Afterwards (7 page)

Alice called Joseph again at the end of the week. Still just the machine doing the answering, so she hung up. Called her mum a few hours later, not intending to talk about Joseph, but she ended up doing so anyway.

– It’s too bloody stupid, this. I feel like an idiot. Adolescent. Waiting for some spotty boy to phone me.

It was a relief to laugh at herself with someone. Her mum said:

– Maybe he’s in bed. I don’t answer the phone when I’m ill.

– No, he’s fobbing me off. He doesn’t pick up if he doesn’t want to, I’ve seen him do it. Just lets it ring and gets on with whatever he’s doing.

– Are you a bit in love with this one, maybe?

– Not today I’m not.

– Sounds to me like you are, sweetheart.

– I think he’s a wanker.

– Well, in that case, so do I.

Alice had to laugh again, properly this time, and it helped that Martha agreed with her later too:

– If he’s being a berk, you just have to ignore him until he stops.

Alice thought of the days, weeks even, that Keith and Martha could be angry with each other and still stay together, and it was comforting. She took her mother’s advice and went out with Martha, to the pub first and then a late show. They queued too long for coffee and chocolate and sat down a few scenes in. Alice couldn’t get interested in the film and irritated herself again thinking about Joseph instead, how much she’d liked being with him. She wouldn’t be the first to confuse sex with something else, but it still made her flinch: to think that’s what it might amount to, just the familiarity that comes from knowing someone’s body. Should know better than to trust that. Patients would sometimes tell her the most intimate things, all about their childhoods, their divorces and bereavements. Because we touch them, that’s what Clare said: they put themselves in our hands. Alice thought of the past weeks with Joseph and all that she’d told him. Too much, probably.
You can go too far with people
.

Alice had told her mum that she was writing to her father, but they’d never really discussed the letters.

– I’m sorry, Mum.

– Don’t be, love. None of my business really.

She was patient like that, her mother: Alice thought maybe it had been enough for her to know they’d made contact, and that the letters were ongoing. Martha got to recognise the envelopes after a while, and she used to slip them under Alice’s door instead of leaving them on the kitchen table if she picked up the post downstairs. Alice had thought she would talk about it with all of them later: her mum and Gran, Martha and Clare too, once there was something to talk about properly.
But then it was all over, when it had just got going, and telling anyone had seemed too difficult. Joseph had sat quietly for the most part and let her get on with it, but he’d wanted to hear, and there was no pretending with him either:
you can’t blame him for turning his back?
He was right: it had been daft to make out she wasn’t hurt by her father’s absence, or that she understood it. In theory, yes, but Joseph could see that’s all it was. He had been teasing her, but he’d been gentle about it, and she felt sad, remembering how it felt to speak to him: he’d been interested and she’d wanted him to know.

She didn’t have a lot to base that trust on, Alice was aware of that. Never met his family, and it had been weeks before she’d even stayed at his flat. He’d somehow never invited her back, and she’d thought he had some dodgy flatmates, perhaps, even started wondering if he lived at home with his parents. Alice had been absurdly nervous the first time she went round there, but it turned out to be fine. He lived on his own, in an ex-council place in Streatham. It was a small estate, three blocks, and he told her most of the flats were owner-occupied now. Alice thought it was a bit grim at first: the stairwells and walkways seemed unfriendly after dark. But in the morning she saw the window boxes and net curtains and changed her mind. The three blocks faced inward, and every front door was a different colour. Joseph’s neighbours nodded hello to him across the courtyard and she felt stupid and prissy for having been worried the night before.

– It was a state when I bought it. Pulled everything out.

Joseph told her about doing it up, with his brother-in-law, how they’d thrown the old carpets and cabinets over
the side of the walkway, had two skip-loads of junk piled up in the courtyard. It was very plain inside now, new floorboards and plaster walls, and Joseph said it wasn’t finished, but Alice thought they’d done a nice job. She liked the sun in the bathroom in the mornings, the big kitchen table his dad had made for him, and the view from the bedroom too, over the allotments. The flat was on the fourth floor and the whole place was on a hill: from the living room window, Alice could see trains, gas towers, the trees on the common.

