✽✽✽
Simon lay in the enormous bed with his hands behind his head. Beside him the diminutive figure of Miriam nestled like a small child amongst the bedclothes. The delicate curve of her back, the skin almost transparent over her bird-like bones, the innocence of dark hair against her neck, her tiny ear, all belied the ravening appetite of the woman and Simon smiled, smugly. He had come to bed late, a tad the worse for brandy, but she had been lying in wait for him, voracious, like a spider, in black cobwebby underwear. She was responsive to his touch, eager for his mouth and his fingers and in the end he had to cover her mouth with his hand for fear of her waking the house. Afterwards she had turned away from him and slept, as satisfied and selfish as a cat. She had not, as April would have done, cradled his head on her breast and stroked his hair, and encouraged him to his own climax. Simon had lain awake for most of the night missing his wife.
Now he gently laid her back to rest and turned his thoughts to the family. In the end his chat with Jude had been unsatisfactory. When it came to it, he didn’t really know where to start. Who was he, anyway, to begin to criticise his sisters’ parenting skills? What business was it of his if Belinda and Elliot took little or no notice of either of their children? It was plain to him that Rob was going off the rails; Ellie had got him off the pornography hook but for all he knew it might be the thin edge of the wedge. What else might he be doing on the computer he spent so much time on? Apart from that excruciating quarter of an hour in the study he didn’t think he’d seen either McKay-Donne say a single word to either of their children all week. It was just expected that they would toe the McKay line. There were assumed if unspoken expectations that Rob would go into the family firm. Had anyone actually asked Rob whether that’s what he would like? Had anyone actually asked Rob anything, other than if he would like another helping of pie? Ellie would be expected to join the twin-set and pearls brigade, marry well, in white, and devote herself to charitable works just like Belinda. They were like free range turkeys, enjoying a life of plenty but being fattened, ultimately, for the table, for family consumption.
Whereas Belinda neglected her children, Ruth browbeat hers. Neither Ben nor Rachel seemed to be strong personalities who would be able to stand against her. Indeed James, big as he was, seemed scarcely able to. Ruth reminded Simon uncomfortably of their father; she was single- and narrow-minded and dangerously short-sighted. Simon could see her railroading the children down paths they had no desire to travel, passing on to them the massive chips she carried on her shoulder, depriving them of the ability to think and decide for themselves, and turning them eventually into people who, either with good grace or bad, did as they were told.
Simon was his own man now, doggedly maintaining a hard-won distance between himself and his family, especially his father. But he couldn’t get away from the fact that he cared about his sisters and he cared about their children and he felt, almost in spite of himself, a sense of responsibility for them. It seemed to be a thing he had no choice about; a biological default program. It had been one of the risks of the holiday, he supposed, this sense of reconnection.
None of this had Simon been able to explain to Jude. In the end he had simply mentioned his own scheme to try to break into Rob’s dark and forbidding world.
‘Chap I know has given me a demo of a new game to try. Well, you know, if Mohammed won’t come to the mountain...’
Jude had said, ‘The lad seemed keen on coming to the studio with me. I can make that happen if you think it will help.’
‘I do. Thanks mate. It won’t go down well with the folks, though.’
Jude had shrugged. ‘Tough.’
✽✽✽
Robert woke up in one of his nasty, belligerent moods. He had slept badly, shaken by his experiences at the supermarket. He had a bad bruise on his shoulder where he had got stuck underneath the toilet door. Mary knocked it accidentally while removing his pyjama shirt and he winced and snatched his arm away from her. Then, when she tried to dab some arnica on to it, she hurt him again and he snarled and grabbed her wrist. For a second his eyes were a window through to the old Robert, still lurking and fuming inside the helpless shell, and Mary felt her throat tighten. Although he wasn’t tall he was taller than she and she found herself looking up into his face and seeing the coldness of his old fury burning undiminished in his eyes.
She tried to smile reassuringly. ‘I need to put just a dab of this on it, Robert. It will bring out the bruising.’
‘It hurts.’
‘I know. You must have been stuck tight. Come on. There. Let’s put your shirt on now.’ She gently eased his grip on her wrist and reached for his shirt.
