Jam (32 page)

‘How are you going to get home now?' said Shauna, after a time.

‘I honestly don't know.' Monty looked down at his calloused hands.

‘Well,' she said. ‘Carpe diem and all that. If the traffic does move, I'll give you a lift. If it'll help at all.'

Monty looked at her. ‘I wouldn't want to take you out of your way,' he said.

‘Don't worry,' she replied. ‘You won't.'

‘But I feel I should tell you something first.'

‘Oh?'

‘My real name's not Monty. It's Mark.'

‘Mark. I have to say, that's actually a big improvement.'

Ambulance

The scene was like a renaissance painting, everybody posed in symbolic positions; but such paintings were never painted in these colours, Max thought. Here he was, prostrate on a plastic bed, surrounded by medical equipment, strapped down because of the jolting vehicle. Here was Ursula, half-crouching, half-kneeling, holding his hand, her face turned upwards as if in supplication. Her other hand was cradling Carly, whose face was buried in her coat, although her two little eyes were open and staring at him, two little bright spots of innocence. There was Bonnie, withdrawn into her shell, clutching tightly a biscuit, not eating; there was a policewoman next to her, holding her hand. And there was the ambulance man, dressed in Lincoln green, purple plastic gloves on his hands, keeping a watchful eye on the affair.

There was no pain now. They had given him something for it. But so bright! He had never known such illumination as this. Without warning, though in such a way that he should have expected it, the locus of his consciousness seemed to divide. For a few minutes he was not only Max, he was also Ursula and Carly; he could feel their individualities as vividly as his own, and this made his heart open with such blissful suddenness that it made him want to cry.

‘Max,' Ursula was whispering, ‘are you feeling . . . OK?'

‘I'm fine,' he said, hearing his voice deep in his ears. ‘I feel fine.'

‘I'm so sorry,' she said.

‘You don't have anything to be sorry about.'

‘I do. About . . . this. About . . . everything.'

Her hand was inside his, a little white slip of a thing within the thick wrap of his fingers. With his thumb he stroked her palm, and this made tears spring to her eyes.

‘No,' he said. ‘It's me that's sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry . . .'

‘You'll be fine,' she said, ‘they said you're going to be fine. It's just blood loss, that's all.'

‘Carly, don't worry,' said Max. ‘Daddy is going to be fine. Do you want to hold my hand?'

Carly nodded timidly.

‘Dad,' she said, ‘are you feeling poorly?'

‘Yes, a little poorly, darling,' he said, ‘but I'll be fine tomorrow.'

‘Why are we in an ambulance?'

‘Because Daddy needs to go to hospital for a little while. So the doctors and nurses can make him better.'

A dull pain passed from his neck down his spine, a little toy train. Then it was subsumed in the folds of whatever drugs he had been given before. The ambulance rocked slightly as it went around a curve, and Max felt as if his eyes were rolling around in his head. But they were not; they never left Carly and Ursula.

‘Why are you not well, Daddy?'

‘Because I had a cut. It's not a bad cut. It's under this big plaster.'

‘Can I see it?'

‘Not now, darling.'

‘Why?'

‘Because it has to be under the plaster. That will help it get better. I'll show it to you tomorrow.'

‘Carly, darling,' said Ursula, ‘let Daddy relax now. He needs to relax, OK darling?'

Carly nodded.

‘Carly, sweetheart,' said Max, ‘I love you, sweetie. I love my Carly so much.'

‘I love my daddy so much,' Carly replied, as she always did.

‘You holding my hand is making me feel better,' said Max. ‘It's making me feel happy.'

‘Don't talk now, Max,' said Ursula. ‘You should conserve your energy.'

‘I'm fine,' said Max. ‘I feel fine . . . I love you, Carly. I love my little girl.'

Carly said nothing this time, but he could see, amid all the confusion and fear, a new reassurance appear in her eyes.

‘It's been tough recently,' he said to Ursula, ‘but I'm sorry. And I love you too.'

‘I know,' said Ursula. ‘I love you. Underneath it all, it's the deepest thing.'

‘We are soulmates,' said Max. ‘I haven't said that for years. Do you remember?'

‘Yes, I remember,' said Ursula. ‘And it's still true.'