But that was his flat, not Joseph. What did she know about him? He drank Guinness, mostly. He grew up in London, like her, but a bit further south. His music collection was eclectic: Marvin Gaye, The Jam and Johnny Cash were the tapes he kept in the van. He had no vanity about him, which Alice found appealing. When he cut his hair it was short, a number three all over, and he did it himself, but not that often, and he didn’t shave every day, either. Only when his beard got long enough to be uncomfortable, and then only in the evenings, because he didn’t like getting up any earlier than he had to. He voted Labour but said his family had done well out of the Tories: he wasn’t mad about council sell-offs, but he knew how proud his dad was that they all owned their own houses. Socialism was one thing, security another. Joseph played snooker, wasn’t really interested in football. He’d been in the army for a while, after he left school. Spent a year or two in Spain and Portugal after that, plastering retirement villas for expats, and it was someone he’d worked for out there who introduced him to Stan after he came back.

It didn’t add up to much, but then she really hadn’t known him that long. Alice still felt surprised by Joseph,
and how much she liked him. When she’d told him about the old farm and suggested going up there sometime, it hadn’t been the wildlife and ancient plumbing he’d picked up on, she didn’t think they’d bother him. He said he liked the sound of the house and the hills around it, but he’d never tried going to the same place over and again:
I’ve never wanted to do that before.
Familiar routes and views, knowing which tracks were best at what times of year: that was all part of being at the farm for Alice, but she hadn’t been disappointed by Joseph’s comments. He hadn’t been turning her down, and there was no criticism in them. He was his own person, that’s what Clare said, and Alice agreed. Self-contained, but not unfriendly with it, not until now at least. She liked that about him: self-possessed, something she’d always wanted to be herself.

Joseph rang early on Saturday morning and said he was sorry. Just after she’d picked up the phone:

– It’s me. It’s Joseph. I’m sorry.

No lead up, and then quiet afterwards. Alice couldn’t even hear his breath. Thrown, she said nothing, and then he asked if he could see her, and Alice said yes. Much too quickly she thought, and cursed him for it when he came round. Standing in the kitchen, relieved to see him, despite herself. Pouring him tea and calling him an arsehole at the same time, which made them both smile.

They spent the afternoon in bed, and then when it got dark, they wandered out together for a late drink. Stan was at the pub, with Clare and a few others, so they
pushed the tables together and played cards. Stan persuaded the publican into a lock-in, but Alice and Joseph didn’t stay long. Just until Alice won, then Joseph took her home, and made her laugh again by waiting to be invited upstairs. He stayed over and it was lovely, but Alice kept expecting him to say something about what had happened the week before. She was very glad to have him back, but angry too, because he never explained. Wasn’t sure she wanted just to start up again like that, without reasons given or any discussion. Clare smiled when Alice talked to her about it.

– Looks to me like it has anyway, whether you like it or not. Or it did last night. I’d never have guessed you’d fallen out.

– We haven’t. Not really.

Late Sunday morning and Alice had taken a detour on her way to her grandad’s. Stan had taken the boys swimming, so she and Clare were alone, and they sat in the kitchen, talking.

– He’s apologised, Alice. Be happy.

– I am. Except I don’t know what he’s sorry for, do I? He might have been sleeping with someone else for all I know.

– Have you made any promises to each other?

– No.

– Do you want to stop seeing him?

– No, I don’t.

Alice had been through her options already. Either she talked to him about it or she left it. The former was too possessive, and the latter wouldn’t work for long: she was bound to start thinking about it again. But Alice didn’t
want it to be over. She liked being with Joseph too much. He’d said sorry. Last week had thrown her: she hadn’t seen that coming. But then there was yesterday, last night, this morning. Clare walked her down as far as the corner, and smiled when Alice said she wanted to give him the benefit.

– Good. I don’t think a relationship’s got going till you’ve had a bit of bother. Not properly. Don’t make too much of it, will you?

