Submersion (15 page)

‘I’ll pick you up later,’ she called out, her voice mask-muffled.

Within minutes, I was seated with my aunt in her poky lounge, my protective gear dripping dry in their bathroom, drinking weak unsweetened tea and wondering just how I was going to occupy myself over the next few days, hoping that somehow I could convince Mother to allow me to return to school.

Their flat was tiny and cluttered, over-populated with furniture, ornaments and other things they had doubtlessly brought with them from their previous residence and more affluent times. Unlike some of Old Man Merlin’s rusting relics from the past, my aunt and uncle’s possessions were not obvious junk. They were items of great pride – family heirlooms, items handed down over the years and well cared for: clusters of delicate glasses in a glass-fronted cabinet, collections of china ladies on shelves, lacy lampshades, two handmade tapestries hanging on the hallway walls, a display of
Sunday best
china in the kitchen, a velvet-lined box with a silver cutlery set that Uncle Jimmy polished vigorously but no one ever ate with. There were other things to fascinate us too: jars of colourful buttons made from all different types of materials that Aunt Penny kept in their box room alongside an ancient sewing machine that you worked with a handle; Uncle Jimmy’s collection of family medals from wars long forgotten and even longer finished; and in their bedroom, a wardrobe with sliding mirror doors that was crammed with glamorous, dazzling, flowing dresses that Elinor loved to try out. These last items obviously belonged to our great aunt, but I had never seen her wear them; we never seemed to have the occasion to, either.

The layout of their flat was simple: once through the door, a long, narrow oblong hallway stretched in front of you, with an ornate mirror and small table facing you at the far end; this was where they kept their telephone. To the left was a kitchen, bathroom, separate toilet and their box room; to the right was the lounge and their bedroom.

Other than the sewing machine, their box room held one other point of interest; at least, it did for me. On the occasions that both Elinor and I were visiting, she would occupy herself by ferreting through Aunt Penny’s wardrobe, dressing up in her abandoned evening gowns and parading up and down the hallway, admiring herself in the long mirror at the end. Whilst she did this, I would be in the box room, looking through the cupboard in there. The cupboard was fitted with shelves and tightly packed with tins of food. There were no labels on the tins, just initials in black ink on them – CS, BS, CC, VR, SK. Uncle Jimmy had expanded their actual names for me on numerous occasions – Chicken Supreme, Beef Stew, Chicken Curry, Vegetable Ravioli, Steak and Kidney – but, as a younger boy, I could never remember them all and would entertain myself with a simple guessing game or counting up how many there were in each category, wondering which had the most, guessing the winner ahead.

Where did they all come from?
I asked him on several occasions.

The old factory,
he told me, explaining that Mother, Aunt Agnes and, when necessary, Aunt Penny had all worked at a place called
Simpsons,
a food factory that had produced tinned and jarred goods.
Closed now, so those tins are antiques.
He had grinned at that comment.

Won’t the food be all mouldy now?

He had grinned at that, too.

All nicely preserved inside the tin. All sealed up. We keep them just in case of an emergency.

Given what had happened to them so far, I wondered what kind of emergency my great -aunt and –uncle were waiting for.

There was another point of interest in that box room cupboard. Under the shelving, on the floor, pushed to the back, were several boxes containing toy cars and lorries from my great uncle’s childhood. Like the tins of curry and stew, they were immaculately preserved. Their boxes were still shiny and hardly worn or creased, as if they had very rarely been taken out. I loved lifting off the lids that were slotted on snugly, unfolding the tissue paper that was wrapped over each item and revealing the vibrant colours – bright reds, greens, blues and yellows. I was allowed to take each one out and roll their wheels lightly along the carpet, but Uncle Jimmy always supervised, nervous my clumsy hands might cause damage. But I was equally nervous and very gentle in my handling.

They were worth a fortune once,
he confessed to me.

Why not anymore?

No one left to buy them,
he explained.
Things are only worth what people are prepared to pay for them.

What about things you can’t buy or sell?

He had smiled at that.

Oh, they are always priceless,
he said, rubbing my hair in a soft, fatherly way.

On this occasion, I ended up visiting Aunt Penny and Uncle Jimmy for five days.

