by Isla Dewar
‘Love to Martha.’
‘You know Martha?’
‘I know about her. I know everything. We all do.’
She shut the door. Alone on the stairs, Charlie remembered all the questions he’d come to ask.
How often had she seen Brendan? Had he asked her to marry him? Had she given him money? But going down the stairs, he wondered if any of it mattered. And he should have asked why the gang adored him.
This adoration bothered him. He didn’t want it. A seething mass of women coming at him, reaching for him, calling his name, God almighty, no thanks. One at a time, he could handle that. But not all together. He should have asked how many women were actually in the gang. He would go back to the office, make a list of questions and come back and get answers.
He unchained his bike and wheeled it towards the main road. Then stopped. ‘Bloody woman,’ he shouted and slapped his forehead.
The rosy-cheeked woman he thought was watching him, the one he imagined to be his mother, had been a picture in the book he’d read all those long years ago when he’d been a child alone in the flat waiting for Ella to come home. She had been the woman waiting for her children to come home. The one the woodsman had brought the lost infants to. She’d had a fat teapot, a loaf of warm bread and a cosy fireside.
Christ, he thought, my life has been built round a cheap tattered book, second-hand no doubt and probably dire. I kind of thought all mothers of lost children looked like that. Mine, however, was living it up and loving her freedom.
49
Look Behind You
Remembering that Marvin Hay had told her he’d spoken to Bernice on the day she first came to the agency, Martha had come to talk to him or his wife. Well, Charlie wouldn’t. He thought Marvin’s wife scary. Marvin wasn’t home. But Louise, his wife, was. This woman was born to be Mrs Hay. She was too tense, embittered and too downright scary to be given her first name. She sat across from Martha, hands folded on her knees, face muscles kept tight lest any emotion flit over it.
‘You want to see Marvin. So would I. He buggered off. I have a feeling I won’t be seeing him again.’ She pulled in her lips, raised her eyes and glared.
‘So you don’t know where he might be?’ said Martha.
Mrs Hay shook her head. ‘No. It’ll be a city. And he’ll be in a small terraced house near a pub. He always liked the idea of drinking in a local where everyone knew him and shouted hello when he came through the door. He likes friendliness. Though he’s not very good at it.’
Martha nodded.
‘Friendliness doesn’t interest me.’ Mrs Hay waved her hand, dismissing the thought of many friends. ‘People are nosy. They talk behind your back. Criticise. I like being with me. Well, me and him when he was here. Things I did for him – packed lunches to die for, ironed his shirts, starched the bed sheets, scrubbed, dusted and kept this place immaculate.’ As she spoke she acted out the motions of ironing and scrubbing. Then she sat back, hands folded on the knees once more, performance over.
Martha was uncomfortable here. This house wasn’t a home. It was an overly clean bubble where the world wasn’t welcome. ‘You sound angry,’ she said.
‘Course I’m angry. That woman did it. She gave him money. Bitch. I always got Charlie Gavin to fetch Marvin home when he went off. I always thought Marvin ran away because of some wanderlust. This time I realised he went because he doesn’t want to be here.’
Martha said, ‘Oh, surely not.’
‘Oh, surely.’ Mrs Hay’s voice was flat and definite.
‘Do you know who the woman who gave him the money was?’
‘No.’ Mrs Hay shrugged. ‘But she employed him to follow you and Charlie.’
Martha shook her head. ‘He didn’t do that. Nobody followed us.’
‘Oh, yes, he did. The two of you followed a woman from Heriot Row to a restaurant. You peered in and looked sad and envious. You,’ Mrs Hay pointed at Martha, ‘were parked outside your husband’s flat that he shares with his new girl, Grace, and he came out and burned a suit and shouted at you. Charlie got beaten up in Rose Street. My Marvin saw it all. And more. He’s seen everything.’
Martha slumped back in her seat, her mouth hanging open. ‘My God, he really did follow us. We never noticed. How did he do that?’
