Birthday (18 page)

‘Well, I've got to feel all right, haven't I?' She put a spoon into the bowl of half finished soup. ‘It's just that I can't keep much down, though I'm trying.'

A stranger might assume the frail aspect to be her normal physique, but he recalled her former stateliness and wit on her countering Arthur's outlandish humour. She smiled, and lifted the spoon to her lips. ‘Did you have a good run up?'

‘Yes.' He sat by her. ‘Not too much traffic on the Al. Hereward the Wake must have been asleep. But I did have a run-in with a camper van near Norman Cross.'

She gave her usual dry laugh of disbelief. ‘You're a bit of a devil, if you ask me.'

‘The bloody madhead drives too fast,' Arthur said.

‘It wasn't my fault. I was on the outer lane, and this day-glo coloured vehicle with rusty bumpers swung out and nearly knocked me across the barrier, so for the next mile or two I worried him. I could see rats leaping out of the rusty holes thinking this was it. Then he lost his nerve and stopped on the verge, half tilted over. When I looked in my rear mirror he was shaking his fist because his engine had dropped out. At least I woke him up.'

‘I used to think I was a good liar,' Arthur said, ‘but I can't spin yarns like him.' His concern focussed on Avril, who let her half spoonful of soup fall into the bowl. She hurried out of the room, waving aside offers of help.

‘She's gone to be sick again,' Arthur said after a silence. ‘She can't even keep soup down. She takes tablets for that sort of thing, but they don't work anymore.'

The day would come when she'd no longer be in her usual chair, no help to give against what was killing her. ‘Maybe there's something else she can take.'

Arthur shook his head. ‘It gets harder to hope. I'll go and see how she is.'

He stood up to look at the framed photograph of Isambard Kingdom Brunel in his stove pipe hat standing against a background of outsized chainlinks, a smallish man with sensual lips, fine hands, and narrowed eyes, a slim cigar between his lips as if its smoke helped with thoughts of some mechanical contrivance not yet in anybody's imagination.

A white shirt showed under his waistcoat, and a thin chain coming from around his neck would be connected to a small circular slide rule in the left pocket, while another instrument, possibly a compass, swung an inch below the waistcoat. Untidy hair sprouted from under the rim of his hat, and his wrinkled trousers had shines at the folds, as if made of thin leather.

Hands in pockets, but with a youthful vigour in his attitude, he was relaxing after the inspection of some job in hand. Mud on his none too protective boots proved the day inclement, chainlinks behind stained with swathes of rain. He had looked forward to a sweet refreshing smoke while clambering over girders and stanchions, and his momentarily weary gaze may have been because he was impatient with the photographer and wanted to be back at work.

Brian had read that certain people would like to see the cigar eradicated from Brunel's lips, so that the young wouldn't be influenced by his seeming pleasure in tobacco, but he thought it better to airbrush out the chains behind him, which were symbolic of a greater evil than that of a well deserved smoke.

In Brunel's day people smoked and drank, fuelled themselves with rich food (not to mention opium or laudanum) and no doubt fucked all they could, and probably died younger than they might have done, but the civilizing benefits of their works had made life less brutal for those non-smoking teetotal vegetarian politically correct bigots of the present who cast an aura of sin over the simplest of pleasures.

Arthur, who hadn't smoked for a few months because of a chest infection, asked for a cigar when he came down. Brian passed one from his case. ‘How is she?'

‘Trying to sleep. She's better off in bed, but she wanted to put on a show, and greet you at the table.' He blew a smoke ring at the ceiling, which relaxed his features. ‘Maybe she'll feel better in the morning. It's hard to know what to do, but after the nurse has been I'll get the doctor in as well.' He stood by the stove, and put some peeled potatoes into a saucepan. ‘There's pork chops to slam under the grill, and mixed vegetables from the freezer.' He turned on the gas. ‘We shan't go hungry. And I feel better when I'm doing something.'

‘We could have eaten in town.'

He fitted the corkscrew to a bottle. ‘There's no need to splash fifty quid on a meal. Last time you did I thought them turds was a bit off.'

