This Holey Life (25 page)

Two weeks later, after the funeral, after the endless official stuff, after we’d had a few days away in Worthing to give Rachel some support from her grandparents, I had to go back to
work. We had to try and get back to some kind of pretend normality but I suspected that was never going to happen for me. Vick was so strong, getting on with things, making food for us, making me
eat, making herself eat, though I could see she was losing weight and her colour wasn’t right. But she was carrying on, getting Rachel to and from preschool. It was all I could do to drink a
cup of tea or get in the shower. But she told me I had to go back to work. It was the holidays so Vick didn’t have school for a few weeks, back from maternity leave, with no baby. She said it
wasn’t good, both of us moping around the house. I needed to work. So I accepted a job. A callout to Dartford. What happened next changed things again. Changed things completely.

Steve tells Karolina this as she calls round for a cup of tea and a chat, an Alpha follow-up, because she’s still got questions. (Haven’t we all?) I leave them to it and go and sort
out the airing cupboard.

The story according to Rachel:

They don’t talk about him. Sometimes I wonder if he was like really here or whether, for a bit, I just had this imaginary friend. But deep down I know he lived. I
remember how he smelt of cream. Uncle Martin uses it for his scaly skin. I’ve seen him rub it in his hands, round his wrists. I smelt it when he wasn’t looking. He’d left it on
the coffee table and I unscrewed the lid and sniffed it and Thomas like floated back to me so I knew he’d really been here, in our house, up in Imo’s room and lying on his mat on the
carpet under a baby gym, a different one to the one we’ve got now. Where Imo’s always getting wedged cos she’s like so fat.

Rachel tells Jessica this in our front room, after school, while they are playing a game on the laptop. My laptop. A laptop that I almost forgot existed. An old, clumpy paving slab of a
techno-thing that used to be so precious to me. They are playing a golf game. Yes, golf. Jessica is a big fan of golf and drags Rachel down with her.

I am unseen to them, behind the half-opened door, scrubbing – as quietly as possible, not easy – at a patch of hall carpet where Jeremy has trodden in dog poo. But I can hear their
every word. And I scrub all the harder, not caring if I am detected, not caring about anything except stopping the tears, stopping the pain in my chest, the sick in my stomach that threatens to
pull me over and knock me into a ball, like a hedgehog. A prickly, stupid, flea-ridden hedgehog.

The story according to Dorota:

I may not do church but I do God. He is there when you cry out, listening, even if you think he is far away, stuck on a cloud. He hears you and he feels your pain. But you
cannot lie on the carpet in the hallway. Your children will see you and think you have gone round the bend. And it smells of dog mess. Where is your ‘Shake-n-Vacky, Vicky?’

Dorota tells me this while sitting me down at the kitchen table and pouring me a glass of her sherry, the bottle still untouched from Shrove Tuesday which shows she does ‘do church’,
keeping those promises.

She and Roland have called by on some pretext, hand in hand and all loved-up. Is she checking up on me?

‘Are you checking up on me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh.’

My heart, now calmer, has another blip. So. I need to be checked up on, do I?

The story according to Jessica:

I remember your baby brother. He was so cute and your mum let me hold him once on your sofa, the old one with the flowers. We were watching Dick and Dom and your mum was
looking after me because my mum had a headache and Dad was at work. I remember holding onto him really tight because I didn’t want to drop him on the floor and you told me to be careful, I
was squashing him and your mum said I was doing good. I was dead jealous of you cos you had a baby and I didn’t. I was jealous of your mum cos she never shouted. And then Thomas wasn’t
here anymore and I wasn’t jealous. I was really sad. But then my mum left and I was jealous again that you had a mum and I didn’t. But then I got Tamarine. She can be bossy sometimes
but that’s just cos me and dad are slobs.

Jessica is sitting at the kitchen table drinking milk with Rachel, and eating her way through a packet of Rich Tea. Imo has gone up for a bit of shut-eye and Olivia is glued to
Raven
,
along with Jeremy, who has taken a liking to his younger cousin as she tidies up after him. So this allows me, once again, to eavesdrop on a private conversation, on this occasion under the pretext
of changing a hoover bag outside in the poky hall. But I feel justified in my snooping if it gives me such insight into an otherwise closed shop. On hearing her words, I want to wrap my arms around
Jessica but then she and Rachel will know what I’ve been up to.

