Guest

by SJ Bradley

  Parents have got responsibilities, Flores. Don’t you understand that?

  The pen tore through the paper.

  Samhain crumpled the letter, put it in his pocket, and went downstairs carrying one of the matchbooks. This was the sort of thing he couldn’t leave lying around. Even if he put it in one of the bins, Roxy or Frankie were sure to see it.

  It was going to be a fine day: he opened the front door, and went out into a day that reminded him of Spain. Him and Frankie playing a gig somewhere up a mountain, where after the gig they had sat outside on the volcanic rock, drinking and talking. Drinking beer under the night sky, hardly noticing the time pass until the sun gathered strength again, and light came over them with the heat of an oven. When Samhain had stood, wobbling, little rocks had tumbled out of his shorts, and down the crevasse into a vast drop of perhaps 20,000 feet.

  ‘Morning!’ The neighbour, David, was out, circling a chamois leather over his car bonnet. ‘Must be some party, eh?’ He paused, and indicated at the bar window. ‘Still going on, is it?’

  Somehow, he hadn’t got to all parts of the car. A clumsy slosh of water glittered on the tarmac, but there was still an angle-grind spark of dirt around the rear wheel arch. If David was washing the car, he wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

  ‘You’ve missed a bit.’ Samhain pointed.

  ‘So I have.’ David saw to the dirty patch with a sponge. ‘Tell you what. It does this place good – to have a few young folk around. Let me tell you, I certainly had some wild times during my years at Coventry – University, that is. I remember, one time Tommy Roberts said, David, let’s get all the furniture out of the common room and put it in the Halls of Residence lift. Oh, it was such a grand prank. Stuffed everything in there, we did. Chairs – tables – the whole lot. We made it look like a living room in there. Tommy said to me, David, you’ll never get the standard lamp in there. But I did! Oh, how we howled.’

  He made the motions of squeezing an already-dry sponge. ‘I expect it all seems very tame by your standards.’ He rubbed away at the car roof, sponge squeaking. ‘Though, saying that, I expect I don’t even really want to know what you lot get up to.’

  Samhain propped himself up against the picnic bench. He still had the letter in his hand, and the matches. It somehow seemed rude to think of setting them both on fire at this point. ‘It’s less exciting than you think. I’m just up early, that’s all.’

  David peered at him. ‘On your way to work?’

  ‘I’m between jobs at the moment.’

  ‘Of course.’ David wiped his hands on the chamois leather, and popped it in his pocket. ‘Of course you are.’ He looked at Samhain carefully. ‘Having a comedown, are you?’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A comedown. What happens to you when you’ve been on drugs the night before. I saw a programme about it on BBC2.’

  ‘No. I told you. I just get up early sometimes, that’s all.’

  ‘Right. Jolly good.’ David put the sponge in the bucket, picked it up by the handle, and made his way towards the front door. ‘In that case, would you like some coffee?’ He disappeared into the house, leaving the front door open.

  Samhain leaned against their garden wall, struck a match, and lit the page at all four corners. It burned up in under a minute.

  He scattered the ashes on David’s lawn.

  ‘Been meaning to invite you over for a while.’ The house was smaller, more compact, than the Boundary Hotel. Clean and chintzy, with floral wallpaper in the hallway. ‘Come on through.’

  There was a large plate of assorted biscuits on the coffee table. Bourbons, custard creams; a couple of round biscuits in foil wrappers. David was intently plunging a cafetière into riverish coffee. ‘Seems rude to have not had you round before,’ he said. ‘We are neighbours, after all.’

  ‘This your family?’ Samhain asked.

  A smiling bride, with David’s mouth and jaw, standing under a cherry-blossom tree. A husband, serious-smiling in a grey suit. Next to that was a picture of a little girl looking mildly terrified on a beach donkey. Then another picture, taken in a studio this time, of the same girl, smiling next to a baby propped up on a cushion.

  ‘Oh, yes.’ David smoothed his jumper, puffing his chest out. ‘That’s our daughter, Helen, and her husband, Jake. He’s an IT manager – they met kayaking, which is what they used to be into, before they had the girls. Ever such a nice chap. They were married in Dunstan, which is where he used to live – where his parents still live. We couldn’t have hoped for better for our Helen.’

