by Jo Jakeman
Father busied himself with watering the plants and the cracked ground drank it thirstily. He stopped by us every now and again to splash us with water and laugh at our squeals. He was a quiet man, my father, kind and playful. He was never too busy for hide-and-seek, or too tired for bedtime stories. He was everything to me, and my friends loved him too. How could I have known, back then, that he was battling his own demons?
After the twins went home, Mother and Father argued. I heard her shout, ‘I don’t care what you’re thinking, it only matters how it looks.’ My mother was from a stiff-upper-lip generation where appearance was everything. She was as furious as I’d ever seen her. By the look on Father’s face, he was as confused as I was about what he’d done wrong.
The light was on in the garage well into the night. It must have been late, because I remember the sun never wanting to set that summer. The days ruled the evenings, barely letting the stars get a word in edgeways. I waited for him to leave the garage, so I could lean out of my open window and wave to him, so he’d know that I was on his side. But he only came out of the garage one more time. And by then I was asleep, and he was covered in a sheet from head to toe.
Girls, especially naive, flimsy girls like me, grew up looking for the fairy tale, waiting for those three magical words. I love you. My mother’s love included slaps to the back of the legs and ‘go-to-your-room-without-any-supper’ because she loved me. No, I was waiting for five magical words. ‘I’ll take care of you’.
The years following my father’s death, and Mother’s subsequent – and perhaps understandable – breakdown, were flat cold years, stark in comparison with the warm, rounded days of my childhood when our unit had felt unbound by limitless love. Before my father died, I could have sworn it was always summer. But afterwards, it rained. A lot.
I could have gone off the rails, smoked or drank, but I sought Mother’s attention in the only way I knew. I never put a foot wrong, never came home from school with a grade any lower than an A. Never stayed out late or had boyfriends. Never sought a life away from Mother’s Parma Violet scent.
But then I met Phillip.
I gave myself to him before I knew what I was giving away. I had mistakenly thought myself lucky to be shaped by him. I let him chip away at me, until he found something he liked. And when there was nothing else to work with, he moved on to a more pliable subject.
Though Naomi was effectively my liberator, she was still the woman who stole my husband. Prettier, younger, firmer, with a stomach unstretched by pregnancy. I knew what he saw in her, and it wasn’t brains.
I left Phillip in the cellar with his food, his bad mood and his belief that nothing was ever his fault. I made my way back up towards the hallway with a promise that we would talk again soon.
Naomi was in my mind, a vision at the tail end of a memory, as I closed the cellar door. I recalled her floral scent, which failed to mask the fact that she’d been smoking, so vividly that I thought I could smell it in the air. It had been hard to get her out of my mind since I’d seen her at the hospital.
I saw the outline of a woman walking up the driveway and rushed to open the door before she rang the bell. I squeezed outside to cut her off at the doorstep and send her on her way.
I stopped with a jolt as my memory was made manifest. There she was, Naomi, with a crooked smile on her face.
‘Y’alright, duck?’ she said. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
TEN
11 days before the funeral
I shepherded Naomi through to the kitchen, closed the door to the hallway and mumbled something about ‘keeping the heat in’ and ‘chilly today’. I crossed quickly to the cupboard in the corner, where the boiler was neatly hidden, and switched the heating on. Gurgling and tapping filled the kitchen for a moment and would have drowned out any sounds from the basement. Naomi took off her thin denim jacket and laid it across the back of the chair, in defiance of my lie.
She was wearing a shirt thin enough for me to see the shape of a tattoo on her shoulder blade. The cut on her forehead was stuck together with greying butterfly stitches, and in the light of the day I could see that she’d done her best to conceal the bruising with make-up.
‘Not working today?’ she asked me.
‘No. Not feeling too great.’
‘You look like crap.’ Her eyes dared me to contradict her.
Naomi was obviously in the mood for an argument. I wasn’t.
