by Iain Broome
Before he left for New Zealand, Doctor Richmoor came to visit. Georgina boiled the kettle and poured him a cup of soup. She did it all on her own. No bother at all. ‘I’d love to learn to dance again,’ she said. I smiled at her and thought about our parents. Doctor Richmoor smiled too. ‘There’s no reason why you can’t,’ he said. ‘Just make sure you send me the photos.’ We talked about the future. He was looking forward to the weather and spending time with his grandchildren. He said he didn’t know if he’d ever return. I said I might go back to work, even though I didn’t want to. And Georgina, after eighteen months of pain and rehabilitation, she just wanted to dance. To do something new. Something different. She was walking and talking, almost back to how she used to be. She made jokes about my files. She said they took up too much room. She was going to have a bonfire while I was out. We laughed about it. I said the files kept me sane and she laughed even more. But she never read them. She couldn’t make out the words.
Only six weeks after Doctor Richmoor left the country, Georgina had her second stroke. He has no idea. Jonathan neither. He just checks me over and writes me her prescriptions. He reads her records, but he’s never spoken to her. He asks me how she’s doing, but he never comes round to see for himself. Jonathan is not like Doctor Richmoor. But he is a doctor. So I believe his every word. Sometimes, when he’s checking my blood pressure or I’m reading his notice board, I think about telling him my secret. I wonder what would happen if I asked him for his help. I think about shaking him, shouting ‘Why? Why has this happened to my wife? Why has this happened to me?’ But there’s no point. The damage has been done. I know the answers. I’ve heard them all before. It’s because something stopped the blood supply from getting to her brain. It’s because the same thing happened to her mother. It’s because of the HRT. The menopause. The depression. Our failure to have children. It’s what the Lord has chosen. There’s nothing I could have done to stop it. Nothing I could have said to make a difference. I’m just here to pick up the pieces. And keep faith.
Doctor Richmoor sent two postcards. One was addressed to me, the other to Georgina. Mine had a map of New Zealand on it. Cities and towns marked out with pictures next to them. They’d arrived safely. The weather was terrific. They were all doing fine. Even the dogs. Georgina’s postcard had a rugby player on the front. His hands in the air and a grimace on his face. He looked gigantic. ‘New Zealand Tourism Board’, it said in the top right hand corner. On the back, in gold marker pen, it said, ‘Dear Georgina. Is this what you had in mind?’ She’s not read it yet. She’s not smiled and shaken her head. She’s not had chance to reply.
It arrived a week too late.
I’ve filed it away for when she gets better.
Revelations
Angelica has confided in me. We are definitely friends.
It happened yesterday morning. She knocked on the front door while I was in the bedroom. I’d just finished bathing Georgina. ‘There’s someone at the door,’ I told her. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’ I walked downstairs with my flannel. My hands were wet and soapy. As I reached the bottom I saw Angelica’s fingers. They were inside the house, poking through the letterbox. She was holding it open from the outside and crouching to look through the hole. I could see the bridge of her nose and one of her eyes behind her hair.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I didn’t think you were home.’
I opened the door and Angelica barged past me. There was nothing I could do to stop her. She took off her coat and hung it over the banister. I followed her to the kitchen and tossed the flannel into the sink. I turned on the tap and washed the soap from my hands.
‘What have you been up to?’ she said.
‘Cleaning,’ I replied.
She plugged the kettle in at the wall, took a mug from the cupboard and a slice of cake from the fridge without asking. Chocolate sponge cake. Georgina’s favourite. I’d made it for her as a treat and a test. But she didn’t want to eat it. I thought she might have been ready. But apparently not. Angelica ate with her hand beneath her chin like a plate.
‘You’ve got chocolate on your face.’
‘Where?’
‘Your cheek.’
‘Has it gone?’
‘The other cheek.’
‘How about now?’
‘No, you’ve made it worse.’
‘You do it then.’
I dried my hands and walked over. She lifted her chin, half-closed her eyes and looked down her nose at me. I licked my thumb and wiped the chocolate away. She dragged her sleeve across her mouth when I’d finished.
