Nicola Barker - Wide Open

Nathan took another sip of his drink, then tucked his hand into his trouser pocket and cleaned his thumbnail on the sharp edge of a business card. Connie . He was on the sweetest voyage. What he did not know, what he could not consider , was where he was heading. What he did know, though, what he was certain of, was that she, Connie, would be his very next port of call.

♦

“Lily, let’s go.”

Lily didn’t want to. She was happy where she was. She glanced up at Connie. “Couldn’t you find your own way back? It’s quite simple.”

Connie readjusted the towel around her waist. “No.”

“Oh.”

Ronny lifted the peak of his hat and peered over his shoulder at her. “Hello.”

“Hi.” She paused for a moment. “You have no hair either?”

Ronny took off his hat. His skull was pale and strangely shaped, like a prune stone. “Nope. No hair.”

She took a step closer. “And what is it exactly that you’re doing here?”

“A tableau,” Lily interjected.

Ronny nodded.

“He does everything with his left hand,” Lily said fondly, smiling at him. “It’s his…preoccupation.”

“Project,” Ronny said, and put his hat back on again.

“Ronny and I are in the middle of a great discussion,” Lily said, “aren’t we?”

Ronny just mumbled under his breath, somewhat evasively.

Connie stared at Ronny blankly for a moment, as though something terribly obvious had just occurred but she’d missed it.

Ronny.

The sun was sinking and her shirt was cold against her skin.

“Really? So what was it about, this discussion?”

“Ronny was telling me how certain kinds of letters make you feel cheerful.”

“Letters?”

Connie shoved her hair behind her ear, away from her face.

“In graphics…” Lily turned back to Ronny. “How soon do you think before the sea comes right in?”

“I don’t know.”

“Won’t it wash away your tableau?”

“Probably.”

Ronny sounded unbothered. He stretched his spine as though it had grown uncomfortably stiff, then dusted some sand off his left hand by patting it on the front of his shirt. His right hand remained limp in his lap. Then very slowly, very gradually, he unwound, but without using his hands to push himself up, and keeping his feet close together so as not to disturb the circle of shells around him.

Once Ronny was standing he took in the circular sweep of his day’s work. He smiled, then he frowned. “Actually…” he scratched his leg, “I think I’m stuck.”

Lily stood up herself and was immediately involved in Ronny’s dilemma. “Can’t you jump over?”

He shook his head. “Not from this position. No leverage.”

He looked around him, almost panicky. “Where’s Jim?”

Lily glanced up to the top of the nearby sand dunes as though she still expected Jim to be standing there. “Jim? You mean the bald one?”

“The other bald one,” Connie murmured, studying Ronny’s body language with some curiosity.

“Yes,” Ronny nodded. “I think I need Jim. I think I need him.”

Lily put out her hand. From the edge of the shell arrangement she could almost touch him. “Why not grab hold of my fingers?”

“I can’t balance.”

Ronny began to wobble.

“Jim’s in his prefab,” Connie spoke, “shall I go and call him?”

“Would you?”

Ronny peered at Connie over his shoulder, his expression chiselled with a sharp anxiety.

“No. Let me. I’ll go.”

Lily would not be outdone. She would be indispensable. “I said I’ll go, Ronny.”

She rushed off, shoving past Connie in a slight demonstration of ill-grace. Connie stepped aside silently. She did not relish the notion of Lily stumbling across what she presumed to be Sara’s secret dalliance with Jim’s fat, tanned neighbour. But if Sara had any sense…

So they were left alone. Ronny was still wobbling slightly.

“Had you been sitting there long?” Connie walked around the shell circle so that he didn’t have to turn his head to see her.

“Yes.”

“Maybe it’s cramp.”

“No. I’ve always had problems with my balance.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “Big toes.”

Connie stared at him. “Pardon?”

“I have none.”

“No big toes?”

“It’s the way I was born. I was imperfect.”

Imperfect. Connie disliked this choice of word, but her mind was temporarily distracted. “You know,” she cleared her throat, “there’s a special kind of ape…”

“Yes,” Ronny frowned but he nodded, “yes, I do know.”

He seemed unfazed, but slightly disgruntled.

“I mean, with no toes…” Connie continued, “a pale giant.”

“Of course. I know all about that.”

Ronny glanced over his shoulder as though keen to curtail their conversation. In the distance, Jim had emerged from his prefab and was jogging across the beach, followed closely by Lily. Ronny returned his gaze to Connie. She was staring at him, thinking how thin he was. The sun was setting and it had bathed him in a strange, pinkish light which reflected from his pale face and hands. His wrists were facing outwards, limply, and were oddly pearly; striped, like the belly of a tiger fish. The sun was refracting off his scar tissue. Connie stared at his wrists, and then at his fingertips which also seemed to glow.

“Did you see any black rabbits yet?”

She was shaken. “Pardon?”

She had almost to pinch herself.

“Black rabbits. They’re a local peculiarity. Jim told me.”

“Uh…no,” Connie was confused, “I’ve only just arrived here.”

“I see,” Ronny nodded but he seemed suspicious, “me too.”

Jim finally reached them. He was short of breath. “Ronny?” he panted.

He held out his hand, then stared at his outstretched arm with a look of genuine amazement. “Jim!” Ronny exclaimed and began grinning. Without thinking he walked over the tableau, right through the middle of it, kicking the shells aside. Not noticing Connie any more, not noticing Lily. Like Jim was everything.

He took hold of Jim’s arm. “I didn’t know where you’d got to.”

“I was in the prefab. We should eat something.”

“You’re right.”

They walked off together. Totally engrossed in each other. Like two stringy, rheumy old men.

Connie rubbed her arms. Lily stared after the two of them, irritated. “He’s such a prick.”

“Who? Ronny?”

“No. Jim. He’s such a prick.”

“We should go home. It’s getting dark.”

“Yes.”

Lily set off along the beach at a great pace, taking extraordinarily lengthy strides with her skinny legs. Connie struggled to remain several paces behind her, but she was not in pursuit, she told herself, merely taking Lily’s lead, quite submissively. And anyway, her mind was elsewhere. It was fuddled and rosy and darkening over. Like the giant sky above her. No sun left, no moon up, no stars yet. Just shadow. A great, wide, hugely improbable inky blink.

Lily got up from the kitchen table half way through dinner, without uttering a word, and left them. Initially Connie thought she’d gone off to fetch something and anticipated her imminent return. But she didn’t come back. They were eating a giant spinach omelette with boiled potatoes. Sara had been in the midst of preparing their meal — swathed in steam, beating eggs in a giant bowl — when they’d finally staggered home.

She’d turned the immersion heater on specially so that Connie could have a quick bath and change her clothes before dinner. She was being an exemplary hostess and gave every indication of feeling perfectly at her ease. During the meal they discussed a variety of subjects — Connie’s work, Sara’s chickens, local industry, sightings of hawks in the area — Lily, however, spoke very little.