Nicola Barker - Reversed Forecast

‘I dropped something.’

‘You know …’ He paused for a moment. ‘Today your voice sounds a whole lot better.’

She stopped rubbing her nose. She cleared her throat. It felt empty and unobstructed. She tried to clarify her thoughts, but couldn’t.

‘Look, don’t tell anyone.’

Connor sounded thrilled: ‘Don’t tell them what?’

‘About this. The smell. It’s nothing. OK?’

‘OK.’

‘OK?’

‘All right.’

‘They’re coming.’

She slammed down the phone and ran to the sofa, jumped on to it and pulled up her blanket.

‘Oh no.’

It smelled awful. She took a gulp of air and then thrust her head under.

Connor listened to the dialling tone for a while and then hung up. He returned to his bedroom, closed the door and sat down on his bed. He thought, She’s up to something, and, whatever it is, I’m sure Sam would appreciate knowing about it.

He lay down. She’s up to something, but what the hell could it be? That girl, he decided, is a nut.

Steven was staring around the living-room. ‘This place is disgusting.’

He had brought some wine. Ruby washed up a glass and a mug.

‘Where’s your friend?’

‘Which friend?’

Steven kicked Vincent’s rucksack. ‘That friend.’

‘Out.’

She didn’t fancy explaining.

‘The photos are on top of the speaker if you want to take a look.’

He picked up the envelope, opened it and sat down in the armchair. After inspecting three or four he said, ‘These aren’t too bad.’

She uncorked the wine, poured them both some, and then slouched across the sofa. She drained her mug in one gulp and gave herself some more. Steven opened his briefcase and slid the photos inside. ‘I’ll pay you later.’

‘Fine.’

Ruby rolled on to her back and shut her eyes.

‘Brera mentioned that you were considering staying in their flat while they do the gigs.’

‘Did she?’

‘You seem fed up.’

‘Do I?’

‘You are fed up.’

Steven cupped his wine glass between his large, pale hands. His hands dwarfed the glass. He looked like an enormous gnome handling a bubble.

‘Well, if you’re intending to do it, you should tell me. The first gig is on Saturday.’

He stared at her for a while. ‘You seem disorganized.’

‘I am.’

Ruby pulled herself up. ‘Lately I feel like the top of my head’s disappeared.’

His expression didn’t change.

‘I’m not being practical. It’s my own fault.’

He opened his briefcase and took out the photos again.

‘Do they really want me to stay in their flat?’

He looked up. ‘I think they do. They don’t seem very motivated, though. No one is, apart from me.’

‘That’s your job.’

‘Well, if you do stay in Hackney, I’d have one less thing to worry about. I told them you were reliable.’

‘What about the smell?’

‘You’d get used to it quickly enough.’

‘What about when I’m out at work?’

‘She doesn’t need nursing or guarding.’

‘Brera said …’

‘Brera’s very protective, but Sylvia’s independent.’

As he spoke, he remembered how she’d looked the other day when he’d picked her up and carried her to the door. How light she’d been.

‘Sylvia’s being weird.’

Sam whispered this to Brera. Brera was sitting at the kitchen table working out their finances. Sam was standing in the doorway holding a tray which held a cup of cold tea and an untouched meal.

‘She wouldn’t eat anything. When I asked why, she said she only wanted a glass of water.’

‘Has she used her inhaler tonight?’

‘I couldn’t smell any vapour. I think she’s up to something.’

‘She’s missing her birds.’

‘Yeah, but it’s more than that.’

‘You think she’s trying to stop us from going away?’

‘Not necessarily. Earlier she asked when it was that we were going, as though she was actually looking forward to it.’

‘Maybe she’s planning to starve herself.’

‘Possibly.’ Sam didn’t sound convinced.

‘Maybe it’s still to do with her trip out on Saturday. She’s been strange ever since.’

‘Couldn’t you have a word with her?’

‘She’d think I was prying.’

‘Take her some water. Try and be subtle.’

Brera picked up a glass from the draining-board and ran it under the tap.

Sylvia was sitting in the dark, her legs drawn up, covered by the blanket.

‘I brought you some water.’

Brera tried to discern the outline of her face in the darkness.

‘Thanks.’

‘Your voice sounds good.’

‘Fantastic.’

‘I’m being serious.’

‘So am I.’

‘Sam said you didn’t touch your dinner.’

‘Sam says put your hands in the air.’ She raised both hands and waved them above her head.

‘Don’t be silly.’

Brera offered her the glass. ‘I brought you some water.’

‘Thanks.’

Sylvia took the glass. Brera watched her. ‘Don’t you want it?’

‘Give me a minute!’

Brera sighed. ‘You want to go back in your bedroom?’

‘Obviously.’

‘You can soon, but not yet.’

Sylvia scowled.

‘Are you upset about Sam and me going away? Because you’re welcome to come too, if you feel fit enough.’

‘Yeah.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘I just want to be left alone.’

Brera sensed that she had already outstayed her welcome.

‘I’ll be in the kitchen, then.’

‘Good.’

She turned to leave and Sylvia said, ‘I’ll have a bath.’

Brera was surprised. ‘You had one on Monday.’

‘I’ll have another one.’

‘I’ll check the water’s hot.’

When she’d gone, Sylvia inspected the glass of water. She sniffed it and then screwed up her face into an expression of intense distaste. She was thirsty. She poked out her tongue and tentatively dipped it into the glass, then quickly withdrew it. ‘Soap.’

She pinched her nose between her finger and thumb, gulped down three or four mouthfuls then shook her head and blinked. ‘Chemicals.’

Every glass of tap water in London had been through at least twenty other people. For a while she tried to imagine the people that this particular glassful had been through, then turned her mind to more pressing issues.

Now what? Secrets. She had a small batch of them. First, the girl in the park. Second, tasting and smelling. Third, Sam’s friend. He said … What did he say? He said he wouldn’t say anything.

She chuckled. Having secrets made her feel proud and maternal. Her gut felt full of an unspecified mystery. Like she had a pearl inside her, forming, layer by layer. She stopped smiling.

Things must return to normal. They mustn’t know. They must go.

She listened as Brera cleaned the bath and set the taps running.

What time was it? Four a.m.?

Ruby shifted in her sleep and muttered, ‘I don’t want this to end.’

In her dream she couldn’t open her eyes. Everything was too bright, and when she tried to open her eyes — the effort involved was enormous — the light made her eyes ache, as though she were staring at the sun.

But it didn’t matter. She could see perfectly clearly elsewhere, inside her head, in another compartment.

In this compartment it was dark and warm and everything smelled of wet dog. Everything felt like wet dog.

Someone was breathing. She turned to see who it was, but it was too dark.

Where am I?

Maybe … She tried to make sense of things. Maybe I’m out swimming. The water is hot. I’m out swimming and now I’ve climbed from the water on to a rock, inside a cave. The cave is warm and damp. The rock is covered in a soft, woolly seaweed.