Mark Haddon - The Pier Falls - And Other Stories

A fine, spitty rain was coming in off the hills. There was no one around. A wing mirror hung off a battered brown Honda. The names of the dead boys were still readable on the tarmac. At her feet grass was forcing its way up through cracks in the concrete. If everyone abandoned these streets she wondered how long it would take for the forest to take them back, roots and creepers bringing the walls down piece by piece, wolves moving through the ruins.

She was crying but she didn’t know whether it was for herself or for Bunny.

He knew that something was wrong. She was making an effort to be cheerful, to be attentive, to be patient. He had known all along that it would come to this. If he were braver he would let her go. She’d given him more happiness than he’d expected to get from anyone. But he had never been brave. And he couldn’t bring himself to have one day less of her company.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Now that she was about to be taken from him she had become unutterably beautiful. He finally understood the songs: the sweetness, the hurt, the cost of it all. He would be wiser next time. It was just a shame there wouldn’t be a next time.

She went to Sainsbury’s and bought a chicken jalfrezi and pilau rice, a king prawn masala and some oven chips. She bought two tins of treacle pudding, two tubs of Taste the Difference vanilla custard and a bottle of Jacob’s Creek Cool Harvest Shiraz Rosé.

He saw her negotiating the hallway with three bags. “You bought the shop.”

“I’m cooking you a posh supper.”

“Why?” asked Bunny. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Big occasion,” said Leah.

“What big occasion?”

She could hear the anxiety in his voice. She put the bags down and stuck her head round the door of the living room. “Trust me.” She turned the oven on and poured him a glass of the rosé. “I would never do anything to hurt you.” She kissed his forehead.

While everything was cooking she lit two candles and turned the lights down. She carefully moved Bunny’s models off the table and put them out of harm’s way. Then she fetched a chair from the dining room so that she could sit and eat beside him. She laid the cutlery out and gave Bunny the chequered green tea towel to use as a serviette. She brought the dishes in one by one, the prawn masala, the chicken, the chips, the rice. She sat down and held up her glass. “Cheers.”

He said, “I know you’re leaving, and I know you’re trying to be kind about it.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“Really?” He spoke very quietly, as if her decision were a house of cards which might collapse at any minute.

“Really.” She took a sip of the rosé. It was slightly warm. She should have put it in the freezer for ten minutes.

“Wow.” He lay back against his pillows and exhaled. He was trying not to cry. “I was so scared.”

“The food’s going cold,” she said.

He was still unsure. “So what are we celebrating?”

“Eat first. Then I’ll tell you.”

He gingerly put a forkful of chicken into his mouth and chewed. She could see the tension slowly leaving his body. He swallowed, took another deep breath and fanned his face with a comedy flap of his hands. “I got a bit worked up back there.”

“There’s no need to apologise.” She refilled his glass.

They ate in silence for a while. He finished the chicken and the rice and the side plate of chips. “That was fantastic. Thank you.”

“Treacle pudding to come.”

“No expense spared.”

She put her glass down. “But first…”

“Go on.” His face tensed again.

“Bunny Wallis…” She paused for effect. “Will you marry me?”

He stared at her.

“Do I need to repeat the question?”

“Yes,” said Bunny. “You do need to repeat the question.”

“Will you marry me?” She waited. “If I have to say it a third time then I’m going to withdraw the offer.”

“Why?” asked Bunny. “Why would you want to marry me?”

“Because I love you.”

“This is the most extraordinary day of my life.”

“Does that mean ‘yes’?”

He took a deep breath. “Of course it does.”

“Good.” She leaned over and kissed him on the lips then sat down and poured him a third glass. “To us.”

“To us.” He clinked his glass against hers and drank. She could see tears forming in the corners of his eyes. He said, “I have never been this happy. Never.”

She stood up. “I think that calls for treacle pudding.”

When she came back into the room his eyes were closed. She set the bowls down and stroked his forearm. “Bunny?”

“I just…” He shook his head like a dog coming out of a pond. “I’m so sorry. You ask me to marry you and I fall asleep.”

“You’re tired, that’s all.” She handed him the treacle pudding.

He was squeezing his eyes shut and opening them again, trying to focus. He filled his spoon with pudding and custard and lifted it halfway to his mouth but had to put it down again. “Can you…?” He gave her the bowl. Taking his hand away he knocked the spoon onto the bedcovers. “Shit. Sorry.”

“It’s no problem.”

He leaned back and closed his eyes once more. She licked the spoon and scraped the dropped food back into the bowl. She dipped the corner of the tea towel in her glass of water and rubbed gently at the stain. She squeezed his hand. “How are you doing in there?” He squeezed back then slowly loosened his grip. She took the bowls into the kitchen, dumped the remaining treacle pudding into the bin and set the bowls in the sink. She went back into the living room and watched him for a while.

“Let’s make you more comfortable.” She put her hand behind his neck, pulled him forward and slipped the top pillow out from behind his head. He roused himself a little then became still. She waited for thirty seconds then pulled him forward once more to remove the next pillow. The third and last was harder to remove. Gently, she eased it free by pulling it from side to side, taking care not to wake him, until it slipped out.

He was now lying flat on his back. His breathing stopped for a few seconds then restarted. His arms circled, reaching for some invisible thing just above the bed, then they were still again. A couple of minutes later he went through the same cycle without waking. “Bunny?” she said quietly, but there was no response.

Quarter past eight. She waited till half past. The periods when he was not breathing grew longer but some automatic response kicked in every time. Had she miscalculated? Eight forty. She put her hand on his arm. “Come on, Bunny. Help me out here.”

Eight forty-five. He was no longer lifting his arms off the bed, just the ghost of a movement. He looked shattered, as if he were reaching the end of a long fight against a much stronger opponent.

“It’s OK, Bunny. You can let go.”

She could no longer see his chest rising and falling. She could no longer hear him breathing, only a tiny, broken hiss that stopped and started and stopped and started and finally, just before nine o’clock, stopped altogether.

She waited another five minutes to be sure, then she leaned over and kissed him. It was nothing, really, when you thought about it, like turning off a light. You were here, then you were gone.

She took the little brown tub from her pocket, unscrewed the lid and gently dropped both of them onto the carpet on the far side of the bed. She poured the remains of his wine onto the table and laid the glass on its side. She carried her own glass into the kitchen where she washed the crockery, cutlery and glassware and left it to dry. She double-bagged the packaging and the uneaten food and dropped everything in the bin outside the front door. She washed and dried her hands and went into the garden for a cigarette.