The Stopped Heart (36 page)

His face did not change.

Something terrible has happened, he said at last.

I felt my heart swerve. I took a breath.

I know, I whispered. I know that—

He turned and inspected me with cold eyes. There was so little love in them that it seemed to stop my breath.

No, he said. Not that. I don't mean that.

I stared at him.

What then?

He looked at me for another long moment, but his face stayed empty and he did not speak.

H
OT.
I
T IS STILL SO HOT.
T
HE LONGEST, HOTTEST, DRIEST SPELL
in more than thirty years, the man on the radio says.

Mary goes again to the doctor's. This time the woman on reception remembers her, smiling at her kindly and telling her how well she's looking. This time too, she doesn't wait long. An elderly lady offers her a torn and crumpled copy of
The People's Friend.
She thanks her and looks at it briefly. Who is the people's friend anyway? she wonders. Who are these people? Has anyone ever really been their friend?

She puts down the magazine and watches a dribbling toddler in a bib who is clutching on to a low table and pushing beads up and down a bright curving wire while his mother holds a beaker containing a purple drink.

She sees that the child—who every now and then takes both hands off the table and, patting the air, screams with delight—has never had a haircut. Long, fine curls clustering behind each ear. It won't be long now, she thinks. The tall chair, the scissors, the grave and unfamiliar little face that for a quick moment will make the mother want to cry.

When Mary is called in, it's brief and efficient. The doctor smiles a little too hard and talks to her in a friendly, careful way. She scrolls up and down her screen, asking her some slightly difficult questions that she tries her best to answer truthfully. The doctor knows all about her now. It was inevitable, she thinks, with people talking and also with the Internet. Even Eddie and Deborah admitted they'd Googled them that time. It could not really have been prevented. What was she imagining? That they would come here and start a new life and no one would ever know anything?

She leaves the doctor's with a prescription. Tomorrow she will drive into the next village to get it made up and then she will put it where she keeps the rest, in the old jewelry box at the back of the wardrobe.

As she leaves, she sees that the toddler has stopped playing
and launched himself into a full-scale tantrum—the mother shaking a large rattle in his face to calm him down.

It won't work, Mary thinks, with a sneaking jolt of satisfaction. If it were me, I'd scoop him up and whisper naughty things in his ear. Wicked and exciting things. The story of the Bad Cat. All the mischievous and crazy things he'd done. He'd forget all about the tantrum. It always worked with Ella.

“What bad cat?” she'd say, quieting immediately. “What's he done? Can I see him? Is he here right now?”

F
OR SUCH A LONG TIME SHE COULD NOT PUT HER HANDS IN THEIR
school coat pockets—Ella's duffel, Flo's anorak.

When she finally did, she found a dull brown stone from the garden. A boiled sweet, sticky in its waxen wrapper. A shriveled conker. A crumpled Pokémon card. In Ella's coat, a half-eaten bag of smoky-bacon crisps (she has no idea how she got the money for that). In Flo's, a handful of dust that might once have been autumn leaves. A ball of foil from a chocolate bar. A blue button covered in denim. And fluff. So much fluff.

She thought she would cry when she found all these things, but she didn't. She put every item, including the sweet and the half-eaten crisps, in a box and she sealed it with brown tape and put it away. After that, she washed the anorak and took the duffel coat to the dry cleaner's.

She has no idea why she did any of this.

W
ALKING BACK THROUGH THE VILLAGE, THE PHONE LIGHTS UP
the moment she looks at it.

“Mary, please listen for a moment. You can't cut me out like this—it's just not fair. I just need to talk to you.”

She takes a breath.

“All right,” she says.

“What?”

“I'm listening. Talk.”

“I mean face-to-face. I can't do this on the phone.”

“I can't see you, Eddie.”

“Why not?”

“You know why not.”

She hears him sigh.

“I'm sorry,” he says. “I'm so very sorry. You've got to believe me, Mary. I'm feeling terrible—really, I can't believe I've been this stupid. The very last thing in the world I wanted to do was ruin our friendship.”

