Fifty-First State (15 page)

He pushed his hands through his hair, straightened his bow tie and went back into the restaurant. He took up his normal position near the door, watching the waiters and waitresses, letting an unobtrusive eye run over the tables and the diners. He put out extra-sensory feelers into the kitchen, gauging what was occurring in there. He gestured at a napkin which had fallen under a table, at a wine bottle that was empty, and couldn't wait for his day to finish. But he had to realize that when it did he wouldn't want to go home. To get to his bedroom he'd have to cross the living room, where his in-laws would be asleep on the sofa bed. However quietly he entered, Marie Sutcliffe would wake. He believed that even if he were capable of dematerializing and going through the front door without opening it, then wafting across the room a foot above the floor, Marie Sutcliffe would still wake up. Once awake, whatever the time, she'd speak to him instantly, lifting her grey perm from the pillow to look him in the eye. She might say anything. ‘Lucy's looking peaky – these late shifts are wearing her out.' ‘Mrs Rogers upstairs has sprained her ankle on these stairs.' ‘I've made a sponge cake. It's in the kitchen. Do you want some before you go to bed?' If he answered, she would reply and Joe would wake up. If he answered only perfunctorily, ‘I'd better get to bed, Marie,' she'd give a heavy sigh and let her head fall, thud, back on the pillow. The night before he'd ignored her completely and stealing towards the bedroom door he'd heard her murmur, as if to herself, ‘I'm a burden. If only you knew how often I've prayed God to take me.' He went into the bedroom, closed the door and threw a punch at it, stopping short before he actually hit it and muttered, ‘Not as often as I have, believe me.' Then he'd turned to his empty bed – Lucy was working a 10 p.m. to 6 a.m. shift – sat down heavily and pulled off his shoes.

The mornings were little better. Lucy would have got into bed at seven, and William at two in the morning. But the Sutcliffes were comparatively early risers and by eight they would be up, trying to be quiet and cooking breakfast so that if the noise of two people in a small flat did not wake William, the smell of bacon did. Lucy, exhausted, would sleep on. William frequently, could not.

When the last diners left, William went upstairs to change into his outdoor clothes. There was no sound from behind the closed door of Jack's flat and William changed and went down without talking to him, which was a relief in view of their last conversation. Walking tiredly to the bus stop – he felt tired all the time now – he reflected that over the thirteen days the Sutcliffes had spent at the flat he had made love to his wife exactly once. That was when Joe and Marie had gone off on Sunday
morning to a nearby Anglican church. Marie did not like Shepherd's Bush. It was crowded and, as she said, ‘full of foreigners'. But the experiment had not been successful because the foreigners also went to church. On that occasion, as if they both knew what they had to do, they'd scuttled upstairs like teenagers when they heard the front door open, a memory which annoyed William in retrospect. And it looked as if even that was over, unless the Sutcliffes could find an Anglican church in the middle of London attended only by white, lower-middle-class people.

William stood at the bus stop and thought gloomily that he would not, in the foreseeable future, be making love to his wife again. And he remembered when, a bare fortnight ago, he used to go home feeling a bit tired perhaps, but calm, cheered, on top of his job and looking forward to seeing his wife, either when he got in or whenever she came in from work. Before, on the bus, he'd have been working out how close they were to the new flat, and the baby, or perhaps planning what to do in their next bit of free time together. Now look at him – a row with the boss, Marie and Joe in the front room – it was a nightmare.

A week after the Sutcliffes' arrival, after supper, when they were all round the table, William had raised the subject of the visit. Under Lucy's doubtful eyes – he had not discussed the matter with her – Joe's steady gaze, which must have rattled many a bus stop vandal and car thief in his working days and Marie's timid, fearful look, he had proceeded determinedly with his prepared speech. His and Lucy's working hours. The size of the flat. The conclusion, some phrase of his father's about good fences making good neighbours. When he finished, Lucy was looking at the tablecloth, Joe was still staring steadily at him as if he were incriminating himself and Marie was on the verge of tears, saying, ‘Of course, if you don't want us here, we'll go back home.' Lucy said, ‘Don't be silly, Mum. We'll manage,' and Marie had begun to weep uncontrollably. Lucy had sent William out with Joe and put her mother to bed – in their bed. ‘Let's go to the pub,' he'd suggested to Joe. He wasn't going to apologize. ‘Good thinking,' Joe said easily, as if nothing much had happened.

