Fine Lines - SA (24 page)

America today." Then I understood. "Oh, Anna, I'm so sorry. I didn't realise." if he was s ... stil alive, I wuh ... would have heard from him by now." I searched for the right thing to say.

"He might have forgotten."

"N ... no, he wuh ... wouldn't. I kept thinking that we'd stil guh

... go, somehow, that he'd cuh ... come back before this, but now I know he nuh ... never wil . The p ... plane left an hour ago, and I knuh ... knew then … I knew ..." No more words came. The sobs took her over completely. I tentatively put my hand on her arm, and she surged forward, burying her face in my shoulder. I hesitated and then held her. Her breath was hot and damp through my shirt, her tears scalding. I stroked her back, feeling the warmth of her flesh through thin fabric.

The heat and weight of her body was against me. Her breasts pressed to my chest. I closed my eyes. The sound of the door chime made me open them: a couple stood in the gal ery, staring at us.

"We're closed." I said. "Could you cal back later?" They left, not altogether happily. I did not care. I felt proud to have Anna in my arms.

But as she continued to sob with no sign of stopping, I began to grow concerned. As minutes passed with no change, I had to accept that the situation was beyond me. I had no idea how to comfort her. Much as I wanted to keep her to myself, I realised I needed help.

The only person I could think of to cal was Debbie, the girl I had met at Anna's flat. I could get no sense from Anna when I asked for her friend's telephone number, and final y led her to a chair and sat her down while I went through her bag. The girl's number was in a smal address book, which Anna had fortunately listed by Christian names. I kept my voice low as I cal ed her at work and quickly explained the situation. My earlier jealousy had disappeared completely. I felt only relief when she immediately said she would come.

Anna flung herself on the other girl as soon as she arrived. I stood back, embarrassed, as Debbie began to cry almost as copiously herself.

I drove them to Anna's flat and saw them inside, then left as soon as I decently could. I was not needed. And such naked displays made me uncomfortable.

I drove away feeling tense and exhausted. I began to head back to the gal ery automatical y, but halfway it suddenly occurred to me that I had no desire at al to spend the rest of the day there. It would stil be too fraught with the memory of the morning's events. I felt I needed a break, time to air myself and breathe after the emotional blood fest At one time my idea of recreation would have been to lose myself for an hour or two in one of the major gal eries. Now, however, I felt little attraction at the thought of staring at more paintings. I racked my brain for an alternative, but I was too set

in my ways to be inventive. Then I saw a poster by the side of the road, and in a second my mind was made up. With a spontaneity I had not felt in years, I set off for London Zoo.

I had not been to a zoo since I was a child, and the thought of live exhibits instead of inanimate ones seemed inordinately appealing.

Feeling only slightly embarrassed, I paid my entrance fee and went inside.

It was mid-week, and despite being a sunny day the zoo was pleasantly quiet. I wandered between the cages and enclosures, remembering the pungent, swampy odours from my childhood. The somnambulent, muscular danger of the reptiles kept me engrossed for almost half an hour, but the big cats I found disappointing. Out of the context of their natural habitat, the slothful, bored looking beasts had lost their animation and their dignity. They made poor watching.

I moved on. A group of schoolchildren were clustered in front of the zebra enclosure, raucously jostling for a look into the pen. I strol ed over to see what had excited them. One of the zebras was sniffing at a mare's hindquarters. Protruding from between its rear legs was an amazingly long and startlingly purple erection. Quite uninhibited by my presence, the children gleeful y nudged each other and shrieked as the zebra attempted to mount the mare. I walked away quickly, glad when the crude comments and laughter of the young audience were left behind.

Bypassing the primate section, I stopped in the cafe for a cup of tea and, succumbing to childish hedonism, an ice cream. I took an outside table and basked in the pleasantly warm sunshine. I did not notice the man at the next table until he spoke.

"Nice day, isn't it?" I looked across, unsure it was me he was talking to. He was middle-aged, with thinning, sandy hair. "Yes, very." I was not in the mood for conversation, and hoped he would not persist. But he did.

"I love coming here. Great atmosphere, isn't it?" I smiled and nodded. "I haven't seen you here before, though. Do you come a lot?"