‘I don’t want to.’ Robert stood like a stubborn statue in the middle of their room.
Mary decided to be brisk. ‘Don’t be silly now. Let’s get dressed and then we can have breakfast. What would you like? Porridge?’
‘No.’
‘Alright then. Well we’ll see what there is when we get downstairs, shall we?’ He made it almost impossible for her to get him dressed. He refused to lift his feet up to put his trousers on until she moved the blue chair behind him and made him sit down. Then he wouldn’t get up again so that she could tuck his shirt in for him and fasten his belt. Finally he shuffled his feet around while she tried to put his shoes on. Mary suspected – she was almost sure – that he did it on purpose, was deliberately obstructive and unhelpful, still exercising what control he could over her by this means.
‘Do try and keep your foot still, Robert. I can’t tie your laces.’
‘Well hurry up then. I want my breakfast.’
‘Pop your cardigan on then and we’re done.’
Robert made great show of examining himself in the mirror. ‘My tie isn’t straight.’
‘Well keep still!’ She straightened his tie for him and did up the buttons of his cardigan. ‘There,’ she said, eventually, ‘very smart.’ She took his arm and they began to walk towards the bedroom door. ‘It’s a glorious day. Quite sunny,’ she said, with forced brightness. Robert stopped in his tracks.
‘I need the toilet,’ he said.
Mary sighed and walked him through to the bathroom. She stood him in front of the toilet and began to unzip his fly.
‘No,’ he said. ‘The other.’
She turned him around, undid his belt and pulled his trousers and underpants down for him, then sat him down on the toilet.
‘Leave me alone. I can’t do it while you’re watching,’ he said.
While he was on the toilet Mary straightened the bed and moved the blue chair back to the window. She folded some clothes and spent a while looking out over the gardens. Les and Muriel were walking slowly around the perimeter of the lawn. They were deep in conversation. Les had offered Muriel his arm. Muriel’s dog was snuffling and rummaging in the leaves, running backwards and forwards, his pushed up nose and round belly making him look silly, like a seal with legs. They were both laughing, perhaps at the dog, and it occurred to Mary that it was the first time she had seen Les smile since Saturday evening.
Some time passed.
Eventually Robert called her name and she opened the bathroom door. The air was thick with white dust. Everything was covered in a film of it - the bath, the mirror, the carpet - and Robert himself was white with it. His clothes, his hair and his skin, his eyelashes and his eyes red where they had been irritated by the fine powder. It danced in the air and caught at her throat. On the floor at his feet lay the tin of Blue Fern talcum powder.
‘Oh Robert!’ Mary exclaimed. He smiled up at her coldly, before rising unsteadily to his feet. Behind him the toilet seat, the flabby skin of his buttocks and his shirt tail were all soiled, smeared with excreta. His hands, beneath their white dusting, were also filthy. As she watched, he wiped them, deliberately, down his cardigan.
James was the first person Mary found, on the landing taking tea to Ruth, and he quickly set about stripping off Robert’s clothes and manhandling
him into the shower. Mitch, inevitably, was the next, arrested on the stairs on his way down to breakfast. He brought an enormous cylinder vacuum upstairs and tackled the talcum powder.
‘I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,’ Mary wailed as the two men busied themselves.
‘Don’t worry, Mary. Why don’t you go downstairs and have a cup of tea? We can sort this, can’t we, Mitch?’
‘Sure. No problem.’ Mitch eyed the grimy toilet with resignation.
But Mary remained on the threshold. ‘No, please, Mitch, don’t do the toilet. Don’t think of it. I’ll do it. No, really, you mustn’t.’ They all shouted over the din of the vacuum and the shower. Robert made no sound. He showed no sign of embarrassment or unease. He looked, if anything, rather satisfied with himself. He stood in silence as James washed him and kept his eyes fixed on Mary with an inscrutable expression.
✽✽✽
Young Robert wasn’t asleep when Simon knocked on his door and stepped into the room. He wondered if the second part of the inquisition about the porno pictures was imminent but Simon smiled brightly and said, ‘Ah! Rob. Glad you’re awake. Do me a favour, would you? We’re one short for footie.’
Rob groaned, stretched, and yawned affectedly. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Who’s playing?’
