Caryl Phillips - The Lost Child

“London’s a big place, isn’t it? I’ve been, but just the once to visit the Imperial War Museum. I used to be into history, particularly anything about the last war, but I’ve not got much time these days. But it was a great day out, riding on those red buses, and I even got on the tube a couple of times.” He paused and lowered his voice. “Listen, I know it’s none of my business, but I was just curious if there’s a dad in the frame. For the boys.”

Now it was her turn to laugh. “Well, if there is, I think you’d best be making your exit before he gets back.” She paused and watched his alarmed face. “I’m only joking. Would you laugh if I told you that I’ve hardly ever been out with anybody? I once wore this dress on a date with a chap at university. He took me to see a film called Giant , a western, and all I remember thinking was, Is this picture ever going to end because I’m ravenous? And when it did end, he never asked me out again.”

“Is that so?”

Now that she was able to get a good look at Derek she could see that he really wasn’t anything exceptional. Average height, sandy-coloured hair that was prematurely thinning, and a nice face, if a bit podgy; however, his charm was his best feature.

“Well, I’d have asked you out again, that’s for sure. I think I told you, I’m a bit of a nature buff. I’m fond of rambling.”

Monica smiled to herself. She had nothing against nature, but it wasn’t really her thing. In fact, she didn’t even like plants in the flat, for they grew so slowly you could never tell what they were up to.

“I’d like to kiss you, but I’m not one to force myself upon people. But would I be right in thinking that there’d be nothing wrong with a kiss?”

Monica reached over and took a tiny sip from her hitherto untouched glass of brandy, and then she put it down and braced herself, for she knew that she wasn’t going to be able to stop it from happening. She wished that this man could have found the courage to kiss her on the dance floor in the darkness while he’d had his hands on her waist, and while nobody could have possibly seen them, but he had been too busy playing the gentleman. Now he was getting her involved in the process, which she instinctively knew was the wrong way to go about these things. He reached over and placed a slightly clammy hand to the side of her face.

“I’ll stop whenever you say.”

“No, Derek, they’ll be back.”

His collar and tie were now unfastened, and as he listed towards her, she could smell the alcohol on his breath.

“I’m pretty sure they’ll not be coming back, Monica. Not if I know Victor.”

She suddenly remembered how messy and noisy kissing could be. It was nothing like in the films, and as she felt her mouth drawing tight in anticipation, she closed her eyes and promised herself that she wouldn’t resist.

Monica lay back on the bed and looked up as the man reached clumsily for a cigarette and lit one. She watched the tiny orange circle glow into life as he took a deep pull. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said. She touched his cheek with a finger as though making sure that he was for real; then she noticed his surprisingly weak chin. She tried not to think of the chaotic trail of clothes that she imagined lay on the floor between the kitchen and her cupboardlike bedroom, but she realized that at this very moment she should be factoring in the consequences of one of the children’s waking up and walking in on her.

Derek was concentrating hard, and then he blew a perfectly formed smoke ring, which gave him another reason to be pleased with himself.

“Do you have anybody special, Derek? I should have asked.”

He carefully laid the cigarette down on the pack in such a way that the lit end was hanging over the edge of the box and would burn itself out at the filter. Then he rolled over next to her and pulled her close.

“I do now.”

He moved in and kissed her quickly on the mouth.

“I’m not like Victor, with birds everywhere. As I said, I’d be keen to see you again.”

“Go steady, you mean?”

“Well, one step at a time, but something like that. My situation’s a bit complicated as I’ve got a wife, and so has Victor, but unlike him, I’m kind of separated.”

She watched him disengage himself from her, and then he hauled himself out of the confusion of bedding and propped himself up on a supporting arm.

“We were really young when we wed, so things haven’t been that straightforward.”

She felt as though she’d been slammed up against a wall.

“Look, I’d best be going before your boys wake up.”

“They’re fast asleep, but I should probably go and check.”

“No, you’re alright.” He clasped a gentle hand to her shoulder. “You look great just like that.”

When exactly, she wondered, had he worked the wedding ring off his finger? She could see him looking closely at her, as though somewhere inside of himself he was celebrating a kind of muddled triumph.

“I’m sorry, Monica, but I’ve really got to get back.”

She watched him spin slowly out of bed and begin to step into his underpants. Then he lit another cigarette and picked up the now-empty pack and went in search of the rest of his clothes. She heard water running in the bathroom, then the toilet flush, and then he was back standing over her and raking back his strawlike hair with one hand while carrying his shoes in the other. She guessed that he must have flushed both the old and the new cigarettes down the loo. He gestured to the shoes.

“I don’t want to wake up the young ones, so I’ll put these on outside.”

She pulled the sheet around herself and swung her legs around so that her feet were now touching the floor. Doubling his chin, he looked down at her.

“I’ll come and see you at the library,” he said. “Really, I will.”

“It’s the Ladyhills branch,” she said. “Not the main one.”

Monica wanted to add, the one with stained carpet and old volumes that smell of dirt and dust; the branch where men wait for me to climb the ladder before they sneak a look up from their books.

“I know which library.” He stooped slightly and kissed her on the forehead; then he tousled her short hair and smiled. “And I’ve left my work number on top of the telly with my extension and everything, so they’ll put you right through.”

“Thanks.”

“Maybe we can go for a drink after work one night this week? Just me and you, not Victor or your friend. Would you like that?”

It didn’t make any sense to suddenly start feeling bashful, but she nodded and looked down at her crooked toes. When she raised her head, he was gone, and a moment later she heard the painful screech of the front door closing and then the click of the lock as it jumped into place.

Monica was alone, but she could feel herself hovering on a precipice and in danger of being swept away by a torrent of emotions, among which guilt and shame featured with some prominence. She left the bedroom and quickly picked up her clothes from the kitchen floor. She puzzled as to why he had rescued his own but left hers lying there. Then she put the chain across the front door and hurried back to the bedroom and flung her wrinkled dress and knickers and bra on top of the dishevelled bedclothes and pulled on her dressing gown, but she couldn’t afford to linger. Her task in the kitchen was clear. She washed out the glasses and put away the now depleted brandy bottle and continued to try to hide any sign that her flat had been visited by these people. Once she was satisfied, she checked on the children and discovered Lucy staring up at her with eyes wide open, although the girl’s body remained rigid with fatigue. “Go back to sleep, love.” She looked at Ben and Tommy and remembered their afternoon in the park, and what a slog it had been to get them back to the flat as the rain began to fall. But they were good kids, all of them, even Lucy, and it wasn’t their fault. None of it was.