‘He thinks it’s because he’s so ordinary. Nobody sees him. He says you and Charlie are easy to follow. You never look behind you and you are too busy talking and bickering and discussing stuff to see anything that’s going on. He says when you’re driving you never look in your rear-view mirror.’
‘I do. I always look.’
‘Marvin said you could be tailed by Marlon Brando driving a gorilla in an open-top orange Cadillac, Beach Boys blasting, and you wouldn’t notice. You’re too lost in your little world.’
‘That’s not true.’ But Martha worried. She secretly feared it might be the case.
‘Marvin said you talk to yourself all the time when you’re driving.’
Martha put her hand to her mouth. She did that. She chatted to herself, thinking this conversation excellent. She agreed with everything that was said. Well, she was talking to someone who was always right.
Mrs Hay said, ‘Marvin just loved spying on you. He wants to be a detective now. He said it was wonderful. He got paid for being a voyeur.’
‘It’s not like that. You’re uncovering the truth.’
‘Well, Marvin had a fine time.’
‘And you don’t know who he was reporting to?’
‘Just a woman he met outside Charlie’s office. She quizzed him apparently then offered him money to spy on Charlie. And he took it and spied then buggered off. So, what do you make of that?’
Martha didn’t reply. She looked round and recognised the signs of recent sorrow. The fight against grime in here had become a war. Mrs Hay fought her grief and her grievances with elbow grease.
Mrs Hay didn’t really care about anything any more. Maybe when scrubbing she imagined she was scrubbing Marvin away. Scrub, scrub, swish, swish, have that, Marvin. Soon you won’t exist any more and I’ll be free of you.
‘My husband ran away,’ Martha said. ‘He took off and legged it as fast as he could.’
‘You actually saw him?’
Martha nodded.
Mrs Hay couldn’t believe it. ‘You actually saw him running away from you?’
‘Yes. I’d just told him I was pregnant with our second child and it was too much for him. He ran off to be with the woman he was seeing who was also expecting his child.’ She raised her eyebrows. My small gift to you Mrs Hay; you are not alone. I have also known pain. ‘Life’s a bitch, is it not?’
Mrs Hay smiled, an odd, slightly squint movement of the lips. ‘Oh, thank you, thank you. You’ve made me feel so much better. I thought it was only me.’
‘Glad to have helped,’ said Martha.
‘That’s wonderful. He just took off and left you standing in the street? Oh my, at least my Marvin didn’t do that. Oh, that’s just fantastic.’ She clapped her hands. ‘You’re worse than me. I love it. And you pregnant, too. And him running off to a pregnant woman he preferred to you. Fabulous.’
‘I’m glad you’re pleased,’ said Martha. Though she wasn’t. It was good to know she’d brought some glee into Mrs Hay’s life. But she’d been hoping for a bit of bonding and not this triumphal crowing. ‘Thanks for the chat. Interesting talking to you. I’ll probably go now.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ Martha said to Charlie, ‘I’ve never made someone so happy in my life. And with a confession. Not a kiss, sex, a meal, a wish granted or a song. The woman was practically floating when she showed me to the door.’
‘It’s not often you get an opportunity to gloat. She must be grateful.’
‘I thought telling her my shameful secret would bring us closer. But it didn’t.’
‘You have to admit there is a certain comfort in discovering someone who is worse off than you are. You done good, kid.’ Charlie ga
ve her a nod.
Martha snorted. ‘It didn’t feel like a good job. I was belittled. It wasn’t pleasant.’
They were back in the office comparing notes. Both were comforted to find that the other had done badly.
‘This Marvin thing is weird. I had no idea he was following me. He must be good,’ said Charlie.
‘Or we’re crap. Also he must have lost the squeaky shoes.’
‘There’s that. We can be sure that the woman who hired Marvin was Bernice Stokes. She even mentioned seeing him when she first came to see us. But why would someone hire someone to follow the person they’d hired to find a partner, lover, friend, whatever, who wasn’t missing in the first place?’
‘When you put it like that, I have no idea.’
