Mark Haddon: A Spot Of Bother

She needed to talk about David. She needed to explain that it was all over. She needed to explain why it had happened. But she was fairly sure that George didn’t want to talk about the subject.

After a few minutes, he said, “The salmon was good, I thought.”

“Yes,” said Jean, though she had trouble remembering what the salmon was like.

“And Katie’s friends seemed like a nice bunch. I suspect I’ve met a few of them before, but I’m not terribly good at faces.”

“They did seem nice,” said Jean.

“Sad to see that young lady in the wheelchair,” said George. “She seemed very pretty. Dreadful shame.”

“Yes,” said Jean.

“Anyway,” said George. He got to his feet.

Jean helped him.

“Better get downstairs,” said George. “Can’t help. Us sitting up here. Probably creating a bit of an atmosphere.”

“OK,” said Jean.

“Thanks for the coffee,” said George. “Feeling a bit steadier now.” He paused at the door. “Why don’t you go down first. I need to visit the little boys’ room.” And he was gone.

So Jean headed downstairs and went out to the marquee and George was right about the atmosphere because everyone seemed to have been waiting for her, which made her feel very uncomfortable. But Ursula came up and hugged her and Douglas and Maureen took her to a table and gave her a second coffee and more wine and a few minutes later George came down and sat at another table and Jean tried to concentrate on what Ursula and Douglas and Maureen were saying but it was quite hard. Because she felt as if she had just walked away from a burning building.

She watched Jamie and Tony and all she could think was how much the world had changed. Her own father had slept with the woman next door for twenty years. Now her son was dancing with another man and she was the one whose life was falling apart.

She felt like the man in that ghost story on the television, the one who didn’t realize he was dead.

She went over and apologized to Katie and Ray. She thanked Jamie for his speech. She apologized to Jacob, who didn’t really understand why she was apologizing. She danced with Douglas. And she managed a quiet talk with Ursula on her own.

The pain subsided as the evening wore on and the alcohol did its work and shortly after midnight, as the guests were thinning out, she realized that George had disappeared. So she said her various good nights and made her way upstairs and found George fast asleep in bed.

She tried to talk to him but he was dead to the world. She wondered whether she was allowed to sleep in the same bed. But there was nowhere else to sleep. So she undressed and put on her nightie and cleaned her teeth and slipped into bed beside him.

She stared at the ceiling and cried a little, quietly so as not to wake George.

She lost track of time. The disco stopped. The voices died away. She heard footsteps coming and going on the stairs. Then silence.

She looked at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It was half past one.

She got up, put on her slippers and dressing gown and went downstairs. The house was empty. It smelled of cigarette smoke and stale wine and beer and cooked fish. She unlocked the kitchen door and walked into the garden, thinking she would stand under the night sky and clear her head a little. But it was colder than she’d expected. It was starting to rain again and there were no stars.

She came back inside, went upstairs and got into bed and lay there until sleep finally found her.

George woke froma long, deep and dreamless sleep, feeling contented and relaxed. He lay for a few moments looking up at the ceiling. There was a faint crack in the plaster round the light fitting which looked like a little map of Italy. He needed to go to the toilet. He swung his legs out of bed, put on his slippers and left the room with a spring in his step.

Halfway down the landing, however, he remembered what had happened the day before. This made him feel sick, and he was forced to hang on to the banister for a few seconds while he recovered his composure.

He went back into the bedroom to talk to Jean. But she was still deeply asleep, with her face turned to the wall, snoring quietly. He realized that it was going to be a difficult day for her and it seemed best that she did not begin it by being forcibly woken. He returned to the corridor and closed the door quietly behind him.

He could smell toast and bacon and coffee and some other less pleasant odors. Several cigarette ends were floating in a half-full coffee cup on the windowsill. Now that he thought about it, he was a little punch-drunk. It might have been the aftereffects of the Valium and the alcohol.

He had to speak to Katie.

He went to the bathroom to relieve himself, then headed downstairs.

The first person he saw through the doorway of the kitchen, however, was not Katie but Tony. This threw him somewhat. He had forgotten about Tony.

Tony was constructing a rudimentary dog sculpture from pieces of toast for Jacob’s entertainment. Had he and Jamie spent the night in the house? It was not important right now, George realized that. And he was in no position to lecture anyone about morality. But his mind felt small and the question clogged it up somewhat.

When he entered the kitchen the conversation stopped and everyone turned to look at him. Katie, Ray, Jamie, Tony, Jacob. He had planned to take Katie quietly to one side. Clearly this was not going to be possible.

“Hi, Dad,” said Jamie.

“George,” said Ray.

They sounded rather stiff.

He girded his loins. “Katie. Ray. I want to apologize for my actions yesterday. I’m ashamed of myself and it should not have happened.” No one spoke. “If there is anything that I can do to make amends…”

Everyone was looking at Katie. George noticed that she was holding a bread knife.

Ray said, “You’re not planning to stab your father, are you?”

No one laughed.

Katie looked down at the knife. “Oh, sorry. No.”

She put the knife down and there was an awkward silence.

Then Tony got out of his chair and pulled it back so that George could sit down and folded a tea towel over his arm, waiter-style, and said, “We have fresh coffee, tea, orange juice, wholemeal toast, scrambled eggs, boiled eggs…”

George wondered whether it was some kind of homosexual joke, but none of the others were laughing so he took the offer at face value, sat down, thanked Tony and said that he would like some black coffee and scrambled eggs if that was not too much trouble.

“I’ve got a dog made of toast,” said Jacob.

Slowly, the conversation began again. Tony told a story about how he had fallen off his moped in Crete. Ray explained how he had organized the firework display for Katie. Jacob announced that his toast-dog was called Toasty, then bit his head off and laughed like a drain.

After twenty minutes or so the men headed off to pack bags and George found himself alone with his daughter.

Katie tapped her forehead and asked how he was doing “up there.” He tapped his forehead and said he was doing rather well “up there.” He explained that the events of the previous day had blown the cobwebs away. Obviously there were some problems he would still have to deal with, but the panic had subsided. He was suffering from eczema. He could see that now.

She paused and rubbed his arm and looked suddenly rather serious. George was worried that she was going to start talking about Jean and David Symmonds. He did not want to talk about Jean and David Symmonds. He would be more than happy to avoid talking about the subject for the rest of his life.

He took Katie’s hand and squeezed it briefly. “Come on. You’d better get your stuff together.”