Sue Townsend - The Woman who Went to Bed for a Year

Mr Lin said, ‘You can have a share in Ho’s salary for ten years. It will be taken from his bank account, and deposited into yours.’ He hoped to appeal to Mr Qu’s gambling instinct.

Mr Qu shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. What is the most valuable thing you have in your life, Mr Lin?’

Mr Lin looked to the side and said, ‘My wife, she is precious to me.’

When they were walking back, Mrs Lin sat down halfway home on what used to be her doorstep.

Her face was flushed, and she said to her husband, ‘The shame, the shame of it.’

Mr Lin pulled the international money order from his pocket and said, ‘It was only a business transaction.’

She said, ‘But he has humiliated us.’

‘How?’

‘He did not ask us to take tea with him.’

Eva’s sycamore was in full leaf and provided a fluttering lime-green canopy between the window and the gathering of people on the pavement opposite. Eva could not see Sandy Lake, but she could hear her shouting her disturbing messages throughout the day and night. There was an injunction in place, which was meant to keep Sandy 500 metres away from 15 Bowling Green Road. But she regularly breached the order and, emboldened by the late response of the police, would try to get through the front door and provoke Alexander into losing his temper.

She would push and shove him, shouting, ‘Get out of my way, Sambo! I need to speak to senior angel Eva!’

When, at Eva’s insistence, Alexander finally made a formal complaint to PC Hawk, the policeman minimised Sandy’s ‘nuisance value’.

He said, ‘Yeah, she is a bit overenthusiastic, but personally I quite like that in a woman. I’ve been on dates where, after the first few minutes, they’ve said almost nothing at all.’

Alexander replied, emphatically, ‘Ask her out for a pizza then, and I’ll guarantee that you wouldn’t last beyond a second helping at the salad bar. She’s seriously mentally ill. And you should know how inflammatory “Sambo” is to a black person. It doesn’t bother me any more, but add a couple of bored black youths to the mix and you, PC Hawk, have got a riot on your hands.’

PC Hawk said, ‘No, I’d take the heat out of the situation immediately. I’ve been on a racial awareness course. Mr Tate, why not try a bit of banter with her? The next time she calls you “Sambo”, why not call her “fatty”? When she gets to know you better, she’ll realise that you’re a human being, just like her. Tell her you’ve both got red blood in your veins.’

Alexander looked down at PC Hawk’s innocent and ignorant face, and understood that nothing he could say would make any impression on this policeman. He had closed his mind at adolescence and cemented it shut at police training college. He would not be opening it again.

Eva was lying on top of the bed facing the door. It was a hot summer’s day and she was irritated by the heat and the buzzing of flies as they hurtled round the ceiling. She was longing for somebody to come in with a tray of food and drink.

Hunger made her panic. She had been left alone several times lately when Alexander had other paid work he had to do.

What would she do if nobody came in for a week? Would she get out of bed and walk downstairs to the kitchen, or would she lie there and allow herself to starve – waiting for her organs to close down, one by one, until the heart sighed and gave up, the brain dis connected its pathways after giving a few exploratory signals, and the tunnel appeared with the bright light beyond?

Eva thought about the inside of her body, the trillions of cells, smaller than the width of a human hair. About the body’s immune system which, if threatened by disease, will summon all the good defensive cells to a crisis meeting. About how the cells select a leader who will make the decision to welcome disease or repel it. Like democracy in Ancient Athens, when the citizens met to decide how the city was to be run.

She wondered if we carry our own universe within us, if we are the gods.

Alexander knocked and came in. He was holding a piece of A4 paper. He said, seeing how hot and tired she looked, ‘Are you up for this today?’

‘I don’t know. Who’s out there?’

‘There’s the usual swizzle heads. The new ones are on the list.’ He looked down at the paper and tried to decipher his own handwriting. ‘An agricultural seed merchant who says nobody has ever loved him.’

‘Yes, I’ll see him,’ said Eva.

‘Then there’s a vegetarian who works in an abattoir. The only work he could find. Should he leave his job? I’ll check him for knives.’

Eva raised herself on one elbow and took the list. She said, ‘I’m so hungry, Alexander.’

What do you want?’

‘Bring me bread. Cheese. Jam. Anything.’

He stopped at the door and said, Would you mind saying “please”? It would make me feel less like a castrated lackey.’

She said, grudgingly, ‘OK. Please.’

‘Thank you, madam. Will that be all?’

‘Look, if you’ve got something to say -’Alexander interrupted. ‘I’ve got plenty to say. I’m sick of seeing you waste yourself, festering in your pit, deciding who is to see the great Eva, and who is to be turned away at Eva’s whim? Do you realise I’ve never seen you on your feet? I don’t even know how tall you are.’

She gave a deep sigh. The thought of listening to people’s misery depressed her. The household she lived with seemed to be permanently miserable, and now even Alexander was showing the strain.

She pleaded, ‘Alexander, I can’t think straight at the moment. I’m so hungry.’

Alexander put his face close to Eva’s and advised, Well, get out of bed, and run down to the kitchen yourself.’

‘I thought you understood. We have an understanding, don’t we?’

‘I don’t think we do. It feels as though we’ve got our legs set in concrete. Neither of us can move.’

He went out, leaving the door wide open, as though he couldn’t even be bothered to slam it.

Eva picked up the list and read it. She was annoyed to see that Alexander had commented on some of the entries.

Married man – has gay lover. (So what?)

Canteen assistant – showed me bruises. Made by husband.

Detective Sergeant, Drug Squad – addicted to amphetamines. Has frightened himself with crystal meth.

Sheet-metal worker – multiple internet betting accounts. Lost £1 5,000, plus credit card limit of £5,000. Wife doesn’t know. Is still betting, ‘chasing losses’.

Full-time mother of six, Ipswich – strongly dislikes her fifth child.

Carpenter – being evicted tomorrow.

Classroom assistant – is frequent successful shoplifter. Wants to stop.

Retired bricklayer – refuses to disclose problem.

Adolescent boy – is cruel to insects, dogs and cats. Is he ‘normal’? (For a psychopath, yes.)

Bus driver – drinks at the wheel.

Personal assistant – should she marry man she doesn’t love? (No! No! No!)

Baker – spits in dough. (Find out where he works.)

Fourteen-year-old schoolgirl – can she get pregnant if she has a shower after sex? (Yes.)

Married couple – both in late seventies. Wife has cancer of the womb. Will you administer lethal dose of insulin to both? (Dear Eva, please don’t agree to murder them, this is going too far, love Alex.)

Schoolgirl aged thirteen – being sexually, physically and emotionally abused by family member. (ChildLine: 0800 11 11. Police.)

Muslim girl – hates burka. Feels ‘suffocated’.

Audio typist – married to A, still in love with B, but having affair with C.

Failed financier, lapsed Rastafarian, struggling painter – captivated by bed-bound slightly older woman. Wants to share bed and take her for a walk in countryside. (This problem is urgent, suggest you see this man by appointment soon.)