Desert Fish (16 page)

I'd thought a lot about what it would be like when I found Pete. I'd wondered what I would do if he wasn't there and fantasised about how I would reach him. The possibility of Nora hadn't occurred to me at all.

It was past noon when the bus pulled in. I lifted my suitcase from the rack above the seat. It wasn't heavy. I shuffled off the bus behind all those strangers with whom I'd shared a day and a night of the same stale warmth and close silence. We moved, stiff and awkward, as people leaving church.

In the station, there was a newsagent and a small cafeteria. I bought a map first and then ate a plate of chips at an unsteady formica table. I thought about Pete and looked hopefully about me, the chips dry and chalky in my mouth. But this place wasn't like my town. You didn't run into people in a city. Not in the same way.

I had to pay to use the station toilet. A woman sat at a little table, guarding the entrance. Beside her was a
bucket with a cloth and a bottle of disinfectant. I had to open my suitcase to find some money, because I'd spent all my change in the cafeteria. When I gave her a note instead of a coin, the woman's face changed and I saw that she meant to complain, but then she clocked my stomach and held her tongue.

After I'd used the toilet I splashed my face with water. There was nothing I could do with my hair short of washing it. I pulled a brush through it and tied it back as best I could.

The woman smiled thinly at me on the way out. I smiled back.

I decided to walk to the address I'd got from McGill's. I wanted to save my money. My mother had given me only a little over and above the fare. In the envelope there had been just enough for a ticket. She'd kept me at home for another six weeks. ‘You've got the address now,' she said. ‘Be patient, you need to go prepared.' I stayed indoors so no-one would know about the baby, and she put aside a little money each week to get me the things I'd need – a couple of smock dresses and a loose fitting tunic, a blouse with an embroidered yoke and a drawstring beneath the bust. Then in September when my stomach had begun to grow round, she bought my ticket.

‘It's time you went to him,' she said.

‘What if he's not there,' I asked. ‘What if he's moved on again?'

‘We'll worry about that if it happens,' she said.

I wanted him so much. My mother wanted him for me too. It was the only way things could work out.

Now as I walked I felt worn away by fatigue. I'd been propped upright the whole journey. That baby was growing fast inside me and there was no curling into the seat of the bus to sleep. But I was hopeful, because I was here now and it was happening. I suppose there were signs that it wouldn't go to plan. I got lost twice, and some boys shouted at me from a car, tooting their horn and throwing a sandwich wrapper smeared with grease and onions at me. But I had those things of Pete's in my suitcase, and I'd even kept the envelope that had held the cash, so I was determined it would be okay.

It took nearly two hours to reach Pete's address and I shook at the thought of him opening the door and seeing me there, but it was Nora who answered, droll and disbelieving when I said he'd want to see me.

‘Hasn't said nothing to me,' she remarked, leaning against the doorjamb and folding her arms, blocking my view of inside.

I got down and opened my suitcase. I took out the drawstring bag with the toothbrush, the shaving cream, I'd even brought the key from the tin – and when Nora still wouldn't let me in, I said I'd take them away with me and he wouldn't thank her for it.

‘What's your name?'

‘Gilly,' I said. ‘Who are you?'

Nora laughed and scratched at her ear. ‘I'm his sister.'

I must have looked surprised. She seemed much older than Pete.

She continued. ‘He's been back here nearly the whole winter and he hasn't said nothin' to me about anyone called Gilly.'

My head spun and everything around my view of her seemed to darken and blur.

‘Well, that just can't be true,' I said. ‘I don't believe you.'

‘You're welcome to believe what you like,' she said, ‘but I can't help you. He's not here. And as I say, he said nothin' to me about you.'

‘Where's he gone?' I was trying to think quickly, clearly. ‘I mean, he left money for me to get here, and …' I held up the bag, ‘… and I have to bring these to him.'