‘Remember that shitty hotel in Thailand? With the cockroaches?'

‘Yes, I remember. And that dodgy instant coffee.'

‘I would die for you.'

‘Please don't say that, Max. Don't say that.'

‘You make me happy. Even when we're fighting. You're always there. You're part of my soul. You're what keeps the world together. You're my . . . you're . . . you're . . . I'm sorry.'

Ursula took her hand from his, wiped her eyes, her face, with a tissue. Then she blew her nose, and this made them all smile through their tears. Now her hand was back in his, beside Carly's, and he was stroking it with his thumb again.

‘I have so many regrets,' he said, and the words were loaded with a different pain, one that came from a deeper source. ‘It's unbearable.'

‘We both do,' said Ursula. ‘But we have a future. That's where we're going to live.'

‘The future,' said Max. ‘Our future . . . do you think we can manage it?'

‘We can try,' said Ursula.

‘We need to find a new way of . . . of . . . of being.'

‘We can do it. We can change whatever needs to be changed.'

‘There's so much I need to tell you. We need to talk for ever.'

‘There will be time. But you should relax now. Gather your strength.'

‘I'm tired.'

‘Just relax. Is it painful?'

‘I'm so tired.'

Ursula turned to the ambulance man. ‘Is it OK for him to sleep?'

The man nodded. ‘Let him get some rest,' he said. ‘It's the medication making him drowsy. It'll be all right.'

‘You should rest,' said Ursula, softly. But Max was already asleep, still holding her hand.

Friends

‘I think it's over,' said Harold. ‘I think we're safe.'

He knelt on the sofa and parted the curtains a fraction. Then he opened them wide, exposing the cars, the motorway, the dawn.

‘You can see the aftermath,' he said. ‘Look.'

Hsiao May joined him on her knees on the sofa.

‘God,' she said, ‘those poor men.'

‘It's very magnanimous of you to feel compassion for them,' said Harold.

‘Do you not feel compassionate?'

‘Of course. That of God in every man and all that.'

‘Exactly.'

‘Nevertheless, it speaks very well of you. Cup of tea?' said Harold, getting to his feet again.

‘I couldn't, honestly. We've only just had one.'

‘I could drink tea until the cows come home.' He paused, his weight on the balls of his feet, indecisively. ‘I hope the van isn't dented,' he said at last. ‘That stone, or whatever it was, seemed to hit it rather hard.'

‘We'll have to get out and have a look,' said Hsiao May. ‘Do you think it's safe to go out?'

‘Let's not bother,' said Harold. ‘Either it's dented or it isn't. Getting out won't make a difference. Are you sure you won't have a cup of tea?'

‘Absolutely sure, thank you.'

‘Fine.'

He busied himself with the tea making, and they knew it was
for the last time. Then, as the kettle boiled, he turned, abruptly, to face her. ‘Look,' he said, ‘I'd like to ask you something. Do feel absolutely free to say no if that's how you feel. No pressure in the slightest.'

‘OK,' said Hsiao May softly, her heart skipping in her chest.

‘It's just that, after the extremely stressful experience we've both had, I feel rather wound up. In the cupboard is a small bottle of whisky. Would you mind terribly if I had a swig?'

‘Aren't you supposed to be driving?'

‘Yes, yes. I'm only talking about one wee dram. Not nearly enough to put me over the limit. I mean, if it makes you feel uncomfortable . . .'

‘It's OK with me,' said Hsiao May. ‘So long as you keep it modest.'

Harold smiled sheepishly, and in a matter of seconds had taken his Balvenie from the cupboard and administered himself a dose. ‘Ah,' he said, wincing with pleasure. ‘That's hit the spot.'

Then he continued with his tea making.

Hsiao May knew that the end of the jam was near. Something had changed in the air; the atmosphere had become restive and charged. She gathered up her cool bag, noticing with some shame the four empty cans of Diet Coke that stood side by side on the narrow worktop. It was now or never; she could feel it.
Why you always so shy?
said her mother's voice.
You need grab life like you mean it. Or, mark my word, you will be old and lonely with nobody to care for you. You want be old and lonely with nobody to care for you? No. Nobody want be old and lonely with nobody to care for them. So you must go for it. Take the opportunity when it comes up. Nobody will take it for you
.

