Love Is a Four Letter Word (31 page)

She tried to push the thoughts away, as solid as if they were boulders. Then the photos flashed into her mind, the ones of her and her mother. Impatient with herself, she concentrated on the chill cabinet in front of her. What else did she need? She stared at a carton of orange juice as if the answer might be written on its side.

At the till, she signed to pay. ‘Jawan-kashba?' She felt like a foreigner, an alien in her own land. ‘D'ya want cashback?' the cashier repeated. She nodded automatically and remained silent. ‘How
much?'
Emphatic now, impatient. Her gaze fell on the sign by the till: You may withdraw up to £50 cash back when you pay by any of the following debit cards. ‘Fifty,' she parroted. Mindlessly, she unloaded the trolley, packing the goods into the boot of her car, wedging the eggs in snugly as if she cared whether or not they made it safely home unbroken.

She manoeuvred around the one-way system of the car park, driving at a snail's pace, forcing herself to notice people backing out, shoppers with uncontrollable trolleys, below-eye-level children. She saw his face
clear in her head, his half-smile as he listened, his eyebrows straightening as he thought. She blinked hard and swallowed. She didn't have to think of him. Wouldn't. Anything else. Anything.

Then, as if through mist, she thought she saw Patrick ahead of her, walking away. He half-turns as if he senses her behind him, but still she cannot see if it is him. As she breathes in, her nostrils flinch at the smell of damp, a sly odour of mould. The hairs rise on the back of her neck, goose bumps freckle her arms. Perhaps he will turn around, beckon her so she can follow him. Surely he will call her? Chill and dank, fear crawls over her, creeping across her shoulders, scuttling down her spine, sliding towards her knees. Patrick! she wants to shout after him. Patrick!

A sudden bang. The crunch of metal. The sickening screech of rubber on road. She was jerked forward and left, then jolted back as her seatbelt held her fast.

‘You fucking
stupid
cow! What the
fuck
do you think you're doing? You must have
seen
me!'

A man was bellowing at her through her window, standing so close she could see right into his mouth. Was this how a dentist saw the world, she wondered. A gold crown glinted near the front of his teeth, incongruous against the angry dark square of his mouth.

She could see that he was still shouting. His lips were moving quickly, his mouth changing from shape to shape; he was pointing. There was a bang as he slammed his hand down at the side of her bonnet. If she could just hold onto the steering wheel everything would be all right. Her hands felt numb. A glance at the steering-wheel to check that it was still there, confirm that her hands were clenching it tight; beneath the wheel, her legs shook uncontrollably.

A policeman was talking to the bellowing man,
laying a hand on his arm, drawing him firmly to one side. A tapping on her window. Another policeman was making a little circling motion with one finger and pointing. How sweet. Was it a game?

‘Open your window,' he was saying through the glass.

Open your window.
She could almost hear the cogs in her mind slowly whirring, then meshing into place. She watched her arm move through the air as if wading through water; it stretched out for the handle, grasped the knob.

‘Switch off the ignition and get out of the vehicle please.'

Bella looked back at him. His expression shifted and he reached across her to turn the key. The door was opened.

‘Are you injured, miss? Hang on. Don't move. Stay there.'

Someone else was squatting down beside her, asking her questions. Had she any pain anywhere? How did her neck feel? Could she move her legs? Her feet? What was her name? Did she know what day it was?

‘Okey-dokey. Let's get you out of there. You're going to be absolutely fine.'

A soft spongy collar was carefully placed around her neck. A click as her seat belt was unfastened.

She took uncertain steps, a newborn creature testing its legs. The ground felt unfamiliar; her feet were weighted, too heavy to lift. She could not stop shaking. It was very cold. Something warm and heavy was placed around her shoulders, someone's padded jacket. There was an arm holding her. She was not alone.

‘… badly in shock,' a voice said.

The policeman spoke to her slowly.

‘Is there someone you need us to call?'

Will. I want Will.
Someone pressed a wad of tissues into her hand.

She couldn't call Will. Mummy and Daddy ought to come and fetch her. They would make everything all right again. No. No, they wouldn't. Wouldn't want to see her now. She shook her head. A policeman gave her a small tube to blow into; a little green light glowed and he said she was ‘all clear'.

