How You See Me (18 page)

Just longing to be elsewhere,

Daniel

13th April

The Studio

Dear Mab –

Of course I know I shouldn’t have sent that letter. To be honest with you, I don’t even remember writing it – that day at the police station is pretty much a blur. But yes, I accept it exists and Alice received it. The police made that very clear when they were scaring the life out of me. They
convinced me of their unequivocal kindness in letting me go. Apparently, lack of a sexual content finally brought them down on my side. As far on to my side as they are willing to come, that is. I have been strictly warned that any further deviation from the agreed terms and I will be fined and/or incarcerated. It’s all very neat and tidy, our legal system. And I’m a part of it now. It doesn’t seem to matter that I haven’t actually done anything wrong.

It was a moment of weakness, Mab. Writing to Alice is so familiar, so much a part of my life, I suppose I wrote without thinking. And I so much wanted to talk to her and find out what I had done to deserve this. She’s obviously angrier than I thought. A part of me had hoped that after the initial arrest she would come to her senses and things would go back to normal. Apparently not.

Maggie came round today. She’s decided to pretend nothing has happened. Or at least she started with that line. It turns out the reason she appeared is because it’s the district nurse’s day to visit and there has been some kind of fuss kicked up about them having to come here while I’m out on bail. I am the sexual predator waiting for innocent nurses to attack in my own home. I can just guess who it was doing the complaining. That bitch nurse has always hated me. I bet she loved telling everyone how right she was. But then Maggie wasn’t that much better – seems she couldn’t wait to tell me how useless I was being.

‘There is dog shit all over this carpet. Have you been taking that Tatty out at all? And look at the state of your dad. I suppose you’ve just been waiting for me to come and clear up.’

‘I’ve been letting things go a bit, I know.’

‘It’s a bit more than that, Danny. And don’t just sit there feeling sorry for yourself. Get up and help. The nurse will be here in an hour.’

‘I don’t care about the fucking nurse.’

‘Temper, temper. Now look: you’re walking it through everywhere. You’d think I’d been gone a month. Get into that kitchen and find some of the good solvent stuff I got you. I’m guessing it hasn’t been touched.’

‘I’m going. Where have you been, anyway? Suppose you got scared away like the rest of them.’

‘Daniel Laird. I changed your nappies, young man. There is nothing you could possibly do to scare me. And if you don’t take those filthy boots off this instant I’ll be the one scaring you. Hand me that brush and hot water. You get your dad into the bathroom and cleaned and changed. It’s a disgrace, is what it is in here.’

I was hauling Dad up out of his seat when she added, ‘It was my birthday. I went away for a couple of days with a friend of mine. That’s where I was.’

‘Oh, Maggie. Why didn’t you say anything?’

‘Because I didn’t want any of this nonsense. And hands off me. I’ll be another name on the coppers’ list if you carry on like that. Oh, give over with the gloom and doom, Danny. I was only having a joke with you. If you can’t laugh, what can you do?’

But she wasn’t laughing. If I didn’t know her better, I’d have said she looked disgusted.

I suppose I’ll have to find some way of getting her a present. Any suggestions for the sadistic old woman who has everything?

Daniel

15th April

The Studio

Dear Mab –

I had to go into town today. Maggie’s visit turned out to be a one-off and she didn’t bring any supplies with her. We were nearly out of tea and coffee and I’d worked my way to the very back of the food cupboards and freezer drawers. The one thing we had plenty of was whisky, thanks to the couple of cases left over from the exhibition. This has been useful for keeping Dad quiet, but if we were going to eat again I needed to shop.

I’d intended to head for the anonymity of the big supermarket on the bypass, but I was low on petrol and ended up just walking. You know what Upchurch is like. So do I, but I guess I wasn’t thinking. In fact, not thinking has been my major pastime for the last few weeks. Or trying not to.

Still, I made it on to the high street all right, before my mind caught up with me.