Dorota has left, taking Roland with her, still hand in hand, feeling she has put the world – my world – in order. But there is only one way I know how to put things
in order and that is with my hands, a cloth and some kind of cleaning implement, electrical or otherwise.

As I put in a new hoover bag, I wonder about three things:

If I had been a passenger in Steve’s van that Saturday morning he got a call-out to Dartford, would I have shared in his life-changing experience? Or would it have affected me differently?
And I know it is stupid to wonder that, because I wasn’t a passenger in Steve’s van that Saturday morning. I was here, at home, with Rachel, changing a hoover bag or the sheets on a
bed. I was carrying on my life as normal, as normal as it can be when you are recovering from the death of a child. If you ever recover. Steve says he is in recovery, like an alcoholic. It will
never be over but it will get better than it was. Life without a drink, without Thomas, will be more bearable. Because of what happened that day, and what has been happening to him every day since
then on his new walk with God.

Shall I go in the kitchen and ask Jessica if she wants to see her mother? Shall I talk to Bob or would he be offended? I don’t want to aggravate neighbourly relations. Maybe Tamarine.

Shall I get a Dyson and be done with bags?

The first of these three things I can’t do anything about. The second and third will have to wait.

Thoughts for the Day:
Where do hedgehogs catch fleas from? Why aren’t fleas put off by those spikes? I wish I had the tenacity of a flea.

Chapter Thirty:
Tuesday 11th March

So where is Martin? Bill (or his wife) has kicked him out and he has crawled back home. Not to Claudia. Not to me. But down to Worthing, to Dad. The term is over for him and he
is taking advantage of the break to crack on with his research. Only he does find time to come back to London for a night, squeezing in a visit to his son as an afterthought. The main reason he
comes is to attend tonight’s Alpha meeting.

‘I couldn’t believe it when I saw him there, Vick. I never thought the day would come when Martin willingly stepped foot inside a church.’ Steve is making Ovaltine while I sit
at the table darning socks, one of my gifts that few people in this country still have. But at the mention of Martin’s name I stab myself in the finger with the needle, cursing inwardly.

‘Don’t tell me it’s a miracle,’ I sigh, sucking on my finger.

Steve gives me a sympathetic look. ‘Poor Vick.’ He rummages in a drawer for a plaster and once found takes off the wrapper and wraps up my finger. He is gentle but my finger throbs,
its very own heartbeat. ‘I wouldn’t dream of using that kind of language with you, Vick. But God is working here somehow.’

‘What did he say?’

‘God?’

‘No, Martin, you muppet.’

‘Ah, well. Not a lot. He was making notes.’ Steve hands me a mug, sits down opposite me. It’s a quiet evening. No wind, no rain, the kids sleeping peacefully above. The monitor
blinking on the dresser.

‘Notes?’ I remember Martin that day in church, creeping in at the back, scrawling in his book. ‘And did he give any clues as to what he was doing there?’

‘He made the odd flippant comment to try and put a spanner in the works. There’s always one like that. And that’s good. That’s what Alpha’s about, daring to throw
up questions and admitting we don’t have all the answers. Only God has all the answers.’

And where’s Martin now? He has left his son, and whizzed back down the motorway to his father. Our father. Who lives in Worthing.

I’m simmering over this when the phone goes. I barely hear it, barely register that Steve has left the room. He re-enters a couple of minutes later and I switch back on.

‘Who was that? At this time?’ According to the clock it’s gone 10.30, the cut-off for being worried when the phone goes and my heart doesn’t even jump. I don’t know
what I should be more worried about, the call or my non-responsive body.

‘That was Desmond.’ Steve sits down quietly at the table and takes a deep breath, practising what he preaches, inhaling and exhaling, from his stomach not his chest, to maximise
energy, to keep calm and focused. His face looks slack, loose, like it’s struggling to keep its shape. Its Steve-shape.

‘What is it?’

‘Desmond’s had a call.’

‘Who from? Has there been an accident?’

‘No, no. No-one’s died. Nothing like that.’ He takes my hand; to reassure me or himself, I’m not entirely sure. ‘It’s Karolina.’

