True Things About Me A Novel (Deborah Kay Davies) (3 page)

The fennel smelled like aniseed. It reminded me of some ointment Gran used to put on my cuts and bruises. I sat alone in the shade, the fern swaying beside me, and watched a cloud of tiny black butterflies discover the scarlet runner-bean flowers. Someone was using an old-fashioned lawnmower, the sound like some giant clock’s mechanism ratcheting the hundreds of seconds away. Warm, dry moss covered the arms of the bench like upholstery. I sank into a garden trance, and watched the bed of dahlias glow, their spiny heads radiating red sunlight. Behind them, I could see the lilac flounces of some other plant billow up. A spider trickled over the back of my hand.

I heard my mother tinkling cutlery in the house. The roast lamb smelled delicious. I stood up just as she called out,
asking me to pick a bunch of mint. As I chose the bright, hairy stalks I found I was crying happily into them. The perfume of the mint wafted around me and purified everything. I strolled around the garden, touching things: the sweet pea canes, the rough, juicy rhubarb leaves, the warm wood of my dad’s shed. I found I could move from one thing to another without the slightest effort, almost by just thinking about where I felt like going. I never wanted to leave.

After lunch I stayed on. We sat in the afternoon garden and let it soak into us. We were all quiet. Once I heard the ice cream van’s ribbon of music trailing through the streets, but it seemed very far away. My dad asked me if I would like to stay the night. I thought about my little bedroom, kept just as I’d left it, and said yes. What about your date? my mum asked. I told her I’d put him off. He won’t mind, I said. You want to hold onto him, she said. He sounds very understanding.

My father brought me some cushions, and lying on the bench in the semi-shade I fell asleep watching fat blobs of sunlight slipping back and forth over my body. I didn’t dream at all. When I woke up we had gin and tonics. My favourite sound, my mother said, and jostled her ice cubes. Every now and then my father would get up and pull some microscopic weed. There was a faint smell of spring onions rising from a neat little bed he’d planted next to his roses. You’ve got to root the little blighters out, he said.

I misuse bread

WHEN I GOT
home I began to feel like a visitor, or a prospective buyer. I wandered through the rooms of my house but I couldn’t see its potential. Time started to do that thing. It’s like you’re from some other dimension where each minute is an hour and a half, say, but an hour is actually a day long. You’re trying to function in your new body, with your new watch on your strange, pink arm, but you just don’t fool anyone. The safest approach when this happens is to sit in one place and wait for something to occur.

Eventually I heard the phone ringing. Alison wanted to come and see me. We sat in the kitchen. She looked in the fridge and made a tutting sound. Well, at least you’ve got some milk, she said. She told me she couldn’t be long. That she just wanted to touch base, see me, sort of thing. You can touch my base any time, love, I said, and we both cackled. I told her I would be back to work on Monday, which I was quite surprised about myself. I didn’t know I was going to do that.

Alison told me her kids were at their karate class, and she had to pick them up soon. Aren’t they a bit young for martial arts? I asked. I knew they were only four and six. Also there was a baby of about a year old. She struck what looked like a karate pose and said, Ah! Never too young, my doubting and defenceless friend. Surely not the baby, though, I asked. ’Course not, she said. Check me out. She held up her thumbs and wiggled them around. I could disable an attacker using just these, she said seriously. Really? I said. No, she answered, but that sort of skill would be invaluable in the rush for the only empty checkout.

She wanted to know if I could babysit the two older ones on Saturday morning for a few hours. She had to take her mum to an appointment at the eye clinic and couldn’t cope with all the kids as well. On a Saturday? I asked. Private, she said. Cataracts. You know my mum. Money no object. Except when I try and touch her for a tenner. Are you sure you want me to? I said. I mean, I like your kids, but do you think I should look after them? She told me not to be wet, that they were becoming more like human beings all the time. I would be fine.

The complication is I have to go to the dentist for a filling, I said. Won’t that scare them? She said they loved the dentist. They wouldn’t mind at all. Especially if they could watch; they liked watching people having dental treatment. I wasn’t sure that was healthy. If that’s true, I said, then they are small but perfectly formed fiends. Yep, she said, you are
not far wrong, oh wise one. Anyway, she didn’t have anyone else to ask. Tom was refereeing a match or something. Pray for me, she said. I’ve got to take the baby with us. And you and I still haven’t had our significant chat about you know what. I told her that, actually, we didn’t need to. It wasn’t an issue. I’ll be the judge of that, kiddo, she said.

