Mercy Seat (7 page)

In the middle of Christine's second week, on the
Wednesday or Thursday morning, I woke feeling much stronger, as if the virus had lifted its siege quite suddenly in the night. Jenny was already up and through in the living room with Michael. I heard her ask Christine if she wanted a coffee and realised she must have already come back from her swim. The first sharp nappy smell of the day drifted through and there was the sound of a new bag of disposables being popped open. Can you hold him just there? Jenny was saying.

I waited a while before getting up, wondering if the new energy I felt was just temporary or would stand my moving around. I was dizzy when I bent to step into my jeans, but apart from that I felt fine. Even the scabs left by the sores had grown paler overnight and were drying up.

They were both surprised to see me when I went through. Christine was wearing a big white T-shirt she obviously used as a nightdress. Her hair was still wet from showering after her swim. I hadn't seen her in anything like bedclothes before – she'd always been up and dressed before me. Now she seemed awkward at my being there. She was kneeling at Michael's head, distracting him while Jenny changed the nappy and cleaned him, and when I came and stood over them she took hold of the front hem of her T-shirt and pulled it so it tucked under her knees. Look who it is, she said to Michael. It's your daddy.

Hello honey, Jenny said, glancing up. She finished wiping around Michael's thighs, then powdered him. Feeling a bit better?

Much better.

Good. I'm glad. Chris, can you take this out of the way? She handed the talcum powder to Christine.

I wouldn't mind getting some fresh air today, I said.

There was silence, except for the pat-pat of Jenny's hand on each tiny buttock. Michael sneezed.

Had you two planned to go anywhere?

No, I don't think there's anywhere else you really want to see is there? Jenny asked Christine.

We've done plenty of shopping for a while, Christine said. I've spent too much anyway.

You haven't bought much, Jenny laughed. I end up buying things though. I'm just weak. She rolled Michael onto his back and fastened the front of his nappy. Are you going to go back to work? she asked me.

I should, I said. I'll go into town and see how I feel. I could do the afternoon shift.

I didn't mean you should. Don't if you still feel tired. I was only joking when I said I'd been buying stuff.

I'd better get something on, said Christine. I'm the only one not dressed. She ran a hand through her hair. What a mess, she said. I keep forgetting to dry it properly.

You're on holiday, Jenny said, you're allowed to be a mess. Anyway, it's just family.

I felt too hot outside wherever there was shelter from the wind – I was still a little feverish – but I was glad to be out in the open at last.

I decided to walk the mile or so to the university library. I'd been able to take out an associate membership because of my OU registration, and I wanted some history books for the module I was studying. I'd fallen behind while I was ill. There was a back way from the seafront to the campus, not much more than a track which climbed steeply through woods, skirted a few long fields and then opened out near the top of the campus hill at a big greenhouse used by the
Botany department. I found myself needing to rest more than once on the first sharp climb away from the sea, but once the path levelled out it was pleasant to make my way along the edge of the open fields, listening to the ripening barley whisper and shush in the breeze.

Outside the library I heard my name called and turned to find Bill Kerrigan striding towards me, grinning and shading his wide, bearded face from the sun with a big hand. Kerrigan was an old student friend of Jenny's – I always suspected they'd been together for a short time before I met her, which turned out to be correct – and because he'd stayed on to do a PhD rather than dispersing along with most the rest of their circle they'd stayed fairly close. Sometimes he visited the guesthouse to eat and get drunk with us. I liked him: he was vague, shy and shambling – he looked at least ten years older than he was – and rarely spoke unless he had something worthwhile to say. He'd been interested in the farm and had even gone away to research it after I'd told him about my time there. It went back to the fourteenth century, he discovered. The farmhouse had been extended a little in Victorian times, but its dark, low-ceilinged kitchen and living room were medieval.

Luke, he said, still grinning and shading his eyes. Haven't seen you in a while.

We swapped news for a short time and I told him about Christine's visit. He nodded, frowning, as if trying to recall something. Jenny used to talk about her sometimes, he said at last. When she was drunk. I'm surprised she's visiting.

