There but for The (25 page)

She looks at what it is that’s in her hands. It is a rectangular blue box wrapped in cellophane, a box of chocolates. Milk Tray.

She watches through the frosted glass in the front door as the blurred shape of him gets smaller, then disappears.)

I took her hand. It was cold to the touch. That was the worst, the very worst.

What’s she saying? the bald man driving the car said.

She’s just talking, the girl said. Leave her alone.

The girl was squashed into the back. May was strapped into the front. After Irish-Liverpool got her into the chair the girl had wheeled her down the corridor and they had both waved cheerily back at the nurses. Then the girl wheeled May straight into the lift and pressed down, and when the doors opened they went out past the place where the shops were and the people having the teas and coffees. The girl had taken off her puffy jacket then and had put it round May’s shoulders and had run out through the main doors with almost no clothes on herself in the cold. She spoke on a phone. She lit a cigarette. She stood dancing from foot to foot out there. The cold came in round May every time the doors opened by themselves.

You’ll catch your death.

Don’t feel the cold, me, the girl said before the doors closed on her again.

The bald man wasn’t wearing a suit.

Eventually he fixed the chair somehow on to the back of the car. He made a great fuss about it. He was an awful baby.

Can’t see a fucking thing with that there, the bald man kept saying and squinting at his mirror when they were driving along.

She was in the hospital, Gracie, it was before she ran away to America, and she had a cancer down there, you know, nobody could say where, the place was not what you call mentionable, and she had to have an operation. And she nearly died from it, there was a fair chance she would. But in the newsreel she was there after it all, back on her feet, and she winked right at the camera filming her. Oh it was glorious. Right at the camera she winked. She’d come through it, she had. And there was one she did where she played a singer called Sal. That was where the song came from, the one about Sally. And in it she had to go to a posh party and sing to the rich people, you know, be their evening’s entertainment. And she called the old rich woman Lady Tissue-paper, oh it made me laugh. And she taught this old rich woman to sing the words of a common song, and told her off for pronouncing the words wrong, oh it was so funny. I’ll never forget it. And in it, I’ll never forget this either, I’ll remember it as long as I live, there was a girl in the story a bit younger than Sal, a bit naïve, and she was very poor, and her father drank, and his drinking and hitting her had made her act bad. Well, Sal, she let this girl come and live with her. Goodness of her heart, the girl had nowhere else, her father’d thrown her out, she was on the street if it wasn’t for Sal. And the girl one day got angry with Sal all because Sal was kind to her. She started to act bad, break the plates and the little ornaments in the room. It’s not like they were much. But they were all she had. And Sal stands in the room and watches the girl break all the precious cups and the things all round her. And she just says to her, you go right ahead, you break it. And here’s my watch and all. You can have it, here, take it. Do what you want with it. Because I believe there’s something that has been put in you by all that’s happened to you and it’s got to come out.

Doesn’t half drone on, the bald man said.

Leave her, the girl said.

I went with Frank to the Palace and saw that one. My brother, Frank was.

Oh yeah, she was talking about him earlier, the girl said.

Did he lose his hair through carelessness? Here. You. Lose your hair through carelessness?

She means you, the girl said and laughed.

Me? the bald man said.

Like a convict. A concentrating camp, if you ask me.

It’s the fashion, Mrs. Young, the girl said.

They were driving along the motorway and May was wondering which of the saints it was, she couldn’t recall, the one who had carried the child on his back and walked across rivers and up and down mountains and kept it safe all the way, when she felt it happen, it all just slipped out without her being able to stop it.

Oh dear. Oh dear me.

The rich bad smell unfurled and filled the car.

Christ! the bald man said. What the fuck’s that smell? What the fuck!

He swerved the car to the side of the road. He opened his door and jumped about outside the car in the sleet in the dark. In came the cold air round the smell.

Aw Christ, he shouted. Aw, my Mazda. For Christ sake, Josie.

The bald man cried. He stood in the sleet for a bit and he was crying. The girl reached forward to close the door because the cold was coming in and there was sleet on her jacket on May’s shoulder.

Thank you, love.

Eventually he stopped the carrying on. He got back in the car. He shut its door and got it going again and pulled back out on to the motorway.

The roof above them slid back.

Close it, the girl said. She’ll die of the cold. She’s not well.

Yeah, well, what the fuck you think you’re doing, what the fuck you’re going to do with her anyway, I don’t know, the bald man said.

The St. John Ambulance Portakabin at the crescent, the girl said. They’ll clean her, they know about that stuff. Put the heating on. Aidan. Now.

And who’s going to fucking well clean up my car, will the St. John Ambulance fucking Portakabin do that? the bald man said. Yeah, that’s right, put on the heating and let the smell of her get right into the system so I never get rid of it. Fucking perfect. Thanks Josie. Thanks.

For all I know I’m dead and gone already.

Hand on my heart I wish you were. I wish you’d died before you put a fucking toe in my car, the bald man said.

