I’m waiting for a button to be pushed.’ This picture could do it. Or did it just give a final nudge? Had she reached the place?

  ‘The worst thing you can do is waste your time. Your chance goes with it. Believe me, I know. I nearly missed,’ Miriam said.

  ‘Did you really kick a man in the balls? Like in your book?’

  Miriam laughed. ‘I got him with my knee. I wouldn’t try it if I were you. He lay curled up on the floor and cried.’

  ‘And you got down and washed his face before you left.’

  ‘No, I made that up. Listen, Ellie. Is that your name?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You become one thing or the other. Decide.’

  ‘Thank you. I think I have.’

  They went into the drawing room, where she smiled at Neil. Dear Neil, I do love you, she thought.

  Soon a ripple – time to leave – ran through the guests. The High Commissioner apologised for the dull weather; otherwise he would have shown them around the garden.

  ‘Hold on,’ Miriam said to Ellie. She whispered to her minder, who fetched a book from her satchel in the entrance hall: Miriam’s most recent novel, Can You Hear?

  ‘How do you spell fleeco?’ Miriam said, taking out her biro. She wrote with her tongue poking out like a child.

  Ellie read the inscription in the car: To Ellie the fleeco. Listen! Decide! Miriam. She was pleased. Was warmed by it, even though it was impertinent. She did not need people telling her what to do.

  ‘What’s it say?’ Neil said.

  Ellie read it out.

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Haven’t a clue.’

  ‘It’s a bit bloody rude giving only one person a book.’ Neil grinned. ‘Old poofter Dennis didn’t like it.’

  ‘Nor do you.’

  ‘You think so? You worked bloody hard for it, I’ll say that.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Shearing stories. I’ll bet no one’s ever said nipples in that room.’

  ‘Not a table topic?’

  ‘Someone had to stop you. We’d have had sheep shagging next.’

  ‘Shut up, Neil.’

  ‘She really liked the nipples, Miriam did. You know she’s a lesbian, don’t you?’

  ‘Rubbish. She’s been married. She’s got three children.’

  ‘Yeah, these old dykes use that for cover. You needn’t think you got that book because you were so witty.’

  ‘Stop the car, Neil. I’m getting out.’

  ‘I notice she followed you to the toilet.’

  She had to get away, not from his malice but from his stupidity. He pulled up round the corner from the tunnel, and Ellie grinned at the rightness of it as she climbed out: through the narrow place into another world. And here she was outside a new art gallery as well. Paintings in the window. Listen! Decide!

  She walked down the Rigi, holding Miriam’s book, feeling calm. Nothing dramatic, she thought. No kicking in the balls and tears of agony. No washing of faces. Just a withdrawal, quick and clean, and no hard words. She loved Neil, after all. Ellie stopped. What was she going to do with that? Decide! Carry it in her other hand, like Miriam’s book? It was heavier, it would strain her, it would hurt. Ellie felt tears in her eyes. She blinked them away. In the end she would lay it aside, this love she couldn’t help feeling – lay Neil aside. In the end, not know exactly where to find him.

  He was drinking tea in the kitchen when she came in.

  ‘Want one?’ he asked, smiling shyly.

  ‘Yes. I’ll get it.’

  They sat across the table from each other.

  ‘Is John home?’

  ‘In his room, I think.’

  ‘Did he like the movie?’

  ‘I didn’t ask. Ellie –’

  ‘I’m going across to Nelson on Monday.’

  ‘No you’re not.’

  ‘Listen, Neil –’

  ‘Jesus, Ellie, you promised me. Kevin and Siobhan are coming.’

  ‘You’ll have to look after them yourself.’

  ‘No, I can’t. I can’t stop when I’m in a book. You said you’d do it. You’ve taken the holidays off for John, so I can’t see the problem. What about the second week? Go in the second week.’

  At this point she should say, I’m not coming back. But he would fall apart; she knew he would. He might even cry. She felt a deep unwillingness to hurt him, even though, in some odd way, he wanted it. In the end, hurt would be meat and drink to him.

