by West Camel
And what had she expected when she was pregnant with Julie? Naturally, after that first loss she had worried about losing her. And in the end she had, she supposed. She looked over her shoulder to see Julie heaving Tom onto her hip. No, she had not lost her completely; there had been no death.
She stopped in the vestibule and peered into the hall. There was a scattering of guests inside, and more people entered past her as cars arrived from the church. The interior was decorated in a half-hearted way, with too few balloons and streamers for such a large space. Chairs that weren’t being used were stacked against one wall and the plates of cakes and sandwiches looked lonely on the white paper covering the line of buffet tables. Rita was standing by a large dented urn, her hat tilting and bobbing as she struggled to fill a vast teapot. Blinds were pulled down over the windows to mask the view of the haulage depot next door, and the curtain across the unused stage at the far end was ripped. Anne couldn’t help feeling a little pleased, but she covered up her smirk and stepped through the inner door.
In one movement, those inside turned towards her and there was a tired cheer – a few people raising cups and glasses at her. She was startled and couldn’t push her face into the smile that seemed necessary – she had been pleased by the compliments she had been given at the church, but this seemed too much. She took a couple of steps back, as if retreating from an attack. Then she realised that Julie and Mel were just behind her and that, unwittingly, she had become part of a big entrance. She stepped aside quickly, taking the plastic glass of wine that was put into her hand, and instinctively scanned the hall for another door: a small fire exit stood open near the stage and she began to walk towards it, not realising she was on the wrong side of the buffet tables.
‘Oh, Anne, there you are.’ Rita grabbed her. ‘Give us a hand with these teas. They’re taking photos over there I should be in. I told Julie we should’ve done this in a pub, but she wanted a big do. I don’t know. Here, take these to that lot over there.’
Anne took the tray and wound through the crowd to a group of white-haired women who had arranged themselves in a semicircle with good views. They insisted on kisses from her, their papery fingers pinching at her dress. But then they ordered more drinks, a bunch of serviettes and a plate of sandwiches.
The two doors – large and small – were both open; Anne could have easily slipped out of either, but serving refreshments felt quite comfortable – it made her feel less part of the celebration. The dress seemed to have stretched too, a small smile came to her face and she found suitably slight answers for the questions and comments directed at her. But most important was that she was able to resist the gravity of Julie and Mel, enormous in the centre of things, with Tom crowing and pealing as he was handed from shoulder to shoulder.
Having worked up a little sweat with her fetching and carrying, Anne at last took a breather and leaned against the table near the urn – now deserted by Rita, whose voice and hat jiggled gaily around the room.
Sipping her wine, not unhappy now, Anne recognised, just a few feet away, someone she had not spoken to for the full twelve years she had been divorced from Mel. Lots of people in the room fell into that category, but Derek had always been a little special.
He didn’t seem to have noticed her, so she had a few moments to examine him and recall the similarities between him and Mel. His strong build, heavy jaw and big hands had aged better than Mel’s. Mel, now leaning back, sending a cracking guffaw and a visible shower of spit into the air, was full-faced, fat and successful. And while Derek looked tired, there was still something of the boy about him – something a little confused and appealing.
She announced herself with a phrase that was more flirtatious than she intended: ‘Hello, stranger.’ And she saw that it took a second for his mind to register who she was.
‘Fucking hell. Anne! Haven’t seen you in years. How are you?’ He took hold of her arm and leaned in to kiss her cheek.
‘I’m good. Really good, actually.’ And she realised that right now she really was.
He regarded her from a little distance, as so many people were doing today. ‘You’re looking great. I hear you managed to kick the stuff. Fucking “A”. Keep it up. Must’ve been quite a nightmare, though.’ He looked at her intently – his blue eyes so much more honest than Mel’s green ones – and rubbed his face. There was a strip of soft pale skin on his finger where a ring had recently been worn.
‘Yeah, it was difficult, but I managed it. I just got to a point where … Well, you don’t need to hear.’
‘Go on. I’m interested. So many people try to come off it and don’t. But you look like you’ve really got yourself sorted.’ Of all the supportive comments she had received today this seemed to be the most heartfelt.