Another Sunday at her grandfather’s, another month or so later, and the first rainy day in weeks. Alice arrived soaking and her grandad hung her jacket over the boiler, fetched a towel from the airing cupboard for her hair. She had a dry T-shirt with her, changed in the downstairs toilet, and her grandad pointed at her rucksack when she came out.

– Are you going away?

– I’ve just been. Camping with Joseph.

– I thought you’d caught the sun.

– Freckles, like Gran.

Alice held out her forearms and her grandfather smiled, said they suited her well. Joseph had been talking about going for ages, ever since that weekend he was down in Brighton. He’d picked Alice up from work on Friday to surprise her: she saw him when she came down the steps, standing by the railings where she locked her bike. He called to her across the car park, said he’d read the weather forecast and it was too good to stay in London, so he was driving her home to pack. Two nights on the South Downs, and a hot day between, spent following the course of a river. It was Joseph’s idea, and a good one, a tributary of the Arun. He’d shown her on the map after they’d pitched the tent: tracing the path he’d planned for them, his fingers excited, touching the blue curve of the water as it wrapped around the foot of a slope, marking out the highest point for miles around.
Joseph said he’d driven past the hill before but never climbed it, had kept it in mind for them to do together.

They waded under the trees to escape the sun, boots off, silt between their toes. Calf-deep water and slow, cool progress. The banks got steeper: twisted walls of root that they scaled, scrambling on elbows and knees, emerging smiling, blinking from the trees at the foot of the chalky rise. Joseph said it was still possible to find empty places, pointed east as they were climbing, told her about the country beyond the ridges and woodland, where the marshes started: wilder parts. He’d spent a lot of time down there a few years back, before he went to Portugal: every chance he got. Alice walked behind him up the slope, watching his arms and shoulders moving as he spoke. Enjoying his talk, this time with him, the invitation in what he was saying. The prospect of more time to come, over where he was pointing maybe, winter days together, like the ones he was describing, out on the empty coast.

– Smuggler territory, used to be. Best when the geese are flying and the low fields are flooded.

It was perfectly still at the top, only her own and Joseph’s breathing, standing, shoulders touching, squinting down at the quiet, yellow country. The sun had burnt off the haze by then and they could see out across the escarpment, as far as the dark band of the Channel. In the morning they went down to the sea, although it was already clouding over. They had the far end of the beach to themselves and made the best of it. Swam out beyond the breakers, then ate biscuits and apples for breakfast on the sand, because that’s all they had left. They were late packing their things up, even later back into London, and then the traffic slowed when the weather turned, rain
driving everyone into their cars. Joseph had to drop Alice at a station so she could get to her grandad’s in time. She almost invited him to come along, but then apologised.

– I’d feel a bit bad, springing it on him, you know?

– Don’t worry about it. I’ll just see you tomorrow, will I?

The rain continued into the afternoon. Fell hard and steady, spattering off the patio and against the French windows, so Alice and her grandfather sat at the dining table with their cups of tea. She’d mentioned Joseph before, perhaps once or twice, and her grandad had shown polite interest. No more or less than with any of her boyfriends, but today he said he’d appreciate Joseph’s advice.

– I want to have the house decorated. Some of the rooms. I’d like to be sure I’m paying a good price.

– Which rooms?

– In here. The hallway. Our bedroom upstairs.

Alice knew those had been her grandmother’s plans: she’d wanted to have them done last summer, but then she got too unwell. Alice’s grandfather got up from the table, motioned to her to stay in her seat. He got a folder out of the drawers by the window, and held it up to show her as he came back across the room. He spread the contents out on the table, pushing the tray and the biscuits away. Alice cleared the cups and plates for him as he laid out the colour charts, and then she sat down while he arranged the wallpaper swatches, hand-drawn sketches of the rooms, her grandmother’s notes and arrows of explanation on the pencil walls. Alice picked up the picture of the hallway, eyes moving across the page, taking in her gran’s lines and words. Her grandfather
was still standing, so she got up again and moved to the top end of the table next to him, watching while he pointed to each item and explained it in turn.