by Jane Shemilt
Back in the house, Ted is sleeping in the sitting room. He must have come down in her absence and has fallen asleep again in the chair. A cup has overturned by his feet, a shining puddle of tea lies on the hearth. He is snoring loudly. She takes a cloth, kneels down by his side to wipe up the tea and at the same time slips her hand carefully into the gaping side pocket of his trousers. Her fingers touch tissue but he stirs and she withdraws her hand. His eyes open and immediately close, he lapses back into sleep. The snoring starts up once more.
She climbs the stairs and enters his room, searches his case, the drawers, beneath the pillow and under the bed. She finds nothing and descends to the kitchen again. Ted is still snoring. She clears the table and begins to pod peas into a colander on the draining board in front of the window. She runs a fingernail down the green join, splitting the tight-skinned pods and releasing the pale green peas one after the other into the colander. The task is calming. A plan will shape itself soon, it always does. Something will slip into her mind if she quietens her thoughts. She can see the Paps from here; Albie will be climbing towards the summit, looking down at the tiny box of their house, thinking about her perhaps, as she is of him. She smiles. When a hand slides around her waist, the shock empties her mind. She twists away and the colander tips; green peas fall and bounce on the floor, scattering to the corners of the room. There is a guttural protest, it must have been hers, and she finds herself facing Ted as she holds to the wall, struggling for breath.
‘Jesus. What was that about?’ His tone is innocent but his cheeks are scarlet. He pulls out a chair by the table and sits down. ‘I thought you might … you know …’
‘Might what …?’ She manufactures an incredulous smile. She won’t give him the gift of her outrage though her heart is thudding in her mouth.
‘Be glad of a hug.’ He grins, the bright colour already fading from his face, he is recovering quickly. ‘I know you, Beth, I sensed tension last night. I thought to myself maybe things between Beth and Albie aren’t working out; if that’s the case, well, someone has to cheer her up.’
He’s lying. She heard his conversation with Albie last night; because they have no children, Ted would have concluded she and Albie don’t sleep together, he’s trying his luck. She stares at him, her body slowly filling up with hate. He is still smiling. His teeth seem longer than they used to be, the lips looser. She glances at his hand resting on the table. The fingers are thin skinned and brown splotched, even the nails are dirty. Years ago as Ted’s theatre nurse she’d been transfixed by longing as she watched those hands, moving with delicate precision, knowing they would be on her body later. Now she shudders with distaste. He’ll continue to pursue her; once he gets something in his mind he never lets it go. It will be the same with the vials; he’ll discover the truth, he’ll destroy Albie and then destroy her.
She walks out into the garden, leaving Ted at the table. The hot air is a wall against her face, the distant hills swim in the stifling heat. If there are deer, they will be in the wood where it’s cool, safe for now. The killing season hasn’t started yet; the stalkers arrive in late August. And then it comes to her. The idea falls into her mind as sweetly as the peas fell from the pod into the colander. She wipes her sweaty face with her forearm. She will say nothing to Ted, not one word of anger or recrimination, she will ignore him completely. Albie might find it hard to do what it takes, though he wants his career to progress more than he wants anything, almost. She smooths her skirt over her abdomen, which is as hard and flat as a stone under her hands, the abdomen of a woman who has never carried a baby to term, and she knows exactly what she will say to her husband. It won’t be complicated; the truth never is. Lies are far trickier. She bends to pick a handful of wild thyme growing in the stony crevices of the wall, sets her face to look calm and walks back up the garden and into the kitchen as the first drops of rain begin to fall.
20
Jura. Summer 2018
Albie halts just inside the doorway, his arms full of logs. The hair rises on the back of his neck, like a dog scenting danger. Something is happening in front of him that he can sense but not see, as though invisible threads are tightening across the room. The air is dense with the scent of thyme, cooking meat and drying cloth. Anoraks drip on stone, muddy boots lie in a jumble. Beth is chopping herbs. Ed and Theo are playing cards either side of the fire. Jake is leaning against the bookcase, absorbed in a book. Ted is drinking wine, glancing across the room to Beth, looking away, glancing back; her face is turned from his, a pale shield tilted as if against arrows.