I think Jenny was surprised too, I said. But it's going fine, I think.

He seemed to mull it over for a moment, then said: bring
her to a party, if you like. I mean if you want something to do with her. Next Wednesday at my place.

Ok, I said, if we can get a sitter for Michael.

He scratched his beard, still looking thoughtful. See you there then, maybe, he said, and waved a hand as he turned toward the library steps.

I managed to get through the afternoon at the warehouse without too much strain: Anzani had drafted one of his sons in to cover for me being away so I actually had had some help for once when the drivers called in to get their vans loaded. By five o'clock I was exhausted though: I'd eaten almost nothing when the fever was bad and now I realised my muscles were running on empty. None of the shipments were particularly heavy, but I was drenched with sweat. You ok? You look like you're having a heart attack, Anzani's boy said as we finished the last load.

I nodded, but hardly had the energy to reply.

You look like shit. I mean it, he said.

Back at Bethesda Mrs Clement was perched in her rocking chair in the big bay window, slightly above pavement level, overlooking the prom. She was a big, iron-haired woman who liked to spend the whole day there behind glass, knitting or sewing, and watching the world go by with a fixed, aghast look, as if it were all some kind of slowly unfolding atrocity that she couldn't take her eyes off. She watched me crossing the street from the bus stop but when I looked up to acknowledge her she stared straight out to sea, pretending she hadn't noticed me at all. Inside, their flat door was closed for once and there was no sound coming from its living room.

Jenny and Christine were out somewhere with Michael. I looked for a note but there wasn't any. I knew I needed to eat, but at the same time couldn't face the thought of swallowing anything down. I drew the curtains in the living room and slumped in a corner of the sofa.

I was still there when they got back. They'd had a good afternoon, Jenny told me, and Michael was so tired now he'd sleep all evening. She didn't say where exactly they'd been but I supposed it must have been a long walk around town, or maybe along the bay.

I felt almost too tired to speak, but told Jenny about meeting Kerrigan and the invitation to his party.

Do you want to go? she asked.

I shrugged.

I don't want to, she said, but I could stay with Michael and you could take Christine. Do you think he'd mind?

I shrugged, feeling stung that Jenny thought he might not want me there if I wasn't with her.

Do you want to go to a party? she asked her sister.

That would be nice, she said, looking at me.

Well, it must be boring for you in the nights, because of Michael, Jenny said. It'll be a change.

Four

I was woken the next morning by Michael's weight settling on my stomach. Jenny laughed when I opened my eyes.

Don't move, she said, you'll tip him off.

I waited, letting him crawl up onto my chest, letting his little fist dig unsteadily at my windpipe. He rested there.

Give daddy a kiss, she told him.

I worked an arm free from under the sheets and rolled him into it, cupping him there.

Let me see your waist, Jenny said, and knelt on the bed at my side. She hauled down the sheets and examined me. Look how pale they've gone, she said. They look a lot better.

I craned my neck to see. She was right – except for the ones I'd mauled with my fingernails, the pock marks were hardly noticeable now.

Do you still feel better?

I nodded from the pillow.

Good. Let's go out today. We could take Chris along the cliff path. Do you feel strong enough for that?

I'll be fine. I told Anzani I'd work an afternoon shift today though.

She nodded. That's ok. We'll start out early and get back. I want you to have some time with her too. I want you to get to know each other. She looked hard at me, as if measuring me up for the task ahead. She's not back from her swim yet. You could get dressed while she's gone. She
bent forward and lifted Michael away.

It had been quite a while – more than a year, I suppose – since we'd climbed Constitution Hill together to get to the cliffs, and now when we reached the top we rested on the steps of a new, ugly cafe that had been rigged up there since the last time. It was just a low, flat-roofed hut of weatherproofed boards, and some were already starting to warp and split in the rough sea air. It wasn't open yet and there was no sign of life through the windows inside. I was carrying Michael in his sling on my back; despite the sharp breeze I was sweating and glad to catch my breath.

I didn't know this was here, Jenny said. It must be to go with the camera obscura.

