Lucy English - Selfish People

Hugh came into the kitchen carrying a radiator. ‘That’s the one in the spare room done. This is from Oliver’s room. Got any enamel paint and I’ll fix the rust stains?’

‘In the cupboard,’ said Rachel. Hugh was smallish, like Rachel. He had gold-rimmed glasses which made him look like a bank manager.

‘This is Leah. She didn’t know Ian had died.’

‘Well … yes …’ He stopped for a moment by the cupboard. ‘I’d better find this paint, then. What’s for lunch?’

‘Ask Mum.’

Bee appeared. ‘Hugh’s made such a mess up there, I don’t know. Where’s your dustpan, darling?’

‘Under the sink.’ Rachel was looking more weary every minute.

‘Doesn’t seem to be there, darling.’

‘Can’t find this paint.’

Rachel sighed. She found the dustpan and the paint and followed her father upstairs.

‘It was very good of you to come,’ said Bee.

‘I hadn’t seen her for ages.’

‘He was a nice boy.’ And she raised her eyebrows meaningfully. ‘It’s very upsetting. We did have our hopes.’ She meant marriage. Rachel had often complained about this. Bee turned on the oven and fiddled with the timer. ‘Oh dear, I much prefer microwaves.’

Rachel and Leah sat together again in the kitchen. The rest of the house had become quiet.

‘You’re exhausted. When it’s all over perhaps you can have a holiday.’

‘I was on holiday. Then the hospital rang and I had to come back. I was fucking angry about it …’

Leah laughed. Rachel was always fucking angry about something. They used to see more of each other, but recently with her working and not getting on with Al …

Rachel gazed beyond the flowers. She had a habit of drifting into a private space and in these moments there was little point in talking to her. Leah waited. Rachel picked a petal off a white chrysanthemum.

‘How do you get on with his friends?’ asked Leah.

Rachel considered this. ‘At first I thought they were right wasters. It’s so competitive. They brag about who gets the most wrecked. But when he was ill … they came to see him. The more sick he became he didn’t want to see them. I suppose it reminded him of what he used to be. He wanted to see me. He thought I could save him. He thought if I loved him more I would save him …’ She stopped and Leah thought she was going to cry, but she didn’t, she slipped back to her private world as if she would find answers and comfort there. ‘He had no belief. He thought death was the end. He was so fucking scared … he didn’t want to talk about death. He wanted to get better. His friends are the same. They’re so thrown but they don’t want to talk about it.’ She smiled. ‘They wrote poems to read at his funeral.’

‘Poems?’ And Leah remembered. ‘Do you know Declan and Bailey? They live on the other side of the Wells Road.’

‘They’re Ian’s friends.’

‘I didn’t know you knew them.’ And they both laughed.

‘Declan’s a terrible drunk but I like him, but I don’t know Bailey all that well.’

‘Oh I do,’ said Leah, feeling all excited now.

‘Oh do you?’ said Rachel with all her old sarcasm.

‘I was round there the other week. I had such a weird time. Declan said his friend was dying and later Bailey told me about the poems.’

‘The funeral was yesterday.’ Rachel was not laughing now. Leah understood all she had said about competitive wrecking.

‘Bailey teaches basketball at the Project. That’s how I know him. What do you think of him?’

Rachel frowned. She was very critical of men. ‘He’s scattered. He’s all over the place.’

‘There’s a lot of him,’ said Leah, thinking.

Rachel was becoming more dreamy. It was time to go. They went to find the boys. As they opened the sitting-room door three guilty faces stared at them.

‘They’ve eaten the lot!’

‘Ben and Tom made me,’ wailed Oliver, and Leah quite believed that.

‘A whole box of chocolates! Boys, you’ll be sick.’

Rachel could do without this. Leah got their coats. On the doorstep she hugged Rachel, who seemed to be fading away. Upstairs Bee and Hugh were arguing.

At the top of the street she caught up with the boys. ‘You are very, very naughty, you ate all her chocolates.’ But going round my head is, Ian is dead, Declan and Bailey, and Rachel knows them . She wiped the boys’ faces with a spat-on handkerchief. They grimaced and wriggled.

‘Oliver didn’t have a torch,’ said Tom.

‘Does it matter?’ She wished they weren’t with her.

‘Is it lunch soon?’ said Ben.

‘How can you be hungry? How can you?’ They were on the Wells Road being knocked about by the wind.

‘Are we going home?’

‘No we’re not. We’re going to see Bailey.’

Bailey and Declan lived in Steep Street. It was aptly named. The end of it fell off the edge of Totterdown into a flight of steps. The wind blew up it like a gale.

‘Can we run?’

‘Yes, run. Go on, run.’ And she ran too. It seemed she would jump off the end of the street and fly right across Bristol, the wind underneath her. They skidded to a halt in front of the door. The boys knocked loudly, all giggly from running, and she was light-headed too. Bailey opened the door. The first thing she noticed were his odd clothes. A pink and black spotty shirt and baggy turquoise trousers. Then his face, pale and unshaven and evidently not pleased to see them. But Leah was too excited to stop now.

‘It’s remarkable. I know Ian. I know Rachel. I’ve just been round there. I didn’t know he had died. I didn’t know he was Declan’s friend. I had this dream I had to see her, so I did and we’ve just been running. Isn’t it windy, can we come in?’

‘Well, if yer must.’ He had a sarf London accent.

Bailey’s and Declan’s house was tiny. Even smaller than Leah’s. The front room was all blue. The walls, the sofa and the curtains. There were art books, large plants and an even larger television. A Cézanne print hung over the fireplace. It was pretty tasteful really. On a low table were three ashtrays stuffed full of fag-ends. The children immediately started fiddling with everything. Bailey spread himself on the sofa. He was six foot four. When he sat on a sofa he took up all of it.

‘How are you then?’

He didn’t answer. He lit a cigarette. Leah sat on the other sofa.

‘Are there any toys?’ asked Ben, half at Leah and half at Bailey.

‘Nope,’ said Bailey.

‘Why?’ said Tom, knocking something off the mantelpiece. Luckily it didn’t break.

Bailey blew out smoke noisily.

‘Can they watch the telly?’ said Leah, desperately.

He handed Ben the remote control, which was a bad move since they now started flicking through the channels and arguing. Leah felt her insides gurgle. Ian’s dead. Rachel’s in grey. The wind’s racing up Steep Street and Bailey’s big bare foot is dangling over the arm of the sofa .

‘Where’s Declan?’

‘Asleep.’ Another whoosh of smoke.

‘Boys. Declan’s still asleep. You must be quiet!’

‘Who’s Declan?’ said Ben.

‘He lives here. He’s Ian’s friend.’

‘Who’s Ian?’ said Tom.

‘He’s dead,’ said Ben. Fortunately they found some American football and started watching this. Leah watched too.

‘Is Declan all right?’

‘No.’ Bailey stubbed out his fag.

‘Poor Declan. Rachel looked terrible. I hadn’t seen her for months.’

Bailey yawned and stretched himself. Leah was embarrassed. He hadn’t even offered to make a cup of tea, which was odd, he drank gallons of the stuff. He lit up again. She half watched the telly and half watched Bailey.