The thing is not to panic. Think of numbers. Twenty, nineteen, eighteen…; The rock is quite close now. It’s not as smooth as it looked from a distance. There are cracks – yes, and shelves. If she can just get her foot up…;
But she’s so tired. Her breath is creaking and her arms are very slow. Her legs drag in the water. They aren’t even kicking any more. She pants and scrabbles at the lake like a dog.
‘The thing is to come alongside the rock as if I’m a boat. Then I’ll find a handhold.’
Her right hip bangs hard against the rock. She looks down and sees blood fanning out into the water, but she can’t feel anything. No. No. Don’t look down. Try again. This time she sculls in on her back, her feet towards the rock, feeling for projections. The rock won’t let her cling. It’s like a big unfriendly body shaking her off. She isn’t going to be able to get out. A bubble of panic rises, trapping her breath. No. No. Try again. This time her feet catch a slight shelf under the water. Now, a handhold. She scrabbles again, but it’s wet and slimy and she falls back into the water. Try. Try. This time hold it harder. The handhold lasts for a couple of seconds and she kicks desperately, flings herself upward, wedges one foot in the crack in the rock and spread-eagles herself, leaning in against the cold crag. She’s up. She’s out of the lake. The water only reaches her knees. Her fingers are numb on the rock, dead-white. She’s going to fall back. She’ll never climb to the top. Her legs are shaking too much. Then she sees that she doesn’t have to climb, because the crag is seamed with ledges. She can follow this ledge round until it’s safe to step down into the scrub. Inch by inch, she moves around the crag until there’s earth below her, not water. She unsticks her hands from the ledge above and lets herself roll into the rough grass. She lies still, looking at the blades of grass criss-crossing in front of her eyes. She can’t see the water. She’s done it.
Cold. She’s got to get up. She rummages, tears off a clump of grass and rubs herself as hard as she can, all over her body. It would be stupid to die of exposure after managing such a swim. And she’s done it. She hasn’t drowned. Kai would have been sure she’d drown. The cut on her hip’s not so bad after all – already it’s slowed to a rusty trickle of blood. It’s on her side. She’s won. She’s done it. After this everything’s going to be easy. She can get back to the beach if she keeps to the edge of the trees and doesn’t cross the bog. Any idiot can avoid that sharp, deceptive green. It’s not far, and if she moves fast she’ll get warm. She’s got her dry clothes to put on, and a sweater in her cyclebag, and she can eat her chocolate. At the station buffet there’ll be hot coffee and sausages.
Thank God, there’s no wind. She scrubs harder with the grass, triumphantly, feeling the blood sting its way to the surface of her body, feeling her skin hurt and tingle. The lake is glassy. It settles as placidly as it would have done if she was twisting down and down through pleats and currents of cold, head over heels, slowing as the current tilted her pale body over and over like a starfish doing cartwheels until it bumped and settled in the silt. But she is alive. She’s made it.
‘I’ve done it. I’m alive. Enid’s dead. Enid is dead, but I’m alive. No. It doesn’t have to be like that. Enid is dead, and I am alive. Enid’s dead, and I am alive.’
Enid. She sees her, walking away in her black reefer jacket and those black trousers with a strap under the foot which she calls slacks. She walks away quickly, frail and jaunty, the beret on her head hiding her grey hair and the delicate pale scalp which shows between its strands.
‘Enid,’ whispers Nadine, but she can’t make the figure walk less quickly, or turn, or show her face. ‘Enid, I’m waiting for you.’
Nadine stands. She is naked. Her nipples are puckered like blackberries, her breasts taut in the cold air. Streaks of mud and grass slime run down stomach, buttocks, thighs. Her feet are black with mud which has oozed up through the crevices between her toes. She smells of lake water.
Nadine looks down her body. She’s lost weight over the past couple of weeks, and there are concave shadows on the insides of her thighs. Maybe her breasts have shrunk too. She will not be worth as much now. If she put on her white dress again it would not ding and slide over her flesh, giving glimpses of breast and thigh. It would hang a little loose on her, wrinkling disappointedly, sexless as her mother’s wedding-dress.
