The Woman Who Went to Bed for a Year (28 page)

A girl had once said to him, ‘I’m not being funny,
Barry, but you don’t half stink.’

Since then, he had bathed twice a day. But it took
up a lot of time without a shower, and his hot-water bill had doubled. He was
earning less these days — people weren’t going out at night, or giving many
tips. Sometimes he didn’t even cover his petrol costs. He had no family. After
he had fought with his new brother-in-law at the wedding reception, his mother
had said to him dramatically, ‘You are no longer my son. You are dead to me. ‘But,
to be honest, he had enjoyed knocking that tosser on to the dance floor. Nobody
called his sister a slag. But even she had turned against him. In the day,
while he was trying to sleep, the fight went round and round in his head. He
was so tired, but he could never sleep properly …

Eva said, ‘You look exhausted.’

Barry nodded. ‘I am. And I’ve got worries.’

‘What’s at the top of the list?’

‘How much will it hurt when the train goes over me
neck? That’s my main worry. It’s bound to hurt before I die.’

Eva said, ‘There are easier ways, Barry. And think
about the train driver, he’ll have it on his mind for ever. All you’d be to the
passengers is an hour’s delay, while they search the track for your head and
limbs. Think of a stranger swinging your decapitated head in a Tesco’s carrier
bag.’

Brian Junior said, ‘Is that what they do?’

‘I saw a documentary,’ said Eva.

Barry said, ‘So, you don’t think the train?’

‘No,’ said Eva. ‘Definitely not the train.’

Barry said, ‘I thought about hanging. I’ve got a beam
…’

‘No,’ said Eva, firmly. ‘You could hang there for
minutes. Fighting for breath. It doesn’t always break the neck, Barry.’

‘Right, strike that off the list then. Have you got
any thoughts about drowning?’

‘No. I’ve got a friend called Virginia Woolf,’ lied
Eva, ‘who filled her pockets with stones and walked into the sea.’

Barry asked, ‘Did it work?’

‘No,’ she lied again. ‘It didn’t work. She’s glad it
didn’t work now’

What about Paracetamol?’ said Barry.

‘Not bad,’ said Eva, ‘but if you don’t die, you
could poison your liver and suffer an agonising death a fortnight later. Or
have your kidneys fail and end up on dialysis. Four hours a day, five times a week,
with your own blood going round in plastic tubes in front of you.’

Barry said, ‘Sounds easier to live.’ He gave a
humourless laugh.

Brian Junior said, morosely, ‘I could cave your head
in with this cricket bat.’

Barry laughed again. ‘No, I think I’ll leave it,
thank you.’

Eva said, ‘You might as well live, Barry. What’s the
second worry on your list?’

‘How to make some real friends,’ said Barry.

Eva asked, ‘Do you smoke?’

He shook his head. ‘No, it’s a disgusting habit.’

‘You should take it up, and then you could join all
the little groups standing outside their pubs and clubs. You’d be part of a
despised minority, with a great sense of solidarity. You’d soon make friends.
And you wouldn’t actually have to smoke the fags, just light them and hold them
between your fingers.’

Barry looked dubious.

Eva said, ‘Don’t like that idea?’

‘Not really.’

Eva snapped, ‘OK, so buy a dog.’

Brian Junior said, ‘Have you got a computer, dude?’

Barry was thrilled to be called ‘dude’. It had never
happened to him before. ‘Yeah, I gotta laptop, but I only use it for DVD s.’

Brian Junior was scandalised. ‘Don’t tell me that!
It’s like only putting a toe in the water instead of swimming There’s another
world, Barry. And I’m not talking about the deep web. Even a beginner can access
amazing things, things that will change your life. There are millions of dudes
like you online, you could connect with them. A couple of days and you’d have
an entirely different perspective on your life. There are people out there who
want to be your friend.’

‘I wouldn’t know where to start,’ Barry said. ‘I’ve
got the book that came with the computer, but it’s all a load of gobbledegook
to me.’

