The Thing on the Shore (20 page)

Arthur remembered a particularly strange call from a man who was querying a very high bill. When Arthur had investigated, he found the company had the property registered as empty due to a meter reader reporting that the building looked unlived in and semi-derelict. Arthur hadn't mentioned that to the customer, of course; he had just changed the company records accordingly. But he then started to imagine an alternative town, or rather a series of alternative towns. Where had that meter reader visited? He had been to the very same address, but maybe an alternative version of it somewhere else. An
empty
version. If parallel universes existed, basically, then maybe the computer system they were using was aligned to the wrong one.

What a stupid thing to think.

Arthur lifted his head from his hands and opened his eyes, and physically recoiled at the shock of seeing the strange wastes rolling out before him. He was back in the Scape. His ears were filled with that subtle, chittery rustle created by all of those tiny, ugly things that squirmed
across the ground, or that actually constituted the ground. They didn't look like they were moving when he watched them; they looked like lots of still, thin, pink or white or yellow or red wires. But he got the sense that they were writhing around just out of sight, or immediately behind him. He got the sense that other things appeared sometimes: little claws or shells or wet beaks or hair-thin tentacles. But never clearly within his field of vision.

Arthur made no attempt to move this time. He sat still in his chair with his arms flat on the desk, but the chair and the desk were made of something more of the Scape than of the world he knew—some kind of thick, twisted, shell-like material, rough like the surface of a conch.

Another sound, something else. Not the whisper of the ground or the buzz and hum of the sky, but a faint, haunting cry, an eerie whistle of some kind. A long, drawn-out sound but, unlike the constant murmurings of the environment, one with a beginning and an end. It was accompanied by the appearance of something on the horizon. Arthur felt his hair move in the wind, but actually it felt more like it was moving in water; the movement was slower and heavier. The dark shape on the horizon grew larger until it became apparent that something was moving through the sky toward him. It made that sound again: an emotional, evocative, high-pitched song.

Whatever the creature was, it was huge and it was black against the sky. It was long, with a heavy, rounded front end that tapered to nothing at the rear. It moved with a gentle undulation, like … like it was swimming.

Arthur recognized it only when it was nearly directly above him. It was a whale. It was about half a kilometer up, maybe. It was hard to tell. His sense of perspective was all shot, so he couldn't really tell how big it was. He realized that his mouth was hanging open, so he closed it again. The whale suddenly moaned, and the sound of it sent waves of pleasure surging all over Arthur's skin, sent bright tingles running up and down his spine. Where was he? Why was the whale in the sky? He didn't much care. The whale looked like it was moving slowly, like it was not in any kind of rush. Like it didn't care about anything.

The whale turned out to be the first of a pod. They all spoke to each other in their incredible voices. Arthur did not understand them but he felt like he understood. Their presence made his presence there OK. He sat at the desk and looked up until he became aware of a pain in his neck. Then he reached up to rub the back of his neck and found that his knuckles were banging against some kind of rough surface. He realized that he was lying on his back, on the floor. He looked up and, instead of the whales, he saw Bracket's face hovering over him, slack-eyed and frowning.

“What was she running away from then?” Pauline asked.

Harry—dirty, bleary Harry—raised a hand to his face and dragged it down across his wet mouth. He shrugged slightly, as best he could without lifting his elbows from the bar.

There was some kind of game on. Football. The TV screen wasn't very big for a pub and the sound was quite low, so it wasn't too intrusive, but Harry found it intrusive enough—something bright and fast-moving hovering in his peripheral vision. It was pissing him right off. He shrugged again.

“She must have been running from something,” Pauline suggested.

Her words did, of course, imply that Rebecca had been running away from Harry himself, but Pauline was saying it so brazenly that Harry couldn't tell whether or not she was aware of that implication.

“So was she running away from you, then?” Pauline said.

Harry couldn't help laughing. He should have known better. Pauline did not “imply.” But, of course, his was not genuine happy laughter. It was something sharper and more muscular, a kind of hacking sound.

“Shall I tell you what happened?” Harry said.

Pauline rolled her eyes. “Might be a fucking idea,” she replied. “'Sonly what I've been driving at.”

“It is … it is a strange thing,” Harry said. “It was a strange thing. She was off work … She was off work and we woke up quite late in the morning. Rebecca seemed quite quiet, and she was often quiet but this was different, like something had happened or something was wrong. I … I can't explain how scared I was, Pauline, just sitting there, sitting in bed with the sun pouring in through the window, looking at her. Looking at Rebecca and not knowing what to say or do. I felt like I had to say or do something, because it just wasn't like her.”

Harry stopped speaking and sipped from his pint. There were other people in the Vine, but they were sitting at the tables or in the wide, shabby booths. Nobody else was sitting at the bar.

“Arthur was at school, so he wasn't around when we had breakfast. It was just Rebecca and me. I made scrambled eggs and really crispy bacon with croissants. I was standing in the kitchen feeling like my chest was going to burst or something because I knew that Rebecca was just sitting there at the table not doing anything and not saying anything and not even moving. That wasn't like her, Pauline. It was a lovely day, too, really bright outside.
The seagulls sounded clean and it felt like we were on holiday. We
were
on holiday. I mean, we were both off work. That was such a rare thing, too, so I couldn't understand what was wrong. She smiled at me when I sat down with the food but it was like she was forcing the smile, you know? Like she knew she should be smiling but didn't really want to. I asked her what was wrong but she just said there was nothing wrong. Then, after a few minutes of pushing her food around, she said that this was only her second day off work in a row and she felt bored. Said she didn't know what to do. I said, what do you mean? I didn't really understand.