A short silence. She listens to it. Feeling herself soften.

“You haven't ruined it,” she says.

“I have. I did. I know I did. It's all my fault. I said too much. I shouldn't have told you what I felt. I just went rushing in like a lunatic. It's my fault. It's what I do. With women, I mean. It's what I always seem to do.”

“With women? With what women?”

He laughs.

“What I mean is, I'd do absolutely anything to go back to how things were.”

Mary takes a breath. Thinking of all the time they've spent with Deborah and Eddie. The suppers, the chat. What Graham likes to call village life.

“We can do that.”

“Can we?”

“I think so. I don't see why not.”

She hears him hesitate.

“It's what I'd like.”

“Would you?”

“Honestly, Mary, you've no idea. I'd like it so much.”

Mary swallows. Almost at the cottage now, she stops and gazes up at the windows, bright with late-evening sunshine.

“You've been good friends,” she says. “You and Deborah. And you too. I appreciate what a good friend you've been.”

She hears him hesitate.

“Well, it's mutual.” He takes a breath. “I think you're lovely.”

She can't help it, she shivers.

“Please don't start that.”

“All right. All right, I'm sorry.”

“You don't need to apologize.”

“All right, I'm not sorry. But thank you. Thank you so much. And I didn't mean it about the women.”

“Didn't you?”

“You can't tell when I'm joking?”

“I don't know.”

“Well, it was a joke, OK?”

“OK.”

“Tell me you believe me, that it was a joke?”

“I believe you.”

A pause.

“And you? You're all right?”

“I'm all right.”

He laughs. “And Graham? Is he OK? And the girls? How's it going with the girls?”

Mary hesitates.

“Girls? You mean Ruby? It's only Ruby.”

She hears him pause.

“What, Lisa's not there?”

“Lisa? No. Why would Lisa be here?”

“But I thought—isn't she supposed to be coming to stay?”

“Is she?”

“Oh, well, maybe not.”

“Well, is she?”

“Look, perhaps I got that wrong. Just forget I said that, OK?”

Mary turns around again, away from the house. She walks several paces down the lane, then stops and stands there, gazing into the hedge.

“What do you mean?” she says as softly as she can. “Why would you think that Lisa was coming to stay? What on earth made you think that she was here?”

She feels him hesitate.

“Please forget it. I blundered, OK? I got it wrong. I told you, it's my great big mouth.”

Mary thinks about this.

“Have you been talking to the girls?”

A brief silence.

“Only messaging.”

“Messaging?”

“Yeah, well, we message now and then. You know. Facebook.”

“What? You're saying you're in touch with Ruby and Lisa on Facebook?”

“For God's sake, Mary, it's nothing. Once or twice. We kept in touch a bit, that's all. About music and stuff. Since that time I showed them my vinyls, remember?”

Mary still stands in the lane, feeling herself begin to tremble.

“You never told me that.”

He laughs.

“I suppose it never came up.”

“But—I had no idea.”

“Of course not. Why would you? And anyway, why would I tell you? What, you think I should make some kind of formal
announcement? Would you really have been interested? Is it so very important?”

Mary says nothing. Very carefully, she ends the call. She glances up at the house again, looking up at the bedroom windows, the sun so bright on them now they seem to be on fire.

L
OTTIE CAME AND FOUND ME.
S
HE HAD
H
ONEY WITH HER.
B
OTH
of them standing there with their brown Sunday dresses half undone and no aprons or shoes on. Lottie had Honey tied to her wrist with a piece of string. Our mother sometimes did that, if she couldn't watch the babies herself and wanted to be sure they wouldn't wander off.

I'm afraid we came to tell you something a bit bad, Lottie said, and she snatched a look at Honey, whose face was greasy with something like butter.

Bad? I said, taking the corner of my apron and wiping Honey's face.

Lottie grinned and looked at Honey again.

