Afterwards (9 page)

People he knew from before the army, most of them were married by then, and some had kids already, couldn’t be doing with him. For a while he still had Malky’s to go to. Grew up down the road from him, and he was still in the same life as before: drinking, smoking, living off dole scams and killing boredom. Being with him was easy in that way. Days went by and Joseph lost count of them, slept on the couch and Malky never asked questions. Always a bit of something floating about to be taking. Ate up the time well enough but there were always new people: ones Joseph didn’t know, and he didn’t think Malky knew them either, but Malky didn’t seem to give a toss who was in his flat, long as they brought something with them.

After he’d used up his money and his possibilities, Joseph split his time between Eve’s house and his mum and dad’s place. South London streets he didn’t know or the old estate that was too familiar. He started leaving a couple of days in between, and then that turned into weeks where he’d go wandering. Sleeping rough, he used to try and get out of London. Hitch down to the coast, Brighton was usually easy enough, and then over the Downs and on, until he got to the long beaches. He knew how to live out: that was part of what they’d taught him. Cold, salt and wet in a bin-liner bivouac. Broke into a beach hut one night, and ended up staying. It was a quiet place, holiday season over, the sands were mostly deserted, just the odd dog and walker, nothing else to disturb him. Late summer, cool evenings, windy days passing, sleeping, smoking. Wooden walls and shingle, the paraffin smell of the stove when he’d got it up and running. Walking back along the low cliffs from the village with food and tobacco. Hitching up to London every two weeks, signing on, but he lost track of the days and then they stopped his money. Went home and took a bag of food from his parents’ house while they were out, got more on tick from the shop in the village nearest the beach, but after three weeks the owner put the closed sign up when she saw him coming.

Stove ran out, weather turning colder, and after that everything started hurting. Skin cracked, round his mouth, under his nails. Great sore patches, red raw under his clothes. Woke with the taste of sea but the summer was gone. Still dark, pitch, and freezing. Tried but couldn’t stand, crawling. Scared then, and crying. Reversing the charges from a phone box when the light came. Eve shouting and then Arthur saying what was
the place called, what was the number, the bloody dialling code, just stay put, stay fucking put and he’d come out and get him.

Joseph owed everyone then. Money, explanations. It felt like a long time ago. He’d been glad of that, while he was down there with Alice. Not the same place, he’d never been back to the hut, but it was near enough. Joseph had worried about it, but he’d wanted to take her: to show her, and maybe just to see, and it had turned out fine. Better than that. Some of the best days they’d had together. Nothing complicated about them. Her arms and legs all rough and cold from the sea and wrapped around him. Sitting stomach to spine on the sand, her warm mouth against his shoulder blades, talking and shivering, smiling and sweet-talking him back into the freezing water with her. He liked to remember that feeling, of having her pressed up against him and laughing.

Keith had given Alice a bit to smoke when they left, so they’d had that the first night and Joseph was glad of it. They’d had nothing on the second, though, not even a drink, and he’d still been alright. A bit edgy at first, maybe, after they missed the off-licence and then the shop on the campsite was closed, but they drove back to the beach, built a fire and stayed down there until after it got dark. Joseph woke up early, but only because the sun was out and shining on the tent. He unzipped his sleeping bag and enjoyed that clear head feeling, being awake and staying in bed, waiting for Alice to turn over and open her eyes. Crawl out of her sleeping bag and join him in his. She was lying on her belly next to him, covers pulled high, her tangle of hair the only thing showing, and the tops of three fingers, still black under
the nails from last night’s fire. He rolled gently onto his side, curling himself around her sleeping form, its smell of woodsmoke and skin. Packing up the tent with her later, Joseph thought if something was far enough passed, maybe he wouldn’t have to tell her.

When Alice showed him the quotations, Joseph said her grandad was being ripped off. Didn’t know the companies, but he saw what they were doing.

– They’ll chance a bit extra because they know he won’t be able to do it himself. Old guy on his own with a decent-sized house. He’s bound to have enough money and his kids will be too busy to help.