‘We'll have to ask you some questions,' said the policeman, but you need to be checked over first. OK?'

Yes, she nodded. She understood. There were questions to be asked. She needed to be checked.

First she was to climb these steps into the ambulance. Had someone been hurt? As she was helped up the steps, she looked back at her car and saw that a small white van was embedded in the front right wing: Fiona's Flowers – Something for Every Occasion.
That is her car. She was in that car.
Her whole body started to tremble, as if a tremor were shaking the earth beneath her feet.

The paramedic asked her if she'd feel better lying down. Why would she want to lie down? She wasn't a bit sleepy. She was guided into a chair, with a blanket tucked around her.

At the hospital, she was given the all-clear.

‘You really ought to have someone fetch you,' the nursing sister said. ‘Is there someone you can call?'

‘It's fine. Really. Thank you. I'll just phone a taxi.'

The sister points to the payphone.

‘There's a number on the wall there. Will anyone be in when you get home? You shouldn't really be on your own when you're in shock.'

‘No. Yes. My— there'll be someone there when I get in.' Nodding now, backing away. ‘I'm fine. Honestly. I'm fine.'

Ignored, the pile of post by the front door spread into the hall like unstuck tiles; unnoticed, sticky glasses and crusted dishes crowded the worktop; unseen, the garden grew on, its glory shut out behind the curtains.

There was a strange ringing sound. Bella flapped vaguely at the side of her head to make it go away. No. There it was again. A ringing. Definitely a ringing. And now banging. Bloody neighbours. Noisy people. It was very noisy around here. What was the point of moving away from London and going without proper olives if there was still so much noise? They should sssh. Someone should complain. Yes. She would write to them. To the people. The people you complain to. That's what she would do. More ringing. She stretched out for her alarm clock and hit it. The button was already down. Still ringing.

Bella swivelled her body around and slowly lowered her legs to the floor. Shoes. She should find some shoes. Looked down at her feet. In shoes. That was handy. Banging again now. Right. She would go and sort them out. She pushed herself to her feet. Wandered out to the landing. Noisy people.

‘Sssh!'

She stood at the top of the stairs. Below her, the
stairway stretched, elongating itself so that it seemed as deep as the Grand Canyon. She wondered if there would be an echo.

‘Hell-o-o-o,' she called.

‘Hello?' returned from below. Brilliant. There was an echo.

‘Helloo-oo-o-oo-oooo-o-oo,' she called again.

‘Bella? Hello! It's me!'

That wasn't such a good echo. Wasn't it supposed to say the same thing? It seemed an awfully long way to the bottom. She sat down abruptly on the top step and started to make her way down on her bum, step by step.

Near the bottom, she was confronted by a pair of eyes looking at her through the letter slot.

Bella waved.

‘Bella! Thank God.' Viv's eyes widened. ‘What
are
you doing?'

‘Why are you in my letter-box?'

‘I'm not in your letter-box, you idiot. I'm trying to look through to see if you're there.'

Bella looked around.

‘But I am here.'

‘Yes, I can see that now.'

Bella seemed to be thinking.

‘There was a ringing.'

‘Yes. It was me. I've been leaning on your bell for ten minutes. Babe – it's bloody cold out here.'

‘I could give you a little drinkie to keep you warm.' Bella pulled herself up by the banister. ‘I've got a funnel.'

‘No. That's not what I meant. Could you let me in, d'you think? I'm getting cramp.'

‘You should take salt for that. And not be getting into people's letter-boxes. Will you stop ringing if I let you in?'

‘I'm
not
ringing.'

‘Oh. It's stopped.'

As Bella opened the door, Viv practically fell inside onto the mat.

‘Gone numb,' she said. ‘I've been kneeling on your doorstep. What the hell's the matter with you? Why haven't you been answering your phone? Your answer-phone tape's full.'

‘Do you still want a funnel?'

‘No, I don't want a bloody funnel. Bel? You haven't —' Viv suddenly grabbed her by the shoulders ‘—
had
anything, have you?'

‘Yes, thank you. Do you want some?'

‘What? What?'

‘What?'