Brian Junior encouraged him, ‘It’s easy! You just
press a few keys, and there it is — the internet, the world, laid out in front
of you.’

‘Which keys?’

Brian Junior was growing tired of Barry’s obduracy. ‘I
can give you some guidance, a few sites, but don’t ask me to get involved with
any of that emo suicide crap. I’d help you, man, but I’m so bored with hearing
the same story. Fat, bad teeth, no friends, no girl at the prom. The end.’

Barry ran his tongue over his derelict teeth.

Eva said to Barry, ‘Ignore Brian Junior and his
sister, they live in a very small world called the internet, where cynicism is
the norm and cruelty has taken the place of humour.’

Brian Junior agreed, ‘It’s undeniably true.’

Eva said, ‘I can give you some practical advice, if
you want it.’

Barry nodded. ‘I’ll take anything that’s going.’

When you’re in the bath,’ said Eva, ‘wash and rinse
your hair properly and use a conditioner. And go to a barber’s and ask for a
modern cut. And your clothes … don’t wear such childish colours. You’re not a
presenter on kids’ TV.’

Barry was leaning forward with his mouth slightly
open, listening carefully.

Eva continued, ‘Find a good NHS dentist and get
those teeth fixed. And when you talk to women, remember that conversation is
like ping pong. You say something, she says something. Then you respond to
something she’s just said, then she bats it back. You ask her a question. She
replies. Do you get the idea?’

Barry nodded.

‘Get a good twenty-four-hour deodorant. And smile,
Barry, show her those new teeth.’

Barry said, ‘I should be writing this down.’

Brian Junior was enjoying his role as an IT guru. ‘No
need. There are websites for shut-ins. There’s a sort of guidebook for losers.
Lots of useful information. For instance, it tells you how to walk down the
street without scaring people: no direct eye contact with approaching women,
and never walk behind a woman at night. Food: don’t choose spaghetti on a first
date. Clothes: what colour socks to wear with brown shoes.
Never
wear
grey shoes at any time. And stuff about sex, and so on.’

Barry half smiled. ‘I’d better go home and chuck all
my grey shoes out then.’

Eva checked, ‘So, you’re not going to the railway
line?’

‘No, I’m knackered. I’m gonna go home and get some
sleep.’

Brian Junior said, ‘The best website is basementdwellers
dot org. It’s got an American bias, but ignore all the stuff about how to
behave at a baseball game.’

Barry admitted, ‘I’m not much good at reading, but I’ll
give it a go. Thank you.’ He got to his feet and said to Eva, ‘I’m sorry for
turning up like that. Can I come back at a proper time?’

‘Yes, we want to know how you get on, don’t we,
Brian Junior?’

Brian Junior said, ‘I have very little human
curiosity, Barry, so I’m not especially bothered, but I know my mother would
appreciate another fleeting visit. Perhaps when your teeth are fixed? I’ll show
you downstairs, give you some internet basics and the web address.’

At the door, Barry turned and flashed a smile at
Eva. His mouth looked like the Colosseum without the cats.

For a few minutes, there was a low mumbling from the
hallway. When she heard the door slam, Eva moved to the window and waved Barry
off.

He started the engine, then did a three-point turn …
and another … and another.

She realised eventually that Barry was doing the
taxi drivers’ equivalent of a victory roll.

43

The
snow had disrupted the country. Transport and services, including postal
deliveries, were erratic.

At six thirty in the evening, a week later, a
postcard from Alexander was pushed through the letter box, together with junk
mail and bills. Brian took the post and sorted through it at the kitchen table.
On one side of the postcard was a hand-painted watercolour snow scene of the
Thames, with Westminster Bridge and the Houses of Parliament.

Brian turned the card over and read:

Dear
Eva,

I
am going crazy in my mother-in-law’s house, she insists we all start the day at
7 a.m., and that we are in bed by 9p.m. ‘to save on the electric’.