"No. This is the first time in years." He beamed as though that confirmed something. "Ah." He played with his cup. "I come here al the time. I don't like the idea of anything being caged, though, I must admit. I much prefer things to be able to be out in the open. But it's not always possible, is it?"

He was waiting for an answer. "No, I suppose not." He looked pleased, shifting slightly in his chair to face me. "You know what I mean, then?" It seemed a strange question. "Yes, I think so."

"Oh, good. Good." He seemed suddenly self-conscious. He glanced at his watch. Then, with studied casualness, he said, "Would you like to have a drink back at my flat?" It was a second or two before I realised I was being propositioned. I felt my face instantly begin to colour up. "No. Thank you."

"It's not very far."

"No. Real y. I must be going." I stil had half a cup of tea and some ice cream left. Leaving them, I pushed my chair away and quickly stood up. My thighs caught the edge of the table and rocked it, rattling the dishes and slopping tea into the saucer. I stil could not get out and had to push the chair back further. It scraped agonisingly loudly on the floor, and clattered as I hooked my foot on one of its legs and almost tripped. I cast a brief glance at the sandy-haired man as I hurried away. His face was averted, but the back of his neck had gone a bright red. It probably matched my own.

I left the zoo without looking at any more of the exhibits. I ate out, and arrived home a little after eight o'clock. For once the thought of spending a night in did not seem daunting.

I made myself a drink and telephoned Anna's flat. Debbie answered.

"She's in bed," she said, when I asked how Anna was. "I had to cal for a doctor not long after you left. I couldn't do anything with her.

I mean, I've seen her upset before, but never anything like that. It was frightening." I felt a sly satisfaction that she also had to cal for help. "Is she any better now?"

"Wel , the doctor gave her a sedative, and that quietened her down a bit. She's sleeping now, thank God. That's probably the best thing for her. I'm going to stay tonight. I don't think its a good idea to leave her on her own. I mean, I'm not saying she'l do anything, but someone should be here in case she gets hysterical again."

"What about tomorrow?" I felt panic at the thought of having to cope with Anna like that on my own.

"I've got the morning off, but I've real y got to go to work in the afternoon. But I phoned her parents, and her mother's going to come over at dinnertime. I'm glad, because Anna real y needs someone looking after her until she gets over this. I mean, al the pressure she's been under lately, she was bound to crack sooner or later. I've seen it coming. She's been bottling it up for weeks, and I suppose yesterday must just have been too much for her. You know, knowing that was when they should have gone to the States. It's like that was her cut-off point, or something. I've tried to tel her it doesn't mean anything, but she won't listen. She's convinced now that Marty must be dead, and it's not as if you can say much to reassure her, is it? I mean, what can you say? It doesn't look very good, does it?" I was not going to be drawn into that. "How long is Anna's mother staying for?"

"Oh, she's not staying. She's going to take Anna home with her."

"Home?" I echoed.

"To Cheltenham." That was something I had not expected. "How long for?"

"I don't know. Until she gets her head together, I suppose." Something in my voice must not have sounded quite right. "You don't mind, do you? Her taking time off, I mean?"

"Good Lord, no. Of course not. As you say, she needs someone to look after her." It was easier to sound blase than to feel it. The thought of a separation, possibly of weeks, left me with a hol ow feeling in my stomach. I told myself that I had to al ow for some period of adjustment, and that a complete change of scene might make Anna recover al the more quickly.

But that did little to make me feel any happier.

The prospect of life without Anna, even for a short time, was awful to contemplate.

I went to see her before she left the next morning. Debbie answered the door. "How is she?" I asked, keeping my voice low. "She seems better. Not hysterical like yesterday, anyway. Just quiet, like she's in shock or something. Her mother's here."

We went into the lounge. Anna was on the settee. I was shocked by the change in her. She looked paler and more lifeless than ever. She gave me a watery smile that flickered out almost immediately. Her mother was sitting close by. By contrast she seemed to dominate the entire room before she even spoke. Large and buxom, even her floral print dress shrieked and demanded attention.