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Monday week. Now excuse me, I want to talk to John. And take off that suit before you put marks on it.’

  He followed her, then turned into the TV room. ‘The match is on. There’ll be some protests,’ he said.

  They made love that night, and again in the morning. Ellie would miss the pleasure and tenderness and his increasing acceptance of being joined. On Sunday night she lay beside him, listening to him breathe. Her fondness for him grew at times like this, when he was present but away: when he was dreaming; or sitting with her but by himself, his mind not working but open to the things that pleased and haunted him and made him afraid. He was all three – pleased with himself, haunted by himself and afraid of what he might or might not do. What was going on in his mind when, coming out of his trance, he groaned, ‘No, no’? When he uttered loudly, ‘You stupid prick’? And later, ‘Did I do that?’ He would never confess to her what it had been. ‘Nothing, nothing, just working things out,’ he would say. Other things she guessed explanantions for. ‘Dim bitch.’ That was Betty. ‘Sweets to the sweet’ – some woman dead, some early girlfriend, if he had had one, or maybe his mother. And ‘Out of the cradle, endlessly fucking’ – a generation he was envious of. But what did ‘Right of way’ mean, with a slapping of his hands on the table? And ‘Fried with onions’? Neil fascinated her. She would miss trying to work him out.

  Would miss his fastening on some incident that she might mention from her life, some trivial thing: ‘What did he say? No, no, the exact words. And what did you say?’ At other times she could not understand his indifference. He would yawn and switch off, not only with her, with other people. ‘But Neil,’ she objected, ‘don’t you need to watch and listen?’ ‘What,’ he said, ‘the little guy standing in the corner taking notes? That’s garbage, Ellie. I’m an inventor not an observer.’ Yet there was so much he needed to know, and he turned to her more and more, starting to understand the uses he could put her to.

  If she stayed with Neil she would become as made-over as her mother was by George. She would malform, she saw it clearly: adjust to his malformations until they became necessary to her.

  So, she thought, I’m going.

  In the morning he said, ‘How about you getting them? I’ve got work to do.’

  ‘Neil, these are your kids. How will I know them?’

  He gave her a photograph: children with still faces. She wondered what damage had been done.

  ‘I’m Ellie Crowther,’ she told the hostess shepherding them.

  ‘I don’t have your name on my list.’

  ‘Their stepmother,’ she said, hating the word. ‘Hello, kids. Your father couldn’t come, he’s busy writing.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Kevin said.

  ‘This is John. You two will be sharing a room.’

  The boys looked at each other, then away.

  Ellie drove home throu
gh the tunnel, supposing Kevin, like John, would prefer it to round the bays. The girl, Siobhan, had not uttered a word. She sat in the front seat, hands tight in her lap, trying not to cry. Ellie reached across and touched her knee, and the child flinched. Bugger Neil, he should be here, she thought.

  She banged on the blue door with her fist.

  ‘Neil, they’re here. Come out.’

  His footsteps sounded, the door sprang open. Before he could speak, she said, ‘Siobhan and Kevin,’ as though introducing them.

  ‘Ah, ah,’ said Neil, in pain. He blinked rapidly; shifted from where he had been to here; stepped outside; kissed the girl, patted the boy’s head. ‘Hello, kids. You made it?’

  ‘Hi, Dad,’ Kevin said indifferently. Siobhan said nothing.

  ‘It’s great you’ve come. Hey, you’re looking super dooper doo. We’ll have some good times. The pictures, eh? But right now I’m working. Did your mum tell you that? I’ll be up at lunch time. Why don’t you go with Ellie and get settled in? Ellie, eh?’ He turned to her. She could not tell whether he was ordering her or pleading.

  ‘Come on,’ Ellie said. She took the children into the house. ‘John, show Kevin where he sleeps. Siobhan, love, come with me.’