With a pint in his hand, William's father-in-law said, ‘Don't think I don't understand how difficult this is or that we're not grateful. It's Marie,' he continued and then told William again how upset his wife had been about the suicide attack at Thwaite airbase and the spectacle of military vehicles full of armed men rolling down their village street. William listened in silence, waiting. He had heard all this before and assumed that, the story retold, Joe would move on to the practicalities, a suggestion about making life easier, a mention, perhaps, of how long he thought it would be before he and his wife could go home. But he did not do this. William had to recognize that Marie's state of mind had become the centre of the Sutcliffes' marriage; it controlled almost all their actions
and decisions. In some ways, neither of them was normal. He felt very discouraged. They walked back to the flat in silence.

When they got in Marie and her mother were watching a video of
The Lion King.
Marie could stand very little in the way of entertainment. The news was out, of course, and most documentaries, also films containing violence, sex, bad language or conflict between the characters. This ruled out most films, TV, newspapers, books and magazines, leaving only afternoon TV, Disney films and magazines showing the homes and lives of the rich and famous. Marie lived in the only world she could endure, her own. William, unwilling to sit with three adults watching a children's film, had gone to bed.

As he got on the bus he accepted reluctantly that the row with the drunken MP at the restaurant, ending in the eviction of the whole party, might have been his fault. It was his job to deal with the guests, however out of control they became. Jack Prentiss had as good as told him he was losing his grip. And he probably was. And Lucy was tired and growing paler and thinner – if she made a mistake it would not just be a matter of a few people in a restaurant having their dinners disturbed. The bus arrived, William got on – and he decided to act. This cheered him.

Getting out at Shepherd's Bush, he noticed the Auxiliary Police were on the Green again, clustered round their camouflaged vehicles. It looked as if they'd set up a permanent base there. Why? he wondered. He'd accepted the idea that in these times of terrorism and the threat of terrorism the police needed all the help they could get. But the stories he heard were always about the Auxiliaries being idle and thuggish at the same time. They had a lot of power and were undertrained. People feared them.

As soon as he came in, Marie, who must have been waiting for him, lifted her head from the pillow and said, ‘Lucy's period's late. Do you think we could be expecting a grandchild?'

William responded jovially, ‘It can't have been me. I haven't touched her for weeks. It must be that rotten Bob from downstairs.' He marched into the bedroom and banged the door. Later, he sat on the bed grinning and dropped his shoes heavily on the floor as if he were drunk. He'd enjoyed that – it was almost the first thing he'd enjoyed for weeks. Marie would have disliked the reference to sex between her daughter and her husband, and the suggestion of adultery even more. Nominating Bob Archer, the Friths' downstairs neighbour, who was black, as the guilty man, made it all the better.

He'd pay – of course he'd pay. Through the door he could hear Marie lightly sobbing. That would wake Joe. Next morning, they'd both be tired. Joe's face would be as long as a fiddle, Marie's eyes would be red and as soon as Lucy got up there'd be a post-mortem into William's drinking habits and general behaviour as a husband. He didn't care. He wouldn't be in the flat
anyway. He put his head on the pillow and went straight to sleep. Lucy did not escape so easily. He half-heard her talking to Marie when she came in. When she got into bed he pretended to be more deeply asleep than he was.

When he got up the Sutcliffes were eating breakfast in the kitchen. Marie looked very worn and pale and had an untouched plate in front of her. ‘Morning,' said William, pouring himself a cup of tea.

‘Can I get you any breakfast, William?' Marie asked with forbearance.

‘No. I've got to go out straight away,' he said.

‘Why don't you have this?' she asked, indicating her own plate. ‘It's still hot but I don't seem to feel like anything this morning.'

‘I've got to go and see someone,' said William, putting down his cup and heading for the door. ‘Are you feeling all right, William?' Joe called after him.