On Saturday I picked the children up. They sat in the back of the car with their little rucksacks full of kids’ stuff, exuding vital energy, like meerkats. Their shining hair seemed to swing of its own volition. I couldn’t detect any blinking of their eyes. Before we drove off I asked them if they remembered me. Nope, they said firmly. That’s probably a good thing, I said. Last time I checked you were Harriet and Patrick. I’m the oldest, Patrick said, leaning towards me. She’s only four. Well, you two, I said, I am old beyond your wildest dreams of oldness, and my name is Mrs Blobbypants. Harriet took her thumb out of her mouth for a moment. Mrs Bloppypants the Third, she said. I told her she was a bright kid. I’m even brighter, said Patrick. That’s because I’m older than her.

There seemed to be a lot of movement in the car. I asked them to keep still. We wasn’t moving, actually, Patrick said, was we, Harriet? Well, anyway, I said, and asked them what they wanted to do. Watch TV, they said in unison. Isn’t that the standard kids’ answer? I asked them. They didn’t say anything. TV it is then, I said brightly. We like TV best of all, they said, nodding at each other and me intently. Even
more than karate? I asked. Karate’s cool, said Patrick, but TV’s cooler, isn’t it, Harriet? Harriet smiled round her thumb, and nodded gently as if she were conserving energy for later. I told them I had some things to do first. Like the dentist. Cool, Patrick said. The dentist is excellent, we love the dentist. Can we watch?

When we got there I bought them comics and sweets in the newsagent’s next door. My stomach was behaving the way it always did whenever I entered the waiting room. When I was little my father had to have time off work to take me; my mother had given up on the whole thing. I remember holding onto the treatment room door handle and screaming with complete abandon. It seemed to me that all the grown-ups had changed and become cruel people. My mother and father, the smiling receptionist, the kind-looking dentist – they had all betrayed me. They were prepared to offer me up to anything that might happen. There was this feeling of utter aloneness.

I explained to the nurse that the children wanted to come in to watch. She looked down at them unsmilingly. Do you now? she asked them. I don’t s’pose that will be a problem. She directed them to a single chair, and told them they’d have to be quiet. They sat facing the huge black affair I had to sit in. I remembered what Alison had said when she dropped the kids off about creating only positive dental vibes. The dentist came towards me with the needle held behind his back. I can see it, shouted Harriet. My heart plunged like a
body dropping off the top of a high-rise block of flats. The children leaned forward as I was injected in the softest, most private parts of my mouth. Then the dentist turned to chat to them. I limply allowed the chair to support all my weight.

When the drill started shrilling Harriet got down from the chair and came a little nearer. I gave them both a thumbs-up sign. My hand was shaking. Afterwards, in the car, they sucked with intense concentration on the sweets I’d bought them, fingering the stickers they’d picked up at the dentist. You should give those to me, I told them over my shoulder. I was the flipping brave one. I wasn’t joking either. We drove to town. They asked when they could watch TV. Very soon, believe me, I said. They started to fiddle with each other. She’s just pinched me; he’s pulled my hair. That sort of thing. My jaw was fizzing and beginning to ache. I felt as if my knee joints were turning molten. We went into a bread shop.

I counted four people in front of me. Each one had an enormous bread order. I wondered what that was about; so much stupid bread. I felt light-headed, as if the top section of my skull was exposed to the air. I picked up a long baguette from a deep wicker basket. It was strangely quiet in the shop, except for the sounds of the children slapping each other and scuffling. They both bumped into me sharply several times. It was weird, but it felt as if they were somehow disturbing my newly-filled tooth, jabbing it even. Suddenly I swung round and whacked both of them on the tops of their heads with the baguette. Everyone in the shop turned to look at
me. I stood holding the broken stick of bread. The woman behind the counter nodded at it. I hope you intend to pay for that, she said. I had to wait my turn. No one else spoke. When we got outside Patrick put his arm round Harriet and said, loudly and calmly, We hate you. When we get home I’m going to tell my mum you hit us with bread.