At the sound of her name, I get a flash of her languishing on the sofa, surrounded by all that gumph and wonder if I should have done more to help her. Maybe she’s got really ill and
turned to Desmond and Amanda. Maybe she’s in hospital. Maybe... what... ?

‘... Why would Karolina phone Desmond?’

Steve breathes in and blows out his breath so I feel its warmth in my face, smell the malt of his Ovaltine. ‘You’re not to worry when I tell you,’ he says, worrying me
straightaway. ‘It’s all a bit weird. I only saw her tonight.’

‘So she came? She’s not ill?

‘She looked a bit dishevelled. Loads of make-up, like a Goth sort of thing. A blonde Goth. She was very quiet, subdued and I’m not sure Martin helped. He was sat next to her and
snorted when she did speak up once about suffering.’

Martin.

‘What’s Martin done? Has she made a complaint about him?’

‘No. That’s the weird thing.’ He shakes his head. ‘She’s made a complaint about me.’

You.

‘You? What do you mean, “a complaint”? Was the church hall not warm enough or something?’

‘She told Desmond I... made inappropriate advances.’ He says this like it’s something he’s read in the paper. Something one of his parishioners has told him.

We sit there in silence for a moment. The train trundles up the track and I wish I was on it, going clubbing in town, going for a night walk along the Thames, watching the lights of London
reflected in those dark waters. I wish I wasn’t here. I wish this wasn’t happening.

Steve doesn’t ask if I believe what Desmond has said to be true. He and I, we go back too far, we know each other too well to question this. I know she is lying. Without any doubt
whatsoever. She. Is. A. Liar. And I know Desmond is phenomenally stupid to be phoning at this time of night and worrying us. For I am worried. Not about the integrity of my husband but for the
repercussions of what Karolina has said. The lies she is telling. The story she is weaving.

He stares ahead, trying to piece together the events of the evening, trying to get his brain working. ‘She left her purse in the church hall. We were all outside in the car park, saying
goodbyes, going home. She said she had to go back in to look for it, the purse. So I unlocked the door to let her in, switching on the light. I waited with Martin, chatting through some stuff. He
has some interesting theories. Then he said she’s been a long time. Nearly everyone had gone by now. It was getting cold. So I went in after her, to see if I could help. She was at the other
end of the hall, reading a leaflet. I asked her if she’d found it. She said: ‘Found what?’ I said: ‘Your purse.’ She said: ‘Yes, I have my purse,’ and she
patted her coat pocket. Then we left the hall. Martin was getting in his Saab and he offered her a lift. She accepted. I said goodnight to them, got in my car and drove home.’

‘So you were alone with her.’

‘Only briefly. Just a couple of minutes, not even that, and the hall door was open, there were people in the car park. Martin was still in the car park. I didn’t think for one minute
I was putting myself at risk.’

I feel sick. I have taken my eye off the ball. Shelley warned me about her. But that was Shelley. And then Amanda, here, in my kitchen, warning me of this. She had a feeling. I had a feeling and
I never spoke to Steve about it. I never said a word because I dismissed it. Stupid, stupid idiot. I dismissed it. I forgot about it. I thought Amanda was being overly dramatic. I thought Shelley
was being her usual gossipy, big-mouthed, fascist self. ‘I should have warned you. Amanda told me she had worries about... well, she was a bit vague about what exactly. Suspicions. And
Shelley. She said Karolina was a man-eater. I should have told you.’

Steve says nothing so I don’t know if he agrees or not. I don’t even know if he has heard me. He has on his thinking head. That distracted look that tells me he is deep in
contemplation, processing all sorts of stuff that would never even occur to me. Surely no-one will believe this? Surely she’s got a screw loose. And I remember the packet of pills and
wonder... I should have listened to people. Amanda. Shelley. Myself. I should’ve known she’d pull a stunt like this. But I thought she was actually possibly maybe becoming my
friend.

‘She planned it.’

Steve shakes his head again, like he’s trying to clear it of bad thoughts. ‘No, Vick. No. I don’t think so. She’s just messed up.’ He puts his head in his hands,
exhales, then looks up at me and takes my hand again. The hand that is always there, ready. It is cold. I expect him to thank me for believing absolutely in him. I do not expect this: ‘Poor
Karolina,’ he says, simply. ‘She needs help.’