‘Well,’ said Charlie, ‘there’s a lesson to be learned. When you’re out and about and you’re pretty bloody happy walking down the street with a good pal, having a cool time, exchanging thoughts, maybe bickering a bit, remember to turn round and look behind you. You’d probably be surprised at what’s there.’ He raised a thoughtful finger. ‘In fact it’s a lesson for life. Look back at where you’ve come from. You just don’t know what great big thing you’ve forgotten about is sneaking up behind you.’
50
I Like You, Charlie Gavin
‘Bernice must be finished,’ Charlie said. ‘Marvin would seem to have disappeared. She’ll have paid him off. Her plan must be in place.’
‘I think she’s poised, ready to pounce,’ said Martha. ‘If she hasn’t already pounced and we missed it.’
Four o’clock on a sunny afternoon and the pair were in Sophie’s living room. They’d walked Evie home from school, given her cold milk and biscuits, and were watching her play with Murphy and friends in the garden. There seemed to be no structure to the game going on down on the lawn. There was jumping and running and squealing. Screams and giggles came to them in small squalls as one group pounced on another and, after a brief skirmish involving jumping up and down and pointing, they all scattered in different directions then hurtled back in small colourful waves to jump and scream and giggle once more. It was incomprehensible fun.
Charlie was baffled. ‘There is no rhyme or reason to what’s going on down there. They’re all just squealing. Who are the good guys and who are the bad guys?’ He put his forehead on the windowpane and stared at the frenetic players below. ‘I never understood little girls. When I was little they scared me. They moved quickly, had squeaky voices and kept their school pencil cases tidy.’ He sighed. ‘They seemed so positive. I stood looking at them with my mouth open and my hands dangling by my side. They were creatures of mystery, on their way to being bossy. Were you like that?’
‘I didn’t play with dolls. I wanted to be a cowboy. Cowboys laugh at pencil cases, especially tidy ones. I did do stuff like the rioters on the lawn, though. They’re just letting off steam. It’s good. They’ll eat masses then sleep early. Mothers appreciate mini bouts of running, jumping and squealing.’
‘Do you suppose Bernice did stuff like that? I can’t imagine it. I think she is one of these people who were born forty-two. I don’t think she was ever properly young.’
Martha looked out at the game. ‘She’d have been like that little girl there.’ She pointed to a girl who was standing apart, keenly watching the goings-on. ‘That one is looking for an opening. A moment in the game when she can step in and take over. And that one,’ pointing to a shy and anxious girl who was obviously overwhelmed by the wildness and noise, ‘is hoping it will all end soon because it’s all too much for her and she’s out of her depth. She knows it might all turn to tears and she’d be among the weeping.’
‘Christ, you know all about girls playing games.’
‘It’s like life. Everyone wants fun and a slice of cake but there are some, like our first little girl, who want to have most of the fun and all of the cake.’
‘I get the feeling you’re trying to tell me something. I’m missing the point.’
‘Bernice is like that little plotting girl. She’s plotting something. And you’re like the one who is watching in amazement and shock. Don’t you see? What have you been doing all your life?’
‘I dunno. Walking about not understanding women, I think.’
‘It’s not just women. It’s men, too. You don’t understand people.’
‘They can be surprising.’
‘They can be mean. They can be nasty and greedy and cruel. They plot against one another. They say vile things about one another. They stab one another. They steal. They can be horrible.’
‘Not all of them. I know a lot of the nice ones.’
‘That’s the thing about you. You invite people into your house, let them stay and yet you really know nothing about them. I fear for you. You could get horribly hurt. But you’re kind.’ She reached out, stroked his cheek. ‘That’s why I like you.’
‘You like me?’ Charlie ‘s face reddened slightly. This was pleasing.
‘Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.’
‘Gosh. And up till now I thought you had really good taste.’
Lucy led Charlie down the hall. This time she passed her messy living room and took him to an even messier kitchen. Dishes piled in the sink, more dishes piled beside the sink waiting their moment of washing, an overflowing waste bin, an old little-used cooker and other signs of a distracted life. He sat at a large table and couldn’t stop himself wiping a cluster of toast crumbs into his hand. He held them, wondering what to do with them, and when Lucy turned to put on the kettle, dropped them to the floor. There was, he noticed, a hole in the dark red industrial lino.