Albie dumps the logs on the hearth, the crash halts conversation. Beth looks up, the threads snap. ‘Supper’s ready.’ Her voice is brittle.
She’s tired. It would have been a long day alone in the house with Ted. Albie pushes logs into the fire then leans back from the heat. He won’t leave them alone together again.
Ted sits at the kitchen table, sighing and stretching his legs. ‘I wish I’d come with you.’ He stares restlessly around the room. ‘I need fresh air. Anyone want to join me in a walk after supper?’
‘Where would you go now, Dad? It’s dark.’ Ed stares at his father across the table.
‘It’s not dark. It doesn’t get dark here.’ Ted gestures towards the window where thunder clouds are massing in the sky above the cliffs.
‘Save your energy, Ted. I’ll take you to the Corryvreckan whirlpool tomorrow,’ Albie interjects. Ted is far too drunk to go anywhere tonight.
‘I need to stretch my legs,’ Ted insists. ‘Lend me a coat, for Christ’s sake, and don’t fuss.’
‘I’ll lend you a coat tomorrow.’ Albie braces himself for a fight but Ted shrugs, muttering under his breath. Beth puts a handful of cutlery on the table but Ted catches his foot in the cloth and sends the knives and forks clattering to the floor. She picks them up and dumps them back, her face expressionless. When Ted leans from his chair and opens the oven to look at the bread warming inside, she closes it with her foot. Jake’s eyes follow every move. Ed’s face is shuttered as he passes the cutlery around. There is a dance going on in front of Albie, something has happened he doesn’t understand. Beth carries the casserole to the table and Jake sits down next to her.
‘It was like we were on the moon at the top of the mountain today,’ Jake remarks conversationally. ‘That view was stunning. Miles and miles of nothing.’
‘I disagree.’ Ed leans forward, fist on the table. ‘The hills were full of light and shadow, there were buzzards circling. Wild flowers everywhere. Detail; you just had to look.’
Ted used to be the same, argumentative, combative even. Albie glances at Ted who is staring at Beth; he would have joined in a conversation like this once but now he seems preoccupied.
‘You like detail, I go for the bigger picture.’ Jake smiles round the table, his glance lingering on Beth before moving on. He swirls the drink in his glass. ‘Woods and trees come to mind,’ he murmurs before downing his wine in one gulp, grinning to himself. Albie stares. Jake must be drunk; after a day in the fresh air the wine has gone straight to his head.
‘What do you mean? What picture am I missing?’ Ed glares at Jake.
‘The one in front of you, always the easiest to overlook,’ Jake tells him.
‘What the hell are you talking about now?’ Theo punches Jake’s arm lightly.
Jake shakes his head, smiling, then turns to Albie. ‘It was a great day, thanks, Albie.’
‘Glad you enjoyed it,’ Albie nods briefly.
‘Yeah, thanks, Albie.’ Theo’s freckled face beams across the table. ‘Wish you’d been there, Dad.’
‘Me too.’ Ted shakes his head. ‘It turned out to be a disappointing day here, all in all.’
Beth stands abruptly, retrieves the bread from the oven and thumps it down on the table. Ted reaches out to spoon stew at the very moment she moves the pot towards Theo, and the spoon tips a trail of dark gravy on the white cloth. Beth swears under her breath. Conscious that Jake’s ey
es have narrowed, Albie leans forward; like the plot of an obscure play, a secret is unravelling in front of his eyes. For a while everyone eats silently; the chips, a mound of rustling shards, are passed around.
‘This is delicious,’ Theo remarks. ‘Thanks, Beth, it must have taken ages to put together.’
Beth doesn’t reply. Albie takes in her silence, the resentment on her face. He’s watched her prepare casseroles often; slicing through meat and chopping onions usually seems to soothe her but now he detects simmering anger. Does she mind that he asked her to stay behind today?