Nora laughed. ‘He left money, did he? Well, he must've taken something he had to pay for.' She reached out. ‘I think he'd have said if he'd left anything important. Anyway, I don't see why I can't give them to him.'

I snatched the bag back and held it to me. ‘No. I have to do it. I mean –' I narrowed my eyes. ‘He never mentioned you, either. Not in all the time he lived with us. You could be anyone.'

Nora smirked. ‘That right?'

Holding the bag I looked her in the eye. ‘When'll he be back? I can come and see him then.' I'd no idea where I'd go in the meantime. I hadn't thought beyond getting to this place and finding him. It had taken so long.

But Nora had seen enough and guessed the rest. My
hair was lank and pressed flat at the back from sleeping on the bus, there was travel dirt deep in the open pores of my skin. My T-shirt strained and lifted a little, showing a strip of the newly stretched skin of my belly.

‘I couldn't say for sure when he'll be back,' she said. ‘So if you've got a particular reason to see him you'd better say it.'

‘I just have to. That's all.' I resisted the temptation to tell her it was none of her business.

‘Well, you'll have to come another time.' She stood up straight without uncrossing her arms. ‘Or you'll have to forget about it.'

She stepped back and closed the door. It was done firmly, without drama, and soon I would come to recognise that as typical of her. She never raised her voice, or slammed things shut, or cried out in frustration. If a plan didn't work out, she didn't take it personally. She just went about setting it right, like she was ticking off a list and didn't want to be interrupted. The door made a hollow, clacking sound and I wondered what I should do. I needed to lie down somewhere still and quiet. I'd been moving too long and since I didn't know where to go next I just sat right there on the step and waited. I put my hands to my front where I was swollen and heavy. I didn't think of it as a baby, or as anything belonging to me. Apart from the sickness, I felt little except a strong sense that it might bring Pete back to me.

All the houses on Nora's street had corrugated iron roofs in a zinc-grey shade. The late afternoon sun glinted
off them, making my head ache. I considered what to do. There was no use knocking again. And even if she answered, Nora did not seem to be the sort of person you could tell things to, or ask things of.

I wondered how much she could tell just from the look of me.

 

It was dark before Nora opened the door again. I had listened to taps running, a kettle boiling. Her kitchen was on the other side of the door. I smelled her dinner, and heard the scrape of cutlery on a plate. I kicked my shoes off and saw the dirty mark around my heels where the sweat and dust had rubbed together. A telephone rang and Nora's voice came as a soft low hum. After that a television was switched on.

It must have been him on the phone, though she took her time coming outside to tell me.

‘You can come in,' she said.

‘When will he be back?' I asked.

‘Dunno. I already told you that.' She spoke as though words were something she didn't want to give away.

I stood and brushed the dust off the back of my legs, got into my shoes.

‘You can sit in the living room till he's back,' she said, stepping into the kitchen. ‘He'll decide what to do then.'

There is no breeze, there are no birds either. No cars to crunch on gravel and grind sand into dust. Beside me Pete reclines, head thrown back, eyes closed, as if I'm not there. The sound of his breathing is a measure of the desert silence. I don't know how long I listen to it. After a while another fly finds its way inside and bangs along the inside of the windscreen. I'm tempted to swat at it.

‘Fly's driving me crazy,' Pete says, eventually.

‘Yeah. Me too,' I reply, trying not to sound too eager, too obviously relieved at the sound of his voice.

‘I think it's going to be a while.'

‘A while for what?'

‘Till someone comes.'

‘Oh.'

‘Well, aren't you worried?'

‘Yes, I guess. A little.'

‘A little?'

‘We've only been here a while,' I say. ‘And someone might come soon.' I try to sound convincing.

‘It's been a few hours now,' Pete says. ‘I don't want to alarm you, but it might be a day. Maybe more.'

‘That's okay, isn't it?'

Pete's brow creases. His eyes shift, uncertain. ‘Not really, Gilly.'

‘Why?'

‘Well, we're not really prepared for it.'

‘Prepared for what?'