‘Yes, WHAT, you idiot. What have you had?'

‘No thank you. I've had enough now.'

Viv shook her.

‘Bella. I'm serious now. Tell me – exactly – what you have eaten or drunk.'

Bella thought for a minute.

‘Bikkits. Jaffa cakes.' She held up three fingers.

‘Three jaffa cakes?'

Bella shook her head.

‘Three packets.'

‘They've never had this effect on me. What else?'

‘More—'

‘More what? Come on.'

‘More-teezers.' She giggled. ‘Family-size packet. Bella-size packet.'

‘And? What else? Tablets, was it?'

‘No, no. 'm not ill. No tablets. Maltesers.'

‘Yes, you said those.'

‘Mmm.' She nodded. ‘Wine … and some Bailey's … and a fuck of a lot of vodka.'

Bella sat on the stairs, watching Viv dash from room to room, listening to her babble on: why hadn't Bella phoned someone? Nick would have come round –
could have given her the number in Birmingham – was this all about Will – what on earth was going on – unbelievable – all this mess – pile of mail – her office said – phoned in sick – she'd been frantic – she'd no idea – how long had Bella been – water – drink loads of water – how could Bella have been so stupid –.

It was very bad to be rushing all the time, like that. Gives you indigestion. And that other thing you're not supposed to have. Stress.

Viv squeezed past her to run upstairs, opening drawers and cupboards. Reappeared stuffing clothes into a bag.

‘You're coming to stay with us for a few days. No arguments.' She swept through to the bathroom and scooped up Bella's toothbrush and flannel. ‘You had me shit-scared, you know. I just got back to discover you'd disappeared off the face of the earth.' Viv hugged her. ‘You've got no idea, have you?'

‘What?' said Bella.

She was lying in Viv and Nick's spare room, swaddled in Viv's fluffy dressing-gown. There was a glass of water by the bed. And a bucket. She could hear their voices, hushed outside the bedroom door. The reassuring whisper of grown-ups. The door opened a peep.

‘Bel? You asleep yet?'

‘Mmm-mm. Viv?'

Viv came in and perched on the edge of the bed.

‘What is it, babe?'

‘I'm sorry.'

‘For what? You don't have to be sorry.'

‘For being a daft bugger. Thank you for being so nice.'

‘Night-night, you old silly. Sleep tight.'

The police were very polite. She had been on the main road, the other driver turning out of a side
street. He thought she had stopped, he said, she was obviously letting him go, any idiot could see that; then she'd suddenly moved forward so he'd gone straight into her. Anyone would have done, he said, she must be a loony. Eyewitness reports conflicted. One thought she had almost come to a halt. Another said the van had swung out way too fast, she couldn't have avoided it. And it had been indisputably her right of way.

Viv drove her to the pound where her car had been taken after the accident. The other driver's insurance company had sent someone to inspect it; pronounced it a write-off. She could remove any belongings before it was taken to the wrecker's yard.

‘Holy shit, Bel.' Viv looked at the car and laid a hand on Bella's shoulder. ‘Christ, you were lucky.'

Viv started to empty the glove compartment while Bella went round the back to open the boot, keeping her eyes averted from the front and side of the car.

The stench was appalling. A dead smell, fleshy, of rot and decay. She retched and backed away. What on earth was it? Realization flashed through her. The shopping. Viv started to come near, then the smell hit her. She covered her face with her hands.

‘What is it?'

‘I don't know – chicken, prawns – everything. I feel sick.'

‘OK. I'm going in.' Viv held her nose and plunged in, scooping up the two squelchy-looking bags and cramming them in another carrier, knotting the ends to seal it tight. She ran off, holding it at arm's length, to find a suitable bin.

Her breathing was tight, shallow. She felt sick, faint. That stench. And the car. She was in that car.

I have to make myself look. I have to.

The front and part of the right wing were crushed, as casually crumpled as a scrap of paper. Her fingers ran over the metal, feeling the ridges, the dents. Both headlamps were broken, shards of glass still clinging to the metal rims, as shocking as a pair of stamped-on spectacles. The wing, just in front of the driver's seat, dipped into a ragged valley, as if punched by a maniac.