‘Well unfortunately Beckham’s cried off so it’s just me and Jude and the three junior space cadets. Come on, the little lads will make mincemeat of us old boys. We’ll be dead by half time without some young blood on the pitch.’
Rob knew that he ought to tell Simon to fuck off, to remain remote and moody. He was far more likely to get sent home if he held to his line, especially now he had the ammunition to really annoy Ellie. With any luck he could reduce her to a jibbering wreck before the day was out. He didn’t care if he had to catch a train or even hitch-hike, although he’d much rather drive his mother’s car and in fact had seriously considered just taking off in it. But Simon was still standing in his doorway, patiently waiting, a good-natured, encouraging smile on his face and Rob liked the idea of being called upon to help out the grown-ups. It showed respect. Plus, burned into his mind’s eye, was an image of Simon and the boys rolling like puppies over the games room floor and the idea of playing with Simon and Jude was appealing on all kinds of levels, some of them so subliminal they were almost impossible to fathom.
‘Oh, and the other thing,’ Simon said, stepping further inside the room and perching on the edge of the bed. ‘I know your dad said the computer had to go away today and everything but a mate of mine gave me a demo disc of a new game he’s trying to market. He wants me to see what I think of it. I wondered if we could use your computer?’
‘A new game?’
‘Mmm. I think it’s a driving game: Road Rage?’
‘Sounds cool.’
‘It’s an 18 so the lads won’t be able to play it. But we could. If you like.’
‘Alright then.’ In spite of himself Rob smiled. Simon had as good as told him that he was considered an adult, although he would not be eighteen for months. He hoisted himself up in the bed and rubbed his eyes. ‘When are you playing footie?’
Simon stood up. ‘Lads are limbering up as we speak. Front lawn.’
✽✽✽
Breakfast that day was a disorganised affair. Belinda seemed to have abdicated, temporarily at least, control in the kitchen. By the time she drifted downstairs there was an accumulation of dishes in the sink, cereal packets stood open on the table and the area around the toaster was littered with crumbs, open jars of jam and an assortment of dirty knives. She ignored it all and made herself some fresh tea. Ruth, seated in splendid isolation at the head of the table with a book propped defensively up against a coffee pot, eyed her narrowly. Belinda’s hair was softer and less vehemently contained in its habitual chignon. She wore a lighter, pearlier shade of lipstick than was usual for her. Her normal silk blouse had been replaced by a much more casual one in soft cotton, a beautiful shade of pale yellow, and it was open at the neck. She wore, uncharacteristically, and to Ruth’s extreme surprise, a pair of tight fitting corduroy jeans in bottle green, and an expensive brand of trainers. Now she came to really look Ruth noticed that her sister had shed quite a few pounds.
‘My goodness Belinda,’ Ruth said dryly, ‘a very fine swan indeed.’ Belinda smiled dreamily and carried her tea mug out of the back door to sit on the bench in the sunshine.
June and Granny made a bristling entrance.
‘Sit down there Mother,’ June said shortly. She looked around the kitchen. ‘What a mess. Isn’t anyone serving breakfast today? Where’s Belinda?’
Ruth nodded in the direction of the back door. ‘Off duty, apparently.’
June blew air between her teeth crossly. ‘This house,’ she declared, ‘will be the death of me. I scalded my hand getting mother washed.’
Granny wriggled on her chair and winced through toothless gums. ‘My bottom stings,’ she whined. ‘I keep putting the cream on it but it makes it worse.’
‘Oh shut up, for God’s sake,’ June snapped. ‘Let me find you some Weetabix. Will that do?’ Without waiting for a response June dropped two Weetabix into a bowl and sloshed on some milk. ‘Here you are. Now eat this and stop complaining.’ She pushed the bowl in front of Granny and stalked out of the room. She met Les and Muriel in the passageway. ‘Oh there you are. Where the hell have you been? I’ve had to cope with Mother all on my own.’
‘I’ve been out with Roger. It’s a lovely morning,’ Muriel said brightly.
‘I wasn’t speaking to you. Leslie. I need the car keys.’