‘I wouldn’t say “no” to a brew, seeing as I’ve driven all this way,’ she said.
I rearranged my features into an apology, but inherent politeness wouldn’t let me find the words to ask her to leave. Old, compliant me was still in there somewhere. I was skating on thin ice, and it felt like she was pushing me towards the middle of the lake. I wanted her to leave without making a fuss. I needed her to keep her voice quiet and her movements limited. I had to keep her from discovering her boyfriend in my cellar.
‘I’ll pop the kettle on.’
I warmed the pot, offering Naomi a biscuit by saying, ‘Elevenses?’ like Gran used to say, and felt the age gap between us widen some more.
‘No, ta.’
She was looking at her mobile, checking messages and refreshing the screen.
‘How’s the er … head?’ I asked.
‘Sore, but, you know …’
‘I’m glad you came round,’ I lied. ‘I wanted to call to see if you were okay, but thought I’d make things worse if Phillip knew I’d phoned. Anyway, I wasn’t sure you’d still be there.’
‘Told you,’ she said, putting her phone face-down on the table and fixing her attention on me, ‘I got nowhere else to go. I wasn’t thinking straight on Sunday.’
‘I’m sure there are—’ I began, but she cut across me.
‘Seen Phil lately?’
My scalp tingled and there was a sensation of cold water trickling down my spine. I paused before answering, taking a moment to peer into the fridge.
‘Skimmed milk okay?’
She nodded.
‘As a matter of fact,’ I continued, ‘I saw him yesterday. He wanted me to sign some paperwork.’
‘And?’
‘And that’s it really. I didn’t sign it, because he wants me out of the house by the end of the month.’
Naomi folded her arms and leaned back on the wooden chair, causing the front two legs to lift off the floor.
‘You didn’t sign? Last week you couldn’t wait to get everything done. What changed?’
‘I … We need to come to a better arrangement about the house.’
And Alistair, I thought.
‘Why’d he want you out the house so quick?’
‘Don’t know. You’d have to ask him,’ I said.
‘I would,’ she said. ‘But he didn’t come home last night.’
Blame it on lack of sleep, or stupidity, but I hadn’t considered that Naomi would notice his absence and come to my door. Self-preservation has a way of dealing with guilt. I needed her to stop looking for him.
‘Perhaps,’ I said, as if a thought had just occurred to me, ‘he’s realised that the two of you can’t go on like this. Is it possible that he’s left you?’
The day was darkening even though the morning was not yet spent. Nature was colluding with me to explain my door-closing, heating-switching behaviour.
She didn’t take her eyes off me. ‘Maybe. You think he’s found someone better, do you? Maybe an old flame?’
She looked far too smug. She wasn’t buying my explanation. And, worse than that, she was looking at me like I might be the old flame.
‘Listen, Naomi, I wasn’t going to say anything, but a friend of mine said I owed you the truth. I can’t keep it from you any longer.’
She raised an eyebrow. I’d got her attention. She looked almost eager, like this is what she had come for.
‘At your house the other day you didn’t seem to know that Phillip hadn’t been at work. He wasn’t at the doctor’s, eith
er, but I think you already knew that, didn’t you? There’s no easy way to say this, Naomi, but Phillip’s been lying to you. And if you put that together with the fact that he wants us out of the house by the end of the month … well, isn’t it obvious? Phillip’s having an affair.’
I let the news sink in for a moment. If she wanted to storm out now, I wouldn’t stop her, but she kept her eyes on my face, wanting more.
‘It wouldn’t be the first time, would it?’ I continued. ‘So if I were you, I’d go home and pack your things. Perhaps go to a hotel while you work out what you want to do?’
I knew she would eventually find out that her partner had spent the night in my cellar, but hopefully not until he’d signed the papers.
I expected shock, or denial, possibly a tear, but I didn’t expect the laughter that came.
It was my turn to fold my arms. Still she laughed. It was the dry, rasping laugh of a smoker. Breathless and coarse. She shook her head and looked about her.