You won't like it. Not at all. She folded her arms and turned her head from side to side. No, no, no, you ain't gonna like it at all.

I looked at her. I was getting tired of her tricks. I knew she wanted the attention and I didn't feel like giving it to her. I sighed.

All right, I told her. Spit it out.

Lottie looked at Honey again. Honey laughed. You could see from her gummy smiling face that she didn't understand a thing about what was going on.

Lottie took a breath and frowned.

Well, this girl, see? I don't know who she is, all I know is that she's dead like our Frank. But she's not in heaven. She's lying all alone in a place where she's covered with black water and she wants me to tell you she's very unhappy indeed and she don't like it.

I stared at Lottie. For a few dark, woolly moments I did not understand a word of what she was talking about—and then suddenly I did. The blood came to my face. I shook my head and took a step away from her.

There's no girl, I said.

Lottie's eyes widened and she looked very interested.

Why?

What do you mean, why?

Why isn't there?

Because, Lottie, I'm telling you there isn't.

Lottie thought about this. She looked at Honey.

Then why did she say that, Eliza? She came and she said it. Tell Eliza! That's what she said. She said that you would know who I meant.

I took a breath and I crouched down right in front of Lottie so I could look in her face. Honey thought it was a game and laughed, reaching out a hand to pat my cheek. I pushed it away and she did it again, harder.

Stop it, I said.

Pat-a-cake! She began to laugh.

Not now, I said. I turned back to Lottie. Look, Lottie, I said. I don't understand a word you're saying, but I'm telling you you're to shut up right now.

Lottie gazed at me.

She said if you don't understand, then maybe I should go and ask James.

I froze.

No, I told her quickly. Don't ask James. Promise me, Lottie, you won't say any of this to James.

Lottie pressed her finger against her lip and put her head to one side.

Why not, Eliza? Why won't I?

Never mind why. Just promise me.

Lottie stared at me. Her cheeks turning pink. She glanced around her as if she was getting ready to run.

I want to. I want to tell James.

You mustn't.

But I want to!

I took a breath.

James would be very angry, I said. He really would, Lottie. He wouldn't like it.

Lottie stared at me.

Angry with me?

Yes. With you.

She looked excited.

Why would he be angry with me?

I suddenly felt faint, so I sat myself down on the ground. I was having to think so fast that I felt quite dizzy.

Lottie, I said, would you like a kitten just like Jazzy has got? A little furry kitten all your own?

Now Lottie gasped. She pressed her hands together and nodded.

Well, I said, and I took her small, dirty hand in mine, the one that didn't have the string tied to it. It won't be right now this very moment. You'll have to be very patient. But as soon as the next litter of kittens is born in the village, I shall go and get you one.

Lottie stared at me. Her mind working so hard that her whole face went still.

When will it be?

Very soon.

But when?

You'll have to wait for them to be born, won't you? But I happen to know there's a cat in the village with a great big fat belly. The fattest. It won't be long now.

Lottie gasped.

Won't it?

It won't.

Lottie thought about this.

I don't want a black one, she said. Or a white one.

What kind do you want?

One with stripes. Like Miss Sands's tiger!

Addie Sands doesn't have a tiger.

In the
Big Book of Animals
, she does.

All right, I said. You mean a tabby? You want a little tabby kitten like Lupin?

Tabby! Honey shrieked.

Lottie looked at her.

Shut up, Honey, she said.

All right, I said. All right, I'll get you a dear little tabby. Would you like that?

Suddenly Lottie's face fell.

Ma won't let me.

If you don't say a word about any of this to anyone, and especially if you don't go and talk to James, then I'll speak to our mother and explain to her why you should have one. You know that she'll listen to me. If I tell her you've been a very good girl. Would you like that?

Lottie nodded. Her topknot was bouncing now. Honey was gazing at me.

Me too, she said.

No, said Lottie. Not you, Honey. It's me who talked to the dead girl, so it's me that gets the kitten, not you.