‘Well, yeah I have, now you say it. I’ve got my own place. And I got myself here with no trouble.’ She giggled a little, glancing at her new shoes.
‘And looking lovely.’ Derek’s grin displayed his fine white teeth and swept away his tiredness for a moment.
There had been a point, years back, when, for a night, a weekend perhaps, or maybe a week, she had see-sawed between Derek and Mel. She was genuinely pleased by his compliment; she really was having a good time now, not thinking about how she should be behaving.
‘I’ve made a new mate too – someone who’s not into drugs. That’s most people’s trouble, you see. You can’t just give up the stuff, you have to give up your mates, the places you go, the whole scene. “Rejecting the culture” my counsellor calls it.’ In the time she’d be back in Deptford, Anne had not said so much to anyone about her battle, but it felt right to do so to Derek now. ‘Anyhow, what about you?’
But Derek’s attention had drifted. Anne followed the direction of his gaze and saw a man with a pale, almost translucent face, spotted with the dark marks of healing bruises. His narrow head perched oddly on a thin neck that raised it above the crowd. He nodded and grinned, revealing large, uneven teeth. She recognised him, or something in him, from long ago; but she also thought she remembered him from very recently – something to do with Deborah.
Mel appeared, looking over the man’s shoulder at Derek; his scarred eyebrow twitched and then he jerked slightly and the tall, thin man stumbled forwards, immediately spinning around to see who’d pushed him. Mel stood erect with the blank smile on his face, and raised his hand in apology. The man flinched, then nodded submissively. Mel caught Derek’s eye again, amused.
The little scene seemed to make Derek hot and uncomfortable; he rubbed the pale strip on his finger. ‘Sorry, Anne, what were you saying?’
‘Who’s that bloke Mel just pushed? I think I know him.’
‘That’s Lia’s new fella.’ Derek fumbled around for his drink.
‘Oh, that’s Nigel, is it?’ But she still felt she knew him from somewhere else, somewhere hazy and desperate. ‘He’s not a patch on you.’ Derek’s face flickered in an attempt at a smile. ‘Sorry, Derek.’
‘Don’t be. It’s what happens, isn’t it? I suppose you know she’s pregnant by him?’
‘I didn’t until just now. No one thinks much of him, you know. We don’t know what she’s doing with him to be honest with you.’ It felt strange to be representing her family’s opinion.
‘You know what, Anne? I’ve been well cut up about this for weeks now. And when I found out she was pregnant, I was gutted – totally gutted.’ Derek’s voice was getting louder. ‘You know that me and Lia couldn’t have kids, don’t you? Well, me, in fact: I can’t have kids. Shooting blanks, you know. There’ll be nothing after me. I mean, you’ve got Julie, and now the little ’un.’ He pointed to where Tom was struggling to get away from a determined member of the white-haired group. ‘So I suppose it’s difficult for you to appreciate. But what’s weird is: standing here, seeing her all happy, and with a piece of shit like him, I’m not bothered anymore. And that’s the truth. Where’s that come from, eh?’
He seemed to be requiring an answer. She tho
ught she could give it, but it would need a lot of reflection and workings out; she didn’t have it ready to hand. So she said what came to her lips: ‘There’s too much put on having kids, Derek. Look at me and Julie. I know I’m here today, but my mum is more of a mother to her than I’ve ever been. Having kids doesn’t solve everything, you know.’
But Derek didn’t reply. Lia had come to stand beside Nigel, her hand on her belly. He put his arm on her shoulder, but then someone drew his attention from the other side. It was Kathleen.
Anne ducked her head forwards. She had assumed that Kathleen, in her current state, wouldn’t come. Yet here she was, in the centre of the room. Nigel put his hand on her shoulder, keeping his other arm around Lia. How did Kathleen know him? Anne watched the threesome as if she couldn’t be seen, as if she could paint them – or stitch them, like Deborah; they were a perfect central panel for a complicated tapestry. Lia reached across Nigel to hold Kathleen’s arm; Kathleen reached out and touched Lia’s belly. Nigel between them with his bony hands on both.
