Road Ends (6 page)

Though of course, now that he thought about it, Megan had been here for the others. Maybe she was the one who’d kept things running. But Megan had been gone three years now. She’d flown the coop.

He went over to the sink. Adam was right: the can opener was in there, along with a tangle of dirty plates and utensils and saucepans, all of them now spattered with sour milk.

“Where’s Mrs.… whatever her name is?” Tom said. “The lady who helps Mum clean the house. Has she been here this week?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

Tom rinsed off the can opener, opened both cans of beans, looked for a clean saucepan, discovered there were none, rinsed off two spoons and gave one of them and a can of beans to Adam.

“Thank you,” Adam said, very politely.

They ate where they stood, spooning in the beans. Tom had
to force them down. He was fighting a growing sense of dread, brought on by his small brother and the empty cupboards. There was something going wrong and he didn’t want to know about it, far less deal with it. He pushed down the last of the beans, swallowing hard, dumped the can in the garbage, nodded briefly to Adam and went upstairs.

The door of his mother’s room was closed. He hesitated for a moment and then tapped lightly.

“Come in,” his mother’s voice said.

He opened the door cautiously. She was sitting up in bed with the baby over her shoulder, gently rubbing its back.

“Donald,” she said, and smiled at him. “Come in, dear. How are you?”

Tom decided against pointing out that Donald was on a ship on the other side of the world along with his twin brother, Gary, both of them having joined the navy two years ago. There was nothing particularly worrying about his mother mixing up her children’s names though; she’d always done it.

“I’m fine, thanks,” he said. “How are you?”

“I’m fine too,” she said. “A little tired, but fine. Isn’t your brother the sweetest thing you ever saw?”

Which one, Tom thought. I have many, none of them sweet. “Yeah, he’s great,” he said. “Um, I was wondering about food, Mum. There doesn’t seem to be much in the house.”

“Oh dear,” she said. “Well don’t worry, there’ll be something.”

Tom shifted his feet. “I’ve had a look and there’s hardly anything. And I think Adam’s been … hungry. Like, really hungry. He didn’t have any lunch today. There isn’t even any bread in the house.”

“Oh,” his mother said, and she did sound mildly concerned, which gave him hope. “Well, for the moment, could you just make him a sandwich? I’d do it but this little fellow is hungry too—he seems to be hungry all the time, day and night.”

The hope drained away. Did she just not listen or was she going nuts? She was smiling down at the baby. Tom had a sudden fleeting memory of how it had felt to be on the receiving end of that smile. The warmth of it. The safety.

“Sure,” he said. “Sure. I’ll make him a sandwich.”

He went back downstairs. The dread churning around in his stomach was mixed now with anger and frustration. He needed—not wanted,
needed
—to get back to his newspaper.

He crossed the living room and stood for a moment outside the door of his father’s study. His father would be sitting at his desk surrounded by his bloody books; he’d look up and on his face would be an expression of barely contained impatience, as if this were the tenth time Tom had interrupted him in as many minutes instead of the first time in years. Once upon a time Tom wouldn’t have been put off by that. Once upon a time he’d had privileged status with their father, though he’d never been quite sure why. But no longer.

He stood facing the door, head down, mouth a tight line. He had something important to say and he was going to say it. He would say, Dad, your wife is losing her mind, your four-year-old son is hungry and there’s no food in the house. I thought you’d like to know. He wouldn’t wait for a reply. He would turn around and go back to his obituaries.

On the other side of the door the silence was so deep that either his father was dead at his desk or else he knew Tom was there and was waiting for him.

Tom turned on his heel and crossed the living room again, into the entrance hall where the coats were piled on pegs and the floor was a mad scramble of boots. He found his own and savagely pulled them on. The twins might have been of some help had they still been home—they were both reasonably sensible—but the idea of either Corey or Peter doing anything was laughable and he wasn’t going to waste his breath by asking them. It was easier to do it himself.

He checked his pockets for money, reckoned he had enough to buy the basics, looked up and saw Adam standing in the doorway, watching him, his hands clenched tightly under his chin.

“Don’t stand in the doorway!” Tom said sharply. “You’ll catch cold. I’m going to buy some food.” He went out, slamming the door behind him.