‘I'll pay the next food bill at the supermarket, then. But maybe the three of us'll have lunch at the White Hart sometime.'

Arthur doubted it, but liked the offer as he filled two glasses of red. ‘They've ripped out all the small rooms since we last went, and made one big one, just to make more money.' He slid the glass across. ‘They can pack more people in, though it looks the same on the outside.'

From staring into his wine he turned and grinned. ‘With little rooms you can have a drink in each and think you've done a pub crawl. If it's raining you don't get wet, and you can talk to people. I don't drink much these days in case I have to drive Avril to the hospital, though I'd have to drink more than a drop before I couldn't drive.' He scissored a packet of minestrone to heat while setting the table. ‘I've got to look after both of us. I never did much around the house except washing up, but I'm getting a dab hand at it now.'

Arthur would always be able to care for himself, but the picture of him in the house alone, bereft, standing in the kitchen not knowing north from south, whether to go out or brew tea, if he should sit down or crawl into bed, laugh or cry, go and sit on a bench in the garden, or stay in and cut his throat, didn't bear thinking about. He had never lived on his own, and though Brian had heard it was good for self-knowledge it didn't stop you making mistakes, or lessen the suffering. Whoever said: ‘know thyself' (and he was well aware of who it had been, but look where it had got Him) should have realized it would make little difference.

‘Maybe we'll have a drink in town tomorrow,' Arthur said, ‘I know I should stay in, but Avril gets upset if she thinks I don't go out because of her. I drive around now and again just to make her think she can look after herself.'

‘We could call on Jenny. She'd like it if we nipped in to say hello.'

‘You'd better phone and let her know.'

Brian found the number in his address book, did a quick tap-dance with his finger ends on the plastic base. ‘I can tell your voice anywhere,' she said. ‘You are a stranger, though.'

‘How are you?'

‘I'm all right. I always am, you know that.'

No use expecting her to tell him she wasn't. ‘I'm staying a few days with Arthur and Avril.'

‘How is she?'

‘Not too good. She's sleeping at the moment.'

‘Give her my love. I hope she gets better soon.'

‘Me and Arthur wondered if we might call in the morning.'

‘Of course you can. I'm always in.'

‘About half past ten.'

He put the phone back. ‘That's settled.'

‘It'll give us somewhere to aim for,' Arthur said. ‘But it'll depend on how Avril's feeling.' He cut into his chop. ‘She might be all right. But she goes up and down. What the end will be don't bear thinking about.'

‘She'll win through,' was all he could say, which neither of them could believe. Arthur had videoed a programme about an aircraft carrier sunk in the Norwegian Campaign. The English captain had locked his aeroplanes in their hangars instead of having them in the air looking for the German warships.

‘It's a good job the bastard went down with his ship,' Arthur said, ‘because nearly all the sailors drowned as well.' Not much talk left, as he stood to wash the pots. ‘I'll be off to bed in a bit,' his worry and grief beyond measuring. ‘We'll get an early start in the morning.'

Avril had been sick every half hour, so Arthur had been awake all night. ‘We've got the nurse coming today, and Avril swears she can handle it on her own, but I'll stay behind to see that it goes all right. She always says she feels fine, and there's no cause to worry, so maybe they don't do as much for her as they could.'

Brian propped himself up so as not to spill coffee on the sheets. Rain swathed the house roofs, a depressing day, but after a soak in the bath he felt more lively, as he sat down to toast and coffee. ‘Here's the key to the door,' Arthur said, ‘in case you're back before me. She might have to go into the hospital, and if she does I'll go with her to see that she's all right.'

He put it into his waistcoat pocket. ‘Are you sure there's nothing I can do? I can fetch and carry, do anything you want.'

‘No, I'm better off on my own. But give Jenny my love.' He allowed himself a smile. ‘And if she pulls you into bed don't come crying to me afterwards and saying you've got her in the family way. I saw how when you kissed her at the party you couldn't tear yourself away.'