There seemed to be a fair few people about, despite the overcast day and the rain in the air. It felt as if every single one of them was there to stare at me. The shops were of course familiar, their eyes hooded by faded awnings and lowered beam-work. Clutches of Upchurchers huddled together to talk in doorways or shouted to each other across the street. Not one word for me. I tried to keep my head down, Mab, I really did. But all I could feel was a horrible mix of the panic of my exposure and an utter loneliness. I didn’t know whether to run home or throw myself at the feet of the nearest shoppers. They shrugged away from me,
as if I were a shark who had swum into a pool of minnows. I have never felt uglier.

When I finally got myself into the baker’s, I found I was hardly able to form the words to ask for my sliced loaf. My voice finally thundered out of my throat, chased by a tremor of palpitations. I thought I might pass out and fall on to the worn lino of the shop floor. People could just step over me. The girl behind the counter could slip my order into my bag and gather the right money from the change that spilt from my hands. I thought how cool it would be down there on the floor; how nice it would be to become another unremarkable feature, like the wooden chair by the door that no one ever seemed to sit on. They would close for the night and leave in the dark, with the smell of warm dough, and the next morning I could listen to the girls chatter as they set out the iced buns and re-wiped the surfaces. It would be strange for a while, but they’d soon get used to me. Maybe even fond of me. Inert and low-eyed, the man on the floor, still as a taxidermy and requiring nothing.

I should be used to whispers. Even when I first returned they had enough to occupy their mouths and ears with rumours of me and Sarah. And with what could possibly have happened to make Dad kick me out all those years ago.

It was with those thoughts in my mind that I saw Sarah in the street. I’d managed to get everything I needed and did think of just ignoring her and heading home, but friends at the moment are few and far between. As I’ve said, I was lonely.

With a smile she dismissed the group of women she was chatting with and stepped back to talk to me.

‘Daniel.’ Ridiculous, I know, but I still get a thrill from hearing her say my name. ‘You’re out, then.’

‘Just getting some shopping for Dad. Haven’t seen you since the business at the exhibition.’

‘Yes, well. I spent some time with Michael while you…’

‘Were in prison.’

‘He seemed really well. He enjoyed himself so much with the comings and goings of the weekend. It was being with people again, I think. It brought out the best in him. It was an amazing night. So nice to see Michael at the centre of everything again. And the paintings looked incredible. I didn’t know if I could bear to see them again, but the truth needed to be told, didn’t it? That’s what those paintings were about: understanding. It’s just a shame you don’t understand any of it, do you?’

The women she had been talking to had not moved away. They stood as a group at my shoulder and watched us talk. Then one of them leant over to whisper something to Sarah. She did not look at me. Sarah nodded and the woman touched her arm before taking her place back with the other women in the audience.

‘Maybe you could explain to me,’ I said. ‘Do you have time for a cup of tea? I was just heading back now. Dad would be pleased to see you.’

‘I can’t right now. We’ve got some things still to do.’ She gestured to the waiting women. One of them smiled at her. ‘I’ll get in touch with Maggie and sort something out for later in the week.’

‘You scared to be alone with me too?’

She paused and then looked straight into my face for the first time.

‘Yes, Daniel. Of course I am. And don’t look so surprised. I’d have to be stupid not to be terrified, wouldn’t I?’

The women closed around her in a single movement and Sarah was gone.

I don’t know how I got home, but I made it. Dad was hollering about something and pulling at the dressing the nurse put on his arm the other day. Tatty was fussing to go out. I ignored them both and headed for the whisky crate. Half a bottle down and I’m feeling much more peaceful.

All I tried to do was love them, Mab.

Daniel

20th April

The police station

Dear Aubrey –

They’ve been letting me check in over the phone since the trouble over my letter to Alice. I fed them a line about Dad needing me at home. But I guess I overplayed it, because they insisted I come in person today. I’m waiting to be seen. It seems there is to be another interview. I was hoping it would be a case of signing or stamping something and then sending me home. I can’t think that I’ve done anything wrong, but then I didn’t think I’d done anything wrong before. I’ve certainly not made any contact with Alice. I’m not sure whether that’s due to fear of the police or fear of Mab, but it’s kept me safe.