‘Beth.’ He leans towards her, speaking quietly. ‘I hope you—’
‘So how was the day for you two home birds?’ Jake cuts across him as his gaze travels between Ted’s flushed face and Beth’s pale one. Neither answers and the question hovers. Albie finds himself waiting for the answer, Ed sits forward and even Theo looks interested.
‘I cooked,’ Beth answers shortly.
‘And I managed to upset everything,’ Ted adds with a guilty laugh, glancing at Beth who has averted her face.
‘Why is Ted feeling so guilty?’ Jake stares at Beth, his tone challenging. Ed looks at his father, worry in his eyes. Albie glances from Ted to Beth then Jake, unease growing.
‘Oh, I don’t think Ted feels guilty,’ Beth replies, her eyes are very dark. ‘I was podding peas; Ted gave me a shock and I dropped the colander. The peas went on the floor. That’s all.’
‘I’m intrigued.’ Jake turns towards Ted. ‘Did you sneak up behind her and shout boo?’
Ted is still staring at Beth but her head is turned away. Jake’s smile deepens. Without being sure why, Albie needs to wipe that smile off Jake’s face.
‘Hey, Jake, how about you and I clear the table?’
Jake’s gaze snaps to him. ‘Right, sir.’ He puts his fingers to his forehead in a mock salute and gets up to clear away. Albie and Theo stand too. Ed moves to sit next to his father and puts an arm around him. Ted smiles at Ed; Ted and his son, together. Albie feels the quick, hot squeeze of envy.
When all the plates and pots are piled on the side, Beth puts a pie on the table. ‘Apple,’ she says brusquely. ‘I didn’t make it, Albie bought it from the shop.’
Ted gets up and walks unsteadily to the fridge, then pulls out a magnum of champagne.
‘Knew there’d be something to celebrate,’ he says, removing the cork with an expert twist. Albie frowns; the deft movement is familiar. Ted pours the champagne clumsily into glasses, missing some. He sits down again.
‘To apple pie, not homemade.’ His voice is slurred.
Jake raises his glass to Beth, smiling. ‘And to love, wherever you may find it.’
She stares at him, the strain evident on her face. Albie has had enough. Jake is unsettling everyone.
‘Back off, Jake,’ he says evenly. ‘I don’t know what the problem is, but we’re all tired—’
‘The perfect moment for a love song,’ Jake interrupts. ‘One that’s sad and romantic at the same time; who knows something that could fit the bill?’
Unexpectedly Ted stands, clears his throat and starts to sing.
‘Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme …’
Theo joins in, then Jake, although Ted’s powerful baritone easily dominates. Albie’s anger ebbs as he stares at Ted wonderingly; he had no idea Ted could sing like this. He sips his champagne as he listens.
‘Remember me to one who lives there,
She was once a true love of mine …’
Beth gets up, tips her champagne away and, picking up the plates on the side, clatters them into the sink. Ted’s voice gets louder as his eyes follow Beth while she walks backwards and forwards collecting glasses. Albie has never seen him look so sad – angry, depressed, bored and defeated maybe, but the expression on his face now speaks of heartbreak. Albie’s head begins to throb. The climb and the alcohol add to the guilt and the grief for the children that floats on everything, like an oil spill at sea, contaminating all it touches.
When the song comes to an end, Albie stands up. ‘Sorry, folks, the day has caught up with me. We need to make an early start tomorrow to catch the incoming tide if we’re to see the whirlpool at its best.’
He senses rather than sees the white disc of Beth’s face turn to follow him from the kitchen. When she enters their bedroom ten minutes later he is still sitting on the edge of the bed, summoning the energy to undress. He looks up wearily.
‘I don’t like Ted either. I don’t trust him an inch, but surely he’s been wounded enough. Can’t we pretend to forgive him, at least while he’s a guest under our roof?’
‘Wounded animals are dangerous,’ she flashes back. ‘They close in for the kill. When he works out what has happened, he’ll come after us with everything he’s got.’