Impatiently, Pete gestures. ‘This: heat; light; dry. We've only got what we came with.'

‘But we're not going anywhere, Pete. It's not like we're out in it. We're sitting in a car. We're just waiting.'

Pete huffs, annoyed. ‘It's not like sitting in a car anywhere else, Gilly. This isn't your backyard. This is sun and sand and nothing else. We can't survive on nothing. We need water.'

I shrug. ‘I don't need much, Pete. I only need a little to keep going.'

Pete leans into his seat and stretches his legs out, feet pressing into the clutch and brake, as if to punish them. He breathes out, noisily. ‘Well that's lucky. Because all we've got is a bottle of water, some dregs of tea and a few bloody biscuits.' He folds his arms. ‘Stupid,' he says.

‘What?'

‘Stupid thing I've gone and done.' He looks at me. ‘You know, Gilly, after we were out of town I wondered if I'd gone crazy, coming out here with next to nothing. And
then I thought, well, it's nine, maybe ten hours. Better just to get there.' He scratches at his face and looks out of the windscreen.

‘Yes.'

‘I thought, we get in the car, we drive those ten hours and then we're there. We might not want a drink of water.' He pauses. ‘But it's not when you're driving the car that you need it, is it, Gilly?'

‘You didn't know we were going to break down.'

‘Pity I didn't, eh?'

‘You don't think of things like that. It always happens to someone else, doesn't it?'

‘Yeah.' Pete pinches at his forearm and pushes his fingers into the skin there, as if he's making sure he's really awake, and that this is truly happening. ‘I dunno. It just seemed more important to get out of there.'

‘I know, Pete.' I reach across and stroke the skin of his arm, gently. ‘I know. It's alright.' I take my hand back right away. Economising. Reminding myself to go slowly, not to take more than he can give me.

The desert air comforts me, the hot lick of it relieving the cramps that have begun to crawl inside my belly. I look at my lap, my swollen hands. I knew things would be better once we were here. The return of this kindness in Pete proves it. It's the first time in so long that I've seen it. But I knew it was there, always, beneath the coldness. I remembered it, even when he seemed like someone else.

When he came back to his house that first evening I was sleeping on the sofa. I woke up and he was there, wearing work blues and looking tired. Nora hadn't offered me a shower, or the chance to change. I was conscious of how I must look, the soft coating of filth, my greasy fatigue.

‘I wasn't expecting you to turn up, Gilly,' Pete said. He folded his arms.

‘I had to come,' I told him, standing so he could see. ‘I had no choice.'

He glanced over me but he must have known. Nora would have told him.

‘How did you get here?'

‘On the bus.'

He nodded. He didn't ask how I knew where to come.

‘Have you eaten?'

‘No.' I was hungry now that he was here. I waited for him to do something to show Nora what had been between us. But he didn't. He nodded at her and she went into the kitchen. I heard the hiss of the gas, the kettle, and then a pan being set to heat on the hob.

‘You can sleep in here,' Pete said. ‘Come on.' He showed me to a small room with a single bed in it. He shook clean sheets onto it and got me a towel. ‘Nora will make you some supper,' he said. ‘I ate at work, and I've got a six o'clock start. I'm going to turn in. I'll see you tomorrow,' he said.

He went into the bathroom first and I sat on the bed and tried to listen to him washing and brushing like
I used to but I couldn't hear a thing. Soon after, he closed the door to a room further along the hall.

Nora made me egg and beans and I sat in the kitchen and ate it all, even though it tasted of cardboard. She sat opposite me and read a newspaper, saying nothing. It was not what I'd expected. I thought there'd be just Pete and me: an empty house with us in it. I poured tea from the pot and drank it down in silence and then washed my plate and cup. I was so tired I didn't bathe or brush my teeth. I left Nora there and went and lay down in the bed Pete had made for me. Sleep came immediately and I dreamt of being on that bus, when the things I wanted seemed close.