Jon McGregor - So Many Ways to Begin

She's still in London, he told her, and she's working. She seems happy enough for the time being, he said, and Susan must have heard the slight edge in his voice because she said oh no, no I'm sure she is, I was just wondering. He heard the splash of something being poured into a glass, juice perhaps, and pictured her sitting at her breakfast table in the bay window, with toast and yoghurt and folded white napkins, looking out at the long stretch of garden between her house and the road. She asked him what he had planned for the day, and he said well I'm just getting things ready and then I'm heading off, on my trip.

Oh? Susan said, sounding surprised. You're still doing that? So soon?

Yes Susan, he said tautly. So soon. How much longer did you want me to leave it?

I didn't mean that, she said. You know I didn't mean that. I was just thinking about Eleanor, if she'll be okay while you're gone. He held his breath for a moment.

Yes, he said, well, I don't know about that. You'll have to ask her that yourself. He held the phone out towards Eleanor, saying it's my sister, she wants to talk to you, ignoring the faint sound of Susan telling him not to be silly. Eleanor looked at him suspiciously and took the phone.

Hello? she said.

David looked at the clock, put his breakfast dishes in the sink, and gestured to Eleanor that he was going upstairs. She watched him go, and he heard her say well it's difficult to explain Susan, it's mixed, you know? He washed, and dressed, and folded some clean clothes into his suitcase, standing by the window for a moment to look down at his car parked outside. When he went back downstairs, putting the kettle on to boil, Eleanor was saying oh is he, is that right now? I thought he wasn't going to. He spooned coffee and sugar into a flask. Eleanor said yes, he's still here, you want to speak to him again? He looked up, shaking his head, and saw Eleanor holding the phone out towards him. He reached out for it, and she put her hand across the mouthpiece.

Maybe I should come with you after all, she said.

He stared at her, trying to catch her eye, mouthing a confused what? while Susan asked him how their mother was coping with the new bungalow. Eleanor shrugged, smiling a little, as if it had just been a passing thought. David? said Susan. Are you there? He turned away and said sorry, yes, she's fine. I saw her last week and she seems to be settling in fine.

He looked at Eleanor, standing on the other side of the table, her hands resting on the back of the chair, waiting. He remembered the first night they spent together, and not being quite able to believe the sheer unadorned fact of her skin against his, and he thought how strange it was that after all that time she still slept beside him in their bed, with her hand spread out across his chest and her face turned in to his shoulder. They were both so much older now. Their bodies had crumpled and softened and worn, and no matter how many creams she kept by the bed the skin on her face had become as creased and lined as his. Her hair was shot through with threads of silver and grey. But her eyebrow still arched exquisitely when she didn't believe what someone was saying, and her lips still folded together when she was concentrating or frowning or confused. She still tucked loose wisps of hair behind her ear with a single long delicate finger. Sometimes, it was an effort to keep from kissing her while she slept.

Susan was saying of course I'll never be able to keep up with this garden, and he said no, well, oh. He said, Susan, look, sorry, I'm going to have to go now, I need to get on with things, it's been good talking to you, and as he put the phone down Eleanor jolted slightly and turned back into the room, wrapping the rest of the cakes she'd baked the day before in tin foil and stacking them into a bag.

He said what do you mean maybe you should come with me? She filled the flask, put it into the bag beside the cakes, and looked around the room to see what was missing.

Well, I just thought, she said. It's a long way, you might need someone to keep you company.

But I don't mind the journey, he said, I'm fine with that. I've done it before, he reminded her.

She took some fruit from a bowl on the side and tucked it into the bag, saying but that was a long time ago; things will have changed since then. He sat down, he looked at the ceiling, and he laughed.

I didn't realise it was me we had to worry about with long journeys, he said. I thought that was your department.

But I'm getting better David, she said. I am. Maybe it would do the both of us some good, she added quietly. He looked down at his hands on the table, turning them over, peering at his fingerprints and tracing the lines worn into his palms. He didn't know what to say.

He said, you really want to come then? and when he looked up at her she nodded. He sat back in his chair suddenly, the chair creaking with his weight. He said, bloody hell Eleanor, I really wasn't expecting this. He said, have you got any travel tablets? She smiled.

Are you still going over to your Mum's first? she asked. He nodded.

There's a few more photos I wanted to pick up, he said. And I should see how she's doing.

So have a think about it while you're there, she said. I'll get dressed and packed and we'll talk about it when you come back, she said. He looked at his watch, and he rubbed his face.

He said, but, I don't know El, this was something, I was planning— He stopped, and tried again. He said, I imagined doing this on my own. She moved towards him and put an arm across his shoulder. She leant forwards and kissed the top of his head, his hair thin enough now that he could feel her lips against his scalp.

She said, with her face still so close to his skull that he could feel the breath in her words, you've been doing this on your own for too long now, don't you think?

Tell me something.

I don't know, anything.

Tell me something about when you were a boy.

Anything. The first thing that comes into your head.

But he said nothing, and there was only the quietness of two people breathing, the scratch and shift of a skirt being straightened, a trouser leg awkwardly tugged.

Are you not going to say something?

I'm thinking, he said.

Her eyes, when she looked at him, kept flicking from one small point of focus to another, the way they would if they were looking at a waterfall, or a fire, or the view from a moving train. It felt as though she was looking for something, something new, or something familiar but forgotten. The skin around her eyes stretched and folded into tiny creases with the movement. As she blinked, an eyelash caught and fell on to her cheek. He looked at it. He wanted to reach out and dab it away.

What do you want to know? he asked.

Anything, she answered quickly. Just, I just want to hear your voice a while. He looked at the eyelash on her cheek and she reached a finger up to rub it away. Gone? she said.

Gone, he told her, smiling. There were footsteps somewhere, someone coughing, men's voices, and they both turned their faces towards the noise until it had passed.

How about, she said, were you ever in the hospital? Her voice was quiet and tense, as if she was afraid of being overheard. He thought about it for a moment, trying to think of something to say. She closed her eyes, and he noticed for the first time that she had faint bobbles of skin on her eyelids, like tiny colourless freckles, and he wondered why he'd never noticed them before. She opened her eyes and looked back at him, and almost without meaning to they leant slightly closer together.

He told her about when he was eight years old and Susan had left him in the park near Julia's house, and the boys had thrown stones and chased him until he fell.