‘We’ll search his room tomorrow; the vials can’t just disappear. Once we organise a thorough hunt they’ll turn up.’
‘What if they don’t?’ she hisses. ‘I’ve searched his room already. Ted’s clever, if he’s hidden them it will be in a place where we wouldn’t think of looking. We won’t find them. Once he gets them analysed, Bruce or Skuld might talk; the trail will lead to you. You’ll lose everything and so will I, starting with our freedom.’
‘Someone will hear you.’ He puts a hand on her arm. ‘The vials have to be somewhere—’
‘You’re not listening.’ She wrenches away. ‘You’re facing public disgrace and prison and you’re still talking about hide and seek.’
He buries his head in his hands. Beth stops talking and in the silence he hears the wind get up outside, the trees begin to move with a harsh rustling noise. When he looks up he meets her gaze, but now it’s as if she is looking inwards; her eyes seem full of secrets. Disquiet prickles his neck. He watches her take the matches from the mantelpiece and light the white sandalwood candles on the window sill. Her movements are slow and deliberate as if preparing for a role she has rehearsed many times. She sits down in the chair, pulling a blanket about her shoulders, and then she starts to talk.
Her voice is soft, but as she speaks the room begins to turn around her, the dense nucleus at its centre, the point where darkness gathers. He is unable to move and unable to look away. The wind rattles the windows and gusts through the gap by the hinge, extinguishing the candle. She lights it again.
‘Seven years altogether …’ she finishes quietly. The wick catches and the glow spreads, gilding her face. His heart is thudding violently. He feels rigid with shock as though mugged in the street. Her lips come together to blow out the match, like a kiss. She must have kissed Ted thousands of times, seven years’ worth of kisses. Seven years of fucking. Their bodies together in bed, mouths together, Ted inside her. The pain in his chest is intense, his throat constricts. Was she with Ted when they met? When they first slept together? His thoughts plunge further into darkness. Is there anything between them still?
‘It had been over for at least a year before I met you,’ she says, keeping pace with his thoughts. ‘He left me when I was pregnant.’
The word he has waited years to hear: Beth pregnant, but with Ted’s child. Thin arrows of rain hit against the windows; he looks up, confused at the sound. The howling wind echoes down the chimney but the noise seems to be coming from deep inside him too. Her voice continues relentlessly.
‘… had left me before, when they lost their daughter, but he was back after a few weeks.’ Her lips twist as if she is tasting something bitter. ‘I followed him to London when he bought the flat; I lived with him until I fell pregnant.’
That word again, the word that means everything.
‘It all changed when I told him. He said his family needed him, but the truth was he couldn’t countenance another child. He left to go back to Jenny. The money for a termination arrived later online.’
She shifts in the chair and her voice gets quieter. Her eyes are lowered, her face very still. Beth, the Madonna. ‘I li
ved in a hostel till I found a flat, I waited on tables in the evenings to pay rent. It was tough, on my feet night and day. I bled a little sometimes but it always stopped. I thought it didn’t matter but labour came at twenty-two weeks. A girl. She died after half an hour.’
He kneels at her feet as though asking forgiveness for a sin that wasn’t his. After a while she gets out of the chair and stands by the window; he follows. In the murky green-grey light, crows, dislodged from their nest, are tossed round the trees, black cinders from a fire. It could be November, not June. Wings of anger beat in his head, dark birds trapped inside his skull.
‘I discharged myself against advice, and after that, I became very ill.’ He takes her hand; she feels cold. ‘It was a pelvic infection. I got antibiotics in the end but by then the damage was done.’
‘Damage?’
‘Tubal scarring. I can’t have another child, because of Ted.’
When he was a boy a shelf he’d tried to fix came loose; a whole set of his mother’s best bone china came smashing to the floor. That same long, splintering crash is filling his head now. Sharp-edged fragments fly loose in the dark of his mind. Beth continues to talk but he can’t hear properly, he moves closer.