Nicola Barker - Love Your Enemies

Seven days went by, uneventful days. Then a woman phoned the shop while Melissa was out getting lunch and asked for her in an uncertain voice. The shop was empty. Steve said, ‘I’m afraid that she’s not here at the moment. Can I take a message?’ ‘I’m John’s mother. John is dead. I want to find out how it happened. I read her note on the wall.’

Her voice shook. Steve closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them again. He said, ‘I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say. I’ll tell her to call you back.’

She provided her number — it was John’s old number — and said goodbye.

Steve waited for Melissa to return and felt sick at the idea of telling her. He served several people before she got back. She said, ‘Sorry I’ve been so long, but I got distracted on Berwick Street. I found this lacy stuff in red and green which is really gorgeous.’

Steve smiled his response and then said, ‘Melissa I’ve got a bit of news for you which I think you might find upsetting.’

She put down her bag at the back of the shop where they kept their private belongings, then returned to him. He said, ‘John’s mother rang and she said that he’s dead.’

Melissa shrugged. ‘I knew this would happen, I knew it. I really did.’

Steve felt angry. ‘Of course you didn’t fucking know. If you knew you could have done something.’

She was flushed and her eyes seemed very round. ‘Don’t you start trying to blame me for anything now Steve, that would be bloody typical. Don’t make it look like I could have stopped this. I didn’t do anything, so don’t try and make me feel bad.’

Steve grabbed her hand, which felt dry, ‘I’m not blaming you. Do you think I’m really as horrible as that? I’m just telling you what’s happened, that’s all.’

She took her hand away and closed her eyes. He said, ‘Sit down for a minute.’

She shook her head. ‘No, I’m fine, just surprised, well no, not really surprised, just … I don’t know.’

Steve provided the word. ‘Upset.’

She said, ‘What did he die of?’

He shrugged. ‘She left her phone number. I think she’s hoping that you may be able to shed some light on the whole thing. I think she’s a bit confused.’

Melissa suddenly looked unwell. ‘I can’t phone her.’

He laughed, amazed, ‘Of course you must. He was your friend and now he’s dead.’

She turned on him. ‘Shut the fuck up, won’t you? You’re loving this. It’s not as though you understand what’s going on. You never even knew him. It’s hardly your problem, is it?’

He smiled grimly at her. ‘It’s not my problem, no. It’s his problem. He’s dead. Maybe it’s too much to expect you to phone his mother.’ He felt ridiculous, felt as though he sounded like a stiff-shirted actor in a stage melodrama. She sat down on the chair by the till and covered her face with her hands.

Eventually an arrangement was made. Steve telephoned and they agreed to all meet up at John’s house after work. Melissa said that she needed his moral support. He was her friend.

On the walk from the tube to John’s house Melissa professed to be feeling rather sick. On a couple of occasions she retched dryly, bent double, clutching her stomach, but no liquid came from her throat, only painful, deceptive air. Steve tried to calm her down. He thought that this malady was induced by her nerves and he was right, but that didn’t really help matters; it didn’t make the pain in her belly and her throat go away.

John’s mother answered the doorbell in a matter of seconds. She didn’t look as old as they had expected, her hair was not completely grey, although she must have been in her early sixties. She was smartly dressed in a dusky-coloured woollen suit. She smiled thinly at them in greeting and beckoned them in.

Once inside, Steve looked around with great interest. He had imagined the house from Melissa’s occasional descriptions and it was very much as he’d expected. John’s mother was saying, ‘When I got here the door was locked and no one answered my knocking, but I could hear the radio, and the curtains were open but the nets were still in place. I could just make out the shape of John on the floor inside. I got one of his next-door neighbours to climb in through the front window, which was open, and to unlock the front door to let me in. He took a while to get to the door — too busy checking the body, I suppose — and when he opened the door he said, “I think he’s dead.” He was dead. Afterwards I spoke to his GP and to another doctor that he had apparently been recommended to. He was ill, but in the end he died from something like exposure, a mixture of the cold and hunger and dehydration.’

She had explained all this as they walked to the kitchen where she switched on the kettle and rinsed out a teapot in the sink. Melissa asked, ‘You mean that he had some sort of disease initially?’

She nodded, ‘Something to do with …’ — she frowned, confused — ‘… immune deficiency, I think. He was very ill, but it needn’t have ended like it did. I thought that he may have told you.’

Melissa shook her head. ‘I didn’t know him well. I only came to see him here a few times, but on no occasion did he suggest that he might be unwell.’ She paused for a moment. ‘I was worried about him though. He lost a lot of weight over a fairly short period and he seemed to lose all interest in his appearance. He made out as though everything that was happening in his life was connected with his work.’

His mother shook her head. ‘He resigned from work in the sales department about five or six weeks ago. He’s been here alone since then.’

Melissa began to say something but Steve gave her a warning glance that quickly silenced her. He said, ‘We both work in a shop that John came into, that’s how we became acquainted.’

She didn’t respond so he added, ‘He bought some silver material from Melissa to use to line his …’ He paused. ‘… To line the coffin he was making.’

John’s mother nodded silently and carried on with what she was doing. She finished stirring the tea in the pot and got out some cups and saucers. Even though Melissa had spent a fair amount of time in John’s kitchen on her last visit, cleaning up and filling the dishwasher, she had failed to detect what a large and beautiful collection of crockery John had accumulated. It surprised her. She was also confused about the various things that had been said about him, but she didn’t want to say anything out of turn.

John’s mother asked them how they took their tea, followed their specifications and handed them their cups. She said, ‘I was hoping that you both might be able to explain that thing in the front room to me. I mentioned it to his old boss at the advertising agency but he didn’t know anything about it.’

They entered the living room one after the other. Melissa still half expected it to be full of chips of wood and dust, she still half expected to see John curled up on the sofa, asleep. But he was dead and gone. His mother said, ‘There was a post-mortem but apparently the body is still in a reasonable condition. Sometimes they have to cut away half the face, but they didn’t have to do that with John.’ She paused, for a second and then added, ‘Thank God.’

They had all unintentionally stood in a formal sort of semi-circle around the coffin, each holding their tea in front of them as if they were at the opening of an exhibition at an art gallery, perusing the works on show.

The coffin had been put back together and was on the woodwork table. It seemed enormous and fantastical in this small front room, like a space ship, something intergalactic. Steve smiled at it in wonder and couldn’t resist saying, ‘This is such a beautiful thing, absolutely incredible.’