  David handed him the photograph, smiling, and Samhain took it, not knowing quite what to do. It looked the same close up as it had on the shelf. He couldn’t take the oddness of this girl looking so much like David. She had his nose, his face shape, exactly. He couldn’t quite take his eyes off it. ‘Mmm,’ he said.

  ‘And these are our grand-daughters.’

  The photograph was swiftly removed from his hand, and replaced with a picture of two little girls laughing on a sofa. The older one, he now saw, bore resemblance to Jake, the IT manager from Dunstan. There was something about the broader set of her brows, the wideness of her face. ‘Now the younger one, Ivy, I always think, is very like Jake. But the older one, Eliza, she’s got more the look of Helen about her, hasn’t she?’ David carefully placed them back on the mantelpiece. His movements were that of a man handling an actual baby. ‘I think they’re just about two of the best little girls out there.’

  There was the sound of a door opening. ‘That’s Barbara up. We might get a bit of breakfast now,’ David said, rubbing his hands together.

  Breakfast. Samhain hadn’t realised how hungry he was. He had already lain waste to a couple of the bourbons.

  ‘Now then,’ David went on, ‘I met your girlfriend the other day. What do they call her – Martha?’

  Samhain’s mouth, clogged with crumbs and cream, was too full of biscuit to put him right. ‘Mmmf,’ he said.

  ‘Seems like a nice girl. What is she – a nurse? Now that’s a good profession. Very caring. Barbara was a nurse – when we first met. I was going around with this other girl at the time – this very glamorous type of girl, you know the type – Barbara doesn’t like me talking about her. To tell you the truth, she wasn’t the sort you’d settle down with. Not like Barbara. When I first met her, I said to myself, now there’s the kind of girl I could get married to. I wasn’t so bothered about the other one anymore. You know what I mean. Like you and your Martha, I expect.’

  Now, he swallowed, making his mouth clear. ‘She’s not my girlfriend.’

  ‘No?’ David seemed perplexed. ‘But she brought you that whole box of stuff over.’

  ‘That was for the cats. She’s nice, but we’re not going out.’

  ‘Shame,’ David said, crunching on a golden oat biscuit, ‘girl like that. You could certainly do a lot worse.’ Glancing at the doorway, David brushed crumbs from his lap. ‘Better not let Barb catch me doing this, or I’ll be for the high jump.’ Then he got up, reached for a dustpan and brush tucked away in the corner, and awkwardly folded himself towards the floor. ‘Feet up,’ he said. ‘Thing is, with a lovely girl like that, you haven’t to let ‘em get away. If you leave ‘em on their own, they soon start going out with somebody else. See, if this Martha got married to another chap, you wouldn’t think much of that – would you?’

  ‘She’s already got a boyfriend,’ Samhain said. ‘And anyway, she won’t get married. She doesn’t believe in it. None of us do.’

  ‘Oh ho,’ David said, with a chuckle. ‘That’s what you think. There we are.’ He shook crumbs out into the wastebasket. ‘Now then. How about a bit of something to eat?’

  ‘I don’t want you to go to any trouble.’

  ‘It’s no trouble.’ David went towards the doorway, and called out: ‘Barbara!’

  ‘What?’

  David’s wife, Barbara. A broad-set lady in faded blue.

  ‘Samhain here’s come
around for a visit. He says Martha’s not his girlfriend.’

  ‘David,’ she said, sharply. ‘That’s his business.’

  ‘I only–’

  She shushed him. ‘Samhain, have you had breakfast yet?’

  ‘Have we got any sausages?’ David said. He turned to Samhain, winking. ‘She’ll never do them if it’s just for me. But it we’ve got visitors–’

  ‘I’m vegetarian,’ Samhain said.

  ‘Oh.’ David looked as though he’d been given a paper hat instead of a crown. He called: ‘Never mind about sausages. He won’t eat them anyway.’

  ‘How about fried mushrooms on toast?’ Barbara came out of the kitchen with a steaming teapot. ‘Mind you, look at the time. I suppose you’ll be wanting to get to work.’

  ‘He hasn’t got a job,’ David said. ‘He’s between places of employment.’