“She said that she couldn't work out what to do. She had all day ahead of her and nothing to do. What did people do when they weren't at work? Well, I said, they relaxed or they carried on with hobbies or they spent time with each other. She nodded at that, but looked confused. She said that she couldn't do the crossword all day. No, I said, that would get boring. That's exactly it, she said.”

Harry shook his head slightly and shrugged again. Pauline gazed at him but gave nothing away. She was inscrutable. Without taking her eyes off Harry, she moved some clean glasses from the dishwasher tray into their separate compartments beneath the bar.

“She told me her heart was racing. She was just sitting there at the table and she was a very healthy woman, was Rebecca, she was always running around that supermarket and she would often go running along the cliffs. But she looked at me and said in a very quiet voice that her heart
was going ten to the dozen with panic. I said, what are you panicking about? She said she didn't know but she thought it was something to do with being so bored. This thing she was saying about being bored was getting to me, Pauline, so I said, what do you mean you're bored? Is it not enough to be off work for a day and just spend it with me? Am I so boring?”

Pauline grimaced and sucked in air through her yellowing teeth.

“She just looked at me,” Harry continued, “and then she opened her mouth but didn't say anything like she didn't know what to say. I … I knew what she meant, though. She meant, yes, you are boring, Harry. Yes, you are a boring man. She said, no of course you are not boring. I'm sorry, Harry, I don't know what's wrong with me. I then said, I know what's wrong with you, Rebecca. You've got some time on your hands and you don't know what to do with it. It's as simple as that. It was as simple as that, Pauline. Oh my God.”

Pauline had finished arranging the glasses now, and was just watching Harry and listening to his sputtered reminiscences. Elsewhere in the Vine people were carrying on with their own conversations, but Pauline felt reasonably sure that these were conversations that were recycled, that happened every night, that were well worn by their participants. So many conversations came round again and again, like songs on a commercial radio station. But what Harry was saying felt quite new, like he was saying something that he had never said before. It was
something that Pauline had never heard before, at any rate.

“It went on for hours. Rebecca just sat around with her hand on her chest and this look in her eyes. Honestly, it was a very scary thing. She said, I have never felt like this before. I have never thought these things before. She said, what do I go to work for if I don't know what to do when I am not at work? I said, there are lots of things you could be doing. She said, like what? Is there anything really that I could be doing? I was getting sick of it, Pauline. I didn't know what she was going on about. What are you going on about, I asked, not for the first time. She looked at me and she was not just sad now, but angry as well. She said, you could at least make an effort to understand, Harry. I said, I am making an effort but, despite my best efforts, I do not understand at all. Am I supposed to just understand through some psychic power? She said, isn't that what being in a relationship is all about? We should rely less on verbal communication and more on some kind of unvocalised knowing. She was a very clever girl, was Rebecca. Oh God, I miss her, Pauline. I miss her so much. She said, the better we get to know each other the less we should have to talk. Communication, she said, communication is for people who do not understand each other. Communication is only an attempt at understanding. It demonstrates a total lack of understanding.

“I knew what she was getting at, but I didn't know what to say. It felt like a terrible moment. A truly terrible moment, like everything was changing, and changing for
the worse. The house was so light on that day with all of the sun coming in. Looking back, I don't know how it was so light because it's never that light any more, even when it is sunny outside. Anyway. She said, people who understand each other do not need to talk at all. That is true understanding. I said, how do you know that? She said, it is just common sense. It is a common-sense conclusion that I have arrived at. I said, I think we have drifted off-topic. We were talking about how boring you find me. She said, for fuck's sake, Harry. For fuck's sake.”

Harry was now propping himself up by resting his forehead in his hand, his elbow resting in a puddle of old beer on the bar top. He didn't mind that. He was barely aware of it.

“The day went on,” he said. “Rebecca started trying to occupy herself. She did the crossword, she read some of a book, she took me to bed. All within about an hour. She didn't finish anything, though. She moved from one thing to another, looking for something that would seem to her to be worthwhile, but she could not settle. Have you ever felt like that?”

Pauline did not respond at first. She didn't realize that Harry was even addressing her; thought he was merely reporting some further snippet of remembered dialogue.

“Pauline?” Harry repeated, meeting her gaze with his. “Have … have you ever felt like that?”

“No, Harry,” Pauline said. “Chance to get bored would be a fine thing.”

“I suppose there is always that,” Harry said. “I don't
think I've ever felt like that either. There's always something to do, isn't there? Or if not that then … then … there is always some pleasure to take, surely?”

Pauline just nodded. It was rare for Harry to be this articulate. But then she, Pauline, was a good listener. Good at kind of fading away and letting people more or less talk to themselves.

“It got worse as the afternoon went on,” Harry continued. “We went on a walk along the cliffs and it was such a beautiful day but Rebecca was not talking and she was not really looking at anything. She did not bother looking at the sea or the view. She kept just walking, and looking straight ahead or down at the ground. We got back and watched some TV, but then she just shook her head and said, I feel like I'm wasting so much time. I said, why? What should you be doing? And she said there is nothing that I should really be doing. That is what's wrong, Harry. That is precisely what is wrong. And then she said, and what about Arthur? She said, we have just inflicted this same thing on him. What will he do when he is not working, or not at school? What will he feel? He won't feel anything, will he? He will get bored like me.

“I have to admit … I have to … I have to admit that knocked me for six, Pauline. When she said that. Honest to God, it knocked me for six. Why are you bringing Arthur into this? I asked. How can I not, she said. Everything we feel our children also will feel. Every problem we face, our children will face. That is what makes things so terrifying. Knowing that your children will have to face them
too. I said, things are not terrifying, but I was starting to feel like they were. Most things are terrifying, Rebecca said, when you think about them. When you have time to think about them, most things are really very terrifying. And when you realize that your children will be terrified, too.