It was a Wednesday morning and they were having breakfast at the café round the corner from his flat. Alice had a training day at work, so she didn’t have to be in until later, and Joseph had the rest of the week off. He was angry for her grandad, and he wrote down a couple of numbers on a paper napkin for Alice. Said they were nice enough blokes, and her grandad could use his name if he wanted, but then he screwed the napkin up.

– I could do it.

Alice blinked.

– You’ve got enough on, Joe.

– Not back to back, look at this week. I can do it between jobs, if your Grandad’s not in a hurry.

Alice felt the conversation getting ahead of her. She said:

– I don’t think he is. I can ask him.

– I wouldn’t want paying, just the materials, and I can get them trade.

Alice wasn’t sure about this: she should have thought before asking, should have known Joseph would feel obliged to offer.

– I wasn’t angling for that.

– I know you weren’t.

– He might want to pay you. He’s like that.

Joseph smiled at her, shrugged. Alice didn’t know what her grandfather would say.

She took a half-day at the end of the week and they went over to her grandad’s on the train together. He’d sounded a little dubious about it on the phone, but was welcoming when they came round. Alice made tea while her grandfather showed Joseph the rooms to be done. She heard them discussing different types of paint up on the landing, and watched through the kitchen window while they checked the old pots and kit in the shed. Joseph sorted everything into two piles on the patio, one good, the other to be taken to the dump. The paint was all useless, a thick plastic skin had formed on the top of each pot, which Joseph poked a stick through, but the rollers and brushes had all been carefully cleaned and stored.

– The wallpaper table is in good nick too, and you’ve a decent set of steps in the shed.

Alice watched her grandfather nodding as Joseph spoke. He looked happy to have someone there who knew
what he was talking about. They hadn’t discussed money yet, but Alice thought if they could resolve that one, then her grandad would be glad to hand over to Joseph in any case. She could remember from her childhood that he always preferred the garden: weekends spent doing jobs around the house tended to spoil his mood. Alice only knew of one exception, and that was a long time ago now, shortly before she was born. He and her mother had decorated the box room together, made it into a nursery for her, and he’d also given her cot a new coat of paint. Gran had told her this, on one of their after-school afternoons, and it became a favourite piece of family lore. As she got older, it occurred to Alice that it couldn’t have been easy for her grandad: his young daughter pregnant and unmarried. But Gran said he’d been the one who suggested repainting together, and Alice liked that part of the story: her grandfather’s happy anticipation of her arrival in the world.

– How did you sort out the money, then?

Joseph laughed because Alice couldn’t believe it had gone off without a fuss. He wasn’t used to seeing her all nervy like this. They were on the train again, on their way home together, the carriage filling up in the Friday evening rush. He found seats for them, across the aisle from one another, and they sat smiling, both glad the afternoon had gone well, and relieved that her grandad had agreed to Joseph working for free.

– He wasn’t happy about it, but he couldn’t embarrass me by insisting, could he?

– I suppose not.

Joseph had always thought Alice was close to her grandad, she spent so much time with him. She’d made a show of leaving them to get on with it, but he could tell she was listening, the whole time they were talking. Like she was ready to step in if things got difficult, or something. The old man had been fine, a bit stiff with him at first, asking him all sorts of questions about the jobs he did normally and where he was trained. Joseph couldn’t decide if he was checking his credentials as a decorator, or as the right kind of boyfriend for his granddaughter. He asked David at one point:

– Do I pass muster, then?

And he was glad when the old man took it well.

– You’ll do, I’m sure.

A quick smile and nod. Joseph thought he was alright, a bit dry maybe, but at least he had a sense of humour. Alice looked better now than she had in the house: still a bit nervy, but happy with it, and Joseph wanted to make her laugh.

– You told him I was trained by the council.

– You were, weren’t you? After you left school.

– Not exactly.

Alice swayed a little with the movement of the train, smiling at him, eyes narrowed, ready to be teased.

– What exactly, then?

– It was my community service. A hundred and twenty hours for harbouring stolen goods. We had to paint over graffiti in subways, that kind of thing. The man in charge
of us, Clive, he knew my Dad. I got on with him, and he took me on when he set up by himself.