I
have sold four pictures since I’ve been here. Although my mother-in-law thinks
that ‘daubing a bit of paint on paper is no way for a man to make a living’.

We’re
back in Leicester next week. I think about you every day.

Brian looked at the small painting on the postcard
and made a camel-like noise. It didn’t look much like the Houses of Parliament
to him. And since when had the Thames been blue and spilled over on to the
Embankment like that? He considered Impressionism to be cheating, in any case.

He threw the postcard into the ‘miscellaneous’
drawer of the kitchen dresser, then turned back to the tray he was preparing
for Eva. It held a plate of cheese sandwiches, an apple, an orange and half a
packet of digestive biscuits.

He filled a flask with hot tea, then took the tray upstairs
to Eva, and said, ‘That will keep you going until I get back. Why the fuck did
they have to go to Leeds? We’ve got two fine universities on our bloody
doorstep. I can see them when I’m shaving!’

There
was silence in the car. Poppy was playing the penitent.

Brian said to her, after a few miles, ‘You’re not
your usual chatterbox self, Poppy.’

Poppy said, quietly, ‘No, I’ve been meditating. I’m
trying to find out who I am, Brian. I have individuation issues.’

The twins sniggered.

Brianne said, from the back seat, ‘I know exactly
who you are, Poppy. Would you like me to tell you?’

Poppy said, meekly, ‘No, but thank you, Brianne.’

Brianne sat back in her seat, enjoying the moment.

Brian Junior said, ‘I can’t take any more of this
tension. It’s not only that you’re a dangerous driver, Dad, it’s the knowledge
that we all have this bitter internal monologue running inside our heads. Can
we put some music on, please?’

Brian said, ‘I’ll take criticism of my driving when
you’ve been behind the wheel a good few years, son. And I’m still hopeful that
we can forget Christmas and move forward. Why don’t we have an interesting conversation?
I’ve chosen a few topics — would you like to hear them?’

Poppy said, ‘Yes,’ while the twins said, ‘No,’ at
the same time.

Brian said, ‘OK, how about youth unemployment?’

Nobody responded.

‘The euro?’

Again, nobody responded.

‘All right, something for you young people. Which
would kill you faster — a shark or a lion?’

Brian Junior said, ‘A shark. By a fifteen-second
leeway.’

Brianne said, ‘How about, how long have you been
shagging Titania? Let’s talk about that.’

Brian said, ‘You’re not a man, Brianne. You wouldn’t
understand.’

Brian Junior stated blankly, ‘I’m a man, and I don’t
understand.’

‘You’re a boy,’ said Brian. ‘And, Brian Junior, I
suspect you’ll be a boy for the rest of your life.’

‘That’s an incredibly hurtful thing to say,’
observed Brian Junior, ‘especially coming from a man who sometimes wears a
baseball cap backwards.’

Brianne added, ‘Who listens to Rice Krispies after
the milk has been poured, and sings a little song, “Snap Crackle and Pop”.’

Poppy said, in her breathy voice, ‘I never met a
more mature man in my life. I wish that I’d had you for a father, Brian.’ She
placed her hand on top of Brian’s, which was resting on the gearstick.

Brian made no move to free himself from her little
hand. When he changed gear, he took Poppy’s with him.

Brianne asked, ‘How can you prefer Titania to Mum?
Mum is still beautiful. And she’s kind, and interested in people. Titania looks
like the contents of a specimen jar, and she’s not kind, Dad. She calls
Alexander “Magnum Man” behind his back. She says he’s dark brown and chocolatey
on the outside, white ice cream in the middle.’

Brian laughed and said, ‘You must admit, Brianne,
that he does sound and behave like minor royalty by way of Scarborough, Tobago.’

Brianne shouted, ‘He was adopted by an English couple
who sent him to Charterhouse. He can’t help the way he speaks!’

Brian was trying to move a juggernaut into the
middle lane by the use of his lights and tailgating. He shouted over the
crashing of gears, ‘Methinks she doth protest too much. You sound as though you’ve
got quite a crush on him.’