It doesn’t matter. This body is for her. It is not for looking at, unless she chooses. But it’s cold here, much too cold to stand. The water shivers, pulled by a breeze. A bird she doesn’t know calls from the marsh with a sound like winter. The hunters will soon be here, in their greens and browns and greys, with their guns over their shoulders. Already they are oiling their guns, putting dubbin on their boots, buying cartridges. Nadine moves. Close to the wet ground, weaving her way, she works along the reeds. There’s the little beach, its sand bright although there is no sun on it. Suddenly three ducks take off from the reeds in a long skittering launch off the surface of the lake.
Twenty-three
The policewoman who sits so long at Enid’s bedside is kind as well as patient. She knows all about Nadine now. She reassures Enid that Nadine is bound to come and see her soon. She’s probably gone away for a few days, that’s all. Gently, she continues to probe. Who elselives in the house? What about visitors? And the landlord, Mr Toivanen, isn’t it? Has Enid seen him recently? Enid probably notices the comings-and-goings, living alone, doesn’t she? The policewoman is young, but she is not inexperienced. She catches Enid’s small, cautious glances. She knows there are gaps in Enid’s story, though she isn’t yet sure where they are or why they are there.
Enid is feeling so much better now. It’s over two weeks since her accident. At first she couldn’t talk for more than a minute or two because it hurt her head and muddled her. But every day she manages something new. She graduated to a commode, then to the slow shuffle down the ward to the toilets. Her arm is mending. It’ll be a long time healing, but what can you expect at her age. Doctor is very pleased with her, says the nurse who has made a pet of Enid, crouching by the bed and hugging her after a sick, dizzy, successful walk right down the ward and back. Enid gets bad headaches, and she can’t remember things very well yet, but that’s only natural, the nurses say. Once she starts eating properly things will get better. Enid prods Rice Krispies, composted with All-Bran, and gives a small, disbelieving sniff. Once she’s got her strength back, she’ll soon put these nurses right about what constitutes a healthy diet. No fruit to speak of, and when she asked for a vegetarian meal she got a four-egg omelette and banana custard.
The policewoman suspects that Enid’s memory is under better control than Enid will admit. There are things she doesn’t want to tell them. After all, she has been living in that house all the time. She must have seen things; heard things. God knows there’s been enough going on. Several people are very interested indeed in Mr Toivanen and his business associates. Patiently the policewoman accepts another cup of tea and continues to talk and listen. Enid seems very fond of this Nadine. Nadine Light, aged sixteen. Another person whom the police are anxious to interview. The bruises on Enid’s upper arms are fading, but they have been photographed. They are the kind of bruises caused by hands, gripping hard. Something has happened in that house. From all directions the floodlights of inquiry switch on to the confused night and morning which Enid can’t quite remember. One old woman has fallen downstairs. The floodlights throw shadows and ding up patterns.
‘Who else was in the house the night you had your accident? Can you remember?’
Enid’s hands move on the sheets. She crisps a corner of sheet between her fingers. Her lips move. In a feeble whisper she gives Vicki’s name. The policewoman leans forward and writes in her notebook. Enid’s eyes are half shut, but her fatigue and weakness don’t prevent her from giving a photographically accurate description of Vicki. Then she appears to sleep, limp after her effort. What else swims in the sea-cavern called memory? Far down the ward a door slams, a cry comes o
nce and is cut off. It floats, lost in the white disinfected air above the beds. Nadine in her bed. Kai on the stairs – or was that another time? Nadine was crying. Enid sees the dark shadow of Nadine’s hair on the pillow.
‘I hope she hasn’t gone off with her Kai,’ she says aloud. ‘He’s no good to her. Just like Caro.’
‘Who’s that, Enid? Can you remember?’