‘That’s disgusting,’ she said, and walked over to the window. ‘Why is there a football in your garden?’
‘It’s from next door.’
‘Which side?’
‘Annie Carnaffan.’
‘The old woman? Has she got grandchildren?’
‘No. She hasn’t.’
‘What does the writing say?’
‘What writing?’
‘There’s something written on the side of the ball.’
Angelica turned and tipped her head towards the window. I peered over her shoulder at the black markings on the football. She wanted me to go outside and get it. Annie Carnaffan had never written anything on any of the other footballs. Though I wouldn’t have put it past her. Wicked old woman. I unlocked the back door, stepped outside and walked across the lawn. The grass was wet with dew and soaked my slippers. I picked the football up with my fingertips and carried it back inside to Angelica. She was finishing her cake.
‘Well?’ she said. ‘What does it say?’
‘It doesn’t say anything.’
‘Are you sure? It looked like it was done with a marker pen.’
‘It’s a picture. Of an eye. With lashes. I think she’s finally lost it.’
Angelica scrunched her eyebrows and smirked, which I took to mean that she agreed with me, and that she wasn’t going to ask any questions. I put the football on the table and walked back to my position by the door to the hall. Angelica stood opposite. I looked her up and down without her noticing. She was wearing her fluffy-cuffed coat and a scarf with multicoloured stripes that stretched from one end to the other. Too many colours to count. It covered her neck and jaw right up to her mouth. It was covered in crumbs.
‘Anyway, I’m sorry to surprise you like this,’ she said.
‘It’s all right,’ I replied.
‘I was thinking about the other day and thought I’d come over.’
‘Which day do you mean?’
‘After Don’s funeral, when I was here. When I brought you the coupons?’
I paused before I answered. She knew something. She was on to me. First she’d seen Benny painting and then she’d found Georgina. Through a gap in the door. By the way I was standing. Somehow she knew. And now she was here to confront me. While eating my cake and wearing her scarf. I’d have to tell her everything.
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I remember.’
Angelica folded her arms and took two steps towards me. She was close enough to touch but far enough away for me to still have time to react. I reached down slowly, put my arm across the door and my fingers on the handle. I pretended to lean. Angelica lowered her voice.
‘Does he always paint with his eyes closed?’ she said. I paused again, thought about my reply, made sure it wasn’t a trick.
‘Every night. Between one and two in the morning.’ She smiled at me and I smiled back. I didn’t know why we were smiling, but I knew that something was different. Her eyes had changed. They were kinder, like I could tell her anything.
‘How often do you watch him?’
‘Quite often, but not too much.’
‘Do you think he knows that you watch him?’
‘No. Nobody does. Only you.’
She closed her eyes and let her smile turn into a laugh. She unfolded her arms, pulled her scarf away from her chin.
‘I’d like to watch Benny with you,’ she said.
‘Pardon?’
‘Can I watch Benny with you? Would you mind?’
‘Why? What for?’
‘Just for a while. To see how he does it. To see what it’s like.’
‘I don’t think so. It’s nothing special.’
‘It looked pretty special.’
‘Not really. It helps me to sleep.’
‘I know it’s a lot to ask, but I won’t stay long. I promise.’
‘I don’t think so. Sorry.’
Angelica took another step towards me. I tightened my grip on the handle and looked over her shoulder. It was starting to rain. Georgina’s sheets needed washing. I’d have to dry them inside and make the house smell nice like the powder. Angelica moved her head to the side and into my line of vision. She tried to force my attention.
‘If you let me watch him,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you why we were fighting.’ We held each other’s gaze and I let her lean towards me. She wanted to watch Benny with me. She wanted to tell me a secret. I let go of the door handle carefully, uncurled my fingers one at a time. This was what I’d hoped would happen. A chance to get to know each other properly. A chance for me to test out her credentials. She put one hand on my shoulder and shielded her mouth with the other. ‘He kissed me,’ she whispered, softly in my ear.