‘Fine. Fine,' said William and left. He went to the café where he thought his friend Mo Al Fasi might be taking a break. Mo would have been up before six to get fruit and vegetables for his father's shop and left one of his brothers in charge while he went for a cup of coffee. He found Mo sitting with a group of Moroccan men at the back of the café and went up to him. ‘How's it going, Will?' asked Mo.

‘Horrible,' said William. ‘Can I have a word? I need to find a flat.' Mo glanced at the other men. His father and uncles had come from Morocco forty years earlier, responding to job advertisements by British companies. They'd worked, brought their families over and, scraping money together, had managed to buy a house in the then downmarket area of Shepherd's Bush. They now owned two shops and several houses.

Nevertheless, the situation was delicate. However, William calculated, Mo owed him a favour, ever since fifteen-year-old William had alibied fifteen-year-old Mo when he'd got into trouble. The offence – a small drugs deal – would have brought little in the way of a penalty but the court appearance would have shamed Mo's father and badly upset his mother. At the time the only person who had known about this was Mo's father. However, fifteen years had passed and perhaps, now, others knew. Which would make it easier for Mo to help William out. That was the way things were. A signal between Mo and the other man evidently passed and Mo said, ‘Might have a place.'

They left the café and went to a pub in a quiet street. William had a pint and ordered a tall glass of orange juice, which he fortified with vodka, though he was not sure whether marriage, business and fatherhood had made Mo more conservative. Mo, however, took a swig and did not make any comment about the contents of his glass. Mo was tall, thin and rapid in his movements. As a boy, with his large brown eyes and long curling lashes he'd looked like a Renaissance angel. Now he was married, with
three small children and a business. His long face was tired and there were shadows under his eyes. He asked, ‘Who's the flat for?'

William outlined the situation with the Sutcliffes and Mo, no stranger to the demands of the extended family, nodded. ‘There might be somewhere – Dad's got a flat – one room, kitchen and bathroom, in one of his houses. It's nice,' he said. ‘Lucy wouldn't mind it. The last bloke who had it was a BBC producer, commuting from Norwich every week. But he's moved on.'

‘What about the rent?'

‘Couple of hundred a week. One fifty if Dad's in a good mood.' Seeing William's expression he said, ‘I know. I know. But that's the going rate round here.'

‘Still got to pay the mortgage, that's the problem,' William said.

Mo finished his drink and put his glass down. ‘It'd be better if your wife's parents went home,' he said.

William looked at him hopelessly. ‘How's your own family?'

Mo's face closed. ‘Don't ask,' he replied. They agreed to meet that afternoon, at the shop, when Mo would have spoken to his father about the flat.

William stopped for breakfast, bought a couple of CDs he would look forward to playing in the new place and went home, relieved. Admittedly, he hadn't seen whatever accommodation Mo's father was renting yet. Nevertheless, he felt confident, a mood which altered when he entered the flat. Marie sat limply on the sofa, Lucy in a chair. Lucy's face was even paler and there were darker shadows under her eyes. She'd had, William calculated, about five hours' sleep. He suspected that Marie had found a way of waking her up early, in order to discuss what he'd said last night.

He went to Lucy and whispered, ‘Sorry, love. It was just a joke.' She nodded, wearily. He turned to Marie. ‘I'm sorry about last night,' he said. ‘I'm afraid I'd had a bit too much to drink.' Marie made no reply to this unapologetic apology but Joe turned stiffly from the window and said, ‘All right, William. These things happen.'

‘Luce,' William said. ‘You look tired. Why don't you go back to bed?'

‘I'm all right here,' she said.

William said crossly, ‘Well, I'm going to get some sleep,' and went into the bedroom. He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. He didn't know why Marie, because she'd been upset, had to have her husband and exhausted daughter in the room with her, but he knew this was the case. Then the TV went on, so that if he had been trying to sleep, he would have been disturbed.

This is insane, he thought. We're all living with an insane woman and we're all going mad ourselves. He realized that if Mo's father's flat were a concrete room in a windowless basement, he'd still take it.