And then they broke up. Lia was pulled aside by someone and Kathleen moved closer to Nigel, earnestly raising her face to him. A sick pang wrenched Anne’s mouth as she recognised Kathleen’s expression. Then Nigel nodded, gesturing towards the fire exit with his head and long nose.
And Anne remembered him now. He was the long-haired student she had sold hash to in Albury Street all those years ago – the one she had recalled as she had stood in front of the old house a couple of weeks before. And the gap that had made her a comfortable observer was suddenly shrunk.
Kathleen edged towards the exit. She was haggard – thinner and frailer than even a week ago when they had argued in the market. Nigel followed her outside and Anne wanted to scuttle after them, placing herself between them to stop the deal. But Derek stirred and pressed her hand. ‘Well, as I say, Anne, I’m fine with it now. All I’ve got to do is convince Mel I’ve changed my mind. Chat later, alright?’
Anne dashed through the steam of the unattended urn, boiling itself dry with a quiet roar, the question of why Derek needed to convince Mel of anything scrabbling away into the back of her mind.
She bumped out of the fire door just in time to see Nigel and Kathleen in the narrow yard beside the hall, both stuffing their hands awkwardly into their pockets. She was too late.
‘Alright, Anne?’ Kathleen was trying to sound bright.
‘I’m fine, what about you?’ Anne made no attempt to keep the accusation out of her voice.
‘You know Anne, don’t you?’ Kathleen said to Nigel, ‘or should I say, “Granny”.’ She laughed her distinctive laugh, making her face briefly fat and round, dragging Anne back years.
‘I think we know each other, don’t we?’ Anne said to Nigel; she felt uncommonly confident.
‘Well, we all meet up over the years, I suppose.’ Nigel’s accent was uneven. Anne was certain who he was now; she even remembered talking to him at a party, when there were no south London notes in his voice. ‘I’d better be getting back to Lia.’ He displayed his dirty teeth, flexed his long body and went inside.
Kathleen stood a couple of paces away, lighting a cigarette.
‘When did you start smoking?’ Anne said. ‘You never smoked.’
Kathleen puffed amateurishly. ‘What does it matter? I do now. Want one?’
‘I gave up when I quit heroin.’ Anne pronounced the last word heavily.
‘Alright, Anne, we all know you’re a saint now. Don’t rub it in.’ Kathleen coughed.
‘You’re not enjoying that, so what’s the point?’ Anne stood in front of her. There was no view in the yard, so Kathleen had nowhere else to look.
‘Maybe I’ve got enough time to learn,’ she said.
‘Maybe you have; maybe you’ve got months, years even.’ Anne pushed the fire door to, so the noise of the party dimmed. ‘What did he sell you?’ She stepped in close to her, stronger than her now.
Kathleen looked dismissive. ‘What are you talking about? He didn’t sell me nothing.’
‘Come on, he’s got “dealer” written all over him. I should know. Small-time too, I’d say. Look at the bruises on him.’
‘Those were from Derek’s boys. Didn’t Derek tell you? Thought I saw you getting all cosy with him in there. You had a thing for him once, as I remember.’ But Kathleen’s venom was anaemic.
Anne reached out and Kathleen shuffled away from her towards a big, battered bin.
‘I’ll say it again, Kath: you could have ages ahead of you. They haven’t given you a date to die by, have they?’ Kathleen moved away again, but Anne pursued her doggedly around the yard. ‘You could be having a good time, not looking for ways to fucking kill yourself.’
But Kathleen was hollowed out; it was as if Anne’s words echoed back at her. Kathleen threw the half-smoked cigarette down.
‘I know I didn’t have what you’ve got, Kath. But I’ve been pretty close to the edge. And I know that all you want to do is jump. But believe me, it’s better not.’
Kathleen gripped the low wall she was leaning against. ‘For fuck’s sake, Anne, don’t you get it? I’m dying. I’m going to fucking die.’