Restoration
I turn on the tap and fill the kitchen sink with warm water. Outside, the sunlight floods more than half of the garden, but there is still a section of lawn that’s yet to see the day, where the frost waits for the warmth. I bend down, open the cupboard under the sink and take out the detergent that I bought yesterday. The bottle is bright pink and so is the liquid inside. It looks edible, like melted marshmallows or badly- made icing on a cake. I unscrew the cap, flip it over and fill it with detergent. I pour the detergent into the water and stir the mixture with my fingers. It’s almost ten o’clock in the morning. Twenty minutes ago, I took my electric toothbrush from the bathroom. It has a blue plastic trim around the button. It’s fully charged. I walked from the bathroom to the landing, climbed into the loft and collected Georgina’s jewellery box. Her wedding ring needs cleaning.
Tonight is the night. Angelica is coming over and we are watching Benny together. I have taken precautions. Yesterday I came up with a plan to make sure that she doesn’t find Georgina. I went to B&Q, bought a new lock and screwed it to the bedroom door. I did it while Georgina was sleeping. She never even noticed and it won’t change a thing. If Angelica asks, I’ll tell her that the lock has been there for months and that I put it there for Kipling. That I kept him from the bedroom so he couldn’t make a mess on the carpet. I will tell her that I still use the lock because I can’t get out of the habit. It’s a sensitive subject. We shouldn’t talk about it. The plan is fool proof. I can still make notes – I’ll just keep my files in the loft. I can still look after Georgina – I’ll just need to keep up our secret. It all seems very straightforward.
I open the box of jewellery and take out Georgina’s wedding ring. It is plain and silver, a simple band, the same as mine. It has tiny marks on the outside and a thin layer of grime in the middle. All of which will wash away. I close the lid and hold the ring up to the window. It glistens in the sunlight, despite the dirt and fingerprints. I place the ring in the sink and pick up the electric toothbrush. I use my thumb to switch it on. It spins and buzzes like a scaled-down chainsaw. I lower the toothbrush into the sink and watch it twirl and spin and flick water up and onto my trousers. There is no time to stop. Today is a busy day. I let the brush touch the ring, turning slowly, carefully, enough to scrub without scraping. After thirty seconds I take the ring out of the water and hold it to the light again. The marks and grease have all but disappeared. I repeat until satisfied.
Note: Dry ring with hairdryer. Wrap in cotton wool. Keep safe. Note end.
It was New Year’s Eve. She was twenty-one and I was twenty- one in two days’ time. We’d been with friends and were walking home through the centre of the village. Georgina was staying at my parents’ house. She’d have my bed and I’d sleep downstairs on the sofa. I looked at my watch and told her we should go to the void. We should walk up to where we used to sit together, when we watched the machines. She said she didn’t want to. It was cold. My parents would be waiting. I told her that they’d be in bed, that she could have my scarf and that I had a key to the house. We could let ourselves in when we wanted.
‘Let’s sit here,’ I said. ‘Just for a while.’ She humoured me, but I didn’t mind. There was something I needed to say. I wanted it to be special. Or as special as it could possibly be, all things considered. I talked and Georgina listened. She replied occasionally, but only so I knew that she was paying attention. I sat behind her with my arms around her stomach and my chin resting on her shoulder. I could smell her perfume. The evening’s cigarette smoke in her hair. I pointed towards the hill on the opposite side of the void. Back then it had been a heap of soil, now it was covered in grass. ‘Can you remember the first time we came here?’ I said. ‘We sat over there.’ Georgina leaned forward, turned her head and looked at me. ‘Of course,’ she said, and stood up without using her hands. ‘We should get going.’ I stayed where I was. I didn’t want to leave. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘It’s freezing.’ She bent down, put her arm under mine and tried to drag me to my feet, but I resisted. I watched her tighten the knot on my scarf around her neck. She turned and walked away.
