Unbecoming (13 page)

‘So, you like boys now?’ Lukas said, and he pulled another cigarette from the packet and looked at Katie as if they were really going to have this conversation.

It was late. She should go. She could call the taxi to come early, keep in Mum’s good books.

Katie could feel Lukas staring at her keenly from the bench. ‘So what you did to Es then, what was that?’

‘It was nothing,’ Katie said. ‘It was completely and utterly not important. Tell her goodbye for me, would you? I have to go now.’

She made it through the kitchen, down the hallway and out the front door before Jamie caught up with her. ‘Why are you going?’ He sounded disappointed.

‘Something came up.’

‘Don’t you want this tea?’

She’d forgotten about that. He held it out to her like a gift. What a sweet boy. What a kind and lovely human being.

She imagined kissing him again.
Save me from this, Jamie. Save me from myself
. She could tell him to get rid of the tea, then leap into his arms and circle her legs round his waist and kiss him until everything stopped hurting.

His eyes were on her and she allowed hers to drift to his. They were brown. He had nice eyes.

‘I was wondering,’ he said, and even in the dark she felt him blush, ‘if you wanted to go out sometime?’

It cost him to say that. It was a risk.

‘We could get a coffee or something.’ He had a soft voice – lilting.

‘I’ll see you at school,’ Katie said. ‘In the library.’

He smiled. ‘Because you’ve got to get your poetry fix when your mum makes you drop English for ever?’

That was nice of him – to remember that. It was also funny. She’d been right about him.

‘My parents met in a library,’ she said.

‘Did they?’ That seemed to give him hope because he took a step nearer.

Her mum had very deliberately chosen her dad. He’d been studying for his accountancy exams and she’d seen him in the library several times with his books spread out on the desk. She’d sat opposite him with a magazine called
Accountancy News
. A studious and quiet accountant would give her studious and quiet children, financial stability and a life of harmonious monogamy. How wrong she’d been.

Katie stroked the material of the dress. It was smooth under her fingers and had a living warmth to it.

‘A coffee sounds good,’ she said. ‘You want my number?’

‘Great,’ he said, grinning. ‘I thought you were going to say no.’

They swapped numbers.
Jamie
, she wrote in her contacts.

How easy to make someone happy. He even wanted to walk her home. She told him she had a lift, that her dad was waiting round the corner. A father felt more certain than a taxi. This nice boy would want to walk her to a cab and check she was safe, whisper goodnight, keep the meter ticking.

‘My dad’s a bit possessive. It’d be easier if he didn’t see you.’

She didn’t know why she said this. She appeared to be turning into a compulsive liar.

She waved at him at the corner and he waved back. He looked very keen. It made her heart ache to look at him.

Something vitally important had happened and it was evading Mary’s memory like a slippery fish. No, not a fish, more like a piece of fruit in syrup at the bottom of a bowl that you would chase around with a spoon.

She was standing in sunshine and she had no idea why. That was a church over there, wasn’t it? Look – an arched doorway, a stained-glass window above. Was she at a wedding? There’d been singing earlier. A thin reedy sound. Blackbirds and gardens and broken mornings. She’d understand why soon, but all she had at the moment was the blank of it.

She looked around for the girl. She often knew the answer to things. There she was, standing with her brother and mother and several rather dour-looking gentlemen, all wearing black coats and shoes. One of the men wore a cape and seemed to be in charge. He held out a dish and said, ‘Anyone who wishes to now come forward, please do so.’

And then a memory came. It dazzled briefly, like sunlight flickering through leaves and went away just as quick. I had it then, she thought, but then she got distracted by an angel standing guard on a plinth beside her.

‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Aren’t you beautiful?’

He had his wings wrapped around himself like a shroud and a
calm smile on his lips. His expression was curious, as if he’d never seen anyone like Mary before.

‘Look at you,’ she told him. ‘All muscle and feather.’

She thought how wonderful if he unfurled his wings and shifted upwards in a cone of light. Wouldn’t that be something to behold? What a clever, complicated thing he was.

The girl came up and took her arm. ‘Who are you talking to, Mary?’

An angel, of course, but she wasn’t sure why. She supposed they lived near churches. That would make sense.

The girl was staring, clinging onto her. ‘You want to throw in some earth?’

Earth? What was the child on about? ‘No thank you.’

‘I’ll do it for you then.’

The girl walked over to the man with the cloak. He offered her a scoop, but she shook her head, dipped her hand in the dish and pulled out a fistful of earth. Only now did Mary notice the gaping hole at their feet. There were chilling shadows down there. It was deep too. Mary leaned forward and caught a whiff of damp.

‘Bye, Jack,’ the girl said, letting the earth fall through her fingers and into the hole. ‘I wish I could have known you.’

Jack was down there?

The boy was offered a turn with the dish, but declined. The woman took up the scoop and had a go. The man with the cloak said, ‘We therefore commit this body to the ground. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes and dust to dust,’ and all the other men with their black suits and white gloves bowed their heads and looked very serious.