Kathleen was in a corner, and Anne had no more arguments, so she placed her hands on Kathleen’s shoulders. And Kathleen let her. Then bent forwards against Anne’s chest, a skeleton in a slack sack. And all the day’s successes – attending the christening, wending a path through Rita, Julie and Mel, understanding Deborah, understanding Derek – all were made minute by the slight weight of Kathleen’s hands on her back.
‘What’re you two up to?’ Mel’s voice rang low from the door.
‘Nothing. Just having a fag.’ Kathleen pushed Anne away with her tiny bit of strength and went over to him, trying to pass into the hall.
He held her delicately, kissing the top of her head. ‘Alright, darling. Take it easy; just let me know when you want to go.’
‘I will, thanks.’
Kathleen slipped from his grip and he was left examining Anne blankly. She tensed, sensing the danger.
He cast his green gleam over her body. ‘Nice dress,’ he said, without a smile.
‘Ta.’ She held his gaze, defiant now: she had done right by Kathleen.
He slowly turned back into the hall.
Anne remained alone outside for a short time. The yard was empty but for the large dumpster and a stack of plastic chairs decaying from exposure to the rain.
When she went back inside, the party was breaking up, and Kathleen was circulating, saying her goodbyes.
Chapter 17: Sam
Sam got off the bus outside the Methodist Mission in Creek Road. Once it had rumbled away around the corner, the street was completely vacant except for him; the sound of his exhaled breath was deafening and the smell of the night air hinted at the river and the creek near by. He stepped into the empty road – there was no reason to walk the few yards to the crossing – and idled across to the other side; in a matter of minutes, he would arrive at his door, and once inside, he would be truly alone.
A shadow in the corner of the doorstep ahead of him grew smoothly into a figure, and at the sight of it he either stopped in the road or stepped back – he didn’t have time to know, because stacked on top of each other were the tense squeal of a swerving car, its horn sounding, the angry shout of the driver and the short grey figure grabbing his arm and pulling him out of danger.
He was on the pavement, panting, looking down into Deborah’s face; ‘Fuck that. I didn’t see it coming at all.’
She smiled. ‘Good job I was here, eh?’
He pulled his arm out of her grip, stood more upright and checked his watch: 3:30am. He knew he should be thanking her, but a trickle of sweat ran down his spine, despite the cool spring night. He had to ask her – this could not be a coincidence: ‘Were you waiting for me?’
Her face twitched and she began to walk away, her dress and bag swinging. ‘Come on,’ she said over her shoulder, ‘there’s something I
want to show you.’
He hesitated for just a moment, then puffed a laugh of air out of his nostrils, wondering why he hadn’t gone straight to her the previous afternoon, presented himself and said, ‘Distract me, tell me a story’. Instead he’d spent the day in bed, then in the late evening, taken himself to a club a stone’s throw from the fabric warehouse where he worked. He’d bought a pill from a middle-aged man in a cap performing a perpetual two-step beside a speaker. It had had no effect and he’d not spoken a single word to anyone else all night, so he’d taken the bus home from the same stop he used every day after work.
When he caught up with Deborah she was turning the corner into Church Street and entering the opposite end of Albury Street from his flat; he quickly guessed where she was leading him – to something a little more exciting than a story. In silence, they passed the place where the street was as it had been for centuries – two terraces of ancient houses staring at each other across the narrow cobbled street – and turned into a gap between the modern buildings. Sam stopped in front of the tall black gate and glanced around; there was no one in the street and all the windows were dark. Deborah had already entered the garden in the middle of the estate, where he had seen her from his window a few weeks before.
The garden was lit by white-blue fluorescent lights set low on the walls and peeping through the bushes; the shadows they made gave the space the look of a stage set. Deborah stalked across the grass to the tree in the middle and turned around, signalling to him to be quick and silent. In a few steps, he was beside her under the canopy and he realised that here they were screened from the sight of anyone looking out of their windows. A branch of slim spring growth drooped over his face and he closed his eyes for a moment. The last time he had met Deborah she had told him she could not die, and just two days ago – not even that – he had decided he didn’t want to see her again.