It was so dark outside you’d think it was four in the morning rather than four in the afternoon. Marcel and the snowplough thundered by just as he got to Main Street, but even if it hadn’t been snowing so hard there would have been no question of taking the car. The piles of snow thrown up by the plough blocked off all of the side roads; opening them up again was the second stage of the procedure and in weather like this the plough never got to the second stage. Anyway, it would have taken him at least an hour to shovel out the driveway. He walked along the road, following in the wake of the plough. From time to time muffled snatches of its roar were carried back to him on the wind.

It was viciously cold. He pulled his scarf up over his nose and his hat down to his eyes and bent his head into the wind. Snow was drifting back across the road—by the time the plough got to one end of town it would all need doing again. You could plough the same bit of road forever. Like Sisyphus, Tom thought, rolling his bloody rock up the hill.

There was a lull in the wind, and the roar of the plough was suddenly loud. He looked up and saw the tail lights winking in the distance, and all at once Robert was beside him and the two of them were staggering along this same stretch of road in a similar blizzard, howling with laughter and drunk as two skunks. Robert had filched a bottle of hooch from a logger who’d slipped on the ice outside Ben’s Bar. Somehow he’d managed to hold the bottle
aloft as he fell, and Robert had relieved him of it. They were fifteen or so and it was the first time they’d been drunk and it was wonderful. Rob found a hubcap half buried in a snowbank and insisted on taking it with them, clutching it close to his chest, crooning to it, and Tom had yelled, “Don’t kiss it, don’t kiss it!” afraid that his friend’s lips would freeze to the metal, wondering how they’d explain that to the doctor.

Then the wind swung around and blasted him again, and Rob was gone.

It wasn’t far to the centre of town—nowhere in Struan was far from anywhere else. Many of the stores had closed early to allow staff to get home while it was still possible. The post office, the drugstore, Harper’s restaurant, all of them shut. Ben’s Bar was still open, its windows lit by oily light. This being Saturday it would be full of loggers, most of them more than happy, storm or no storm, to spend the night on the floor.

Marshall’s Grocery was still open, to Tom’s relief. Better still there was no one in it apart from the girl behind the counter. What he feared more than anything was running into someone he knew, someone who might try to talk to him, or look at him with sympathetic eyes.

The wind caught the door when he opened it and he had to lean his full weight against it to get it closed again.

“Nice day, isn’t it?” the girl behind the counter said.

Tom nodded, stamping his feet to get rid of the worst of the snow. He removed his gloves and hat and shook the snow off them, grabbed a shopping cart and headed straight down the first aisle before the girl had time to say anything else. He scanned the shelves, picking off likely-looking items as fast as he could and dropping them into the cart: two loaves of bread, a pound of butter, two quarts of milk, a box of cornflakes, four cans of Heinz baked beans. He slowed down, looking for something that could be called a meal, and finally selected four cans of stew.
Then he saw some cans of corned beef and got four of those too. He looked at the meat counter, but everything required cooking, so all he got was a dozen hot dogs in a plastic bag.

“If it keeps on I’ll have to spend the night with Mr. and Mrs. Marshall,” the girl said gloomily. She was still up at the counter, but the store was so small he could hear her easily. “My brother will never be able to get into town to pick me up. Which is a real drag, because this is supposed to be my last day. It’s so boring here I can’t stand it another
minute
! I’ve been counting the
seconds
, and now it looks like I’m going to be here all
night
!”

She had to be talking to him because there was no one else in the store, but she was hidden from view by a pile of toilet paper so Tom decided he could ignore her. He stopped alongside the canned fruit, wondering how much to get, then suddenly realized he was going to have to carry it all home. Damn it! he thought,
Damn it
! He retraced his steps, put back two of the four cans of beans, two of the stew, two of the corned beef. He’d only be able to carry enough to last himself and Adam for a couple of days. But that was okay, he decided; the others could look after themselves or starve, either would be fine by him.

Then he remembered his mother. She obviously couldn’t fend for herself at the moment any more than Adam could. He retraced his steps again, picking up a third can of everything, then stood looking down at his cart. He’d need to make two trips, which would be impossible in weather like this. He couldn’t come back tomorrow because tomorrow was Sunday and the store would be closed. In fact, from the look of the blizzard, it could stay closed for days.

