Nicola Barker - Wide Open

Lily shrugged, slightly defensive now. “I suppose so.”

He changed the subject. “You look washed out.”

Lily was instantly all twinkles. “I’m fine. Honest. That’s just my natural colouring.”

For some reason she’d warmed to Nathan. There was something gentle, something vague, something almost spiritual about him. His eyes had a light shining out of them. After inspecting him for a while she said, “You know, your face seems kind of familiar. Why should that be?”

“I have no idea.”

His jaw stiffened until her eyes returned to the box.

“You didn’t even feel tempted to take a little peek?”

“No.”

Nathan sat himself down on the sofa. Lily stood up and then balanced her weight precariously on its arm.

“Did you ever see a beast before?” she asked, casually.

“A beast?” He paused then tried, with some difficulty, not to topple back into the obscene cavity of his past.

“I can’t answer that,” he said softly.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know what your definition of a beast is exactly.” He inhaled deeply. “Maybe you should ring home and tell them that you might be late back.”

“Nah. They won’t even notice I’m gone.”

Lily touched the box with her foot. To reassure herself. It was as though everything she’d ever feared — the horrors, the terrors, the mysteries — were right there, contained, shut up, within reach. It was all supremely energizing. Nathan shifted, clearly uncomfortable. “You should ring them.”

He pointed to his phone. Lily clucked her tongue, but she walked over and dialled anyhow. She waited. She didn’t get connected.

Nathan stood up. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s a voice saying how I don’t have the correct code.”

Nathan joined her and took hold of the phone himself. “Let me try. Tell me the number.”

Lily recited the digits. “And the area?”

“Sheppey.”

He dialled immediately, seeming to know the code already without even looking it up. This impressed Lily. She thought he must be experienced, enlightened, thoroughly wise. He waited for the connection. Lily heard it ringing at the other end. She put out her hand for the receiver but he kept a tight hold of it until the phone was answered.

A woman’s voice. Soft, firm, slightly piqued, determined. Her voice. Finally. Nathan’s heart whooped inside his chest. But he said nothing, just passed the phone straight over.

Lily said, “Hi. It’s me. I’m going to be late back. Tell Mum, will you?”

Then she paused. She listened. She scowled.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Another pause.

“You’re weird. Go fuck yourself.”

She hung up.

“Is there a problem?”

“Nope. Do you have a car?”

“I don’t. But I can probably borrow one.”

“That’s good. That’s great.”

She wasn’t concentrating. She was staring at the box again, chewing her lips. Nathan’s lips were still stretched tight and smiling. There is a God, he was thinking. There is order, and reason, and meaning. There has to be. There has to be. There has to be…

The sharp letters cut into his tongue like little tin tacks.

S-A-L–V-A-T-I-O-N.

♦

Ronny was dawdling in the swell. Jim saw him from his post in the doorway of the prefab. He called, but Ronny didn’t look up, so he took some shaky steps down on to the sand, paused, took a few steps more. Eventually he reached him.

“Where did you get to? I was starting to worry.”

“Jim!” Ronny seemed so excitable, he kept blinking, his eyes were red. “Jim I need some money.”

His face was enlivened. Animated, but ashen.

“Money?” Jim was baffled. He thought for a moment. “You didn’t just see Connie by any chance?”

Her name tasted like salt granules when he uttered it.

Ronny stood still. He received her name like he’d receive an unwanted gift; giving it a perfunctory shake and then discarding it.

“I didn’t see anybody.” He kept on blinking.

“Are you upset about something?”

“No. No. No.” He paused, then added, “Not upset, no.”

“Your shoes are getting wet.”

“So they are.”

“You seem agitated.”

“Do I? How about you?”

“Me?” Jim sniffed. “I’m still a bit wobbly.”

Tucked into the waistband of Ronny’s trousers were a batch of papers. His hands kept returning to them, like two anxious birds, shoring up a nest.

“What are those?” Jim pointed.

“Letters.”

Ronny inspected Jim’s face, momentarily anxious. Jim’s expression didn’t alter.

“Letters? Are they yours?”

“I think so.”

“Who are they from?”

Ronny scratched his head.

“I can’t focus,” he said, “my eyes.”

“What’s wrong with your eyes?”

“The sun. I was looking into it, earlier.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I’m fine now. I’m great now. I’m very happy.”

“Good.”

Jim was not happy though. He said, “I see you’re using both hands.” He was worried, in part, and almost resentful.

“Ami?”

“Yes.”

Ronny looked down at his fingers, grinning. “Jim,” he said, “we should both eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.” Jim was petulant.

“Even so,” Ronny brushed this off, “let’s go indoors. Can I give you a hand?”

Before he could answer, Ronny had slung Jim’s left arm over his shoulder, then put his own right arm around Jim’s back, supporting him, firmly, under his armpit. Jim didn’t resist. In fact he buckled. He gave way. He caved in. He felt like Jesus, brought down from the cross. Strung out. Aching. Woozy and all fuzzed up. It was a beautiful feeling.

♦

Connie found herself thinking the most inappropriate thoughts, and she wanted to stop herself, but she seemed to have no control over what it was that entered her brain, what she could digest and what she could encompass. One second she was thinking Fuckl The next, Father ! Then, and stupidest of all, Cauliflower !

Her hands smelled of cauliflower. There was a basket of them on the kitchen table. Yellow ones. She’d touched them on first entering the house and now her hands stank of them. Her fingers were covering both her nose and her mouth. Only this simple, fleshy restraint stopped her from screaming.

It was just panic. Panic. Her letters were gone. And suddenly, in the midst of all her breathlessness and shuddering and fury, she found herself thinking about a conversation she’d had the previous night with Sara, over dinner, concerning, of all subjects, the common hare. The common hare? Yes. Hares don’t dig burrows, like rabbits do, Sara had said. No. They were altogether a different kind of creature.

Hares remained above ground, chiefly, and when they produced young, they dotted them, individually, over fairly wide sections of terrain, in little solo nests, so that if one baby hare was discovered by a predator and killed, the others would have a much greater chance of survival.

I should have learned from the hare, Connie kept thinking. I should have been cautious. I should have been canny. But I was spoiled and dumb. I left myself wide open.

And now it was too late to regret anything. The letters were gone. They were gone. They were gone. And nobody was home for Connie to take her rage out on. Not Lily, not Sara. So she walked around the house, befuddled. She kept returning to her room, unpacking her case on to the bed, then packing it up again and fastening the buckles, the clasps, like she was intending to leave, straight away, climb into her car and go.

On her third unpacking she noticed the cheque. And her purse, and her car keys. She was disgusted at herself. She’d been so fractured and irresponsible and vague . There really was no excusing it. She took a deep breath. Now what? And who? And why?