‘Why?’ The three of them re-entered the kitchen. Les sat on the end of the bench and, picking up an old newspaper, turned to the sports pages. He avoided looking at his wife who stood beside him with her hands on her hips, her face as dark and ugly as a bruise.
‘Because I just do.’ She lowered her voice menacingly. ‘Do we have to have this conversation here?’
Muriel began clearing crockery and running some hot water into the sink. ‘I’ll just wash these Les, and then I’ll make that coffee,’ she called over her shoulder. The noise of water pouring into the sink and cascading over the dishes predominated for a time.
‘Do we really have to have this conversation here?’ June repeated, her voice more insistent.
Les looked up at her wearily. ‘As far as I’m concerned we’re not having a conversation. Muriel’s making proper coffee,’ he said, as thought that explained everything.
‘So?’
‘Yes.’ Muriel turned the taps off and swished the water around. ‘I’m going to try anyway. I’ve only ever made instant but I watched Belinda do it yesterday and I think I can manage. Would you like some June? I said I’d take some out to the chaps. The boys are out playing football. Even Rob. So nice to see them all in the fresh air.’
Ruth lifted her eyes from her book. ‘Is James with them?’
‘No. I haven’t seen him this morning.’
‘No. Neither have I,’ Ruth said sourly, going back to her book.
‘James is upstairs,’ Heather said, coming into the kitchen just at the tail-end of the exchange. She had Starlight on her hip. They both looked as fresh as daisies. ‘He’s helping Mum. Dad’s had... well, some kind of mishap. Here you are sweetie, let’s pop you into your high chair and Mummy will make you some yummy breakfast.’
Belinda stepped back in through the back door. ‘A mishap?’ A few minutes in the fresh air and sunshine had heightened her complexion. She was blooming.
‘Yes,’ Heather nodded. She walked over to Belinda and kissed her cheek, before whispering a few words into her ear. Belinda, in response, grimaced. ‘Anyway, it’s all in hand now Lindy. I expect they’ll be down shortly.’
‘A mishap?’ Ruth echoed Belinda and expected, like her, to be enlightened.
But Heather just nodded evasively. ‘I wonder if Starlight likes Marmite...’
‘Suit yourself,’ Ruth snapped, and turned the page of her book.
‘Leslie!’ June snatched the newspaper away from her husband.
‘Temper temper!’ Granny admonished, waving her spoon at June. ‘Carry on like that my girl and you’ll go to your room.’ She laid her spoon down into her bowl and looked wistfully at Starlight. ‘Mrs George lost her baby,’ she said sadly. ‘But hers wasn’t a black one. It was pink, like normal.’
Ellie and Tansy arrived in the kitchen. Ellie looked pale and her eyes were puffy. Her hair lacked its usual lustre. Tansy pressed her kindly into a seat. ‘Toast? Peanut butter?’ she asked. Ellie nodded dumbly.
‘Ellie darling?’ Belinda took a few steps towards her daughter but halted when Ellie shook her head and said, ‘Don’t make a fuss, Mum.’
‘Well,’ Granny considered, ‘I assume it was pink...’
‘There’s nothing especially normal about pink, actually Granny,’ Heather said, offering Starlight toast and Marmite. ‘Statistically speaking, black ones are far more normal.’
‘Speaking of not being normal: how are you feeling this morning, Heather?’ Ruth asked acerbically over the top of her book. ‘You didn’t catch a chill or anything did you, last night?’
‘Oh!’ Heather laughed musically. ‘No. Of course not. It was wonderful. You saw then? Oh dear.’
‘Oh yes.’ Ruth swept her eyes across the room until she was looking at Belinda, who still stood in the middle of the floor. But Belinda wasn’t looking at Ruth. Her eyes were trained on the kitchen door. The next moment James was in the kitchen with Robert. ‘Oh yes,’ Ruth said again, with heavy inference. ‘Last night you know, I saw everything.’ It was impossible to tell whether the jibe had gone home. Belinda hurried across to the door and helped James to get Robert settled in his chair. Behind them, Mary hovered in the doorway. She looked white and traumatized. The sight shook even Ruth from her black mood. ‘Mum!’ she frowned. ‘What on earth’s the matter?’ But Mary shook her head, and refused to be drawn.
Relative Strangers Page 41