The rough white paintwork on the walls was concealed by a collection of Aubrey Beardsley posters. Lucy sighed and made two mugs of instant coffee. Charlie didn’t like to mention that he was a coffee freak, very fussy about the drink and not at all pleased about being handed a large mug of instant. He’d come to ask all the questions he’d forgotten to ask the last time he was here. The money to be handed over to Bernice, for example, was there a date for that? A special meeting? Now, though, he wanted to explain to her the joys of sipping a thick dark adult brew as opposed to swigging this warm coffee-flavoured water. Instead he looked round the room and smiled.
Noticing the look, Lucy said, ‘I don’t cook. I’m not good at kitchens. I don’t understand them.’
Charlie said, ‘I like to cook. Kitchens are my favourite room.’
‘Yes, Bernice said you liked to cook. I thought men didn’t. I thought they liked women to do that for them.’
Charlie shook his head. ‘Not always. I wanted to know what food tasted like.’
‘Didn’t you eat before? Didn’t anyone cook for you?’
‘My Auntie Ella brought me up. She cooked worthy, dutiful dishes for me. I’m grateful. Actually, she wasn’t really my auntie. She was a neighbour of my mother’s. She abducted me. I never knew my mother.’
‘I know, Bernice told me that, too. She told us all.’ Lucy came to sit at the table with him and gaze at him in wonder. ‘What was it like, being abducted?’
‘I don’t know. I was a baby, months old. I don’t remember.’
‘Didn’t your mother go to the police? Didn’t she go frantic looking for you?’
‘Apparently not.’
‘Surely she must have wanted to know you were safe?’
‘I think so. I’m pretty sure she knew what had happened. She knew who took me. She was young. I was illegitimate. Back then she’d have had a rough time. I mean really bad. People can be cruel.’
‘You poor soul.’ Lucy put her hand over his. ‘You must have been in a dark place.’
Charlie supposed he had been. He nodded. Looked down at the hand touching his. It was pale, translucent, long fingers, dark plum shiny nails. It was beautiful. He considered drawing his finger the length of it. But didn’t. It might be misconstrued. The hand fascinated him. Not its owner.
‘Is Charlie your real name?’ Lucy asked.
‘Well, Charlie, I love your reports.’
‘Reports?’
‘Yes. They’re such fun. And it’s lovely you send them so often. I don’t mind the bill when I think of them.’
‘Bill?’
‘Well, it is a bit hefty. But your reports are so amusing and you’ve been through a lot, getting all the information.’
Charlie thought she meant getting beaten up. He was a little ashamed of that. He imagined a real detective would have fought back harder than he had. He’d watched fist-fights at the movies and they seemed easy. No problem at all to John Wayne.
‘Sitting outside Brendan’s house all night was beyond the call of duty. You found out so much about him,’ said Lucy.
Charlie thought, did I do that? No, I didn’t.
‘And it’s good you followed Brendan to Birmingham and Inverness. It was clever, too. He didn’t know you were there.’
Charlie thought, that’s because I wasn’t.
‘Do you have the reports?’ he asked.
‘No. Bernice reads them out at the meetings.’
‘Ah, yes. The meetings.’
‘We’ve had a few now. It can be difficult getting everyone together. Claire has to come from Inverness and Millie from Birmingham. But we manage. At first we were all suspicious of one another. You know – does Brendan prefer her or her to me? Is that one with the low-cut dress better in bed than me? But we got to be friends. We can talk about anything. Brendan’s penis, anything.’
‘Brendan’s penis?’
‘Well, yes.’ Lucy was unaware of Charlie’s sudden embarrassment. People in her world spoke openly and honestly about penises and other such things. ‘I’d look at it and think, where has that been? And when I mentioned this to the others they all hooted and said they thought the same. It’s cool and it’s all down to you.’
‘Me?’ Charlie pointed to himself.