  She took the child into the spare bedroom and put her bag on the bed. ‘Thirsty? Hungry?’

  ‘No,’ Siobhan said.

  Ellie looked in her face but Neil was not there; probably she took after the mother in her wide forehead and round cheekbones and small mouth.

  ‘Are you missing your mum?’

  Siobhan started to cry. ‘Yes.’

  Ellie sat on the bed with her and put her arm around her.

  ‘This week will go quickly, you’ll see. We’ll find all sorts of things to do.’

  ‘I didn’t want to come. She said I had to.’

  ‘We can ring her. We’ll ring tonight. Would you like that?’

  ‘She said not to … she said to tell you about my inhaler.’

  ‘Inhaler?’

  ‘For my asthma. It’s in my bag.’

  ‘Do you know how to use it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘All right, Siobhan. You get unpacked now, then come into the kitchen and we’ll see what we can find for lunch. I’m just going to see dad. You all right?’

  Siobhan sniffed. She took a handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped her nose. ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re a pretty girl. Has anyone ever told you that?’

  Ellie went outside and down the steps. She did not knock but opened the door and walked in.

  ‘Jesus, Ellie, I told you –’

  ‘Shut up. Listen to me.’

  Neil clasped his head. ‘It’s like getting hit with a baseball bat.’

  ‘That’s what you need. You never told me Siobhan was an asthmatic.’

  ‘Is she having an attack?’

  ‘No, she’s not. She’s got an inhaler. Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I never thought. She knows how to use it. Ellie, what’s the problem? I’ve got to work.’

  ‘The problem is this. Your kids are here and you’re not going to lock yourself up.’

  ‘We agreed –’

  ‘We agreed nothing. You’re their father. You’re going to spend some time with them. Otherwise I’ll put them on a plane and send them home.’

  ‘You can’t do that.’

  ‘Can’t I? Try me. They’ll love it, too. They don’t want to be here. So what you do –’

  ‘Ellie –’

  ‘What you do is work in the mornings if you have to, and knock off at midday and spend the rest of the day with them.’

  ‘No. No.’ He slapped his palms on his notebook, making a biro jump off the desk. ‘I’ve got to do this.’

  ‘No, you don’t. What you’ve got to do is spend some time with your kids. I’ll send them back, Neil, I promise you.’

  ‘Ellie,’ he groaned.

  ‘Lunch is exactly one hour. Let me know then.’

  She went out and closed the door.

  Siobhan had put her clothes in a drawer. ‘It’s a soft bed,’ she said.

  ‘Good.’

  ‘I wonder where my old mattress went.’

  ‘I hope there won’t be too much dust,’ Ellie said.

  She took Siobhan to the kitchen and taught her how to make macaroni cheese. When it was on the table she took all three children to the front bedroom.

  ‘Now, we’re right over his head. The way to make him come up is running on the spot. Everyone ready? OK, run.’ They made a sound like a train on a railway bridge. Neil’s door slammed. He came up fast. Ellie met him in the kitchen.

  ‘Lunch time, Neil,’ she cried. ‘Your day’s work is done. This afternoon you’re going to the zoo. Now, everyone, macaroni cheese.’

  She kept her front of good humour for the rest of the week. They all went to the zoo, where it rained on them, and brought home packs of Kentucky Fried Chicken for dinner. Neil fretted. He never lost his temper but seemed to grieve for his lost time.

  ‘You can never be sure you’ll find the same words one day as the next. I might have lost good stuff forever,’ he said in bed.

  ‘You’ll survive.’

  ‘My novel –’

  ‘So will your novel. No, don’t touch me. I’m too tired.’

  In the morning she spread sheets of paper on the kitchen table and painted watercolours with Siobhan. She let the boys make a domino trail on the living room floor with Neil’s books; enjoyed the way they fell cheek to cheek round the room. She played Monopoly with all three, took them to the museum and sent them to the pictures in the afternoons, with Neil along looking after Siobhan.

  ‘How do you like Kevin?’ she asked John.