  ‘Dear me.’ She went out again. ‘You should give him Peter’s number.’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ David shuffled forward in his seat, all of a sudden sparky. ‘I forgot all about that.’ He turned to Sam. ‘Haven’t got a bad back, have you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘David’s friend,’ Barbara explained, ‘runs a removals business. Very successful. He’s got his own warehouse, a whole fleet of vans. He’s always on the lookout for help.’

  The old man was up and hunting around the room for something. ‘Peter’s a very steady chap. I’ve known him for years.’ He looked on top of the record player; underneath it, around the television, and on the shelf; he pulled out all of the drawers in the TV cabinet. ‘Barbara, have you moved my address book?’

  ‘It’ll be wherever you left it.’

  ‘I left it here.’

  ‘By the television?’ Barbara put the teapot down, and went into the kitchen. ‘So you could phone people with the remote control?’ Samhain heard a bread bag rustle, and a knife chopping on a wooden board.

  ‘Ah, here we are, look, it’s here.’ David had a large burgundy book in hand. He settled back into his chair, with a scrap of paper and pen. ‘Now look, you seem like the enterprising type – enthusiastic and so forth – you’re not going to let him down, are you? Because Peter has all this trouble with some of the young lads he takes on. They come, and they work for a bit, a few days or what have you, then they don’t come again – or else, some of them don’t turn up when they’re meant to, or they just stop coming to work altogether. He has a hard time finding reliable workers, he says. So I don’t want to be putting you on to him if you’re going to let him down.’

  David had a face like a teacher playing good cop. Concerned, searching, and hard to say no to. ‘I won’t let him down, David.’

  ‘Good.’ David started turning pages. ‘Now, don’t you ring him yet. Let me phone him first, which I’ll do today, and tell him you’re going to phone him. Then you can call him in a couple of days. You can say that you know me – David Corby.’ He handed the paper over. ‘Don’t show me up, will you?’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘What would you like on your toast, Sam?’ Barbara asked. ‘We’ve got butter, margarine, marmalade...’

  ‘Yes please!’

  ‘Though you’ll have to eat it in here, I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘The dining room table’s in a bit of a mess.’

  ‘Oh ho!’ David rubbed his hands. ‘Like camping!’

  Plates came. On Samhain’s, white toast was piled high with hot, fried mushrooms. He didn’t know how Barbara had done it, but they tasted like something fresh from a truck stop griddle.

  It was the best thing he’d eaten for days.

  ‘So, David.’ On the baby pictures, Samhain saw grinning girls, their milk teeth showing. In new clothes fresh from the hanger. The baby was in a romper suit, with a cartoon dinosaur on its front. These were children happy and round-bellied, children who were fussed and cooed over and scrubbed clean with a flannel, children who never wanted for anything. ‘When you had your daughter–’

  ‘It was me who had her.’ Barbara had settled into the small leatherette bench by the telephone table. ‘In the General Infirmary. Those were some fierce nurses, let me tell you.’

  ‘Were you scared?’

  ‘She was a marvel, Samhain. She was!’ David’s eyes swivelled around, shining. ‘Let me tell you – you can’t know what a woman’s capable of, until she goes through something like childbirth. It gave me a whole new admiration for you, dear. Not that I didn’t admire you before.’

  ‘But you, David. Were you scared?’

  ‘Er.’ David chewed slowly, his eyes tracking the ceiling. ‘Not so much scared, as – I just wanted to be sure that they would both be fine. Barbara and the baby. And knowing I couldn’t do anything to help that either way – that was the worst bit.’

  ‘I will say this,’ Barbara said. ‘You became very responsible all of a sudden – around that time. Taking on a lot of extra hours at work. Do you remember? Then when she was still quite small, you came home one day all excited, because they’d given you Arthur’s old office.’

  ‘I remember.’ David’s eyes glowed with pride.

  ‘“They’re giving me Arthur’s old office!” you said.’

  ‘That’s right. They did give me Arthur’s old office.’ David started pouring tea. ‘I was in there over thirty years. And do you know what they call it now?’ His fingers hovered over the milk jug. ‘They call it David’s old office. They put two desks in there when I retired. Milk?’