She cleared her throat. Harold, who was adding the finishing touches to his tea, looked up expectantly.

‘Harold . . .' she said.

‘Aye?'

‘I – I was wondering . . .'

She was interrupted by a commotion outside, the sound of somebody shouting. No, not shouting, just speaking loudly; and, on reflection, not with aggression but excitement. They both looked out the window. A figure was approaching along the line of cars: a man in a faded T-shirt, with – they saw as he came under the glow of the nearest light – a soft-looking, nondescript face.

‘Oh,' said Hsiao May. ‘It's him.'

‘Him?' said Harold. ‘Who? Him? Do you know that man?'

‘Yes. I mean, no, not really. He knocked on my car window earlier. Creeped me out a bit, to be honest.'

Tomasz came closer and closer, and now they could hear his words more clearly now. ‘We're going to move!' he was calling. ‘Five minutes, everybody! Five minutes!'

Following him, several metres behind, was an incoming tide of noise, as engines everywhere were turned on. Exhaust began to plume into the air once more like the breath of warhorses. The people who were in the open ducked quickly back into their vehicles. Lights flicked on in reds and whites; people stretched and fastened their seatbelts.

As Tomasz passed the camper van, he caught Hsiao May's eye and held his hands out to her momentarily like a gondolier. ‘Won't be long now!' he called. ‘Won't be long at all!' This last word he turned into a sort of yodel. Then he had passed the van. He diminished, and diminished, and was gone, leaving behind him the growling engines, the people getting ready, the atmosphere that precedes a race. But still nothing had moved.

‘You'd better be getting back,' said Harold. ‘Wouldn't want to have your car stranded once this lot starts to move.'

‘Yes,' said Hsiao May, wishing for just a little more time. ‘You're right. But don't you think it might be a false alarm? After all, nothing's moved yet. And how would that man know anything?'

‘Might be,' mused Harold. ‘But I wonder if it would be better
not to take the chance? If it proves a false alarm, you'd be more than welcome to come back.'

Hsiao May got to her feet, picked up her cool bag. ‘It's been lovely,' she said haltingly.

‘An absolute pleasure,' said Harold. ‘This has been the most charming traffic jam I have ever experienced. And I've experienced quite a few.'

They laughed. She took a few paces to the door, and rested her hand on the handle. Then, finally, she turned. ‘We should, we should see each other again. I don't know. What about . . . I know, I could cook you dinner one evening this week. Are you free?'

The words hung in the air. Harold seemed to be studying her closely.

‘It wouldn't need to be bugs,' she added hastily. ‘I can cook other things too. Steak? Do you like steak? Pasta? I could do Chinese. Or Japanese, if you like that. Yes, I can do Japanese. Japanese?'

Harold winced slightly, in the same way he had after taking a slug of whisky. ‘This might be a wee bit awkward,' he said. ‘I mean, I don't want to assume anything . . . I have thoroughly enjoyed meeting you, Hsiao May, and I would love to come to dinner with you. I am extremely flattered to have been asked.'

‘But?'

‘But my dear, you do know I'm a homosexual?'

‘A homosexual?'

‘Yes.'

‘I – I didn't, actually.'

‘I'm sorry. I'm not suggesting for a minute that your invitation was a romantic one. But I just thought it best to be clear.'

‘Of course. Thank you.'

‘Well, then,' said Harold.

‘I would still love you to come for dinner,' said Hsiao May. ‘As a friend.'

‘I'm sorry, now I feel a bit silly. But I just thought it best to be straight with you. So to speak.'

‘Friends would be fine.'

‘Great.'

She turned, pressed down on the handle. The door swung open, a portal into a harder world. She stepped into it and closed the door behind her.

No

There was a succession of sharp knocks on the car window. Dave and Stevie, who were already on edge, jumped in their seats. There, in the dawn light, was Natalie, gesturing for them to open the door. Stevie let out a high-pitched whoop of relief.

‘Jesus,' he said, ‘almost shat myself. Open the door. Stupid fucking cow.'

Dave opened the door and Natalie regarded them coolly.