‘They didn’t hang Caro. She went to prison,’ whispers Enid, and shuts her eyes. They are there again, Sukey and Caro in the beautiful fields of summer grass. Soon the mower is going to come and cut them all: cocksfoot and quaking grass and York shire fog. It might be tomorrow. The weather is perfect for mowing. A cottage door opens and a man comes out, walks down the stone-paved path lined with tufts of pinks and cherry-pie, and leans over his back gate looking down the fields. He is the mower. His scythe is whetted. He looks at the red streaks of sunset and the clear green evening sky with one star budding in it. He smells the air.
The ripe grasses bow and dip in the summer wind as if someone is stroking them. Sukey comes first, Caro after. Sukey’s dress blows against her body and her beautiful tanned round arms. She shields her eyes against the sun and laughs. The soft welcoming wind cups her cheeks, which are rosy under their tan.
‘Darling,’ murmurs Enid, lying in her plain white hospital bed. Classic FM leaks from the Walkman of the woman in the next bed. ‘The most beautiful music in the world…;’ The bed rocks too, gently, not quite anchored on the glassy floor.
Someone is standing over her. A nurse with a big red-faced smile.
‘There’s a friend of yours here to see you, Enid,’ she says, delighted to be bringing good news. Enid hasn’t had a single visitor yet, apart from the police. Enid opens her eyes. The policewoman seems to have gone. And there, coming down the ward –
‘Nadine!’ says Enid. Nadine sits on the policewoman’s chair, leans forward and kisses Enid. Her young soft lips press into Enid’s dry cheek. She smells of a new perfume, and she’s wearing clothes Enid hasn’t seen before. She looks elegant, older, thinner.
‘Silly girl, you went off with him, didn’t you? After all I told you,’ she grumbles. Nadine smiles and takes Enid’s hand. Enid goes on, ‘Where is he, he’s not with you, is he?’ and her face is suddenly shrunk and panicky.
‘No, he’s not with me. He won’t be coming back to England.’
‘But you came back.’
‘Yes.’ Nadine hesitates, folds Enid’s hand between her own. The bed has steadied again. Enid knows where she is. How funny people’s faces look upside-down, even Nadine’s. ‘The thing was, Enid, I heard you were dead. I came back because I thought you were dead.’
‘You heard about my accident,’ says Enid.
‘Accident,’ says Nadine. I know about all of it. I came back to tell the police what really happened.’
‘But I’m not dead, dear, am I? You don’t want to go telling all that to the police. You know how they get muddled up if you start telling them things. Anyway, you were asleep. How could you have known what was going on? You’ll never get rid of them. There’s a policewoman round here all the time, ever so nice she is, but she’s got her job to do. She’ll be listening somewhere.’
‘The sister says you’re much better.’
‘Oh, well, she should know, shouldn’t she, dear? You ought to have seen me when I first came in. You’d have thought I was dead, all right. I was unconscious for a whole night and a day, you know. I was in intensive care.’ Regret that Nadine can’t now see her at her worst and appreciate the miracle of her recovery crosses Enid’s face.
‘Don’t make me sorry I missed it,’ says Nadine. She strokes Enid’s forehead. Enid’s hair is brushed straight back in tight strands over her scalp. The liver-coloured age spots on her cheeks stand out against the whiteness of her pillow. Her Viyella night-dress has a demure high collar, buttoned up. She looks like a small, well-looked-after child.
‘Where did you get that night-dress, Enid?’ she asks. ‘What happened to your pyjamas?’
‘Oh, there was no time to think of anything like that, dear,’ says Enid proudly. ‘I was an emergency.’
They smile at one another. It’s another beautiful day, and Nadine has brought a big bunch of bronze chrysanthemums which she lays down on the bed in a sheath of crackling white paper. Their smell excites Enid. It makes her think of autumn, and things beginning. There’s nothing like a touch of frost to get the blood running in your veins. Nadine delves in her carrier-bag and gets out a bag of russet apples.
‘I’ll have to get the nurse to cut them up for me,’ fusses Enid.
‘Can’t you manage them? I’d have got grapes, only these looked so nice.’