It’s truly horrible to be back here at the site of all my unhappiness. Not that anyone else is happy to be here
either. They’ve sat me next to a small reception desk on a plastic upholstered chair. There is a policeman behind the desk, studiously avoiding eye contact and occasionally answering the phone. Every now and then someone is brought to be booked in and they either stand with their head hanging while the policemen chat and jolly the odd word out of them, or they kick and swear and the police hold them down and grimace. Those I class as the drunks, but it may be drugs. One girl stood and just cried; she kept repeating ‘I’ll never do it again’ over and over. She looked very young. Another woman broke all my rules by laughing and joking with the man behind the desk and her arresting officers. I classed her a regular. She seemed to know everyone and peered curiously at me. I was glad to be out of place in her world. She looked filthy. She even asked my name. I was tempted to give yours.

(Later)

There is talk of further evidence and proceeding investigations. I am instructed to keep to the house as much as possible and avoiding talking to or disturbing anyone who might be considered a witness. I must say they are very good-natured about the whole thing. I forget of course that this is just their job; they don’t actually hate me. But I do wish they’d stop accusing me.

It felt too strange to just leave and go home, so I came back here to my chair by the reception desk. It seems right to be a part of the passing traffic. At least no one here will be called at my trial.
My trial
. It still doesn’t seem real. I can’t talk to her, but maybe you can do something about Alice? Her address and her number are on file. The records
are a little patchy, but if you find anything missing just let me know. Yes, I held on to a couple of pages of notes. Just as you suspected. But I couldn’t bear sharing her at the time. I was stupid. Now are you happy? Now will you help me?

I just want to know what she thinks she’s doing to me. Oh, I don’t know. You’re always telling me you can change anything you put your mind to. Well, now is definitely the time to prove it. Go to her house if you need to. You can play the concerned shrink. Just convince her to drop the charges and – if you can – to get in touch with me. If you think about it, this situation is as bad for you and the business as it is for me. We need to take some action. I can’t do anything from here without them threatening to lock me up again. So it’s up to you, Aubrey.

I don’t mean to teach you – your own methods always seem surprisingly effective – but if I were you I would go with the sympathetic line. I tried confronting her in my letter and she reported me to the police. Don’t underestimate her. You’ll be tempted to do that when you see her house. It’s all Arts and Crafts: mismatched second-hand furniture and hand-painted details on the shelves and skirting boards. Can you believe I ever thought that kind of nonsense was charming? It all just seemed so comfortable and feminine. I think there might be a housemate, but I never met her. Maybe she’s responsible for the touches around the house, but I doubt it. The whole place reeks of Alice.

Oh, Aubrey, is there any hope for me? All I ever did was try to love her. Just as I loved Sarah.

Do your best for me.

Daniel

21st April

The Studio

Dear Mab –

Why haven’t you written to me? Did I not manage to sound desperate enough in my last letter? Also, we are running low on funds. I tried to contact Claggy about the portrait sales, but I can’t get past her assistant. Surely there must be some serious money coming our way? Or should I say your way? I suppose I’m out of the picture now I’m the accused.

Dad’s not doing too well at the moment. I’m worried that we might have a recurrence of the urine infection. He’s not acting crazy or anything, he just seems quiet and out of sorts. He and Tatty sleep all day. I don’t have the energy to keep him up. The problem is, he’s then up all night, knocking about in the dark. I’ve made sure the doors are all locked and bolted before I go to bed. I keep the keys in my room. There’s no chance of him getting out into the street. Still, it’s quite unnerving coming downstairs in the morning. He’s usually broken something or hurt himself. And then he goes to sleep in the most unlikely places. I found him curled up in a pile of washing this morning with Tatty tucked in at his belly.

I guess I haven’t been the best son lately. My own problems have been so overwhelming I don’t seem to have anything left over to give him. There has been no word from Maggie or Sarah, despite their promises to call. We are so isolated here. So completely alone. I could do with some help. And the whisky supply is running low.