"I'm pleased to meet you Mr. Ramsey," she said when Debbie introduced me. "I've heard a lot about you." I made the usual self-deprecating sounds. Her hand felt dry and cool, almost leathery. "How are you feeling, Anna?" I asked.

"Okay." Another weak smile.

"Would you like a cup of tea, Mr. Ramsey?" Her mother asked. She did not wait for an answer. "Debbie, would it be too much to ask you to put the kettle on? I'm sure we could al do with a cup before we go."

"I'l do it," Anna said, starting to get up. Her mother put a hand on her arm.

"No, that's al right darling. I'm sure Debbie won't mind. Wil you, dear?" Debbie clearly did. Letting her face show her objection, she turned to me.

"Would you like a cup, Donald?"

"Please. If it's no trouble."

"Actual y, I think I'l have coffee," Anna's mother said. "Wake me up for the drive home. Haifa sugar, please." Stony-faced, Debbie left the room. Mrs. Palmer smiled at me, the master of ceremonies. "I hope we've not taken you from your work. From what I hear, you've been giving up enough of your time as it is."

"No, not real y."

"I'm sure you're just saying that." She turned her domineering attention to her daughter. "Anna, darling, while Debbie's putting the kettle on, why don't you finish packing? Then we can al sit down together."

"There isn't much left to do."

"No, I know dear, but once it's done it's done, isn't it? Then we're ready to leave whenever we feel like it." Without further argument, Anna mechanical y rose and left the room. Her mother waited until the door had closed and then turned back to me. "I'd like to thank you for what you've done for Anna. From what she and Debbie have told me, you've been a great help."

"There's not real y been very much I could do."

"Nonsense. You've supported her, that's something. And then there was the detective. Why Anna didn't come to her father and me, I don't know. She's such an independent girl. But if you tel me how much it was, I'l write you a cheque. There's no reason why you should have to pay for it."

"That's not necessary."

"Of course it is! You've done quite enough for Anna as it is. Now you must tel me how much it was." It was easy to see why Anna had not wanted to involve her parents earlier. It would have been a constant battle not to be swamped. "No, it's quite al right. Real y."

"I insist."

"So do I. It was the least I could do." I smiled, but my tone was firm. I was not going to let this woman railroad me.

"Oh." She seemed nonplussed at being refused. "Wel , I suppose if you're adamant, there's nothing I can do about it. Thank you. That's very decent of you." She sighed. I sensed a change of tack. "It's quite a mess, isn't it?"

"I'm afraid so." She lowered her voice as a concession to privacy. "What do you think about it al , Mr. Ramsey?"

"I real y don't know. I'm not sure what to think, to be honest."

"No, it is rather worrying, isn't it? I must say, when Anna first cal ed and said Marty had vanished, I thought it was a lot about nothing. Wel , no, that sounds cal ous. I don't mean it was nothing to Anna, but I thought he had simply left her. And to be perfectly honest, although I wouldn't say this to her, I wasn't particularly sorry. I wasn't happy about her going to America in the first place.

It was so rushed. Meeting someone one minute, living with them the next. And then planning to move abroad with them. Perhaps I'm old-fashioned, but it al seemed a bit premature to me. Do you know what I mean?" I inclined my head, noncommittal y She took it as agreement. "I said from the start that it wouldn't last. Not to Anna, of course.

I knew better than that. But it struck me as being ... wel , a bit unrealistic, shal we say? So when I heard he'd gone, I thought, "Oh wel , it's probably for the best. Better now than later."

I could not have agreed more. But loyalty to Anna prevented me from saying so.

"But now it's gone on for this long without hearing anything," she continued, "It does rather make you wonder exactly what's happened to him, doesn't it? He'd have to be very cruel not to get in touch with Anna at al , and he never struck me as being like that. Then again, I must admit I hardly knew him. They kept themselves to themselves." She paused. I waited for the next question. "What did you make of him, Mr. Ramsey, if you don't mind my asking? You probably knew him better than I did." I answered careful y. "I only knew him through Anna, so I can't claim any deep insight. But he never struck me like that, either." She sighed again. I thought I detected a shade of disappointment. "No, that's what I thought. But as you say, you only knew him through Anna.