He wove between cars parked on both sides, and stopped at the Pakistani newsagent's for his
Guardian
, and Arthur's
Daily Mail
. The owner looked as if he would like him to buy something else, so he asked for a packet of cigars which Arthur could smoke later.

Rain cleared grit and insect smears from the windscreen, and streaks of London pigeon slime from the roof. Years ago he would wash and polish the car every week, a real bullshit job, or he got a couple of bob-a-job kids to do it for a quid.

So as not to arrive at Jenny's too early he drove like an old age pensioner, or a happy saver economizing on petrol, keeping to inner lanes and not overtaking on dual carriageways. Beyond Basford Crossing, uncertain of the way, instinct guided him by The Crossbow of the birthday party eleven weeks ago.

A Nottingham town plan was always in his side pocket (even when driving through France) so he pulled in, to find himself only a few hundred yards from where she lived, thinking he would have driven away if he hadn't phoned already. The two-storeyed modern house was at the end of a quiet and peaceful drive, where those who didn't live in the area were easily observed, neighbourhood watch never a new concept in Nottingham.

During the time it took to get to the door he noted the lawn well kept to the kerb, and wondered what sort of car was in her garage. He followed her into the living room, her bruised legs looking as if they caused some pain.

She sat with hands on lap, calm and smiling, waiting for him to talk, like royalty on whom such onus could never be put. It was impossible to know what lay behind her untroubled gaze. Only speech might show how happy or otherwise she was, but she gave no sign either way.

Entertaining his girlfriends had never been a problem. They would think him empty and dull if he didn't keep the patter going, though not so much that she would think him a motormouth. You paused now and again, to let her talk, but such calculations would make no sense to Jenny.

‘I'm really glad to see you,' she said, ‘I can't forget how you made the effort to come up specially for my birthday party.'

There was little to say, as if she was too important for facile chat. Being there to come back to, she gave shape to his life, though he wondered if it would be more interesting to stay in the wilderness. ‘And I'm glad to see you,' he said. ‘That's all I came up for this time, as well.' To forestall her calling him a liar (though she never would) he said: ‘This is a wonderful house you've got.'

‘I suppose it is, but I'm used to it. We lived in a council house at Bilborough, before George had his accident, then we were able to get this place. I know it's big, but it wasn't when I had seven kids running around. One of my daughters has taken one of the rooms upstairs because she got a divorce not long ago, and had to have somewhere to live. If you can't go home again, where can you go? I sometimes think of getting a smaller place, but you can't beat a bit of space, can you?'

He had to agree. Maybe that was why he had left the two up and two down, and sharing a bed with Arthur and Derek. He stood by the large window, the glass so clean it might not have been there. ‘Everything looks very tidy.'

‘Oh, I don't have to look after it,' she laughed. ‘I've got children and grandchildren for that. I don't have to lift a finger. How many have you got?'

He turned. ‘Three, but I hardly know where they are, or what they are doing.'

She was amazed. ‘How is that, then?'

‘They like to lead their own lives. If they needed help, I'd hear from them.'

‘It sounds rum to me. I thought families stuck together. What about grandchildren?'

‘There could be one or two knocking around.'

‘Don't you want to see them?'

‘Now and again, I suppose.'

She drew back, as if her questioning might turn him into the unfeeling person she knew he couldn't really be. ‘You're still as funny as ever. I never could make you out.'

‘It's the same with myself, let me tell you.'

‘That's not the way to go on,' she said kindly.

But he was angry at being judged. ‘It's the way I am.'

‘As long as it don't bother you. I like having my family near me, so's I can tell 'em what to do! They're a good lot, though, and don't need any telling.'

‘Like when they fixed your birthday party?'

‘That was a shock, I can tell you.'

‘Your face looked a picture when you came up those stairs.'

‘I'll bet it did. But I just couldn't believe it. Wasn't it good of them? They went to no end of trouble.'

‘You deserved it, after all you've been through.'

‘I only did what I had to do, though it was bad near the end when George kept saying all he wanted to do was die. He asked me over and over for stuff to kill himself, but I couldn't do a thing like that.'