The first three days, it was just my great-aunt and me in the flat together. Something was up at their old shop and Uncle Jimmy was having to make regular trips there, to sort out whatever it was. As well as the tins and the cars, there was a small box of old toys to play with – items they had kept to entertain myself and my cousin. From this, I retrieved a drafts board and a box of dominoes, which Aunt Penny played with me a few times. Thereafter, I had to pretend to be two different people and play against myself. There was also a pack of playing cards, so I played Patience and Clock Patience by myself, when Aunt Penny couldn’t be tempted with Whist or Rummy.

And, each day, Mother would sail up around five o’clock and row us both home.

On the fourth day, whatever was happening at the old shop came to a head and Uncle Jimmy came back mid-morning in a state of mild panic.

‘In the kitchen,’ he instructed Aunt Penny, dipping his head into the lounge briefly.

Aunt Penny left promptly, closing the lounge door on her exit, doing the same with the kitchen door also. I silently opened the lounge door, crept into the hall and tried to work out what their hushed yet urgent conversation was about, but to no avail. Distracted with concentration, I wasn’t quick enough to move back into the lounge as the kitchen door opened and my great-aunt and –uncle re-emerged.

Aunt Penny threw me a sharp glare.

‘Were you listening?’ she accused, crossly.

‘Never mind,’ Uncle Jimmy smoothed, quickly, throwing a hurried glare at his wife.

‘Billy, there’s an issue at the old shop that I need your aunt’s help with, so we are both going to pop out for a bit. You’ll be here on your own, but you’ll be fine.’

‘Can’t I come?’ I asked, and my aunt cut in very quickly with: ‘No, you can’t.’

Another glare shot from Uncle Jimmy.

‘Best you stay here, boy,’ he explained, his tone gentler than Aunt Penny’s. ‘A bit of an issue with water and electrics, not entirely safe for you.’

‘But I’ve never been to the shop,’ I pleaded, seeing my one chance of a bit of interest slipping away. I’d asked to visit their shop before and always been turned down. Yet, I was fascinated by the thought of it; Uncle Jimmy told a whole host of stories about quirky customers from yesteryear. Elinor hadn’t been there either and, if she ever returned, it would have been something to brag about. ‘And Mother wouldn’t want me to be here by myself. She worries. She thinks it’s going to fall down.’

A second or so of looks between my great-aunt and –uncle, and Uncle Jimmy nodded in reluctant consent.

‘Okay, go and put your outdoor gear on,’ he conceded, his tone dull, reflecting his aversion. ‘You can come with us, but you must do as we say and stay where we instruct you. Got it?’

It took us nearly 30 minutes to reach their shop, a long journey with only their rowing boat to get us there. It was still raining every day, so visibility was also hampered by this constant, if gentle, downpour. Sailing past my school and its surrounding swampland, we reached the residential streets on the west side of town, which appeared to be more or less abandoned. Their old shop was a little further into the town, but not in the centre.

‘Does no one come here anymore?’ I asked, amazed by the still quiet. Uncle Jimmy stopped rowing and let the boat drift, as we got closer to our destination.

‘Not unless they have to,’ he replied.

‘So why do you have to?’

My aunt went to speak, but Uncle Jimmy cut her short with a soft, dismissive hand and answered my question.

‘We don’t have to,’ he told me, warmth in his eyes, ‘but it gives us hope.’

‘Hope,’ Aunt Penny echoed, trying the word out herself, seeing if it was a fit for how she felt. ‘Yes, hope, Billy. Right, shall we get this over with?’ she annexed, as the little wooden boat bumped gently against a platform and Uncle Jimmy prepared to tie it to the mooring.

In my head, I had imagined a grander, more dignified state of preservation for their little shop than the one that greeted me. I knew it was a boutique - specialising in bespoke items for rich women in its heyday - and envisioned a lacy window display echoing the lacy, delicate garments inside. I pictured polished, dark-wood shelving and tables throughout, marketing neatly folded items and carousels exhibiting a whole range of accessories to match.