– Okay.

– We did do a lot of jobs for the council, I suppose, but it was Clive who trained me up.

– You didn’t tell him all of that, did you?

– Your Grandad?

– Yes.

– No.

Joseph heard Alice let out her breath, and then she leaned across the aisle and thumped his knees. But she wasn’t angry, just laughing, eyes bright with relief.

– A hundred and twenty hours for harbouring stolen goods.

Alice was making fun of him and he had to smile. Recognised the tone of voice he’d used, the slight touch of pride: coming up for thirty and still parading his teenage rebellion. She said:

– Bet you were the one sprayed the graffiti in the first place.

Alice leaned back and looked out of the train window, still smiling. The sky outside was torn clouds and sunshine, and she blinked at the houses going by, he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. The skin on her cheeks still looked hot somehow, but Joseph thought she looked good: relaxing properly now, laughing again, about both of them, wiping her eyes on her jacket sleeves.

– Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear.

Joseph made a start on the upstairs bedroom the following week, and Alice looked in there on her Sunday visit. The old wallpaper had gone already and she knew Joseph would be coming tomorrow to skim the plasterwork around the windows. He’d told her he’d finish this room by the end of the month, and that he had a run of days coming in September, so he could get on to the hallway then. It had made her nervous at first, but Alice found she liked the idea of Joseph being here when she wasn’t. Had to smile when she saw the neatly laid dustsheets, the stepladder folded and lying down against the skirting board: her grandfather had said on the phone that Joseph was a careful worker. He had to park his car in the driveway these days, because the garage was full of painting things, took Alice out there to show her the wallpaper Joseph had found for the living room, pleased it was such a good match.

– He went out to Kent to get it.

Her grandad tapped the shop label on the side of the roll, appreciative. Joseph had left some overalls there, a pair of his work boots and a radio, caked with paint and plaster gobs. Her grandad pointed at the radio.

– You wouldn’t think that could make much noise, would you? I can even hear it from the garden.

But he was only pretending to be annoyed, and while they were walking back to the house, he said he was very impressed with Joseph, so far. Something in her grandad’s voice made Alice look over at him: the tone was dry, deliberate, as though he were teasing her, or mocking himself. He didn’t catch her eye, but again Alice had to smile.

In the living room, sitting in one of the armchairs with the newspaper folded open on her knees, Alice saw that her grandfather had been moving the pictures again. They had just started the crossword, and he was waiting for her to read the next clue, but Alice was distracted. The wedding portrait was still on the sideboard, but her gran’s engagement picture was now on the small table next to her grandad’s chair. Alice thought he must have been looking at it, last night maybe, and forgot to put it back before he went to bed.

– When did Gran have that taken?

She knew the answer already, but just wanted him to know she’d noticed, appreciated the fact he’d had the pictures framed. Her grandfather looked at the portrait next to him, a little surprised, waited a moment and then said:

– It was not far from the library, a studio in the centre of Nairobi. I’d just proposed, and I think she went there that afternoon. I did the same, a few days later. Same place too. It was a bit silly really, but we wanted to surprise each other.

Alice had always found her grandparents’ story romantic. When she was a child, she’d often asked her gran to tell
it to her, because it was so different to their suburban reality, and she was fascinated by the idea of their other life elsewhere. It was only later, when she got into her teens, that she began to put their story into context, prompted largely by the realisation that her grandparents’ time in Africa made her mother so uncomfortable. It was her mum who told her that Gran had worked in the European hospital in Nairobi.

– White, that meant. Africans and Asians were treated elsewhere.

Alice remembered this information came unbidden. She’d wanted to hear some detail about how her grandparents got to know each other, and her mum had been quite impatient, as though she realised Alice wouldn’t put the backgound together without a bit of prodding. She remembered how it had smarted too, her mother’s tone. Later, they talked more about it, all three of them together. Gran said she’d got to know a few older nurses while she was training in Dundee. They’d worked abroad, in Italy and North Africa: