Blue Skies (8 page)

‘Why didn't you stay in bed and read? It would be more comfortable surely?' I felt guilty. Sure the calls had been for me.

‘Oh, the bed's in such a bloody mess I couldn't be bothered to make it just to get back in. Let's see the
Mercury
.'

I gave it him, walked through to the sitting room and put my stone into the blue-and-white pot on the mantelpiece. I replaced the phone and sat on the floor and waited. It didn't ring. The sun poured through the slats of the blinds in self-contained streams, which spread on the carpet in puddles. I curled up in one of them, pressing my cheek into the hot prickle of carpet pile, nearly asleep. From the kitchen came the sound of water filling the kettle. There was a clank as it hit the stove—a scrape of match and a rush of flame: James making tea. More sounds, each separate and distinct, crossed vast spaces to reach my ears: James making toast. James stood over me, his toes level with my eyes. I bit the largest toe in reach.

‘Look out, I'll drop this lot on top of you if you're not careful.'

I rolled over and sat up. James was carrying a tray of tea and toast, the toast already buttered and cut into tidy triangles. We sat on the floor in adjoining sun puddles and ate. I held my face in the scented steam rising from my mug of tea and felt the little beads of sweat pop out. The phone went on not ringing.

James licked his fingers and spoke. ‘I'd better go. Want to get an early start. I'll try not to be too late tonight. I want to fix those doors. Then we'll borrow Mum's car and go up to the supermarket.'

Late-night shopping Fridays. I would have to make a list. I couldn't face that huge supermarket without a list: it was a map that got you round and out the other side safely. James preferred to be adrift, lured off course by colourful outcrops of special offers, following red-lettered signs that led like siren songs to neatly stacked islands of stuff we didn't need. We always spent too much. I worried about the money, and I worried more about getting rid of the plastic bottles, empty tins and excess packaging.

James was on his way out. ‘Bye, love.' Squeak; bang and gone. Off into the real world. In her world, Angelica was waking up. I could hear her rustling about, snuffling and grunting sweetly. In my world I was feeling threatened by non-disposable rubbish and the phone's not ringing. In her world Angelica's sweet temper was beaten back by feelings of hunger and wetness. She bellowed.

The morning went in sequence. Changed and fed Angelica. Bathed Angelica in a yellow plastic bath on the white-formica-with-silver-flecks breakfast bar. Carried Angelica to her pram, a neat little pink package carefully wrapped and pinned to keep the contents in. Sparse mouse hair escaped from one end, puffy cross red feet from the other. Changed the pram mattress cover and placed Angelica face upwards on it. Fastened coloured row of square- and circle-shaped plastic rattles threaded on elastic from one side of the pram to the other. Fixed sun umbrella onto the hood. Wheeled pram with Angelica in it round to the side of the house under the bedroom window where a young tree lent a crazy paving of shade. Spread fine net, like a veil, over the pram to keep off flies and things. Went back into the house. Heard Angelica gurgling and kicking the rattles, catching at them with her toes. Filled the automatic machine with dirty clothes including the ones I was wearing. Set it on its cycle. Went to bed. Went to sleep.

The phone was ringing. I was coming up towards a bright light, surfacing in a series of quick dreams full of unsuccessful attempts to stop bells ringing. I rolled off the bed and started in the right direction, colliding sharply with the edge of the door as I went. The pain of a stubbed toe joined the bells in my head and forced me to concentrate. Then the bells stopped. The phone had stopped ringing and I hadn't made it; with more sleep I might have done.

It was very hot in the house. The sun seemed to be baking directly down on the corrugated iron roof. It was probably lunchtime. As yet Angelica showed no signs of stirring. I went through to the kitchen to make coffee, put the kettle on and took James's place at the breakfast bar. The paper was lying open at the
Mercury
's double spread of social notes and recipes. My eyes reeled over the fat thick black print and small photographs of people with rigor mortis and inky skin blemishes. Under one, the caption read: ‘Mrs Barber chose a long frock of floral chiffon mounted over blue which featured long flared sleeves with a rouleau bow over the midriff.'

‘Rouleau bow' had a nice round quality to it. I turned the phrase over in my mouth, sounding the two words like a soothing spell, as I tipped all that remained of a jar of instant coffee into a cup, piled in the sugar and poured the boiling water on it. I found an end of pencil by the sink and sat back on the stool. I started my shopping list on the margin of the recipes page.

Large jar inst. coffee

2lbs sugar

I wrote this next to a headline which said:

BRIOCHE WITH A TANG

Here's a brioche with a difference! An intriguing filling of marzipan is rolled into a dough…

The phone was ringing.

‘Yes, hello,' I said.

Someone was being strangled on the end of the line.

I said the number.

‘Hello, old thing, where have you been? I've been trying to get you for hours.'

A familiar voice. Only it seemed to be strained through a barbed-wire sieve.

‘Why, what's the matter?'

There was a constant background noise. A plate smashed somewhere, cutlery rattled. I was right about it being around lunchtime. I thought the restaurant must be unusually full to make that amount of noise.

‘Haven't you seen the paper, old girl?' He sounded rather offended.

‘Yes. I mean, no. I haven't read it properly yet. Why what's in it? Something to do with you? Fame at last?'

‘I can't tell you. Go and read page three.'

‘All right.' I put the receiver quietly down by the phone and went back into the kitchen, sat down and turned to page three. I read it.

I didn't hurry back to the phone. I sat and finished my coffee slowly, and read it again. It took a long time, although it was only four half-columns of words. I went back to the phone, hoping he had hung up, and put the receiver against my ear. He hadn't. The background noise seemed to have intensified, a sound that mixed anger and excitement; blowflies made the same sound betraying the presence of corpses. It was not convivial. Outside, I dimly heard Angelica start to cry. I heard Jonathan breathing through the phone, loud and close in my ear. He was waiting.

‘I've read it. I don't know what to say. Why are you there?'

‘I couldn't think what to do. I've been up all night. I couldn't stay in the flat. I thought of coming down to your place.'

‘You can't do that.' He knew that I didn't say this because of what I had just read. Nobody came down to the house during the day. Nobody saw me playing a role I didn't choose.

‘What will you do?'

‘I don't know. It's bad here. I was mad to come and now I can't get out. There are people outside both doors and I can't face getting by them.'

‘You could call the police. They'll have to protect you, clear the people away.'

‘No. I can't face the police again. It's not protection I need, anyway. Everyone thinks it's bloody funny. They've just come to laugh at me.' His voice started to quaver—the strangling noise again. Outside Angelica was roaring.

‘Look I'm sorry but I have to go. The baby's crying, you see.' I waved the receiver in the direction of the noise, hoping he would hear it and not think I was lying. ‘Anyway, you must be doing a roaring trade. All publicity is good publicity, isn't that what they say?' I laughed sympathetically—to show I was joking. Silence. I waited for him to say goodbye or something. I feared for Angelica, crying so much out in the heat. If she dehydrated and turned to dust, would they blame me? Angry, I hung onto the phone, trying to stop him without having to feel guilt-ridden afterwards.

I was still looking for words when he said: ‘Half the staff didn't turn up today. Including the barman. He phoned up to say he was sick. The others didn't bother with excuses. Bruce is in the kitchen, but there's no way he can cope. You couldn't come up this evening and give him a hand, I suppose?'

‘No, it's hopeless. I can't get away. I'm sorry.' Outside Angelica was mewling and hiccuping desperately. A car was coming down the road. I knew the engine note: my mother-in-law's car. It stopped outside. The door opened and shut, and footsteps hurried towards Angelica as if drawn by a magnet. The choked crying stopped; cooing noises ensued. Child and grandmother slammed into the house. Two heads stared round the door at me. Angelica, far from having dehydrated, had apparently blown up, as if filled with soggy air. Her puce tomato face bobbled at me over her grand.mother‘s shoulder. Her eyes had disappeared in swollen pulpy flesh, her lips quivered sadly across her face like reproachful purple slugs, her arms waved in the air like floating saveloys. It was the sort of thing you felt tempted to crush, but wouldn't, for fear of the mess it would make.

‘So there's a naughty Mummy, then, gossiping on the phone.' She was waving Angelica at me, holding her up so that somehow the words seemed to come out of Angelica's tummy like a pre-recorded message. I turned my back on them both.

He was still going on. With the inflection of someone ending a long debate he said ‘…so I suppose I'll just have to close for a while if I can't get more staff.'

‘Yes. Well, why don't you? At least until the fuss dies down. It will all be forgotten in a week or so, you'll see.'

‘Maybe. But it will all start up again when it comes to court. I might have to close up for good. Or sell up and begin again somewhere else. On the mainland.' He sounded doubtful. ‘That's if I'm not in prison.'

I hadn't thought of that. ‘Oh, surely not. How could they? It's ridiculous. I'd be surprised if the police even have a case. The whole thing will probably be chucked out of court.'

‘No. You don't understand what this is all about. The police have been after me for a long time, you know. I'm not well liked in this town. I know too many things about too many important people. Certain people would be very glad to see the back of me.'

Embarrassed by this paranoia, I said: ‘Yes. Well, maybe. Look, I really have to go now. James's mother is here. I have to talk to her—make her a cup of tea or something boring like that. You know how it is. Phone me again, won't you. Any time. Let me know what's happening—if there's anything I can do. I'll come to the flat on Tuesday, OK? Will you be there?'

‘I don't know. I may go away somewhere. Trouble is, I can't leave the state because of the bail. Can't you come up to town before then? I mean, if I could just get a little help and keep the business going I could possibly face this thing down. I just need a bit of moral support, that's all. Then I can make these bastards pay for the privilege of staring at me.'

‘Listen, I'm really sorry about this, but I can't come up to town before Tuesday. Tuesday's the day James's mother looks after Angelica. It's difficult otherwise. I can't lug her up to town with me.'

‘No, I suppose not. Perhaps I'll phone you over the weekend. If I'm in town on Tuesday we'll meet somewhere. Thanks for talking to me. Goodbye.' He hung up on me.

Well, I hoped I'd helped get the whole thing into perspective, that's all. It was nothing really, a storm in a teacup. It had its funny side too, although you couldn't expect him to see that, I thought, following the sounds made by Grandmama and Angelica. It would all blow over; there was no real point in my going up to town to help. Tuesday was soon enough. By that time we would probably be able to sit down and laugh about it together, which would be fun. I wasn't going to be put off being his friend by a bit of scandal.

Grandmama and Angelica were in the bathroom. Angelica was being washed out in the hand basin. The water had shrunk her back to her usual perfectly balanced and pale proportions. A neatly folded pile of baby clothes lay ready for her.

I leaned in the doorway. They were too absorbed in each other to notice. I went into the kitchen. Angelica was just starting on solid foods. I studied the neat rows of tinned baby food in the cupboard and took out one of minced brains with carrot and one of banana custard. I was just heating up the brains when they came in.

‘Would you like to have some lunch with us?' I asked politely. ‘I'll just feed Angelica, then make us some sandwiches or something. I should have some food somewhere. We're a bit low at the moment. The end of the week and all that. James was hoping to borrow the car this evening so we could go up to the supermarket.'

‘No thank you, my dear. I'm not hungry. I don't eat much you know; it's not good for you in this heat. I only came round to see if I could borrow Angelica for the afternoon. I've got an old friend coming down and she's just dying to see my only grand-daughter. It's just as well I came when I did. The poor little thing was in such a state.'