“Course I can manage them. That young nurse over there, look, don’t let her catch you staring – that’s Jackie. She’s a good girl. She’ll do anything for me. She’ll peel them if I ask her.’
‘You’ve got her where you want her, I can see that.’
‘Oh, well, I’ll be home soon,’ says Enid and sighs. Her eyelids droop and her fingers tug fretfully at her high collar.
‘Don’t you want to leave the hospital?’
‘It’s nice in here. They’re all very good to me, but I’m better off in my own place. A social worker came to talk to me about sheltered housing.’
‘Is that what you want?’
‘It’s not what I want,’ says Enid with the first touch of her old sharpness. ‘It’s what I can get. I can’t go back there, now can I? With that Tony about, and, for all you say, your Kai likely to pop up again like a jack-in-the-box. What with air travel these days, who can tell? I don’t think I should feel comfortable.’
‘Tony won’t stay. He’ll be gone before you’re out of hospital. He wants to move back to Manchester.’
‘No doubt he’s got business there as well, dear. Still, give him his due, he was the one who called the ambulance. Otherwise I’d have been lying dead on the floor, that’s what the doctor told me,’ invents Enid. ‘You wouldn’t have thought it of Tony, would you? It just shows you should never judge people too harshly. He hasn’t been in to see me, though.’
‘He told me you were in here. I went to the house first.’
Oh, yes, thinks Nadine, Tony was more than ready to leave for Manchester, but the police had told him to stay put for the time being. Until they’d finished their inquiries. He had been on the phone when she opened the front door. He looked at her, pressed the silence button, then thought better of it, cut his conversation in a couple of words and turned to Nadine. His face was yellow and tired. He looked older than Nadine remembered, and somehow much worse, as if lots of small changes which were just about to happen in his skin and eyes and expression had happened all at once and together. Or maybe she was the one who’d changed.
He was suspicious of her. He wanted to find out what Kai had told her, and how much she knew. He padded round her with questions like a cat. It was the business he was thinking about, of course. Always the business. That wasn’t dead yet. He was going to go back to Manchester, he had contacts in Manchester, as well as all his family. There was no end to it. If only he’d just go. Vicki would be on her way too, no doubt. Whatever happened, she’d bob up somewhere, with her tan and her gold bracelets and her good advice. Vicki was waterproof.
‘What about the house?’ Nadine asked Tony. ‘What’s going to happen about it?’
‘We’ll get rid of it. It’d never’ve worked out. We bought at the wrong time.’
Tony got up from the telephone table and stretched himself. A big shadow stretched itself out too, on the opposite wall, and from the plane trees in the square Nadine heard a wood-pigeon coo in its throat. The sound bubbled into the house and made it quieter and emptier than ever. Suddenly she realized that there was no Enid upstairs, watching and waiting for her. Tony and Kai had got what they wanted: vacant possession. Except that now they’d got it they didn’t want it any more. They wanted to get shot of the place, and everything to do wi
th it.
And of everyone. She watched Tony’s shadow yawn across the opposite wall, almost touching her own shadow. Here she was in the empty house with Tony. He smiled. And now she was frightened, more frightened then she’d ever been in the summer-house with Kai, miles from anywhere. But it was stupid to be afraid of Tony. They’d lived together, eaten together, gone to London together. And he’d called the ambulance for Enid, hadn’t he? He could just as easily have left her on the floor. Nobody would ever have known. She’ll never actually known him hurt anyone. Yet she saw knives. She saw that the day in the kitchen when he bought them and the way the veal fell into ribbons under dull razor-edged steel. The colour of a sea-anemone. Her skin prickled and she moved back towards the window which was open a little at the top. She glanced down into the square but no one was passing. It was the dead middle of a cool afternoon. Tony stood by the telephone, looking at her and still saying nothing. But it was all right. She’ll been in the house on her own with Tony dozens of times.
‘Empty, empty,’ said the attic overhead.
Her body tensed. A little grey breeze ran from the top of the window and feathered the back of her neck. Go now. Go now, thudded her heart.
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