I wondered whether we’d hear Phillip if he began to shout. Just how good was that soundproofing he’d paid a fortune for?
‘I tell you what,’ she said. ‘You almost had me fooled.’
‘Sorry?’ I glanced towards the door. She couldn’t possibly know. Could she?
‘I mean, God, is it even true?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Is what true?’
‘Fine. Whatever.’ She stood up and shrugged her shoulders into her jacket. ‘One thing, though, if you don’t want me to know he’s here, he shouldn’t leave his car on the drive.’
‘I can explain,’ I said, following Naomi outside. ‘It isn’t what you think.’
‘You’re still in love with him, aren’t you?’
‘No, I …’
‘Did you think I wouldn’t notice you’d taken a photo of Phil from my house?’
I grimaced with embarrassment. ‘If you’d just let me explain.’
I’d switched from wanting her away from the house to not being able to bear the thought of her leaving. I couldn’t let her believe I was having an affair with Phillip. The idea was ludicrous, but then so was the fact that I’d taken a picture from her house just so there wouldn’t be thirteen photos.
‘When you said he were having an affair, did you think I wouldn’t know it was you? Well, the joke’s on you, ’cause I don’t want him anyway. The shit I’ve put up with … You’ve done me a favour, and I hope the both of you rot in hell. Is it even true? Does he even have cancer?’
Cancer.
I tilted my head to one side, hoping I’d misheard.
‘What?’
‘Or were that another lie? Hard to tell any more.’
Phillip with cancer? Naomi was angry and her voice was raised and shrill.
‘Well, if it is true, you’re welcome to wipe his arse and feed him through a tube as he gets sick. You can be the one who sits by the side of his bed as he wheezes away. I hope you enjoy the time you’ve got left. You’ll be lucky to get a couple of months with him. You’d better make the most of it.’
I put both my hands upon Naomi’s car bonnet and bent over to wait for my head to stop spinning.
‘He’s got cancer?’ I asked quietly.
‘I’nt that the reason you’ve taken him back?’
‘I haven’t taken him back.’
Naomi put her hands on her hips and glared at me, but some of her defiance was gone.
‘Then what’s going on?’ she asked.
I looked back at the house. Who knew? Phillip was a master manipulator and I couldn’t trust anything that came out of his mouth. But … the erratic behaviour, the time off work, the desperation to spend more time with Alistair. If he’d told me he had cancer, I would have called him a liar, but the deceit – and the fact that he was obviously hiding something – had a ring of truth to it.
‘If …’ I stammered, not sure what to ask first, ‘if … he does have cancer, why is he in such a hurry to get me out of the house and finalise the divorce? He could just … wait.’
Naomi threw her hands up to the skies, as if it was anyone’s guess.
‘All I can tell you is he said it was so that we could get married before he died. Said he wanted to make sure that loose ends were tied up and that I were entitled to his pension. But now here he is, shacked up with you.’
‘He’s not shacked up with … Oh, shit!’
I concentrated on my feet, my breathing. Now wouldn’t be a good time for a panic attack. I studied the pebbles beneath my feet. I counted ten, and then ten again. This didn’t sound like the Phillip I knew. But then, did I really know him any more? Had I ever? If Phillip had been trying to do right by Naomi, for a change, then I’d misjudged his motives. Surely I could be forgiven for that.
‘No,’ I said. ‘That still doesn’t explain everything. He could sell the house and finalise the divorce without me moving out.’
‘He thinks you’d put off any buyers.’
I shook my head, but he had a point. I certainly wouldn’t have made things easy for him. Naomi unlocked the car and the side-lights flashed.
‘What kind of cancer is it?’ I asked. I needed facts, something tangible. I didn’t want to believe that I had locked up a terminally ill man.
‘Lung. But it’s spread.’