Aidan, the girl said. She’s old.

I’m not old.

I mean kind of relatively, the girl said. Aidan. Put the window up. Up.

I’ll throw, the bald man said. I mean it. I’m going to throw.

It’s only a stupid car, the girl said.

And where’s she going tonight? the bald man said. Where are you going to put her? Who’s going to take her, state she’s in?

You’re such a selfish wanker, Aidan, the girl said.

It was cold, when I took it, her hand. But she was a bold true girl when she was here, and she whistled away. She whistled away like a trooper.

You tell him, Mrs. Young, the girl said.

In the city the bald man parked and got out. He went to the back of the car and rattled about a lot. Then he came to the passenger side and threw something on the pavement that made a crashing noise when it hit the ground. He opened the door and stood well back. The wheelchair was on its side at his feet.

I’m not touching her, he said.

I’m going home for a shower, he said.

Don’t phone me again, you, he said.

Thank Christ the seats are leather, he said.

The girl went somewhere while the bald man stared at May in his car in disgust.

Cheer up, you.

And you can shut your mouth, the bald man said.

Married, aren’t you? Wife doesn’t know, does she?

The bald man turned his back on her.

Just a kid. I know your type.

He didn’t say anything. He stood with his back to her, tapping his foot on the pavement. The girl came back with two big men she’d found in a pub, one on either side of her. Neither of them was wearing a suit.

Phaw, one said and stepped back. Somebody’s coming up roses and daffodils.

Told you, the girl said.

Careful, the other said as he lifted May out. No, I’ve got her, I’ve got you, love, no worries.

A while since I’ve been in a big man’s arms.

The man holding her laughed.

A pleasure, darling, he said.

This man put her in the chair and the two big men went back to the pub. They crossed the road waving, laughing at the bald man and what had happened to his car. The bald man slammed the car door shut and locked the car with a key that made a beeping noise. He went without forgiving.

Known a couple like him in my time.

Bet you have, Mrs. Young, the girl said.

You be careful round him.

I can handle myself, the girl said. Don’t you worry.

May sat in the sweet smell of May. She could feel herself all down herself, cold now, very unpleasant, all round and down her legs. The girl pushed her along the dark pavement, round a corner, and the road turned into a crowd. There was a great noise and a great smell of food, and there were people all over the place, standing and sitting around even in this cold. There were stalls, places you could get things to eat. It was like a circus, or a hanging. The place was mobbed. People standing in a queue parted for them so they could push through; the girl laughed and told May the queue was for the Portaloos.

Well, I don’t need to go, now.

This we know, the girl said.

Where are we?

Greenwich, the girl said behind her.

Oh.

You said. You wanted to come, the girl said.

Did I? It’s the Greenwich Fair, is it?

Could call it that, the girl said.

The girl pushed the chair up a ramp into a big hut with heaters in it. Oh, it was warm! A woman wheeled her through the back and there were sinks, with taps and all. There was hot water and things for cleaning people up in this hut. It was marvellous what was possible in a hut these days, and a kind woman washed her down with a showerhead and towelled her dry and there was baby powder too, in a cupboard in the hut. When the girl came back she’d brought blue pyjamas, with trousers, and a jumper and a coat and things.

Cut this thing off my wrist, will you, girl?

The girl found a pair of scissors and she cut the plastic thing with the date of her birth on it off. That felt better, it did. Then the girl wheeled her back through to the door of the hut where there was a chap sitting waiting. He was an older chap but he was quite a looker. He wasn’t wearing a suit.

This is Mark, Mrs. Young, she said. He’s the one who found you. He’s going to take you to his house for tonight and make sure you’re okay.

Not Harbour House.

She’s scared of boats, the girl said.

I’m not scared of boats.

The man shook her hand.

Careful where you touch. Couldn’t keep it in.

Understandable, the man said.

You’re nice and clean now, the girl said.

The man was going to take her somewhere warm. It would be a pleasure, he said. He said he’d pick her up at the main road, if the girl, he called the girl Joe, would have her ready waiting at the kerbside so he could just duck the car in quick.

The girl wheeled May back out into the great crowd, through all the people. It was a great celebration. It was just like after the war. The girl stopped the chair and came round the front and bent down to fix the scarf round May’s neck, make sure the hat was properly on.

What’s it all for?

God, you smell loads better now, she said. You actually smell positively nice.

If it’s got to come out it’s got to come out. No stopping it.

The girl turned with one arm round May and pointed above the crowd, up at the backs of the houses.

See those windows? See that one in the middle? He’s in there, she said.

The man in the suit?

He’s not in a suit, not as far as I know, the girl said.

Well, I’m not dead yet, then.

You said it, the girl said.

For 29 January

Dear Mrs. Young,

I’m sorry not to be there in person this year, I’m in Canada on secondment and won’t be home in the UK again till the end of February.

But am sending this card to say hello.

With best wishes.

I hope you are well.

Miles