  ‘No thanks, I’ll take it black.’

  That face had put him onto something. The way David had softened talking about his grandchildren. He could be a soft old Grandpa himself one day. A grey-haired old fellow, who’d pull a ten pence piece out from behind your ear. A fellow who kept jelly babies hidden all around the house.

  ‘I’ve got a little girl, too.’

  ‘Well!’ David’s face went up like fairground lights. ‘Isn’t that something. Did you hear that, Barbs?’

  ‘That’s lovely, Sam. How old is she?’

  Samhain looked down into the crumbs on his plate. ‘Two and a half,’ he said, which he thought was probably right. ‘Or maybe three. I think.’

  ‘You’re not sure?’

  The last time he’d seen Charley, she’d been crying. With tears spilling all down her face, running over her cheeks – red, as if she’d been out in the sun too long. He didn’t know whether she’d been pregnant one month, or two months, or two weeks, then. She could have given birth to their daughter any time between June and November, for all he knew.

  ‘Yeah. It’s a bit complicated. The thing is, I didn’t even know I had her, until last week. I’ve never even seen her.’

  ‘David.’ Barbara got up. She turned her wrist over. Her watch, a delicate thing with a thin gold strap, sparkled in the sunlight. ‘I’ve just remembered. We’ve got to be at Helen’s at eight thirty, to pick up the girls.’

  ‘Today?’ David turned, surprised. ‘But it’s Wednesday!’

  ‘She had to swap her days.’ Barbara got up, and started taking the plates in. They slotted into a stack with a clatter. ‘Something to do with their budget meeting, I don’t know.’ She nodded at the clock. ‘Look at the time. We’d better get a move on, or else she’ll be late for work.’

  ‘Just let me go and do my hair, then.’ David stood, brushing his trousers.

  The kitchen tap came on.

  ‘Do you want any help washing up?’ Samhain called.

  ‘No, it’s fine. Nice to see you, Samhain. You must pop in and see us again.’

  The living room was a trick of compactness. In a moment, two steps, Samhain and David were standing in the hall by the front door, with the early light coming in over the carpet. David tapped Samhain briefly on the shoulder, and lowered his voice. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘You haven’t to worry too much about the mess you’ve got yourself into. Just – try and put things right with your girlfriend... ex-girlfriend,’ he said. ‘You’ll have to send her a bit of money. Say sorry – that sort of thin
g. Just, er...’ he reached over Samhain for the door handle, and pulled it inwards. It made a quiet electronic chime as it opened. ‘You will ring Peter, won’t you? It’s steady work. Probably just cash in hand at first. But that’s not so bad, is it? Something to get you started – and then there’s no messing about with tax and stamp, and all the rest of it.’

  A foot over the step, into a morning where the sun was coming up fiercely, glaring into his eyes. ‘Of course,’ Samhain said. ‘I’ll see you.’

  14.

  Samhain spent hours looking for Charley on MySpace.

  He went through all of his friends. Then through his friends’ friends. He typed her name into the search box. Searched using her old email address. He trawled through everybody who had friended the social club, thousands of people. He had booked two computer sessions back to back, to do only this.

  When his first search yielded no results, he moved on to looking at photos. Clicking through images of festivals and gigs that she might have gone to. Pictures from the past two D-Beat Festivals at Ypres.

  Nothing. Nowhere. She wasn’t in any of the photos. She wasn’t friends with the club on MySpace, and she wasn’t friends with Roxy, or Marta, or Rawlplug, or anyone on there. He couldn’t find her picture anywhere and his eyes ached from looking. Hundreds of pictures had flashed in front of him: familiar, smiling faces, skin screwed up through sunburn or drugs, hands clutching shoulders, beer bottles, dog leads; arms around shoulders and grins at the camera, thousands of faces, but no Charley.

  ‘Sir.’ A librarian with white hair, and a whispering voice. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to log out now. There are people waiting.’ Twisting his hands, as though he wasn’t sure it was his business to ask.

  ‘Right.’ Samhain reached over the desk to take his bag, his hoody, and the scrap of paper he’d been using, which was still blank. He had gone twenty minutes over time, and still had nothing. ‘Sorry, I didn’t realise I’d gone so far over.’