Under My Skin (39 page)

The water is growing cool and so I add some more hot water from the tap. And as it grows warm around me I can feel my body lift a little and float. I imagine the water is a mixture of pale pink and gold circles and that the warmer currents surround me and lift me up. I stretch out and put my head back and then right under the water again.

Every night I do this, even though it still frightens me, just to prove I can.

And I count to twenty and then I come back up.

And then I begin to shampoo my hair and I run more water and I sing a little to the radio and some old Christmas song.

And then down again. I need to go under three times before I feel that I’m brave enough.

And the third time I am under and counting and beginning to feel thankful for one or two things and so I don’t hear the bathroom door – opening and closing again.

And in that brief moment I see Matilda, miles of water away, with all her edges moving and flickering, and I have the saddest feeling I have ever had.

Fingers point into the water.

There is an emerald ring and a gold bracelet on one hand. A manicure that looks new. Her fingers are long and strong and the slim bones in her wrists twitch and move as her hands join together around my neck.

Legs, mine – swinging up and over the edge of the tub – and arms, mine again – thrashing – thrashing – thrashing and there are bottles flying around the bath and a sponge falls from somewhere, and then a face flannel, but my head, my mouth, my lips do not come back up again.

A second or two, that’s all it takes and – we – I – am over and there are no prayers and no hope left.

Yesterday Arthur brought me to the Chequessett Neck Cemetery and he told me that the men who were digging out a cottage there once found some old Indian bones. ‘An adult male,’ he said and when he spoke I noticed that the wind had chapped his lips, ‘with an arrowhead in his spine, buried with his knees drawn up to his chin. And with him the skeleton of a female child.’

We sat in the coffee shops of Wellfleet and talked about it and about life and death and how frightening real people can be. ‘What had happened to the Indian?… and the child?… who was his daughter… perhaps,’ Arthur wanted to know, and I said, ‘Everyone has a story, Arthur,’ and he smiled even though my voice was sad.

Under the water – my life – my story – and it has been at times noisy and difficult – is beginning to get quieter and fade. I am trying to imagine Arthur putting his outdoor jacket on, and then his gloves and his scarf. And how he will bang the front door behind him and then check his pockets again for his keys. The car lights at my window. And how he is almost here. He is almost here. Please.

Any minute now.

But it is deep.

Deep.

Deeper, dark and down.

Any minute now.

He will come over the sand dune, carrying a bottle of wine, or a cake, his cigarette making a red dot in the dark.

Arthur who makes everything better.

Arthur who makes me feel safe and calm.

Any minute now.

Any minute now.

He’s a little later than he said.

But any minute now.

Arthur is never late.

From this warm bed it is so quiet.

Now that the splashing has stopped it is so quiet and there is no hurt or pain. There is peace and through the water I can still see her face and she is smiling and it is a smile of real life and love. Tomorrow people will read about me. I will become a few inches tall in a newspaper space.

‘Girl drowns in bath tub’. And who will read about me? The people I know. The ones I hoped could save me.

Arthur, where are you?

And as the room begins to grow dark I call each face I know to me and try to remember their names to say goodbye.

There are small shooting stars. How beautiful, in this room that is growing dark. And now and then they bump together and explode and fall. Outside there must be lightning and thunder, one on top of the other with no gap at all.

Pappy. It’s me, Hope.

Mum. Here I am again. Look, I’m all grown-up.

Daniel. Please wait so I can catch up with you.

Juna. How I’ve missed you.

Larry. Where have you gone?

Larry. Why is everything so dark?

The face leans towards me. It is someone I know but I can’t remember how we met. He leans into my face and puts his mouth on mine and when he blows warm breath into me he looks deep into my eyes as if he is praying for me and for my life. His voice calls out to me.

It is my name but I am not able to wake up.

I want to but I would prefer to sleep instead.

And then I see Daniel and he is standing near the water and smiling and – I miss him so much – and he says, like nothing is a problem, ‘Come on, Star.’ We are both ten years old again, and without any worries or pain. The man leans into my face and blows his own breath into my lungs again. And now he is crying and crying and trying to breathe slowly in case some oxygen escapes. The strange thing is that I am alive because I can see him and at exactly the same time I am somewhere else. We are all in slow motion and trying to decide if this is the beginning or the end of life.

And I am slipping again – I want to see Daniel and just touch the warmth of his face.

And up over us in the bathroom with the steam and the lime-green peeling paint, is a bright orange puff.

‘Danny,’ I whisper and then I open my eyes and he says, ‘Hope,’ and he is crying again.

‘Hope,’ he says and I answer, ‘Jack?’ and we are back together in the same old life.

Matilda has left the room. She has crawled out on her hands and knees. I see that one of her shoes is here and the mug of tea has fallen and broken into pieces and there is water splashed all over the floor. In this moment we are like a ship that is trying to decide if it will float or sink. Jack reaches for a cushion to put under my head and the one he pulls from the chair is fat and full of goose and duckdown.

‘Don’t leave me,’ I whisper and he says, ‘I won’t.’

The noise that comes from the landing is terrifying.

One sudden explosion and there is smoke and bright blue
and silver sparks through the glass in the door. In the same moment the mirror over us shatters and it falls into big jagged pieces near my feet. And I am pulling my feet back towards me and Matilda is gone. We can hear the sound of her crying as she runs down the white wooden stairs.

Arthur blames himself. Not so much for Matilda but because he was fifteen minutes late. He works in silence making bandages and gently bathing my feet. And then he lifts me up in his arms and carries me down the stairs. There is a bullet mark on the wall of the bathroom and we do not know where Matilda has gone. She has taken her car and by now she will have made it to the freeway and she is probably on her way to New York or into another state. Jack picks up the phone to call the police and then Arthur stops him. Instead we all sit on the couch drinking mugs of tea and he tells us everything he knows.

Jack listens in silence and at the end of it all he shakes his head and says, ‘Arthur, you sure know how to pick them,’ and then he looks at me and says, ‘So do you.’

Then I look at both of them and say, ‘How come the men I meet… are always late?’

And who knows the meaning of anything now? We will wait until tomorrow to call the police. Right now if they asked us any questions we would not know where to start.

On 22 December, Matilda walked towards the reception desk at the Waldorf Astoria. A man in a black twill jacket smiled faintly at her and waited as she moved across the white marble floor. Around her, husbands were meeting wives for coffee and drinks in the foyer and then planning out the rest of their day. Boyfriends met girlfriends and there were small blue Tiffany bags. Lovers greeted one another with a smile and a nod, and a last attempt at love before the goodwill holiday feelings sank in.

The Christmas tree stood in the lobby. It was twenty feet high and silent and beautiful in white and gold.

‘Welcome to the Waldorf Astoria,’ the concierge said and she noticed how the spotlight over his desk made a golden circle on his head. There was a thin gold stripe on the cuff of his jacket and she remembered how he had managed to retrieve a pearl earring from the U-bend in her bathroom sink three years ago. She had forgotten to put the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on her door and he had disturbed her from her pills and her sleep. He had come to the door and saved her life without knowing it. But he did not remember her now – with her blonde hair, she was like any other New York woman today. And he, like everyone else, was beginning to tingle with thoughts of men in red suits and jingle bells and holidays. He smiled as she handed her credit card to him and he nodded and said, ‘Thank you, ma’am.’