I always deliver

I’D PUT HIS
address in a kitchen drawer. It was the one I kept my sharp knives in. I had opened it a few times, to get knives out. There it was, every time. So I sat in the kitchen and allowed the steam from my coffee to lap my face. My tooth was quietly humming. I took some painkillers, but I didn’t mind the pain. When I thought about the dentist I felt a little spasm of pleasure that I’d managed to get through it. As soon as I thought about the filling I remembered the children and the bakery. I wondered why Alison hadn’t rung me.

It had rained with surprising intensity since early morning. The kitchen window was open and, rhythmically, the garden’s rainy breath gushed into the room. The blind worried itself in the breeze, but I couldn’t be bothered to sort it out. I heard a police car’s wailing scream. Then more. All rushing towards the motorway. I imagined the accident they were attending. I played it out in my head. I saw the car, crushed
like a cartoon car in a cartoon wreck. There were little petals of fire escaping from the distorted bonnet. I watched pools of blood creeping out from under the driver’s door.

I remembered the time I had driven past an accident and seen the dead driver. His arm, in a short-sleeved shirt, was flung out from under a makeshift covering. I had burst into passionate tears as I drove slowly past, thinking how he must have been on his way to work on an ordinary day. How his wife and children didn’t even know yet that he was dead. How I, a stranger, did know. It hadn’t felt at all right to have this knowledge before them. I’d cried all day at work, and gone home early, then lain on my bed in the darkened bedroom and thought about the dead man. He’d been wearing a business-like watch on his flung-out, muscular arm. His fingers had been furled in towards his palm, gently, as if he were holding something fragile, something he didn’t want to crush. I kept thinking about how his fingers had curled inwards for the last time. And that whatever he’d wanted to protect didn’t matter any more. It was probably nothing, just fresh, free air. No use to him now.

My coffee was cool, so I must have been sitting there for a while; these days I could almost measure time in cooling cups of coffee. It was a new skill, but quite handy. I threw the coffee away and made another. I opened the knife drawer and took out the little folded slip of paper. I smoothed it flat on the table and let it lie by the side of my fresh cup. He lived in an unfamiliar area of town. Vaguely I knew where it
was. I didn’t want my coffee any more so I left it on the table and put the piece of paper in my bag.

I showered and dressed. I went out and bought flowers and candles, red wine and cheese. The flowers were squeaky-stemmed tulips, flame coloured, with frilly green edges. When I got home I cleaned the house and arranged the tulips in a pale pink vase. I put the cheese on a plate and opened the wine. I laid out the flowers and everything else on the coffee table. I changed into my nightdress. It was getting dark, still raining. I lit candles in the lounge.

I put the film in the DVD player and watched it again. This time I loathed the beautiful woman. She was so false. I don’t know how I could have been taken in for so long the first time. The writer guy was lovely, though. God, did she make him suffer. It took him so long to comprehend how bad she really was. All through the film his eyebrows hardly moved, but I could tell when he was upset. As I watched I drank the wine and ate the cheese. It felt like a ritual. As he was taken off to prison, unjustly accused of her murder, I raised my glass to him. Good luck, my darling, I said. I must have fallen asleep on the settee for a while, because when I awoke the candles had burned down in the cold room. There was a smell of smoke coming from the wicks. It was one o’clock in the morning. I threw some clothes on, took my bag and drove to his address.

I found the house easily. It was almost spooky. I seemed to know exactly where it was. I parked the car opposite and
turned off the engine. I was still drunk, but I felt in control. Some windows in the street were alight. There was a downstairs light on in his house. I sat and looked at the yellow rectangle it cast. Then I got out of the car and walked across the road, through a broken gate and up the path. The garden was overgrown. The front door had scratches on it. A small fanlight window above it was smashed. I knocked on the door. A dog barked inside and someone shouted. I felt calm.

There was a long wait, but I didn’t knock again. A pale woman with a sunken chest appeared. I asked for him by name. She said she’d never heard of him. I got my notebook from my bag and ripped out a page. She stood holding a cigarette. She didn’t seem in the least bit interested in me. Could you give him this? I said. It’s important. I handed her the note I’d written. The dog padded towards me and licked my leg. She took the piece of paper without looking at it, and said she couldn’t promise anything. As I walked back to my car she leaned against the doorpost and watched. I heard her coughing. As I drove off she was still leaning there with the dog beside her. I started to tremble. I stopped the car when I got out of sight, and opened the door just in time to be sick onto the road. Then I drove home.