‘Wait,’ I said. Georgina turned again. ‘I wanted to ask you something.’ She put her hands on her hips and waited for me to continue. Her hair was longer then. She wore it down over her shoulders. I stared at her and tried to speak. But the words had dried. I sat with my mouth wide open, unable to say what I wanted to say. Georgina filled the gap. She’d read me like a book.
‘You want to marry me?
‘Yes. Yes please.’ She looked away from me. Just for a second. And then back. She smiled with her eyes. That’s how I remember it.
‘Gordon, I’m not pregnant anymore,’ she said. ‘They’ll never know unless we tell them. It wasn’t meant to be. Nothing needs to change.’
I paused. Kept eye contact. Made sure she knew I was serious.
*
I’m standing at the window and I’m waiting for Angelica. It’s ten minutes to one in the morning and she is in the process of leaving her house. One by one the lights are going out. First upstairs, now downstairs. My fingers are twitching and no matter how much I concentrate, I can’t seem to get them to stop. I must be nervous. Another light goes out. And then a different light comes back on. It’s upstairs, which means she must have forgotten something. Or she’s decided to go to the toilet.
I know that having Angelica here is a risk, but I need to learn more about her. I need to know that she is capable of helping me care for Georgina, in case something happens. Something I haven’t prepared for. I’m ready for Angelica’s arrival, but I don’t know if it’s good enough. What if she talks or laughs too loudly? What if she shouts, swears or drops something? There is much that can go wrong. But I’m still looking forward to it. All the lights are out. The door is opening. Here she is. Jeans and t-shirt, arms folded, into the night.
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like tea?’
‘No thank you, Gordon. Still no thank you. You’ve already asked me twice.’
‘Yes. Sorry.’
Angelica smiles, sniffs and looks at the kitchen clock. She’s twitched and glanced and checked the time on seven occasions in the four minutes that’s she’s been here. It may be more because I had my back to her when I poured myself a drink. We’ve barely said a word because we don’t know what to say to each other. Not like before, when we spoke freely and played Scrabble. She must be nervous too. It’s probably down to Benny. And everything that happened.
‘Gordon, it’s almost one o’ clock.’
‘Really? Already?’
‘Won’t we miss the start?’ I pull back my sleeve and tap the face of my watch. I look at t
he clock on the wall. It feels strange her being here. At this time. For Benny.
‘Can I ask you a question?’
She sighs a little. She seems impatient. ‘Go on,’ she says. ‘Okay.’
‘When Benny kissed you.’ I pause and wait for her to acknowledge the subject matter. She nods silently. ‘When Benny kissed you, did you kiss him back?’ Angelica doesn’t reply straight away. She allows the corners of her mouth to shape into the smallest of smiles. She holds my gaze and I begin to regret my question. It could have waited. It doesn’t matter why she’s here. Just that she is. Eventually she answers.
‘Of course not, Gordon. He’s just a boy.’ She says it without losing the smile, which makes it difficult to tell if it’s the truth or not. It seems intentional.
‘Absolutely,’ I say. ‘And yes. We should get going.’
Angelica stands up, but I move quickly and get to the door before her. She follows me into the hall. I stop at the foot of the stairs and she almost walks into me. I turn and smile. She doesn’t smile back. We climb the stairs and I walk slowly and carefully so that she must do the same. So that both of us tread quietly. I step onto the landing and into the spare room. We look through the window and across the street. At Benny’s candles, dancing in the half-light. Angelica puts her hand on my shoulder and gently moves me aside. She stands by the curtain and watches.
One hour later she thanks me. She says she’ll come back tomorrow.
Rhythms
It’s half past one in the morning. Georgina is asleep and Angelica is sitting next to me on the bed in the spare room. Benny is painting. We’re watching him together. We’ve watched him every day this week. I don’t know what happened between them and I’ve decided I don’t really care. I’ve started a new file and hidden it under the bed. It has everything in it. The times Angelica comes over and the clothes that she wears. The things she says and how long she stays for. I write them down as soon as she leaves. I watch her walk across the road and into her house. She waves when she closes her door.