I should have known what to expect – I knew full well that the city centre was just as flooded and water-damaged as the rest of our town – but somehow I allowed the fantasy to shroud the truth. So, when faced with the real picture, my disappointment felt like quiet despair.

Mid-terraced, the shop had two large windows either side of a central entrance. The windows were both boarded up and the entrance sealed by a thick, metal door, secured with a complex mechanism of chains and padlocks. Uncle Jimmy saw me eye this arrangement, puzzled.

‘Can’t be too careful round here,’ he told me, twisting keys in various locks. ‘People will take anything, if you don’t make it too difficult. Even then, there’s no guarantee.’

Inside, it was dark and the sour smell of rotting timber discoloured the air.

‘Keep your mask on till we are on the first floor,’ Aunt Penny’s distorted voice instructed, so I did as I was told.

I wanted to explore the waterlogged cavern of the decimated shop floor, check out how close my imagination had been to the past, but I was quickly directed to a set of creaky, slime-thick wooden stairs on the left hand side. In darkness, we ascended to the first floor, where, under a dim light, my aunt and uncle’s carefully preserved hopes were finally revealed to me.

‘You can take the mask off now,’ Aunt Penny said, pulling hers off as her sentence was expelled, her voice gaining clarity at the close. ‘But you are to stay here – in this room. Uncle Jimmy and I need to go up to the flat above. No moving, okay?’

I nodded, agreeing, but I had a question.

‘Shouldn’t you call Tristan or Jessie, if it’s dangerous?’

‘If what’s dangerous?’ my aunt replied, off-guard, puzzled by the query.

‘The problem. The electrics,’ I explained and I saw her eyes sharpen.

‘And pay their prices? I don’t think so,’ she said, turning away and heading back towards the stairwell. Uncle Jimmy had already ascended ahead of her. ‘Not when your uncle and I can manage. You stay right there, understand? No moving, no following us up. Clear?’

‘Crystal.’

The room was lent its dull illumination by two windows facing the street. They weren’t boarded up like the ones on the ground floor, but they were obscured by a pale-pink coating that had been smeared on in circles. I went up to one and touched it with a finger; it came away, colouring the tip and leaving a small fingerprint on the window. It smelt like something from Mother’s cleaning cupboard. Even so, the room was bright enough for me to make out the items occupying its space and some of my initial disappointment dissipated in light of what I discovered there.

The window display dummies I had expected to see were stored here. Headless, they were made of solid, varnished wood and their immaculate curves were smooth to the touch of my hand. There were three in total, all naked. There was a settee in the room, too, covered in dark purple velvet, with an arm rest at only one end. Further, whilst nothing was on display, there was box upon box of clothing and accessories, all preserved in sealed envelopes of clear plastic, saving them from the stench and damage of decay. Lacy vests, embroidered blouses, scarfs, hats, gloves, a box containing fancy underwear that fascinated me and made me feel slightly guilty for looking through in equal measure. There were larger boxes filled with handbags and a huge stack that individually housed the more grand hats, with veils, feathers and fabric flowers attached. To the rear of the room, I found the dresses – rack after rack of cellophane wrapped garments, hanging lifeless, yet hopeful, as if they shared Uncle Jimmy’s vision of a distant, brighter future. Hidden behind these, slotted neatly into wall-to-ceiling shelving were boxes of shoes – over a hundred, at a hurried calculation – wrapped, sealed and untouched like the rest of the goods in this sorrowfully lit museum.

Going through the items, peeking in boxes and returning them to their exact state – I loved the sense of everything frozen in time and wanted to disturb the picture as little as possible – kept me occupied more than I imagined. I forgot about my aunt and uncle above me, deaf to any creaks or movements above; any temptation to follow them abandoned without an effort. I kept thinking about Elinor. She’d have loved it here, more than she loved the dressing up box at Old Man Merlin’s or Aunt Penny’s wardrobe crammed with garish gowns, and my imagination allowed me to dress her up and watch her twirling around in an array of glamorous items. We’d come here, I told myself, when she eventually came back. Mother might insist that she is dead, that Aunt Agnes’ is deluded to think otherwise, but I have a feeling that tells me something different. Hope; yes, like Aunt Penny and Uncle Jimmy, I have hope.