“We have a sled you could borrow if you like,” the girl said. Tom looked around but she still wasn’t in sight. Was she a mind reader? But a sled was the answer, no doubt about it.

“Thanks,” he said.

“You’re welcome. Look at that snow. It’s
disgusting
. I’m going to be stuck here
forever
. You know they say no two snowflakes look the same? Do you believe that?”

Tom gave a noncommittal grunt.

“Neither do I,” the girl said. “And anyway, how would they know? I mean, there must be
billions
of them! So how would they know?”

Tom went back down the aisles picking up all the items he’d just discarded, then studied his load. Peanut butter. Honey. Cheese. Cookies. Coffee. Tea. More bread. That’s it.

He pushed the cart to the checkout and began piling his purchases onto the counter, keeping his head down so she wouldn’t talk to him. The girl began putting them in bags, punching numbers into the adding machine as she went.

“No vegetables,” she said abruptly, one finger poised over the adding machine. “And don’t say Heinz beans. Heinz beans don’t count.”

Tom looked at her properly for the first time. She was built like an Amazon, tall and blond, but she couldn’t be more than sixteen—maybe eighteen at the outside. She was chewing gum and examining his purchases with narrow-eyed disapproval. He’d have said, How about getting your nose out of my business? but she was female and just a kid and he needed the sled.

“This is all I need,” he said.

“I’ll chuck in some carrots and cabbage for free if you like,” the girl said. “They’re getting kind of old. Mr. Marshall won’t mind in the circumstances.”

“I don’t need them. Thanks.”

“Tsk, tsk,” she said. “Everyone needs vegetables. And fruit. How about some apples? We still have a few. They’re old too, but they’re still okay.”

“No.” He didn’t bother with the thanks this time. He was starting to find it hard to get his breath. He needed to get out.

“Up to you,” she said, chewing cheerfully. “Just don’t blame me if you get scurvy.”

She piled the remaining food into a final bag. “Back in a sec.”

She disappeared in the direction of the back of the store and returned a minute later towing an old toboggan, its upturned nose battered and scarred by a thousand trips down the hillsides of Struan.

“Thanks,” Tom said tightly. “I’ll bring it back when the storm’s over.”

“Sure,” she said, sticking a fresh stick of gum in her mouth to join the wad already there. “Hope you get home safe.”

His relief at being out of the store was so great that he felt almost elated, but the mood soon wore off. The wind was stronger than ever. It was behind him now, pushing him along, which was fortunate because he didn’t think he’d have been able to face into it. The cold sliced through his parka and he had to keep switching hands or his fingers would have frozen around the rope of the toboggan. There was no danger of getting lost—the snowbanks on either side of the road hemmed him in—but finding his own side road required concentration. It was important not to go past it. More than important—imperative. It was dangerously cold; he could feel it draining his energy. You’re fine, he said to himself. You’re doing okay. And you won’t have to do this again. Not ever.

He started worrying about how to keep his purchases safe from his thieving brothers—they’d get through the lot in one night. He’d store everything under his bed, he decided. He’d show Adam where it all was, tell him he could help himself, but keep it secret from the others.

Then he remembered—Adam would need help opening the cans. The thought stopped him in his tracks.
Shit
! he thought. This was exactly what he’d been afraid of, the way one thing led
to another, the way you got sucked into things, the way your painstakingly designed routine—job, meals, newspaper, sleep—all in solitude, solitude above all, could be shot to hell and you’d be in it up to your neck, you’d have no control over anything, there’d be no end to it, no peace, and he couldn’t handle it, he just couldn’t handle it.

He stood with his head down, breathing hard, talking to himself. Calm down. Just calm down, breathe slowly. And keep walking. It’s okay. Adam can take the cans and the opener up to Mum. She’s capable of opening a can, for God’s sake. Or you can open the cans in the mornings before you go to work. Open them and stick them back under the bed. Tell Adam to take something up for Mum whenever he’s hungry himself. He’ll remember to do that; he’s smart for his age. It’ll be okay.