  ‘He’s all right.’

  ‘Do you talk about things?’

  ‘Not much. I’m glad he’s going.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He says his mum’s prettier than you.’

  ‘Well, she might be,’ Ellie said, sounding light.

  ‘No she’s not. I bet she’s dumb. He says Neil’s not my real father but I know that.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘He’s scared of wetas. Mum, you know when Neil says “Fried with onions”? Kevin told me what it means. There used to be this actor who said it. It’s supposed to be funny.’

  ‘Has Neil said it to you?’

  ‘Sort of.’

  ‘So, what is it?’

  ‘This actor, they used to ask him how he liked children, and he always said, “Fried with onions.”’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Who is my real dad, Mum?’

  Ellie had been waiting for this question. She was surprised he had reached ten before asking it, and had taken his silence as a sign that he was happy.

  ‘A very nice man I used to know. We picked apples together. After that we lived in a railway carriage by a river. Then I had to go away and you were born.’

  ‘A proper railway carriage?’

  ‘Yes. I painted the roof.’

  ‘Can I see it?’

  ‘I’ll take you there one day. We had our bathroom outside in the trees, with a copper to boil the water in.’

  ‘What’s a copper?’

  Ellie explained. She described the gardens and the river.

  ‘I wish I could have lived there,’ John said. ‘Why did you have to go away?’

  ‘I didn’t like some of the people who came. You know how people spoil things. It got spoiled.’

  John thought. ‘What was his name? My dad?’

  ‘Michael Rowe. He was called Mike.’

  ‘What did he do?’

  ‘Odd jobs. He played the guitar. He prospected for gold.’

  ‘How?’

  Ellie told him about Mike’s panning and his sluice.

  ‘Can I see it?’

  ‘It’s probably gone.’

  ‘Can I try panning?’

  ‘One day. I’ll take you there. I promise.’

  ‘Neat,’ John said. ‘Whe
re is he now, Mike Rowe?’

  ‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since I left.’

  ‘Can we find him?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I don’t know where to look. And he’s probably got a different wife. He might have children too, the way I’ve got you.’

  ‘Does he know about me?’

  ‘No. Do you want him to?’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  Ellie pushed his hair back from his forehead. She hugged him, held him tight, and he responded then pulled away.

  ‘I like Mike for a name. But I like Crowther better than Rowe.’

  ‘Me too. I’m going to tell you a secret. Don’t tell anyone. It’s just you and me.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘We’re going to Nelson on Monday –’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘But what you don’t know is, we’re not coming back.’

  ‘You mean never? Not even after the holidays?’

  ‘Never. We’re shifting for good.’

  ‘Is he coming?’

  ‘No, he’s not.’

  ‘Great,’ John said. ‘Hey, Nelson. Neat.’

  ‘I don’t know where we’ll stay. Probably with Audrey and Fan for a while.’

  ‘It’s better than here,’ John said.

  Neil had taken Siobhan and Kevin to the tropical plant house at the botanical gardens. He arrived home grinning.

  ‘That’s a neat place.’ (Ellie was amused to hear him using John’s language.) ‘I should have gone sooner. Can you go there one day and take some notes? The names of the plants is what I want.’

  ‘What’s wrong with Siobhan?’

  ‘Ah. I thought she might be going to get her asthma. It was hot in there.’

  ‘Did she have her inhaler?’

  ‘I forgot.’

  Ellie took Siobhan to her bedroom, where the child lay down.

  ‘How long now?’ Siobhan said.

  ‘Sunday. Three more nights.’

  ‘Can I whisper something?’

  Ellie put her face down close. Siobhan held her hair in two hands. ‘I like you better than him,’ she whispered.

  Ellie went to her bedroom. She thought she might cry. Fried with onions. A thing like that was only funny once.

  Later she discovered why Neil had obeyed her all week.

  ‘I’ll look after the kids in the morning. I won’t work.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, like I told you, I’m going to the tests.’