And then it came crashing back. Jack was dead. Of course he was. Hadn’t she heard him call her name? Hadn’t she found him on the landing, his legs at odd angles? He made her pull that cord he
was always telling her not to touch and it flashed red, red, red on his face. He tried to speak, to tell her something, but the pain seemed to sweep at him, like some kind of terrible tide that sank him into the carpet.

And she’d begged him (she was ashamed to recall) not to leave her –
stay with me, I can’t do it without you. Please, I beg you, Jack
.

It was only one man who had gone, but it felt like for ever, something so permanent and unstoppable that it blasted her. If she were a tree, she would drop all her leaves.

That’s how it felt, Mary thought. That’s what she wanted to say out loud to the grim little crowd standing around poor Jack’s grave. And to all the angels with their calm sad faces. But what she actually said, half smiling so as not to scare anyone, was, ‘Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.’ Which really was just a cliché and didn’t come anywhere close to describing love. And its loss.

That was the point when she heard Jack whistling. That was the point he walked through the cemetery gate and waved at her. It was astonishing. Shocking. Had she summoned him somehow?

‘I recognized you by your hair,’ he said as she raced across the grass to him. ‘My eyesight’s pretty bad these days, so I have to look for the shape of things.’

Of course, she’d forgotten that about him – how he could only see the outside of the world and not the things in the middle. He used to tell her that he would always be able to see nature, but soon not books, not reading. Although, Mary thought, since he was actually dead, perhaps it didn’t bother him so much now, perhaps he had no use for books any more.

She followed him to a bench by the church door. They sat together there.

He said, ‘So, how have you been?’

‘I’ve been missing you,’ she whispered.

He smiled at her curiously, glanced about the churchyard for a few moments, and then leaned back. ‘Not much of a crowd.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure anyone was told.’

‘It’s all right. I won’t take it personally.’

‘I should tell them, should I? That more people should be here. I could talk to the vicar?’

‘I’m not sure they let you do it twice, sweetheart.’

And anyway, their voices were fading away. In fact, Mary wondered if they’d gone altogether – if perhaps the whole churchyard had disappeared. But she didn’t want to check. If she took her eyes from Jack, he might vanish too.

‘Don’t worry, darling.’ He shuffled closer. ‘Why don’t you tell me what you’ve been up to since I left?’

Mary laid her hands flat upon her lap. What could she say? How could she explain it?
I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be doing? Every morning I wake up with such certainty, and every afternoon it slips away?

‘I don’t like questions much,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you tell me about you instead? Are you allowed to talk about how things are for you?’

He didn’t answer. She didn’t know what that meant, but thought it probably meant no.

‘I keep seeing you,’ she told him. ‘One day I saw you locking up your bicycle. One day I heard your voice in the bathroom. You often walk past me in the café and yet this is the first time you’ve stopped to say hello.’

‘I didn’t see you those other times,’ he said. ‘My eyes …’

‘Should I let you know I’m there in future? Are there rules about things like that? If I see you again in passing, am I allowed to stop
you? What if I call and you don’t answer? I couldn’t bear that.’

‘I’ll always answer,’ he said. ‘But if you see me and don’t fancy talking one day, then just ignore me. Ask yourself, what will I regret when I get home? And don’t forget, I can’t see things very well, so I won’t be offended.’

They sat in silence. Sunlight glimmered above his shoulder. At one point he looked at his watch.

‘Do you need to go?’

‘Not yet.’

But it agitated her, that he might be late for some appointment. It stopped her thinking of all the things she wanted to ask.

‘I find things more confusing without you,’ she said. ‘People get cross with me. Sometimes it feels as if all the things I want to think are hidden under layers of cotton wool, like everything’s dusty.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘that I’m not around to help.’

‘Although,’ she said, leaning towards him, ‘
you
seem very clear to me.’

His face glowed pink in the light, his grey hair seemed thicker.

He really looked very well, considering. He smiled fondly at her, then turned to look out at the graves. He started to hum. It was an old tune, Mary recognized it, sang along. It was about a man who’d lost his heart to a woman. A man who wanted to bring spring to her, who longed for the day he could cling to her – a man bewildered by love. She sang confidently. It was wonderful to be sure of the order of things.

‘Sinatra?’ she said.

He nodded. ‘Lyrics by?’

‘Rodgers and Hart?’

‘Correct!’ He turned back to her. She wondered if he knew he was crying. ‘Mary, my love. I lost my heart to you a hundred times over.’

‘That song’s about me?’

‘Not the bit about being cold. You were never that. But the rest of it.’

Mary rubbed her eyes with her sleeve, blinked at him. ‘I’m sorry. I seem to let people down a lot.’

‘No, you bewitch us all.’ He glanced at his watch again. ‘Tell me quickly – how’s it going with that daughter of yours? Did my little trick work?’

‘Trick?’

‘With the medical bracelet. I had her phone number inscribed, hoping she’d feel obliged. Have you patched things up?’

‘I’m not sure. I seem to upset her a lot.’

‘Oh dear.’ Jack’s voice was impossibly gentle.

‘She’s very strict.’

‘Poor you.’ He went to put his hand on hers, but stopped himself. Would she have felt him? Would there be weight and substance to him? ‘You were determined to find her, remember? It was important to you. There were things you wanted to sort out. Don’t let that go. It’ll make you feel better.’

She shook her head, wondered if he was teasing her. ‘Perhaps you could write it down for me?’ she suggested. ‘So that I remember?’

‘I can’t, love. Not any more.’ He patted the bench soundlessly. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll get there in the end.’

‘Sometimes,’ Mary whispered, ‘I think something terrible happened.’

‘It did, darling. It’s your blue blank.’

‘Is that what it’s called?’

‘It’s what I took to calling it on the days you cried. I so wanted to comfort you.’

‘And you couldn’t?’

‘You wouldn’t talk about it.’

‘I’m sorry. Perhaps I was tired? I do get tired a lot. Sometimes I feel as if I’m a hundred years old.’

‘That’s the illness, Mary.’

‘Or maybe it’s because I’m not a good person. Maybe I don’t deserve good things.’

‘Now don’t start believing your own bad press. Not after all this time. You deserve wonderful things. You certainly deserve your daughter back in your life. Your grandchildren too. They’re growing up beautifully, by the look of it.’

Mary followed his gaze. There was the girl, standing with her arm around her brother – the pair of them washed in sunshine and surrounded by churchyard angels. ‘She stirs me,’ Mary said. ‘Like she’s got the edges of a jigsaw puzzle and all I have are a few pieces from the middle.’

‘I’m sorry I can’t stay to meet her.’

Mary knew he would leave now and that disappointed her. What had she hoped for? Her man back in flesh and bone? To have him sweep her up and hold her? To watch him unbutton his shirt and bare his chest and invite her to rest upon it?

Ah, she missed the heat of him.

She watched him stand and she knew she wasn’t ready, that this hadn’t been enough. She caught hold of his sleeve, but her fingers met air.

‘What is it, love?’

She was shocked by the steady blue gaze that met her own. ‘I know it sounds stupid,’ she said, ‘and I’m sorry if I seem different, but I can’t let you go until I know what to do. All those things you said about Caroline – I’m going to forget them, I know I am. My head isn’t right. Most days I feel as if I’m sliding off a mountain into the dark. How am I ever going to manage?’

‘You want my advice?’

Mary nodded weakly. ‘Something like that.’

He smiled. ‘Well, that’s a first!’

Mary fumbled in her handbag, found a pen amongst the mints and hankies and held it out to him. ‘Help me.’

‘You do the writing,’ he said.

He told her what to write, and in big blue letters on the wrinkled skin on the back of her hand she wrote:
I am Mary Todd
.

‘There you go,’ he said. ‘That’s all you need.’

Mary looked up, confused. ‘That’s it?’

He nodded. She saw the hint of a smile. ‘Didn’t you always tell me it took courage for people to be themselves?’

‘I don’t know. Did I?’

‘You used to say, “It’s a life choice, Jack, and we only get one life.” You were an inspiration, Mary.’

Again he went to go, and again she stopped him. ‘What if I can’t remember who I am any more, Jack?’

‘That’s why you’ve written it down.’ He smiled sadly at her for a moment. ‘Give Caroline the suitcase if you need to. Pat’s been dead long enough. It can’t do any harm now.’

‘Suitcase?’

He nodded at the children. ‘Ask for help if you need it.’

She wanted to ask him to sit back down and kiss her. She wanted to breathe him in. But she didn’t dare suggest it.

‘Bye, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘Take care of yourself.’

At the gate, he blew her a kiss. Mary followed his journey to the end of the street. He didn’t wave and he didn’t look back. At the corner he simply melted into the horizon.

She looked down at her hand. So what if she was Mary Todd? What difference did that make to anyone? Most days she could barely remember those eight letters herself. The only thing she ever
knew for sure was the ache she felt inside, which she wished would go away. Was that important? She took up the pen and wrote her name on the bench. Perhaps repetition would help her understand what Jack meant. She wrote the word courage next to her name. Then she wrote:
Pluck. Valour. Guts. Audacity
. Ah, all those crosswords he’d encouraged her to do for years were paying off. Jack seemed to have reminded her brain about synonyms. Next, she wrote a string of words that came into her head. Things that required the aforementioned courage, perhaps?
Pat. Suitcase
.
Caroline. Blue blank
. It felt like a child’s game suddenly and made her smile.

The girl, who appeared from nowhere, wasn’t smiling. ‘Mary,’ she hissed, ‘what’re you doing? You’re a total vandal!’

‘I was reminding myself of things,’ Mary said, offended.

The girl sat on the writing and tucked her legs under the bench and nodded at the boy and his mother, at the vicar, and at the men with the gloves who all came over to offer condolences before going off and standing in a little group outside the gate. She shuffled along the bench, demanded Mary’s pen and scratched the words out. ‘What’s a blue blank?’

Mary shrugged. ‘Search me.’

‘What suitcase?’

‘No idea.’

‘Then why have you written this stuff down?’

‘I don’t know. Didn’t Jack mention a suitcase? Don’t I need to fetch it?’

The girl gave her a quizzical look. ‘You mean the one at the flat?’