The same as his father had. No, no, no. I still didn’t trust him, but Naomi, who wasn’t given to blind faith, did. I mentally gave Phillip the once-over. He’d lost a little weight, hadn’t he? His skin looked slacker and duller than usual. He might, just might, be telling the truth.
‘If that’s true, how long’s he got?’
‘No one knows, but he reckons he’s got weeks, not months.’
‘Why didn’t he say something?’
Naomi raised her voice again. ‘Look, I came here to give you the chance to be honest wi’ me. I’m not gonna stand here to be made a fool of.’
‘It’s not how it looks, Naomi.’
‘Really? So tell me what’s going on then.’
I wondered about letting her drive away; perhaps I should have done. If she washed her hands of him, my rashness might not be discovered for a while longer. It would give me time to work out what I was going to do. Tempting, but I knew how it felt to be betrayed, and I couldn’t let Naomi leave, believing that I would do that to her.
‘You’re right, I do have something to tell you,’ I said. ‘First, though, just so I understand – you’d agreed to stay with him until the end? Marry him?’
She nodded.
‘And is that … I’m sorry to ask, but is that because you love him or because you want financial security?’
‘What’s that got to do with—’
‘Humour me.’
She screwed up her face. We both knew that the honest answer wouldn’t paint her in a good light, or let her maintain the moral high ground.
‘Right,’ I said. ‘In that case, this situation can still be salvaged.’
I stepped closer to her and lowered my voice.
‘I can promise you, on Alistair’s life, that Phillip and I are not having an affair.’
She nodded, a little unsure, but willing to listen.
‘You see, it’s far, far worse than that,’ I said.
I knew a fall was coming, felt the climb to the top of the rollercoaster; once I told her, there was no going back.
‘The thing is, Naomi,’ I looked about me and listened for the sounds of neighbours. I didn’t want anyone else hearing what I had to say. I’d not even intended Naomi to hear it, but here we were and I was left with little choice. I lowered my voice to a whisper. ‘You see, the thing is, Naomi, I’ve locked Phillip in my cellar.’
ELEVEN
11 days before the funeral
Naomi and I sat in her blue Fiesta facing the house. I had a grave mistrust of blue cars since the night of the accident, but Naomi hadn’t even been old enough to drive when I lost the baby. The front door was slightly ajar. The house was waiting expectantly f
or us to go back in, as it knew we must.
Soft spots of rain appeared like teardrops on the windscreen. Naomi was silent as I told her about Phillip’s ultimatums and the threats. I explained how he went into the cellar of his own free will, and all I did was close the door. The fight, and subsequent fall, was his fault; and really, did I have any choice but to subdue him?
If I’d known about the cancer, I might have done things differently. But I might not.
‘He’s in the cellar right now. You can go and look, if you like. If we were having an affair, would I lock him down there? Think about it. I’ve got no reason to lie about something like this.’
Naomi didn’t take her eyes off the house and I didn’t take my eyes off her. I was trying to read her face, but it was emotionless. I was shaking with nerves. I couldn’t tell how she was going to react. Would she tell me I was crazy? Call the police? Demand I let him go?
‘I didn’t plan it,’ I continued desperately. ‘It’s not like I want him here. What am I going to do about Alistair?’ I held my hands up. ‘It’s rash and stupid, but there’s no easy way to fix what I’ve done. If I let him go now, two things are likely to happen. One, he’s going to beat the shit out of me; and two, he’s going to report me to the police. If I’m charged, I could lose custody of my son.
‘Best-case scenario is that he does neither of these things and, instead, Phillip holds it over me, to make sure I’m out of the house by the end of the month. Which means that I and my son will be homeless.’
She shifted in her seat to look at me and sneered.
‘No, you won’t. You’ll live with your mum or your aunt or your next-door neighbour, or whatever. You don’t know what it’s like to be homeless – like, actually living on the street, sleeping under a bridge. You haven’t the first idea.’
The way she spoke made me think that she had more than a theoretical grasp of homelessness.