Christine stood up and wandered over to a crude chipboard signpost which read: Opening Soon – Britain's Biggest Camera Obscura. There was a heap of building materials lying just beyond it. They'd been there longer than the cafe – I remembered seeing them the last time we'd been here. Then we'd taken the funicular railway up the slope because Jenny was far gone in the pregnancy and not confident of climbing, though for some reason she'd felt in the mood for a stroll along the cliffs. I remember the spring weather turning suddenly, a squall of hailstones battering in off the sea, and Jenny trying to hurry back along the path, clutching her big stomach.

Is this where it's going to be? Christine called.

We both shrugged.

She stepped into the midst of the bricks and steel spines and peered down at them as if the big, spying mirror was already in place there.

Jenny put her arm out behind me and tickled Michael.
He likes being carried, doesn't he, she said to me over my shoulder. He looks so funny though, doesn't he, staring out backwards at everything.

I didn't answer. Jenny always wanted Michael to sit facing forwards when I carried him, and that was how the harness was meant to go, but the first few times we tried it he got ever more hysterical the longer the walk went on, hitting out at the back of my head. I don't know what gave me the idea of turning him round, but it worked, and he was immediately calm. When I was young I used to get anxious facing forwards in trains – I preferred seeing everything slipping away to seeing everything coming at me headlong – so maybe it was something we shared.

That sign's been up for more than a year, Jenny called across to her sister. And all those bricks and things, she added. They must have run out of money, or changed their minds.

Slowly Christine turned and picked her way back to us. The wind was gusting in over the lip of the cliff behind us, directly into her face. Her mouth, tensed against the breeze, seemed to be smiling at some secret.

We carried on, filing away from the empty cafe and onto the path, following its curve away from the cliff-edge and into a stretch of sheltering gorse and bracken. Jenny was walking ahead of me, Christine behind, and when we climbed up out of the bushes, back onto bare rock and into the teeth of the wind again, I remember Jenny glancing back, suddenly fearful, to check that Michael was still safe behind my shoulders, as if he might have been plucked free and flung out onto the water far below.

We'd been walking for nearly half an hour when Michael started crying. For a while I ignored it – it
didn't sound urgent, just bad-tempered. Jenny was still in front, too far ahead to hear him. It went on for about ten minutes before I felt something sting the back of my ear. I stopped and turned and out of the corner of my eye saw a fragment of grit drop from my shoulder to the ground. At that moment Christine drew level and looked me in the face as she passed. Her eyes were shining, as if she were bristling with an electric pleasure and energy. Without slowing or taking her eyes from mine she reached out swiftly and touched my ear where the tiny stone had hit it. Then she was in front of me, breaking into a run to catch up with Jenny.

For a few minutes I followed after them mechanically. Then I stopped, loosened the straps of Michael's sling, sat down against the grass bank on the landward side of the path and eased my arms free. Sure enough, when I turned him round I could see a clutch of tiny, sharp-edged stones nestled in a fold of his bib. They were dark grey and flinty, the same rock as the cliffs. I checked his face but there were no marks. He was still sobbing but the edge had gone from it. He was just feeling sorry for himself now. I cleared the grit away, then swung him back behind my shoulders and tightened the straps again. I don't know why, but I didn't feel angry or protective; all I could think of was the lit expression on her face as she passed and the touch of her finger on me, like a blessing.

By the time I secured the sling and started walking again Jenny and Christine were almost out of sight, winding their way down the incline to Clarach, the first bay beyond the town. I watched their heads bob down below the ridge, Christine's dark hair burnished by the morning sun.

Once they reached the sand they turned together, as
if in silent agreement, and waited while I worked my way down toward them. The tide was out but there were no birds on the sand, just a distant armada of gulls resting on the swells in the bay. Michael was quiet again now and the whole vista, from the far off gulls to the rock under my feet, seemed unnaturally still. I had a sudden sense of being suspended above the landscape, pinned in space by the attention of the women below me. Then Jenny put up her hand to wave and broke the spell, and Christine turned away to the sea.